#maybe it wasn’t exactly the natural order of things

[my-body-likes-you-in-control]

Enough Credits (Pt. 2)

After that, I decided Max was getting a bit obsessed and so I decided the best thing to do was to put some distance between us.

I had enough credits from all my previous swaps—including the ones with Max—to stay out of my body for a little over two months. I figured that if I kept moving direclty between bodies, I wouldn't give him an opening and maybe he would just get obsessed with someone else.

My first stop was Madrid.

I’d picked Mateo, a bartender with sun-kissed skin, a sharp jawline, a sexy beard, and glasses that perfectly framed his face. His profile picture screamed 'take me.' How his body was available I won't understand.

One second, I was in my dim apartment, staring at the ceiling, and the next—bam—I was behind a polished oak bar, my fingers deftly twisting a lime wedge onto the rim of a glass. The air was thick with the tang of citrus and spilled beer, laughter and clinking glasses layering over the hum of conversation.

A group of British tourists crowded the counter, three drinks deep and radiating boozy confidence. One of them, a blond with tousled hair and a smirk that screamed trouble, caught my eye.

"¿Qué quieres, guapo?" I asked, leaning in just enough to watch his cheeks flush.

He barked a laugh. "Christ, mate, don’t start with the Spanish. Absolute shite at it."

I switched to thickly accented English, grinning. "Is okay. I understand what I need to. What can I get you?"

He talked like a lad—all banter and bravado—and honestly, I wouldn’t have pegged him as gay if he wasn’t aggressively flirting back. Meanwhile, the brunette beside him kept “accidentally” brushing her fingers against mine every time I passed her a drink.

So I played along.

By last call, I had them both hooked—leaning into Mateo’s natural charm, lingering touches, teasing words. The guy was practically vibrating when I whispered, "You’re trouble," in his ear. The girl? She hated it.

"Guess I’m walking you home tonight," I told him, loud enough for her to hear. Then I shot her a look—slow, deliberate, the kind of grin that said, You wish it was you.

The glare she fired back was priceless.

---

Ten days in Madrid had been glorious. But before the swap could expire, I initiated another—no hesitation, no looking back.

One blink, and the sun-soaked streets of Spain vanished. The next, I was in the steam-clouded kitchen of a Parisian bistro, my hands moving with practiced precision as I diced shallots into paper-thin crescents. Around me, the chaos of dinner service roared: the hiss of seared duck, the clang of pans, the sous chef’s barked orders in rapid-fire French.

Mathieu.

His life was all sharp knives and hotter tempers, a world of reduced wines and rare meats, of calloused fingers and a permanent burn mark on his left forearm. I loved it instantly.

But the best part? Christophe.

Mathieu’s boyfriend was tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of effortless dominance that made my—his—body react before my brain could catch up. The first night, Christophe didn’t even wait until we were fully inside their apartment. The door had barely shut behind us before he shoved me against it, his mouth crashing onto mine, his hands already working open the buttons of Mathieu’s stained chef’s jacket.

"Tu me manquait aujourd'hui," he growled against my throat.

A shiver tore through me. My back arched, pressing into him as his grip tightened on my hips. He knew exactly how to touch this body—where to bite, how hard to press, when to let his fingers dig in just shy of pain. Every flick of his tongue, every possessive drag of his palms over Mathieu’s skin was a lesson in control.

And the best part? He had no idea.

No idea Mathieu had signed up for Metamorph. No idea the man he was pinning to the mattress, the throat he was marking, the body he worshiped with rough, knowing hands—wasn’t his boyfriend at all.

That made it even hotter.

I spent days in their sunlit apartment, letting Christophe map every inch of Mathieu’s skin like he owned it. Mornings started with his mouth between my thighs, evenings ended with my back against the shower tiles, steam and sweat and Christophe’s voice in my ear: "T’es à moi."

And for a while, I let myself believe this was my real life.

Then, one morning, as I lay tangled in their rumpled sheets, Christophe’s arm slung heavy over my waist, my phone buzzed on the nightstand.

A message from Max:

Max: Hey. Your body hasn’t been available in a few weeks. You avoiding me?

My stomach twisted. I deleted it without responding.

---

After Paris, I decided to switch things up. No more tangled sheets, no more possessive boyfriends (as hot as that was). This time? A straight guy.

I chose Bangkok.

Kiet's body was a fucking masterpiece. Broad shoulders that strained against his tank top, abs carved like a Roman statue, thighs thick from years of Muay Thai squats. And then there was that—the kind of natural endowment that made even loose gym shorts look like a sin.

The first time I caught my reflection in the gym mirror, mid-pull-up, I nearly laughed out loud. Jesus Christ. No wonder people stared.

I dropped from the bar, rolling my shoulders, and caught my sparring partner—Ton—watching me. Again.

He was leaner than Kiet, all wiry muscle and sharp elbows, but quick as a viper in the ring. And the way his gaze kept flicking to my chest, my arms, my—

Yeah. He’s into me.

Which was hilarious, because Kiet’s profile had been very clear: 100% straight.

That didn’t stop me from having a little fun.

I grabbed my water bottle, taking a long drink just to watch Ton’s throat work as he watched me swallow.

"You’ve been getting stronger," I said, clapping him on the shoulder, letting my thumb brush the damp skin of his collarbone. "Looking good lately."

He stiffened, then shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Just training hard."

"Must be," I mused, stepping closer to adjust his stance—close enough that he could feel my breath on his neck. "Girls must be noticing, huh?"

His jaw tightened. "Yeah. Maybe."

I sighed dramatically, shaking my head. "Wish I had your luck. My girl’s been so distant lately…"

A lie. Kiet was single. But Ton’s eyes darkened, conflicted—caught between concern, jealousy, and something far more interesting.

I let the tension simmer for days. Lingering touches. Compliments that walked the line between friendly and too friendly. The way Ton’s breath hitched when I wiped sweat off his brow after a brutal round. The way he’d stare at my mouth when I laughed.

And then—on my last day in Kiet’s body—I decided to give him exactly what he wanted.

The locker room was empty except for us, steam curling in the air as Ton toweled off. I leaned against the lockers, watching.

"You ever think about trying something new?" I asked, voice low.

He froze. "Like what?"

I pushed off the lockers, closing the distance between us in two strides. His breath caught as I caged him against the bench, close enough to feel his pulse racing.

"Like this," I murmured.

And then I kissed him.

Just once. Just enough to feel him melt against me for half a second before he jerked back, eyes wide, lips parted in shock.

I grinned, stepping away. "See you around, Ton."

And then I left him there—flushed, breathless, and utterly ruined.

---

After Bangkok’s sweat and adrenaline, I craved something decadent. So I chose Mo.

One moment, I was in a humid gym locker room; the next, I was standing on a private balcony, the dry desert wind tousling my hair as Dubai’s skyline glittered below like scattered diamonds. The air smelled of expensive cologne and the faint, briny tang of the Persian Gulf.

I closed my eyes and rifled through Mo’s memories.

By day, I was the polished heir to a Bahraini business empire—custom suits, boardroom smiles, a family name that opened doors with a whisper. By night? A closeted hurricane, fucking my way through the diplomatic corps with the kind of reckless hunger that came from a lifetime of restraint.

I grinned, running a hand down my chest—Mo’s chest, lean and toned from private trainers and rooftop yoga. This was going to be fun.

For the first time since Max, I got a notification from the resident of my body.

It was Mo.

He’d sent a selfie: my body—his body now—wearing a croppedtop, my (his?) hips cocked in a way I’d never dared in public.

Mo: Turns out your closet was full of boring clothes for an out guy. Fixed that 😘

I barked a laugh. I’d never wear that—too bold, too femme—but something warm curled in my chest. He was out there, living freely in my skin, good for him.

Then my phone buzzed again.

This time, it was a text from Niklas—Mo’s very German, very blond fuckbuddy with the shoulders of a Olympian swimmer:

“You’ve been quiet. I’m in town. You down to meet up tonight?”

I bit my lip. Honestly, I might be the lucky one in this dynamic.

And I know, I know—the gay community would have me burned at the stake for saying it, but there was something thrilling about stepping back into the closet.

The stolen glances across gilded hotel lobbies. The way Niklas’s hand “accidentally” brushed mine under the table at dinner. The risk of it—the way Mo’s pulse would jump when a colleague mentioned seeing him at a certain bar, the way his breath hitched when he had to lie flawlessly to his father’s friends.

It was a game. A performance. And I’d always been a damn good actor.

By the end of ten days, Niklas had me pressed against the floor-to-ceiling windows of Mo’s penthouse, his teeth in my shoulder, the city lights blurring below us as I gasped something halfway between Arabic and German.

But all good things end.

I opened the app, scrolling through potential hosts, but the credits were dwindling. I'd only have enough left for one more swap

---

That’s when I found Ryan.

His profile popped up late one night as I scrolled through the app, the glow of the screen casting sharp shadows across my borrowed Dubai penthouse. Toronto. My hometown. And his body—Jesus Christ—almost as defined as Kiet’s, but leaner, more compact. Like a swimmer’s build dialed up to eleven. His face was softer too, boyish in a way that made his sharp jawline even more striking. Early twenties, probably.

The swap hit like a punch of crisp Canadian air. One second, I was surrounded by desert heat and the weight of Mo’s secrets; the next, I stood in a dimly lit Toronto bedroom, rolling Ryan’s shoulders, flexing his arms, marveling at the way his muscles moved under smooth, pale skin. The guy was built—not just gym-strong, but gymnast-strong, every line of him taut and efficient.

And yet.

I opened his closet and nearly groaned. Oversized band tees. Baggy joggers. A hoodie that could’ve housed a family of four. It was a crime.

I remedied that immediately.

One trip to the mall later and Ryan’s wardrobe had been… optimized. Graphic tees that clung just right (subtle nerd references, because his browsing history betrayed him). A few button downs that I would leave one too many buttons undone on. Dark jeans that hugged his thighs. A thin silver chain with dog tags that rested perfectly against his collarbones.

There. Now he looked like someone who knew what he was working with.

We’d agreed to meet—him in my body, me in his—at a bar near his place. The irony wasn’t lost on me: two strangers, each wearing the other’s skin, about to critique the fit.

I spotted him the second I walked in.

There I was—me—slouched at the bar in one of Ryan’s tragic hoodies, fingers drumming against a beer bottle. He turned, caught sight of his own body striding toward him, and holy shit, the way his eyes darkened—like he’d just walked in on himself naked.

He whistled low. “So,” he said, nodding at me—at himself, “you’re the guy squatting in my skin.”

I laughed, sliding onto the stool beside him. “And you’re the guy who dresses like a monk despite having a god-tier physique.”

Ryan—my Ryan, in my body—flushed, rubbing the back of his neck (my neck). “Yeah, well. I didn’t always look like this. Kinda hard to shake the habit of hiding.”

“You should try it sometime.” I leaned in, close enough to watch his pupils dilate. “I went for a shirtless run yesterday. Nearly caused a traffic accident.”

He choked on his beer.

We ended up back at his place, sprawled across his bed, fingers tracing the lines of his—my—body with a kind of awed frustration. His hands lingered on his own abs, now mine, his brow furrowed. “It’s weird,” he muttered. “Seeing it from the outside. Like it’s not even real.”

I caught his wrist, pressed his palm flat against the ridges of muscle. “It’s real. And this is how people see you all the time. You just never let yourself believe it.”

He huffed a laugh, but his fingers flexed, greedy. “And you? This body has been getting stares all day. People really check you out like this?”

“Oh, absolutely.” I smirked, sliding my hands down my—his—waist, admiring the way the muscles tensed under my touch. “I mean, I’m checking me out right now.”

Our chemistry was stupid. Electric. By the time our initial swap period ended, Ryan didn’t hesitate. “Let’s stay like this,” he said, his voice rough. “Another week.”

I agreed.

It was intoxicating, watching him come alive in my skin—louder, brighter, freer—while simultaneously craving the way he yielded to me in his own body. The way he’d arch into my touch, like he was rediscovering himself through my hands.

And then, one night, his lips against my ear: “What do you say to making this permanent?”

My breath hitched.

“I want to be you,” he murmured, fingers laced through mine. “And more importantly, I want you to be me.”

I should’ve said yes. We fit. I loved this body—the strength of it, the way it moved—and the idea of keeping my old life close, just… reshuffled. My family, my friends, but through new eyes. A fresh start without the goodbyes.

But something itched under my skin. The rush of the past months—Madrid, Paris, Bangkok, Dubai—the thrill of slipping into someone else’s life, just for a taste.

“I want to try a few more people first,” I admitted.

Ryan didn’t push. Just nodded, kissed me slow and deep, and whispered, “Of course. I’ll be here.” A pause. Then, with a grin that sent heat straight to my borrowed bones: “But don’t wait too long.”

--

That turned out to be the dumbest mistake I could’ve made.

The second the 48-hour grace period ended after my swap with Ryan, the world lurched—like a roller coaster dropping out from under me—and then I was back in Max’s body.

Fuck.

I screamed, slamming his fists against the bathroom counter. The reflection staring back at me was all soft edges and tired eyes, that same patchy stubble, that same defeated slump I’d seen a dozen times before. My stomach twisted. No. No no no—

I grabbed his phone.

A DM pinged immediately.

Max: You’ve been holding out on me, gorgeous. I’ve been swapping nonstop, trying to forget how good you felt—but the second I saw your body was available again? I knew had to do something about it.

He sent with it a few pictures of my body shirtless, as if to taunt me.

My blood turned to ice.

I should’ve known better.

I should’ve known he’d been watching. Waiting. That he’d pounce the second my guard was down.

I was a fucking idiot.

Damn right I’ll be taking Ryan’s offer as soon as I’m back in my body.

I opened the app, fingers shaking, and checked the countdown.

Expecting 10 days.

Expecting anything but what I saw.

Permanent.

No.

No no no no no—

That wasn’t supposed to be possible. I didn’t accept that.

What the fuck did he do?!

[sachikokuroichi]

4 Times Alastor wanted to fall and the one time he did it involuntarily

It had gotten worse. Alastor cursed and tried to get the bandages to stop clinging to his torso, or more precisely what was left of it. It had been a whole month since the failed extermination and Adam’s lucky hit. The hotel was already up and running again, with Alastor caught right within the chaos yet again.

That damn deal.

It had been the radio demon’s biggest mistake, right after trying to fight the first man on his own.

He felt himself weakening with every passing day and he knew that even with all the angelic meat Rosie had gifted him, there was no other solution than to wager a deal with the devil. Alastor despised the thought. To be shackled to yet another one, to that ridiculous clown of a king on top of that, made his skin crawl in disgust and his fur stand up. He growled in annoyance but finally decided to give in. He couldn’t get back to all those who’d wronged him if he was double-dead. There would be no revenge, a thing that he thought he deserved like nothing else in this universe.

Giving up the fruitless task of fixing up the gash, he ordered his magic to dress him properly before cursing again. Using his powers was like a reflex, the repercussions of doing so nowadays still too new to be already ingrained in his movements.

I have to get that gash healed, post haste. Deciding that it was worth the pain, it would only be brief anyway, and maybe he could use this “hurt” and “helpless” display to address the bleeding heart that all of the Morningstar’s had beating in their chest (by blood, not the one’s married into the family), he slipped into the shadows, using them to travel across the floor, not wanting to be seen by anyone besides the king. And that was only because out of necessity. Who in their right mind would want to spend time with that joke of royalty out of their own volition? Nobody, exactly. Alastor for sure didn’t.

The moment he dived into his trusted shadows he instantly knew something was wrong. The pain was blinding, even without a physical form, something that shouldn’t be possible. He tried manifesting again, just to find that it wasn’t happening. No matter what he tried, how strongly he commanded his shadow to stop the nonsense, it was hopeless.

You’ve become weak.

No! He wasn’t weak. This was just a minor setback! He’d get fixed up right away, back to being right as rain. He just needed to-

You’ve been weak since that day 8 years ago. You know we don’t serve weaklings. They serve us.

Then he felt it. Something all his targets, enemies, victims probably had been all too familiar with: a cold sensation starting to feast on him, effectively tearing his essence apart. Again, he found out that pain was definitely happening in his shadow realm.

Our shadow realm. You were only allowed to traverse it, little deer.

Alastor tried to hold in the screams as unbearable pain was coursing through him; without being able to locate a place of origin it felt all-consuming.

It’s time to perish, oh mighty radio demon.

No! I won’t! This is not over! I’ll swear on my soul! I’ll get back at you for this! The next time you see me, you’ll cower before me! Then you will cease to exist!

Bark all you want, little sinner. There’s no bite behind it. Empty words. Pledges on a soul that’s not even yours anymore.

The hatred in Alastor festered and grew, but at the same time there was a tiny part within him that hoped for someone, a guiding light to come and rescue him.

Nobody will come to save you. He doesn’t even tolerate you. Not even he can find you in here. This is our realm. We rule here.

Blinding pain tore at his being and Alastor’s consciousness faded, going out with a scream. And just like that, the radio demon was no more.

The shadows cackled, now stronger than ever, after having consumed their prior master. Their glee was short-lived though.

The moment Alastor’s shell fell apart, a blinding light, angelic in nature, pure poison for the tainted, tore through them. Comfortably nestled within it laid the now cleansed soul of the radio demon. Free of all sin, all deals. And then, it was gone as well.

~*~

If you liked the first chapter, consider bookmarking it on AO3 because there are four more of them waiting in the back, ready to be published once a week (think I'll go for Tuesdays). Don't forget to leave a little love too - I'm living off of Kudos <3

[pickled-flowers]

I only vaguely know my Mysqueery Gang lore but Lila is honestly a mystery to me even tho I see her all da time ... What's her deal :0

So clear isn’t it

[shaiyasstuff]

pretend | zayne

synopsis : In a tale of academic burnout, fried chicken, and poor impulse control, chaos incarnate—that’s you—somehow convinces your emotionally constipated med-student best friend to drink half a beer—which, shockingly, nearly kills him. Queue: slow realization that maybe, just maybe, you’ve both been idiots in love this whole time. content : fluff, drunk zayne, i wrote this with absolute zeal in mind, college!au

“Yes!” you exclaim, throwing your hands in the air like you just won an Oscar for Most Sleep-Deprived Human Alive.

Across the table, Zayne lifts a brow and smirks—annoyingly composed for someone who just witnessed you spiral through caffeine-fueled thesis chaos.

“I’m finally done,” you announce dramatically, like you just ended a war. “Let’s go out tonight. I need meat on sticks and bad decisions.”

Zayne closes his book with a soft thud, taking off his glasses in that maddeningly slow, deliberate way—like he knows exactly what he’s doing to your blood pressure.

“I pity the skewers who will die by your hand tonight,” he deadpans.

You snort. “I pity you, who’ll have to witness me demolish a six-pack like a college frat bro on a redemption arc.”

It wasn’t a dig. It was a fact.

Zayne doesn’t drink—ever.

You’re convinced his blood is 80% black coffee and quiet judgment.

So, naturally, you’d assigned him the title of Sir Zayne, Protector of Drunk Y/N, a role he never officially accepted but continues to perform with the patience of a long-suffering saint and the sighs of a man who has seen too much.

Honestly? If that’s not love, you don’t know what is.

But you and Zayne never crossed the line.

Not because he didn’t want to—at least, you hoped that was the case—but because you never let it happen.

Courtesy of your own sparkling cocktail of overthinking, self-doubt, and the lingering fear of ruining something good.

Zayne was tall, handsome, smart—the kind of man who made professors nod in approval and grandmothers sigh wistfully.

And you? You were the chaotic best friend with a penchant for questionable snack combos and emotional repression.

You’d watched him grow up beside you, shedding his shy, bookish shell to become the quietly confident man sitting across from you now.

The same man who still gave you his hoodie when you complained about the cold and remembered your coffee order down to the sugar granules.

And sure, you said you loved each other. Threw it around between jokes and “don’t die today” texts.

But it was always buffered by a safe, platonic bubble wrap. You never dared to mean it the way your heart did—aching and wistful, quietly begging for something more.

Because admitting it out loud?

That would change everything.

And some things felt too fragile to risk breaking.

“I’m gonna take one very relaxing shower and meet you there, cool?” you say, slinging your backpack over your shoulder like the protagonist of a teen drama walking off into the sunset—except sweatier and more sleep-deprived.

Zayne gives you a look, all cool and composed as usual. “Don’t make me wait again.”

You gasp, offended. “It was one time!”

But he’s already walking off like he just won that round—he probably did, and you’re left chasing after him, muttering something about false accusations and revisionist history.

Back at your dorm, you kick the door shut with your foot, strip off the layers of thesis-fueled misery, and step into the shower.

The hot water hits your skin, and for the first time in weeks, your shoulders unclench.

Your body, a battlefield of all-nighters, instant noodles, and bad posture, finally starts to forgive you.

Maybe tonight wouldn’t just be about beer and skewers.

Maybe, just maybe, you’d let yourself hope for something more.

You step out into the cool night air, tugging your hoodie sleeves over your hands and rubbing them together like a gremlin summoning warmth.

The city hums quietly around you—streetlights flickering, distant honks, the occasional bark of a dog that clearly has beef with the moon.

It doesn’t take long to reach the barbecue stall, that familiar greasy heaven you and Zayne have treated like your unofficial therapy spot for years.

And there he is, already seated inside, calm and collected like he hadn’t just been abandoned seventeen minutes ago. Your favorite order of fried chicken sits next to him, still warm.

Because of course it does.

You beam, tapping him on the shoulder before plopping down beside him. “Was I late?”

He doesn’t even look at you. “By 17 minutes, yes.”

You snort, already digging into the chicken like a woman possessed. “Big deal,” you mutter through a mouthful of food, completely unapologetic.

Zayne simply shakes his head, the corners of his lips twitching in the ghost of a smile.

You were chaos, and somehow, he always made room for it.

“So, what are your grand post-thesis plans, Doctor Zayne?” you ask, popping open a can with a dramatic pshhht that echoes like a battle cry into the night.

Zayne glances at you, then at the can in your hand like it personally offended his morals. “Hopefully not babysitting a tipsy gremlin.”

You raise your can in mock salute. “Too late. You signed up for this the day you let me copy your homework in seventh grade.”

He exhales through his nose, which is Zayne-speak for you’re unbearable, but I’ve made peace with it. “I’m thinking of applying for that research position at the hospital. Maybe specialize in cardiac surgery.”

You pause mid-sip, impressed. “Heart guy, huh? Makes sense. You’ve already stolen mine.”

He gives you a slow, pointed look.

You grin. “Kidding. Kind of.”

He doesn’t reply, just leans back and sips his coffee—the man’s choice of poison—and you wonder, just for a second, if maybe your heart wasn’t the only one on the table tonight.

Who were you kidding? Of course it isn’t.

If there was anything Zayne was good at—aside from saving lives, surviving on black coffee, and giving you judgmental looks—it was being honest. Blunt, even.

The guy didn’t know how to sugarcoat if his life depended on it.

So if he felt anything beyond friendship, he would’ve said something… right?

He wouldn’t just sit across from you night after night, remembering your order, walking you home, and quietly watching over you like some emotionally constipated guardian angel—unless it really was just friendship.

Right?

You shove another piece of chicken into your mouth, suddenly feeling very attacked by your own thoughts.

Maybe you were reading too much into it.

Maybe the long stares and rare half-smiles meant nothing.

Maybe he looked at everyone like that.

…Or maybe he didn’t.

But knowing Zayne?

If he wanted something more, he would’ve told you.

And that’s the part that hurts the most.

You finish your chicken in record time, like a seasoned warrior who’s trained her whole life for this exact moment.

Zayne watches you with the mild horror of someone witnessing a natural disaster unfold in slow motion.

“With all that grease you eat,” he scoffs, sipping his drink with far too much elegance, “it’s a wonder you’re still so thin.”

You wipe your mouth with a napkin and flash him a smug, greasy-lipped grin. “Courtesy of late-night study marathons and crippling stress. Better than any diet plan.”

He shakes his head, muttering something about clogged arteries and self-destruction, but the corners of his mouth twitch in that way that tells you he’s more amused than annoyed.

You lean back, arms stretched, feeling the food coma start to settle in. The air between you buzzes with something unspoken—comfortable, familiar, and maybe just a little tragic.

Like always.

You take a long sip from your beer can, eyes narrowing playfully at him over the rim. “You know, you should really start seeing someone.”

Zayne doesn’t even blink. He just turns his head, gives you that pointed, deadpan look—the one that says I’m humoring you, but only barely. “I am perfectly fine, single.”

You snort. “Yeah, perfectly fine sitting alone in your apartment reading medical journals and judging me for my life choices.”

He raises a brow. “Someone has to.”

You laugh, nudging his leg under the table. “Seriously, though. You’re handsome, smart, stable. Tragic levels of emotionally unavailable, but that’s practically a dating app requirement these days.”

Zayne doesn’t respond right away. Just takes a calm sip of his coffee, gaze lingering on you a second too long.

“Maybe I’m just waiting for the right kind of chaos,” he murmurs.

And just like that, you forget how to breathe.

You quickly look away, composing yourself with the grace of someone pretending not to be internally combusting.

The heat crawling up your neck? Yeah, definitely the alcohol. Totally not because of that look or that line.

You take another sip, stalling. “Seriously? I always thought you’d go for the quiet, put-together type. You know, the kind who alphabetizes her spice rack and drinks herbal tea.”

Zayne hums, eyes still on you. “I already have enough order in my life. Why would I want more of that?”

You blink, caught off guard. “So… chaos is the goal?”

He tilts his head slightly, a rare glint of mischief in his gaze. “Not chaos. Just… someone who makes life feel a little less dull. Someone who challenges me. Keeps me on my toes.”

You let out a breathy laugh, unsure if it’s the beer, the tension, or just him.

“Sounds exhausting,” you mutter.

He smiles. “Not if it’s the right person.”

And suddenly, you’re not so sure you can blame the warmth in your chest on the alcohol anymore.

You push all your thoughts aside—shove them into that dark mental closet labeled Feelings: Do Not Open.

With a practiced grin, you raise your can in mock toast. “Well, be sure to send me an invitation to the wedding,” you quip, voice light, smile lighter.

For someone who lives and breathes chaos, you’ve gotten remarkably good at pretending things don’t get to you.

Zayne just smirks, as if he sees right through the performance. And then—without a word—he reaches for a can of beer.

Pop.

The sound cuts through the air like a record scratch. You freeze, staring at him like he just broke the laws of physics.

“Wait, are you—what—you’re drinking?”

He shrugs, raising the can to his lips. “It’s just one.”

You gape. “You’ve lectured me for years about alcohol rotting brains.”

He glances at you, his voice calm. “Maybe I just needed a reason.”

And this time, it’s not just your cheeks that feel warm. It’s everything.

You cough, almost choking on your drink. “Are you sure?”

Zayne glances at the can in his hand, then back at you with that maddeningly unreadable expression. “What, afraid I’ll lose my sense of control?”

You blink. “Yes! That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. Who are you and what have you done with ‘water-only’ Zayne?”

He takes a slow sip, completely unfazed. “It’s just beer.”

“You say that like I didn’t once watch you refuse soda because it had too many bubbles.”

He shrugs, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Maybe I’m evolving.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Or maybe you’re trying to impress someone.”

He doesn’t answer. Just leans back in his seat, eyes still on you—calm, unreadable, dangerous in the way that makes your heart skip.

And now you’re the one who needs another drink.

Soon enough, Zayne learns the harsh truth of his choices.

Because not even halfway through the can, the damage is done—his face flushed a deep, telltale red, his breath coming in shallow little huffs like he’s just walked through a wind tunnel.

You glance over at him mid-sip, eyebrows shooting up.

“…You good?”

“I’m fine,” he says, voice stiff and defensive—classic Zayne—but he’s blinking too much, his back too straight, like he’s focusing really, really hard on staying upright.

You stare. “You’ve had half a can.”

He shifts uncomfortably, tugging at the collar of his shirt as if the night air suddenly turned tropical. “I didn’t eat much today,” he mutters, clearly struggling to save face. “Also, the ground feels… uneven.”

You nearly snort beer up your nose. “The ground is fine. You are uneven.”

His glare is valiant, but his ears are glowing, and he’s gripping the edge of the table like it’s the only thing tethering him to Earth.

“I told you this would happen,” you say, half-concerned, half-delighted. “You’re like a lightweight legend.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his flushed face. “Remind me never to do this again.”

You lean your cheek into your palm, grinning. “Remind me to never let you not do this again.”

He exhales sharply—half sigh, half chuckle—and despite the mess he’s in, there’s still that look in his eyes.

Soft. Open. A little reckless.

And God help you, it suits him.

The night carries on, as nights with you usually do—spiraling steadily into chaos.

One of your many bad decisions includes convincing Zayne to finish the rest of that cursed can. He protests, of course—weakly, half-heartedly, with the conviction of a man who already knows he’s lost.

