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marvelstoriesepic · 30 days ago

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Wake up (part 2)

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: Bucky will not abandon you unconscious while hoping for answers about what viciousness is running through your body. After all, Hydra always takes everything a person has to offer.

Word Count: 6.2k

Warnings: mentions of Bucky’s past; Bucky is going through some emotional shit here; Hydra; vomiting; seizure; guilt and self-blame; medical setting and distress; grief; PTSD; anxiety; panic attacks; so much angst

Author’s Note: A second part to Wake up has been the winner of my poll, so here we are. I’ve been sticking with the angst of the first part and I'm not gonna lie, this might have been the hardest thing I’ve written so far. So, please read the warnings before diving in and be beware that this does not end well. (I really don’t believe that all hope’s lost but read for yourself) But I actually do like how this turned out despite it hurting me so much lol. Let me know what you think ♡

part three

Angstober Masterlist | Masterlist

Bucky Barnes has lost a lot in his long life.

He has lost pieces of himself - some torn away violently, others slowly dissolving in his grasp no matter how hard he tried to keep them.

It was torturous and agonizing, prolonged over time, creating empty voids where something complete once used to be.

He has lost the weight and warmth of his own limb, his left arm stolen from him under the most excruciating circumstances, only to be replaced by a piece of metal that messed badly with his nerve endings.

His body bears the evidence. Scars marrying his flesh, muscle and sinew replaced by cold and unfeeling vibranium.

His mind has suffered even worse. Memories shattered, rewritten, erased. A name that once meant something - James Buchanan Barnes - reduced to something foreign, something he had to claw his way back to.

He has been unmade and remade too many times to count, his identity fractured into a thousand pieces. Each one holds remnants of the pain, of orders barked in languages he barely recognizes, of faces he was forced to forget the moment they fell.

His past is an open wound that never quite heals, no matter how much time passes. He has lost friends, family, freedom - every tether to the life he once lived.

But he survived.

Somehow, despite the things Hydra did to him, despite the decades of blood staining his hands, despite the decades of his limbs moving to another brain, despite the guilt slithering through his veins and dragging its nails down his spine. He survived.

He fought his way back. For you. Because of you. You helped him get himself back.

And that’s why this loss - your loss - would be different.

He doesn’t even acknowledge this with dramatics, doesn’t try to make it sound noble or poetic. It’s not something to be proud of. It’s just the truth. A certainty.

If you leave him, he will not survive. He would not even try.

A simple fact that is not simple at all.

It’s the most devastating, soul-crushing fact of his existence.

Because if you never open your eyes again - if those beautiful, expressive eyes, the ones that soften whenever they land on him, the ones that twinkle like stardust only for him because you love him so much - stay closed forever, then what reason does he have to go on?

If he never sees that smile again, the one that makes his knees weak, that makes his chest feel too small to hold everything he feels for you - the smile only made for him because you love him so much - then what point is there in taking another breath?

If you never wrap your arms around him again - never squeeze him so tightly he can feel your affection seep into him, warming the coldest, most forgotten parts of him, because you love him so much - then what is he supposed to do with himself?

If your lips never touch his again, never press against his skin, never ghost over his own in those kisses that steal his breath even if it is a simple peck, or if you end up breathlessly clinging to each other, all because you love him so much - then he might as well have nothing at all.

And if your voice - your sweet, adoring, and grounding voice - never speaks those three words again, the ones that leave him on this world, the ones that remind him that despite everything, despite all that he has done and all that he has lost, he is still capable of being loved - if he never gets to hear those words again, then there will be nothing left of him.

Because without you he is just a man with too many ghosts and too little purpose. A man trying to walk on broken legs, reaching for something, grasping at something, hoping for something, that will never be found.

He would not survive it. Not again. Not this time.

Bucky doesn’t remember the run to the med bay.

It went so fast but also way too slow.

Moments before, he was in your shared room, shaking you, begging for you to wake up, and then, he was barreling down the hallways, your body limp in his arms.

His boots slammed against the floor, his breath coming in ragged rasps. His grip around you was so tight that if you had been awake, you would have told him to ease up, that you weren’t going anywhere with that soft and gentle voice of yours. But you weren’t awake. It was only him.

He doesn’t remember how many doors he crashed through, doesn’t recall how many people shouted his name as he stormed through the compound like a man possessed.

All he could focus on was you, your weight in his arms, the unmanageable silence coming from you. It was too quiet. Too still.

You were and still are the only thing in his focus. The only thing in his mind.

The moment he bursts into the med bay, Bruce is already moving, eyes wide behind his glasses as he takes one look at Bucky’s desperate face - at you - and points to the nearest examination table.

“Put her down. Now.”

Bucky hesitates for only a second.

“Barnes!” Bruce snaps, voice sharp.

And Bucky moves, his hands trembling as he lowers you onto the cold metal table, his touch lingering longer than it should have, afraid you will leave him the moment he lets go.

Then Bruce is there, hands on you, tilting your head, checking your pulse. Bucky feels something inside him snap.

Bile surges up his throat, hot and acidic, and before he can stop himself, he staggers backward, barely making it to a medical waste bin before his stomach heaves violently. His whole body shakes with the force of it, his metal hand clutching the edge of the table so hard it groans under the pressure.

He only hears someone - Tony - mutter behind him. “Jesus. Alright, Barnes, maybe you should-”

“No.” His voice is hoarse, sore. He doesn’t even look up, just wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his entire body coiled so tightly he feels like he might snap in half.

He is not leaving.

He doesn’t hear whatever else is said because Bruce is calling for Dr. Cho, his voice tight, controlled but urgent. She appears within moments, already shrugging into her white coat as she assesses the situation with a practiced eye.

“Tell me everything,” she demands, moving beside Bruce as they work over you.

“She was exposed to something - some kind of airborne agent.” Bruce says quickly, Bucky not able to get a word out. “Came back from the mission fine, but then-”

“Then she wouldn’t wake up,” Bucky rasps, his voice barely above a scratchy whisper. He forces himself to step closer again, his fingers jerking at his sides. He wants to touch you, needs to touch you, but Bruce has already started attaching monitors to your chest, your temples, your wrist.

So Bucky can only stare at your unmoving face, and his gut contracts dreadfully, twisting like a wrung-out rag. A breath flees his mouth in a rough gust.

Because you are lying here, looking as if you are fading further away by the second.

Bucky is grateful that no one is paying him any mind.

Every ounce of attention in the room is on you, and that’s exactly where it needs to be. No one spares him so much as a glance, and hell, he is thankful to be ignored.

Because if they looked at him, they would see the way his hand wouldn’t stop shaking. Even the metal seems to be quivering, the nerve endings in his shoulder acting up. They would see his chest rising and falling too fast, his breaths sharp and strained like he is moments from shattering into something unrecognizable.

But none of it matters. Because you are still lying there, too still, too limp, too silent, too pale against the stark white of the medical bay’s harsh lights.

The color has drained from your face, your lips slightly parted, your breathing faint but regular. It’s the only sign of life you give.

Your head remains tilted unnaturally to the side, strands of hair sticking to your cheek from the moisture of Bruce’s sensors as they gather data, searching for something that might explain what the hell is happening to you.

Tony is somewhere behind him, speaking hurriedly into his earpiece. “Yeah, well, tell me something useful, here, Fitz!” His voice is sharp, frustration a part of it, but there is something else there, too - something too close to fear. Bucky doesn’t hear that in Tony often. “I don’t care what Fury’s saying - no, I don’t care - just get me those samples analyzed faster.”

There are agitated voices somewhere to his left. Steve and Natasha. Steve is trying to get to him. Bucky knows it without turning around. He can feel his best friend's presence, hear the urgency in the way his boots scruff against the floor, the way his voice lowers as he mutters something to Natasha, arguing. But the redhead doesn’t budge, Steve doesn’t reach him, and Bucky is left standing in place, barely keeping himself upright.

Bruce and Dr. Cho are working in tandem over your body. Bruce adjusts the monitors, his fingers hovering over your wrist for a moment, measuring something by touch alone. His jaw is tight, his usual steady hands moving just a fraction quicker, his eyes switching between the data on the screen and your unmoving form.

Dr. Cho is settling up and IV, her hands deft as she inserts the needle into the delicate skin of your forearm. The bag above you fills with something clear, something Bucky doesn’t recognize, but he trusts her. He has to. She murmurs something to Bruce, and he nods, glancing at one of the monitors before adjusting the oxygen mask now resting over your face.

“We need a full toxicology scan,” Dr. Cho says, voice firm but calm. Something Bucky can’t manage right now. “Start running a metabolic panel and check for neurotoxins. If this was airborne, we need to know if it’s still in her system.”

Bruce is already moving, tapping rapidly at a tablet screen. “Her vitals are stable, but they’re low - lower than they should be. She’s there, but barely.”

Bucky’s hands clench into fists, his nails digging into his palms, he is sure even the metal will have marks. His head is spinning, everything outside of you irrelevant to him. There is too much movement, too many sounds, too many people talking, but none of it matters because you still haven’t moved. You still haven’t opened your eyes.

His bones feel like they are collapsing. Like a house of cards caught in a slow fall.

And Bucky swears that if you don’t wake up soon, he won’t be able to breathe at all.

The waiting for results is maddening. He is hardly moving, hardly breathing, only able to wait for someone to say something that will make sense of this.

Bruce is the first to speak. He pushes his glasses up to the bridge of his nose, squinting at the tablet in his hands like maybe if he looks at it long enough, the numbers will rearrange themselves into something different. Something fixable.

“There’s nothing,” he says, voice quieter than before. Stunned.

Bucky blinks, his body stiffening. “What?”

Bruce glances at Dr. Cho, but she is already busy studying the results on a separate screen, her lips pressed tightly together.

“Nothing toxic in her blood,” Bruce continues, carefully neutral. “No neurotoxins, no foreign substances - nothing that should be causing this.”

Bucky’s insides lurch, churning like a sea under a violent storm. He tilts his head forward as if he misheard, his mind running. “No. No, that’s not-” He gestures uncoordinatedly to where you still lay, unmoving, breath slow but there. “Look at her! There’s gotta be something.”

Dr. Cho finally speaks, measured but voice set. “Medically speaking, she should be awake.”

Bucky got shot in the chest once.

He still doesn’t know how he survived. It hurt like hell.

But those words are the bullet that will tear through his heart, make him crumble, kill him.

Should be awake.

But you fucking aren’t.

“You’re saying she’s fine,” he grits out, his tone steely, voiced with something dark. The same darkness that knots deep in his belly. “But she’s not moving, not waking up, not-” His voice breaks, and he presses his mouth closed so tightly to make a sound stop from boiling up. His head shakes vehemently. “There has to be something.”

“Bucky-” Bruce tries, but Bucky doesn’t let him finish.

“Check again.” His voice is lower now, dangerous, but everybody surely hears the desperation in his tone. “Check again, check everything - you must’ve missed something.”

Bruce exhales, rubbing his temples. “I’ve run the tests twice-”

“Damnit, then run it a fucking third time.” Bucky’s voice rises.

“We’ve checked everything. There is nothing wrong-”

“Then why isn’t she waking up?” Bucky roars, and suddenly, everyone in the room is dead silent.

Tony looks between Bucky and the doctors, his expression grim. Steve, who had edged closer, takes a careful step back, but looks at Bucky warningly, yet still utterly sympathetic. Natasha has just the slightest sheen over her eyes herself, but tries to keep her composure. Sam is standing in a corner, watching without a single remark. That’s new for him.

Even Bruce and Dr. Cho pause for just a second, eyes falling to him.

Then Dr. Cho exhales sharply, snapping her gloves off with quick, almost harsh movements. “Everyone out. Now.”

Tony raises a brow. “You kicking us out, doc?”

“Yes,” she replies curtly. “You’re all in the way. We need to focus. Here are too many people. This won’t help us and it won’t help her.”

Steve hesitates but eventually nods, throwing one last glance at Bucky and at you before stepping out, Tony following behind. Natasha slips out almost quickly, searching for a place to be alone. Sam leaves without a word, expression stony. The room empties.

But Bucky doesn’t move.

“Bucky,” Bruce says, softer now, as if he is speaking to a wild animal, careful not to startle it. “You should go too.”

Bucky doesn’t even blink. “No.”

Dr. Cho frowns unpleased, crossing her arms. “You’re not helping her by being here. You’re just getting in the way.”

“I’m not leaving,” Bucky grinds out, planting his feet like a goddamn mountain. His breathing is too rough, his pulse too high, but he doesn’t have time to care. The only thing he cares about is not to leave you.

Dr. Cho lets out a breath through her nose, but she doesn’t argue further. There is no time to fight with a stubborn ex-assassin who looks like he’s one wrong word away from losing his mind.

“Fine,” she relents, turning back to Bruce. “Then stay out of the way. We have work to do.”

Bucky doesn’t even acknowledge her.

Guilt sits in his chest like something rotten. It is an anxious tangle of nerves and dread and agony that curl in his stomach, inescapable. It’s as if his body is rejecting him all over again.

It feasts on every nerve and every cell and gnaws and gnaws and gnaws, hollowing him out from the inside.

He let himself believe that you were fine. That this is just his paranoia, just his need to keep you wrapped up, shielded from every possible danger - the worry he always feels for you, the way he clings so much.

But your chest rises and falls so slow and mechanical, and it’s not right. Your color is drained to the point that you look ghost-like. It’s as if your body is just pretending to be alive. As if it’s just waiting for something, stalling.

You look like you are already knocking on death’s door.

And they try to tell him there is nothing wrong.

The words make his scull vibrate with rage, but even more so with fear. Such a gripping and burning fear. His pulse is a single beat he can feel all along his skin.

Because what if there really is nothing? What if there is nothing to fix and you are already half gone?

His hands are trembling so hard, not even forming a fist can stop it.

He should have brought you here sooner. Should have forced you here the second you got back, should have ignored your reassurances, your sugary and alluring voice telling him that you feel fine and that you love him and there is nothing to worry about.

But he did worry.

He did have that awful, gut-deep feeling, a whisper in the back of his mind, telling him that something was wrong. But he convinced himself that it was just him. That you are fine. And you would be fine. And this was nothing. And there was nothing to worry about. That you would wake up and smile that soft smile at him and wish him a good morning, honey. You sleep well? with your endearing morning voice and all would be fine because you would be there and awake and with him and in his arms and the sun filtering in would illuminate your body and make you gleam in your ethereal glow and he would tell you you look beautiful and you would giggle and you would kiss him and you would tell him you love him and he would repeat it a thousand times over and-

He wants to throw up again, feeling the nausea rise. He wants to undo whatever led you here, wants to rip apart the universe until he finds the moment where he should have acted, should have saved you, should have known better.

Because things like that happen to Bucky Barnes.

The voices are there. Bruce and Cho speaking in hushed and clinical tones, words slipping past his ears. He hears them. Knows they are saying things that should matter. Should mean something.

But he can’t focus.

Because the only thing his brain registers, the only thing anchoring him to anything right now, is the slow and rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor.

It pounds in his eardrums, in the space behind his eyes, sinks beneath his skin. Unchanging. It should be a comfort. A reassurance. But it’s not.

It sounds too artificial - as if it’s the machine keeping you here instead of your own will. Instead of you.

His heart seems to try and outrun a fate that has not been decided yet. His hands flex and curl, doing nothing else. He is so helpless. Drowning in the air, like a scream caged behind his ribs with no way to escape.

Bucky is not a man who would ever think about praying.

But for you, he would sink down onto his knees and beg, beg until his lungs give out, plead until his voice dies, and him with it.

He wants to move. Wants to do something. But all he is forced to do is watch. Watch the way your body doesn’t stir, the way your lips remain slightly parted, breath scarcely there. You seem asleep in a way that isn’t right.

Bruce says something. He doesn’t catch it.

Dr. Cho responds, sharper this time, with a note of urgency in her tone. But Bucky still can’t process the words.

Because the beeping is the only thing.

The only proof that you are still here.

The sole factor preventing his thoughts from plunging into a darkness he can't drag his way out of.

The sound of your heartbeat, manufactured and distant, is the only thing between him and utter ruin.

And then it stutters.

Just for a second. A fracture of a hesitation, a hiccup in the mechanical pattern.

But it is clear.

And Bucky’s breath seizes, every nerve ending in his body lighting up under a fire that might just burn him to the ground.

Another stutter.

He lunges forward without thinking, knocking something over in the process, metal clattering against tile. Bruce shouts his name, Cho curses, but Bucky doesn’t hear anything.

Because something is happening.

The beeping stutters again. Then again.

Then your body jerks. A sudden, unnatural motion, like a puppet with its strings, yanked too hard. Your chest arches up, limbs jolting, fingers curling in on themselves like they don’t belong to you anymore.

The heart monitor lets out a rapid sequence of beeps, the steady pattern broken, discordant - like a song ripped apart note by note.

A seizure.

Bucky doesn’t even have time to feel the utter terror pumping up his belly and rushing up to his face in less than half a second, only that it is propelling him forward. He doesn’t care that Bruce and Cho are already moving, doesn’t care that there are hands trying to hold you down, voices shouting instructions.

He drops to his knees by your head because his legs won’t hold him up anymore. His hands reach instinctively - one cradling the back of your head, the other threading into your hair, gripping almost too tight, as if he can keep you here just by holding on. He never should have let go in the first place. Another thing to hate himself for.

“No, no, no, baby, baby, please-” His voice is wrecked. Shattered and gravelly, rasping against his throat like it’s tearing him apart from the inside out. The words barely make it past his lips, broken things gasped between strangled sobs.

“Stay with me, doll. Please. Please, don’t- don’t do this, you don’t get to do this, not to me, not to me-”

His breath is failing him, catching on every desperate syllable, every plea. His chest aches and caves under the panic and horror, he can’t hold himself up properly anymore. His forehead presses against yours, his tears hot where they land on your skin, his entire body shaking against you.

He is crying, saying things not even he understands. His voice is a single crack, a sound so undone it doesn’t sound human. He begs and begs and begs, but you continue to cramp.

A sob rips through him, brutal and loud, and he sucks in a desolate breath between the wreckage of his words.

He doesn’t know the way Cho and Bruce are working frantically, doesn’t hear the sounds of other people in white coats hectically running around.

All he knows is you.

And the way your body seizes beneath his hands, the way your face remains slack, the way your breath catches as if your body itself is deciding whether to keep you here or let you go.

Bucky grips you harder and presses his lips to your temple in a way that is almost rough.

“Stay with me,” he whimpers against your skin, voice not even a real whisper, hoarse and thick with cries. “I can’t lose you. Won’t survive. I won’t survive.”

You gasp.

Your body stills. Limbs falling back onto the hard table with a sharp clang.

And his world is falling apart, into itself, collapsing, crumbling. His eyes fail, not showing him the whole picture anymore, burning his vision away and replacing it with cruel pictures. He falls into an abyss so deep he won’t ever meet the ground and the reprieve of shattering into the floor-

Beep.

A single note.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

It’s rhythmic. It’s there.

Your heart is still beating.

The sound sends a shockwave through his chest, his heart, his core, him. It rattles his ribs.

Bucky shudders. A deep, guttural sob rips through him and he buries his face against your hair, his arms wrapped so tightly around you it’s as if he’s trying to fuse you to him, trying to force the universe to let him keep you.

He chokes on a sound, nothing more than a shattered breath. His body sags, overwhelmed, drained, but his hands refuse to loosen their hold on you, careful of the cables attached to your body.

The chaos of the room dims just slightly, shifting to more focus.

“That-” Bruce analyses in a clipped tone. “That wasn’t just a seizure. That was an autonomic collapse. Her body just shut down.”

Bucky is still swimming in the aftershock of nearly losing you, he can’t comprehend anything other than the smell of your hair and skin.

“That’s not possible,” Cho considers, voice low, but there is just the tiniest hint of concern in her voice now. “Not without something triggering it.”

There is shuffling around him - machines being adjusted, readings being analyzed. But Bucky stays right there, forehead pressed to yours, his thumbs smoothing over your cheekbones as if you were made of glass. “Come back to me,” he breathes, pleading. “Please come back, please. I can’t- I can’t do this without you. Can’t do anything without you. Y/n, please!”

Bruce releases a breath somewhere nearby. Bucky lost all his senses.

“I need to see the chemical breakdown of that gas - now,” he instructs.

“Come back. Come back to me, baby, come back,” Bucky croaks out, still not addressing the two discussing your situation, his voice rough and barely working. His lips don’t move from your temple.

Cho’s hands move over the tablet, scanning your vitals. “Her body didn’t just react to it. It adapted to it. And now-” She pauses, face tightening as she processes the data. “It’s waiting for something.”

Bucky heaves up a breath, a sick and swirling tension writhing in his stomach like a nest of snakes. “Waiting for what?” he finally acknowledges.

Bruce’s gaze flicks up, something apologetic and utterly pained behind his eyes. His voice is careful. “A command.”

Silence slams into the room like a sudden, vicious drop in pressure.

Bucky grows cold. The sickening sensation in him spreads. His hands tighten around you in instinctual protection.

Fucking Hydra.

“This wasn’t just some toxin or experiment,” Cho continues, flipping through the data, her expression darkening. “This was programmed. Her nervous system - her brain - it’s been put in a dormant state. Not a coma, not unconsciousness. Something else.”

Bucky is shaking his head before she even finishes speaking. “No. No, she - she’s right here, she’s breathing, she-”

But he can’t deny it. Can’t ignore the chilling, creeping terror worming around his spine, despair festering it. Because he knows this. Knows the way Hydra takes people and twists them, programs them like machines, like weapons, like him.

His stomach sinks, drops, falls - down, down, down. Falling into the abyss. Never to land. Never to return.

Nausea rolls over him in sick ways. But he can’t let him heave it up again. Because therefore, he would have to let go of you. And he will not do that.

“It’s got to be some kind of activation sequence,” Bruce says grimly. “A failsafe. Whatever was in that gas, it did something to her. Put her into a kind of-” he pauses, carefully glancing at Bucky, “-standby mode.”

Bucky’s jaw is hard, it would hurt if he could feel it. “Then wake her the fuck up.”

“We’re trying,” Cho snaps back, stress sharpening her usual calm tone. “But this isn’t just a medical problem, Barnes. It’s neurological. It’s programming.”

Bucky flinches. His fingers tangle in your hair and he tucks you impossibly closer. “She’s not a machine,”he spits out, voice shaking, harsher than he means it to be but not able to change it. “She’s not like-”

He stops himself. The words She’s not like me nearly escape, but he forces them back down his throat, though it burns.

Bruce and Cho exchange a look.

And that’s when Tony speaks up from the corner of the room - seemingly having allowed himself to come back inside - voice resolved, hard. “Then we need to figure out what the hell they were trying to turn her into.”

No. Please, god, no. Not her. Not you.

Bucky is unaware of his movements, of the way he is clutching you tighter, the way his body trembles, the sting in his throat from how ragged his breathing has been for the last couple of however long he’s been here already.

He can’t keep you from this. Can’t protect you from something that has already taken root inside you.

Just like it did in him.

His vision is a hot fog. The room nothing but a smear of sterile white light and moving shadows, the voices of Banner and Cho turning into indecipherable noise as they scramble for answers.

Tony is heading to his lap to probably run every scan known to a man on that goddamn gas. Steve is speaking too. Where did he come from? Since when is he here again? But Bucky doesn’t care. He doesn’t listen.

Because you are still motionless in his arms.

They are talking about activation sequences. Standby modes. Neurological programming. They’re using all these terms, these medical, scientific explanations - but none of them are saying what it really means.

Hydra did something to you.

Hydra put something in you.

And if there’s one thing Bucky knows, one thing that has been burned into his very being, it’s that Hydra does not give. It does not take halfway. It does not leave things unfinished.

They only ever take everything.

And only with a little bit of smoke in the air, you have been exposed to for mere minutes.

A rough, strangled sound makes its way up his throat, and it takes him a second to realize it’s even coming from him. A horrible, cracking noise of grief and rage and devastation. His fingers dig into the warmth of you, your neck, your back, your thigh, needing to feel you, needing to have you here with him even though his mind is screaming at him that all the parts of you he had are gone already.

But he won’t accept that.

Shaking fingers card through your hair, pushing damp strands away from your face, his metal hand cradling your cheek.

His voice is an aching whisper. “You’re stronger than me, you know that?” His breath shudders over the words, his quivering lips brushing against your forehead, lingering there. “You always have been.”

His thumb gently strokes over the hollow beneath your closed eye, his jaw clenching hard as he takes in the deep stillness of your body. His chest tries to draw in air but is constricted.

He can’t see you like this. You are never this still. Never motionless. You live in the moment - in bright, uncontainable energy.

“You’ll get through this.” Each word drags thickly from his throat. It hurts so much. Everything hurts so much. “I know you will. You always do. You always pull me with you, too.” His laugh is soft and hollow, broken like the man he is in process of becoming again. “Even when I didn’t want saving, you just-”

He swallows hard, squeezes his eyes together, and takes a deep breath filled with your scents. But it mingles with the sterile smell of that moisture and clinic. A tear slips past his lashes. Another follows.

“You never let go.”

His head bows, his forehead against your temple, a shallow gasp slips from his lips.

“And I won’t either.”

His flesh thumb presses lightly to your neck, enough to feel your pulse. He hears the beep of the monitor but he needs to feel it.

“I’m right here, baby,” he breathes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He presses his lips to your temple, to your cheekbones, to your forehead, your nose, everywhere he likes. Everywhere he has to. He lets himself feel the warmth of you, the thumps of your heartbeat against his fingers.

Another tear slips past when he presses another strained whisper to your skin.

“I’d go anywhere with you. I’d follow you to the end of the world. But you gotta wake up, baby.”

“Bucky,” Steve’s voice finally meets his ears, but it sounds too damn soft. As if he is talking to a wounded and aching creature.

As if he expects Bucky to break. He might. He will.

Bucky snaps his head up, and the look on his face must be something terrible because Steve actually takes a step back.

“You think I don’t know what this means?” Bucky growls, his voice a debris of sound. His hands shake so hard against you, he can’t even hold you as tight as he wants to anymore. And for the first time in his life, he hates the warmth of his flesh. Hates that the metal doesn’t run through both arms, because maybe then he wouldn’t have to feel this overpowering helplessness.

Maybe then he wouldn’t feel human enough to understand what it means to lose.

Maybe then he could just return to be the machine he was supposed to be all along.

He already feels himself going back to him.

“She’s not like me,” he snarls, voice catching on the words, breaking them apart. “She’s not going to be like me.”

No one answers him.

No one says no, of course not, she’s going to be fine, we’ll fix this, we’ll wake her up and this will just be another nightmare we all wake up from.

Because no one knows if that’s true.

Bruce’s fingers move over his tablet. “Whatever Hydra did… it’s not finished yet. We need to be prepared.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bucky’s voice is lethal, pure steel dipping into panic.

“It means,” Bruce hesitates, glancing at Steve for help but the blonde doesn’t seem to know better, so he continues. “We don’t know in what state she is in. This could have done anything to her-”

A low, animalistic sound rumbles from Bucky’s chest. “Then we stop it.”

Bruce looks at him, eyes trying to soften, but he seems too remorseful. “We don’t even know what it is yet.”

“We stop it,” Bucky repeats, harsher this time. Because the alternative is something he can’t think of.

He sways, a choking sense of deja vu inching up his spine. He knows this feeling. He’s lived this feeling. That moment, the harsh, dizzying drop into nothingness, when you realize you don’t know yourself anymore. That you never really did.

And now, Hydra is doing that to you.

Cho stiffens suddenly, eyes rapidly moving across the screen in front of her. “Wait - something’s changing-”

Every muscle in Bucky’s body locks as his gaze snaps to you, his breath stalling.

Your fingers. The barest twitch. A tiny, nearly imperceptible movement against his chest.

But it’s there.

Bucky sucks in a breath so sharp it burns. “She’s-”

Before he can finish, your entire body spasms intensely.

Alarms shriek. Machines stutter to life. A sharp, erratic beeping floods the room.

Your scream tears through the space. Guttural and fervent and wrong.

Bucky’s blood freezes mid-flow, turning to shards of ice beneath his skin.

Because you are screaming like you are dying.

