#lads gideon x reader

[iraot]

Previous entries to Heat Haven Series Heat Haven, Alpha Equation, No Turning Back Summary: She was a nurse, he was a pilot and surrounding them was a whole host of government inadequacies that end up changing their lives forever. Word Count: 16.4k Warnings: Shitty government protocol, shitty discriminatory behavior from superiors, Gideon's shitty flirting, heat induced horny, dub con? ( cause of heat? she wants it tho i swear ). A/N: This took me 1 day to finish, which isn't my usual writing pace. NGL my head is about to explode. If you like it please comment and let me know what you think! Archive of Our Own

The first time she met Dr. Holt, she’d just arrived on base—still in the pressed slate-grey of her regulation uniform, her boots carrying the last dust of the tarmac, her orders fresh in hand. The med bay was stark and cold, all steel and silence, the hum of machinery behind every wall, a familiar kind of sterile she had never liked. She’d worked in trauma centers where blood slicked the floor before noon, where screams were as regular as shift changes, where survival was carved from chaos. But here, the tension was different—contained, quiet, something behind the eyes of every person in uniform that said: don’t step out of line.

She was shown into a glass-walled office where Dr. Holt waited behind a desk, arms folded, face impassive. Major Caulder stood to one side, arms behind his back in that careful military posture that meant he’d say nothing unless it mattered to him. She gave them both a crisp nod, standing straight with her data tablet in hand, every credential visible—trauma nurse specialist, surgical tech experience, Omega regulatory compliance signed and verified. She extended it to Holt first. “Reporting for assignment, sir.”

Holt didn’t reach for the tablet. His eyes flicked to her face, then down—to her chest, to the small embossed marker beneath her name: Omega. That was when something in his mouth twisted, almost imperceptibly, like a reflex he didn’t bother to mask. “You’re the one they sent?” he asked, voice calm in a way that wasn’t calm at all. “I assumed they’d assign someone more… tactically appropriate for front-line med work.”

She didn’t flinch, but the chill of his tone settled over her like frostbite. “My file includes civilian trauma experience, advanced surgical certification, three years of field rotation, and three commendations for frontline composure under pressure,” she said, evenly, without pride—just facts. “I’m not here to meet assumptions, Doctor. I’m here to treat soldiers.”

Major Caulder glanced her way, but still said nothing. Holt leaned back slightly in his chair, steepling his fingers. “You’ll be assigned to secondary support—post-trauma, medication dispersal, charting. You’ll assist as needed, but you won’t be leading trauma intake.”

“That’s not the assignment listed on my orders,” she said flatly.

Holt didn’t even blink. “I reserve the right to adapt staffing for medical efficiency,” he replied, each word deliberately bland. “We run a tight facility here, Lieutenant. I won’t allow biological volatility to compromise surgical discipline.”

There it was. Biological volatility. As if she were a failed circuit. As if her body was something unpredictable and dangerous by nature. Her spine straightened, chin lifting a degree. “And yet you’re fine trusting a man whose hands shake during his own post-rut cycle to handle critical patients?” she asked, cool as steel. “Funny how that volatility never seems to interrupt his assignments.”

That earned a moment of silence sharp enough to cut. Caulder’s eyes flicked toward her—faint surprise, or maybe wariness—but Holt’s face remained a blank wall, his voice clipped. “We’ll expect you to conduct yourself with discipline, Lieutenant.”

“I expect the same,” she returned, not backing down. “Sir.”

Caulder stepped in then, voice smoothing over the tension without erasing it. “You’ll rotate through trauma as scheduled. Dr. Holt is within his rights to manage his staff, but the orders are active.” His tone, carefully balanced, made clear that any further argument would be seen as insubordination—not by her, but by Holt. Maintain professionalism. As if what had just happened qualified as anything less than quiet warfare.

She gave a stiff nod, then turned and walked out, pulse steady despite the heat in her chest. The door hissed shut behind her, and she didn’t look back. But she could feel it—Holt’s eyes on her, the weight of that old-world judgment, that curated disdain for what she was.

She’d felt it before. From patients. From colleagues. From supposed allies who wanted quiet, well-behaved Omegas who kept their heads down and their scent muted. But she hadn’t survived the halls of civilian trauma by being soft. She didn’t break when blood sprayed her visor or when someone screamed in her face with their guts spilling through their hands.

And she wouldn’t break for him.

Not here. Not ever.

— The unmistakable whistle was already echoing down the corridor before the med bay doors even slid open. That damned whistle always came first—too casual, too confident, a herald of the strut that followed it. She didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Only one man on base walked like the hallway was his personal runway and greeted medical staff like it was open mic night at the local bar.

“Tell me you missed me,” came the drawl, syrup-slick and shameless. “Don’t break my heart.”

She didn’t blink, eyes fixed on the monitor in front of her, inputting the last of a post-op debrief from a gunner with a pulled rotator cuff. Her fingers didn’t pause on the touchpad, her face didn’t lift from its neutral angle—but her mouth, traitor that it was, fought the hint of a smirk. 

She fought harder. “The cardiac ward’s three doors down, Captain. They handle broken hearts.”

He clicked his tongue, boots heavy as he stepped inside like he’d just returned from a long vacation instead of the tarmac. “Ouch. And here I thought we had something special.”

She turned, finally, and met his gaze levelly. “Special implies mutual consent. Sit on the exam bed.”

The man was a wall of muscle in flight fatigues, his name badge faintly scuffed, jacket half-zipped like he’d left it that way on purpose. Short black hair, neatly trimmed, brown eyes like sun-warmed espresso—warmth without expectation. The med bay lighting made the natural tan of his skin look deeper, more golden. His body carried the kind of weight that didn’t come from vanity, but from use—shoulders thick from years of hauling equipment, from cockpit cramping, from working without ever asking for an easier way.

He slumped dramatically onto the bed, arms spread like he was offering himself to the gods. “Don’t be shy. You can poke and prod all you want. Long as I get dinner after.”

“I’m already sick of your voice and I haven’t even checked your blood pressure,” she said, dry.

He grinned, teeth bright and easy. “You wound me, nurse.”

He used her title deliberately, the same way she used his. He never called her by her name, never tested that line. Other Alphas might’ve tried. Might’ve leaned in close to scent her, to let their fingers brush against her wrist during vitals, to see what would happen when an unclaimed Omega was cornered. She’d had to write more than one report for that kind of thing. But not him.

He flirted like a man who expected rejection. Like he liked the sound of her saying no. And maybe he did.

She crossed to the counter, tapping into his file on the tablet mounted beside the sink. “You’re here for your pre-deployment clearance. Nothing new on your chart since your last physical?”

He kicked his boots off the side of the bed, letting them thud against the wall with zero grace. “Not unless caffeine addiction counts.”

She didn’t look at him. “I’d have to report that. It’s against regs to sedate yourself with vending machine coffee.”

“Then thank god they haven’t caught me with the good stuff.”

Her fingers moved quick across the screen, her tone all business. “Any dizziness? Chest tightness? Trouble sleeping?”

“Negative.”

“Shortness of breath?”

He exhaled with enough exaggeration to qualify as a groan. “Only when you’re in the room, doll.”

She turned then, slowly, one eyebrow raised. “Captain, I’ll take that as consent to start with your respiratory rate.”

He grinned wider, unrepentant. “Breathe deep, got it.”

She reached for her stethoscope, the cold metal a familiar weight around her neck, and stepped closer to him. The moment changed. Not dramatically. Not enough to be obvious. But his posture shifted—subtly, unconsciously. Still relaxed, still teasing, but something pulled in behind his eyes.

She’d seen it before. The moment an Alpha remembered what she was. What she wasn’t allowed to be.

Her hand was steady as she pressed the bell of the stethoscope to his chest. The heat of his body radiated through the thin layer of fabric between her fingers and his skin. “Deep breath in. Hold. Release.”

He obeyed. No jokes this time. His chest expanded under her palm, ribs flaring slightly, heart beating a slow and even rhythm that vibrated faintly into her touch. She moved the scope, adjusted the angle, and listened.

Another breath. Then another.

His voice, when he spoke again, was low. Quieter.

“You always this gentle?”

She didn’t answer at first. Just moved to the next point on his chest, focused, methodical. “You’d rather I press harder?”

“Maybe,” he said softly, “if it meant you’d stay close longer.”

She didn’t look at him, didn’t give him the satisfaction of even a glance. But her hand lingered a half-second longer than necessary before pulling the stethoscope back. Her expression didn’t change. “You’re fine. Vitals normal.”

He let out a breath that wasn’t a sigh, but it tried to be. “Knew you’d say I’m perfect eventually.”

She set the stethoscope aside. “You’ve still got vision and reflexes to clear. Stand up.”

He did, slower than he needed to, like the longer it took the longer he got to stay in her presence. Not leering. Not imposing. Just present. There was something about the way he moved that didn’t demand attention—it asked for it, and acted surprised when it got it.

She handed him the reflex hammer. “Sit. I’ll test your knees.”

He plopped back down. “This is the one where you slap me, right?”

“Not hard enough, apparently.”

The tap of the rubber mallet against his patellar tendon made his leg jerk, a twitch reflex she tracked with professional detachment. She repeated the motion on the other side. Both responses are within normal range.

“Eyes forward,” she said. “Tracking next.”

He followed her finger without complaint as she moved it left to right, up, down, diagonals, watching his pupils. Nothing abnormal. Nothing slow. Just those warm brown eyes, always so open, so eager, watching her like she was some rare creature he’d caught sight of once and had never quite gotten out of his head.

When she lowered her hand, he was still watching.

“Your file’s clean. You’re cleared for flight.”

He didn’t move. Not immediately. Just sat there, hands resting on his knees, shoulders slightly hunched—not in exhaustion, but in thought. “You ever get tired of being treated like a risk factor?”

She froze. Just a flicker. Just for a second. Her mouth opened, then closed.

He didn’t wait. “Everyone here’s walking around like your biology is a bomb they’re trying not to set off. Doesn’t that piss you off?”

Her voice, when it came, was measured. “What pisses me off is that I need a mate to be taken seriously.”

“Then why don’t you have one?” he asked, not accusing, just curious.

“Because claiming isn’t the same thing as choice,” she said flatly. “And I don’t want to be owned to do my job.”

His jaw worked for a second. Then he nodded. Just once. “Fair.”

She turned to her station, logged the clearance note into the system, her back straight. She didn’t say anything else.

But as he reached the door, he paused. Just enough to let the air shift.

“You ever need someone to remind command that you’re not the problem?” he said, quietly. “You know where my spot in the barracks are.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He never did, but this time she watched him go.

The storage room was hotter than it should’ve been, the overhead lights flickering slightly with every surge of the air handler struggling to keep up. Shelves of gauze, medkits, fluid bags, and antiseptics surrounded them in tight aisles that smelled faintly of plastic and sterile cotton. She was kneeling by the lower bins, scanning barcodes and cross-checking numbers on the clipboard balanced against her thigh, when Maya let out an exaggerated sigh and dropped a box of gloves onto the nearest shelf.

“You know,” Maya said, brushing her frizzy bangs out of her face, “if the actual doctors around here pulled their weight, we wouldn’t be stuck doing all this.”

She made a noncommittal noise in response, dragging the next tray of sutures closer. “The ones we do have don’t want to be here. They’re either chasing real surgeries or busy stroking their egos in civilian hospitals.”

Maya gave a bitter little laugh. “Or both.”

The silence that followed was only broken by the occasional beep of a scan and the crinkling of packaging. It wasn’t uncomfortable. They’d done this together enough times that the rhythm of working side-by-side was almost meditative. But the heat, the frustration, and the long list of backlogged tasks were wearing thin, and she knew Maya well enough to sense when she was about to veer off-course.

“You know,” Maya said again, too casually this time, “we should just requisition a new doctor and list 'not an asshole' under qualifications.”

She smirked but didn’t look up. “We’d never get one. The system would flag that as an impossible request.”

“True,” Maya said, half-laughing. “I still can’t believe Dr. Holt said what he did last week. About you being a hazard.”

She paused in her scanning, just for a moment, then resumed. “He’s said worse. Just usually not when people can hear.”

“He’s a crusty old prick,” Maya said with a snort. “Like your hormones are going to explode and start a riot. God forbid anyone admits the real issue is how the alphas act, not you.”

It wasn’t news. Holt had hated her being assigned here from day one. He hadn’t said anything overt at first, but it didn’t take long before the microaggressions sharpened into barbed comments—muttering about scent contamination, refusing to review her patient notes, rerouting cases away from her when he was on base. Once he called her a complication in a room full of orderlies. Said it like it was a joke, like they were supposed to laugh with him, like it wasn’t dangerous that a man with rank and power could make her seem like a liability with one word.

“I don’t need him to like me,” she said quietly, standing to slide a restocked drawer closed. “I just need him to stay out of my way.”

Maya’s expression softened as she leaned against the counter, arms crossed loosely over her chest. “Still. It’s a hell of a thing. You do twice the work, half the credit, and you get called a risk factor on top of it.”

She shrugged. “If I had a mate, it wouldn’t be a problem.”

Maya scoffed. “Yeah, because nothing says professional freedom like needing to be claimed just to do your job.”

That earned a dry smile. “Trust me. I’ve considered it. Even wrote the registry application once. But you know how it is—they don’t want ‘claimed omega nurse.’ They want ‘owned omega who stays in her lane and doesn’t remind anyone she has teeth.’”

Maya rolled her eyes. “You’re too smart to settle for someone like that.”

“I’m too stubborn,” she corrected, “which is a much bigger problem.”

The last box of saline was shoved into place, the label noted, and she turned to move the empty crate into the back hall. Maya followed with another, barely concealing her grin now. They passed the narrow breakroom, then the side door to triage, where the air was slightly cooler. And that’s when Maya dropped her voice just enough to make the words deliberately conspiratorial.

“Captain came in earlier.”

She didn’t have to ask which one. There were dozens of captains on base, but when Maya said it like that, she meant one in particular.

“He’s up for deployment again,” she said, matter-of-fact. “Pre-flight physical.”

Maya leaned against the doorframe, lips curving. “Mmm. He seems to like you enough.”

She scoffed before she could stop herself. “He likes hearing himself talk.”

“He likes hearing you talk more.” Maya bumped her shoulder. “He’s not subtle.”

“No, but he’s harmless.”

That was true. She believed it. He flirted with that lopsided smile, the kind that tried to pretend it wasn’t real charm. He played the rogue, the scoundrel, the bad boy with good intentions—but he never crossed the line. Never touched her without asking. Never invaded her space. He was sweet underneath it, in a way that always felt like he wanted to be liked but didn’t know how to accept it if someone did.

Maya arched a brow. “Come on. You’re telling me you don’t think he’s cute?”

“Of course he’s cute,” she said, waving it off like it didn’t matter. “That’s half the problem.”

Maya’s grin widened. “Half the problem?”

“He’s cute, and charming, and probably not serious about a damn word he says.”

“You sure?”

She didn’t answer.

Because she wasn’t.

Part of her believed he had someone. Not from any evidence—he never talked about a partner, never came in smelling like anyone else, never made her think he was spoken for—but it was safer to assume. Safer to believe the smile he gave her was the same smile he gave everyone else. That the way he looked at her—warm, curious, just a little soft—was a game he played with every medic, mechanic, and munitions officer he ran into.

It had to be. Because the alternative? That he meant it? That maybe he lingered after his appointments because he liked her? That he watched her like she wasn’t a complication but something capable, worthy?

That was too dangerous.

That was how people got hurt.

“I don’t have time for a love life,” she said finally. “Not when every part of this job is about survival.”

Maya didn’t argue. Just nodded once, her eyes sharp. “Still. If you ever wanted it… he wouldn’t be the worst choice.”

She shrugged. “That’s not the same as being a good one.”

But the thought stuck, lingering like the scent he always left behind—warm, clean, a little sharp like ozone after a storm. Not the kind that tried to smother. Just the kind that stayed. She turned back to the supply list, but her mind drifted, just for a second. To brown eyes, to the curve of a grin, to the possibility.

She’d searched for him.

Late one night, lights dimmed in her quarters, the familiar hum of the base generators throbbing beneath the floor, she’d opened Heat Haven again and entered Gideon’s name in the Alpha search bar. She wasn’t even sure what she expected to find—part of her hoped he wasn’t there, and part of her feared what it would mean if he was. Her breath caught the second the page loaded blank, no profiles found. No grinning headshot, no pheromone rating, no crude review written by some slick-drunk Omega curled up post-knot.

She was relieved. And ashamed.

Because she shouldn’t have looked. She wasn’t allowed to need that. Not when her contract with the military came with monthly injections that flatlined her hormonal cycle, burned her heat symptoms into a quiet ache that never escalated. It was supposed to be liberation. 

–

The first time she’d met him, she’d been halfway through reorganizing the med kit cabinet when the door slid open with a loud hiss and a distinctly cocky whistle cut through the sterile quiet. “Tell me you’ve got a magic touch and a minute to spare, Nurse,” came the voice—warm, low, playful. She turned slowly, eyebrows arched, and found him standing there with a blood-soaked patch of fabric wrapped around one arm and the world’s most unapologetic grin on his face. “Magic touch, yes,” she said dryly. “Minute to spare? You’d have to earn it.”

His grin widened, boyish and bright, and he ambled in like he had all the clearance in the world, even though he technically did. “Guess I’ll have to charm you, then,” he said as he hopped onto the exam bed, boots squeaking against the floor. “Lucky for both of us, I’m very good under pressure.” She snorted as she reached for gloves. “From what I see, pressure is not what you were under when you let yourself get sliced on a maintenance ladder.”

“Okay, ow, but also—fair,” he laughed, flinching a little as she peeled the makeshift wrap away to assess the damage. “I was distracted. Something about the new med bay nurse being distractingly attractive.” She looked up slowly, unimpressed. “Try that line again after you’ve lost less blood.”

But he didn’t backpedal—not even close. He leaned in just slightly, grin softening around the edges, and watched her with open fascination, like her every word was a puzzle he wanted to study up close. “You’re quick,” he murmured, not teasing now, just quietly impressed. “Sharp tongue. Steady hands. I’m gonna be real honest—I’m in trouble.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she reached for the dermabond. “You’re in for six stitches and an alcohol wipe. That’s the only kind of trouble you’re getting tonight.” “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he said, voice low, eyes flicking from her hands to her face with an almost reverent kind of curiosity. “But honestly, I think I like it.”

She tried to brush it off, but something about the way he looked at her—genuine, interested, completely present—stuck with her. Most Alphas flirted with expectation. He flirted with awe. When she was done, he didn’t rush to leave. Just sat there swinging his legs slightly, watching her clean up like it was the most fascinating thing on Earth.

“Gideon,” he said finally, offering his name with an easy smile. “You don’t have to remember it. But I hope you do.” She didn’t answer, but she did glance at him one more time before turning away—long enough for him to see the smallest curve of a smile.

And he filed it away like a man who knew he’d be back.

—

Suppressants made her professional. Suppressants made her safe.

Except the last time the needle slid into her arm, she flinched.

“Wait, what?” Maya’s voice had been sharp, loud enough to echo slightly off the steel paneling of the med bay supply closet. She’d dropped the clipboard in her hands, pens scattering across the floor. “They make you what every month?”

“Suppressants,” she said, too calm for how her stomach twisted. “I sign for them. I administer them myself. It’s part of the clearance to work in a high-Alpha density facility.”

“That’s not clearance,” Maya snapped, crouching to retrieve the pens with stiff fingers. “That’s a leash. That’s—fuck, that can’t be legal.”

“It is.” Her voice had gone flat. She’d practiced that tone for years. “We signed away a lot when we enlisted. Hormonal regulation falls under the clause for ‘occupational reliability.’ They get to decide how risky our biology is.”

Maya had looked at her then—really looked—like seeing something she hadn’t wanted to believe. “I knew the regs were bad,” she murmured. “But this… this is surgical. They’re cutting your instincts off at the root.”

She didn’t answer. Because Maya was right, and she’d known it from the start. But that didn’t change the contract she’d signed. And it didn’t change that every injection came with a signature and a warning: Failure to comply may result in reassignment or bond-mandated sedation during peak cycles. The law didn’t forbid suppressants. It encouraged them. Omegas with too much agency made the brass nervous.

The silence stretched, heavy between them, broken only by the distant whir of the centrifuge two rooms over.

“Do they hurt?” Maya asked eventually, softer now.

“The injections?” She shrugged. “Physically? No. Not much. Emotionally?” She let out a humorless breath. “I don’t think I’ve felt anything real in so long, I’m not sure I’d recognize it.”

Maya moved slowly then, placing the last box of gauze into the cabinet with mechanical precision. She didn’t look up. “That’s not how it should be. Not for anyone.”

But that was the thing. It was how it was. For Omegas like her—unmated, undesired by the registry, too competent to be transferred to a domestic base—it was either this or surrender. She’d chosen control. Even if it came with a needle and a signature and the fading memory of what her own scent used to be like when it bloomed warm in the back of her throat.

“I used to get them,” she admitted, voice thin, fingers tightening on the edge of the storage bin. 

“Heats, I mean. Back before I signed up. They were brutal. My whole body would shake for days. Couldn’t focus, couldn’t move, could barely breathe without crying.”

Maya tilted her head. “And now?”

“Now I’m hollow.” She forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Which, apparently, makes me a perfect employee.”

They both knew what that meant. Her scent wasn’t dangerous anymore. She didn’t make the Alphas tense in the mess hall. She didn’t spike anyone’s rut cycle or get called into medical for her own good. She was compliant. Efficient. Safe.

But that wasn’t the same as being whole.

“You ever think about stopping?” Maya asked after a moment.

That made her laugh—sharp, humorless. “And risk a heat on base? Risk the wrong Alpha scenting me in the corridor? Risk Holt dragging me out of the med bay by my hair for being a ‘disruption’ to workflow? No. I don’t get to be reckless.”