“I really shouldn’t—”

“Just a little more,” you grin, shoving it toward him like it’s a dare and not a crime against his entire system.

He sighs, long and resigned, then tips the can back with the tragic acceptance of someone walking into a trap they dug themselves.

Moments later, he’s slumped over the table, forehead resting on his arm, a soft groan escaping him. “I think I’m dying.”

You? You’re no help.

You’re already tipsy, which means your moral compass has long since clocked out. You’re doubled over with laughter, wheezing uncontrollably at the sight of composed, stoic, impossible-to-rattle Zayne looking one sip away from meeting God.

“You look like a Victorian lady with the vapors,” you cackle.

“I hate you,” he mumbles into the table.

“This is love,” you giggle, nearly falling off your stool.

And despite the headache he’ll definitely have tomorrow, he doesn’t argue. Not really.

After a few more cans—questionable choices all around—you find yourself leaning back in your seat, finishing the last of your skewers with drunken determination.

The stall’s almost empty now, the night stretching quiet and still around you, save for the low hum of streetlights and the occasional car passing by.

Zayne, meanwhile, is completely knocked out beside you.

Head lolled to the side, glasses tucked away somewhere, lips parted slightly as he breathes slow and deep.

His usually sharp features are softened, flushed, and peaceful in a way that makes your chest squeeze a little too tightly.

If you didn’t know better, you’d say he looked cute like this.

But you do know better, so you just shake your head and smirk at the very real mess you helped create.

Tossing the empty skewer stick aside, you slide off your seat with a wobble, then crouch beside him.

You nudge his shoulder gently. “Come on, let’s go,” you whisper, voice low, a little fond, a little guilty.

He doesn’t budge.

Just lets out a tiny groan, eyelids fluttering like he’s having an incredibly dramatic dream about betrayal and liver damage.

You sigh, laughing under your breath. “This is what I get for enabling you, huh?”

Still, you loop an arm under his and begin to help him up—because even if he’s heavier than you remember and absolutely no help at all, he’s still your idiot to carry home.

And for once, he lets you.

You somehow manage to haul him upright—well, half-upright—his arm slung over your shoulders as he leans most of his weight on you.

He mumbles something incoherent against your hair, something that sounds like “never again” but could also be “chicken skewers are evil.” Hard to tell.

His dorm’s way too far, and in his current state, he’d probably collapse somewhere tragic and inconvenient—like the middle of the sidewalk or a bush with questionable origins.

So, you make the executive decision.

“My place it is,” you mutter, shifting his weight and starting the slow, awkward shuffle back toward your dorm.

He stumbles once or twice, groaning like a disgruntled old man, and you stifle a laugh.

“This is karma,” you tell him, breathless from both the effort and the ridiculousness of it all. “For every time you judged my life choices.”

He doesn’t respond, just leans more heavily into you—like he knows you’ll carry him anyway.

And you do.

Step by step, wordlessly and willingly, until your dorm door finally clicks open and you ease him inside, one breath, one stubborn heartbeat at a time.

You finally manage to plop him down onto your bed with the grace of someone who’s done this exact thing zero times and is running purely on muscle memory and spite.

Zayne flops back like a ragdoll, one arm splayed dramatically over his eyes, as if the sheer emotional weight of the night has bested him.

You shake your head, chest heaving, cheeks still warm from your own drinks. “You’re lucky you’re pretty,” you mutter, mostly to yourself.

Crossing the room, you grab your water bottle—your trusty, slightly dented savior—and take several deep gulps yourself before crouching at the edge of the bed.

Then, without thinking twice, you press it gently to his lips.

“Here,” you say, voice softer now. “It’ll help you feel better.”

Zayne makes a vague, pitiful noise. But he drinks, eyes still closed, brows faintly scrunched like he’s never tasted water before in his life.

You hold it steady, watching him carefully, your expression torn between amused and quietly tender.

It’s such a stupid, intimate moment.

And somehow, it feels like more than it should.

To your horror, he downs the entire bottle. Every last drop.

“Hey—hey! That’s mine!” you protest, trying to pry it from his hands, but Zayne holds it like a lifeline, drinking until it gives a dramatic little hollow gulp at the end.

He sets it down with an exaggerated sigh, flopping back against your pillows like he just climbed a mountain.

“You have legs,” you grumble, snatching the empty bottle. “The water dispenser is literally down the hall.”

“It’s too far,” he mumbles, eyes closed again. “Your bed is nice. I’m dying. Let me die hydrated.”

You roll your eyes, turning to set the bottle aside—and then pause when you feel the weight shift beside you.

Zayne suddenly sits up.

You glance over and freeze. He’s staring at you.

Not blinking. Not swaying. Just… staring.

A little too intently. A little too seriously.

“…What?” you squeak, completely thrown.

He doesn’t answer right away.

Just keeps looking at you like you’ve said something outrageous.

Or like he just realized something important.

And suddenly, the room feels a little too quiet.

A little too close.

He stares into your eyes, and for a moment, everything else fades—the buzz of alcohol, the low hum of the city outside, even the dull ache in your limbs.

Then, slowly, his hands reach out and grasp your arms—not rough, not urgent, but firm enough to make your breath hitch. Before you can say a word, he pulls himself to his feet, swaying just slightly, and starts walking.

Pushing you back with each quiet, deliberate step.

You move without thinking, heart hammering in your chest as your knees bump into the edge of your desk.

You’re trapped between the wood at your back and the look in his eyes—sharp, unreadable, burning through the haze of the night.

“Zayne…” you breathe, voice barely above a whisper, unsure if you’re warning him or yourself.

He doesn’t answer. He just stands there, too close, the heat of him bleeding into your skin, his hands still lingering on your arms like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

And in that moment, you swear the entire world narrows to the space between you.

And whether it’s the alcohol or the truth breaking free—

You can’t tell the difference anymore.

“Uhm… are you okay?” you ask, your voice uncertain, breath catching in your throat as you stare up at him.

Zayne shakes his head, just once. “No.”

You blink, concern flaring. “What’s wro—”

But you don’t get to finish.

He closes the distance between you in a heartbeat, hands moving to cradle your face as his lips crash against yours.

It’s not soft. Not hesitant.

It’s hungry.

Like he’s been holding it back for far too long. Like something inside him finally snapped loose.

Your back presses harder against the desk as he leans in, kissing you like he’s afraid this moment will slip away if he doesn’t take all of it now.

And for a second—just a second—you forget everything else.

The drinks. The laughter. The years of pretending.

All that exists is the heat of his mouth on yours and the staggering, undeniable truth of it.

His lips crash into yours before you can even finish your sentence—urgent, messy, filled with too much longing and too little clarity. It catches you off guard, your breath stolen, your thoughts scattering like the loose papers on your desk.

At first, you freeze.

Then your hands move to his chest, trying to push him back. “Zayne—wait—”

But he’s already pulling you closer, an arm slipping around your waist, the other sweeping across your desk in one rushed, careless motion—books, pens, everything clattering to the floor.

He grabs your hips and lifts you effortlessly, placing you on the desk like it’s instinct, like he’s done this a thousand times in his head.

“Zayne, stop!” you protest, voice sharp now, your palms pressed firmly against him.

And just like that, he halts—everything in him going still.

His breath is ragged, face flushed, eyes wide with a dawning realization as he looks at you—really looks.

Silence stretches between you.

Then he slowly steps back, as if waking from something he didn’t mean to fall into.

“…I’m sorry,” he says, voice low, shaken. “I shouldn’t have—”

You don’t answer right away. You’re still catching your breath, still feeling the echo of what just happened.

Because part of you is furious.

And part of you is trembling.

And somewhere, buried beneath it all, part of you wanted it.

But not like this.

Not drunk.

Not blurred.

And certainly not like something he’ll regret in the morning.

You try to steady the shaking in your voice, the racing in your chest, and force out a laugh—thin, awkward, strained.

“See?” you say, trying to make light of it, to patch over the tension like you always do. “This is exactly why you should get a girlfriend. Someone to… I don’t know, handle all that bottled-up intensity.”

But he doesn’t smile. Doesn’t look away.

Instead, his gaze sharpens—sober, unwavering, cutting right through your joke like it never existed.

“I don’t want one,” he says.

Simple. Final.

The room falls quiet again. The words hang in the air, heavier than you expect.

Your smile fades a little, the humor faltering on your lips. “Then what do you want?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

But his eyes never leave yours.

And that silence says more than words ever could.

“I want you,” he says quietly, each word deliberate, leaving no room for misunderstanding.

His eyes stay locked on yours as he takes a step closer.

“Only you.”

Your breath catches—completely, helplessly.

There’s no teasing in his tone, no drunken slur, no hesitation.

Just the raw, unfiltered truth of it. It lands in your chest like a drop of ink in water, spreading fast and uncontrollably.

You should say something. Anything.

But your voice is gone, swallowed by the weight of his words and the way he’s looking at you now—like you’re the only thing in the world worth reaching for.

You’d spent so long convincing yourself that he didn’t feel this. That he couldn’t.

But now?

He’s standing in front of you like he’s known all along.

And like he’s finally tired of pretending he doesn’t.

You open your mouth, stammering, grasping for something logical to say—anything to bring the air back into your lungs, to slow your racing heart.

“Zayne, you’re—this is just the alcohol talking, you don’t mean—”

But he cuts you off, his voice low and steady.

“I’m done pretending.”

The words hit you like a sudden shift in gravity.

There’s no hesitation in him now.

No trace of the usual restraint he always wore like armor. He’s standing there—bare, honest, and dangerously close.

You search his face for some sign of doubt, some crack you can cling to. But there’s nothing.

Just the truth laid out between you, heavy and real.

And your heart doesn’t know whether to run or leap.

“I don’t want this to happen just because you’re drunk,” you whisper, barely able to look at him.

It comes out softer than you mean it to—fragile, almost trembling—because beneath all the banter, beneath all the years of pretending, you’ve always been afraid of this exact moment.

Of wanting it too much and it not being real.

Zayne’s expression doesn’t falter. If anything, it deepens—his gaze steady, clear, unwavering.

“I’m not drunk enough to forget this,” he says quietly. “And definitely not drunk enough to lie.”

You look at him, really look at him, and for the first time, you don’t see the walls he always kept between you. They’re gone. Just like that.

What’s left is him.

And the truth you’d both been trying so hard not to touch.

His hand reaches up, fingers brushing against your skin as he gently tilts your chin up to meet his gaze. His touch is careful—soft in a way that makes your chest ache.

“It’s hard to see you trying to push me away,” he says, voice low and raw. “All the time.”

Your eyes widen, guilt and surprise rushing in at once. “I just thought…”

He leans in closer, his breath warm against your lips, eyes searching yours like he’s waiting for you to see what he’s been trying to show you all along.

“No more thinking,” he murmurs.

Then he kisses you again—but this time, it’s slow.

Careful. Like he’s trying to tell you everything he couldn’t say with words.

And when he finally pulls back, he doesn’t move far. His forehead rests against yours, the space between you now completely, irreversibly gone.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, “about earlier.”

A pause.

“But I’m not sorry for this.”

And just like that, you close your eyes and let it all fall away—the fear, the doubt, the need to overthink every moment.

Because for once, the truth is simple.

He’s here.

He chose you.

And despite everything you tried to convince yourself, despite all the ways you kept your heart guarded—you want him too.

You exhale, slow and shaky, forehead still pressed to his, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like an anchor.

No more pretending.

No more running.

You let yourself fall—not blindly, but willingly. Into him.

Into this.

Into whatever comes next.

masterlist

[monstersholygrail]

Do Hybrid!Readers count?

I’m thinking of a monster Reader being kept for research purposes and catching the attention of the newest hire. Cheeky, beastly Reader with an awkward, nerdy scientist who unsuccessfully tries to hide his infatuation. He stares for too long, finds pathetic excuses to work overtime, and pretends to be deeply interested in whatever topic involves Reader. Lately, he’s been spotted reading a book about Reader’s kind, particularly mating habits. For, uh, science, mind you.

Alternatively, it can be a human Reader in a monster lab. I just found the dynamic funny. :)

Aaaah, yes yes! It definitely counts, I love this sorta dynamic. It can be really hilarious and a ton of fun ^_^

None of the Scientists in the lab could really figure you out. You were a giant beast who appeared naturally incredibly threatening. So all the scientists had been a bit hesitant to get in close and really figure out what kind of Hybrid you were exactly.

But they just had to. Because for some reason, some idiot had accidently leaked to the press that they had you in custody. Before they knew it there were countless pictures and articles plastered all over the internet about you. People wanted answers and they sadly had to be the ones to get them. So they brought in a specialist.

The young Scientist stared up at you in awe the first time he met you. He couldn’t actually believe he was meeting you up close. He didn’t know how to react. In fact, he didn’t know anything at all when it came to you. You see, he wasn’t actually a hybrid specialist. He was a scientist, that part was true! Everything else may have been a slight exaggeration on his application.

He just wanted to see you so so bad. He had to. The moment he saw those pictures of you he knew the two of you were meant to be. You were the reason he had never totally clicked with humans, couldn’t keep a partner, and had never fallen in love. His heart was waiting for you.

And now that he was with you, he needed to know everything about you. Not only to sate his own desire but also, ya know, to keep his job. Or else some foolish human might try and separate him from you again. It left him fawning over you constantly, watching you all day everyday, always staying late just so he could be alone with you for a couple hours, and butting in whenever someone tried to talk about you. Because of course he knew you best.

His growing knowledge of you left him convinced you were nearing your heat. Your restless behavior. The way you kept banging against the glass trying to get to him. Over the weeks you had noticed his interest and his care and yours had grown just as much. You had chosen him as your mate and he wanted to be there for you.

The only thing he could think to do was read books on mating behaviors. Of just about every single Hybrid species you could possible be.

Stacks of books surround him in the lab. His interest of you hadn’t gone unnoticed by the others. Not by a long shot. But they brushed off his strange behavior if jt kept him closer to you and them farther away. They avoid him now too, looking at him like the absolute freak he is as they realize what he’s reading.

Their worry doesn’t decrease when he later explains how you need to mate soon in order to keep you in check. They look at him like he’s truly gone insane and maybe he has. The wild look in his eye has only grown more intense the more he’s been around you without truly being with you.

He convinces them with the idea that you’ll be better after you’ve mated. Easier to handle. More open to having experiments done on you while your body is sated and exhausted after being fucked for hours on end. While in reality, from what he’s studied, the opposite is true.

He doesn’t plan on letting them go anywhere within a mile of you. Not with injections, chemicals, and especially not with their grubby little hands. No, only he can touch you. Only he deserves to be near your beauty and grace.

After you mate with him you’re going to be even more wild and destructive, your instincts inflamed and ready to fight. He’s gonna use that to get you two out of that lab if it’s the last thing he does.

Meanwhile the other scientists don’t suspect a thing as they stand a safe distance away from the cage as it opens to let the young scientist inside. The metal door snaps shut once he’s inside and he feels like he can finally breathe now that there’s nothing keeping you two a part.

Mirroring smirks grow on your faces, your expressions speaking of a secret just between the two of you. And as you both finally meet each other in a passionate embrace, you know this will be a wild night that will end with your freedom and a mate by your side.

[favefandomimagines]

But Daddy I Love Him (f.l)

Summary: being in a secret relationship with Frank Langdon isn’t all it’s cracked up to be

AN: I really hope this is well received lol after a deep analysis of ‘But Daddy I Love Him’ I felt like that title could work for a secret relationship

And obviously I’m not a medical professional so take what I wrote with a grain of salt lol

TW: mentions of infertility, miscarriage, death

They never meant to keep it a secret.

At first, it wasn’t even a thing—just the occasional coffee shared in the break room, conversations that stretched too long at the nurses’ station, inside jokes that no one else quite understood. They had always worked well together, had a natural rhythm that made even the worst nights feel a little less suffocating.

Frank had always liked Y/N. She was sharp, fast on her feet, and knew how to handle even the most chaotic situations with a level of calm that put everyone else at ease. But it wasn’t just that. She challenged him, called him out when he needed it, made him want to be better.

And maybe that was why, on that particular night after a brutal shift, he had found himself lingering in the parking lot instead of heading home.

He hadn’t expected to see her standing by her car, scrolling through her phone, her expression tired but soft under the glow of the streetlights.

“You okay?” he had asked, his voice rough from exhaustion.

She had looked up, blinking as if she hadn’t even realized he was there. “Yeah. Just… long day.”

He had huffed out a humorless laugh, stretching his neck. “Aren’t they all?”

And then, for a moment, neither of them moved.

The hospital loomed behind them, a quiet giant that never truly slept. The air was thick with the lingering weight of the shift, the kind of exhaustion that settled deep in their bones. But standing there, in the stillness of the night, something shifted.

“I don’t feel like going home,” she admitted, her voice quieter now, like she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to say it out loud.

Frank hadn’t expected her to say it, but the moment she did, something inside him clicked into place.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asked, tilting his head toward his car.

It wasn’t a date. It wasn’t a thing.

But she nodded.

And that was it.

They had ended up at a diner just outside of town, the kind that stayed open 24 hours and served the kind of coffee that could wake the dead. They had slid into a booth in the back, the vinyl seats sticking to their scrubs, and ordered enough food to feed a small army.

For the first time that day, they had breathed.

They talked about everything and nothing—hospital gossip, the worst cafeteria food they’d ever had, the absurdity of working a job where people expected them to be superheroes but still had to fight insurance companies to do their jobs.

At some point, Frank had noticed the way she kept pushing her hair behind her ear when she laughed, the way she stirred her coffee absentmindedly even when she wasn’t going to drink it.

He liked it.

He liked her.

And maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the fact that he had spent the last few months pretending not to notice the way his pulse quickened whenever she was around, but when she caught him staring, something in the air shifted.

She didn’t look away.

And neither did he.

By the time they left the diner, the sky was starting to lighten, a soft shade of blue creeping over the horizon.

“I should get some sleep,” Y/N had said, even as she lingered by his car.

“Yeah,” Frank agreed, but he didn’t move to get in.

She hesitated for only a second before stepping forward, pressing her lips to his. It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t fueled by adrenaline or desperation—it was slow, steady, a quiet question with an answer neither of them spoke out loud.

When she pulled back, he was already reaching for her hand.

One night turned into two, then a week, then a month.

It wasn’t just about the late nights spent tangled in each other anymore. It was the way he made her coffee exactly how she liked it, the way she kept extra granola bars in her locker because she knew he always forgot to eat, the way they could sit in comfortable silence after the kind of days that left them shattered.

They weren’t just together. They were something.

But when it came to the hospital, Frank had been the one to suggest they keep it quiet.

“You know how people talk,” he had said one night, tracing lazy circles on her bare shoulder. “I don’t want anyone thinking I’m paging you for consults just because we’re together.”

She had agreed, even though a small part of her hated the idea of hiding him. She was good at her job—damn good. She didn’t need anyone whispering that she only got called to consult because of Dr. Langdon.

So, they kept it a secret.

And most days, it was fine.

But some days, it was damn near unbearable.

||

Frank learned very quickly that keeping their relationship hidden was harder than he expected.

At first, it had seemed like a good idea. They both had careers to protect, reputations they had worked too damn hard to build. It wasn’t that dating a colleague was forbidden—plenty of doctors in the hospital were involved with each other—but when it came to the ER and OB, lines could get blurred.

He didn’t want people assuming that Y/N got special treatment just because they were together. And more than that, he didn’t want anyone questioning her abilities.

She was a damn good doctor, one of the best OBs he’d ever worked with. He never wanted anyone to look at her and think she had an advantage because she was with Dr. Langdon.

So, they kept it a secret.

But some days, it was damn near unbearable.

Like when Y/N had a bad night in OB, and he could see it all over her face. She never brought her emotions into her work, but Frank knew her well enough to spot the small signs—the way she held her pen just a little too tight, the way her jaw clenched when she was trying to hold it together.

He had seen her filling out a chart at the nurses' station one night, her hands trembling just slightly, and he had wanted to reach out, to brush his fingers over hers, to remind her that she wasn’t carrying it alone.

But all he could do was meet her eyes for a fleeting second before turning away.

Or the time Frank had lost a patient in the ER—a teenage boy who had come in with a gunshot wound. Frank had done everything right. He had worked fast, his team had been sharp, but sometimes, it just wasn’t enough.

The boy had bled out on the table, and Frank had been left standing in the trauma room, hands covered in blood, staring at the ceiling like maybe this time, God would give him a damn answer.

He had walked through the hospital in a daze that night, needing something—anything—to ground him. And then he had seen Y/N in the cafeteria, laughing at something one of the nurses had said.

For a moment, all he had wanted to do was walk up to her, hear her voice, let her pull him out of his own head the way only she could.

But instead, he had kept walking.

Because they weren’t supposed to be that for each other. Not here.

And yet, the second they were alone in one of their apartments, it was different.

On the nights they made it home at the same time, they collapsed into each other like the world outside didn’t exist. Some nights, they didn’t even talk—just sat in silence, breathing each other in, feeling the weight of the day settle between them.

Other nights, Frank would cook something half-decent, and they would sit on the couch, their feet tangled together, pretending for just a little while that they weren’t exhausted, that the hospital wasn’t still living under their skin.

And then there were the nights when it was all too much, when the weight of what they did—the lives they saved, the ones they couldn’t—felt suffocating.

Those were the nights he would find her sitting on his kitchen counter, his sweatshirt hanging off her shoulders, her fingers wrapped around a glass of wine she hadn’t even touched.

And without a word, he would step between her legs, his hands bracing against the counter on either side of her, his forehead resting against hers.

No titles. No rules. Just them.

And it was so good.

But then morning would come, and they would slip back into the roles they had chosen.

And pretending was exhausting.

||

Some losses were harder than others.

Y/N had dealt with heartbreak before. She had delivered stillborn babies, had placed tiny, unmoving bodies in the arms of devastated parents. She had held grieving mothers’ hands, had whispered reassurances that felt hollow even as they left her lips. She had been through it all.

But this one hurt.

Maybe because the mother had fought so hard for this baby.

She had struggled with infertility for years—failed IVF cycles, miscarriages, loss after loss after loss. And then, finally, after one last desperate round of treatment, she had gotten pregnant. It had been a miracle, a victory, the kind of thing that made Y/N believe in hope again.

And then it was gone.

Seven weeks.

The bleeding had started suddenly. The mother had rushed to the ER, clutching her stomach, praying, begging for this not to be another loss.

But there was nothing Y/N could do.

She had held the ultrasound probe over the woman’s abdomen, had searched desperately for a flicker of life. But the screen had stayed still. Silent.

No heartbeat.

And Y/N had had to look into that mother’s eyes and tell her that she had lost another one.

That her body had betrayed her again.

That she was leaving the hospital with empty arms.

The woman had sobbed, had clutched her hands like Y/N could somehow change the outcome. And Y/N had wanted to. God, she had wanted to.

But she couldn’t.

So instead, she had held it together.

Had finished the paperwork.

Had walked the mother and her husband through their options.

Had done everything right.

And then, when it was all over, when the couple had left the hospital with nothing but a pamphlet on pregnancy loss and eyes red-rimmed with grief—Y/N had walked into an empty hallway, slid down against the wall, and broken.

She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, her breaths coming fast, uneven. The walls felt too close, the air too thick. Her chest ached, the kind of ache that had nothing to do with exhaustion and everything to do with helplessness.

She had done everything right, and it still wasn’t enough.

She wasn’t enough.

A shadow moved in front of her, and before she could look up, a familiar voice cut through the haze.

“Y/N.”

She didn’t need to see his face to know who it was.

Frank.

He hesitated for only a second before lowering himself to the ground beside her, his knee bumping against hers.

She knew they weren’t supposed to do this. Not here. Not like this.

But when he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his chest, she let him.

Let herself fall apart in the only place that had ever felt safe.

She clutched the front of his scrubs, her fingers curling into the fabric as a sob tore through her. He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to fix it or tell her it was okay—because they both knew it wasn’t.

He just held her.

And for the first time since she had walked into that trauma bay, she let herself feel it.

Frank saw him first.

Dr. Robby, his boss—his friend—was watching them, eyes filled with something unreadable. For a long moment, no one moved.

Frank didn’t let go of Y/N.

Didn’t pull away.

Instead, he met Robby’s gaze and silently pleaded: Not now. Please, just let us have this.

And maybe it was the look in his eyes, or maybe it was the way Y/N was still clinging to him, but Dr. Robby just nodded once.

Then he turned and walked away.

||

The fallout was inevitable.

By the time their shifts started the next morning, the whispers had already spread. Nurses, techs, even a few attendings—they all had something to say about it.

"Did you hear?"

"Frank and Y/N."

"Secretly dating."

"How long do you think it’s been going on?"

Frank had heard all of it as he walked through the ER, but he kept his head down, pretending not to notice the lingering looks. He was used to being the center of attention in the ER—but for his work, not his personal life.

When he finally spotted Y/N in the hallway near the OB wing, he could tell she’d heard the rumors, too.

She looked up from the tablet in her hands, her lips pressed into a tight line. “So, I guess we’re officially the hospital’s latest scandal.”

Frank sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah.”

She leaned against the nurses' station, folding her arms. “Are you okay?”

He wanted to laugh at that. She was the one who had broken down the night before, who had let herself unravel in his arms. She was the one who had been dealing with the grief of losing that patient’s baby.

And yet, she was still thinking about him.

“Yeah,” he said, softer this time. “I just… I didn’t think it would spread this fast.”

“Hospital gossip moves at the speed of light,” she muttered.

One of the nurses walked by, giving them a knowing glance before disappearing into a patient’s room. Y/N sighed.

“Maybe we should just get ahead of it,” she said. “Tell people the truth instead of letting them make up their own stories.”

Frank hesitated. A part of him wanted to say yes—to finally stop hiding. But another part of him, the part that had fought to keep their relationship private for so long, still felt uneasy.

Before he could say anything, Dr. Robby’s voice cut through the hallway.

“Langdon. Break room. Now.”

Y/N shot him a look, and he exhaled slowly. “Well. That was fast.”

Dr. Robby was waiting for him, leaning against a table with his arms crossed. The moment Frank walked in, he gestured for him to shut the door.

Frank obeyed but didn’t speak.

Robby let the silence stretch for a few long seconds before finally shaking his head. “You could’ve just told me, you know.”

Frank crossed his arms. “I didn’t want—”

“For people to think she was getting special treatment?” Robby finished for him. “Yeah, I figured. And I get it. But come on, man. You really thought no one would notice? The way you two look at each other?”

Frank clenched his jaw. He hadn’t realized they’d been that obvious.

Robby sighed. “Look, I don’t care who you date. You’re a good doctor. She’s a good doctor. You think I’m gonna start questioning your judgment just because you’re together?”

Frank didn’t answer.

Robby pushed off the desk and clapped him on the shoulder. “Just do me a favor—next time, don’t make me find out because I caught you two.”

Frank let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “So, you’re not mad?”

“I’m annoyed you thought you had to sneak around. But no, I’m not mad.”

Frank gave a small nod. He turned to leave, but before he could open the door, Robby added, “Now go find your girlfriend before she has another existential crisis in the hallway.”

Frank smirked, shaking his head as he walked out.

He found Y/N in an on call room, sitting on a bed, staring at her hands like they might hold the meaning of life.

She looked up when he walked in. “Are we in trouble?”

“No,” he said, dropping to sit next to her. “Robby basically just called me an idiot for keeping it a secret.”

She snorted. “Sounds about right.”

Frank studied her, taking in the exhaustion still lingering in her eyes. He reached over gently, covering her hand with his.

“No more secrets?” she asked.

He squeezed her fingers. “No more secrets.”

She smiled, relief washing over her face.

And just like that, everything they had been hiding was finally out in the open.

[starlightguh]

A Change in Scent

Word Count: 1,489

Summary: Visiting Sylus, he notices a change in my scent. The repercussions of it leave me both happy yet scared.

Tags: Suggestive themes; but no smut, Pregnancy, slight angst.

A/N: I was gonna make this longer but I felt like if I kept writing I would go off the rails. But ever since seeing the trailer for Sylus myth, my head was spinning with HC that we are fr Luke and Kieran’s family. Doubt this is canon but this came to mind so I wrote it down. Please enjoy!

Being in Taurus and falling in love with the dragon who protected it, wasn’t exactly my plan in life.

I had been exiled from my tribe for refusing to marry a man I didn’t love. In order to be accepted back, I had to venture to find a rare protocore to earn my place. I stumbled upon a cave filled with endless treasure, and the dragon who guarded it took one whiff of my scent and claimed me as his own.

I had become his beloved, his wife, and everything in between as soon as he scented me. His fangs would sink into my neck and in some cosmic way; I knew that we belonged to one another.