And suddenly, everyone is rushing around. Bruce and Cho are lunging forward, Steve is cursing under his breath.

Bucky can’t move.

Frost crackles through his veins, leaving only numbness behind.

You continue screaming. It sounds like it’s affecting your vocal cords.

There is winter inside of Bucky.

His arms tighten around you, his body moving on pure instinct, pressing you to him.

“It’s okay, baby,” he gasps out, not even sure if you can hear him, but he can’t help it. He cups your face between his hands, hoping to still the way you thrash around and bump your head against the metal beneath you. “I’m here. It’s me, baby. It’s Bucky. I’m here. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

But your screams don’t stop.

Your hands claw weakly at your own chest, at your throat, as if trying to get something out, as if your own skin is suffocating you. Your nails leave scratch marks on your collarbone.

And Bucky loses it.

“Do something!” he yells, his head whipping around to Bruce and Cho, his voice shredded with desperation. “Help her!”

Bruce quickly injects something into your IV, Cho adjusts the monitors as they beep wildly.

But Bucky doesn’t see any of it.

He only sees you.

His world narrows down to your face, to the way your lips part on a strained gasp, the way your body shakes in his grip, the way your screams turn to whimpers and then stop altogether.

Then, your eyes snap open.

Bucky stops breathing. Stops moving. Only stares agape.

Your gaze is on him, wide and glassy and soaked in terror.

But you look at him in a way you never looked at him ever before.

You look at him like you are not yourself anymore.

You look at him like you don’t know him.

You look at him like you don’t recognize him at all.

“Without you, the world means nothing to me.”

- Emily Brontë

Part three

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unconventional-lawnchair · 7 months ago

Text

Fix it yourself

James Potter x Bsf!Slytherin!Reader - Sirius Black x BrothersBsf!Slytherin!Reader (endgame)

Best Friend by Rex Orange County

Masterlist

Wc- 12011

Summary: Falling in love with James Potter was a whirlwind affair full of lies and heartbreak. Everything comes to a head when he asks you to fake date someone so Lily will give him a chance.

Cw; Cussing, Manipulation, James is such an arse (I love him don't come for me), self indulgent, themes of abuse and abandonment, sexual content and scenes, Jealous James being rude, Protective Sirius, Substance use, Reader had her things destroyed, dad gets sick, nudity, {let me know if I forgot anything!}

Taglist- @otterlockholmes

A/N: Shout out to @our-sweet-t-universe, this would not of been a smidge of happy in this fic if it wasn't for you. Next post will be part two to zombies and then two requests!

An endless cycle of churning.

That was what your dad called it. You and James’s push and pull of affections to hatred.

When you were younger, you could never imagine a life without James Fleamont Potter. He was your favorite person since you could remember names. Your father was an apothecary, business partners turned close friends with Fleamont Potter, or as you called him since you could speak, “Uncle Flea.”

Your father traveled for his work, always researching better ingredients and replacements, selling his remade patents of popular potions back to the creators in exchange to sell their potions and the ingredients. Your father was a clever businessman, a proud Slytherin in his school years. Fleamont would joke, every Potter had their Slytherin. Let that be romantic, as his mother and father, or platonic like him and your father.

James was still ever the dramatic, determined to believe he would never need his Slytherin, he didn't want a Slytherin. He had you, that was all he needed.

Oblivious and fiesty you would agree with anything he said to keep the ever confident boy talking. His voice was your favorite part of James Potter, which worked wonders with your ever quiet disposition.

“I don't need a Slytherin! I have {Y/n}!” James would fuss when the teasing began. “She's cooler then any green robe!”

“Yeah! I'm cooler than any green robe!” You would snap out of whatever day dream you were having as you played with your fathers miniature carvings he would make you in his travels. He always brought you one back, with a moving photo of him in some fantastical place posing with them.

Your father would smile knowingly at Fleamont, as Euphemia called you into the kitchen to help set the table, as was a part of your nightly routine. James pouted after you as he was left alone with the dads.

While your father traveled more, you spent more time with the Potters. Back then, you were always so sad about it, watching the window and waiting longingly for your father to return.

Around your older years, seven to eight, you finally learned to appreciate what they did for you. It's not that you ever showed you were ungrateful, your father had just always been your favorite person. Being away from him felt so much longer than it was.

You spent most of your time running around the large property and making it your own with James. You would carve path marks into trees and divide your territory. You would wage war and swim in the creek.

One summer, Fleamont even helped you build a treehouse. A treehouse you guys never used after that after that, outside of a hiding place for things you most certainly shouldn't have. That, and the ever growing collection of your father’s wood carvings, all on top of a silver padlock box with your father’s photos.

“These are for you and James to play with.”

He always made sure you knew that. Even if James was never particularly fond of them, he loved the stories your father returned with about them. So fond, in fact, that he kept a particular carving of a dragon when your dad told you both about the time he was attacked by one. Painted it and all, the only figurine not in the treehouse, Grandos.

The first time James exited your life was your ninth birthday. You were at the Potters again over the summer, when your aunt suddenly came to pick you up in the middle of a cold rainy night. Suddenly you were awoken from your fort on the couch with James, both of you snuggled under a mountain of blankets. Euphemia continued to come back and tuck you in.

It was quick and the adults seemed panicked. When you made it home you found your father bedridden, with dragonpox.

You spent that entire summer into the fall spending time with him. Your auntie gifted you a muggle toy, a two way radio. She set one up to always be on for your father. You would walk around the house with yours, turning it on to say something to your father just to listen to him cough and wheeze, the only sign he was still breathing.

James would send you letters but you never got to reading them. Just staying home and wandering the house. Your young mind finding paintings your father had hung himself to tell him about, reminding him what it was like in the kitchen, the silliest things to remind your father you were still there.

Everyday. Everynight.

Eventually, your father got better, and he summoned the Potters to Diagon Alley for a bite to eat. It was the first time you had seen James in three months. For two eight year olds, that seemed like forever ago.

James pouted through dinner, then the walk around the park. Every attempt to talk to him was met with loud sniffling and sobs for you to leave him alone. The Potter parents would wince at the interactions, eventually ending up with two blubbering children, both crying because they wanted to be friends again.

“You ignored me!” James shouted, making a scene.

“I was spending time with my da!” You would fuss back, fists clenched and your foot stamping.

“I thought you hated me!” He blubbered back and you began to sob louder. “I-I woke up and you were gone!”

“Why are you crying so hard, Niffler?” Your father would coo, not the least bit bothered by the prying eyes around the public place.

“Because Jamie thinks I hate him!” You shouted out, turning to your father and dragging your fists over your swollen eyes.

“Do you hate little Jamie?” He pushed and James sobbed louder at the question.

“No! I love Jamie!” You sobbed out and James gave a louder wail.

“I love you too!”

“Then forgive me!”

“Okay!”

Like that, you were once again spending every waking moment with the chocolate haired boy. That summer your father was cleared to work, and he never turned down the chance.

You went back to the Potters and spent the time you had with James like you never stopped being friends. Running through the forest, jumping in the creek, and now, James found a passion for listening to you read before bed.

When you both got your Hogwarts letters, you both demanded to be the first to get your wands. So, before August even came, you and James shared the most special moments of your childhood. Getting your wand from Olivander and getting your very own owl from Eeylops.

James ended up with a snowy owl he named Snow. You thought it was the most clever thing in the world, his parents just smiled knowingly at each other. You got a barn owl you named an equally clever name. Barn.

Thinking back on it, they should have never let you leave that store with that poor owl.

You gave James a lot of your favorite memories to cherish. He kept them the second time you stopped talking.

That was, when you both made it to Hogwarts. You walked into the grand hall holding hands, laughing about some stupid joke he made that was certainly not worth a laugh. You loved to feed his ego, his mother would say. You would just agree.

“His ego is never starved.” She would smirk and you would simply shrug with a cheeky grin.

“But it could always eat.”

You left the grand hall in tears and a green robe. He was already far ahead of you, in his own red robes, acting as if those eleven years of friendship were nothing to him. Much to your dismay, you didn't have your father to come save you this time, tell you his wise words and share his bit of wisdom for you to find your way through the pain.

There was no comfort found in the snakes den. Your dorm was shared with girls who seemed to have no other concerns then your blood status. You were a pureblood, of course, but their questions only caused you further distress. That night you cried silently into your pillow.

That night, and the next, and the next.

Eventually, you learned to cope to the cold dungeons. You became calm and emotionless, like the others. Learning to adapt to your surroundings.

James’s mutters of who you really were hurt more then you could ever imagine. You loved James Potter before you knew what love was. You were sure whatever yearning was in your chest went both ways. You guess you were wrong.

He made new friends, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew. He wanted nothing to do with you.

So, you made friends as well. Cruel ones but ones who would protect you. Avery, Mulciber. Severus Snape was the only one you stayed consistently close to. You disliked Lily Evans, for no reason other than the fact she was everything you wanted to be. Gryffindor, smart, pretty, and had James’s attention. You hated watching him outgrow you, and Severus didn't particularly like that you didn't like Lily, but he hated James Potter so you both remained in an isolated boat of similarity.

As the year went on you grew to hate your colors more then anything. You learned that no matter what had happened, Slytherin was at fault. No matter your justification, you were wrong. Keeping your head down and remaining quiet was the safest you'd have it.

When the year came to an end, you went home. You told your father of the more recent events and he was mortified. You found solas in his arms as you always did. Being home was like a time out, protection from everything else around you. You were alone and happy. Safe and as far away from James Potter as possible.

But that made the yearning worse.

Your father tried to convince you to write him a letter for closure, but you could never pick up a quill. You don't want to know the vile things he thought of you.

Much to your surprise, however, your father called you down a week into your summer break. At the door, none other then James Potter. He was sniffling, clenching the dragon statue in his hands and rubbing his eyes. Your father left you two be, and you welcomed him in.

Of course you did.

It was your Jamie.

The second he entered he told you about how woes, how his concerns for Sirius, his dear friend, his best friend, made him appreciate what he had a bit more. It also forced him to realize, he was doing the same to you. The isolation over a house was never fair. He felt like a right arse.

“So you don't hate me?” You sniffled.

James shook his head vigorously. “No, no, I'm sorry, {Y/N}.” He sobbed and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

He held you back tight, and nuzzled his nose into your cheek. “Forgive me?”

“Okay.” Your voice cracked.

You shouldn't have forgiven him, because it became a pattern. The summer you were back to as thick as thieves, you had never seen Mrs. Potter more relived then when you returned to their home.

But when school started again, he went back to practically no contact. It was your James, though. You needed him.

Over the years you went from best friends over the summer to semi strangers in the halls. Everytime he'd come to your door with a bright smile and take you to his house. Even your fathers relationship with Fleamont began to grew strained because of the behavior. You were so hurt, all the time, but James would fix it.

James would know what to say and when to say it. James, never having a malicious bone in his body, didn't seem to understand what he was doing to you. You didn't know either.

By the time year three rolled around, the four of them seemed to tamper down their hatred for Slytherins, focusing purely on the ones they deemed evil. Even letting you into their groups on occasion. You clung to what little James would give you everytime. You ignored your jealousy of Sirius and James' closeness. You ignored Remus’s pitiful looks and Peter's tactless comments.

However, you had began to grow into yourself a bit more over the school year. You had more time to yourself, more time away from James. You met a few new people, one being a girl named Pandora.

She observed you every time you were with James, would utter small comments here and there about what she found in the blandest monotone. It was tough love she didn't even intend. You quickly realized that the friendship you shared with James went from two friends who would rather die then be apart, to two people.

You were just people.

~~~~

That summer, when James came over to retrieve you, you made that clear.

“Well, it was nice seeing you, Potter.” You started with a soft smile in your doorway. He flinched at the formal name.

“What? You're not coming home?” He asked in a low heartbroken whisper. “My mum wants to see you.”

“I am home. I'll ask da if he plans to have you over for dinner.” You placate and look back to the proud but sympathetic look on your dads face from where he hid behind the door. As always, right there. “I'll see you later?”

“But- I- we don't get to hang out over the school year, I just figured-”

“Thank you again for the invite. Maybe some other time.”

When fourth year comes around you and James remain friendly in the halls. It was like the entire lives you had led before Hogwarts and over the summers were just secrets between the two of you now.

You spent more time with Severus, Dorcas, Pandora, Barty, and Regulus. That made Sirius oddly formal and kind to you as well, you expected the opposite.

It led to a small bit of bonding between the two of you, he would ask you about updates on Regulus and thank you like mad for you looking after the younger boy.

James didn't like how close you two were becoming outside of him. Everyday, you would meet Sirius outside of the library and he would walk you to the dungeons while you talked about his brother and the state of his mind, how he viewed what was happening in the household.

Your conversations would slowly trickle into your day to day life and Sirius would tell you of his. James noticed when Sirius began to get to the dorms later and later.

James would find it in himself to pester, if he wasn't so wrapped around Lily Evans’ finger. You knew it was unfair. You knew from the stories from Pandora, that if you just got to know her, you'd adore her. She was funny, brilliant, brave, kind, and she was enough woman to have James Potter, Severus Snape, and after a small listless confession, Pandora of all people in love.

You hated her, however. You couldn't bring yourself to like someone you wanted to be in the shoes of so badly.

~~~~

Over the summer, you learned Sirius Black had gone to live with the Potters after a particularly rough patch with his parents. With a quick letter to Regulus to gauge his view on the situation, you decided to check on eldest Black. You weren't insanely close with James anymore, but you still invited yourself over.

When the door opened after your knock you were yanked into a bone crushing hug by Fleamont, followed by Euphemia. They welcomed you in with open arms, like they always did. You greeted James with nothing more than a kind smile and walked right past him to go check on Sirius.

James stood in the middle of the hall, confused by your lack of enthusiasm to see him. Knowing the second you made it to the stairs, you were not here for him. A bitter feeling filled his chest.

You didn't know you were breaking the dumb boy's heart. He didn't know it either, but the look his mother gave him when you hurried up the steps said it all.

James had missed you. He had missed you more than life itself. He spent his summers moping in the treehouse you both never went in, fiddling with the things you never should have had. He felt like he was missing a part of himself every time you learned to put your self preservation above his desperate need for you.

But things don't work out perfectly, something the ever spoiled James Potter didn't understand.

He snapped out of his little daze and ran upstairs after you.

You were sitting on the bed in the spare room, hip to hip with the pouty and tired Sirius. He seemed to be rambling on some flirty nonsense that had James growing a bit red.

“You know bird,” Sirius started and you scoffed.

“Don't call me bird.” You reprimanded and he gave you a cheeky smile, his swollen eye just adding to his sloppy charm.

“Birdette?” He offered.

“I'm going home. May your tea be too hot to drink and too cold when you return to it.” You mused and moved to stand before Black grabbed your wrist and nudged you down.

“Cruel witch!” He shouted and you put your hand on his chest, both laughing like fools. James' expression turned tart. You used to laugh with him like that. When you both settled you brush some hair from his face to behind his ear. His lochs clung to his face through the sweat.

“Are you sure you're alright?” You hummed and he nodded, pressing his burning and trembling temple to your cold hand and you thinned your lips.

“Fever has gone down. Mum will be pleased.” You hummed and Sirius gave you a confused look before it clicked to him who you were talking about. You knew her since before you could walk, of course you would consider her your mother. He spotted James in the doorway and noticed the small smile on the teens face when you spoke familiar of his mother.

Sirius knew, how couldn't he? Since year one the only person James seemed to talk about was you. Even when he was pretending to hate you, it was always about you. He could see the way you looked at James too, it was so painfully obvious. Even after all the years of borderline manipulation, something Sirius would grow bitter of if he thought too long about it.

“I should head home.” You hummed and grabbed the discarded rag on the nightstand to clean off some sweat around Sirius’s cheek and neck, doting on your friend much like you did for James.

“No!”

“No, please!”

Both boys shouted together. You jumped and turned to face James, not noticing he had been watching the entire interaction.

You bit your cheek and fiddled with the rag for a moment before you sighed. It was hard enough to say no to James, but a sick Sirius?

You caved.

You spent the summer at the Potter’s again, something your father was cautious of. You were older now, and so was James, you just managed to escape the ‘safe sex’ talk when you went back with James to gather spare clothes, the only thing left at James was from before puberty.

It made you a bit aware that James had grown up. He had always been taller than you, but now he was broader, more defined. Merlin, the boy you grew up with was knee weakening.

The summer was amazing. It was a delight, being around both of them so casually.

Being older now, your fun consisted of much more mature activities. They started innocent, like taking walks around the property where you and James reminisced, sharing your favorite memories of the place with Sirius. Your afternoons baking with Euphemia now shared with the boys who didn't seem to have anything better to waste their time on. Even swimming in the creek like kids.

But you were older now. Afternoon swimming turned into late night skinny dipping. Walks along the trail turned into hiding away in your tree fort, hardly big enough for all three of you and the things you hid away. Smoking Mallowsweet and trying to pretend you weren't high at the dinner table. Not that either parent seemed to mind, just happy you were doing it in a safe environment. They let you three believe you were sneaky however, knowing the thrill is the fun part.

A few days out from going back to school you and the two boys were sitting in the fort again. You took a drag from the messy blunt and passed it to Sirius. You took notice of how he watched the smoke leave your lips. You sent him a playful wink and he wet his lips.

You both turned back to James as he let out a low groan. The attention whore he was not liking how you two continued to share moments he was not apart of.

“What is it, Jamie?” You pushed and he ran his fingers through his hair. “I got word from Evans. Said she would stop reading my letters. Says she thinks I'm in love with someone already.” He huffed.

You rolled your eyes and looked at Sirius who put his hands up to show he would handle it. “Come on mate, she clearly doesn't want ya’ move on.”

You almost face palmed at how Sirius tried to handle it. You cut in when James gave a louder groan. “I know it's not what you want to hear, but some girls just.. aren't going to cave the more you bother them, Jamie.”

“I just don't get it! I'm charming, I'm funny, I'm bloody hot.”

You rolled your eyes hard and made eye contact with a smirking Sirius. “You know he gets this from you, right?”

He chuckled and you slowly smiled at his look. James seemed to grow even more upset when your attention was on Sirius and not him.

“Come off it, mate.” Sirius laughed. “She hasn’t even seen you date one person at that school.”

“That is true. I don't think I would date someone if I didn't have an idea of what it was like.” You remarked airily, rapping your knuckles against your chin.

“So.. date someone to show Lily I'm dateable?” James concluded and you rubbed your temple.

“Or, and just throwing this out there, date someone who wants you?” You scoffed and James rolled his eyes with a mutter. Something along the lines of no one he wants, wants him.

You paused your rubbing before Sirius quickly cleared his throat. “You can't just date someone to impress someone else.” You cut in. “That's incredibly cruel.”

“Well-”

“Sirius, as someone who has not once had a serious girlfriend-”

“I am Sirius. All my girlfriends are Sirius girlfriends-”

You threw a book at him and he blocked it with his forearms, laughing as you huffed.

“But ser- genuinely.” You mused. “Don't go breaking anyone's heart to get her attention.”

“Well, it won't hurt anyone if I.. fake date someone?” He offered and you gave him a confused look. He slowly smiled, a smile that surely meant a bad idea.

“Jamie-”

“Hear me out! Hear me out!” He mused and sat up straighter. “One of you, date me, just for a few months! I can show her how good of a boyfriend I really am!”

You looked at Sirius with the most bewildered and offended look.

“I will not.” Sirius mused and finally put the blunt down. “Love you, but I would rather lick my own boot.”

James scoffed and looked at you hopefully. You bit your lip and thought about it for a moment, you were caving, you knew you were.

How bad could it be? Getting a slice of what you wanted more than anything. James’s full attention. Before you could answer, you heard Sirius mutter your name.

It was so soft, it was so gentle, like if he said it too loud you'd run. You looked over to him, and he gave you a look you couldn't quite decipher. Though, the implication was clear. Don’t.

You sighed through your nose and leaned your head back. Trying to sober yourself up before you continue this conversation. James wiggled his way over to you, putting his arm over your shoulder. “Come on, {Y/N}.” He whined and you thinned your lips as you stared into his big brown eyes. You could melt into them.

Your eyes, not of your own accord, flicked to Sirius and he was still staring at you. Then you realized what the look was, caution. You bit your bottom lip and didn't notice James glaring heavily at Sirius. As if warning him. Sirius's eyes never left yours.

“... Sorry Jamie.” You muttered and he huffed, pulling away from you sharply. You pouted and slowly hugged your knees. Far more valuable with your mind warped by the drugs influence.

James waved his hand dismissively and you looked down at your feet. You watched as a pair of Doc Martens slipped into view on either side of your ankles. You looked up at the owners. You had never seen such a proud look on Sirius’s face. Well, safe for when you told him of Regulus’s new found defiance. He held the smuggest smile and you felt your heart throb. Approval.

“I don't get it, come on {Y/N}-”

“Who does she think you love anyway, James?” Sirius huffed, taking your friend’s attention from you. You sent him an appreciative look.

“She thinks I'm in love with {Y/N}.” He scoffed and your breath hitched a bit. “I mean, it doesn't help that we haven't dated anyone. I figured that if me and {Y/N} dated and broke up she would see how crazy she is.”

You purse your lips at that. Yeah. Crazy. Why would James Potter ever love you?

“Oh!” James exclaimed and sat up, “What if you got a boyfriend?” James pried and you arched an eyebrow at him. “Or, you know, girlfriend.”

You scoffed. As if that was the issue!

“James, I am not going to date someone just to leave them so you can get with Lily.” You crossed your arms over yourself now, and James groaned. “Come on, please? I mean, you can tell them it's fake! I mean, I'm sure even Sirius would be willing-”

“Nope.” Sirius popped his lips and you looked up at him with a startled surprise. You couldn't help but melt at how he winked at you, nudging your ankles with his feet. “I'm not going to tarnish our little dragon’s reputation, here.”

You rolled your eyes playfully as James’s groans faded out. You looked up as a bell began to ring, signaling it was time to come inside for dinner. James got up and hurried out of the tree, Sirius was next, sending you a look as he climbed down, curious. You simply smiled at him and followed after, knowing it would reassure him.

You thought James had dropped it, but as you set the table and gathered drinks for everyone, the boys at the table began to idly talk.

“Anything interesting happened today?” Fleamont asked you as you set his coffee down by his hand, kissing his eyebrow, making him chuckle.

“No, Uncle Flea.” You hummed and set down Euphemia’s tea and did the same. She returned the kiss, leaving you unaware of how James seemed to be eyeing you. You set down Sirius’s drink and he poked his cheek, leaning closer to you. You kissed your hand and smacked him. He laughed and you finished up, taking your seat across from the boys on your own side of the table.

“How about you, son?” Flea asked Sirius next, and Black shrugged. “Nothing really.”

“Really? You're not going to tell him?” James smirked and you looked at him curiously, confused. Sirius shared your look and James continued. “I mean, If you won't, I will.” He cheeked.

“James what are you-” Before you could even finish, he threw his hands up in an exaggerated announcement.

“Sirius and {Y/N} are dating!”

Your jaw went slack in shock and Sirius snapped his head over, dumbstruck.

“I- what- James Potter!” You shouted at him, he smirked at you. This cheeky little bastard. There was a loud thud from under the table as you kicked him. Hard. The poor boy winced and tried to keep his face straight.

“James you bloody-” Sirius started with a clench jaw before Euphemia gave a laugh.

“No need to be shy you two, however, James you shouldn't have told us before they were ready.” She scolded and Fleamont gave a chuckle and clapped Sirius on his shoulder.

“Just be safe, boy. Mr. {L/N} and I are not ready to be grandpas.” He cheeked and you slowly sunk into your seat and covered your face, groaning low as Sirius began to stammer over himself, not sure if he should explain himself or not.

James was so dead.

~~~

You paced in your room, hands over your mouth in deep thought. James was cleaning the kitchen and Sirius was closing down the house, their respective chores of the night. You sat on your bed and tried to figure a way out of this, before someone knocked on your door.

You looked up and waved your wand to open the door, Sirius walking in holding James by his ear. The taller boy was cursing and following close behind. “Ow ow ow ow-”

“James Fleamont Potter!” You whisper hissed and stood up, Sirius smirking, for once, not the one in trouble.

“Hear me out-”

“No! We will do no such thing!” You continued to whisper-shout at him. “You need to tell them you were lying!”

James bit his cheek and looked at Sirius who was avoiding his eyes. “It's just a few months-”

“James-”

“Hear me out! Just, just three months! You saw how excited they got.” James pleaded and you sighed. Covering your face before you peaked between your fingers at Sirius who gave you a playfully scandalized look.

“Am I the only one with common sense here?” Sirius scoffed and you groaned.

“It would seem so. Frightening, innit?”

“Debilitating, actually.” He sighed playfully and you laughed.

There was a long pause between you and Sirius. James watched as you two seemed to be communicating between your eyes. James slowly pouted as he was, once again, left out of the loop.

“Fine.” You sighed and Sirius bit his lip. “Alright, three months.”

~~~

You were not ready for the whirlwind that was sixth year. A lot had happened in such a short amount of time.

You had forgotten about the ever growing issue of telling Regulus Black of your new found status with his brother. To your complete shock, he seemed happy about the news.

“Bloody finally.”

“The hell do you mean finally?”

“If I had to go one more school year watching my brother make eyes at you, I'd vomit. Just keep it behind closed doors please.”

Eyes? Your friends were going mad. Pandora seemed to actually express visual joy when you told her, smiling with a hand over her heart, with a simple. “That's lovely.”

Barty, Sirius’s self proclaimed nemesis, even seemed relieved. Though, he had to admit, he didn't figure you for someone who wanted to be with a player.

The only one who seemed to take the news hard was Severus, reminding you of the prank and how that bastard tried to kill him. You listened to his concerns, but in truth, you knew Sirius wasn't the only one at fault. You had, in fifth year, confronted Sirius about what had happened and he admitted his fault in it.

You knew it wasn't for you to forgive, but if you couldn't forgive him, what place did you have being crossed about it?

Eventually, Severus, Avery, and Mulicber wanted nothing to do with you. As Severus hurt, you had to admit, he was camaraderie found in misery. You refused to be miserable anymore.

Remus was the first to notice it, how much you had grown and who you had left behind. He also seemed to be you and Sirius’s biggest fan, and unexplainably protective of your relationship.

Before you knew it, you were sitting at the Gryffindor table every day, nuzzled under Sirius’s arm and watching him as he rattled on about Quidditch practice and the start of the season. You didn't really care about the game, you only used to watch to support Regulus as a seeker, which seemed to please James as well.

“Do you have a spare jersey?” You pressed your pinky to his side gently, muttering into his shoulder. Sirius looked down at you, a bit startled by your comment. He narrowed his eyes at you curiously and you pressed your tongue to your cheek. Watching as his expression shifted a bit and his cheeks turned a soft red.

“A jersey?” He pushed, trying not to get his hopes up. You gave a laugh at his nervous question.

“All I have are Slytherin colors.” You mused and slipped your arm around his back and nuzzled into his chest a bit. Regulus giving a playful gag, poking his finger to the back of his throat at your public displays of affections.

You giggled before James spoke up, he had been so quiet you didn't even notice him. “You can wear mine, I have an old Seeker one from before I was captain.” He hummed and Sirius stiffened against you a bit. You watched his jaw clench, and his attention was finally torn from you, playfully glaring at James.

“James-”

“Thanks Jamie.” You mused and Sirius snapped his attention back to you, just for you to be smiling up at him. “But I want to wear my boyfriend's name.”

Sirius swore he lost the air in his lungs. Remus whistled and you laughed at the out of character display.

“You're so fucking whipped-” Regulus huffed with a roll of his eyes and before you could turn to reprimand him, Sirius wrapped his other arm around you and pulled you practically on his lap. “Better be, just f’me.” He mumbled against your ear. No one else could hear him, you wondered why he even said it.

