the sea god's offering | rafayel x reader, knifeplay | 1.8k words
two for the price of one | zayne x sylus x reader, auction | 9.5k words
i'll worship like a dog at the shrine of you(r thighs) | caleb x reader, body worship, pseudo-incest | 3.5k words
run little bunny run | xavier x reader, Dead Dove: CNC, primal play, praise kink | 3.5k words
to steal a princess's heart | abysswalker!rafayel x reader, bodyguard romance | 5.8k words
a wolf's comfort | valko x reader, emotional comfort | 306 words
wolf instincts | valko x reader, fluff, future polycule | 775 words
Long fics
i'll follow you into the dark | reader x valko, reader x xavier x zayne x rafayel x sylus x caleb | the polycule adopts valko after realizing he's being hunted | in progress
Long fics, exclusively on AO3
i'd love if you knew you were on my mind | xavier x rafayel x zayne x sylus x caleb x mc | angst, reader decides to speed date someone who is not the LI and the boys get jealous | completed, 106k words
you'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling | xavier x rafayel x zayne x sylus x caleb x mc | reader hosts a dinner to ask the boys to date her at once and angst (and groveling) ensue | completed, 35k words
Find all other reports here!
Current protest info here!
Join the Discord!
Good morning everyone!! Several things to go over, so this is part one of my morning report. Strap in because this is big.
Morning Report 7/20/2026, Part 1
We have another article from SINA NEWS. You know, like the Sina Group. The company that owns Weibo. Yeah, that one. Let's get into it.
I'll break it down by section to save you some time. Please do read it if you get the chance!
Section 1: From Traffic Competition to Value Competition
Talks about the document I shared with you before. 31 pages of evidence compiled from June 29th to July 1st regarding the rumors and misinformation being spread across CN platforms
Clues have been submitted to authorities
"Another related party" has filed a lawsuit. It was approved by the court, but it hasn't yet gone to trial
Very important question at the end: "When specific product controversies quickly shift towards corporate stances, creator identities, and player group evaluations, can platform volume veer off from the product itself, further affecting corporate operations and industry competitive order?"
Section 2: Behind a Document
According to the 31 page doc, "the publisher demanded an apology from the company, server suspension for rectification, and punishment of relevant personnel."
The article points out some strange things about the original (anti) posts: posted quickly within a short time frame, gained a lot of attention fast, multiple accounts posting the same content, and posts alternating between public and deleted several times between June 29 and July 1
Mentions Infold attempting to fight the misinformation and rumors. "No official investigation conclusions regarding specific accounts and propagation relationships have been released by platforms or relevant authorities yet."
Points out that the nature in which the negative posts were published points towards water armies, but needs further investigation
"On the one hand, players raised genuine doubts regarding product planning, content arrangements, and user communication; on the other hand, some discussions bypassed specific product issues, evolving into generalized labeling and evaluation of the enterprise, creators, and ordinary players."
Section 3: When Traffic Becomes a Market Signal...
Points out that trends on the internet can reflect "the intensity of propagation during a certain period, but they cannot be directly equated with independent user counts, long-term willingness to pay, or stable market demand."
Negative and false content may degenerate into operational risks
"Emotional content gains higher visibility, companies quickly adjust projects to handle short-term risks, and genuine user demands along with long-term operational plans are disrupted."
It points out how this is especially true in the gaming industry because of characters, storylines, and the various departments that go into creating them
THIS PART: "If creative teams feel that names, numbers, and ordinary text might later be taken out of context, reassembled, and escalated into issues of corporate stance, companies may continuously expand review scopes and reduce expressions with realism and distinctiveness. What ultimately gets avoided may not just be problematic content, but all innovative attempts."
Goes over revenue gained from China's gaming market: 97.172 billion RMB, year-on-year increase of 13.38%. Overseas market: 6.331 billion USD, year-on-year increase of 31.76%
"At this stage, what the industry needs to compete in should be technology, content, services, and IP building, rather than negative volume, label propagation, or report mobilization capabilities."
"Even without commercial suppression, traffic disorder itself can create an industry inverse incentive where 'those adept at creating conflict gain attention, while those diligently producing content bear the costs.'
Section 4: As the "Qinglang" Campaign Progresses...
In May 2026, the Cyberspace Administration of China launched a campaign called "Qinglang: Optimizing the Business Online Environment and Rectifying Malicious Hype Involving Enterprise Information."
Specifically targets combating negative business information, water armies, and instigating conflicts
"Normal customer reviews, media supervision, and fact-based content inquiries should be protected."
"The special governance targets malicious hype, spreading false information, traffic manipulation, cyberbullying, and using group confrontation to disrupt market order."
"The Regulations explicitly prohibit confusing public perception by manufacturing issues, fabricating assumptions, or piecing together spliced content; prohibit fanning user emotions and inviting group confrontation; and prohibit traffic falsification, bulk posting of homogenized content, as well as organizing, participating in, or assisting cyberbullying." (!!!)
"From special actions to official regulations, the policy signals released are clear: Internet astroturfers, abnormal traffic, labeled attacks, and matrix-style false propagation are entering a stricter, more institutionalized governance phase."
IMPORTANT: "This does not mean the current case has been formally ruled as belonging to the aforementioned categories, but it implies that once complete evidence is gathered for such propagation phenomena, there will be clearer bases for verification and handling."
Points out that platforms needs to avoid letting engagement volume directly replace factual judgement
"Not all criticism should be viewed as an attack, nor should the loudest volume be taken directly as the complete market consensus."
Points out the need for fact-checking and evidence in media
Talks about the 15th Five Year Plan: "For the gaming industry, this requires companies to uphold content and business bottom lines, while demanding that the market provide a stable, predictable competitive environment for normal innovation."
"Shifting from traffic competition to value competition means letting product quality determine market returns, letting genuine user opinion enter corporate decision-making, subjecting false content and abnormal propagation to legal verification, and allowing enterprises of different scales to compete under the same clear set of rules."
"If R&D resources are continually consumed in internal public opinion battles, and user trust is overdrawn across rounds of labeled propagation, the victim will not just be a single character or company, but the entire industry's ability to continuously produce high-quality content, attract talent, and expand markets."
"Only when platforms fulfill their responsibilities, enterprises return to products, and industry competition returns to content and innovation, can the gaming industry bid farewell to disorderly internal friction and dedicate limited resources toward long-term growth."
My Thoughts
Genuinely, holy shit.
First of all, whoever wrote this article did a fantastic job. It hits every single nail right on the head. As a business major, I'm drooling.
Second of all, I cannot express how good this is for our protest. It directly calls out the dangers of spreading misinformation, which is the core battle we've been fighting. It also calls for companies to maintain their integrity and creative freedom, and not to fall victim to a vocal minority. This is literally a direct callout on Infold.
Third of all, this is what I meant when I said that this situation is a turning point for the entire Chinese gaming industry. Let me go back to my favorite line in this article:
"If R&D resources are continually consumed in internal public opinion battles, and user trust is overdrawn across rounds of labeled propagation, the victim will not just be a single character or company, but the entire industry's ability to continuously product high-quality content, attract talent, and expand markets."
What a fucking line. This situation, as I've said before, sets a dangerous precedent for the industry. If a vocal minority can force a company to cancel development of an important character, then the entire gaming industry itself is in danger. When you lose player trust, everything else starts to crash and burn.
This might be the best piece of media that's come out of this protest. This isn't just calling out Infold for its shortcomings—it's directly addressing the core issues. Let me just say that my hopium just skyrocketed.
Your beautiful face, the way your eyes light up when you smile at him, the little crease between your brows when you’re concentrating, the way your lips part when you moan his name. Your lovely personality that somehow balances his perfectly. Your voice, especially when you laugh, when you tease him, when you whisper “I love you” against his skin in the middle of the night.
And your body.
He’s obsessed.
Ask him “ass or tits” and the man will genuinely start tearing up because how could you make him choose?
Your tits are perfect, so soft and warm in his big hands, so responsive when he squeezes them, when he leans down to suck marks into the soft flesh, when he slides his cock between them and fucks them eager and messy while you look up at him with those pretty eyes.
But your ass… fuck.
The way it jiggles when he has you bent over, hips snapping against you hard enough that the sound echoes. The way it recoils so beautifully when he slaps it, leaving his handprint glowing on your skin. He loves gripping it while he fucks you from behind, spreading you open so he can watch himself disappear inside you.
And don’t even get him started on your thighs.
He could live between them.
He loves biting them, leaving little marks that only he gets to see. Loves when you wrap them around his head while he’s eating you out, tongue buried deep as you squeeze and shake around him. Loves when they’re wrapped around his waist as he fucks into you, or when he props your legs up and slides his thick cock between them, groaning at how soft and warm they feel.
No matter what position you’re in, his hands are on you; grabbing, groping, squeezing, squishing. He can’t help it. He’s addicted.
One night he had you on your back, legs over his shoulders as he thrust into you. His hands were everywhere, kneading your tits, sliding down to grip your ass, then gripping your thighs so tight you knew you’d have bruises tomorrow.
“Fuck… I love every part of you,” he groaned, voice wrecked as he leaned down to bite the soft flesh of your thigh. “all mine.”
You were barely coherent, lost in how good he felt, how full he made you. “Valko- please-“
He growled softly, hips snapping harder as he buried his face in your neck, breathing you in.
“My beautiful mate,” he whispered, hands still roaming like he couldn’t get enough. “Every single inch of you… I love it all.”
Valko Meds Reminder PNGs I made! 🐺
Shoutout to @cairoblair for inspiring me to dive into the idea cooking in my head 😄 💜
These are for anyone to use, just keep my signature on there is all!
- Kallia🌌
b) there's so much I can do for this fic and so many scenes I should be writing, alas, this is all what y'all gon get, I'm sorry, I just needed to write it out of my head. I should keep this hidden until I give it a proper slow burn and more flavor but...meh? If you want it extended with a better plot, let me know and I'll actually do it, otherwise enjoy ✨
Since her return to the township of her birth, she had been received with a civility so brittle it threatened to shatter under the slightest strain. Doors opened for her, certainly, and greetings were offered with bows and curtsies befitting respectable society; yet beneath such courtesies lingered the unmistakable chill reserved for one who had strayed beyond the narrow boundaries of propriety.
Her transgression, as the town so piously declared without ever quite speaking it aloud, was neither vice nor impropriety of the flesh. It was, instead, the far more scandalous act of abandoning her husband.
That the man in question had been of a temper capable of draining all sweetness from her disposition mattered little to those who preferred their truths simple and their judgments untroubled by nuance. He had not bruised her where garments could not conceal. He had merely eroded her spirit by degrees so patient and methodical that she had scarcely recognized the ruin until she stood amid it, hollowed and weary, her joys reduced to faint recollections of a girl she scarcely remembered being.
Thus, she returned home divorced — a word uttered in hushed tones, like a contagion one feared might spread through mere acknowledgment.
At first, she attempted grace.
She greeted former companions with measured warmth, recalling, though they did not, afternoons spent weaving garlands beside the river or exchanging girlish confidences beneath the summer dusk. Yet those same companions now found urgent business in their reticules whenever she approached, or discovered sudden fascination with the weather, the dust, or any triviality that might excuse the careful withdrawal of their attention.
It required only a fortnight for her patience to sour.
If society demanded she wear the mantle of bitterness, she resolved she would wear it splendidly. She abandoned polite overtures and allowed her composure to grow sharp as cut glass. Where once her smile had been freely given, she now dispensed glances of cool indifference. Let them whisper, she thought. Let them embroider their little tales with scandal and pity alike. If kindness must be bartered for submission, she would rather be bankrupt of it entirely.
