#So I will just keep day dreaming about it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

webslingingslasher · 2 days ago

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Hey, j! an u do nerdy!Peter and Angel being scared she's using him?

*a/n: nerdy!peter has finally been released from his cage. he missed you all very much.

'and what do you do for him?'

you've been thinking about it for days. peter's softly snoring on your left but you can't sleep, tossing and turning, looking down every so often at your ring finger and feeling the same gut punch you have for the past seventy two hours.

your friend's cousin just moved to new york to follow her dreams, she's nineteen and full of life. she also very innocently asked a question that sent you tumbling down a whirlpool. you all met up for brunch, you even went the extra mile and snuck her a mimosa to show how friendly the city would be to her- but then she had to ask about your ring.

it's a new addition, you just got used to the weight and sparkle but anytime someone asks, you're shoving it in their face and bragging.

'that's a big ass diamond!'

'i know! i couldn't believe it when he asked me... i kept asking him if he was sure.'

of course you had to spill all the proposal details, your friend's cousin awwing at the right moments before doubling down with a congratulations. it was a nice moment that led into other conversations, somehow falling back on rent prices.

'it's fucking crazy out here, i don't know how you guys do it. how much do you pay in rent?' your friend shared her monthly rent, you stayed quiet, her cousin was looking at you for an answer.

'ew. you think i pay rent?' you flashed your ring again, giggles fell around the table, the topic moved on. someone mentioned a restaurant, you chimed in to say it was amazing, that your fiance took you there for your last anniversary.

'god damn, the cheapest thing on the menu is two hundred bucks! i looked it up and a glass of wine was like eighty dollars, that's crazy!'

'hmm... peter splurged on a bottle.' there was a chorus, the girls loved hearing that. you shrugged at your humble brag. when you have a good man, you want everyone to know. little comments got brushed under the table, nothing major until the bill came.

you offered to pay, the two girls with you excited with your generosity. 'ah, don't thank me, it's on peter.' you slid the credit card to the end of the table, your friend's cousin put the final nail in the coffin.

'okay, okay, you gotta tell me. so, he buys for your friends, he pays the rent, he buys you super expensive dinner, you have a rock on your finger... and what do you do for him?' she laughed, your friend laughed, you laughed. it was funny. until you couldn't come up with anything you give him back.

now it's been three days and you're watching peter sleep, feeling more and more guilt creep in by the minute. you don't deserve the things he's given you. you're not sure if curling up to him makes you feel better or not but he's warm and your eyes are finally feeling heavy.

---

'good morning, angel.' peter made you breakfast and while your heart fills with adoration, you have to fight the urge to frown. he does everything for you and you can't even make him breakfast?

'good morning.' you're still tired, you weren't able to sleep in either. rest hasn't come easily to you, peter's been noticing it too. 'i felt you moving around last night.'

'i couldn't sleep. i finally dropped off around three.' you sit at the kitchen counter and rest your head on your hand, peter kisses your forehead, the oven timer goes off. he made cinnamon rolls.

'was anything keeping you up? you've been a little quiet since you had lunch with your friends.' he knows something's off, he's just not prying it out of you yet. 'i don't know, i couldn't get my mind to turn off i guess.'

you're staring at your ring again, peter serves you the middle roll. it's the best one. he splurged on the ring, he pays for the rent, he pays for every date, he buys for your friends, he gives you the middle cinnamon roll and you... and you...

'i know i don't have to tell you this, angel, but just in case... you can tell me anything. even if it's something you don't think i want to hear.' peter's thinking it's something about your friend or work, something that doesn't really pertain to him but if it's weighing on you, it should weigh on him too.

'i know.' you reach for your breakfast, the shine of your diamond stops you. 'how much did you spend on my ring?' peter's looking at your ring too, a sly smile crosses over his face.

'that's for me to know and you to never find out.' he's not saying it because it was cheap, you know it wasn't. you wouldn't care if it was, the fact he got down on one knee and asked you to be his forever was enough to say yes, even if he did it with a ring pop. but you've been scrolling and trying to do your own investigative work and what you've found makes you feel like you don't deserve it.

'how much money do you make every month?' you have an idea but you don't have a specific number and you need a dollar amount. peter looks at you funny, probably because your question came from left field. 'why do you want to know?'

'because i'm going to marry you and i want to know your finances.' it's a cheap shot around the truth, peter knows it too. 'alright, well, we'll talk about that when we get there. we haven't even talked about the wedding yet.' you told peter you wanted a couple months to bask in the fiance glow and you'd start planning when you got bored of it, he had no problems with it.

'i think money is a great starting point, how else am i supposed to know our budget?'

'tell me how much you want to spend and i'll let you know if it's possible.' you don't want a numbers game but you'll play. 'ten thousand?'

'yes.'

'twenty?'

'yes.'

he has to draw the line somewhere, you're going to find it. 'fifty?' he laughs through a bite of icing, you feel like you still haven't scraped the barrel. 'if you can find a way to blow fifty grand on a wedding, sure.'

you're not pushing it any further, you have a feeling that no matter what you said, peter would tell you it's doable. it's frustrating and the only thing that eases you is the sweet, sticky pastry in front of you. 'you'd tell me if you were broke, right?'

'hey,' peter puts his cinnamon roll next to yours. 'you've never had to worry about money before, you don't need to now, either. is that what you're worried about? our wedding budget?' it's not but you'll take the bait, you're tired of talking in circles.

you take too much and he'll never admit it.

'yeah.' you're looking at your ring again, you're not hungry anymore.

'don't worry about it, angel.' peter kisses your temple. 'i'll take care of you.' you know he will. that's why you feel so bad.

---

you might not be able to do much but you can pay for dinner.

'i want to go out for dinner.'

peter's on board. 'ooh, date night. whatcha thinking?' you blurt his favorite place, he's extra excited now. 'double yes, six or seven?'

'six thirty?' you think his eyes have stars in them. 'i love when you meet me in the middle. six thirty it is, i'll reserve a table right now.' you grin, your plan is already rolling into motion.

his favorite dinner and when he leasts expects it, you're going to put your card down instead. it'll be your treat tonight. even if it's minor, it'll make you feel better.

at least you thought. dinner was excellent, the conversation was even better- you felt more connected to him tonight than you had in the past week. the second the bill came, you scrambled for it.

'oh, do you want to guess the total?' it's a small game you've both come up with, you each take a guess at the number to see who memorized the prices best. 'nope, i'm paying for this one.'

'cute. pass it over, angel.' he thinks you're playing, you refuse to hand the check back to him.

'it's on me tonight.'

'then pay with my card.' you shake your head, 'i'm using mine. dinner's on me, i mean it.' peter's uncomfortable but he's playing nice in public. 'no. give me the check, please.'

you hold it with a vice grip, he would have to pry it from you. 'i'm paying, peter.'

'no you're not. you don't pay for me, that's my job.' you grit your teeth in frustration before easing into a smile. 'not tonight, petey. let me take over.'

'not happening. give me the check.'

'no. i'm paying.' you won't let him win this one. you need this, you need to feel useful for something. 'angel, seriously, hand it over.'

'no.'

'i always pay, let me see it.' that's more than enough reason to keep it from him. 'exactly, let me get this one this time.' peter looks at you dead on, he's not budging. 'no.'

'you're not paying for this no matter what, peter. i wanted to treat you to dinner and i am.' he sighs, you know he's about to gentle parent you into giving him what he wants but you're prepared for it and you won't give in.

'go ahead and pay for it, i'm just going to send you the money for it.' your mouth parts, you didn't expect that curveball. 'if you do, i'm sending it back. double.'

'i'll block you from sending it back, don't test me.' you buffer in the silence, peter tries to grab the checkbook from your hands, you slide it underneath the table. 'i'm paying and you're not reimbursing me. got it?'

you have your card ready, the second you see the waiter you'll hand it over before peter can think about reaching for his wallet. 'you're not paying and that's final.'

'no, i'm paying and that's-'

'are we ready with the check or do we need some more time?' you grin at the waiter, he came right on time. you hand over the bill and your card, peter's card is outstretched with yours. the waiter looks between the two with an awkward smile, you push yours further out- peter opens his big mouth.

'don't take her card. use mine.'

'i'm capable of buying you a dinner!' your waiter's caught in the middle and on everything in you, you swear he went with peter because he's a man. 'use mine.' your waiter takes peter's card and swiftly leaves the table.

you're defeated. you slump back in your seat with crossed arms.

'i told you i was paying.' he's happy about it. the one thing you thought you could give him, he just took from you. you don't know if you're more mad at him or yourself. you blankly stare at the wall across from you. you stare at it when peter's card is returned, you stare at it as he signs the receipt, you stare at it while he asks if you're ready.

you move in silence. you have nothing positive and nothing negative to say. you feel beat down. 'and what do you do for him?' nothing. not even pay for a god damn dinner. peter swings his arm over your shoulder, you shrug it off a block down.

'wanna get some ice cream?' you shake your head. you don't want to force another expense on him. 'oh c'mon, you love something sweet after dinner. how about that chocolatier place next to the apartment?'

you think he can sense you're upset. 'i'll let you pay. how about that?' he knows you're mad about it and offering you to pay for a cupcake instead of a full blown dinner sounds like he's giving you peanuts.

'can you go to may's?' he looks confused. 'why? what's at may's?'

'hopefully you. unfortunately we live together and i don't want to be around you right now.' you can shut him out of the bedroom but it sucks knowing he's right there... probably doing something for you that he won't let you return the favor on.

'you're kicking me out because i didn't let you pay for dinner? that's a little extreme.' your guilt comes out as anger, it's not his fault but it is. 'no, peter, you're the extreme one. i'm supposed to marry you and you can't even let me buy you dinner? i'm going home, don't follow me.'

of course he's following you. 'this is a really stupid thing to argue over.'

'yeah, it is. so why are you?' if he thinks it's so stupid why wouldn't he just let you pay? couldn't he tell how much you needed it? 'i'm not fighting with you, angel. i just don't know why after five years buying me dinner is a hill you want to die on.'

'because! you, you- ugh! go to may's, i'm done with you.'

peter's been with you long enough he knows when to back off. 'fine. you win. i'll hang with may for a couple hours but i'm not sleeping there.' if he thinks that means anything to you, he has another thing coming. 'i'm locking the bedroom door, you can sleep on the couch.'

'are you-'

'serious? deathly. thanks for dinner, peter.' you made sure to end the argument on how it started, just in case he needed to ask himself how he got in his position. you take off into a small crowd and arrive home by yourself.

the small adrenaline rush you had settled, all you can think about is your fiance. he bought you dinner and you yelled at him. he paid for a meal and you kicked him out of the home he pays rent for. even when you're trying to do the right thing you failed.

you stare at your ring, think of peter's confused face and start crying. once you start, you can't stop. every negative thought and feeling you've harbored comes pouring out- you're nasty and you don't deserve peter.

and you damn well don't deserve his ring. not an expensive one. you're not worthy of it, you've given him nothing in return. turning the hall for your bedroom, you fall on your shared bed and feel worse thinking about how peter bought the new mattress.

he's tailored the last four- basically five years of his life to you and your wants and needs and you can't think of a damn thing you've given in return. you sob, your tears are salty and you're happy peter isn't there, if he was, holding you would make everything worse.

this was a private breakdown, the kind where you feel like you're about to throw up from crying too hard. you gasp for air, the ring on your finger feels choking. you rip it off your finger and slam it down on the nightstand, you can finally breathe. tears are still racing down your cheeks but you can think clear, everything screams that you need to tell your fiance.

you need to tell peter that you're not okay because now you're treating him like he isn't okay. and it's all because of the ring. you can try and cope with everything else but a two carat diamond on your hand was too far. you have the ring but no wifely duties, you just watch peter tend to your every need and feel more and more useless.

it feels good to cry about it. you feel less like a monster. you sniffle and catch yourself tearing up about it over and over, you squeeze your eyes shut- you think you fall asleep crying.

---

the tv is on when you wake up. the bedroom is dark but you can see a peek of light under the door, a soft candance of sound follows with it. peter's home and even though you didn't lock the door, he's respecting your space.

your ring is still on the nightstand. you have to give it back. and apologize to the person you love most. you hesitantly grip the gem in the palm of your hand, it feels heavier than normal, you're not sure if you're doing the right thing.

but you see that peter's still awake and folding the laundry you left in the dryer. you've never felt more sure. you don't deserve the ring. you don't deserve him.

'i thought you were down for the night.' you check the microwave for the time, it's a little after eleven. you're not sure how to tell him, seeing him fold your socks sends a pang to your heart. you hold out your hand, he does it back, your engagement ring falls into his palm.

'i don't want it.'

panic. instant, fucking, panic. 'what do you mean you don't want it? the ring? me? engagement? are you breaking up with me?' peter's chest rises and falls rapidly, all of a sudden your panic is matching his and you're crying again.

'angel, you really need to talk to me right now. why is your ring not on your finger? what does 'i don't want it' mean?' you shake your head, peter's trying to be the calm one but he's failing.

'why the fuck did you give me your ring back?'

you whimper, it sounds like you just got shot. you did the wrong thing. you keep messing up. 'i'm sorry! i'm sorry, i'll just-' you try to take it back, peter's hand closes around it. 'no. you don't give me your ring and tell me you don't want it just to take it back.'

'i didn't mean it, i swear i didn't mean it. i want it back!'

'you meant it enough to give it back! what the hell is happening?' you went too far, you're not sure how to take it all back. 'give me my ring back, peter!' you're fighting with him for it, it's a lost cause but you're not giving up.

'you can't walk up to me after a fight, tell me you don't want the ring and start crying and beg for it back when i question you. no, you're not getting it back.' you're trying to pry his fingers off it, struggling more and more with each passing second.

'you've been weird for the past week. are you getting cold feet? do you want to call off the engagement? i'm at such a loss right now, why the hell would you give me your ring back?' you're in a panic, everything is crumbling at your fingertips.

'because i don't like it!' peter stops fighting as hard, you gasp for air the second it's back on your finger. it feels like a bandaid on the situation but it's better than nothing when you're preparing for war.

'you don't like the ring?' he sounds sad. really, really sad. 'that's okay, angel. i wish you would've said something sooner but we can pick something else out.' you can't let him be this kind when he's sad. the truth has to come out.

you sit next to him on the couch and lay your head on his shoulder, sometimes hard things are easier to say if you're not looking at him.

'i love the ring, peter. i really do. i just don't deserve it.'

even if you missed wearing it for a few minutes, you feel ashamed looking at it. 'why wouldn't you deserve it?' you chew on the inside of your cheek, you don't know how to explain it without him brushing it off. you have real, valid concerns about the future you have with him.

'you're gonna think it's stupid.' you're soft spoken.

peter matches it. 'maybe. but tell me anyway.' you take a deep breath and close your eyes, the story spills out. it starts last week at brunch, you give him the side comments that fell into your internal crisis.

'-and when she asked 'what do you do for him' i couldn't think of one thing. so i kept thinking about it and i don't have anything. i use you, peter. you pay for the rent, you buy me anything i want, you make dinner all the time, you clean the dishes, and you gave me a big ass diamond i don't deserve. i don't deserve you.'

peter leans his head back against the couch, a deep breath follows. 'and when i refused to let you buy me dinner, it was the final straw.' it was a very small, fine straw but he didn't know the load you were carrying- of course it all fell apart right there.

'i want to spend the rest of my life with you. i just don't want you to wake up one day and regret it when you realize i don't do enough in return.' that's the biggest fear you have. the unspoken one that kept haunting you, that one day ten years from now, you'd wake up to an empty house with a pack of divorce papers.

'you're right, angel. i think it's stupid.' you restrain from telling him off, you're glad you did. 'but it doesn't sound stupid to you, so, as the person who asked you to marry them, do you want to hear why i think you deserve it?'

you nod against his shoulder. 'please.'

'because it's you. that's why you deserve it. you have had my back every day for the past five years, like, you're solidly in my corner. and i've never had that from another person before. if i have to cancel something for spider-man, you tell me not to say sorry for it. when i forgot my cheat sheet for my third year midterm, you ditched your class to bring me it. when i was sick a couple months ago, you called out of work to take care of me. when i helped may move in her new furniture, you were there before i was. you pack me lunch every day, with a note and every day when i come home i get greeted with an 'i missed you' and a kiss.'

you hope if you stay quiet he'll keep going. he does.

'that's something i can't repay you for. but i can take care of you and make your life easier, and that makes me feel better about it. you give me a reason to get out of bed in the morning, if anything you deserve a bigger ring.'

peter bragging about you made you feel a lot better. he thinks you give him more than enough, it's just in a different way. 'if we're being honest, the money stuff makes me a little uncomfortable, i feel like you're spending too much on me.'

it was never about the wedding or the ring, it was about how much you think you're really worth. 'that's where all the questions came from?' you nod, peter shifts around, you end up curled in even closer to his side.

'i just don't want you spending more money than you have to just because you think it's your job to provide for me.'

'if we're being honest, i have something to tell you.' your fears are true, you put peter into crippling debt. 'i wasn't sure how to tell you and you were going to find out eventually but... remember that trust fund my parents left for me that i got when i turned twenty one?' it's worse than you thought. he never got one, did he?

'yeah?'

'i don't know why i lied but i got a lot more than i actually told you.' you slowly raised your head up to look at him, he's nervous for your reaction. you're still processing what was said.

'peter, are we rich?' you watch his hand teeter back and forth, your jaw drops open. 'i was stressed out for an entire week about you paying rent and now you're telling me we have money?!'

you gasp, would you be able to accomplish every new yorker's dream? 'do we have house money?' peter corrects you quickly. 'okay, woah, calm down, we're not millionaires... but yes, we do have a down payment on a house money.'

you've been bamboozled. 'then where's the house?'

'wedding first, house second. whatever's leftover from the wedding we can put down on a house.' that made your decision real quick. 'courthouse. i want a three bedroom.'

'we can have a wedding and a three bedroom, i promise. once we get married it becomes our money and we can spend it however we want. but until then it's my money and i'm gonna make sure you get a wedding out of it.' you'll accept it but it still doesn't feel even.

'i just feel bad that you do everything and i barely do anything to repay you.' now that you noticed it you're not sure if you'll be able to notice it. 'what does do everything mean to you?'

'you pay the rent, you pay the bills, you pay for all our dates, you clean the dishes and cook dinner five night out of the week-' you point to the mess in front of you- 'you fold our laundry.'

'we already talked about rent and bills, that conversation is over. i pay for our dates because you buy the groceries, in case you forgot.' you might've. 'if you pay for it when we eat at home, i should pay for it when we go out. the other stuff is household chores, i live here, i should do those things. i make dinner because we have to eat, i clean dishes because they need to get washed, i fold the laundry because half of it is mine. do i really need to tell you how you do way more than me around here?'

it doesn't feel like you do so... 'yes.'

'you wash our sheets once a week and remake the bed, you make the bed every morning, every sunday you plan out our dinners and go shopping. i've never touched our vacuum, actually, i don't think i've ever adjusted a pillow on this couch either. you decorated for christmas and halloween, you're definitely the only one who's ever cleaned the shower and don't think i haven't noticed how since you've moved in i've never, not even once, run out of deodorant or toothpaste. i help with some stuff but you're the one that makes this a home, angel.'

you do all those things. and support peter with everything in you.

you do deserve the ring.

'so i really earned the wifey title?'

'more than earned. you were made for that role... in a non misogynistic way, of course.' you grin, you can't wait to marry him. 'i can't believe i didn't think i did enough. i'm kind of awesome around here, aren't i?'

'you're the reason we're able to run the routine so smoothly, all i do is keep the lights on.' you raise your eyebrows, 'maybe you're the one that doesn't deserve me.'

'you're probably right. that's why i gotta use the free rent ruse to trick you into staying with me.' you play gasp and show off the best piece of jewelry you'll ever be gifted. 'and you trapped me with a diamond.'

'if i keep you focused on the sparkle you won't notice my con man ways.' he must see you lost in the little rainbows. 'well, it's working.'

'good. let me know when it starts to wear off, i'll get you a bigger one.' you know he's joking but you don't want a bigger diamond, you like this one. it's perfect because it's the one he picked out for you.

'you know, sometimes bigger isn't better.'

#nerdy!peter drabbles #peter parker x reader #peter parker blurb

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p1astr81 · 2 days ago

Text

‘tis the damn season

in which: Oscar’s ex calls him up one afternoon, proposing that they fake their relationship for a week at her parent’s house.

pairing: Oscar Piastri x fem!reader

warnings: loosely based on the TS song, use of y/n (once or twice), Oscar is hella whipped, cursing, idk I think that’s all.

wc: 7.3k

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧ * ‧₊˚ ‧

Your thumb hovered over the call button, mentally preparing for the awkward conversation that was about to take place. Your chest rose and fell in deep motions.

Before you could psych yourself out, your finger mashed the call button.

“Oh my god, please don’t pick up. Please don’t pick up. Please don’t pick up. Please don’t p-“ he answered after the second ring. “Hey!” Your voice shook, an embarrassing amount of vulnerability.

“Y/n? Has something happened? You sound… on edge.”

You pulled at the strings of the blanket draped across your lap. “Well, I have a very big favor to ask of you, and of course you can say no. I mean it’s a huge favor—really weird actually,” you laughed awkwardly.

“It can’t be that bad.”

It was tough to swallow the lump in your throat. “My whole family want to spend next week at our cabin, and I…” it was suddenly hard for you to breathe, your heart ten pounds heavier. Oscar remained silent. “Well,” you sighed, “would you be able to come along?”

The silence on the other end was deafening. Not even distant breath. The static filtering through the speakers inflated your anxiety with every passing second.