Regardless, you didn't think your heart could beat that fast for anyone but James.

~~~

Three months passed faster then you thought it possibly could. The cautious and careful moments between you and Sirius turned familiar and confident. From your new routine between classes to show everyone just how in love you surely were to the private moments you weren't positive you should be having with the best friend of the boy you loved.

Reality was slowly blending together with your facade, from him sneaking off with you to the astronomy tower, and your walks along the Black lake when no one could see you two.

Even now, where you laid in his bed, alone. Remus doing his Prefect duties and James’ surely wowing Lily. You were sitting with your back against the headboard, reading to Sirius as he hummed and dozed off. You propped the book against his arm that wrapped around your middle, your other hand tangled in his hair. He seemed to be in just a blissful state, absolutely unraveled as your nails ran over his scalp.

You trailed off, just admiring the sleepy boy. Slowly leaning closer to see if he had fallen asleep yet.

You were spending time with the boys in their common room. Sirius had complained about his horrid sleep schedule, and when you, ever the good girlfriend, suggested you read to him. He laughed at first. When you puffed up your cheeks and told him it always worked for James, suddenly his tune changed.

He practically dragged you up to their shared dorm and left Peter and James behind, snuggling up to you, like he said a proper boyfriend would. Your heart was going mad at first. You hadn't been in their dorm, let alone in Sirius’s bed before. He acted so natural about it, you tried to stifle the green monster that seemed to have switched targets from Lily to Sirius’s past flings.

You don't know when it changed, but looking down at Sirius’s peaceful face, how he seemed so comfortable with you in his arms and pressed against your body, you knew you had ruined your chances at a normal love life. Falling in love with Sirius Black was the worst idea you never had.

Suddenly, Sirius stirred, eyes opening, sagged and low, clearly still tired. Your eyes locked, and this warm feeling filled you as he slowly smiled at you. You didn't even feel nervous, just.. just peaceful.

“Is the book done?” He muttered and you slowly nodded. His eyes never leaving yours. There was a bit of quiet before he began to speak. “Dragon-”

Then the door slammed open. “Don't be naked!” James huffed, covering his eyes. You have a nervous laugh as your cheeks flushed, looking away. Sirius gave a low and annoyed groan. It was gravely and deep as he sat up. You did not need that stuck in your head right now.

“Damn it mate, I'm trying to sleep.” Sirius huffed and James seemed startled at your state. You were actually reading to him. When he heard ‘sleep’ his mind wandered to Sirius’s typical use for it. The idea of you sleeping with Sirius didn't get under his skin, but the idea of loosing a piece of you that was once his, did.

Instead, he walked in on you and him. Doing one of his favorite things. One of you and his favorite things. You were really reading to him. He slowly frowned as your fingers left Sirius’s hair. You pouted up at him, not even seeming to care James was there, just upset that your weighted blanket moved.

He didn't like that. Not at all.

Sirius shifted and his palm pressed down a bit too much weight on your thigh and you hiss. He quickly got off of you and muttered an apology.

“It's okay Siri.” You whispered and rubbed your skin. He took a deep breath. That bloody nickname.

“You know.” James cut in and you and Sirius looked over at him. “It's been three months.”

He gestured to the two of you and you looked back up at Sirius with nervous eyes. He seemed to try to study yours as well.

“I think that's long enough.” He challenged.

You slowly took a breath, Sirius seemed to be waiting on your word. “Well.. are you with Lily yet?” You questioned, looking over at the tan skinned boy and James gave you a scandalous look.

“I mean-”

“That was the deal, right?” Sirius asked and looked back at James, getting comfortable over you once more, nuzzling his head right against your stomach. You smiled down at him, not noticing the looks him and James shared. Not particularly friendly.

“You asked us, James.”

“I wouldn't say what he did was asking.” You mumbled and Sirius chuckled, looking back up at you and gesturing to the book. You glanced at a red faced James before carefully grabbing the book and opening it. You didn't care to watch James' betrayed expression. He had done this to himself.

~~~

“It's going to be so fun, Sirius!” Peter declared and James laughed, “Yeah, what's more important then charming the stairs to move when a Slytherin tries to talk on it?”

Remus smirked at Sirius who simply gave a fond smile and a sigh. “Sorry, I have business with my lovely dragon.”

Remus gave Sirius a proud smile and the tatted boy rubbed the back of his neck.

“What, are you two shagging?” Peter asked with a bored look and Remus smacked him.

“Thank you Moony, and no, I'll have you know. We haven't even kissed yet.” He huffed and James’s jaw went slack. Why would Sirius admit that?

Why in the bloody hell would I admit that? Sirius thought, mortified. He keeps forgetting this isn't a true relationship. It's been five months, Sirius wasn't known to wait longer than a week.

Peter was rubbing the back of his head with a huff and Remus gave Sirius a surprised look. Sirius looked anywhere but their faces.

“You two.. haven't kissed?” Remus pushed and Sirius shrugged. “Just.. I'm her first boyfriend, she is nervous. You know, all that stuff. She's sensitive.”

When he looked at the group he got a variety of different looks. Peter was shocked, James was confused, and Remus looked purely ecstatic.

“Seems Sirius found someone worth waiting for, hm?” Remus teased and Sirius flipped him off.

“I'm done talking to you lame-os anyway. She's waiting for me in the library.” He huffed and hurried off the opposite side of the hall, face red and absolutely humiliated. Even then, he couldn't think of anything but seeing you.

In the background, he could hear James shout. “To study!?”

~~~

You waited for Sirius in the library like you promised, thumbing threw a few of your school books and comparing you and Sirius’s grade cards. Since him and you began the charade, his grades had improved greatly. He seemed to start to care about studying. He, ever the flirt, would always say if he got to spend time with you, spending the day studying in the library wasn't entirely awful.

When Sirius showed up, you couldn't help how the most excited smile grew on your lips. You and Sirius were quietly enjoying each other's presence, but about an hour into your session you heard a voice call out to you. It was soft, soothing, and it sounded like honey.

“Can we join you?”

You looked up confused, staring into the green eyes of Lily Evans. You expected that familiar bitter twist of your chest to settle, but you didn't feel a negative emotion towards her. You looked beside her and there stood Mary Macdonald, Marlene Mckibbon, and Dorcus Meadows. You smiled at Dorcas and she nodded to you.

“Of course you can.” You gestured to the table, turning to Sirius for approval and he looked surprise by your answer. You smiled at him and shrugged, leaning a bit closer and whispered, “It'll help, yeah?”

“Help?” He mumbled back and you smirked against his cheek. Giving him a small kiss against it. “For Jamie, Siri.”

You pulled away and smiled at Lily as she turned to talk to you. Sirius was staring at you like you stole his voice, but he didn't want it back.

Pandora was right, when you got to know Lily, you did like her. Quite a lot.

By the end of the day, you and Lily were laughing with your arms linked, leaving the Library.

“Merlin, we should have talked ages ago!” She smiled bright at you and you laughed, nodding in agreement.

“Most definitely, when do you usually study?” You pushed and Dorcas muttered a goodbye, turning to leave without you and the redhead. Mary smirked at the scene and Marlene wrapped her arms around your neck.

“We are here too!” She complained and you laughed louder. You liked Marlene, but it seemed the bitter feeling that was once aimed at Lily was now on her. You really wish Pandora didn't tell you about her and Sirius having the longest standing relationship out of all of his past wix.

She was with Mary now, she didn't have any interest in Sirius. Merlin, please save you. Jealousy was your biggest weakness. Other then that, blending in with the girls was easy. They were so delightful.

Eventually, Sirius managed to pry you away from the three, leaving you reaching back for them and earning laughs from the girls. Sirius eventually lifted you up on his shoulder so you'd stop fighting him.

That distracted you.

Damn his beater toned arms.

You looked back at him from where he was holding you, making it to the stairs to the dungeons. You flinched a bit when you heard Dorcas curse. You looked back and saw her, stuck in the middle of the stairs, trying to walk down as the stairs moved against her downward steps up.

You gawked at it and nudged Sirius’s shoulder. “Someone is after you boy’s title.” You teased and Sirius shook his head.

“It was the boys.” He remarked and hoisted you up properly, watching as Dorcas managed to fight her way to the bottom. Holding her knees with an aggregated pant. You laughed and tried not to get too in your head about what he said and the conclusion you came to. He spent the day with you instead of pranking with the boys.

“How will we get down?” You asked and he smirked. “It just works with Slytherins.” He cheeked and suddenly began hurrying down the stairs. You yelped and clung to his back. He laughed and fixed his grip on your thighs to keep you over his shoulder. You huffed as you got to the bottom, only for Dorcas to tutt at you.

“You're huffing!?”

You laughed and he set you down. Dorcas waved you off and you tried to cover your smiling face.

You watched Dorcas enter the dorms, you followed after her before you paused and turned to face Sirius, who was watching you with his hands in his pockets. Trying not to seem winded.

“Hey, Siri.” You called him over and he tilted his head. Walking over to you, you grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down a bit.

His hands snaked around your hips and he went to hold his breath. You smiled at him and he seemed startled and waiting not so patiently for your next move. His eyes flickered from your eyes to your lips, and your eyes were locked in his lips. This was okay right? This is what partners do?

“Sirius, can I-”

Before you could even properly ask, Regulus rudely interrupted.

“Alright you, stop sucking my brother's face.” Regulus’s voice rang from behind you and you refused to budge. Sirius smirked and moved in, before Regulus yanked you back by your hood. The door closing behind you. He could faintly hear your sounds of disapproval.

Sirius stared at the door for far longer than he should have. Thinning his lips as he tried to remind himself. This was fake. And you loved James.

~~~

Eight months. Late April, and you were sitting in the Gryffindor stands watching the final game of the year. Well, if you could call trying to locate colors on the foggy backdrop with blistering rain watching.

You sat with Lily, Mary, Remus and Peter. It was foggy, drizzling, and the match lasted hours. You were wrapped up in one of Sirius’s leather jackets, it didn't do much to cut through the chill.

You didn't want to lie and say you understood what was happening, just that James and Regulus had yet to catch the snitch. Occasionally, the stands would cheer and you would throw your hands up in support of it all. Watching as Lily laughed at you.

“Sweetness, you look lost.” Lily sang to you, and you bite your bottom lip. “That obvious?”

“Only to everyone.” She laughed and put her hand on your arm, pulling you up. You both walked over to the railing and she put her hand above her brow and looked around. You looked at her movements, before copying her body language.

“There!” She cheeked and pointed out a billowing red cape, hardly making out James' name. You smiled and leaned closer. “Is that Jamie?”

“It … is.” Lily muttered softly and looked at you from the corner of her eye, as if looking for any sign of affection for the boy. Beyond platonic. To her pleasant surprise, your next words made her smile.

“Do you see Siri?” You asked, leaning closer so she could hear you above the cheering fans and the loud beating rain.

Lily lit up, laughing, gesturing over towards one of the goals. You narrowed your eyes and began to hit your heel against the wooden floor. The smile that unfolded onto your cheeks was far brighter then she'd ever seen you look at James.

Lily saw it, the shift in your eyes.

She wasn't the first one to see it, but she wouldn't be the last.

“Oh! Oh! They found it!” Lily exclaimed and you snapped your attention over to where Lily pointed. You looked down and your eyes widened, watching as James and Regulus raced for the snitch.

“Regulus!” You screamed.

“James!” Lily cheered.

Your eyes snapped to each other and you both began to laugh. You loved James, but come on, Slytherin could use this.

You both looked back and began to cheer and chant their names. Lily screamed out in delight as James caught the snitch, and you leaned over the railing with an exaggerated, “Booo!!” James noticed and you quickly covered your mouth.

Remus bellowed a laugh at James’s offended but playful look.

“Gryffindor wins!! I think.” The announcer screamed over the intercom. You laughed and turned to look at Lily who was already running down the stairs.

You scrambled with a bit of a slip as you hurried after her to the pitch. The red head was far faster than you, however. Remus just strolled back with Mary, who was rambling about how cool her girlfriend looked. You just missed her talking about how tone her girlfriends arms were-

It's the beaters charm, really.

When you made it to the pitch you watched James land, Lily practically tackling him off his broom. The boy wrapped his arms around her and spun her around. The team cheering and screaming in delight, the stands going mad with confetti. He looked up to you and let go of Lily, turning to face you as he brandished the snitch.

You lit up to match his smile, but before you could make it over to congratulate him, you saw Sirius land threw the crowd. You felt your entire body grow gittery, from your tightening toes to your squaring shoulders. He tossed the bat to the ground and ruffled his wet hair. He looked breathtaking. You watched as he threw his arm around Marlene, the two laughing and flexing a bit at each other. You narrowed your eyebrows a bit.

That was enough for you to take a few large steps forward. “Sirius!” You called over.

First things first, you were not jealous. You certainly weren't jealous, not of Marlene, she loved Mary. But you would be happy if he wasn't touching her- or if she just took two huge steps back. You wouldn't be upset about that.

Sirius looked over to you and his smile grew brighter, letting go of Marlene. Good. He began hurrying over to meet you. Eventually, you broke into a jog and he matched your pace. James watched in confusion as you threw yourself into his arms as your excitement grew. You laugh as he lifts you up and spun you around. You looked down at him with a bright smile, blocking out the rain from falling on his chiseled face. Your hands moved to his cheeks and he opened his eyes slowly. He paused in the center of the court and you bite your bottom lip. He wanted terribly to pull it between his own teeth.

“You won.” You whispered and his hands slipped higher up your sides. The intimate moment so public his hands felt like fire on your cold wet skin.

“I did.” He whispered and you leaned your body against his. He kept you up easily despite his throbbing muscles. You leaned your lips right above his, eyes locked in a trance. “Do I.. do I get a reward?” He whispered and glanced down at your lips.

You laughed, leaning down and completed the kiss. Holding him firm against yourself, he met you with pure hunger. Slowly setting you down, without breaking the kiss. You moved closer against him, your bodies meeting without an inch between your limbs.

This is okay, right? You thought blissfully. This was for James.

You both were lost to the world. Ignoring anyone else as Sirius began to grab at you with so much intensity you gasped. He took the opportunity to introduce your tongues.

You didn't notice as James gave a pained expression. He wasn't sure why you going to Sirius bothered him so much.

No, he knew why. He felt like he was losing you. Like everything that made James special to you was being replaced with Sirius. It was his own bloody fault.

Lily noticed his wandering eyes and her lip twitched. Resolving herself to take his cheeks and turn him to look at her. He slowly smiled and leaned down to take a kiss. She met him with a happy hum.

The moment went from bitter jealousy to melting joy. This was your favorite game yet.

“Am I just chopped liver!?” Regulus finally exclaimed, the only thing pulling your attention from your lip lock. You threw your head back with a laugh, and Sirius just stared with a love sick smile, kiss bruised lips, and in absolute joy.

~~~

By the time summer came around you were around the Potters more and more.

You stopped spending the night so much, the older you got the more Euphemia seemed to believe you and Sirius were being closer then close most nights. Making teasing remarks that killed you. Eventually, you stopped coming over when Sirius joined in on the teasing.

Your father and you were invited over tonight, however. You didn't want to introduce your father to Sirius, the man had a bigger heart then most, and you knew it would hurt him to meet your ‘first love’ just to lose him months later. You didn't think this would last so long.

So when the door opened and Flea welcomed you in, you were shocked to see Sirius on the couch, hair combed, clothing presentable, even hiding some of his newer tattoos he got over your time in muggle London. He smiled over at you and your father, standing up and walking over.

You were stunned by just how charming he was trying to be. Your father looked surprised, looking to you in confusion, as if he had expected someone else tonight.

“Sirius Black then? I know of your family.” He remarked and Sirius faltered a bit. You walked over to link your arm with his. He looked to you and smiled soft, hesitantly. Your father seemed completely pleased.

As the night went on you guys moved to the parlor room. You were ecstatic to learn Lily was coming as well, and when she got there, the night turned much more lively.

You were laying your legs across Sirius lap and laughing at your father and Flea’s ever heated debate about his most recent business decisions. Lily was listening intently, happy to learn more about the inner workings of the wizarding world. James was sitting on the floor with his head in her lap and her fingers tangled in his locks.

Sirius put a hand on your chin and turned you over to look into his eyes. You gave him a smile and nudged his arm with your knee. You leaned your chin greedily into his hand, wanting the full contact of his palm. When he gave it to you, you leaned your cheek into it. He stared at you and you pressed your lips together. “Sirius?”

“Yeah?” He whispered.

“What's this?” You whispered and slowly wrapped your hand around his wrist and turned to kiss his hand. Glancing at him from the corner of your eyes. He about died.

“Awe, young love.” Euphemia cooed and you were startled back to the moment, pulling from Sirius who quickly fixed himself to look at the three parents, James effectively out of the conversation without a care.

Lily laughed and Flea reached over to pat Sirius’s shoulder. “What did I always say, {Y/N}?”

“Hm? What's that Flea?” You hummed and looked back at the men and Euphemia, he chuckled.

“Every Potter has a Slytherin.” He cheeked and winked at Sirius whose face turned to one of pure shock. You lit up at him and back to Sirius, who was smiling like a fool. You mirror his look and then Mrs. Potter spoke up next.

“I'm so glad you two figured it out.” She hummed..

“What was that?” You mumbled and looked back at her in pure confusion.

“Oh, that boy has been making heart eyes at you since he first got here. I could tell he was smitten.” Mrs. Potter mused a matter of factly, looking over at Sirius just past your confused expression, who was making a lip zipping motion, she gave him an amused and curious look, which made you turn and smirk at him. He quickly tried to play it off, earning a laugh from the group.

James rolled his eyes at their interaction, and Lily pouted a bit. Still confused as to why he seemed so determined to dislike the two together.

“You know, it's been a few months since me and Lily got together.” He remarked to the room, eyes on you and Sirius. You frowned a bit and looked away, Sirius met his look with a challenging one of his own. Euphemia narrowed her eyes but the men seemed none the wiser.

“And how lovely Lily is.” Fleamont mused and gestured to her, she smiled at him, happy with how they seemed to accept her so easily.

The night went smoothly from there.

Eventually, it was time to head home. The Potters, Evans, and Black walked you both to the door. You said your goodbyes, but whenever you would glance at Sirius he seemed preoccupied with your lips.

It wasn't something you thought you'd ever find attractive, how desperately Sirius wanted to kiss you at any given moment. Here you were, however, absolutely melting.

You leaned up on your toes and gave him a quick peck. Your dad smiled at this, but before you could turn away Sirius wrapped his arms around you and stole another longer kiss. If only by seconds. You laughed into his lips and he smiled against yours. Muttering a goodbye before you and your father finally apparated away.

You didn't think tonight could get much better, but when you looked up at the stairs to your manor, you locked eyes with familiar bright grey ones. Regulus Black, with a suitcase and a bruised cheek, giving you a cautious stare. Like a stray cat, ready to bolt, but instead of attention it was the first sign of rejection.

Regulus Black was a proud boy, like his brother. He was far too determined to do something and everything by himself.

Your father looked confused, before he glanced at you, like he was seeing double in one night.

You hurried up the stairs, not answering your father immediately as you moved to grab his bag. To your absolute shock, Regulus fell into you before you could, hands clenching your sleeves. You were bewildered, Regulus never wanted to be touched.

You didn't have to think twice before you wrapped your arms around his middle and pulled him in close. The younger boy crying softly into your shoulder. Tonight was a startling night for firsts with the Black children, but you didn't hesitate to embrace it.

Your father picked up his luggage and muttered something about fixing up a room for him as he went inside. You were content to comfort Reggie.

~~~

Once Regulus was comfortable in the spare room, you talked. He told you everything about what had happened the past month, and your heart broke. Regulus and you were closer than most, but he still kept cards to his chest. He was paranoid, but in his weakness, he showed you all of them.

He told you what they expected of him, at just fifteen they told him he would be expected to go through with what his brother could not. How when he expressed even the slightest hesitance, they resulted in reprimanding him like Sirius.

He told you how he missed his brother, how he hated being alone in that house. He left the second his mother went to Paris on business, trying to get him a deal with a pureblood overseas.

He promised he would only be there for a few nights at most. His expression was blank but his voice was soaked in sullen misery, sitting beside you on the bed and staring at the wall.

“Where will you go, Regulus?” You reached for his hand and he didn't pull away.

“I'll figure it out.” He mumbled and you gave an offended laugh.

“You're mad if you think I'll let you leave with no plan.” You scoffed. “Regulus, you're safe here.”

“I'm a burden here.” He snapped back, eyes flicking to yours. They were full of pain you were familiar with. Your lips parted and you tried to read his expression, before something sparked in your mind. Burden?

“Regulus, you could never be a burden to me. To us.” You whispered and he sniffled. The shock that went through your body wasn't foreign.

“Reggie…” You paused and tilted your head to try to get him to express what was under all of this. You knew he was prideful and independent, but this didn't seem in character. Not for you two.

A guilt filled you as he refused to meet your eyes. Your eyes widened. Was he.. was he angry with you? “Reggie-”

“Listen. I don't want to get between you and my brother. I'm glad you love him. I'm glad he has someone to love. Just wish you stayed my friend too.” He scoffed and sniffled, the tension in your body fell away. You slowly covered your mouth.

He was right.

You had been spending every waking moment with Sirius since school began again. Pandora had Dorcas, Barty had Evans, Severus had his horrid friends. Regulus didn't have anyone. He would come to the Gryffindor table to spend meals with you, but after, before, Merlin, even during, you were focused on his brother.

The one thing he had with you, Quidditch, and you ran to his brother when he won. Didn't even check on him for his loss. You thought his words were playful that day but truly? You were cruel.

You had abandoned him. To his family, to his self doubt, you left him alone.

You had done what James had done to you.

“Oh Reggie.” You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pulled him into a hug. He leaned his head against your shoulder but didn't hug back.

That night was filled with heart filled apologies, promises of a better tomorrow, and a guarantee Regulus had a home with you and your father.

It made you wonder, how you felt so guilty and ruined over the simple idea of what you had done to Regulus. Even his forgiveness didn't seem to be enough. James didn't seem the least bit apologetic in his words to you. Not as much as you thought he should.

Eventually, you let him sleep. You lettered Sirius, with Regulus’s permission, of his status.

You woke up early the next morning to your father calling you downstairs. Watching the Black brothers embrace healed something in you that you didn't know needed. Sirius looked so happy, and you watched Regulus grow flustered at his brother's affection. Laughing out as Regulus eventually pushed his sappy brother away and declared he was going back to his room.

You both shared a look as he disappeared.

The summer was the best yet.

~~~

Once school began, James and you had your last separation.

You came to him, voicing your thoughts about his cruelty towards you. He was confused as to where this came from, considering you had forgiven him. You had to remind him, you never did. You stayed at his house for Sirius that summer, he never apologized.

He had changed a lot, he kept true to his promise to better himself for Lily. You were proud of him, but it still hurt. Like a wound that continued to reopen whenever you were reminded that he didn't seem to truly care about what he had done to you. Just wanted to bury it. There was that nagging voice, telling you to just forgive him. Forgive and forget about it.

Then, would you accept that treatment for Regulus? It took seeing it through his eyes to understand you deserved more than an eight year olds apology. But that's what you got.

“Look, I get it. I really am sorry. Forgive me?”

“No.”

“... no? What, {Y/N}, come on. It's been two years now-”

“And I've tried. I have tried so hard, James. But as I've seen it.. I've fought to keep you in my life. You have never done that for me.”

“Fought for you? This isn't some book-”

“That's all I need, James. Just show me better.”

The argument that ensued was short and to the point. Nothing was resolved, so you left it that way. You wouldn't put forward the effort to keep a sense of normalcy despite the pain.

You were content with who you had, you would learn to get over the people you lost.

Your hand was off the wheel. You were done chasing after James Potter. You knew your father would be proud of you. You knew Sirius was proud of you, Regulus too. You never felt so at peace with the people you chose. Not because you never knew any better, but because they wanted you just as badly as you wanted them.

You and Sirius’s relationship was still dancing the line. You both knew that if this truly was just for James benifit it would have been over by now. You both were content as it was. Nothing said, nothing lost.

You both continued to blur the lines between you both, until the first win of the Quidditch season. It didn't take much convincing for him to lock Peter out of their dorm, leaving just you both to do what two young adults would. Something you both agreed was long overdue.

~~~

James had spent his night much the same way, waking up with Lily.

James was happy with Lily, she was everything he ever wanted. There was still something, however, eating him alive inside. He missed you. He didn't know how to handle his part in your departure, still unable to hold himself accountable for the pain he caused you all those years ago. Because you were kids! Practically siblings. Why did he have to prove he cared?

He pushed the thoughts away as Lily woke beside him. Giving him her breathtaking smile, something that James couldn't help but smile back at.

“Morning.” She sang so sweetly, leaning in to steal and lazy and long kiss. They both smiled into it, content at the moment.

James gave a laugh as Lily rolled onto his lap. Biting her lip as she grabbed the top of the bed frame. “Jamie~” She sang and he looked her up and down, giving a low groan as he snapped forward to kiss her, and like the tease she was, she rolled back over onto her back off his lap.

Neither of them had time to process what happened next, she hit her shoulder on his dresser and hissed. Leaning forward to cover her arm. He moved to rub her skin before he heard the sound of something hitting the floor.

He narrowed his eyes and looked over Lily, his face filling with dread.

Grandos. The dragon statue your father had carved all those years ago, shattered on the ground.

He shot up from the bed, just as Lily looked over. “Jamie?” She whispered and he hurried to get dressed, panicked. Taking out a towel and setting the statue on it like it was the most precious thing in the world.

“Jamie, oh- Oh James I am so sorry-” She began and tried to sit up, he took a deep breath and shot to his feet.

He was crying. Why was he crying?

He was coming to terms with the fact that you would never speak with him again, the figurine didn't mean the end of the world. But it was his last piece of you.

The last thing he didn't share with Sirius. With Regulus. With Remus, with Lily. The last thing that meant you and James would have a connection beyond the silly fights and petty disagreements. The last thing from when you were James. His heart was breaking. “I- She can fix it, right? Do you think she can?” James pleaded to no one.

Lily's heart broke. She could tell immediately what this was about. “James-”

“I-I’ll be back.” He declared quickly and put on his cloak.

It didn't take long for him to make it to the Gryffindor common room, holding the broken figurine like it was a wounded bird. You looked up from your perch on Sirius’s lap, the black haired boy huffing when he lost your attention.

“{Y/N}!” He shouted and hurried over. You narrowed your eyebrows at him, and he shoved the broken pieces towards you. As always, expecting you to mend it.

“James?”

“Please I- I don't know how to fix it. I can't loose it, please.” He begged and your looked to Sirius who seemed just as bewildered. There was a thick silence, as Remus bit his cheek.

It was so painfully clear to everyone but James what this was about.

You sighed through your nose and thought for a moment. Slowly, taking out your wand and waving if. “Repairo.”

Like that, the carving was as good as new. All perfect with its chipped paint and jagged edges. James seemed stunned as he looked down at the polished toy.

You slowly folded your arms. “James?” You whispered.

He hung his head low in shame.

“James.” You called in a more steady voice. He nodded to show he was listening. You scoffed.

“That's the last time, James. I'm not fixing anything for you anymore.”

“I-”

“No. That's it.” You put your hands up and James gave a breathy scoff of his own. Gesturing to you and Sirius, the boys lips thinning.

“Why?” He whispered in a broken hearted whimper. “Why does this fake relationship matter more to you then ours?”

You stared at him with wide and furious eyes. “Are you fucking kidding me, James?”

“Dragon-” Sirius tried to call out to you and you scoffed, waving him off.

“James, I have spent my whole life cleaning up the mess you made of me!” You yelled at the suddenly sheepish boy. “I am prioritizing myself! For once! If you want me in your life, then prioritize me too! I am doing the same for my boyfriend.”

He scoffed. “He isn't even your serious boyfriend! You dated him for me!”

You took a deep breath and before you could say something, Sirius gave a cocky smirk. “We've been over this, yeah?” He snaked his hand around your waist and pulled you back, trying to defuse the situation. “Everyone I date is a Sirius-”

“Stop.” You huffed at him and covered his mouth. He put his hands up in surrender. “James, I think you knew this stopped being fake the moment we agreed to it.”

Sirius gave you the stupidest smile, before coughing into his palm and looked away as you glared at him. Not the time you adorable bloody idiot.

“I just… I thought-”

“James. Everything I did was for you. For 14 years. Forgive me if I'm over it.” You sighed and gestured to the figurine.

“Next time. Fix it yourself.”

