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batboysanonymous · 2 days ago

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A Taste of Silence

Pt. II

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Summary: Rhys's drunken words cut deeper than any blade, leaving Y/n questioning everything she thought she knew about their bond. As heartbreak and betrayal collide, she faces a choice that could shatter the fragile threads holding their world together.

Pt. I

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Rhysand was drowning.

He had endured centuries of torment in Amarantha’s Court, faced death and destruction in ways that would have broken lesser males—but this? This was agony unlike anything he had ever known.

Because this wasn’t just losing her. This was being the cause of her pain.

The bond was still there, a heavy, throbbing weight tethered to his soul. It twisted and pulled at him, refusing to let him forget the raw betrayal in her eyes when she left. He couldn’t block it out. Couldn’t shut down the waves of anger and hurt radiating from her, nor the faint echo of her presence that haunted his every step.

He didn’t deserve to forget.

He followed her from a distance, staying just out of sight, knowing he had no right to approach her. She had retreated to a small, snow-laden village on the outskirts of his territory, a place so quiet and unassuming it seemed designed to swallow grief whole. Rhys respected her boundaries—at least, as much as he could while still ensuring she was safe.

The villagers had no idea their little haven was now fiercely guarded by shadows. Every night, he patrolled the perimeter, silent as death, ensuring no threat could come close. When a pack of feral beasts wandered too near, Rhys killed them before they could even scent the village. He cleaned up the blood and left no trace, unwilling to let her see the lengths he was going to for her protection.

She might hate him, but she was still his mate. And he would protect her, even if it tore him apart.

But even the small things he could do weren’t enough. Not when every second without her was a reminder of the chasm he’d created between them. The cold, empty nights stretched endlessly, the silence gnawing at his mind until he thought he might go mad.

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The third week after her departure, he broke.

He had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t intrude, and wouldn't push her until she was ready. But the bond burned unbearably that day, tugging at him with a force that felt like claws raking through his chest. He flew to her cabin before he could stop himself, landing with a muffled thud on the snow-packed ground.

She was outside, stacking firewood with her back to him. She froze when his boots crunched against the snow.

“Don’t,” she said without turning, her voice cold enough to make him falter.

“Please,” Rhys choked out, his voice hoarse.

She didn’t respond, and he didn’t think—he just dropped to his knees. The snow soaked through his leathers, numbing his skin, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t care.

“Please,” he repeated, his voice breaking. “Please, just listen to me. I—” His throat closed up, the words catching on the lump that had lodged itself there since the moment she left. He dragged a trembling hand through his hair, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his desperation. “I know I hurt you. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I—Cauldron, I can’t live like this. I can’t live without you.”

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t move.

“You are everything to me,” he said, his voice raw. “Everything. And I hate myself for what I did, for the way I made you feel. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it right, if you’ll let me. But if you can’t…” He swallowed hard, tears stinging his eyes. “If you can’t, I’ll still do it. I’ll protect you. I’ll make sure you’re safe and happy, even if it’s from afar. I don’t care what it costs me, as long as you’re okay.”

“How can I trust that the next time you’re drunk or angry, you won’t say something that cuts me to the bone?”

Her words hit like a dagger, sharp and precise. He bowed his head, his voice trembling as he replied, “I don’t deserve your trust, not after what I said. But I swear to you, I will never drink if it means risking your pain. I’ll stop entirely if you ask me to. Nothing—nothing—is worth losing you again.”

Her arms crossed, her shields firmly in place, though he caught the faintest waver in her expression. “And what happens the next time we fight, Rhys? What if you get angry? Will you throw my weaknesses in my face again?”

His head snapped up, anguish written across his features. “Never. I would never—” His voice broke. “You are not my weakness. You are my strength. And if I ever forget that, I want you to walk away and never look back. But I swear to you, Feyre, I will spend every day of my life proving to you that I’ve learned from this. That I will never, ever make you feel like that again.”

Her lips parted, but no words came. He could feel her battling herself, the bond between them a swirling tempest of doubt and yearning.

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” he whispered, his knees sinking deeper into the snow. “I’ll spend the rest of my life earning your trust if I have to. Just tell me how to begin.”

The silence stretched taut between them, and Rhys didn’t dare move. Finally, she spoke, her voice soft but edged with steel. “Prove it.”

Her shields weren’t just up—they were fortified. But he didn’t need to feel the bond to see the war raging within her.

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The days that followed were a slow, painful process. Rhys didn’t push. He stayed near enough to be there if she needed him but far enough to give her space. He continued his quiet watch over the village, eliminating threats before she ever knew they existed. He left her gifts—small things he hoped might bring her comfort. A new brush when he saw her old one had broken. A scarf enchanted to keep her warm even in the bitterest winds. And a note with every gift: I’m still here. I always will be.

She started letting him stay for longer each time he visited. They didn’t talk much at first—just sat in heavy, charged silence. But gradually, the walls began to crack. She started asking him questions, small and tentative, and he answered with an honesty that left him vulnerable and bare.

The night she finally forgave him, it was snowing.

They were sitting by the fire, the soft glow casting flickering shadows across the room. Rhys’s voice was low and steady as he recounted the years he’d spent under the mountain. The rawness of the memories was evident in the way his hands clenched and unclenched, but he forced himself to speak, each word a step toward atonement.

Y/N sat across from him, silent, her gaze fixed on the flames. Her fingers twisted the hem of her sweater, the movement restless and uncertain.

“You didn’t just hurt me,” she said at last, her voice trembling. “You betrayed me, Rhys. You made me feel small, like I didn’t matter.”

The words tore through him, but he didn’t flinch. He nodded, his throat tightening. “I know. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you never feel that way again.”

She looked at him then, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “How can I trust you not to run your mouth again? To not let some drink or situation make you careless with me?”

He sucked in a sharp breath, shame crashing over him. “You can’t—not yet. But I’ll prove to you that you can. I’ll prove it every single day, Y/N.” His voice cracked, his chest heaving as he lowered himself to his knees before her.

“Please,” he begged, his hands trembling as he clasped hers. “Please, give me a chance to earn back your trust. I’ll never take another sip of wine if that’s what it takes. I’ll never let myself forget the weight of what I have to lose. You are everything to me.”

Her lip trembled as she stared at him, the rawness in his expression and the desperation in his voice cutting through her defenses. “I’m terrified, Rhys. Of trusting you again. Of getting hurt again.”

His thumbs brushed over her knuckles as he held her hands tightly, his head bowing. “I know. And if I ever break your trust again, I’ll deserve every ounce of that fear. I’ll deserve to lose you. But I won’t. I swear to you, Y/N, I won’t.”

The bond between them hummed faintly, like a whisper of what it once was, and it pulled at her even as she hesitated. She reached out, cupping his face with trembling fingers.

“You have one chance, Rhys,” she whispered, her voice heavy with both hope and caution. “One.”

He exhaled a shaky breath, pressing her palm to his lips. “I won’t waste it. I swear to you, I’ll never waste it.”

When she finally leaned into him, resting her head against his chest, his arms wrapped around her protectively, as if he could shield her from every hurt in the world—including himself. The bond sang louder, fuller, and in that moment, they began to mend what had been broken, piece by fragile piece.

#acotarxreader #angst #batboys x reader #slow burn #azriel x reader #tension #acotar #cassianxreader #night court #x reader

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latrespada · 15 hours ago

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ᯓ ✈︎ the forbidden fruit's temptation

Caleb usually rents private gym space to unleash his evol during workouts; this time, he invites you along. The air feels charged, every glance and movement igniting a tension you can’t ignore. Caleb becomes an unknowing temptation, drawing you in with effortless allure. But as the intensity builds, the tables subtly turn—your desire transforms into a primal need. He remains oblivious, yet you’ve become the predator, ready to claim what you can no longer resist.

lads caleb x reader

warnings : dry humping, blow jobs, teasing, semi-public sex, doggy style, mc is a freak

6.8k words

rated : e

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62513281

A/N: I’ve realized I’m not entirely happy with what I’ve written here. After uploading it and giving it another read, I’ve found that this one isn’t my favorite. I lean more toward dominant Caleb, personally. I think it’s also because I wrote this in portions during breaks at work, so my ideas were a bit scattered each time I came back to it, and it doesn’t feel as cohesive as I’d like.

That said, I hope you all still enjoy it! Caleb is such a frustrating mix of hot, nerdy, and stupid—I can’t help but hate love him

You’re playfully swaying Caleb side to side, arms wrapped snugly around his waist, your chest pressed against his back as he fumbles with the passkey to the private gym space he rented. “How long do you usually rent these for?” you mumble, your voice muffled against the warmth of his shirt, your face nestled in the curve of his back.

“About an hour or two,” he replies, his tone nonchalant. “But since you’re here… just an hour.” The door clicks open, and he steps inside, guiding you along.

The room feels vast and almost empty. Padded floors stretch across the space, with just a bench press, a pull-up bar station, and plenty of open room. You glance around, tilting your head. “Not exactly a variety of options here,” you quip, your fingers brushing his arm as you step forward.

“When you can manipulate gravity,” Caleb says, setting his bag down with a soft thud against the wall, “you don’t need much.” He rolls his shoulders back, stretching his arms wide. His dog tag chain swings with every fluid movement, catching the light as he speaks.

Your gaze lingers on him as he moves, his confidence tangible. “How does that even work?”

“I just increase the gravitational pull,” he explains casually, gripping the pull-up bar with one hand and leaning his weight against it. “Makes everything heavier—no need for extra weights.” His lips curl into a smirk, his tone laced with pride.

Suddenly, you feel it—the subtle but unmistakable shift. The air seems heavier, your steps slightly labored as though gravity has doubled. “You started already?” you huff, adjusting your stance as your legs resist the added weight.

Caleb saunters toward you with ease, his grin widening as he watches you wobble. “This? This is nothing. I went easy on you,” he teases, his hand slipping to your arm to steady you. The warmth of his touch contrasts the firm grip, grounding you against the increasing pull. “I brought you here because I needed extra weight for my calisthenics.”

“Did you just call me heavy?” you gasp, eyes widening in mock offense as you clutch your chest dramatically.

“What? No! That’s not— I mean… it’s about gravitational force, not your—” Caleb stammers, his face flushing as his usually smooth composure crumbles. His words tumble over each other, trying to explain.

You watch him flounder, suppressing a laugh until you can’t hold it anymore. Your fingers reach up to cup his face, gently tilting his head so you can look into his flustered eyes. “Relax,” you murmur, shaking his head lightly, a mischievous grin on your lips. You lean in and press a soft kiss to his lips, letting it linger for a moment. “I’m messing with you.”

His tense shoulders drop, his embarrassment fading as his hands settle on your waist. His lips curl into a grin, his earlier pride returning as he pulls you closer. “You’re too easy to tease,” you add, your thumb brushing against his cheek.

Caleb leans down, his forehead resting gently against yours, his smirk playful but his eyes warm. “Careful,” he murmurs, his voice low, “teasing me might just mean you end up working harder than you planned.”

You playfully push Caleb’s chest, tilting your head as you pout. “So, what exactly do you need help with?”

“Simple,” Caleb says with a grin. “Having you sit on my back during push-ups with normal gravity wouldn’t do much since, well, you’re pretty light…”

You narrow your eyes, but he quickly raises his hands in defense, laughing. “Hey, I wasn’t done! That’s why I’m cranking up the gravitational pull. Makes it more challenging.”

“Couldn’t you just use a weight plate or, you know, ask someone else?” you counter, folding your arms and trying to suppress a grin.

“Nooo, this is the only way,” he replies, dismissing your suggestion with a casual wave. He drops to the floor, settling into position with a cocky smirk. “Sit.”

You sigh but oblige, carefully lowering yourself onto his mid-back. Adjusting your position, you rest your hands firmly on his upper back and raise your legs to avoid weighing him down unevenly. “You’re like my personal horsie,” you tease, laughing.

Suddenly, the air grows heavier again. You feel the weight pressing down on you as Caleb amps up the gravitational pull. He adjusts his stance, his body tensing beneath you as he begins his first push-up.

The motion is slow and deliberate, his arms trembling slightly as he fights the pull. He manages to push himself back up, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

“Are you sure this is okay?” you ask, concern lacing your voice.

He doesn’t answer, his focus entirely on his rhythm. His breaths are steady but labored, his determination evident in every controlled motion.

You decide to stay silent, trusting Caleb’s expertise. This is his evol—his unique strength, his domain. He understands it better than anyone, and your interference might only distract him.

As his movements continue, his pace begins to pick up, smooth and deliberate. Your eyes wander, tracing the way his back muscles ripple with each push-up, the strain and effort becoming undeniably attractive. The sight alone has you mesmerized, but then you feel yourself slipping slightly.

Instinctively, you adjust your position, shifting your weight to sit more securely on his back. The movement causes an unexpected sensation—a jolt that catches you off guard. You pause, confused, but the lingering warmth in your lower abdomen doesn’t go away. Trying to dismiss it, you subtly sway your hips again to readjust, hoping to find a better balance. But instead, the feeling intensifies, spreading through you in a way that leaves your heart racing.

You glance down at yourself, trying to figure out what’s happening, but Caleb’s sudden grunt makes you snap your head back up. For a moment, you panic, wondering if he’s noticed, but his focus remains entirely on his push-ups. He doesn’t seem to have a clue.

Your mind races as you try to remain still, careful not to make your movements too obvious. Whatever this feeling is, it’s building, and you can’t seem to stop it. Caleb shifts his shoulders slightly, rolling them to readjust his stance, completely unaware of the effect his every move is having on you.

You lean forward, resting your upper body against Caleb’s broad back. Your arms are planked on either side of his shoulder blades, offering you support, while your legs hold firmly to his sides. You wonder fleetingly, What if Caleb catches me? But the thought is quickly drowned by the sensations coursing through you.

Tentatively, you let your hips roll against his lower back, testing the movement. It’s subtle and faint, and you’re careful not to disrupt his rhythm. Yet, the motion aligns perfectly with the pace of his push-ups, each rise and fall pressing against your core in a way that’s almost maddening. It’s unintentional on his part, you’re sure, but it feels dangerously close to something deliberate like he’s unknowingly bouncing you against him.

You let out a soft sigh, quickly muffling it by burying your face in your fists and biting down on your thumbs. The friction is faint but electric, teasing at something deeper, more primal. You rock your hips again, just barely, enough to feel the heat in your body rise.

Caleb’s breathing grows heavier but he doesn’t pause or acknowledge your subtle movements. He’s so focused, his body working against the increased gravity, that he’s oblivious to your growing tension.

Your fists press harder against your lips as you continue to move in time with him, the rhythm pulling you deeper into your world, each roll of your hips stoking a fire you’re desperately trying to contain. “Mmnh..” you sigh, quickly covering your mouth hoping Caleb doesn’t hear you. The feeling coursing through you is impossible to ignore. Caleb wouldn’t mind you indulging in this moment—not that he’s even aware of what you’re doing. Slowly, you sit back up, your breath hitching as you adjust yourself. Sliding your hips slightly back, you arch your spine, positioning yourself perfectly. Each subtle movement of your body against his sends a jolt through you, hitting exactly where you crave it most.

Your head falls back, a bitten lip barely stifling the choked giggle escaping you. It’s a mix of sweetness and sin. You let your hips roll faster, rougher, unable to resist chasing the friction. “Faster…” you murmur breathlessly, though Caleb misinterprets your plea as encouragement for him. His pace quickens, his push-ups becoming more forceful. You lower your head, biting back the noises that threaten to give you away, even as the intensity pushes you closer to unraveling.

Your hand grips his shirt tightly while the other drifts down, grazing over your thigh until it reaches the damp heat between your legs. Pressing against yourself through the fabric of your skort, you’re consumed by the warmth and the humid evidence of your desire. The rhythm of Caleb’s movements against you, paired with your own touch, ignites something feral.

A low, husky giggle escapes you, rich with temptation. Memories flood your mind—Caleb’s hands on you during late nights, his lips marking you during stolen moments in cars, the way he claims you without hesitation. Your free hand moves to your chest, massaging yourself before tracing up to grip your own neck. Your fingers mimic his touch, a tease of past pleasures that makes you ache for more.

“Don’t stop… faster,” you moan, the words spilling out before you can stop them.

Caleb obeys, increasing his pace again, oblivious to your true meaning. The sudden, harsher movement catches you off guard, and with no solid grip to steady yourself, you slip. The high gravitational pull amplifies the fall, and you hit the floor with a harsh thud.

The impact jolts Caleb, and he immediately stops. He’s over you in an instant, concern etched into his features. “Hey!” he calls out, one hand cradling your cheek while the other quickly checks for injuries. “Are you okay? Was that too much?”

Your body still hums with need, and you laugh lightly, brushing off his worry. “Sorry, I was having fun up there,” you tease, your voice dripping with lingering lust. “Let me get back up.”

But Caleb presses you back down gently, his hand firm against your chest. “I’d rather you stay here for now,” he says, his tone protective but soft. “With the gravity in this room, that fall could’ve hurt you.”

Before you can argue, he adjusts himself into a plank over you, his body hovering close. His eyes meet yours, a flicker of something more in his gaze. “Let’s not have that happen again,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady, grounding you in a moment both tender and electric.

The tension in the room is electric, and every movement of Caleb's body over yours fuels the fire simmering within you. His focus is unwavering, his gaze locked straight ahead as he holds his plank. His dog tag swings gently, brushing against your flushed face, a teasing sensation that makes your breath hitch. His lower abdomen hovers just above yours, so close you can almost feel his heat seeping into you. When he shifts to a forearm plank, his body dips closer, his sides grazing yours. Back and forth, regular planks to forearms, the friction, though subtle, is maddening.

Your breathing grows heavier, and your chest rises and falls as you fight to stay composed. Caleb remains oblivious, his sharp features and disciplined posture implying control. You lick your lips, closing your eyes to let your imagination take over.

You picture the Caleb you know in private—the one whose body feels like it was sculpted for your hands, for your lips, for your pleasure. Every detail of him flashes through your mind: the way his skin glistens when drenched in sweat from relentless nights together, how his veins pulse against your touch when he’s deep inside you. You imagine his hands gripping your thighs or binding your wrists, keeping you close as he claims every inch of you.

“Gah… fuck,” you groan softly, the memory and the sensations overwhelming you.

Caleb suddenly pulls back, his face mere inches from yours, his nose almost brushing against yours. “Hey, are you okay? Is the gravity too much?” His voice is rich with concern, his brows furrowed as he studies your face. “You’re flushed.”

You shake your head, desperate to regain control. “Can we do glute bridges?” you blurt out, the words rushed and panicked. You need distance—anything to keep yourself from unraveling completely beneath him.

Caleb blinks, slightly confused. “Glute bridges? That’s not part of—”

“Please!” you interrupt, your voice a little too eager.

He shrugs and rolls off you, lying flat beside you. The space between you offers little relief, but it’s enough for now. Both of you bend your knees, feet flat on the padded floor, arms at your sides with palms facing upward. Slowly, you both raise your hips in unison.