However, I didn’t understand dragons, every couple months he had me practically bound into the bed as we did nothing but cuddle and make love. He claimed it was his animalistic nature to go into heat, but to me Sylus was human despite his otherworldly appearance. His heart and love were purer than the winter snow. Every word from his lips sang my praises, and at times he would refuse to let me return back to the tribe.

But I managed to escape his protective grasp to maintain some semblance of a human life to see my grandmother. In the meantime Sylus promised to dispel any of my “silly” desires of a human life, and promised he was going to build me a house surrounded by our favorite flowers.

Things remained as a normal courtship between us. It wasn’t till one day he noticed a change in me that I hadn't myself.

I hadn’t seen him in a few days, so I had been excited to spend more time with him. When I returned to his abode deep within the mountains, he immediately buried his nose against the crook against my neck as he breathed in, he pulled away with his red eyes blown wide with surprise.

“What? Is something wrong? I know I’ve been busy with dealing with my Tribe I haven’t had time to bathe-“ I try and make up an excuse as he pulls away with a shake of his head.

“No. No sweetness it isn’t that…” he pants in my ear and then chuckles, “Your scent….It’s different.” He pants out and starts nipping his fangs at my neck.

“Like a good difference or a bad difference ?” I say confused.

“My love,” he laughs full of pride and joy as he pulls away from my neck to press a soft kiss against my lips, “You’re pregnant.”

I freeze, “Excuse me?” Are the only words to leave my lips.

“You’re with my children,” he growls as he bends his face down to continue to kiss on my neck and collar bones.

“I don’t think I’m late on my period? How do you know for sure?” I try and grasp at his silver locks to pull away and explain himself to me.

“Your scent is giving off a pheromone to me that is screaming that you’re pregnant….I cant describe it, but it’s a sickly sweet smell that makes me want to worship you…Carrying my Babies…”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, I don’t feel any different,” she rolls her shoulders back, “I think maybe I’m just ovulating?”

He shakes his head no, “No I can tell….You’re pregnant.” He chuckles darkly, “Bless the gods, the mother of my children…I could only be so lucky.”

“Sylus…” I mentally try to deny his thoughts again and he just shushes me and places a fiery kiss to my lips.

“Mine forever,” his claws rake down my small form, stopping to caress my stomach. “A living part of me to be with you always.”

I let out a shaky breath and stare up at him in fear, “What am I….What are we to do?”

He quirks his head at me, “Is this not good news? A cause for celebration? Do humans not enjoy the idea of bringing life with their beloveds into the world?”

I shake my head, “It usually is, but Sy….Think of the complications. I’m a human. If my tribe finds out I’m carrying a dragons baby….” A shiver of fear went down my spine.

“You’re not to return,” he growls out as a command, “Your life is with me now. Under no circumstances will you even be let out of my sight while carrying my children,” his tail wraps around my middle. He isn’t applying any pressure to my body with it, but the visual is enough to send a message.

“But Sy my family-“

“We’re going to be a family,” his eyes flash an emotion of hurt as he hisses at me, “I will protect you and our babies till the ends of the earth. This family will never cast you out. I don’t want you to return to the tribe ever again. It’s dangerous.”

I shake my head, “They might come looking for me… What would they think of finding me in your treasure nest heavy with a baby…Sylus, we can’t do this…”

It was as if I had struck him, his face sinks and his red eyes glisten with tears as he walks closer and embraces me in his claws, “Beloved…What do I have to do? Do you not want this? Want me?” His deep voice cracks with hurt, his pride now wounded at my lack of joy.

I look up at him, both of our vulnerable expressions mirroring one another’s, my mouth opens and closes as I try and muster the words to say, “I don’t know much about your kind…I don’t know if our child will be a human, a dragon, or something in between….While I don’t know much I do know that we are bound to one another. You are mine. I am yours…”

A silent moment passes between us as he holds me in his arms and his eyes desperately scan my face, “I want this…I want you….But,” I look away, “I need to be sure that the life we have here in Taurus is safe enough for a child. And for me to even deliver one…”

Sylus closes his eyes and nods his head as he hears my words and my concerns, “I will find a way to prove and provide for you two…This isn’t the first instance of a hybrid child. I will find a nest of my people and do whatever it takes to let us have this…”

I take a step back out of his arms, “Until then I think I need to stay in the village…They won’t know for a while that I’m with child and I should build strength there until we can start a life out here…Besides I think if I have to leave my family there forever, I should at least say goodbye…”

He curls his claws around my waist and brings me closer, “Don’t leave me yet…Just….Let me have you for a while.”

Sylus curls his head into the nape of my neck and inhales with such a shaky breath his whole body shudders, “Gods your scent….It’s driving me crazy than usual…”

“Are you in heat?” I run my fingers down his back and caress the spot where his wings sprout out of his body.

“No…It’s not that it’s just…Knowing that you smell like this because of me,” he stands up straighter and runs a claw through my hair, “It makes me want to keep you this way. Hoard you here like my most prized treasure…”

“Sylus,” I whisper as I stare at his lips, “I want you.”

His tail happily swooshes at my words and he bends down to lift me up by my butt as he carries me to head out of his cave and into our spot full of flowers.

He lays me out on the field of green grass and wine colored flowers. The sun shines on my face making me feel warmer than usual with Sylus’ body heat leaning over me.

He undresses me slowly, unwrapping me both physically and mentally with his eyes. As I’m bare before him he leans his head down to my stomach and rests his cheek against my belly and closes his eyes.

A kitten-like purr escapes him and his body vibrates with the soothing joy.

“Twins,” he smiles as he keeps nuzzling his cheek against me.

“Twins?!?” I say more alarmed. “H-How are you-“

“I can hear their hearts…They love you already,” his red eyes flick open and meet mine. The tenderness in Sylus’ voice, this overwhelming news, and the truth my heart feels at his words break me and I feel tears stream down my face.

Sylus lifts himself up and curls his body over mine, to hide me away from the world, to make me weep with joy in his warmth.

“We’ll protect them my beloved…The four of us,” he chuckles, “We’re home now.”

~fin~

[honkytonk-hangman]

All This Love

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Summary: “Congratulations?” Rooster half-praises, half-questions, side-eying Jake, who stiffens just slightly, but finds himself relaxing when he looks back up at the grainy ultrasound. “Thanks,” he says, feeling his stomach flutter at the memory of the first time he saw it.

Warnings: not much in this one, unplanned pregnancy, some light smut, 18+ only!! <3

Jake feels his pulse jump once, then twice as he walks through his front door. He’d already known you were here, not just because of your car parked out front, but because you’d barely left his company since he’d gotten the news. Still, the sound of you moving around his kitchen, and the smell of something heavenly wafting toward him makes his heart leap just a little in a way that is honestly unfamiliar to him.

Jake Hangman Seresin is not a ‘relationship’ guy. He hasn’t exactly been a one-night-stand guy either these past few years, but certainly he isn’t known for his commitment. Partly he could blame this on his schedule, his various and frequent deployments, moves and busyness, but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit that taking an endless string of women home was taking a toll on him.

Quietly, Jake hoped he’d meet someone, have a constant in his life to come home to, maybe have a few little mini-Jake’s running around too, but it also wasn’t really something he was actively seeking out. He knew being with him meant a lot of lonely nights, and he’d internalised the attitude that most women were not up for that.

And then he met you.

You’d laughed sweetly like you’d thought he was just kidding when he’d flirted with you, told him outright you’d expecting him to cancel on your first date, and then rambled about anything and everything for the next three hours as he happily listened.

You weren’t really his normal ‘type’, you weren’t overly affectionate with him off the bat, making your intentions known, you weren’t tall or bleached blonde or anything he was used to from the women who showed an interest in him, though that wasn’t to say he didn’t think you weren’t beautiful. You were a little awkward, and dorky and you’d told him you thought he was funny, which wasn’t really one of the things most of the women he dated tended to point out. Needless to say, Jake had quickly found it very easy, very natural to adore you.

He’d gotten three and a half months with you before his orders came in. 

The two of you had grown close in that time, but you hadn’t really addressed or discussed what you were. He hadn’t really felt the need, or the pressure like he had in the past. He’d realised over the past few days that this might’ve been down to the fact that he hadn’t even really considered any other options besides the two of you eventually becoming ‘exclusive’. If Jake is completely honest, he’s been off the market since our first date.

Not until the imminent date of his deployment had he begun to take note of his rising anxiety, the complete opposite to the way he usually felt after informing a casual fling that he’d be going. With them, he didn’t expect more, he didn’t want to give them more either, but with you… Jake hasn’t been able to stop thinking about how much he’ll be able to contact you while he’s gone, if you’ll make time for him, even if you’ll send him those care packages so many of the guys he knows often received while on the carrier…

The idea that you saw his upcoming deployment as the official end of whatever this is you have going on haunted him, and Jake was determined to make clear that when he returned in fourteen months time, he still wanted to see you.

He toes off his boots as best he can with the large bouquet in the crook of his elbow, before padding down the hall toward where the delicious smell is coming from, finding you buzzing around his kitchen in a manner that forces him to stop dead in his tracks to appreciate the sight.

This is what Jake has been wanting, but it's not until this very moment he realises just how much. It isn’t even about you cooking for him, no, he just craves the domesticity of coming home to somebody who looks up from what they’re doing with an expression like his arrival is the new best part of their day.

“Jake! I didn’t hear you come in!” you say with a smile and a laugh. That wasn’t exactly unusual for you. You didn’t often hear many things, considering you were hard of hearing. You weren’t completely deaf, in quiet rooms when he was facing you, you could hear him enough, helped by lip reading, or if he spoke directly into your ear. However, it was still significant enough that Jake had downloaded an ASL learning app, partly to communicate better with you, but also so that he could see your overjoyed surprise whenever he correctly signed something very simple to you.

“These are for you,” he steps closer, holding out the large bouquet of marigolds and roses he’d stopped for on the way home, making sure his mouth isn’t at all obscured by them as he does. He hadn’t skimped when he’d bought them, requesting the biggest package the florist offered and paying double what he’d ever paid before for flowers. It was worth it though, especially when once you’ve processed what he’s said, your face lights up all over again and you let out a soft little gasp as you move to meet him.

“They’re beautiful!” you croon as you bring the flowers to your nose. Jake had only ever bought flowers for his mother, and for a few girls around Valentine’s Day. They were always roses. He’d never bothered to ask what their preferred flower of choice was. With you, though, you had inadvertently told him on your first date while lost in a story about a failed garden you’d tried growing and how you adored copper marigolds and peach roses, but that no man had ever bought either for you, including your last boyfriend who’d seemed to think flowers were lame and unnecessary. He’d filed that information away, but curses himself for not using it any sooner as you smile widely back up at him, and push the flowers aside so that you can wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him sweetly.

“Thank you! You didn’t have to!” you say in between pecks to his lips, and Jake wraps the arm still holding the bouquet around your back, in the hopes that maybe you’ll stay pushed up against him just a little longer. You do, giggling softly as you continue to deliver soft little kisses to his lips, Jake dutifully returning each one, becoming aware of his own laughter joining your own as he does.

You pull away to grin up at him, and Jake drops one last, final kiss to your lips before giving you a slight squeeze, his own smile growing as you stare up at him.

“Baby, the smoke alarm is going off,” he informs you, chortling when you jump away from him in surprise, and quickly return to the stove to remove the pan from the hob. Jake follows you, placing your flowers down on the counter, and moving over to where the alarm sits high on his wall, reaching up to tap the button in the centre that switches it off.

“Sorry! The good news though is that dinner isn’t ruined!” you tell him happily, turning back around to go digging through one of his other cupboards. You straighten again when you find a large pitcher, and he watches you mill about for a moment, filling it with water before moving to place the bouquet of flowers inside. He feels his chest swell with pride as you primp and preen the roses and marigolds, and pictures you two weeks from now, with more and more petals falling from the flowers with every passing day, but refusing to throw them away because they make you think of him. The swelling of pride begins to turn into a swell of dread, and Jake really, really wishes he wasn’t leaving you in the morning.

You turn back to him and smile.

“Why don’t you go clean up, and I’ll finish this?” you suggest, and Jake immediately pouts.

“Why don’t I just stay here and help you plate up?” he says instead, making you frown playfully and shake your head.

“Jake, you need to shower!” you scold lightly.

“I showered on base,” he shrugs, and pushes away from his counter to capture your waist and draw you near again.

“Jake… just let me do this for you… you leave tomorrow…” it’s your turn to pout. Jake’s heart makes a good effort to leap out of his chest and into yours.

“Exactly. I leave tomorrow, so just let me stay with you as long as I can,” he poses, and you soften, resting your hands on his forearms.

“Jake…” you sigh, and bite your lip a little. “What’re you gonna do for the next fourteen months, huh?” you question playfully, shaking your head.

“Wish I was plating up dinner with you.” he answers immediately, then feels his cheeks heat up a little. Your gaze drops from his face, but you’re smiling softly, and rubbing your thumbs over his skin in a soothing manner.

“Okay,” you relent, before reaching up to cup his cheeks tenderly. “Okay.”

Jake leans into your touch, closing his eyes as he memorises the feeling of you holding him. You remain in pleasant quiet as the two of you go about preparing for dinner, Jake setting the table as you portion out the salad you’ve made.

Jake refrains from insisting you sit side by side as you eat, because he knows you’d struggle to hear him if you did, but after dinner, he does insist that the dishes can wait, convincing you to come up and shower with him instead.

You’ve barely stepped inside the glass cubicle when he’s pulling you closer, lips reaching out for yours and you giggle as you kiss him under the full stream of the shower head, laughing properly when he pulls back to spit a mouthful of water sideways out his mouth like a cartoon character. He grins at having made you laugh, but crowds you up against the wall almost instantly after, his smile pressed back against yours.

“M’gonna miss you.” he says right by your ear, before slipping his mouth down to your neck, and immediately sucking a small mark there. He knows your opinion on hickeys, so he’ll make sure the rest are somewhere you can hide them. You seem to squirm in his hold, your hands dropping from around his neck to press against his chest, his abdomen, though he knows you aren’t pushing him away, simply wishing to see his face.

“I’ll miss you, too.” you say after a moment, watching the water drop from his eyelashes, before you wrap your arms around him, pulling him near once again and pressing your chest up against his in a delightful manner.

“Promise you’ll come see me when I get shore leave?” He’s never asked this question before, and his heart immediately jumps into his throat. Usually he’d wait around for shore leave to go bar hopping, pick up a girl or two and show them a good time while he could. This time however, all Jake can think about is how best he can maximise all his spare moments for the next fourteen months to make sure they’re spent with you.

“I promise,” you say with another giggle, and it makes Jake pull back to look down at you. He’s not sure what he wants to say, if anything at all, but a beat passes where the two of you simply watch one another. Carefully your hand rises, skims along his cheek, but ultimately continues upwards where you smooth back some of the hair hanging down over his forehead.

“By my count we’ve got just under twelve hours,” you say then, and he can tell you’re trying not to sound so sad. It makes his stomach flop about.

“No time to waste, then, huh?” He leans in and murmurs against your lips.

Miraculously, you make it back to his bedroom somehow, shower water replaced with sweat now as you both work to make the most of the short time you have left together.

You let out a heavy breath of air as you adjust yourself once more, hands pressing against his taut abs, feeling the way the muscles move and tighten under your palms and fingers as you bounce in his lap. Your thighs are burning, but that's not going to be enough to stop you from chasing down another high. Jake’s hands at your hips take some of the initiative out of your control though, his grip firm and deliberate as he helps you move for him, forcing you up and damn-near slamming you back down again, his hips flexing in time to make sure he’s fucking you as deep as he can.

Your sounds of pleasure are muted against his lips, swallowed by him as he kisses you hungrily, one hand shooting up to clutch at the back of your neck when you briefly break apart. With one hand helping you move now, he begins tilting his hips more and more, his legs bent at the knee behind you, powering his thrusts and completely taking you apart. He lets you break away from his mouth, but doesn’t move the hand on your neck, and through half-shut eyes, you can see him watching you intently, his jaw clenched as he takes you in. He slows down.

“You look so pretty riding me,” Jake’s voice is deeper and more gravelly than normal, and his words are punctuated by tiny grunts of exertion that make you mewl. “Gonna miss the way you feel around me,” he goes on, using his hold on you to grind up into you with each slow thrust. You gasp when his hand on your thigh pulls a little, widening your legs around him and making you take him even more.

“Fuck! Jake…!” you cry out weakly, doing your best to keep your momentum, but with this new positioning, you barely have enough strength to lift yourself from him. Jake doesn't seem to mind, groaning in approval and suddenly sitting up, twisting your still connected hips to spin you beneath him now, his hand hiking your leg up over his shoulder as you go.

You gasp again, your own hands clutching his shoulders as he begins fucking you impossibly deep, picking up his pace again as he hovers above you, one hand now in the mattress beside your head.

“Take me so well, sweetheart,” he grunts out, closing the distance between you to press his lips back to yours. You chase him when he pulls away again, whining in disapproval, but his lips dont go too far, as he falls to his forearms and really begins to fuck you.

“Gotta give it to you so good you’ll be stuck on me, huh? Won’t think about anyone but me while I’m gone?” he goes on, and all you can do is nod.

“You gonna cum?” he asks a little more coherently, and you nod, because the way he��s driving into you nearly has you toppling over already. “Yeah? Go on, let me feel you, want you to cum around me, honey.”

His words alone are enough to push you off the edge, more so when you feel him join you, and you arch up into him, curl your hips against his own ragged thrusts, desperate to keep him from pulling out halfway through. He doesn’t seem to be planning to this time, and you mewl and moan in delight at the feeling of him filling you up, the feeling of him dripping out of you when he gives you a few last firm thrusts.

Jake pants above you, the hand by your head slipping down to caress your cheek as you both take a moment to come down. He kisses you, long and deep and nearly enough to get you going again. You wait patiently when he pads off to his bathroom to find you a cloth, and you barely notice yourself dozing off until you wake sometime later.

The bed is empty, though the bedside lamp has remained on, and you sit up properly, rubbing your eyes.

“Jake?” you call out, but you don't see him in the bedroom or bathroom. Frowning, you scoot out of his bed and grab one of his old squad shirts, slipping it on as you move out of his bedroom in search of him.

“Jake?” you call out again, trailing your hand along the wall as you step softly down the stairs to the first floor. It doesn’t help that you can’t hear him, but your worries are belayed the moment you turn around the corner and into the kitchen, and you’re greeted with his bare back as he stands at the sink. He’d pulled some sweatpants on, but they’re hanging low on his hips, enough for you to see the little dimples at the base of his back, and you itch you wrap your arms around him again.

You try to be as quiet as you can as you move up behind him, relishing in the small jump of surprise he does when you trail your hands over his skin and around his front, pressing your cheek between his shoulder blades. You feel him chuckle, feel the deep reverberations through his chest as he does, before he’s pulling you by one arm around to his front instead, where your face now rests against his chest instead.

“I thought you’d fallen asleep.” he tells you, leaning down to absently press a kiss to your hair. You shrug, but peek over your shoulder to watch as he continues to wash dishes, moving with him when he has to move, loving the way he briefly wraps you up whenever he does so, as if he’s worried his twisting might scare you off.

“What are you doing?” you ask dumbly, even as he scrubs down the pan you’d used to cook dinner.

“I didn’t want you to have to wake up tomorrow and do the dishes.” He tells you quietly, like he was worried about admitting this to you, like it was something he should feel guilty about. You coo, and squeeze him a little tighter, just as another thought occurs to you. You’d meant to talk to him about it when he got home from work, but with all the messing around that had happened, you’d totally forgotten.

“Do you want me to drive you in tomorrow?” you ask, feeling the way he pauses. You look up at him after he stays quiet for another beat, and find him staring down at you oddly. Your eyes meeting seems to break him out of his reverie though, and he blinks rapidly a few times.

“You don’t mind? It’s an early start…” he tells you, trying to warn you off, but you see right through him. You can tell it means something to him, though you don’t know what, and a part of you wonders if he’d ever had a girlfriend drive him to base for a deployment before.

“I’m not going to see you for fourteen months, Jake, of course I don’t mind.” you say as if it's obvious. You watch him purse his lips, but smile softly.

“I’d like that.” he says at last, moving one arm to wrap around you permanently now, continuing his task one handed until you extract yourself from him to grab a drying cloth. He makes a sound you only feel briefly, but you shoot him an amused shake of your head and remind him that the faster the chore is done, the faster the two of you can go back to bed. He stops his complaining then, and when the sink is empty and the dishes all stacked away, he picks you up and carries you all the way upstairs again with your legs wrapped around his waist, keeping them there until you both fall asleep again.

Jake can’t stop looking back over his shoulder at you as he stands with the rest of Dagger, getting ready to board. You’re right by the front of the crowd of family that has gathered to say goodbye, which doesn’t make it any easier. If you’d disappeared amongst the people, he could fool himself into thinking you weren’t there, but as it is, he can see you clearly, and it’s eating him up.

Even Rooster can tell, watching and following his gaze every time Jake longingly glances back at you, his brown eyes trailing to the beautiful girl in the front of the crowd, occasionally conversing with the people around her, but mostly just eying the group of aviators with a sad little smile.

“You should say goodbye.” Rooster tells him quietly, eyeing up the officers ahead of them and correctly guessing that they would be about to board. Jake swallows, and pushes his sunglasses up his nose.

“We’ve already said goodbye.” He doesn’t mean to sound so snappy or cold, but he really didn’t want to think about leaving you anymore than necessary. Beside him, Rooster shuffles and shrugs.

“Say goodbye again.”

Jake stays quiet for a moment, before he turns to look at his wingman, and then at the line ahead. Quickly shifting his bag and stuffing it into the other man’s hands, Rooster only nods at him before Jake’s body is moving, easily pushing past the junior officers who step out of his way quickly. He barely takes note of the saultes he receives, because his eyes are set only on you, the way you watch him with a frown, but even as he gets right up to you, and you open your mouth to speak, he keeps moving, cupping your jaw and pressing a series of kisses against your lips.

When he pulls back you frown is gone, replaced with a lightness he hasn't seen since before he’d told you he’d be leaving.

“Will you wait for me?” he asks breathlessly, aware now that the carrier had begun boarding, and he needed to get back.

“What?” you ask with a slight laugh. Jake only leans in to kiss you again, and from somewhere behind him, he can hear a few servicemen whistle. You’re still giggling when he pulls back, but he digs into his uniform pockets and brings out his keys, pressing them into your hands.

“Wait for me.” he says again, waiting until you nod your assent before looking away from you. Through the crowd, he can hear someone, Rooster calling him, an edge of warning in his voice.

“I’ve got to go.” he tells you dumbly, and kisses you again.

“I know. Go! I’ll be here when you get back!” you assure him with a laugh, kissing him back but pushing him away at the same time. Jake grins upon hearing the words, and steps in to kiss you again, before finally dragging his body forcefully away from yours, and back to his team.

Phoenix is giving him a funny look that he ignores as he takes his bag back from Rooster with a silent nod of thanks. He receives a pat on the shoulder from the other man, who looks down his sunglasses at him thoughtfully. Jake sees his eyes trail off and he knows Rooster is looking at you again. He pats Jake’s shoulder once more, his lips tipping up teasingly.

“She’s cute,” Rooster tells him. Jake eyes him as he replaces his sunglasses.

“Yeah,” he says. “She is.”

“Hey babygirl, it’s good to see you,” Jake can’t help his wide grin even as he stares at your somewhat blank, reserved expression. Something in his chest wobbles as you eventually give him a weak smile, and he nervously adjusts his camera.

“Hi, Jake.” You say. It only makes his stomach wobble too.

“Is the software working okay? I have captions?” he asks, double checking the program on his end to make sure for the fourth time that everyone is tip top. You nod.

“Yeah, yeah, everything is working fine. I even put my hearing aids in… I’ve missed your voice,” you tell him.

Your words go a small way to alleviate his anxiety, but it’s been four months since he’s communicated with you via more than just email, and he can’t help but listen to the voices in his head from long before he met you, telling him that you don’t want to wait for him any longer.

“I’m honoured, you hate wearing those,” he says with a stiff laugh. You smile a little wider, but don’t seem to relax.

“Too much noise,” you agree. A quiet beat passes between you and Jake steels himself for what he knows is to come. You both speak at exactly the same time.

“Listen, baby, I’m really sorry I haven’t been able to do this sooner, but–”

“–I’m pregnant.”

Jake freezes, and so do you.

“Oh, thank god,” he hears himself say outloud, his entire body sagging as the weight of what he’d thought you were about to say leaves his body entirely.

“That’s… that’s not what I was expecting…” all stress seems to have left your body too, and for the first time since your call connected, you too appear to be completely at ease. “I thought you were going to break up with me…” you tell him, making Jake start.

“I thought you were going to break up with me!” Jake exclaims, before quickly quientening his voice. “Christ you scared me,” he tells you, letting out a sigh of relief.

Your face is a mixture of amusement and bashfulness.

“You’re more scared of me breaking up with you, than me being pregnant?” you ask, and Jake finds himself nodding immediately.

“I wouldn’t say scared, per se…”

“Your own words, Jake,” you remind him, and he chuckles, but shrugs. You both pause for a moment as you take in the wealth of new information and relationship security you now bask in. Jake jumps then, and leans in closer to his screen.

“How far along are you?” he asks, unsure of what really to ask in this situation, it’s honestly not one he’d ever been in before, but he’s proud to discover his mind immediately has calibrated for it.

“I’m going to the doctor in the morning, but I’m guessing around four months,” you tell him with a slightly wry smile. Jake laughs.

“I should hope so,” Jake chortles, before turning serious again when he sees you only laugh weakly.

“How are you feeling, baby?” he asks, then quickly, for your sake, adds; “For the record, I want whatever you want, I just want it with you.”

Your face travels through several emotions, but you at last give him a watery little smile.

“I really thought you’d break up with me, I haven’t even thought about anything else,” you admit, and Jake feels something else in his chest wobble.

“Honey, unless you’re planning on breaking my heart right now, I’m not breaking up with you any time soon… or ever, if I’m honest… I’m sorry that’s not been clearer…” he tells you, feeling a slight lump in his throat at the very thought.

You were it for him, he thinks, he can’t imagine not coming home to you. He’d even considered throwing his medical on purpose the other day, just so he could wait for your email he knew was likely to come. Jake has never even considered that before, not even for family. A knock on the door makes his face fall, and he turns to glare at the ensign who pokes their head in.

“Liuetenant Seresin, sir, Captain Mitchell requires you on deck.”

Jake sighs, but nods grimly.

“Tell him I’ll be there in a moment.”

“Sir!”

Jake looks back at you, already smiling sadly.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I need to go,” he says tiredly. He’d wished he got more time to talk with you, but especially about this.

“It’s okay Jake, we’ll be fine,” you tell him. Jake can’t stop the quirk of his lips as he stares at you.

“‘We’ huh?” he asks teasingly, feeling something like excitement, or perhaps pure, sheer joy race through his veins. You cock your head but your arm moves, he can’t see where exactly, but he suspects your hand now rests against your belly.

“Yeah. We.”

Jake swallows thickly, and nods, unable to fight the smile that pulls at his lips.

“Okay, baby, okay,” he hears another knocking on his door and huffs. “Send me everything you can, I don’t know when I’ll get to call you again, okay? Send me everything.”

Jake walks quietly alongside Dagger as they return to their ready room, listening to them discussing possible ‘new’ hand signs for each other to signal readiness for the manuevour they’d been working on not even twenty minutes ago, prior to landing. He checks back into the conversation long enough to watch the proposed sign that Payback suggests, and immediately begins shaking his head.

“That’s ‘math’ in sign language,” Jake tells him, earning a look from Phoenix.

“Since when do you know ASL?” she asks, not fully sounding accusatory, but certainly not shying away from that tone either. Jake looks up at her and opens his mouth, but it’s Bob who gets there before him.

“He’s been practising with me,” Bob informs her, making Phoenix only more curious. She turns back to Jake expectantly. Jake shifts on his feet as the group comes to a halt, clearly also wanting to know what this is about, and for a brief moment, he considers telling them to mind their damn business.

That thought passes though, his spite warmed into a quiet kind of glee at the mere thought of you, his chest tingling slightly under the picture he has tucked into his flight suit.

“My girlfriend is deaf,” he says at last with a small shrug. Phoenix stays eying him for a second, even more curiosity filling her gaze, but after a moment she relents. He knows she’ll have questions later, but for now seems to be content not to make him answer them in front of everyone.

“Huh.” she says, and with that the squad continues moving.

Eventually, Phoenix and Halo peel off to the women’s locker rooms, the boys moving on to theirs, Payback, Coyote, Fanboy and Bob making straight for the showers. Jake can’t shower yet, though, he has precious cargo to return to safety, so moves straight for his locker, peeling it and carefully removing the photograph from his breast. Using the wad of blu-tac he’d acquired a few weeks back, he gingerly sticks the image backup in its home when he’s not flying, making sure not to get any fingerprints on it as he does.