850 notes · View notes

mintyys-blog · 3 days ago

Text

EVERY UNIVERSE 2 | viltrumite! mark grayson x reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | PART ONE

WARNINGS: kidnapping, implied sex, mentioned death, pregnancy, character death, blood.

A few days passed in a blur of quiet mornings and lonely nights, the space between them filled with the weight of unspoken words and thoughts she could never express.

Mark was content, almost too content. He seemed to believe everything was falling into place. He would whisper to her in the mornings, call her “his love,” kiss her forehead like she had always been his, and in his mind, perhaps she had.

She responded with a silence she could no longer hold in, turning away from his touch just enough to hide the trembling of her body whenever he was too close. She couldn’t give him anything real—not anymore. Not after everything.

But Mark, ever observant, never noticed the cracks forming beneath the surface. He only saw the softening of her features, the way her posture had shifted from guarded to resigned, as if she were starting to accept the life he had built for them.

It was all a lie.

Still, every time he touched her, a new part of her wanted to scream. And yet, at the same time, her heart beat in a frantic rhythm every time he was near. She hated it. She hated the way her body still reacted to him, how his warmth felt like both comfort and danger.

The room was heavy, thick with tension she couldn’t escape. He could feel it, of course, but he couldn’t quite place it. The way her eyes avoided his, the way she seemed to be somewhere far away even when he was right next to her. But he didn’t question it.

Today was no different. Mark had just returned from a trip—his way of checking on the empire, the last remnants of his lost world—and now he sat beside her at the window, watching the rain fall outside.

“You look like you’re a million miles away,” he said, his voice casual, almost affectionate.

She didn’t respond immediately, staring out into the storm, the world outside reflecting the storm inside her. The guilt twisted again in her stomach, the suffocating shame that made her feel like she was suffocating from the inside out.

She was here.

And she hated herself for it.

“I’m here,” he continued, sensing the distance but still not fully understanding. “You know I’ll never let you go again. We have our whole future ahead of us.”

She didn’t trust her voice.

His fingers brushed against her arm, tracing the path along her skin, gentle, sure, comforting. His touch made her flinch despite her best efforts.

“I love you, Y/N.”

Her throat closed, words trapped behind the dam she had built inside.

What was she supposed to say?

She didn’t love him. She couldn’t. Not the way he wanted her to.

Not the way he had claimed her, broken her, remade her into something she was never meant to be.

And yet, still, the warmth of his touch whispered to her, reminding her of things she could never truly have.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of the blanket beneath her. She closed her eyes, steadying her breath.

Don’t say it. Don’t say anything.

“Mark,” she finally managed, her voice small, unsteady. “I need to go for a walk.”

His hand faltered on her arm, a pause that felt too long. “You want to be alone?”

Her heart clenched. She knew what this sounded like, the words coming out in such a way that he would take it as rejection, a sign that she was slipping further away from him.

But it wasn’t the truth.

The truth was—she couldn’t be near him for another moment without breaking.

“No,” she said quietly, her voice almost too faint for him to hear. “I just need some air.”

His eyes softened, but there was still a flicker of confusion there. “I’ll walk with you.”

She shook her head, the words lodged in her throat, too tangled to come out.

“You’ll be safe. I’ll be right here.” But she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t stand the thought of him, constantly hovering, constantly watching her. He had already taken too much from her.

“I just… need some space.” His gaze turned hard, the uncertainty in his eyes sharpening. But he didn’t push her, not yet. He merely nodded, a quiet exhale passing through his lips.

“Alright,” he said, his voice tight, but still gentle. “But don’t be gone too long.”

She nodded, unable to look at him. Then she left. The door closed behind her, and for the first time in days, she allowed herself to breathe.

The moment she stepped outside, the air hit her lungs like a jolt to the chest. It was cool, crisp—real. Not filtered through the suffocating silence of that house, not buried beneath Mark’s too-gentle hands and too-heavy stares.

She felt like herself. But it didn’t last. She could feel him.

She didn’t know if it was instinct or just the way he had burrowed himself so deeply into her life that she could sense him now—like a shadow stitched into her skin.

He was out there. She didn’t know where exactly, but she knew he was watching. Of course he was.

He said it was for her safety. He said it was because he couldn’t bear to lose her again. That this world wasn’t kind, not to someone as soft and powerful as she was. But she knew better. It wasn’t just protection. It was possession.

She walked slowly down one of the quieter garden paths near the cliffs—ones he used to walk with her, the real her, the version of herself from this world she could never measure up to.

The wind tugged gently at her clothes, at the loose strands of hair around her face, but even now, dressed in the flowing white and gray robes Mark had given her—his wife’s clothes—she didn’t feel like she belonged. She turned her head slightly, catching nothing out of the corner of her eye—but feeling everything.

He’s there. In the trees, maybe. Or the air. Or the cliffs above. Waiting. Watching. Her spine prickled with the weight of it. She hated how familiar the sensation had become.

She reached a quiet ledge overlooking the ocean, the wind stronger here, the waves crashing against the rocks below. It was beautiful. Wild. Free. Everything she wasn’t. She wrapped her arms around herself, exhaling slowly, eyes drifting shut.

Behind her, she swore she heard a shift of gravel. Nothing loud. Nothing obvious. But something deliberate. She didn’t turn around.

“Still watching me, Mark?” she asked, her voice quiet, almost carried away by the wind.

No answer. Of course not. He wanted her to feel free—even if she wasn’t. She hated him for that. And hated herself more for missing him the moment he wasn’t right beside her.

For the way her body betrayed her. For the way her heart ached in the silence, confused and twisted from all the things he’d said, all the things he’d done. She should run. Should scream. Should claw at the sky until someone pulled her out of this nightmare. But all she could do was stand there, a prisoner cloaked in soft silks, and pretend—for one more day—that the world hadn’t been rewritten around her. That he hadn’t rewritten her. Behind her, the shadow didn’t move. He was still watching. Always watching.

The sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the garden and painting the sky with hues of amber and violet. The warmth of the day faded with each step she took toward the edge of the horizon, and with it, the illusion of freedom.

She stood at the cliff a moment longer, watching the sky burn. But the moment was over. The night would come. And she knew what that meant.

With a breath that trembled at the edges, she turned, her feet dragging slightly as she made her way back down the path. Each step felt heavier than the last, like she was walking not to a house, but to a cell. Her prison. Her gilded cage.

He’ll be waiting— He always was.

Her hands clenched in the folds of her robes as the towering structure came into view—grand, polished, and cold. No matter how beautiful the stone walls were, how rich the halls or soft the silks he dressed her in… it would never be home. Her heart thudded dully in her chest, echoing with quiet dread. She stepped inside. And he was there.

Mark stood by the window, arms crossed, the dim light outlining the sharp cut of his jaw and the muscles straining under his tight black shirt. His expression was unreadable—stoic, calm. But his eyes burned as they landed on her. She paused in the doorway.

“You’re late,” he said simply. She lowered her eyes, unwilling to feed his gaze. “I lost track of time.”

He studied her like a soldier would an opponent—calculating, focused, detached. But beneath that… there was heat. Frustration. Possession.

He wasn’t delusional. He saw it in her eyes every day. The loathing. The silent defiance. He knew she still hated him—despised him. And he didn’t care.

He had been raised by Viltrumites. Taught that if something didn’t come willingly, you took it. No begging. No pleading. No apologies. He crossed the room in two steps.

“You forget what planet you’re on,” he murmured, voice low. He tilted her chin up with two fingers, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You act like you have a choice.” She swallowed hard but didn’t look away. He admired that—her fire. Her refusal to break. But that wouldn’t last.

He leaned in, his breath brushing her cheek. “You’re mine, Y/N. It’s either me.. or a fate worse than death.” His grip slid to the back of her neck, firm, unyielding. “You’ll learn your place… one way or another.”

Her heart pounded against her ribs, not from fear—but from the sickening guilt twisting in her gut. Because part of her still remembered his touch. Still remembered the way he had held her like she was the only thing that kept him breathing. She wanted to scream. To push him away. To vanish. But she didn’t move.

His lips brushed her temple. “Dinner’s ready. I expect you there in five minutes.” He walked away without waiting for a response.

She stood in the doorway for a moment longer, the cold from his absence sinking into her skin. She didn’t cry. She wouldn’t give him that. Not tonight.

Dinner was quiet. Too quiet.

The long table stretched between them like a chasm, one that had nothing to do with distance and everything to do with what they’d both lost—what he refused to admit, and what she couldn’t forget.

Mark sat at the head of the table, eating like everything was normal. Like they were just a family. Like she was his wife.

She picked at her food, barely tasting it. Her fork trembled faintly with every scrape against the plate.

Her eyes flicked up once—he was watching. Not openly, not obviously. But always. Always watching her movements, her breathing, the way her hand shook ever so slightly. Assessing. Controlling. Owning.

She dropped her gaze.

“Why didn’t you come back sooner?” he asked, suddenly.

Her fingers tightened around the fork. She didn’t answer.

He set his utensils down, the clink of metal against porcelain echoing in the silence. “You’re not being punished, you know.” His voice was calm, maddeningly so. “I’m patient. But if you think I’ll let you go wandering whenever you feel like it, you’re wrong.”

She still didn’t speak.

His chair scraped back, the sound grating. He moved toward her slowly, like a shadow stretching across the floor. When he reached her side, he crouched down beside her chair and took her hand in his.

She wanted to pull away. Her body flinched. But his grip was firm.

“You think this is cruel,” he said quietly, eyes locking onto hers. “But I lost everything. I spent years watching our son grow without his mother. Holding a piece of you and trying to keep it alive for him.” His hand cupped her cheek. “And now, I have a second chance. You don’t understand what that means to me.”

She looked at him, truly looked—and for a moment, she saw it. The cracks under the strength. The grief curdled into obsession. The pain twisted into possession.

And yet still…

She couldn’t breathe around it.

“You didn’t bring me back,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “You stole me.”

He frowned. Not angry. Not surprised. Just… unmoved. “If you were really mine, would it matter?” She tore her gaze away, her throat closing.

He stood, brushing her hair back gently before stepping away. “Come upstairs when you’re ready,” he said. “You’ve had enough space.”

He left her there alone. The fire crackled in the silence. Her plate was still full.

And across the room, in a silver-framed picture, was the other her—smiling in Mark’s arms, eyes bright with a happiness she couldn’t even imagine anymore. She stared at the photo long after the flames died down, trying to remember who she was… and what she still had left to lose.

She didn’t go upstairs right away.

She sat there, long after the food had gone cold, long after the silence thickened into something almost suffocating. The fire had died, yet she couldn’t feel the cold. Or maybe she had just grown used to it—being numb, hollowed out, surviving on instinct.

Eventually, her legs moved. Not by will, but by routine. By expectation. If she waited too long, he’d come back down, and the illusion of choice would be shattered all over again.

The halls were dark, lit only by the soft golden glow of the sconces lining the walls. Everything about this place looked regal. Grand. Viltrumite perfection. But it didn’t feel like hers. None of it did.

She reached the bedroom door. She paused. I don’t want this. But she opened it anyway.

Mark was by the bed, shirtless, drying his hair with a towel. He turned when he saw her, eyes softening just slightly. Like he truly believed her coming here meant something more. Something like consent.

She didn’t say anything as she stepped inside, and he didn’t push. Not tonight.

Instead, he dropped the towel and crossed to her, taking her hands gently.

“I know this isn’t easy for you,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “But it’ll get better. You’ll see.”

She didn’t respond. Just let him lead her to the bed, where he pulled her into his arms like she belonged there.

As if this was right.

He curled around her like a shield, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. She stared at the wall, eyes wide open in the dark.

Mark’s breathing evened out behind her. He fell asleep easily these days, holding her like a man who had finally recovered something irreplaceable.

But she… she never slept. She lay in the silence, thoughts churning violently beneath her stillness.

She hated what he’d done. Hated the way he looked at her like she was someone else—someone she could never be. Hated the way her body responded to him even when her soul was screaming.

And worst of all— She hated herself for letting it continue. Because every day, her resolve chipped a little more. Her mind blurred the line between survival and surrender.

The next morning, the warmth hit her first. A slow, creeping heat against her back, up the slope of her neck.

Then—lips. Soft. Familiar. Unwanted. Her eyes snapped open.

She stiffened immediately, a jolt of panic shooting through her spine like lightning. His mouth was at her neck, trailing kisses slow and languid, like this was any other morning. Like she hadn’t fallen asleep with her eyes wide open and her body full of dread.

Her breath caught in her throat. Her heart was pounding so loudly she could barely think.

Get off me— Move, Scream— A strangled gasp tore from her lips, half a cry, half a warning. He pulled back, eyebrows drawing together, clearly startled.

“Hey, hey,” Mark said softly, hands now holding her arms gently. “It’s just me. You’re okay.”

But she wasn’t.

She scrambled away, the sheets twisted around her legs as she backed into the headboard, chest heaving. Her eyes were wide, wild. His expression darkened—not with anger, but with confusion. Hurt. His jaw flexed, and he sat up straighter.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said slowly, watching her with unreadable eyes. “I thought we were doing better.”

Doing better. Her fingers dug into the sheets.

“You were kissing me while I was asleep,” she whispered, voice trembling. “You didn’t even ask.”

Mark’s brows lowered, lips parting as if to argue—but then he shut them again. A beat of silence stretched between them. Finally, he said, “You’re my wife.” The words hung in the air like poison.

“No,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “I’m not her.” He looked at her, long and hard, and for a moment—just a moment—there was something behind his eyes. Pain. Frustration. Something raw.

“I know that,” he said at last. “But you’re still mine.” She flinched.

That should’ve terrified her. And it did. But what frightened her more was the flicker of guilt twisting inside her stomach. Because a small part of her still remembered the way he held her like she was everything.

But that part of her wasn’t real. It didn’t belong to this version of her. It belonged to someone else—someone who’d chosen him. Loved him. And she was just the replacement. Mark stood from the bed, walking over to grab his shirt. He slid it over his head, jaw tight, movements tense.

“When you’re ready,” he said, not looking at her, “your son wants to see you.” And then he walked out.

She stayed there in the bed, heart pounding, throat burning, feeling like the scream she’d swallowed still lived inside her, echoing in her bones. And the worst part? She wasn’t even sure if she could trust herself to scream next time.

She walked quietly through the corridor, her feet bare against the cold, polished floors. The home was so eerily quiet, too large for just the three of them—too grand, too pristine. It didn’t feel like hers. It never had.

But the nursery door… that one she opened gently, slowly.

Inside, warm light filtered through the sheer curtains. A soft lullaby hummed from a small device by the crib, and there, standing in it with bright eyes and a curious grin, was the baby. Calen. She had overheard the name in passing, from one of the caretakers. A name she never got to choose. A child she never carried. Mark said it meant ‘strong’ or something similar.

When she stepped inside, he lit up. Tiny hands reached for her as he babbled excitedly, kicking his feet against the mattress. She moved on instinct, lifting him gently into her arms. His warmth. His smell. His little fingers curling into her shirt.

He cooed at her, soft giggles bubbling out as he pressed a small, chubby hand to her face.

And for a fleeting moment… everything was quiet. She didn’t feel trapped. Didn’t feel like a replacement. She just felt needed. Her lips trembled as she rocked him slowly, eyes burning. “You’re beautiful,” she whispered. “You look like… me.”

He giggled again, leaning into her chest like he belonged there. Then— Arms wrapped around her from behind.

She tensed immediately, her breath catching in her throat. Mark. “You’re so good with him,” he murmured, his voice low, brushing against the shell of her ear. “Just like before.”

She froze. The warmth she had felt just moments ago now turned to cold dread. “I think it’s time we gave him a sibling, no?” he continued, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder.

Her entire body stiffened. “I don’t—”

He sighed against her skin. The kind of sigh that wasn’t exasperated but patient, like he was dealing with someone who simply didn’t understand the inevitable. “The other you died in childbirth,” he said, voice eerily calm. “I hope it won’t happen again… but if it does…”

He tightened his arms around her waist, and her stomach turned. “There’s an infinite amount of different dimensions where you exist,” he whispered.

Her blood ran cold. She turned her face slightly, trying to pull away—something, anything—but his hand moved, slipping from her waist to her stomach, fingers splaying over it possessively.

“But that won’t happen,” he added, with chilling certainty. She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

She stared down at the baby in her arms, who stared back up at her with the same soft, loving gaze. So innocent. So unaware. And all she could think was— This isn’t a family. This is a cage. And she was being bred like a pet he couldn’t let go of.

She stood frozen in place, arms trembling around the baby as Mark’s hand lingered on her stomach, warm and firm like a brand.

Calen giggled again, blissfully unaware of the silence that had settled over the room like a thick fog. He reached up, tugging at her hair, then nuzzled into her neck, seeking comfort.

Mark’s voice stayed low. “He adores you. It’s like he remembers you too. Like something in him knows you’re his mother.” I’m not, she wanted to scream. Not this world’s version. Not his. Not in any way that mattered. But she didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. Her throat was too tight, her heart pounding too hard, and her body still trapped in his hold.

“Let’s give him a sibling,” he whispered again, his breath brushing the side of her neck. “You’re perfect for this.”

“I don’t want to,” she finally managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

There was a pause. Not long. Just a breath, but it was enough. Then he hummed, lips grazing her temple. “You’ll change your mind.”

He kissed her again, then peeled himself away slowly, trailing a hand from her stomach to her waist before walking out of the nursery. Not another word. Not a glance back. Just quiet, heavy footsteps fading into the hall.

She stood there, shaking.

Calen shifted in her arms, letting out a little whine for attention. She adjusted him automatically, trying not to cry, trying not to break—because if she started now, she wouldn’t stop. She pressed her cheek against the top of his head, closing her eyes. He was innocent. He didn’t deserve this. None of this was his fault.

But every time she looked at him, her heart ached. Because the longer she stayed here, the more it felt like her soul was being chipped away, piece by piece, until there’d be nothing left. Just a copy. Just a ghost in someone else’s life. And soon, she feared, even she wouldn’t remember who she really was.

That night, she couldn’t bring herself to leave the nursery.

Calen was already asleep in her arms, his tiny hands clutching the fabric of her dress. She sat on the rocking chair, the soft creak of the wood the only sound breaking the oppressive silence of the room. His steady breathing, the rise and fall of his chest, gave her some semblance of peace, even if it was fleeting.

She could feel her heart sinking with every passing second. The dark weight of Mark’s words echoed in her mind, like a song she couldn’t escape. Give him a sibling.

She glanced down at Calen’s peaceful face. He looked so much like her, yet so different. The soft features she recognized, but they were unfamiliar in this reality. He’s not hers, her mind repeated, and it hurt every time she thought it.

She stayed there for what felt like hours, watching him sleep, trying to ignore the pull of Mark’s presence from the hallway. He was lurking, waiting, and she could feel his eyes on her even if she couldn’t see him. He always watched her. Even when she thought she was alone, there he was—always a shadow, always hovering, as if she were some fragile thing that might break if left unattended for too long.

But she wasn’t fragile.

She wasn’t the woman he wanted. And yet… she was the one he had.

Just one more night, she thought, a weak lie to herself. She couldn’t stay here. She couldn’t keep pretending this was normal. But it was safer. It was calmer. It was easier than facing him tonight, facing the pressure and the expectations. She’d already seen what he was willing to do to keep her in line. What would happen if she defied him again?

A quiet knock on the door shattered the fragile peace she had been holding onto. She tensed, instinctively clutching Calen a little closer.

“Y/N?” Mark’s voice, muffled by the door, made her flinch. “I thought you’d be here.”

She stayed silent, unwilling to respond, but she could hear him step closer, the door handle slowly turning.

“Let me in.” His voice dropped, something dark creeping into his tone.

She swallowed, her fingers tightening around Calen. She didn’t want to go. She didn’t want to leave the safety of the nursery, of her son, but she knew. She knew if she stayed in here, he would come for her, demanding, claiming, taking.

She had no choice.

With a heavy heart, she slowly rose from the chair, carefully placing Calen back into his crib. His small form stirred, but he didn’t wake. She brushed a strand of hair from his forehead and forced herself to turn away.

The door creaked open, and Mark stepped inside.

He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at her with an intensity that almost burned. His gaze was heavy, knowing. Like he could feel her resistance, could smell the fear she couldn’t hide.

“You don’t need to go far,” he said softly, as though trying to reassure her. “Just come to bed. We don’t need to pretend anymore.”

She didn’t reply, her throat tightening with the weight of everything she couldn’t say.

“I’m not asking anymore,” he continued, stepping closer. “You’re mine, Y/N. I’m not going to wait for you to come around. You’ll learn to accept this. You’ll see, we’ll make it work.”

She took a deep breath, blinking back the tears threatening to spill. He doesn’t understand. No. He never would. He only saw what he wanted to see, what he needed to see.

But still, she followed him out of the nursery, unable to do anything else. She had no fight left. Not for herself. Not for her son. Not for anything anymore.

And as they walked back to the master bedroom, she couldn’t shake the feeling that, in another life, in another world, she would have been happy. She would have been free. But now… now, she was just his. And there was no escape.

The next morning, she awoke to an empty bed. The absence of Mark’s presence beside her was the only comforting thing in the suffocating silence of the room. She hadn’t moved all night, curled on her side, facing away from the empty space where he had slept.

She felt exhausted—more so than she had in days. Her body ached, not from any physical harm, but from the weight of it all: the emotional toll of her captivity, of being forced into this life she didn’t want, this role she never asked for. Her skin felt hypersensitive to the air, the sheets, everything. Her mind was still swimming in a fog of confusion and shame.

For a moment, she thought maybe she could just stay here. Stay in this bed. Close her eyes and disappear into the softness of the blankets, forget everything. But the baby’s cries broke through the haze of her thoughts like a piercing alarm.

She sighed deeply, running a hand through her tangled hair, and pushed herself up. Calen. He needed her. She couldn’t neglect him, not when he depended on her. He was an innocent child, untouched by the horrors of this world.

She pulled herself from the bed, stumbling slightly as she went to the nursery.

Calen’s cries had grown louder, more frantic. She rushed in, and the sight of him—small, vulnerable, eyes red from the tears—made her heart twist painfully. She scooped him up, holding him against her chest, gently rocking him back and forth. His little hands grasped at her, like he was reaching out for something he couldn’t explain. For comfort, for safety. For her.

She whispered softly to him, trying to calm him, but inside, she was breaking. She was so far gone—her body ached for peace, but there was no peace to be had.

A few moments passed before she heard the faint creak of the door. Mark’s voice followed shortly after, dark, familiar, and controlled.

“You’re up early,” he said, his presence filling the room as he leaned in the doorway.

She didn’t look at him. Didn’t want to. But her eyes drifted to his shadow in the doorway, knowing he was watching her. Always watching.

“I had to comfort him,” she replied softly, her voice almost a whisper. She tried not to sound weak, but the words came out anyway. She hated how much she still cared for Calen, for the connection she could feel with him—he was the only thing grounding her now.

Mark didn’t say anything at first. The silence between them was thick, heavy with unspoken things. Then, his footsteps echoed as he walked toward her. She tensed, instinctively holding Calen tighter to her chest.

“I’m glad you’re still taking care of him,” Mark finally said, his voice soft, almost appreciative. But she could hear the undercurrent of something darker there. “You’re his mother. You need to be here. For him.”

She flinched at his words, not because of the praise, but because of the unspoken expectation buried in them. Be his mother. In this world, she had no choice but to be.

Calen’s cries began to subside, his tiny hands resting against her chest in the same soft rhythm. He had calmed, but her mind was still in turmoil.

Mark’s gaze lingered on them both, before his lips curled into something that resembled a smile. “Good. You’re learning. This is what you wanted, right? To be a family?”

She didn’t respond. The question stung too deeply, too much.

Mark leaned in, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead, his touch too soft to be real. He was trying. Trying to play the role of the loving husband, the doting father, even though all of it was built on lies.

“You’re doing well,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. “We’ll make this work, Y/N. You and I, we’ll be perfect together. You’ll see.”

She wanted to scream. She wanted to shout that none of this was perfect, that this wasn’t the life she had wanted. But she couldn’t. Not anymore. She was too far gone, too deep in this twisted version of reality.

Instead, she held Calen tighter, her heart pounding in her chest as she felt Mark’s eyes boring into her back. She was trapped in this world, caught between her love for her son and the suffocating presence of a man who had broken her in ways she couldn’t even begin to understand. And all she could do was survive. For him. Her son.

But as the day passed, and she watched him grow quiet in her arms, something darker stirred in her chest. The resentment. The guilt. The desire to run. To be free. To not be owned. But she was owned. By him. And the realization made her stomach turn.

The rest of the day dragged on, each moment stretching longer than the last. Every time Mark spoke to her, his words seemed to press down on her chest like an iron weight, smothering any flicker of defiance she had left. She played the role—mother, wife, prisoner. She cared for Calen, fed him, rocked him, all the while her mind spinning, her body exhausted, drained from the constant conflict inside her.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a dim orange glow through the windows, Mark appeared beside her in the nursery again, his presence looming over her like a shadow.

“Isn’t he beautiful?” he asked, his voice gentle but with that edge she had grown all too familiar with—the edge that told her he wasn’t asking, just stating a fact. “He’s ours, Y/N. And soon, we’ll have more. You’ll see. We’ll make a new legacy. The perfect family.”

Her heart twisted in her chest at his words. She forced a smile, but it felt hollow, nothing more than a mask to hide her true feelings.

“I’ll be good for him,” she said quietly, her words distant, though she couldn’t quite bring herself to look him in the eye. “He deserves that.”

Mark’s fingers brushed against her arm, a soft touch that was laced with possessiveness. His eyes studied her, and for the first time in a while, there was something darker in them, something almost predatory. It sent a chill down her spine.

“You’ll be good for him because you have to be, Y/N. You are his mother. And I know you can do this. For him… for us.”

She swallowed hard, her chest tightening at the weight of his words, at the cold reminder that she didn’t have a choice. She couldn’t say no, not to him. And if she tried to, the consequences… she didn’t even want to think about them.

But something inside her refused to submit completely. Not yet. She couldn’t.

The baby shifted in her arms, and she adjusted her hold on him, a small act of defiance, as if to remind herself that there was something, someone, who needed her—someone who had no say in this twisted world they were trapped in.

Mark’s expression softened just slightly, and for a brief moment, she thought she saw a flicker of something akin to affection in his eyes. But it was gone just as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that same coldness, that same control.

He stepped back then, eyes narrowing, scanning her face. “I’ll leave you two for now. But remember, we’ll have to talk about the future soon. It’s time to focus on what comes next. What we need to do for our family.”

His words, no matter how sweetly spoken, felt like a command. A reminder that she was still very much a prisoner. She nodded numbly, her gaze dropping back to Calen, who had fallen asleep in her arms, unaware of the heavy tension hanging in the air.

As Mark turned to leave, he paused, his back still to her. “I’m glad you’re here, Y/N. I’ve waited so long to make this work. We will. Together.” Her fingers clenched around Calen’s small form, and she nodded again, even though it felt like a lie.

The door clicked shut behind him, and for a long moment, there was nothing but silence in the room. She remained there, holding her son, her mind racing, heart aching with the weight of her reality. She wanted to believe things could get better. She wanted to hope that maybe—just maybe—she could find a way to escape this nightmare, to protect Calen from the same fate she’d suffered. But deep down, she knew she was trapped. And no matter how much she resisted, how much she fought against him, she would always be held by his grasp. Always.

The weeks blurred together, each day blending into the next as she fell further into the routine Mark had crafted for her. She continued to care for Calen, but in her quiet moments, when no one was watching, the dread would creep in, reminding her of everything she couldn’t escape. She was still a prisoner in this world, a puppet to Mark’s every whim, and she was beginning to feel like there was no end to it.

But then something changed.

At first, it was subtle—an odd sensation in her stomach, a tightness in her chest, a sudden wave of nausea when she passed by certain smells. She dismissed it at first, attributing it to the stress of everything she was going through. But then it happened again. The sickness. The dizzy spells. And the constant, nagging fatigue that seemed to settle deep in her bones.

Mark, as usual, noticed everything. His eyes never missed a detail when it came to her, and she hated the way his gaze tracked every small change. He seemed… pleased when she leaned over the side of the bed one morning, retching violently into the bathroom sink. His eyes lit up, a smile playing on his lips.