Maya didn’t argue. Didn’t need to. She just leaned back against the steel shelf, arms folded over her chest, jaw tight. 

“Still wrong,” she muttered. “Still fucked up.”

The room smelled of antiseptic and overstocked disinfectant wipes. But beneath it, faint and haunting, was the phantom scent of heat she hadn’t had in over two years. Not real. Just memory. Just her body remembering what it meant to want. Not desire. Need.

And in the privacy of her bunk, when the suppressants wore thin, when she woke up in a cold sweat with the ghost of slick between her thighs, she thought of profiles on Heat Haven. Of the things Omegas were still allowed to ask for there. And of a man with warm brown eyes and a crooked smile who wasn’t on the site at all, but somehow lingered in her thoughts anyway.

Because even if she couldn’t have it, even if she’d signed it all away for stability and the illusion of respect, part of her still wondered.

What it would feel like to be touched by someone who didn’t see her as a liability.

What it would feel like to choose.

The med bay was quiet, a rare lull in the late morning shuffle. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead in their usual rhythm, casting sterile white light across clean floors and polished metal equipment. She sat at her workstation near the corner, the soft click of keys her only companion, charting the morning’s recoveries and routine check-ins. The paper logs were nearly all digitized, and she preferred the ritual—data input kept her hands busy, her mind steady, and her presence in the room a little less conspicuous when Dr. Holt was around.

Holt, of course, was here today. A cluster of wounded soldiers had come through earlier from a malfunction during a training sim—shrapnel wounds mostly, concussive injuries, nothing fatal but enough to merit his attention. He stood at the main surgical console, barking orders at one of the junior techs, his posture rigid and voice clipped with disapproval. He hadn’t spoken to her once since arriving, which was just fine by her. His presence felt like static in her veins, and her body still remembered the sting of his last comment.

She finished the last chart with a swift keystroke, eyes scanning for errors, double-checking the date and time stamps. Everything was perfect, as it always was. Supplies alphabetized, medication carts locked, the coolers calibrated to exact temperatures—when she or Maya ran the med bay, there was no room for chaos. She hit submit, watching the file transfer before shutting down the system. The sleek, high-tech interface powered down with a soft whirr—military-funded equipment came with its perks, even if the people didn’t.

She stood to stretch, neck rolling to the side with a faint pop, when the doors burst open and Gideon strode in like he owned the place—even though he was cradling his arm in a very un-alpha-like display of discomfort. 

“Well,” he drawled with a crooked grin, “turns out you can fall off a jet if you’re in too much of a hurry to grab your damn helmet.” His flight suit was unzipped to his waist, a sheen of sweat still clinging to his skin, and the shoulder of his shirt beneath was stretched oddly, slightly higher than the other side. Dislocation. Obvious. And not urgent enough to pull Holt away from his precious trauma cases.

She arched a brow, hands already moving to grab gloves and wave Maya over from the next station. “You dislocated it after landing?”

“Don’t sound so disappointed.” He grinned, teeth bright despite the faint strain in his voice. “Wasn’t during the flight. Slipped on the goddamn stair ramp like a rookie.”

Maya appeared beside her with the sling kit and immobilizer already in hand, her expression unreadable but her pace efficient. “You’re lucky it didn’t break.”

“I’m lucky it’s you two and not Dr. Doom,” Gideon muttered, jerking his chin subtly toward the other end of the med bay where Holt was still barking instructions. “He looked at me like I’d pissed on his desk just walking in.”

She didn’t answer, but her lips twitched. Gideon climbed onto the exam table with a wince, moving carefully as he adjusted his hips, letting his bad arm rest across his lap. The way he sat, relaxed but wary, was familiar. He’d been in this room before. Always came in alone, always left with a thank-you and nothing else. He was comfortable here. Not just with her—but with being seen.

Maya gently pushed his collar aside, inspecting the bruising already forming along his shoulder. “You’re lucky you didn’t tear the capsule. How’s your range?”

He moved his fingers with minimal grimacing. “Still have feeling. Just hurts like hell.”

“We’ll do a closed reduction,” she said, stepping to the side to prep the equipment tray.

She stepped in beside him, gloved and calm. “Deep breaths,” she murmured. “On my count.”

“Gonna buy me dinner after?” he muttered, teeth gritted.

She ignored the comment and pressed her palm to his upper arm, the other stabilizing his shoulder. Her fingers tightened, motion precise, years of practice guiding the angle. “Three... two... one.” A sharp push and rotation, and there was a pop, followed by a gasp from him, breath catching in his throat as the shoulder slid back into place.

“Fuuuck me,” he hissed, half-laughing now, his good hand clutching the edge of the table.

“Not part of the standard care protocol,” Maya said dryly, already looping the sling around his arm.

He grinned through the pain, leaning back as the tension drained from his face. “Damn shame.”

She finished the assessment in silence, checking the alignment, testing mobility, her hands impersonal and clinical—but her eyes flicked to his, just once. And he was already watching her. Quiet, curious, not teasing now. Something else. Something steadier.

She stepped back, stripping the gloves off with a snap. “You’re grounded for forty-eight hours. I’ll write the note.”

He tilted his head. “That mean I get to hang around and annoy you for two days?”

She didn’t smile. But she didn’t tell him no.

Gideon flexed his fingers experimentally in the sling, testing the limit of movement with slow, measured gestures. The faint grimace tugging at his mouth made it clear he was still in pain, but he wore it like a badge, casual and unbothered. She finished inputting the post-reduction vitals into his chart, pretending not to notice how his gaze followed her movements. It wasn’t invasive—not quite—but it lingered, threaded with something playful, unspoken, waiting for her to acknowledge it.

“So, nurse,” he drawled, his voice warm like honey laced with smoke, “when do I get the gold star for bravery? Or at least a lollipop?”

“You want a sticker, Captain?” Her tone was flat, unimpressed. “We can put one on your chart. Right next to the part where it says ‘fell off own jet.’”

Maya snorted behind her mask, turning slightly to hide it as she sterilized the tray. Gideon’s grin stretched wider, unbothered by the jab, probably even enjoying it. “I’ll take whatever you’re handing out, sweetheart,” he said, his voice pitched lower now, just enough to ride the edge of propriety. “You know, I could get hurt more often if it meant seeing that pretty scowl of yours.”

She didn’t answer. Just pivoted, tapped the screen to finalize his clearance hold, and moved to the counter to print the grounding note. The thermal printer whirred softly beside her, a small but welcome interruption. Her fingers itched to say something sharper, something firm, but she knew the rules—every word she said, every shift in expression, would be dissected if anyone overheard. She didn’t get the luxury of being flustered. Not with him sitting in her bay and Holt pacing just thirty feet away.

And as if summoned by thought alone, Holt’s voice cut through the space like a scalpel.

“Captain,” he barked, loud enough for the nearby medics to pause mid-task, “is this your idea of a formal visit? Or are we running a recreational facility now?”

She didn’t look up, but the air around her changed. She felt the temperature of the room dip—not physically, but in that particular way an Omega could feel Alpha tension. Gideon, to his credit, didn’t bristle or stiffen. He turned his head toward Holt with maddening calm and said, “Just making sure your team gets the respect they deserve, sir.”

“I see,” Holt said, eyes cutting to her like a blade. “So that explains the flirtations in my facility.”

She froze, her breath going still in her throat, fingers halting over the paper. There it was. The accusation wrapped in formality, the implication that she was the one inviting attention simply by existing. Maya’s posture went rigid beside her, but she didn’t speak. This wasn’t the first time Holt had said something like that, and both of them knew it wouldn’t be the last.

“I wasn’t aware basic medical care required commentary,” she said evenly, turning around with the printed note in hand. “Captain dislocated his shoulder. We set it. He’s grounded for forty-eight hours pending follow-up.”

Gideon took the paper when she offered it, his eyes flicking between her and Holt. His expression didn’t change, but she could see the calculation behind his gaze, the way his shoulders tightened even as he lounged on the table. “They were professional,” he said flatly. “You’ve got a good team here, Doctor.”

Holt’s lip curled. “I’ll be the judge of what qualifies as professional.”

She didn’t blink. “Then feel free to review the chart,” she said. “Everything is documented.”

The silence that followed was sharp and heavy. Holt didn’t answer—just turned on his heel and strode back toward the trauma ward like the conversation hadn’t happened. But the damage had already been done. The eyes in the room—those of the junior medics, the flight tech who’d been waiting for clearance at the door—had all witnessed it. Again.

Gideon eased off the table with a soft grunt, the motion slow to avoid jarring his arm. He adjusted the sling, exhaled a tight breath, then looked at her with something softer in his expression. “I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”

“You didn’t,” she said, though the words came too fast, too clipped.

Maya handed off the disinfected tray without a word, stepping into the back room with a little more force than necessary. The sound of the door swinging shut echoed through the sterile quiet. Gideon lingered, thumb brushing the edge of the printout, eyes fixed on her like he wanted to say something more. Something real.

But she turned before he could.

“We’ll call you when your follow-up’s scheduled.” Her voice was smooth. Controlled. Bulletproof.

He hesitated, then nodded once.

And then he was gone. — The sirens hadn’t even finished wailing when the med bay doors slammed open and Gideon came barreling in, arms wrapped around a soldier soaked in blood. “GSW to the abdomen—he’s fading fast,” he barked, voice all clipped control and urgency, his flight suit streaked with red. She was already moving, gloves snapped on, the trauma bed cleared, barking orders to two junior nurses as she grabbed gauze and saline. Holt wasn’t on base—grounded by some emergency consult—and with no other doctors available, all eyes turned to her.

The soldier was barely conscious, breath coming in ragged bursts, blood pooling too fast beneath him. “Vitals crashing—BP’s sixty over thirty,” Maya called from the head of the bed, panic simmering beneath her voice. She didn’t flinch. “Two liters of saline, pressure bag. We’re opening him up right now.” Gideon didn’t speak, just handed her the surgical shears as she sliced through the uniform, her movements swift and sure.

She felt Gideon beside her, not hovering, not questioning—just there, a steady presence as she worked. He passed tools when she asked, held pressure when Maya’s hands faltered, his usual charm gone, replaced with a grim kind of reverence. His eyes never left her hands, watching the way she clamped a bleeder with precise, practiced fingers, her face a mask of focus. No trembling. No hesitation.

They got the soldier stabilized—barely—and she didn’t realize how soaked she was until they wheeled him out, the bed streaked in red and the silence ringing in the aftermath. Her shoulders slumped, gloves snapped off, and for a moment she just stood there, breathing like she’d been underwater. “You were…” Gideon’s voice broke the stillness behind her, low and quiet. “You saved his life. You didn’t even blink.”

She turned, not sure what to expect, but found him watching her like he didn’t quite know what to say—like the woman in front of him had rewritten something in his mind. “There wasn’t anyone else,” she said simply, voice hoarse, raw from adrenaline and restraint. “So I became someone.” He nodded slowly, then offered her a clean towel with a faint, shaken smile.

She took it, and for the first time in hours, she let herself feel the weight of what she’d done. And Gideon, for once, didn’t flirt, didn’t joke—he just stood with her, silent and steady, the way good men did when they knew they’d witnessed something extraordinary.

—

She was halfway through her end-of-shift checklist when the glint of broken glass caught her eye beneath the edge of the supply cabinet. The overhead lights reflected off the shattered edges, tiny crystalline shards scattered like ice across the sterile floor. Her brows furrowed, and she crouched down to get a better look, careful not to kneel too close in case anything had leaked. There was no residue, no odor, no vapor cloud curling into the air—just fractured glass, likely from one of the trauma vials used when Holt had been working in a rush earlier.

Accidents happened. Especially in the middle of treating three soldiers with shrapnel trauma, blood pressure tanks crashing, and adrenaline vials flying left and right. She grabbed gloves, a sterile bag, and the broom from the corner of the room, sweeping the remnants quickly, efficiently, and without much thought. When everything else was perfect, something like this stood out—out of place, but not suspicious.

She logged it in the end-of-day report under “minor inventory loss,” finished the last of her charting, and shut off the med bay lights. Outside, the dusk heat clung to the air, and the buzz of distant helicopters hummed over the hangars as she made her way back to her quarters. Once inside, the quiet settled around her like a second skin. She dropped her bag by the door, peeled off her boots, and turned toward the small kitchenette to start dinner.

It was always the same—rice, steamed vegetables, sometimes protein from the base rations if she hadn’t skipped too many meals. Tonight, she added soy sauce and sesame oil, trying to trick her senses into feeling something more indulgent. She ate standing at the counter, letting the muted sounds of her quarters ground her: the hum of the air vent, the faint ticking of the wall panel’s time display. When the dishes were washed and her shower was done, she slipped into her tank top and shorts and collapsed onto the couch, prepared to waste the rest of her evening in blissful silence.

But the heat came slowly, crawling up her spine like a whisper she couldn’t shake.

At first it was easy to ignore—just a flush across the back of her neck, a slight sheen of sweat along her collarbone. She adjusted the room temperature, assuming the heating grid had glitched again. Then her thighs began to feel sticky, her pulse stuttering, fingers trembling slightly as she reached for a glass of water that did nothing to quell the warmth blooming beneath her skin. Her mouth was dry, but it wasn’t thirst.

She sat there for several minutes, trying to will her body into calming down. Trying to rationalize the sudden warmth and sensitivity. But she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt like this—off-kilter and aching in a way that felt biological. Suppressed Omegas didn’t get flushy without reason. Something was wrong.

She grabbed her datapad from the nightstand, hands unsteady now, and scrolled through her contacts until Maya’s name lit up the screen. The line clicked almost immediately, static giving way to Maya’s voice, half-asleep but instantly alert. “Hey. What’s going on?”

“I think I’m—” she stopped, pressing a palm to her chest, trying to focus. Her breath came shallow, too fast. “I feel feverish. Not like a cold. It’s…it’s under my skin. My hands won’t stop shaking.”

There was a pause. Then rustling. Then Maya again, sharper now. “Did you miss your suppressant this month?”

“No,” she said quickly. “I got it on schedule. Three days ago. I documented it in the log.”

More silence. Then: “Anything weird happen before you left the med bay?”

She closed her eyes, retraced her steps—her routine, the checklist, her shutdown of the system. Then her eyes opened slowly, the image in her mind like a shard catching light. “There was a broken vial. I found it under the supply rack. No label. No scent. Just glass. I cleaned it up and tossed it.”

“Shit,” Maya hissed, voice now fully awake. “Do you know what ward it came from?”

She shook her head before remembering Maya couldn’t see her. “Holt was in trauma. Could’ve been one of his. It didn’t smell like anything.”

“If it was a raw concentration,” Maya said slowly, “and it was unfiltered… it wouldn’t have had to smell.”

Her stomach flipped. Not from fever, but fear.

“What if it was an Omega compound?” Maya added, voice grim now. “What if it was an unneutralized heat stimulant?” The silence between them was suddenly heavier than her own breath.

“That compound wouldn’t even be on base,” she snapped, her voice tight and rising too fast for comfort. Her body felt too warm now, the waistband of her shorts suddenly abrasive against the curve of her hips, her tank top clinging to her chest in a way that made her want to tear it off. “We don’t stock Omega-cycle stimulants, Maya. You know that. The only place that carries anything close is Research Logistics, and that’s three buildings over—behind two levels of security clearance.”

Maya’s voice stayed calm, but it was the kind of calm born of realization, not reassurance. “Unless someone brought it from off-base. Or had access to something Holt was running off the books in trauma. He’s high clearance—you really think it’s impossible?” There was a pause, then, soft but pointed, “Do you really think it's a coincidence you found it?”

That landed hard. Too hard.

She gripped the armrest of the couch, her knuckles going white. Her thoughts were starting to stutter—quick jolts of panic between the low, thrumming pulse of something igniting deep inside her. Her thighs pressed together, involuntarily, as her stomach gave a traitorous twist of heat that felt terrifyingly familiar. No. Not now. Not here.

“Maya,” she said, breath trembling, “I can’t be on base like this.”

“I know.”

“The suppressant—if it’s been counteracted, or triggered by something—” Her words faltered, body twitching with a spasm that left her panting. “I’m going to full heat. It’s starting. Fuck. I need off-base. Now.”

The other end of the line went silent for a second too long. Then: “Okay. Okay, listen to me. The apartments have scent barriers, your vents are isolated, and no one will catch on immediately. You’re not leaving a trail. You’re still lucid.”

“For now.” Her voice cracked.

“You’ve got a few hours before it gets bad enough to show. Pack a bag. Say your suppressants made you nauseous and you’re checking in to the offsite clinic. You’ve used that excuse before, right?”

“Yes,” she breathed, already rising unsteadily to her feet. Her muscles felt too loose, too hot, the seam of her shorts catching in places it never should. “I need to… need to cool down first. Shower again.”

“No,” Maya said sharply. “You shower again and you’ll trigger it worse. Your body’s already mistaking everything for prep. Don’t stimulate your skin. Don’t do anything that increases circulation.”

She swore under her breath, dragging her hands through her hair as the wave of heat crested and rolled down her spine. It wasn’t full-blown yet, but the tremors had started in her knees, and her scent—gods, it was climbing. She couldn’t smell it yet, but she could feel it rising like steam from her skin. She grabbed her datapad from the counter and opened the base transport request system.

“Do I risk it?” she whispered. “Calling transport off-base might flag me.”

Maya hesitated. “Use the civilian channel. You’re off duty. It’ll take longer, but it won’t go through command. Keep the window open, act casual, and keep your door locked. If you have anything that dulls scent, wear it.”

“I don’t,” she said, jaw clenched. “We ran out last week, remember?”

“Shit.” A beat passed. “Okay. Then get moving. I’ll meet you at the clinic door.”

She ended the call, her fingers already trembling as she pulled open her wardrobe and yanked out a plain duffel. Nothing fancy—just enough to pass for a medical overnight. A spare set of clothes, her ID, a water bottle. She thought about grabbing her emergency suppressants, but they’d do nothing now. Whatever had hit her had slipped under the monthly shot like a virus—quiet, precise, and devastating.

The scent barrier in the apartment held. She knew because when she opened the vent screen and leaned her head into the airflow, there was no return scent—no whiff of other Alphas, no residual pheromones. The barriers were thick, government standard, regulated for exactly this kind of disaster. Her fingers shook as she zipped the bag, hands brushing over her already-damp skin.

It was going to get worse. Fast.

But if she could just make it to the street… if she could just make it past the gates without being seen she had a chance.

She moved through the apartment with a frantic precision, packing her go-bag with fingers that trembled at the seams. The duffel held everything essential—change of clothes, ID, two water bottles, her data tablet, and a small thermal pouch for leftovers. Even in the growing fog of heat, her muscle memory held fast: the stovetop was checked twice, her meal containers sealed and stacked, lights powered down room by room. She paused only once, by the mirror near the door, and stared into the reflection of someone she barely recognized—flushed, drawn, a fine sheen of sweat already kissing her temples.

The air outside was thick with desert heat and engine oil, the familiar scent of the base’s main lot overwhelming—but it was hers, she’d walked it a thousand times before. She kept her head down, pace brisk, the collar of her jacket pulled up high despite the heat as a useless psychological shield. No one gave her a second look, and the base’s scent barriers held—no pheromones bleeding into the air, no alphas on patrol snapping their heads toward her. She clutched her duffel tighter and slipped into the stream of foot traffic that curved toward the south gate where Maya would be waiting with a civilian shuttle requisition.

But fate wasn’t done kicking her yet.

He appeared just as she stepped into the long, exposed corridor that ran between the parking structure and the gate checkpoint—hands in his pockets, flight suit half-unzipped, dark hair tousled from a post-flight rinse. Gideon’s easy stride faltered when his eyes met hers, and then stopped completely. He tensed—not the way most alphas did, not with hunger or threat—but like someone catching the scent of smoke and knowing something was wrong. His nostrils flared, eyes narrowing as the scent hit him square in the chest.

“You’re in heat,” he said, voice low, steady. Not alarmed. Not eager. Concerned.

She stepped back instinctively, her palm lifting between them in warning, even as the flush spread down her neck and pooled in the hollow of her spine. “Don’t,” she said, breath shallow, vision flickering at the edges. “Please. I’m handling it. I’m not—I’m not a threat.”

He didn’t move closer. He didn’t even blink. “You’re not a threat,” he said evenly. “You’re suffering.”

“I’m not your problem.” She clenched her jaw. “I don’t want to drag you into this. Just let me get to the gate.”

“I’m not here to claim you, or scent you, or do anything you don’t want,” he said, hands still loose in his pockets. “Let me help you get somewhere safe. That’s all.”

Her chest ached at the kindness in his tone, the way he spoke to her like she was human—not a hazard, not a walking biological emergency. She looked away for a moment, struggling against the next rise of heat already boiling under her skin, her thighs clenching on instinct. Finally, she nodded once, sharp and short. “Fine. But don’t touch me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

They walked in silence, her steps growing less sure as the distance wore on. His presence beside her was comforting in a way that shouldn’t have been—broad-shouldered and calm, just there, without pressing in on her space. He didn’t pepper her with questions, didn’t make jokes, didn’t treat it like a novelty. He just matched her pace, hands still pocketed, eyes flicking around with quiet vigilance.

But twenty yards from the meeting point, her body gave out.

The crash hit like a freight train—slick flooding, knees buckling, heat blooming so violently she whimpered and doubled over, her duffel hitting the ground as she braced herself on a trembling leg. Her breath stuttered, eyes glazing over, and the whole world tilted sideways. Too hot. Too fast. Her scent, suppressed for so long, finally broke loose in full force—a punch of sweet, aching Omega heat that no one within ten feet could have missed.

“I can’t—” she gasped, the word catching in her throat.