“That was a good exercise,” Rooster’s voice makes Jake almost jump out of his skin, and he turns to look over his shoulder, quickly shooting the other man a nod.

“Yeah,” he replies simply, his lips thinning into a line as Rooster steps closer, opening his own locker but inevitably glancing over at Jake’s in the process. Jake tenses up as he feels Bradshaw pause, but after only a few agonising seconds, Rooster is moving again.

“Congratulations?” Rooster half-praises, half-questions, side-eying Jake, who stiffens just slightly, but finds himself relaxing when he looks back up at the grainy ultrasound.

“Thanks,” he says, feeling his stomach flutter at the memory of the first time he saw it.

Jake reaches up and rapps the ultrasound fondly.

“Twenty-three weeks. She’s supposed to be the size of a peach, but hell if I know what I’m looking at,” Jake shrugs and rolls his eyes, even letting loose a small smile when Rooster leans over to get a closer look. After a moment he too pulls a face and they meet eyes.

“Yeah, looks like topography to me,” Rooster shrugs as well. Jake looks back to the scan thoughtfully.

“Oh. Yeah. There’s a mountain range…. Small valley…” Jake trails off as the showers seem to shut off in near-unisen. 

He quickly shoots Rooster a steely-eyed stare, which thankfully the other man seems to understand the meaning of, because all too soon their conversation comes to an end and Jake shuts his locker door protectively.

Their veil of secrecy is shattered however, when Javy, dressed in only his towel, waltzes right up to Jake, opens his locker door again, places a kiss to the ultrasound, then carries right on as Jake quickly closes it behind him. Rooster shoots him a look, and before the others can make an appearance, Jake explains himself.

“Only Javy knows,” he grinds out, but can’t find himself too annoyed. Javy had immediately taken to his Uncle role, sending little gift packages to Jake's house for you to discover.

The ‘My Uncle Is Single’ onesie was particularly cute.

Jake doesn’t even really have to push his way to the front of the line at the docks. Not only had Dagger made a path for him, but they were actively hauling at the collars of younger sailors, and from behind him he can hear various calls of ‘make way!’ and when one sailor protests a little too loudly, Phoenix saying ‘Hangman’s about to meet his kid for the first time, do you really want to get in the way of that?’. He makes a note to thank them later, but then he sees you, and he sees his baby, and all thoughts fly out of his brain.

He rushes up to you, gathering you both in one tight hug before you even seem to realise it’s him. But then he hears you laughing waterly, and he pulls his face back enough to plant a long, passionate kiss to your lips.

“Hey baby, hi!” he gushes cupping your cheek in his hand, before quickly extracting himself only a little, and focusing his attention on the bundle of excited squeals in your arms.

“Hi Princess, c’mere, I’ve been waiting so long to meet you!” Jake continues to talk before you can even get a word in edgewise. You laugh again, and shift the baby on your hip enough and Jake steps in again quickly relieving you of the weight. His daughter is immediately enraptured by the pins and shinies on his uniform, and she babbles talkatively up at him. Jake had shared his worries with you that she wouldn’t know him, recognise him, but all that is quickly abated when she stuffs a fist in her mouth and all but collapses against his chest.

His whole body fills with a warmth like he’s never known and he looks over at you.

“I think it’s too loud for her,” you say with a laugh, cuddling in closer to the other side of his chest. Jake looks between the two of you lovingly, adjusting his girl so he can show off some of the ASL he’d managed to learn in the last fourteen months.

Sorry, he signs carefully. Just – little – longer. Team – want – meet – you – both.

Your face lights up in recognition and your eyes get a little mistier. So – good – now! You sign back slowly for him, just as he feels several presences come to an anxious stop behind him.

“Bob helped,” he says, getsuring over at Bob, who steps forward with a short little wave.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Ma’am,” he tells you, before his eyes shift to the baby in Jake’s arms. He tips his hat again at the girl who, as Jake turns, seems to be quietly inspecting the newcomers, drooling all over her tiny little hand. Bob does another little wave, more goofy this time, and she giggles, but turns her face inward briefly to Jake’s chest even more.

Jake uses his free arm to pull you in a little, and nods at his team.

“Baby, this is Dagger, that’s Bob,” he briefly pauses to show you Bob’s sign name, before he goes on to point out the others. “Phoenix, Rooster, Fanboy, Payback, and this is–” he gets cut off as Javy pushes his way to the front of the crowd.

“Uncle Javy!” he announces, balling you up in a tight hug. You laugh and nod.

“Thank you for all the gifts for her! She loves them!” you tell him, which only makes him smile wider, and puff his chest out some as he rounds on Jake and his daughter.

“Can I hold her now?” he asks, with his arms already out. Jake’s features drop into a friendly glare.

“No.” he says firmly, tugging the baby closer. He’s rewarded when she begins to fuss a little at all the new attention, and Jake quickly begins shushing and cooing at her, only for her to relax and fall quiet, her tiny fists now clutching desperately into his jacket.

“That’s right baby, daddy’s not gonna let Uncle Javy take you away from him.” He runs his hand comfortingly up and down her little back, snuggling her closer.

Javy rolls his eyes, but relents, pointing at Jake and you.

“Ya’ll got one week, then I’m crashing,” he tells you. Jake shakes his head, but you nod, looking up at him. You sign ‘babysitter?’ at him, then getsure at Dagger in general, and after he puts two and two together, he’s shaking his head.

“No. No way,” he says. You nod again and gesture back to the group.

“No,” he says.

“Yes.” you reply, Bob nodding quickly along with you. Jake rolls his eyes up at the sky, then back down at you. He looks over at where Rooster, Phoenix, Fanboy and Payback have all started cooing and making faces at his girl, making her giggle and kick her feet, and lets out a sigh.

“Fine. Maybe.”

[batsovergotham]

Chapter 4 Part 4: A Dance on Divided Ground

"In order to be in control, you have to embrace your power, not reject it. I know your abilities can frighten you at times. But you're not seeing the beauty in them. With our unpredictable gift, we can create a greater world. But we must take responsibility for how this gift affects others."

Main!Mark Grayson x Psychic! Reader

warnings: unprotected sex, major character death, murder, angstrom is his own warning, mentions of cheating, rex is a good friend, angst

w/c: 7.4k

a/n: much more plot. i hope you enjoy <3

You won't see Mark for three days.

Not exactly.

Physically, he is there. In the hallways. At briefing tables. Walking across the training deck with his shoulders set like stone and his gaze fixed straight front. When someone says his name, he nods. He answers questions when Cecil asks them. He gets dressed, emerges, vanishes into space, returns in one piece, cleans the blood off his outfit, and does it all again.

Still, he hasn't once looked at you.

Not since what happened.

Not since the instant he woke awake, clutched his own chest as if he couldn't believe it was whole again, and said your name like it was a lifeline he didn't realize he'd seized.

A party was not what you anticipated. You didn’t want thanks. But you didn’t anticipate this either.

You convince yourselve he’s healing.

That it’s normal.

That maybe he simply needs time.

But each day that goes without a single word, without acknowledgment, starts to seem like a cut that won’t stop bleeding.

And when you finally see him again, actually see him, standing in front of Cecil’s desk, arms crossed tight, his mouth clenched like it may snap, your stomach drops.

Because you know that position. You know that tone.

It’s his I-can’t-fall-apar* voice.

It’s the one he used after the Mars mission. After his dad.

Cecil observes him carefully, brows low, hands folded in front of him like he’s already ten steps ahead.

Mark doesn’t flinch beneath his scrutiny.

“I’m ready for missions again.”

Cecil doesn’t answer straight away. “Already?”

“I’m fine.”

“You died, kid.”

Mark’s eyes don’t move. “But I’m not dead now.”

Cecil leans forward. “And we both know why.”

Silence.

You’re outside the room. You weren’t intended to hear this. But you’re not hiding. You’re just standing in the hallway, invisible by absence, just as you’ve been since it occurred.

Mark’s voice is low, scratchy. “I didn’t ask her to do it.”

“No. But she did.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Mark-”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says, harsh this time. “She saved me. Great. Fine. I should be grateful. I am. But what happened out there? That wasn’t right. That wasn’t natural. I shouldn’t be here.”

Cecil’s silent for a beat. Then, carefully. “But you are. And she’s the reason for that. You need to talk to her.”

Mark shakes his head, jaw clenched. “She brought me back from nothing. Do you not understand that? There wasn’t anything. I was dead.”

“She didn’t mean to,” Cecil adds, voice calm. “And you know that.”

“I felt it,” Mark continues, calmer now. “Like… everything had ended. And suddenly it didn’t. You don’t understand.”

There’s a pause. Long. Heavy.

Cecil sighs. “I do understand. More than you think. But ignoring her won’t reverse what happened.”

“I know,” Mark says, too fast.

But he still doesn’t move.

He stares at the wall like he wants it to devour him whole. Like if he maintains standing there long enough, time will rewind and this whole thing will never have occurred.

You back away before he turns. Before he could see you in the hallway and pretend he didn’t.

You don’t want to see that again, that quiver in his eyes. That way he tenses when you're near, not out of fear, nor disdain, but… something heavier. Something that suggests he’s caught between everything he can’t confront and everything he owes you.

Because it wasn’t just a second chance.

You broke something bigger than time.

You bent reality for him.

And he doesn’t know how to live with that.

So he doesn’t.

He pours himself into Guardian work. Patrols double the length they used to be. Late evenings. Emergency call-ins. He’s never in the Tower for more than five minutes. He won’t train beside you anymore. He doesn’t sit next to you in mission briefings.

He doesn’t look at you.

And if someone brings you up?

He shifts the subject.

Every. Single. Time.

It’s not unkind.

It’s not even furious.

It’s just avoidance.

 Pure, classic trauma.

He’s drowning and believing he can breathe.

And you… You let him.

Because you don’t know what else to do.

You sit with the weight of what you done and you try to feel okay with it. You tell yourself you made the right choice. That anyone who loved him would’ve done the same. That you rescued him. You didn’t ruin anything.

But late at night, in the solitude of your own thoughts, that humming inside you, the one that dragged Mark back, the one that remade him…it still hasn’t faded.

It waits.

And you’re afraid.

Because if he won’t look at you now, What happens when he finally does?

The hush stretches on for months.

Not weeks. Not days.

Months.

It’s not loud, this silence. It’s not an eruption. Not a fight. It’s not harsh around the edges like rejection or contempt. It’s just… there.

Persistent. Quiet. Heavy.

You still see him. All the time, actually. In the hallways. In the control room. On roofs. Suiting up for missions. Floating over Guardian HQ in the early hours before daybreak, shoulders tense, studying the city like it may offer him some type of answer if he just stares long enough.

But he never talks to you.

He doesn’t avoid you in an apparent way. He doesn’t make scenes. Doesn’t flinch when you enter into the room. He just… turns away. Leaves early. Answers someone else. Stares too long at the floor when he knows you’re there and yet won’t look up.

It’s Mark. It’s always been Mark.

But something in him feels further away than light-years.

And even if no one else notices, you do.

He’s still doing the job. Still rescuing lives, striking through concrete, grabbing skyscrapers like they weigh nothing. He’s powerful than ever. Faster. His reports are clean. His recovers very immediate.

But he looks tired. Not physically. Not in a way Viltrumites show because they can’t.

But he’s tired underneath.

Like it doesn’t matter how fast his body heals, his mind can’t keep up.

You catch it in tiny things. The way he clenches his jaw too long after a mission. How he zones out as the team debriefs. How he lingers behind as the rest of the Guardians leave the room, looking at his hands like he doesn’t recognize them anymore.

He still laughs sometimes. Smiles at jokes when Rex becomes too loud. Nods at Eve when she chats to him, courteous but not near. There are days where you nearly think he’s okay.

But then your eyes meet, briefly, unintentionally, and he looks away so swiftly, you feel it like a smack.

It isn’t hate.

It isn’t fear.

It’s too much.

Too much anguish. Too much memory. Too much of what you did.

Too much of what you mean to him now.

You don’t push him. You stopped trying to chat after the first few weeks, after the way he kept hesitating mid-sentence, or giving you these broken half-smiles like he was trying to be alright and failing regardless.

So you started maintaining your distance too.

You take different patrols. Different sparring partners. You learn to breathe through the anguish when your shift finishes and he’s just coming, eyes flickering toward you and then right through you.

The worst aspect isn’t the silence.

It’s the absence of everything that used to be there.

The way he used to look at you like you were the last stable thing left in the world. The way he always uttered your name when he saw you, even if it was only a gentle “hey” beneath his breath. The way he’d check in after battles, after missions, after bad days, even if he was bleeding himself.

All of that’s gone now.

Replaced by this cautious, measured version of Mark who grins just enough to get by and never stays long enough to be asked how he’s really doing.

You know he’s afraid.

Not of you. He’s never been terrified of you.

He’s terrified of what happened.

Of what it means to have died and come back.

Of what the alternate Mark said, “She’s going to die in your arms, and you’re going to let her.”

You know that sentence lingers in his brain like a scar.

And you know he believes it.

So he keeps his distance. He stays back.

He feels that by ignoring you, by keeping his love secret and untouchable, he’s protecting you.

Because if he doesn’t let himself fall, if he doesn’t let himself want you, then maybe he can keep you safe.

Maybe he can rewrite the ending that the variant witnessed.

But you?

You’re still here.

Waiting in the silence.

Grieving a man who isn’t gone, yet never truly came back.

And some days, you worry how long it’ll take before he realizes that he’s trying so hard to protect you from pain…

That he’s progressively becoming it.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

It’s late when he goes to her.

Later than he meant. Later than he should have. The type of late that wraps over your shoulders like a weight, makes your feet heavy, your breath thin. He waits on the doorstep for a full minute before knocking, hands buried deep in his jacket, jaw tight like it’s holding something back.

He could’ve flown in. Let himself in. He’s swift enough to be undetectable, powerful enough to burst any lock. But this isn’t a mission. This is home. His mother’s home, rebuilt. It’s his first time back. And something about it feels too delicate for all the strength he has.

So he knocks like he’s still just a kid.

And when the door opens, there she is.

Debbie Grayson. Tired eyes. Wrinkles deeper than they were a months ago. Sweater sleeves pulled up, a book in one hand, her look serene.

She doesn’t ask why he’s here. Doesn’t demand an explanation or act startled.

She just opens the door a bit wider.

And says, “Come in.”

The place smells like jasmine tea and ancient books. It always has, despite being rebuilt. The floors still squeak the same way they did when he was twelve, sneaking in after curfew. His old sneakers are still beside the entrance. 

Some things never stopped hurting.

Debbie doesn’t give small talk. She turns the kettle on, pours him a mug even though she knows he won’t drink it. She takes her normal seat on the sofa and leaves the armchair for him, as always.

He doesn’t sit.

Not straight away.

He stands there, arms crossed, shoulders tense, eyes roving across the room like he could discover a version of himself still hidden in a corner, young, unscarred, full of hope that the universe made sense.

Finally, he continues, voice low, “I died.”

Debbie doesn’t blink. Doesn’t drop the cup. Just places it softly on the table and folds her hands in her lap.

Mark doesn’t look at her. He paces. Just once, across the rug.

“She brought me back,” he whispers, softly, saying your name.

A pause. He swallows hard.

“I mean…I think she did. I don’t know how. I don’t think she even knows. But one second I was…there was nothing, Mom. Nothing. It wasn’t dark or light or anything. It just… ended. And then suddenly I could feel her. And I was alive again.”

He stops pacing.

Stands with his back half-turned to her, head bent.

“I haven’t talked to her since.”

Debbie says nothing.

Not because she doesn’t want to speak. But because she knows better.

Knows that sometimes the only way to help is to make room.

Mark’s voice drops lower.

“I keep thinking maybe if I stay away, she’ll be safe.”

There it is.

He sits down, eventually, elbows on his knees, face in his hands.

“She’s strong. Smarter than me. Braver. But I kept remembering her face when I woke up, how terrified she looked. Like she didn’t even realize what she’d done. And I-”

He shuts himself short, breath catching.

“I think I love her,” he murmurs. “I didn’t know it before. Or maybe I did, and I just wasn’t ready. But now that I do… all I can think about is how she’s going to die. That version of me, he said she was going to die in my arms. And I’d let her.”

His voice cracks on the word let.

“I can’t do that again, Mom. I can’t allow someone I love die. I barely survived it with Eve. And if it’s..if it’s her…”

He hides his face in his hands.

Debbie is silent for a long time.

Then she leans closer and lays a hand on his back. Just enough weight to ground him.

“Mark,” she adds quietly, “you didn’t let anything happen. You didn’t choose it. And you’re not cursed.”

He doesn’t lift his head.

“I keep thinking about what happens if I stay close to her. What if I become that version of me? What if he was right?”

“Then be different,” she advises simply. “Be better.”

He does gaze at her now. Red-eyed. Exhausted.

“You think I can protect her?”

“No,” she says. “I think you’ll try. And that’ll matter.”

Mark lets out a breath he’s been holding for months.

“I’ve been so afraid of messing this up.”

Debbie grins sweetly. “That’s how I know it’s real.”

He blinks.

She says, “Love isn’t clean, Mark. It’s messy. It’s scary. And it’s worth it. Every time. Even when it breaks you.”

Mark looked at his hands. His palms remained stained with ancient blood, with strength, with remembrance. With affection he never expressed out loud.

“Do you think she hates me?”

Debbie’s hand squeezes his shoulder.

“She waited this long,” she says. “I don’t think hate ever had a chance.”

He doesn’t answer immediately away.

But when he does, it’s a whisper.

“I think I’m ready to talk to her.”

And for the first time in a long time…

Debbie grins. 

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•···············��•∘

The knock is hardly there. Three quiet taps, like maybe he’s hoping you won’t hear it.

But you do.

You feel it in your chest before your feet even move. Months of silence rush back to meet you, the distance, the stolen looks, the things left unsaid. You open the door carefully, cautiously, not knowing which version of him may be standing on the other side.

But it’s just Mark.

Soaked with the night air. Jacket moist, hair messier than normal, eyes rimmed red like he’s been holding something in for too long.

He glances at you for only a second before lowering his sight.

You stand aside.

He walks in like your home is made of glass.

Doesn’t sit. Doesn’t talk. Just stands in the midst of your living room like he doesn’t know how to live in it anymore.

You give him time.

Eventually, he breaths out a wobbly, bitter chuckle. “I thought about this moment a hundred times. What I’d say. How I’d apologize. And now I’m here, and I can’t even look at you.”

You step closer, but you don’t talk yet. You let him keep unraveling.

“I screwed up,” he admits. “I shut you out. I made you feel that what you done was something to be ashamed of. Like you hurt me. But you didn’t. You saved me. You…you brought me back, and I didn’t say thank you. I didn’t say anything. I just left.”

His voice cracks.

You feel it before you see it, the way his shoulders start to wobble. The way he turns away from you like he doesn’t want you to watch it happen.

“I didn’t think I deserved you after that,” he continues, barely audible. “I still don’t.”

You step closer then. Quietly. Carefully.

He flinches when you touch his arm, not because he doesn’t want it, but because he does. And it cracks something open.

He turns toward you slowly, his jaw wobbling, his eyes filling with tears he’s been swallowing for months.

“I was so scared,” he chokes. “You brought me back and I didn’t know how. And I kept thinking, what if you paid for it? What if the universe takes it back? What if I’m not meant to be here and next time, it’s you who dies?”

You reach for his face, delicate and steady, your thumbs stroking under his eyelids. He leans into it without trying to, like gravity's finally prevailing.

“I thought if I stayed away, I could protect you,” he says. “That if I loved you from a distance, maybe nothing else would go wrong. But it did. I hurt you. And I didn’t even look to see how bad.”

“I love you,” he murmurs. “God, I love you so much it terrifies me. And I guess it always did. I guess I was already in love with you when I kissed you. I guess I just didn’t want to say it out loud  because I knew… I knew I’d mess it up.”

You bring him into your arms.

He doesn’t resist.

He sinks into you like he’s been drowning and you’re the only solid thing left. His arms wrap around you tight, his forehead buried in your shoulder, his whole body shaking as the weight of all he’s been carrying finally hits the ground.

“I’m sorry,” he says, again and over, voice trembling, breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

You hold him. 

His throat functions, but the words don’t come out clear.  “And I woke up, and I should’ve said something.  I should’ve said everything.  But I panicked.  Because I knew.  I know what you did.  What it meant.  And I didn’t know how to handle it.” 

His voice cracks. 

“I didn’t want to mess it up,” he continues, gentler now.  “So I ran.  I believed if I remained away, if I could just avoid myself from getting too near, then maybe it wouldn’t reoccur.  Maybe if I pretended like it didn’t happen, it wouldn’t matter as much.” 

You blink back tears.  Because you know what it meant to you. 

“I was lying to myself,” he admits.  “I’ve been lying this whole time.  Avoiding you.  Avoiding anything.  Because I didn’t think I deserved to look you in the eye after that.” 

He shakes his head, and his voice sinks to a whisper. 

“I died. And I came back because of you. And I didn’t even say thank you.” 

You lean closer.

He looks you, still not sure if he’s ready to handle everything. 

“I was so afraid I’d lose you if I got close again,” he says. “And the worst part? I think I loved you before I ever admitted it. I think it’s been there for a long time. But I couldn’t let myself believe it. Because every time I do, I lose people. My mom. Eve. You.”

His voice is trembling now, and so is he. 

You reach for him, gently. 

But he flinches.

“I didn’t know what to do with that,” he says, louder now, not angry—just breaking. “I didn’t know how to be the guy you brought back. I kept thinking maybe the version of me that died was the last good one. And now I'm just... this. This scared, guilty mess who doesn’t know how to fix anything.”

Mark wipes at his face violently, like he hates that he’s sobbing.  Like maybe if he goes quickly enough, he can believe it’s just rain. 

But it’s not. 

It’s the agony of someone who’s been carrying the weight of survival and doesn’t know how to let it down. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, cracking. “God, I’m so sorry. For everything. For leaving. For going quiet. For not saying it sooner.”

He leans against you, eventually, forehead to yours. 

“I love you,” he whispers, voice breaking. “I love you and it scares the hell out of me. But I’m done running. If this breaks me, it breaks me. But I want to try. With you.”

You draw him close. 

And this time, when Mark Grayson cries… 

He doesn’t do it alone.

You should say something. Anything.

Instead, your fingers twitch. Then your hand moves, hesitant, like it might be a mistake, and rests gently on his. 

His hand turns under yours and he laces your fingers together.

You breathe.

“I love you too,” you say, barely audible. “I think I’ve been in love with you for longer than I can care to admit.”

He leans in slowly, gives you time to pull away, and when you don’t, he kisses you.

It’s not demanding. It’s not greedy. It’s soft, and real, and terrifying. His lips are warm, his mouth gentle against yours. You don’t move at first, unsure, but he’s patient. His hand comes up to cradle your jaw and you lean into it instinctively, letting your mouth open for him.

You’ve never kissed like this. You’ve never been kissed like this. It’s not like before.

Every nerve in your body feels like it’s waking up for the first time. His tongue brushes yours and a soft, unfamiliar sound leaves your throat.

You don’t mean to climb into his lap. You don’t remember the moment you shift your legs across his, straddling him on the couch. But you’re there now, his hands steady on your hips, yours buried in his hair. Your breathing is sharp. Your body is hot.

He pulls back slightly, eyes meeting yours.

“We can stop here,” he says, voice hoarse. “Whenever you want.”

You shake your head. “I don’t want to stop.”

His hands move, down your sides, under your shirt, thumbs grazing your ribs. You gasp. The contact is electric. Your hips roll against him, shy and slow, and the friction makes your head spin.

You bury your face against his shoulder, clinging tighter. You’re overwhelmed. You want to merge with him. To never be apart again.

His cock is hardening against you, thick and undeniable even through both layers of clothing. You rock your hips again and this time he groans, a deep, guttural sound that makes your stomach clench.

You whimper. Quiet. Embarrassed. But he kisses you again and your shame evaporates.

This isn't just sex. It's knowing. It's closeness you were never allowed, never taught. But you’re learning now.

And he’s showing you.

You keep moving. He guides your rhythm with his hands, steady and firm on your waist, pulling you into him. You gasp with each grind, your thighs shaking.

“Let it happen,” he murmurs, breathless. “You’re safe with me.”

And for once, you believe it.

You don’t recall how you went from the couch to the floor.

It’s all scraps. The delicate push of his mouth at your jaw, timid, respectful. The guttural sound he made when your hips rolled up against him. The strain eventually cracking between your legs like the crack of ice shattering under pressure. It wasn’t elegant. It wasn’t pretty. He grinded against you with frenzied, almost clumsy rhythm, and you grasped at his shirt like it was the only thing anchoring you to this instant, this shaking, too-warm pocket of the world where time had finally granted you compassion.

Mark's breath is heavy as he draws away slightly, holding himself above you on quivering arms. His black hair falls on his face, sweat shining at his temple. His eyes are wide, raw, like he’s frightened he dreamt all of this. Like if he blinks, you’ll withdraw back into that frigid, unreachable zone you typically reside in.

You’re terrified too. Not of him. Of what you let him feel.

Of what you let yourself feel.

He observes your face for a second longer, like he’s seeking for permission in the twitch of your lip, the flutter of your eyelids, the little hitch in your breath. You don’t deliver it verbally. You don’t know how. But your legs are still locked around his waist. Your hand snakes around the back of his neck, bringing him down just enough so your foreheads touch together.

You feel him swallow.

“I mean it,” he says, and it’s so fucking quiet you could’ve missed it if you hadn’t been holding your breath. “I love you.”

It knocks something loose inside you. Something harsh and ancient, something that resided in the hollow spots they couldn’t train out of you. You hear your own voice, weird, strangled, say, “I know.”

And you do. You’ve known. You just didn’t know how to hold it.

Then your voice cracks again, quieter this time. “I love you too.”

His body shudders over yours. You can feel it. All of it. Relief, longing, dread, something deeper behind it, that persistent aching you’ve both been carrying since that fucking day you don’t speak about. The one that changed everything. The one that made him avoid looking you in the eye.

Now you’re nude.

And he's lowering himself, inch by inch, pressing kisses down the column of your throat like he’s trying to remember the feel of your skin with his lips. You stiffen, out of habit. But your fingers don’t push him away. They travel to his hair, threading through the silky black strands, keeping him there like you need him tethered to you or you’ll drift away into that cold again.

He kisses lower.

Your shirt’s forced up, breasts still heaving beneath your bra, nipples erect from the friction and the tug of his shirt earlier. You’re already soaking, your thighs slippery from where you rutted on his cock like an animal, frantic and overwhelmed. Mark’s hands are shaking a bit when he runs them up your sides, respectful, like he’s scared of frightening you back into your shell.

“You don’t have to-” you begin, but your voice breaks halfway through.

“I want to,” he says. His voice is low, not like before when he was panting into your neck. This is deeper. Thicker. There's a quiver in it, but not from fear. “Let me.”

You let your head fall back. You nod.

His kisses trail lower, past your sternum, the dip of your navel. His hands hook around the waistband of your shorts, the awful black ones that you never noticed rode up your thighs, and peels them down slowly, along with your underwear. His breath catches.

You clench your thighs on instinct. You weren’t meant for being seen. Not like this. You’re weaponized, toughened. Not soft and open and moist, quivering beneath the weight of someone’s love.

He kisses the inner of your thigh.

Not once. Over and over. Each contact of his lips softer, deeper. Like he’s admiring every scar, every stretch of muscle, every fragile bit of you you’ve never let anybody this near to. You feel your gut twist. Your hands tremble at your sides, unsure of where to go, what to do with all this sensation.

And then he breaths against your pussy.

Your breath stutters. His hands spread your thighs wider, thumbs delicate on your flesh, and he stares at you, not your face, not your eyes, you. The way you’re slick and rosy and open, swelling from grinding against his cock, a thin sheen of your own excitement catching the light.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes, more to himself than to you.

He dips down and licks a slow, deliberate stripe up your cunt.

You jerk. Your breath punches out of you. He gasps deep in his throat like he’s tasting something precious, and dammit, it shouldn’t make your eyes tear the way it does, but you’ve never been touched like this. Not even close. You’ve been used. Controlled. Managed.

But this is worship. This is heat and caring and despair woven together.

He sucks softly on your clit, and your hips buck instinctively.

“Oh—fuck—Mark—” You hadn’t intended to say it. You hadn’t even meant to make noise. But it flows out of you like something shattering.

He moans, jaws clamping around you again. His tongue works with slow, thorough strokes, exploring, persuading, drinking every spasm and scream out of you like he needs it. Like it nourishes him. His hands keep solid on your hips, pinning you to the floor while his mouth devours you gently, then hard, his nose shoved into your mound, lips working with skilled care that’s making your thoughts go white.

You clench your eyes shut.

You don’t want to cry. You won’t cry.