“Feeling sick again, Y/N?” he asked, his voice almost too soft, too sweet.

She didn’t respond. Her stomach churned, the sour taste lingering in the back of her throat. She wanted to scream, to tell him everything—the anger, the resentment, the sheer helplessness of it all. But instead, she just wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and stood up shakily.

Mark’s gaze softened, but there was a glint in his eyes that unsettled her. It was something dangerous. Something knowing.

“It’s a good sign, you know,” he said casually, his tone light. “Means you’re carrying our child again. And soon, we’ll have another. Our family will grow. It’s just what we need.”

She froze, her heart slamming in her chest. “What?” she croaked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mark didn’t seem fazed by her reaction. In fact, it almost felt like he’d been expecting it. “You’re carrying our second child, Y/N. Isn’t it wonderful?” His eyes softened in a way that made her skin crawl, as if he believed he was doing her some sort of favor.

Her mind reeled as she took a few steps back, her thoughts rushing at a dizzying speed. No. She couldn’t be pregnant. Not again. The thought of it felt like a betrayal to herself, to everything she had tried to protect, especially Calen. The idea that Mark could manipulate her in this way—using her body as if it was something to breed from—sent waves of panic crashing through her.

Later that day, the doctors confirmed her worst fear. She was pregnant.

She sat there in the sterile white room, her legs shaking beneath her, staring at the screen as the doctor showed her the faint outline of the fetus growing inside her. Her stomach twisted in disbelief, but it was real. It was undeniable.

“Congratulations,” the doctor said, oblivious to the fact that the word meant nothing to her. “It’s still early, but everything looks healthy so far.”

The words rang in her ears, but she didn’t hear them. Her mind was focused on the fact that Mark had wanted this—wanted her to be pregnant again. He had manipulated her into this, probably long before she even realized. She could already feel him smiling at the thought, probably already planning for the future.

When she returned home, Mark was there, waiting for her. He didn’t ask how the appointment went. Instead, he took one look at her and smiled. “I knew it,” he said, his voice filled with smug satisfaction. “You’re pregnant. This is just the beginning, Y/N. Our family is going to be perfect.”

The room spun around her as he approached, his hands gentle as they cupped her face. But all she could feel was that suffocating pressure—the one that made it impossible to breathe, the one that told her no matter how hard she fought, no matter how much she resisted, Mark was always one step ahead.

Her stomach churned again, not just from the pregnancy but from the knowledge of what was coming. She felt trapped, suffocated by his expectations, by the weight of his need for control. It was never about love for her. It was always about ownership. And now, she was going to carry his child again, with no say in it, no choice.

And deep down, a part of her loathed herself for not being able to resist, for letting him continue to do this to her. But it was hard to fight when you were so completely powerless.

Days blurred together, each one slipping further into a haze of forced acceptance. The realization that she was pregnant again hung over her like a suffocating weight. She hated it, hated how it felt like Mark’s victory, as though she had no say, no agency over her own body. He was already planning their future, and she was just a piece of his perfect puzzle, no more important than a mere function in his world.

At times, the heaviness of it would make her want to scream, but she swallowed the urge. What would it accomplish? She couldn’t escape, not now. Even when she wanted to run, even when the instinct to flee burned in her chest, she knew the truth. Mark would catch her. He always did.

Every morning, he watched her, a steady presence in her life, always nearby. He never stopped observing her, never stopped making sure she knew that he was in control. Even when she tried to pretend everything was fine, he could see through it all.

She sat in the nursery, watching Calen play, the soft babbling sounds of her son mixing with the faint hum of the house. He reached for her again, and her heart twisted at the sight. He was so innocent, so pure. And yet, she couldn’t shake the thought that her child was growing up in a house where control was everything. Mark’s world was suffocating, and she couldn’t protect him from that.

Suddenly, she felt the familiar press of Mark’s presence behind her. His hand rested on her shoulder, a touch that felt too much like ownership.

“You’re so good with him,” he murmured. His voice was low, almost gentle, but there was something in his tone that made her skin crawl. “You’ll be a perfect mother for this one too.” His words sent a shiver down her spine. She felt as though she could hear the unspoken implication—you’re nothing but a vessel, a mother.

Her body stiffened, the tension growing in her shoulders. She didn’t turn to face him, didn’t want to look into the dark eyes that were always watching her, waiting for her compliance.

“I don’t want this,” she whispered under her breath, too quiet for him to hear, but still there, a protest to her own reality.

But Mark heard. He always heard.

“You’ll come around,” he said softly. “You’ll see. It’s not so bad, Y/N. It’s what you were meant for. We were meant for this.” He stepped closer, brushing her hair aside as he moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, holding her firmly against his chest.

Her heart sank. She was stuck. He was right in a way. No matter how much she fought it, no matter how much she hated it, this was her life now. She was bound to him.

“You think I’m cruel,” Mark murmured, his lips brushing against the back of her ear. “But I’m not. I’m giving you everything you could ever want. This family, this future. A place where you belong. Where we belong.”

Her hands trembled, and her heart beat faster as she struggled to push away the mix of emotions swirling within her. A part of her wanted to resist him, to scream and claw her way out of this suffocating situation, but another part—one she hated to admit—was still desperate for his approval, for some semblance of peace in the chaos he had created around her.

“You’re mine,” he continued, his voice dark and possessive, sending an unpleasant warmth crawling up her spine. “And I will never let you go. You’ll learn to love this, Y/N. You’ll learn to love me again.”

The words made her stomach churn. She felt herself nodding against her will, surrendering to his hold, to the inevitability of the life he had forged for them. And for the briefest moment, she felt something she couldn’t quite explain—a flicker of… longing? It disgusted her, but it was there, nestled deep inside.

She turned her head, not wanting to look at him, but unable to escape his gaze. Mark’s hand moved to her stomach, his fingers pressing gently against the small curve already forming. “This child,” he whispered, “will grow up to be just like us. Strong, unyielding, part of our legacy.”

Her heart hammered in her chest. She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the truth. She couldn’t run from this, no matter how much she wanted to. But the thought of another child—his child—suddenly filled her with dread. What kind of world was she bringing another life into? A world where she had no freedom, no say in her own fate?

Her breath caught in her throat. “I’m scared,” she said quietly, barely above a whisper. “What if I can’t do this?”

Mark’s expression softened for the briefest moment, but the tenderness didn’t last. His hand tightened around her waist, pulling her closer. “You don’t have to be scared. You won’t be alone. You’ll never be alone again. This is our world, Y/N. You belong here. With me. Forever.”

But even as he said it, a small, bitter part of her knew that this wasn’t the life she had chosen. This wasn’t the family she wanted. It was a prison, and she was the one who had built the walls around herself. And now, there was no way out.

As Mark’s lips brushed against her neck, she couldn’t stop the tear that slid down her cheek, the only sign that she hadn’t completely surrendered. But it was useless. She was trapped. And there was no way to escape the world he had forced her into.

As the days dragged on, the weight of her growing pregnancy settled deep within her bones. She was getting larger, and it was impossible to ignore the fact that her body was changing, not just because of Mark’s child, but because of the unrelenting pressure he exerted on her every day. His hand was always on her, always controlling, always keeping her in his sphere.

She couldn’t escape it. Not when his eyes followed her like shadows, not when every move she made was scrutinized, even if he wasn’t physically present. Her life was a constant reminder that she no longer had autonomy. She was a vessel, a mother to his children, a wife meant to fulfill the future he envisioned, no matter how much she resented it.

It wasn’t until her latest checkup that she got the news she’d been dreading. She was having a girl.

The doctor had been professional, kind even, as she spoke to her. “It’s a girl, Y/N,” the doctor had said, her tone gentle. “Healthy and developing well.”

But all Y/N could think about was how Mark would react. He’d been watching her so closely, ever since the pregnancy started, as if he was expecting every moment to be perfect. And now, when he found out the gender… she didn’t know if she could take it.

Mark was waiting in the hallway when she returned, his eyes lighting up when he saw her, but his gaze flickered to her stomach. He didn’t need the words—he could feel the shift, the slight hesitation in her body language, and he knew.

“Well?” he asked, his voice low, tinged with an excitement that bordered on obsessive.

She sighed, trying to ignore the knot tightening in her chest. “It’s a girl.” Her words were flat, but they were all she could muster. Her hands instinctively went to her stomach, fingers grazing the small bump.

Mark’s face lit up. He stepped toward her, his arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her to him so she couldn’t move away, his body close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him. His touch, possessive as always, made her stomach twist in a way she couldn’t control.

“A girl…” he repeated softly, almost to himself, as if the idea of a daughter brought something he hadn’t felt in a long time—something like joy, or perhaps pride. “I’m going to raise her to be strong, just like you.”

Y/N didn’t say anything. What could she say? She couldn’t tell him she wasn’t sure she even wanted to raise this child. That she wasn’t sure how to raise a daughter in a world where Mark’s control was suffocating every part of her existence.

Instead, she nodded stiffly, unable to stop the sick feeling creeping into her gut. She didn’t want to bring a child into this world. Especially a girl. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like for her daughter to grow up here, in this house, under Mark’s iron fist.

Mark’s hand moved to her belly, resting there possessively as he leaned down, brushing his lips against her forehead. “She’ll be beautiful, Y/N,” he murmured. “And she’ll be ours. Together. We’ll raise her to be everything this world needs.”

Her body tensed at his words. His vision of their future, so tightly wound up in his need for control, made her feel sick. He didn’t care about what she wanted, about what the child wanted. It was always about him, about what he needed, and what he was going to make of her and their children.

But she was trapped, unable to find a way out.

“Do you want to tell Calen?” Mark asked, his eyes sparkling with something that could have been love, or perhaps possessiveness.

Y/N’s heart clenched at the mention of their son, her son. She had never wanted to fail him, never wanted to be this way—this shell of a woman who couldn’t even protect her own heart, let alone the hearts of her children.

“He’s still too young to understand,” she replied quietly, pulling away from his embrace. “We’ll tell him when the time comes.”

Mark didn’t push it, but she could feel the tension in his stance. He wanted to talk about the future, about their family, about how the three of them would rule together, as if it was all so simple.

But it wasn’t. It never had been.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. She didn’t know when it happened, but eventually, she found herself standing in the nursery, cradling Calen in her arms, the soft coos of her son echoing in her ears. He reached up to touch her face, babbling happily, and for a moment, just a moment, everything felt right. He was hers. He was innocent. She couldn’t imagine him growing up in this place, but she couldn’t change it now.

And then there was the other one—the girl she was carrying. Another part of her heart, another piece of her life that had already been decided for her.

She didn’t know what to do with any of this.

“Y/N,” Mark’s voice pulled her from her thoughts, and she turned to see him standing in the doorway. He had a look in his eyes that was familiar—expectant, longing, yet still controlling. “We’re going to raise a legacy here. A family built on strength. You’ll see. You’ll be happy.”

The way he said it, as though he was trying to convince himself as much as her, made her heart sink. She was never going to be happy like this.

Not while she was trapped in his world. Not while he was shaping her into something she didn’t want to be.

But as she looked down at Calen, a wave of protectiveness washed over her. For him, for her unborn daughter, for the fragile piece of her that still wanted to believe in something else—she would keep going. For them. Even if it meant being suffocated by Mark’s world forever.

As the weeks passed, Y/N’s pregnancy continued to progress. She was now nearing the second trimester, her body beginning to show more obvious signs of the life growing inside her. Mark’s excitement was relentless, and though he pretended to be gentle with her, every day was a reminder that she had no say in any of this.

Mark watched her closely, his eyes never leaving her whenever they were together. He was always by her side, watching her movements, hovering when she tried to be alone. Even though she had long given up on resistance, a part of her still hated the suffocating nature of his presence. He wasn’t just her husband in this twisted version of reality—he was her warden.

The constant reminder that she was pregnant with his child, a girl this time, only made her feel more imprisoned. The only solace she could find was in her son, Calen. His innocent, joyful face was the only thing that made this place feel somewhat bearable. He was so small, so vulnerable, so full of light. Yet even with his love, she could feel the burden of everything pressing down on her.

One afternoon, she was standing in front of a mirror in her bedroom, her hands tracing the curve of her belly. It was still small, just a faint curve, but there was no denying it. She was carrying a child—a girl—who would grow up in this place, under Mark’s watchful eyes, just like her son. A shiver ran down her spine at the thought. What kind of future was she bringing them into?

Mark appeared at the doorframe, his gaze softening when he saw her, his hands clasped behind his back. His usual intensity had been replaced by something else, something almost tender. But Y/N knew that this tenderness was just as much about control as his usual aggression.

“You’re looking beautiful, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice almost too smooth, too calculated. “I can see our little girl growing inside of you.”

She met his gaze briefly before looking back down at her hands, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach. “I’m just carrying your child, Mark. That’s all.”

His expression faltered for just a second, but his smile remained as he approached her. “You’ll see, Y/N,” he said, his voice unwavering. “This is our destiny. Together. A family. We’re going to make this world ours, and you’re going to help me raise our children to be strong.”

She stiffened at his words. Strong. That word again. He always wanted them to be strong. To be his. But what about what she wanted? What about what they needed?

But she said nothing. What was there left to say?

Mark took her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles with an unsettling tenderness. “You’re almost in the second trimester now,” he continued. “It’s time to start planning for the future. We’ll be having more children, Y/N. Just as it was meant to be.”

Her mind screamed in defiance, but she forced the words to stay silent on her lips. More children? She wasn’t even sure how she could handle this pregnancy, how she could bring another child into this world, let alone keep them safe from the life Mark was so determined to impose on them.

The thought of more children terrified her. If the world she was living in was this twisted, how could she bring a child into it willingly? She didn’t know how much more of this she could take.

Mark stepped closer, his presence overpowering as he placed his hands on her shoulders, his fingers kneading into her skin. “You’ll be the perfect mother for our children. I know you’ll be the perfect wife too. You always were.”

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? She had been the perfect wife for him in another universe, before he had ripped everything from her, before he had trapped her in this twisted life, with no way out. She didn’t recognize herself anymore.

But what could she do? She wasn’t even allowed the freedom to hate him properly. She wasn’t allowed the space to feel anger. Everything she did was under his watch, every action an extension of his control. Even the moments when she wanted to break down and scream, the moments when she wanted to feel something other than despair—those moments were taken from her too.

Mark leaned in, brushing his lips against her cheek as his hands slid down to rest on her growing belly. She flinched, but he didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t care.

“I’m looking forward to raising this family, Y/N,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. “I know you’ll come around. We’ll have more children, and we’ll shape this world together.”

She bit her lip, her heart heavy in her chest. The more he talked about their future, the more trapped she felt. There was no way out. There was no escape. She had no choice but to go along with this nightmare and play the part of the perfect wife, the perfect mother, the perfect prisoner.

As Mark kissed the side of her neck, she closed her eyes, wishing that somehow, in some way, she could turn this around. But deep down, she knew. There was no escaping him. No escaping this world he had trapped her in.

All she could do now was survive. And survive for them. For Calen. For the baby she was carrying. She had to hold on, for their sake. Even if it meant surrendering every part of herself.

When Mark left the room that night, closing the door quietly behind him, Y/N felt the familiar suffocating emptiness fill the space. Her breath caught in her throat as she leaned back against the wall, the tears starting to fall before she could even stop them.

Was this it? Was she just someone to breed, to carry his children and bear the weight of his twisted vision for a perfect family? Was that all she would ever be in this world?

Her heart felt heavy, her mind racing with the cold truth of it all. Mark had never asked for her opinion. He never cared for her desires, her needs, her autonomy. She was simply another piece in his plans. She had once been the love of his life—her life—but now? She was just a tool. A vessel. A thing he could use whenever he wanted.

The walls of the room seemed to close in on her as she sank to her knees, her sobs racking her body. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want any of it. But she couldn’t fight him. She couldn’t fight the destiny he had chosen for her. He had already made up his mind. And she… she was just along for the ride, trapped in his world, with no escape.

Her thoughts spiraled. Was this the dynasty he was building? A family of obedient children, each one brought into this twisted world to follow in his footsteps? Was this the future for them? For her daughter? Would she be raised to believe that this was normal? That this was how life was supposed to be?

No.

She couldn’t let that happen. Not for her daughter. Not for Calen. She would not let them grow up thinking that this was all there was, that love and freedom and choice didn’t matter. But how could she protect them? How could she protect herself when every door she tried to open only led to more darkness?

She wiped her tears with the back of her hand, trying to force herself to breathe normally. But she couldn’t stop the tears from coming. She couldn’t stop the sickening truth from crawling inside her heart. She was trapped. She had been since the moment Mark had dragged her into this world, and the longer she stayed, the more she felt like she was losing herself.

She wasn’t just being controlled by him—she was becoming him. Becoming the woman he wanted, the wife he thought he could mold, the perfect vessel for his empire. She had no identity anymore. She had no freedom. She was a shell, a reflection of a woman that no longer existed in the way she had known herself.

The feeling of being reduced to something less than human, less than a person, broke her. She couldn’t escape this. She couldn’t even be angry about it, because anger only meant more punishment, more suffering.

For weeks now, she had gone through the motions, trying to keep herself composed, trying to keep her head above water. But now, in the quiet, alone in the shadows of Mark’s world, the truth crashed down on her like a wave.

Her sobs grew louder, her chest heaving with each gasp for breath. She wasn’t just crying for herself, for the woman she used to be. She was crying for the future she was forced to accept, the children she didn’t even want to bring into this world. She was crying because she couldn’t escape, because no matter what she did, Mark always had control.

Was this her fate now? To live and die as nothing more than a tool for Mark’s empire? Would she ever get to choose for herself again? Would she ever know what it was like to live without the constant shadow of his expectations hanging over her?

The tears didn’t stop. They couldn’t. They poured down her face as she wrapped her arms around herself, as if trying to hold herself together when everything was falling apart.

She had no answers, no plans, no way to fight back—not in this world, not under Mark’s watchful eyes. She could only pray that one day, somehow, she would find a way out. She couldn’t keep living like this. She couldn’t keep being broken, piece by piece, just to be molded into something she would never be.

But for now, all she could do was cry. And hope, somewhere deep inside, that a part of her would survive long enough to escape.

The soft creak of the rocking chair was the only sound in the room, a steady rhythm that comforted her in a way nothing else could. The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting pale rays across the floor as Y/N gently rocked back and forth, her hands resting on her swollen belly.

The stillness of the room felt suffocating, the silence too heavy to bear. She closed her eyes, trying to find peace, trying to convince herself that she could survive this. But the pressure of her current life—of the cage Mark had built around her—was always there, just beneath the surface, clawing at her.

She placed her hands on her stomach, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she spoke softly. “I know you can’t hear me yet… but I like to think you can feel me.” She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, the weight of her words almost too much to bear. “I remember when I used to be free. When the world was mine to explore. I used to run, laugh, make choices—small ones, big ones. But now…” Her voice faltered for a moment. “Now, it feels like I’m just… existing.”

The air in the room seemed to thicken, and the harsh reality of her situation pressed down on her chest. She had once had dreams, once had a life full of possibilities. Her family, her friends, even the small moments of happiness she had found in the quiet corners of her world—they all seemed like a distant memory now, slipping further and further from her grasp as each day passed.

“Sometimes, I wonder if this is all a nightmare,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I never thought this would be my life. I never thought I would be here, stuck in a place where my only purpose is to carry his children… to be nothing but a tool to him.”

Her fingers gently traced the curve of her belly, the sensation of life growing inside her both a miracle and a cruel reminder of the control Mark had over her. The baby kicked, and she couldn’t help but smile faintly, the small movement offering a glimmer of hope. You deserve better, little one. You deserve more than this.

She wiped away a tear that had slipped down her cheek, unable to stop the feelings that threatened to overwhelm her. “I wish I could change things. I wish I could go back to before. Back to when I was… me.” Her voice trembled, and her heart ached with longing. “I wish I could give you the world, not this… prison.”

Her thoughts drifted to her old life, her old world—the places she’d seen, the people she’d met. She remembered the nights spent under the stars, the laughter shared with friends, the hope that burned brightly in her heart. It seemed so far away now. So unreachable.

“But I’m stuck here now, aren’t I?” she whispered bitterly, as if the very walls of the room were listening. “Stuck with him, in his world, a world where my only purpose is to serve him… and to raise the children he wants.”

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Is this how it’s going to be forever? Will I always feel like a prisoner in my own skin, in my own life? When will I get to be myself again?”

She felt the weight of those words like an anchor pulling her under, drowning her in helplessness.

But even in her sorrow, she knew one thing: she couldn’t let herself completely break. Not with this baby inside her. Not with the small life growing beneath her hands. She would do whatever it took to protect them both, even if it meant holding onto the faintest thread of hope.

“I don’t know how I’ll do it, but I will,” she said softly, her voice steadying with a newfound determination. “I won’t let him destroy me. I won’t let him take everything from me. For you, I’ll fight… even if I don’t know how. Even if it feels impossible.”

Her words echoed in the quiet room, the only sound the steady rhythm of the chair rocking, as if to reassure her that even in the darkest of moments, she could find a way to survive.

Her hand rested on her belly once more, and this time, her touch was gentle but firm. “We will get through this, little one. We’ll find a way out. Together.”

The hours passed in a haze of quiet reflection, the only sound the steady rhythm of the chair as she rocked gently back and forth. Her thoughts circled like vultures, constantly returning to the same question: Is there any way out of this?

Her eyes were heavy, the exhaustion of the past weeks settling in her bones. But sleep eluded her. Every time she closed her eyes, the memories of Mark’s cruel control, his touch, his demands, flooded her mind. She had almost forgotten what it felt like to be free—to be herself. All she had now were fragments of a life she could no longer reach.

But her hand on her belly reminded her of what was at stake. The baby. The child that she was growing, the child she would protect no matter what. If she had to endure this nightmare for their sake, she would.

Yet, the longer she stayed in this world, the more it felt like she was sinking into a dark pit. She was trapped, her soul being chipped away little by little, day after day. She knew Mark was watching her from the shadows, knew he was keeping an eye on her, but she was determined to keep her emotions hidden. She couldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her break down.

Just as she was about to drift into a light sleep, the sound of footsteps reached her ears. She froze, every muscle in her body tensing.

He’s here.

Her breath hitched as Mark’s presence grew closer. She didn’t need to see him to know he was watching her. His energy was unmistakable. The suffocating weight of his gaze was always upon her.

Slowly, she lifted her gaze, her eyes narrowing as he stepped into the room, leaning against the doorframe. His eyes were soft, but there was something predatory in his gaze—something that made her stomach twist.

“You’re up early,” he said quietly, his voice laced with that strange calm that always sent a shiver down her spine.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady.

Mark didn’t move for a moment, just watched her, his eyes scanning her with an intensity that made her skin crawl. Then, as if deciding something, he walked towards her, his heavy footsteps echoing in the otherwise silent room.

He stopped right in front of her, towering over her like a shadow. Without saying a word, he reached down, lifting her chin gently with one hand.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice deceptively soft, as if he cared. But she knew better. The last time he’d asked her this, it had been to gauge whether she was still breaking under his control. It had nothing to do with concern for her well-being.

“I’m fine,” she lied, her voice thin but unwavering.

He tilted his head, studying her with those unreadable eyes. “I don’t believe you.”

She swallowed hard, fighting the panic that rose in her chest. “I’m just… tired.”

Mark stared at her for a long moment, his thumb lightly brushing her chin, a slight smirk playing at the corners of his lips. It was as though he found her struggle amusing. But she didn’t look away. Not this time.

He reached for her, his hand cupping her face in a firm grip, pulling her towards him. “You don’t need to lie to me. I see through you. Always have.”

Her heart pounded as he loomed over her, his breath warm against her skin. “Please,” she whispered, feeling the overwhelming weight of his presence. “I just want some space. Some time to breathe.”

For a moment, he was still, then he sighed, the sound filled with amusement. “Space? My dear, you have plenty of space.” He stepped back, letting her go but never breaking eye contact. “But I won’t force you to talk now. Not yet.” She let out a quiet breath of relief, but it was short-lived. He was toying with her. Mark always had a way of making everything feel like a game. And she was his pawn, whether she liked it or not.

“I’m just looking out for you,” he said softly, as if trying to soothe her, but the underlying threat in his words was clear. “You know that, right? You’re mine. And I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. Always.”

She closed her eyes briefly, refusing to let the tears that threatened to spill fall. His words rang hollow in her ears, but deep down, she knew he believed them. He truly thought he was doing what was best for her, even if that meant trapping her in this world, this life, for his own twisted satisfaction. Mark reached out to her again, but this time, his touch was gentle. He stroked her cheek, his thumb brushing her skin softly, a stark contrast to the harshness that usually accompanied his actions.

“I’ll let you have your peace for now,” he said quietly, the strange tenderness in his voice unsettling. “But remember… I’m always here. You don’t have to hide from me.” And with that, he stepped back, his gaze lingering on her for a moment before he turned and walked out of the room, leaving her alone once again.

As the door clicked shut behind him, she collapsed back into the chair, her body shaking with the weight of the emotions she couldn’t suppress. The facade she had so carefully maintained cracked just a little more, the cracks widening with every day she spent in this world. But no matter what, she wouldn’t give in. Not yet. She would hold on, for herself, for her baby. Even if it felt like she was drowning in the dark.

The silence in the room after Mark’s departure felt oppressive, like a thick, suffocating cloud. Y/N remained motionless, her hands trembling as they rested on her stomach, feeling the small life growing inside her. She closed her eyes, taking slow, deep breaths, trying to regain some semblance of control. It was getting harder, every day, to pretend she wasn’t falling apart inside.

She had become so accustomed to the idea of being trapped that sometimes, it almost felt normal. Almost. The lie she told herself was simple: just survive. Keep your head down, don’t provoke him, and above all else, protect the child. But the weight of that lie was heavy, and every day, it felt like it might crush her under its pressure.

The sound of footsteps outside the door caught her attention. She didn’t need to look to know it was Mark. His presence was too familiar, too undeniable. He always made his presence felt, even without speaking.

She stayed where she was, staring at the empty doorway, bracing herself. A few seconds passed before the door creaked open slightly. Mark’s silhouette filled the frame, just enough for her to see the faintest outline of his figure.

“You’re still here,” he said, his voice low and almost affectionate, but there was always an edge to it. Always a sharpness, an underlying possessiveness that made her stomach twist in on itself.

She didn’t answer immediately, unsure of what to say. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her upset. Instead, she turned her head, staring out the window, as if the world beyond held any possibility of freedom.

Mark stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. He didn’t approach her immediately, letting the silence stretch between them, as if savoring it. She hated the way he could be patient, how he could wait and let the tension build. It felt like a game to him. Always a game.

“You know,” he started, walking closer, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. “You don’t have to be so distant with me. I understand that you need time. It’s not easy, being pulled from your world, forced into a life that’s not your own.” He paused, as if contemplating his next words. “But you will get used to it. I promise. This will be your home soon enough. You’ll see.”

She couldn’t even bring herself to look at him. Her heart was a jumble of emotions—anger, fear, sadness—but mostly, it was an overwhelming exhaustion. It was all she could do to keep breathing.

Mark knelt in front of her, his eyes softening in a way that sent a chill down her spine. His hand gently cupped her face, and for a moment, she wished she could pull away, but his grip was already too firm.

“You’re mine, Y/N,” he whispered. “And you’ll learn to love this life. I’ll make sure of it.”

Her chest tightened, and she had to bite back the urge to scream. He had said those words before, and every time, they felt like a crushing weight on her soul.

“You took me from my world,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t a question—it was a truth she couldn’t escape. “You stole my life.”

Mark’s hand tightened on her jaw just slightly, his gaze darkening. “I didn’t steal anything,” he replied, his voice low and almost… tender? “I gave you a chance. A chance to be with me. To be part of something real. You have me now, Y/N. I’ve already given you everything you need. You just need to accept it.”

She closed her eyes, fighting the hot sting of tears that threatened to spill. She couldn’t let him see her like that. She couldn’t show him any more weakness.

And yet, when she thought of her old life, her old world, it felt like a distant dream—one that was slipping further away with each passing day. Would she ever get it back? Would she ever be free of this twisted life he had trapped her in? Or was this all she would ever be now?