“I’ve got you,” Gideon said quickly, moving only when she gave him a weak nod. He grabbed her bag with one hand and wrapped his other arm gently under hers, guiding her away from the gate. “We’re not going to the clinic. You’re not going to make it. I’m taking you to my barrack. It’s closer.”

“I can’t go there,” she slurred, head rolling back slightly. “It smells like you.”

“I know,” he murmured, his voice quiet but firm. “But it’s safe. And right now, that matters more.”

She didn’t have the strength to argue. He kept his grip loose, only touching where she allowed it, supporting her weight without pressing his body to hers, despite the overwhelming scent spiraling between them. Her heat clawed at the inside of her ribs like a wild animal, dragging guttural whines from the back of her throat, but he didn’t flinch. He didn’t react. He just moved, fast and sure, cutting through the base toward shelter with every step measured and merciful.

And behind her eyes, as the fever claimed her, she tried not to imagine how it would feel when the scent of him finally wrapped around her like a second skin.

Gideon had barely gotten the door shut behind them before she slumped against the wall, hands fisting in her jacket as another wave of heat rolled through her, sharp and dizzying. Her face was flushed, sweat beading at her temple, jaw clenched tight against the low moan threatening to escape. He set her bag down gently by the couch, then pulled out his comm unit and stepped to the far side of the room, giving her space even now. His thumb moved fast over the screen until Maya’s name connected, the line picking up with immediate urgency.

“She didn’t make it to you,” he said, voice low but steady. “She’s with me. Heat’s fully triggered—she collapsed outside the south checkpoint. I couldn’t leave her in the open.”

Maya’s sigh cracked in his ear, heavy and tight. “I figured. I could smell it before I even made it to the gate. Someone on patrol’s going to report it any minute if they haven’t already. She’s lucky it was you who found her.”

“I’m trying to keep her comfortable,” Gideon said, glancing back at the Omega now curled on the floor by the edge of his bed, fingers dragging over the carpet like it hurt to touch anything. “She’s burning up. She needs a nest. Do you have suppressants?”

“I can bring some,” Maya said. “But if she’s that deep, they might not work fast enough—if at all. And if anyone notices, you’ll be questioned.”

“I can take the heat,” he replied, without hesitation.

There was a pause, and then Maya’s voice dropped into a darker, dead-serious tone that hummed with threat. “You hurt her—if you touch her without her saying so, without her really saying so—I’ll find a way to kill you that leaves no witnesses, and I’ll be smiling at your funeral in dress whites.”

Gideon didn’t laugh. “I’d let you,” he said, and meant it. “But I won’t lay a hand on her unless she wants it. Really wants it. I know it gets foggy when things escalate, but I’ll keep my distance unless she reaches out.”

“Good,” Maya said after a long breath. “She doesn’t trust easily. She pretends she does, but you’ll know when it’s real. Let her lead, and for fuck’s sake, don’t treat her like she’s broken.”

He promised again, softer this time, and they ended the call. When he turned back, she had dragged herself upright and was now half-sitting, half-hunched near the edge of the bed, shivering despite the visible heat radiating off her skin. Her eyes were glazed but aware, pupils blown wide and breath shallow as she clung to the leg of the bedframe like it grounded her. Gideon didn’t speak, just moved quietly to the linen closet and grabbed every clean blanket he owned—thick military-issue fleece, spare sheets, even the old throw from his flight locker.

“They’re clean,” he said gently, kneeling near her without crossing the invisible line of scent and space between them. “But they smell like me. I know that might not be what you want, but it’s what I’ve got. You can take whatever helps.”

She didn’t speak at first. Just looked at him, eyes glassy with heat but not unseeing. And then—slowly, almost reverently—she reached forward and took the top blanket from the pile. Pressed it to her nose, breathed deep, and let out a broken sound that vibrated in her throat like relief.

He backed away as she began building her nest. It was a quiet process, not frantic or messy—methodical, even in her haze. She layered the blankets across the bed, bunching some near the pillows, others at the edges like borders. The bed was too big for her alone, but she moved like she’d done this before, hands trembling as she arranged everything into soft, circular safety.

It wasn’t ideal. It wasn’t hers. But it was his, and somehow that made it feel less terrifying.

The scent of him was everywhere—in the walls, in the sheets, in the air—but instead of recoiling, her body began to settle, her nerves relaxing just enough to let her fold into the heat rather than fight it. His scent didn’t crowd her. It didn’t demand. It surrounded, protective without pressing in, present without crushing.

And hadn’t she looked for him on Heat Haven?

Hadn’t her fingers typed his name without her even realizing what she hoped to find?

She sank deeper into the nest, curling into the blankets as her body trembled again, lower now, like the worst of the storm had hit and begun to pass. There was more coming—she could feel it in the bones of her hips, in the ache building between her legs—but for now, she was safe. She had warmth. She had silence. She had him—at a distance, but here.

–

He soaked a rag in cool water from the small sink near his bathroom, wrung it out carefully, then crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps. She was curled in the center of the bed, wrapped tightly in the blankets he’d given her, her breathing shallow but steady now, her skin flushed and glistening with the deep fever of early heat. He didn’t ask to touch her—just knelt beside the bed, reached out carefully, and laid the rag across her forehead with the same tenderness he might use to touch a live wire. She stirred at the contact, murmured something unintelligible, but didn’t pull away.

That was permission enough.

He moved to grab the canteen from her bag, unscrewed the top, and returned to the bed with slow hands and soft words. “You need to drink,” he said, his voice a low murmur. “Even if it’s just a sip.” She blinked blearily up at him, lips parted, and when he tipped the canteen to her mouth she accepted it with a shaky swallow, her throat working under his hand.

He steadied her head while she drank, watched the line of her jaw tense and release, watched her body curl tighter when the next pulse of heat dragged a soft whimper from her lips. It broke something in him—not lust, not possessiveness, but a visceral protectiveness so strong he had to clench his fists to keep from reaching for her more fully. This wasn’t about rut. It wasn’t about the sweet ache in the air. It was about her, raw and trembling and still trying to hold onto her pride.

He pulled the rag back, rewet it, replaced it on her head. She hummed at the contact, almost grateful, and turned her face into the scent of the blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Gideon sat back on the floor, one hand braced on the carpet, and let his thoughts wander for the first time since the whole damn night started. He thought about how they’d met—not in some moonlit neutral zone or a city cafe, but in a steel-and-white med bay with blood on the floors and regulations stacked like cages around her. She hadn’t looked at him like an Alpha then. She hadn’t looked at anyone like that.

And yet here she was.

He wondered what would’ve happened if they’d met somewhere else—somewhere far from the military, far from Holt and regulations and scent blockers and walls thick with obligation. If he’d bumped into her in a bookstore, or on a crowded shuttle. If she’d smiled that quiet, tired smile at him and asked for directions, not clearance papers. Would she have laughed with him? Would he have gotten to know her voice before he knew the cadence of her medical reports?

He shook the thought loose—it was pointless. They’d met here. Now. With her body burning from a chemical sabotage neither of them could prove and her heat clawing through her like wildfire. And yet—despite it all—she was still trying to be composed. Still trying not to ask for help, even as she sank deeper into his scent.

He stood carefully and adjusted the nearest blanket, tucking it closer to her shoulder, watching as she sighed and burrowed deeper into the pile. “You’re safe,” he said quietly, knowing she might not even remember the words come morning. “You’re not alone. Not tonight.” The words weren’t promises, just truths, low and steady and real.

She whimpered softly, one hand reaching out—not to him, but toward the warmth of the bedspread, the scent-soaked center of her hastily built nest. He didn’t take it as invitation. He just stayed close, sitting on the floor beside the bed, knees drawn up, back against the frame. A silent sentinel, not a lover. Not yet.

He would’ve given anything to take the fire from her, to carry some of it himself. But all he could do was keep the water full, the rags cool, and his voice low. To offer something no one else ever had the decency to give her.

Time. Patience.

And the promise he would not take what she didn’t offer.

She moved under the blankets like something pulled by instinct rather than thought, her fingers tangling in one of the folds, then reaching blindly beyond the edge of the nest. Gideon felt it before he saw it—that sudden gravity shift, the ripple of scent that grew sweeter, sharper, impossible to ignore. Then her hand found his shoulder, trembling and uncertain, and her lips parted around a single word that cracked straight down the middle of his chest.

“…Alpha.”

His breath hitched, not from surprise but from how easily it slid under his skin—how it summoned every fantasy he’d tried to keep buried beneath humor and duty and half-hearted distance. The word wasn’t a command. It was a plea, cracked and fragile. Her hand slid from his shoulder to his jaw, cupping his face with soft, fever-warm fingers, and he leaned into it like he was starving.

And maybe he was. For her.

For too long, he’d carried the image of her like something sacred. Her sharp tongue. The tired curve of her smile. The way her fingers danced over tablet screens with surgical precision. He’d imagined kissing her too many damn times—behind the breakroom, in the med bay after hours, once even on the launch deck when she’d laughed at something stupid he said, a laugh that didn’t belong in a place so sterile. It was stupid, wasn’t it? A big, broad-shouldered Alpha fantasizing about brushing his thumb along her cheek and tucking her hair behind her ear like some daydream-drenched teenager.

Now her heat-slicked skin burned inches from his own, and her eyes—wide and glassy and beautiful—searched his face like he was something she wanted, not something she feared.

“Promise you won’t hate me when this is over…” His voice broke around the words, quiet and cracked open as he leaned closer, his forehead almost touching hers. “Please. I couldn’t take it.”

She blinked slowly, her thumb dragging along the stubble at his jaw, her breath fanning against his lips. Her scent was everywhere now—honey-slick and sun-warm and desperate—and it should’ve made him lose control. But it didn’t. He didn’t move an inch closer until she whispered, soft and certain, like it cost her the last of her strength:

“Could never hate you.”

It undid him.

His mouth met hers with the reverence of someone who had waited too long and never thought it would come. The kiss wasn’t rough. It wasn’t claiming. It was slow, deep, aching—like pouring water into cracked earth. Her lips parted with a soft, needy sound, and his hand rose to cradle the side of her face, his thumb brushing her temple as he kissed her again, deeper this time, until her fingers curled against his chest and pulled him closer.

He didn’t climb into her nest.

He stayed on the edge, balanced on the precipice of restraint, giving her everything except the one thing she hadn’t asked for yet.

But gods, the taste of her was going to haunt him. The heat between them wasn’t just biological—it was want, buried for too long, fed in secret moments and stifled dreams. He kissed her like a starving man, like the future was folded into her mouth, like if he let go too soon she might vanish.

And when she whimpered into the kiss, her body trembling with fever, Gideon whispered against her lips, “I’ve got you.”

Even if he only got to have this once.

She pulled her shirt over her head with a clumsy sort of grace, fever-slick hands trembling slightly as the fabric caught for a second at her elbows, and then it was gone—tossed blindly into the corner of the bed. Gideon’s breath caught in his throat, not just at the sudden reveal of skin but at the way she moved—unselfconscious, flushed, driven by need. He’d imagined peeling her out of her clothes slowly, kissing every new inch of exposed skin, letting his hands do the work while she writhed under him. But this? Watching her strip for him, desperate to feel air on her body, to get closer—it was fucking devastating.

He smiled, a slow curve of heat beneath the restraint, as she reached for the waistband of her pants next and shoved them down, dragging underwear with them in one ungraceful tug. Her thighs parted instinctively as she lay back into the nest, body flushed and glistening, and he could see how wet she already was—slick dripping onto the blankets, pooling at the crease where her legs met. His cock strained against the confines of his sweats, painful and throbbing, but he didn’t touch himself. He didn’t need to. He’d been hard since the word Alpha left her mouth like it belonged to him.

She reached out, fingers curled in demand now, and tugged him down into the nest with a soft growl of frustration. “Too far,” she muttered, and he laughed under his breath as he kicked off his shoes, then crawled in beside her, still fully clothed. The second he settled between her thighs, the heat of her slick soaked into the front of his pants, soaking through the cotton like steam against his skin. She whined, fingers tugging at his shirt. “You’re still dressed. That’s not fair.”

“I was trying to be polite,” he murmured, lips already ghosting across her jaw as he leaned in. “You did say no touching without permission.”

“You’re in my nest,” she shot back, voice breathy. “You’re already touching.”

“Can’t argue with that logic,” he chuckled, then kissed her—deep and hot, tongue sweeping into her mouth while her hips lifted to grind against him, slick smearing wet and obscene across his front. His hands roamed now, finally, smoothing over the curve of her waist, the underside of her thighs, mapping her like a territory he’d memorized in dreams. When he broke the kiss, it was only to trail his mouth down the column of her throat, slow and reverent, until he found the pulse thudding just beneath the skin of her scent gland.

The moment his tongue dragged over it, she keened, her legs tightening around his hips as her fingers clawed into the back of his shirt. “More—please, Gideon—there, again,” she begged, voice thin and wrecked with need, her scent blooming sharp and dizzying around them. He flattened his tongue against the gland and sucked gently, lips closing over it, and her entire body arched beneath him like she’d been electrocuted. The sound she made—high, broken, completely gone—shot straight to his cock, and he groaned against her skin, rut instincts clawing at his spine now, vicious and unrelenting.

She tasted unreal there—like ozone and honey, sweat and heat, everything his instincts said was right. His mind spun, thoughts dripping out of order, dissolving into raw desire, and he couldn’t stop picturing what she’d taste like between her thighs. The scent of her slick was thick now, coating the air around them in syrupy, wanton perfume, and he swore he could feel it through his pants, wetting his cock even through the layers. He slid his hands lower, down the back of her thighs, spreading her open just enough to see how she glistened in the low light dripping, soaked, her cunt flushed and swollen and begging to be tasted and gods help him he wanted it more than anything.

He kissed a path down her body like it was scripture he was finally allowed to read—mouth brushing over the soft slope of her sternum, the curve of her ribs, the trembling muscles of her belly. Her skin was hot to the touch, damp with heat-slick sweat, her scent rising off her like steam, coating his tongue with every pass of his lips. When he reached her thighs, he spread them gently, reverently, pressing kisses along the insides, nipping at the tender flesh just enough to make her jolt. She moaned, high and desperate, hips lifting as if her body had already given itself to him a hundred times in her dreams.

He settled between her legs like it was his home, arms looped under her thighs to anchor her open, and buried his face in her cunt without hesitation. Her slick hit his tongue hot and thick, an obscene flood of salt and sweetness that made his hips rut against the bed beneath him. He groaned into her folds, nose brushing against her clit as he licked her open with slow, greedy strokes, savoring the way she cried out with every movement. His tongue circled and dragged and thrust, and the sounds she made—gods, the sounds—drove every last thought out of his mind until only her taste and the scent of her heat remained.

She twisted above him, heels digging into the blankets, fists knotted in the sheets, her voice a breathless chant of his name. “Gideon—please, I need—I need you inside—I can’t—” she gasped, thighs trembling around his shoulders. He flicked his tongue across her clit one last time, slow and deliberate, then lifted his head, chin slick with her, heart pounding like a war drum in his chest. 

The way she looked, eyes glassy, mouth open, her entire body glistening with fever and want was something he knew would be burned into him for the rest of his life.

He sat back on his knees, yanked off his shirt in one rough motion, then shoved his sweatpants down over his hips, finally freeing the aching weight of his cock. It slapped against his stomach, thick and flushed, the tip wet with precome, twitching as if it had been waiting for this moment since the day they met. 

Her eyes dropped to it, and she moaned, one hand reaching between her legs to spread herself open, the other bracing behind her as her hips lifted toward him. Gideon growled low in his throat, grabbed her thighs, and raised them, resting her calves on his shoulders, lining himself up with her slick, fluttering entrance.

He pushed in slow, careful, watching her face the entire time as his cock breached her heat-swollen cunt. The slide was perfect, tight and wet and so fucking hot he had to bite his lip to keep from losing control right then and there. She gasped, legs tightening around his shoulders, her back arching as he filled her inch by inch, her body clenching around him like it was made for this. He groaned as he bottomed out, hips flush to hers, the pressure inside him unbearable—but he held still, chest heaving, drinking in the sight of her undone beneath him.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he rasped, voice rough with restraint. “Tell me and I’ll stop.”

She just whimpered, eyes locked on his, and whispered, “Don’t stop. Please—don’t ever stop.”

He held there for a moment, cock buried to the base inside her, trembling with the effort not to move too fast, too hard, too much. Her body clenched around him in slow, rhythmic pulses, each one coaxing a strangled groan from his throat. She was so wet, slick dripping down his shaft, pooling under her, every inch of him surrounded by heat and pressure and her. Gideon pressed a kiss to her ankle where it rested on his shoulder, then another just below her knee, trying to ground himself with the taste of her skin.

He rolled his hips forward, slow and deep, and the breath she released was a broken, high-pitched thing that made his cock throb inside her. He pulled back just enough to feel her flutter around the tip, then sank in again, dragging against her walls with a slow grind that made her head fall back against the blankets. 

“Fuck, you feel…” he couldn’t even finish it, the words lost in the haze of wet heat and her gasping breaths. She looked wrecked—blushed skin, swollen lips, pupils blown wide and he couldn’t look away from the way her body arched into him, greedy and open.

“More,” she whispered, voice thinned by the desperation in her throat. “Harder—please, Alpha, I need it—need you deeper, need you to fuck me.” The sound of it—Alpha, from her lips, hoarse and needy—snapped something in his spine, his hips snapping forward with a sharp thrust that dragged a scream from her. She tightened around him like a vice, and he groaned, deep and guttural, fingers digging into the meat of her thighs as he set a punishing rhythm.

The slap of skin filled the room, raw and wet, her slick splattering with every thrust, soaking him, the blankets, the sheets beneath. His cock drove in and out of her tight heat, dragging along every sensitive ridge inside her, his own vision beginning to blur at the edges. She writhed beneath him, nails clawing at the blankets, her head tossed side to side as her heat consumed her entirely. And he was with her, inside her, every thrust a promise—you’re safe, you’re mine, I’ve got you.

He shifted his grip, sliding his arms beneath her knees, bending her more, folding her open, deeper now, the angle making her sob. 

“So fucking tight,” he growled, rut pulsing in his blood now, animal and thunderous, but held back by the thin thread of control she’d trusted him with. 

She was babbling now, lips glossed with spit, voice cracking as she begged for his knot, begged to be filled, bred, taken. He hadn’t knotted anyone in years—but the way her cunt milked him, the way she pleaded—he didn’t know how long he could hold it back.

“Gideon,” she gasped, and that—not Alpha, but Gideon—nearly undid him. Something personal. Real. Not just heat-driven instinct, but her, seeing him through the haze. He leaned down, bracing himself over her, and kissed her again, mouths wet and desperate, his cock driving up into her so deep her breath stuttered against his lips.

“Gonna come,” he growled into her mouth, and she nodded frantically, hips grinding up to meet every thrust. 

“Want you to come with me, sweetheart. Want to feel it.” Her walls tightened with brutal force, the rhythm of her cries breaking as she shattered around him, shaking, sobbing, slick gushing as her orgasm tore through her like fire. He felt it—every spasm, every pulse—and then his own climax surged forward, brutal and blinding.

With a growl torn from somewhere feral and primal, his hips snapped forward one last time, locking them together as his knot swelled, locking them tight.

And he came, hot and endless, spilling deep inside her with a groan that echoed through the room.

—

She woke to the sound of his heartbeat, heavy and solid beneath her ear, the slow rise and fall of his chest steady against her cheek. His arm was curled tightly around her waist, the weight of it anchoring her to his bare chest, and his breath warmed the side of her neck where he’d tucked his face in the night. Her body ached in the most intimate way—hips sore, thighs damp with the evidence of everything they’d done—but it wasn’t pain, not exactly. Still, as her eyes adjusted to the filtered morning light spilling through his narrow window, panic licked at the edge of her thoughts.

The heat hadn’t broken. Not entirely. It simmered just below the surface, low and taut, like something gathering in her bones to strike again. Her skin felt too hot, her thighs still slick, and though she didn’t want to move from the safety of his hold, she felt the anxious twist of biology reminding her that it wasn’t over—not yet.

Her hand drifted up slowly, fingertips brushing his jaw, coarse with stubble that rasped gently under her touch. He stirred with a grunt, breath catching for a moment, then slowly blinked awake, his eyes meeting hers from beneath heavy lashes. Honey-brown and clear, even in sleep, and gods, they saw her. No fog, no haze of rut—just him, Gideon, looking at her like she was the only thing he wanted to see.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low, still rough from sleep, his lips brushing the curve of her throat.

She swallowed hard, lips parting, but no words came out at first. The heat pulsed once beneath her skin, a cruel reminder that her body wasn’t done with her, and she had no idea how much more she could take. But his eyes were calm, his voice grounding, and for a moment the panic eased just enough for her to breathe. “I don’t know,” she whispered honestly, “It’s not done. I thought it would be but... it’s coming back.”

He didn’t flinch. He just nodded, his hand tightening slightly at her back in silent reassurance, and pulled her in closer like she was something to be shielded, not endured. “We’ll get through it,” he murmured, lips pressing a kiss just below her ear. “I’ve got you. However long it takes.”

Tears pricked her eyes—not from pain or heat, but from how easy he made it sound, like taking care of her wasn’t something difficult, wasn’t an obligation. Like she hadn’t spent the last years of her life proving over and over that she didn’t need anyone, only to unravel in his bed, in his arms, with his scent still filling her lungs. She buried her face against his chest again, pressing a kiss just above his heart, clinging to the fragile quiet between one wave and the next. “Don’t let me lose myself when it comes back,” she murmured. “I want to remember this part. You.”