“Okay.” He gave in with a breath. “Just text me the details.”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

SUNDAY

Living out in Nice, the drive to his Monaco apartment wasn’t unbearably far. You stepped out of the car to help him put his bags in your trunk. You’d decided to take your car because, changes are, it would do better in the mountains than his McLaren.

When you rounded to the back of the car, the trunk was already closed, and soon the sound of your driver’s door shutting reached your ears.

You found Oscar occupying the driver’s seat. “What are you doing?” You raised a brow. Oscar smiled innocently. “have you ever driven when we are together?” It was a question not meant to be answered. You didn’t fight him, knowing it was a losing game. You just rolled your eyes and took up your place in the passenger’s seat.

You and Oscar traveled in near silence, only your music filling the empty air. The atmosphere was light, rid of all the awkwardness you assumed would hang around the both of you. Maybe Oscar was just easy company to keep.

You allowed your thoughts to travel far away from you, to the past to be exact.

You and Oscar didn’t end things messy. Not at all. It was a mutual agreement. In your year and a half together, you didn’t have many spats. Every day spent with together was brimming with endless devotion.

The problem arose when your schedules began to conflict.

With dreams of being a mechanical engineer, a lot of your time was spent on your studies. Oscar knew how dedicated you were, and therefore never pushed you to travel with him. But only seeing him for a few weeks of the year—less than half of them—began to strain your relationship. Mentally, it was draining the both of you.

So to focus on your studies, and for Oscar to focus on his career, you decided to part ways.

That was two months ago, and you’d been no contact ever since. Well, until you asked him to come with you to your parent’s cabin.

You felt a poke on your shoulder, followed by a “hey” and a laugh. You tore your eyes from the window, peering at Oscar with raised brows. “Where’re you at?” He grinned at you, taking glances out of the corner of his eye.

“Hm? Oh. Just thinking.” You shook your head, watching as the buildings transitioned into dead trees as you left Monaco’s limits.

He hummed a response, leaving a gap of silence before asking, “so, why did you want me to come along?”

You sighed, your hands falling to your lap. “You know how they are. They think I can’t keep a guy, and… I don’t know, I was hoping if they’d see you and think you’re still with me then their image of me would change.”

Oscar frowned. Reflexes guiding his movements, he reached out to you, having every intention to place a hand on your thigh or over your own hand. He caught himself before it got that far, placing his hand on the center console instead. The role of comforting you was no longer his part to play.

“It’s stupid, I’m sorry. We should turn around I’ll just-“

“It’s not stupid.” He cut you off. “I think it sucks, and I’ll help you the best I can.” He assured, giving you a soft smile, one you returned. “Thanks, Os.”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

You and Oscar were the last to arrive at the cabin on Sunday night.

He followed in behind you. His eyes widened when he saw the whole family in the living room. Your parents, two sisters, your two aunts on your moms side, and your four cousins. Not to mention all of their significant others and your niece and nephew. In all, it was about sixteen people.

He leaned in close to your ear, whispering, “I didn’t realize you meant the whole family.” You shivered as his warm breath hit your skin. Goosebumps spread across your entire body. “It’s as much as a shock to me.” You told him truthfully.

Your mom saw you first, jumping up and running to greet you. “Oh! I’ve missed you.” She greeting, smothering you in a hug. Her strong floral perfume nearly choked you to death. “Missed you too, mom.” You forced yourself away before the noxious scent took you out completely.

Meanwhile, your uncle, Isaac, had kidnapped Oscar, dragging him away with a tight hold around his neck. “Oscar! My boy, good to see you’re still hangin in there.” Uncle Isaac was sure to stare dead in your eyes while saying the last part. The way he laughed at himself made Oscar’s stomach twist. His face remained straight, not a hint of amusement in sight.

“Hey, Uncle Isaac.” Oscar greeted politely.

Little five year old Theo jumped up, running toward Oscar. “Oscar!” He cheered, nearly toppling over from excitement. Oscars ability to move was inhibited when Theo latched around his legs. Isaac let go of Oscar.

“Hey mate!” Oscar greeted with equal enthusiasm, hoisting the kid up into his arms. Oscar held Theo over his head, and Theo spread his arms and legs out. “Mom look! I’m an airplane!” He cheered, making airplane noises. Lia, your sister, nearly had a heart attack when she turned to see what her son was talking about. “Okay, I think that’s enough airplane.” She rushed to Oscar’s side, who let Theo down. “Aww,” Theo pouted, crossing his arms and walking right past his mom, ignoring her.

Oscar felt a tug on his pants. Looking down, he was met with the large doe eyes of Theo’s twin sister, Thalia. She waved shyly under his gaze. He bent down to chat with her closer, pointing out the doll clutched in her hand. “That’s a pretty doll.” He smiled. “What’s her name?”

Thalia swayed herself from side to side. “Lillia.” She muttered. Oscar gasped softly. “That’s a pretty name.”

While Oscar was being bombarded by the children, you’d been dragged to the living room to greet all of your relatives.

“Ah, I see you’ve kept this one longer than a year. That’s a new record.” You uncle Leni laughed, embracing you loosely. You gave a half-assed laugh, though it hurt massively. You thought you could’ve avoided these kinds of comments if Oscar was here with you, but now it seems you’ve dragged him out here for no reason.

You should’ve known better.

“Are you still going for that mechanical engineering degree?” Your aunt Anne asked a bit of a judgy tone. She sat next to her husband Leni while swirling a drink in her hand. You nodded, sitting next to your sister Katie on the floor. “And you’re still aiming for a job with f1?” You gave another nod.

“Are you sure? I mean, isn’t that a bit unrealistic?”

Cocking your head to the side you asked, “what do you mean by that?” Your tone was harsh and accusatory. Anne shrugged. “Well, it isn’t really a place for a woman is it? If you look in any of those garages, it’s mostly men.”

You felt the anger swirling deep in your stomach, brewing a deeper feeling of resentment. You open your mouth to speak when Oscar’s voice joined the conversation from behind you.

“Yeah it is mostly men, but that doesn’t mean she can’t do it.” Oscar shrugged, taking a seat next to you. Close enough to not raise suspicion, but far enough to not be touching. You looked to him with raised brows. “I think she can do it. Last year, she majorly helped the team fix an issue with the car. And that was only in her third year of school.”

Uncle Leni laughed. “Eh, she’s got as good of a chance as any man.” He waved a hand through the air. For a moment, you thought he actually was showing some support. “She’s dating one of the drivers.” He motioned a hand toward Oscar, laughing loudly. Everyone else in the room chuckled.

You stood abruptly. “Excuse me, I need the restroom.” You muttered, trying your best not to run away from the family.

With worried eyes, Oscar watched as you disappeared down the hall. He had never been a violent man, but right now, he really wanted to take your uncle by the collar of his shirt and chuck him over the balcony to send him tumbling down the side of the mountain. Of course, he did not.

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

As the family was winding down and preparing for bed, a realization hit you. If it was a physical force, it would’ve knocked you through a wall.

While Oscar helped you straighten up the living room, you leaned closer to him, whispering, “We have to share a bed.” Oscar turned his head over his shoulder to look at you with a raised brow. “What?” He genuinely had not heard you. “We have to share a room. And a bed.”

The color drained from Oscar’s face. “Oh,” he muttered, crossing the living room to create distance between you two.

When the two of you entered the room a little later that night, the air between you became tense and awkward.

“I’ll sleep in the floor.” Oscar proposed, making you shake your head quickly. “I can’t ask that of you. I dragged you out here.”

“I chose to come out here.” He reminded you. Your eyes drifted to the king sized bed. “I think it’ll be fine. We’ll just stay on our own sides.”

You moved a pillow, creating a physical barrier between your two sides of the bed. You faced him, motioning your hands to the quick fix as a way to say, see?

Oscar shrugged. “I guess.”

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MONDAY

The family was off to the slopes the next morning. Oscar and yourself driving Theo and Thalia because your nephew was attached to Oscar, and Thalia was always by her brother’s side.

When you got there, Theo started dragging Oscar toward the small slopes. “I want to race you! I bet I’m faster than you.” Oscar laughed. “I was going to go down the big kid slopes.” Oscar pointed to the much steeper slope. Theo frowned. “But I can’t go to the big kid slopes.” He crossed his arms over his chest. It was hard for Oscar to deny Theo anything, so he looked to you with a question in his eyes. You gave him a small nod.

“Are you coming with us?” Thalia’s small voice asked form next to you, her hands, encased in bright pink gloves, gripping her goggles. You glanced up at Oscar and hummed. “Sure, why not?” You smiled, taking Thalias hand in yours and joining Oscar and Theo as they waited for a lift.

Oscar didn’t seem surprised that you had also wound up stuck with the kiddies. “I can look after the both of them if you want to go with the rest of my family.”

Oscar’s face scrunches up, like that idea inflicted physical pain upon his person. He shook his head. “Nah, I’m not a big fan of skiing anyway, so I think the kiddie slopes are the perfect pace for me.” He flashed one of his charming grins at you. You gave a small smile in response.

You flagged down Lia and Dylan, informing them from a distance that you and Oscar were looking over their kids. They seemed overly satisfied that the responsibility was taken away from them.

“I’m scared.” Thalia’s little voice squeaked from next to you. You smiled down at her, a comforting hand on her head. “It’s alright, Thal, I’ll stay with you.” You crouch down in front of her. “I’ll make sure you’re nice and safe. I pinky promise.” You offered your pinky to her. She hesitantly hooked your pinky with hers, splitting your lips into a smile.

Oscar called your name, causing you to look up at him with wide eyes. At the sight of your curious doe-eyed expression, he fought off a smile that tried to surface on his face. Half failing, he ended up with a slanted smile. “The lift.” He explained shortly.

The four of you piled in together. Thalia and Theo in the middle while Oscar and yourself occupied the outsides.

Thalia hung onto your ski pants when you got off. Theo and Oscar took off down the mountain, racing each other just as Theo wished. You could tell Oscar was majorly holding back, though.

“You’ve got it, Thal, you’ve done this before.” You reassured her and she gave you a small nod. You kept your pace slow at first, waiting for Thalia to catch up with every movement so you didn’t stray too far away.

But she eventually gained her confidence, and even tried to be faster than you. You let her fly on the skis ahead of you. It was easier to keep an eye on her that way.

At the bottom of the slope stood Oscar and Theo, waiting for the both of you. “So who won?”

“Me!” Theo tried to jump but his skis weighed him down. You turned to Oscar. “Getting beat by a kid? Shame. Better luck next time.” You teased.

Oscar smiled. “He’s just too good.”

Apparently, you and Oscar had been smiling at each other for too long, because Theo gags. “Yuck! Come on I want to beat you again.” Theo urged, leading the group as he walked back to the lift station.

Oscar was quick to follow, then you and Thalia. Thalia called your name once again. “What’s up, hon?” You replied.

Her eyes were trained on Oscar’s backside. “I think Oscar is pretty.” She confessed. You didn’t laugh, only smiled softly at her. “Really? Would you like me to tell him that?”

She hesitated for a moment, then shook her head. “No. He’s too old for me.” You chuckled.

Later that night, as you’re around the table eating dinner, sat next to Oscar, she tells him for herself.

She came between your chairs, tapping Oscar’s arm twice. He leaned down at her signal for him to come closer. His brows shot up when she told him. “Really? Well thank you. I think you’re a cutie, Thal.” At that, her face flushed a furious shade of red and scurried back to her seat beside her brother.

“Now she’s going to think you have a crush on her.” You whispered in his ear. A chill ran down his spine at the feeling of your breath contacting his bare skin. He tried his best to ignore how it made him feel.

He grinned. “I’m sure she won’t.”

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TUESDAY

She definitely did.

Now Theo and Thalia were attached to Oscar for completely different reasons.

When Thalia saw Oscar the next morning, the first thing she did was compliment him. “I like your hair.” She said from her spot on the couch. Oscar first glanced at you before looking at her. “I just woke up like this.” He brushed it off, smiling.

But the compliments didn’t stop. When you went out again to ski, she insisted on sitting next to him on the lift, and told him, “your goggles are cool.”

They were plain black goggles.

“You have pretty eyes.” During lunch.

Pointing to his plain maroon colored shirt during dinner and saying, “I like your shirt.”

Wedging between the both of you during movie night and telling Oscar he smelt good.

“I like your toothbrush,” while he was getting ready for bed.

Anything she could compliment him on, she did. And it started to freak you out a bit. “Oscar you’ve gotta tell her you’re just friends.” You advised while fluffing up your pillow. “It’s a harmless crush,” he ran a hand through his hair. “She’ll probably be over it by tomorrow.”

You doubted it. “And what if she isn’t?” You threw your pillow on your side of the bed. Oscar laid on his side, raising a brow at you. “Are you jealous of a five year old?” He teased.

You scoffed, sitting cross legged on your side of the bed. “There’s nothing to be jealous about. For one, she’s a five year old and you’re not a pedophile. And for two, we aren’t even together.”

Oscar shifted uncomfortably at the reminder. “If she isn’t over it by tomorrow, then I’ll make it clear that we’re just friends.” He chuckled, shaking his head. He thought it was a little ridiculous that he had to clarify to a five year old that they were just friends.

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WEDNESDAY

Oscar was proved wrong first thing in the morning, because as you and him came out to eat breakfast, Thalia was sitting in your spot. “I told you.” You muttered before taking Thalias empty chair.

Oscar whispered something to Theo, who moved over to take Oscar’s seat right after. You looked to him with furrowed brows, a silent request for an explanation. “Told him I’d buy him whatever candy he wanted at the markets today if he swapped with me.” You laughed loudly, a hand on Oscar’s shoulder to stabilize yourself as you doubled over. “You’ll come to regret that decision.” You forewarned.

On the way to the markets, Thalia tried to convince you to let her sit up front with Oscar. The whole time while telling her no, you were glaring at Oscar. He held back a smile at your fierce looks.

But she won one over you when you arrived at the markets. She clung onto Oscar’s hand like it was her lifeline. “Your daughter is stealing my boyfriend.” You muttered to Lia. She laughed before calling her daughter over to her. Thalia reluctantly listened, latching onto her mother’s hand instead.

You took the five year old’s place next to Oscar. “I suppose we should hold hands then.” He whispered close to your ear, gesturing to the intwined fingers of your relatives. “You know, to keep up the act.” He reasoned.

Though truly, a part of Oscar just may have just wanted to hold your hand for the sake of just holding your hand. No act about it.

You peered up at him, eyes widened slightly. “Uh- well- if you don’t have a problem with it.” Oscar smiled at the way you stumbled over your words.

You appreciated the warmth his hand provided. The December air was biting at you with every small gust of wind that blew through. At a particularly strong gust, you instinctively hid your face in Oscar’s chest. You muttered quick and quiet apologies when you noticed. But he didn’t mind one bit.

Theo ran up to the both of you, holding a remote controlled race car in his hands. “Oscar! Can you get me this?!”

Oscar chucked, kneeling down to be closer to eye level. He kept his hand in yours. “Buddy, I thought I said candy.” He was gentle with the kid, careful of his feelings. Theo frowned. “You did but… but Oscar this car is so cool.” He gave Oscar big puppy eyes, pouting his lips.

Oscar held back his laugh, taking care when sliding the toy from Theo’s grasp. “Do you want the car over the candy?” He asked. Theo nodded. Oscar smiled and stood. “Car it is then.” He tousled the boys hair, whose pout was now replaced by a big toothy smile.

“Thank you uncle Oscar!” Theo wrapped his arms around Oscar’s legs. An attempt at a hug. Oscar rubbed his back. “‘Course, kid.”

Theo ran off, joining his parents and sister at a vendor not too far from where you stood.

But your mind was suck on the title he’d given Oscar. And apparently Oscar was thinking about it too, because he bumped your shoulder and teased, “I’m an uncle now, hm? That wasn’t in the agreement.”

Head bowed, you chuckled nervously. “Sorry,”

Oscar smirked. “Don’t apologize. I think it’s cute.” His hand squeezed yours.

The both of you continued on, hand in hand, straying farther from the family. You stopped at a jewelry booth, a pendant catching your eye. On closer inspection, a small gasp left your lips. “Oh, Oscar, look how pretty.” You held the pendant in your empty hand. A small, flower-like shaped charm, a pretty pink color.

“It suits you.” He smiled, gaze jumping from the pendant to you and back. “Uhm, excuse me?” You called for the seller, an older woman. “How much for this?”

“Three hundred.”

“Three… hundred?”

The woman nodded. “Yes, it’s sterling silver and real diamond, just dyed that pretty pink color.”

You couldn’t justify spending that price, so you politely said, “ah maybe another time.”

Oscar frowned at the disappointment in your expression. Three hundred seemed like nothing to him, but he understood the burden it was to you.

His thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of little hands on his. When he looked down, he found Thalia trying to pry his hand from yours. You sighed, and gave him an ‘I told you so’ look. “I’m gonna go take Thalia, and discuss this crush with her.” You whispered close to Oscar’s ear before taking the child and walking off.

Once you were no longer in ear shot, he turned back to the woman. “Excuse me, do you take card?”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

That night at dinner, the conversation made a turn for the worse. Uncle Leni had one two many beers and couldn’t shut his mouth, so when he overheard your conversation, he just had to say something.

Oscar brought up your future, making a light hearted joke about you working in his garage next year. “Do you really think I have a chance? I mean, I did all that interning for McLaren last year and Andrea said he would ‘miss me greatly,’ but that doesn’t guarantee me a job anywhere in the paddock, you know?” You gushed. Oscar smiled at the way your eyes sparked when you spoke with such enthusiasm. He opened his mouth to speak, an encouragement and something about the future on the tip of his tongue.

The words were never spoken.

“I’d be careful with her, boy. She might be using you to get with your boss, and then fuck him for a job.” Leni interrupted. The vulgarity of the accusation had Oscar’s stomach twisting with something vile.

Your expression shaped into a mix of anger and disgust. Oscar watched you cautiously, offering a comforting hand to your knee. You stood abruptly just as his hand made contact. “I’d be careful with that alcohol, Uncle Leni. I think you’re one drink away from liver failure.” You shot back, leaving without letting him get another word in.

Oscar bowed his head, “excuse us,” he said to no one in particular, before turning to your parents and thanking them for the dinner. He cleaned up your plate and his and proceeded to follow you down the hall where you disappeared.

Muffled sobs came from the inside of your shared room. He knocked on the door hesitantly, calling your name in a soft question. “Go away,” your voice broke through your sobs.

But Oscar was persistent. He cared. You couldn’t get rid of him that easily. “I’m coming in.” He said, despite your very clear message.

His footsteps were cautious as he ventured into the room. You were lying on your stomach, sprawled out on the bed, face in a pillow. He was careful when he sat beside you, a hand coming up to rub in comforting circles on your back.

“It’s not fair, Osc.” The use of the nickname spiked his heart rate. He did his best to ignore it, putting his feelings aside for yours. “I know,” he hummed.

Your face emerged from the pillows, eyes already puffy and red. “No you don’t. Because you’re a man and they all love you.”

Oscar bit the inside of his cheek. “Yeah.” There was no point in arguing. He knew you were right. “Come here,” he encouraged, arms outstretched and waiting for your arrival. You drug yourself up, into his arms, lying against his chest.

The white shirt quickly became stained with your tears. Oscar didn’t care. He held you close while you cried. “I hate them.” You choked out. “They all think so little of me, have so little faith in me. Like I’m going to be nothing in life.” You clutched onto the white cloth of his t-shirt. “They talk about me like I’m a fucking prostitute.” Oscar ran a hand through your hair, and you snuggled your face closer to his chest.

Oscar tried to think of something comforting to say, but nothing felt quite right. He decided to pull you closer, instead. “I thought with you here they’d stop, but…” you shook your head. “I’m sorry I brought you all the way out here for nothing.”

“No,” Oscar jumped quickly to sooth your worries. “No you didn’t. I’m happy you asked. I’ve had fun here, with you.”

“You don’t mean that,” you tried to push yourself away from him, but Oscar held tighter. “Yes I do. I- on my life,” you struggled against his hold, desperately trying to rid yourself from the restraints that were his arms. “I promise you I meant it.” He urged, muttering the words close to your ear.

You relaxed at that, a palm coming to rest against his chest. Your tears still flowed freely. “And… and I’m so proud of you, too. And I believe in you more than you can even imagine.” He continued, dull nails scratching idly at your scalp.

You weren’t sure if his words were genuine. That didn’t matter. They were words you needed to hear, even if you had not known it until that very moment.

Oscar continued to keep you in his hold. He offered no more attempts to soothe you other than the hand of his that were tangled in the strands of your hair.

The exact timing you’d fallen asleep was unknown to him. He only realized you left consciousness when he stopped feeling your body shake with sobs and when the rhythmic tensing and relaxing of your hand ceased.

Your breathing had become even, too. Which he only took note of after he carefully laid you down in a more comfortable position.

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THURSDAY

You woke up, the clock informing you it was midday. You shot out of bed. The family was meant to go sledding today, and should have left an hour ago.

The floorboards under your feet creaked loudly as you raced to the living room. You froze upon entering. The only person there was Oscar, sat on the couch, only half watching the show on the television.

He turned at the sound of you approaching, and smiled. “Hey,” he greeted, soft and far too intimate for the current dynamic.

“Where is everyone?”

Oscar looked a bit guilty at the question. “Gone. I told them you weren’t feeling well, and we’d be staying here today.”

You nodded, padding over to round the couch. The cushion beside him became occupied by you. “Is that okay?” He asked, head tilted while he searched your eyes for some emotion. You nodded once more. “Didn’t feel up to it anyway.” You confessed. Then after a moment, “Thank you.”

A smile flickered across Oscar’s lips. “No need to thank me.”