You look at Caleb, at how his hips rise and fall. He’s focused, and disciplined as always, and his movements are precise. But your mind wanders again, conjuring images of you straddling him. You can almost feel the way his hands would grip your hips or wander to your breasts. You picture the way your body would move in perfect sync with his, your back arching, hair falling into your face as he pulls it aside to kiss your neck.

Your fists clench at your sides, and the ache in your core is unbearable. Without thinking, your hand drifts down once more, grazing over your skort. You press against the fabric, the friction a fleeting relief that only deepens your longing. Your imagination spirals, and you imagine Caleb losing his composure, pinning you down, and taking you without hesitation.

Your movements become bolder, your fingers rubbing against the damp fabric as your breaths grow heavier. You bite your lip, muffling the soft moans that threaten to escape. Turning your head toward Caleb, you’re startled by what you see.

His hand is… inside his pants, his movements unmistakable. The rhythm matches your own. Your eyes trail up, locking onto his face. His intense gaze meets yours, and it’s clear—he’s been watching you the entire time.

The air is thick with tension, and neither of you utters a word, your heavy breathing and the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You’re the first to act, letting instinct take over. One hand stays between your legs, teasing and fueling your desire, while the other reaches for Caleb’s hand, guiding it toward you. Without hesitation, you slip his hand inside your skort, pressing it against your soaked center.

A low moan escapes his lips, his eyes darkening as he feels your warmth. “All this… because of me?” he murmurs, voice tinged with awe and lust.

“Shh,” you whisper, your tone commanding yet laced with seduction. You guide his fingers, showing him exactly how to move, how to make you tremble.

The silence in the room is deafening, broken only by the sounds of your ragged breaths and the wet, rhythmic squelch of Caleb’s fingers exploring you. His other hand remains frozen at his side as if he’s trying to process the shift in power.

Your gaze shifts momentarily, focusing on the far wall as you try to ground yourself in the overwhelming sensations. But when your eyes return to Caleb, his expression shifts—his usual air of dominance is replaced by something raw, something vulnerable. His fiery gaze tells you he’s ready to take charge, to flip this moment back in his favor.

But before he can move, you act. You grab his wrists and pin them down, catching him completely off guard.

His eyes widen, and he exhales sharply. “You’re not supposed to move that fast under this level of gravitational pull,” he says, his voice shaky but tinged with admiration.

You don’t respond. Your hair falls in wild waves over your shoulders as you loom over him, your breath uneven, your pupils dilated. Slowly, you tilt your head up, meeting his eyes with a look that’s both predatory and seductive.

In this moment, you’re no longer the one following his lead. You are ravenous, insatiable, and unyielding. Caleb’s strength, his power, his evol—it’s not enough to hold you back.

He seems to sense the shift completely now. His hands slide up to your waist, his touch firm but reverent. “Tell me what you want,” he murmurs, his voice husky and low, his composure beginning to crack under the weight of your dominance.

Your lips curve into a wicked smile, and you lean closer, your voice a sultry command. “Listen. Obey. Do as I say.”

Without breaking eye contact, you lift your shirt, exposing your bare chest. Your hands trace over your breasts, teasing them, pinching just enough to make yourself gasp. Caleb watches, his mouth slightly parted, his breathing growing heavier.

His eyes flicker between your face and your body, drinking in the sight of you like a man starved. The roles are reversed, and he knows it. His beloved—once pliant, obedient, and at his mercy—has become the one issuing commands, the one drawing him into the depths of temptation.

“Good boy,” you purr, leaning in closer, your lips brushing against his as you hover above him. “Let’s see how well you can follow orders.”

You shift your position, grinding against the firm bulge beneath you, the friction sending waves of heat through your body. A soft laugh escapes your lips, followed by a gasp as you whisper breathily, “God, you’re so hard.” Your rhythm is unrestrained, each motion rough and desperate, an outward display of your insatiable craving.

Leaning forward, your breasts are now inches from Caleb’s face, fully in his view. His eyes, wide and pleading, glisten with unspoken need. He looks at you like he’s teetering on the edge of surrender, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Keep your hands on my waist,” you command, voice low but firm. “Only on my waist. Don’t move them.”

He nods wordlessly, his restraint palpable, his grip tightening against your waist. You feel his fingers press into the fabric of your skort, his nails threatening to pierce through as he struggles to maintain control. His breathing grows heavier, and soft, choked whimpers spill from his lips.

“Mm… ngh,” Caleb groans, his head tipping back slightly, his composure unraveling.

Your movements become more fervent, your body moving with a raw need to release the tension building within you. Each grind against his clothed erection sends jolts of electricity through your core, and soon you’re teetering on the brink.

Your head tilts back as you moan loudly, surrendering to the intense wave of pleasure washing over you. The explosion of sensation leaves you trembling, but you don’t stop. Instead, you grab Caleb’s dog tag, pulling it sharply as you shift your position. Caleb adjusts instinctively, sitting up slightly as you reposition yourself between his legs.

You recline against the floor, your body stretched out flatly, arms draped above your head in a teasing display of submission. Caleb’s hands remain glued to your waist, his knuckles white from the intensity of his grip. His eyes roam hungrily over your exposed upper body, drinking in every inch of you. He’s utterly captivated, his gaze locking onto your every expression as you shamelessly use him to continue your pleasure.

Without warning, one of Caleb’s hands slips from your waist and moves to your chest. His large palm covers your breast, his fingers kneading with a mix of reverence and desperation.

You slap his hand away with a sharp motion, and your gaze snaps to his, fierce and commanding. The silent message in your eyes is clear: not yet.

Caleb freezes, his hand retreating immediately as his jaw tightens. There’s a flash of something feral in his eyes, but he obeys. He leans back slightly, swallowing hard, his chest heaving as he fights against his instincts to reclaim control.

The tension between you is electric. You smirk, satisfied by his submission, and grind against him once more, savoring the way his body reacts beneath yours. “Good boy,” you purr, your voice dripping with lustful authority, “Now climb over me…”

Your hand presses firmly against Caleb's chest, the warmth of his skin radiating into your palm. "You can only hump," you murmur, your voice thick with amusement, daring him to test the boundaries you've just set. "You can't fuck me."

The air between you is filled with a charged silence, his sharp intake of breath breaking it like a snap of static. His lips curl into a subtle, annoyed smirk as his eyes darken, frustration pooling in their depths. “I don’t demand this much,” he mutters, voice laced with a quiet defiance.

“What was that?” you tease, cocking an eyebrow as your nails lightly graze his skin.

“Nothing,” he bites back quickly, his tone clipped, betraying how close he is to unraveling.

With a slow, deliberate movement, Caleb adjusts your legs, draping them around his waist. His grip tightens on your thighs as if grounding himself, and when he starts to move, his hips roll with unrestrained desperation. The friction of fabric against the fabric, the heat of his body pressed into yours—it’s maddening. His face flushes, a shade deeper with each thrust, his control slipping further away.

You pull him closer, your arms snaking beneath his, fingertips digging into his back. “That's it,” you whisper against his ear, your breath warm and coaxing. "Lose yourself a little more."

His head dips and your noses brush before his lips crash into yours. The kiss is wild, uncoordinated, all hunger and no finesse—a kiss born of need rather than thought. Caleb kisses as if he’s been starved, as if the power you hold over him is suffocating, and the only way to breathe is to taste you.

His movements grow erratic, each thrust harder, needier. The friction has him teetering on the edge, and you feel the subtle quake in his body as he tries—and fails—to keep composure.

Abruptly, Caleb breaks the kiss, his breathing ragged as he stares down at you, his pupils blown wide with desire. Without a word, his hands grip your legs and pull them away from his waist, his touch possessive, his intent clear.

Before you can question him, his mouth is on you again, this time lower. Through the fabric still separating you, he buries his face into the apex of your thighs, inhaling deeply like he’s losing himself in you. His nose grazes against you, his tongue darting out to taste what he can, his growl of frustration rumbling against you as the barrier taunts him.

"Let’s make a deal," he says suddenly, voice thick with agitation. His lips hover, brushing against the sensitive spot he can’t quite reach. "I’ll take care of you with nothing but my tongue. You know how good I am at that, how much you love it when I devour you."

He sits back on his knees, his hands now in his pants, stroking himself as his gaze locks on yours, heated and desperate. "Let me make you feel like you’ve ascended the stars,” he murmurs, his voice trembling, both a plea and a promise.

As he continues to nuzzle his face against the delicate fabric of your skort, rubbing his nose in a deliberate, circular motion, you feel a jolt of pure electricity. His nose presses insistently against your clit, teasing the sensitive peak, sending shivers down your spine. He licks at the fabric, teasing, tormenting, honing in on the sweet spot that makes your knees weak.

You try to resist, to push him away, but your body betrays you. Your muscles tremble, your breath hitches, and a moan threatens to escape your lips. You're drowning in a sea of sensations, every nerve ending screaming for release. The fabric, once a comforting barrier, now feels like a cruel tease, a maddeningly thin veil between you and the full, unbridled pleasure you crave.

Just as you feel yourself slipping, losing all control, you find the strength to act. Your leg shoots out, your foot connecting with Caleb's forehead with a surprising force. He stumbles back, a look of bewildered frustration on his face, his eyes wide and unfocused.

"Nooo," you say, your voice husky with a mixture of amusement and warning. You get on all fours, the cool floor a welcome contrast to the burning heat within you. The air crackles with unspoken desire, the gravity of the moment thick and heavy. Caleb watches you intently, his eyes glued to your swaying hips as you move towards him, a predator stalking its prey.

You crawl slowly, deliberately, your movements a slow, sensual dance. Each inch you cover seems to heighten the anticipation, the tension building to an unbearable crescendo. Caleb watches, mesmerized, his hand tightening around his pants, a desperate attempt to contain the burgeoning erection straining against the fabric.

"How about I fully remove my top," your voice a seductive whisper, "and use my breasts to massage that erection you can't seem to control?" You pause, letting the suggestion hang heavy in the air. You watch as his Adam's apple bobs, his throat working as he swallows hard. You can almost hear the primal growl deep within him.

"Or perhaps," you continue, a playful glint in your eyes, "I could use my mouth. I rarely indulge you in such a manner, it would be a shame to waste the opportunity."

The words hang heavy in the air, a tantalizing promise of things to come. Caleb groans, a low, guttural. His eyes are dark and intense, filled with a raw, primal desire. "Fuck," he breathes, his grip on his pants tightening, his body trembling with the force of his arousal.

You chuckle, a low, throaty sound that echoes through the room. "And before you cave," you tease, your voice dripping with honey, your eyes locked with his. "I'll let you have your way—just for a few precious moments."

As you crawl toward Caleb, the atmosphere is charged with an undeniable tension that seems to thrum between the two of you. Every movement you make is deliberate, and calculated, and it sends a shiver of anticipation through the space. The game is on, and though Caleb might not admit it, he's surrendered to your lead.

You close the distance until he's backed against the bench. With a slow, predatory smile, you see him raise himself onto the seat, his knees parting slightly as if inviting you into his space. His eyes lock onto yours, unblinking, darkened with the weight of his desire. You revel in the moment, knowing you've got him right where you want him—completely at your mercy.

Reaching for the waistband of his shorts, you take your time, your fingers brushing against his skin just enough to send electricity through him. Slowly, you slide them down, exposing the bulge beneath his underwear. Your confidence unwavering as you lean in, letting your lips hover mere inches from the strained fabric.

You begin with the gentlest of touches, your lips pressing teasingly against his erection, the fabric adding a tantalizing layer of separation. Caleb's head tips back as he releases a low, guttural sound, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. The power shift in this moment is undeniable—he's completely at your mercy, and you know it.

With a soft giggle, you trace your tongue along the length of him, the heat radiating through the fabric almost scalding against your lips. His dick twitches beneath the thin barrier, a silent testament to the effect you're having on him. Each soft kiss, each feather-light lick, drives him closer to the edge.

Finally, you hook your fingers into the waistband of his briefs and pull them down, freeing him completely. His dick springs to attention, hard and ready, and you take a moment to admire him. Caleb, always so composed, looks utterly undone, his chest heaving as he meets your gaze with a mix of need and adoration.

He reaches out, his fingers tangling gently in your hair, guiding it away from your face. His voice is soft but commanding as he whispers, "Come up here for a second." Obediently, you rise to your knees, leaning in as he places two soft kisses on your lips. The gesture is tender, and intimate—a ritual between the two of you that speaks volumes.

When you pull away, Caleb’s grip on your hair remains firm but not forceful, a reminder of his presence and desire. You lower yourself again, your lips hovering just above his dick. Starting at the base, you let your tongue glide upward, slow and carefully. The light touch is barely there, more a tease of your breath and warmth than anything else, but it’s enough to make his body jerk in response.

A broken whimper escapes his lips, his voice barely audible as he murmurs, "God…" His restraint is fraying, unraveling with every flick of your tongue and every teasing kiss.

You smile, savoring the way his body reacts to your every move. You avoid the head of his dick, purposefully keeping your touches light and lingering along the underside, just enough to make him shudder beneath you. The control is intoxicating, and you relish every moment of his quiet surrender.

As your lips glide over the sensitive head of Caleb’s dick, you tease him with gentle suction, swirling your tongue in slow, deliberate circles. His sharp intake of breath is a symphony to your ears, and the low, strained sigh that follows makes your pulse quicken.

His grip on your hair tightens, the pressure both commanding and intimate, urging you to keep going. You slide your tongue down the underside, savoring the way his body reacts to every touch. Without hesitation, you take him deeper into your mouth, letting his length sink into the wet heat of your tongue and lips.

"Ahh, fuck," Caleb whimpers, his voice shaky and raw. His hand presses against the back of your head, not forcefully, but with enough insistence to hold you in place.

You fall into a rhythm, your mouth working diligently as you hollow your cheeks, creating a firm yet supple pressure. Caleb’s quiet groans and labored breaths spur you on, each sound proof of his unraveling. As your hands join in, massaging the base of his dick, you glance up to see his expression. His teeth are buried in his bottom lip, and his head is tilted back, eyes locked on the ceiling.

You attempt to lift your head, seeking a reprieve to catch your breath, but Caleb’s hand prevents you, his fingers weaving tighter into your hair as he mutters, "No… not… not right now…" His voice is low and breathy, carrying an edge of urgency.

Confused, you push past the feeling, letting curiosity gnaw at the edges of your mind. You continue your motions, his restrained responses both intriguing and frustrating. The tension builds as you take him deeper, your throat protesting as your gag reflex kicks in. The need for air becomes undeniable, but Caleb’s hand remains firm, holding you in place.

Desperate, you dig your nails into his thigh, the sharpness of your touch a silent plea for release.

“Hsss…” Caleb hisses, his gaze snapping down to meet yours with a flicker of discontent in his dark eyes.

Finally, he lets you pull away, your lips flushed and slick with saliva, his length glistening with the evidence of your efforts. You wipe at the corner of your mouth, searching his face for answers.

“What’s wrong?” you ask softly, your voice laced with both concern and confusion.

“Nothing,” Caleb replies, his tone flat, his gaze drifting back to the ceiling. The disconnect is jarring, his usual intensity replaced by something distant, as though his mind is somewhere far away.

The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken words. You tilt your head, studying him, unsure whether to press him further or let him process whatever storm is brewing within.

As you adopt a mock pout, your voice drips with feigned disappointment. "You don’t like what I’m doing? Then I’ll just fuck myself, then."

Caleb's sigh is low and exasperated, but there's an unmistakable heat beneath it. "No. Not you," he mutters, his tone carrying a weight of possessiveness.

Gripping his length firmly, you brush it against your lips, letting the silky heat of him glide against your skin. "So, what is it, then?" you ask, spitting lightly on him and watching as the moisture glides over his dick. Your eyes flicker with fascination at the sheer size of him, marveling at how your body manages to take him in.

Before you can tease further, Caleb’s hand tightens in your hair, urging your mouth back onto him. The motion is commanding, but his groan as you obey is laced with pleasure. "I forgot… mmnh… about the cameras in here," he says, his voice breaking into a husky laugh.

The thought lingers, an illicit undertone in his words. "To think… someone could be watching you while I’m here… tsk, tsk," he groans, his hips arching forward.

He pushes himself deeper, his dick hitting the back of your throat as you struggle to take him in. You gag, swallowing reflexively, your nails digging into his hips for leverage. Caleb’s breath hitches as you tighten your grip, the pressure sending shivers through him.

Finally, you pull back, gasping for air, your lips flushed and wet. But before you can gather your thoughts, Caleb grabs you roughly by the neck, pulling you close. His lips crash against yours in a searing kiss, his hands cupping your face tightly as though he never wants to let go.

"I can have my way now… right?" he murmurs, his voice a rough whisper against your lips.

You nod, breathless and pliant, surrendering to the intensity of his gaze.

In one swift motion, Caleb pushes you to the floor. The impact is softened by your hands and knees catching you, but the air between you crackles with raw anticipation. You feel him drop to his knees behind you, his hands already tugging your skorts down with a fierce urgency.

"No one else is allowed to see you feel good," he growls, his voice low and feral, each word vibrating with possessive hunger.

You're taken aback by the stark shift in Caleb's demeanor, but deep down, it doesn't surprise you. If there's one thing about Caleb, it's that he’s possessive. No one is allowed to have you, see you, feel you, touch you, kiss you, or even dream of you—you are his.

Without warning, Caleb thrusts himself into you, and the sharp intensity of it pulls a moan from your lips. He grips your hips, pulling you even closer as if he can’t get deep enough. You instinctively arch your back, your body adjusting to him, but his commanding voice cuts through the haze.

“Keep your head on the ground,” he demands.

His movements are rough and erratic, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. It’s overwhelming—pain and pleasure mingling in a way that has you craving more. The ache from his earlier unintentional teasing only heightens the sensation of finally having him inside you. Caleb leans forward, his body pressing against yours. His lips brush over your shoulder, leaving heated kisses in their wake, and one of his hands finds yours, interlacing your fingers.

“I…” he grunts, his voice strained, “…wanted you to have your… ha… moment, fuck,” he growls, his words cutting off as his hips pick up speed.

The urgency in his movements isn’t just about his desire; it’s as though he’s determined to end the voyeur’s show as quickly as possible.

“Let… them,” you manage to moan, your voice trembling with pleasure. “Let them watch… ahhh.”

Caleb responds with a sharp thrust, his intensity knocking the breath from your lungs.

“Let them see… nnngh… that… you own me,” you groan, saliva slipping from your lips as your climax takes hold.

His laugh is deep and guttural, vibrating through you. “I like that,” he says, his voice low and full of satisfaction.

In a swift motion, Caleb flips you onto your back and pulls out. Without missing a beat, he begins stroking himself, his hand working quickly. You lift your legs and rest them on his shoulders, reaching for him, guiding him. Together, you watch as his release spills over your lower abdomen, painting your skin.