And for a time, she succeeded admirably.
Save for one troublesome exception.
He arrived with the late-season drives, when cattle dust lingered upon the horizon and the prairie winds carried the scent of drying grass and impending frost. A stranger to town, he secured employment at Mr. Randal’s stables — an establishment whose reputation for fine-bred horses extended well beyond the township’s modest borders. His duties concerned the breeding mares and the breaking of young stock, work demanding patience, physical strength, and a temperament capable of gentling creatures far more honest than most men.
He possessed the sort of build that bespoke hard labor rather than cultivated refinement — broad through the shoulders, sun-browned, and perpetually dusted with hay and stable earth. His hands were large and weathered, fingers nicked by reins and buckles, yet curiously deft when he handled the animals entrusted to him.
From the outset, his regard for her proved disconcertingly frank.
He did not avert his gaze as townsfolk customarily did, nor did he feign polite disinterest. Instead, his eyes found her with remarkable persistence, accompanied always by a half-smile that suggested some private amusement she neither understood nor appreciated.
It vexed her beyond reason.
She made every effort to treat him as she would any other stable hand — a figure scarcely worthy of notice. When he offered greetings, she answered with silence or the briefest inclination of her head. When she sensed his observation following her across the yard, she adjusted her posture with deliberate hauteur and attended solely to the matter of her mount.
She would not grant him acknowledgment. Certainly not curiosity.
Yet her own traitorous senses undermined such resolve.
Her pulse acquired a most unbecoming habit of quickening as she approached the stables, as though anticipating some unspoken encounter. She began to arrive at hours she insisted were coincidental, though they bore suspicious alignment with the busiest portion of the stable day — when stable hands moved briskly between stalls and paddocks beneath the amber slant of afternoon light.
And, despite herself, she searched.
Never openly. Never long enough to invite observation. Merely a fleeting survey, conducted under the guise of assessing tack or adjusting gloves.
Often, she found him tending to a mare with a quiet murmur that carried the gentle cadence of someone accustomed to soothing nervous creatures. At other times, he emerged from the tack room or feed shed, removing his hat with easy familiarity, that infuriating grin spreading across his features the instant he discovered her gaze had strayed toward him.
On such occasions, she turned away with admirable swiftness, though the warmth rising along her throat betrayed the effort.
She assured herself repeatedly that the man was no more than an irritation — a rustic curiosity whose lack of decorum rendered him oblivious to the town’s delicate hierarchies. His attention, she insisted, was inconvenient, unwelcome, and entirely insignificant.
And yet, each morning she rode out, and each afternoon she returned to the stables with a punctuality that bordered upon ritual.
And each time, though she would sooner perish than confess it, her eyes sought him — if only for the briefest instant — as though that singular glimpse had become a habit she neither sanctioned nor possessed the strength to relinquish.
Sylus’s attentions, whether deliberate or merely imagined by her own increasingly wayward mind, had persisted with a stubbornness that rivaled prairie thistle. From the earliest months of his employment at the stables, he had conducted himself with a familiarity that hovered just within the bounds of propriety, yet pressed upon them with a patience that made her suspect he understood precisely where those invisible boundaries lay.
She could not, in good conscience, accuse him of impropriety. He had never spoken a word that might be repeated with scandal, nor touched her in any manner beyond the practical necessities demanded by horse and saddle. And yet, there existed something in the manner he arranged himself within her presence that suggested intention.
He worked where she could see him.
Often, she would arrive to find him already engaged in his labor, sleeves rolled high upon his forearms, revealing skin darkened by relentless sun and dusted faintly with the golden chaff of hay. He possessed a peculiar habit of removing his gloves with his teeth when the work required greater precision, the slow pull of leather between his teeth and fingers displaying a carelessness that struck her as both uncivilized and, most vexingly, distracting.
On more than one occasion, she had discovered him taking his midday meal perched upon the low fence bordering the paddock, hat tipped back upon his head, boots crossed with idle ease. He ate with an unhurried thoroughness, as though nourishment were a ceremony rather than necessity, pausing between bites to observe the horses grazing nearby—or, she suspected with growing irritation, to observe her as she approached.
When he spoke with other stable hands or townsfolk, he did so with an easy warmth that seemed to draw laughter from them without effort. He leaned close when listening, head inclined, shoulders relaxed in a manner that suggested attentiveness bordering upon intimacy. It unsettled her to witness it. It unsettled her further to notice how her gaze lingered upon the movement of his mouth as he spoke, upon the line of his throat when he tilted his head back to laugh.
Naturally, she ignored him.
Or, at least, she cultivated the appearance of ignoring him with exceptional discipline.
She carried herself through the stables with practiced dignity, gloves pristine, skirts arranged with meticulous care to avoid stable dust. Yet her composure betrayed her in the smallest of treacheries. She knew the cadence of his footsteps against the wooden flooring, recognized the particular timbre of his voice when he murmured to restless mares, and found herself acutely aware of his nearness long before she allowed her eyes to confirm it.
If he noticed her observation—and she suspected he noticed far more than he allowed—he never remarked upon it.
Instead, he simply continued to exist within her periphery with infuriating persistence.
His attempts, as she privately termed them, were entirely unsuccessful.
She would never allow herself such foolishness.
One afternoon, beneath a sky bleached pale by relentless sunlight, she arrived at the stables earlier than her customary hour. The air carried the dry sweetness of alfalfa and warm leather, and the paddocks shimmered with heat rising in wavering currents from the earth.
He was there, of course.
Sylus stood beside her mare, reins looped loosely through one broad palm while the other adjusted the lead rope with a deliberate care that spoke of familiarity with the animal. Her mare, ordinarily temperamental with strangers, permitted his handling with a docility that felt almost like betrayal.
She dismounted with measured grace, passing him the reins without meeting his gaze. He accepted them with a quiet nod, his fingers brushing the leather where her gloved hand released it. The contact was incidental—inevitable, even—and yet it sparked along her arm with an awareness she despised.
"She’s grown fond of you," he remarked, tightening the rope with a practiced tug, his voice carrying that low, unhurried cadence she had come to recognize too well.
"She is fond of competent handling," she replied coolly, removing her gloves finger by finger, each motion precise.
He chuckled softly, the sound brief and warm as sun over prairie grass.
"If that were so, ma’am, she’d likely have thrown half the hands in this yard by now." He patted the mare’s neck, his palm lingering there, thumb tracing slow circles through the sleek coat. "Temper like hers don’t usually bend easy."
"Nor do mine," she said.
"I’d gathered as much."
She stilled.
The insolence of the remark hovered between them, softened only by the absence of mockery in his tone. He continued working, adjusting the tack strap with steady fingers, entirely untroubled by the silence that followed.
She should have walked away then. She knew she should have. Yet something in his quiet confidence irritated her into lingering.
"You seem remarkably comfortable in your assumptions," she said at last, her chin lifting slightly.
"I reckon comfort comes with observation," he replied, glancing up briefly. His eyes, striking in their directness, met hers with a steadiness that made retreat feel curiously like surrender. "And I’ve done a fair bit of observing."
"You would do well to observe your station," she returned sharply.
His mouth curved, not into that open grin she so detested, but into something subtler—almost thoughtful.
"Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am," he said, looping the rope neatly, "but I’ve never found stations to be all that instructive about a person."
She inhaled slowly, steadying herself against the strange flutter his composure provoked.
"Your familiarity is misplaced," she said. "I believe you forget yourself."
"On the contrary," he answered, straightening at last, towering a fraction too close for comfort. "I’m very certain of myself."
The audacity of it.
Her pulse quickened in defiance of her irritation.
He studied her for a moment that stretched just beyond propriety, his gaze moving—not rudely, never crudely—but with a thoroughness that felt disarmingly attentive. It lingered at the curve of her throat where her collar parted slightly in the heat, drifted briefly to the gloved hand resting upon her riding crop, then returned to her eyes with quiet certainty.
She felt suddenly, keenly, seen.
It was intolerable.
"You are younger than I," she said, the words escaping with sharper force than intended. "Far younger, I should imagine."
A flicker of amusement warmed his expression, slow and unmistakable.
He tipped his hat back slightly, considering her as though she had presented him with an interesting, though wholly insufficient, obstacle.
"You’re far too generous to think I mind chasin’ what I want," he said, his voice softening into something dangerously sincere. "I ain’t letting a little arithmetic between our birthdays stop me.”
The river ran swollen with the late spring thaw, its waters rushing over smooth stones with a ceaseless murmur that swallowed lesser sounds and softened the world into something almost bearable. She sat upon the grassy bank, skirts gathered carefully beneath her, boots hidden in the tall reeds as she occupied herself with the idle destruction of small stones.
One by one, she selected them from the river’s edge, weighing each in her gloved palm before casting it into the current. She watched with peculiar concentration as each rock struck the surface, broke the silver skin of the water, and vanished into the unseen depths below. There was a peculiar satisfaction in witnessing something sink without protest.
The day had unfolded with a remarkable determination to test her patience.
Her seamstress — a woman whose services she had patronized faithfully and generously since her return — had failed to complete two gowns commissioned weeks prior, offering apologies so thinly stitched with insincerity that they unraveled beneath the mildest scrutiny. She had paid well above standard rate, as she always had. Wealth had never tempted her toward cruelty; if anything, it had sharpened her awareness of how easily comfort could become arrogance. One thing, she had long resolved, this town would never take from her was her respect toward those whose fortunes rested lower than her own.
Her business, at least, remained secure. She had wrested it from the eager, grasping hands of her former husband with a determination that still startled her when she recalled it. It provided her independence, stability, and the undeniable fact that she required neither charity nor protection from any man living.
Yet prosperity offered little shield against the quieter assaults of social disdain.
Wherever she ventured, voices seemed to grow bold in their disdain, cloaked just thinly enough in civility to remain deniable. Remarks hovered about her like persistent flies — comments about propriety, whispers about scandal, suggestions that carried themselves upon tones so saccharine they might have rotted teeth. At times she felt as though she bore an invisible placard upon her brow, inviting unsolicited judgment from every passerby who believed themselves righteous enough to offer it.
Another stone struck the water with a sharp plunk, sending concentric ripples shivering outward before dissolving into the river’s relentless passage.
So thoroughly had her thoughts consumed her that she failed to register the approach of footsteps through the grass behind her. It was only when the faint crunch of gravel sounded too near to ignore that she turned her head.
Sylus stood a few paces away, hat tipped low against the sun, grin already spreading across his features as though he had stumbled upon something altogether pleasant.
He lifted a hand in an easy wave, entirely unburdened by hesitation.
She released a long, measured sigh.
"Afternoon, ma’am," he said cheerfully, sauntering closer with the unhurried confidence of a man who rarely found himself unwelcome anywhere he chose to stand.
"Is it?" she replied, returning her attention to the river. "I had not noticed."
"Reckon that means you’re thinkin’ hard on somethin’. Folks usually stop noticin’ time when their thoughts get too loud." He leaned slightly, attempting to catch her eye. "Care to share, or am I to admire the back of your bonnet while you pretend I ain’t here?"
"Your presence requires no pretense on my part," she answered crisply, selecting another stone.
He chuckled, unoffended, and lowered himself to the ground beside her without seeking permission. The casual trespass earned him another exasperated sigh, though she made no effort to move away.
For a moment, he simply watched her continue her peculiar pastime, following the arc of each thrown stone as though it were an event of genuine importance.
"Mind tellin’ me why you’re hidin’ out here by the river?" he asked at length.