His arms flexed around her at those words, like her confession had slipped beneath his skin and anchored there, deep and unshakable. His hand moved to her back, splaying wide, fingertips tracing the subtle ridges of her spine as if to remind her she was still here, still held. “I won’t let you forget,” he said, voice low and thick, the kind of promise spoken from the center of his chest. “Even if the heat drags you under again, I’ll be here to pull you back up. I’ll keep your name in my mouth if that’s what it takes.”

She shuddered—not from fear, but from the way those words settled in her, warm and heavy like something sacred. Most Alphas talked about claiming, about ownership and need and the bite at the end. But Gideon’s vow wasn’t to mark her—it was to remember her. To hold on to who she was even when she couldn’t.

Her fingers pressed into his ribs, just enough to feel the solidness of him, the way his heart beat under her hand. “Don’t let me disappear into it,” she said again, quieter now, her voice fraying at the edges. “When it gets worse—don’t treat me like something broken. I don’t want to come out of this feeling like I was… something to endure.”

“You’re not.” He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze again, his honey-brown eyes clear and soft and burning all at once. “You’re not broken. You’re not too much. And I’m not here to survive you—I’m here to stay with you, all the way through.”

She didn’t respond, not in words. Her mouth found his, slow and full of gratitude, of ache, of hope. He kissed her back with care but without hesitation, lips parting to drink her in, one hand rising to cradle her cheek like she was something fragile—but not delicate. She could feel the need pulsing in her belly again, lower, deeper, heat swirling in her blood like a storm gathering on the horizon.

But when she pulled away and rested her forehead against his, she was still breathing steady. She was still herself.

And that was because of him.

The heat lasted what felt like an eternity.

Days blurred together inside the scent-heavy cocoon of his barrack, her body constantly moving between trembling aftermath and desperate, slick-drenched need. Gideon lost count of how many times he’d held her down with one hand and cradled her face with the other, whispering her name while she broke apart around him. Her heat didn’t just come in waves—it crashed, rising without mercy, wringing her dry and then flooding her again, and he stayed through every second of it. He was hers—not in instinct, not in some rut-blind haze, but by choice.

He sent the first message to command somewhere between the third and fourth cycle, his fingers flying over the data pad, jaw clenched in fury. His words were sharp, unfiltered: This wasn’t natural. Someone used a synthetic stimulant. Someone did this to her, and you better fucking believe I won’t let it go. When he didn’t receive a reply within twelve hours, he sent a second—more venomous, more detailed, attaching a timestamped report and a request for immediate investigation. There was no protocol in place for this, but that didn’t mean he would let them bury it.

He accused Holt directly in the fifth message.

You let it happen under your watch. If you didn’t do it, someone in your ward did, and you turned a blind eye. She’s not a complication—she’s a soldier. One more hour like this and I’ll bring her to the command office myself, so you can see what you’ve done.

In the quiet moments between her cries and the slick snap of skin against skin, Gideon stared at his screen, waiting, daring them to answer. But they didn’t. Not at first. And so he kept her warm, kept her safe, fed her water and broth that Maya dropped off every twenty hours in sealed containers—each one labeled in Maya’s tight, neat script: hang in there, asshole. if you hurt her, i’m cutting your cock off. He grinned the first time he saw it. After the third delivery, he stopped laughing.

Because her heat didn’t break.

It just kept coming.

She’d curl up in her nest, trembling, flushed and damp, whispering his name like a prayer. Then she’d roll against him again, thighs parted, heat igniting under her skin until she was soaked, needy, begging to be filled. He gave her everything—his mouth, his fingers, his cock, over and over until his knot ached so deep he thought he’d never pop one again. And then she’d whimper, say his name just right, and he’d swell again like it was the first time.

He’d never come so hard in his life. Never so often.

She took it all—shaking and moaning, her cunt pulsing around his knot, her body clinging to him with every orgasm like she couldn’t breathe without him. He watched her fall apart over and over, wrecked and slick and beautiful, her eyes unfocused but always turning to him. He knew when she was still there, knew when the heat blurred her—but even in the worst of it, she never screamed for anyone else. Just him. Always him.

By the fourth day, his hips ached. His cock throbbed with phantom tension even when he wasn’t inside her. His balls were drawn so tight it felt like every release drained something deeper than just come—and still she’d move against him, moaning, “Please, Alpha—again, I need it again—”

And fuck if he didn’t give it to her.

Because every time she pulled him into her, every time her body opened for him, slick and fluttering and desperate, he felt her come back a little. A flicker of clarity behind the heat. A quiet murmur of his name instead of just Alpha. A kiss pressed to his throat. Her fingers curling into his hair like she knew him.

So he stayed. He fucked her through every fevered peak. And every time he knotted inside her and held her close, he whispered into her skin, “I’ve got you. I’m right here. I’m not leaving.”

It broke on the seventh day.

Seven days of slick, of heat, of trembling cries and desperate hands clawing at his back, begging for another knot, another push, another deep, slow fill. Seven days of her burning under his hands, her scent thick as syrup in the air, clinging to his sheets, his skin, his soul. When she finally stopped shaking—when her body stilled and her breath came deep and even, her head heavy on his chest without tension—he didn’t believe it at first. But then her scent changed, softened, no longer sharp with need but mellow, clean, and he knew she was finally on the other side.

He’d never moved so fast and so exhausted in his life.

While she slept like the dead, curled deep in what remained of the nest, Gideon stripped the bed bare, dragging every towel, sheet, and shirt into the washing bin, the floor damp with the scent of her heat. He messaged the higher-ups again, this time with a full biological log—seven days of persistent heat, unheard of, unrecorded, and undeniably artificial. No natural Omega cycle lasted that long, not without some chemical interference, and his report was sharp, clinical, and laced with fury.

He was out of towels, out of blankets, out of clean anything.

The place looked like a war zone—a very specific kind of war—and he didn’t care that his back ached or his knot felt like it had been wrung out and hung to dry. He opened his food app and ordered the greasiest, fattiest, most indulgent meal two people could legally share without risking heart failure: grilled cheese soaked in butter, honey-basted chicken, cheesy potatoes, and fried dumplings stuffed with pork and garlic. If he didn’t replenish calories soon, he swore he might pass out—and she was going to need it just as badly. He'd lost at least five pounds, and yet he’d do it again without blinking because she was worth every goddamn second.

He padded barefoot back to the bedroom with the scent of food trailing behind him, his hair still damp from a sink wash, his chest bare, his body marked with faint love bites and fading claw scratches. She was still asleep, soft and loose-limbed in a fresh blanket he’d managed to pull from a reserve locker, her face no longer twisted with need. It was peaceful—she was peaceful—and something about that made his chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion. He knelt beside the bed and brushed her hair back from her face, leaned down, and kissed her cheek, just beneath the eye.

Her lashes fluttered, a small, pleased hum slipping from her lips, and when her eyes opened and focused on him, she smiled—really smiled. Not the heat-drunk, breathless curve of her mouth he’d seen a dozen times, but something quiet, present, full of awareness and something almost shy. He leaned in again, this time kissing her mouth, slow and soft, lingering as her fingers curled in the back of his neck. When he pulled away, her lips chased his slightly, and it made him grin.

“Come eat,” he whispered, nudging his nose against hers. “I ordered everything I’m not supposed to eat for the next six months. It’s disgusting and drenched in butter and carbs and I swear it might kill me, but you need it.” His thumb brushed her cheek, and his voice dropped lower. “And I want to watch you smile like that again while we eat like absolute animals.”

She climbed out of bed slowly, her legs a little shaky but her body her own again, no longer ruled by fevered instinct. One of his shirts hung off her frame—too big, soft with wear, and smelling like him—and she hadn’t asked to wear it, hadn’t needed to. She’d spotted it on the floor near the bed and tugged it on without hesitation, grounding herself in his scent now that it didn’t make her want to crawl out of her skin. It felt like claiming something back, even if only a piece of calm in the aftermath of chaos.

Gideon was already in the living room, barefoot and shirtless, surrounded by takeout containers spread open on the coffee table like a feast for starving beasts. He looked up when she appeared, and something soft flickered across his face—relief, maybe, or awe, or just her, upright and lucid and real. “Hey,” he said, his voice warm and low as he held out a drink with bright packaging. “Full of electrolytes, vitamins, sodium, sugar… basically every sin your heat just wrung out of you.”

She smiled as she took it, fingers brushing his briefly, and he turned back to the table, already loading up a plate for her with buttery chicken and carb-heavy sides. “I got extra of everything. And dessert. And probably a week’s worth of calories.” He handed her the plate, eyes flicking to hers as his voice dipped. “Didn’t know what you’d want. I just wanted you to have… anything.”

She sat down beside him on the couch, the food smelling like heaven, the warmth of his body anchoring her even though he didn’t reach for her. There was a tightness behind his words, something unsaid pressing against the back of his throat, and it mirrored the guilt blooming quietly in her chest. She picked at a dumpling before finally speaking, her voice quiet but certain. “I didn’t mean to take over your life. I know you didn’t ask for this.”

He shook his head, setting down his drink with a soft clink and turning toward her, his knee brushing hers. “I wasn’t going to let you go through that alone. But…” His throat worked as he swallowed, eyes searching her face. “I just hope you don’t regret it. Or me.”

She blinked, then leaned in without hesitation, her hand curling behind his neck as she kissed him—slow, deliberate, full of everything she hadn’t been able to say during the blur of heat. His hand settled on her thigh, grounding, still careful, but he kissed her back like it meant something deeper. When they parted, she rested her forehead against his, their breaths shared in the narrow space between them. “I don’t regret it,” she whispered. “Not even close.”

A beat passed between them, quiet but heavy, before she laughed softly, brushing her thumb along his jaw. “I looked you up,” she admitted. “On Heat Haven. Before all this. Wanted to see if you were there.”

His brows lifted, eyes crinkling. “And?”

���I was happy you weren’t.” She smiled against his skin. “It meant this… wasn’t something you just do. That it was just you.”

They ate in companionable silence, the clatter of chopsticks and forks the only sound between them. She devoured everything he gave her, each bite easing some tension from her frame, each swallow grounding her a little more in the now. He watched her with quiet satisfaction, nursing his own food more slowly, as if just seeing her upright and sated was enough to feed him. No words were needed, not yet—not after everything.

Afterwards, she padded toward the bathroom, her limbs still sore, the weight of exhaustion draped across her shoulders like a second skin. He followed without a word, hands steady as he helped her undress, kissing her temple but nothing more. The shower steamed around them, hot water pounding over bruised skin, and they washed in tandem—gentle hands, slow movements, her head resting against his chest. Neither of them touched with intent; they couldn’t, not after what their bodies had already given—she was half certain she’d pass out, and he was entirely certain his cock had gone into hibernation.

When they dried off, she leaned into him with a tired smile, and he pressed a kiss to her damp forehead, breathing her in like she was something sacred. That night, they lay tangled in clean sheets, stripped of tension and fire, just quiet, steady breathing and the closeness of bodies at peace. “We have to find out who did it,” she murmured as they settled under the blanket, voice raw but resolute. “They put me in heat on base.”

“We will,” Gideon said, eyes already narrowed in the dark. “We’ll burn them down together.”

—

INTERNAL MILITARY REPORT — CASE #476-B: UNAUTHORIZED DISPENSAL OF CLASSIFIED COMPOUND

Investigation Summary:

Following an incident on Base 09-B in which a member of the medical team experienced an uncharacteristically prolonged and chemically induced Omega heat cycle, a full investigation was launched under command oversight. Biological logs submitted by Lt. Gideon M. (Flight Officer) revealed a cycle duration of seven days, exceeding known physiological parameters for natural Omega cycles. Subsequent forensic testing of site residue near the med bay supply cabinets confirmed the presence of Compound X-9—a heat stimulant synthesized for controlled medical study only, not cleared for active deployment or storage.

Findings:

Dr. Elliot Holt (Chief Medical Officer, 09-B) was found to have accessed Compound X-9 from Research Logistics under falsified requisition tags three weeks prior to the incident. Surveillance records show Holt entering the trauma ward supply cache alone after hours; broken glass from a stimulant vial was recovered post-incident by the affected Omega (Name Redacted per Omega Protection Statute), who was not informed of the compound’s presence or exposure risk. Holt's personal terminal contained unencrypted messages referencing the Omega nurse as a “regulatory vulnerability” and “biological instability risk,” indicating premeditated targeting.

Disciplinary Action:

Dr. Elliot Holt has been relieved of duty effective immediately. His medical license has been revoked under Military Medical Board Ruling 221-F. He has been formally discharged and barred from any future affiliation with armed medical institutions. Civilian criminal charges are pending review by federal authorities for violation of Omega Safety Act (OS-12) and Chemical Compound Control Statute (C3S).

Case Status: CLOSED

—

They left the military with no fanfare, no medals, no sendoff ceremony—just packed duffels and clean resignation letters, handed over to a command that never apologized for what it let happen. Gideon’s name stayed on the flight roster for another two weeks after his departure, someone’s last-ditch hope he’d change his mind. He didn’t. He was already running flight paths for a commercial line, gliding over cities and coastlines, greeting passengers with that same easy grin but saving the softest version of himself for when he came home.

She found work at a private clinic tucked between a coffee shop and a quiet corner bookstore, a haven for Omegas in a city that actually gave a damn about them. No more regulation injections. No more alphas circling like vultures. Just real care, real choice—and a soft chair in her office where she sat each evening, watching the sun fall against the blinds, counting the minutes until he walked through the door.

Their apartment wasn’t much, but it was theirs. Two rooms, a tiny kitchen, a balcony just big enough for a table and two chairs. The couch was too old and too soft, the pillows smelled like them, and she swore the place grew warmer every time he was near. He’d come home smelling like jet fuel and wind, pull her against him, bury his face in her neck and breathe deep like she was still the only thing that made sense.

Tonight, he was already on the couch when she got in, one arm slung over the backrest, hair tousled and eyes lighting up the second she dropped her keys in the bowl. “Long day?” he asked, voice rumbling with that always-there affection, the kind that crept under her skin and made her feel rooted. She nodded, toed off her shoes, and fell into him without hesitation, tucking herself against his chest like she’d never left.

His arms wrapped around her, warm and solid, and she let out a sigh as she melted into the spot under his jaw. They sat like that for a while, curled together as the city moved quietly outside their window, the rhythm of his breath lulling her down until all she felt was the slow thud of his heart against her ribs. His hand slid up her back, fingers tracing gentle lines until they found the bond mark on the side of her neck—he touched it like a prayer, thumb circling it slow, reverent.

She trembled, just barely, her voice catching in her throat. “When you touch it like that it makes me feel—” she paused, not sure how to finish it, because there wasn’t a word for what it did to her. It wasn’t just arousal. It was belonging. It was the ache of always.

“I know,” he murmured, voice thick, rough with everything he didn’t need to say.

Then he kissed her—slow, deep, full of gravity—and stood, lifting her effortlessly into his arms like she weighed nothing. Her arms wrapped around his neck as he carried her to the bedroom, the door already cracked open, the sheets waiting.

Their life was quiet now.

But real.

And he would spend every night reminding her she was home.

[sayangrafayel]

Caleb: Would you love me if I was a worm?

MC: Of course. But I have to be an apple.

Caleb: Wait, why?

MC: I refuse to live in this world if you can't be inside me.

Caleb: Aww, honey!

Gideon: Alright both of you need to shut the fuck up.

[aerosarrow]

POV: You're watching Gideon's story

(+ bonus gideon doodle)

[imissnanami]

CalebMC cucking Gideon🍎🍊🍍

A/N: yes I'm also in LADS hell💕

cw: cucking, p in v sex, male masturbation

~♡~

Gideon thought he was doing pretty well for himself, bur recently something had been bothering him. He ate well, exercised, and had a career path all planed out with the DAA. He knew he was good enough looking that he never had trouble finding a partner to blow off some steam. So, what was Gideon's problem? Well, that all started with his best friend three years ago.

Upon entering the DAA's program, all wide eyed and bushy tailed, Gideon was quick to make friends and find his place among the other recruits. One of the young men he ended up becoming buddies with was a tall brunette named Caleb.

Caleb was one of those charismatic guys that could make anyone love him. Gideon remembers how Caleb was able to approach the loners and tough guys alike and walk away with a new connection. Wanting to become friends with him, Gideon approached Caleb, and the rest was history. Along with a few others, they formed a group -- and luckily enough -- they were all in the same unit too, taking the majority of their classes together.

Over three years of communal living with the guys, Gideon learned a lot about Caleb. He learned that the latter snored, but not in an annoying way, he was unfairly smart (having a knack for almost anything), and that he was obsessed with a certain girl named MC.

Obsessed may sound a bit mean, but Gideon really didn't know how else to describe it. Now, MC was someone who he had never met, and only saw in photos that Caleb was quick to hide away. He remembered asking the taller boy who she was, and was taken aback at the dopey smile that spread across Caleb's face. The answer of "my best friend" wasn't convincing.

This also tied to the drama surrounding the DAAs "golden boy", and how despite topping the classes and being annoying good looking, he refused any advances from men and women alike. By their fourth year, you were hard pressed to find anyone who didn't know who Caleb was. Which all leads us back to his original problem. Caleb.

Upon starting their last year and being of higher rank, select fourth years were able to break off from communal living and share a dorm room with one other. Having qualified, Gideon and Caleb decided share.

Gideon wasn't blind. He knew Caleb was hot. He's known since meeting him three years ago. What didn't help, was seeing this man put on more and more muscle each year while living in such close proximity.

And yes.

They had seen each other naked. (Oh the joys of having dozens of men showering withing 30 minutes.)

And had he jerked it to his roommate?

Also yes.

But that's all to say Gideon didn't know how he felt about his roommate anymore. He knew he found Caleb attractive and liked to hang out with him, but he's also been in love before and it didn't feel like this. When he entertained the curious thought of sex with his roommate, he could never figure out the logistics of it all. He couldn't imagine himself receiving, but also could imagine Caleb doing the same. Resulting in a standstill. He ended up landing on that he'd never initiate anything, but he also wouldn't say no should it arise.

But, Caleb was desperately in love with MC. Not that Gideon had any issue with that, he's seen her phots and she was also very pretty, his type too. From what he remembers. So, in realizing that there was nothing he could really do about the situation, he decided to forget about it.

And that worked for approximately three days.

Until Caleb announced that MC would be visiting for the weekend. Fuck.

For the next week, Gideon stressed all the way till Caleb was off to pick her up from the train station. A few minutes before Caleb leaves, he grabs his sweater off his chair and tugs it on while looking deep in thought.

"Gideon?"

"Yeah? What's up?" Gideon answers, swiveling around in his desk chair.

Caleb looks uncharacteristically serious, wearing an expression that Gideon's only seen a few times.

"So MC will be over soon...and you know I trust you, but I don't want you to get too close to her."

To an outsider this would seem crazy and possessive as hell. But for Gideon, it was normal to hear when MC was brought up. He already got the more in-depth touch-her-and-die version a few days ago, so this was tame in comparison. Giving an easy smile, he answered;

"No problem, bud" Caleb studied his face carefully for a few seconds before nodding, his usual smile returning.

"Perfect, I'll be back in a bit with her," before checking his watch and leaving.

Gideon leaned back and stared at the ceiling. Fuck, this was gonna be a long 3 days.

~*~

The DAA allowed visitors during the day. And Caleb kept to that rule for the first two. But on the third and final day, something unplanned happened. Namely MC fell asleep while the three watched a movie, and Caleb refused to wake her. Curfew came and went, and MC lay tucked into Caleb's side, softly snoring away.

Gideon watched from his bed as his roommate watched the sleeping girl. The credits had rolled and the tv had been turned off. Long fingers gently and repeatedly pet her hair. A soft smile curved his lips as his eyes twinkled fondly in the lamp light. Anyone could see how much Caleb adored and loved the girl.

Gideon, feeling a touch out of place, decided to turn in, leaving the two in their own moment. Closing his eyes he quickly knocked out.

~*~

"Nghhhh~"

"Quiet, Pip-squeak"

"But-ahhh, but Caleb~"

Gideon furrowed his brow as he was pulled from his sleep. Laying on his side, he cracked an eye open and squinted in the dark room. The small dorm was illuminated by the warm glow of his lamp. As his eyes focused on the slight before him, he suddenly felt very awake.

On the bed across from him, lay Caleb and MC, on top of the covers, half naked. The two were facing him, with Caleb behind her squirming body. Her shirt and bra were pushed up over her head, covering her face and exposing her stuttering chest to the warm air. Her arms, struck in the shirts armholes, were pinned above her head. One of Caleb's thick forearms wrapped around her ribcage, large hand palming her naked breast. Long fingers pinched at her hard nipple, drawing muffled moans from the girl. His other arm lay on her hip, pinning her bottom half to his as he ground against her ass. Her tiny lounge shorts were pushed up, covering no more than a pair of panties would. His other hand dissapeard under the waistband of said shorts. Even in the dim room, Gideon could make out the rhythmic motions of Caleb's hand. Barely restrained gasps fell from her lips as Caleb grunted into her neck, occasionally whispering filthy words in her ear.

Before he could really contemplate the ethics of it, Gideon's hand slowly reaches down under the covers. Going straight for his uncomfortably hard length, he palms it through the fabric. Biting his cheek he stifled a sigh. His half lidded eyes focused on the way his roommate's hand moved under her shorts and how their hips rocked as Caleb's ground into hers.

Moving his hand from squeezing at his length, Gideon began to stroke himself over his boxers. Biting his lip harder, he nearly whines as he focuses his attention on his tip, rolling the head in his palm. His eyelashes flutter as he breathes deeply, getting lost in the pleasure.

"Fuck~" a feminine while peirces the room. Her breathing getting louder and quicker.

"Shhhh" Caleb soothes, pressing loud kisses to her neck.

"Wait-I'm, fuck imma cum soon," she gasps, breathless. Caleb chuckles and his deep voice rumbles,

"What happened to -hah- being nervous?" He teased. MC whimperd before crying out in complaint as Caleb suddenly pulls his hand away.