As Mark’s fingers traced her jawline with a gentleness that felt so wrong, her mind spun with the idea that maybe, just maybe, this was all she would ever have—this cage, this twisted version of a life, and the baby she carried, the only piece of herself that was still hers. Would that be enough to hold her together? Or would she crumble under the weight of it all?

She didn’t know. All she knew was that the hope she clung to was fragile—so fragile. She had to find a way out, for herself and for the child inside her, but the thought of escaping this world felt as impossible as escaping her own mind.

Mark leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her ear, his words soft and chilling all at once. “Don’t worry, Y/N. Everything will be perfect. Just trust me. Trust in me.”

MONTHS LATER..

The pain hit her like a wave, crashing and pulling at her insides, gripping her in a relentless vise. She gasped, clutching the side of the bed, her knuckles white as her breath came in sharp, desperate gasps. The contractions were hard and fast, each one building in intensity until she could hardly think through the pain.

Mark was by her side, his hand gripping hers with an ironclad strength. He was calm, almost unnervingly so, his eyes watching her with a mixture of anticipation and something else—something darker that she couldn’t quite place. His other hand rested on her shoulder, offering what little comfort he could as she cried out in agony.

“You’re doing great, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, even as his eyes glinted with a quiet intensity. “Just a little longer. We’ll get through this.”

But it didn’t feel like it would end anytime soon. Her body was on fire with pain, each contraction coming faster, the pressure unbearable as her body fought to bring their child into the world. Her throat burned from the cries that tore through her, and all she could do was squeeze Mark’s hand tighter, the sensation grounding her in a reality that felt more like a nightmare than anything else.

The room felt too small, the air too thick, suffocating with the intensity of the moment. Sweat slicked her forehead, and she gritted her teeth as the next contraction hit, her body arching off the bed in a desperate attempt to manage the pain.

“Push, Y/N, push!” the midwife’s voice was a sharp command, but Y/N barely registered it as her body tensed, everything inside of her screaming. She felt as though her entire world was contracting with her, every fiber of her being focused on bringing the child into the world.

Mark’s grip on her hand tightened again, and she glanced up at him, seeing the sweat on his brow, the concern in his eyes. He looked almost… relieved. As if he’d been waiting for this moment, for this child. She couldn’t understand why, but there was something about the way he watched her that made her feel like she was being observed, studied under a microscope.

“Just a little more,” he said, his voice barely a whisper as she panted, struggling for air. “You’re almost there.”

With everything she had left, Y/N pushed. The room seemed to disappear for a moment, her vision going blurry, her hearing muffled except for the midwife’s encouraging words and the sound of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. It felt like forever, but at last, the pain broke, and a sound filled the air—the sharp cry of their child.

Y/N collapsed back against the bed, her body trembling, her face flushed from exhaustion and relief. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she closed her eyes for a moment, just trying to center herself. She couldn’t focus on anything but the feeling of her child, finally here.

But then, something shifted. She felt an odd heaviness in her chest, a tightening that didn’t feel like the usual aftershocks of childbirth. Her vision blurred again, and she felt lightheaded, her body slipping into a strange, cold numbness.

“Here’s your baby,” the nurse said, carefully lifting the newborn into her arms. The child, a small, wriggling bundle, was passed into Y/N’s tired arms, and she gazed down at the tiny face, her heart swelling with emotion.

She couldn’t hold her gaze for long, though. Her vision flickered, and a faint ringing began in her ears. Her hand, which had been cradling her child, trembled, and she felt a dull pressure in her chest that she couldn’t explain.

“Mark…” she whispered, her voice weak. But before she could say more, her vision darkened.

“Y/N?” Mark’s voice was sharp, urgent. His hand pressed against her forehead, but she didn’t respond. He started calling her name, louder now, but the sound felt far away. Her breath became shallow, and she felt the coldness seep into her limbs, her body growing heavier, as if the very life was slipping from her.

The midwife’s voice was frantic now. “Her heart rate is dropping! We need to move—now!”

The chaos around her grew louder, but it felt muffled, as if she were sinking deeper, drifting further away from everything. Her hand slackened in Mark’s, and his grip tightened in a panicked instinct, but it was too late.

She heard the doctors’ voices blur together, their panic and urgency clear. “Clear the room! Get the defibrillator!” But her body wasn’t responding. She was slipping. She could feel herself fading away, and though she wanted to fight it, to hold on, there was nothing she could do.

Mark’s voice cut through the haze, desperate, pleading. “No! Not again. Please, don’t take her away from me.”

But her body didn’t respond to his pleas, nor to the doctors’ frantic attempts to revive her. The rhythmic beeping of the machines grew erratic, then flatlined, the sound filling the room like a knife to the chest.

Y/N felt the last breath slip from her, her body no longer responding, her heart no longer beating.

And then, nothing.

Mark stood frozen, his hand still gripping hers, but the warmth was gone. She was gone.

He watched, helpless, as the doctors continued to try everything they could, but he knew. She was gone. His heart broke in a way he couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

“Not again,” he whispered to the empty room, his voice cracking, his gaze lingering on her still, lifeless form. “Please not again..”

Mark sat by her bedside, his fingers gently tracing the outline of her still hand. His gaze lingered on her peaceful, lifeless face, the finality of it settling in his chest like a heavy weight. The room was eerily quiet, save for the faint sound of the medical equipment beeping softly in the background, as if mocking the silence that had fallen over him.

He kissed her forehead, his lips lingering for a moment longer than necessary. He could still feel the warmth of her skin, the way her hair used to smell, the softness of her touch. She had been his world—his everything. And now she was gone.

His breath caught in his throat, the grief twisting like a blade through his chest. But even as he mourned, something else simmered beneath the surface—something darker, something primal.

He couldn’t lose her again. He wouldn’t.

Mark stood up, his movements deliberate but hollow. He could still hear her voice in his head, the last words she’d whispered to him before she’d slipped away. They haunted him, more than anything else—reminding him of what he’d lost. And yet, despite the pain, the guilt, there was something else there too. A determination.

He needed to find a new Y/N. A new version of her, from a different universe, one that wouldn’t die on him. One he could control, one he could mold into what he needed her to be.

The thought churned in his gut, a strange mix of desire and desperation. She had been everything to him. And now, it would be someone else. Someone who wouldn’t slip away. Someone who would stay with him—forever.

As the last traces of her warmth faded from his fingertips, Mark wiped the tears from his eyes, standing tall. He turned toward the door, his mind already racing. There were countless dimensions, countless versions of her. He’d find one, drag her back, and make her his again.

He didn’t need to kneel to anyone. He didn’t need to care about what was right or wrong. He just needed her.

Mark hadn’t been idle in the months leading up to this moment.

Even while she was alive—especially while she was alive—there had been a quiet fear lodged deep within him. A fear that history would repeat itself. That he would lose her all over again. He couldn’t afford to feel helpless again. Not like he did the day she died in childbirth the first time. So while she rested, while she held their son or walked the halls in quiet contemplation, Mark had been preparing.

In the heart of his empire, buried beneath layers of security and hidden from the eyes of even his closest allies, a team of scientists worked tirelessly under his command. Their mission was singular and absolute: replicate the power of Angstrom Levy. Unlock the secret of interdimensional travel. Bend the multiverse to his will.

It started with salvaged tech—scraps of Angstrom’s failed devices, data pulled from brutal interrogations with captured dimensional travelers. Then, it evolved into prototypes—unstable at first, requiring vast energy sources and producing erratic results. But slowly, steadily, his scientists refined the process. They built a gateway, something crude but functional. A portal not unlike Angstrom’s—but without the weaknesses.

Mark visited the lab often. Too often. Standing behind glass as test after test failed, watching with quiet fury as the rift between dimensions shimmered and collapsed. But he never gave up. He couldn’t. Because this wasn’t just about science.

It was about her.

He had always planned for the worst. And now that it had happened again—that cruel echo of the past—he had something the old Mark never did: a contingency.

This wasn’t desperation. This was execution.

He stood now before the completed machine, the humming vortex of light and energy stretching open like a hungry eye. One of the scientists, pale with nerves, looked up at him. “It’s ready, my lord. Coordinates are set.”

Mark gave a small nod, eyes fixed on the swirling portal. He had been planning this for months, ever since the first signs of her pregnancy had brought back the anxiety, the dread. He loved her, yes. But even love couldn’t conquer fate. So he’d done what Viltrumites were trained to do: anticipate. Prepare. Dominate.

And now, with his newborn daughter swaddled in a nearby crib and the woman he loved lying dead on a blood-stained bed, he didn’t mourn.

He moved.

This time, he would not be caught off guard. This time, he wouldn’t wait for fate to take her from him. He would simply take her back.

His jaw clenched as he stepped toward the portal, the determination in his eyes hardening with every passing second. The room behind him, filled with the smell of death, would soon be nothing more than a distant memory. He’d find a new Y/N, and he would never lose her.

The other versions, the other realities—none of it mattered. Only she mattered. Mark stepped into the portal, his heart set on one singular goal: to reclaim what was his.

@inkedeye2345 @v1tale

#x reader #reader insert #x female reader #invincible variants x reader #invincible variants #invincible x fem!reader #invincible x you #invincible x reader #invincible #mark grayson x y/n #mark grayson x you #viltrumite mark #viltrum mark x reader #viltrum mark #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson

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capt-marty · 3 months ago

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Hey, I remade that one animatic! Featuring my OC Ernest!

[ CW: vomit (in one part) & a little eye straining at moments. Also general horror kinda ]

Rambles under cut!

I've been meaning to remake this for a while, given my art skills AND animatic skills have improved a LOT but I just didn't for a while... until a bit ago!

I love Ernest he is my favorite little guy... his lore makes me sad and evil

I need to utb post here more because I know there's utb fans from Sock... I just uh... forget to post my art. All the time.

All the utb art on here from me is like SO OLD I was going through the tag and bursting into tears dear god.

So uh... there may or may not be a random flood of new utb posts from me. I've posted some of my new utb refs before buuut- I might make like. A masterlist post with all of them, and talk about the characters too so you can know them better if you aren't addicted to looking at toyhouses like I am!

Thats all. Take a ernest

He's losing it

#utb #my art #my ocs #utb ernest #utb huck #utb iris #undertale blue #animatic #nothing wrong with him at all

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readychilledwine · 11 months ago

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Odd One Out pt 2

Summary - After 500 years of friendship, the last thing you ever expected was the Inner Circle to miss one of your symphonies. But you know what they say, time changes people.

Warnings - 10 year time jump, groveling, Fluff, reader forgives Azriel, loosely edited (Liz will fix and check for mistakes she and her friend missed with fresh eyes 💕)

A/N - forgive the name picked for Kal and Vivienne's daughter. So many of you are playing with Disney princess themes I couldn't shake it.

Odd One Out pt 1

✨️ Azriel Masterlist ✨️ Master Masterlist ✨️

Dawn was beautiful. In the past 10 years, as you had toured the Realm performing, you had realized that quickly. Every court always brought you back to Dawn. Every High Lord brought you back to Thesan. Thesan had allowed you to build home here, welcoming you and your talent with open arms, and tonight was a true testimony of his love for you and your music as he paid you a high honor.

Thesan had spent the day hosting the quarterly High Lord's Meeting, and tonight, his gift of relaxation to the other High Lords was you, your orchestra, and a night of candle lit music, champagne, and food.

You smoothed out the dress Thesan had commissioned for you tonight. An off the shoulder tulle number with long sleeves. It was soft and buttery, flowing with every step. The top hugged you perfectly, and two long slits sat on each leg, exposing them and the heels you were wearing. The fabric was a soft white color, a stark opposite to your conducting gowns in the Night Court. Jewels were sewn into the fabric, dripping down your body like you had been wrapped and bathed in starlight. The only sign of your home was that star-like glow and the earrings Azriel had bought you many years ago. The rough diamonds set in rose gold had backs that dropped on delicate chains with another diamond sitting at the bottom. “something delicate for my gentle girl,” he had whispered that sentence to you, letting it sink into your skin and mind.

How odd it truly felt to compare that moment to when Azriel sat there in silence as Elain lashed out against all you had built, all your hard work, studying, you're very being.

You took a deep breath, silencing your nerves as the theater went quiet. Dinner had been served, drinks flowing left and right, and now it was time. You watched as you musicians took their places, sitting and preparing themselves as well. Most had followed you from Night, and last you tragically heard, the Rainbow had grown silent in your absence. The new musicians ranged from every court, every walk of life. You smiled fondly at what you had remade, at their outfits so finely crafted of black fabric and silks.

Thesan took the stage next, doing something Rhysand never had, “High Lords and Ladies, faithful emissaries, friends. After a long day of tense negotiations, words said in anger and frustration, and Rhysand's horrible father jokes,” a loud “hey” came from the audience making you laugh softly, “I could not think of a more enchanting way to end our night. A decade ago, a talented female came to me, offering to exchange a week of shelter and security for her playing music nightly for my court.”

Thesan looked so softly towards you, “An offer many of you would go in to receive as well as she traveled our lands studying our music and history. Her talent had touched my fae and myself so deeply that when the time for her to make a home base came, I was honored when she approached me and built this theater to her exact wants and needs.”

He continued after a long breath, “Tonight is her first performance and opening night. I felt it would be wrong for anyone besides all of us to see her newest pieces first. Pieces inspired by every court, by all of our stories, of our fae’s stories. She wrote a collection of 7 songs, for us, about us.”

Silence refell over the room, a quiet appreciation for what they were about to see. “Without further ado, y/n.”

Clapping began as the faelights turned off, and candles took their place, glowing and reflecting off your gown. You bowed gracefully before turning and raising your hands as soon as Thesan took his seat. You began the concert in Tamlin's court, playing a piece inspired by his own love of music and the sounds of a spring storm. The music rose before a gentle fall where everything became more gentle as if it was quiet after a hard rain. You couldn't see as Briar took his hand at the swell, the soft moment where the violin went from the jig of a fiddle to the formality was a reflection of the moment Tamlin's dreams were lost to him, but new dreams began.

Summer was a symphony to the magic of bioluminescence. The sound was heavily inspired by the night of laughter and fun you had watched Varian and Amren enjoy. It had been the ancient female's first time seeing the ocean turn to waves of stars, and Varian had hired you to play for them that night. She cried as a familiar harp solo came, one that she had turned to Varian on one knee as you played it.

Autumn was the sound of battle and passion. Eris's rise as high lord was captured in every note, every building drum. The high lord openly smiled during the peak. The moment where drums of war faded to the sounds of peace. The sound of peace after war was shown through a soft wood flute playing. An instrument that was born in Autumn's halls.

Winter had been the most unique to compose. Kallias and Vivienne's story was so well known, but their daughter, their darling Elsa, the 10 year old princess, was an unknown and protected factor. You took a deep breath before beginning this piece and looked to the white-haired girl, “For you,” you said softly to her bright grin. Elsa had written on sheet music for you during your stay there, lyrics to accompany the notes on your page, you held out your hand, welcoming your only singer for the night. The song was a desperate plea, a singer begging to be noticed for who she was, for her talent to be noticed before her beauty. You had picked the singer based on how young and fragile her voice sounded, the way it truly felt like a cry as she begged to be looked at for who she was.

Dawn's turn came and the music felt like taking flight, it encompassed the thrill of the air, of an early morning sunrise adventure. The piece left you breathless due to the amount of movements it took. It was intricately layered and as lively as Thesan's court while maintaining an air of class.

The Day Court was music of love and sex. Tender moments mixed with playful notes and chords that screamed sensuality. The tone was overall seduction, but moments of tenderness came through as well. It was a tribute to the biggest flirt you knew. The biggest flirt who became the most faithful husband.

You were left with one court. You turned to begin your thank you and took a deep breath, “Over the past several years, you all have welcomed me into your courts and homes with open arms. You allowed me to study the music of your homes, your culture, and learn to play them to perfection. For that, I will always be grateful and so humbled by the generosity and kindness shown to me.”

You took a deep breath, stilling the last of your nerves. “My story begins in Night, though. My childhood began a long friendship between myself and someone who pushed me towards my dreams. This last song is dedicated to him.”

Azriel heard as Rhysand held his breath. He watched as his brother laced his fingers with Feyre. Feyre began to cry immediately. Of all the songs you composed, this one held the most strings, a clear call to Rhysand and your humble beginnings in the streets of the Rainbow playing. Azriel watched you in awe.

You turned and a voice you had heard countless times played through magic. It was the moment they had met and a soft purr of, “There you are. I've been looking for you," echoed before the music began.

10 years, 10 years without even so much as a whisper or note. He watched you move with grace, watched as a violin sang softly. The tune was a call to the Inner Circle, and before Azriel could stop them, his shadows began to dance.

Every movement of your arms and body was like watching liquid starlight sparkle and gleam to the fantasy inducing tune you had created. As your hands fell to indicate the end, Azriel felt his heart stopping.

It was the bond that drew him to you.

It was the years of friendship, of quiet nights listening to you play for just him, or long hours with you hands over his, so soft and warm, teaching him to play piano.

It was the fact that he was in love with you. And he realized he had been for a very long time.

Kind, talented, beautiful, you.

He watched as you wiped a few quick tears as you and Rhysand held eye contact. He felt his breath hitch as you bowed during your queue before walking out.

The orchestra played a familiar tune as everyone stood to leave and feyre began to cry. You had played this song during Feyre's first Starfall, hoping the romantic tune would have been enough to make the high lord and his mate kiss. It became a song they begged you to play every second they could. Rhysand held Feyre while looking at Azriel.

“Get. Her. Back.”

You did not attend the after party. Seeing the Inner Circle had been too much. You had hoped that after all these years, that pain would be gone. You leaned against your balcony, humming a new tune you wanted to write. A shadow caressed your skin as you moved inside and sat at your harp. “I know you want me to play your song.” The shadow swirled and began to dance as you plucked the taunt strings.

“You spoil them.” Your breath hitched at that familiar voice. “Don't stop,” Azriel sat down in the corner of the room. “They've missed dancing for you.”

You let out a shaking breath and began again, watching with a soft smile as the shadows weaved and played. The sight always memorized you. They always memorized you. These beautiful shadows were more like children than darkness. Each had a personality, a voice, a preference in instrument. You finished and lowered your hands.

“Elain is probably wondering where you are.”

Azriel rose a brow, “Elain and Lucien are on their honeymoon, sailing the world.”

You knit your brows. “I'm sorry. I know you loved her.”

“Not the way I love you.” Silence fell over the room, “I have loved you for so long and been blind to it. I will never get back the time I wasted in my stupidity. I will never be able to take back the hurt Elain caused you.”

You went to open your mouth and speak, “No. I want you just to listen to me, y/n.” You nodded and looked at him. “I love you,” he stated it like a finality. “The bond snapped for me the night you left, but in your absence, I have realized I loved you long before that blessing and that I would love you long after.”

He paused and continued, “I was silent when Elain spoke to you because I was in shock, but that isn't a good enough excuse. She hurt you, and I stayed silent. I will never forgive myself for that, so I do not expect you to. I'm not even worthy of asking you for a chance to make things right, but I am here as a desperate male. A male who wants nothing more than his mate, his love.”

“Azriel-”

“Listen,” he moved to you, getting in his knees before you and taking you hands in his. He placed one on his face and smiled. “I dream of this gentle hands, of the joy they bring. I dream of you. Of your love and light. Your heart. When I sleep, I pretend I can hear your heart dancing for me, luring me like a siren spell.”

Your bottom lip trembled and a tear fell, his love for you poured down that neglected bond, warming every inch of your being. “Azriel..”

“Y/n, I am so sorry I wasted so much of your time, of our time.”

You threw your arms around him, holding him tight as he continued. “I beg you to allow me to try to make this right. To show you how special you are to me, to our home, to our family. I am begging you for just a chance.”

His words left like a healing and soothing balm on unseen wounds. “Our family is at a party just below you. Waiting for me to either come back with you or to mourn the loss of you forever. Tell me what I am doing. If I have failed us.”

The party was in full swing as Rhysand watched Nyx and Feyre dance. He held his empty whiskey glass, debating on another one when perfectly manicured hands grabbed his empty glass and placed a full one in his grasp. He grabbed that soft hand instantly, “y/n darling.”

“Rhysand,” He turned and kissed your palm, violet eyes on yours. You continued the greeting softly. “Your presence makes my mind sing the most beautiful song.”

Rhysand held back tears as he answered, “And my heart longs to hear you play it.” He nuzzled your hand. “Come home to us.”

You sighed happily as Azriel rested his hand on your back, “I believe we can negotiate that."

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp

Odd One Out Taglist:

@gabbiskylar01 @whyonearthisyourusernamethi-blog @blacktreacle22 @buttermilktea11 @heartless-tate @nerdy4itall @eep500 @tele86 @cleverzonkwombatsludge

#Spotify #acotar #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel fluff #azriel fic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel fanfic #acotar fanfiction

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just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace · 7 months ago

Text

Rings of Power Masterlist

-> all fics are x fem!Elf!reader

-> please check the warnings for each fic before reading

-> ao3 account

-> general masterlist

🎀 = contains smut

-> Sauron

Ruin - in which you share a moment alone in the forge

Misled - in which he tries to convince you that your father, Lord Celebrimbor, is the darkness you saw in the Unseen World

Distraction - in which he blinds you to the invasion of Eregion by giving you a taste of what you desire

Choice - in which you try to persuade Halbrand to follow you to the Southlands, regardless of his past

Decision - in which you find out why Halbrand has been distant despite the intimacy you shared in Númenor, and now it’s your turn to decide whether or not to follow him on the path ahead

Perfect illusion - in which you have to sit at your father’s side while Sauron coerces him into finishing the Nine, realizing just how blind you have been all along

🎀 Inspiration - In which you struggle coming up with new designs for the Nine, and the Lord of Gifts helps you overcome your creative block

🎀 Further inspiration - in which you discover Annatar aiding Celebrimbor in his work with the same unconventional method he used with you, but that doesn’t mean he has discarded you

-> Evil!reader (chronological order)

* technically these share the same reader, but as the fics were not written in chronological order, each of them is either self-contained or has some info beforehand so it’s not too confusing wherever you start. So feel free to read them as a series or simply pick what sounds good to you.

* playlist for vibes

*some crazy memes about these two here and here

Remade - in which you nurse Sauron back into his physical form, eager to be reunited with your great love once more

🎀 Tides of fate -> in which your newly returned husband is unsure of the path ahead, and the sea itself tries to deter you from the one you choose together

Reunion - in which your husband finally returns from his time in Númenor, and you make the most of the first moment you get him alone

As one - in which you sense that your husband is being tormented at Adar’s camp, and you join him through your bond to share in his burden from afar

🎀 As we are now - in which you explore your husband’s new form, and it leads to you breaching a rather delicate subject

A true gift - in which you share a private moment with your husband, then add a special little detail to his new look

Jealousy - in which you know he is only getting close to Mirdania as part of your plans, but it still bothers you

Reveal - in which you can’t seem to quell Celebrimbor’s suspicions, and he finally learns the true identity of you and your husband

🎀 Theatrics - in which Celebrimbor tries to expose you and your husband to the people of Eregion, but you play the role of the innocent maiden to perfection

Old Wounds - in which you guard Celebrimbor to make sure he finishes the Nine, and he makes the mistake of underestimating the bond you and your husband share

Kill and make up - in which you and your husband discover that Celebrimbor has escaped with the Nine, and it brings out the uglier side of your relationship

Defied - in which Celebrimbor manages, with his dying words, to unearth some truths which you and your husband are desperate to deny

The Two - in which Galadriel fights to withhold Nenya and the Nine, but in the end she fails to stop your husband placing yet another ring upon your finger

-> Galadriel

Lost - in which she sees you in her 2x02 vision instead of Celebrimbor

Blindly - in which you find Galadriel in the waters of the Glanduin, acting strange in a terrifying way

#sauron x reader #annatar x reader #galadriel x reader #the rings of power #masterlist

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muffinsin · 2 months ago

Note

Hii! Can I please have some headcanons of the Dimitrescu Daughters with a new little sister that Alcina created with the Cadou?

For sure :) I’ve done something very similar to this before, so I’ll leave it linked here if I find it

Let’s get into it🙌

Masterlists

Alcina didn’t quite plan on having another daughter, per say

The thought just rarely crossed her mind, really

Of course, there were times she thought back to the early days in her daughters’ lives, back when they messily grabbed at her clothing for comfort, unsteady on their shaky, weak legs that just kept on turning into swarms of flies, much to their frustration

When they whined and snarled for attention, when they bit at her hands affectionately, unable to express their adoration and happiness in many other ways

Back when they were just reborn, when they were but little swarms of flies and limbs, their eyes wide and curious as they took in the world

Occasionally, she thinks of the wonder in their eyes, of teaching them and showing them new things

Of their achievements, their little giggles once they finally understood how to swarm

Alas, the thought of actually taking in another daughter hasn’t crossed her mind

She has her three precious girls already, after all

Her precious eldest, so smart, headstrong, and caring. Her pride, her successor. Her Bela, her eldest

Her fierce Cassandra, improving her tactics day after day so Alcina is sure she will outnumber her kills and outmatch her as it comes to the hunt in no time. She couldn’t be any prouder

Her sweet Daniela, playful and curious, energetic and clingy. Her sunshine, capable of bringing a fond smile to her face even when she storms into her room snarling and whining, complaining about her sisters or the staff as she often does. Of course, to Alcina, her little Daniela could do no wrong. None of her daughters, for that matter

She’s happy with them, honored they chose, accepted, her as their mother

But then, something odd

A call, an offer, directly from Mother Miranda

A reject, a woman reborn through the cadou, much like her daughters

Alone? Surely, you would not survive

No, Alcina Dimitrescu didn’t think of asking for another daughter, already so happy and fond of her three little flies

But, being summoned to Miranda’s lab and seeing the little fly pile move and toss and to hear the whines from within…

Alcina Dimitrescu is a mother

And when a little hand reached out from the pile of flies and blindly reached for her dress, just as she remembers her daughters once did, it was over

She takes you in on the same day, eager to bring you to your new home

This, of course, leaves Bela, Cassandra and Daniela…confused

While the brunette believes you might be prey brought home for dinner, Daniela squeals happily at the sight of you, gushing about how cute you are, whining and swatting at your own flies

Bela, as often, observes with a calculating gaze

And only when Alcina clarifies your status as their younger sister, things turn a little…messy

While they aren’t proud of it and often feel guilty for it, your three older sisters did not cope well when you were brought into the family

Often, they would stay away, plagued by insecurity and jealousy after it was just the three of them for so long

You grow fast, clinging to Alcina and sneaking glances at the three beautiful, intimidating women mama said are your sisters

You don’t understand much at the start, your body and mind remade after being reborn. But, you like them

You like them even as they don’t talk to you in the early stages, when they can’t even bear to look at you after seeing Alcina shower you in attention

Of course, the mother of four tried her best to balance things out, to show them, this doesn’t change her love for them

But you’re reborn, dependent, young. You need her constant attention, unlike them, biologically speaking. You’re her youngest, now. And they don’t like that, for a long time

Funnily enough it’s Bela who interacts with you first, after a few months of being reborn, when she dares sneak a peak at you again

She often used to tell herself she doesn’t care for you, that she doesn’t like you, perhaps even hates you for taking her mother. She knew even then, it isn’t true, was never true

But the jealousy…

She’d sometimes venture into your room, her golden eyes set on you. Sometimes, you’d respond, a happy smile

And one time, one day, she interacts with you

She doesn’t want to, really, didn’t mean for it to happen

She watched you try to climb from the large bed you’re on- a bed made to fit Alcina, not one of (somewhat-) human stature

She watched you fall

And before she could help herself, she caught you, unwilling to see you get hurt

From then on, she’s a little friendlier to you

Yes, you took her mama’s attention from her, but she can’t help but care for you, still, feeling your swarm even in the early days

(-in the time to come, Alcina would regularly schedule time for each of her daughters, as she did in the early days of her eldest 3, to ensure all still feel her care and get to bask in her attention)

Daniela was next, comes around when you became old enough to understand words and babble quietly to yourself and others

While she used to feel a fierce sense of jealousy, having been the youngest of the family before you, she couldn’t help but think of all those times she craved her family’s attention

When she so badly wanted someone to play with, all alone in the big castle when mama had to work

When Bela studied, when Cassa trained

She figured, she could try being that person for you. Just to give it a try

And so, one day, you find your older sister sat with you on your mama’s bed, rambling on and moving her hands as she talks for hours to no end

You don’t understand most of what she’s saying, but you like it, still

Especially back then already, you loved Daniela’s voice. She’s the most energetic out of your older sisters. She’d ramble for hours. As you got older, this would cause lonely hours to pass fast and to make you smile even on bad days

Then, lastly, Cassandra

She never cared much for being at you at the start, something she is deeply ashamed of to this day

She just didn’t see the point in being with someone unable to talk, walk, hunt, or even train with. Such boring company, really!