Caleb’s damp hair clings to his forehead, his chest heaving as he catches his breath. You don’t wait long before throwing yourself into his arms, your lips crashing against his in a messy, desperate kiss. He cups your face, gently pulling your shirt down to cover you as if to shield what’s his.

But then, he pauses, his gaze shifting to the camera in the corner of the room. “Yeah… I’m gonna ask them for a copy. Have them delete theirs,” he says casually, though there’s a quiet threat laced in his tone.

You try to stand, but your legs wobble beneath you, threatening to give out. Caleb is quick to catch you, steadying you in his strong arms.

The room’s gravitational pull shifts back to normal, the weight of the moment settling over you both.

“So… watching me work out makes you hot?” he asks, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips as he pulls his pants back up.

“You were practically humping me,” you retort, rubbing your thighs, still trembling from the aftermath. “This is your fault. My legs are numb…”

He laughs, the sound rich and unbothered. “I didn’t even do much work. Probably my evol’s fault,” he teases, scooping you up bridal-style before setting you gently on the bench. “Stay there for me, will you? I think we’ve got about 20 minutes left in this room.”

You settle onto the bench, your legs parted slightly, the evidence of your shared passion glistening on your skin. You trace a finger lightly over your sensitive area, the sensation still making you shiver.

“Hey…” Caleb’s voice calls out, sharp but amused. “Don’t get any more ideas. Not until we’re home, alright?”

The mood between you is tense, your body humming with a desire that refuses to wane. You bite your lip, your mind already plotting for the next round. Next time, you think, you’ll finish on top, taking charge and making him beg. But for now, Caleb still owns that spot, his dominance leaving its mark on every inch of you.

Your hands trail downward, brushing against your chest and grazing the sensitive skin of your thighs. The warmth of your touch stirs something deep inside, and you can’t help the quiet moan that escapes your lips. “Caleb…” you whisper, the sound low and needy, your hips swaying subtly against the bench.

Your body’s not finished. Not yet. It craves more, every fiber of your being yearning to feel him again. You try to suppress it, to mask the raw hunger threatening to consume you, but your efforts are futile. A sigh escapes, and with a playful smile that betrays the urgency in your voice, you murmur, “I think… we should go home now. Work out there.”

Caleb’s gaze snaps to you, his eyes widening with a mixture of shock and intrigue. “More?” he breathes, his voice dipping into that rich, low tone that makes your skin prickle with anticipation.

You lean forward slightly, your fingers brushing against your thighs as if coaxing him closer. “You can take control…” you whisper, your voice trembling with want. Your eyes lock with his, daring him to deny you. “I just want you.”

For a moment, Caleb simply stares at you, his chest rising and falling as if he’s trying to steady himself. But the flicker of desire in his eyes betrays him, and you can see the tension building in his body. He steps closer, his hand reaching out to cup your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His thumb brushes against your bottom lip, and he smirks, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Careful,” he murmurs, his voice laced with a warning. “If we start now, you might not make it home.”

You press your lips against his thumb in a silent challenge, your hips shifting again, your body pleading for his touch. “Then don’t stop,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, but it’s enough.

His composure cracks, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His hands slide down your sides, gripping your hips firmly as he presses his body against yours. The bench beneath you creaks in protest, but neither of you cares. You’re lost in the moment, in the heat, in the unspoken promise of what’s to come.

“Home,” he finally mutters against your lips, his voice rough and commanding. “Now.”

But even as he says it, his hands linger, his lips brushing against yours, teasing, tempting, and leaving no doubt that this is far from over.

#caleb fic #caleb love and deepspace #caleb x reader #l&ds caleb #l&ds reader #lads caleb #lads fic #lnds caleb

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lazysoulwriter · 18 hours ago

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Through Tipsy Eyes - Harry Styles.

The living room was dimly lit, the fairy lights you insisted on keeping year-round casting a soft glow across the room. A bowl of popcorn sat half-forgotten on the coffee table, flanked by two glasses—yours still half-full, Harry’s empty. You glanced over at him sprawled across the couch, cheeks flushed, curls a mess, and an undeniably goofy grin plastered across his face. He was drunk. Very drunk.

“Y/N,” he drawled, voice low and rasping in that way that made your skin tingle. “Y/N, d’you even know how beautiful you are?”

You snorted, pulling the blanket further over your legs. “Harry, you’ve told me that about ten times in the last five minutes.”

“Well,” he paused, hiccuping, “it’s true. You’re… you’re so beautiful I can’t… I can’t even…” He flailed his hands dramatically before letting them fall back to his chest. “You’re, like, annoyingly beautiful. How’s a man supposed to cope?”

“By not drinking four margaritas back-to-back, maybe?” you teased, leaning over to poke his cheek. He caught your hand and held it against his face, nuzzling into your palm like a cat.

“’M not even that drunk,” he protested, though the slight slur in his words begged to differ.

“Oh, really?” you replied, raising an eyebrow. “Because you’ve been laying there for ten minutes, staring at me like I’m the love of your life.”

“You are the love of my life,” he said immediately, eyes wide with drunken sincerity. “I’d fight anyone who said otherwise. Actually, I’d fight everyone. All of them. Line ’em up.”

You burst out laughing, and Harry pouted. “Don’t laugh at me,” he whined. “I’m trying to be romantic.”

“I know you are,” you said, still giggling as you leaned over to kiss his forehead. “And it’s very sweet, H. But maybe save the declarations of war for when you’re sober, yeah?”

He hummed, seemingly pacified, and then his eyes lit up with a mischievous gleam. “You’re so lucky to have me,” he said, grinning like a child who’d just discovered a secret. “I’m… what do the kids say these days? A catch.”

You rolled your eyes but played along. “Oh, absolutely. The biggest catch. What would I do without you?”

“Probably date some boring guy your age,” he teased, sticking his tongue out at you.

“Harry, you’re only four years older than me,” you shot back. “You make it sound like there’s some massive age gap.”

“Four years is a lot!” he insisted, sitting up slightly and gesturing wildly. “When I was four, you weren’t even born yet. That’s wild.”

“Oh, stop,” you said, throwing a pillow at him. He caught it with a triumphant grin.

“…But seriously, Y/N,” he said, voice dropping to that husky tone that made your heart stutter. “You’re… you’re everything. Did you know that?”

You felt your cheeks warm under his gaze. “You’re just saying that because you’re drunk.”

“No,” he said firmly, sitting up fully now, though the movement made him wobble slightly. “I mean it. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”

Before you could respond, he reached out and pulled you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you tightly. He rested his chin on your shoulder, and you could feel his breath against your neck, warm and slightly unsteady.

“I love you,” he mumbled, so soft you almost didn’t hear it.

Your heart swelled, and you tilted your head to press a kiss to his temple. “I love you too, H.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his green eyes shining with a mix of affection and mischief. “Do you think we’ll be one of those couples everyone’s jealous of? You know, like, disgustingly in love?”

“We already are,” you said with a laugh, brushing a curl away from his forehead.

“Good,” he said, nodding decisively. “’Cause I’m never letting you go. Ever.”

You smiled, your fingers tracing patterns on the back of his neck. “You’re such a sap when you’re drunk.”

“’M always a sap,” he admitted with a grin. “But you love it.”

“Maybe I do,” you said, your voice soft.

He leaned in closer, his nose brushing against yours. “…Do you think you could feed me?”

You blinked, confused. “Feed you? Harry, there’s popcorn right there.”

He shook his head, a sly smile curving his lips. “Not popcorn, love. You know what I mean.”

It took a moment for his words to register, and when they did, your eyes widened. “Harry!”

“C’mon,” he said, his grin turning cheeky. “If I’m your baby like you always say, doesn’t that mean I should… y’know, be fed properly?”

Your jaw dropped, and he laughed at your reaction, his head falling back against the couch. “I’m just kidding! Sort of.”

You narrowed your eyes, leaning in until your faces were inches apart. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet, you love me,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a sultry tone that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Unfortunately,” you quipped, but the teasing edge in your voice was soft.

Before he could say anything else, you pressed your lips to his, cutting off his cheeky remarks. His hands found your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as the kiss deepened. When you pulled back slightly, your foreheads still touching, you smirked, already feeling his hands on your boobs.

“Permission granted,” you whispered.

His eyes lit up, his grin somehow managing to be both playful and adoring. “I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” you replied, pressing one last kiss to his lips before settling against his chest.

Drunk Harry might be cheeky, but he was your cheeky, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfics #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles imagines #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles fic #harry style one shot

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rhyrhy · 16 hours ago

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Child of a Seraphite

Cw: death, grief/guilt, TLOU universe, angst, Abby finds her way with parenthood! 3.k words, Longer read. Not fully proofread

What does it take to pull a woman out of a life fueled by vengeance? The answer: you, and a baby.

M.list

Present Day

The small room was coated in the soft, warm yellow glow of the worn window. That old jacket hung behind the wooden door. The only sounds were of gentle breathing and the faint rustle of sheets against clothed skin.

Little Lev slept peacefully, his tiny hand half clenched around the hem of Abby’s shirt. You lay propped on your elbow beside them, watching the scene unfold. It was precious, really. You, her, lev and the safety of this room. After everything, this felt like a dream. A small smile tugged at your lips as you took in Abby’s half-asleep face. Her head rested heavily on the pillow, her braid draped next to her. You couldn’t resist the urge to tease her.

“You know,” you whispered, careful not to wake lev, “he’s starting to look like you.”

Abby huffed out a sleepy laugh, her eyes still closed. “Oh yeah?” she whispered back. “You seeing a resemblance?”

“Twins. No doubt,” you replied, biting back a laugh. Knowing The three of you looked like you’d been plucked straight from a diversity ad. in the most endearing way possible, of course.

Abby chuckled under her breath, and draped an arm over her eyes. Eventually after some more sleepy snickers she shushed you. You both needed rest before tomorrow. Another day of this new normal you both found yourself tangled in.

Around One year ago

The WLF base was alive with its usual routine soldiers training, patrols heading out, and the familiar buzz of machinery echoing through the safety of the walls. You were in the middle of unloading supplies when some commotion started. You paid it no mind at first, you had your own task to do. Drama was the last thing you needed to be involved with.

When you heard it.

“Abby’s back!” a soldier shouted, running past you. The heavy steps growing faint as they disappeared from your line of sight.

Abby, You hadn’t seen her in god knows how long, not since she left to chase whispers of the Fireflies. The last time you saw her, you’d gotten into a huge fight. You two had this unspoken tension and then she suddenly announces that she’s leaving and has no idea when she’ll be back. It took Issac separating you two to end the discussion with no room for rebuttal. She was going, end of story. All you could do was hope for a safe return or just one at all.

You dropped the crate of supplies in your hands, heart pounding filling your ears as you turned to face the large gates. The thought of seeing her again, made you feel a mix of relieved and terrified.

she had been determined, revengeful, dead-set on her mission that she refused to explain too much of. And now?

There she was. Abby was here.

dirty and bloodied, trudging into the base with exhaustion in every footstep. Some familiar faces scrabbled over to help, looking like she was going to collapse face first onto grass below her tired feet. Those broad shoulders slumped, Your breath caught in the back of your throat as she stopped a few feet away. her eyes meeting yours for the first time in what seemed like forever.

You opened your mouth to say something, anything. You were glad she’s back, you were sorry for the fight, you were pissed that she left you with no hug or proper bye—you wanted to say a million things at once, to save time.

But all that was pushed to the side when you seen a tiny hand reach up out of the old jacket she was tightly clutching…swaddled?

Your voice was low, full of surprise as you stepped closer to her.

“Is that a…?”

Abby shifted on her sore feet, glancing down at the baby before looking back at you. “A baby” she said, almost breathless. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

And then it struck you—there was no one else with her. No backup, no team. Just Abby and the baby.

“Abby- Wh- …what the hell happened out there?” you asked, stepping closer, voice low so the growing crowd of onlookers couldn’t hear. Whispers already starting.

Abby glanced at the baby again, her jaw tightening. “It’s… it’s a long story.”

The ‘long story’

To say this journey’s outcome was the complete opposite of what Abby expected, is beyond an understatement.

Here she was, the same woman who can bench a little over two hundred pounds was captured. At the mercy of the cult the ‘wolves’ The WLF had been at war with. ‘Scars’ Seraphite’s. Hung suspended, her arms and wrists wrenched painfully behind her, the thick ropes cutting into the skin of her neck as she wiggled. Burning with each movement. Her breaths came in sharper gasps, blood trickling from the corner of the small cut on her lower abdomen. Her vision beginning to blur.

“Cut her down” Yara panted out, her back pressed against a large rock, wincing with every breath. Her other arm remained clenched tightly around an old, worn jacket, refusing to let it go even during chaos. The tussle was over now, Three of her ‘own’ now lay dead. Deserved, as it was them or who she was protecting.

“She’s one of them-“ The other scar, cross bow in hand protested.

“Just do it!” she commanded. “Demons are coming, hurry”

With a loud thud to the ground Abby ripped the noose off of her neck. Then quickly staggered to her feet, body on fire from being bound for so long. Small cut stinging on her lower stomach. However, before she could fully orient herself, the wounded young woman thrusted something into her arms. As she couldn’t with her now broken one. Holding it there firmly against her chest.

A baby.

Abby froze, staring down at the tiny, squirming bundle in disbelief. “What the hell—”

“It’s my brother,” Yara interrupted, her voice breaking as she turned to yank the axe of a dead body “We have to go. Now!”

The groups feet were moving faster than their minds, survival being the only thing on it.

But Unfortunately, for the wounded young woman, She’d have to make one last sacrificial effort to keep her brother alive.

Gunned down by wolves as a distraction for the safety of her brother, yara laid there. A sight Abby would never forget. But the one thing she would? The promise she made to now lifeless body. Her last words being…

“You Take him… take him to your people. Promise me, he lives.” Yara’s plea was barely above a whisper, eyes locked onto Abby’s.

And promise, she did.

The air was thick, mixed with the pit of devastation in Abby’s gut. The only thing keeping her moving was her feet. After Yara’s sacrifice, Abby alone with a crying baby that she couldn’t seem to soothe. had to now make her way back to Seattle. What the hell was happening. What the hell was she going to do with a baby. The baby of the cult who’d almost disemboweled her. The child of a scar.

With almost being bitten, annoying cries she couldn’t coo away, and the stench of a dirty make shift diaper Abby was beyond exhausted. This journey was seeming to be more than she could handle, But she had promised the woman who’d saved her life. It had been weeks but That lingering feeling of that rope around her neck sent an unpleasant shiver down her spine. Without yara and the other scar who’d gotten spilt up during the mess of escaping infected, she’d be hung.

Take him, protect him. She promised.

Revenge now taking a momentary backseat..but with that, bring the spawn of the enemy wasn’t going to blow over lightly. despite her reasoning and constant explanations tensions inside the walls rose. A faction within the WLF distrusts Abby for returning with a Seraphite child, now seeing her as a liability.

It was getting out of hand. Lips of other soldiers got looser than needed. However, you seemed to be a solace as she’d seek you out to rant about the growing conflict.

“I mean he’s a child for Christ sake!” “Leave him out to what, Die? Are they insane?!”

You could recite her words like a song at this point. Some days she wouldn’t even knock on your door, just opening it and leaning on it with her arms crossed tightly Across her chest. You would give her the green light to get it all out, and trust it poured out every time. The words were full of colorful language and most importantly hurt.

Those light arm pats and words of reassurance gave her more strength to stand her ground than she’d admit to you, not now anyway. Those looks that were held too long, her shoulder brushing against yours while sitting quite close, or the blush that crossed your face when she adjusted your hold on a weapon you were unfamiliar with. Occasional pillow talk of this farm you’d found, joking of how’d cute you’d look in overalls cleaning up the place. Came pouring back in with light flashes as two came back around each other more. Much more.

It started with you having a little more knowledge in this department, you found yourself doing the little things to help her out.

“Here, uh..try this” you said adjusting the child’s head in the crook of her arm to support his head.

The Light touches and small smiles became another silent reoccurrence. Along with taking lev for a few hours so she could rest. Falling into this oddly comforting position didn’t sway you away. She was asking you for help, she never did that before leaving. Everything was ‘I got it’ or ‘I’ll handle it myself’ but now things were miles different. Amongst this, typical Manny making a passing comment on how well you two coparented, made you both awkwardly laugh. Feeling the cracks from before begin to fill with this new experience.

Yes, You two still hadn’t spoken about where you stood before she left. You decided to choke it back, there was something much bigger now. Another life, innocent and blissfully aware of the cruel words being spat him and his saviors way.

Abby had a decision to make. And fast.

But how is she supposed to turn over this child who clearly was not better off. Yet, her loyalty being doubted was stinging just as equally.

Days blended together as the sky stormed along with Abby’s conflicting feelings.

A situation she’d never thought she’d find herself in, standing with her arm out over the child protectively. The heavy drumming of rain against the metal roof of the outpost and almost drowning out the muffled arguments behind the door. her jaw clenched so tightly it hurt.

They wanted him gone.

“He’s a liability,” Isaac’s voice echoed in her ears. “We took you back, Abby. But that… that Seraphite child has no place here.” “If you wish to follow in Owen’s footsteps of betrayal you may do so, outside of these walls.”

They wanted her gone.

Her knuckles brushed her pants, fist clenched. Nails digging into her palm to control her temper.

Isaac’s words felt like they were carved deeper into her skin than any wound she’d gotten these past few months of travel. “You owe us, Abby. His presence is risking the people here, the people who took you in. You choose. Him or us.”

The ultimatum that felt like it had no right answer.

One night, Abby entered your room quietly. The soft click of the door woke you.

There she stood, teary eyed, cheeks stained and a look of defeat smacked on her face. Lev on her hip, had his small head rested on her chest, half awake. Belongings that were once in hand, now dropped next to her with a harsh thud.

before you could ask her what’s going on it came out with a choked sob, ramblings of the past few months and how it was all weighing on her.

You learned of her promise to yara, and you saw the hardened woman who was once full of stubbornness and hatred now a beaten down emotionally drained individual. Pleading for the universe to ease up on her. Tore between the walls that she once called home and failing the child she promised to keep safe, from a woman who now only a memory.

You’d stood frozen in place before embracing the broken woman who looked like her knees would buckle under her with the slightest gust of the wind.

When you pulled back looking at her and the small figure clinging onto her, that conversation washed over you, a lightbulb flickered on.

It was as nuts as it sounded but you asked her anyway.

Before she left the base

“…Like old McDonald?” Abby laughed, listening to you describe a farm you’d come across while traveling Wyoming before joining the base.

You asked her to imagine it. The grass, fresh air, and warm sun beaming down on her skin during the summer.

“Hey, I’m being serious! Give me a broom and hammer I’d make it sparkle. Swear” you joked, and continued to explain how’d you live on the land. Taking the skilled you’d learned to the new environment.