You’d spent the day curled up on the couch together, strangely domestic for two people who had no business being so. Only when it was dark outside did Oscar raise any questions. “How long do they plan on being gone?” It was far past dinner time. 9pm to be exact. Oscar and yourself had already ordered and ate food.

Your head, being on his shoulder, tilts up so your eyes could meet. “They’re out at a restaurant, probably.” You shrugged.

Oscar’s eyes drifted to the window, the glittering snow having caught his eye. He had a sudden childish desire to go play in the fluffy white blankets.

So that’s what you did, before your family returned home.

You hid behind a tree with a tightly packed ball of snow held like a delicate jewel in the palm of your hand. The way your heart raced with anticipation sent a rush through you. Your face hurt, not only from the cold but also from the consistent strain of your muscles used to maintain the permanent smile on your face.

The sound of a snowball hitting the other side of the tree made you jump, but the reaction was quickly followed by a laugh. “Come on! I can’t get you if you’re hid behind a tree!” Oscar complained, but you could hear the smile in his voice.

“Then come get me!” You shouted back. The crunch of snow approaching closed caused you to smile harder. He had no idea what was coming for him.

But then it stopped suddenly. Definitely not close enough to be just on the other side. You peaked around the tree. Oscar stood still, his hands moulding a pile of snow. His brows creased in concentration. So much concentration, that he didn’t even hear the packed snow stress under your feet.

Once close enough, you let the snowball fly from the palm of your hand. It landed right on the side of his face. “Hey!” He laughed.

“That was totally on you. It should not take you that long to make one snow ball.” You teased, nearing closer.

Oscar frowned slightly. “It’s not a snowball,” he twisted his palm to face you. “It’s a heart.”

You stood close to him now. A small extension of your arm, and you’d be touching him. You smiled, soft and small. “It’s cute.” His cheeks were flushed with a light pink. Probably from the cold, you thought.

Careful fingers grabbed ahold of your wrist, twisting it so your palm faced the sky. Silently, Oscar transferred his creation from his palm to your. You chuckled. “Quite the romantic.” You teased once more.

“You more than anyone should know just how romantic I am.” Oscar leaned into the fun banter. You shook your head laughing. “Come on, I want some hot chocolate.” He followed you up the porch and into the house, pausing to wait for you to set his creation on the railing of the deck.

Plain white mugs were all that was in the cabinet, so it’s what you used to hold your hot cocoa. Oscar rummaged in the fridge while you blew into the cup, trying to cool it off. The steam continued to roll off it in heaps.

“Found it!” Oscar cheered, surfacing with a can of whipped cream. “Ah, good idea,” You hummed, holding your mug out to him. The spiral he put on top of your cup was nothing short of perfect.

You hopped up on the kitchen island, while Oscar stood beside you. He laughed at you after you’d taken a sip, his cheeks still colored pink despite the warmer environment inside the cabin.

“You’ve got a little—here, I’ll just get it.” He reached up, fingertips grazing your cheek. His thumb slipped across your upper lip, gathering the whipped cream.

His hand pulled back slightly, a smile on his face while he showed you the reason for his actions. You laughed.

Without thinking, you leaned forward, capturing his thumb between your lips. Oscar went red at the feeling of your tongue swiping against the pad of his thumb while your eyes remained on his. The situation far too sensual.

When your brain finally caught up to you, you jumped back. A hand of yours covered your mouth. “Oh my—I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I mean, obviously I wasn’t but—“ your breath hitched, his hand on your thigh.

“Don’t apologize.” His voice came in hushed whispers. His eyes scattered all around your face, settling for a beat too long on your lips.

The both of you were locked in an intense staring contest, wanting the same thing but too scared to be the one to initiate it.

Oscar’s chest heaved, like the moment was sucking all the oxygen from his lungs. Hesitantly, he reached a hand up to your face. It found its home on your cheek. When you didn’t react, his other hand traveled to your other cheek. Still, you did not move, but he did notice the rate of your breaths had sped up.

He was the one to take the risk. His body found its way between your legs, and he pulled your face down to meet his.

The feeling of his lips against yours was familiar. The feeling that bloomed in your stomach was familiar. The heat between your legs, familiar.

He overrode every one of your senses. Tasted sweet, reminiscent of the cocoa and whipped cream. Smelled of cologne, fresh. Like amber wood, orange, and a hint of vanilla. His hands in your hair and settled at the base of your neck were driving you crazy. His hips rut against the counter, and he released a small groan into your mouth.

The sound of the lock on the door caught your ear. Two hands on his chest, you shoved him away. He stumbled back, but quickly understood when your family funneled through the door. Your face was on fire.

“Feeling better, I see?” Your sister smiled, then her eyes shifted to Oscar. “Nice lip gloss.”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

FRIDAY

The end of the trip was nearing. It was another relax day in the house, though the kids were far from relaxed. Their giggles were a constant echo through the house along with the patter of their feet.

You’d fallen asleep last night with Oscar’s arms around you, his body moulded perfectly to yours. But when you woke up this morning, the boy was no longer offering the warmth of his body heat to you. In fact, he wasn’t in the bed at all, and the sheets beside you were cold to the touch. He hadn’t been there for awhile.

It was the second day in a row you’d fallen asleep in his arms, and he was no longer there when you woke the next morning.

So it seemed he had a knack for fleeing when things got too intimate.

You swung your legs over the bed. The wooden floors under your feet were as cold as the winter air outside. You quickly shielded yourself with a pair of slippers, and the first hoodie you saw.

Just like yesterday, you found him on the couch. He wasn’t watching one of his shows, but bluey. Your brows were furrowed as you approached. Your eyes answered the question in your mind; Theo and Thalia sat on the carpet in front the television. Theo recklessly drove his new remote controlled car while Thalia played with his hot wheels. A content smile colored Oscar’s expression.

You ruffled his hair, muttering out a, “good morning.” Oscar’s greeting died on the tip of his tongue when he turned his head to find you in his hoodie and tight biker shorts. His throat bobbed as he swallowed harshly. “Morning,” he managed.

The dynamic between you two was different now. A conversation was never held after the events of last night, but the air shifted. An unspoken agreement that you crossed the line as friends but neither of you would dare to venture into the dating territory. You were stuck in a sort of limbo between the two, which meant neither of you knew exactly how to act around the other.

“Oscar, you sound like bluey!” Theo laughed, Thalia joining him. Oscar’s face contorted in amusement, brows raised and a broader smile. “You’ve got a good ear.”

When his eyes searched the room to find you, they landed in the kitchen, the fridge wide open.

You pulled out an avocado, an egg, and a bagel from the pantry. You jumped when you turned around to place them on the island. Oscar was standing with his back to the counter, staring at your every move. “stalker,” you laughed, standing beside him. He remained serious. “We should talk.”

Your body froze. “Where’s the rest of the family?” You asked, gaze focused on the countertop. “Downstairs. Playing pool.” He muttered, a quick glance at the twins. “They’ll be fine for a couple minutes.”

Your eyes met his, an unusual pleading look about them. You nodded. “Yeah. We can step outside.” You motioned towards the back deck.

Out on the deck, you waited for him to speak first, a foot playing with the fluffy white snow to avoid his gaze.

“So… last night,” he began. You shut your eyes, preparing mentally for an awkward conversation. He shook his head, restarting his mini speech. “I’ve tried to move on from you for the last couple of months. It hasn’t really worked and I’ve always had an idea as to why, but last night really solidified it.” His hand on your cheek directed your gaze to his. An uncharacteristically bold move.

His eyes searched yours. For what, you were unsure of. But his gaze burrowed into yours, making you feel light in the head and queasy in the stomach. “I still love you.” He spoke with finality, as if the statement would reign true for the remainder of his life. That’s what it felt like to him.

You gasped out a breath, shaking your head. “It’s not good for us. It didn’t work out. It won’t work out.” Your face, still held in his hands; your eyes, cast anywhere but on him.

He stepped closer. You could feel his body heat now. “It could. You’ll be out of school two months after the season starts, and then you can get a job at McLaren with me-“

“And then I’ll become everything Leni thinks I am.” You interrupted, words quiet.

“No you won’t, because you deserve it. You know it. I know it. Who cares if your drunk, deadbeat uncle thinks otherwise?” You breathed out a laugh, glancing at him for only a moment. “But that’s besides the point. It’ll be just two months with me away and you studying. That’s nothing. We’ve managed longer.”

His pleas were followed by silence, a slight frown, furrowed brows. Wandering eyes landed on the heart-shaped snow ball he carefully crafted for you. “I don’t know,” you spoke, almost too quiet for Oscar to hear.

The small swipe of his thumb against your cheek had your defenses crumbling. “The apartment has felt so empty without you.” He recalled how he continued to look for you in every room, even two weeks after you broke up. A hopeless dream that you’d be standing in the kitchen or sleeping in his bed. Of course, you never were. “Please. Just give me a month.”

The nod came slowly, after a long moment of silence; Oscar’s ears strained for even a breath from you. “A month.” You agreed, a silent pray to whatever god would listen that this wasn’t a horrible mistake.

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SATURDAY

Your last day at the cabin was spent back at the slopes, Oscar and yourself finally being able to break from the kiddie slopes and enjoy the more exhilarating ones. He’d tried to race you, and when you won, claimed that he slowed on purpose. His whole being exposed his lies, though.

The family ended the night on the couch, watching a Christmas movie, though Christmas was long past. Unfortunately for you and Oscar, you were demoted to sitting on the floor since you were the youngest of the adults.

Oscar didn’t mind. Not when you sat with your body pressed against his. Legs across his lap and head resting in the curve of his neck. He kept one of your hands encased in both of his. He wasn’t even sure what the movie was about. His eyes were hardly on the screen, opting to study you out of the corner of his eye. He felt incredibly lucky to be able to call you his again.

He only realized the movie ended when you looked up at him, laughing at how his eyes were already on you. “How was the movie?” You asked him, a soft smile. He absorbed every bit of it he could. “Amazing.”

Before you went to bed, Oscar pulled out a small box from his suitcase. Your back was turned, fluffing the pillow. He called your name softly. The curious look you gave him was just another thing he was sure to store in his brain for safe keeping.

“What’s that?” You hummed, interested. You stood in front of him now, the box within reach. He lifted the lid and presented it to you, earning a small gasp. “Oscar… that’s too much I can’t take that.” You shook your head, a hand pushing the box into his chest. “I bought it for you. No returns.” His nervous laugh filled the gap of your response.

A tentative hand of your reached for the pendant, the ridges of it gliding over your fingers. You bit the inside of your cheek, deciding there was no use in turning the gift away. “Will you put it on me?” He smiled. Nodded.

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JUNE

You began working in Oscar’s garage right out of school. Andrea was sure to pick you up before any team even had the opportunity to approach you.

The relationship between you and Oscar was common knowledge within the garage. Your teammates—the other mechanics—treated you no different, other than the occasional teasing about it.

“We agree that if anything is wrong with the car, we blame her, right?” One of the other mechanics joked, gesturing to you. Laughter rang out over the roaring engines.

Of course, once your family got wind of the news, they had something to say. Leni in particular washed up the achievement to be special treatment since you were dating one of their drivers. It didn’t get to you this time, because Oscar reassured you that it was purely based on your skill. His opinion mattered more than your Uncle’s.

Outside of the world of racing, Oscar treated you like an Angel fallen from heaven. Acting like he existed with the sole purpose to service you. It annoyed you at first until you came to the realization that it was out of love. He communicated his love for you through of acts of service. From then on, you cherished it.

#f1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #f1 fluff #f1 blurb #op81 #f1 angst #f1 x you #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri one shot #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri angst #oscar piastri #oscar piastri fluff #op81 x reader #oscar piastri x reader

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zerocoded · 2 days ago

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summary: caleb makes you kung pao chicken and you repay him by milking him dry.

authors note: banner credits to the one and only cutie who draw this! gut wrenching smut to my caleb girlies. like jungkook said, SEVEN DAYS A WEEEK 😩 get in the car babes, we're going to pound town. so sorry for the delay! like i said, idk how to write happy feelings so i struggled with this one a little lol. but i still had a good time! thanks for reading this four-chapter series, you guys have my heart. again, this was supposed to be allll in the last chapter but i figured it would be too much for just one post, so i split them in two.

warnings: HEAVY ANGST • nsfw content, mdni • obsessive!caleb • UNCANNON bc i finished this before caleb release • grinding • astraphobia • downplaying fears as we all do • soft!dom caleb but then hard!dom caleb • teasing • orgasm denial • SO MUCH TEASING • word play • fingering • skyhaven is under a isolation period.

word count: 13.3k (i swear i'm not sane)

the first time you see caleb after the incident┃caleb uses you as a hostage at the farspace fleet┃you punch caleb in the face┃you're here

isolation week blurred together in a strange rhythm, the days blending into each other like half-forgotten dreams. you didn’t keep track of the hours—there was no point. the world outside skyhaven felt distant, unreachable, as if it had been swallowed by the endless hum of magnetic fields holding this floating island in the sky.

caleb made it easier, somehow. his presence was a strange mix of soothing and frustrating, a reminder of the man you used to know and the one he’d become. you hadn’t realized how much you’d come to depend on him until you were confined to this room together.

the first morning felt awkward, to say the least. after inviting him back to the bed, you woke up to find him sprawled out beside you, his bionic arm stretched across the mattress like an unfamiliar guest. he wasn’t touching you—you could see he’d been careful about that—but the warmth of his presence was undeniable.

“morning,” he’d said when he caught you staring, his voice low and teasing. “sleep well?”

you hadn’t, but you didn’t tell him that. instead, you muttered something incoherent and shuffled to the bathroom, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened under his gaze.

that first day passed in cautious steps, a strange dance of proximity and avoidance. caleb filled the silences with stories from the base—how he’d managed a near-disastrous training exercise or how a recruit had accidentally fried half the communication systems. you found yourself laughing more than you expected, his sharp wit and easy charm tugging at memories you thought you’d buried.

the second day was spent with caleb working in the living room and you lounging in his room. turns out that the floor-to-ceiling glass windows weren’t as soundproof as you thought. every time caleb cursed under his breath at whatever he was tinkering with, it carried into the bedroom like a muffled echo, forcing you to stifle laughter more than once. by the fourth time he muttered something about “rookie mistakes” and “damn loose wiring,” you couldn’t help but shout, “you talking to the wiring or yourself?”

his reply was immediate, his voice full of dry humor. “depends. which one’s listening better?”

when the evening of the second isolation day came, a storm rolled in slowly, creeping over skyhaven like a shadow. it began with the faintest rumble of thunder in the distance, barely audible over the soft hum of the dorm. the sky outside the windows darkened, heavy clouds gathering until the first streak of lightning cut through the horizon. you glanced toward the glass, drawn to the way the city lights below flickered like stars against the storm.

caleb called you to the kitchen for dinner, his voice casual but tinged with an edge of exhaustion. “nothing fancy,” he’d said, placing a plate in front of you. “just leftovers. figured you wouldn’t complain.”

you didn’t, especially not when you caught the faint scent of whatever he’d reheated—it smelled good, and by now, you were too hungry to care about the lack of flair. you sat together at the small table, the storm outside casting shifting shadows across the walls. the dim lighting made the space feel smaller, more intimate, and for the first time in days, the silence between you felt easy, comfortable.

“do you remember when we used to sneak into the kitchen at gran’s place?” you asked between bites, the memory coming unbidden but welcome.

caleb snorted, a rare, genuine laugh slipping past his usual guarded demeanor. “you mean when you’d sneak and i’d get dragged into it?”

“oh, please,” you shot back, a grin tugging at your lips. “you were the one who wanted to make those awful peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with way too much jelly.”

“you ate them, didn’t you?” he countered, raising an eyebrow.

“because i was starving!” you laughed, shaking your head. “you could’ve fed me cardboard, and i would’ve said thank you.”

he chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “you were easy to please back then. now look at you, living the high life with reheated kung pao chicken.”

the playful jab earned him a mock glare, but the warmth in his voice made it impossible to be annoyed. the shared memory lingered between you, softening the edges of everything else. for a moment, it felt like you were kids again, stealing moments of joy in the quiet corners of a world that never quite felt safe.

outside, the storm intensified, the thunder growing louder, closer. lightning lit up the room in sharp flashes, followed by the low growl of the sky. you turned your gaze to the windows, the storm demanding attention with its unpredictable rhythm. caleb followed your line of sight, his expression shifting as he watched the storm unfold and your reaction at the same time.

��this one’s going to be loud,” he said, almost to himself. “storms like these always are, especially up here.”

his voice was calm, but the weight of the storm pressed against the walls, creeping into the space between you. as the wind howled and the rain began to streak the glass, the moment of levity faded, replaced by a quiet intensity that you weren’t capable of ignoring.

“guess we’re in for an interesting night,” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the first sharp crack of thunder.

“looks like it,” caleb replied, his tone softer now, his gaze flicking to you as the storm continued to rage outside.

for the next minutes, you realized that storms in skyhaven were way different from the storms in linkon city. the way the lightning lit up the entire sky, crackling with a brightness that seemed to ripple through the clouds, was almost beautiful—if it wasn’t so overwhelming. the thunder was deeper here, more resonant, as if the very air carried its weight. every flash and rumble seemed to rattle the walls, making the room feel smaller, like the storm was trying to press its way in.

unfortunately, you were scared of both.

you tried to keep your composure, focusing on your plate and the casual rhythm of caleb’s fork against his. but when a particularly loud clap of thunder roared through the dorm, your hand flinched, nearly knocking over your glass. caleb’s head snapped up at the sound, his gaze flicking to you with an intensity that made your cheeks flush.

“you okay?” he asked, his voice steady, though his brow furrowed slightly.

“fine,” you replied too quickly, your voice thinner than you meant. you placed your hands in your lap, twisting your fingers together to hide the slight tremor. “just… loud, that’s all.”

he didn’t look convinced, his eyes narrowing just a fraction before he set his fork down. “are you still scared of them?” he said, leaning back in his chair. his tone was casual, but there was a softness to it, the kind he used when he was trying not to push too hard.

you nodded, your gaze fixed on the plate in front of you. “still not my thing.”

he watched you for a moment longer, his gaze steady but unreadable, before a particularly sharp crack of thunder split the air. it was closer this time, louder, and it made you flinch despite yourself. your breath hitched, your shoulders tensing as you tried to steady yourself.

“hey,” he murmured, his voice gentler now, the edge gone. “come here.”

you hesitated, your fingers tightening in your lap. “i’m fine,” you started, but the words felt hollow, unconvincing even to yourself.

“you’re not, pipsqueak” he said, his tone firm but not unkind. he reached out then, not quite touching you but close enough that the gesture felt like a tether. “i know you. just… come here.”

you stood slowly, unsure at first, but when you moved closer, he didn’t hesitate. he pulled you gently into his lap, his arms wrapping around you like a shield against the storm.

the movement caught you off guard, but you didn’t resist. the warmth of him was immediate, grounding, his bionic arm cool against your side as he adjusted it carefully.

“better?” he asked softly, his breath brushing against your temple.

you nodded, your cheek pressing against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat calming the chaos inside you. “a little,” you admitted, your voice muffled but steadying.

another roar of thunder shook the room, and your hands gripped his shirt instinctively. he didn’t flinch or pull away—he just held you tighter, his hand moving in slow, reassuring circles against your back.

“you’re okay,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “i’ve got you.”

“i look like a child, sorry,” you muttered, your voice barely audible as you kept your face buried against his chest. “i fight wanderers, for god’s sake.”

caleb chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through you. “you don’t look like a child,” he said, his tone light but carrying that familiar edge of warmth. “you are you, pipsqueak.”

you huffed a quiet laugh, rolling your eyes even though he couldn’t see it. “comforting.”

“it’s true,” he added, his voice dropping slightly, almost like he wasn’t sure he should say it. “i remember you always cried when it was storming back then.”

you pulled back just enough to look at him, his words tugging at a long-forgotten memory. “you teased me at first,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. “but then you always slept with me in my room afterward.”

his lips quirked into a faint grin, his eyes softening. “because you’d cling to me like a little barnacle,” he teased gently, though the fondness in his voice was unmistakable.

“you never complained,” you countered, your cheeks warming at the memory.

“never had a reason to,” he said simply, his gaze steady on yours.

the room felt quieter then, the storm outside reduced to a distant rumble as the two of you sat there, his arms stayed around you.

“it’s not so different now, is it?” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “just you and me. like it’s always been.”

you didn’t reply, but the way you stayed pressed against him, your hand unconsciously gripping his shirt, was answer enough.

“stupid floating island, why did the daa have to make their base here?” you joked, your voice muffled against his chest. “now i can’t even finish my burnt kung pao.”

“burnt?!” caleb laughed, mock-offended, pulling back just enough to look at you. “you just said you wouldn’t complain. for me, that’s partially overcooked, nothing more.”

you tilted your head, giving him an incredulous look. “partially overcooked? caleb, the chicken was practically charcoal.”

he smirked, his hands still resting lightly on your sides. “it’s called adding texture. i’m innovating.”

you couldn’t help but laugh, the tension in your chest easing as his grin widened.

the storm rumbled outside, the occasional flash of lightning casting fleeting patterns across the walls. his hands, still steady on your sides, seemed to hesitate for a moment, his thumb brushing lightly against the fabric of your shirt. it was such a small, unconscious gesture, but it sent a shiver down your spine nonetheless.

you glanced down at his hand, then back up at him, and found his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. there was no teasing in his expression now, no quick retort or sarcastic comment. just him, watching you like you were something fragile and precious, something he couldn’t bring himself to look away from.