Gideon watched as the other man brought his glistening finger to his mouth, long tongue licking up her cum. Caleb groaned as he sucked on his fingers. Gideon was hypnotized, staring at the way Caleb's mouth worked around his fingers. Glancing up, he froze, feeling like ice water had been dumped on him.

Bright purple eyes glinted in the light, staring right through his soul. The two men simply stared at one another for a long pause before MC whined and pushed her ass back into Caleb impatiently, not having seen the interaction. While maintaining eye contact with Gideon, Caleb ducked his head and spoke into her tshirt covered ear,

"Hold you horses there pip-squeak, you do want me to take your pants off, riiiight?

MCs head nodded quickly from under the fabric. Caleb finally broke eye contact with Gideon to focus on peeling off the soaked layers of clothing. Gideon's eyes greedily took in every inch of skin that was revealed. From across the room he could see the way her drenched pussy glistening in the light. 

Quickly shuffling back, Caleb tugged down the waistband of his sleep shorts and boxers. With a wet slap, that Gideon definitely heard, his hard length slapped his lower abs. Taking it in his hand, Caleb gave it a squick stroke to release some of the pressure. His large hand lifted MCs cheek, giving him a glorious view of her wet pussy, all for him. He groaned as he lined himself up, head running up and down her slit before finally catching and sinking the tip in her warmth.

Mc let out a whimper as she felt him slip in, the thick crown already stretching her deliciously. Another whimper fell from her lips as she pushed her hips back, starting to sink down on him. Between his laboured breats, Caleb spoke teasingly

"Remember to stay quiet Pip, don't want Gideon to hear~fuck!" Caleb suddenly swore, burying his head in MCs neck again.

At the mention of his name, his head snapped up and his eyes tried to focus. Gideon couldn't help the shiver that passed through his body and the way his still very hard dick twitched. He was quick to focus on the next words Caleb had to say,

"Shit I can't belive you got tighter when I mentioned him. Fuck Pip-squeak, you're-hah-getting off on this aren't you?"

MC seemed to shake her head under her shirt.

"N-no, I'm hahh~, I'm not," Caleb chuckled in her hear while he continued to push inch after heavy inch into her dripping cunt. Upon bottoming out, he looked up across the room, finding Gideon's eyes,

A pause.

"Gideon," Caleb said

A pathetic mewl came from under the shirt as Caleb groaned again,

"Fuck, your pussy can't lie Pip, squeezing me so tight"

Gideon bit back another whimper as his name fell from Caleb's lips. The thought of his roommate saying his name while having sex, on top of the fact a very pretty girl was getting off with said roommate to the thought of being watched? By him? Before he could think about what he was doing, his hips bucked up and into his tight fist. The quick movement immediately drew Caleb's attention, gaze falling to the obvious tent and hand under the covers. Finding Gideon's face again, Caleb couldn't help but smirk.

Fuck Gideon, never thought you'd be into this,

With the other man's attention on him, Caleb's hips began to slowly roll, dragging his cock out of her hot heat, before feeding it back into her. With each thrust his veiny length stretched her walls and his weeping tip kissed her cervix, making a home for itself. And with every pass his plush head brushed along MC's g spot, making the girl see stars behind her eyes. Though the only thing she did see through her t-shirt was the warm glow of the room and a dark blurry mass that was the bed infront of them. Gideon's bed. The thought made her throb, feeling herself getting wetter at the thought. Caleb set a steady pace while his free hand crept down her abdomen, right above her short bush, and pushed down meanly.

Her loud moan peirced through the room. Gideon, having resumed stroking his painfully hard cock moaned at her sound. Luckily for him, Caleb also groaned lowly, as he felt himself through her stomach. Pressing down on the bulge, he felt himself loose it a little as MC clamped down harder, walls twitching in anticipation for more.

As if he knew telepathically, Caleb's hand moved further down to her hard clit. His fingers reached to where their bodies met and gathered their juices on his fingers to use as lube. Bringing them up to her clit once again, his index and middle begin drawing slow circles as his hips continue to fuck into hers.

Gideon devoured the sight before him. Licking his lips, his fist jerked faster along his length. With every upwards stroke more and more drops of pre were pushed from his reddening slit. As his arm moved, his blanket also began moving, slowly falling off, pooling infront of him. Not that he noticed or cared. A red hot fire spread through his veins as he watched his roommates long fingers glistening in the faint lamp light. Soft moans and grunts were muffled through her shirt as he watched MC drown in pleasure.

Caleb continued to pet her clit, bringing her closer and closer to the edge.

"Close, fuck Caleb, I'm gonna cum" she warned, voice climbing with each syllable.

"That's it, I got you" Claeb reassured, keeping up the same pace.

Focusing on how good it all felt, the way his cock stretched her, brushing against all the right places, how his tip reached so deep, how his deft fingers worked her clit, MC felt her orgasm wash over her in waves.

As she came on his length his fingers didn't let up. Instead they kept circling her clit throwing her straight into overstimulation. Her body thrashed and seized from the pleasure in Caleb's arms. Her screams falling freely from her mouth, in between pants to catch her breath.

"-such a good girl" "doing so well for me-fuck"

Caleb moaned openly as her cunt pulsed and squeezed his cock rhythmically, threatening to send him over the edge too.

Gideon panted as he got closer too. He knew he was gonna cum soon, having just watched her cum so beautifully. Honestly he was surprised he lasted this long. Rolling onto his back, head still turned to watch his roommate and MC, he moved his other hand to touch himself. Bringing it to his mouth first, he licked a wet strip up to his fingers, sucking on them for a moment before reaching down to fondle his balls. His gasp faded into a whine as his thumb swiped over his sensitive tip. Letting go of his balls, he fists the base while his other hand focused on jerking his tip. Occasionally he'd stop to rub meanly against his frenulum, squeezing his eyes shut at the overwhelming heat that pooled in his gut.

Tears clung to MC's lashes and escaped her eyes as the pain mixed with pleasure. The thin white t-shirt covering her head did a great job at soaking it up. The only issue was that white fabric when wet turns see-through.

MC panted into her shirt, blurry eyes struggled to focus on the shapes she was seeing. She could now make out a figure on the bed infront of her. As she forced herself to focus, she realised two things with her mushy brain.

1. Gideon was very much awake.

2. He was masturbating while watching them.

She could faintly make out his face, which was turned to them, and the furious jerking of his hand over his impressive length. She had honestly wondered if she was hearing things in the throes of pleasure, having picked up moans that didn't seem to belong to Caleb. The reality of the situation came crashing down and what surprised her even more was that she liked it.

Thinking you're being watched and actually being watched were two very different things. Turns out she liked both.

With this new knowledge she felt herself approaching her second orgasm at an alarming rate. No longer feeling the need to be quiet, she freely expressed her pleasure, moaning and whining with each thrust.

Caleb, who no longer cared to quiet her, began thrusting into her in ernest, feeling his own high nearing. In one swift motion, aided by how wet her sex was, he ground his palm into her clit. The action was angled just right to push back her clitoral hood, providing direct stimulation to her most sensitive area.

Though MC desperately wanted to watch Gideon fuck himself, the new angle of Caleb's hand had her eyes rolling back into her skull as her lips parted in a silent scream. She was sent head first into her second orgasm, electricity coursing through every nerve in her body. 

Feeling her walls clamp down on him tighter than before, Caleb groaned lowly, his eyebrows furrowed, hips drilling into her to prolong her pleasure. Finally Caleb relented and removed his hand when she stopped trembling. Moving his hand to her hip, he forced more of his weight on her, rolling their lower halves flat against the mattress. His hips dug into her ass with each powerful thrust as he chased his high.

Gideon watched as Caleb put his entire body behind each thrust, thick thighs bulging with each move. His ass flexing as he buried himself into MC's snug heat. Gideon's eyes flickered up to her chest, watching the fat jiggle with each movement. His pace increased, using both hands to form a long, tight channel. Twisting his wrist on the downstroke, he felt himself teetering on the edge. His abs clenched, and his moans grew airier, a tell tale sign that he was about to cum. Taking in the sight of his roommate absolutely destroying his girl on the bed one last time, with another stroke and a half, Gideon fell over the edge. His eyes screwed shut in bliss. Thick ropes of pearly white cum spurted from his tip splattering over his abs and chest. With each now gentle stroke, he milked himself and moaned at how good it felt. Eventually coming down he opened his eyes just in time to see a beautiful sight.

Caleb's large body was curled over MC's. His pace was faltering and jerky. Sweat beaded down his bare back and he felt his muscles everywhere tightening. Every single thought right now was tied to his dick and the woman he was inside. With another thrust his balls drew up closer to his body, ready to give her everything he had. Through gritted teeth he managed to get out,

"Gonna cum, Pip"

A wanton moan was his only response.

"Fuck, where do you want it?"

MC mewled and pushed her hips back into him, clenching her core invitingly,

"Wan' inside, cum in me,"

Caleb moaned loudly, with one final jerk he buried himself to the hilt and let go. Throwing his head back, rope after rope of sticky cum shot into her womb. MC moaned happily as she felt his length twitch and kick with each spurt. And it just kept coming. Caleb ground himself into her ass, eyes half lidded in pleasure, as he finished cuming. Dispite his need to plug her full, he could feel his cum escaping back out. There was just so much of it. Feeling weak he collapsed on top of MC, careful not to crush her too much. With tired arms he helped pull her shirt off her head and arms, giving her shoulders a gently massage to help the ache. He pressed a kiss to her cheek as she giggled sleepily. Grabbing and extra throw, he tugged it over them.

Gideon watched the loving exchange before realizing that violet eyes were now looking into his. He watched as Claeb whispered something in MC's ear. After she gave a slight nod, she eyes also landed on his own. Looking back and forth between the two, Gideon didn't know what to do.

Caleb opened his mouth, addressing Gideon directly,

"Wanna join next time?"

Yep, Gideon was fucked, but atleast he was happy to be fucked.

[lvl1l1]

LaDS LI’s when your child tells you to “Shut up”

pairings: Caleb, Rafayel, Zayne, Sylus, Xavier x F!Reader(separate)

genre: crack

a/n: dead trend i know 😔 has probably been done but it’s time to push my lads children name agenda!

Caleb

Caleb was sitting on the floor of the living room, playing with your six year old daughter, Elysia.

While you were plotting with your 12 year old son in his room.

Eden wasn’t old enough to be on social media, you however, were and you loved nothing more than to stress your husband out.

When you told your son, that you two would get into a faux argument and he was supposed to tell you to “shut up” at the climax of it, he was hesitant.

“But I don’t want to say that to you, mom…”

he had nervously said.

You ruffled his hair, smiling at your sweet boy,

“Aw, sweetheart don’t worry about it. It’s not like you’re saying it maliciously. It’ll be fine this once, just so we can see what your dad is gonna do, okay?”

Still unsure, your 12 year old slowly nodded.

He truly was a carbon copy of Caleb, especially when he looked up so bashfully at you.

“Alright, Eden, ready?”

Your son hummed, leaning into your touch before storming out the door, ready to start the scene.

“I told you, I’ll do it later, mom!”

He slammed the door shut, with you still in the room, the commotion catching Caleb’s attention.

You pushed open the door and followed the tween,

“And I’m telling you to do it now. Drop the attitude and get on with it.”

The boy groaned loudly and dramatically turned around, you made a mental note to treat him to something sweet later for his level of commitment.

You felt Caleb’s eyes on the two of you and it took you a lot to not start laughing.

“I don’t care, I’ll clean up whenever I feel like it, it’s my room!”

“Doesn’t matter! It looks like a bomb exploded in there-“

Caleb finally spoke up, noticing the rising tension,

“Hey, you two, how about-“

before he could finish what he was gonna say, your son perfectly cut in,

“Just shut up mom! Stop telling me what to do!”

Your eyes widened slightly, even though you told him to say it, it was still weird to hear you usually kind and quiet boy raise his voice like that.

You also noticed how Caleb suddenly went silent again, you looked over at your husband and were taken aback by his serious expression.

He immediately got up and you could tell, he was back in Colonel mode.

Your daughter looked at her brother, snickering.

“What makes you think you could talk to your mother like that?”

His voice was cold, missing the usually warmth it had while talking to his children.

He walked over to you two, you and your son frozen in place.

“I don’t remember raising you to be a brat with an attitude. You’ll speak to your mother with respect. Apologise.”

You decided that was enough and stepped between them, placing a hand on Caleb’s chest.

“It’s okay, honey. I told him to say that.”

Caleb looked back and forth between Eden and you, the boy shooting his father a nervous grin before rushing to sit beside his sister, who immediately went to hit him with her doll.

“You just love stressing me out, don’t you pips?”

He sighed, pulling you closer.

You laughed, wrapping your arms around him.

“Seriously, I was about to teach him a lesson.”

You heard your son nervously chuckle from the living room and you winked at him.

“As if my sweet boy would ever speak to me like that willingly.”

Caleb just shook his head and walked you over to your children.

“Even if she put you up to this, Eden. You should’ve insisted that you wouldn’t do it. As punishment, you and your sister will stay over at your uncle Gideon’s tonight.”

Eden and Elysia blinked up at him, almost looking like twins,

“…how’s that a punishment?”

Caleb smirked, pulling you down to sit next to the two,

“Oh, the punishment isn’t for you. I’ll have a nice, long talk with your mother tonight.”

He ignored the incredulous look you shot him and laughed at the confusion on your children’s faces.

Rafayel

Your 14 year old son was just as eccentric and animated as his father, so once you suggested doing that trend you’d seen on tiktok, he jumped.

You two stood just outside of the kitchen Rafayel was sitting in, sketching away on his block.

Dorian whispered quietly,

“Just remember that I love you, mom. I don’t mean anything I’m about to say!”

While you thought that was sweet, you still wondered what kind of act he was about to put on, needing that kind of disclaimer.

He cleared his throat and winked at you,

“Mom, why can’t you just let me be for once?! Seriously, I can’t do anything around here!”

He pushed open the kitchen door, walking in and opening the fridge with more force than necessary.

Rafayel instantly looked up, frowning.

You took a second to collect yourself and walked in after your son.

“Dorian, you’re way too young to be out that late. I don’t wanna hear it.”

Dorian looked up exasperatedly, giving his father a look as if to say, isn’t she crazy?

“You can’t be serious! Dad, tell her she’s overreacting.”

He crossed his arms, looking at his father expectantly.

Rafayel opened his mouth, getting ready to step in, when you followed up again,

“I’m right here, Dorian. You don’t need to involved your father. If you have something to say, say it to me.”

Rafayel blinked at you, not entirely sure if he should say something now.

His inner conflict quickly came to an end when his son interrupted his train of thought,

“Oh my gosh, shut up, mom! I wasn’t talking to you.”

Before you could say anything else, Rafayel loudly closed his art block, shooting his son the nastiest glance.

“Alright, you do not speak to my wife like that.”

Dorian, much like his father, never knowing when to give up, turned back to his father in shock,

“but dad-“

As soon as he saw his father’s expression he closed his mouth.

“Keep this up and I’ll throw you into the sea. You can play with some sharks and fend for yourself.”

At that, Dorian’s eyes widened, he quickly hid behind you, not wanting to face his father’s wrath.

You just smiled up at your husband, feeling giddy at how he was so quick to defend you.

“Before you turn our son into shark food, I put him up to this.”

Rafayel’s face immediately fell, putting his head into his hands.

“What’s wrong with you.”

You faked offence and put your hand over your heart,

“Whaaat, I wanted to find out if my big, strong husband would defend me from my mean son.”

“First of all, ew, second, hey!”

Your son exclaimed, still hiding behind you.

Rafayel looked at you two, trying to look mad but he couldn’t hide the fondness in his eyes.

“I can’t believe I have to put up with you two.”

You rolled your eyes at that,

“Honestly, we should sign Dorian up for acting. That was some impressive improv!”

Hands on your hips, you turned around, looking at your son.

He beamed up at that, as Rafayel scoffed from where he was seated.

“Oh, please, he’s far more talented at real art.”

“Dad, what’s your beef with actors?”

“They know what they did.”

Your son looked at you in confusion and you just shrugged.

Zayne

You were dying to see what your usually stoic husband was going to do, if you got into a fight with your daughters.

You roped your 17 and 15 year old in by showing them the videos you had seen.

They were just as curious as you and while your younger daughter, Willow, was a bit more uncertain, considering she was much more like your husband, avoiding conflict as much as possible, Dawn, was able to convince her.

You went over what they should say with them and once they were ready, you waited for the perfect opening.

Once Zayne had finished up his work for the day, finally coming out of his office, you called him over for dinner.

You texted your daughters to get ready, as your husband came and sat down at the kitchen table.

You placed the plate full of food infront of him, he murmured a quiet thank you, before you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, mentally apologising for what was about to go down.

You called your daughters once,

“Dawn, Willow, dinner!”

No answer, just as you had told them.

You and Zayne shared a look and it took a lot in you to not start grinning.

You placed the girls plates on the table before trying again,

“Dawn! Willow! Don’t make me repeat myself!”

A beat of silence,

“Wait!”

“Gimme a minute!”

They yelled far louder than appropriate, just as you had instructed them.

Zayne’s brows furrowed and you crossed your arms over your chest in pretend anger.

“Girls, don’t make me come up th-“

and just as you had expected,

“Mom, shut up!

“Shut up!”

Came in unison.

Zayne dropped his arms by his sides, stunned.

You turned around, far too enthusiastic but Zayne was too caught up to notice.

You send him a look, as if to make sure he heard the same thing you just did.

He pushed his chair back and got up, and for the first time in a while you heard him raise his voice,

“You two come down here, right now.”

There was a trace of urgency in his voice but you could tell how mad he was.

His brows were furrowed and his arms crossed.

You could instantly hear the sound of footsteps rushing downstairs.

The girls came running into the kitchen, immediately halting in their movements as soon as they saw the look on their father’s face.

Dawn’s mouth made an ‘O’ shape but no sound came out and Willow looked at you, making a grimace.

You pressed your lips into a thin line, to not show how you were kind of enjoying your husband acting like this.

Before either of the girls could explain, he gave them a disappointed look.

You could feel the temperature in the room dropping, chills settling in.

“I can’t believe you two would ever even think of speaking to the woman who raised you like this.”

Stepping in to safe your girls from the lecture they were about to be served instead of dinner, you put your hands on Zayne’s shoulders, massaging him slightly,

“Zaynie, how mad would you be if I told you, I put them up to this?”

Zayne paused, slowly turning to face you.

You put on your best puppy eyes, trying to win him over. No such luck.

“You will be the death of me.”

He rubbed his temple and glanced back over at his daughters,

“I just hope you two know, that I felt levels of disappointment unreachable for others.”

Dawn let out a nervous chortle and Willow gave her a judging stare,

“Well, good thing we’d never actually speak to our lovely mommy like that!”

Zayne nodded, turning back to you.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook.”

He whispered dangerously to you, you blinked in surprise,

“Now, can I please have a normal family dinner with all of my girls? With no unnecessarily rude language?”

Your daughters giggled and smiled respectively, skipping to the table and sitting down.

Zayne wrapped an arm around your waist and lead you to the table.

You might be in danger.

Sylus

Sylus loved his twin sons, he couldn’t be prouder of them and he was also proud of the two of you for figuring out how to be good parents, even with your upbringings.

When the two boys were born, everyone expected Sylus to raise them strictly, preparing them for a life in the shadows, wanting them to follow in his footsteps, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

He raised them with gentleness and kindness, warmth and love, giving them everything they could ever ask for.

You had to step up and be the strict parent more often than not but you simply couldn’t mind, when you saw how Sylus looked at his sons with all the love in the world.

They’ve grown up to be empathetic and loving teenagers, incredibly emotionally intelligent for a pair of 15 year olds.

So, when you approached one of them with your silly idea, he immediately felt unsure.

“Mom, I don’t want to disrespect you, like, ever!”

Zeno had said with such sincerity, you almost felt bad for dragging him into this.

Keyword, almost.

“Zeno, it’ll be funny! I won’t take it personally, I know you’d never actually mean it.”

You tried to reassure him but he just wouldn’t budge.

You were thinking of ways to bribe him, when you suddenly got an idea,

While both of the twins looked exactly like their father, Zeno was more like Sylus, in the sense that he had the same exact soft spots his father had for you, in other words; Zeno was way more of a mama’s boy than Jaden, so you tried pulling on his heartstrings,

“Come onnnn, baby. Please? For your mom? It’ll be so much fun!”

You could see Zeno’s resolve falter and once he let out a defeated sigh, you knew you got him.

“Great, sweetheart, thank you so much!”

You could tell the idea was stressing him out, not because he was scared of what Sylus would do, but because he would never wanna speak to his mom like that!!! Even if it’s just for a joke!!!!

You cooed at him for being as cute as he was, before dragging him downstairs and giving him another round of encouragement.

“Alright, don’t break character and just say everything we went over, got it?”

Zeno nodded slowly, getting ready.

Zeno walked into the living room with quick steps, avoiding eye contact with Sylus and Jaden, who were sitting on the couch together.

“Come back here! I wasn’t done talking to you, Zeno.”

You called after him, not walking into the room just yet.

“Drop it already, mom! I’m done having this conversation.”

Jaden quirked a brow at his brother, staring at him judgingly, and Sylus silently observed what was unfolding before him.

“Zeno, if you won’t go, don’t ask to go out with your friends either. You can’t just do whatever you want.”

The 15 year old was mentally preparing himself, he turned towards you, ignoring his brother’s and father’s gazes.

“What the fuck does that have to do with anything, mom?!”

He slightly raised his voice and you stopped in your tracks, looking at him in shock, patting yourself on the back in your mind for your awesome acting.