Abby felt a pang of warm air pass over her seeing you in hopes of finding a more peaceful and quiet life. She agreed, but debated with finding the comfort of routine at the base. Losing herself in the conversation. Loving how you seemed to have an answer for almost every rebuttal she threw out.

And now a year later, you asking her if she’d be willing to take this shot in the dark. Making it a reality.

With you. Now.

After a few more days of preparation, she placed one foot outside the gates of base. Looking over her shoulder to the familiar faces she’d once found comfort in only to met with cold gazes because of the small hand she promised to hold. To keep alive.

A few nights before

A heavy sigh echoed as Abby carefully folded small clothes into a not too heavy duffel bag. Uncertainty hung in the air. Was this really what she wanted?

Manny leaned against the doorframe, watching his friend prepare to make a decision that wouldn’t just shift her life but his too.

“You’re really doing this, huh, amiga?”

“I am” she said dryly.

After a few more beats of tense silence weighted between them, He stepped into the room, handing over a small stuffed animal from behind his back. A worn elephant plushie came into her vision, a farewell gift. What a sweetheart he was. Her shoulders eased and she let herself actually talk to him.

Manny softened, leaning down to zip up one of the bags. “Abs, I get it. Just… you better come back if this whole farm thing doesn’t work out. You’ll be missed here. Despite the bullshit, you will”

Abby paused, taking the plushie from his hand, gently packing it away. “Thanks, Manny. For everything.”

“No need to get mushy, not your style” he said with smile. “And , if you ever need a babysitter…you know where to find me.”

“Mhm… I’ll send a postcard, yeah?” She replied jokingly feeling a small weight be lifted.

“Yeah” he repeated and gave her a small ‘you got this’ back pat.

As her other foot stepped outside the gates, she pushed any uncertainty down. She was keeping her promise, for yara…

For herself,

For lev.

The first night settled in Wyoming

Lev, feeling restless had cry’s bouncing off the wooden walls of the semi empty room. Abby sprung awake, heavy breathing as it startled her. With a heavy groan, she made her way over to try and hush the child. After no avail, you felt a small shake on your leg. On the make shift bed that was surprisingly comfortable for the time being.

“Your turn” Abby said with a pout.

You shift in the blankets, taking a moment to take in the image of this hardened soldier, hair a mess, half asleep, holding a baby out to you.

The sight never failed to make your heart swell. A beautiful sliverlining in this world which showed no mercy. A hand slowly made it way to cover your mouth.

Abby tilted her head in confusion, then a small smile crept on the corner of her lips.

“Oh this is funny to you?”

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter, she followed suit after a halfhearted eyeroll. Yeah, Moments like this were definitely the sweet after the sour. Moments like this, reminded her of the tough decision she’d made. Feet sore, eyes heavy, but a smile on her face.

And you’d be damned if you thought she wouldn’t choose it all over again.

————————————————-

Note: the idea of baby lev was too cute not to write! It doesn't follow the original story but idk I like this version! And yes I brought out the farm! Abby deserves the peaceful life too! Me writing a happy ending for once Any typos will be fixed LMAO

Thank you for reading!! 💐

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galaxy-stardust · 2 days ago

Text

Simon Ghost Riley x you

He calls you... 📞

You were lying in bed, scrolling mindlessly on your phone when it buzzed with an incoming call. Simon’s name flashed on the screen, and a smile crept across your lips as you answered.

“Hey,” you said softly, your voice carrying a hint of sleepiness.

“Miss me?” His deep, gravelly voice came through the line, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Always,” you replied, a small laugh escaping you. “Why are you calling so late?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he murmured. “Been thinking about you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the way his words lingered, slow and deliberate. You shifted on the bed, suddenly feeling warm. “Oh yeah? What about me?”

A low chuckle rumbled through the phone. “Everything. The way you look at me when you’re pretending to be mad, the sound you make when I kiss that spot just under your ear," he finished, his voice dropping lower, sending a jolt of heat through you.

You swallowed, your fingers clutching the edge of the blanket. “Simon…”

“Hmm?” he drawled, the teasing lilt in his voice making it impossible to focus. “You can hear it, can’t you? My lips on your skin. The way your breath hitches when I trail my mouth lower, when my hands grip your hips, holding you right where I want you.”

Your heart raced, and you bit your lip, feeling the heat pooling in your stomach. “You’re impossible,” you whispered, though there was no denying the flush spreading across your cheeks.

“And yet, you’re still listening,” he countered smoothly. “Tell me, love… what are you wearing?”

You hesitated, your breath catching. “Simon, I—”

“Tell me,” he interrupted, his voice firm yet coaxing, the dominance in his tone impossible to ignore.

You exhaled shakily. “A tank top and… nothing else.”

He groaned softly, the sound dark and full of need. “Perfect. Now, do me a favor.”

“What?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

“Slide your hand under that tank top. Slowly. I want you to touch yourself like I would. Let me hear you, love.”

Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up, your fingers brushing against your skin, sending a shiver through you. “Simon…”

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Close your eyes. Imagine me there, my hands instead of yours. My mouth on you, making you tremble. I want you to feel every word I say.”

You bit your lip to stifle a whimper, your breathing uneven as his voice wrapped around you like a warm, intoxicating haze. “You’re not playing fair,” you managed to say.

“I never do,” he replied, his tone dripping with possessiveness. “You’re mine, love. All mine. And I want to hear you say it.”

“I’m yours,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need.

“Good girl,” he growled, his words sending a delicious ache through you. “Now keep going. I want to know every sound you make when you come undone for me.”

And as the night stretched on, his deep, commanding voice was all you needed to push you over the edge, leaving you breathless and craving him even more.

#cod #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you

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deansbeer · 3 days ago

Note

hey girl. i love telepath! reader. ik it’s not halloween yet but i can literally see her trying to match bolt and be a playboy bunny. how do you think dean would react to that?🩷

oh, mans would so malfunction at the sight of her in a playboy bunny costume ‼️ + thank u sm for loving telepath!reader !!! it truly makes my lil heart so happy to hear <33

you're standing in your room, carefully applying the finishing touches to your halloween makeup as bolt lounges lazily on your bed, watching you with his twitching nose and curious little eyes. as usual, you're talking to him like he's your personal stylist.

"what do you think, bolt? the black ones or the pink ones?" you hold up two options of bunny ears in front of him. he doesn’t move, just stares, but you take his silence as an answer. "black it is. good choice, bub. classy."

he's your little partner-in-crime tonight, at least in spirit. you're going as a playboy bunny, and bolt, well, he's the inspiration behind the whole thing. he’s staying behind with dean and sam, though. you'd asked dean earlier if he could bunny-sit, and of course, he agreed. it wasn't like you asked him to do much—just keep an eye on the little furball while you were out.

you glance at yourself in the mirror, making sure everything is in place. the black satin bodysuit fits you like a glove, hugging your curves in all the right places. the sheer black tights make your legs look impossibly long, and the stilettos you chose—which you're still not entirely sure you won’t regret later—add the perfect touch. the bunny ears sit atop your head, completing the look.

"how do i look, bolt?" you ask, turning to face him with a grin. he twitches his ears, and you laugh. "yeah, i thought so. stunning, right?"

bolt doesn't answer, obviously, but you like to think he's silently hyping you up.

when you step out of your room, holding bolt in one arm and fixing the bunny ears as you walk, you head toward the library where sam and dean are. sam's sitting at the table, nose buried in some kind of research, while dean is leaning back in his chair, spinning a pen between his fingers.

you adjust one of your heels as you step into the room, the soft click of them echoing in the quiet space. both of their heads snap up when they hear you.

"so?" you say, smiling as you approach the table. "how do i look?”

sam's the first to speak, a warm smile spreading across his face. "wow, you look great. very… festive."

you laugh, setting bolt gently on the table in front of him. "thanks, sam. you're watching him while dean drops me off, right?"

"yeah, no problem," sam replies, reaching out to scratch bolt behind his ears.

then you turn to dean, who hasn't said a word yet. he's just sitting there, staring at you like he doesn't know what to do with himself. his jaw is tight, and his eyes keep darting between your face and—well, everywhere else. finally, he clears his throat, sitting up a little straighter.

"you look… uh, good. yeah. real good," he says, his voice gruff.

you notice the way he shifts in his seat, his hand briefly brushing over his thigh as if he's trying to adjust something. you don't think much of it, though, just flash him a smile.

"thanks, de. ready to go?"

he nods, standing up a little too quickly. "yeah, let's go."

the ride to the party is quiet at first. you're messing with your phone, checking for texts from your friends, while dean keeps his eyes firmly on the road. but you can feel the tension in the air, the way he keeps shifting in his seat every few minutes.

"you okay over there?" you ask, glancing at him curiously.

"yeah, fine," he says quickly, his voice a little too sharp.

you raise an eyebrow. "you sure? you've been squirming since we left. what’s going on?"

he hesitates, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel. "just… sore, that's all.”

you tilt your head, confused. "sore? why would you be sore? didn't sam say you skipped working out today?"

he grits his teeth, clearly regretting his excuse. "just drop it, okay?"

you roll your eyes but don't push it. whatever's going on with him, he'll tell you if he wants to. maybe you'll just have to get inside his head yourself. but that's an invasion of privacy and you'd prefer him to tell you, rather than you sticking your nose in his business.

when you finally pull up to your friend's house, the street is already packed with cars, and you can hear the faint thump of music from inside. you spot your friend waiting near the door, waving excitedly when she sees you.

"thanks for the ride, dean," you say, opening the door.

"no problem, sweetheart," he mutters, his voice tight.

you step out of the car, adjusting your tights and tugging the bodysuit into place as you walk toward the house. your friend meets you halfway, pulling you into a hug.

"oh my god, you look so hot!" she gushes, pulling back to look at your outfit.

"so do you!" you reply with a laugh, but before you can say anything else, a guy steps out onto the porch, joining your friend.

he immediately places a hand on your shoulder, leaning in to introduce himself. you're polite, smiling and nodding, but you can feel the older winchester brother's eyes burning into the back of your head from the car.

he's gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are white, his jaw clenched as he watches the scene unfold. the guys laughs at something you say, his hand lingering on your arm a little too long for dean's liking.

"sonuva bitch,” dean mutters under his breath, his foot pressing harder on the gas pedal as he pulls away from the curb. he doesn't even wait for you to go inside before speeding off, the tires squealing slightly as he turns the corner.

his heart is pounding in his chest, his mind racing with a mix of anger and jealousy. who the hell does the guy think his is, touching you like that? you're his girl. well, not officially, but still. you're his.

he spends the entire drive back to the bunker stewing in his own thoughts, alternating between cursing himself for not saying anything and cursing out the guy for daring to lay a hand on you.

back at the bunker, sam glances up when dean storms inside, slamming the door behind him.

"everything okay?" sam asks, raising an eyebrow.

dean doesn't answer, just heads toward the kitchen to grab a beer from the fridge and mutters, "watch the damn bunny."

sam exchanges a confused look with bolt, who twitches his ears in response.

meanwhile, dean sits at the table, staring at the bottle in his hand, already counting down the hours until he can go pick you up—and maybe punch the guy in the face while he’s at it.

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ariahmichelle · 22 hours ago

Text

I want to be that someone- Drew Starkey x actress!reader.

This is a part 2 to ‘Phoning it in’ Part 1 here

You were home now, but your mind wasn’t. Sitting cross-legged on your couch, you stared at your phone resting on the coffee table, Drew’s text still lighting up the screen.

Alright, you got me good. But seriously, don’t scare me like that again. I’d miss you too much. 😅 Also, come over later? I wanna talk about something.

Your heart had been racing since the moment you’d read it. You still hadn’t replied, and it wasn’t like you to leave Drew hanging. You two had always been easy—no overthinking, no awkward pauses, just years of natural friendship. So why did your stomach flip at the thought of what he wanted to talk about?

You knew why. You’d felt something shift during that prank call. You weren’t sure if it was Drew’s fake marriage proposal, his insistence that you couldn’t leave Outer Banks, or the way his voice softened when he told you he’d miss you too much. Whatever it was, it made your chest tighten in a way that you couldn’t ignore.

Finally, with a deep breath, you grabbed your phone and typed out a reply.

Sorry, I got caught up at the studio. I’ll be over at 7?

The dots indicating Drew was typing popped up almost immediately, giving you the go ahead.

Two hours later, you stood outside Drew’s apartment, fidgeting with the strap of your bag. This was ridiculous. You’d been here a million times before. But now, everything felt different. With a steadying breath, you knocked.

The door opened, and there he was, his familiar crooked smile greeting you. But even Drew looked a little… off. His usual easy confidence seemed to falter, his hands stuffed into his pockets as he stepped aside to let you in.

“Hey,” he said, his voice a little softer than usual.

“Hey,” you replied, feeling the awkwardness settle between you like a weight.

You both walked into the living room, where the table was already set with takeout. It was a normal thing for you two—sharing meals and laughing about whatever ridiculous thing had happened on set that day. But tonight, the tension was thick, and you both seemed to feel it.

Over dinner, you tried to keep things light, cracking jokes and filling the silence with small talk. Drew played along, but his usual playful sarcasm was subdued. He seemed distracted, like he was waiting for the right moment to say something.

You couldn’t take it anymore. After dinner, as you both moved to the couch, you turned to him, clutching a throw pillow in your lap.

“Drew,” you started, your voice coming out shakier than you intended. “What’s going on? You said you wanted to talk about something.”

Drew fidgeted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. I, uh…” He let out a nervous laugh. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this without making things weird.”

Your heart hammered in your chest. “If it’s about the prank, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or—”

He cut you off, shaking his head. “No, it’s not that. Well, kind of, but not in the way you think.”

You blinked, confused. “Then what is it?”

Drew exhaled, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “When you mentioned going on Love Is Blind, it… it stirred something up in me. At first, I thought I was just worried about you leaving acting, but then I realized it wasn’t just that.”

You sat frozen, watching him intently. He looked nervous—genuinely nervous—and that wasn’t like him.

He glanced at you, his blue eyes searching yours. “The idea of you being with someone else, putting yourself out there for someone like that, whether it was thought some show or meeting someone anywhere else, made me realize something. I want to be that someone.”

Your breath caught, and your cheeks heated instantly.

“I’ve been trying to ignore it for a while,” he continued, his voice softer now. “But when I thought about you actually finding someone on that show, my heart just… dropped. And I couldn’t shake it. That prank just made me realize how much I… care about you. More than I probably should as your friend.”

For a moment, you couldn’t speak. Your heart was pounding, and the words Drew had just spoken hung in the air, heavy and raw.

“Is this your payback prank?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, trying to lighten the moment and hide how flustered you were.

Drew let out a soft laugh, his tension easing slightly. “No, it’s not,” he said, reaching out to take your hand. “I promise, it’s not.”

His hand was warm, steadying your nerves as he gave it a gentle squeeze.

You took a moment to gather your thoughts, your cheeks still burning. “You were the first person I thought of for that prank,” you admitted quietly. “Not just because I thought you’d find it funny, but because… I wanted to see if there was even a sliver of a chance that my feelings weren’t one-sided.”

Drew’s eyes softened, and he leaned closer, his fingers brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s definitely not one-sided,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your eyes flicked from his to his lips, and your heart felt like it was about to burst out of your chest. “Can I kiss you?” he murmured.

You nodded slowly, and Drew closed the distance, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tentative kiss. It was gentle at first, but as you leaned into him, it deepened, years of unspoken feelings finally coming to the surface.

When you pulled back, you were both breathless. Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a hug. Drew laughed softly and tugged you closer, shifting you into his lap.

“This is insane,” you said, your voice muffled against his shoulder. “Our castmates are going to freak.”

Drew chuckled, resting his forehead against yours. “Let’s keep it our little secret for now,” he whispered. “We’ll figure it out. No pressure, no rush. Just… us.”

You smiled, feeling more at ease than you had in weeks. “Just us,” you echoed, leaning in to kiss him again.

————————

Let me know what u think! Anyone want a part 3 where the cast find out ?

#drew starkey x actress!reader #drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey x oc #drew starkey fic #drew starkey x you #drew starkey fluff #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey #drew starkey imagine #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks imagine #rafe cameron #rafe cameron fic

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letsquestjess · 2 days ago

Text

Paint My Love (Echo x F!Reader)

Summary: Echo loves to see you paint, but doesn't bank on the swell of emotions when you lovingly paint your love onto him.

Word count: 2.1K

Warning: 18+ / MDNI! Smut. Unprotected PiV.

-- -- -- -- --

With a gliding swipe of the paintbrush, blush tones outstripped and tempered the fiery red beneath. Fleecy clouds met with silky sky, the canvas filling with the delightful distant landscape as your rendition unfolded in mellow curves and serene shades.

Your involvement in the clone network rarely permitted you time to indulge in a hobby. Planet hopping, eluding blaster bolts, and cracking codes occupied every waking moment, hauling captive and injured clones from the depths of Imperial prisons and extracting vital information from enemy systems. The task you undertook voluntarily, a decision you neither regretted nor deplored, but in the process, you abandoned much of your life.

In moments such as these, you gladly seized whatever buffers and downtime you were offered without complaint about the shortness of the respite or the chance of being called to another critical situation. Everything Rex and his network did ensured a better galaxy, a denial of victory and power to the Empire, and the opportunity to see the sun rise over the freedom of every despairing world.

You hoped the sunrise of that prospective dawn promised to prove as beautiful and inspiring as the one you painted, tracking the migration of sky vapours with your brush and the silvery streak contrasting the subdued corals and cardinals. A lilac hue crowned the horizon, and you contemplated which tints to mix to get the matching shade.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you painting,” Echo commented as he descended the ramp, distracted by the array of pleasing colours and shapes crafted by your skillful hand.

“It’s been a while since I had the chance,” you replied. “Does Rex know to expect some more brothers?”

“He does. Also told him we’re going to stay for a couple of days to check the transmissions. I’ve set up a sweep of Imperial systems, but it could take a while, so we have some time.”

Scomp link coasting down your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder, he considered your artwork with a contented grin. “You always manage to see the good in everything.”

“Bad things do not deserve a thought wasted on them,” you replied with a decided shrug. “I reserve that space for the things that make me happy.”

“And that stubborn streak.”

In answer to his jest, you dabbed his nose with the tip of your paintbrush and swallowed a chuckle at the responding arched eyebrow, dropping the brush into the jar of pigmented water.

“I’m not used to having free time,” you said, mopping up the sapphire blob with the frayed towel over your shoulder. “What will we do?”

“Wait for the scans and ensure we’re ready to move as soon as we get the results, but the rest, I suppose we… relax.” His face scrunched as though he sniffed something foul. That sounded wrong. In their line of work, relaxation never presented itself. Not even in times of quiet.

The rumination creased his features, and you eased your fingertips up to his cheekbones to encourage him to loosen up. “At any rate, I’m going to need more canvases. I didn’t realise I had my supplies until I checked the cupboard last night. Must have left them there when I painted those posters for Rex.”