“caleb…” you started, your voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

“what?” he asked softly, his tone steady but edged with something deeper.

you shook your head, unsure of what to say, unsure if you should say anything at all. “nothing,” you murmured, though your heartbeat betrayed you, thudding loudly in your ears.

he didn’t press, but his gaze stayed on you, unrelenting. the hand on your side shifted slightly, his fingers curling just enough to ground you, to remind you he was there. “you sure about that?” he asked after a beat, his voice low.

you nodded, but the motion felt half-hearted, like you weren’t entirely sure of anything anymore. the tension between you grew heavier, the air around you thick with something unspoken, and you wondered if he could feel it too—the way the space between you seemed to shrink without either of you moving.

“you’re trembling,” he said softly, his brow furrowing as his other hand came up, hesitating before resting lightly against your arm.

“it’s the storm,” you replied, though you weren’t sure if that was entirely true.

“is it?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper now, his thumb brushing a slow, deliberate line against your arm.

you didn’t answer. you couldn’t. instead, you stayed there, caught between the steady warmth of his hands and the wild rhythm of your own heart, waiting to see what would happen next.

another thunder came, the loudest yet, and you trembled in his hold. his arms tightened instinctively around you, grounding you as your breath hitched.

"fuck, this sucks," you muttered, frustration and embarrassment creeping into your voice. "i’m sorry, i think i should—"

"do you want to watch something on the tv?" he interrupted, his tone casual but deliberate, like he was trying to steer your focus elsewhere.

you looked at him, confused. "i think i shouldn’t—you don’t have to worry about me."

he tilted his head slightly, his expression soft but unyielding. "i used to distract you from the storms with silly cartoons when you were younger," he said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "i think it will help."

"we’re not kids anymore—" you started, but he didn’t let you finish. in one swift motion, he stood, lifting you effortlessly into his arms, bridal style. "what the hell!" you gasped, your hands instinctively clutching at his neck to steady yourself.

"i can walk, you know," you said, glaring up at him, though the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed the annoyance in your voice.

"i know," he replied, his voice warm but firm. "but i prefer you don’t when i’m around."

you opened your mouth to argue but stopped when you caught the way he looked at you—steady, unwavering, his grip on you secure but gentle. as he crossed the living room and entered his bedroom, you couldn’t help but feel the tension in your chest begin to ease.

as he set you down carefully on the edge of his bed, his hands lingered for a moment, his touch light yet grounding. his fingers brushed your arms briefly as he pulled back, and the faint contact left a trail of warmth on your skin.

"you good here?" he asked softly, his voice low, his gaze searching yours as if to make sure you were really okay.

you nodded, but the truth was, the weight of the storm still pressed on you.

"yeah," you murmured, your voice quieter than you intended. but even as you said it, your hands fidgeted in your lap, betraying the unease that still lingered.

caleb didn’t move far, instead crouching in front of you, his arms resting on his knees as he leveled his gaze with yours. "you don’t have to pretend, you know," he said, his tone soft but firm. "if it’s still too much, just tell me."

his sincerity made your chest tighten, the way his eyes softened as he spoke, the faint crease of worry between his brows. the storm outside growled again, a low rumble that rattled the glass, and before you could stop yourself, you moved.

your body acted on instinct, seeking out the comfort that had been so immediate and steady. you slid forward, closing the space between you as you climbed into his lap, your arms wrapping around his neck.

“hey,” he murmured, startled for only a moment before his hands came up to steady you, one resting firmly on your back while the other settled on your hip. “you okay?”

“sorry,” you whispered, your face pressed against the curve of his neck. “i just… it’s better like this.”

he exhaled softly, the sound more like a sigh of relief than anything else. “don’t apologize, pipsqueak” he said, his voice low and soothing. “the storms you’ll encounter in the future… they shouldn’t exist here.”

his words sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt his arms tighten slightly around you, holding you closer. the heat of his body seeped through the thin fabric of your clothes, and the steady rhythm of his breathing calmed the erratic beat of your heart.

his fingers flexed against your hip, the warmth of his hand seeping through the material. “i’ve got you,” he replied.

he sat on the bed bringing you with him, his back touching the headboard.

the storm outside roared again, but it felt distant now, muffled by the space you shared. you shifted slightly in his lap, and his grip tightened reflexively, a quiet inhale escaping him as you moved.

“sorry,” you murmured, your cheeks warming with the apology.

“you’re trembling,” he noted again, his voice quieter now, rougher at the edges. his hand on your back moved in slow, soothing circles, but there was a tension in him that hadn’t been there before—a subtle stiffness in his posture, the way his fingers lingered just a moment too long.

“i’m just a little shaken,” you replied, though your voice betrayed you, wavering slightly as your chest pressed against his.

“don’t worry too much, princess,” he murmured, his voice dipping low, the words brushing against your ear like a secret. his hand stilled on your back, the pause heavy, loaded with something unspoken. “i like when we’re close like this.”

you didn’t reply at first, your breath catching as his gaze held yours. his eyes searched, questioned, the intensity of his closeness overwhelming—the faint warmth of his breath on your cheek, the steady weight of his hand against your back. it was too much and not enough all at once. you swallowed hard, your voice barely a whisper as you said, “me too.”

“do you?” his tone was curious, soft, yet laced with something deeper, and you felt a flicker of need pulse through you. his question lingered in the air, fragile and heavy. you didn’t know how to respond, unsure if the truth would feel like breaking something—or like setting it free.

“because i do,” he admitted, his voice unwavering, his honesty unraveling something inside you. “always have.”

the sincerity in his words, the way his eyes held no doubt, no hesitation—it pulled at you. it felt like stepping into something safe and terrifying all at once, his certainty acting as a charm you couldn’t resist.

“i do,” you murmured timidly, your voice so soft it was almost lost to the storm outside. you couldn’t meet his gaze, your eyes dropping to avoid the weight of everything he’d laid bare.

smoothly, caleb's hands tightened on your sides, his touch a quiet plea for your attention. and so, you look at him. your gaze meets his amethystine eyes, and there, you find it—yearning, raw and unguarded, etched into every facet of him.

"would you hate me even more if i said i wanted to kiss you right now?"

his voice was so steady, so effortless, that it left you momentarily stunned. you stayed silent, your heart pounding against the truth you were too afraid to confront, the truth simmering just beneath the surface of your heart.

“i don’t hate you,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. they hung in the air between you, fragile and vulnerable. his gaze softened, searching your face for something—permission, maybe, or clarity.

“but you don’t want this,” he said, though his voice wavered, unsure. his grip loosened, like he was already preparing to pull away, to retreat.

you shook your head slightly, barely more than a tremble. “it’s not that…” your voice cracked, and you hated how exposed you felt.

"i’m sorry," he murmured, his voice heavy with regret, eyes staring at both of his hands on your side. his bangs fell over his eyes, giving him an innocent look. caleb had always been effortlessly pretty in your eyes.

you caught yourself staring at his sudden shyness with more awe than apprehension. ever since you’d grown a little taller and started seeing caleb through a different lens—one that wasn’t colored by the “older brother” view you once had—you couldn’t help but admire his beauty. moments like this, when his youthful charm caught you off guard, felt like they pressed you against an invisible wall, leaving you breathless.

because how many times had you wanted to kiss him before? god, you’d had the silliest crush on this man for what felt like forever. and now, knowing he’d been pining for you just the same all along? it felt unreal and unfair at the same time.

"i shouldn’t put you in a position like this… let’s just—let’s watch something." he leaned back slightly, creating space that felt colder, emptier, and pretended to be searching for the controller on his bedside table.

but you saw it—the restraint in his eyes, the way he was holding himself back for your sake. and you couldn’t let that linger. "caleb," you said softly, reaching for his hand before he could fully pull away. "it’s not that… you’re not putting me on the spot." you hesitated, your breath shaky as you forced the words out. "i kind of… want to be on the spot."

were you caving yourself in a bigger mess? you honestly couldn’t tell. but ignoring your childhood feelings right now seemed to be as painful as the possible ache of regret you could face later.

his eyes snapped back to yours, wide, searching for any sign of doubt. "you do?" his voice was quieter now, almost disbelieving.

"i do," you admitted, your cheeks warming under his gaze. "it’s just… this is new, and i’m scared, but that doesn’t mean i don’t want it."

he exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing as he took in your words. "fuck, i don’t want to scare you, pipsqueak," he said, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.

“you could never.”

his lips parted slightly, his jaw tightening as he exhaled through his nose, seeming thoughtful. “you want me to stop?” he asked, his voice low and steady, though there was a hint of strain behind it.

again, caleb seemed so youthful in this light, his features softer, the usual sharpness in his gaze replaced with something gentler. there was an innocence about him now, a vulnerability that clung to the edges of his desperation. it wasn’t just restraint—it was care. as if the fear of scaring you, of pushing you too far, outweighed any longing he might have for your body.

you shook your head, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you leaned closer. “no,” you whispered, the word trembling between you.

your breath caught, and for a moment, the world outside—the storm, the hum of skyhaven, everything—faded into a quiet, dizzying stillness. his touch was grounding, his gaze searching, and yet, all you could think about was the last time you felt this close to him.

a week ago.

it came rushing back, unbidden and vivid, like a memory you’d tried to bury but couldn’t. the moment when he reappeared on your front door in linkon city, alive and impossibly real, standing in the doorway of your tiny apartment as if the months between you hadn’t happened.

your chest tightened as the ache in your heart shifted into something else—something sharper, hungrier. you leaned in without thinking, your hand moving to his jaw, your lips hovering just a breath away from his.

but before you could close the distance, he froze. his hand moved to yours, holding it gently but firmly, his eyes now wide and dark, filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

“don’t,” he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper, his breath hot against your skin. “don’t do it if you are not ready to forgive me yet, princess.”

his words made your heart stutter, the rawness in his tone cutting through the haze in your mind. his jaw tightened beneath your hand, his grip on your waist trembling slightly, as if the effort to stop himself was taking everything he had.

“tell me you want it first,” he pleaded, his voice rough, almost pained. “please.”

your breath caught, the weight of his gaze pinning you in place. he looked at you like the thought of stopping physically hurt him, like holding himself back was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

“caleb…” you started, but your voice wavered, the unspoken pull between you making it hard to find the words.

��say it,” he urged, his forehead resting against yours, his voice a whisper now, almost broken. “if you want me, tell me.”

fuck, caleb was trembling.

“i think,” you whispered, your voice shaking as much as he was. you brought your hand to his jaw again, your fingers brushing against the faint stubble there, grounding both of you in the moment. “i think this will help.”

—with the forgiving part, you wanted to complete.

his eyes searched yours, desperation and longing swirling together in a way that made your chest ache. “don’t say it unless you mean it,” he murmured, his voice rough, his forehead pressing against yours harder now, like he needed the contact to steady himself.

you swallowed hard, your thumb brushing the edge of his jaw as you let out a shaky breath. “i want this,” you said, the words fragile but true. “i want you.”

his breath hitched, his fingers tightening on your waist as if those words had been the only thing holding him back.

“say it again,” he whispered, his lips so close to yours that you could feel the heat of them.

“i want you,” you repeated, your voice steadier now, your grip on him tightening as if to prove it.

that was all it took. the tension between you snapped, and caleb closed the space between you in one fluid motion, his lips crashing against yours with a hunger that stole your breath. this wasn’t like the kiss in linkon city, sharp and painful and desperate. this was different—deeper, slower, filled with a need that burned just as fiercely but carried the weight of something more.

his hands moved to your back, pulling you closer, every inch of him pressing against you as if he couldn’t bear the thought of space between you. the storm outside raged on, but in that moment, it felt like the two of you had created your own—just as powerful, just as unstoppable.

his lips moved against yours with a deliberate intensity, each touch igniting something deeper. his hands, strong and steady, slid up your back, grounding you.

your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, and he groaned softly against your lips, the sound low and desperate. the sheer intensity of it all made your pulse race, and you felt a rush of heat spread through your body as he deepened the kiss, his teeth grazing your lower lip before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze.

“tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured, his voice rough, his breath fanning across your cheek. his forehead rested against yours again, his grip on your waist firm but trembling just slightly, a reminder of how much he was feeling at the moment.

“it’s not,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. “don’t stop.”

he leaned in again, his kisses softer now but no less consuming, his mouth tracing a path down your jaw to the curve of your neck.

his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you into his lap again as if he needed you even closer, needed to feel every part of you against him. his bionic arm settled carefully on your side, his fingers cool against your skin where your shirt had ridden up slightly. the contrast between the metal and the heat of his other hand sent a thrill down your spine, grounding you in the moment.

“you’re perfect,” he murmured against your skin, his voice raw and unguarded, the words slipping out like he couldn’t hold them back. “i don’t deserve you.”

“i’ve wanted this—wanted you—so much, princess, you have no idea.”

your chest tightened at his confession, the vulnerability in his tone cutting through the haze of heat and desire. your fingers moved to his face, cradling his jaw as you pulled him back to look at you. his lips were swollen, his breathing uneven, but his eyes—his eyes were full of unshed tears that broke your heart.

"caleb," you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of it all. you searched his face, seeing not just the man you cared for but the fragile edges of him he never let anyone else see. "i’m here," you said, the words barely louder than a breath. "it’s okay. i want this."

his hands moved to yours, holding them against his face as if grounding himself in the moment. “i’ve wanted this for so long,” he whispered.

“show me, then” you said softly, the words trembling with their own weight. “show me how much you wanted me, caleb.”

as if echoing the tension that crackled in the air between you, a thunderclap roared outside, the sound reverberating through the walls and into your chest.

a trembled exhale escapes you, and in that moment of vulnerability, he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue alongside yours.

his bionic fingers shift against your cheek, you can feel the tension in him—the way he’s holding you so carefully despite the intensity of the moment. it’s as though he’s trying to reconcile the boy he used to be with the man he’s become, and in that kiss, he’s asking you if you can love both.

the kiss is frenzied, a desperate tangle of lips and breaths.

without thinking, your body moves on its own, testing his resolve with a slow, deliberate roll of your hips into his lap. the effect is immediate—his jaw tightens, the sharp edge of restraint etched into his expression. his hands fly to your waist, one strong and warm, the other cold and unyielding, gripping you tightly as if to steady himself.

“princess,” he groans, his voice low and ragged, though his hold betrays how much he doesn’t want you to stop.

ignoring his warning, you roll your hips again, feeling the heat of his reaction through the thin layers between you. a low, guttural sound escapes him, and the sheer rawness of it sends a rush of heat through your body. the sound pulls a whimper from your own lips, and you move with more purpose, your body seeking to draw that noise from him again, needing to unravel him.

it felt like your core had its own heartbeat.

“pipsqueak” he mutters, his grip tightening as if trying to regain control. his head falls forward, his forehead pressing against your shoulder. his sweet resolve was being tested and you felt your lips curl into a smile, sweet vengeance sounding fair in your ears.

“pipsqueak,” he muttered, his grip tightening as if he were struggling to regain control. his head dipped forward, his forehead resting against your shoulder. his sweet resolve was fraying at the edges, and you couldn’t help the smile that curled on your lips—sweet vengeance was practically begging to be served.

but just as you were about to push him a little further, his metal hand gripped your behind with enough force to draw a startled squeak from you.

“fuck—” you breathed, the word tumbling out unbidden.

“watch it, baby,” he murmured, his lips trailing up from your neck to your ear, his voice a low, tantalizing growl. “i’ve got years of pent-up tension to take out on you.”

was that a promise? god, why did you wanted it to be so much?

“caleb, please,” you whisper, your voice trembling with a mix of need and vulnerability. the sound of his name—your plea—seems to undo him. his resolve snaps like a frayed wire. with a growl, his hands shift, pulling you even tighter against him as his lips crash into yours again, no longer holding back the storm that’s been building inside him for so long.

“i know, princess,” caleb mutters, his voice thick with restraint. his erection twitches in the confines of his pants as he watches you, the sight of you slowly grinding into his lap nearly ending him. your eyes, half-lidded and dark with lust, hold him captive, and he swears he could lose himself in that expression alone.

every slow roll of your hips sends a wave of pleasure coursing through both of you, the friction igniting sparks that only leave you wanting more. there’s an incessant throbbing between your legs, a growing need that these teasing movements can’t quite satiate. each brush of your core against him only heightens the ache.

caleb feels it too, because he’s already pulling at the waistband of his pants, his thumb hooking into both layers as he tugs them down, revealing the sharp definition of his defined v-line. the sight alone makes your mouth go dry, heat flooding your veins as your gaze lingers.

“fuck,” you whisper under your breath, unable to stop the word from slipping out.

caleb catches the way your eyes widen, and his lips curve into a slow, wicked smirk. his bionic hand rests on the bed beside him for balance, while his flesh hand gestures toward you. “take it off,” he commands, his tone soft but laced with a quiet authority that makes your pulse quicken.

you freeze, caught off guard by the intensity in his voice, and the way his gaze seems to pin you in place. the handsome smirk that tugs at his lips grows wider as you let out a startled breath, your cheeks burning hot with embarrassment and arousal.

you’d seen his body before, seen the dedication he put into keeping it in peak form. you’d been there when his once-lean chest began to transform, muscles growing larger than any of your own limbs as he transitioned from boy to man.

and you’d dreamed about his touch too—wild, fleeting thoughts that only a hormonal teenage girl could summon on those countless nights when the ache of loneliness crept in.

god, you should probably feel embarrassed for all of it right now.

but caleb didn’t seem to mind. he didn’t seem to care about your wild thoughts swirling around him now or the teenage fixation you’d once had on his quiet care. all that mattered to him was the relief painted across his face—the realization that this wasn’t a one-sided transition, that you were right here with him. aching for him.

biting your lip, you slip off his lap and move to stand, your fingers curling around his waistband as you carefully pull his pants and boxers the rest of the way down. his member springs free, hard and aching, and the sight sends a jolt of heat straight to your core. your thighs press together instinctively as you shiver at how thick and undeniably pretty he looks.

fuck, you weren’t exactly a novice—but being a deep-space hunter didn’t leave much time for fooling around. still, every fantasy you’d ever buried seemed to find its way to the surface, all centered on the boy you could once call your first love.

caleb was intimidating, but in the most deliciously enticing way. you weren’t a teenager anymore, and your desires had grown with you, maturing into something sharper, more urgent. whatever this was between the two of you—it felt like the thing you’d been craving for so long, the missing piece you didn’t even realize you’d been waiting for.

he was thick, but not in an overwhelming way—just enough to leave you aching, his desire for you palpable in every movement. but what truly left your mouth watering was his length, something you’d only ever imagined existed in exaggerated adult videos or ridiculous ads.

was this really the same person who stood up to bullies for you and patiently taught you how to cook when you were 14? fuck, you were absolutely cooked.

in a good way, it seems.

you don’t even realize how long you’ve been staring until caleb clears his throat, the sound breaking through the haze of your thoughts. your gaze snaps up to meet his, only to find his smirk has softened into something more amused, though no less confident.

“while i appreciate the compliment,” he teases, propping himself up on one elbow, “i wasn’t talking about me, princess. i meant you. take it off.”

your nerves were impossible to hide, and his commanding voice only made it worse. for a fleeting moment, you wondered if there was a way to skip past this awkwardness and dive straight into satisfying the ache in your core that you could no longer ignore.

caleb seemed to catch onto your hesitation. he offered you a kind, almost reassuring smile as his flesh hand wrapped gently around your wrist, his touch grounding you in the moment.

suppressing your nerves, you hook your fingers into the waistband of your shorts, sliding them down your legs along with your panties. they pool at your ankles, and you step out of them with a small, shaky breath, standing between his legs as his gaze sweeps over you.

“beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice low and sincere. the word sends a rush of warmth through you, and the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the only thing in the galaxy—makes your chest tighten.

did he feel this instant pull towards each other too?

sitting up fully, caleb pats his lap, his smirk softening into a smile that’s equal parts playful and inviting. “c’mere,” he says, his voice rich and steady, like a promise.

you could come, my god. but you hope you weren’t so transparent in your lack of confidence in the moment, hoping to have some leverage over the man who seemed to be eating you alive with only his eyes.

caleb seemed so sure of his love and his expression for you, it made you feel small—not in a bad way—, but maybe a bit childish.

you hesitate for only a second before stepping closer, climbing back onto his lap. his hands, warm and steady, settle on your hips as he pulls you against him.

“that’s better,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to your shoulder, his lips lingering against your skin.

you crawl onto caleb’s lap, careful not to sit fully. hovering just above him, your knees press firmly into the mattress on either side of his thighs, effectively trapping him in place. you can feel the heat radiating off his body, but there’s no way in hell you’re going to lower yourself—not yet.

if you did, you’d be pressing your bare pussy against his naked thigh, and he’d feel everything. the thought alone has your cheeks flushing hot, knowing it would expose just how soaked you’ve become from mere kissing.

caleb’s gaze doesn’t waver, his sharp eyes watching you like a predator sizing up his prey. he hums softly, one hand trailing up your side to lift the hem of the shirt you were wearing—his shirt—, pushing it up just enough to reveal your bare chest. his expression softens slightly as he sighs, a low, appreciative sound rumbling from his throat. “pretty,” he murmurs, his voice husky and thick with restraint.

before you can respond, he leans forward, his lips capturing one of your nipples. the sudden contact makes you gasp sharply, your hands instinctively flying to his shoulders for balance. his tongue swirls over the sensitive peak, rolling it in a way that has your back arching toward him.

“caleb—ah!” your cry cuts off as his hand moves between your legs, startling you with its boldness. his bionic fingers rest against your thigh, steadying you, while the fingers of his other hand slip against your slick folds, testing you.

“you’re wet,” he comments, his voice quiet but undeniably teasing as his fingers slide through your arousal. the statement is casual, but the tone of his voice sounded almost painful, as if the realization seemed to fucking pain him.

you swear you heard him mutter a “fuck” while closing his eyes.