But your hips won’t stop moving, pursuing the rhythm, grinding against his tongue. His fingers tighten tighter, not enough to hurt, just enough to hold you as your voice breaks into a groan.

“You taste so fucking good,” he murmurs between licks, voice husky, intoxicated on you. “Been thinking about this. So long. Couldn’t even touch myself without thinking of you.”

You whimper. It’s a sound you don’t recognize.

He licks deeper, his tongue flattening against your folds before pushing within, slow and strong, and you arch, one leg flung over his shoulder now. Your thighs shake, clasped tight around his head. You feel your body twisting, knotting with something unbearable.

Then he sucks your clit again, this time with rhythm.

Every muscle in your body locks. Your breath catches. Your back arches so hard it lifts off the ground.

And suddenly it happens, not like the rapid, furious friction before. This is profound. Slow. A wave surging up from your gut, slamming down all at once, tearing you apart from the inside out.

You scream, full-throated, shivering, your thighs clamping hard around his head, your fingers tugging his hair. You sob through it, jerking with aftershocks as he keeps licking, not pausing, not even hesitating, letting you ride every pulse of it until you can’t take anymore.

Only then does he ease off. His mouth glistening with you. His face flushed.

He creeps back up your body, arms shaking, chest heaving like he just flew through a war zone. And when he kisses you this time, you taste yourself on his lips. You open to him reflexively, your hand slipping into his hair, the other grabbing his back.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you mumble against his mouth, voice raspy.

“I do,” he murmurs back. “You’re not alone. Not anymore.”

You feel that aching again. That perilous hope.

He stays above you, peering down at your face like it’s something special. His hand grips your cheek, kind, warm, not attempting to repair you, just there.

He groans like he’s been waiting for this moment his whole fucking life. And you feel him, hot, hard, thick, pressing against your thigh through his pants, and you know this is only the beginning.

He doesn’t do it alone. 

You feel him pulsating through his pants, hard as a rock, his hips twisting just slightly like he’s fighting to hold back from grinding into your thigh again. His hands are on either side of your head, shaking slightly. You can see it, how much he wants you. But he’s not pressing, not forcing. 

He’s waiting.

Your voice is quiet. “I’ve never…”

He stills completely. His eyes search yours, wide, softening, something flashing beneath the brown that wasn’t there a second before. “You haven’t?”

You shake your head once.

Mark swallows hard. Not in that performative, porn-star way. It’s real. His throat works like his heart’s caught in it. Then he nods. Slowly. As if something inside him just clicked into place.

“Yeah.” A breath. “Okay.”

You don’t tell him what Cecil used to say about love. That it was a weapon. A weakness. Something to exploit in others, never let grow in yourself. You don’t tell him how many nights you put your fingers between your legs in a dark room, not for pleasure, not really, but because you just needed to feel something you controlled. Something that didn’t belong to anyone else.

But now Mark is staring at you like you’re sacred. Like you’re worth waiting for.

And you want him. You want this.

Your hands reach for his waistband. You’ve never done this. Never even seen someone like this in real life, only on video monitors during debriefs, where sex was data and nothing else. But now he’s here. And when you touch him, he sucks in a breath, his whole body responding like a live wire.

“Are you sure?” he says, voice almost a whisper. “I need you to be sure.”

“I’m sure,” you say, and it’s not robotic, not filtered. It’s your voice. Yours.

His lips press to yours again, slower now. Less frantic. He kisses you like you’re glass, but not the kind that breaks, the kind that cuts. Carefully. Reverently. Like he knows this is the most important thing he’s ever going to do.

Then you feel him unbuttoning his jeans.

Your heart pounds.

He pulls back enough to slide them down, underwear too, and then he’s back over you — naked now, his cock hanging heavy between you, flushed and stiff, pre-cum slicking the tip. You look down instinctively. You can’t help it. You want to see him.

He’s thick. Long. More than you anticipated. And for a second, your breath catches.

“Too much?” he whispers.

“No,” you murmur. “Just… give me a second.”

He bends down again, kissing your neck, your collarbone, your jaw. His hand travels down your side, relaxing. “We’ll go slow.”

Your legs part for him again. Automatically this time. Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind’s trying to catch up.

He lines himself up with you, tip pushed to your entrance, and stops.

You nod.

He pushes in, slow. So slow it’s almost unbearable. You gasp, your fingers clawing at his biceps, because he’s stretching you in a way you’ve never felt before, your body fighting and yielding at once. It doesn’t hurt exactly. It’s pressure, intensity, fullness that borders on overwhelming. Like you’re being split open in the best, most terrifying way.

“Jesus,” he moans above you. “You’re so fucking tight.”

Your nails burrow into his skin.

He doesn’t bottom out straight away. He gives you inches, then stops, lets you breathe, lets you adjust. You feel every heartbeat in your core, every twitch of his cock as he restrains himself.

“I can’t—fuck, you feel—” He’s shaking.

You’re not crying, but your chest is heaving. Your body is feeling in a way it never has. There’s no protocol for this. No mission report. Just the burn of stretching open around someone who loves you.

He pushes in deeper. A gradual, delicious invasion. And when he bottoms out, hips flush against yours, your mouth falls open.

You’ve never felt so full.

So wanted.

You whisper his name. Not loud. Just enough for him to know you’re still there with him, that you’re not drifting away.

He moves.

Tiny thrusts at first, just to test how your body responds, and you respond fast. You start to tremble again, your hands moving to his back, pulling him closer, deeper. Every slide of his cock inside you sparks something electric in your spine. Your walls pulse, learning him, gripping him, fluttering with the strange, primal instinct to keep him inside.

“Is that okay?” he murmurs.

You nod hurriedly. “Don’t stop.”

His rhythm builds. Grows deeper, steadier. Every thrust a little more confident. The sound of him sliding into you, wet, rhythmic, obscene, fills the room. He grits his teeth, jaw clenched, sweat beading on his forehead as he tries not to go too fast. But your body is greedy now, hips rolling up to meet his every time, the slickness between you making it easier, hotter, needier.

Then he hits something inside you.

Your back arches.

You cry out.

He whines. “There. Fuck, right there.”

He starts angling his thrusts to hit it again and again, and your vision starts to blur. Your hands claw at his shoulders. Your legs tighten around his waist. Your cunt clenches so hard around him he curses into your ear, his rhythm stuttering.

“You feel—fuck, I’m not gonna last—”

You kiss him. Hard. Mouth open, tongues tangling. You’re not experienced at this, but it doesn’t matter. He’s groaning into your mouth, hips hitting you harder now, and you’re getting louder. Moaning. Whimpering. It’s primal. Desperate.

Then his thumb finds your clit.

You jerk.

“Come for me,” he pants. “Please. I need to feel you come.”

You do.

You shatter.

Your walls spasm around his cock, and he groans like he’s been punched in the gut. You scream his name, legs locking around him, whole body shaking as the orgasm rips through you like a goddamn explosion. Your cunt milks him, pulling, begging, and he can’t hold back anymore.

He buries himself to the hilt and comes, deep, hot, twitching hard as he spills inside you with a hoarse cry. You feel every pulse, every throb. It fills you. Warms you.

You cling to him like you’ll fall apart without him.

For a minute, neither of you move. Just breathing. Just existing in one other’s arms.

Eventually, he shifts, kissing your cheek, your shoulder, your throat. Whispering soft things you don’t catch, too wrecked to process language. Your fingers are still trembling as they stroke down his back, like maybe if you stop touching him he’ll disappear.

You’ve never allowed someone this close.

You’ve never wanted to.

He lifts his head. Eyes catching yours. He’s still inside you, but softening.

“You okay?”

You nod.

Then, quieter. “I think I’ve never been this okay in my life.”

He kisses your forehead.

You don’t say the other part aloud, that you didn’t know what it meant to feel human until now. He already knows. Because his arms wrap around you like he’s never letting go.

And for the first time in your life… you believe him.

You stay entwined together like that, his cock still warm in you, his hands drawing leisurely, circles along your back. Sweat slicks both your bodies, your skin warming where it meets his, and your lungs feel like you just run a thousand miles, but it’s a nice ache.  A necessary one.   The type that only comes once you allow something real take you over entirely. 

The silence between you isn’t awkward. It’s thick. 

Full.  

Like the room itself is holding its breath with you, hesitant to interrupt the moment. 

Your heart won’t stop hammering. Not out of fear, not adrenaline, not even from the orgasm that’s still ghosting through your limbs. It’s something deeper. Something you haven’t felt until today. 

You think it might be peace. 

Mark doesn’t say anything at first. His hand slips down, knuckles brushing across your hipbone, then smoothing back up again. Reassuring. Not greedy, not demanding. Just… present. Here. And every time he breaths out, his chest rubs against yours, a cadence that makes you feel anchored in a way nothing else ever has. 

“You didn’t tell me,” he adds finally, voice raspy. Not accusatory. Just quiet.   “That you’d never-” 

 “I didn’t know how.” You hear your own voice like it’s someone else’s. Raw. Honest. “It’s not something I talk about.” 

He nods. Doesn’t push. Doesn’t ask why, though you know he wants to. You can see it in the wrinkle between his brows, the way his thumb stills mid-stroke. But he lets it go. Because he’s him. Because he loves you. 

 Because you said it back. 

You close your eyes and breathe him in. He smells like sweat and something warm, something safe. You don’t know if you’ll ever get used to this kind of intimacy. You don’t know if you’re supposed to. But it’s not terrifying. Not right now.

He moves just little, groaning a bit as he pulls out of you. You wince at the abrupt emptiness, a gentle ache left in his place, and he catches the sound in your throat quickly. 

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” 

“No,” you murmur. “I didn’t think you would stay.”

He goes still. And then he leans forward and presses his forehead against yours. His fingers brush your cheek. Your chest. Your stomach.

“I’ll always stay.” 

The words hit you harder than they should. You swallow around the lump developing in your throat. Because it’s too much. Too big. You’ve spent so long living that you don’t know how to grasp anything this gentle. 

Your voice trembles. “I’m not used to someone meaning that.” 

His hands tighten on your sides. “Then I’ll say it again. I’ll keep saying it.” 

He pulls you against his chest. You let him. You let your head fall against the hollow of his shoulder, arms draped over his back. He’s warm. Strong. 

“I used to pretend I didn’t want this,” you murmur against his skin. “With you.” 

“I know.” 

“You were always so… normal.” You almost laugh. “Smiling. Joking. Like you didn’t know how easy it was to get hurt.”

“I did know,” he says. “I just did it anyway.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” 

You pull back just enough to see his face. His mouth is soft. His eyes even softer. There’s no suit on him. No mask. Just Mark. The man who used to make you clench your fists under the table every time he ignored you. The one you pushed away yourself, a hundred times more than he ever deserved.

“I’m fucked up,” you say. “You know that, right?” 

He smirks. “Yeah. So am I.” 

“You’re not. Not like me.” 

“No.” He strokes your hair. “You’re not fucked up. You’re wounded. That’s different.”

You gaze at him. Then blink. Then look away, because the way he says it, like it’s just a fact and not anything to be embarrassed of, makes something within your chest constrict hard. 

He pulls you back into him, pressing lips on your hair. 

The stillness returns, but it’s not empty. You feel his heartbeat under your face. Strong. Steady.   Like the beat is matching with yours. 

Then he murmurs, “What now?” 

You pause. You don’t have an answer. You’ve never had a next before. Everything’s always been in phases. Orders. Controlled exposure. Mission goals. And now you’re laying naked in the faint afterglow of sex with a man who loves you, who you love, and there’s no instruction. No handler observing from a screen. 

“I don’t know,” you concede. 

“That’s okay.” He pulls the sheet over your bodies.   “We’ll figure it out.” 

You lie there for a little longer, skin cooling, limbs entwined, the aroma of sex still strong in the air. You’re sore in the way that feels nice. Used but not violated. Taken care of. 

Eventually, Mark moves, slipping a hand down your thigh.“You want to shower?” 

You hesitate. Then nod. “Yeah.   With you.” 

He smiles. It’s broad. That same goofy, innocent grin that used to drive you insane. 

He helps you up. You’re wobbly on your feet. He sees, wraps an arm around your waist, and steadies you like it’s second nature. Your body leans into his without thinking. 

You make it to the bathroom together, and when he puts the water on, the steam starts to fill the space. It coils around you both, easing everything. He steps in first, then puts out a hand. 

You take it. 

The water is warm. The type of warmth that soaks deep. Mark stands behind you, his hands soft as he gently rinse you clean. He doesn’t grope. Doesn’t leer. Just holds you while the water pours down your bodies, tracing the spots he’d visited just minutes ago with reverence. 

His fingers in your hair. 

His lips at your shoulder. 

You lean into him, and for once, you don’t feel like a weapon or a case study or a statistic in some sterile report. You feel real. You feel alive. 

You wash him too. Slowly. Touching every inch of his skin with something near to amazement. You study his chest, his arms, the minor scars you never noticed in combat. You cup him gently, watching his cock twitch in your palm as you rub the soap over him. 

He kisses you again. Slow and unhurried. 

You stay in the shower until the water runs cold. 

When you eventually climb into bed together, you don’t even grab for clothing. He embraces you in his arms, skin to skin, the blankets curled up over your bodies. Your head finds its way to his chest again, and this time, when you feel the steady throb of his heart, you realize yours is matching it exactly. 

He doesn’t ask for more. 

You don’t need to speak. 

Sleep comes slow and deep, wrapped in heat and breath and the first silence you’ve ever been able to trust. 

 And for the first time in your life, you dream of something other than escape.

[mulloey]

finally i found someone who does nsfw reqs - or just haven't seen other writers, but whatever - some yangyang headcons with little shy n vulnerable reader would really ease my mind rn, thank u so much in advance !

a few ways of keeping you

warnings: dom/sub dynamics specified in the request. very deep and deliberate subspace, very slight little dynamics if you really really squint, but it’s more in the sense that you like to feel small and cared for and he babies you and calls you little/little girl etc., emotional elements of dom/sub relationships, mentions of anxiety, panic attacks, body image issues, insecurity. nsfw: oral (f.receiving), bondage, dumbification, punishment, spanking, overstimulation. this is a fairly intense power exchange within a dom/sub dynamic. it won’t be for everyone and hate is blocked.

author’s note: i’m not entirely sure this is what you were wanting as it’s quite a vague request, but i did my best. i don’t like the short bullet point headcanon format so i fleshed it out a bit more while still exploring different elements of the relationship. requests open & feedback appreciated.

—

never in his life has he seen something so sweet.

it’s a cold, miserable day in december when you first encounter him; the whole city is covered in snow, sidewalks wet and icy beneath your feet and you almost stumble on your way to your favourite cafe. you just want a hot cocoa and a grilled cheese, and then you’ll go home and stay there until the weather eases up a bit. you really hate the cold. but this cafe doesn’t do home delivery and their food is the only one that manages to taste exactly like home.

you’re shivering when you push open the door, burying your head in your thick scarf and shuffling over to the counter. they’re familiar with your order by now, and once you’ve paid you trudge over to your favourite seat, against the wall in the corner, and start removing your wet, snow-covered outerwear.

you don’t realise you’re being watched until someone sits down beside you. you open your mouth to tell them to go away when you meet their eyes and your words are caught in your throat.

it’s a man around your age, maybe a few years older, handsome and smiling, and he’s looking at you like you’re something precious.

“hi,” he smiles. “i’m yangyang.”

it’s been over a year since that day, and almost a year since you started dating him. you’d shied away from it at first; you’d never really done that sort of thing and you had no intention of starting to. he persisted but never pressured you, just happy to be in your presence. only when you’d woken up from a nightmare one night and found yourself calling his name into the darkness did you realise that maybe he could be what you needed all along. and when he picked up your call on the second ring, showing up to your apartment ten minutes later and watching movies on the couch with you until you fell asleep, you knew for certain.

there’s a lot you love about yangyang; his smile, his laugh, the small gifts he brings you when he comes home from tour. even his yelling and loud laughter when he’s gaming with his friends, which ordinarily would frighten you, is somehow endearing.

but the best thing about yangyang is the way he cares for you.

it wasn’t something you ever discussed; he just fell into the role naturally. even on that first day you met, when he helped you peel off your wet coat and insisted on giving you his dry one, something about the way he spoke, acted, looked at you, made you feel cared for and looked after in a way you never really had before. he was patient and gentle with you from the very beginning and you quickly felt at ease, even confident, in his presence. and that is something he will never take for granted. even if it is a lot to bear sometimes, he couldn’t have it any other way.

0 - duty of care

since he met you he’s felt a sense responsibility for you that he’s never experienced before. he felt bound and compelled to protect you from everything and everyone what might cause you harm—even yourself and it became his life’s mission to see it through.

you hadn’t realised how much you needed what he was offering until you finally accepted it; until you finally but reluctantly put down your shields and barriers you’d built to keep yourself safe and let him in people, and completely. and you knew instantly and unquestionably that this, that he, was what would finally complete you.

his care for you manifests in different ways; holding your hand when you go, ordering for you in cafes and restaurants, keeping you next to him; a tether between the two of you that binds you together. then there’s the emotional side; when you panic and fret and he talks you down with a low, calm voice and a firm hand on your skin; when you’re wracked with insecurity and he spends the whole night showing you why you shouldn’t be; when he picks apart all the problems that to you seem insurmountable, until they’re small and digestible enough that they don’t really seem to be problems at all. he knows your brain far better than you; knows how to pick apart and mould it how he wishes but he would never think to take advantage of it. everything he does is for you.

his role with you differs depending on your needs that day; sometimes it’s nurturing, parental, others it’s punishing and authoritative. sometimes you just need a friend to listen and nod along as you try to pull apart all the pressure in your head.

and sometimes, of course, you need to be fucked.

1 - love and comfort

not even he can keep you happy and comfortable all the time, though. like everyone you have your own problems and struggles and you’ve never been very good at dealing with them or even admitting their existence. he takes them from you when he can, bearing as much of the burden as you’ll allow him to, but sometimes it’s not enough. sometimes you break. and sometimes, you can’t. not on your own.

the days when he comes home to find you in a heap on the floor, or feels the tension in your body and sees you beginning to cave under the pressure of it, are the ones most important. to be the one to pick you up or bring you to safety, to soothe and protect you from it all, is a privilege.

sometimes you want to be rocked; to be held and caressed and cooed at like a fragile creature who knows nothing except him. you want him to feed you by hand, to wash you while you lie limp against his chest in the bath, to tell you it’s all okay.

but sometimes it’s not enough. sometimes, when you’re on the verge of shattering but unable to let go completely, you need to be taken apart by hand. you need to be completely broken, and reset and rearranged as he decides. you need to surrender everything to him—whether you like it or not.

that’s how he finds you today. you’re curled up in bed when he trudges in after practice, head buried in the pillow, shaking and sobbing but not crying. no tears. when you finally notice his presence next to you he has no time to think before you’re launching yourself into his arms and wrapping yourself around him. “yangyang,” you gasp. “please. turn it off.”

he sees the gears turn in your head, knows what you mean; you need the thoughts to stop. you need the cracks to pull apart completely and come undone at the seams. and you need him to do it. now.

“what do you want me to do, hm?” his voice is soft but his grip on you is tightening protectively and painfully. “need me to break you?”

“yeah,” you breath. “just—anything, yang. anything.”

“yeah?” he croons. “want yangyang to decide? you don’t want to make any decisions, do you? s’too much for your little brain.”

he feels you tense in his arms, breath hitching and his lips curl into a knowing smile. he can recognise the signs with ease now; the silent indicators that you’re finally going under. it used to be difficult, it used to be a battle despite how much you both wanted it, but now it’s as simple as his hands on your skin and soft, crooning whispers of how small and dumb and helpless you are. how much you need him.

“that’s it,” he mumbles against your hair, feeling you start to relax, tension subsiding and you sink into it. “go dumb for me, baby, s’alright. i’ll never hurt you.”

a lie, technically, but you know what he means.

sometimes he gets you so far under that you barely remember what happened when you come back up; only the faint memory of his hands, his teeth and pleasure that came in waves. the loss of control of even your own recollections is thrilling.

of course, you like when you remember it, too. when he’s away at work or on tour and you get to fuck yourself to the memory of red-hot strikes against your skin; the snap of folded leather in his hands, the bite of hardwood floor against your bare shins, the burning humiliation of being talked down to while you squirm and whine under his touch. you’re lucky he allows you to touch yourself without him—all you have to do is send him the video and tell him exactly what you thought about.

no one cares for you like yangyang, and that includes the ways he breaks you. everything is strategic; every word, every movement designed to hit you just deeply enough to hurt in the moment but not deep enough to linger beyond it. there’s no point breaking you down if there’s nothing to build back up again when he’s finished.

dominance is a fine art, especially with you. even now, after all this time, he’s still learning the best ways to care for you, the best ways to maintain and exercise the control you’ve handed to him. but even he must admit, he wields his power with expert precision.

it doesn’t scare him when you cry anymore; he knows when it’s coming and how to coax it out of you; he knows the way you cry when you’re getting exactly what you needed and the way you cry when something is wrong. he knows what to do in the latter case but he always manages to keep it in the former; certainly he makes mistakes, pushes you too far on occasion, but he always stops it. from your body, your face, your voice, he knows when he’s gone too far long before you do.

his hands are always soft on you afterwards. always tender and careful once the destruction ends and the rebuilding begins. he holds you close to him, letting you cry or scream or whatever you need to do to work through the flood of emotions he’s finally forced out of you. he runs his hands across your red, swollen skin, treating the welts that are particularly painful and, rarely, deep enough to cut you. he feeds you by hand, bathes you by hand, keeps you tight against his chest as you fall asleep in his warmth.

he’d do anything for you. anything. unfortunately, sometimes it’s not so pleasant.

2 - a guiding hand

he set the rules early on in your relationship. you had suggested it with a shy, anxious tone and reddened cheeks. “i want you to… control me more,” you’d squeaked.

he’d been eager to agree, and the rules were simple by design. they had to be for your little brain to compute them.

be safe. be healthy, be good. be honest.

but even the simplest of rules can be difficult to adhere to. especially to someone like you. and that’s when he has to be firmer, to put his foot down and lay down the law in a way you’ll understand no matter how far you’ve slipped.

he’s always careful about it and he always times it right. it’s not always immediate; sometimes you’re just not in a space to fully comprehend the lesson he’s trying to teach. at that point, a few smacks to your ass, nothing procedural or clinical, is enough to settle you until you’re ready to be properly disciplined.

when you are ready, you know well by now what to do. all he needs to do is sit down on the bed or sofa or chair, pat his thigh and mutter “over, honey”, and you’re clamouring to obey no matter how much you don’t want to. honestly, you like it more when you don’t want to do it; it makes it more real. you’re not excited or aroused and neither is he. there’s no thrill or game to be found here. you must learn, and he must teach you.

you know he wants you, and you bend your body over one of his knees so your ass is in the air. he bares it without a word, tugging down your pants or shorts and inching down your panties to the middle of your thighs. the cold air on your ass always makes you shiver and he waits for you to relax before beginning.

he’ll tell you what he’s going to do. he’ll tell you why, and you’ll repeat it back to him in a small, scared voice. the first hit will come. he’ll tell you to count.

sometimes you only need ten to learn your lesson; other times it takes so long that you eventually stop counting and just feel the weight of his palm against you. sometimes your safeword dances on your tongue, but you never say it. you never need to.

he’s always extra tender with you afterwards, but his voice is still firm when he asks you if you’re going to repeat your mistake. he always softens, though, when you smile through tears and shake your head softly. “never, yangie.”

well. not for a while, at least.

3 - pleasure and worship

the first time you had sex with yangyang, you’d been clumsy and unsure of yourself. you were determined to be sexy for him, seeing all the girls he interacted with at work and wanting to be as good as them, but you felt ridiculous in the black lace, like you were too big for your skin, stupid and unsexual. you’d intended to surprise him when he got home from work, waiting prettily on the couch for him, but when you looked in the mirror and saw the way it clung to you in all the wrong ways, you couldn’t get it off quick enough.

i mean, you literally couldn’t. because the door opened just as you reached to unhook the bra, and your boyfriend was standing there with an open mouth.

“i—” you tried to think of an explanation or an excuse but nothing came. you’d just have to face up to it; confront the shame and embarrassment head on.

“baby,” he breathed. “you look incredible.”

only after the second time he made you cum with his mouth did you really believe it.

yangyang lives and breathes to pleasure you, cherishes every inch of your skin; even—especially—the parts you wish wouldn’t away. of course nothing is better than fucking you, than the feeling of your tight pussy clinging to his dick as he slams into you over and over. but pleasuring you with his mouth or toys or fingers until you’re near delirium is a very close second.

he knows just how to talk to you, just how to act to get and keep you where you want to be. the sex you have when you’re deep in your headspace and the sex you have outwith it aren’t quite the same, but the common factor is always there; he’s relentless, he’s hungry and he’s really, really good.

“you’re so little, aren’t you?” he coos, pumping his fingers in and out of you. his palm is sticky with cream and your pussy squelches and squeals with each movement. you’re barely conscious at this point, but you can take more. you will take more. “you’re so dumb, baby. can’t even think once you’re got a couple fingers in you, can you?”

“no,” you gasp. “c-can’t, yangyang.”

you’re writhing and thrashing but the soft, fur-lined leather restraints keep you where he wants you. still, sometimes he slaps your thigh or your pussy and barks at you to ‘stay still’, but it’s more for his amusement than anything else. truth is, you can move as much you want, but you’re done when he decides. you can’t go anywhere.

“i know,” he hums. “taking it so good. you’re gonna cum again for me, alright? just one more, baby, i know you can do it.”

“yeah.” you shudder, closing your eyes and trying to get lost in the pleasure, in the pressure that builds in your gut as he fucks you open. “can do it. i can do it.”

“you can,” he smiles. the pace quickens and he presses a soft kiss to your inner thigh. “go one, baby. make me proud. cum.”

your composure breaks in an instant and your body is writhing and seizing like you’re about to die. you go limp, collapsing with gasped breaths and he kisses your painful, swollen pussy.

“that’s my girl.”

his girl. his baby. and you always will be.

[iambilliejeanok]

✨How my favorite anime men would handle being a side piece:

Fandoms: Naruto||Jujustu Kaisen||Baki🩵

Warnings: 18+ , explicit, nsfw.

✨Naruto:

He genuinely doesn’t mind being your little thang thang on the side, as long as he gets adequate attention he’s really okay. Now naturally, you might not always have time for him seeing that you have to balance work, your main hubby and him too, which could lead to having to think of a few excuses to rain check seeing him. In the beginning, he would just roll his eyes and shrug it off, understanding his place, but recently, he’s been behaving rather ballsey.

Look, he respects and cares about you enough to not try to ruin your relationship with your main, but honey, he’s not scared of your little boyfriend, so don’t think he won’t actually rock up uninvited to your apartment while your man is there because he’s tired of you canceling plans for this main dude. He has absolutely no respect for your boyfriend in all honesty.

Having Naruto as a side is sooo risky because you can never be too confident that he won’t try something on you while your man is right there. If he wants to fight Naruto is more than happy to.

✨Gojo:

lol, in the beginning, he kind of understands. Everybody needs a little break from reality every now and then, and he knows you need him to satisfy a few needs of yours that your man simply cannot. While he’s got you creaming and squinting back to back from the overwhelming, deep strokes with your knees behind your head, he will make you confess your innermost feelings to him with tears in your eyes, which he finds absolutely funny.

When he’s not poking your bladder, he will remind you of the words you spoke in bed and tease you over it. But listen girl, he’s only your side piece because he’s choosing to be it. Maybe he also doesn’t have time to fully commit to an actual relationship, but whatever the reason, you better hope and pray that things stay that way, because if he does catch feelings for you, Gojo doesn’t mind straight up telling your man that you’re ONLY gonna be his girlfriend from here on out. Especially with the way your orgasms grip him while he’s deep inside of you, how you cry his name out like a desperate prayer and most especially how beautiful you look in the aftermath of the mess he puts you through, LORD HAVE MERCY, he’s gonna tell your boyfriend exactly what’s going on down to the finest detail and he’s serious. Gojo will sit your man down at a nice cafe, order him a beverage of his choice and simply let him know that you are no longer going to be his girlfriend, because he’s decided he wants you all to himself. The end. If the your man decides to argue Gojo might simply shut him down with a “Fight for her. I dare you”, with an innocent smile on his pretty face, before getting up to leave.

✨Nanami:

Nanami knew what he was getting himself into. You were open and honest when you told him you were only looking for entertainment when your man wasn’t around, but even so, he still gets slightly sassy with you when you tell him you have to leave and go back to your main man.

He might give you the silent treatment when you come back to him after a long week of spending time with your boyfriend. He will respectfully ask you to not touch him without taking a shower first and he will sit infront of the shower and watch you wash yourself from head to toe to make extra sure that that man’s energy will be no where near him throughout the duration of your visit.