“Dude,”

Jaden started, Sylus still watching with hooded eyes,

“Zeno, I’m not joking around with you. You have to deal with the consequences of your choices.”

You stopped Jaden and expectantly looked at Zeno,

“Can you just shut up. Holy shit.”

He mentally winced and turned around to storm out of the room, before he could take even a step black and red tendrils surrounded him, spinning him back around and keeping him in place.

His brother was looking at him like he had grown a second head and he blinked up at his father, who had gotten up.

Sylus walked towards you and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him.

“I have no idea who you’re talking to like this right now but I’m damn sure it can’t be my wife.”

Zeno was scrambling to come up with something to say, as his knees buckled and he fell, luckily he felt his father soften the fall with his evol.

Sylus tsk’d and looked at his son disapprovingly,

“I don’t remember raising you to have no manners, boy.”

before things could escalate further, you wrapped your arms around your husband.

“Let him off the hook, I coaxed him into playing along.”

Zeno felt his father’s evol immediately let off and he quickly got up, pressing his palms together,

“I’m sorry, mom! I shouldn’t have agreed regardless. Forgive me, father.”

You smiled at him and shook your head,

“You’re so cute! You have no idea how much convincing it took me to get him to agree.”

You finished, looking up at Sylus like this was no big deal.

A pillow hit Zeno hard and he looked at his brother, who was staring right back, unimpressed.

Sylus just smirked down at you,

“You’re being a bad influence, sweetie.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, as he placed his hand on your lower back, pushing you out of the room.

As you two left, Sylus turned around, looking at both of his sons,

“I hope this served as a valuable lesson to you both.”

With that, he walked out to follow you.

Jaden went to throw another pillow at his brother,

“You’re an idiot.”

Xavier

Unfortunately for you, all your children are relatively young, getting an 8 year old to tell his mom to shut up, might not be the best idea; but that wasn’t going to stop you!

You just had to see how Xavier, Mr. Expressionless himself, would react.

As you instructed Xavier to put your youngest daughter to bed, you scrambled to explain how this was gonna go down to your oldest child, Elio, one more time,

“And after I say that, you’ll tell me to shut up, okay? Only this once.”

Elio nodded, while his other sister, Cassiopeia, sitting next to him, shook her head,

“Mommy, that’s mean! I don’t want him to say that to you.”

You smiled at your sweet daughter and kissed her on the forehead,

“It’s okay, Cassie. This is an exception! We’re doing this to see how daddy’s gonna react.”

She hummed and glared at her brother, before hugging you tightly,

“Why don’t you go join Celeste? But don’t tell your father about this, okay baby?”

She nodded and jumped off her brother’s bed before skipping out of the room.

You checked in with Elio one last time, the boy looking serious, as he accepted this as a mission.

“I’ll do my best, captain mommy.”

You bit back a laugh, before nodding at him seriously.

He got off his bed and acted like he was sneaking into the kitchen, Xavier leaving his daughter’s room just in time to see him.

Before he could say anything, your voice came through,

“Elio, go brush your teeth and go to bed!”

At first the 8 year old didn’t answer, as you called out his name again, he loudly went,

“SHUT UP.”

You walked out of his room, immediately making eye contact with Xavier, who looked at you in utter surprise.

You saw his eye twitch slightly, his brows being barely drawn together and something, almost looking like a scowl, found its way to his lips.

He walked into the kitchen with heavy steps,

“Where did you learn to talk like that?”

You quickly followed behind, seeing your son stare at his father expressionless, not answering.

Xavier inhaled quietly, you were starting to feel bad for working him up like this, especially so close to bed time. The shock probably getting rid of his sleepiness.

“You don’t speak to the woman who birthed you like this.”

At that, Elio cocked his head to the side,

“huhh?”

And you quickly put an end to this before Xavier started explaining how babies are made out of spite.

“Great job, hunter Elio. Mission accomplished!”

At that, Elio’s eyes lit up and he nodded, happily,

“I’ll go brush teeth…”

With that, he ran off.

Xavier turned around and looked at you in betrayal,

“Why would you tell him to speak to you like that?”

He asked calmly, but the dark look in his eyes gave him away.

You embraced him, hugging his waist and leaning your head into his chest,

“Let’s just say curiosity got the best of me~”

The look Xavier gave you would’ve had anyone else shaking, you just giggled and intertwined your fingers with his,

“We should check up on all the kids!”

Xavier sighed quietly, following you,

“Don’t think I won’t get my revenge, once all the kids are asleep.”

[loveanddeepsecrets]

Aftercare after surgery 🦷

How the LADS men would care for you right after you get your wisdom teeth removed.

OG credit goes to @jinwoosbabyboo. Ty anon for making me aware of this!

tags: sfw, fluff, gn! reader, Sylus, Rafayel, Caleb, Zayne, & Xavier x reader

word count: ≈1,045

Caleb

He'd be the most entertaining knowing how you bore easily. From card games, to video games, to tv marathons, the first few days of recovery fly by.

Insisted you get the procedure done in Skyhaven so you can recover at his place, it’s a lot roomier anyway

Is in stitches laughing on the ride home as you both joke around while you’re still high from the anesthesia

Bought a special recliner for you to sleep on the first night post op

Very attentive caretaker; routinely fluffing your pillows, changing your gauze, and refilling your glass of water 

Likes the challenge of cooking a “no solid foods” meal

Is absolutely teasing you over how swollen your cheeks are

Still makes a point to tell you how beautiful you are

Boy, can this man YAP 

He knows he can be quite chatty, but can’t resist annoying you a little when you can’t talk back. “…There was that one time I lost a bet with Gideon, but that’s a story for another day. I’ve been talkin’ your ear off for 10 minutes.” “mmph..” “What’s that? You wanna hear more about the bet?  Okayyy pipsqueek…”

Massages your temples when the pain meds wear off before you can take them again 

Ends up falling asleep next to you in the giant recliner during a Food Network marathon 

Rafayel

Raf’s probably the most smothering of the five since he admits he’s not the best at taking care of others and would be mortified if he had any part of your recovery not going well. He’s a lavish man after all, your comfort is important to him.

You resting anywhere other than his California king bed is out of the question!

Is incredibly gentle and soothing when changing out your gauze; lots of words of encouragement

Constantly checking in to make sure you’re comfortable 

Tries really hard not to laugh when he uses bags of frozen vegetables as cold compress on your cheeks. Says you look like a cute puffer fish 

Keeps forgetting you shouldn’t talk for the first 24 hours but then gets mad when you try answering him when he asks you something 

Is really excited for the next couple of days when you can eat more solid foods. He’s been meaning to make you a special fish soup he discovered on one of his exhibitions abroad 

Drew a tiny sketch of you as a sleeping puffer fish during your nap

Would literally fan you if you felt too hot 

Loses kitty cards on purpose 

Since he has you bedridden, he bought several magazines to take silly quizzes bc “That’s what they do in the movies, yeah?”

Zayne

Easily the most equipped to take care of you in this situation let’s be fr. He’s firm, yet gentle and your downtime is quick and painless.

Has you on a tight schedule: nap, rinse, gauze, meds, nap, rinse, eat, gauze, repeat

You don’t even bother trying to speak. He already had a white board and marker placed on your nightstand when you got home from surgery

Has you pick whatever drama you want to watch when you finally slept off the anesthesia 

Is even more lenient with the amount of sweets you can have since smoothies are the only “healthy” meal you can eat right after surgery 

Is really all cuddles outside of the strict routine of dressing your wounds/taking meds

Shadow puppet show (again 🥲)

Lots and lots of kisses! Cheeks, forehead, eyelids, nose; he just wants you to get better

Places his hands on your cheeks and uses his evol as a cold compress just this once

Secretly counting down the days til he can properly kiss you again 

Is still a workaholic and reviewing reports on his laptop, but takes your temporary silence as an opportunity to listen to some of your favourite music together. In a way, it’s like you’re still talking to him

Xavier

He's no medical professional by any means, but he's not as clueless as he lets on. When it comes to your safety and well being, he takes looking after you pretty seriously. Under his care, you get the most sleep you've gotten in your life.

Sets up the pull out couch so you won’t have to walk around as much

Still brought you flowers and a “Get well soon” card, despite the fact that he’s the one taking care of you 

Thinks you look especially cute with swollen cheeks and surrounded your sleeping form with plushies mid nap 

Is especially proud of himself for making you breakfast and dinner— it’s really hard to mess up instant oatmeal and mashed potatoes 

It takes everything within him not to poke your cheeks and say “chubby bunny”

Chooses to play collaborative 2-player games bc he knows you hate it when he lets you win

Gets in bed to join in on your (med induced) naps

Has you snuggle his waist as you two look through comic books

Follows along with your mushy diet because he’d feel so bad eating solid foods in front of you

Thought refrigerating a face mask would be a relaxing alternative to cold compress packs (and of course he tried one too)

Sylus

Full on princess treatment. Quite literally wouldn’t let you lift a finger. It’s as if you had hip replacement surgery.

Refuses to let you walk, even after the anesthesia wears off. He carries you to any and every room

He knows it’s a minor surgery, but it didn’t stop him from buying the fluffiest pillows, comfiest weighted blankets, plushiest robe, and smoothest silk eye mask 

Brushes/ plays with your hair while you sleep 

Despite your temporary dietary restrictions, you still eat like a Michelin inspector thanks to his private chef

Spoon feeds you 

Is the only LI aside from Caleb who can understand your muffled speech 

Programmed Mephisto to set reminders to take your meds and switch out your gauze

Tucks you in *every time* you decide to lay back in bed

Turned one of his rooms into a spa. Dark, yet calming from the soft lighting of candles, crystal singing bowls from a white noise machine, and aromatherapy 

Relishes in you earnestly needing his help

Bought out a full service salon for the next day to give you every service they offer

fic dividers by: saradika-graphics, adornedwithlight, strangergraphics, & natimiles-edits

Thanks for reading all the way through :) Any interaction is greatly appreciated!

[fairvtaels]

Toxic Au! Caleb x Reader

(mentions of cheating, obsessive behavior from mc/reader, darker theme, slight smut?)

Alright yall, this is my first LADS fic so please bare with me, lol. 

Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. That’s all your leg seemed to do as you sat on the bleachers, your eyes never leaving his form, that damned 6’2 form in all its glory going back and forth as Caleb ran across the court. The Linkon vs. Skyhaven basketball game, and even if you were part of the Linkon Uni, there was no way in hell you’d go for the team that’s going against your best friend. Cheers and woos filling the auditorium as Skyhaven scores a three-pointer, but your face remains stoic as you hear the conversation beside you.

“Damn, that sophomore got skills, what’s his name again?” The brunette asks her friend beside her. Jesus her voice was like nails scratching against a chalkboard. Still, your eyes remain on Caleb as he stands across the court taking a quick water break, his purple eyes quickly glazing over your way, shooting you a small smile.

“Not sure, Caleb I think? He’s hot but definitely not my type..though, Minah for sure got a taste of that last weekend at Gideon’s party. Whole place was wasted off their minds, those seven minutes in heaven turned into a 30 minute quickie.” The blonde replies, oh were you about to kill someone.

Quickie? Oh so now we’re having quickies with other whores on campus now? Much less, lied to me over the phone. I knew it. I knew it wasn’t just a dumb lecture study at Gideon’s place, I should’ve checked on you myself instead of just trusting your stupid location. 

Your blood was beyond the point of boiling, fuming through your nostrils as you abruptly stood up from the bleachers, earning a couple of stares from you. Hurriedly walking down the stairs before you could storm out of the auditorium’s doors on the side, your feet taking your body as you try to gain some type of fresh air but the thoughts were suffocating you, swallowing every part of your brain and all you saw was red.

What else are you hiding from me Caleb? How many other girls are there? You’re mine. You know you’re mine.

Standing now in the middle of Caleb’s dorm it was like you blacked out from then on, aggressively going through his drawers, trying to find what? You didn’t even know it yourself, but you wanted to see what else your precious best friend was hiding from you, keeping you in the dark from. Clothes, clutter and papers now scattered all over the carpeted floor. It was until you finally crouched down to look under his bed, a misplaced shoebox all the way at the end, tucked away.

You slid your body underneath, a grunt leaving you as you reached for it. Dusting off the top of it you open it, piles upon piles of letters inside there. Crumbled and from the looks of it already read. Some mixed with letters you’ve written to him since you two were kids, for his birthday, his graduations, or just random letters. But some…some were not yours and not your handwriting. 

“Caleb, my love, happy anniversary. Six full months with you baby, I love you more and more each day I spend with you and I’ve completely fallen in love with you without a doubt. You hold a special place in my heart, and no one could ever replac-” Your hands furiously ripped the paper in pieces, thousands of them as tears rolled down your cheeks, your heart aching to burst out of your chest as you let out a scream. A scream of frustration, anger, and heartbreak all together. No, there’s no way right? Caleb wouldn’t keep such a secret from you, right? It was way worse than hearing about his random quickies at parties, a whole relationship. 

Fury was written all over you, how could he. This was not the Caleb you knew, he told you everything! You knew him like the back of your hand and more so now that you started fooling around with him. The late night calls, touching yourself as he whispered filthy words to you over the phone while your fingers thrusted in and out of you, imagining it was his cock stretching you. Fucking in his car whenever one or the other called, and now you’ve become the side piece? 

The sound of the door locking behind you immediately shoots you up straight, meeting your gaze with Caleb’s purple hues of his eyes. Pale he stood as he glanced at the torn paper surrounding you.

“Pips-” His voice trembled and before he could finish even saying the damned pet name he gave you years ago, your lips vomited out the words you never even dared to say to Caleb ever in your life.

“Fuck you, Caleb. Fuck. You.” 

“It’s not how you think it is, her and I date-”

“The fuck you mean it’s not like how it is Caleb?! You had a girlfriend this whole time and I never once heard about this girl? What, did she not satisfy you enough that you had to resort to me and other girls? Or what, did you not think I wasn’t going to find out about that either, about your disgusting quickies.” A scoff leaves you as you toss the last bit of letters at him, not even bothering to look into them, as you quickly reach out to him, snatching his phone away from his grip. Knowing everything about him, you unlock his phone immediately.

Melissa: U up? 

10:23 PM

Sabrina: miss u daddy <3 come see me..

8:18 PM

Minah: Hey baby, almost done?

5:47 PM

Obsessively scrolling down through his messages, all messages from today or days ago. You felt disgusted, not only did the guy have a whole girlfriend, but you weren’t the only girl on the side. Who was he? 

Caleb fought against you, trying to take his phone back from your hands but you were all too quick to pull away as you paced around his room continuing to scroll through his phone. Countless photos and videos, not just of the girls but of him fucking them, them having their lips wrapped around the cock you loved having so much. Even if he wasn’t yours by the title, it still hurt. It hurt more that your best friend of two decades now could ever do this to you. The lies, he used you.  

“Give it back!” He growls as he reaches out for his phone again, but you turn on your heels facing away from Caleb. His phone began vibrating against the palm of your hand. The caller ID showing an S with a white heart emoji beside it. “Oh look, someone’s calling, should we answer?” You say sarcastically, your finger already pressing against the green dot on the screen. 

“NO, I swear to go--”

“Hello? Yeah, you looking for Caleb? Oh yeah he’s here, he’s just in the shower, by the way great tits by the wa--”

Caleb rips his phone out of your ear, hanging up on the call before tossing it over onto his bed, not caring if it falls or cracks. 

“That was girl number what? Number 5? Number 8 on your list? On what rank do I fall on, Caleb?” You push his buttons as he stands still before you, his nostrils flaring in and out with anger and frustration radiating his body. That’s all it took as his hands were gripping onto your wrists, yanking your body firm against his. “You just don’t shut up do you? Always running your damn mouth, you want answers? Huh? Fine.” He pushes you against the door with a loud thud against it, earning a grunt from your lips as he keeps you pinned there. Caleb’s tall frame caging you in easily. “I stopped seeing her long time ago, those letters were from last year, and I kept it hidden because I know how you can be. You think I didn’t know about your little crush on me?” Caleb’s lips form into a smirk as he sees your gaze falter at his last words, a mocking scoff leaving him. His fingers now sneaking up behind your head, threading his fingers into your hair as he holds a firm grip, lifting your gaze back up at him.

How I can be? Bastard, you used me.

“So you just go on and fuck every girl you know? You’re sick Caleb, I knew some guys were like this but not you. But fine, you want to play that game, two can fucking play it.” With all the will and force, you pushed him out your way, making him stumble back on his feet and before he could reach you, you were out the door. You could hear Caleb desperately calling out your name as you ran out of his dorm building, still seeing red and having those images from his phone stuck in your head you grew more angry, poison running through your veins aching to hurt him. So you did.

“Hey, you still at the library? No, nothings wrong…just let me see you.” With that you hung up the call, sticking your phone back into your front pocket and made your way towards the library building in the middle of campus. The sun was beginning to set, the warm summer wind slowly becoming cooler as the sun continued to descend. 

Perfect, no one will see us.

“Let you see me huh? I’m assuming you’re not here to hang out.” The sound of Zayne’s voice creeps behind you as you wait outside the library entrance. Turning around to find him standing right before you, casual as always. Black sweats paired with a solid white t-shirt, hair softly flowing against his forehead. Zayne, another childhood friend but nothing compared to your relationship/friendship with Caleb, sadly when you guys were about to start high school he moved cities away. Being the smarty pants he is, he got into all the best schools of the state without a doubt and now in the road to becoming a doctor. A smile forms at your lips hearing his playful teasing tone. “Guess I caught.” You let out a small chuckle, Zayne shaking his head as he begins to walk down the hall. You knew he didn’t like to beat around the bush and get straight to things, fair enough since he’s always busy. 

“Well you coming or not, gorgeous?” He asked as he looked at you over his shoulder, slipping the lanyard with his keys out of his pocket.

All thoughts of Caleb now pushed into the depths of your brain as you remained sat against Zayne’s lap, your mouth eagerly devouring his as he did the same to yours. Moaning and whimpering into his mouth as he began pushing the hem of your skirt up, pooling it around your waist. Zayne’s moves have always been more precise and almost all too natural when it came to you, rather than Caleb’s; rough and greedy. Both of your heavy panting fills the space of his backseat, slowly grinding your ass right against the bulge beneath the fabric of his sweatpants, the heat between your legs growing with each passing second, his teeth grazing against the flesh of your skin as he leaves his mark. Zayne could feel you, smell your arousal even, feel the dampened panties. 

“Lift your hips.” He commands you and you follow suit.

Tugging down his sweats along with his briefs, letting them hang at the mid of his thighs, giving himself enough space to free his aching cock. Begging to slip inside your dripping pussy. In one swift move he tugs your hips down, earning a gasp from both of your lips. Tilting his head back against the headrest, pulling you flush against his chest as he starts to thrust himself from beneath you, deep and fast. His balls slapping right at the curve of your ass with each upward move, echoing all through the car and thank fucking god he parked all the way at the end of campus or else everyone would hear your muffled cries from inside. 

“Za--zayne! Fuck!” Breathlessly you cry out his name, all while he continues his assault, drilling right into you hitting the sweetest spots inside you.

It all goes on for an hour, making you come undone and fall apart multiple times on his cock and fingers. Caleb? Long forgotten, for now. After finally calming down and a quick banter chat Zayne drives his car out of the parking lot, driving back towards your apartment not far out from the university. As he pulls into the driveway, his fingers come beneath your chin pulling you over the center console of his car to capture your lips in a long deep languid kiss. Wanting the savor the last bit of his mouth before you pull away.

“Mm…I gotta go, doctor.” You murmur against his lips, earning a chuckle from him at the ‘doctor’ mention. “Kay, get your ass inside safely, doctor’s orders.” Zayne whispers to you, not before pressing a kiss at the back of your hand as you slide your body out of his car. Waving him goodbye, before quickly running towards your apartment. Now you stand in silence as you close the door behind you, your mind already ahead of you as memories of today’s events run through your head. A wave of just pure sadness washing through you as you toss your keys on the counter, letting out a sigh before plopping yourself onto the couch. Before you could even get the chance to let yourself cry over everything, your phone begins to vibrate.

Caleb: Wrong fucking move. 

11:18 PM

Caleb: Open your door, i’m outside. 

11:20PM 

[ladsrants]

THE NIGHT WE MET

caleb x non mc reader college au

(may not be completely accurate to the lad’s timeline)

Music. What does it mean to me. That’s the question I’ve spent the last 45 minutes staring at with a furrowed brow and tight frown.

I love music. I’ve known this my entire life. Since I was a kid. I remember being in the third grade and wobbling my way onto the talent show stage just to sing for five minutes.

I sucked, but that’s irrelevant.

My fingers gently tapped the surface of the smooth wooden coffee table I sat at. My face lit up by the blue light of my laptop screen as a familiar song played through my headphones.

The atmosphere of the campus coffee shop was warm and homey, a soft orchestral string arrangement playing through the overhead speakers. A few students passing through, ordering, studying, existing. The smell of dark roast coffee floated through the air, paired with a faint remembrance of pastries from this morning.

After a few more moments of staring, my eye twitching slightly in thought, I closed my laptop. My hand moving to swipe over my face with lingering frustration.

The time on my watch read 6:45, most everyone had begun to clear out of the small cafe. My gaze flickering to the glass window on my left, dancing over the different groups of people moving to classes or their respective dorms. They all had their people. Friends. Lovers. Family. My eyes fell on a specific couple, the man pinching the girls side as she squirmed away from him with wide smile. Just as I got a little too invested in the scene below me, my attention was ripped away by a loud abrasive glass shatter.

I cranked my head to the side, pulling my earbud out with ease as my gaze fell on the scene behind the wooden counter top. Two workers, one of which I recognized from when I ordered my coffee earlier. He was bent down with a panicked air about him, fighting to gather the glass shards from the floor all while gasping out an apology to the other man.