“no fuck, sherlock,” you almost whine, the words sharp though your voice lacks any bite. your head falls forward against his neck, the words trembling as his touch continues to unravel you.

but he doesn’t stop. instead, he presses another finger against you, slipping them both at once inside with deliberate ease. the stretch has you gasping, your hips jerking instinctively against his hand as he curls his fingers, finding the spot that makes your breath hitch. “you got this wet just from grinding, pipsqueak?” he murmurs, his tone both teasing and utterly sinful.

“shut up,” you try to protest, but the way his fingers push deeper, curling again, steals the words from your lips. a whimper escapes you instead, and you clutch at his shoulders, your body trembling against him. “fuck”.

regardless of the resistance that was impossible to ignore, your body was so hot that the initial discomfort was quickly replaced but more desire. caleb’s fingers were so damn long, reaching places your personal toys used to reach. the knowledge made your insides clench, something so dirty crossing your mind in the early stages of your love making.

“you’re incredible,” he mutters, his voice low and reverent, his lips brushing against your temple as he works you open with a deliberate precision that leaves you breathless. “don’t be shy, princess. let me hear you.”

a shaky breath stutters out of your mouth as you rock yourself against his hand, chasing the initial fire that have taken upon your core. but it’s not enough—not nearly enough. the ache in your core is unbearable, and every deliberate curl of caleb’s fingers only makes you crave more.

“do you have a condom?” you manage to gasp, your voice trembling with urgency.

his movements still for a fraction of a second before a sly, knowing smirk spreads across his face. “oh my, already?” he drawls, his tone dripping with playful teasing. “princess, i’m just starting with you.”

before you can respond, he moves. with a fluid motion, caleb rolls both of you over, his body pinning you down against the soft expanse of his king-sized bed. the shift leaves you breathless, his weight grounding you in the moment. his hands frame your face, one warm and rough, the other cool and unyielding, a perfect contrast that sends a shiver down your spine.

his lips hover just above yours, his breath mingling with your own as his teasing smirk softens into something darker, more intent. “we’ve got all the time in the universe, princess,” he murmurs, his voice low and velvety, sending a thrill through your body. “i’m not rushing this. i’ve waited too damn long to rush things now.”

your heart pounds in your chest as his gaze locks onto yours, his eyes filled with a heady mix of desire and something deeper. “please—” you start, but the words catch in your throat as his lips press against your neck, soft and deliberate, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

“c’mon, princess, don’t be shy. it’s just me, caleb.”

you were grateful his fingers weren’t inside you anymore, or else he’d have felt the dangerous clench your pussy made upon hearing his sentence. how can someone act so innocent with so much craving embedded in his voice?

“i want to savor this,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice muffled but no less commanding. his hand slides down your side, his touch lingering as if committing every curve to memory. “savor you.”

you swallow hard, your body arching into his touch despite your best efforts to remain steady. “but i want—”

“shh,” he interrupts gently, his lips brushing over your collarbone before he leans back to look at you. his smirk returns, though it’s softer now, tinged with affection. “don’t worry, princess. i’ve got you. you’re going to have to be patient, all right? let caleb take his time with you?”

his words are both a promise and a warning, and you can feel the anticipation building as he begins to move inside of your heat again, his touch deliberate, his actions slow and measured, as if determined to explore every inch of you before giving you exactly what you asked for.

“of course, you’re so warm, you had to be…” caleb mutters, his voice low and strained, each word dripping with unfiltered desire. his lips brush against the shell of your ear, and the heat of his breath sends shivers down your spine. “i’ve always imagined how you’d feel—if you’re as pretty on the inside as you are on the outside.”

the deliberate tease in his tone is enough to set your skin aflame, and your breath hitches at his words.

“stop,” you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders as your body reacts to every word, every touch. the intensity of his gaze locks you in place, your heart racing under the weight of his attention.

“what’s wrong, pipsqueak?” he asks, his smirk wicked, his voice like velvet. “am i being too honest for you?” his lips graze your jaw, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “or is it that you like hearing how much i’ve wanted you all this time?”

your cheeks burn as your hands clutch his biceps tighter, your body betraying you by arching closer to his.

“do you like the fact that i’m obsessed with you? that i’d burn the world down for you?” caleb teases, his voice a dark, sinful whisper as his fingers curl inside you, scissoring your pussy with deliberate precision.

your body betrays you completely—your walls clench tightly around him, and a loud, unrestrained moan spills from your lips before you can stop it. your head tilts back, your thighs trembling as he chuckles low in his throat, the sound dripping with satisfaction.

“oh, what’s that?” he drawls, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth as his fingers continue their relentless rhythm. “is this your special spot?”

your cheeks burn, and your hands grasp at his shoulders for support as his words wash over you, leaving you utterly exposed. how come his fingers were so fucking long? to the point where only them were already making you feel lightheaded.

or maybe it was him the one to blame for that.

“shut up,” you manage to gasp, though there’s no real weight behind your protest. every inch of your body is responding to him, and he knows it.

“my princess likes being naughty?” caleb counters, his tone as infuriatingly smug as the grin tugging at his lips. his bionic hand steadies your hip, keeping you from squirming too much, as his flesh fingers work deeper inside you. “you’re the one clenching around me like that, baby.”

“caleb—” your voice breaks as he curls his fingers just right, hitting the spot that makes your back arch and your moans grow louder. his smirk widens, his eyes glinting with mischief and unrelenting focus.

“that’s what i thought,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. “don’t fight it, let me hear you, please.” his fingers curl again, dragging another sharp moan from you, and the sound only seems to spur him on. “thank you, princess,” he adds softly, but there’s an edge to his words, a possessiveness that makes your heart race even faster. “every little sound, every little reaction—thank you for gracing me with them.”

“you’re impossible,” you manage to whisper, though your voice trembles, your resolve crumbling under his teasing.

“and you’re irresistible,” he counters, his lips finding yours in a kiss that’s equal parts tender and consuming. his words, his touch, his presence—it’s all too much and not enough, and you can feel yourself spiraling under his careful control.

your hands move instinctively, cradling his face, your thumbs brushing gently along his cheekbones as you pull him closer. his eyes search yours, intense and dark, as though waiting for you to shatter whatever thin line of control remains between you.

“just fuck me already,” you whisper, your voice trembling with need, your lips brushing against his as the words spill out. “please, caleb… i’m sensitive.”

the corner of caleb’s mouth lifts into a crooked smirk, though there’s a flicker of something deeper in his gaze—desire tempered by affection, by the weight of how much he feels for you.

“sensitive, huh?” he whispered against your lips, his tone teasing, but his eyes were anything but. they searched yours, dark and heavy with longing, silently asking for permission, for trust.

you nodded, your breath hitching, and he smiled—a soft, crooked smile that made your heart stutter.

he brings his lips close to your pulse point, his warm breath brushing against your neck. you feel the tease in his exhale, deliberate and slow, as if savoring the moment. instinctively, you tilt your head, offering more, knuckles still buried inside of you.

he leans in close, his voice low and dark as he murmurs, “you love being teased like this, don’t you?” a soft whimper escapes your lips, your body responding instinctively to the way his fingers work, each movement sending waves of sensation through you.

your hands press against his shoulders, searching for control, but he holds you firmly in place, his grip on your waist unyielding. his movements are deliberate, precise, barely grazing over sensitive spots, leaving you aching for more.

he doesn’t relent, his rhythm intensifying with every motion, each calculated touch sending your body into spiraling sensations. your breaths hitch as your body tightens, overwhelmed by the building tension, every moment pushing you closer to the edge.

"you look so damn gorgeous here in my arms, princess," caleb murmurs, his voice dripping with heat. "makes me wonder what would happen if i just..." he trails off, bending his fingers inside you until they hit that perfect spot again, sending a shockwave of pleasure through you. he focuses on it relentlessly, each movement precise and deliberate, drawing sharp gasps from your lips as your body responds instinctively.

the tension builds, pooling low in your stomach, ready to snap at any moment. you're right there, teetering on the edge of release, when suddenly, he stops. the absence is jarring, leaving your body aching for what it was so close to having.

your eyes fly open, heat rising in your cheeks as shock and frustration flood your senses. "caleb, what the hell?!" you gasp, scandalized, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

he chuckles darkly, the sound low and unapologetic, almost infuriating. "did you really think it would be that easy, my sweet girl?" his tone is teasing, almost rhetorical. "i love to savor what i want. so tell me..." his gaze locks with yours, daring and full of mischief. "will you let me play with you a little longer?"

"this isn’t funny," you pout, the frustration evident in your voice. "i want you."

"i know that, baby," caleb replies, his tone soft but teasing. "and i’ll give it to you. just hang in there for me a little longer, okay? don’t you want to be a good girl? i promise, it’ll feel even better."

before you can respond, his fingers are back inside you, curling with precision as he picks up where he left off. the intensity leaves you gasping, your body arching into his touch as he pins you firmly to the bed, each movement calculated to unravel you.

he drinks in every sound you make, the way your body reacts under his control. the tension builds quickly, spiraling upward as he focuses on that spot that drives you wild, your walls tightening around him. but just as the wave threatens to crash over you, he stops again, pulling away like it’s a game.

"caleb," you whine, your voice trembling as you feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "i-i need to come, please."

"i know, baby, i know," he soothes, his fingers moving gently now, almost comforting, though his teasing tone betrays him. "you trust me, don’t you, sweet girl?"

you nod weakly, cheeks wet and burning with embarrassment, but caleb’s gaze softens as he leans closer. "so pretty, my princess," he murmurs, his words wrapping around you like a caress. "i’ve waited so much for this. you deserve the world," he whispers, his lips trailing kisses down your body until his warm breath fans over your chest, teasing the hardened peaks of your nipples.

"she’s going to wait for me, just like i waited for her all this time, right, baby?" his voice sounded almost mocking, a dangerous mix of sarcasm and pure love.

was he talking about your pussy? oh god.

his words make your eyes widen, shock coursing through you as you try to pull away, only for him to hold you firmly in place.

"caleb," your voice trembles, barely above a whisper, and he chuckles softly, finding your helplessness endearing.

"hey, hey, look at me," he says gently, tilting your chin so your eyes meet his. "i’m here, aren’t i? don’t you think it’s fair, pipsqueak?” his lips press harder against your skin with every word, leaving marks that bloom red and tender. “i’ve always held myself back, endured for you." his canines leave two red dots just above your nipples, "day after day, after day, it was suffocating."

he pauses, his lips lingering just above your chest, leaving a bruise that you know will remind you of this moment long after. "at some point, i thought you liked me too," he whispers, pain lacing his words. "but then you left me. and forgot about me."

“caleb!” you try to protest, wanting to tell him he’s wrong, that he doesn’t understand, but the way he touches you—so deliberately, so tenderly, even when he’s pushing you to your limits—leaves you breathless, knees weak, eyes fluttering shut.

how does he know exactly what to do to unravel you like this?

before you can gather your thoughts, his fingers are back inside you, moving with an unrelenting rhythm that has you gasping, every thrust calculated to drive you closer and closer to the edge. just when you think you’re finally about to tip over into bliss, he pulls away again, leaving you trembling and desperate.

and the worst part? he keeps doing it—again and again—pushing you to the brink only to deny you at the last second. tears streak down your cheeks as you thrash beneath him, pleading for release, your body betraying you with every lewd moan and quiver. his fingers work you over, drawing out every sound, every reaction, but he never lets you find that sweet relief.

it doesn’t make sense—how can he know your body this well after such a short time? how can he read every twitch, every sigh, like he’s been doing this for years? there’s something almost reverent in the way he watches you, as if your pleasure is his own, even as he denies you again and again.

he’s wicked—a tormentor wrapped in the guise of a lover.

each time you’re on the verge of release, he withdraws, and fresh tears spill over as you whimper and beg. “please, caleb, let me come,” you plead, voice breaking. “i promise, i’ll listen, i’ll be good—just please, let me come!”

his lips curl into a smug grin, the glint in his eyes almost cruel as he leans in, voice a dark whisper against your ear. “princess wants to give in so soon?” he teases, the condescension in his tone making you burn.

he chuckles, low and sinister, the sound vibrating through you as he promises, “i haven’t even started yet.”

you’re reduced to a tearful mess, your body trembling with desperation as you try to cling to whatever composure you have left. you’d kick him if you could, but caleb holds all the power, the keeper of your release, and you know you have to play his game if you want even the slightest chance of relief today.

"caleb, baby," you plead, voice dripping with desperation. "the love of my life, please, please—i’ll be good now. i won’t push you away anymore. i need you."

did you sound pathetic? a little. but there are moments where you couldn’t find the strength to protect your pride when all that you ever wanted was to untie the knot burning in your core.

his dry chuckle sends a shiver down your spine as his grip tightens on your torso, holding you steady while his fingers continue their relentless rhythm. "i know, baby," he murmurs, his voice softer now. "just give me this moment, please."

and then he’s right back at it, thrusting his fingers deep inside you without mercy, his other hand occasionally teasing your clit. each precise movement against your sensitive spot sends you spiraling, the overwhelming pleasure leaving you breathless.

this time, though, he leans in, his mouth finding your pulse point. the heat of his lips against your damp skin, the way he bites and sucks at you, adds another layer of stimulation that has you reeling. it’s like he’s devouring you, taking every piece of control for himself as he plays with your body, denying you over and over like it’s a game he never tires of.

but when you find your voice again, it’s what finally cracks his composure. "caleb, baby, please—i need your cock, or i swear i’m gonna die."

it’s dramatic, sure, but it works.

he pauses, his breath uneven as he seems to wrestle with himself. his hand slips away from your aching core, giving you a brief moment of reprieve before he lines himself up against your entrance. the thick head of his member presses against you, the sensation so euphoric it has you pressing your forehead against the nearest pillow, trying to ground yourself.

was that what he wanted to hear all along?

biting his lip, he drags himself against your slick heat, collecting your essence along his tip, his gaze locked on the way your body clenches, desperate to be filled.

“you see, princess,” he continues, his voice a mix of tenderness and control, “maybe you’ve learned today, but i will always put you first.” his movements slow, deliberate, as he anchors your wrists against his shoulders, his hands firm but not harsh. “in my own selfish way, i just want the best for you. okay?”

you nod frantically, your body practically begging, even if your mind can’t quite catch up. you’re not sure what you’re agreeing to anymore, only that you want him—need him—to follow through.

but just as you think you’re finally there, everything shifts.

in one swift motion, caleb flips you onto your stomach, his weight pressing you into the bed as he adjusts himself behind you. the next thing you feel is the coarse sensation of something binding your wrists together behind your back, leaving you to hold yourself up by your shoulders.

a rope.

your heart races as you realize what he’s done, his control over you now complete, and all you can do is submit to whatever he has planned next.

it wasn’t just a rope, it was almost like a wire.

"caleb?" your voice wavered as you heard a mechanical whirring behind you. craning your neck, you caught a glimpse of his bionic arm in motion, a thin wire smoothly retracting from his forearm. the precision of it left you breathless—it was designed for this, leaving the prosthetic intact as it unraveled into a makeshift rope.

he wasted no time, expertly wrapping the wire around your wrists, binding them together at the small of your back. the restraint pressed you further into the bed, leaving you utterly at his mercy.

god, this was so hot.

"fuck, do you enjoy this, pipsqueak?" he murmured, his lips trailing soft kisses along your shoulders as he spoke. the heat in your body answered for you, clenching around nothing, leaving you needy and exposed.

"oh my…" his voice dropped, intimate and teasing. "if i knew my dirty princess was this naughty all this time…"

the way his tone dipped lower, filled with a mix of awe and desire, sent shivers down your spine. once again, you felt dangerously adored, like the very center of his universe.

he paused, leaning close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath. "you tell me to stop, and i’ll stop. you know that, right, baby?" his question hung in the air, a gentle reminder that despite everything, he was always seeking your consent.

"yes, just—go on with it already," you manage, your voice trembling with anticipation as the tension within you continues to build, lingering in every nerve. even the sound of his voice feels like it could unravel you completely.

and that’s all the warning you get before caleb presses forward, his movements slow and deliberate at first, as though testing your reactions. his hands steady your hips, his touch both firm and grounding, as he finds a rhythm that makes you gasp softly.

the press of his member was initially a relief. you could see yourself opening your mouth in an embarrassing long moan that reverated into the walls of his bedroom. the pitch was drown out by the teasing of his bare member, no protection whatsoever, and the feeling of each vein of his pressing against your insides.

you could feel everything. and the clench of your walls was the proof of that.

caleb moaned too—almost a pornographic grunt—and left you searching for the back of your head with your own eyes as he pushed and pushed and pushed inside of you.

“oh fuck, baby,” caleb fucking whined, too lost in the heat of your pussy. you could picture him throwing his head back and taking a deep breath after setting himself all the way in.

you were left clenching and clenching and clenching until you could feel the pressure in your abdomen starting to hurt you.

“caleb, wait—,” you hissed and pinched your eyebrows, bound hands trying to reach for his hips. at the sound of your plea, he seemed to get back to himself.

“what, sweet girl?”. he pressed his forehead on your shoulder and hissed at the clench your pussy made because of the new angle.

“just—go slow please.” you asked and he nodded.

“can you feel this, princess?”, caleb snaked his hand in your stomach and pressed his long fingers into the bulge he could feel right there. you moaned loudly at his teasing, feeling his member twitch inside of you.

“is that you?”, you whined weakly, already feeling lightheaded.

“yes, my sweet girl, this is me right here,” he pressed the tent in your stomach again, making your breath hitch and your cheeks wet. “see how well you were made for me? my perfect baby”. caleb pressed kissed all along your back until he was no more touching your skin.

he fucks you experimentally slow for all but one minute before he speeds up, and fucks you mean and hard and rough from the get-go. you whine and thrash at first, but then you start feeling the delicious burn of his movements right below your navel and surrender yourself to the pleasure. he buries himself to the hilt, revels in the perfect sponginess of your tight, warm walls until he pulls out, only to insert himself again.

you gasp sharply, the intensity of caleb’s movements overwhelming as he keeps a steady, unrelenting rhythm. the sounds between you fill the room, a harmony of raw emotion and connection. his presence feels all-encompassing as you adjust to him, every motion deliberate, leaving you breathless.

you brace against the makeshift restraint, your body responding instinctively to the sensation, a soft moan escaping your lips. “caleb...” his name falls from you like a prayer, your voice trembling with both need and surrender as the moment consumes you completely.

you don’t even realize you’re reciprocating caleb’s movements with your own, meeting his rhythm as he keeps up a rough, relentless pace. you submit to his every motion so easily, fueling caleb’s confidence, his nerves alight with a mix of dominance and raw desire.

“fuck, princess. look at how good you take it… such a good girl for me,” he murmurs, his voice rough and breathy, laced with his own building tension. you can tell he’s been holding himself back, the strain evident in his tone.

“god, caleb, please—go harder. you’re so…” you pause, your words trailing off as the sensations overwhelm you.

caleb takes your plea to heart, his grip tightening as one hand tangles in your hair. he pulls gently but firmly for leverage, picking up his pace, the sound of every movement echoing through the room like a symphony of chaos and passion.

of course him pulling your hair made you moan even louder, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

caleb’s ego swells as he takes in your pleas, doing exactly as you ask. his hand tightens in your hair, using it as leverage to increase his pace, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the room in a rhythm that leaves you breathless.

you can’t help the moan that escapes your lips, his grip on your hair sending jolts of pleasure through your entire body. “fuck, caleb, yes,” you gasp, your voice trembling with need.

caleb chuckles deeply, the sound rich and heady, his own composure slipping as he leans further into the moment. “now i’m sure you were made for me,” he mutters, his voice rough and strained. “god, i’ve dreamed of this for so fucking long…”

his words push you further, every syllable igniting something primal in you. you let go of every inhibition, your moans growing louder as he finds that perfect spot inside you, the one that leaves you reeling.

just when you think you’ve felt it all, caleb surprises you. his grip on your hair tightens slightly as he brings his other hand to your throat, his palm pressing lightly against your skin. the added sensation leaves you stunned, his breath hot against your ear as he leans in close, his voice a low whisper that makes your pulse race.

“how are you so loud, princess?” caleb murmurs, his words teasing yet softened by the gentleness in his tone as he trails praises over your skin. “i know you can take more than this. my girl is so strong, isn’t she?”

tears prick at the corners of your eyes, the overwhelming sensations building, the tension in your body coiling tighter and tighter with each second. you squirm against your restraints, craving more of him, every fiber of your being begging to let go.

“caleb, i’m so close,” you gasp sharply, his movements deliberate as he pulls your hips closer, each thrust leaving you breathless. “you fuck me so good, yes,” you manage, voice breaking under the weight of everything.

caleb pauses just long enough to undo the makeshift restraint, his dark, intent gaze never leaving you. his fingers work quickly, and the wire is discarded without a second thought. his hands steady you as he flips you onto your back, positioning you in missionary again.

you look up at him, relieved to see the same undone expression mirrored on his face. sweat beads along his skin as he breathes heavily, his movements just as affected as yours. instinctively, you reach out for him, but he catches your hands effortlessly, pinning them above your head.

“you’re mine,” he growls lowly, his voice strained with intensity, his gaze burning into yours. “all pretty and mine, finally.”

his grip remains firm as he leans down, his lips finding your neck, leaving heated kisses and light marks in his wake. his other hand braces against your hip, steadying you as he moves with an intensity that leaves no room for anything else. the bed shifts with each motion, his every movement deliberate and overwhelming as your own release builds again, unstoppable this time.