He hopes and prays that you’ll one day come to your senses a day leave your boyfriend for good, which isn’t such a difficult decision to make considering how much of a gentleman Nanami is. He always reminds you that you can simply chose him over you boyfriend any day and if your boyfriend ever bothers you, he will put an end it him. Literally.

✨Baki:

Baki isn’t going to be a side piece. Plain and simple. He is going to be the main in this, and the actual main will have to move over and become the side dish okay. It’s actually quite humiliating because your boyfriend can’t even fight, so he has to allow Baki to walk all over him.

Baki can be a little bit of a bully sometimes, most especially if your boyfriend resists him and shows a little courage and determination to keep you. It won’t end well for your boyfriend though because Baki might consider fucking you until you’re begging him to give you a break and will force your boyfriend to watch the entire show, reminding him that this right here is the exact reason why you’re too tired to sleep with him when you get back home from “the gym” or “extra shifts at work” .

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

Could we get a 2003 Raph x reader where reader is super sweet and easygoing, like to total opposite of Raph…and the others are so confused/shocked?

Opposites Attracts (Fluff)

2003!Raphael x reader

A/N: Yes you can. It’s a little on the shorter side, but I hope you’ll still enjoy it❤️

Warning: None❤️

When you and Raph first made your relationship public, the others were - at a lack of better words - shocked. The two of you could not be more different, with absolute opposite reactions to the world around you. So when you and Raph one day came down to the lair, hand in hand, on your way to tell Splinter that the two of you had in fact been together for a couple of months, you could see how the world that the turtles knew, changed in front of their eyes.

Raph had a tendency to get annoyed rather quickly, finding it much easier to lash out at others, instead of having to face his strong emotions head on. He could get rather negative, focusing his attention on smaller things that annoyed him, letting them blow up with ease as he complained about them. It could be anything from the weather to Leo’s leadership, and he could go on for hours, tiring out anybody that was there to listen. How and why you would want to be with someone so different from you, left many confused.

It has been mentioned quite a few times at this point, but you were the exact opposite of Raph. You were like day and night, with Raph being night and you most definitely being the day. You were like a walking ray of sunlight, brightening up the whole world around you. You were probably the most easy going person the turtles and their friends had ever met, even giving Mikey a run for his money. While Raph would get furious, and lash out at the world around him whenever he got annoyed or mad, you rarely got mad. Sound you ever get close to anger, you were amazingly good at verbalising your feelings, starting a calm conversation. You rarely complained, and lived with an understanding that the world wasn’t perfect, and that we can’t always get everything exactly the way we want it. Yet you always lend an ear to anyone that needed to get something off their heart, especially Raph. April and Donnie speculated that that was how you and Raph’s relationship first came about. Leo and Splinter believed it was nature balancing itself, while Mikey and Casey believed that either you or Raph had been charmed by something.

But no matter how shocking you and Raph’s relationship might have been for the others, there was no doubt that it was actually a well functioning relationship at that. You were a calming factor in Raph’s life, providing with a space and a kind of understanding he had been looking for all his life. After Leo and Raph had had a particularly intense verbal altercation, Raph did something he had never done before. Normally he would yell, call Leo names, and maybe even try to land a punch at him or a wall. But instead Raph just left for his, clearly still fuming as he mumbled all sorts of things to himself. When Leo then passed Raph’s room 30 minutes later to apologize and talk about what had happened, Leo found Raph laying in his hammock, the phone to where his ear would have been, talking calmly to you, telling you what had happened. Leo was even surprised to hear Raph admit that he might have overreacted. Hearing that, realizing that you might be what Raph needed the most at that moment, Leo left, letting you and Raph have you conversation in private peace.

Later that day you arrived in the lair, before spending the night with Raph. You didn’t do much other than talk. Talk about Raph’s feelings regarding what had happened between him and Leo that day. It was something you had been practicing with Raph for some time now. Putting words on his feelings or helping him do so, while learning to take certain things less seriously and letting what isn’t helping him emotionally.

The next morning, many were surprised when Raph pulled Leo to the side, in order to give him an apology, along with an explanation. There was no doubt anymore - you and Raph may be very different, but you were good for each other - especially you for Raph. Who knew, maybe Raph helped bring out parts of you that you had buried deep within you. Only time would tell, and many were excited to see where this would lead you and Raph.

[princessbrunette]

I need to see how deer!reader and rafe would interact with each other. Whether it be a failed talking stage kind of scenario where deer realized how scary or intense rafe is or rafe realizing deer was pretty but just not for him.

Idk😭 I know you said you couldn’t see rafe and deer together at all but I want some crumbs of what their relationship couldve been like. Only if you want/can of course, thanks x

so the thing is with deer!reader and rafe — i feel when rafe wants someone really badly, in order to get them he kinda morphs himself into what he thinks they want. not always, like with bunny!reader for example, she liked him for exactly who he was, so he stayed himself, maybe even became worse. but deer!reader is this old wise almost motherly soul sometimes, just in a shy and sensitive girls body. he craves that, real bad. he wants someone to bring him back to earth, to listen to him, validate him, need him just as much as he desperately needs them — and you’re the perfect candidate.

so for the first few weeks, he’s perfect. not only the perfect gentleman but sweet and sensitive, holding back on every snarky, classist comment, entertaining her weird and wacky ideas, standing by the pier talking about how many fish he thinks are in the ocean when she asks. it was kind of a facade, but he starts to realise how nice it feels to let down his guard for a while and just be happy.

but he’s still wrapped up in the wrong crowd. days that aren’t spent with her are spent wrapping up business, doing drug deals, pressing a pistol to the back of the guy that harassed her at the library and telling him if he talks to you again he’ll blow his fucking brains out.

it’s all a downwards spiral from there. deer is intuitive, always snooping about and hearing things — so naturally she finds out about rafe and his habits. she gives him the chance to come clean, and he lies to her face because he doesn’t want to lose her. deer doesn’t like being lied to, so her guard goes back up. rafe gets frustrated and starts to give her attitude before eventually exploding on her. he’d never hurt her, but in the moment she wasn’t sure. she’s terrified, flees, and blocks him.

he is devastated. he really liked her. he continuously tries to get her back, but the more he tries — the more people he confronts to get to her, the more he shows up at her front door, or parties she reluctantly attends, the more terrified she becomes. he just wants to explain that he wouldn’t ever hurt her, that he really likes her, hell— he’ll even just accept proper closure at this point. but she doesn’t want to be anywhere near him. he writes her a letter and leaves it on her doorstep, but pope finds it in the act of pursuing her and throws it in the trash.

rafe never gets over her.

[fangisms]

lady may

A/N: something ab writing for an angry hufflepuff really saved my soul. she is SO valid. maybe i’m her. (also this song eats away at my brain, so i had to write ab it… naturally) gif creds: @frodo-sam

Pairings: Cedric Diggory x Fem!Grumpy!Hufflepuff!Reader

Summary: Well, he’s not the toughest hickory that your axe has ever felled // But he’s a hickory just as well 1.5k words

Warnings: fluff, cursing, two idiots very much in love, pining, angry hufflepuff, dumb/embarassed reader (lovingly), golden retriever cedric, quidditch injury mention

How could you look so beautiful drenched by the pouring rain, hovering ten meters in the air, goggles suctioned to your face, barking orders at the rest of the team like a drill sergeant? It’d always make him wonder. And midgame, that’s a silly thing to do. Which is exactly why he’s doing it.

You’re the angriest girl Cedric’s ever met. World class beater and a great captain, but you’ve got serious anger issues. The guys have started calling you boxer because you’re always on the verge of a scrap. Cedric has seen you chew out almost every position on the team. Except him. You’ve never yelled at him, you barely even look in his direction on a good day. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, he wants you to yell at him.

Well, not entirely inexplicable. Now would be the best time to mention he’s got a huge crush on you. In fact, he’s had a crush on you since you became team captain. You’ve always been pretty, but something about the title and the power really commanded his attention.

Which is precisely why he needs you to yell at him. He craves it. He’s been waiting all year for you to tell him he’s an idiot and that he’s doing everything wrong. But you won’t. And desperate times call for very desperate measures.

He’s barely dodging bludgers, not even trying for the snitch, doing party tricks in front of the stands, anything for you to glance his way. And then he goes and gets knocked off his broom. Luckily, he wasn’t too high in the air and he wasn’t flying too fast. The worst that happened was he got the wind knocked out of him. The best? You marching toward him like a sicced dog.

You kneel at his side, goggles loose around your neck as you coo, “are you okay?”

What? No, this is all wrong, you’re supposed to call him stupid, say that next time he’s off the team. Not ask if he’s okay.

Cedric nods and you help him sit up, signalling to the stadium that he’s alright. A cheer rips through the crowd.

“Can you play?” you huff, patting his back softly. He’s got butterflies.

“Yeah,” he says. When you get him on his feet, he almost wishes you won’t let go. And he suddenly remembers you’re much prettier up close, and his heart nearly gives out.

“Good sport, Diggory,” you tease, hopping back on your broom, “Back to work!”

It’d take a brain injury to get your attention.

The game goes off without a hitch: Cedric goes back to actually trying for the snitch and wins Hufflepuff the game. He’s a little disappointed he hsan’t given you anything else to be upset about. So once the celebration is over, he catches you outside of the locker rooms.

“Why didn’t you get mad at me?” Cedric asks, jogging to catch you as you head back towards the dorms. You don’t respond, but he’s sure you heard him. So he nudges your shoulder. “Come on, boxer, I’ve seen you angry, I’m prepared.”

You stop dead in your tracks, and he slows to a stop just behind you. Then you turn to face him, and he’s never seen your glare so intense.

“Listen, Diggory, you’re smart, you’ve got talent, and I trust you to perform well on this team. So I can’t for the life of me understand why you go out on that field just to dick around.”

You’re serious. Not angry, just serious. You’ve got this calm and collected tone that drives him absolutely up-the-wall insane. But he wants you to yell.

“You have plenty of adoring fans tracking your every move, you don’t have to pull dumb shit to get people to like you. You could’ve gotten yourself hurt or killed, understand? So I advise you put your team and your safety before your reputation,” you say, storming off with your bag slung over your shoulder.

And it gets him kind of worked up because obviously, he wouldn’t have done any of it if it weren’t for you. You and your stupidly selective anger issues. And your stupid smile.

“Hold on,” he hollers, still half drunk on the idea of being subject to your rage, “you think I don’t put this team at the top of all of my lists? Clearly, I love this stupid sport or I wouldn’t put so much damn time and effort into it!”

“If you love this sport, act like it.” Your jaw ticks before you march through the doorway, leaving him flustered in the mist of the courtyard.

…

He’s giving it one last go. If you won’t get angry with him, maybe he ought to just confess his feelings outright. This feels like the most rational he’s ever been. He even combed his hair extra carefully in hopes of you noticing.

Your friends quiet down when he approaches you in the mess hall, small flower pinched between his fingers, grin plastered across his face. You look a little annoyed but he’s pretty sure it’s just shock. And suddenly it feels like grade school when they all burst into giggles.

“This is for you—”

“Diggory.”

He cocks a brow. “Yeah?”

You grab the sleeve of his robes and drag him out into the hall, near slamming him into the stone wall. So much for his combed hair.

“What was that back there?” you hiss, “What’s wrong with you?”

“Well. I brought you a flower. It’s from the field—”

“I can see that!”—you’re frenzied searhcing for any possible explanation other than he has a head injury from falling—“Explain to me why.”

He looks confused and presents the flower again.“Isn’t it obvious?”

You look down at the flower. It’s small and white and looks so delicate in his hand. And you look at him. You suppose his pupils are a little extra dilated. “Are you poisoned? Or drunk?”

“No!”

You finally let go of him to gesture wildly. “Then what, Cedric—Merlin’s beard—What???”

“I brought you a flower,” he coos, tilting his head. You press two fingers to the bridge of your nose.

“Yeah, I got that part—”

“Hold on—hasn’t anyone ever given you something nice because… they like you?” Cedric hums, shuffling closer to you. Your eyes are glued to the tiny flower, but you won’t take it. Then you glare up at him.

“Is this a joke? Did the twins put you up to it?”

“No, just take the flower! I like you!” He sounds dastardly jovial, taking your wrist in one hand and presisng the flower to your palm with the other.

“What?” you scoff. Still staring down at the flower, making him wish his face was made of them so you’d look at him like that.

“Yeah,” he sighs.

And then you look at him. In the eyes. Perplexed, brows knitted, but you’re looking right at him and he could faint. Maybe it is a head injury.

“But I’m not… I’m not like…”

“Like what?” he asks.

“Well, it’s just—I’m confused because… you like pretty girls, and I’m not… that’s not what I do—am. What I am.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” he huffs.

“Cho is pretty,” you state.

“You’re pretty.”

“No, Cedric, I play quidditch. If I was pretty, I’d have a boyfriend,” you reason, shrugging your shoulders and giving him a real run for his money.

“And those things are connected… how?”

You scoff and relax a little when he puts his hands on his hips. So what if he’s incredibly handsome. So what if your friends want to see you together. So what if he’s the one person you don’t want to rip to shreds. It’s not like any of that matters. Right?

“It makes sense!” you say.

“No, it doesn’t. Can I be your boyfriend?”

“Diggory, don’t—”

“Is that a no?”

“Well, no! But you’re being rash! You’ll change your mind, and you’ll want your flower back!”

He shakes his head. “No. I gave you a flower because I think you’re very wonderful and very beautiful and I want to be your boyfriend.”

“But…”—he’s very amused by the fact that he’s made you flustered—“I sweat a lot!”

“So do I,” he chuckles, “we do play quidditch together, I hope you know.”

“Okay, okay, fine. We… argue!” you chirp.

“And you’re almost always right! Problem solved,” he says, “Now, would you be my girlfriend or do I have to get down on my knees?”

“No! I mean, yes! No, no, no knees, just… yes. I will be your girlfriend.”

Cedric smirks, taking the flower from your still open palm and tucking it behind your ear. Yesterday, he could barely say hello to you, and now he’s pulling you closer and tilting your chin up. His heart flutters when you palm his waist, and you smile when he leans a little closer.

“Are you going to kiss me?” you hum. He chuckles.

“Only if you’d like.”

You roll your eyes and smile. “Naturally.”

masterlist

[fatuismooches]

puer et monstrum.

synopsis: You attempt to help the adult raven reconcile with his younger fledgling self. In other words, four times Dottore ignored his child segment, the first time he didn’t, and the last time he did.

includes: dottore + platonic! zandy w/ gn! reader

notes: You grow to greatly love Zandy, Dottore's child segment, but you can't help but notice how your husband pays no attention to him. Therefore, you will try your best to change this. Fragile reader, lots of fluff, angst, very cute, you know the drill. Part of this fic is also greatly inspired by this ask (thank you to this anon!)

I. creation

At this point, Il Dottore had a good amount of experience creating segments.

Sure, the number of times he had failed was far greater than he liked, and he could count the number of successful segments with his fingers, but he had the general gist of the process and all. So, he decided it was time for him to create another segment of himself. This brought about the obvious question of what phase of his life he should bring back into this world. Dottore pondered this question for a while. He already made them all based on important parts of his life - when he was in the Akademiya, when he first became a Harbinger, and now one based on his current self not too long ago, just to name a few. He desired something new, something that could be vastly different.

In the end, he decided to create a child segment. 

His other segments were not very happy with the decision. A child would cry. A child would whine. A child could not do the tasks they could. A child would do… child things. It was a nuisance. But Dottore dismissed their complaints.

What good would a child’s perspective bring him? He didn’t know, but that was exactly the point. He didn’t know, which was why he sought the answer. And the only way to find this out was to create the child just as he’d done with his other younger selves.

After much time, money, and energy were exhausted, it was done. The child opened his eyes for the first time and saw a tall figure amidst the blinding lights. Once the masked man noticed his awakening, he looked at him, as if waiting for him to fully gain consciousness, and then spoke before the child could say anything.

“I am Dottore. You are a segment of mine that I created. You shall be called Ten.” After that brief statement, the man seemed to have finished all that he was going to say. That was when the child noticed the crowd of similar-looking blue-haired men as well, discussing things that he could not wrap his head around yet.

The child, now called “10”, had so many questions. Where was he? What does he do now? Why was he called a number? He doesn’t remember being called that before. Was he not Zandik anymore? The child wasn’t sure whether or not being ‘Zandik’ anymore was a good or bad thing. Maybe if he wasn’t ‘Zandik’ anymore, people wouldn’t scorn him so much.

Who are all these people, and why do they seem a bit similar to him? Being but a little kid, naturally, he was lost and confused, and he could not help but grasp the leg of the man called Dottore timidly. Immediately, the Harbinger stiffened at the contact, eyes swiftly moving to meet 10’s. The only person who ever touched him unprompted was you, but he had not felt your touch in centuries, so the sudden touch of the child surprised him. 

Though 10 could not see the taller man’s eyes, he didn’t think they were very kind. The child didn’t think the other man’s eyes were like his parents, or like the people from the village, no, but there was a certain feeling expressed toward him that 10 couldn’t explain. Regardless, 10 quickly received the message, and his hand slipped away from his creator’s.

“Tend to him,” was the lone order Prime gave the other segments before he left, leaving the little one all by himself, despite being surrounded by others.

II. curiosity

Being segments of the Harbinger meant they were busy people. Being the Harbinger himself meant that his time was even more sparse. This meant that any attention dedicated to 10 was few and far between, and pretty much always not of their own free will. One would think a child would be quite disheartened by the lack of attention, and well, they would be right, but 10 had long grown accustomed to being by himself ages ago considering his childhood. Did he like it? No, not yet at least. By the behavior of the other segments, he eventually grew to prefer being by himself. 

But 10 was still a child, curious about the world, which meant that he still did seek out the older segments’ company from time to time. Well, most of the time he was shooed away, but on rare occasions, 10 was able to be the recipient of some ranting by the younger segments or perhaps the observer of their intricate work (that was deemed acceptable to be viewed by children.) However, something 10 was able to learn was that there was one person whom the segments and Prime always seemed to offer their attention, willingly too.

[Name].

The kid seemed to be the only segment who didn’t really know you. 10 didn’t pay much attention to his older selves’ “patients”, but being an attentive and curious boy, he realized with due time that your name always seemed to be murmured by them. Not with the detached or annoyed tone the segments took on when regarding others, but it was different. Again, the young one had trouble putting his finger on it exactly, but if he had to put it into words, 10 would say they sounded a lot sweeter. It was an odd thing to say because if anyone else heard it, they certainly would not label the tone as sweet. It would probably sound simply normal to others. But that was truly what the child thought, maybe because he was connected to them in a way.

So of course, 10’s interest was very piqued. Oddly enough, for how nice they sounded, the child never saw a glimpse of you around the lab. 10 wondered what kind of person you were. How did you even know them? Would you talk about them in a sweet tone too? If you met him… would you speak about him that way as well? He wondered what it took for the older men to like you so much, maybe even… love? The child doesn’t know what love exactly looks like, but if love was anything like the stories he’s read, how the segments talk about you could be said to be a bit similar. 

But if 10 were to compare the two some more, maybe they aren’t that alike after all, considering all the things that were different. If segments loved you, wouldn’t you constantly be by their side, as lovers in fairytales do? If you two were apart, wouldn’t his creator be anguished by the loss of your presence, just like in the books? Yet whenever he saw the original, his expression seemed to always be the same - calculating, tired, seemingly more absorbed in his research than worried for another. (For the child does not understand how well Prime wears more masks than one.) 

So needless to say, 10 was confused. And with confusion comes curiosity, the need to seek out the answer, common for any child but especially for one as inquisitive as the blue-haired boy. In his room, 10 pondered for a while on what to do - he could try to sneak around for answers, but he imagined he’d get caught and scolded by the segments long before he found anything out. So, the child decided to simply ask about the matter. After all, the others always say asking questions is an important part of an experiment.

It’s still a gamble though, the child is well aware of the less than hospitable energy toward him by the others. They have a general… lack of patience for him. But still, persistence and the pursuit of knowledge are traits embodied in every version of Dottore. And so the child gathered up all his courage and set his little plan into action.

It was like any other day 10 had witnessed in the far too familiar lab. He had made sure to wake up in the very early morning - it was the best opportunity to catch a few segments together before they split up to do their separate tasks. Well, hopefully, they were there, some of them tended to stay locked up in their respective labs until they figured out the answer to what they were seeking. The child surprisingly had little sleepiness remaining in his system, the anticipation of the answer he would receive keeping him awake.

For once, it looked as though the segments were not bickering. It wasn’t quiet either though, they seemed to be discussing something work-related. But that was beside the point. Upon entering the room, the segments were a bit surprised to see 10, for it was obviously out of the ordinary for the kid to be awake, much less roaming around at this hour.

“What are you doing awake?” The Akademiya segment, 01, didn’t bother to hide his tone, unwilling to be vexed further with all the work he had left to do. But the child had come here with a determination that wouldn’t be swayed.

“I have a question,” 10 stated. The next segment who spoke didn’t spare a glance at him.

“And it could not wait until morning? You felt the need to interrupt us now?” 04’s response was blunt and straight to the point as usual - he was a segment that was perpetually annoyed. 10 couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever seen a smile on this segment. And yet 04 seemed kinder to him than when he interacted with others. 

Meanwhile, 02 watched with an unreadable expression behind his spotted mask. It was hard to predict what response you would get from 02 - would he be annoyed and snappy or perhaps treat you with a dose of excitement and interest? This time, however, it was the latter, as a grin crept its way onto his face.

“No, I want to hear this question. Surely, it must be greatly important for you to go to such lengths, yes?” 02’s red eyes gleamed, intrigued by the child segment’s nod. 10 nervously swallowed before squaring his shoulders resolutely.

“Who is [Name]?” 

And then all the miscellaneous noises in the lab came to an abrupt halt. 24, who usually remained uninterested in the conversations of his other segments, had suddenly tuned into the discussion at the mention of your name. The other present segments, who were absorbed in their work mere moments ago, now had their undivided attention on the child. 

“No one,” 04 said flatly, but the damage was already done. It was obvious that was a lie, and the child’s eyes glittered with enthusiasm as he began bouncing around to each segment.

“Who are they? What are they like? You like them, don’t you?” At the last question, 01 scowled at the declaration, hoping no one would notice the slight color of red at the tips of his ears. 02’s previous demeanor had changed into a blank yet thoughtful one, while 04 looked exasperated at the whole situation.

“How do you know about [Name]?” 24 was the one who finally responded to the child, and 10 awkwardly halted his barrage of questions. If 10 was being honest, 24 was probably the scariest of all the segments. The one closest to Prime and the most selfish.

“Well, all of you have mentioned them at least once… and when you do say their name, it just sounds like you like them. A lot,” 10 stared at the ground as he shared his observation. “You don’t sound like that for anyone else.” The segments were silent once more. The question was, were they that obvious, or was the brat just really attentive? The answer was most likely the latter, but still. This wasn’t a good look for them.

“I suppose this was bound to happen sooner or later,” 01 had recovered from his embarrassment, “Considering how much Two prattles on about them.” 02 frowned at the sudden accusation.

“Excuse me? That is rich coming from you,” the clone quickly snapped back, for the other was no exception to carrying on about you. 24 just grimaced at the start of another bickering session between his other selves.

“A-Anyway!” 10 interrupted the others before he could be ignored. “Can I know who they are? Can I see them?” The child pleaded earnestly as another pause swept through the room.

“You will not stop begging until we say yes, won’t you?” 04 sighed. “However, that decision is up to Prime.” 10’s shoulders drooped. He wasn’t really sure if Prime would listen to him, considering how rarely they ever spoke.

However, miraculously enough, a few days later, his wish was granted. He doesn’t know why Prime decided to do it, but 10 was just happy he’d finally know about the mysterious person! Funnily enough, the news had spread to all the segments, and all of them had decided to gather in the same space to tell their own opinion about you. 10 had never seen them… congregate like this. They seemed to enjoy the common topic - you - but the squabbling about certain matters (again, you) still took place. The child learned more things about you than he even understood. 

But he knew the basics now - you were their lover, meaning you loved them and they loved you, which even though it was not explicitly said, the child knew it anyway. This was obviously something a bit difficult for 10 to wrap his head around, but he found the idea thrilling. He knew his older selves well enough to know that you must be a pretty amazing person to have them so interested. 

Unfortunately, the child couldn’t prove this hypothesis of his, as he later found out the reason why you were nowhere to be seen. 10 remembers the first time he saw you, accompanied by another segment (18, this time.) Hooked up to a machine with countless wires, hands laying limp by your side, along with your chest that unnoticeably rose and fell. You were nothing like what 10 thought you’d look like. And yet he too thought you were beautiful. Sure, the child couldn’t see your eyes or smile or hear your voice, but as he held your hand and compared it to his much smaller one, he just had a feeling you were nothing like the grown-ups that he once knew long ago. But 10 was disappointed.

“Is [Name] going to be okay?” 10 worriedly looked at the segment, wondering about your current state. The others hadn’t disclosed many details about your illness.

“They will,” 18 affirmed. At least this segment was nicer to him than the others, with his softer tone and gentler mannerisms. He was still a Dottore segment, however. “One day they will wake up.” With that as his only answer, 10 went back to tracing the lines on the palm of your cold hand, hoping you would open your eyes again soon just like the other blue-haired men.

Since then, 10 found himself visiting your silent room, save for the beep-beeps from your machines, more and more often. There was just something about this unmoving, sleeping grown-up that drew him in. 10 had so many questions to ask you… but for now, he settled for reading his stories aloud to you. Maybe you could hear them too. Occasionally, some other segments dropped in to check on you, but they didn’t pay much mind to him other than reminding him not to touch anything, as his presence near you had become commonplace.

However, on one particular day, 10 found that your room was already occupied by someone else. 10 had heard a familiar yet muffled voice coming from inside, yet he could not make out the exact words from outside in the hallway. Carefully padding closer to the room, the child strained his ears to make out the words. It sounded like the person was talking to another, like a conversation, only that it seemed one-sided since 10 could only distinguish one voice. Finally, he got the courage to gently push the door open a bit more and peek to see who it was inside.

It wasn’t merely a segment there to check on you, no, this time it was Prime Dottore himself, sitting near your side in the same chair that the child always sat in. The child was surprised - he rarely ever saw Prime outside of his lab or office, and when he did, it was usually when Prime was forced to attend to certain Fatui duties. Of course, he never paid much attention to his child segment. Unfortunately, 10 had stared a bit too much, as the original quickly noticed his presence and immediately got up from the seat. 10 jumped a bit too, instinctively pulling back and hiding against the wall. But it was too late.

“Come in.” 10 had no option other than to comply, as he shyly stepped into your room, still clinging to the wall. The child nervously swallowed as he scrambled for an excuse as to why he was intruding.

“Um… I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were in here,” 10 apologized meekly, hands behind his back as his eyes flicked from Dottore’s face to the floor. The older man’s expression was unreadable, and it was silent for a good few moments before he spoke.

“I see,” was all Dottore said before he started walking toward 10, or rather, the door. The child looked up at the figure that had now gone past him, words leaving his mouth before he could think.

“Were you talking to [Name]? Do you miss them too?” Now that 10 thought about it, he had heard all about what the other segments had to say about you, but he still didn’t know the original’s feelings. Still, the child was surprised at himself for being able to ask Prime that. At the question, Dottore stopped in his tracks, seemingly contemplating whether he should respond or dismiss him before he turned around and faced his child segment, who then stiffened at the direct look.

“I hear that you’re with them quite often.” 10’s eyes widened at the response and nodded, although it wasn’t really an answer to his questions. “[Name] enjoys your company.” This only served to confuse the child even more, as he then glanced at your body. (For only Dottore knows about the time he found you asleep with a smile after the little boy left your room.)

“They… do? How do you know?” But when 10 looked back, Dottore was already gone. Well, he knew not to expect much conversation from him anyway, but still, he was greatly curious at his words. Regardless, 10 then walked up to you and made himself comfy near your bedside.

“Why do you like him so much, [Name]?” 10 inquired, playing with your fingers as he rested his cheek on your body. But of course, he received no answer from the person he was closest with yet farthest away from in this lab.

Even at the end of all of this, 10 still wasn’t exactly sure of what to think of you, having not had a real conversation with you yet, but he thought you seemed really cool, even while hooked up to a machine.

III. close

Change was not something 10 was familiar with. He was stuck as a kid forever, he was stuck in the lab, unable to leave like the other segments, he was stuck with the same toys and stories and other various pastimes that had long grown boring. So, the excitement of the unpredictable was something sorely lacking in the child’s life. Not to mention, the lab was a pretty dark place, both figuratively and literally. Although the boy was used to it, he wished it would be a bit more lively.