"I had hoped for a measure of peace," she replied. "The river is preferable company to the townsfolk. Its noise, at the very least, does not form opinions."
"That ain’t quite what I meant," he said, plucking a blade of grass and twirling it between his fingers. "I meant why you’re back here at all."
She paused.
He continued, his tone gentler than usual. "You’re wealthy. You’ve got your own enterprise, from what I hear tell. Seems to me you could’ve set yourself up somewhere that didn’t look at you like you’d tracked mud across their parlor rugs."
Silence stretched between them, filled only by the rushing water and the distant call of meadow birds. She tossed another stone, watching it disappear.
"I believed," she said finally, her voice quieter, "that familiarity might foster kindness. That those who lived simpler lives might better understand the cruelty often practiced among wealthier society. I thought… perhaps they would welcome me home."
Sylus regarded her thoughtfully.
"And how’s that faring for you so far?" he asked.
She rolled her eyes, though the gesture lacked its usual sharpness.
"I do not require you to take satisfaction in proving yourself correct," she said.
"Never said I was satisfied," he replied mildly.
"You would not understand regardless," she continued. "You are a man."
He barked a short laugh, stretching his legs out before him and folding his hands across his stomach.
"Maybe not in the way you mean," he admitted. "But I know horses better than I know most people, and sometimes that comes close enough."
She turned toward him, suspicion sharpening her gaze.
"Well," he said, tilting his hat back as he studied the drifting clouds, "when a mare’s had a rough birthing, sometimes she don’t settle right afterward. Places she used to graze peaceful start feelin’ wrong to her. She’ll shy from stalls she’s stood in half her life, refuse feed she’s always liked, kick at handlers she’s trusted for years. Ain’t that the place changed, you see. It’s that somethin’ in her remembers pain where comfort used to be."
She stared at him.
"Are you comparing me," she said slowly, "to a melancholy broodmare?"
He turned his head, meeting her gaze with disarming calm.
"If the comparison helps make sense of the matter," he said simply, "then yes, ma’am. I suppose I am."
She opened her mouth, perhaps to scold him, perhaps to dismiss him entirely. Instead, she surprised herself by lowering carefully onto the grass beside him, folding her hands upon her stomach as she turned her face toward the wide, endless sky.
They lay there in companionable silence, the wind combing through the reeds and the river continuing its endless conversation with the stones.
After some time, she spoke again.
"If you possessed my means," she asked, "what would you do with it?"
Sylus considered the question with surprising seriousness.
"Truth be told," he said after a pause, "likely nothin’ remarkable."
She turned her head slightly, studying him.
"You disappoint me already."
He smiled faintly.
"I reckon I’d buy myself a grand house someplace no one’s heard my name," he said. "Not in any fancy city, mind you. Just somewhere quiet. I’d keep a few horses, maybe some cattle, and live a life dull enough that my greatest trouble of a mornin’ would be decidin’ whether the sun called for a hat or if I could go without."
She allowed a small, reluctant smile to curve her lips.
"You do not strike me as a man inclined toward monotony," she said.
"I’ve had my share of noise," he replied, his voice softer now. "Chaos and excitement lose their shine when they come paired with wonderin’ where your next meal’s comin’ from… or whether you’ll wake come sunrise if you dare sleep at all."
He glanced toward the river, his expression momentarily distant.
"I figure I’d take boredom kindly if it meant comfort was guaranteed," he added. "Even if it made me sound like an old man before my time."
She studied him quietly, the breeze tugging loose strands of hair across her cheek. The smile lingering upon her lips softened, touched by something warmer than amusement.
"Perhaps," she said at last, "you would grow restless regardless."
"Maybe," he admitted. "But it’d be a fine thing to grow restless somewhere safe.”
The days that followed bore little change in their outward character. The town remained as it had always been — bristling with disapproval thinly veiled behind cordial smiles, alive with murmured speculation that seemed to trail her footsteps wherever she ventured. Shopkeepers still offered pleasantries that rang hollow, and acquaintances still regarded her with that particular blend of fascination and judgment reserved for women who had stepped beyond the safe borders of expectation.
Words were spoken, as they always were. Some carried sweetened poison, others barely bothered with sweetness at all.
And yet, she found herself enduring them with a patience she had not possessed before.
Because now, quietly and with a reluctance she would never confess aloud, she found herself looking forward to something.
She looked forward to him.
It became an unspoken arrangement, born not of invitation nor agreement, but of steady, inevitable repetition. They would arrive at the riverside by separate paths, the rhythm of hooves against prairie earth often reaching her ears before she allowed herself to turn and confirm what she already knew. Their horses, growing accustomed to the ritual as surely as their riders, would lower their heads to graze while the two of them settled upon the soft grass warmed by afternoon sun.
Sometimes they spoke. Often they did not.
There existed between them a silence that felt curiously companionable rather than strained. He would lie back with his hat tipped over his eyes, hands folded loosely across his chest, while she arranged her skirts with habitual precision before eventually allowing herself the small indulgence of reclining beside him, her gloved fingers idly combing through blades of grass or tracing absent patterns in the soil.
The river would murmur its endless commentary nearby, and meadowlarks would call from the tall reeds, and the world, for a few stolen hours, seemed to loosen its relentless scrutiny.
Eventually, the spell would break with the slow, reluctant passage of time. The sun would dip low enough to remind him of responsibilities waiting at the stables, and he would sit upright with a quiet sigh that mirrored her own unspoken disappointment. They would rise, brush stray grass from their clothing, and mount their horses with an ease born of growing familiarity. The ride back to town would pass in comfortable conversation or thoughtful quiet, neither feeling compelled to fill every moment with speech.
She knew, of course, what the town would say — what it was likely already saying.
A divorced woman riding alone with a man scarcely acquainted with proper society, meeting him beyond public view, returning with him as twilight settled across the fields. She could already imagine the whispers gathering shape and sharpness. They would call her reckless. Improper. Perhaps something far less charitable, spoken behind gloved hands and fluttering fans. A tramp, some might venture. Others, emboldened by distance and self-righteousness, might choose harsher language still.
The thought lingered with her, surfacing often during those quiet rides or while she prepared for her outings, fastening buttons and smoothing fabric with practiced composure.
And yet, to her own faint astonishment, she found she did not care.
Let them speak. They would, regardless of her conduct. They always had. At least now their gossip would carry novelty rather than repetition, a fresh embroidery stitched upon the well-worn fabric of her supposed disgrace.
More importantly, she discovered that their voices, once so oppressive, seemed to dim beneath the memory of river water rushing over stone, beneath the warmth of prairie sunlight upon her closed eyelids, beneath the quiet presence of a man who spoke to her as though she were neither scandal nor spectacle, but simply… herself.
If that invited scandal, she thought, then perhaps scandal had been unfairly maligned all along.
Though she had grown accustomed—if such a word could ever be truthfully applied—to the steady cadence of whispers trailing her movements, this particular day proved itself merciless in its persistence.
She had borne the routine scrutiny with practiced composure. She had endured the sideways glances, the carefully veiled remarks, the pointed silences that followed her entrance into shops or gatherings. Such things had, regrettably, become as predictable as sunrise.
But on this afternoon, the town overstepped.
She had just concluded her business at a modest dressmaker’s shop, stepping carefully from the doorway onto the bustling street, when chaos arrived in the form of a carelessly driven cart barreling through the thoroughfare. The driver, flushed with drink and impatience, paid no heed to her presence as he lashed the reins and urged the horse forward with reckless urgency.
The wheels thundered past her skirts with alarming proximity, forcing her backward with a sharp intake of breath. The driver twisted in his seat only long enough to cast a glare in her direction, as though she were an inconvenient obstruction rather than a woman nearly struck beneath his charge.
"Watch where you stand, you horrid woman!" he barked, his voice slurred with liquor.
As though the insult alone proved insufficient, he flung the empty bottle from his hand in a careless arc. It shattered at her feet, splintering into glittering fragments as stale spirits splashed across the hem of her gown, the sharp scent of alcohol rising instantly around her.
Gasps rippled through the gathering crowd, yet no one stepped forward. No hand reached to steady her. No voice rose in reprimand. The townsfolk lingered instead, their expressions caught between fascination and thinly veiled approval, as though any defense of her might be mistaken for endorsement of her perceived moral failings.
She stood frozen, humiliation burning through her veins with a heat that rivaled fury.
Then, from behind the crowd, came a voice she knew as surely as her own heartbeat.
"Ma’am… are you alright?"
Sylus.
She turned sharply toward him. Relief flickered through her chest before wounded pride swiftly smothered it. The murmurs surrounding them sharpened instantly, swelling with renewed interest as though carrion birds had scented fresh vulnerability.
He stepped nearer, concern darkening his features, his broad frame placing itself instinctively between her and the most intrusive onlookers. He drew breath, clearly prepared to speak in her defense.
But she would not endure another spectacle made upon her behalf.
Before he could utter a word, she seized his hand.
Her grip was firm, though it trembled faintly, betraying the storm beneath her composure. She laced her fingers tightly through his, claiming the contact with a boldness that shocked even herself.
Without sparing the crowd so much as a glance, she turned and drew him with her, her stride brisk and resolute, propelled by humiliation, anger, and a yearning she could no longer feign ignorance toward.
Gasps and murmured exclamations trailed them across the yard, but she refused to look back. Not until the sturdy doors of Mr. Randal’s stables stood before them did her pace falter. She pulled them open, ushered him inside, and shut the world firmly behind them.
At once, the atmosphere softened.
The familiar scents of hay, leather, and warm animal breath folded around them like sanctuary. The muffled sounds of horses shifting in their stalls and the quiet rustle of straw replaced the sharp chorus of public judgment.
He said nothing.
He simply watched her.
That steady, patient gaze unsettled her more deeply than any crowd ever could. It carried neither pity nor interrogation—only quiet presence, solid and unwavering. Their breathing filled the stillness, the closeness between them vibrating with everything left unsaid through weeks of stolen glances and restrained conversations.
At last, she stepped toward him.
Her hands rose slowly, betraying hesitation for only a fraction of a moment before they came to rest against his chest. Beneath her palms, his heartbeat struck strong and steady, reverberating through the coarse cotton of his shirt. She clutched the fabric, fingers curling as though anchoring herself against the pull of her own emotions.
Her touch traveled upward, trembling slightly as it followed the solid line of his throat, the rough warmth of his skin, the firm contour of his jaw. When at last her hands cradled his face, she held him with reverence, her thumbs brushing faintly along his cheekbones as though memorizing the shape of him.
His breath faltered.
A low, unsteady exhale escaped him as instinct overtook restraint. His arms slid around her waist, gathering her closer with careful strength, drawing her against him until the rigid boundaries of propriety dissolved entirely. The warmth of his body seeped through her garments, igniting something feverish beneath her skin.
Their foreheads hovered a breath apart.
Then, with a tenderness that unraveled her completely, he lowered his mouth to hers.
The first contact was hesitant, almost questioning, a brush of warmth that sent a sharp tremor through her spine. Her lips parted instinctively, and the kiss deepened, no longer tentative but searching—hungry with longing forged through weeks of silent restraint.
Heat blossomed between them, quick and intoxicating. She rose onto the slightest edge of her toes, pressing closer as though she feared he might vanish if she allowed even a breath of distance. His hands tightened at her waist, fingers splaying across her back, holding her as though he too had reached the end of his endurance.
The world beyond the stable faded entirely.
His mouth moved against hers with a warmth that was both gentle and consuming, coaxing and answering in equal measure. Her gloved fingers slid into his hair, loosening its careful arrangement as she drew him nearer still. A soft, breathless sound escaped her—a sound she barely recognized as her own.