Echo nosed into your touch. Faith in the good and your confidence in a better tomorrow shone in those images, declaring to the galaxy that they were defended and inspiring them to rise. “You could always use me,” he said, more tease in his tone and temptation in the amber flecks in his eyes than he intended. “As a canvas, I mean. If you needed. I… um… wouldn’t be opposed to you… trying that out…”

Covering his face in embarrassment with a gloved hand and his posture slumping, he retreated. Since you formed your attachment almost a year ago, his attempts at flirting grew worse in his mind, fumbled words attempting to sound exciting and falling flat. Yet each time, you found him more endearing and increasingly sweet.

“The paints I use are safe for skin if you wanted to be my canvas,” you told him, removing the rectangular painting from the easel and setting it beside the ship steps to dry.

He wound up to graciously refuse, to insist he did not wish to disturb your quiet peace or steal away your artistic resources, but everything you touched with your talents, you planted a shred of your soul into, and he pondered how he might look with your creations decorating him. “Actually, I’d like that.”

“In that case,” you said, your bright smile making every facet glow, “I’ll go set up the cockpit and I can paint you while we wait for those scans.”

Spare rolls of fabric draped the co-pilot seat, and a tiered palette kept the array of matte and metallic colours neat while you organised your utensils. Pillars of sunlight provided a muted bloom, and settling Echo into the covered seat, you counted the various brushes and tested the bristles were smooth enough not to irritate his skin.

“You’ll have to remove your shirt if you want me to paint on you,” you told him, offering an opening for him to retract his offer if he decided not to continue. He pulled an arm and his scomp link through the sleeves of his blacks and set the article of clothing over the navigation console chair.

“Am I sat right?” he asked, wriggling and twisting in the seat. “I can move if you need me to, or-”

You dumped your jacket onto the inactive panel behind you and covered his lap with an old tatty blanket. “Just relax.”

Soaking the first brush into a silky maroon tint, you knelt and softly began your patterns. You let your heart guide your hand, winding around the embedded ports in his stomach and chuckling at the slight laugh he returned when the strands tickled his sternum.

The colour choices flowed with your instincts, motifs and designs floating in your mind as you washed the brushes in between each pigment. You tuned into the steady swell and drop of Echo’s chest, meeting every breath tenderly pushing at the paintbrush.

Enraptured in your concentration and the blossoms of your creativity, Echo remained unmoving, peeping as you expressed your love on his torso. You never ceased to amaze him in your artistry and your innovation, head tilted at a tender angle and teeth snagging your bottom lip as you chewed in studious contemplation. Your innate ingenuity permeated other parts of your life and on more than one occasion, hauled you from the fire and came to your aid, preventing you from ending up in an Imperial prison or worse.

Stars, he wished he could express how you made him feel, how your radiance warmed him and your surety emboldened him to believe the galaxy would see better days. He hoped you realised how wonderful you were, that you never once needed to doubt yourself, because if he had to place bets on anyone, it would always be you.

Inch by inch, brilliant designs of strength and light coated his skin, the rising and easing of his chest pulling the strings of his life into glorious being. For the first time in far too long, he felt himself, vibrant like he once was before the explosion that ripped him apart and remade him a machine. Your art brought together both parts of him into acceptance and new perspectives.

“How incredible you are,” he breathed in a besotted exhale, swallowing the bloated tears of elation.

His palm nestled your cheek and his thumb flicked over your lips. You set the brush aside and went to cup his face, stopping short at the stain on your palms.

“Considering how much paint I have on my chest, do you think I’d mind a little more?” Echo coaxed you onto his lap, mindful of the drying designs as he let you wiggle yourself comfortable. “Thank you.”

“What for?” you asked, planting a kiss to the tip of his nose and trailing your lips towards his neck.

“Reminding me who I am.”

Your kisses ceased, and you fixed on the reminiscent glimmer in his gaze. “You don’t need me to remind you who you are.”

“Sometimes I forget. It’s like I was someone completely different before… before everything that happened, but that same trooper is still in there.” His scomp link rested on the small of your back and his thumb massaged circles on your hip.

“Still the same foolhardy ARC trooper to me,” you assured him, fingers delighting in the contours of his face before idling on his jaw. “Only now with added stubble.” You scratched playfully at the scruff on his chin. “What was it Rex told me once? You used to shave so meticulously you could use your cheeks as mirrors?”

A spirited chuckle rumbled in the depths of Echo’s chest and your designs fluttered with the movement. “That is a wild exaggeration.”

“Wild exaggeration, huh?”

Echo clocked the mischief in your tone and the arched eyebrow as you pursued the strain in his pants. At the wriggle in your feigned repositioning and the grind of your hips, he momentarily closed his eyes and grunted under his breath. Maker have mercy for the way you liked to tease him.

“I know you’re doing that on purpose,” Echo pointed out.

“Am not.”

“I believe that is what we would definitely call a wild exaggeration.”

You gasped dramatically and splayed your fingers on his chest. As he laughed at your antics, he wrenched your hips down onto him again. “Anyone would think you liked that,” you cooed, your own arousal dripping and desperate for attention.

“Perhaps I do,” he responded, dipping his thumb into the waistband of your pants. His touches graced your core, tiny flicks and presses of his fingertips edging you towards delight.

Hungry for him the more your flirts danced, you hopped off him to remove your clothing and straddled him before the fabric even hit the cockpit floor. Soft kisses became starved as you rocked on him, the intensity between your legs unbearable.

“It’s been too long since we’ve had some time to ourselves,” Echo panted.

“Need you,” you keened, intent on not permitting your nails to sink into his shoulder in your haste to feel more of him.

“No patience?”

You shook your head and stopped grinding your hips long enough for him to reach into his underwear and withdraw his cock, give it a few pumps, and line himself with your entrance.

“Take your time, love,” Echo soothed, sensing the impatience in the little creases between your brows as you gradually sank onto him. “We don’t need to rush.”

While you knew you had no reason to hurry, the ache within you burned boundless and fluorescent. You lowered yourself the last centimetre, and a satisfied breath escaped your chest at the fill.

In an unhurried, endless rhythm, your thighs tensed in the rolling flow and you brought yourself down again on his length, assisted by his encouraging lift as he met you halfway. As your bodies moved as one, your breaths intermingled, kisses exchanged instead of words between the rise and drop of your love.

“Echo,” you whined, the knot inside you unravelling and pulling deliciously as he buried himself in your heat and rolled your nipple between a finger and thumb, the thought of approaching your activity without haste abandoned. You both needed each other. Patience be damned to the depths.

Your whimpers met with a low grunt. Neither of you were going to last much longer, you craved that closeness, that blessed bond. Building the friction between your sweat-coated skin, you crested the gratifying wave together, nails biting into flesh and your climaxes hitting their groan-filled peaks.

Echo clutched you as the final throes circuited and fizzled, nuzzling at your neck. He peered down between your bodies where paint smeared his torso and residue smudges dusted yours.

“Maybe we should wash this off,” you suggested in a calming breath as his release began to leak out between your legs. “Share a shower and save some water. Who knows how long we will be waiting for the scans to complete?”

“Hopefully long enough for us to do this again,” Echo chuckled, boosting you into his arms, still comfortably inside you. “Come on. Let’s get cleaned up and I’ll make some breakfast.”

“You spoil me,” you murmured, snuggling into the rocking motion as he moved you to the rear of the ship.

“Oh, that’s just for starters.” He balanced you in one arm and nudged the button for the fresher with his scomp link, the door whooshing open. “I’m going to spoil you as much as I can and then some.”

If you would like to be added to the NSFW taglist, feel free to send me a message (18+ only).

@cw80831 @stardusthuntress @spicy-clones

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rylem33 · 1 day ago

Text

A Good Person

Hey everyone. This is something new for me as I'm looking for your help with the ending. I'm really curious how this works, but that all depends on you. Enjoy! ------------------------------------------------------------ Maggie shifted through the stack of bills on the kitchen table, her fingers trembling slightly as she set each one aside. The FINAL NOTICE stamps glared up at her like scarlet letters, each one louder than the last.

Behind her, the soft hum of the oxygen concentrator in the living room was a constant reminder of Scott’s condition. She glanced toward the worn couch where he was stretched out, one arm draped across his eyes. His chest rose and fell in slow, labored breaths, his other hand resting on his inhaler.

“You’re staring at me again,” Scott said, his voice muffled but amused.

Maggie smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “How do you always know?”

“Married six years, Maggie. I can feel it.” He sat up slowly, wincing as he moved, and offered her a small smile. “What’s the damage this time?”

“Nothing we can’t handle,” she lied, sliding the bills into a neat pile and slipping them into a drawer.

“Right,” he said, his tone flat. “Because handling things has been going so great lately.”

“Scott—”

“No, I’m serious,” he interrupted gently, leaning back against the couch. “Let’s hear your plan. Are we robbing a bank this week, or have you started looking up lottery hacks?”

Maggie chuckled despite herself, shaking her head as she moved to sit beside him. She rested her hand on his knee, squeezing it lightly.

“We’ll figure it out,” she said softly. “We always do.”

Scott placed his hand over hers, his thumb brushing her knuckles. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“Don’t,” she said, her voice sharper than intended. She caught herself and softened. “Don’t apologize for being sick, Scott. It’s not your fault.”

“I just…” He exhaled heavily, the weight of his guilt evident. “I hate that you’re carrying this alone. That you’re working so hard while I sit here, being a burden.”

“You’re not a burden,” Maggie said firmly, her gaze locking with his. “You’re my husband. We’re in this together. Always.”

His lips twitched into a faint smile. “You’re too good to me.”

“And don’t you forget it,” she teased, leaning forward to kiss his forehead. “Now, go rest. Doctor’s orders.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, mock saluting as he settled back into the couch.

Maggie lingered for a moment, watching him. His color was better today, but the strain of his illness was always present, always hanging over their lives.

When the doorbell rang, she frowned. It was late, and they weren’t expecting anyone.

“I’ll get it,” she said, rising quickly. Scott didn’t stir, already drifting toward sleep.

Maggie opened the door to find a man standing there, his tailored gray coat pristine despite the damp evening air. His expression was pleasant and his dark eyes seemed to take in everything about her in an instant.

“Good evening, Maggie,” he said, his voice smooth and oddly soothing.

Her brow furrowed. “Do I know you?”

“Not yet,” he replied, his smile widening just slightly. “But I believe we can help each other.”

The man smiled warmly as if her confusion was exactly what he’d expected. His dark eyes gleamed, and he stepped closer, but not enough to be intrusive.

“Forgive me for dropping in unannounced,” he said, his tone calm and reassuring. “But I have a knack for knowing when people need… assistance.”

Maggie crossed her arms, leaning on the doorframe. “Assistance?” she repeated skeptically. “I’m sorry, but we’re not interested in whatever you’re selling.”

“I’m not selling anything,” he replied smoothly. “Consider me more of a problem-solver. And, Maggie, you have a problem, don’t you?”

Her chest tightened at the sound of her name, but she forced herself to keep her voice steady. “I don’t know who you are, but I think you’ve got the wrong house.”

“I don’t think so,” he said, a faint trace of amusement flickering across his face. “Scott, your husband—he’s been struggling. Can’t work. His medical bills are crushing you both, and let’s not even get started on the overdue rent.”

Maggie stiffened, her hand tightening on the edge of the door. “How do you know about my husband?”

“I know a lot of things,” the man said lightly. “Enough to know you’ve been praying for a miracle. I’m here to answer those prayers.”

Her instincts screamed at her to slam the door, but her hand wouldn’t move. It wasn’t fear, exactly—it was more like a strange, magnetic pull. She frowned, her jaw tightening.

“Listen,” she said, lowering her voice. “I don’t know what kind of scam you’re running, but you need to leave. Now.”

The man held up his hands in a placating gesture. “No scam, Maggie. Just an offer. I can take away all your financial troubles. I can even fix Scott’s health. No hospitals. No prescriptions. Just… gone.”

She stared at him, torn between laughter and alarm. “You’re insane,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“I get that a lot,” he said, unbothered. “But I never force anyone to believe me. I just give them a choice.”

“I’m not interested,” she said firmly, gripping the door as if preparing to close it. But her hand still wouldn’t move.

The man tilted his head, his gaze steady but kind. “I’ll make it easy for you, then. I’ll come back tomorrow. You can think about my offer. And to prove I’m serious…”

He gestured subtly toward the living room. “Scott will feel better tomorrow. Stronger. Healthier. You’ll see for yourself.”

Maggie froze, her heart pounding. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ll see,” he said simply. “Until then, take care, Maggie.”

Before she could respond, he tipped his hat, turned on his heel, and walked off into the evening.

Maggie stood in the doorway for a long moment, staring after him as the chill of the night seeped into her skin. Finally, she managed to close the door, her thoughts racing.

------------------------------------------------------------

Maggie stood at the sink, rinsing out the coffee pot for the second time in five minutes. Her mind was too preoccupied to focus on anything. She kept glancing at the kitchen clock and then toward the front door, her stomach twisting with every passing minute.

Scott sat at the small kitchen table behind her, sorting through a stack of bills. He tapped his pen against the table.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” he said, not looking up.

“I’m just tired,” Maggie replied quickly, setting the pot down. “Long day.”

He nodded, still scribbling notes in the margins of a bill. “You’re always tired. I don’t blame you.”

“Scott…” She turned, leaning back against the sink.

“I know, I know,” he said, holding up a hand before she could finish. “You don’t want me to feel bad about this, but how can I not?” He gestured at the bills. “You’re working yourself to death, and it’s still not enough. I should be out there too, doing my part.”

“You’re doing everything you can,” she said firmly.

Scott dropped the pen and rubbed his temples. “I feel useless, Maggie. All I do is sit around while you shoulder everything.”

“Stop,” she said, moving closer. “You’re not useless. You’re sick. You’re recovering.” She rested a hand on his shoulder, her touch gentle but firm. “I’m handling it. We’ll get through this.”

Scott sighed, his eyes meeting hers. “I don’t want you handling it alone anymore. It’s not fair.”

“I’m fine,” she said, forcing a smile. “You let me worry about the bills, okay?”

He hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. “Okay. But if there’s anything—anything—I can do…”

Maggie squeezed his shoulder. “I know. But right now, you need to rest.”

“Rest,” he muttered, his voice tinged with bitterness. “That’s all I ever do.”

The knock at the front door startled them both. Maggie flinched, her pulse quickening as she straightened.

“Who’s that?” Scott asked, glancing toward the hallway.

“I’ll check,” she said quickly, already moving toward the door. “It’s probably nothing. Just sit tight.”

“Maggie…”

She turned back, forcing a lightness into her tone. “I’ve got it, Scott. Relax.”

Scott watched her for a moment, then nodded, leaning back in his chair.

Maggie walked down the hallway, her heart pounding harder with every step. When she reached the door, she paused, her hand hovering over the doorknob. She took a deep breath, steeling herself, then pulled it open.

There he was, the man from the night before.

“Good evening, Maggie,” he said warmly.

Maggie’s grip tightened on the door. “What do you want?” she asked, her voice sharp but quiet. She glanced down the hallway, listening for any signs that Scott might come looking for her.

“I just came to check in,” the man said smoothly. “How’s Scott feeling today?”

Her chest tightened. “He’s… better,” she admitted reluctantly. “How do you know about him?”

The man’s smile widened slightly. “He’s your husband. I know you love him. And I know he’s been struggling for a long time now.” He tilted his head. “Breathing easier, isn’t he? Moving around more? Even joking with you a little?”

Maggie stared at him, her heart pounding. “What are you saying? That you did something?”

“Of course,” he replied simply, his hands folding in front of him. “I told you last night I’d prove I was serious. Consider this a… demonstration.”

Her stomach churned as her mind replayed the events of the day. Scott had woken up without a cough for the first time in months. He’d been more alert, even energized. The improvement was undeniable.

“I don’t understand,” she said, shaking her head. “How could you—why would you—”

He raised a hand to stop her, his voice calm. “Let me make it simple. I can make this permanent. Scott won’t just feel better—he’ll be better. Completely. No more sickness. No more doctors. And your financial troubles?” He gave her a knowing look. “Gone.”

Maggie’s breath hitched. The weight she’d been carrying for so long—the endless strain of juggling bills, late-night worries, and helplessness—pressed even harder against her chest. She wanted to laugh, to call him insane, but Scott’s voice echoed in her mind: I hate that you’re carrying this alone.

“How?” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

The man smiled warmly, like a teacher with a promising student. “It doesn’t matter how. What matters is that I can.”

“Why us?” she asked, her throat dry. “Why me? Why Scott?”

“Because you’re good people, Maggie,” he said simply. “You care about others. You try to do the right thing, even when it’s hard. That’s exactly the kind of person I like to help.”

Maggie narrowed her eyes, the unease creeping deeper into her chest. “What do you want?”

“It’s simple. For seven days, you have to be good. Truly good. No lying, no snapping, no selfishness. Any time you slip up, you’ll see it reflected… here.” He gestured toward her body.

Maggie frowned. “What do you mean, reflected?”

“A physical sign,” he said cryptically. “One you can’t ignore. But here’s the good news: I’m feeling generous. Out of the seven days, you can fail four times and still win.”

Her stomach twisted. “And if I fail more than that?”

“Then you lose,” he said evenly.

What happens if I lose?” Maggie asked, her voice unsteady.

The man’s smile didn’t falter. “That’s not important right now,” he said gently. “You’re a good person, Maggie. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe you’d succeed.”

Her stomach twisted. “You’re avoiding the question,” she said, but the heat had left her voice.

“Perhaps,” he replied, his tone calm and confident. “But this is just a test, one you’re more than capable of passing.”

Maggie hesitated, her mind racing through the possibilities. The idea of losing terrified her, but the alternative was too tempting to ignore.

“But I need your answer now,” the man continued, his voice soothing but firm. “I’m offering you a chance to make things right. To give Scott the life he deserves. To give yourself some peace.”

Her hands trembled as she gripped the edge of the door. She glanced down the hallway toward the kitchen, hearing the faint clatter of dishes as Scott tidied up.

“You’ll come back in a week?” she asked.

The man nodded. “One week. Seven days. That’s all.”

Maggie drew in a shaky breath, her chest tight with equal parts fear and determination. She thought of Scott’s laugh that morning, the light in his eyes she hadn’t seen in so long.

“Okay,” she said finally, her voice soft but resolute. “I’ll do it.”

The man’s smile widened, warm and encouraging. “Excellent.” He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small, silver watch, glancing at it briefly before tucking it away again.

“One final condition. You can’t tell anyone about this arrangement. I wish you the best of luck, Maggie,” he said, tipping his hat. “I’ll see you in a week.”

Without another word, he turned and walked off.

Maggie closed the door slowly, leaning against it. From the kitchen, Scott’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Who was it?”