“caleb, please—i need to,” you plead, your voice trembling, barely holding yourself together as you teeter on the edge. “please let me…��

his gaze softens briefly, his focus solely on you as he leans closer, his movements never faltering. “just a little more, princess,” he murmurs. “i’ve got you.”

his thrusts are so powerful you’re sure he’s beating up your stomach, guts fully rearranged until they spell his fucking name.

“you want to come, princess? is that what you’re asking for?” caleb’s voice is firm, laced with dominance, but there’s a tenderness beneath the edge as his hands hold you firmly in place, grounding you amidst the chaos.

“yes, caleb, please,” you gasp, your voice breaking under the weight of your own need.

he holds you strictly in place as he gives it to you unforgivingly, hammering your pussy like it’s his, because fuck, are you goddamn his.

he leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “then tell me, baby,” he murmurs, his tone commanding yet teasing, “what’s my name?”

your voice trembles as caleb moans, your walls aching so bad your clit’s engorged beyond comprehension. it’s sickening the way he fucks you, so intoxicating and blissful and perfect you feel your soul leaving your body, feel your insides coiling so tightly you’re going to snap any second.

“caleb, fuck, caleb!”

“do i treat you right, baby?” caleb asks, his voice softer now, tinged with vulnerability beneath the heat. “will you let me be yours? will you let me love you, finally?”

“yes,” you gasp, your voice trembling with conviction. “god, yes—whatever you want. i’m yours, caleb. always have been.”

his response is immediate, shifting his position to deepen his movements, his breaths coming out in rough, raw grunts as he finds an angle that leaves you utterly undone. every motion is purposeful, pushing you to the brink as your hands strain against his hold, your body giving in completely to him.

and then it happens—your vision clouds, a rush of heat and intensity overtaking you as the tension inside you snaps like a tightly wound coil. everything bursts at once, your body consumed by waves of release so powerful it leaves you breathless, shaking as the moment overwhelms you entirely.

you’re so in your head it’s caleb’s frantic speaking that even keeps you at it, suddenly feeling something gush out of you in sheer abundance. “oh, oh shit, princess, you’re squirting, holy fuck, yes. just like that, baby, this is so fucking hot.” he praises copiously as you squirt all over caleb’s cock, leaving a gigantic, sloppy mess as he finally allows himself to come fiercely.

the connection between you remains unbroken as he lets himself go, his own release crashing over him. his body shudders, and you feel him tremble against you as the intensity of it all leaves you both breathless. the world narrows down to this shared moment, leaving you weightless and entirely consumed by the euphoria of being completely his.

your body lurches off his cushions and caleb’s dick twitches inside you, throbs and fills you up to the brim with his cum, the feeling nothing short of euphoria.

he releases with a deep, guttural groan, his body trembling as his palms press into the bed on either side of your head, caging you in. his breaths come in heavy, uneven huffs as he hovers above you, beads of sweat clinging to his damp hair, a mixture of exhaustion and satisfaction radiating from him.

your wrists fall limply above your head, released from his grip, but you barely have the strength to move them. your body feels heavy, spent, every muscle lax from the intensity of the moment. your eyes flutter open and closed, exhaustion pulling at you as you try to focus on the man above you.

he’s still nestled against you, his body fitting yours like it was meant to, his forehead coming to rest gently against yours. his voice, low and husky, breaks through the haze. “pipsqueak, baby, don’t sleep just yet,” he murmurs, his breath mingling with yours as he cups your face in his warm hands.

your throat feels dry, your body too worn to respond fully, but his touch keeps you grounded. he brushes his thumbs over your cheeks, his voice soft and tender, as if to anchor you. “princess, you were amazing. you did so well… my good girl, forever my good girl,” he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose.

you barely manage a small nod, the pull of sleep too strong to resist much longer. his words are like a lullaby, soft and full of adoration, wrapping around you as you drift.

“i love you, caleb,” you manage to mutter, your body still trembling faintly from the aftershocks coursing through you. “i always have.”

his movements still at your confession, and though your eyes remain closed, you can feel the weight of his shock. his silence stretches, thick with emotion, and you wish you could see the expression on his face.

“you do, princess?” he finally breathes, his voice cracking with disbelief. “are you sure?” the raw vulnerability in his tone is almost heartbreaking, as if the idea of you loving him is too fragile, too precious for him to fully believe.

you nod, unable to speak, too afraid to shatter the fragile moment between you.

his hand brushes against your face, trembling slightly. “i’ll be good for you, princess,” he murmurs, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “i promise. you’ll never have to cry again. not ever.”

you feel a strange pressure leave your body, realizing it’s caleb pulling out of you. the sensation leaves you feeling empty, but his gentle care grounds you. he moves with practiced tenderness, cleaning you up and whispering soft reassurances as your exhausted muscles fight against the weight of sleep. even as your body surrenders to the pull of rest, his touch remains a steady reminder that you’re safe in his hands.

as caleb works quietly, his hands careful and deliberate, you can’t help but notice the shift in him. the way he moves, the way he looks at you—it’s different now. softer, almost reverent. he’s so eager, so determined to tend to your every need, as though this moment means as much to him as it does to you.

he catches your gaze, and for a moment, you see it—his redemption arc, written in the lines of his face, in the way his hands tremble ever so slightly as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. he’s trying so hard, pouring every ounce of himself into being what he thinks you need.

“princess,” he murmurs, his voice soft as his fingers trace your jaw. “you okay? do you need anything else?”

his question is earnest, his eyes searching yours for any hint of discomfort or lingering pain. and it’s in that moment you realize—this isn’t just about pleasing you. this is about him trying to earn something he doesn’t think he deserves. your love. your trust. your forgiveness.

“the condom, you asshole—you forgot the fucking condom,” you say, trying to sound angry, though there’s a playful glint in your eyes.

caleb freezes, his body going rigid as panic spreads across his face. his gaze darts to your body, and it’s like his senses have only just returned to him.

“shit—fuck, princess, i swear it wasn’t on purpose! i just… i wanted to feel you so fucking bad,” he blurts out, his words tumbling over themselves in his desperation to explain. “after you said you needed me or else you were going to die, i—i lost it. i threw all caution out the window. i’m so fucking sorry—”

his rambling apology is so frantic, so guilt-ridden, that you can’t hold back the soft chuckle bubbling up from your chest. it cuts him off mid-sentence, his eyes snapping up to meet yours, wide and full of worry. the tenderness in his expression, the way he’s so wrapped up in your well-being, tugs at something deep inside you.

“what?” he asks, his voice almost breaking. “fuck—i know it’s my fault, i know, i’m going to—”

“caleb,” you interrupt softly, reaching up to thread your fingers through his tousled brown hair. the motion draws his attention, grounding him as his frantic thoughts start to settle. “i’m joking. i’m on the pill.”

his eyes search yours, blinking in disbelief as your words sink in. “you’re… you’re joking?” he repeats, his voice a mix of relief and exasperation.

“yeah,” you say with a small, teasing smile, letting your fingers curl a little tighter in his hair. “relax. i’ve got it handled.”

he exhales a shaky laugh, resting his forehead against yours as his body finally unclenches. “jesus, princess, you almost gave me a fucking heart attack.”

“good,” you reply, smirking. “you deserve it for forgetting the condom in the first place.”

he laughs again, softer this time, and there’s something vulnerable about the sound. “you’re gonna be the death of me,” he murmurs, pressing a light kiss to your lips.

“maybe,” you whisper against his mouth, your smile growing.

caleb pulls back just enough to look at you, his lips still curved in a soft smile, but his eyes are searching yours. there's something unspoken there, a mixture of relief and lingering uncertainty, like he’s still trying to believe this moment is real. his hand brushes your cheek, his thumb trailing a path down to your jaw, grounding you both in the quiet intimacy of the aftermath.

"you know," he murmurs, his voice low and steady, "i’ve always dreamed of us like this. not just the… well, you know," he says with a small, self-conscious laugh that tugs at your heart. "but being with you, waking up next to you, knowing that this isn’t just something fleeting." his brow furrows slightly, the vulnerability in his expression catching you off guard. "this means everything to me, princess."

your chest tightens at his words, the weight of them settling over you like a warm blanket. you reach up, cupping his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing over the faint stubble on his cheeks. "this isn’t fleeting, caleb," you say softly, your voice steady despite the rush of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. "it never was. i’m here, and i’m not going anywhere. not now, not ever."

his eyes close briefly, like he’s taking in the full meaning of your words, before he leans down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. "thank you," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "thank you for giving me this. for giving us a chance."

the silence between you stretches, but it’s not the kind that feels empty. it’s filled with understanding, with promises unspoken but felt in every look, every touch. outside, the faint hum of skyhaven’s magnetic fields reminds you of where you are, but for the first time in what feels like forever, you’re not afraid of the isolation. caleb is here, and that’s all that matters.

"we should probably clean up," you say after a moment, your voice light but teasing as you glance at the mess the two of you have made. caleb grins, a mischievous glint in his eye as he leans down to nuzzle against your neck.

"or," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin, "we could stay like this a little longer. i mean, i’d hate to let go of my good girl so soon." his playful tone makes you laugh, the sound light and free, and you realize that for all the chaos that brought you here, you wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.

"five more minutes," you agree, your arms wrapping around him as he settles beside you. it’s not perfect—not yet—but as you lie there together, tangled up in each other, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this is the beginning of something that will be. something that feels a lot like forever.

author’s note: thank you for everyone who took the time to read the four chapters of this mini-series, especially those who commented, you guys have my heart. the cheeky ending is a must, i'm sorry. send me a request • my masterpost

taglist: @bbieainee

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help-help-i-need-an-adult · 2 days ago

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In October of 2001, my older brother walked to Chicago from southeast Indiana because he got mad at school. He was missing for 4 days and no one knew where he’d gone. My parents were only finally contacted about his whereabouts when he was found by the Chicago Airport security, on the runway lot watching planes coming in and out of the airport. This was a month after 9/11 happened, by the way. He still wasn’t given a cell phone after this because it was too expensive.

In 2003, my older sister went to a fine arts boarding school in Michigan on a scholarship. It’s a really big campus and was an 8 hour drive away from home. She wasn’t given a cellphone because it was too expensive. Many of her classmates from wealthier families had them, but not my sister.

I was a small child (barely in double digit age group) and alone on college campuses at night without a phone on a weekly basis in the early 2000’s (about 2004-2008) because they were expensive. Literally about 11 years old when this started. By 12, I was alone two nights a week. My parents couldn’t be bothered to pick me up on time and the choir didn’t think to have an adult stay with the kids till they were all picked up. They never dreamed a parent would be an hour late on a regular basis. I think they FINALLY made the rule to have the choir parent stay till every kid was picked up when I was 16 because I’d made the “so your parents don’t love you either?” joke to the wrong kid. After that, the choir parents started to hate me because my parents were never on time and dad always wanted to pick me up at the wrong door.

(Seriously, I have no idea how child protective services was only called on my parents once in 2002.)

Anyway.

When I finally did get a phone, it was 2009 and my high school principal made my having one mandatory in order to attend classes on the college campus. Even then, my parents were reluctant to give me one. I got a long lecture about how it was only for emergencies. Minutes were expensive.

Finally, my mom’s bff gave me one of her kid’s old phones and paid for its service so I could call/text more freely while running around a major city unsupervised.

My dad kept his flip phone under the drivers seat in his car turned off because “he didn’t need it.” An old lady chewed him out for it when my mom and I were in a car accident in 2011 and couldn’t reach him. He didn’t change his behavior over this. Never mind that mom had a concussion and was unconscious and I was 17 and unable to make decisions. He didn’t need it, so it was off and under his driver’s seat.

In 2012, my mom went through 7 phones in a month via multiple shenanigans of her own carelessness, including running her phone over with the car. If I’d broken or lost or had my phone stolen before this point, it would have been “too bad, so sad”, but mom got 7 in a month because by 2012, my parents didn’t have a landline anymore, and it wasn’t so expensive as to be irreplaceable.

My parents were arguably in a worse financial position in 2012 than they were in 2005 for example.

By my early 20’s, flip phones were almost nonexistent because smartphones were now necessary for nearly everything.

Now my phone is something I pay for myself, but work gives me so much money a month to help me keep it. It tells my emergency contacts my whereabouts with the click of a button and vis versa. I use it for everything from social media, to navigation, to work stuffs. I keep it in a case to try not to break it, but have insurance on it just in case that fails.

My point of all of this is phones went from “expensive” and “damn near indestructible” to very easy to break and a necessity in a very VERY short period of time.

something I’ve seen in various fandoms now is young artists will draw flip phones with cracked screens. But in my experience, I have never met someone whose flip phone had a screen crack. Those screens were more like something on a calculator or a nintendo ds than like a smartphone. I was a klutz, and my first phone broke because the front half and back half came apart. Like you’d mayyyyybe see it on some of the later flip phones that only had large screens on the front because smartphones had already made them popular, but it was still way more rare.

If you wanna give a character a flip phone and show they’re clumsy, they’re more likely to have the paint scratched like hell or parts of the plastic chipped off. No more phone charms because the plastic loop broke. If the screen is broken, it would sooner not turn on anymore before the screen would have a crack in it.

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kdollikesthighs · 1 day ago

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Dystopia: part 1

Itzy Chaeryeong x m reader A/N: Guess I'm doing this for everyone in itzy now. Very light on the smut, but it'll ramp it up later. Word count: 1,853 words.

The world outside was a dystopia. That’s an exaggeration. It was your dystopia. Every second spent away from home for you is hell.

A frigid wind rushed through the streets as you trudged the last block to your home, the sharp sting of it cutting through your coat like it had a grudge against you personally.

It wasn’t just the cold that made the day unbearable—it was everything. The noise, the pace, the people. The sharp bark of your boss’s voice replayed in your head, a grating reminder of how the hours had dragged on. You’d spent the day on eggshells, nodding along to passive-aggressive jabs and vague threats. He didn’t care about the work you did, not really. All he wanted was numbers, results, a perfect machine in an imperfect world.

The streets outside weren’t much better. People moved like ghosts, unaware of everybody else’s existence. There was no warmth, no connection, just a sea of indifferent faces that blurred together. Even the air felt hostile, like it had a biting chill that seeped deep into your bones and refused to let go.

You passed the neon sign of the convenience store on the corner, its exaggerated glow casting jagged shadows across the pavement. You didn’t belong out here, in this cold, soulless expanse. Every step felt like a fight to keep from collapsing under the weight of it all. But then—then you saw the light from your apartment window, a soft, golden glow that cut through the darkness like a beacon.

Your chest tightened as you climbed the stairs, each step pulling you closer to her. You didn’t belong out there, but here? Here you had her.

The moment you opened the door, it hit you: euphoria. Something that wrapped around you and made the world outside feel like a distant nightmare.

The second you stepped through the door, the smell of something delicious wafted through the air, but it didn’t hold your attention for long. Your focus was entirely on Chaeryeong, humming softly to herself in the kitchen, swaying gently as she worked her magic. She was dressed in a casual tube-top that exposed just enough of her shoulders to have your pulse racing, her hair tied up loosely like she’d been in a rush.

You cautiously dropped your bag by the door without making any noise, loosening your tie as you leaned against the frame to watch her, to really take in the sight of what you were lucky enough to get home to. She didn’t notice you at first, too focused on whatever she was stirring on the stovetop, but when the door snapped shut behind you she finally glanced over her shoulder and caught your eye, her face lit up in that bright, familiar smile.

There was something else woven into her tone tonight, something that made your heart stutter for a moment. It wasn’t just happiness, no, it was almost giddy, like she had a secret she was waiting for you to uncover.

“Welcome home, husband!” she said, her voice sweet and teasing.

And that was it. It was all you needed to rewire your brain, like it always did when she called you that, with so much affection in her voice that it made you feel like you were the luckiest man alive. You are the luckiest man alive. “Come here,” you said, your voice already thick with desire as you crossed the distance between you in a few quick strides.

“Wait, wait,” she giggled, holding up her hands as if to stop you, though there was no real resistance in her movements. “I’m cooking—”

“Don’t care,” you muttered, your hands already finding her waist and pulling her close. “You’ve been teasing me since I walked in.”

“I wasn’t teasing you!” she protested, though her laugh betrayed her as her hands rested squarely against your chest. “You’re always teasing me,” you countered, your voice teasing your wife back as your lips brushed her ear. “Walking around like this, looking like a dream, calling me husband like you know exactly what it does to me.”

Her smile only grew upon hearing your neediness. And there it was again, that hint of something behind her eyes, something warm and secretive, a glow that had nothing to do with the kitchen lights.

Her soft laugh turned into a breathless gasp as your hands slid down ever so slightly, gripping exposed waist firmly. “I’m just being a good wife,” she murmured, her voice trembling slightly as she looked up at you through her lashes.

She had been extra affectionate recently, not that she wasn’t usually, but tonight it felt almost like she was trying to tell you something without saying it outright. Had she been like this all week? You tried your best to remember. The little things, the way she lingered in your arms a second longer each morning, the satisfied look she’d had last night as she recovered from being filled up by you. And then there was the way she’d been more tired lately, dozing off against you when you were cuddling on the couch.

Chaeryeong tried to twist out of your grip towards the unattended kitchen counter, her laughs giving away her enjoyment of this as she was pinned between the granite and your body. “I have to stir that—” “I have to kiss you,” you interrupted, brushing your nose across hers softly as your lips hovered just above hers, reveling in the way her breath hitched by your advancements. “You’re impossible,” she whispered against your lips, her hands sliding up to the back of your neck. Your grip tightened on her waist just slightly, as you lingered there for a beat longer than usual, like you were trying to ground yourself in her warmth. “And you’re glowing tonight,” you breathed out, almost as if it was the only thing that felt right saying.

She let out a soft laugh, tilting her head sideways. “Glowing?”

You hesitated. You weren’t sure what you meant by that. Was it something about the way she looked tonight? Or even, the way she felt? You couldn’t place it, but it had your mind spinning. She huffed, but the way her knees wobbled betrayed any pretense. Chaeryeong’s hands slid upwards on your chest, her fingers grazing your neck as they found their way to your face. “You had a bad day, didn’t you?”

You exhaled through your nose, your grip on her waist tightening ever so slightly. The memory of today was enough to make you want to squeeze her tight. Like you feared losing her. She always knew.

“You always get extra clingy when work sucks,” she played up in a teasing tune, playful but her touch gentle as she cupped your face on both cheeks. “Not that I’m complaining.”

You puffed out a small laugh tainted with disbelief, pressing your forehead against hers. “I always want you. Bad day or not.”

Her giggle was warm, but she didn’t push for more. There was no need to tarnish this moment. She just held you there, like she knew you needed this moment, the grounding weight of her body against yours. An affecting smile painted her lips. It was clear she had her own things she needed to talk to you about, but it quickly disappeared as she focused on what mattered more to her. Making sure you felt relieved.

Right as you wanted to claim her lips as your prize, she ducked under your arms and— oh. She slipped onto her knees right there in the middle of the kitchen, looking up at you with a mischievous glint and playful giggle. “Well, if we’re already delaying dinner,” she mused with obvious intentions, fingers tracing slow patterns along your buckled belt, “I can think of another way to wash away your stress.” Your breath stilled. She was perfect. “Chaer…” She grinned at your slow moan, biting her lip knowing you both know where this night was headed. “Say it.” You swallowed hard, your voice going lower with an intense need. “You’re the best fucking wife in the world.” Her delighted giggle at your correct answer sent a shiver down your spine. “I know, hubby.” Hearing her call you husband or hubby was like getting hit by a lightning bolt. Anything you ever worried about disintegrated, and you were filled with a vigor to fuck her properly, like a good husband should. Your hands found their way to the back of her head, your grip tightening in her messy hair as you exhaled, everything melting away in the face of Chaeryeong’s mischievous devotion to you. She loved this. And you knew. She loved seeing you like this, unraveling just from the anticipation alone. It made her giddy with joy, the way you looked down at her, into her, with that wrecked, desperate, yearning expression, as if she was the only thing in the world that mattered. Because to you, she is the only thing that matters. “Look at you,” you grunted, your voice wavering from trying to hold back. “You’re too good to me, wifey.”

She hummed, pleased. Of course, she couldn’t help but hum, because she was just like you, unable to resist what her body desired the second you called her wife or wifey. She pressed a slow, lingering kiss with her plump lips against your abdomen, just above the waistband of your pants. Her fingers trailed and danced and teased along the edge of your belt, making a show of being slow. Of taking her time. She was going to enjoy this. Enjoy you. Enjoy her husband. And she knew it drove you insane.

Ragged breaths flowed out of your mouth, resisting the irresistible urge to just take, to guide, to speed up the process. To ruin her. But she was enjoying this, enjoying watching you become undone for her, and you loved her so that you could never deny her this. Her fingers curled around and behind your waistband, pulling it up ever so slightly as she looked up at you through her thick eyelashes, eyes twinkling with desire. “You’re really holding back,” she teased with a big smile, her lower lip caught between her teeth, her voice as saccharine and playful as ever, like she wasn’t rewiring your brain at its core. Another hard swallow. “Trying to be good for you.”

She giggled, leaning in closer as if she already knew what she was gonna say next would destroy you. “Oh, my sweet husband… I don’t want you to be good right now.” You snapped, you broke, and you took what was yours. Your one hand pulled her hair at its root back, your other found her jaw, tilting her face up to meet your gaze, your thumb brushing over her flushed cheeks, as her eyes looked at you expectantly.

“You just want to get your mouth fucked by your husband, huh?” You asked without waiting for an answer. “Be a good little wife for me, and open wide.”

And she did—without hesitation, without a second thought, with full devotion— because, of course, she was yours.

#kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #m reader #male reader #kpop smut #smut #itzy smut #chaeryeong smut

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phantom-dc · 2 days ago

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Vivisection Deception

“Yes, dad. I will vacuum the living room. Yes, I will also do my homework. No, I won’t forget the Ecto-filter. Love you too, say hi to mom and Jazz for me, bye!”

Danny hung up the phone. Sitting back into the booth at the Nasty burger, he got back to his burger. Tucker took a big bite, before talking with his mouth still full:

“So, your parents and sister are all out of town for the whole weekend? They had no problem leaving you alone unsupervised?”

Sam looked at Tucker with disgust, warning him to empty his mouth first. Danny nodded, agreeing with Sam:

“Yeah! Jazz wanted to explore different universities for when she graduates, even though that’s still a few years away. Still, mom and dad agreed to drive her if they could combine it with a visit to a convention for the Occult. Pretty sure they’ll be the only “scientists” there again, but that’s not my problem. Mom decided that she I could stay home alone. A sign of trust, Jazz called it. Something about "improving through positive reinforcement", I guess.”

Sam finishes her salad, and looks jealous. Danny invites both her and Tucker over for a weekend of gaming and fast food, but both decline, to his surprise. Sam groans, frustrated:

“I would love a weekend with no parents! Mine are forcing me to this, rich people yacht party. Mom keeps saying I might find a nice boy there, so I know it will be a weekend full of mom trying to play matchmaker with snotty rich boys. YUCH!”

Tucker apologizes as well. His parents are taking him to visit his grandma this weekend. He hasn’t seen her in a while, so he can’t cancel it, either. Danny looks a bit sullen about that, but smiles through it:

“Guess I’ll have the weekend to myself then! Maybe I can actually get this book report for Mr. Lancer done… Or I can even play a bit of Doomed!”

Friday evening, Phantom is flying back home. He has just seen Sam & Tucker off at the airport, and was looking forward to a weekend of peace and quiet:

“Man, sometimes I just forget how rich Sam is! I didn’t know her family has a private jet-“

Suddenly his Ghost Sense goes off. Getting into a battle stance, Phantom looks around. He is just in time to dodge a pair of claws heading straight for him! Turning around and shooting an ectoblast, Phantom tries to figure out who the ghost is. When the ghost taunts him at becoming slower every day, Phantom recognizes his voice:

“Bertrand! I am SO not in the mood for you!”

Bertrand laughs, and says that he was hoping for that. He attacks Phantom again before flying off, taunting Phantom to chase him. After a few hours Phantom lost his trail, and heads home. De-transforming before going inside Fentonworks, Danny is annoyed he’ll have to deal with Bertrand, but at least Spectra wasn’t with him. She’s the real threat.

When Danny steps inside, he finds the house is a mess! There are cannisters with Ectoplasm throughout the house, and the temperature is set to near freezing. Confused and suspicious, Danny goes to the lab. There he finds the cause of the mess:

“Mom?? What are you doing home? Aren’t you supposed to be with Dad & Jazz on her University trip?”

Maddie turns to Danny and quickly puts a strange gasmask on him. She is wearing one as well, along with her safety goggles:

“Hello sweetie! Quick, put this mask on! The samples we managed to collect give of Ectoplasmic fumes, so you’ll have to keep wearing it in the house, ok?”

Danny follows her advice, and puts it on. He again asks her what she is doing home, when Jack enters the lab as well, also wearing a gasmask and his safety goggles. Danny thinks the fumes must be pretty dangerous if his dad is wearing the goggles. He usually forgets to put them on. Jack gives Danny a big hug that would cause many regular humans severe backpain:

“Son, you’re home! We were worried sick when your mother and I got home early and you weren't here. Jazz thought we were “hurting her chances” to get into the school of her dreams, so she sent us home.”

Danny rolls his eyes, knowing exactly what kind of antics his parents could get up to when left unsupervised. He asks Maddie what is up with all the cannisters in the living room. Maddie apologizes, while turning the heat down even further:

“We managed to find a way to extract even purer Ectoplasm from the Ghost Zone! We took so many samples we can’t even fit them in the lab, this will be great for our research! Oh, but I am sorry, sweetie. The samples need to stay very cold, so we can’t turn up the heat. If you need, I can get you more blankets?”

Danny sighs frustrated, not looking forward to a weekend of cold. He declines Maddie’s offer, instead opting to go to bed. It is very late after all. Which is when Jack blocks the way upstairs:

“Don’t think you can distract us that easily! Or did you honestly think we didn’t notice?”

Danny is confused, but before he can answer Maddie interrupts him:

“That’s right, it IS late! In fact, it’s 2 hours past your curfew! Now why do you keep doing this, Danny? We’re not asking much of you, only that you come home at a reasonable time! Just because we weren’t supposed to be home yet, doesn’t mean you can stay out until who knows when! You are grounded, young man! You’re not allowed out this weekend, and hand over your phone!”

Danny tries to protest, but it’s in vain. Handing over his phone, he heads to bed, dejected. As he lies in bed, freezing, he wonders if things would be easier if he could just tell them what he was doing. Judging from that time with Freakshow and the Reality Gauntlet they would accept him, right? If they knew he was Phantom he could just tell them he was hunting Ghosts…

Saturday turns out to be the worst. Danny is woken up forcefully by his dad, who tells him he isn’t allowed to sleep in as long as he is grounded. Sleepily, Danny goes downstairs, a blanket around him and that stupid gasmask on his face. He asks Maddie how he is supposed to eat breakfast with that thing on. Maddie seems to think for a bit, and says that he is right. She will allow him to go out to get himself something to eat.

Danny quickly races upstairs, a bit confused about that break of curfew but not wanting to lose the chance to get out off the house. After getting dressed Jack tells him to get home back after immediately, or else he’ll be worse then grounded! That was a few hours ago. Cursing his bad luck, Danny races home:

“Please, please, PLEASE be too busy in the lab to notice I’m late! Of course the Ghosts also decide to ruin my weekend! First Ember doing an impromptu concert at the Nasty Burger, which means I can’t get breakfast. Then Johnny & Kitty are fighting it out at the food court in the mall, so I can’t get lunch either! If mom & dad send me home without dinner…”

De-transforming and entering Fentonworks, Danny looks around. The living room is still a mess of cannisters and the place is freezing, but he doesn’t see his parents. That means he might be able to bluff he was home for a while and they didn’t notice. If he can just get his chores done before they come upstairs…

“DANNY! COME DOWN TO THE LAB, NOW!”

Hearing that, Danny groans. This weekend is going from bad to worse! Putting on a gasmask, he heads to the lab. There he finds Jack & Maddie preparing a table with a big drill attached to it. Danny lies that he going to do his chores quickly while they are still busy, and empties the Fenton Thermos into the Ghost Zone without them noticing. When he turns around, he is not prepared for what happens.

The next moment he is trapped in a ghost-proof net, shot from a Fenton Net-bazooka. Confused, Danny asks what is happening, but receives no answer. Instead, Jack electrifies the net, causing Danny to instinctively transform into Phantom to protect himself, before passing out from the pain.

When he comes too, he is in hell. His parents saw him transform outside on new camera’s that Danny didn’t know off, and denounced him, both as a human being and as a son. They see his act of releasing the Ghosts back into the Zone as a sign that he too is evil. Danny is cuffed to an examination table and his powers are restrained. He is truly trapped as Maddie makes the first incision. Hours pass and Danny wonders how he can still be alive and conscious. He wishes he wasn’t. He didn’t know what was worse, the pain or the constant venom coming from his parents mouths, calling him all sort of horrible things. They must truly hate him. Danny, now terrified of every move his parents make, can only think of one thing:

Escape.

He must get out of here or they’ll kill him for good! He needs to get as far away from here as possible! For once, it seemed his Fenton Luck decided to show mercy. When they reached his Core, Jack had grabbed a remote. Shouting with a sick glee that he had the drill ready for this, he pushed a big red button. Maddie looked up, shouting that was the wrong remote, but it was already done.

With a loud noise, the cuffs popped open and Danny was free! Not thinking for a second, he shot into the roof, out of Fentonworks and towards the horizon. He need to get out of there! He’s never looking back!

Inside the lab, Jack & Maddie look at the spot Phantom fled through the ceiling. Suddenly Maddie begins to laugh:

“HAHAHAHA!!! It worked! That was absolutely delicious! He’ll be miserable for the rest of his life!”

Taking off the gasmask and goggles, ‘Maddie’ reveals herself to be Spectra in disguise! Next to her, ‘Jack’ morphs back into Bertrand.

“A brilliant plan, truly! Not only are we rid of that little Freak, but the misery of his little friends will be a great dessert!”

Spectra takes out Danny’s phone, seeing several missed calls from the real Jack & Maddie. Throwing it on the Ectoplasm and blood covered table, she decides to go celebrate. Heading into the Ghost Zone to get Ember and Kitty to repay the favor, neither Spectra not Bertrand notice the Portals Ectofilter beeping dangerously, since they had inadvertently prevented Danny from replacing it.

Outside, the Fenton RV rolls up. Jack, Maddie and Jazz are worried sick since Danny isn’t answering his phone. Jack is about to open the car door when the Portal explodes, taking Fentonworks with it. Months later the Fentons still blame themselves for leaving their son home alone. Police reports will later say that the only casualty is Danny Fenton.

Several states away, homeless boy Danny Nightingale attracts the attention of several heroes and villains alike…

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dc x dp #dp x dc

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xoxxbilliexoxx · 3 days ago

Text

let go, for me

“You felt like you were made of stars, like the universe was inside of you and each time you felt Billies delicate touch a new galaxy was created.”

***********************************************************

You and Billie rushed through her bedroom door as clothes flew all around you. It was intense and fiery, just like the movies, as you both stripped eachother down till your hands were on bare skin.

You had met just hours prior at an event you were hired to take pictures for. You recognized her from across the room, in her baggy black jeans and a shockingly tight light blue baby tee with her long black shiny hair pin straight and kept out of her face with a black bandana. You tried to continue doing your job and minding your business but you couldn’t keep your eyes off of her. It’s Billie Eilish for fucks sake. your favorite artist and biggest crush of all time.

Just being in her presence was overwhelming enough but when you saw her crisp blue eyes land on yours, lined boldly with black eyeliner only making them pop more, you felt your heart stop. When you noticed she was walking directly towards you with a slightly playful smirk, you felt your air stiffen in your lungs. When you heard her sweet sexy voice say hello you felt your brain fill with a buzz.

Somehow though you managed to keep your cool, staying in a sweet conversation with her for quite a while before getting confident enough to send her obviously flirtatious energy right back at her. Soon enough the heat between you two was palpable and as if in a dream, she was inviting you back to her place when the event was over.

Now here you were, pinned under her in her bed, trying to ground yourself enough to convince yourself this was real. You’ve imagined this before, even read smut about her a few times if you were gunna be honest, but never did you think you’d be feeling her real hands drag across your stomach.

when her lips pulled yours in again you whined at the hunger she was showing you. Her lips moved between yours fast, and her hands grabbed all around your body even faster. You pulled away to look at her, still not able to fully believe this was real. Her big boobs spilled out of a lace black bra and her dragon tattoo hid under a matching thong. Your eyes drank her in as much as you could. you knew you were gunna think about this moment till the day you died.

But you couldn’t manage to keep your eyes open when her lips attached to the sensitive skin on the side of your neck. You couldn’t manage to keep your sweet cries in when her fingers attached to your clit. You couldn’t manage to keep your thoughts in order when she was kissing down your body.

But even with THE Billie Eilish your mind began to ruin the moment like it does with every girl you hook up with. The way she was devouring your sensitive pussy was insanely hot and the pleasure it was causing was almost overwhelming. But your mind, it wouldn’t shut up. wouldn’t stop thinking about how you weren’t gunna be able to cum and how Billie wouldn’t wanna be doing this forever. how you needed to hurry up so you didn’t make her eat you out for too long. How you bet ever other girl she fucks can probably cum so quick and how hot she must think that is. So, within a matter of minutes you were sitting up and pulling Billie away from you. With a confused look Billie questioned you, whiping your slick honey off her chin and sitting down next to you.

“I’m not gunna cum Billie it’s okay, let me make you feel good” Her eyes found yours as you looked back up at her, feigning a smile even though you felt extremely insecure. “Was I not good baby? Was I not making you feel good?” Her questions weren’t laced with insecurity about her skill but more so with genuine curiosity and desire to do better, wanting to get you there. You looked down at your hands in your lap, completely embarrassed about this moment you were in. Angry that you just ruined the once chance you were gunna have to fuck Billie. “No it’s not that, you were making me feel really good, trust me” you smiled when you looked up at her but immediately looked back down when the eye contact got too intense.

“So why’d you stop then? are you okay?” The moment felt so intimate, she made you feel so safe and cared for. It was not something you were used to feeling. “I just can never cum, it takes me too long so I just stop and make the other person feel good instead. It’s not a big deal, lemme make you feel good Billie” She shook her head and continued asking you questions, wanting to know why you thought you could never cum, what you were thinking about when you would decide to stop someone, if you could cum on my own. The questions never ended. But it never felt awkward or too personal, it felt like she was genuinely interested in figuring this out.

“Y/n, baby,” her nickname sent a shiver down your spine as she continued talking. “It sounds like you’re just really in your head about what the other person is thinking and you’re trying to rush yourself to finish cuz you think that’s what they’ll want. Does that sound right?” you nodded your head, somewhat stunned that you never even realized that’s what you were doing. “I mean yea, I feel bad that it takes me so long and I know at a certain point they definitely don’t wanna keep going, so I just stop them early so they don’t have to be the one to stop. I just don’t want it to be awkward ya know?” your voice was quiet at the admission.

“Mmmm I mean I hear you, but you gotta stop stressing about the other person so much. Trust me when I say I could go down on a girl for literally hours, and most of the time I’m sad when it does end” She laughed out her sentence before placing her index finger under your chin and pulling you up to find her eyes. “Do you think you can trust me Y/N?” you swallow at the intimacy, finding it so sweet that she was so determined to make you feel good.

It would have been so easy for her to let you go down on her and finish the night, but that wasn’t good enough for her. ‘Of course fucking Billie Eilish would care so much about her partners pleasure, even on a random hookup’ you thought to yourself.

Billie was thrilled she got to help you, got to make sure she was making you feel good when no one else cared enough to figure this out. She loved passion, she loved sensuality and erotic touch, she loved pleasure. She loved the world it leaves people in, the way the whole experience is like nothing else we do in this world. So, she knew that she wanted to pull you deeper into that world than anyone else had.

As she guided you to lay back down she put pillows behind your head and told you to get as comfortable as you could be. You took a deep breath, saying you were overwhelmed by the entire situation was quite an understatement, and all you could think about was the impossible demand to NOT let yourself catch any type of feelings for her. But you knew that couldn’t happen, cuz you already had feelings for her- you have for all the years you’ve been her fan.

So, naturally, those feelings were all you could think about as she began tracing her finger over your body. It was slow, starting at the base of your neck and traveling across all of you. Her fingertips hoovered so lightly over you that her skin continued to connect and disconnect, each time pulling a soft breath from your lips. Your eyes were closed, only making you all the more sensitive to each of her touches.

Billie sat on her feet by your side, continuing to trace small patterns on your lower stomach and admiring the way you reacted with a soft smile and blushed cheeks. Your breathing was uneven as she pulled you deeper and deeper into a world of nothing but pleasurable touch, of erotic sensations no matter where her contact landed. Her fingers made their way to your chest, drawing small circles around your hard nipples. The action pulled a small whimper from you, coming out with your deep breath. You felt like you were floating, like her touch was the only thing that existed, like there was no other world going on around you. Your worries were beginning to disappear, you weren’t able to think about anything else but the way your nerves lit up under the soft pads of her fingers.

Your eyes stayed closed, you knew it was only making the feeling of her touch more powerful. When Billie leaned down and planted a soft kiss on your collarbone, your gasp was sudden and strong. She laughed to herself, loving the way your perfect naked body became her new medium under her. With her hands planted on the bed next to you, she continued connecting her lips on your skin, scattering them around her canvas, catching you off guard and leaving you gasping each time you felt her land on you. She pushed her warm soft lips to your collarbone, then to your hip, back up to the skin just below your earlobe, then right under your boob, back to the other collarbone. Over and over again she decorated you with gentle kisses, and each time you whimpered and sucked in a tight breath under her.

You were completely hypnotized. Nothing else mattered but the way your sensory receptors lit up all throughout your body. You felt like you were made of stars, like the universe was inside of you and each time you felt her delicate touch a new galaxy was created. She had you exactly where she wanted you, so engulfed by the eroticism of the moment that you weren’t able to stress. So relaxed that you didn’t care to worry about anything else.

Her teeth pulled at your earlobe, causing a shock wave to run down your spine and into the very tips of your toes. The way she whispered out her words in a breath pulled your back off the mattress. “That’s it mama, you’re doing such a good job relaxing for me” She kissed your neck with an open mouth before moving over to your other ear, biting it then whispering just like before. “Need you to keep focusing on my touch Every time your mind begins to worry, need you to let my tongue, my fingers, my teeth, consume your thoughts. Doing so good for me” With each mention of her body she acted out her words- licking your neck after saying tongue, tracing her fingertips against your lower stomach after mentioning her fingers, and biting down on your sensitive nipple after talking about her teeth.

Your back continued arching off the bed, each breath in was a gasp and each breath out, a whimper. The throbbing between your legs was almost painful with the lack of touch where you wanted it most. Her praise and such clear desire to keep you relaxed sent you spiraling, you’d never felt your body so engulfed by pleasure. When you tried to open your eyes she shook her head, “need you to keep em closed for me baby” but once her words came out she corrected them, “As long as you're comfortable I want your eyes to stay closed” You sighed at the way she cared so much about what you wanted, you felt in control of the moment even as her touch consumed you so powerfully.

Your eyes softly closed again and she resumed her intoxicating junction of her skin on yours. As her fingers grazed against your boobs she repositioned herself to lay between your thighs. You hadn’t noticed, you were too focused on the way her fingerprints gilded against the goosebumps forming on your soft skin. She continued toying with you, more aggressively though. The sudden pinch of both of your nipples pulled out a loud cry and your back flew off the bed, your head still laying softly on the pillow. As soon as she had you reacting to the harshness of her actions against your sensitive buds, she laid her flat tongue right at your dripping hole and pulled it up towards your clit, slow enough to collect all your sweet nectar, but fast enough to give you all the pleasure all at once. You gasped louder than you had all night, but that wasn’t enough, “oh fuck Billie” It flew out of your lips with a powerful tone, shocked at the sudden direct pleasure after such an erotic softness of the foreplay.

Once she was attached she didn’t slow down. Her own brain was lit up with joy at your delicious taste and the sweet moans filling the room so beautifully. Her arms were snaked under your thighs but her hands didn’t stay in one place for too long, moving across your stomach, up to your nipples, high across your collarbone, everywhere and anywhere as she let her fingernails softly scratch your skin. She left a trail of electricity everywhere she touched.

Her mouth continued sloppily devouring you. It was messy but intentional, moving between your folds and up to your clit with skill. When your hands tangled into her hair she pulled away for just a brief moment, just to let you know how much she loved eating you out. “Mmmm fuck, I could do this forever, god you taste so good mama, dont ever wanna stop” As she spoke you opened your eyes, needing to see her between your thighs. You felt paralyzed as you watched her drop all her warm spit onto your sensitive pussy before moving down and licking it all back up, making a sloppy mess of you.

She kept her eyes open, watching you watch her. You couldn't look away, and neither could she, your eyes stayed locked together as she slurped up your arousal and spit it all back onto you again. It was slow, the way she let it fall off her lips and tongue, keeping her eyes on yours, wanting you to see her seductive acts on your body, wanting you to see the way she was playing with you, the way she loved playing with you.

You felt dizzy at the sight and the way her spit felt as it hit your clit. No longer able to stay propped up to watch, you moaned as you fell back down onto the bed. “That's it baby, just relax for me, let me enjoy this for as long as I can” Billie kept up her actions, dragging you deeper and deeper into an unknown realm. You no longer cared how long it would take to make you cum, you wanted this to last for hours if she’d keep going. Nothing has ever felt as good as this, nothing has ever caused all the stars to shine inside of you, all the sparks to ignite within you. You could feel the waves of pleasure from your sweaty strands of hair all the way down to the red polish on your toe nails.

Billie was moaning into you as she let her tongue twirl between your folds. She was in heaven between your legs, drunk of the way you taste and the joy that flooded her body from getting to play with your pretty pussy. She was becoming addicted, already thinking about the next time she’d get her fix, all the things she wanted to do to you if you’d let her.

The tingling started at your feet. You knew what it meant, you knew what was coming. The way Billie would trace a few circles around your clit with her tongue pointed, then flatten it out and lick you from your dripping hole up to your sensitive bud, only to push down and move her head side to side - it was causing the knot to tighten more and more each second. Your moans were loud, echoing off the four walls and traveling right down to her own throbbing core. She knew you were close, but she wanted to hear you say it, wanted to lock in her mind the sound of your voice announcing how close you were. “That feel good mama? Mmmmm fuck I love eating you out, wanna make you cum just to do it all again” Her words filled your mind like a tornado, knocking down anything in its way and only allowing you to focus on what was playing out in this very moment.

“Oh my god Billie, oh my god I’m about to cum, please baby, please don’t stop” She pushed her tongue down harder on your clit as she shook her head and hummed a somewhat incoherent “mh’mh” letting you know she wasn’t planning on stopping anytime soon. The vibrations of her lips trickled onto your own skin and traveled through each nerve you have. “Feels so good Billie, fuckk it feels so good” you were breathless, not sure how you managed to get out your words. Your chest was rising and falling dramatically, gasping as you got closer and closer.