Time unraveled, stretching and collapsing all at once beneath the fervor of the moment. The taste of him, the steady pressure of his arms, the dizzying closeness of his breath mingling with hers—each sensation layered upon the next until her thoughts dissolved into pure, unguarded feeling.
When at last they parted, it was only by necessity. Their breaths came quick and uneven, lips still brushing with every fragile exhale. The air between them remained charged, alive with everything they had unleashed.
She lifted her hand once more, pressing her palm gently over his mouth, silencing the grin she knew would soon emerge.
The gesture proved futile.
The smile curved unmistakably beneath her touch—boyish, triumphant, and unbearably dear. It stirred both exasperation and affection in equal measure.
She released a soft sigh, though her eyes betrayed her, softening as they lingered upon him.
His smile, ridiculous, warm, and wholly disarming, was now hers to quiet, hers to cherish… and, she suspected with a flutter of anticipation, hers to steal again.
The irony of this new breed of self-righteous AI hunters on AO3 is that they're all just copy and pasting peoples fics into AI detectors, which are all operated by AI and therefore THEY are feeding people's work into the algorithm without their consent and in some cases no doubt circumventing the locks people put on to avoid getting scraped...
Don't copy and paste anyone's AO3 work into third party websites, you're not the good guys in this situation?
This wasn't the first time you'd found yourself injured in Sylus's private clinic, nor was it the first time that you'd escorted someone else here after a mission. But it was the first time you felt like your stomach was in knots while someone stitched you up.
"Breathe, kitten," Sylus said. He was sitting next to you, holding the hand on your uninjured side, while one of the nurses on staff stitched your shoulder back together.
"I am breathing," you said before inhaling very loudly to prove your point. Sylus only smirked at you, his thumb tracing a line from your pulse point to the center of your palm and back again.
You didn't look at him, knowing all too well that he'd see right through the minimal defenses you'd thrown up since you'd gotten into his car earlier. You didn't even want to think about what was happening in the operating room next door, or how you still felt pulled towards Valko, or what that would mean for the rest of your relationships or-
You took another deep breath, pointedly not looking at Sylus this time.
"You're good to go," the nurse said as they finished wrapping your shoulder in gauze. "You'll need to take it easy for a few weeks until the stitches come out. No heavy lifting and keep your exercise to lower body only, ideally only brisk walking. Keep the stitches dry for at least the next 48 hours. If you have any questions, or if there's any tearing, you know where to find us."
The nurse packed up their supplies and left you and Sylus alone. Whatever painkillers they'd given you were fully in effect now, your brain going fuzzy at the edges as you tried to focus on anything that wasn't Zayne operating on Valko 20 feet from where you were currently sitting.
"Zayne's the best at what he does," Sylus said. "There's no place safer for our new friend right now than in that room."
You sat up a little straighter at that, your shoulder immediately twinging from your fresh stitches. You couldn't keep yourself from looking at the operating room door. The surgical suite was soundproofed - you didn't need to ask to know why - but for once, you wished it wasn't. You wanted to hear the beeping of Valko's heart monitor, Zayne's steady voice as he gave instructions to his operating assistants, anything that would tell you how the surgery was going.
"He can't die," you said, your voice low and shaky.
You hadn't even realized you'd said it out loud until Sylus was pulling you into his lap, resting his chin on top of your head as you continued staring at the operating room door, waiting for Zayne or a nurse to walk through it.
Sylus didn't make any false promises. He didn't say that everything would be okay, or that Valko wouldn't die, or that Zayne would be done soon.
He just held you in his arms while you waited together, his slow breathing the only steadying force you could focus on.
You weren't sure how long you'd been sitting there when the operating room door finally opened and Zayne exited. He saw you, still sitting in Sylus's lap, and nodded before he pulled off his blood soiled surgical gown and gloves, disposing of them before he carefully washed his hands.
Zayne moved methodically, diligent as always as he scrubbed his hands and arms clean, and if you hadn't been on so many pain killers, you would've already been asking him eight million questions.
Thankfully, he didn't make you wait long.
"He's stable," Zayne said, after his hands were dry and he could stand next to you. He brushed your hair back to look you in the eyes. "He needs monitoring over the next few days to make sure infection doesn't settle in, but he's out of the danger zone."
You leaned into Zayne's touch, your body going limp with relief after being on edge for so long. Sylus readjusted his hold on you to make sure you didn't fall, but Zayne's hand never left the side of your face.
"Let's go home so you can get some rest. I've instructed the nurses to notify me if Valko's condition-"
"No."
Zayne frowned at your interruption. Sylus only chuckled slightly, having already guessed what would happen the moment Zayne said Valko was stable. Suddenly, your head felt much clearer than it had a few minutes ago.
"Valko's coming home with us. I don't want him staying here."
Zayne's fingertips tightened ever so slightly before he relaxed them, dragging his thumb across your bottom lip as he waited for you to explain.
"Someone was after him, Zayne. Not the protocore or the beast itself. Valko. They might have followed him here and I don't want him left unprotected when he just got out of surgery and isn't even conscious."
"She has a point, Zayne," Sylus said. He squeezed your thigh where he was holding you on his lap, a steady reminder of his support. "We don't know enough to leave him here even with my security measures in place. I don't want to risk the clinic."
Zayne only sighed before he leaned down to kiss you. He pressed a soft kiss to Sylus's cheek too before he stood, already frowning at the amount of work he had left to do tonight.
"I'll make a list of everything we'll need at home," Zayne said, pulling out his phone so he could take notes, "but the two of you have to tell the others we have a new houseguest."
You groaned as you leaned against Sylus's chest.
"I take it back," you said, closing your eyes as if that would stop you from having to handle the others' reactions. "Valko can stay here and I'll watch over him. You and Zayne can go home."
Sylus was already calling the twins to help with equipment gathering and setup.
"Not a chance, kitten," he said, kissing the top of your head. "We'd move heaven and earth for you, you know. Asking us to house an injured and possibly wanted man for a week or two should be nothing."
A fact that Rafayel was already, very insistently, trying to explain to you as you stood in the kitchen, the only place out of the way while the twins, Sylus, and Caleb carried all of the new medical equipment in.
"Cutie, he can't stay here, he smells. And where are we going to put him? You don't expect him to sleep with us, do you? The bed is already crowded enough and I actually like the others."
You tried cutting him off several times, but Rafayel was clearly on a roll and had no intention of stopping his rant. You'd even tried grabbing his hands several times to guide him to sit on a stool, but he'd quickly broken your hold, needing his full body to gesticulate the severity of his argument.
"What if he's secretly an assassin! Maybe this injury is completely faked and he's using it to get behind our defenses and we'll wake up in the middle of the night to find your dead body covered in blood in the right there in our bed!"
"Rafayel-"
"Maybe the people who are presumably after him know how terrible he is! I bet he has a really powerful Evol. Something that could take out the entire house in one go!"
"Raf, please-"
"Or, even worse, he's some kind of terrible experiment that escaped and now that he's unconscious his Evol is going to go completely haywire and kill us all in our sleep before the entire house-"
You clamped your hand over Rafayel's mouth to shut him up. You could feel him trying to stick his bottom lip out in a pout but you refused to move your hand. He'd been going non-stop for the last fifteen minutes and you were not above using dirtry tricks if it meant you could finally get a word in.
"He's staying here," you said, with all the authority you could muster. "At least until he's well enough to wake up and we can help him transfer to a more comfortable, secure location. Right now, we don't know where he lives, or who we can contact on his behalf, and it's too dangerous for him to stay at the clinic, okay? Both for him and the other patients. If you're not comfortable staying here, you can return to Whitesand Bay for a short while."
Rafayel wrapped his arms around you, already trying to bury his face in the space in the crook of your neck before you'd even had time to move your hand from his mouth.
"Don't make me leave, cutie," he said, squeezing you tightly until there was no space between your bodies. "I'll behave, I promise. I'm just worried, yeah?"
You waited for him to loosen his arms a little before you pulled back enough to give him a proper kiss.
"I know. And I love you you and your protectiveness, but at least for now, it's unnecessary."
Rafayel didn't stop pouting, but he did keep his complaints to himself. It was a good thing too, as you were sure you were going to hear a lot more complaints over the next day or two. Especially once Xavier got home.
And your sleep-deprived brain could only take so much right now.
You followed the twins as they carried another piece of equipment into your bedroom, trying to stay out of the way as the others set everything up to the best of their ability.
After much debate, you'd given up your personal bedroom for Valko to recover in. Each of you had individual rooms in the household, which you'd each turned into whatever space you needed. They were there for whenever you needed privacy, or weren't feeling up to sharing the large bed with everyone, or just needed a quiet place to decompress. When you'd offered your space, it had made the most sense.
You wanted Valko to recover here, therefore, you should give up your own room.
As you watched Caleb and Sylus rearrange your furniture to make space for the new hospital equipment, however, you were having second thoughts. Small ones, of course, but still doubts about whether or not having Valko stay here was the correct choice. You had no idea how long it would take him to recover, or how panicked he would be when he woke up and was in an unfamiliar space that was obviously not a hospital. No health care facility had an entire wall dedicated to their plushie collection, after all.
You made a mental note to ask Zayne if the pediatrics unit had considered something along those lines, however. You could make a case that it was good for their morale.
"Zayne and our new guest should be here shortly," Sylus said, pocketing his phone. "He said we don't need to worry about the equipment other than plugging it in and making sure its functional."
The twins were already halfway there, moving everything around until it matched the photograph they'd taken of Valko's recovery room at the clinic. You decided to let them sort through the mess of power cords, knowing how out of hand that task could get with too many people involved.
"Pips, are you sure about this?" Caleb asked as he finished taking your bed frame apart. He was stacking the pieces along your wall so they'd be out of the way. "There are plenty of other rooms we could put him in instead."
You were already shaking your head. The shared house you lived in was large - as if Sylus and Rafayel could have picked anything else - but every room had already been claimed for a specific function. It was far better for you to lose your personal space for a few weeks than for Rafayel to lose his studio or for all of you to give up the gym.
"I'm sure," you said, still watching the twins closely as they worked. "Besides, if I need personal space, I'll just take over the theater for a day and force you all to watch TV out in the living room."
Sylus laughed at that as he left the room, kissing the top of your head on his way out. When you turned around, Caleb was frowning, though you could see him fighting his overprotective instincts. He'd spent so much of the last year working on letting things go, on learning how to trust you to ask for help when you needed it, and to lean on the others when he was worried about your safety. Caleb had come a long way, but you also knew that he wasn't really asking about your room.
Somewhere, still buried deep, was the lonely boy you'd grown up with who was always worried you'd leave him for someone else.
You reached for him, pulling him into the hallway so you were out of the twins' way. Before you could say anything, Caleb's hands were under your thighs, picking you up and cradling you against him as he pressed your back against the wall. He pressed his forehead against yours as he held you.
"I'm trying," he said, his voice strained. "I promise, I'm trying."
"I know you are," you said, wrapping your arms around him to hold him just as tightly. "It's just for a few weeks until he recovers and we figure out what's happening. I couldn't leave him alone in the clinic when someone is hunting him, that's all."
You swallowed around the lump in your throat that was definitely not from guilt.
You hadn't mentioned the pull you felt towards Valko to any of them yet. You didn't want to, in all honesty, not until you had a better idea of what it was. Part of you was worried it was another connection to someone - not unlike the bond between you and Rafayel or the soul-linkage you shared with Sylus. It'd taken so much work for all of you to adjust to being a sixsome already.
Could you really add a seventh member to your family?