She pushed herself off the door and walked back toward the kitchen, forcing a neutral expression onto her face. “Nobody important,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

But as she sat down across from Scott, watching him smile faintly as he sorted the last of the mail, her gaze drifted to her hands. Seven days. That was all.

------------------------------------------------------------

The first day dawned bright and clear. Maggie woke with a nervous knot in her stomach but forced herself to move through the motions of the morning as though nothing had changed.

“Coffee’s ready,” she called from the kitchen, glancing toward the living room where Scott was stretched out on the couch.

“Smells great,” he said, sitting up with a smile. He still looked a little tired, but there was a spark in his eyes that hadn’t been there in months.

Maggie brought him a steaming mug and sat down beside him, cradling her own cup. “How are you feeling today?” she asked, keeping her tone light.

“Better,” he said, taking a sip. “Actually, a lot better. I’m not sure why, but I’m not going to question it.”

Maggie nodded, forcing herself to smile. “That’s great.”

They spent the morning together, Maggie tidying up around the house while Scott sorted through more of the bills. She felt a growing sense of calm as the hours passed without incident. Every time she caught herself feeling frustrated or annoyed, she took a deep breath and reminded herself of the stakes.

Just be good, she thought. I can do this.

By mid-afternoon, Scott was sitting at the kitchen table, a stack of papers spread out before him. Maggie had been folding laundry in the next room when he called her in.

“You’re not going to believe this,” he said, his voice tinged with disbelief.

“What is it?” she asked, feigning casual interest as she approached.

He held up a letter, the kind she dreaded seeing. But instead of the usual red PAST DUE notice, this one bore the words BALANCE FORGIVEN.

“They’re waiving the bill,” Scott said, shaking his head. “Just like that. I don’t know why, but… Maggie, this is huge.”

Her breath caught, a flicker of relief mingling with a creeping sense of unease. She glanced at the other letters on the table, her eyes widening as she saw more notices marked with similar phrases.

“It must be some kind of… program,” she said, forcing her voice to stay steady. “Maybe they’re helping out people in need.”

Scott laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Well, whatever it is, it’s a miracle.”

Maggie’s stomach twisted at the word, but she nodded, managing a smile. “Yeah. A miracle.”

The rest of the day passed in a similar vein. Maggie and Scott worked together to reorganize their finances, the newfound breathing room lifting some of the tension that had weighed on them both. That evening, they shared a simple dinner at the table and even spent time watching a movie before bed.

As Scott laughed at a joke on the screen, Maggie glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He looked… happy. Really happy. And for the first time in a long time, so did she.

But as she lay in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, her mind raced. The day had gone perfectly, but the man’s words echoed in her ears.

“It’s just a test.”

She looked at herself in the mirror, everything looked fine. She smiled and drifted off to sleep.

------------------------------------------------------------

The scent of roasted chicken filled the kitchen as Maggie set the table. Scott carried over a bowl of mashed potatoes, moving more easily than he had in a long time.

“This looks great,” he said, sitting down across from her.

“Not bad for a Tuesday, huh?” Maggie replied with a smile.

They ate quietly at first, the sounds of clinking silverware filling the room. Scott eventually broke the silence. “Work go okay today?”

“Surprisingly smooth,” Maggie said, taking a sip of water. “Nothing out of the ordinary. No fires to put out.”

Scott chuckled. “That’s a win. Must be the universe throwing us a bone.”

Maggie’s fork paused mid-air, but she quickly recovered. “Must be,” she echoed, keeping her tone light. “What about you? How’d you feel today?”

“Better,” he said, nodding. “Actually, I haven’t felt this good in years. It’s weird, but I’ll take it.”

She smiled, but her mind wandered. What if this is real?

After dinner, Scott kissed her cheek as she loaded the dishwasher. “Thanks for everything, Maggie. I mean it.”

She waved him off with a smile, though his words warmed her.

In bed that night, Maggie stared at the ceiling, her mind buzzing. Two days down, and everything was going perfectly. Scott was improving. The bills were lightening.

Again, she examined herself in the mirror and nothing had changed.

“Maybe it’s not real,” she whispered to herself, letting the thought comfort her as she drifted to sleep.

------------------------------------------------------------

The sun was setting as Maggie drove home from work. She’d had an easy day at work and she was feeling good.

The radio blared one of her favorite songs, and Maggie sang along, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. For the first time in years, she felt light, almost carefree.

Then, it happened.

A car veered into her lane without signaling, forcing her to slam on the brakes.

“Seriously?!” she shouted, her frustration boiling over. Without thinking, she raised her hand and flipped the driver off, holding the gesture until the car sped ahead.

It wasn’t until she heard the faint gasp of a child in the backseat of the minivan beside her that the weight of what she’d done hit her. Her heart sank, her stomach knotting with guilt as she glanced at the kid’s wide eyes, his tiny face frozen in surprise.

Before she could process it, a sharp, sudden pain shot through her hand. Maggie gasped, her gaze snapping down to her raised middle finger.

Her nail was no longer short and polished. It had grown into a long, razor-sharp talon, gleaming an unnaturally deep red. Shortly after, all of her fingernails exploded into matching talons.

Her breath quickened, and she yanked her hand back to the steering wheel, gripping it tightly to stop the trembling. Her heart pounded as the truth slammed into her.

It’s real. It’s all real.

Her mind raced as she navigated the familiar streets toward home. It was so small, she thought. Just a stupid gesture. But it counted.

She pulled into the driveway, cutting the engine as she sat in stunned silence. Maybe it was all in her head, but the talon on her hand felt heavy..

“Okay,” she whispered to herself, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. “You can still do this. Four days left. You just need to succeed one more time.”

Maggie rushed inside, keeping her hands stuffed deep into her coat pockets.

“Hey! Dinner’s almost ready,” Scott called from the kitchen.

“Great! I’ll just… wash up first,” she said, her voice strained. She didn’t wait for a response, hurrying down the hallway to the bathroom.

She locked the door behind her and turned to the mirror, pulling out her hands. The talons glinted menacingly under the fluorescent light. Maggie grabbed a pair of nail clippers from the cabinet, setting them against her thumb.

Snap!

The clippers shattered in her hand.

Her heart sank. She tried again with another pair, pressing harder this time. They broke just as easily.

She grabbed a nail file, furiously rubbing it against one of the talons, but it was like trying to file down steel. The surface didn’t even scratch.

“Damn it!” she hissed, tossing the broken tools into the sink. She stared at her hands, panic rising.

How was she supposed to explain this to Scott?

At dinner, Maggie tried to keep her hands hidden under the table, but it was impossible to cut her food or drink her water without exposing them. Scott was bound to notice.

“Everything okay?” he asked, glancing at her untouched plate.

“Yeah,” she said quickly. “I’m just… not that hungry.”

Scott frowned. “You’ve been off lately. Are you sure you’re okay?”

She hesitated, then forced a laugh, holding up her hands. “Okay, fine. You got me. I was going to try and keep this a surprise, but… look!”

Scott’s eyes widened as she splayed her hands on the table.

“I, uh, decided to try those press-on nails everyone’s been raving about,” she lied, forcing a nervous grin. “You know, just for fun.”

Scott blinked, his confusion melting into a small smile. “Wow. That’s… dramatic. They look sharp.”

“Yeah, a little sharper than I expected,” Maggie said, laughing nervously. “I thought they’d be fun, but they’re kind of a hassle.”

“Well, they’re… different. But if you like them, that’s what matters,” Scott said, giving her an encouraging smile.

Maggie exhaled softly, relief washing over her. He bought it.

That night, as Scott slept soundly beside her, Maggie lay wide awake, staring at her hands..

“Four more days,” she whispered to herself. “Just four more.”

------------------------------------------------------------

Maggie walked into work feeling cautiously optimistic. She told herself she could do this. Three days down, four to go. She’d already proven she could make it through a day without slipping up… twice.

At her desk, she focused on her tasks, keeping her head down and avoiding unnecessary conversations. By lunchtime, she even allowed herself a small smile as she refilled her coffee in the break room.

I’ve got this, she thought.

The trouble began mid-afternoon.

“Maggie!” her boss, Bill, barked from across the office.

Her stomach clenched as she stood and walked to his desk. He was holding a printed report, his expression tight with irritation.

“This is incomplete,” he said, shaking the paper slightly. “Where’s the data for the Madison account?”

Maggie froze. The Madison account. She’d completely forgotten about it, buried under the mountain of tasks she’d been juggling.

“I—” she began, scrambling for an explanation.

“You were supposed to include this for today’s presentation,” Bill interrupted. “It’s not in the shared drive, either. What happened?”

Her mind raced. I can’t lose this job, she thought desperately. Not now. Not when Scott’s finally doing better. I need this.

Without thinking, she blurted, “Diane said she’d handle that part.”

The lie burned in her throat, but it was out, and there was no taking it back.

Bill frowned. “I’ll talk to Diane, then. This kind of thing is unacceptable.” He tossed the paper onto his desk.

Maggie hesitated, then added with a nervous laugh, “You know Diane. Classic blonde move, right?”

Bill didn’t respond, his irritation clear, and she quickly retreated to her desk.

Maggie barely had time to feel the sting of guilt before it happened.

A sharp, tingling sensation erupted across her scalp, like a thousand needles pricking her skin. Her head burned, her hair feeling impossibly heavy.

Her hands flew to her head. She gasped as her fingers tangled in thick, silken strands of hair far longer than they had been that morning. Her heart pounded as she grabbed a compact mirror from her bag and opened it.

Her hair, once a modest brunette, was now a striking platinum blonde, cascading past her shoulders. It gleamed unnaturally, catching even the faintest light and shimmering like spun gold.

“No,” she whispered, her pulse racing. “This can’t be happening.”

She tried tying it back into a bun, but the volume made it impossible to hide. Panicked, she grabbed her scarf from her bag and wrapped it tightly around her head, tucking every strand of hair out of sight.

The rest of the day passed in a haze. Maggie avoided everyone, keeping her head down and her hands busy. She didn’t dare look at Diane, guilt twisting in her stomach every time she thought about her offhanded comment.

When the workday ended, she practically ran to her car, her scarf still firmly in place.

At dinner, Maggie avoided Scott’s gaze, her nerves fraying with every passing minute.

“What’s with the scarf?,” Scott said, raising an eyebrow. “It’s not cold in here.”

“Oh, this?” Maggie laughed nervously, adjusting the knot at the back of her head. “I just… thought I’d try something new. You know, accessorize a little.”

Scott studied her for a moment before shrugging. “Okay. Looks nice.”

She forced a smile and continued with dinner.

Later that night, Maggie sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for Scott to fall asleep. She could hear his breathing slow, his body relaxing beside her.

Carefully, she untied the scarf, letting the blonde waves spill over her shoulders. They felt impossibly soft and heavy, cascading over her back.

“Unbelievable,” she whispered to herself, staring at her reflection in the darkened window.

A soft rustle behind her made her freeze.

“Maggie?” Scott’s voice was quiet, barely above a whisper.

Her heart dropped. She turned slowly, clutching the scarf in her hands.

Scott was propped up on one elbow, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. He said nothing for a moment, just looking at her hair.

Finally, he spoke. “When were you going to tell me you dyed your hair?”

Maggie exhaled sharply, relief and panic mixing in her chest. “I wasn’t sure how you’d react,” she lied.

Scott smiled faintly, his voice soft. “It’s… different. But it’s beautiful.”

She managed a weak smile, nodding as she tied the scarf back around her head. “Thanks.”

Scott lay back down, his breathing evening out again as he drifted off.

Maggie sat in the dark, staring at her reflection.

“I just have to be good for one more day,” she whispered to herself.

But deep down, she knew this wasn’t going to get any easier.

------------------------------------------------------------

The morning of the next day passed uneventfully. Maggie kept her head down, her scarf tied firmly around her head to hide her golden hair. She moved through her tasks quietly, avoiding interactions with coworkers.

By lunchtime, she was feeling cautiously optimistic again.

Maggie sat alone in the corner of the restaurant, picking at her sandwich. She leaned back, letting her mind wander.

That’s when she saw them.

Two women sat at a nearby table, leaning close to each other. They whispered, laughed, and then kissed. At first it was a quick peck that turned into something more passionate. One of them giggled, brushing the other’s cheek.

Maggie stiffened, her gaze locking on them. Her thoughts turned sharp and unkind. Seriously? In public? Can’t they keep that to themselves?

The judgment felt immediate and visceral, and she had to stop herself from scowling outright.

As soon as the thought crossed her mind, the now-familiar tingling sensation returned. But this time, it wasn’t her hands or her scalp.

It was her lips.

The tingling intensified, spreading through her mouth as a strange warmth bloomed in her cheeks. She reached up, her fingers brushing against her lips…and froze.

They were swelling.

Her heart raced as the sensation grew. Her lips puffed up, becoming full and plush, the skin soft and hypersensitive. Every movement of her mouth sent faint, pleasurable shocks rippling through her.

Maggie bolted to the bathroom, avoiding eye contact with anyone. She slammed the stall door shut and stared at her reflection in the mirror.

Her lips were enormous, gleaming as though coated in gloss. She touched them hesitantly, and a wave of unexpected pleasure shivered down her spine. She gasped, pulling her hand away.

“No,” she whispered. “Not again.”

Her mind raced, trying to come up with a way to hide the change. She grabbed a tissue from the counter and dabbed at her lips, but nothing helped.

Back at her desk, Maggie sat stiffly, keeping her face turned toward her computer screen. It wasn’t long before someone noticed.

“Whoa,” Diane said, stopping by Maggie’s desk. “When did you get those done?”

Maggie blinked at her, confused. “What?”

“The lip fillers,” Diane said, gesturing toward her mouth. “They’re so… dramatic.”

Maggie forced a laugh. “Oh, yeah. Just… wanted to try something new,” she lied, the words awkward as they left her swollen lips.

Diane smiled. “They look amazing. Totally worth it.”

“Thanks,” Maggie mumbled, turning back to her screen.

The rest of the day was a blur of awkward conversations and attempts to avoid being noticed. Every smile, every word she spoke, sent faint shocks of pleasure coursing through her, making it impossible to focus.

When she finally got home, Maggie barely managed to fake her way through small talk with Scott. Her lips tingled incessantly, and her scarf felt suffocating.

“You okay?” Scott asked, giving her a curious look.

“Yeah,” she said quickly. “Just tired. I’m going to shower.”

She fled to the bathroom, locking the door behind her. Pulling off her scarf, she stared at her reflection. Sharp, red nails with long bright-blonde hair and puffy lips.

“This has to stop,” she whispered, gripping the edge of the sink.

But when she stepped out of the bathroom, Scott was waiting for her in the hallway.

“You’re acting weird again,” he said softly. “What’s going on, Maggie?”

She opened her mouth to brush him off, but the sight of him standing there made her chest ache. Before she could stop herself, she stepped forward and kissed him.

The sensation was electric. Her swollen lips tingled with pleasure, sending a rush of heat through her body. She pulled away quickly, her cheeks burning.

Scott blinked, clearly surprised, but he smiled. “Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?”

“Just… because,” Maggie said, her voice shaky.

She smiled faintly, though her heart was racing. As Scott walked back to the living room, she ran into the bathroom. The lingering sensation of the kiss still made her shiver and she needed release. She started the shower and stripped herself naked.

Her fingers found their way to her needy clit. She started frantically rubbing, trying to satisfy the hunger she felt growing all day. She nicked herself a couple of times with her sharp nails but quickly brought herself to climax.

------------------------------------------------------------

Maggie stood in front of the mirror the next morning, staring at her reflection. She sighed, tugging at a strand of hair. Why bother hiding it anymore? She hadn’t managed to keep her lips unnoticed, and sooner or later, people would notice the rest.

At work, Maggie’s confidence crumbled quickly.

Her nails clicked against the keyboard as she tried to type, the long, sharp talons making it nearly impossible to press the right keys. Each mistake grated on her nerves.

Her lips were no better, tingling with sensitivity that made speaking uncomfortable. Every word sent faint, pleasurable ripples through her, leaving her flustered and distracted.

She shifted in her chair, tapping her nails absently against the desk as she stared at the screen. The rhythmic click, click, click gave her a brief sense of calm. until she noticed the faint scratches left behind.

Her eyes widened as she ran her nails over the surface again. Tiny flakes of wood chipped away under the pressure.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered, pulling her hands back.

By mid-morning, Maggie knew she wasn’t getting anything done. The frustration of trying to work with her transformed body was too much.

She approached her boss’s office, her heart pounding. Bill was in the middle of a phone call when she knocked on the doorframe.

He waved her in, covering the receiver. “What is it, Maggie?”

She hesitated, clutching the edge of the door she faked a cough. “I… I’m not feeling well,” she said finally. “I think I need to go home.”

Bill frowned, glancing at her hair and lips, but didn’t comment. “Fine. Just make sure you log your hours.”

“Thank you,” she said quickly, turning to leave.

Maggie had barely made it halfway down the hall when it hit her.

A sharp, intense pressure swelled in her chest, forcing her to clutch at the wall for support. The fabric of her blouse pulled tight across her chest, and her bra straps bit into her shoulders as her breasts grew larger, rounder, and impossibly heavy.

Her breathing quickened as the transformation completed. She glanced down, her cheeks burning as she saw the buttons of her blouse straining to hold together. The outline of her swollen chest was impossible to ignore.

“No,” she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. “No, no, no…”

Realization struck like a blow: she had lied. She wasn’t sick. She just wanted to escape.

Her heels clicked against the tile as she rushed toward the exit, her arms crossed tightly over her chest to shield herself from curious eyes.

Once she reached her car, Maggie slammed the door shut and broke down, tears streaming down her face.

She looked ridiculous. Between her golden hair, swollen lips, and now her overly large chest, she felt like a caricature of herself.

“I can’t do this,” she sobbed, leaning her forehead against the steering wheel. “I can’t.”

But deep down, she knew she didn’t have a choice. The deal was binding, and she had one more day to get it right or to fail completely.

She wiped at her eyes. What am I going to tell Scott?

She decided to text Scott that she’d be home very late, swamped at work and for him not to wait up for her. She killed time driving around aimlessly until she knew Scott would be asleep.

She snuck into the bedroom and fell into a worried rest.

------------------------------------------------------------

Maggie woke early the next day. Beside her, Scott was still fast asleep, his face peaceful. She smiled faintly at the sight of him but quickly turned away, her resolve hardening. I just need to get through today, she thought.

On the kitchen counter, she left a handwritten note:

Gone for a hike. Needed some air. Be back later. Love you.

Grabbing a bottle of water and her hiking boots, she slipped out the door before Scott woke up.

The trail was secluded, winding through a forest thick with pine trees. Maggie hadn’t seen another soul since parking her car, and she was relieved by the solitude. The cool morning air smelled of earth and dew, and the crunch of gravel under her boots was the only sound she heard.

She walked for hours, letting her mind wander. For the first time in days, she felt like herself again. No one was watching her. No one was judging her. She didn’t have to lie, hide, or explain anything to anyone.