“S-shit! Sorry Caleb, I wasn’t paying attention—“

The taller, brunette man spoke up, whom I assumed to be ‘Caleb’.

“Hey, you’re fine. It happens to all of us. The world isn’t gonna end because of a broken glass Gideon.”

Gideon. He made my drink earlier in the afternoon, Caleb hadn’t arrived yet. I couldn’t deny that he was a handsome man. He was tall, built, and that smile was lethal. He seemed warm.

I averted my gaze just as quick as it fell on the pair when a pair of violet eyes flickered to me. I felt a warmth creeping up my neck and into my cheeks at having been noticed as my eyes focused on my empty coffee mug.

Fuck. He’s walking over here now.

The soft creak of the wood whining under his footsteps moved closer and closer. My heart beating a little quicker.

“Hey, sorry about the commotion. Can I comp you a drink to make up for it?”

His voice rang through my ears and sent a chill down my spine. I looked up, schooling my expression to nonchalance as I shot him a small, sheepish smile and shook my head. Gathering my laptop and sliding it into my bag while holding his eye contact.

“No, thats alright. It’s time for me to head out anyways. Maybe when I come back tomorrow?” I silently praised myself for the boldness in my claim, the confidence I exuded being completely placated. It seemingly caught him off guard, his eyes widening slightly before a small smirk crept onto his lips. His stance shifting back as he leaned on his heel, shoving his hands in the pocket of his apron.

“Deal. Do you have a name mystery customer?”

I pulled my bag over my shoulder, standing to my feet with ease as I brushed past him with a smug smile.

“Nope. Mystery customer works.”

I could hear a soft, airy chuckle erupt from him as I walked to the door of the cafe, the bell above my head ringing gently as he spoke out behind me.

“Well mines Caleb!”

The next day came around, a cold breeze moving through the city. The sky was overcast with rain clouds that left a light drizzle above us all. I held my bag over my head as I jogged to the overhang of the music building, my boots splashing through puddles, water bouncing up to dampen the ends of my jeans. I took shelter in front of the glass doors, panting slightly as I pulled my phone out to glance at the time. Late. Of course. Just as I turned to enter the building I felt a warm hand fall on my shoulder, making me tense and whip around with wide, defensive eyes.

Caleb.

“Mystery Customer. You missed your free coffee today.”

He had that same stupid smile on his face, his eyes glittered with an expression I couldn’t quite read. I onceovered his outfit, taking in the jacket featuring a recognizable silver insignia. Aviation major. Interesting. He held a closed umbrella in one hand, and a paper coffee cup in another.

“Uh, sorry, I honestly forgot.”

My hand sheepishly slipped to the backside of my neck, running through the damp hair that stuck to my skin. My nose and cheeks were bright pink in response to the cold air. My lips pulled up in a small smile.

“Don’t sweat it, I just saw you from the parking lot and wanted to say Hi. Do you..not have an umbrella?”

“Well..Hi. Caleb. I would love to chat more but I’m late to class.”

“Oh, of course. Um, here. Take this.”

He gestured the closed umbrella out to me, pushing it into my open hand before I could properly deny his offer. Turning on his heels and jogging towards the opposite direction of the parking lot. A grin pulling at my lips as I put the puzzle pieces together.

“The parking lots the other way!”

“I never said which parking lot Mystery Customer!”

His voice was muffled by the rainfall as it began to pour harder. An incredulous laugh slipping past my lips as I glanced down at the umbrella. It was a black umbrella with apples printed across the top. The handle a dark rich red. I huffed slightly before turning and walking into the music hall.

Something told me that apple boy would take up more space in my mind today that I cared for.

a/n : hey hi hello! i may continue with this, may not. who knows. :)) hope you enjoyed! i was rewatching tokyo ghoul lately and it has bled forward into my borderline obsession with lads. so. college student barista caleb. badda bing badda boom.

[committingcrimes-2047]

What I think it would be like to cuddle with the OUAW lads!!! (+ Hootsie!)

This is all coming from someone who's only at like episode 5/6 💔 I just really love these little goobers. Also, all of these are written weirdly because I'm literally just writing whatever thought pops into my head, so different characters with have different situations and things like that, so please bare with me!!!

With Kremy, about half of your cuddles end up with Gideon aswell. They're a package deal, and you know it. Now, he won't ask for cuddles, you have to be the one to initiate it. He also isn't a massive fan of PDA, but he won't object if you want to cuddle up to him in the day. After all, he gets to show off his amazing partner and smugly stare back at any jealous onlookers. He won't deny that he very much enjoys the jealous that radiates off of people and monsters alike when they see him with his amazing partners. He definitely comes up behind you and hugs your waist with his head over your shoulder, so he can watch what you're doing. Once he puts his arms around you though, he often decides that he's had enough of other people and that's when you can sneak in a few cuddles.

He would lie on his back and hold you while you rest your head on his chest and he definitely wouldn't be complaining if you ran your fingers over his scales while you both got comfortable. It is a DREAM to cuddle up to him in summer, he might wrap himself around you just so you can be a bit more comfortable in the heat. He also wraps his tail around you. When all three of you cuddle, you two rest on either side of Gideon. He's your guys favourite pillow! (This is totally not an idea that I borrowed from the-unexpected-council, go check them out if you like OUAW x reader content because they are FIRE!!!) But when you are separated by Gideon, and you had your hand up on his chest, Kremy would hold yours. You basically trap Gideon under your arms and all three of you couldn't be happier.

Though, Kremy definitely has a skin(scale?)-care routine. He probably sleeps with some sort of face cream or face mask on. He would be thrilled if you both did your skincare together, it's something special for you both to do... even though it would end up with you both laying like mummies try not to mess up your skin. Gideon would not be impressed if you were all going to bed together, like you usually do.

Gideon is one of the BEST cuddlers in the group (totally not biased or anything...) and he absolutely loves physical affection, PDA, cuddling- he LOVES it. He will show off you and Kremy, he doesn't care that he's openly showing off. When he's ready for bed, he will just pick you up and walk off. He will only pick up Kremy if he is over-working himself and stressed out... or if he just wants to mess with him. He would definitely pick you and Kremy up, sling you both over his shoulders and grin as you both laugh. He might do a couple spins though, just to hear you both cackle.

When you're going to bed, if you want to, he will let you pick out some sleeping clothes. This is mainly in winter, since he wouldn't wear that much to bed in the warmer seasons. He would laugh if you pick out the cupcake chad shirt, he would put it on though... and probably flex for you. He doesn't care too much about what he wears, as long as he's comfortable. But, he's occasionally going to want to pick what YOU wear, be warned.

Once you're in bed, you're in bed and you arent getting up to he is. He has an almost iron grip on you if you cuddle up just in his arms, he has tried to fix this but he just loves you so much- even in his sleep. You could probably wiggle out with Kremys help, but if he's not there you're gonna be stuck. Like I said earlier, when you all go to bed together, he lays in the middle while you and Kremy lay on either side of him. He will get a little huffy if you cuddle up to Kremy, while he's there too but he gets over it once you go back to your place at his side.

Once the cold season comes around, he's more then happy to absolutely smother you two in cuddles. If you were stuck outside, camping in the cold or snow, he would become stressed and protective of both you and Kremy. Not that he isn't already protective, he IS a bodyguard after all but he almost always near you two- just to be sure that the cold won't cause you harm. He definitely keeps you two close, especially when you're going to bed. The idea of waking up and having lost one or both of you to the cold absolutely terrifies him so he ends up over-heating the tent. But, once you're all awake and realise what's going on, you both give him comfort and you're all able to sleep again.

(If someone wrote a little fanfic about this, I totally wouldn't fall inlove with them or anything...)

Frost isn't necessarily a cuddler, not that he doesn't enjoy it! He's just not used to it, you know? You'd have to get him used to it, but once he is used to it... every opportunity to cuddle is taken. If you were in a colder environment, it doesnt matter if you can handle tk the cold or not, he wrap you in his robe, especially if you are alot smaller than him. It has a very earthy smell, maybe a little minty aswell.

I believe his personal favourite form of cuddling would be when he's reading and you're in sit lap, curled up into his fuzzy chest. He won't mind you end up taking a nap or if you decide to pet his fur, he just likes having you with him. If you have explored the OUAW x reader tag, then you have probably seen this headcannon hundreds of times but he absolutely purs. It's not like loud pur, so it's not super noticeable. I think he would do it without thinking, kind of like when you hum when you do something. If you do that, he definitely loves it.

As for sleeping positions, I think Frost would like god ol fashioned spooning. He would be the big spoon, so that he gets to sleepily groom you. He probably also likes to rub his face on your head and neck aswell, the way cats do when they are rubbing up all on you. If you pet him while you guys are cuddling, he is most definitely going to fall asleep. BUT, I think he always tries to fall asleep after you. He would like to see you're sleeping face, at peace and without worry.

If you have trouble sleeping (me too king, me too 💔), he has solutions for you! Now. The obivous choice is just using magic to help you sleep, but there are many other options! He would love to read to you! Not only does he get to read, he gets to help you sleep! Or he could give you back or head scratches, gently running his claws over your skin (not enough to cut you, don't worry).

If you're cuddling with Gricko, you're cuddling with Hootsie too, they're a package deal too! I believe Gricko would either lay on top of you or your right up next to you. I think he would like to listen to your heartbeat, he would find it calming. He would lay on your chest, he doesn't mind if you wrap your arms around him like an oversized teddy-bear or if you sleep like a starfish. Hootsie will either lay right up next to you, on your legs or just on the end of the bed. On rare occasions she will take your spot on the bed and you and Gricko will have to lay around her because you can't wake her up! She's a growing girl, she needs all the enegery she can get!

If he came back to camp or wherever you were all staying and found you asleep, with Hootsie cuddled up in your arms, he would be ready to propose on the spot. You would wake up to both Gricko AND Hootise curled up in arms and wrapped in an oversized blanket. It wouldn't surprise me if you fell asleep alone and ended up with the two of them curled up to you, they just love you so much!!!

At night, when you're all ready for bed- if you have hair/hair long enough to, he would braid it for you so it doesn't get all messed up in your sleep. If you had a skincare routine, he would also help you with that if he could. Though, you might wanna keep Hootsie away from all the nice smelling face creams. Maybe you should try to dry your face off too, you might wake up and find the owl bear licking your face. If you don't, you won't have any face cream left and she will have a tummy ache, and you don't want that!

Torbek is definitely a cuddler. He's so touch starved, he definitely takes advantage of any touch he can get. Though, cuddling with him would probably be a little... strange, due to his height and lanky limbs. He would completely wrap himself around you, and completely envelop you in his fur. To anyone else, it would look like the bugbear was just curled up and hugging himself. But they're wrong! He has his wonderful partner with him!!! If you were laying down together, he'd have to lay on his side because... you know, the canisters on his back. Again, he probably wraps himself around you...

Unless. He likes to feel protected, so no matter his or your height, he's gonna try and curl into you. He wants to be spooned!!! You would both lay on your sides, Torbeks head either in the crook of your neck or jammed into your chest with your arms wrapped around his neck and legs around his torso. He would try to bring his legs up aswell, as much as he can atleast so he can tangle them with yours. His arms would definitely be around you, that's for sure. Kind of like the face-to-face embrace.

Though... if you decide to cuddle with Torbek, you might wanna make sure he takes a bath first. Not only is he a stinky guy, it's probably really hard to keep all the fur clean when you are living with the crew- lord knows they get into chaos every three seconds. You could help him though!!! He would probably ask you to help him anyway, not only is it an excuse to be close to you but he gets to get your hands all over him AND he gets clean!!! Three in one! He would be so soft when dry and clean... and also he might become way too fluffy- like a cat after they're blow dried.

I hope you enjoyed!!! This took me a few days to get out, my motivation has been really off and on and it's been so annoying but I finally managed to get this done so I can move onto something else. Thank fuck😭

[mephisto-reporting]

Tagged by: @jinwoosbabyboo

Last song: WITCH by Delilah Bon

Last Movie: The Boy and The Heron (on a projector at home last weekend)

Last book: Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir

Last TV Show: The Apothecary Diaries Season 2

Sweet, Savory or Spicy: Savory and Spicy

Relationship: Taken

Last thing I googled: henna designs

Looking forward to: My trip home in April

Current obsession: Apothecary diaries, Lego builds and LADs

Tagging with no pressure whatsoever: @pomegranatepip @skynapple @miss-rori @local-x-reader @c-h-writes

Tag Game: Get to Know Me

Tagged by: @razrogue (Thank you hun 🩵)

Last Song: Big Boogie - Pop Out

Last Movie: Captain America: New Brave World

Last Book: Bad Guy by Kenya Goree-Bell

Last TV Show: The Rookie

Sweet, savory, or spicy: Sweet & Spicy

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Looking forward to: King of Envy release

Current obsession: Twitch & Solo Leveling

tagging w/ no pressure ; @kookieluvs @tamaki-simp @sayangrafayel @mephisto-reporting

[comfortwriting]

Paying For It - F.W

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompt Masterlist

Dom Fred Weasley x Sub Fem Reader

About: During the Yule Ball, Fred notices a student from Durmstrang watching his girlfriend throughout the evening, when Fred goes away to get a drink, the student approaches Y/N and asks her for a dance. Fred is furious and jealous, and Y/N will pay for it.

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Dom/Sub, daddy-kink, breeding-kink, male receiving oral, rough-sex, female receiving oral, fingering, swearing, outdoor, unprotected rough sex, bulging.

Prompts:

103: "Look at me when I'm fucking talking to you, you pathetic slut."

106: "Be careful," he warned you, fucking you faster "you know how bad I want to knock you up."

107: "Be a good girl" he growled "or daddy will have to punish you."

109: "You look so gorgeous staring up at me with those big tear-filled eyes, your throat full of my cock."

You were having the time of your life, being on Fred's arm in a stunning dress with your hair and makeup done, enjoying the band and being able to let loose with your boyfriend.

You still couldn't believe you were dating, that he even asked you to the ball - you spent the first two years of Hogwarts hating each other, trying to hide your real feelings.

"You look bloody stunning," Fred smiled, dancing to the upbeat music.

You blushed and danced along, your feet starting to hurt from breaking into your heels.

"Thank you," you shouted above the music "you look rather handsome, Freddie."

Fred rolled his eyes and pulled a face, pouting and pretending to be flattered, you slapped his shoulder playfully and giggled. Fred laughed along but stopped, he stared behind you and his face fell and hardened like stone.

"What's wrong?" you asked, "you haven't spiked the drinks bowl with those trial pastilles have you?!"

Fred shook his head "No, I haven't."

You furrowed your brows and stopped dancing "So, what is it?"

Fred focused back on you "Nothing, it doesn't matter." He didn't want to ruin your night.

But it wasn't just nothing. Fred noticed that throughout the evening, one of the lads from Durmstrang had been eyeing you up - practically undressing you with his eyes - and Fred hated it.

When Durmstrang arrived at Hogwarts, the lads were amazed and the women were starstruck - Fred worried that their skills would gain your attention - but you weren't wowed, you were more interested in Fred plans for the future.

Your interest in Fred and devotion to him didn't stop the student from staring at you, and most likely talking about you to Victor - and Fred could only grip you by the waist so many times to try and get the message across.

Fred pulled you closer, slow dancing with you despite the high energy song and the crowd jumping.

He could feel the jealousy inside of him brewing, he needed to get back on the quidditch pitch soon or he might end up snapping. You could sense that Fred was in distress, but you didn't press further, you knew it wouldn't help the situation.

Fred sighed, his mouth dry as a bone, looking at the table next to him, all the cups and glasses were empty.

"Fancy a drink, love?" he asked "I'm dying for one."

You nodded your head, you too needed a drink after all the shouting over the music.

"Please! Thanks, Freddie." You smiled.

Fred left you on your own, grumbling under his breath, trying to keep calm and reassure himself that the Durmstrang student wasn't a threat, that you were truly his.

Taking a seat at one of the tables, you watched Angelina and George dancing - unable to stop your smiling, until Ron stormed past in his dress robes - you burst out laughing and slapped your hand over your mouth, not wanting him to hear you and be embarrassed.

"Miss Y/L/N," an unfamiliar voice called out.

You turned your face and stared up at the lad dressed from head to toe in red velvet and fur, you had noticed him when messing around with Fred in the Great Hall and in the stands at the first event, you were hoping he had Krums autograph for you to give to Ron.

"Hello," you replied, feeling slightly awkward "are you alright?"

Fred turned around, two cups in his hand filled with juice, he dropped one to the floor, spilling it over his shoes at the sight of the student chatting you up. He lifted his cup to his lips, downing the liquid and tossing it, marching over towards you.

How dare he! Bloody waiting for me to leave so he could swoop in on her!

"Uh, I have a boyfriend, sorry-" you rejected him, your cheeks heating up and flushing pink.

Fred pushed in front of you, glaring at him "After something?" he asked, his voice unkind.

The tall and muscular student shook his head, unphased by Fred's arrival and walked off without a word.

"What did he want?" Fred asked frantically, his feet getting itchy.

You sighed, "Nothing-"

Fred pulled you up from your seat and escorted you out of the castle, breaking you out into the cold, dark, and snowy evening.

"Fred, slow down, please!" you huffed, getting out of breath.

"What did he want!" Fred pulled you behind the shrubbery, knowing if you were to get caught, your evening would be ruined.

You sighed, "He asked me for a dance, Fred, nothing more."

"He's been staring at you all evening and the one time I leave he swoops in on you like that!"

"Fred, keep your voice down!" You hissed.

"You're gonna pay for this, love!" Fred hissed back, flipping you and holding you down against the snow, your back freezing.

"Fred! What are you-" You giggled and whining against the cold.

Fred bit his lip, trying not to admit he was jealous.

You opened your mouth and raised your eyebrows "Fredrick Gideon Weasley, are you jealous!"

You grinned and Fred put his hand over your mouth.

"Be a good girl" he growled "or daddy will have to punish you."

Your heart skipped a beat, you and Fred rarely had sex or engaged in any sexual activity as of recent - you were too busy placing bets with the tournament and planning products for the joke shop.

Truth be told, you were liking the direction this was going - Fred being jealous, taking control.

You smirked and licked your bottom lip, the snow dampening your dress and hair.

"Oh really?" your voice low "Prove it."

Fred's erection was poking through his trousers, he unbuttoned them and yanked down his zip, his trousers falling to his ankles, pulling down his boxers, his erection slapped against his lower stomach.

"Don't just lay there," Fred stared at you, pumping his length "open up."

Getting on your knees, pushing them into the snow, you opened your mouth and looked up at Fred standing over you, looked down on you.

Fred grabbed the back of your head and fed you his cock, using his hand to bob your head, your saliva coated his length, making it easier to slide down your throat, making you gag and your eyes tear up.

Fred hung his head back and moaned softly, part of him hoped that the Durmstrang student would somehow go for a walk and come across you pleasuring him - anything to make it clear that you belonged to Fred and no one else, the thought of someone else wanting you made Fred take control, face fucking you.

The sound of you gagging and Fred fucking your face made you wet, and also made this whole experience exciting - would you get caught? would you get away with it? You didn't know but the possibilities were exciting.

"You look so gorgeous staring up at me with those big tear-filled eyes, your throat full of my cock." Fred groaned, his face stroking your bulging cheek.

Ignoring Fred, you hummed and sucked lazily, wanting to annoy him.

"Look at me when I'm fucking talking to you, you pathetic slut."

It worked.

You started to laugh and stopped sucking, pulling away from his length, your saliva pooling out of your mouth and dripping down your chin.

"What's so funny?" Fred asked, an annoyed expression forming on his face.

You shrugged, feeling daring "I'm missing a dance, for this."

Fred's eyes widened and he pulled you up, grabbing you by the waist and bending you over.

You giggled, doing your best to lift up your dress as Fred pulled down your knickers, the cold air attacking your exposed clit. He kicked your legs apart, spitting on his fingers and spreading his saliva in between your folds before using his tongue, circling it around your entrance hole.

Your moans spilt from your mouth at the feeling of Fred's warm tongue swimming whilst his fingers stimulated your clit, pulling away, Fred's lubricated length lined up against your entrance.

"Don't be too loud, now," he warned you, pushing his length deep inside you.

"Fuck," you moaned softly, adjusting to the feeling of being stretched out and filled up.

Fred's hands held onto your waist as he started to buck his hips, thrusting inside of you, deeper and deeper, taking out his feelings on your cunt.

"I wonder," you panted "if it would just be a dance for him-"

Fred fucked you harder, gritting his teeth, his fingers digging into you.

"It's strange," you continued "everyone knows I'm yours but he doesn't seem to understand."

"Be careful," he warned you, fucking you faster "you know how bad I want to knock you up."

"Maybe you should," you sighed, trying your best not to grin.

Fred stopped for a moment, catching his breath before gripping you by the hair, pounding you with his length.

"Is that what you want? To be filled with my seed? For everyone to know that I've fucked you senseless."

You couldn't stop yourself from moaning out in pleasure, you had to cover your mouth to muffle the noise, even the slapping was loud enough - how you hadn't already been caught, you didn't know.

"I want it just as much as you do, daddy."

Fred could no longer control himself, the idea and thought of everyone knowing he fucked you made him closer to cumming inside of you - your stomach started to tense up, your legs shaking, you could feel yourself release - your cum coating him.

"That's it," Fred panted, "fucking cum!"

Fred's lips, like yours, were bright red from the biting and the cold air, your walls strangled him, and as he twitched, he came inside of you, holding you close to him, his face getting lost in your tangled hair.

"I told you, you would pay for it," he panted, planting a kiss on your neck.