But, she’d stay with you at times, sharpen her weapon while sitting by your side, grumble about this and that

Quality time, or something like that, her sisters had insisted

It isn’t you she doesn’t like, really. Just the lack of things to do with you, at the start

But, as you grow older, grow from a toddler-like mind state to the one of a child, of a teen, she already becomes much more involved

Cassandra quickly becomes your go-to person to turn to when you want to have fun

Even on bad days, she can make you roll with laughter

She teaches you how to hunt, teaches you how to sneak out, how to scare your sisters

The two of you become very close, and much like with her sisters, she turns out to be fiercely protective of you

They all are, for that matter

With three sisters and your mother up and about the castle, you never have no one to turn to

When Bela and mother are busy, there’s always the option of chatting with Daniela or helping Cassandra out

She especially likes to show you how to hunt and prepare meat

Funnily enough, Cassandra is also the only one to encourage you to visit the basements and hunt early on- under supervision for safety, of course

You’re a Dimitrescu, after all. You have no one to fear, nothing at all, not even the basement

Should you show interest, this sister is more than eager to teach you to hunt and fight, to train you, to introduce you to her favorite torture methods and so on

About this, even she can ramble on for hours

When it comes to gossiping or deep emotional talks, though, you know Cassandra is not the one to seek out. She’s just not that type of person, but will hold and try to comfort you nonetheless whenever she notices you’re in distress and she can’t actively do something to help by killing whoever is responsible for your sorrow

Bela, you find, is an excellent listener and teacher

You can always come to her, will always find her room open to you

She’s stricter than your other two siblings, more mature, and it somewhat shows

She tries to raise you to be your best, at times, and it shows

Bela teaches you to read, write, how to think critically and make good choices

She understands, you are the youngest. She just attempts to raise you to a higher level of maturity than her playful, younger sisters nonetheless

That being said, she will still always have an open ear for you, and open arms ready to wrap around you

And, while Cassandra and Daniela both claim she’s uptight and a snitch at times, you find; Bela never tells on you

She scolds, yes, ensures you never do things again by explaining why they were bad. But she never tells on you, never tells Mother when you did something bad or stupid

She insists, she trusts you will take her warnings and explanations to heart and stay out of trouble when you can

And lastly, a complete opposite;

Daniela

Your most playful sister by far, and the most random and spontaneous one

While Bela tries to help you become more mature and think critically, Daniela loves to just have fun, regardless of what the consequences may be

Like this, she often (nearly-) gets you in trouble, times when both of you stand in front of your mother, awkwardly looking away to avoid her disappointed glances

That is, at least, up to the point when Daniela pulls out the most effective puppy eyes you will ever see, effectively lessening your punishment or making your mother forget she was upset with the two of you in the first place

Regrettably, Daniela does not teach you this move, insists it’s for her to know alone

But, you find something almost as effective

You find, merely pleading with your mother and reminding her of the early days in your life does the trick

No matter how upset, she will always calm and smile when you bring up how much you love her and- oh, yes, can she remember the time you’d cling to her, too young to walk? Why not tell you the story of it again?

Like this, all her anger and disappointment is gone

You, and your sisters, will forever just be her little flies, after all, forever her little, buzzing swarms in her eyes

#cassandra dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #resident evil village #apearlofkai

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amica-aenigmata-naboo · 7 months ago

Text

Weekend With You

Christian Yu / Mito x Y/N - drabble - 1.1K WC

Masterlist

Warnings: FLUFF AF, menstruation, embarrassment, they are both such good boyfriends I cannot stress this enough, very sweet, I guess this could be slight hurt/comfort?

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Christian watched as you slept peacefully. The way your chest rose and fell softly was hypnotizing, he felt like he could watch you like this forever.Your eyes fluttered open and found his almost instantly. He leaned in, “Good morning lovely.” he said with a smile while pressing a kiss to your cheek.

You smiled before your face scrunched up, “Oh for fucks sake!” you said with anger in your voice before you quickly got up from the bed and rushed into the bathroom.

Christian sat up, looking at the shut bathroom door with confusion. He pulled the covers back to follow after you then he saw it. A little puddle of blood staining the sheets on your side. Oh. On one hand, he understood why you felt the way you did. On the other, he knew you were going to feel bad and embarrassed as you two had just gotten comfortable staying at each other's apartments. Christian stood up quickly and stripped the bed, tossing the comforter into the dryer and the sheets into the wash. He remade the bed just in time for you to reemerge from the bathroom. As expected, your eyes never met him and your cheeks were burning red.

You tried to move past him, “I’m um… I’m gonna go home.” you said, picking up your sweatshirt quickly.

“No you’re not.” Christian said. He gently tugged you back to the bed where you noticed the different sheets.

“I’m really sorry about the sheets… I can buy new ones…” you mumbled.

Christian shook his head, “Absolutely not. What you can do is get back in bed and order everything you want and need while I go get my heating pad from the living room.” he said, pushing his phone into your hand.

You refused to sit down, “My underwear still has blood on it…” you whispered.

Christian thought for a second before running into his closet and bringing you back a pair of underwear. You looked at him with confusion as you took them from him, “When I modeled for Calvin Klein I got some for you but wasn’t really sure how to give underwear as a gift without looking weird or like I had ulterior motives…” he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.

You smiled softly, taking them from him, “Thank you.” you said sincerely. You moved to go back to the bathroom before Christian stopped you again, handing you clothes that were sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I thought you might want these? They're comfy and clean.” he said. You could see it on his face; he wasn’t exactly sure what to do in this situation but he was trying and it made your heart melt.

“Thank you… I’ll um, I’ll be right back.” you said, shuffling into the bathroom. You changed, setting his phone down on the countertop. You heard it buzz and looked over, it was a text from his mom.

Mom - 9:26 AM

Make sure she eats well and gets plenty of rest, water too! Whatever she wants, get it for her. A relaxing day is all she needs :)

You wanted to cry at how sweet Christian is. You had never met his mom but the fact that she knew of you, and the fact that he cared enough to text his mom and ask how to properly care for you made you absolutely sick with love. You emerged from the bathroom to Christian sitting on the bed, you made your way to him before engulfing him in a hug.

He hugged you back, “My clothes look good on you.” he mumbled into the crook of your neck with a smirk before giving your ass a light smack.

You chuckled before handing him his phone, “Your mom texted you… I um ordered some stuff, I’ll pay you back.” you said, holding onto one of his hands.

“If you pay me back I swear to god…” he joked. “I ordered us your favorite so we don’t have to cook.” he smiled at you.

“Can we stay in bed until it gets here?” you asked.

“Of course!” he said, pulling the comforter back before laying the heating pad on your abdomen and pulling the blanket back over you. He slid back into the bed next to you, pulling you into his chest.

“I’m sorry for fucking up the weekend… I know you wanted to go to the beach… and I ruined your sheets and it's all so gross…” you sighed, feeling guilty and shameful.

“Hey,” he tilted your chin up to look at him, “One - It’s not gross. It’s healthy and normal. Two - I own a washing machine, the sheets will be fine. And three - The weekend isn’t fucked because all I wanted this weekend was to be around you, beach or not.” he said confidently.

You searched his eyes for any sign of disappointment but all you saw was love. You kissed him gently before snuggling back into him.

-------------------------------------------------

“Baby?... Baby!” Christian said, shaking you slightly.

Your eyes fluttered open, you looked at him and noticed his softer eyes and more sullen look. “Mito!” you said as you stretched your arms, pulling him down into a hug.

You felt him smile against your neck, “The food and stuff is here, I set it all up in the living room. Your products are in the bathroom.” he said, pulling away slightly. He picked up a glass of water from the side table before handing you two pills “Ibuprofen… for the pain.” he said.

You took them both before walking to the bathroom and using a proper sanitary product because the emergency toilet paper pad was not gonna cut it long term. You walked into the living room where Mito sat on the couch, giving you a soft smile. He held the remote out to you, “Whatever you wanna watch.” he said, pulling you down so your legs rested across his lap and you could lean into his chest.

You ate and watched random movies for hours, Mito surprising you with chocolate and other sweets he knew you enjoyed. You felt yourself starting to drift off again as he held his large, warm hand over your lower stomach. “Thank you for today…” you mumbled, “I love you so much…” you whispered before slipping off into dreamland.

Mito froze before he looked down at you with big doe eyes, he kissed your forehead, “We love you too.” he replied for all of them. It was the first time either of you had said that to each other after just a few months of dating but he knew with his whole heart that he felt nothing but love for you.

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Naboo's Note:

Hello! This was based off a request and I love it! I'm such a sucker for these types of fics. Almost all of my requests right now are for Christian Yu/Mito/Mr. Insanity so I would expect an influx of them. I hope ya'll are doing well. My first day back at work since surgery went pretty well so here's to keeping the good vibes going! XOXOXO

#christian yu x reader #dpr christian #christian yu #dpr ian smut #dprian #writing #dpr ian #dpr live #dpr ian x reader #dpr ian fluff #dpr ian cute #christian yu x y/n #mito #mito x reader

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lookingforroleplayers · 2 years ago

Text

Disney / Pixar RP masterlist!

GIF by film365

Reblog this post and add in the tags

your URL

if you’re a single muse or a multimuse

if they’re canon or an OC

your muse’s name, and from where they come from

EXAMPLE: scrunklyrpblog, single muse, canon, Scrunkly the Mighty ( pokemon mystery dungeon )

to be added in the list!

NOTE: if you have a multimuse blog, feel free to write as many muses as you have; if you have a fandomless OC, specificy that you just have a specific verse or their “title” – and remember to reblog the fandomless masterlist too! NOTE: this list is specifically for Disney and Pixar’s CLASSIC MOVIES and CHARACTERS such as Mickey, Donald etc, NOT for TV shows! Feel free to request any show you’d like to see a masterlist for!

Character list in movie and alphabetical order can be found HERE!

#disney #disney rp #disney roleplay #pixar rp #pixar #masterlist #rp masterlist #remade the post because the other one got Attacked by bots :(

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mphoenix-7 · 10 months ago

Text

Bitter Allies [Soap x Reader]

Chapter 6: The Cabin: Day 2

Summary: You suffer through yet another day in hell with Soap. Near the end though, you also come to learn that he is also human.

Word Count: 5,830

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, swearing, angst, strong language, arguing, suggestive language, suggestive scenes, mentions of trauma, PTSD, slight nudity

A/N: I added almost 1,000 more words while editing. Story is about to get realllyyyy good! Enjoy :)

Masterlist | <- Previous | Next ->

Bitter Allies • Part 6

You wake up the next morning with sunlight pouring through the windows. The air inside the cabin is still a little chilly, but the inside of the liner Soap gave you last night is now too warm. You stretch your arms, pushing the liner down in the process, and look over to Soap's cot. It's already empty and neatly remade.

You're not sure what time it is, but after last night, you're sure you've slept in more than you normally would. Slowly sitting up, you rub your face a bit, thoughts going to yesterday. You still couldn't believe Soap had apologized to you and that he'd given you his liner. It didn't seem real. You would have thought it was all a dream if it hadn't been for you waking up in said liner.

You wonder if things will be different today or if it'll be like nothing happened.

Not bothering to get dressed just yet until you know exactly where Soap is, you head to the kitchen. He's not in there. The pot and your plates from last night are still sitting in the same spots, and you make a note to yourself to wash them later.

The next place you check is outside by the lake. Soap might have just been on the porch or out by the water. You step outside, wrapping your arms around you slightly, and walk down the two steps. Looking around though, you still don't see him anywhere. The fear that he's left again begins to simmer in the pit of your stomach, but he could just be in the bathroom. You're not going to go check there though.

Instead you just wait outside for a few minutes to see if he'll come out of the outhouse and take a moment to enjoy the morning air. It's so beautiful outside, and you definitely wouldn't mind going for a walk later. You also wouldn't mind taking a bath today. Your skin feels sticky with sweat from the liner.

After a moment, with Soap still not showing his face, you decide that he must have went for a walk or a morning run. So much for your rules.

Sighing, you head back into the cabin. As long as Soap was going to be gone, you figured you might as well take that opportunity to get dressed, do the dishes, and start breakfast. You would have bathed too, but you weren't going to risk Soap coming back while you were out there.

Back inside, you make your way to the bedroom and push the door open. Instantly though, you're regretting it. You are one step into the room before you instantly freeze. Your eyes are wide, your cheeks are burning, and your jaw drops as you're met with a butt naked Soap MacTavish.

"States!" He shouts in surprise, his gaze having snapped over to yours the second he hears you push the door open. He reacts instantly, using the underwear he was about to slip on to cover his front and then frantically grabbing more of his laid out clothes to do a better job. "What the fuck?! Get out!"

His voice snaps you out of your state of shock, and you're quickly trying to apology, run away, and shut the door all at the same time.

"I-I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" You babble, trying to back up and hitting your back on the doorframe in the process. You quickly turn and leave, slamming the door shut as Soap continues to shout at you.

"What the fuck! What happened to knocking!" He shouts through the door, as you start to pace in the kitchen, hands on your burning cheeks.

"I don't know! I didn't think you were here!!" You shout back at him, embarrassed beyond belief. Soap had been quick to cover his junk up, but you'd still caught a glimpse of it. You were going to be scarred for life.

"I shut the fucking door! How the hell did you not know I was here?!" He continues. He sort of had a point there. You had left the door open originally.

"I just thought it shut by itself! I don't fucking know! The door doesn't exactly stay wide open!" You just weren't thinking. You thought he was gone. Surely you would have heard him if he came back inside. The front door wasn't exactly quiet when you opened or shut it, and you'd only been outside for maybe a minute.

"Steaming Jesus! If the door is shut, you knock!" Soap swings the door open and steps out, but you can't look at him even if he's fully dressed now.

"I get it! Noted!" You yell back at him. "It's not like I did it on purpose! I'd never want to see that in a million years! And where were you exactly? I didn't see you anywhere this morning, and I didn't hear you come back! I figured you just left again!"

"I got up early and went for a run! Some of us are trying to keep with our normal schedules!"

"Don't call me lazy!"

"I'm not calling you lazy!"

"You're implying it! But that's not the point! The point is you left without telling me!" You finally bring yourself to look at him. His face is red, and his eyes are burning with a mix of embarrassment and anger.

"You were asleep! What, you wanted me to wake you up and then deal with your pissy ass cause I interrupted your beauty sleep? Plus last night, if I remember correctly, you said I only had to tell you if it was for more than an hour. I was gone for thirty minutes! Forty at most!"

"Yes! You should have woken me up! A heads up would have been nice! I didn't know how long you'd been gone or when you'd be back. I thought you were still gone when I came in! I didn't hear you come back!"

"That sounds like it's your problem then! I came through the loudest fucking door! I saw you in the back, you should have heard me!"

"You could have said hi? Done something to make sure I was aware that you were back instead of just assuming I knew!"

"See there ya go again! Pushin' the blame onto someone else! No one is as fucking perfect as you, aye?"

"That's not what I'm doing! You're trying to blame all of this on me! I'm just saying there are things you could have done too!"

"Like left the door open? That way you couldn't be blamed for opening it cause it was already open?"

There was no winning with him. He'd find any way to twist your words and make it seem like you were being the unreasonable one. Rolling your eyes, you decide you've had enough. It seemed yesterday changed anything.

"You want to act like child then fine! Fucking act like a child! I don't know how the task force even deals with you."

You try to leave. You want to go into the bedroom, get dressed, and then leave for a bit to cool off. The second you try to pass Soap though, grabs your arm and forces you back against the wall. Your jaw is tight as he pins you. He's holding your wrist tightly, keeping it pressed firmly against the wall above your head. Your hand that's not being pinned quickly presses into his chest in an attempt to keep some distance.

"My task force was fucking perfect until you came along." He says to you in a deep and dangerous voice. "And then Price just had to bring in one more. He just had to bring you in. Our name doesn't even make sense now. One-four-one. Suppose to only have us four. Not five." He seethes. "We don't need you on our team. Not some fucking bonnie lass from the States, yet here you are."

You keep eye contact with him the whole time. Even in the position he had you in, you don't feel like you're in danger. He's holding your wrist tightly, but he's not excessively squeezing it or cutting off circulation. You're not going to have bruises. And he is letting you push him back. His chest is pressed against your hand, but he's not trying to crowd you. Applying more pressure to his chest makes him back off slightly.

Still his eyes are dangerous as they bore into your own. They’re filled with disdain as he towers over you, dominating the space between you. You’re trying to match his gaze, fight back against him and not let him win.

Then, for some messed up reason, you think about this morning and seeing Soap naked. You’re shocked as the image enters your mind, and you’re cheeks start to get rosy. You know your glare is slipping as you become flustered, and you need to break away now before Soap can figure out what you’re thinking about. His gaze is already turning slightly confused as he begins to notice the shift in your behavior.

"Why do you hate me, Soap?" You blurt. It’s the first thing that comes to mind to ask him.

Your question successfully throws him off. You swear you see his eyes soften for just a moment when you ask him that, but it's hard to tell with your mind racing. He's silent for a moment, just glaring back at you. The tension between you is palpable, his breath warm against your face, his proximity sending an unexpected shiver down your spine.

Finally, he drops your wrist and takes a step back. "I don't need to justify my reasons." He scowls. "I'm going to the lake. Just fucking learn how to knock."

You watch him leave and slam the door, massaging your wrist slightly as you do. Now that he’s gone, you can feel your heart racing in your chest, the pace matching the phantom thumps still felt in your finger tips that’d been pressed to his chest.

You shake your head, taking a deep breath to calm your pulse. The first time you run into him today, and you manage to blow up at each other. It shouldn't surprise you really, but you truly had hoped things would be different this morning after last night.

You slowly make your way to the window and peek outside. Soap is over by the lake, sitting against a tree by the waters edge. He’s running his hand through his hair and then burying his face in both hands, looking like he’s trying to calm himself down. It doesn’t look as though he’s going to be leaving anytime soon.

When he doesn't get up, you go into the bedroom and shut the door softly behind you. Soap's clothes he'd taken off this morning were on the floor. You kick them more over to his side of the room and then go to get changed yourself.

As you strip out of your pajamas, the cool air brushes against your skin, a stark contrast to the lingering warmth from Soap’s body when he had pinned you against the wall. Your cheeks start to flush again, and you feel a strange mix of emotions that you can’t quite decipher.

You pull on a fresh set of clothes, but your mind keeps drifting back to the way Soap’s eyes had locked onto yours, the way his chest had felt under your palm. There was something there, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on, but it left you feeling unsettled and oddly warm.

Once you’re dressed, you sit on the edge of the bed, trying to make sense of your feelings. The intensity of the encounter lingers, a confusing blend of anger, frustration, and something else you can’t quite name. Soap has never made you feel this way before. You’ve never left an argument with him feeling his… odd. And you sure as hell have never imaged him naked.

You sigh and get up, moving into the kitchen. You hope making something to eat will take your mind off everything.

You glance towards the window again, catching another glimpse of Soap by the lake. Despite the distance, you can almost feel the tension that still hangs between you, a thread pulled taut, waiting to snap or be cut. You don’t understand it, but you can’t deny it’s there.

Looking away from him, you focus on breakfast. Your plate was still dirty from last, so you were forced to make food that didn't necessarily require a plate. You'd planned on cleaning it before you started breakfast, but Soap being outside deterred you from that. You ended up just putting peanut butter on a slice of bread and drinking some water.

You ate slowly, making a list of things you wanted to get done today. The plates needed to be cleaned, you wanted to take a bath, and more fire wood needed to be collected. Unfortunately all those things required being outside, right where Soap was.

After what felt like an hour of waiting around, waiting for Soap to move on and go somewhere else, he’s still sitting by the water's edge. You eventually got impatient and decided to just get it over with. Soap had proven yesterday he could sulk for hours and hours, and you didn't want to wait around all day for him to stop. Tension or not be damned.

Gathering up the plates, utensils, and the pot you used last night, you step outside and make your way to the water's edge. However, you'd left Soap's dishes inside. If he was going to treat you the way he currently was, you saw no reason to do his dishes for him.

You eye Soap as you approach the lake. He'd decided to sit a few feet away from the only spot where you had easy access to the water. As you get closer, he looks over to you, a very familiar scowl on his face. The second his gaze turns to you, you stare straight ahead, trying to pretend he simply isn't there. Your skin prickles though, a constant reminder he’s there.

You kneel at the water's edge and get to work on rinsing off the food from your plate. Of course this wasn't all you were planning on doing to clean everything. You would boil water and disinfect everything once all the scraps were rinsed off.

"You're joking right?" Soap comments from where he sits. He'd been watching you rinse the plates off, arms crossed over his chest.

"Don't talk to me." You warn, not in the mood right now to get into something else with him. To make that still lingering tension build back up again.

Soap huffs at you. "You better not be cleaning my stuff." You hear him move a bit to try and get a better look at all the things you'd brought to clean.

"Relax, I left all your shit in the cabin. Wouldn't dream of ever doing anything nice for you."

"Well good. I don't think contaminating the plate and utensils I use to eat is doing anything nice for me." He settles back against the tree, but you can still feel him watching you. His gaze makes your skin boil.

"I know how to properly clean dishes." You grumble, setting the plate aside and moving on to the pot. "I'm going to boil water once I get all the food washed off. Is that fine with you?"

"I don't fucking care what you do. Make yourself sick, I don't give a shite."

"Ok great, so stop talking to me." You snap, trying to scrub off some of the residue on the side of the pan with your nail. You hadn't packed any sponges or other cleaning supplies, and Price didn't provide them.

Soap rolls his eyes as you snap at him. “Away an bail yer heid.” You hear him grumble, not understanding his Scottish drawl, but you know he’s most likely said something insulting.

Glancing over your shoulder, you watch as he gets up. He was heading back to the cabin, which you were fine with for now. It allowed your shoulders to relax and let you finish your cleaning in peace.

Once you were done, you filled the cooking pot with water and carried it back to the cabin to boil it. The door to the bedroom was shut, telling you Soap was most likely in there. Unless he was being childish and shut it before leaving the cabin. All to just make you knock for no reason.

After the water boils, and you use it to finish sterilizing your dishes, you want to do the next thing on your little to-do list. Bathe. Of course you need to go into the bedroom briefly to get things to bathe with.

Standing outside the door for a long moment, you try to psych yourself up a bit before tapping softly on the wood. Your heart is pounding in anticipation like you’re getting ready to enter a war zone.

"You have pants on in there?" You ask, crossing your arms as you wait for his response.

"She does learn!" You hear Soap's muffled voice say through the door.

You roll your eyes and repeat your question, wanting an answer before you walked in and scarred yourself again. "Do you have fucking clothes on or not?"

"Of course! Otherwise I would've said 'give me a second' or 'hang on, still getting dressed' now wouldn't I?"

You growl under breath and push the door open, flipping Soap off as you walk in. He's on his cot, back against the wall, and one of those black journals he brought opened and propped against his knees. You can't see its contents, but you don't really care to look.

"Oh that's very ladylike." He scolds, turning back to looking at his book.

"You're no gentleman yourself." You throw back, pulling open your drawer to get your towel and shampoo out. "I'm going to the lake to bathe. I swear to God if I catch you looking at me-"

"Quit your whining. I'm not some pervert. I don't try to go looking for people when they're naked, unlike some people who enter a shared bedroom without-"

"Don't even finish that sentence! I didn't want to see you naked! I wish we had bleach cause I would have poured some into my eyes by now." You finish gathering what you need and head for the door. "Do not come outside. I am dead serious. I will drown you if I see you looking." You threaten before shutting the door.

"Don't flatter yourself! No one wants to see you naked!" He shouts as you leave the cabin.

You set your towel down in some grass to keep it from getting dirty and then look around one last time. Mostly just back to the cabin to make sure Soap wasn't looking through the windows or on the porch, but also the surrounding area. It felt very unnatural to be getting naked outside. As much as it bothered you Soap was around, you feared someone else might be too.

Stripping down quickly, you leave your clothes in a pile and rush into the water. You would like to have folded them nicely, but you just wanted to get into the water and feel little more covered up again.

The water was cold. Despite the sun being out and shining on its surface, it was still a lake. The first few minutes of bathing is very tense. You keep watching the cabin, fearing Soap is going to come out, or you’re going to see his face in one of the windows, but there is no sign of him. After a while, you start to relax. You wash your hair, the scent of your shampoo providing a little feeling of home. It's when you're scrubbing your body with your loofa that the peace is disrupted.

"Oi, States!" Soap's voice has you quickly sinking into the water and covering your chest. He's walking across the yard (if you could call it that) with his eyes trained on the ground. "Hey, there's-"

"What did I tell you?! I'm fucking naked, go away!" You shout at him as he just keeps getting closer.

"I'm not even looking at you!" He exclaims, and it's true. He's not looking at you. His eyes as on the ground, looking off to the side, or covering the side of his vision the entire time.

"I don't care! I don't want you here! Go!" You keep shouting.

"Fucking listen! There's a storm coming. You need to get out, and we need to get some wood and make sure the cabin doors are blocked. If it gets windy it's going to blow those doors open."

You glare at him, staying where you are in the water. There was a bright blue sky above you, birds were singing, and it was warm. It did not look like it was going to storm out. You thought he was just making stuff up to interrupt your bath time.

"Yeah right." You roll your eyes.

"States, I'm telling you, get your ass out of the there now. There's pitch black storm cloud coming from that way," he motions off behind the cabin, gaze turning upward while his hand is busy. "We probably only have about fifteen minutes before it hits us."

"Are you serious? Cause if you're not-"

"Of course I'm bloody fucking serious! You think I'd be out here, risking seeing your ugly naked ass, if I wasn't?!" He shouts. "Come on! Move your ass!" He starts to walk towards you, his eyes still on the ground.

"Soap I swear if you come in this- what are you doing? Hey!"

He'd grabbed your clothes and was walking back to the cabin. "Come on, States! I don't have time for this! Get out of the water!" He shouts over his shoulder at you.

You're quickly scrambling to get out of the water and get your clothes back. He was kind enough to leave your towel behind, and you grab that and wrap it around your body as you stumble after him.

"You fucking jerk! Give me my clothes!" You catch up to him and grab a handful of the back of his shirt, yanking it hard to make him stop.

He jerks back slightly and turns to you, his eyes automatically drifting down your figure. "Oh good, you're wearing a towel." He shoves the lump of clothes at you, almost making you drop said towel in the process. You'd only been using one hand to keep it wrapped around your body. "Go inside, get dressed, and come help me get wood." He instructs you, brushing past you to head towards the trees.

You stare at him in utter shock and confusion. At this point you knew he wasn't joking. For whatever reason, he thought there was a storm coming. Still, you would have gotten out if he just went away. He didn't have to steal your clothes to make you come out.

You head to the cabin, get dressed, and try to dry and comb your hair the best you could. Before you go out back to help Soap gather wood like he wanted, you peak out the front door, looking for these pitch black storm clouds he'd been so stressed about. You didn't see any, and there were too many trees in the way to see far off into the distance. Frowning to yourself, you go out to look for him.

Soap is gather tons of sticks when you find him. He even managed to find a small log or two. He was on his way back by the time you came outside.

"Great, you finally decided to come help. Start getting wood. And maybe some large rocks if you find some. We can prop them against the doors to keep them shut." He tells you in passing, pulling the cabin door open and going inside.

You check the sky one more time in case you'd missed these rain clouds. Still nothing. When the cabin door opens up again, you look back to Soap as he comes out.

"Soap, I don't see any storm clouds." You wanted to believe him, but you honestly felt like this was all some trick to just get you to help him get wood.