That felt too greedy, even for you.
You let Caleb hold you until you heard commotion down the hall. Zayne and Valko had arrived.
"I'm still yours," you said, kissing Caleb's cheek before he let you stand on your own again. "Nothing about that has changed."
He let go of you, reluctantly, as Zayne and one of the ambulance drivers wheeled Valko down the hallway. You followed them into your bedroom, watching as they easily transferred Valko onto the hospital bed set up for him. Zayne immediately checked all of the machines, dismissing the ambulance driver so he could verifying that the twins had set up everything correctly and everything worked on his own. When he was satisfied, he began hooking Valko up to all the equipment.
You stood at the foot of the bed as Zayne very meticulously connected all the monitors and sensors before he double-checked Valko's IV line. When he was satisfied, he pressed several buttons on the monitors to turn the volume to slightly less than screeching and took a seat in the oversized chair usually reserved for holding your clean laundry piles.
Zayne looked tired - moreso than usual - as he took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose. You knelt at his feet, resting your cheek against his thigh to remind him you were here. His free hand rested on top of your head as he absently stroked through your hair. When he sighed, you wrapped one arm around his leg, loosely holding onto his ankle.
"Thank you, Zayne," you said. Your voice was small and soft enough that you didn't know if he could even hear you. His fingers continued their steady movement through your hair for several minutes before he gently tugged on your strands to tilt your head so you looked at him.
"Anything for you, my love," Zayne said. He studied your face for a long time, his gaze moving from your eyes to your nose and mouth, then back up again, as if he was trying to memorize the sight of you kneeling at his feet.
He opened his mouth as if he was going to say something else, when the monitors' beeping picked up. Zayne was on his feet a moment later, already pulling on his stethoscope.
You stood and returned to your place at the foot of Valko's bed. You couldn't stop yourself from reaching him, settling your palm against his ankle over the blanket, as if your body needed to feel him under your palms before it would stop racing in time with the monitors' alarms. You watched as Zayne manually took Valko's vitals before he clicked several buttons on the screen and the beeping returned to its regular volume again.
"Is he-"
"He's fine," Zayne said.
He pulled a bottle of what looked like painkillers and a syringe out of his medical bag before measuring a dose and injecting it into the IV line. "His metabolism is burning through the pain killers faster than I anticipated. His heartrate was already elevated, which I had assumed was due to stress or adrenaline, but it's high even now. I wonder if he-"
Zayne stopped mid-sentence as he noticed your hand resting on Valko's ankle. Just like it'd rested on his own a few minutes before when you'd been kneeling at his feet. Zayne didn't say anything before he turned to adjust something else on the monitors. You wanted to reach for Zayne again, to apologize, but you couldn't.
What were you apologizing for?
Touching someone?
A person who'd fought alongside you and helped keep you alive?
A person you'd asked him to operate on, even though he would've done it without asking just because that was who Zayne was?
You were about to say something again anyway when Valko's leg under your hand shifted.
"Zayne? I think-"
The monitors beeped again and Zayne turned just in time to see Valko's eyes open. Valko blinked several times before his eyes focused on you, and a big grin spread across his face.
"Hey there, beautiful," Valko said, his voice hoarse but no less seductive. "I didn't think I'd see you again so soon."
Something in your chest squeezed at seeing the jovial expression you'd caught a glimpse of earlier that night on Valko's face again. You couldn't help yourself from tightening your hand on his ankle briefly before you remembered yourself and pulled it away. Valko's eyebrows creased as he watched you withdraw, but his smile never changed.
Zayne, ever the professional, only tightened his jaw slightly before he took over, asking Valko several questions as he retook Valko's vitals.
"Where am I?" Valko asked.
"You're safe," Zayne said, making several notes on Valko's chart. "What's the last thing you remember?"
"You're in our home," you said, taking over the conversation. It was only right, as it'd been your decision to bring him here.
Valko's hand trailed over his abdomen, which was now wrapped in bandages under his medical gown. He winced as his hand found the edges of where Zayne had stitched up his bullet wound.
"We fought together," he said, looking at you. Valko's gaze went fuzzy for a moment as he tried to piece together his memories, his eyes absently moving between your hand and his ankle like he was trying to measure the distance you'd moved. "And then I got shot."
You nodded.
"You said no hospitals, so we brought you to a private clinic. Once you were out of surgery and stable, we brought you here. We weren't sure if whoever shot you was still after you and this seemed the safest place for you in the meantime."
Valko was nodding along, but you could see his eyelids drooping as he fought whatever painkillers Zayne had given him.
"Smells good here," Valko said, his eyes finally closing. "Safe. Like home."
You frowned at that and opened your mouth to ask another question, but Valko was already out. You stood there for a long minute, unsure of why you couldn't walk away, until Zayne wrapped an arm around your shoulders.
"You should go rest, darling. I'll keep watch over him. You need sleep too."
You nodded, knowing he was right. You'd barely had any sleep in days and the sun had long since risen. Unfortunately for you, you didn't want to leave Valko. The part of you that needed to touch him earlier was screaming at you to crawl right into his hospital bed with him until you could feel his heart beating under your ear. Maybe then that stubborn piece of your heart that was so worried about him would believe he was safe.
There was a loud snort and you and Zayne both turned to see Valko shift his head to the side as he began snoring very loudly.
You both laughed softly at the sight and it relaxed whatever tether had tied you so tightly to Valko's bedside.
"Will you come get me if he wakes and asks for me?"
Zayne nodded and kissed your temple. "Promise."
You let him escort you out of your bedroom and into the living room, where Xavier and Sylus were both waiting for you. Before you made it to the couch, you felt your legs start to give out as exhaustion finally caught up to you. Xavier was there before you'd dropped even an inch, sweeping you into his arms so he could carry you to the sleeping room.
"I've got you, starlight," he said.
You were asleep before you even made it to the bedroom.
11. "I know baby" while you are cumming with Caleb.
🔞MDNI🔞
Click here for more of the Horny Thoughts list.
The silence was the worst part.
Thirty two days of it. It was not like the comfortable quiet of your apartment on a Sunday morning, it was something heavier, pressing down on your chest until every breath felt like work. You'd developed routines around it without meaning to. Checking your phone at the same times every day. Sitting on the edge of your bed in the dark, watching the notification light on your watch for something that never came. Eating when you remembered to. Sleeping when you couldn't stay awake anymore.
The Fleet had given you nothing.
You weren't official family. That was the problem, the one that the Farspace Fleet kept running into every time you called. Childhood bonds didn't have paperwork. Shared trauma didn't have a form number. The promise made in the darkness of his room more than a year ago didn't hold any legal weight, and so every time you called you got the same automated voice, the same words in the same order.
The expedition into the deepspace flux zone is ongoing. All communications are classified under Level 4 security protocols.
You'd stopped counting how many times you'd heard it.
A week ago rumors started moving through the hunter channels, spreading fast and going quiet the moment an official walked into a room. A collapse inside the tunnel. A squadron cut off from the extraction point. You'd cornered a senior officer at the Association headquarters and watched her look at everything in the room except your face while she told you to prepare for the worst. As if that was a sentence you were supposed to absorb and go home.
They were writing him off. Filling in forms. Moving toward the moment where they'd call it officially and send you a letter with his name at the top and a condolences paragraph at the bottom, and the universe would have taken him from you a second time. The first time had been the explosion. You'd been clueless then, and the grief had carved something out of you that had never fully grown back. Thirty two days of silence and you could feel those same edges again, the same hollow shape of a loss you didn't know how to survive this time.
You'd spent the last two days crying under your duvet without a reason to come out.
2:14 AM. The front door clicked.
You sat up so fast the blood rushed out of your head. Sat completely still in the dark, heart hammering, telling yourself it was nothing— probably a neighbor's door, your own exhausted mind making up sounds it wanted to hear. You'd been doing that. Hearing things. Seeing his face in the corner of your eye on the street and turning to find a stranger.
Heavy footsteps in the hallway. A duffel bag dropped onto the hardwood floor. The weight of it, the carelessness of someone too exhausted to set something down gently, sent something electric straight up your spine.
You got out of bed. Your legs weren't entirely reliable. You caught the door frame, steadied yourself, crossed the hallway on autopilot with your heart somewhere in your throat.
The bathroom light was on. Through the glass the steam was already building, the shower ran hard and hot, and you could smell it from the doorway—your shampoo.
You pushed the door open.
The steam rolled out around you, warm and thick, and through the clear panel of the shower glass—
Caleb.
He didn't know you were there yet.
He was standing under the water with his forehead pressed against the tile, shoulders rising and falling. The water was too hot—you could tell because the steam was already thick enough to blur the far wall—but he wasn't adjusting it. Just standing in it. Letting it hit the back of his neck and run down the lines of his shoulders to carry whatever he'd brought back with him down the drain.
His skin was pale, the kind of pale that came from a month without real sunlight, and every muscle in his back was wound so tight it looked painful.
He looked like he had fought his way to a door and wasn't entirely sure yet that he'd made it through.
His head turned.
His eyes found yours through the condensation and steam, bloodshot from lack of sleep and completely awake in an instant, and the look on his face when he saw you standing there—the unguarded relief of it—hit you somewhere behind your ribs and stayed there.
He reached back to shut the water off then stepped out without reaching for a towel, water running off his shoulders and chest, steam rising off his skin. He looked different. Harder at the edges. Several days of dark stubble caught the harsh bathroom light and he looked nothing like the man who'd kissed you goodbye a month ago, or he looked exactly like that man, just with everything worn closer to the surface, less of it contained.
Neither of you spoke. You weren't sure you could. The reality of him standing in front of you—breathing, dripping water onto the floor—was still making its way through days of silence and the grief of someone who had already lost him once and had spent the last forty eight hours preparing to do it again.
"Caleb." It came out barely a sound.
He crossed the bathroom floor in three steps, water trailing behind him, and his hand wrapped around your wrist. His grip was warm, real and it made your eyes sting immediately. He didn't say anything. He just held you for a moment, his thumb pressed against your pulse point, and let you feel that he was there.
He kept hold of your wrist the whole way. Down the hall, through the door of your room, until your shoulders found a wall and he stopped in front of you. The sight of him, still yours, broke something open in your chest that you'd been holding very carefully shut.
"Caleb,—the fleet, they—I thought you were—"
"I'm right here." His voice came out rough, scraped down to something raw and unrecognizable, nothing of his usual warmth in it yet. "Forget what they said. I'm right here. I'm safe."
He placed his palms against the wall on either side of your head, steadying the space around you like he always had. The heat coming off his skin was startling against the cool air of the bedroom. You looked up at him, at the dark sharp lines of his jaw and the thick stubble that made him look exhausted and more real than anything you'd let yourself imagine in the last four weeks.
"Look at you," he said quietly, eyes moving over your face, your shaking hands, "Why are you trembling. It's okay." His voice dropped further. "I've got you."
"I thought you were dead." The first sob broke through before you could stop it "They wouldn't tell me anything, Caleb. They told me to prepare for the worst, I didn't know what that—fuck, I did know what it meant and I couldn't—"
"I know." He pulled you away from the wall and buried his face in the curve of your neck, you felt the rough drag of his stubble against your skin and gasped. He breathed you in slowly, deeply, his whole chest expanding against yours. "I know what they're like." His arms tightened around you. "But I promised you. I have always promised you. I fought my way out of that tunnel because leaving you again was not an option."
His hands moved down and without any warning he hooked his hands under your thighs and lifted you clean off the floor.
You wrapped your legs around his waist on instinct, hands flying to his shoulders. Your shorts rode up with the movement, bare thighs pressing against the heat of his hips.