And after countless years of wishing, his wish finally came true. You, the mysterious sleeping grown-up that he only heard stories about, [Name], had finally woken up from centuries-long slumber. 10 was, to put it in a child’s simple words, “super happy”, but anyone else could see that his feelings went beyond that. However, despite 10’s great desire to meet you, he had decided to wait a bit, just to observe you.

The child followed you around, looking at you from afar, always slipping away before you could notice his presence. Seeing you up and walking around was so different from the once unmoving body he was so accustomed to. He listened to your voice. He watched you relearn so many things. He saw how sweetly you interacted with the other segments, and how keen they were for your touch, how they would tend to you on your weaker days. The child had never seen anything like it. 10 would have never believed the amount of change one mere person could bring. Meanwhile, the segments remained indifferent to the boy.

The more 10 watched you, the more he finally wanted to bask in your attention too. But the boy was scared. He remembered all the other adults in his life, from the village, and how they all looked and treated him with contempt. Could you be like that too? He wanted to think the answer was no, from how kind you seemed, but all the adults were so nice to the others except for him.

But maybe, maybe this time, it could be different. Everyone else approved of you after all. 10 wanted to trust you.

For once, his trust was not betrayed. After 10 finally introduced himself to you, you had given him so much attention it made his head spin. Your gentle and loving yet not overbearing demeanor. The way you listened to him seriously and reciprocated the energy, taking part in his childish activities. He was enthralled, to say the least.

You, on the other hand, were initially mystified by the appearance of the child. Not just any child, Dottore’s child self. Just to let that sink in, you had to keep repeating it to yourself. 10 was Dottore’s child self. He was him as a kid. What you were looking at was the embodiment of Zandik as a little boy. You couldn’t really believe your eyes at first. But he was real. Very real, from his higher-pitched voice (that was a really sharp contrast to Omega, for example) to his childlike demeanor and innocence.

The whole deal with the segments already took a bit for you to get accustomed to, but this was sort of new territory for you. After all, even though you’d known Dottore for so long, his childhood was something that came up rather infrequently. You chose not to pry further when you learned of how poorly he was treated as a child and instead offered him comfort in other ways. It had always made your heart ache and you wished you could do something more about it, to soothe his pain even just a bit. But now you quite literally had him in front of you, in a way. Quickly, your mind began working and formulating something.

Maybe… maybe you could help him by helping 10.

Sure, it sounded a bit stupid and probably useless at first, but there was no harm in trying. If anything else, you would be making 10 smile. From what you could infer, his life within this lab was far too dour for your liking.

Regardless, all those hours flew by in the blink of an eye, so much so that it felt like a dream. Was it, 10 wondered. But then the next day he found you eagerly waiting for him so you could spend more time with him. And the next. And the following day. And next week. Next month. And by then, he and the other were no longer merely numbers, but rather, they had names bestowed upon them, to truly identify them as individuals. 

And so, 10 had become Zandy. The difference between his past and present self was just as stark as the name change. It wasn’t just him, either. The other segments seemed different too with you around, in a good way. In all honesty, the young boy thought you were magical because he thought this kind of reality would only be possible in fairy tales. Needless to say, Zandy admired you greatly and sought you out quite frequently. 

He was happy to have you help him with his various assignments - to which your eyes nearly popped out when you saw the length and difficulty of some of the questions. You did help him, despite your shaky hands, but most of the time you stole him away to do much more fun things, that were “more important” according to you. The segments kept their thoughts to themselves unless they wanted to hear you gently scold them. It was amazing, Zandy thought.

The conversation of love had happened one day when you were putting him to bed after a long day. It had become a sort of routine for the two of you. You liked it because why wouldn’t you, it was the cutest thing ever. Zandy liked it because of how nice you were even when he really didn’t want to sleep yet, always indulging him with a story or a warm glass of milk. The segments liked it because they didn’t need to deal with him. 

“[Name], you love the segments, right?” Zandy had noticed that the word ‘love’ came out of your mouth rather frequently, compared to the other blue-haired men. You blinked at the question.

“Yes, I do. Why?” You asked as you tucked him in for the night alongside his Ruin Guard plushies (that you extorted the segments for.)

“All of them?”

“Of course.”

“Omega and Beta and Alpha and Delta and Zeta and-” His words were stopped by your laughter.

“Yes, dear. And Theta and Psi and Epsilon and- you don’t need me to list out all of their names, right?” Zandy shook his head but he still had another question for you.

“How much love do you have in you, [Name]?” The child couldn’t help but wonder how you did it - loving that many people seemed like a lot of work. You chuckled at the question.

“Very, very, much. You cannot put a quantity to love. It just happens when I’m surrounded by so many lovely people,” you kissed the boy on his forehead. “And that goes for you too. I love you very much, Zandy.” The child’s eyes widened as he fell silent, to which you questioned.

“Zandy? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled, his words further muffled by how he had now pulled the blanket over his head. You quickly connected the dots. He had probably never been told before that he was loved. You moved your hand under the blankets until you could feel one of his tiny hands, and then intertwined your fingers with the child’s.

“Hey, no need to lie to me, dear. You don’t have to hide around me,” you tried to gently soothe Zandy and coax him out when he spoke again.

“How do you know?”

“How do I know what?”

“That you love me.” His head popped back out of the blanket as he stared at you with big, uncertain eyes, but you only smiled in response.

“Well… for me, it’s simple. It brings me great joy to see you happy and smiling, and I want to make sure you continue to do so. I want to protect you, and I don’t ever want to see you hurt or sad. I want to make sure all of your wishes and dreams come true, and I want to keep you safe.” You said as you stroked Zandy’s hair. (You would have said that you loved him just as any parent would love their son, but you knew that with his experiences… it may not have been the most efficient.) Zandy’s lowered his eyes as he began to chew on his lip in thought.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever loved anyone before, [Name].” Zandy thought back to his parents, people whom he thought he loved, but now that he had you around, he realized that his feelings for them were nothing compared to what you made him feel. Loved. 

“That’s quite alright. Love is a beautiful thing, but it isn’t easy. What matters is that one tries.” That was a lesson all the segments could use. It was a bit confusing for Zandy, but somehow, he felt he understood.

“I see…” The sleepiness had finally fully hit Zandy as his eyes began to droop.

“Now, go to sleep. You don’t want to wake up tired tomorrow.” The child nodded and snuggled more under the cover. “Sweet dreams, dear.” You squeezed his hand before kissing his forehead one last time, and then getting up to turn off the light. As the room turned dark, you heard a small voice from behind you.

“I… love you, [Name].” It was quiet enough that if you weren’t paying attention, you might not have heard it, but you found his shyness endearing.

“I love you too, my child.” You smiled before exiting Zandy’s room, leaving him to have wonderful dreams, and then you were slightly startled by the man waiting outside for you. Dottore, rather, Prime Dottore himself. Zandik.

“Dottore. You’re here. I’ve missed you!” Your surprise quickly morphed into happiness as you saw the person you loved. He looked pleased to see you as well, as you linked your arm around his. “I hope I didn’t keep you too long. I was putting Zandy to bed.”

“I am aware. You do so every day.” You giggled, a little bit embarrassed.

“Well, someone needs to. You know, you should join us! We could always use another playmate.”

“I believe you are far more suited to the task than I am. Moreover, how have you been feeling as of late? It seems you have more energy than usual.” The way he quickly changed the conversation didn’t go unnoticed by you. You had told yourself that you wanted to help Dottore by helping Zandy, but it seemed to you that he rarely ever interacted, or even wanted to interact with the child. Dottore didn’t talk to his segments much in general, but he still had to for experiments and general Fatui business. Zandy, however, was the exception. It did hurt your heart to see it happen.

Back in your room, you had some thinking to do.

Now that you thought about it, you should have seen this coming. It made a lot of sense for Dottore to behave like this. You knew his feelings toward his childhood, towards himself in fact. But was it right? Was it fair? Of course not, at least in your opinion. However, you didn’t know what Zandy thought about this. You had yet to see the two together, and you had never asked him about Prime either. 

You wondered what your lover thought when he heard of you and Zandy together, you hugging and showering him in affection. Did he like it? Was he annoyed? Or did he not care, maybe something else? You always prided yourself on being able to comprehend him but…

This wasn’t going to be easy.

But you would see it to the end.

IV. complex

You often enjoyed taking walks around the lab. It was a good pastime and a way to keep your body active, not to mention the times you’d bump into a segment and end up taking a little break with him. Although you enjoyed the time by yourself, it could be a bit too lonely sometimes, which was precisely why Zandy came along. 

You had found out that he knew every nook and cranny of this place like the back of his hand, having explored it for countless years as he had nothing better to do. Therefore, Zandy often showed you around the lab, more specifically, the unknown and harder-to-reach parts, also known as his favorite hiding spots. You were quite grateful for his assistance, as you were sure you’d never discover some of these places on your own. 

Zandy was a bundle of energy that you could handle, well, most of the time at least. Were it not for your illness, you would have matched it easily. You felt a bit bad about not being able to keep up with him, but the child never minded. Although he tended to run in the halls and drag you around, he always paid attention to whether you seemed to need a break. A real sweetheart, indeed. 

Today was one such day.

You and Zandy had already been in this area before, but it was so big you couldn’t complete it all in one day. The kid was eager to continue exploring with you, scampering in front of you and then jumping in place for you to catch up. You believed he was especially excited because, on one of these journeys, you two had discovered some sort of creature… or rather creatures lurking around. 

The corridors always had some darkness to them, so you had not noticed the black puff balls hiding until one of them popped open its singular red eye at you. You would have yelped if you weren’t in awe of the cuteness of the silly creature. Similarly, once Zandy followed your line of sight, stars appeared in his eyes as more black puff balls came out of nowhere, and began scurrying toward you. The singular blue strand of hair reminded you of someone. Your best guess was that it was one of Dottore’s failed experiments.

Before you could advise the child to be cautious of these pufflings, Zandy had scooped one up already and was petting it. At least they seemed to be friendly - they had even gifted you a couple of shiny things, tiny pieces of minerals. And you swore you caught sight of a fluffy blue thing with a tail peering from afar too that seemed to be too shy to approach. Perhaps Dottore would let you keep them as a pet if you asked?

You giggled to yourself as you finished reminiscing about that. You did hope you ran into those things again. Meanwhile, Zandy had already gone ahead, turning into another hall.

“Now Zandy, don’t run too fast before you trip and fall!” You called after him, increasing the pace of your steps to chase after him.

“Come on, all the Mr. Fluffies are wait-” Zandy’s joyful voice abruptly stopped. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion before pushing yourself to jog a little faster. And that’s when you saw the reason why he had stopped - Dottore was standing over the little boy, the height difference so palpable that they both had to crane their neck to view the other. It seemed that Zandy bumped into him, but you were happy to see your two favorite people together. Perhaps this was a good chance to put another plan into action!

“Hello, Dottore. I’m glad to see you out of your office so much,” you greeted your lover with a pleasant smile. The man had no expression, while the boy hid his relief when he saw you. You tried not to bite your lip.

“I did not expect to see you here.”

“You know I like to take my daily walks, so Zandy here was just showing me some more places to go. But it looks like your secret spots aren’t so secret anymore, are they Zandy?” You chuckled light-heartedly, but when you looked down, you saw that the child was fidgeting with his fingers awkwardly, clinging onto your cling.

“Mhm.” Your smile fell.

“I see.” The two did not make eye contact, the tension suffocating. You cleared your throat.

“W-We could use another person to-”

“Unfortunately, I am preoccupied at the moment,” the Harbinger quickly dismissed your request. “However, do remember not to push yourself. Your body is still weak.”

“... Of course.”

“Good.” With a nod to you and without further eye contact to Zandy, he walked away. You held back a sigh before you ruffled the kid’s hair.

“Shall we continue?” Your smile didn’t reach all the way to your eyes, but you hoped Zandy wouldn’t realize. But before you could move, he spoke.

“Why do you like him so much, [Name]?” The child repeated the question he remembered asking you while you were still asleep. This time, however, he would finally get an answer. You crouched down to Zandy’s level, placing your hands on his shoulders as you pondered what to say. 

“I love Dottore because… he makes me feel loved too. For centuries, he’s treated me better than anyone else. His kindness may not be typical, but I still receive it happily. His sweetness is bitter, but the taste is pleasurable. His love isn’t ordinary, but it soothes me either way.”

“That makes sense.” Zandy knew that wasn’t a lie. He had seen how his creator treated you. “Then Prime must feel the opposite toward me.”

“That’s not true.” You frowned as you immediately shot down the thought, stroking Zandy’s cheek gently. “Dottore just-” Before you could finish, Zandy looked up at you with a wide, forced smile as he broke free from your hold.

“It’s okay, [Name]. It doesn’t bother me. Now let’s go, I want to find those puffy things again!” And then the child was off, and you were left with an aching heart.

That same night, you paid Dottore a visit, unwilling to be a bystander in this anymore. At least he was doing paperwork this time. It was easier to gain his attention than when he was doing an experiment.

“Dottore.”

“Hello, [Name].” The scholar didn’t look up from his work, as he was already used to you popping in and hanging around for a bit.

“Are you busy?”

“I-”

“Good. We need to talk.” Dottore paused and looked up at you for a moment, who had now stood in front of him, your hands balled on his desk. He took in the dissatisfied look and thin line in replace of your usual smile, before responding.

“About?”

“Why do you ignore Zandy so much?” You said plainly, not in the mood to beat around the bush. From the way his pen stopped, you think he knew this was coming eventually.

“I simply do not have time to entertain the whims of a child.”

“It has nothing to do with that! I-, this is just basic decency. It feels to me that your lack of consideration is on purpose. It is, isn’t it?” Dottore was silent, not even moving his pen.

“Answer me, Zandik.”

“He has you. It is enough.”

“It is not enough. Zandy is a child. He is hurt by you. You are hurting yourself, Zandik. Do you expect me to be okay with this?” Dottore’s pen had started moving again. Your palms hurt from your fingers digging into them so harshly. In a last-ditch effort, you attempted to speak to him using those terms he liked so much.

“Did you not create him to understand his perspective of everything? So, how do you plan to do that if you do not try to speak to him?” It seemed you were not going to let this go.

“I created my segments to observe their perspectives. To preserve it,” Dottore clarified. 

“Observe?” You laughed at that. “Pray tell, how will you do that if you don’t even try to be around the child for more than five seconds? And besides, merely observing never brings you the most satisfying results. I thought you of all people would understand that,” you quipped back. 

“Please, at least… at least tell me you’re going to try. Just try, even if it doesn’t work out,” you pleaded with your love. Unfortunately, your words could not reach him.

“It is late. You should go to sleep.” You gritted your teeth at his response.

“Fine. Then I will simply treat you the same way as you do with Zandy.” As he opened his mouth to defy your declaration, you quickly spoke again. “If you think I won’t do it, then you forgot the person I was in the Akademiya, and who I still am now. I do this because I love every single version of you, Zandik, more than anything else in this world. If you want to test my love, then by all means go ahead, but I doubt you’ll find even one possibility where you’ll be able to. Good night.” Your tone was hard and biting as you left without letting him get in another word.

Dottore could only watch as you stormed out, leaning back in his chair to rub his forehead as his mask clattered to the ground. Il Dottore was used to getting his way. Zandik, however, not so much, especially when you were in the picture. This perspective of yours was always… always something he struggled to understand.

Of course, the Harbinger learned very quickly that you would make good on your word. Instead of his name being called, he had to deal with his segments being asked for instead.

“Omega, please administer the medicine for me today.”

“Delta, could you come over here? I feel a bit unsteady on my feet.”

“Sigma, would you visit me before bed? I would like someone to chat with.”

“Beta, let’s go to your lab. I’m bored!”

You walked past him without a glance. You did not ask him anything. You did not refer to him. He was practically invisible to you. You knew that you were technically being more harsh to him than he was to Zandy, but you weren’t going to stop. You also hoped that helping Dottore to be kind to Zandy would eventually spread to the other segments too. The segments were initially baffled by the turn of events but quickly adjusted to it, although the look Prime gave them certainly wasn’t something they wanted to endure. It didn’t need to be said that Prime was awfully upset, despite his unbothered expression.

In the past, every time you had pulled a stunt or something after an argument, Dottore would find it amusing. He had a bad habit of being unyielding and refusing to admit he was in the wrong, and that was coupled with his idea that you were just being childish. But every time, you stuck it out until the end and refused to back down too. Eventually, he stopped finding it funny.

The stalemate went on for a while. Dottore’s bed had remained cold for far too long, no longer having the pleasant surprise of finding you on it sometimes. His office was silent, your visits becoming nonexistent. Despite how he chided you sometimes for bothering him, his mind had become preoccupied with thoughts of you and what you were doing. It wasn’t good for someone who had so much work to do, and for someone who hated giving in. This simply wouldn’t do.

At the very least, he could at least still follow you around to see your sweet smile and laughter. You just didn’t know. However, it seemed every time he longed for you, you also happened to be with the kid. For a long time, every time he saw you be so sweet to the child, it felt like seeing an impossibility become a possibility, and yet he tried his best to ignore it. He knew how fond you were of his child segment, well, Zandy as you’ve come to call him, and he… he just didn’t…know how to feel.

Yet now he felt himself somehow drawn to the scene, in a strange way. Was it because he liked seeing you happy, and the child seemed to bring out your brightest smiles? Was it because seeing his child segment like this wasn’t something he’d ever witnessed before? Was it because he himself had never been treated so kindly as a child, and yet now he was watching it happen in front of him? Was it because his deepest wishes that he buried with his childhood self were now becoming reality? Dottore ignored the answers to his own questions, attempting to finish a report that was long overdue for Pantalone, but his mind continued to wander about what he had witnessed.

Dottore remembers when he overheard you and Zandy having dinner.

You and Zandy were sitting across from each other eating. Well, it was more like you trying to convince the child to eat at least a few of his vegetables.

“Zandy, at least eat a few. You don’t need to finish it all,” you gently urged the child. “How else are you going to become big and strong?” 

“But they’re yucky,” he pouted. You chuckled.

“Perhaps I need to experiment more… I will find a way to prepare it in a way you like, my child. But for now, if you eat a bit more, I’ll… give you my dessert!” Zandy perked up at your words while stabbing the dreaded green thing with his fork.

“Deal!” He exclaimed while forcing the vegetable into his mouth (eating with his ‘family’ for once.)

Dottore remembers when he overheard you and Zandy playing a game.

You had recently purchased a game from abroad to pass the time. It had four surfaces and numerous columns that you needed to place small, medium, or large gears on. The objective was to place the right gears at the right locations in order to get them all going. Although you originally bought it for yourself, Zandy was quite excited by the idea, and you were never going to turn down an opportunity to challenge his brain. Within reason, of course.

In the end, you were content with simply watching the child play with the gears and figure out the answer by himself, or with small hints from you.

“Would you look at that! You’ve already finished all of the levels, and we’ve only started today… I didn’t even need to be here since you’ve got such a smart brain up there,” you teased, tapping Zandy’s forehead playfully. He blushed slightly.

“That’s not true. Your advice was really helpful, [Name]!”

“Perhaps, but your own thoughts were already more than enough. I would like to hear them more often.” The child glowed at the idea of you listening to him (instead of shunning him.)

“Okay!”

Dottore remembers when he overheard you reading Zandy a book.

You had a tendency to invite Zandy over to your room often, considering how much Zandy liked it. He marveled at the size and all your decorations, and the collections of your interests (how you had gotten Dottore to fund this was beyond the child’s imagination.) Not to mention, how soft and fluffy your numerous pillows were. Tonight, you were reading him a story, the child lying back against your chest as you held the storybook in front of you two. 

“Alright, I think that’s enough for tonight,” you said as you stifled a yawn, and you also noticed Zandy was doing the same. “We can continue tomorrow.”

“Okay…” Zandy mumbled tiredly enough not to put up a fight. You put the book to the side and turned off the lights (with a remote, courteously created by Dottore for the days you couldn’t get out of bed.) Pulling up the blankets, you were about to wish the boy good night when he spoke.

“[Name]?”

“Yes?”

“I always have lots of fun when I’m with you but… do I bother you too much? I know you’re probably busy and you also have your illness and-”

“Zandy. I love spending time with you. And even if I am busy, I will always make time for you, no matter what,” you promised the boy (unlike that man and woman who left him forever alone.)

“Oh…”

“See? So don’t ever feel bad about it,” you reassured Zandy, which left him with only the sweetest of dreams to dream.

Dottore remembers when he overheard you gently lecturing Zandy.

Children are pure-hearted and innocent, and even Dottore was once a child. It wasn’t hard to see that Zandy and his other older selves were starkly different. The former was kind and sweet, and the latter… well, you didn’t need to say it out loud. But the main point was that you didn’t need to worry too much about Zandy hiding stuff from you. Once you broke down his walls, he was a very open and honest child. Ninety-nine percent of the time, you’d say. But of course, children were children.

You had left the child in the kitchen while you went to retrieve a new cookbook the Eleventh Harbinger had gifted you, wanting to try out some new dishes especially since Zandy was interested. When you got back, however, you noticed that his face seemed a bit flushed and nervous, and his hands were in his pockets.

“Zandy? Everything alright?”

“Um, yeah!” His voice sounded a bit odd, and you squinted at him while he avoided eye contact. You’ve dealt with Dottore who was a smooth, easy talker that could spin lies like nothing. Zandy, on the other hand, was too easy to see through.

“Are you sure?” The boy nodded in response, probably so his voice wouldn’t betray him again. “Show me your hands.” But he only had a child’s level of lying, from the way his eyes gave it away.

“But-”

“Now.” Zandy very reluctantly showed you his hand, and you then saw one of his fingers was dripping blood. Your heart sank.

“You’re bleeding? I- What happened?!” You rushed him over to the sink and began washing it, while your other hand rummaged through the cabinets for some cotton or bandages.

“I wanted to be h-helpful and get the stuff out for you. But I dropped a plate and it broke and I tried to clean it up and I cut myself,” Zandy mumbled, clearly not wanting to admit his mistake. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You were already used to seeing your own blood drawn, but Zandy was a different story. Seeing your child hurt had made you dizzy and uneasy, even if it was just a cut.

“... I thought you would be mad.” Zandy’s voice was but a whisper, and your eyes softened.

“And why would I be mad at you?”

“B-Because I broke something…” You sighed as you placed the bandage around his tiny finger.

“But it was just an accident, right? Accidents happen, and furthermore, we have dozens of plates. I would never be mad at something as simple as that. And I care far more for your well-being rather than a mere plate. So next time, please don’t lie to me. Okay, Zandy?” You said gently but firmly, as you finished treating his finger (a far cry from what his punishment used to be, living in that house.)

“Okay, [Name]...” The boy hugged you afterward, blinking back his tears on your shirt so you wouldn’t see them.

Dottore remembers when he overheard you talking to Zandy about him.

The stand-off between you and Dottore had gone on long enough for even Zandy to realize, even though you tried to keep him out of the loop. You should have guessed that the child was going to ask you eventually.

“[Name], are you and Prime fighting?” The question came out of nowhere, surprising you but you hoped it didn’t show.

“We are just having a… disagreement, dear. Nothing to worry about. And no, it isn’t about you or anyone else. It is just a personal thing between us,” you added before Zandy could inquire. You hoped he didn’t feel guilty.

“Do you miss him?

“Of course.”

“Then why fig- disagree so much?”

“Zandy, some things in life can only be resolved with disagreements. You’re not going to see eye to eye with everyone, even those you love. But they’re necessary so that you can move on and grow stronger together,” you explained. “Neither of us enjoys having spats… even though he treats them like a joke sometimes,” the last part was mumbled under your breath, “but we do get through them every time, and although it’s definitely not easy, it’s worth it.” Zandy blinked thoughtfully at your response, (an unconventional depiction of healthy love, rather than the conventional portrayal of an unhealthy one he once knew.)

“You’re really strong, [Name].” 

“Strong? Not anymore. Patient? Yes,” you laughed, for you are the only one capable of loving a heretic.

Dottore remembers an awful lot, for someone who supposedly doesn’t care. He remembers all the moments you’ve spent with his child self, from when you were sleeping to when you woke up to the ones he heard through his segments. What you’ve introduced into Zandy’s life is the opposite of what Zandik’s life was like. Sheer love, to put it simply, even someone like him can see it, as he is no idiot. Dottore denies wanting to be accepted, and yet he is watching himself be accepted as he longed for. It makes him feel…

Regardless, this sort of mind wandering was no good for the Harbinger, especially the type where you have forced him to dwell about the child he is and isn’t. Before he knew it, the report sat untouched in front of him for a period of time.

Truly no good, and that is why his feet automatically move to find you once more. In truth, he hadn’t decided what he was going to say to you yet - whether to admit that in his heart he has yielded to you but his words will probably be the opposite. 

It wasn’t hard to find you. You were usually in your room or a segment’s, or with a segment himself, minus the times you decided to take walks. At this time though, you’d probably be with the child.

Dottore was right. But it wasn’t quite what he had expected.

You and Zandy had fallen asleep… on the floor, hands barely brushing each other. Dottore sighed at the sight - at least it was rugged and not wooden. The cold wouldn’t have been good for either of you.

(Either of you?)

He made his way over to the two of you, bending down to move you to the bed. He first pulled your body to his chest with ease before his gaze flicked to the child next to you. His breath stills, hand hesitantly hovering over Zandy, fingers twitching with unease. 

(Since when did he, the Second Harbinger, one that could very well be compared to a God, hesitate? This was foolish. It didn’t mean anything.)

And then Zandik slid his arm around the boy, bringing him into his chest too, and then rose to put you two comfortably to bed. He never thought he would ever tuck his child segment in, but here he was anyway.

It made him feel a little sick, the unfamiliar sensation along his fingertips and heart and mind.

But Dottore can’t resist giving you a kiss, having missed your lips for so long, which makes him feel a bit better. He’ll always have you, his beloved.

He should leave you two to rest properly, but he finds himself drawn to the scene in front of him. The ill feeling still remains somewhere, but a warmth that he wouldn’t name had started spreading too.

As he makes his way to leave the room, he dares not to look at the drawings scattered around, for they are persistent in portraying him as what he is not. In the poor scribbles, he is not a Harbinger, not a scholar or a scientist, nor a monster or the Doctor or Dottore in them.

He is just a man, one who can succumb to the side of him he so constantly rejects.

V. clumsy

You wouldn’t have believed last night happened if you weren’t there. But it did - you couldn’t sleep after you felt his warm embrace, but more importantly, after he held Zandy. You hadn’t even expected him to talk to the child so quickly, much less hold him so tenderly (even if that wasn’t his intention.) When it came to this kind of stuff, it was never easy to change his mind.

Needless to say, you were pleased but you knew he was never going to admit to it. However, you were still proud of him, and you were still determined to accomplish your goal.

Walking to Dottore’s office was something you had missed. When Zandy had asked you if you missed Dottore, the answer wasn’t just that you missed him - you longed for him, you yearned for his touch, you craved his presence. Such deep love was the reason why you wanted to help him.

When you get there, he’s preoccupied at his desk again. No matter how strong he may be, you still worry for his back sometimes. You should make some more snacks for him later too.

“Dottore,” you say as you walk in. The place was as boring-looking as it always is, the only decorations are the little trinkets you’ve gifted him that lay on his desk. His mouth opens to respond but he then immediately pauses, as he processes whose voice he’s hearing. He takes a few moments to study you as you continue to walk up to his desk, now standing in front of him just as you were the last time you were here.

“Hello, [Name].” He doesn’t show how nice it is to hear your voice again after so long, even though he has dealt with it for over four hundred years.

“Hello, Dottore. And how have you been?” Dottore watches you carefully with your line of questioning.

“As I’ve always have.” You hum in response as you glance at the papers on his desk, idly clicking and unclicking one of his numerous pens (that had yet to snap in half.) “I’ve heard your report for Pantalone is late. Is something occupying your mind, perhaps?”

“There is no such thing. The information is simply-”

“You know, I saw you last night, Zandik.” Your words cut him off as you watch his shoulders tense, and then relax. “I saw what you did.”

“I… see.” He probably knew it was futile to deny the claim. “And?” He watched as you walked around to his chair, your eyes glancing to his lap and back to his eyes as if asking for permission. He motioned for you to come closer, and you settled down on his lap, legs hooked over to the side. You were silent for a few moments before you reached for his large hand and held it with yours, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles.

“I won’t ask you to explain anything to me,” you began. “I… I don’t want to sound like I’m pitying you, I know you despise that, Zandik.” He remained silent. “But we,” you stressed on that word, “we can still make things right. It’s not too late to change things, no matter what’s happened before,” you said softly as you cupped Dottore’s cheek, caressing it gently. Your lover remained silent as he continued to look at you, his hand reaching to intertwine with your own.

“I remember every time your perspective clashed with mine,” he replied. You tried to ignore your rapid heartbeat. “And I remember the end result was that you were always right, and I was too stubborn. Yet you always pushed me to see it your way regardless.” Dottore’s hand rested on top of your head, stroking your hair as he considered his next words.