"I'm glad I did," you replied "No one else I'd rather be with, Freddie."

taglist: @horrorxweasley @rreeaahh @inglourious-imagines @onlyfreds @xmalfoyweasleyx @scorpireads @themoonis-beautiful-tonight @enya-2004 @nimueh-lacus @youralternantpersonality @pottahishotasf @supermassiveblackhope 

[88missmarauder88]

Sirius x Reader / Remus x Reader -- Part IV

SO SORRY for the delay. Already working on Part V, so it won’t be far behind! And if I’ve forgotten anyone in this tag list, please message me and let me know!

Tag List: @ideas-nocturnas , @evyiione , @a-hopelessly-imaginative-girl , @intense-sneezing , @ghostlyrose2 , @peasantview , @la-fille-en-aiguilles , @toasterking , @too-involved , @onthebroadway , @comebackanothertime , @hfflpffs-shit , @actually-a-tree , @ohhowthetableshaveturnedd , @justducky0423 

"I'm really not in a party mood, Lily."

You slumped against the railing at the top of the staircase leading to Gryffindor Tower. For someone who'd been unconscious for the better part of two days, you were exhausted. All you wanted was to crawl into your own bed and stay there. Possibly permanently. Or at least until Sirius and Remus were both graduated and married. Not that they'd ever be able to find girls good enough for them, of course, but-- Merlin's pants, were you actually jealous of fictional girls now?

"Don't frown so, my dear!" the Fat Lady chirped. "You'll develop wrinkles!"

"No offence, but that could not be lower on my list of concerns right now," you grumbled.

"Y/N, I know how you feel, I really do. On all accounts," Lily sighed, leaning over the railing beside you.

"Then please just tell them I'm ill. And cursed. And transferring to Beauxbatons."

"You know better than I do that if I said you were ill, they'd go into nursemaid mode again, and I will not have Sirius Black playing harmonica in my dorm room. Besides, it's not just them. The whole House is waiting."

You groaned. "All right, here's the plan. We go in, you shout that Marlene's about to get her kit off, and I escape while everyone's distracted."

"No. For two reasons. Firstly, because Marlene would actually take that as a cue to get her kit off, and secondly, because you have got to talk to Sirius. The longer you let it go, the worse things are going to get for the two of you and for Remus. And I know you don't want to hurt Remus, Y/N."

"Oh I do adore a triangle amoureux!" the Fat Lady gasped. "But you'll of course choose the Lupin boy... such a fine, polite lad. That Black, on the other hand--"

"Do you mind?" you snapped.

"Well!" the portrait sniffed. "Forgive me for attempting to offer my counsel as someone older, wiser, and--"

"Nosier, yes, we know." You turned back to Lily. "And no, I don't. The last thing in the world I want to do is hurt Remus. But what if I'm wrong about all of it, Lily? I'll just end up making an arse of myself, and they'll both never look at me the same way again."

"And what if you're right? All the wondering and worrying will be over, and by tomorrow, you could be looking across the breakfast table at the love of your life."

You desperately did not want to allow yourself to get carried away by daydreams, but you couldn't ignore the slight flutter in your stomach at the thought. Maybe you were just misreading Remus. Maybe his odd behaviour was a side effect of his more difficult transformations. Maybe he was nervous about whether or not the boys' animagus plans would work, or that you'd find out what they'd done and be angry.

Maybe Lily was right, and in a few hours, you could finally look into those maddening grey eyes and not be terrified about what they might see in yours.

You turned to Lily with a shrug and a grudging smile you couldn't quite fight off. "Your eternal optimism is contagious."

"Hooray!" she cried, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Now we just have to figure out how to get you two alone in a room full of people."

"One of those people being Remus," you said, your brow furrowing again.

"Ignore the remainder of my sage advice if you wish, but you truly must stop scowling, child," the Fat Lady interjected. "One cannot hope to achieve a pleasing visage by constantly giving one's countenance over to gloom. Surely you've noticed my flawless complexion?"

"Which I reckon has nothing at all to do with the fact you're a painting."

"My but aren't you a cheeky sprite. Perhaps you're a bit more suited to the Black boy after all..."

"Oh, Sir Cadogan! The Fat Lady was just telling us how she'd love to hear the tale of your triumph over the Wyvern of Wye again!"

"Why, you little--!"

"KNICKERBOCKER GLORY!!" Lily shouted. The Fat Lady huffily swung aside, and Lily shoved you through the hole in the wall and into the Gryffindor common room.

"Honestly, Y/N, you and Sirius do give that poor woman more grief..."

"She started it!" you began, but you were quickly cut off.

"WELCOME BACK TO CONSCIOUSNESS!!"

The entirety of Gryffindor House bellowed out their greeting in unison, and you couldn't help but smile. All the turmoil within your group of closest friends had cast a shadow over the joy that usually accompanied returning to Hogwarts for a new year. But the warm, familiar faces who came rushing over to pat you on the back or pull you into a hug put you unexpectedly at ease, and you found yourself thinking you might just be in a bit of a party mood after all.

You scanned the room and found three-quarters of the Marauders introducing a large crowd to a table laden with butterbeer and firewhisky. Lily, meanwhile, had made a beeline in that direction, and she and Remus were now engaged in frantically attempting to snatch bottles and cups out of the hands of wide-eyed first and second years.

"Some seeker you are!" Gideon Prewett grinned, ruffling your hair.

"Right!" his twin, Fabian, chimed in. "How are you ever going to spot that wee little Snitch if you can't even see a bloody bludger heading straight for your noggin!"

You wrapped an arm around each of the Gryffindor chasers' necks before giving a sharp tug, knocking their heads together. They joined you in laughter, and you allowed yourself to be led off to the sofa in front of the fire, where you proceeded to drown your anxiety in blissfully uncomplicated chatter with the Prewetts, Marlene, Frank, Alice, and Emmeline. This was the Hogwarts you'd been missing, and you sank back into the soft cushions, determined to enjoy it while it lasted. No decisions, no choices; just the firelight, reflecting off the Prewetts' collar-length ginger hair till it danced like the flames themselves as they took turns doing rather spot-on impressions of Slughorn and Kettleburn. Just Marlene, endearingly loud and brash, vying not-so-subtly for one of the Prewetts' attention... or both, you couldn't rightly tell. Frank and Alice, stealing glances and touching hands when they thought no one was looking. Worst-kept secret at Hogwarts, but it was sweet the way they still assumed nobody knew. Emmeline, shy and quiet, but always beaming, enjoying the company.

After a half-hour or so, however, you felt a light tap on your shoulder.

"Could you give me a hand over here, Y/N?"

Reluctantly, you joined Lily at the base of the staircases and, with effort, fought down the urge to sprint up to your room and away from whatever was about to happen. You'd been contemplating telling her to forget the whole thing, that getting involved with any of your friends was a daft idea and you'd changed your mind. But watching Frank and Alice, you couldn't help but think... was it so bad to want something like that for yourself?

"There he is," Lily whispered, bumping her elbow into your side and nodding towards the far window. Two armchairs sat facing it, and over the back of one, you could see the top of Sirius's head. The other, you noted with a hint of nausea, was empty.

"You're not going to get a better opportunity."

"I know."

"Are you ready?"

"Nope."

"How do you feel?"

"Like I've just been hit by the Knight Bus."

"Well... none of that is good, but I don't think it's going to get better until this is over, so... break a leg, love."

"I'd much rather."

With a deep breath, you somehow prompted your cold, numb legs to carry you towards the window. Dropping onto the empty armchair, you sat stiffly on the edge of the cushion, staring into the darkness beyond the window. Your limbs felt like they'd been starched, but you did your best to assume a casual position, realising you probably looked more like someone had tossed aside a marionette instead. Your throat was parched, and you glanced longingly at the drinks table for a moment before biting down on your bottom lip and clutching the arms of the chair in an attempt to focus. You were a right mess, and you couldn't go on like this. It was now or never.

You turned towards Sirius, who was looking at you quizzically, his eyes dark in the dim light. You forced your voice to manifest, and it sounded just as croaky as you'd figured it would. Fuck.

"Hey, you."

"WELCOME BACK TO CONSCIOUSNESS!!"

James turned from the crate of butterbeer he was unloading in time to see you smiling at your assembled classmates. He immediately glanced to his right and left.

Sirius had a bottle of Blishen's in his hand; slowly, he lowered it to the table, his eyes fixed intently on you. Sighing, James turned to Remus, who had dropped the empty cups he'd been trying to fill with punch before Sirius could fill them with firewhisky. Pity he didn't know Sirius had already spiked the punch. Remus looked as if he were about to hyperventilate as he stared at you, and James rubbed his eyes wearily with the heels of his palms. It was going to be a long night.

Remus barely registered the sound of the stack of empty cups he'd been holding hitting the floor. You were smiling, and you were beautiful when you smiled. Not that you weren't beautiful when you didn't smile... you were beautiful all the time and... a bit extra beautiful when you smiled?

Well, that clinched it. He was not cut out for this.

Worse than that, he felt like he'd already ruined things between the two of you without even saying a word. You were his best friend, for Merlin's sake. If this were last year, he'd be bounding over to you right now, scooping you into a bear hug, and the two of you would spend the rest of the night laughing and swapping chocolates and taking wagers on when, where, and after how many firewhiskys James would pass out. Instead, you were chatting with the Prewett twins, and he was standing here like a numpty and sweating.

At least you looked happy to see everyone; Remus had worried you'd just want to go to bed after finally getting out of hospital. Frankly, he'd wanted to do the same after confessing his feelings to the lads. The walk back to the castle had been unusually quiet, but James had seemed adamant that if Remus intended to let you know how he felt, the sooner would be the better.

"Remus!"

Remus jumped, startled out of his thoughts, and inadvertently kicked a few empty cups across the floor. They were immediately snatched up by a delighted-looking pair of fourth years, who dunked them into the punch and began guzzling. A bit of a line had formed at the punch bowl. At least some people appreciated a nice, simple beverage. He glanced up to see Lily rushing towards him.

She pointed angrily to Remus's right, and, as per usual, Remus found James and Sirius at the end of that finger. They were cheerfully waving everyone over to the drinks table like social directors on a holiday cruise.

"The third years can have butterbeer -- to a point -- but they can not have firewhisky, and the first and second years can't have anything other than punch..."

Remus didn't in the slightest feel like spending the evening playing cup-and-bottle cop, but neither did he want to let Lily down. He glanced behind him as he plucked a firewhisky out of the hands of a second year to see you making your way towards the sofa, arms around the Prewetts, whom Remus suddenly and irrationally hated.

On second thought, he could use a distraction.

Sirius halted midway through filling a cup with firewhisky to watch as the irritated look on your face when you first entered the common room slowly melted into a smile.

You had rather a lot of smiles. This one was genuine; you looked a bit relieved and happy to see everyone, and Sirius was glad of that. He hadn't figured you'd be in a party mood, but you were good at adjusting when the situation called for it. Then there was the polite smile you reserved for professors and casual acquaintances. The slightly pained smile when you wished someone would go away but were too nice to put it out there. Two others were high on his list of favourites: the truly delighted one always lit up your eyes and reminded Sirius of the girl he'd met five years ago; the wicked grin that usually preceded a great prank idea excited him for a growing variety of reasons.

But there was one smile in particular Sirius liked to think was his and his alone. At least, he'd never seen it directed at anyone else. It was rather like the childlike one but mixed with a complete sort of ease that seemed to indicate you were precisely where you wanted to be in that moment. He'd almost started to let himself believe that, just maybe, where you wanted to be was with--

"Finished with that, mate?" James asked, studying Sirius's face as he gently took the bottle of Blishen's from his hand. Sirius blinked a few times, then grinned.

"Yep. All done with it."

He cast a glance your direction and made a quick mental note to put itching powder in the Prewetts' Quidditch gear tomorrow. Then he spread his arms wide.

"Come and get it, lads and lassies! Drinks are on the Marauders tonight!"

James popped open another butterbeer and surveyed the common room.

Remus was sitting on a desk near the portrait hole, pretending to listen to Peter, who was on another rant about his failed attempts to use Engorgio to make himself taller. Remus's heels were battering nervously off the legs of the desk as he stared at you on the couch, and he looked as if he might vomit at any given moment. Fantastic.

Sirius was sitting alone in one of the armchairs by the window. He'd forgone the cups and was drinking directly from the last bottle of firewhisky. He'd kicked off his boots, and his hair was a mess. He looked like a rock star coming off a weekend binge. Marvelous.

Meanwhile, the number of little kids passed out in various spots and positions around the room was increasing. Hilarious.

James flopped onto a nearby chair and downed the rest of his butterbeer.

"I hope you're pleased with yourself."

"I generally am, Evans."

Sadly, he didn't have the energy to tack an additional pithy remark onto that. He barely had the energy to lift his eyelids, but he made the effort just to see her glaring at him, one hand on her hip and the other clutching her wand. She was adorable when she was angry.

"Children, drunk. Rubbish, everywhere. About ten school rules, broken. And as usual, you're all present and accounted for when it's time to make the mess, but you'll be nowhere to be found when it's time to clean it up."

Evans was saying something prefect-y, but James's thoughts were louder. Mess. That's what it all was, and he couldn't deal with it by himself anymore. He hadn't had any bloody time to think between what happened in Honeydukes' cellar and now. There was too much to sort out, and he needed help.

"Potter, are you even listening to me?"

"Not in the slightest. Hey, Evans, I need a favour."

"The nerve of you! You are the most selfish, arrogant git I have ever encountered."

"Absolutely right."

"Never giving a fig for anyone else until you need something, and then we're all supposed to jump to attention because the great James Potter snapped his fingers."

"Completely inexcusable."

"You're drunk, aren't you."

"Tremendously, but look, Evans, I'm serious. Will you please at least hear me out?"

Lily looked torn for a moment, but slowly, the redness began to fade from her cheeks, and she sat down primly with a dramatic sigh.

"What do you want, Potter?"

"I know something about some people, and it's some people you know something about too, but you know your something from someone else, and you only know half of it, but I know the other half, so if we put it all together, we might be able to do something."

Lily stared at him, one eyebrow raised. "I can't even put that sentence together."

James sat up in his chair and slapped himself on the cheeks a few times. Not only was this his chance to get another perspective on his problem, it was the first time he could recall that Evans had spent more than a minute talking to him without hexing him and/or storming off. He couldn't blow this.

"Sorry, let me try again. I know that you know that Y/N fancies Sirius and Remus fancies Y/N."

Lily's eyes widened in shock.

"I... erm... well, she... wait -- how do you know I know that?"

James held up his hands, very conscious of the fact she was still holding her wand.

"Please do not hex me. I was asleep in here when the two of you came in, and when I woke up, you were already in the thick of it. I tried, but I couldn't not hear you."

"So you were spying on us!" Lily's wand hand twitched.

"No!" James said quickly. "I told you, I tried not to hear. Either way, though, she's one of my closest friends, Evans. You know I can't abide her hurting. All I want to do is help."

Lily took a deep breath and nodded. "Go on."

"I decided to see if I could suss out how Pads and Moony felt. If it wasn't like she thought, I would've let her know. But it turns out, it's almost exactly like she thought. Remus is definitely in love with her. But... I think Sirius is too."

Lily rubbed her forehead for a moment, eyes squeezed shut, before looking behind her at Remus and Sirius, then back at James.

"She didn't want to get her hopes up about Sirius. And mind you, I'm not a fan, and I don't at all see the appeal, but if it's what they both want... maybe it'd do them both some good. The problem is, she can't stand the thought of hurting Remus."

"That's not the only problem. Apparently, Pads can't either. Moony told us all how he felt earlier, and Sirius said he should go for it with Y/N."

"Perfect," Lily groaned. "Who knew Black was actually noble. So has Remus told her yet?"

"Have you seen him? It's a wonder he hasn't bloody combusted and taken Pete with him."

"Then we have to let Y/N talk to Sirius, Potter. If he decides after hearing her out that he still wants to step aside for Remus, then at least Y/N knows where she stands. I don't want anyone to get hurt either, but it's up to them now. And if Black and Y/N really are in love, they'll find their way to each other no matter what happens next."

James hated feeling like the whole thing was out of his control, but Evans was right. After a moment, he nodded, and she stood and headed towards the couch before pausing and turning back to him.

"Potter?"

"Evans?"

"It's... very nearly human of you to care so much."

James thought his grin might split his face in two as Evans walked off, calling over her shoulder, "Now clean up some of this mess, you irresponsible oaf!"

Why "Hey, you"? Of all the idiotic things you could have said... should you run? Maybe you should just run. He'd think you'd drunk yourself ill, and you could both forget the whole thing. Then again, judging from the empty cups on the floor around him and the nearly empty bottle in his hand, he had an impressive head start on you.

"Ah, the girl of the hour!" Sirius said, raising the bottle of firewhisky in your direction. You took the opportunity to snatch it from his hand and drain the remainder of its contents. Liquid courage and all that.

"Hey, that was--"

"The last of the firewhisky, yes. Sharing is caring."

Sirius gave you a lopsided smile and dropped back into his chair. He was fairly well sloshed, but maybe that was a good thing. You could find out how he felt, and chances were better than average he wouldn't even remember it tomorrow.

"Sirius, can I ask you something?"

"You just did."

Well, this was off to a rousing start. Before you could think of a new angle, a pair of sixth-year girls sauntered past on their way to the drinks table, eyelashes fluttering and lips pouted in Sirius's direction. You looked over to see him watching them; he nodded, and your heart sank. What were you thinking? Every girl at this school but Lily fancied him. Not for the reasons you did, of course... not because they'd peered into all his dark corners and found his truest self hiding in them. But at the same time, would they not give their right arms to be in your position? After all, you were the one sitting next to him as he paid an unusual amount of attention to a hole in his sock. You were his friend. What would you do if you lost that? What if love in this case meant just knowing when to leave well enough alone?

Lily's voice interrupted as clearly as if she'd been whispering in your ear. 

"Love is worth taking all the risks in the world for."

"I need to ask you something else. Something important."

Sirius just wanted to go to bed.

The fun of watching Polly Prefect Evans handing out glasses of spiked punch to the first and second years had faded quicker than he'd hoped, seeing as it was the only distraction he had. Now, it was just him and firewhisky, and his head already felt like a swarm of Billywigs was infesting it -- had done ever since Remus blurted out those words in the cellar.

In that instant, Sirius had felt nothing but anger and pain. At first, he'd been angry with Moony. Why did he have to fall in love with you? You were already his best friend; the two of you spent loads of time together, reading, re-reading, talking about bloody reading. Why wasn't that enough? But Sirius was angrier with himself, for getting his hopes up. He'd been telling himself for two years now that whatever changes he thought he was sensing in his feelings for you were nothing but a recipe for disaster. A good way to fuck up friendships. But every time he thought he had himself convinced, that other little voice in his head would bleed through: But what if...?

What if you felt the same way? Surely he wasn't imagining the little glimmer of something in your eyes that hadn't been there before whenever you looked at him... though, considering how quickly you usually looked away, it was hard to tell. But he definitely hadn't imagined the flush in your cheeks in the hospital wing... though, you could have just been self-conscious knowing the lads were staring.

Sirius kicked off his boots and ran his hands through his hair in agitation before taking another long pull off the bottle. This "maybe this" and "except for that" bollocks was driving him round the bend, and just when he was finally thinking he'd worked up the courage to take a chance, here came Remus. And it would be Remus, wouldn't it? Probably always had been. He was the best friend. The book reader. And Sirius was just-- no. It wasn't fair to pretend he'd ever felt beneath Remus in your eyes. You'd never been anything but kind to him. You made him feel valued and understood and accepted. The hang-up was his, but it was one he was beginning to think he'd never get around.

Sirius the devoted friend and confidant would love you till the day he died. Sirius the heir to the House of Black would never put you in the path of the insanity that entailed. Especially not if there was an alternative. Someone who'd be better for you.

Sirius's heart shot into his throat as you tumbled stiffly onto the chair beside him. What the fuck? Was he putting out some sort of misery tractor beam? He quickly took a few more swallows of whisky. You were fidgeting awkwardly all over the chair, clearly nervous, and Sirius had to fight with all the sobriety he had left not to reach over and hold you still. And then never let go.

Instead, he stared dumbly at you until, finally, you glanced over.

"Hey, you."

Shit, did you just say something? His ears were ringing so loudly he couldn't tell... quick, say something back, moron!

"Ah, the girl of the hour!"

What the hell was that?! And did he just toast you?! Merlin's saggy--

You plucked the bottle out of his hand, and all Sirius could do was mumble, "Hey, that was--"

"The last of the firewhisky, yes. Sharing is caring."

Banter. Banter was good. Sirius tried to force a convincing smile onto his face and fell backwards against the cushion; it was either that or fall forwards onto his face at this point. He had lost all control of his motor skills.

"Sirius, can I ask you something?"

"You just did."

That was not the correct use of banter. Fuck. Just don't say anything else. Nonverbal communication only. Bloody hell, was that a hole in his sock? How was he supposed to take care of anyone else if he couldn't even take care of himself? Sirius's train of thought was derailed by a couple of sixth years prancing by, but he nodded, hoping you'd take the prompt to go ahead and ask your question. He also hoped the older girls' faces would stick in those stupid expressions they were wearing. All this rapid blinking and lip puckering... you never did frivolous nonsense like that.

Sirius looked over at you in time to catch that something different in your eyes again and froze.

"I need to ask you something else. Something important."

Not that. Anything but that, Y/N. He couldn't give you the kind of uncomplicated love you deserved. He couldn't keep you safe. And Moony... he'd always been afraid, consumed by that "someone like me can never have a normal life" bullshit. For him to want to tell a girl he loved her was huge. That was the sort of love that was worthy of yours.

Sirius's heart felt like it was shattering as he looked at you. How much fucking firewhisky did it take to not feel anything at all? Don't let her say it. You can't let her say it.

"Can... can it wait till later?" he stammered, tearing his eyes away from yours. "I, erm... I've got a date."