"They're all over there," Soap repeats in a frustrated tone, motioning once again off in the direction you'd looked earlier. "What the fuck is so hard to understand?"

"I didn't see any!" You frown, getting an annoyed look from Soap.

"Can you just fucking trust me?! If you don't want to help then just go back inside, sit on your lazy ass, and let me fucking get wood!" He yells, storming off to keep gathering sticks.

You roll your eyes, letting out a frustrated growl as you stomp after him to help him collect wood. This was ridiculous. If there was no storm, you might just kill him.

***

It was about ten minutes later that you fully believed Soap. The sky above you seemed to darken instantly, and suddenly, you could hear thunder rumbling in the distance. You managed to get tons of sticks and decent sized logs. You also found some rocks to roll in front of the doors to keep them shut in case there was wind.

Now inside, looking out the window, you watch as fat, heavy raindrops start to splatter against the wooden deck. It starts with only a few before turning into an all out downpour. It's accompanied by wind shortly after, which does make the doors shake a bit.

"How long do you think this is supposed to last?" You ask, flinching as a bright flash of lightening momentarily blinds you before a loud crash follows it. It makes the glass windows rattle a little.

"Hell if I know." Soap mutters, shouldering the front door to try and make it close better. You roll your eyes.

"Well I just figured I'd ask the guy who magically knew it was going to rain and predicted there would be wind." You grumble.

"I'm not some fortune teller who knows the future, I'm just not fucking blind!" He growls at you.

"I didn't see storm clouds!"

"We've established you're pretty fucking blind! That's not my problem! You know, you should be thanking me instead of being an ungrateful brat!" Soap’s sharp voice cuts through the darkness.

"After the way you treated me this morning?! You're out of your mind." You cross your arms. It's dark, so you can't really see each other, but you can feel Soap’s intense glare burning into you.

"Oh, look who's the victim! Poor little States... like you know anything about what that's like." He mutters that last part. You almost don't hear him.

"I'm more of a victim than you-" you begin, ready to lash out about witnessing the horror of his pale white ass from earlier, but Soap’s sudden, ice-cold tone cuts you off.

"You don't want to finish that sentence, States. You don't know anything that I've been through." His words hang in the air, heavy and dangerous.

You watch his outline on the other side of the room, which wasn't too far away. Any smart retort you had dies on your tongue. His words have a weight that make you pause, and you can’t help but wonder darkness he’s hinting at. The silence stretches on, taking on a rather unsettling edge.

"Then tell me." You finally offer, not able to see the surprised look that passes through Soap's eyes due to the darkness. He covers it up with a huff, shaking his head, though you can't really make that out too well either.

"I'm not sharing any part of my life with you, States. Just drop it."

He retreats to the bedroom then, door shutting heavily behind him. You don't make a move to follow after him. You just sigh to yourself and rub your face. The tension in the cabin was high again, though this tension was different than before. You just hoped the storm would let up soon so you can get some air.

***

Roughly forty minutes later, any hope of the storm dying off is gone. If anything, it's staring to get more violent. You're trying to make lunch, or maybe dinner at this point, when there's a loud snapping sound from outside. It's the sound of a limb snapping off.

It lands pretty close to the cabin and makes a loud sound as the branches scrape against the building's wooden sides. You let out a sharp yelp and jump back from the stove, heart hammering in your chest.

A second later, Soap is coming out of the bedroom, clearly having heard the noise too. You would have been shocked if he hadn't. It was loud.

"The fuck was that?" He asks, going for the flashlight and clicking it on. He's shining it up at the ceiling, thinking the branch had landed up there and broken through.

"I don't know. A branch must have snapped off. It sounded like it landed on the other side of the wall." You tell him. Soap was searching around, checking all the corners of the space and even trying to look out the windows to see outside.

"I hope this storm dies down soon. Last thing we need is for a tree to land on this place." He mutters, clicking the light off when he doesn’t find any damages.

"Oh don't say stuff like that. Now it's totally going to happen." You frown, grabbing a jar of jam from the shelf.

You wince as another loud crash of thunder seems to go off right above you. It was deafeningly loud and made you slam your hands against your ears. In the process, you drop the jar, and it shatters as it hits the ground.

You might have been a grown woman in the military, but thunderstorms still freaked you out just a little bit. Especially when you were in the middle of the woods, with no radio, surrounded by trees, while it was down pouring and there were winds that might put tornados to shame.

"Ah, fuck." When the rumbling has subsided, you look down at the ground and curse at the mixture of jam and sharp glass shards on the floor. "I don't want to hear you bitch about me dropping that, cause you don't even like jam." You tell Soap, expecting a quick retort back from him, but you get nothing.

"Soap?"

Apparently thunderstorms didn't just freak you out. When you looked over at Soap, he was leaning against the wall and fists clutching the fabric of his pants. His breathing sounded a little labored, and you frown.

"Soap? Are you alright?" You ask cautiously, and he nods.

"Yeah.. yeah, M'fine..." He mutters to you, but you can tell he isn't. "I just... I need to.." His voice trails off as he stumbles towards the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

You hesitate for a moment before following, cautiously opening the door. Soap is sitting at the edge of his cot, his head in his hands, and his whole body trembling. It’s clear he’s having some kind of PTSD episode.

"Soap, what's wrong? Just tell me." You calmly say, wanting to help him, but unsure how.

"M'fine... I just need to calm down." He replies shakily, confirming your suspicion.

It was quite common for people in the military to have PTSD. The loud thunder boom from earlier must have trigger some memory for him.

"Hey, it's alright. It's just you and me out here. No one else. We're safe." You say, trying to ground him. His breathing is still erratic.

"I know we are! I just can't get my body to accept it." He snaps, frustration lacing his words.

"Just breathe, Soap. It's ok. Look at me." When he doesn’t respond, you get down on your knees in front of him. His eyes are unfocused, filled with panic. Despite how you feel about him, it’s hard to see him this way.

"Deep breath alright? Breathe in and hold it for five seconds, then slowly exhale." You instruct him, starting the breathing exercise in hopes he’ll follow.

“States, I said I’m fine! Please.” He gasps out, hands shaking as he grabs your shoulder and tries to push you away.

You stay where you are though, pulling a hand over his and continuing the breathing pattern. “You’re not fine! I’m not going anywhere, Soap. Just breath with me.”

He finally caves, his breathing too erratic for him to argue further. At first, he struggles to take deep breaths, but gradually, he begins to mirror your breathing. Slowly, his breaths become more controlled, the panic in his eyes starting to fade.

Once he's able to breath again, you get to your feet and place your hand on his back. "You alright now?" You ask softly, allowing him a moment to collect himself. He nods instead of answering you.

"Sit tight, I'll get you some water."

When you return with the water, he’s sitting up more, looking slightly more composed. He accepts the water you bring him and takes slow sips.

"You got PTSD?" You ask slowly, and he nods, staring down at his feet.

"Who doesn't in this line of work?" He responds, voice slightly tinged with bitterness.

"Yeah... I got it too." You admit. "That breathing exercise always helps me."

"You have a lot of episodes?" Soap asks, his voice monotoned and distance, as if he's still somewhere else.

"Used to. I got counseling early on, which really helped. What about you?"

"Haven't in a long time. Not since joining the forces." He answers, which confuses you a little. Did he mean before joining the task force?

You decide not to push it. He needed time to come around yet, and you want to give that to him. Giving his shoulder a soft squeeze, you head back to the kitchen.

"I'm gonna finish making lunch.. or dinner.. You want a sandwich?" You ask him, and he nods again.

"Yeah, sure... thanks."

You watch him a second longer before turning to go. He’s still staring blankly, but you know he’ll be ok now. Still, you leave the door open in case he starts freaking out again.

Soap always seemed invincible, but you guessed he was human after all. Who knew it'd be a thunderstorm that'd finally reveal his human side to you.

As you go back to making the sandwiches, Soap stares at the broken glass on the floor, the hairs at the back of his neck standing up. One of his scars seems to burn as if he’d received it just yesterday and not almost ten years ago.

He stared at the sharp shards of glass until you finally pick them up.

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betweenstorms · 2 months ago

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Chapter 3/2 of Skin Of Thunder To Be Known (previous chapter) (next chapter) (all SOT chapters) (masterlist) Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!Reader

“In the stillness of your gaze, I hear my name whispered back to me, not as a question, but as a truth. To be loved by you is to be undone, to be remade from the fragments of who I thought I was.”

Simon Riley wasn’t a man who fell, right?

Well, definitely not in the way poets wrote about or dreamers sighed over. Falling, for him, was a dangerous thing, a loss of total control. It was a kind of surrender for people who could afford the vulnerability of gravity. But that’s the funny thing about this type of gravity, isn’t it? That you don’t always see it coming.

You don’t always notice the pull until you’re halfway to the ground.

It wasn’t immediate.

No, his fall was quieter than that. He threw himself into the abyss when he’d let those words slip from his mouth, that compliment about your bloody perfume he hadn’t planned but somehow couldn’t regret. After that, the truth started to creep in, slowly and undeniably. He hadn’t realized it yet, but the moment his words had found you on that particularly crisp morning in the smoking area, the foundations of his resolve began to crack.

And not just his, but yours too.

God, how could he had known that a simple compliment, innocent on the surface, could spark something he couldn’t anticipate, couldn’t calculate, couldn’t dodge. The way you looked at him then, your smile unfurling like the first light of dawn breaking over a stormy sea, caught him off guard.

He didn’t realize it at the moment, but he had set something in motion.

Something unstoppable.

After that, you were everywhere.

The change was subtle at first, a quiet shift in the way you behaved around him. Your shyness still lingered, soft and endearing, but you carried yourself with more ease around him, as though the first ice of winter had finally broken. He spotted you in the offices, your head bent over some report, your fingers skimming across the keyboard with focused precision. You greeted him warmly whenever you crossed paths, your eyes meeting his with a sincerity that felt almost foreign. He caught glimpses of you in the corridors, your smile so bright it made the harsh fluorescents seem dim by comparison. In the canteen, you always waved at him, unashamed and unguarded. In the briefing room, you caught his gaze now and then, a silent acknowledgment shared between the two of you, unspoken but understood.

It was maddening.

It was intoxicating.

You wore your heart on your sleeve like a piece of delicate jewelry, a crystallized part of your soul, shimmering and vulnerable, and it terrified him. Not because it was fragile, but because it made him want to reach out, to hold it in his hands and keep it.

To keep you.

Ghost had faced countless horrors, endured agony that would break lesser men. He had been hung from his ribs by fucking hooks, his burnt body a canvas of searing pain, clawed his way out of a grave with nothing but a rotting jaw and the desperate remnants of his will to live. But none of it compared to this—to the ache that now consumed him, a longing that bled through him like a wound he had no desire to heal.

It was unlike anything he had ever felt, a hunger so raw it bordered on obsession. He knew so little of you, your life, your story, but it didn’t matter. He was possessed by the need to unravel you, to map out every hidden thought, every curve of your mind, to press your name into the marrow of his bones until it became part of him. The idea of not having you, not knowing you, clawed at him more violently than the dirt he had once shoveled in that cold, silent tomb.

And yet, he would have done it all over again.

He would have ripped out his own jaw if it meant he could see the light in your eyes just once more, your smile that had burned through the shadows of his existence and shown him what it meant to want. To truly want. If being without you was to be buried alive, then he would endure the suffocating press of death, the rot of despair, he would dig his own grave and tear through the earth itself, if it meant feeling the weight of your gaze on him again.

You were madness, yes, but you were also salvation.

However, Ghost wasn’t sure where the line between the two began or ended. And he knew this was a proper problem when Soap pulled him aside after a mission briefing, his annoying grin sharp and all too knowing.

Ghost had never been more grateful for the military’s dogshit technology like he was one day, when it had brought you there, to him. And it allowed him—no, gifted him—the chance to look at you, to drink you in without consequence, to let his gaze settle over you like a veil of a young bride. And you felt it. The weight of his stare, heavy as a hungry hand against your hot skin, pulling at you, demanding your attention. You tried to focus on the projector, on the mess of cables and the way Price muttered under his breath, but it was useless. Ghost was watching you, covering you with his gaze—

—as if he could claim you with just his eyes.

And that was your undoing.

Your hands fumbled, nearly tripping over a cable, heat crawling up your neck, burning you from the inside out. The whole team was watching now, curiosity sparking in their eyes, but the worst part?

Ghost didn’t look away.

He held you there, tethered in the storm of his stare, making you a blushing, stuttering mess in front of everyone as you tried to respond to Price’s casual questions.

And perhaps, if you weren’t so flustered, if your pulse wasn’t hammering against your ribs, you would have noticed it—the slight tilt of his head, the faintest twitch at the corner of his mask. The ghost of amusement dancing in his dark, unreadable eyes.

And of course Soap picked up on it.

The Scotsman had always been a bloody thorn in his side, poking and prodding where others wouldn’t dare, but this time, his words struck closer to home than Ghost would have liked.

“The hell was that? Looked like you wanted to eat the poor lass alive.”

Ghost barely reacted at first, his muscles taut with feigned indifference as he turned slightly, a deliberate thing, meant to steady the coil of tension twisting through his ribs. He knew Soap well enough to understand that ignoring him was pointless. The cheeky bastard had a nose for weakness, and unfortunately, Ghost had just bared his throat without meaning to.

“You’ve got it bad, Lt. Never seen you like this before. You’re bloody obsessed.”

“Don’t start, Johnny.”

But Soap wasn’t one to let up, not when he smelled blood in the water.

“C’mon, you’re practically waggin’ your tail every time she’s in the room.”

The silence was damning.

And worse, it wasn’t the accusation that bothered him. It was the fact that he couldn’t deny it. No, Ghost didn’t need to hear it out loud to know that you had become a problem. A proper fucking problem. In that bloody briefing room, something had snapped inside him, something raw and primal and utterly unforgiving.

He had always been good at hiding. But now he wanted to be seen. He wanted every bastard in that room to know, to understand, without a single word spoken, that you belonged to him.

That the way you blushed, the way your breath hitched, the way your hands trembled slightly as you fumbled with the projector—

—that was his doing.

There was no hiding this. Not anymore.

And the worst part?

He didn’t want to deny it.

Ghost couldn’t escape the weight of it, the filth of guilt staining every thought he had of you. He’d sworn to himself in the beginning, when he first noticed the effect you had on him, that he would never seek you out, wouldn’t let you of all people occupy the spaces in his mind reserved for survival, for strategy, for the cold detachment that kept him steady. Yet here he was, breaking his own unspoken vows, his feet tracing the paths that led to you without him even realizing.

But if he really thought about it, why should he deny you?

Why should he deny himself? You weren’t a real liability unless he let you be one, and Ghost wasn’t the type to let anything slip from his grasp. Obsession was too delicate a word for what he felt, still he knew better than to go further. But he couldn’t stop the way his pitiful thoughts twisted into knots at night, replaying the moments you shared, however small.

He must stop himself from giving in.

Yes, he wouldn’t let it get to that point.

He could look, but it would never be more than that. He wouldn’t touch you, wouldn’t give in, wouldn’t let it come to skin against skin. He would never reach for you. Because he knew, deep down, in the cold, unyielding depths of his pitiful soul, that if he ever crossed that line, he would be lost entirely. And Ghost, for all his shadows, couldn’t afford to let Simon fall.

So he only looked.

Looking was safe. Looking didn’t mean surrendering. Looking didn’t mean unraveling. This way, he could keep his distance, maintain the fragile boundaries he’d constructed between himself and the thing he wanted most. But God, even that felt like too much some days.

Especially now.

It was a particularly bitter morning.

The autumn wind was howling outside the office like a living thing, rattling the windows and seeping through every tiny crack in the building. The heater in the office hummed softly, barely cutting through the chill, and the faint smell of stale coffee lingered in the air, mingling with the scent of paper and metal.

You were explaining something about the military’s new, updated computer system, your voice soft but steady, your fingers moving deftly across the keyboard as you demonstrated the most efficient way to navigate the reports. Ghost barely registered your words, too focused on the way your lips moved, the faint crinkle at the corners of your eyes when you glanced up at him to make sure he was paying attention.

He wasn’t. Not to the system, anyway.

No, Ghost was focused entirely on you.

You had said it yourself once, hadn’t you? That you’d help with whatever he needed.

And now, what he needed was this—your presence, your voice, your smile. Because he knew this system as he knew the back of his hand, as a high-ranking officer he had been filling out military paperwork since you were still learning the difference between convex and concave. But he had asked for your help anyway, a poor excuse to have you here, sitting beside him, close enough that he could feel the warmth of you.

Ghost wasn’t supposed to enjoy something like this, not in the conventional sense anyway. He endured, tolerated, got through his days without too much of a fuss. But watching the way your cheeks bloomed like a rose, the way your breath hitched when his voice dipped too low, too deliberate. It was a strange kind of satisfaction, one he didn’t fully understand, but it was there, and it was relentless. And the way your eyes darted to his, wide and uncertain, like you were trying to figure him out but didn’t dare look too long?

That was something else entirely.

“...so if you flag the report here by clicking this, it’ll automatically forward it to the reviewing officer. Saves a bit of time, yeah? It’s streamlined, apparently. Pretty cool, huh?”

Ghost didn’t respond.

His eyes stayed fixed on your face, his expression unreadable beneath the balaclava. He wasn’t even pretending to look at the screen, wasn’t giving you the courtesy of pretending to care about whatever it was you were showing him. His gaze dragged lower, tracing the delicate line of your jaw, the gentle curve of your throat.

He should’ve said something.

Should’ve nodded, grunted in vague acknowledgment, anything to make it seem like he was actually listening. But he wasn’t. Not to the software update or the new efficiency protocols. No, all he could do was stare, barely blinking, barely breathing, as you explained something he already knew inside and out.

And you noticed.

You hesitated, your voice faltering as your fingers hovered awkwardly above the keyboard. “Uhm… do you… do you need me to repeat that, sir?” you asked, your gaze flicking to his, hesitant and unsure, like you were afraid of what you might find there.

“No need.”

It was a lie, and you both knew it.

Your tongue darted out nervously, wetting your bottom lip—a habit, nothing more, but it was enough to catch his attention. The smallest shifts in his posture were audible in the still room, the faint creak of the chair beneath him, the subtle rustle of fabric as he leaned back.

“I don’t—I mean, I don’t want to waste your time,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper as your nails fidgeted with the edge of the desk. The words tumbled out ungracefully, more an attempt to fill the silence than anything else. “I just thought—well, you asked me to show you this, so maybe…”

Ghost’s chair creaked again, louder this time, as he shifted his weight. His tone followed, dry and razor-sharp, slicing clean through your nerves.

“Reckon you just talk too much.”

The bluntness of his words made you flinch.

Your lips parted in surprise, but no sound came out, your eyes wide as they met his dark gaze. His expression was unreadable beneath the balaclava, however, the faint tilt of his head made the comment feel intentional. Calculated.

“I—what?” you stammered, heat rushing to your face, flustered and unsure if he was serious or just taking the piss. Judging by his tone, it could’ve gone either way. “I’m just trying to help,” you mumbled, your voice quieter now, but you managed to hold his gaze for a moment before your nerves betrayed you, and you looked down at your hands. “It’s not like you’re giving me much to work with, sir.”

Ghost nearly scoffed.

His eyes lingered on you, studying the flush creeping up your neck, the way you avoided his gaze like it might burn you. The audacity, the way you shot back at him, all shy and fidgeting but still refusing to fold—it stirred something in him, something darkly amused. You were nervous, that much was obvious, the way you flinched and your voice wavered, but there was a stubbornness beneath the surface.

A quiet defiance he hadn’t expected.

And it intrigued him.

“That so?”

Ghost let the words hang in the air, his tone deliberately even, his voice a rumble that seemed to fill the entire room. He watched as you shifted awkwardly in your seat, clearly unsure but refusing to let it show entirely. Bloody hell, that stubborn streak of yours, buried under layers of shyness, was fascinating to him. You had spunk—clumsy, self-conscious, but still there.

You nodded, glancing at the screen before stealing a quick look at him. “Well, yeah. I mean… you’re not exactly receptive.”

“Receptive?” he repeated, deadpan.

“Yes, I mean,” you began, clearly starting to panic, “it’s just… you don’t really seem like the, uhm… tech-savvy type, you know?”

You immediately winced, clearly regretting your choice of words the moment they left your mouth, and Ghost could feel the faintest flicker of a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips beneath the balaclava.

“Sounds like you’re callin’ me old.”

Your eyes widened in horror. “Oh no, I didn’t mean it like that!” you blurted out, waving your hands in front of his face defensively. “I just meant that—you know, maybe it’s just… uhm, a generational thing, I thought that—”

“So you are callin’ me old.”

“I—no! I mean, not old-old,” you stammered, your cheeks practically blazing as you blinked up at him, clearly mortified.. “Just… experienced?”

He raised an eyebrow at that, the gesture subtle but enough to make you squirm. Your face morphed into a defeated grimace.

“You’re twisting my words.”

“Am I?” His tone was so dry it could’ve sucked the moisture out of the room.

“Come on, you know I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that you’ve probably been doing paperwork since… I don’t know, before I was even in high school. But, uhm, that doesn’t mean you’re old. It’s not like I know what you look like, which is—I mean, you don’t look a day older than... forty?”

That stopped him for a second, the faintest twitch of his head indicating surprise.

Fucking hell, you’d said it so awkwardly, so earnestly, that for a moment he wondered if you even knew how much worse you were making it for yourself. And then, as if realizing what you’d just implied, you froze. Completely froze.

For a heartbeat, the room seemed to still.

Your eyes darted toward him like a deer caught in headlights, your hands hovering midair as though they could somehow physically reel your words back into your mouth. Ghost didn’t move, didn’t even blink, the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the heater and the distant creak of the old building under the weight of the wind.

And then, he hummed.

“Forty?”

Your hands flew to your face as if that would shield you from the sheer intensity of his gaze. “No, no, no!” you stammered, the words tumbling over each other in your haste to backtrack. “It was just an example! I mean, I don’t actually know how old you are. You could be… uhm, thirty-five?” You groaned again, pressing your palms against your mouth, making your words come out as muffled nonsense. “Oh no. I’m just making this worse, aren’t I?”

Ghost’s gaze pinned you in place.

You were coming apart, unraveling thread by thread beneath the weight of his silence. Your words stumbled out in a tangled mess, tumbling over themselves like stones in a landslide, each one burying you deeper, crushing your resolve with every awkward attempt to claw your way out. And still, he stared—calm, unreadable, letting you twist in the trap you’d set for yourself, as though he had all the time in the world to watch you fall.

Your hands flew to your face, fingers spread wide like a fractured shield, barely hiding the mortified flush that crept up your neck. Through the gaps, your eyes peeked out, wide and uncertain, catching his for the briefest, agonizing moment before retreating again.

“Oh my God,” you mumbled, your voice muffled and small, the apology trembling behind the barrier of your palms. “I’m so sorry.” The words fell between you like fragile glass, splintering under the weight of your embarrassment.

Ghost should’ve let it go.

Should’ve brushed it off, muttered something noncommittal, and moved on.

But he didn’t.

“Could’ve gone with thirty,” he muttered, his voice carrying the faintest edge of amusement, though his tone remained as flat as ever. “Would’ve been kinder.”

That did it.

You let out a startled chuckle, a sound so sudden and bright it pierced through him, straight to the bone. It hit him like a gut punch, robbing him of breath and leaving him staggered in a way that battles and blood never had. Your shoulders shook with the effort to hold it back, your cheeks blazing, the color rising in waves that only made you more mesmerizing.

It wasn’t just the sound, though it was lovely in its own right, like the first notes of a melody meant only for him. No, it was the way it transformed you. It stripped away your defenses, your shyness, your awkwardness, your nervous little fidgets, and left you radiant, glowing with a beauty that wasn’t just physical but visceral.

You burned him, yet he couldn’t look away.

“I wasn’t trying to—” You broke off, laughter spilling out again, your fingers pressed against your mouth as though holding back a dam would keep the flood at bay. “Bloody hell, I wasn’t trying to insult you! I’m not laughing at you, I swear, I’m just—God, I’m such an idiot.”

“Not denyin’ that.”

You shook your head, the last echoes of your nervous giggles fading like a wave retreating from the shore, scratching your elbow with your signature, restless energy. “Brilliant. Just bloody brilliant. I’ve completely humiliated myself in front of a senior officer. Might as well hand in my resignation now, huh?”

“That an offer?” he asked, his tone deceptively casual.

“You’d really let me quit over this?”

“Wouldn’t stop you.”

Your laugh came softer this time, tinged with something awkward and vulnerable, and Ghost wasn’t prepared for the way it filled the quiet office like the sea spilling into a hollow cave, echoing and easing every jagged edge.

You snorted softly, letting your hands fall from your face, though your gaze stayed fixed somewhere beyond him—

—anywhere but in the weight of his eyes.

The silence stretched between you, lingering like the last traces of a storm. Ghost remained still, his dark eyes fixed on you, tracing the way your laughter melted into an embarrassed smile, soft and uncertain, as you looked up at him from under your eyelashes.

Moments like this were rare for him—precious, fleeting things he hardly allowed himself to linger on. But now, he let himself take in the way you unraveled and stitched yourself back together, the warmth of your presence brushing against the cold edges of his own. It wasn’t just the sight of you, it was the quiet intimacy of it, the fragile beauty of something unspoken yet heavy in the air. You were too close, and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to turn away.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The heater hummed softly, filling the quiet with its rhythmic drone, and Ghost found himself acutely aware of how close you were. It wasn’t just the physical distance, though that was enough to make his skin itch with an unfamiliar warmth, it was the way you seemed to fill the room, your presence a tangible thing that pressed against him, demanding his attention even when he tried to resist.

“So…” you began hesitantly, breaking the silence. “How old are you, really?”

Your question slipped past his defenses like a blade between ribs.

“Why d’you wanna know?”

Your cheeks flushed again, but you managed a nervous smile.

“Just curious. You know, for… context.”

“Cheeky sod,” he whispered, the words low and rough, softened by the tired sigh that escaped him like the weight of the moment had pressed it free.

“Well?” you prompted, your eyes bright with a mix of curiosity and caution. “Are you going to tell me, or is it classified?”

He exhaled sharply, a sound caught somewhere between a groan and a ghost of a laugh. “I’m old enough to know better and leave it at that.”

You frowned, leaning back slightly in mock exasperation. “That’s not an answer.”

“Didn’t say I’d give you one,” he shot back, the faintest trace of amusement lacing his words.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “Fine. Keep your secrets, then. But for the record, I don’t think you’re old, Lieutenant. Just… distinguished.”

“That’s what you muppets callin’ it these days?”

You nodded earnestly, though the grin tugging at your lips gave you away. “Oh, absolutely. Distinguished. Rugged. Mysterious.”

Ghost hummed softly, his gaze tethered to your face, caught in a spell he hadn’t meant to fall under.

You hypnotized him—the curve of your smile, the flicker of light in your eyes, the way you seemed to hold too much within you, too much for one person, it made him want to reach out. You should surrender yourself to him. Give him your darkest thoughts, your quiet fears, your sharp edges and angelic smiles. You should have given him everything, because he would take it. Every fractured piece, every hidden depth, he would take it all and keep it.

Simon Riley wasn’t a man who fell, no.

But in that moment, he wished for the words of a poet, some fragile string of syllables that could hold the weight of what you made him feel.

“That your way of butterin’ me up, sweetheart?”

You laughed again, so much softer this time, the sound unfurling around him like the tender warmth of sunlight breaking through the shadow of a long, unyielding night.

And then you looked at him, just as you had in the smoking area, with that quiet, unspoken longing, the gaze of a woman who wished to be seen, to be wanted. It was the look of a woman who carried her longing delicately, like a flower pressed between pages. And it struck him because Simon Riley had never been the kind of man to accept such invitations. He didn’t have the hands for it, didn’t have the heart for it. But you, with your quiet yearning and your light wrapped in shadows, made him wonder if perhaps, just this once, he could.

“You wish, sir.”

And God help him, he really did.

“I am what I am, torn between the fierce hunger of the beast and the innocence of the lamb. And still, I stand before you, searching for the love that could fill the spaces between these two selves.” Skin of Thunder Chapters

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