“Maybe this time I shall save myself the time and energy and listen to you instead.” You could have fainted, hearing Dottore admit that to you. Your mouth opened and closed, trying to find something to respond with, but there was nothing else you could do other than smile, ignoring the prick of tears in your eyes, and the way your breathing stuttered.

“... Thank you, Zandik. Thank you,” you whispered, nuzzling your face into his chest.

“However, I must say I may not be up to your-”

“You will,” you quickly interrupted. “You will be. You can do this, with me of course. We’ll take it slow and easy of course, I know this is quite hard and you’re busy and-” you continued to reassure him while squeezing his hand and nodding passionately, while he watched amused.

“I question where your confidence comes from.” You smiled, for that was an easy question.

“Because you are no monster, Zandik. Not to me, at least, the person who knows you better than anyone else. And even if the world views you as one, well… I suppose we would be two monsters together. That’s not too bad, right?” You chuckled, and he couldn’t help but smile a bit too.

“Perhaps you could be right.”

From then on, it was certainly a journey. An exhausting and long one to say the least. But it was also a rewarding one.

Obviously, even though he had given you his word, real life was different from the fantasy you wished for. There were still his overwhelming duties as a Harbinger, there were many days he didn’t even have time for you. And you - there were many days your illness left you far too tired to move around or even speak to anyone. And of course, Il Dottore was not going to change his ways overnight. It was hard dealing with him sometimes. There were still arguments. Clashes. Annoyance. It was never easy to mesh differentiating perspectives into one. 

Still, nothing was enough to deter you or your love for him.

a. the potential attempt

The first step was to get them to be in the same space. Not even closely or with interaction, just to get them comfortable enough with each other. When you proposed the idea to Zandy, the baffled look on his face nearly made you laugh. He initially didn’t want to, which you could understand, but you played it off as wanting to spend time with both of them, considering how Dottore was frequently busy. Getting Zandy to agree wasn’t that hard, considering how much he loved you, but you still felt a bit bad. But this was for a good cause!

You were accustomed to chilling wherever Dottore was without fear. Zandy, on the other hand, was not the same. He spoke quietly and always flickered his eyes to see where and what Dottore was doing.

“Zandy, you don’t need to worry about him. Nothing’s going to happen.” 

“But…” 

“Trust me. I bet he can’t even hear us right now,” you nudged him to look at the older man. “See that look on his face? How hard he’s gripping his pen and how fast he’s writing? That’s how you know he’s so incredibly focused, he tunes out the rest of the world.” Still, the child didn’t look too convinced by your words, so you decided to prove it.

“Dottore, I made you some baklava,” you said rather loudly, yet there was no response. Zandy looked surprised now, you both knew how much Dottore enjoyed Sumerian desserts. “And, I brewed you a new pot of coffee.” His pen continued to scribble across the paper, as you then turned to Zandy.

“See? No need to feel so cautious.” Zandy’s shoulders seemed to relax until you spoke again. “Now you try it.”

“Me?!” Zandy whisper-yelled, looked as if you had asked him to commit a crime.

“Yes, you dear. How else will you get comfortable with him?” The child pouted and nuzzled into your arm, seeing as you weren’t going to give up. He chewed on his lip and he began to speak.

“I… Prime…,” Zandy tried to think of something, anything, “Prime… I ate your sweets!” The child immediately regrets it at record speed, anxiously hiding behind you.

“... My, my, how bold. Even I wouldn’t say that.” Zandy peeked out behind you and saw his creator was still diligently writing, and breathed a sigh of relief. “See, not that bad, right?” The boy nodded, but his mind wandered.

“[Name], I didn’t eat his sweets.” You cocked your head at his statement. “... But I think Beta did.”

��Oh dear. I suppose it’s time to get a lock on that fridge now… and then we need to make some more before-” At that moment, a snapping sound from the side made you two jump.

Ah. Dottore had finally broken his pen. Well, that one lasted longer than usual. You and Zandy watched with held breath as Dottore scowled and cast the broken utensil to the side, before looking at each other and trying to hold in laughter, avoiding the Harbinger’s eye contact and returning to what you two were previously doing. The man looked at your giggling faces with confusion.

“Is something the matter?”

“Not at all, love. Not at all,” you smiled, but by the fact that even his child segment seemed to be giggling, he knew you said something. (He ignores how foreign the laughter of the child sounds to him.)

Regardless, he sends you a look before shaking his head and returning to work (with a new pen.)

b. the awkward attempt

One of the moments that captured your heart was when Zandy walked in on Dottore giving you one of your shots. Needles weren’t unfamiliar to you anymore, and although they scared you (and still did, to be honest), thankfully Dottore and the segments had enough patience to make it as painless as possible. Zandy, however, never really saw the checkups or anything related because you really didn’t want to worry the child about your illness. But you supposed it would happen eventually. 

The atmosphere had suddenly turned a bit awkward with Zandy now standing at the door, eyes on the rather large needle that sat on the tray, that was definitely going into none other than you. From his wide eyes, you could tell it probably wasn’t what he was expecting to see. Of course, needles, especially a big one like Dottore was holding, would scare any child his age.

“O-Oh! Zandy, you can wait outside for a few minutes. You don’t need to watch,” you explained, while Dottore stood silently next to you as he prepped the area of your arm. The child seemed conflicted for a few moments before he decided to walk closer to you and the Harbinger.

“No, it’s okay. I… want to see,” Zandy said. In reality, the boy knew you hid certain things from him and wished to know the truth. He wanted to know how badly you were hurt, maybe he could try and do something for you. (Perhaps this too, is a side effect of teaching him what love is.)

“You do? Well… I guess I won’t stop you then,” you said, a bit confused but you wouldn’t just send him away. Dottore placed a hand on your shoulder and got you to relax again for him. Meanwhile, Zandy had come up to the opposite side and looked at you with slightly worried eyes.

“Is it going to hurt, [Name]?”

“Well, it does prick a bit, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. It’s the same as any other shot,” you tried to reassure him as his gaze became downcast. You bit your lip nervously, about to give him a solution, when out of nowhere Dottore himself spoke.

“Physical and emotional support from another party often makes the procedure less painful for the recipient,” he said in a monotone as if he wasn’t speaking to either of you at all. You and Zandy blinked at him before he continued. “I’m going to start the injection now.” Suddenly, it seemed like Zandy understood the message, as the child then grabbed your hand, and squeezed it with his much tinier one.

“You can do this, [Name]!” His instant enthusiasm distracted you from the prick of the needle, but also the fact that Dottore technically spoke to Zandy, encouraging him even. It was simply adorable.

“Zandy, I-” 

“You know, there was one time I fell while-”

“Oh wow-”

“But I was okay because-”

“I see-” You had decided to continue smiling and nodding at the child’s attempt to distract you from the shot until he abruptly stopped, his eyes flickering to where Dottore had now finished bandaging the area.

“Ah, it’s finished,” you breathed a sigh of relief and deflated on the chair, but Zandy still had a load of energy for you to entertain.

“You didn’t even look a bit scared, [Name]!” You grinned and ruffled his hair.

“Why, I doubt anything in this world could scare me when I have my lovely son and husband with me,” you smiled as you kissed Zandy’s forehead, which he beamed at while Dottore turned away to clean up, an attempt to ignore how the scene made his chest feel.

A family, huh?

What a strange thing.

c. the successful attempt

You were quite proud of the progress Zandy and Dottore had made together, but still, the most important part remained. Now that you had gotten them to be in the same room with each other, you wanted them to at least manage a few short conversations. That was the biggest and most difficult part of this whole thing, but starting small was always the key. And so you decided to somewhat ‘force’ them into such situations. How? By just making the child run errands for you. (Sure, you could have let things run their natural course, but with these two, they definitely needed some kind of push.)

An easy way to make Dottore lighten up was to cook something yummy for him, with bonus points if it was something from his homeland. So that was what you and Zandy did - whipped up a bunch of samosas and even a pita pocket (since you knew he had definitely been skipping meals, much to your dismay.) You had packaged them nicely in a container for him to eat at his leisure and instructed Zandy to deliver them. He seemed less nervous than before but still a bit on edge, nevertheless determined to fulfill your wishes, as he soon found himself in Prime’s office. The man seemed surprised. The child avoided eye contact. The room was silent, without you to act as a middleman.

But Dottore decided to begin.

“Did you need something?” Zandy perked up at the acknowledgment and quickly began walking to his desk, slightly standing up on his tippy-toes to push the container of food in front of his creator.

“[Name] and I made this for you. They said you need to eat more or they’ll get mad again,” the child repeated your words verbatim, trying to gauge Dottore’s reaction. The scholar’s hands glided against the plastic, looking at the tasty treats that lay inside.

“I see. Thank you.” He began to set them to the side before Zandy spoke again.

“Um, they also want you to try one.” Dottore paused. Of course you would say that, he sighed.

“Very well.” He opened the container and picked out a samosa, the snack still warm. He ignored how enticing it was to his stomach and began to lift it to his mouth when he stopped and pushed the box closer to his child segment. Zandy looked at him with curious eyes and he motioned for him to take one. Happily, the boy indulged his request and popped the samosa into his mouth, which Dottore soon followed suit, the two savoring the flavors of your delicious and homey cooking.

“How would you say that was?” He questioned Zandy. The child still had trouble he was being acknowledged so much but responded in kind.

“The most delicious thing ever!”

“I would say the same.” And that was the end of the conversation, as Dottore returned to his work and Zandy scurried away, both content with the conclusion. Dottore’s answers may have been short and swift, but it was progress.

By now Dottore had caught onto your little game, while Zandy was just happy to be helpful to you. There were a lot of other instances where you sent him to Dottore - to fetch some medication, to bring Dottore a letter (that totally didn’t just have three words on it), to bring him some new writing utensils, and much more. The occurrences were all short, but they were beginning to grow a lot less awkward. You were happy.

This time you asked Zandy to fetch a book from Dottore, which was actually a legitimate request this time. He really wanted to learn more about those Ruin Machines, and you figured it would be a lot easier if you had a book as a reference. (Dottore had not yet gotten used to the Zandy’s appearances, still a bit stiff and unsure about the whole thing. But they weren’t unwelcome visits, no, they were starting to become a constant in his life.)

Zandy, on the other hand, had already started to feel much better about interacting with Prime Dottore, thanks to your words and Dottore’s much better actions. The once dreaded path to his office had now become a lot more lighthearted. Sure, he was still a bit tense sometimes, but he thinks most people are that way around Dottore (except you, you’re special), so when he finally makes it to his creator’s office once more he’s not too scared. The older man doesn’t seem to be surprised at his visits anymore.

“And what request do you come to me for today?”

“[Name] and I need a book.” Dottore’s eyes widened. You knew the kind of books he had were… well, inappropriate for some eyes. “A book about Ruin Machines and Guards and Graders and Hunters and their parts and designs and all that cool stuff!”

“I see.” Well, that made more sense. The Harbinger got up from his seat to retrieve a book on that topic, when a sudden and uncharacteristic thought came over him. He did enjoy reading books, as they were a wondrous source of information, but he still far preferred hands-on learning. He wondered if… if perhaps his younger self would prefer that too right now. 

No, he knew Zandy would, he was literally him when he was a kid, but the question was whether Dottore was up to this or not. A while ago, this situation would have been impossible. But now, it was a possibility, an outcome that only Dottore could choose to achieve. He stared at Zandy, who had begun to get a bit nervous at the strange attention.

“If you’re busy-”

“Would you prefer it if I showed you instead, rather than simply viewing pictures?”

“Like the actual machines?” Zandy’s eyes glowed with excitement.

“No, just the parts. But I believe it will be more interesting than only examining them in a book.” He could already hear you in his ear if he decided to let the child near those things, especially without you. Zandy only felt a moment of disappointment before he quickly bounced back.

“Please! I want to see the parts! Can I touch them too? Will you show me what they do?” His barrage of questions was sudden, but the scientist found himself enjoying them. After all, if no one else will indulge his curiosity, then he must do so himself, no matter what age he is.

(Although he’s only a few minutes into the explanation, his younger self’s eyes glimmer with a brightness he’s never seen, or at least never noticed before. Were his eyes always this red? You always compliment the color of his, but he can’t seem to remember his eyes ever having such a radiant gleam. He ignores it, for he’s sure his own eyes were never like that as a child.)

Meanwhile, you were left wondering why the boy had been gone so long. Did something happen? You decided to make your way over to Dottore’s office when you heard the voices spilling out of the ajar door. A young and chirpy one, and an old and tired one, and yet they both seemed equally as excited about whatever the subject matter was.

Peeking in, you were beyond surprised to see your husband and child sitting next to each other, a variety of mechanical parts surrounding the two. Zandy was examining one while Dottore rambled on about it, yet in a logically sound way that even a child could understand. You remember the same thing happening to you back in the Akademiya. 

Your heart beat excitedly at this discovery. The way they seemed comfortable with each other, despite their strained relationship from a while ago… in fact, perhaps you could say it looked like a father and his son. All that was missing was the other parent. But should you ruin the moment? You wanted it to last forever…

Unfortunately, staring for too long had attracted the attention of Zandy, who brightened even more at your presence, and quickly waved you over, which also alerted Dottore. Well, there was no hiding anymore, as you began to walk towards the two you loved the most.

“Well well, lucky you, Zandy. To get a lesson from none other than Dottore in Automatons! But oh, I am a bit hurt. Are my teaching skills not up to par for you two?” You teased them lightheartedly, which Zandy giggled at, and Dottore scoffed.

“Fa- Prime wanted to show me the stuff instead of us going through that huge book together. It’s much more fun this way! Oh, but I should have come and told you though… sorry.” Dottore didn’t say anything, but you didn’t need him to. You went to the opposite side of Zandy and sat down, wrapping your arm around him.

“Perhaps I too could be one of your students, Dottore? Zandy and I are eager to learn more!” Dottore let out a sigh at your antics.

“Then listen carefully, because I will not repeat myself to you.”

“How cruel!”

The laughter of two echoed throughout the room, while the other could only smile.

VI. coldness

You loved your family very much. That was obvious to anyone who saw you with them.

Pantalone who asked about how your son was faring, and if your husband would be able to produce sufficient results soon. Columbina who liked to play dress up with you and Zandy to wear matching outfits, while Dottore obviously refused to entertain her nonsense. Childe who couldn’t help but be fond of Zandy as well, tempted to introduce him to Teucer, but also greatly questioned your choice of husband (and father.) The Fatui agents who watched you squish the young segment’s cheeks and tease your imposing Harbinger husband in broad daylight. It was certainly something to see, and one wouldn’t believe it until they saw it with their own eyes.

Meanwhile, the segments had been onlookers on the whole thing.

You were sure each individual segment felt a bit differently about the situation, but the general feeling was probably jealousy. Jealousy toward Zandy for being able to take up so much of your attention. Well, that had always been the case since you’d met the child, but it increased a lot since your journey to help Dottore reconcile with his past self. You just hoped as the years went by, their attitude would change. If you had gotten Prime to change, then his segments weren’t impossible, right? You did see a few of them start to be a bit more patient with Zandy!

Regardless, you were more than happy with the outcome. Dottore and Zandy were talking to each other like normal human beings now. Sure, there were still moments where they were awkward and silent, which was to be expected considering how many years went by with their relationship nonexistent. 

Physical affection, however… well, it still had some work left. The only person he wanted to touch him was you since he had known you for so long. Even then, sometimes you couldn’t when he wasn’t in a good mood. So coming to terms with Zandy touching him so casually was still something to get used to. Still, he seemed to have gotten used to the hand brushing and even patted the child’s hair when he did well. On good days, perhaps the child would even be in his lap.

Still, now that you had helped create a bond between them, nothing could stop their progress. Nothing at all.

Dottore still never admitted the change in his feelings to you, but you didn’t need a concrete answer when his actions spoke louder. You lived for the new conversations that now occurred as a result of Zandy, like when he tells you about the time they spent together.

“I’ve heard that you’ve started teaching Zandy more now, Dottore.” (Trying to steal your role as a teacher again, huh?)

“Indeed. We have moved on to quantum physics as well as-” He continued to list off topics you definitely did not study as a child.

“How… enriching, I’m sure.” Perhaps you should start crashing the lessons to make sure he doesn’t overload the poor kid’s brain too much…

Or when you hear about how much they both care for you.

“[Name]?”

“Yes, Dottore?”

“How have you been feeling as of late?” His hands crept up around your neck, brushing his fingers along your collarbones.

“Fine. The same as always,” you responded, which was sort of a truth and lie. You were technically fine, but there had been more days lately that had been a slog to get through with your illness and all. You didn’t want to admit that though. Dottore dragged his fingers along your shoulders in response.

“That’s a lie.” Your face heated up a bit from the proximity.

“That’s not-”

“Zandy,” he began, the name still a bit foreign on his tongue, “told me you’ve barely been sleeping as late. And the tiredness makes it difficult for you to move around. Why didn’t you tell me?” You slumped a bit in your seat at the discovery. You didn’t think the child would know that much less tell Dottore.

“How did he know?”

“He can hear you rustling around in the bed all night,” your husband said flatly as you sighed.

“I’m sorry, love…”

“Next time, I would prefer to hear my spouse’s troubles from their lips rather than someone else. Now come here.”

Or the simpler silly conversations.

“Why did you name him that?” He said one day while lounging on your lap. It was one of those days when it was necessary for him to rant to you about everything and anything.

“Name who what?”

“... Zandy.” Hearing Dottore get used to the name was still amusing to you.

“Why not? There’s a reason why all the segments like their names now, you know. It’s cute, it fits him, he likes it, and it’s way better than what you did,” you teased. Dottore grumbled.

“I still believe there were better options.”

“Yes, yes, says the one who names every experiment with a few letters and numbers. Now continue telling me about Pantalone’s audacity.” 

You were happy. Zandy was happy. And you were pretty sure Dottore was happy too. Even through the toughest days, you knew that you had them, and that made things better. You believed nothing in the world would change that or take that away from you.

So when you heard that some of the segments were heading to Sumeru, you weren’t too worried. It was just another mission for them, and although the importance of this one was much higher, you had no doubt the segments would handle it with ease. The lab was emptier than normal, but at least that gave you more time to play with him. 

“[Name], why do we go and collect Gnoses?” Zandy was still unaware of quite a few things, as others were unwilling to explain the details of them.

“So that we can fight Celestia,” you hummed as you turned the page of the book. Currently, you two were reading a rather interesting fantasy story, and the two of you had gotten up to the most crucial part - whether the protagonist would choose to further his ambitions or save the one he cherished.

“Why do we need to fight them?”

“Because they’re bad people,” you said as simply as possible.

“When are we going to fight them?”

“I don’t know, but one day we will.”

“Is it going to be scary?”

“Yes, it will. But I will protect you, from now until the end of time, so there’s no need to worry.”

“Okay,” Zandy said, but he still looked a bit sad, naturally. You softly stroked his fluffy hair.

“Don’t dwell on it. You still have lots and lots of happy memories to make,” you soothed him and kissed his forehead. “Nothing bad will happen to you.”

“Thanks, [Name],” he cuddled more into your side as you continued to read the story aloud to him.

The days passed as they always did. Tests. Checkups. The bickering of segments. Dottore popped up here and there, still busy with the Sumeru mission even though he remained at the lab. As always, Zandy remained a constant in your life when everyone else was too busy for you, so you were happy.

It had happened in the middle of a nap when you were shaken awake furiously. When you regained consciousness, you first registered your body being tossed from side to side, and then the blinding light from above. Ugh. What time was it, you wondered, because your mind next processed the desperate voice next to you.

“[Name]! [Name], please, please wake up. Please, he’s going to-” The sheer fright in his voice was enough to jolt you back to reality. You quickly rubbed your eyes and pulled yourself up to face the boy. You wondered what could have happened for Zandy to be this frantic, but the look on his face made your throat close up.

Bright red eyes on the verge of tears, flushed face, quivering lip, and shaking body. A terrible feeling rested in the pit of your stomach as you were speechless for a moment before Zandy grabbed your hands again, begging you to say something.

“Zandy, s-slow down. Start from the beginning. What’s wrong? Who is going to do what?” You placed your hands on his shoulders, pulling him closer in an attempt to calm him. It didn’t seem to do much.

“Omega, Omega’s going to delete me for-”

“What?!” Your voice came out as a shriek. “Tell him no! Tell him I said to stop! I- come with me!” You had already begun to pull him out of bed and out the door, looking like a mess but that wasn’t a worry at all, not right now. Zandy followed you aimlessly, sniffling and sputtering out words.

“B-But not just me, all the other segments are going to be e-erased too! Alpha, Beta, Delta-” You paused, deep fear instilling in your heart as you too began to breathe heavily. Still, you swooped down to Zandy’s height and hugged him, putting on a brave face.

“I won’t let it happen - you’ll be fine. We’ll just go to Prime, and then he’ll-”

“He approved it, though,” Zandy’s voice was tiny as he stared down at his feet as if he too was unwilling to believe he would be betrayed like this. You felt like you were going to be sick, heat rushing to your face, burning you alive.

“What?” Your voice was just as small as the child’s.

“Well, he’s not happy about it, but-” You gritted your teeth.

“I won’t accept it. You will not suffer such a fate, I pro-” You stopped when you heard footsteps approaching.

It was the person you wanted to see the least and most at the same time.

“Dottore,” your voice initially came out exhausted as you forced your shaky legs to stand up again, “Dottore, you best explain yourself right now,” you hissed, the malice now undeniable. “Tell me that this isn’t true.” Dottore opened his mouth to speak, but he seemed to realize that it would not be the answer you desired. The Harbinger’s eyes landed on his child self, who now clung to your leg in fear. Zandy looked at him in a way he hadn’t seen in a long time. Dottore ignored all emotions and focused on his logic.

“It’s neces-”

“Don’t you dare say that!” You interrupted him, hopefully before the child could hear his own creator (or perhaps, father) say he was dispensable. “That’s not true, you know it’s not-” Your words were interrupted by Zandy clutching his head and squeezing your leg deathly tight, the thoughts of the other segments reaching an all-time loud high.

“It’s happening… O-Omega’s going to do it,” the child had broken into full tears as he listened to the others vehemently deny Omega’s decision. He then frantically clawed at your leg, reaching for your hand for some sort of comfort.

“[Name], I don’t want to go! I don’t want to leave you! I don’t want to…” The one in the beginning of his life, the picture of innocence, dared to take one last look at the one in the prime of his life, who he couldn’t recognize anymore. The last word died on his lips. Your heart wrenched and pounded painfully as you looked away to beg Dottore again.

“Dot- Zandik, do something. Please, please stop Omega. I won’t ask for anything else ever again. Y-You can’t take him away from me…! Please!”

And then you felt your hand become empty, and your leg become cold. Bile began to bubble in your throat. You felt like you were going to throw up, wondering if you should dare look back down. 

You did anyway.

There was just empty space, Zandy nowhere to be found. Not even his clothes, not a single thing left of him. He had disap- no, he was dead.

Zandy was dead.

Your child was dead.

Your mind was very loud, despite not thinking about anything at all. Your hand twitched, trying to grasp the warmth that was there just a few moments ago. You tried to pretend there was the sensation of him holding you again.

Unfortunately, imagination can’t replicate reality.

You don’t even realize how close Dottore had gotten to you, eyes still frozen on the spot where Zandy just was.

“[Name].” His voice brings you back, but not for a good reason. You blink as you mechanically turn your head to face him. You don’t understand why he isn’t bothered. You don’t understand why he did this. You don’t understand anything. And then your face, which was as still as a statue, suddenly became enveloped in grief and tears. Your husband slightly grimaced at your expression.

“[Name],” he tried again, “I-”

“Don’t you dare speak to me like that, in that tone of voice,” you snapped amidst your continuous tears. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done to them? To me? To us?” You weren’t sure which you would prefer - that he wasn’t sure about how much this would pain you, or that he did know but went ahead with it anyway. And it wasn’t just you, now that Zandy was gone… he would never be able to make peace with what he was.

“My last words to Zandy were a lie,” you cried. “A lie! I didn’t even tell him that I cared for him, how much I cherished him, how I loved the time I spent with him, how much I loved him!”

“Did any of the time we three spent together mean anything? Did he mean anything to you, Zandik? Or was it just a lie?” You relentlessly spat at him, refusing to let him get in a word. “You just used him and the other segments as bargaining chips. Pawns. They weren’t tools… my child wasn’t expendable, he was a person too,” you sank to the floor, your whole body trembling and immensely fatigued, but your mouth kept moving, wrapped in your incoherent grief. “I thought we could-, no, we were a family… Was I the only one who cared?”

Dottore could only watch as you broke apart in front of him. What could he have said to extinguish your tears? That he didn’t quite want to do this either, but he had to? Regardless of the newly acquired feelings about his segment, nothing… nothing could come in the way of what he had to do.

“Would you do the same to me, Zandik? Would you trade me for a Gnosis, too…?” Dottore stiffened at the question. It was never something he’d thought you’d say, considering how foolish it was. Him? Give you up? No, he would never. Never. He would sooner let all of Teyvat burn but-

“He was just a kid,” you sobbed. “He was just a little boy. How could you? You… you…!” Dottore could feel your sheer rage and sadness easily, his hands wanting to reach out and offer you some sort of comfort.

But he was a monster, and he knew it.

[zmbiesoph]

rainbow sprinkles

Summery: you and Steve fight over sprinkles, and it turns to something more

wanings: none

It started with an argument about sprinkles.

“I’m just saying,” Steve declared, leaning against the counter with that signature smirk of his, “sprinkles are the worst ice cream topping. They don’t even taste like anything.”

You gasped, clutching the container of rainbow sprinkles like he had personally insulted your family. “Blasphemy.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Okay, name one good thing about them.”

“They’re colorful and fun,” you shot back, dramatically shaking a handful over his head. A few landed in his hair, getting lost in the soft brown waves.

“Great. So they make a mess. That’s two strikes against them.” He ruffled his hair, shaking the sprinkles off, but one stubborn little blue one stayed put. You decided not to tell him.

“Sprinkles are elite. This is a hill I will die on.”

Steve smirked, crossing his arms. “That’s a dumb hill, Y/N.”

“You’re a dumb hill.”

Before he could respond, a mother with a crying toddler approached the counter, and both of you straightened up. Steve launched into customer service mode, flashing a smile that was equal parts charming and tired.

“Ahoy! Welcome to Scoops Ahoy. What can I get for you?”

As Steve took their order, you tried to focus on work, but it was hard when he was so—well, him. It had started out as just another summer job, slinging ice cream and dealing with sweaty mall-goers, but somewhere between Steve’s awful jokes and the way he always made sure you got the last waffle cone before they ran out, you started to feel something.

Which was so not part of the plan.

You were still trying to shake the thought when the mother took her toddler’s ice cream cone and, naturally, disaster struck.

One second, the kid was reaching for his scoop of chocolate, the next, it plummeted onto the counter, splattering all over your apron.

You froze. The kid froze. Steve? He howled with laughter.

You turned to glare at him. “This is your fault.”

Steve wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. “How exactly is this my fault?”

“You jinxed me with your bad sprinkle opinions.”

“You’re right. My anti-sprinkle stance is a powerful force.”

The kid started sniffling, and Steve, to his credit, immediately switched gears. “Hey, little dude, don’t worry—we’ll fix it.” He grabbed a new cone, added an extra scoop, and handed it over. “On the house.”

The kid beamed, all traces of distress gone. You hated how attractive that was.

After they left, you went to the back to clean up, still grumbling about how Steve was definitely responsible. He followed, arms crossed as he watched you scrub chocolate from your apron.

“So,” he said, leaning against the wall. “Am I gonna get an apology?”

You raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

“For accusing me of sprinkle-based sabotage.”

You scoffed. “Never.”

Steve clicked his tongue. “Shame. I was gonna offer to buy you dinner after work, but if you’re not feeling guilty…”

Your hands paused mid-scrub. “Wait. What?”

His smirk softened into something more genuine, a little nervous, even. “Dinner. You, me. Not here. I mean, unless you really want more ice cream.”

Your heart did a very dumb thing in response—like a little flip. “Are you… asking me out?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking down briefly before meeting your eyes again. “Uh, yeah. I mean, unless you don’t want to. In which case, I was totally joking, and this is just, you know, workplace banter—”

“Steve.”

“Yeah?”

“I’d love to get dinner with you.”

His whole face lit up. “Yeah?”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling too. “Yeah.”

“Well, in that case,” he reached over and plucked a sprinkle from your shoulder, holding it up with a grin, “this is coming with us as a third wheel.”

You shoved his arm playfully, laughing as he pretended to stumble. Maybe working at Scoops Ahoy wasn’t so bad after all.

HELP I LOVE THIS SOSOSOSO MUCH LIKE ITS JUST SO… FUN