She stopped at a clearing, sitting on a large rock overlooking a small stream. The sunlight danced on the water’s surface, and Maggie found herself smiling.

This is what I’ve been missing, she thought. Peace.

As the sun began to set, Maggie made her way back down the trail. She’d spent the entire day without seeing a single person, without saying a single word. She’d been careful, thoughtful, and good.

When she pulled into the driveway, relief flooded her. She’d done it. I made it through the day.

Stepping inside, Maggie called out, “Scott? I’m home!”

“In the living room,” he answered.

Her heart lifted slightly at the sound of his voice, calm and familiar. But when she stepped into the room, she was met with a surprise.

Scott was sitting on the couch, looking at her curiously. Next to him, perched casually with his hands folded, was the mysterious man. His dark eyes gleamed as they roved over her, lingering on her blonde hair, swollen lips, and curvier figure.

“You’ve been busy, Maggie,” the man said warmly, his smile almost kind.

Maggie froze in place, her pulse hammering. Her hiking outfit did nothing to hide her new breasts. Her golden hair spilled over her shoulders, and her full lips glistened in the light. But it was the tightness of the tank top across her now-large chest that drew Scott’s attention first.

Scott’s expression shifted from confusion to shock. His eyes darted to her chest, widening as he registered the dramatic change.

“What the hell?” he said, standing abruptly. “Maggie… what is this?” His gaze swept over her, taking in her impossibly blonde hair, her plumped lips, and now her noticeably larger breasts.

Maggie winced, crossing her arms over her chest, but it did little to disguise the size. “Scott, I…”

“You haven’t been very good,” the man continued, his tone light, as though discussing the weather.

Scott’s head whipped toward him. “Who are you?” he demanded, his voice sharp. He turned back to Maggie, his confusion mingling with anger. “Maggie, what is going on? What happened to you?”

Her lips parted, a rush of heat flooding her cheeks. “I—”

“I mean,” he said, tilting his head as though considering, “you’ve certainly had your moments. But goodness? True goodness? That’s been in short supply, hasn’t it?”

Maggie swallowed hard, her shoulders slumping. “I know,” she admitted softly, her voice trembling. “I wasn’t as good as I wanted to be. But today…today I was good. All day.”

She straightened, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “That makes three days out of seven. I passed.”

The man’s smile widened slightly, a glint of amusement in his dark eyes. He inclined his head politely, as if acknowledging a fair point.

“Well,” he said, his tone almost playful, “she has done the math.”

“What the hell is going on?” Scott interjected, his voice sharp with confusion. He looked between them, his brow furrowed. “Who is this? And what is he talking about?”

Maggie opened her mouth, her mind racing for an explanation.

“He’s…” she began, her voice faltering. She glanced at the man, who raised a curious eyebrow, waiting patiently as though this were all part of a game.

Scott leaned forward, his expression tense and demanding. “Maggie, who is he?”

She hesitated, forcing a nervous laugh. “He’s… someone who’s been helping us. Helping me.”

Scott frowned deeply. “Helping? What does that mean? Helping with what?”

The man’s smile returned, slow and sharp. “Yes, Maggie,” he said softly, his voice laced with amusement. “Why don’t you tell him exactly how I’ve been helping?”

Her breath caught. She stared at Scott, then at the man, and back again. The truth hovered on the edge of her tongue, impossible to say without breaking the deal.

She glanced at the man again, her lips trembling. His expression was calm, expectant, like a predator watching prey corner itself.

“I…I can’t,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

The man’s eyes glinted with triumph. “Can’t you?”

Maggie’s heart raced, her pulse loud in her ears. The rules of the deal echoed in her mind: You can’t tell anyone about this arrangement.

Scott’s voice broke through her spiraling thoughts. “Maggie. Tell me the truth. What is this? What’s going on?”

Her hands shook as she looked between them, her husband and the man who held her fate. She could feel the trap closing around her.

Her lips parted, and she spoke the only words that mattered. “Scott… I made a deal.”

Scott stared at Maggie, his healthy face pale as confusion twisted his features. “What do you mean, a deal?” he asked, his voice trembling.

Maggie swallowed hard, her entire body trembling under the weight of her confession. “I… I made a deal with him,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I wanted to help you, Scott. To make you better, to fix everything. He promised he could cure you and take away all of our financial problems.”

Scott’s eyes darted to the man, sitting serenely on the couch with an air of polite detachment. “And you believed him?”

“I didn’t at first,” Maggie said, her voice cracking. “But then you started getting better. And the bills—they started disappearing. I thought… I thought I could handle it. Seven days. I just had to be good for seven days.”

“Good?” Scott echoed, his confusion giving way to horror. “What does that even mean?”

Maggie turned away, tears streaming down her face. “No lying. No snapping. No selfishness. Every time I messed up, he said it would show. And it did.”

Scott sat back, his hand running through his hair. “So all of this—your hair, your lips… everything—you didn’t tell me because you couldn’t.”

“I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone,” Maggie said, her voice breaking. “It was part of the deal. If I broke the rules…”

The man smiled faintly. “The consequences were clear, weren’t they, Maggie?”

Scott’s expression darkened, his fists clenching. “And now what? You’ve done all this to help me, and what, you’re here to rub it in?” He glared at the man. “What do you want? What’s your ‘due?’”

The man chuckled softly, leaning forward as his sharp gaze locked on Scott. “Ah, Scott. You misunderstand. I’ve already kept my end of the bargain. You’re healthy. The bills are gone. Everything is as Maggie wished it to be.”

Scott’s jaw tightened. “So you’re saying you’ve won.”

The man tilted his head slightly, his smile turning sharp. “Precisely. And now I collect.” ------------------------------------------------------------ I have an ending that I'll post, but I really want you all to help me out. What do you think happens to Maggie? I'll write multiple endings based on your input. Just reply to this story with your ideas.

#f2f transformation #f2f corruption #multiple endings

50 notes · View notes

augustwinesworld · 14 hours ago

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭

you didn’t know if you wanted to cut it.

description: the trio gets their hands on ODM gear, a decision that will affect their rest of their lives without them knowing.

pairing: underground! levi x underground! reader

genre: pathetic yearning/ fluff

warning: tooth rotting

notes: the virgin induced christian yearning in this one makes the wait completely worth it.

word count: 4.3 k

extra: moodboard | playlist | ☆:**:. 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐞 .:**:.☆

Feel free to #𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 (◕‿◕✿) *:･ﾟ✧ if you have any scenarios in mind! I might not write everything but I’ll respond to everyone.

series masterlist: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭

If the Underground had one redeeming quality, it was this: its endless maze of abandoned

Silent, shadowed, and forgotten by most—ideal for watching without being seen.

From your vantage point across the street, Ksaver's tavern was alive with noise and chaos.

The glow of lanterns spilled onto the streets, illuminating clusters of drunk Garrison soldiers who lingered outside, laughing too loudly and leaning too heavily on each other.

“You’d think they were on leave,” you muttered, shifting slightly behind the dusty crate that hid you from view.

“They definitely think they are” Furlan replied with a grin, adjusting the straps of his satchel. His gaze flicked toward the warehouse looming just beyond the bar. “A couple more drinks, and they won’t even notice if we waltz in and take what we want.”

“Don’t get cocky. Drunk doesn’t mean blind. If we get caught, there are no second chances.”

The warehouse stood high next to the tavern, though still inconspicuous. A fortress of stone and steel—thick walls with narrow windows barred by iron.

A single lantern above the main entrance cast an eerie glow over the heavy steel door.

If you stop to think about it, so many defenses make the hideout look out of place compared to the surrounding buildings—but to be fair, it's not that weird either.

And section D-4.

The warehouse’s location was no accident. It was close to one of the main access points to the surface, a perfect hub for transporting supplies or weapons.

Its proximity to the tavern provided a convenient excuse for soldiers to loiter nearby, their presence both a deterrent and a cover.

Strategically, the spot was flawless. The surrounding alleys narrowed into natural chokepoints, ideal for defending against an attack or ambush.

But the same features that made it easy to guard also made it predictable.

Once again, you scanned the perimeter, noting the lazy paths of the patrolling guards. Their footsteps irregular, as though they were half-heartedly going through the motions.

Furlan shrugged off Levi’s warning, his grin widening as he gestured toward the soldiers at the bar. “You know, they don’t look all that bright. One distraction, and we’re golden.”

Levi’s eyes narrowed, his voice dropping into that dangerously calm tone he always used before losing his patience. “One mistake, and we’re dead. This isn’t a game, Furlan.”

You stifled a sigh, crouching lower as you scanned the warehouse’s perimeter. A pair of guards moved methodically near the entrance, their lanterns casting faint pools of light. “Relax, Levi,” you said, your voice low but steady. “We’ve got this.”

His piercing gaze snapped to you, cutting through the dim light. “If I had a coin for every time you said that right before things went to hell, we wouldn’t need this job.”

Furlan snickered, nudging Levi’s arm with his elbow. “Lighten up, Captain. You’ll give yourself wrinkles.”

“Keep talking,” Levi muttered, his hand tightening around the hilt of his blade, “and I’ll give you something worse.”

Despite the harsh words, there was a rhythm to this—it was a routine that had carried you through countless close calls.

Still, the stakes felt higher tonight.

The plan was deceptively simple: avoid the guards, slip into the warehouse unnoticed, grab the gear, and get out. No unnecessary risks—but if they spotted you, there would be no retreat. You’d have to fight your way out.

Securing the ODM gear was the top priority, no matter the cost.

Levi crouched beside you, his eyes fixed on the guards patrolling the perimeter. “We move on my signal. Stay close, stay quiet, and don’t lose focus. If they see us, we end it fast—no hesitation.”

“Got it,” Furlan whispered, adjusting the straps on his satchel. “Though I doubt they’re sharp enough to notice anything.”

“They’re drunk, not blind,” Levi muttered, his voice low but edged with warning. “And even if they were, don’t get sloppy. We can’t afford mistakes.”

You stayed silent, your focus locked on the warehouse.

The guards’ paths were sloppy but predictable with patience.

They lingered near the main door longer than necessary, sharing drinks and trading jokes before pacing the perimeter with uneven steps. Their torches cast moving shadows, perfect for slipping through undetected.

Levi moved first, slipping into the dim alley like a shadow. His footsteps were silent as he hugged the wall of a neighboring building, gesturing for you and Furlan to follow.

One at a time, the three of you crossed the narrow street, sticking to the darker corners as you approached the back of the warehouse. The steel door loomed ahead, reinforced and locked tight.

The faint scuff marks near the hinges and chipped paint around the lock told a familiar story: this wasn’t the first time someone had tried to break in.

When you reached the side door, Furlan knelt to pick the lock, his fingers moving deftly over the worn mechanism.

“You sure you’ve got this?” you asked, glancing nervously over your shoulder.

He grinned without looking up. “Relax. It’s not my first dance.”

The lock clicked, and Furlan pushed the door open with a shit-eating grin. “After you,” he said with a mock bow.

Such a moron.

The air inside was thick with the smell of oil and rust, suffocating with very little light.

“There,” Levi said, his voice low as he nodded toward the far end of the room. Different sets of ODM gear hung on racks, their metallic components gleaming faintly.

You moved cautiously, your footsteps muffled by the dust-covered floor. Furlan reached the gear first, his grin widening as he inspected one of the sets. “A little outdated,” he murmured, running his fingers over the mechanisms. “But definitely worth the trip.”

“Take it and go,” Levi ordered, his gaze darting toward the door. “We’re not sticking around.”

You slung one set over your shoulder, the weight pressing heavily against your back as you adjusted the straps. On the other hand, Levi and Furlan grabbed two each just in case.

Just as you turned toward the exit, the sound of muffled voices reached you.

Your stomach dropped.

The guards were at the back door.

Levi’s hand shot up, signaling for silence. The three of you froze, your breaths shallow as the voices grew louder.

“They’ll notice the open lock,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Levi’s jaw tightened, his sharp eyes scanning the room. “If they come in, we take them out. Quick and quiet.”

The door creaked open, and two guards stepped inside, their lanterns sweeping across the room. Their boots scuffed against the floor as they muttered to each other.

The creak of the warehouse door sent a chill down your spine. Lantern light swept through the space as two guards stepped inside, their boots crunching faintly on the dusty floor.

“Check the racks,” one of them ordered, his tone clipped. “Captain’ll have our heads if we lose track of anything in here.”

Your heart pounded as the light moved closer to your hiding spot. The narrow gap between the crates was barely enough to conceal the three of you, and the weight of the ODM gear on your back made every shift of your body feel agonizingly loud.

“Wait,” one guard said suddenly, his footsteps halting. “Something’s missing.”

Shit.

Levi’s pointed gaze flicked toward you and Furlan, his fingers already tightening around the hilt of his blade.

The second guard stepped up to the racks, running his hand over the empty hooks where the gear had been. “What the hell…? It was here yesterday.”

Furlan’s grip on the strap of his satchel tightened. “They’re gonna figure it out,” he whispered, barely audible.

Levi’s eyes narrowed. “On my mark,” he murmured, his voice a thread of steel.

The first guard turned, his lantern swinging dangerously close to the crates. “Check the other side of the room. Maybe someone moved it.”

Levi moved before the guard could take another step. Silent as a shadow, he emerged from the gap and closed the distance in an instant. The flash of his blade was quick, precise—a clean strike that dropped the first guard before he could make a sound.

The second guard spun, his eyes wide with shock. “Hey! What—”

His shout was cut short as you lunged forward, your hands already on the haft of the short blade tucked into your harness. The guard’s lantern fell, clattering to the ground as he stumbled back, your blade slicing through his defenses.

Furlan stepped out next, grabbing the fallen lantern and snuffing its flame before the light could draw attention from outside. “Subtle,” he muttered, his grin strained but intact.

“Clear,” Levi said, his voice low as he scanned the room. He crouched to check the fallen guards, his movements quick and efficient. “We need to move. Now.”

You nodded, adjusting the weight of the gear on your back. The warehouse felt heavier with silence now, the echoes of your scuffle fading into the distance.

“Think anyone heard that?” Furlan asked, his tone almost casual as he slung his gear over one shoulder.

Levi didn’t answer, his focus already on the exit. He motioned for you to follow, his movements still sharp and deliberate.

The three of you slipped out the side door, sticking to the shadows as you retraced your path through the narrow alleys. Every sound seemed amplified—the scrape of your boots against the stone, the distant hum of voices from Ksaver’s tavern.

As you reached the edge of the alley, Levi raised a hand, signaling for a halt. He peeked around the corner, his grey eyes scanning the street ahead.

“All clear,” he said finally, stepping forward.

Relief flooded through you, though it was short-lived. The weight of the gear pressed heavily against your back, a constant reminder of what you’d risked—and what you’d gained.

By the time you reached the safety of your hideout, the adrenaline had begun to wear off, leaving your limbs heavy and your mind buzzing with exhaustion.

“Well,” Furlan said, dropping his gear onto the table with a thud. “That was fun.”

Levi shot him a glare, his voice cold. “You call that fun? If you hadn’t been so loud earlier—”

“Relax,” Furlan interrupted, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “We got what we came for, didn’t we?”

You sat down heavily, the stolen gear still strapped to your back. Despite the tension, a small smile tugged at your lips. “We’re alive. That counts for something.”

"Barely."

Levi didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on the gear. Finally, he nodded, his expression softening just slightly. “This was just the start. Next time, there won’t be room for mistakes.”

The abandoned factory near the hideout became your training ground.

It was vast and empty, the towering beams and rusted catwalks providing the perfect place to test the ODM gear without drawing attention.

Levi, annoyingly so, took to it immediately—balanced, studious, and calculated.

The same as always.

Watching him soar through the air, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy.

Furlan stood below, arms crossed, grinning up at you as you adjusted the straps of your harness. “Sure you don’t want to let the expert go first?”

You snorted, securing the final strap across your chest. “Pretty sure we’re both equally clueless about this.”

“Speak for yourself,” he replied, stepping back as you approached the edge of the platform. “I’ve been preparing for this my whole life. Born to fly, you know.”

Levi, perched on a beam several feet above, didn’t bother looking down. “Born to crash, maybe.”

Furlan gasped dramatically. “Was that a joke? From Levi? Someone mark this moment in history.”

“Keep running your mouth, and I’ll make sure you’re the first to ‘fly,’” Levi muttered, tightening his grip on his gear. His gaze flicked to you briefly, as if checking to ensure you hadn’t strapped something wrong.

The mechanisms in your gear hissed softly as you tested the triggers, the faint resistance sending a thrill of anticipation through your body. You took a deep breath, your fingers steady despite the rush of nerves in your chest.

“Alright,” you said, stepping closer to the edge. “Let’s see what this thing can do.”

The grapples shot out with a loud metallic hiss, embedding themselves into a beam high above. Gas hissed from the canisters on your back, and suddenly, you were airborne.

The initial jolt nearly threw you off balance, the weightless sensation both exhilarating and terrifying.

Air rushed past your face as the world blurred around you, beams and scaffolding flashing by in streaks of rusted metal.

You adjusted the tension, the pull of the cables propelling you forward in a shaky arc.

Then you realized your trajectory was off—badly off. You were heading straight for a beam.

“Shit,” you muttered, trying to adjust the line, but your inexperience betrayed you. The controls felt clunky, unresponsive. You braced for impact, your heart hammering.

The collision never came. Instead, a harsh tug yanked you sideways, and suddenly, Levi was there, his arm locked around your waist as he propelled you both toward a safer landing.

You hit the platform with a stumble, Levi steadying you as you regained your footing. His grip was firm, his breath steady despite the chaos of the moment.

“Careful,” he said, his tone clipped but quieter than usual.

You looked up at him, your chest still heaving from the adrenaline. His face was close—too close—and for a moment, all you could do was blink at him. “Thanks,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper. “I had it under control.”

Levi raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of disbelief and mild irritation. “Right. That’s why you were about to introduce your face to a steel beam.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the way his gaze lingered on yours made the words falter. There was something unreadable in his expression, an intensity that made your stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with the gear strapped to your back.

“Uh… you can let go now,” you said, your voice higher than you’d intended.

Levi blinked, as if realizing for the first time that he was still holding you. He stepped back quickly, his arms dropping to his sides with a stiffness that bordered on awkward. “You’re lucky I was watching,” he muttered, looking away.

“Always am,” you shot back without thinking, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

The silence that followed was loud.

Too loud,

Fuck.

Furlan’s laughter cut through it, his voice echoing from below. “Oh, that was smooth. I’ll give you that one.”

You turned, glaring down at him. “Shut up, Furlan.”

Levi cleared his throat, adjusting the straps of his gear. His expression was unreadable again, though a faint pink tint dusted the tips of his ears. “Get back up there,” he said flatly, nodding toward the scaffolding. “You’re not done until you stop flying like a drunk bird.”

The next few days blurred into a grueling routine. Each of you took turns practicing with the gear, alternating between bursts of progress and painful missteps. Furlan’s attempts often ended in chaos—his grapples tangling in beams, or his launches sending him spinning uncontrollably.