"Baby—"
His mouth came down on yours.
It wasn't desperate in the way you'd expected. It was slower than that, deeper, a kiss that had too much behind it to rush. A month of darkness, cold and whatever he'd fought through to get back to you, all of it pressing into the way his lips moved against yours, his tongue parting your mouth in a heavy stroke that made your fingers curl into his damp hair and pull.
He shifted your weight, pressing your spine gently but firmly into the wall, and you felt the full length of his cock against you through the thin fabric of your shorts—already hard, already searching for the closeness you both needed, his hips moving in a slow rhythm that mirrored exactly what his mouth was doing.
He broke the kiss just far enough to look at you again.
"I'm here," he said, his words almost too quiet to hear. "Right here. I'm not going anywhere."
"I need—" Your voice broke, tears were streaming down your face. "Please. I need to feel you. I need to know you're actually—"
The sound that came out of him was pained. He lowered you until your feet touched the floor, keeping one arm tight around your waist, and his free hand went to your waistband, careful, guiding your shorts and underwear down together until they pooled at your ankles and you stepped out of them.
He straightened back up and you looked at each other in the quiet of the room. He was watching your face with an expression that made your throat close up again. The marks of the last month were all over him, the exhaustion, the weight loss, the hollowness around his eyes, and he was still the most beautiful man you'd ever seen.
He reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head, tossing it behind him without looking. Then he was back against you, chest to chest, and the heat of his body in front of you and the cool hard wall behind you made your breath leave you all at once.
His jaw dragged down your throat. The stubble was rough and you felt every millimeter of it, that scraping friction kept pulling you back into your body every time emotion threatened to pull you out of it. He was doing it on purpose. Making sure you felt him. "Right here," he said softly against your skin. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. I'm yours."
There was nothing left to say that your body wasn't already saying for you.
He hooked one of your legs over his hip, his forearm sliding under your thigh to hold you there. His free hand moved between you, guiding himself to your entrance, and he paused—just for a breath, tip pressed against your heat—eyes on your face, waiting.
"Please. Now. Ca—"
He pressed forward and you buried your face in his neck.
The sob that came out of you surprised both of you. He felt it move through you and pulled you closer, both arms wrapping around you, his hands spread wide across your back.
"I've got you," he whispered, lips against your temple. "I've got you. I'm here."
He pulled back slowly. Almost all the way. Let you feel the drag of it, the absence, and then drove back in deeper.
"Caleb—" he swallowed the sound of his name with a sound of his own, low in his chest, his forehead dropping to yours.
He began to move and there was nothing fast about it. Just you and him.
The heat built fast anyway. Your nails found his back, his shoulders, whatever you could reach, and he let you—didn't flinch, didn't shift away, just kept moving in a steady rhythm while the wet sounds of it and both of your breathing filled up the room. Your tears were still falling and you stopped trying to do anything about them, just let them come while your mouth left marks on his body.
His shoulder pulled away from your mouth.
"Look at me." Came his voice, strained, like it cost him something to speak. "Let me see you."
You lifted your head. Your vision was a bit blurry, everything fractured through tears, but you could see him clearly enough, jaw clenched, neck tight, the muscles in his face working against something he was holding back.
"You don't have to be scared anymore," he rasped, hips driving forward again, finding a shorter faster rhythm that dragged against every nerve ending you had. "I'm right here, baby. I'm staying right here."
"I was so scared—" The words broke apart before you got through them, your body clenching around him in tight pulses. "Caleb, I thought—I kept calling and they wouldn't—and then she said to prepare and I didn't—"
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry you had to sit with that."
"Don't apologize—"
"Look at me," he said again, softer this time. "Stay with me."
He grabbed your other leg, hoisting you higher until you were fully suspended—nothing under you but him, every thrust finding someplace deeper, enough to make your whole body seize up and your head fall back against the wall.
"Oh—Caleb—I'm going to—I—"
"I've got you." He brought his face to your cheek, lips moving against the wet, salty skin there, breathing you in. "I've got you. Let go."
The past month collapsed into a single point in your chest and then detonated. Not just pleasure—though that rolled through you in long shaking waves—but everything under it. Every night staring at his empty side of the bed. Every time a voice said please await official updates. The two days under your duvet where you'd let yourself start to grieve him. All of it coming up at once, unstoppable, your whole body shaking with it while he held you against the wall and didn't let you fall.
"I love you," you sobbed into his neck, the words coming out in pieces. "I love you—I love you—"
"I know." His voice cracked on the second word. He was close. His lips pressed to your temple, your jaw, your wet cheek "I know, baby. I love you. I love you. I'm home."
He buried himself as deep as he could go, shaking, your name in his mouth like a prayer he'd been repeating for a month to keep himself moving forward.
He carried you to the bed eventually. Lay down with you still tangled against his chest, one hand moving slow up and down your back, the other tucked under his head.
"They really told you to prepare?"
"Three days ago."
He was quiet for a moment. His hand stilled on your back.
"They wouldn't tell me anything because I'm not—I'm not on any form. There's no box I fit in. I'm not—" You stopped. Felt your throat tighten again and breathed through it. "There's no paperwork that says I'm yours. So as far as they were concerned I was nobody and they owed me nothing."
Caleb didn't say anything. His chest rose and fell steadily.
"I need that to change"
"Okay," he said.
"I mean it, Caleb." You pushed yourself up onto your elbow and looked at him, his eyes were already on you. "I need it to actually change. Not someday. Not when things settle down or when the fleet rotation is easier or when we find a better time. I need—" your voice came out fierce and a little unsteady and you let it be both. "I need to be your wife. Legally. On every form and every document and every emergency contact line they have. I need there to be paperwork that says you're mine so that the next time someone tries to lock me out of a room where decisions are being made about your life, I can put it on their desk and they cannot say no to me."
He was very still.
"I'm not asking you to do something romantic," you said. "I'm not—this isn't about a ceremony or a dress or any of that, though I want all of that too, I do. I'm asking you because I spent a month being nobody to the people who had information about whether you were alive. I'm asking because I sat in this apartment with no legal right to know anything and I cannot do that again. I will not do that again."
Caleb looked at you for a long moment then he reached up and put his hand against the side of your face, his thumb brushing your cheekbone.
"I've wanted to ask you, I kept waiting for the right moment."
"This is the right moment."
"You're proposing to me at four in the morning."
"I am."
The corner of his mouth pulled up. The first real version of his smile you'd seen since he walked through the door, the one that reached all the way up, the one that was so him it made your chest ache.
He pulled you back down against him, arms wrapping around you, lips pressing to the top of your head and staying there. "First thing tomorrow we go to the registration office. We fill out every form they have. We put your name on everything."
You pressed your face into his chest and closed your eyes, this time it wasn't to wait for a notification that never came.
summary: When reports of a beast-like wanderer terrorizing Linkon cause the city to go into lockdown, it doesn't take much for you to sneak out and try hunting it down yourself. You'd fought plenty of wanderers over the years, but nothing could prepare for meeting Valko. You felt an instant connection with him, like a part of you had been missing and you hadn't realized it until he was by your side. But before you can explore this feeling, you realize that Valko is being hunted too. Naturally, you decide that the best way to both learn more about Valko and to protect him in the process is to invite him to move with you. The house you share with your five other boyfriends has plenty of space, after all. There's plenty of room for a sixth. Right?
tags: reader x valko, reader x xavier x zayne x rafayel x sylus x caleb, established polycule, angst with a happy ending, explicit content
The Hunters Association's announcement about a gigantic creature that was running through the city had everyone on edge. It'd been days of news reports, blurry photos, claw marks along the sides of buildings, and a few pawprints in concrete that were entirely too large to belong to anything that wasn't a wanderer.
The whole city was panicking.
When the initial warning had gone out, several teams of Hunters had been sent to investigate. Any wanderer, after all, was your responsibility to take care of. But it had moved too fast to take out, the sighting reports too untrustworthy to track it accurately.
It'd been four nights and, though there had been no casualties so far, the entire city was in lockdown every night until the wanderer was taken care of. Including all of the Hunter teams.
Without additional information, it was too dangerous to hunt. Drone patrols were stationed all over the city instead, hoping to narrow down the wanderer's movement pattern and location. All Hunters were on standby, waiting to be called in to duty the moment the analysts had enough information to properly track the wanderer.
You'd despised it, of course.
You'd dutifully stayed home the first night, pacing back and forth across the living room as you waited for your watch to go off with an alert. You were on edge the entire time, your TV volume turned down low as the news broadcasters continued reporting on non-verified sightings and other rumors about the wanderer.
"Cutie, you're distracting me," Rafayel said. He was sitting on the couch, sketchbook in hand. You knew he had a painting that he should be working on instead, but he'd only shaken his head as he sat down. You'd told him you were fine, but Rafayel insisted on staying in the same room with you after Xavier had - predictably - fallen asleep on the couch.
If Zayne had been there, he would've insisted on you at least sitting down to conserve your energy, but he'd stayed at the hospital in case there was a mass attack and he was called into surgery. Caleb would've dragged you to bed too, but he was currently away on a mission for the Fleet. Sylus had returned to the N109 Zone for the night too, after one of his contacts had discovered something new about the protocores he'd recently purchased.
It was infuriating. Especially because you knew that Sylus would have been more likely to encourage you to go hunting with him than to stop pacing.
When Rafayel sighed loudly - the fake one, the one you knew he did for attention - you stopped pacing.
"Sorry, Rafayel," you said, taking a seat on the couch next to him.
As if sensing your presence, Xavier shifted in his sleep, resting his head on your thigh mid-dream as he'd done dozens of times before. Rafayel smirked as he turned to a fresh page in his sketchbook, quickly outlining the scene of you and Xavier together as you watched him work.
It worked to calm your nerves for a while, until you found yourself checking your Hunters watch ever few minutes.
"If you check that thing one more time," Xavier said, voice half-slurred with sleep, "I'm going to tear it off you and hide it somewhere."
You let out a deep sigh as you threaded your hand in Xavier's hair, combing through it to both lull him back to sleep and give your hands something else to do.
When the sun finally rose and you and Xavier both got a notification that your standby status had been released, you'd crawled into bed exhausted. The stress and anxiety of waiting had drained you but you struggled to fall asleep.
There was something nagging at you that you couldn't pinpoint. Something that was calling to you to move, to go, to do anything other than sit in your house and wait.
⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆｡☁︎｡ ﾟ｡⋆
The next night was worse.
"Kitten-"
"There's no use," Rafayel said, cutting Sylus off. "She's going to keep pacing until their watches go off."
Sylus had settled into one of the armchairs, resting his chin on his hand as he watched you. You'd resumed your pacing as soon as the lockdown started, checking your watch every few minutes like your heart would stop if you didn't. When Xavier had tried changing the channel to a non-news station, you'd snapped at him so loudly that even Rafayel had glared at you until you apologized.
Your boyfriends let you pace for an hour before Sylus stood and blocked your path. When you glared up at him, he rested his hands on your shoulders and squeezed them gently until he had your full attention.
"What do you need, kitten?" Sylus asked.
You shook your head, sliding out of his grasp so you could resume your pacing.
"I need the analysts to find something concrete so I can go hunt this thing," you said.
Sylus didn't move out of your way, so you had to sidestep him to continue pacing in the same space. You could've sworn you heard him chuckle after the seventh or eighth pass you'd made, before he finally conceded.
You didn't pay him any attention as Sylus left the room, pulling his phone out to make several calls. When he returned a half hour later, Sylus looked a little too pleased with himself as he picked you up and sat down in the armchair with you in his lap.