“Maybe this thing just doesn’t like me,” he muttered after his third crash into a stack of crates.

Levi, of course, took to the gear with ease. His movements were perfect: deliberate and efficient, each arc and turn executed with precision. Watching him was equal parts inspiring and frustrating—how did he make it look so easy?

One afternoon, after another exhausting round of practice, you sat on a ledge adjusting your gear. The straps were digging into your shoulders, the weight feeling heavier after hours of trial and error.

“You’re overthinking it,” Levi said, his voice cutting through your thoughts.

You glanced up at him, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He stepped closer, crouching beside you as he gestured toward the triggers in your hands. “You’re forcing the movement. The gear’s designed to work with your body, not against it. You’re trying too hard to control it.”

His voice was calm, measured, but the proximity made it impossible to focus. His fingers brushed against yours as he adjusted your grip, the warmth of his touch sending a jolt through you.

“Relax your wrist,” he said, his tone softer now. “Let the momentum carry you.”

You swallowed hard, nodding as you tried to ignore the way your heart had started pounding. “Got it.”

Levi stepped back, his arms crossing as he watched you with that same intense focus. “Try again.”

You inhaled deeply, gripping the triggers as you launched upward. This time, the motion felt smoother, more natural. The air whipped past your face, and when you landed on the next platform, you couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face.

“Better,” Levi called, his voice carrying easily across the factory.

You turned back to him, your chest tightening at the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It was subtle, barely there, but enough to leave you feeling unsteady all over again.

Furlan’s voice echoed from below. “Alright, lovebirds, break it up! Some of us are trying to survive down here!”

You rolled your eyes, heat rushing to your cheeks as you shouted back, “Shut up, Furlan!”

Levi didn’t respond, but the small smirk that flickered across his face was enough to make you forget your embarrassment—if only for a moment.

That evening, Furlan announced he was done for the day, dramatically clutching his lower back as he slumped onto a crate. “I think the gear hates me,” he said, shaking his head. “And honestly, I’m starting to hate it back. I’ll see you two tomorrow.”

Levi barely glanced at him. “Good. You crashing into things is getting annoying.”

Furlan chuckled as he headed for the exit, leaving you and Levi alone in the cavernous space of the factory. The air was cooler now, the sounds quieter as the faint hum of distant life settled into an almost eerie calm.

It was just you and Levi now, the dim light from the fractured windows casting long shadows over the beams and scaffolding.

You tightened the straps on your harness, pretending the silence wasn’t getting to you. “I’m going again,” you said, breaking the quiet.

“Not like that,” Levi’s voice cut in, sharp but softer than usual.

You turned to him, frowning. “What do you mean?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on you like he was sizing you up—not in the critical way he usually did, but as if deciding whether to elaborate. He stepped closer, his movements deliberate, and gestured to your harness. “Your straps. They’re too loose.”

You hesitated, glancing down at them. “They feel fine to me.”

“They’re not.”

Levi was already in front of you, his hands reaching for the straps before you could protest. The adjustment was quick, precise, and practical—his gloved fingers deftly tightening the leather across your collarbone with a firm but careful touch.

It should’ve been nothing, and yet you felt it everywhere. The warmth of his hand through the glove, the way he was so close you could feel his presence like a weight pressing against you. Your breath hitched despite yourself, and you fought the urge to look at him.

But you couldn’t help it. Your gaze flicked upward, catching him in a moment of complete focus. His expression was neutral, eyes locked on the harness, his attention so sharp it felt unfairly indifferent—like you weren’t standing right there, hyper-aware of every small motion he made.

“There,” he said, stepping back slightly. His voice was calm and clipped, efficient as always, but there was a flicker of something—hesitation?—in the way his gaze lingered on your face before dropping back to the straps.

You nodded, your voice quieter than intended. “Thanks.”

But instead of stepping away fully, Levi’s eyes shifted downward, landing on the straps at your waist and thighs.

His jaw tightened for half a second, his hand hovering as though he might reach for them. The urge was fleeting but sharp, a thought that passed too quickly to stop but lingered just long enough to make him tense.

He dropped his hand, straightening and stepping back with a slight shake of his head, which was now beet red. “The lower straps are loose too,” he muttered, his tone soft but edged with something he couldn’t quite hide. “Fix them before you go again.”

Your pulse quickened as you followed his line of sight, fumbling with the straps around your waist, your fingers clumsy against the worn leather. His words were practical, but the air between you felt anything but.

“Right,” you murmured, tightening the buckles and avoiding his gaze.

Levi crossed his arms, his eyes flicking back up to your face once you were finished, like he was assessing your work. “Next time, check everything,” he said, his voice steadier now, though the faint tension in his jaw remained.

You nodded again, swallowing hard. “Got it,” the silence stretched, thick and heavy with things you didn’t know how to name. Your face grew hot as you tried to come up with something to say—”um, thanks.”

You adjusted your stance, focusing on the triggers in your hands, trying to shake the weight of his attention. But it was impossible to ignore the way his presence settled over you, like an anchor you couldn’t pull free of.

It was nothing, and yet it wasn’t. You hated how aware you were of him, how he—

“Try it now,” he said, his voice softer this time.

You nodded again, turning toward the edge of the platform with shaky hands.

The grapples hissed as they shot out, embedding themselves into the beams high above. Gas propelled you forward, and for a moment, everything else fell away—the nerves, the tension, the weight of his eyes on you.

But when you landed, breathless and steady, it was all there again.

“Better,” he said, stepping forward. His approval was quiet, almost reluctant, like he didn’t want to give too much away.

You forced a small smile, trying not to let the words hit harder than they should. “Guess the straps really were the problem.”

His eyes lingered on yours for a moment, unreadable. “It wasn’t just the straps,” he said eventually, his voice quieter now. “You’re starting to trust the gear. That’s why it worked.”

You nodded, unsure of what to say. The silence stretched between you, not awkward but heavy, like there were too many things left unsaid.

“I’ll go again,” you said finally, taking a step back.

But Levi didn’t move.

“Wait,” he said, the word soft but firm enough to make you pause.

You turned to look at him, your pulse jumping when you saw the way his expression had shifted—something about the edges of his usual stoicism softened, just slightly. It made him look almost unsure, which was wrong in so many ways. Levi wasn’t supposed to look unsure.

“You’re still forcing it,” he said after a moment, his voice lower now, almost hesitant.

You frowned. “Forcing what?”

He sighed, stepping closer again. His hands reached for yours, adjusting your grip on the triggers like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But it wasn’t—not for you, anyway. His gloves were worn and rough, the touch fleeting and practical, yet it sent a warmth curling through you that made your chest ache.

“You’re thinking too much,” he murmured, his voice so quiet you almost missed it. “The gear works with you. Stop fighting it.”

“I’m not—” you started to argue, but his gaze stopped you short.

He was close now, closer than he needed to be, and the intensity in his eyes was almost too much.

You could feel his breath, steady and even despite the distance you’d just flown, and it made you horribly aware of how uneven yours was in comparison.

“Try again,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, and turned back to the edge of the platform. Your fingers tightened around the triggers, your grip firmer now but more deliberate, and you launched upward.

This time, the motion felt different. Easier. Smoother. The rush of air filled your lungs, and for a moment, you felt weightless in a way that didn’t terrify you. When you landed, it was with a steadiness that surprised even you.

You looked back at him, your chest still heaving. He was standing exactly where you’d left him, his arms crossed, his gaze sharpened but softer than usual.

“Better,” he said again, his tone quiet but unmistakably sure.

You smiled, though it felt too vulnerable, too honest. “Thanks.”

He nodded, but the way his eyes lingered made your stomach twist again. You thought about saying something—anything to cut through the heaviness between you—but before you could, he turned away.

“Don’t overthink it next time,” he said, his voice back to its usual clipped tone. But as he adjusted the straps on his gear, you caught the faintest trace of pink at the tips of his ears.

You swallowed back a laugh—soft and pathetic and a little bitter—and turned to reset your stance.

Levi didn’t look at you again, but his presence felt impossibly heavy. It was maddening, this quiet pull between you, like a thread you didn’t know how to cut.

You didn’t know if you wanted to cut it.

next chapter↠

#𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭 #𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬.｡.:*¤☆#levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman #𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 (august)#levi x reader #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan #aot fanfiction #aot x reader #levi ackerman x female reader #levi ackerman fanfiction

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kimingyuslover · 1 day ago

Text

Love me not

Love isn't too late for anyone, right? Word count : 2,324 words Pairing : kim mingyu x reader Genre : angst, love triangle, bestf to (?) Warnings : uhh, as always, tears (duh), mingyu is straight-up asshole, reader is a girlboss and also a resident doctor, wonwoo's a cardiothoracic surgeon, mingyu's job is not specified, mentions of drink, kind of minimal dialogue but at the same time it's not & like 1 (one) curse word, lmk if i miss any! ★ i'm in my active era, with nothing to do in my life so I just decided to write this in like, what, total 8 hours? it’s just a random thought that caught up in my mind for dayssss. need to repost this (cry)

☆ check out my other works > main masterlist

Mingyu's smile flattered when he read the invitation envelope he received this morning. There, he found a picture of you with another man— the man he saw at the coffee shop.

He could feel the way his heart clenched, and he sensed a twinge of jealousy in his heart.

Perhaps it's his fault, not caring about you enough that makes you think that you can't handle him anymore.

Or the way he would cancel your meetings abruptly because he just got a call from Jira where he rushes to everywhere she goes without asking any questions. Leaving you hanging alone in the restaurant that you both had decided to have dinner together.

The way he always mentions her names in every conversation, bringing her like she's the goddess god sent from the sky himself.

God, he can even imagine the way your smile slightly dropped and the disappointment evident on your face when he brought up her name that he had once not noticed, not caring about what you had said earlier.

Despite that, you stay by his side, offering your shoulder everytime he feels sad because of her, assuring him that he’s enough.

Mingyu remembers the day when everything started to shift.

You're not as welcome to him as before. Always avoid meeting him in person, and you are always busy.

He thinks it's normal at first, you're a resident after all, of course you're going to get busy someday that you can't even spare a glance or reply to his texts.

Meanwhile you, on the other hand, think that it's the best for you. Well, it is.

You're willing to step-out from the “more than friends but not in a relationship” situation with him, your heart also aches really great while you have to stay calm for him when he's telling his story, with her in it.

So after a while, you decided that you had enough of his & Jira's story, and you need to move on.So you do what you have to do earlier this time, you avoid him, busying yourself with patience, and always looking for surgery that needs an assistant, minimising your interaction with him.It's not that hard, actually. You're literally a cardiac resident. You will always get busy.

There you met who you called now– the love of your life, Jeon Wonwoo. He’s the main doctor for organ transplant operation, and you're the assistant.

After the operation was successful, he treated you to a coffee shop down the road and both of you had fun, talking about patience cases that you have, and even some stories on the ER where you are located right now.

“So, any interest in a relationship, or you're just single?” He asks while sipping his cup of ice americano– he claims that's what keeps him awake in every before or after a big operation.

You think for a few seconds, this is the first time when you feel like yourself again and have people asking about you, not any other person.

Feeling like you zoned out, he calls your name again, in which you respond with a shy smile on your face, and you apologise for spacing out.

You open your mouth to speak again, “No, I don't have any interest in a relationship for now, I want to focus on being a doctor first, like you!” you said with a light-hearted laugh. He did the same.

Then someone opens the coffee shop door, making the bell rings, your eyes trained to the glass door, you freeze when you see Mingyu, in all his glory.

He seems to notice you too, but when he looks in your direction, you already turn your eyes towards the doctor in front of you. Yes, he searched for you in the ER, but the receptionist said that you're currently in a cafe with a doctor.

After placing his order, he sat next to the counter, waiting for his name to be called by the barista.

He noticed the way you laugh so freely, like the burden on your shoulder just lift up when you are with that man.

He frowns, you never be as free as you are right now when you're with him, you always keep your distance, and he's your best friend! That doctor is just someone you met along the way.

[⋆✴︎˚｡⋆]

“What do you want, Mingyu?” That's it, no more ‘gyu’ and the tone of your voice is cold, stabbing him in the heart.

He took a long breath, “What's wrong with us? You never seem to notice me anymore. Hundreds of my messages go unread, and you never gave me a check”

His words really make you wanna laugh. What's wrong with you both? You don't know, but one thing for sure, he needs you to tell the story about him and his beloved to you, crying his heart out and then leaving like nothing's going on between you.

You bite your bottom lip. Before allowing yourself to let out a chuckle, Mingyu cuts you off.

“Why are you laughing? It’s not a time for that” You seriously want to punch the guy in front of you, “You not here anymore when i needed you the most, Jira and i–”

That's where you draw the line, you put your “I don't care, Mingyu. Actually, fuck you kim mingyu” His breath hitched when you said that, hands growing cold.

“You are always nagging this and that about you and Jira, I don't care about her, I only care about you, all my whole life I only cared about you” Your finger pointed at him accusingly.

You stop yourself for a second, trying to catch your breath, you see Mingyu opening his mouth, wanting to speak but you cut him off.

“No, you don't get to say anything about this. All i ever do is just a backburner, the person who you came when you have any problems and dump all your problems with me, and then when you feel better you always go to her even you knew that she would make the same mistake over and over again and you will come running to me with your tears stricken face”

“You promise to listen to me too, I've had enough of your drama, I've talked to you before you even brought her up, and somehow you still did even if it's not relevant. I'm sacrificing my own happiness for you, Jira had everything i've ever wanted and that is you”

You snatched your bag from the seat beside you, pulled out a 50 dollar bill, put it on the table and you stormed off.

Mingyu was just sitting there, and that's when he felt it come back. The ache in his heart, he feels his heart clenched in the worst way possible.

Only you can make him feel like this, not even Jira can do this to him. Hearing the words fall off from your mouth is hurting him, and he doesn't know why.

[⋆✴︎˚｡⋆]

Days turn into weeks and weeks turn into months. It's been approximately 7 months since the last time Mingyu saw you and heard from you.

You moved out from your old apartment the next day, making him ponder since when you start to pack your things, have you been planning this all the months back?

In the first month, he felt so lonely without your presence, no one sent him a ‘good morning’ ‘evening’ and ‘night’ text, his apartment also felt cold without you.

You used to come here often on saturday and sunday night, warming up the apartment with movies ready on your disk.

Now, his weekend nights feel empty, no one would play and watch his favorite movie with him.

And in the third month he realised when he saw you again, this time with Wonwoo beside you, talking and laughing together. He felt a throbbing pain in his heart when he saw that scenery.

oh.

All the times he felt in your presence, is the sign that he likes you or worse yet— loves you.

He realised he never felt anything towards Jira, that it's just a passing crush to keep his true deep feeling. He has liked you since the day you turned 14, the way your eyes light up when your family and him decide to surprise you in your sleep.

The memory just made his wound that he considered still fresh getting sprinkled by a handful pinch of salt.

It burns him alive and he loses all the respect he has for himself.

He thinks he has moved on, the old trick under the sleeves, getting over someone by getting under someone.And finally, it's now been a year and a half since he last heard from you.

Mingyu walks to his apartment with groceries on both of his hands, and then when he gets inside, he puts the things on his kitchen counter and goes to the bedroom to change his outerwear.

He's not in the mood to do anything today, so he took his laptop to watch some movies, but then an email caught his attention, it's from you.

So he opens it, and finds an envelope there.

Mingyu read the body of the email, because a word cought on his eyes.

hi, sorry. I know we have been in no contact for a year and a half, but I want to invite you, we once have something, don't we? :) Love is in the air.docx

He lets out a shaky breath, scared if he opens the document then his heart would shatter to the ground beneath his feet.Oh well, he opens it with hesitation on his face and heart. He takes a deep breath before finally opening the invitation.

The document has three pictures of you with him, the doctor he hates so much with all of his heart despite there's no interaction between them.

It’s a wedding card.

There's the date and time of your wedding ceremony and the reception.

He feels his tears on the edge of his eyes, threatening to fall right now and then, he already has his heart shattered the day you leave and now he feels another throbbing pain with the fact that you will never be his.

[⋆✴︎˚｡⋆]

“Don't marry him” You feel like the time has just stopped right now.

Seeing Mingyu all dressed up in your wedding was definitely on your bingo list— well, last year. but seeing him now? It's just like the burden you had on your shoulder a year ago came back to you.

You used to imagine yourself going through a wedding ceremony with you as the bride and him as the groom.

You're very much confused by his behavior, so you open your mouth, though you didn't say anything because you’re speechless.

Mingyu repeats the words he just said the second time to you, looking at you with hope in his eyes.

“Why?” you asked, you want to add something after that but you halt your actions, waiting for him to answer you.

Mingyu started at the ground for a moment, before looking at you, yet again, “Why? You know why”

You snap, saying no to him only for it to be denied by him, making you say no to him again.

“What?” Then he asked, after pinning him for years, hearing him say that makes your blood boil.

You want to slap Mingyu, but you compose yourself, not wanting to make your special day be ruined by a man that doesn't know and seems like he's not willing to know about your feelings even when you gave him a clear sign.

“No, no Mingyu– You're being mean. stop it.” he can hear the finality of your words, but he didn't want to stop there, “How am i being mean?” there's a stern expression on his face.

“I have been second to Jira my whole life, in everything and that including you. I'm not going to be the person you settle for just because you cannot have her”

“I won't do it, because i've been wasting my entire life loving you but all you see is just Jira, never once i crossed your mind, and you don't have the right to stop me from marrying the man i love” You don't even want to cry anymore, tears for him is already dry long time ago.

Mingyu tries to hold your hand, wanting to confess his feelings, but instead he lets out a question and the second he finishes his sentence he regrets it, “Isn't I the man you love?” his voice is silent, not quite above a whisper.

“Don’t make me laugh Kim Mingyu, you get rid off me as soon as you and Jira reconcile, even both of you were not in a relationship, you run into me when Jira is busy and then the next day you gone for a week and the cycle keep going leaving me stressing over my own feeling”

Before he could say anything, you told him to get out of the room, but you know he's a rock headed person, so you already told the groomsman to wait outside the door after he gets in.

Mingyu heard the door open and he knew it's time for him to get the fuck out and wait for your ceremony, he said something before he leaves, “i love you, i'm sorry” and so he get his last words to you.

For the rest of his life, Mingyu can only hear your voice from a distance, the way Wonwoo kisses you is heart wrenching to the guts of his body.

Now he can only see you again when suddenly bumps into you, or when he goes to your favorite places and on his screen.

And even then, you're not alone, you will be with your new husband that you're marrying today, there's no chance for him to be in your picture.

#seventeen x reader #seventeen scenarios #seventeen #seventeen au #seventeen angst #mingyu x reader #kim mingyu pls marry me #mingyu angst #mingyu #wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo x reader #svt angst #svt x reader #kml.writes☆

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