"Mephisto is out looking, sweetie," he said, kissing your temple. "The moment he has something to report, I'll go hunting with you. Try to get some rest until then."
You'd shrieked in protest as he lifted you, fighting him until his words sank in. You hated how he'd so easily manhandled you, but you only pretended to pout. Sylus's lap was far too comfortable and knowing he had Mephisto out hunting on your behalf helped settle some of your nerves. You weren't sure if you got any sleep, but you did close your eyes and rest.
When the sun rose and your watch hadn't triggered an alert, you met Xavier's gaze to see find him as equally confused as you.
Two nights of searching and no leads?
"Mephisto thinks the beast is hunting something," Sylus said, brushing your hair back from your face as you stretched in his lap. "If your Hunters Association hasn't figured out what yet, we can go hunt together tonight."
⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆｡☁︎｡ ﾟ｡⋆
The third night, Xavier went hunting.
Alone.
He'd been called into HQ in the middle of the afternoon, specifically by Captain Jenna. You'd tried following him, meeting him at the door as you finished buckling the last piece of your uniform. Even if Xavier was the only one who was called in, you refused to be left out while your Hunter partner was called in. Xavier had frowned at you, but hadn't stopped you from tagging along.
No, he'd let Captain Jenna do that.
"You're on standby tonight," she said, her voice that steady tone that was somehow both authoritative and maternal. "Xavier will be going in alone for the first few hours as he's the only one who is fast enough to follow the wanderer."
You remained professional the entire time, despite wanting to tear your hair out. You knew it wasn't Xavier's fault, that he hadn't been the one to make this decision. Sending Xavier alone even made sense, letting the team member who could literally teleport go in first.
But that didn't mean you had to be okay with it.
Thankfully - for Rafayel - Zayne and Caleb were both home that night. When you returned home, Sylus had kissed your cheek, promising to go with you later once you'd heard an update from Xavier. Unfortunately, Caleb had overheard him.
"Absolutely not," Caleb said, pointing at Sylus. He'd been chopping vegetables in preparation for dinner but now he was wielding the knife at the two of you like a slasher from a horror movie. "No one is going out hunting. Not even you, Mr. Invincible."
"He's not invincible," you started, but Caleb cut you off.
"Doesn't matter when he acts like he is. No hunting tonight, period."
You made sad puppy dog eyes at Zayne, who was currently setting the table for dinner, but he only shook his head at you.
"I agree with Caleb on this. It's too dangerous. Let's wait until Xavier returns before we go charging out without a plan."
With the other three home, Rafayel had retreated to his art studio to work on his latest painting. He'd claimed your nervous energy was "ruining his creative flow" or something, despite the fact that he'd literally sought your company the last two nights.
You tried not to dwell on his absence. You knew Thomas was on him again for another looming deadline and it also wasn't fair to the other three to pout just because Rafayel needed some space.
You'd been quiet all through dinner, half-internally scheming about how you could sneak out once everyone was distracted and asleep. Caleb hadn't given you a moment's reprieve though. The moment dinner was over, he'd swept you into his arms, claiming he required additional cuddle time after being gone for several days. You expected him to take you to his bedroom - each of you had your own personal spaces you could retreat to in the shared house - but instead he carried you to the sleeping room.
"Don't even think about sneaking out once I fall asleep," Caleb said, curling his body around yours once you were laying in the middle of the gigantic bed. "You wouldn't want to ruin our beauty sleep, would you?"
"Our?" you asked.
"Yes," Zayne said, joining you on the bed and curling up on your other side. "Our beauty sleep."
Even being sandwiched between their bodies, you felt antsy. You couldn't relax.
Your fingers tapped against Caleb's arm, your foot jiggled back and forth under Zayne's leg. You sighed so often that Zayne even made a joke about needing to check your lungs for respiratory distress.
"I had fully intended to just cuddle and sleep, pipsqueak," Caleb said, leaning up on one elbow to look down on you after the fourth time he'd tried stopping your fidgeting by holding your hand between his own and failed. "But I think you need a stronger intervention. What do you say, Zaynie?"
Zayne's hand was already sliding under your shirt, his Evol activating just enough for you to arch into his touch.
"I'd say serious intervention is needed," Zayne said, nibbling on the outer rim of your ear as you gasped.
Caleb captured your mouth in a kiss, immediately deepening it until you were rolling back into Zayne's embrace. You grabbed onto Caleb's sleep shirt, both to steady yourself and to tug him closer. He followed without hesitation, pinning you completely between their bodies.
It didn't take long before the three of you were naked and panting with need. Caleb and Zayne were completely dedicated to tiring you out, dragging as much pleasure from your body as they could.
Three orgasms later, Zayne had you in his lap, your legs caught on the outside of his as he fucked into you. Caleb held you in place, his tongue dragging from where you and Zayne were connected, through your folds, all the way to your clit. You cried out as he sucked it into his mouth, driving you to another orgasm.
"That's it, darling," Zayne said, turning your head so he could kiss you softly as you came down. He never stopped pumping into you, nor did Caleb stop licking your pussy. "Let us take care of you. You're doing so well for us. Can you give us another?"
Caleb dragged his mouth up your body to your breasts, flicking your nipples with his tongue as his fingers dragged back and forth against your clit.
"I didn't hear you, pips," Caleb said, pulling away just enough so you could see his wicked grin. "Was that a yes?"
You were already nodding, despite barely being able to hold your head up. Caleb and Zayne were a lethal combination when their shared goal was your pleasure and your muscles were already weak and protesting. But you weren't ready to stop just yet.
"Yes," you gasped, lifting your head just enough to meet Caleb's eyes.
"That's my girl," Zayne said, nipping at your shoulder.
"Milk his cock for me, pretty girl," Caleb said. "I want the two of you to come at the same time next so he can fill that tight little pussy of yours with his cum."
You and Zayne both groaned at Caleb's words, your pussy clenching involuntarily around Zayne's cock so hard that he had to grip your waist just to keep himself from coming then and there.
Caleb shifted until he was leaning over the two of you, pressing his hardened length against your folds to rut against your clit so you were trapped between them. He braced one arm on the headboard behind Zayne and you knew if you turned your head, you could see the two of them watch how well your body took everything they gave you.
As Caleb thrust against you, matching Zayne's movements inside you, you couldn't do anything but hold onto the two of them, gasping and moaning as they drove you to yet another peak.
You nearly burst into tears as your orgasm hit, every nerve in your body overly sensitive as you felt the waves of pleasure crash over you. Thankfully, your boys had always known just how far to push you and would never give you more than you could take.
Within a few strokes, they both finished too, Zayne's cum coating your insides while Caleb claimed your stomach and tits with his. They held you between them, pressing soft kisses against every inch of skin they could reach while they slowly massaged your limbs until you were steady enough to stand.
The anxious pull that'd plagued you for days dissipated just enough for you to lose yourself in their care and you let yourself fall into it.
By the time they'd helped you clean up in the shower, Rafayel and Sylus had already changed the sheets and were waiting for you in bed. You fell asleep before they'd pulled the blankets up around you, your body finally succumbing to the exhaustion of being on edge for days.
⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆｡☁︎｡ ﾟ｡⋆
When Xavier returned home the next morning, you'd barely made it two minutes before you interrogated him.
"What was it? Did you find it? Is it dead? Are we still under lockdown?"
"Easy, cutie," Rafayel said, pulling you into his lap so your Hunter partner could collapse into a chair. "Let him breathe. He just walked in the door."
You huffed in frustration, which only drew a laugh out of both of them.
"It's not like any wanderer I've seen before," Xavier said, a few minutes later after he'd drank the water Sylus had given him. "I chased it out of the city, but I couldn't get close enough to fight it properly. Whatever it's looking for is definitely in the industrial district at the edge of town though. It kept circling back towards that area."
You nodded along, a plan already forming in your mind.
"I sent my report in to Captain Jenna. She'll have a new plan of attack later this evening."
"One that involves a team, I hope?" Zayne asked, sliding a breakfast plate in front of Xavier.
He nodded and took several bites of food before he continued.
"It's going to take an organized effort to corner it. Now that we've narrowed down where it is and that I can herd it, the analysts will come up with a better plan for us tonight."
You happily drank your coffee, nearly kicking your feet with glee at the prospect of an entire team going out to hunt the beast. An entire team that would include you. Staying in the house for another night and doing nothing was slowly torturing you.
You'd do whatever it took to take out the wanderer out that night, as long as it meant the lockdown ended.
⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆｡☁︎｡ ﾟ｡⋆
The industrial district had never been what you would call welcoming, but without any of the usual workers around, it felt downright creepy.
You and a dozen other Hunters were stationed around the district at various intervals, waiting for the analysts to provide information on the wanderer's current whereabouts. Despite it running in similar patterns the last three nights, no one had seen it yet.
Not the drones, not any civilians, not even Mephisto.
Something wasn't right.
"All units, check in," Captain Jenna said, her voice chiming in through your Hunters watch.
You listened to your coworkers report their positions and status one at a time, joining in with your own and an "all clear" when it was your turn.
That pull you'd felt the last few days was only stronger. What was happening? Why was your gut telling you to leave your post and walk farther away from the district, towards the woods lining the edge of town?
After over an hour of patrolling your area without any sightings - in your sector or anyone else's - you gave in to it.
Thank goodness Xavier was positioned elsewhere tonight, or he'd be dragging you halfway home by now.
You walked half a mile before the pull suddenly changed directions, moving back towards the factories. You were already reaching for your firearms, all senses on high alert as you moved as stealthily as possible.
As you approached an alleyway, you heard the faint sound of grunts and gravel crunching under shoes. You didn't wait for backup, already turning the corner, guns drawn.
A large, wolf-like wanderer was jumping and slashing at two others nearby, the glint of its eyes the unmistakable sharp blue of a protocore.
You didn't hesitate before running directly at it, firing at the wanderer to get its attention.
It rounded on you immediately, baring its teeth as it growled and lunged. Before it could reach you, one of the others swung a large claymore and blocked the wanderer's path.
You darted out of the way, rolling sideways to get a clearer shot before you fired again. You landed half a dozen shots in its neck and belly before it pivoted, running up the side of the building and onto the roof away from you. The damn beast had moved so fast it had only been a blur. No wonder Xavier had struggled to follow it.
"Shit," the man with the large sword said.
You barely blinked before he bounded up the building after the beast, leaving you standing in the alley with the other human.
"I'm with the Hunters Association," you said, your voice low and calm. It was a practiced speech you'd repeated hundreds of times when dealing with civilians in the wake of a wanderer attack. "If you'll come with me I'll escort you to-"
The stranger lunged at you then, swiping at you with a knife you hadn't seen.
You ducked, blocking the knife with one of your guns as the attacker swung at you again. Your guns were useless against humans, but you still knew how to wield them in a melee attack. You slammed your other gun into the attacker's elbow, shocking him into dropping the knife. You were about to land a punch to his gut or his face when he dropped, swiping at your legs with a swift kick before he was up and running. You watched him sprint up the side of the building after the other wanderer.
You holstered your weapons, cursing this wanderer and all the trouble it'd brought as you tried calling for backup. But your Hunters watch was useless, showing nothing but static. It couldn't even get a decent enough signal to tell you what time it was.
Well, fuck it. You were on your own for now.
Not wanting to waste any more time, you raced down the alleyway, hoping you could track the wanderer's movements from the street. You really, really hoped that the interference on your watch was just from the nearby buildings and not the wanderer itself, or you were going to be in very big trouble.
You saw wanderer three blocks down. It was still on the roof, fighting the guy with the large sword as the other person - not a civilian, though also not a Hunter - quickly caught up to them. You thought they were there to fight the wanderer too, until you saw them raise another knife as they approached the tall swordsman from behind.
You sprinted as fast as you could. When you realized you weren't going to make it in time, you yelled as loudly as you could.
"Behind you!"
The swordsman flicked his giant weapon at the last moment, blocking the attacker's knife just before it would've driven into his neck.
You sprinted up the fire escape and onto the roof with them. You thought you saw the swordsman grin wildly at you before he swung a fist into his attacker's face.
You drew your firearms again as you took in the full scene. The wanderer was prowling around the edge of the roof, clearly waiting for an opportunity to lunge at one of you again, but you didn't give it a chance. You pulled the triggers, catching the wanderer in the face with several shots before it turned its attention on you again. You never stopped shooting, aiming for its chest in an attempt to find a weak spot to take it out.
The wanderer leaped towards you, its body a dark blur you couldn't follow until you felt its claws dig into your shoulder. You cried out as you whipped around, firing at where you thought the beast had landed.
Your flurry of shots must have finally hit something vital, as it hit the ground and collapsed. You watched it turn into ash before a bright blue protocore hit the ground.
One down, you thought.
You whirled around, looking for the other attacker, but he was gone. The swordsman was there instead, leaning against his giant claymore with his head cocked to the side as he watched you.
Sensing no immediate danger, you glanced at your arm and tried to take in the damage. The wanderer had torn through your skin and into the muscle, and you quickly tore at your sleeve until you could tie a makeshift bandage around the worst of it. It helped, but your arm was still weakened and you knew the blood loss would eventually catch up to you.
You needed to get out of here, and fast. One glance at your Hunters watch and you saw that it still wasn't working. Great. Well, first thing was first, you needed to secure the protocore.
You moved to pick it up, but it slid across the rooftop. Your eyes widened as you watched it fly in front of you, directly into the other man's hand. You half-expected Caleb to appear then, as the only other person you'd known who could manipulate objects in that way.
The other man was still watching you as he turned the protocore over in his hand.
"I'm with the Hunters Association," you said, striding towards him. You held your hand out for the protocore. "You can hand that protocore over to me now."
Despite the fact that the man was more than a foot taller than you and your shoulder ached, you held your chin high and did your best to sound as authoritative as possible, remembering all of the tips Sylus had given you about wielding power.
The man tossed the protocore up and down in his hand like it was a toy before he pocketed it.
"Why should the Hunters Association have it?" he asked. His voice was deeper than you'd expected, like it belonged out in the wilderness, in a cave or in the mountains somewhere. "I found it first."
You squared your shoulders as you looked at him, doing your best Zayne impression to harden your expression.
"And I took out the wanderer, which means it's mine. Now hand it over."
The man grinned at you wide enough that you could see all of his teeth. Did he have actual fangs?
"No, I don't think so," he said. "I appreciate your help though. You should go get your shoulder looked at."
He turned away from you, moving towards the edge of the roof like he was going to jump down.
Fine, you thought. We'll do this the hard way.
You focused on everything you'd learned about fighting from Sylus and Rafayel as you ran towards the man. You aimed a punch at his head but he ducked, and you aimed for his knee instead. He quickly rolled away and you followed, not letting him retreat. You shoulder was killing you and you knew the movement would only worsen the injury, but it didn't matter.
You needed that protocore.
"Is that how it's gonna be?" he taunted, tossing his greatsword to the ground. "Let's go then."
Despite the man's obvious size advantage, you kept up with him, dodging and punching as you traded blows despite your injury. You'd never been so grateful that Xavier had forced you to train with both sides of your body as your dominant arm was weakening and you needed to switch stances. At one point, the man ran at the wall, using it as leverage to vault himself farther upwards.
It would've caught you off-guard if you hadn't trained with your boyfriends for so long.
You dodged out of the way at the last second, using the man's momentum against him to kick his legs out from under him as he landed. The moment he was on the ground, you were on top of him, pinning his arms with your full bodyweight.
The two of you were panting heavily as you held him down. Your arms held his wrists down while your knees pressed into his thighs. You leaned forward, making sure he wouldn't be able to twist out of your grasp.
You shoulder screamed in protest, but you ignored it, sending a silent apology to Zayne for the stress you were putting your body through. You glared down at the man, but he only looked up at you curiously, obviously delighted by his current position.
"For being so small, you're definitely a fighter," he said.
"Are you going to give me the protocore now?" you asked, ignoring his statement. "I've now won it twice."
The man smiled at you before glancing at his wrists which you were still holding in place.
"Little hard to hand it over when you're straddling me."
You refused to blush under his insinuation, pushing against him even harder to reinforce your point.
"Why don't you tell me which pocket it's in."
The man let out a small laugh. You could nearly see the gears turning in his head as he looked at the stars, before he raised his head to speak to you. Despite his wrists being pinned, he moved easily, leaning so close that he could almost kiss you.
"Let's make a deal, shall we? You let me-"
He stopped abruptly, his head turning slightly to the side, closer to your neck.
The movement was so sudden it set you on edge. What was he doing? Had the attacker from before returned? No, you would've heard him. This was a trap, that's all.
"Where is it?" you said, more forcefully this time.
When the man pulled away from you, there was something different in his expression. His eyes had gone wide and soft and his mouth was partly open as if in awe. When he looked at you, his eyes traced over your every feature, before he smiled.
"Left jacket pocket," he said.
You stared at him for a moment before you glanced down. His jacket - more of a leather vest, really - was splayed open not far from where your knee pressed into his thigh. Which meant that in order to grab the protocore, you'd have to let go of his wrists and potentially leave yourself open to a counterattack.
The man's expression never changed as he watched you, but you knew he was thinking the exact same thing.
"No funny business," you said, glaring down at him.
The man only opened his hands, wiggling his fingers as if he was proving he had nothing to hide and was fully surrendering. When you shifted your weight off of his arms by a fraction, you paused. The corner of his mouth quirked slightly, but he showed no other signs of movement.
Here goes nothing, you thought.
You shifted your weight so your knees were on either side of his waist so you could sit up properly. You quickly realized that you needed both hands to properly dig in his pockets - what kind of leather vest had so many pockets, there wasn't even that much fabric? - but he held completely still for the entire search, his eyes following your every movement with an intensity that felt more like reverence.
When you finally found the protocore, you studied it as it sat in the palm of your hand. There was a strange light to it and you turned it between your fingers. There was a small reflection which you quickly realized were slivers of metal threads running along its edges.
"That's weird," you said. You didn't even realized you'd said it out loud until the man answered you.
"Extremely. I've only seen a handful of other protocores like it and each of them had been purposefully tampered with. If you want to make a deal with me, I'd be happy to share information."
You were still studying the protocore when the man shifted underneath you, slowly sitting up until he was holding you in his lap. He'd leaned forward far enough to speak directly into your ear and you swore you heard him take a long, deep inhale before he spoke.
"Let me take it to my lab and examine it. You can even come with me and take the protocore when I'm done. I won't do anything to damage it."
At some point, your free hand had grabbed onto his arm to steady yourself. The same arm that was now wrapped around you, his large hand spread across your lower back, because you were sitting in his lap.
You scrambled off of him then, careful of the protocore, and took several steps away. How the fuck had that happened? Why hadn't your training kicked in the moment he moved towards you?
The man only held up both hands in surrender, his eyes still open and honest, like he was hoping you could see his secrets in them if you just looked hard enough.
"I'm sorry," he said, not moving from his position. "I didn't mean to scare you. You just…. remind me of someone and I reacted instinctively. I won't touch you again."
You nodded, not looking at him as you stowed the protocore away. Your fingers were slipping against your zippers from your blood loss and you realized you needed medical attention sooner than you expected.
But you couldn't get yourself to turn away from this man. Why couldn't you walk away from him?
When you'd taken several steps back but made no move to leave, the man spoke again.
"I'm going to stand up now and grab my sword. Is that okay?"
When you agreed, he was on his feet a moment later, retrieving his claymore from where he'd dropped it and slung it over his back. It was then you realized his weapon was nearly as large as he was tall. And he'd been swinging it with one hand.
Holy shit, how strong was he?
You glanced down at your Hunters watch again, only partially to hide your cheeks which you were now sure were red from something that was not pure exertion. You still had no signal, which meant you needed to start working towards your original post until you had enough signal to call for a medic.
"Come with me and we'll discuss this deal," you said, not giving yourself a chance to overthink it.
You didn't wait for him to respond before you were walking towards the edge of the roof. You were halfway down the fire escape before you realized he wasn't behind you. Had he really not wanted to make the deal after all? Was it all just a rouse? What the hell was-
"Are you always this slow? Or is it just because you're so small?"
The man had already made it to the ground! How? Nevermind, you didn't need to know. You just needed to get out of here and get help.
You ignored his verbal jab as you reached the bottom, already walking as you pointed in the direction of your patrol zone.
"My post was a few blocks that way. Once I get a signal, we can-"
You didn't get another word out before you saw the man double-over. You were at his side immediately, eyes widening as you realized he was clutching his stomach. You could see blood seeping between his fingers and you gasped. He was bleeding.
"What-"
"Those motherfuckers," the man gasped, his head whipping around as he looked for something. "Goddamn rooftops."
You followed his gaze to see a glimpse of someone at the edge of the roof one building away. You thought you saw a reflection of light before your new ally was pinning you against the wall, covering your body with his as your attacker fired several shots at you.
The man barely looked up before he flicked his wrist and you heard a yell from the rooftop. You'd known Sylus long enough to recognize the sound someone made when they were gravely injured. And yet this man - who'd been shot in the stomach! - had barely made a noise when he'd been shot and had used his waning strength to protect you.
"Change of plans," you said, "we're going to the hospital first."
The two of you moved as fast as you could down the street, as you tried to staunch the bleeding in his stomach while also keeping an eye on the rooftops for any other attackers. Thankfully, you didn't have to go far.
A familiar car pulled up in front of you before you made it another block. Sylus had already opened the back door with his Evol and you saw Zayne waiting in the backseat, his emergency medical kit open in his lap.
"Get in," Sylus said.
You helped the man into the backseat before you slid into the front and Sylus was gunning the engine. You could hear Zayne talking to the man, but you were struggling to focus as your adrenaline crashed. As if noticing your state, Sylus reached for you, wrapping one arm around your shoulders so he could add pressure against your shoulder wound.
"No hospital," the man said. Despite his earlier bravado, his voice had weakened significantly since you got into the car and you felt panic rising in your chest.
You turned around and saw Zayne had cut the man's shirt open, revealing a bullet hole and a significant amount of blood. You didn't have enough medical knowledge to know how bad it was, but you knew gut wounds were never good.
Based on Zayne's grim expression, you knew he'd been trying to convince the man to go to Akso for a while now.
"Okay," you said, turning in your seat so you could more easily talk to him. You reached for him, ignoring Sylus's grunt of disapproval as you shrugged off his wound care efforts so you could press your fingers into the man's knee to steady him. "No hospital. Can you at least tell us your name?"
Zayne spoke to Sylus in a low voice as he added more and more gauze to the man's wound, each only taking a few seconds before they were soaked through. You were vaguely aware of Zayne saying something regarding a private medical facility and what equipment was available, but you forced your full attention on the bleeding man in Sylus's backseat.
He met your eyes and smiled then, a real, toothy smile that warmed something in your chest you hadn't realized had been cold.
a/n: never posted a long fic on tumblr before. how do we feel about it? i will absolutely continue to post it on AO3, regardless. let me know if you'd like to see more here too!