She was consuming you like you were her lifeline, like your cum was the only source of her survival. You could feel Billie’s smile plastered on her face, a clear indication of how happy she was to have you like this. Getting to physically feel how pleased she was to be fucking you eased any last tension you were holding on to. It was the last thing you needed, that small sigh of relief.

Because as soon as you let it out you were shaking, screaming, squirming under her harsh grip on your thighs. “OOooohhhhh FUCK Im cumming billie, fuck baby i’m cumming, dont stop” the cries kept coming as she continued sucking on your clit. She didn’t want this to end and neither did you. Your body felt as if it was plugged into an outlet, filled with electricity and an intense buzz as your orgasm overpowered your entire being. You felt like your soul was shaking, never having had someone else in control of your high before; In control of when it started, how long it lasted, and when it ended. The slight suspense and lack of power only made the sensations all the more intense.

Her tongue ran up and down your cunt, spreading your cum all over your pussy and coating her mouth and chin. The pitch of your cries only got higher as she kept going, pushing you through your climax and still not stopping. Your legs couldn’t stop shaking, making her giggle as she kept going. Billie wasn’t going to stop until you stopped her. She didn’t ever want to stop, she’d make you cum over and over again if it was up to her.

But you weren’t used to the intensity of an orgasm caused by someone else, the overstimulation was getting to be too much. “Okay, okay, Fuck, I’m done, I’m done” Your hands reached down and pulled her hair, forcing her to separate from your fucked out core. She took a breath the moment you pulled her away, licking her lips and swallowing the rest of the cum left on her tongue.

“woah” you groaned out with a shocked smile, working hard to catch your breath. Billie smiled with you, watching you with hooded eyes as she planted sweet kisses all along your stomach as she traveled back up to you. Your body laid limp on the bed, except for the occasional aftershock that caused your whole body to twitch and shake. You both giggled when she was finally face to face with you again. Her lips found yours naturally and eagerly, like she still needed your taste in her mouth, like she couldn’t get enough of you. It was the truth though, she was just as enthralled by what just took place as you were, she got just as much pleasure out of it as you did.

Your lips danced between each other slowly for what felt like forever. It was like neither of you wanted to pull away, neither of you wanted this to end. You separated and merged back together so slowly, so intimately, over and over again. When she finally pulled away it was only to tell you how beautiful you were and ask if you were okay. You could only nod, still completely out of breath and exhausted underneath her.

But you wanted to return the favor, needed to make her feel good too. So, you began to push yourself up and straddle her. As soon as your wet core landed on her lace thong her hands were on your thick ass, pulling and playing, enjoying making it jiggle in her hands. When you leaned forward and your lips landed on her neck, Billie let out a quiet moan. But within a matter of seconds she grabbed you and rolled you onto your back, laying on her side next to you. Her hands delicately played with your hair, pushing it out of your eyes and behind your ears as she leaned down to kiss your forehead.

“Let tonight just be about you mama, I wanted to just take care of you, make you feel like you shoulda been feeling for a while now” You blushed at the way she was speaking to you, not at all feeling like this was a casual hookup. “But Billie, you deserve to feel good too, I wanna make you feel good” She giggled at the sweet seriousness in your voice, kissing you on the tip of your nose and blushing down at you from the intimacy of this all. “You can make me feel good next time, I know that was a lot for you, let yourself rest tonight, I’m just really glad I made you feel good pretty girl” The butterflies in your stomach twirled fiercely at all her pet names.

“Next time hmm?” You smugly teased her. “Girl, duh, have you seen you? I’ll take as many times as I can get with you” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing but you tried to keep cool, you wanted to match her playful energy. “Keep making me cum like you just did and I’ll let you have me forever” the words spilled from your mouth in a laugh as you began to get up and collect all your clothes, finding your dress on the floor after putting on your bra and panties.

Billie got out of her bed and stopped you, “Where are you going? It’s late and I wanna cuddle you, just stay here tonight, please?” She was making it impossible for you to ignore the feelings you had crushing your chest. But you weren’t going to say no, you wanted her in any way she’d let you have her.

#billie eilish #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish smut #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish x you #billie x reader #wlw post #wlw smut #billie eilish x smut

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aspenmissing · 2 days ago

Note

Hi!! Could you please write Arcane characters (Jayce, Viktor, Sevika, and basically all the mains) x reader with a self harm addiction? But reader never told them about it, and they find out after reader relapses after a fight? If it's okay of course (I'm projecting hard with this one)

ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴜʀꜰᴀᴄᴇ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx | ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ-ɪꜱʜ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ || 9204 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ ||

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜱᴇʟꜰ-ʜᴀʀᴍ, ᴅʀᴜɢꜱ, ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ᴀʟᴄᴏʜᴏʟ ᴀᴅᴅɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ, ɴᴇᴀʀ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ꜱᴜɪᴄɪᴅᴇ ᴀᴛᴛᴇᴍᴘ?

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ! ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴛʟʏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ! ᴘʀᴏᴊᴇᴄᴛ ᴀʟʟ ᴀᴡᴀʏ! ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴍʏ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ ꜰᴜʟʟʏ (ɴᴏᴛ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀ ꜱɪᴅᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ), ꜱᴏ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ɪ ɢᴇᴛ ʜᴇʀ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ ᴡᴇʟʟ!

JAYCE

Y/N had always kept her struggles hidden from Jayce, afraid of how he would react or if he'd see her as weak. She was his rock, the one he could always rely on, and she refused to burden him with the darkness that lingered in her heart. The weight of his dreams, his work, and his battles were all that seemed to matter. She couldn’t add her own turmoil to his already heavy load.

But Jayce wasn’t blind. He noticed the subtle signs—the faint tremble in her hands when they touched, the shadows that clung to her eyes even on the brightest of days, the bruises she tried to hide with layers of clothing. He saw how she disappeared into her workshop at night, and sometimes how she’d come back with that distant look in her eyes, as if she were trying to drown something inside her. But despite all that, he had never asked, never pushed her to talk. He simply believed she’d come to him when she was ready.

It was a Sunday evening when the fight started. Jayce had been consumed by the mounting pressure from the council, the looming responsibilities of his position, and the endless plans that seemed to drain him of everything. Y/N, ever the supportive partner, tried to help, tried to offer guidance or simply a listening ear. She knew how hard the constant demands were on him, and she just wanted him to lean on her as he had so many times before.

But this time, when she suggested an alternative approach, Jayce snapped.

"You don’t understand, Y/N," he barked, the tension in his voice thicker than it had ever been. "You never understand the weight of what I’m dealing with. I don’t need you telling me how to handle things!"

Y/N recoiled at his words, the sting of his anger like a slap across her chest. "I do understand, Jayce," she said, her voice shaking as she tried to keep the tears at bay. "I know what it’s like to feel like you’re drowning. But you never let me help."

Jayce’s frustration boiled over. "You just don’t get it," he shot back. "You’re not the one in charge here. You don’t have to carry all the responsibility. Just let me do this my way!"

His words hit her harder than she could have prepared for. It felt as though all the weight of her own battles—the ones she’d fought alone—was being discounted. She had tried, so hard, to be there for him. Yet in that moment, it felt like she was failing. Like she was invisible. Like she was just in the way.

"I’m sorry," Y/N whispered, the words barely audible as they choked on the lump in her throat. "I’m sorry I’m not enough for you."

Jayce’s anger faltered, guilt flashing across his face for a fraction of a second. But the damage had already been done. There was no taking back what had been said. The silence that followed was deafening. Without another word, Y/N turned and fled from his presence, the familiar ache of isolation wrapping itself around her.

She didn’t know where to go. Her heart felt as though it might burst from the weight of her emotions. She couldn’t be here. She couldn’t be near him when he saw her as a failure, when the very core of her had been torn apart by his words.

Back in the solitude of her apartment, she threw herself onto the bed, trying to breathe through the searing ache in her chest. Her hands shook as she reached for the bottle she had promised herself she would never touch again. But the darkness was suffocating. The pain was overwhelming, and the pull of her addiction, the thing that had always been there, whispering softly, calling her back—was too powerful to resist.

She cracked open the bottle, the smell of alcohol hitting her immediately, sharp and familiar. With trembling hands, she took a swig, the liquid burning its way down her throat. The numbing sensation took over almost immediately, washing away the sting of the fight, the shame, and the guilt. She hadn’t realised how much she needed this until it was already too late.

Her telephone rang, the familiar sound cutting through the fog of her thoughts. Jayce. She stared at it, her heart pounding in her chest. She should answer. She should talk to him. But the pain inside her felt like it would rip her apart if she did. She didn’t want him to see this side of her—the broken, imperfect side she’d tried so desperately to hide.

Instead, she let the phone ring before it promptly cut off, and she took another drink. She just needed to forget, to numb the guilt, the sorrow, the crushing weight of feeling like she was never enough. The alcohol worked for a while, but soon the emptiness grew larger, the voices in her head louder.

In a moment of desperate escape, her hand found the small blade she had hidden in her drawer—a blade she had used once before in her darkest times. She didn’t think, didn’t care. The sharp sting of the metal cutting into her skin was a quick relief, a fleeting moment of peace. But as the blood pooled beneath her fingers, the guilt and self-loathing came rushing back in waves. She hadn’t wanted to hurt Jayce. She hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone.

But she was drowning again, and this was all she had to keep her head above water.

The hours passed in a blur. The telephone continued to ring, but she didn’t answer. Her head grew heavy, her limbs numb, and the world seemed so far away. She was spiraling, and there was no way out.

Jayce, on the other hand, was frantic. His anxiety was quickly growing into something worse—something dark and suffocating. He couldn’t understand why she had run away, why she was avoiding him. Every gut feeling told him something was terribly wrong.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he entered her apartment, his breath shaky as he searched every corner. His heart dropped when he saw her on the floor, her arm bleeding, her body curled into itself in a desperate attempt to hide from the world.

"Y/N!" Jayce cried, rushing to her side, his voice breaking with fear and concern. "What happened? Why didn’t you tell me?"

Y/N’s eyes were glazed over, filled with shame and pain. She could barely meet his gaze. "I didn’t want you to see me like this," she whispered, her voice thin and fragile. "I didn’t want you to think I was weak."

Jayce felt his chest tighten as he knelt beside her. He gently cupped her face, his thumb brushing away the tears that stained her cheeks. "Oh love," he said softly, his voice trembling, "You’re not weak. You’re human. I don’t care about your flaws, your mistakes. I care about you."

Her breath hitched, and for the first time in ages, she allowed herself to feel vulnerable. The dam inside her broke, and she collapsed into him, her arms wrapping around him tightly as she sobbed uncontrollably.

"I’m so sorry, Jayce," she whispered, her words muffled against his chest. "I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to hurt anyone."

Jayce held her tighter, feeling the weight of her pain in his own heart. He knew she’d been struggling, but this—this—was something deeper, something far darker than he had realised. He would never let her fight this alone. "Y/N," he murmured, his voice full of resolve. "I love you. You don’t have to hide from me. I’m here for you. Always. You’re not alone in this."

They stayed like that for a long time, Jayce gently stroking her hair as she cried. There were no words left. There didn’t need to be. He would help her through this. They would face it together, step by step, no matter how long it took.

In time, Y/N would find her way back from the darkness. And with Jayce by her side, she knew she wasn’t as lost as she’d once thought.

VIKTOR

The dim glow of the workshop filled the room as Viktor hunched over his desk, scribbling intricate designs on a yellowed piece of parchment. The rhythmic scratch of his quill filled the quiet space, occasionally interrupted by the soft hum of machinery in the corner. Across from him, Y/N sat on a battered stool, her hands loosely clasped in her lap. She watched him quietly, her eyes tracing the lines of his face, the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the faint glow of his golden cane resting nearby.

Her presence usually brought him a sense of calm—an anchor in his chaotic world of innovation and ambition. But tonight, something felt off. She had been distant lately, retreating behind a carefully constructed wall he couldn’t seem to break through. Viktor, ever perceptive, had noticed the signs: the way her hands trembled when she thought no one was looking, the way her eyes lingered on nothing in particular, as if lost in some distant place, and the way her laugh, once warm and genuine, now seemed hollow.

“Y/N,” Viktor said softly, his voice breaking the silence as he glanced up from his work. “Is something bothering you?”

She stiffened at the question, her gaze darting away as if the answer might be found in the scattered tools and papers around the room. Viktor leaned back in his chair, his sharp eyes studying her. He knew her well enough to recognise when she was hiding something, and tonight, it was as if her entire being screamed of a silent battle raging within.

“It’s nothing, Viktor,” she muttered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with shaky fingers. The lie came easily, but it didn’t fool him.

“You know you can tell me anything, don’t you?” he pressed, his voice filled with quiet concern. Setting his quill down, he stood, crossing the small distance between them. His cane clicked softly against the floor as he reached her side, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. “Whatever it is, we can face it together.”

For a fleeting moment, her expression softened, and Viktor thought she might let him in. But just as quickly, something dark flickered in her eyes—fear, shame, perhaps both. She pulled away from his touch, her arms crossing defensively over her chest.

“I just need space,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Before he could respond, she turned on her heel and walked towards the door.

“Miláčku—” Viktor started, but she didn’t look back. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving him standing there, confusion and worry gnawing at his insides. He sank back into his chair, his head in his hands. He couldn’t shake the feeling that she was slipping through his fingers, and the thought of losing her was unbearable. (Darling)

Hours passed, but Viktor couldn’t focus. The designs on his desk blurred together as his mind replayed the scene over and over. He knew something was deeply wrong, but she wouldn’t let him in. He felt helpless—a sensation he despised. The sound of the workshop door creaking open pulled him from his thoughts.

Y/N stood in the doorway, her figure outlined by the dim light from the hallway. Her eyes were red-rimmed, though she tried to hide it, and her posture was tense, like a tightly wound spring. Viktor’s heart clenched at the sight of her. She looked fragile, as if the slightest gust of wind might shatter her.

“Y/N…” he said softly, standing. He approached her slowly, not wanting to startle her. “What’s going on? You’re not yourself.”

Her jaw tightened, and for a moment, she looked as though she might break down. But instead, she took a shaky breath and shook her head. “You want to know what’s going on?” she snapped, her voice sharp, though it trembled. “You can’t fix everything, Viktor. I’m fine. I’m just tired of pretending.”

Viktor’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Pretending? Y/N, I—”

“No!” she interrupted, her voice rising. “You don’t understand what it’s like. You don’t get it, Viktor. You can’t just fix me like one of your machines!”

The words hit him like a physical blow, and he felt a flicker of anger rise, though it was quickly overshadowed by concern. “You’re right, I don’t understand,” he said, his voice steady but firm. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t try. I love you, Y/N. Why won’t you let me help you?”

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she refused to let them fall. “Because I don’t need your pity! I don’t need your help! I just…” Her voice broke, and she looked away. “I need you to leave me alone.”

Viktor stepped closer, his expression softening. “Y/N, I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly. “But I can’t help you if you keep pushing me away.”

“I don’t need your help, Viktor!” she shouted, her voice cracking as the tears finally spilled over. She turned and stormed out of the workshop, leaving Viktor standing there, the weight of her words pressing heavily on his chest.

The cold night air bit at Y/N’s skin as she wandered the streets of Zaun, the fight replaying in her mind like a broken record. Shame and anger twisted together in her chest, threatening to overwhelm her. She felt like she was drowning, and she couldn’t see a way out.

Her feet carried her to a familiar alleyway, one she had hoped never to return to. Her hands trembled as she reached into her coat pocket, pulling out a small vial. The liquid inside glistened faintly under the dim streetlights. She hated herself for this, but it was the only thing that quieted the storm.

“Y/N.”

Her heart stopped at the sound of his voice. She spun around to see Viktor standing a few feet away, his cane in hand, his eyes filled with worry and pain. He had followed her.

“Viktor…” she whispered, her voice shaking.

He stepped closer, his gaze never leaving hers. “Please, don’t do this,” he said softly, his voice tinged with desperation.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked at the vial in her hand. She felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly ashamed. “I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I didn’t know what else to do. I don’t know how to stop.”

Viktor reached out, gently taking the vial from her trembling hands. His touch was firm but careful, as if he were afraid she might break. “You don’t have to do this alone,” he said quietly. “I don’t have all the answers, but I’m here. We’ll face this together.”

The dam broke, and Y/N collapsed into his arms, her sobs muffled against his chest. Viktor held her tightly, his hand running soothingly through her hair. He didn’t say anything—there were no words that could fix this—but his presence was enough.

In that moment, Viktor realised that love wasn’t about fixing someone. It was about standing by them, even in their darkest moments. And no matter how hard the road ahead might be, he would never give up on her. Not now. Not ever.

JAYVIK

The apartment was unusually quiet, save for the faint hum of the streetlights outside their windows. Y/N leaned against the kitchen counter, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as Viktor and Jayce stood in the adjacent living room. The tension was suffocating, coiling in the air like a storm waiting to break.

“You don’t understand, Viktor!” Y/N’s voice cracked as she snapped, her eyes glistening with frustration. “You can’t keep shutting me out when things get hard!”

Viktor’s expression was guarded, though his fingers gripped his cane tighter than usual. “And you cannot expect me to involve you in everything,” he replied, his voice measured but sharp. “This work is dangerous, Y/N. I do it to protect you.”

“Protect me?” Y/N repeated, her tone incredulous. “By pushing me away? By making me feel like I don’t matter?”

Jayce, who had been sitting on the edge of the sofa, stood abruptly. “Alright, let’s all take a step back,” he said, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. “We’re all stressed, but yelling isn’t helping anyone.”

Y/N turned on him, her voice rising. “And you! You always take his side, Jayce! Every single bloody time!”

“That’s not fair,” Jayce shot back, his face clouding with worry. “I’m just trying to keep this from spiralling out of control!”

“Well, congratulations,” she said bitterly, throwing her arms up. “It’s already out of control.”

The argument escalated, words tumbling out before they could be reconsidered. Y/N’s hurt came out like daggers, while Viktor’s temper, usually restrained, began to flare. Finally, in a moment of uncharacteristic anger, Viktor snapped, “If you cannot handle this, maybe you should leave!”

The room fell silent.

Y/N stared at him, her lips parting as if to say something, but no words came. Her chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. Then, without another word, she stormed out, slamming the door behind her with enough force to rattle the frames on the walls.

Jayce let out a low groan, running a hand through his hair. “Well done, Viktor. That was bloody brilliant.”

Viktor closed his eyes, a pained expression crossing his face. “She just needs time,” he murmured. “She will come back.”

But as the hours ticked by, their apartment felt emptier, the tension hanging in the air refusing to dissipate.

By morning, the shared apartment was filled with an uneasy stillness. Jayce paced back and forth in the kitchen, his hands on his hips, his brows furrowed deeply. He hadn’t slept. His concern weighed heavy, gnawing at him as he glanced repeatedly at the front door.

“She’s never stayed out this long,” he muttered, his voice tight with worry. His eyes flicked to the clock on the wall and then back to the door, as if willing it to open.

At the dining table, Viktor sat hunched, his cane resting against the edge of the chair. He stared at a mug of tea that had long since gone cold, his fingers twitching slightly as they drummed against the wood. “Perhaps we should go looking for her,” he said at last, his voice soft but tinged with hesitation.

Before they could decide, a sharp knock at the door shattered the silence. Both men froze, their gazes snapping to the source of the sound. Jayce moved first, his long strides taking him to the door in an instant.

He opened it to reveal an enforcer in full uniform. The man’s expression was professional, but there was a hint of weariness in his eyes.

“Is this the residence of Y/N L/N?” the enforcer asked.

Jayce and Viktor exchanged a glance, dread flashing in their eyes. Jayce’s voice was strained as he replied, “Yes. I-Is she alright?”

The enforcer sighed, a slight shift in his posture betraying the unpleasantness of the news he carried. “She’s alright. She spent the night in a cell. Got into a fight at a tavern. She was drunk and caused quite a scene.”

Jayce’s stomach dropped, his heart sinking like a stone. Viktor’s grip on his cane tightened, his knuckles turning white. “Where is she now?” Viktor asked, his voice trembling slightly, though he tried to mask his fear.

“She’s still at the station,” the enforcer replied. “We figured someone would want to collect her.”

The walk to the station was silent, the kind of silence that pressed down on their shoulders like a weight. Jayce’s jaw was set, his shoulders tense, every step reflecting his inner turmoil. Viktor walked beside him, outwardly composed but gripping his cane with such force it seemed as though it might snap in his hand.

When they arrived, the scene in the holding area was far from reassuring. Y/N was slumped on a wooden bench, her head bowed slightly, her hair dishevelled, and her clothes rumpled and stained. She looked smaller somehow, as if the night had drained the fight out of her.

“Y/N,” Jayce said softly, crouching in front of her. His voice was gentle, almost pleading.

She lifted her head sluggishly, her bloodshot eyes meeting his. A bitter laugh escaped her lips, hoarse and broken. “Great,” she muttered, her voice laced with sarcasm. “My knights in shining armour.” She avoided their gazes, looking instead at a spot on the floor.

Jayce flinched at the bitterness in her tone, but he didn’t argue. He simply stood and moved to the counter to handle the paperwork. Viktor stayed where he was, his gaze lingering on her, his heart heavy.

Once everything was settled, they guided her out of the station and into the early morning streets. The walk home was just as quiet as before, save for the rhythmic tap of Viktor’s cane and Y/N’s occasional sniffles. Jayce glanced at her every few steps, his concern etched plainly on his face, while Viktor kept close to her side, his usually steady hands trembling slightly.

When they finally reached the apartment, Y/N headed straight for the bedroom, shutting the door behind her without a word. Jayce and Viktor stood in the living room, exchanging worried glances. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken fears.

“I’ll check on her,” Jayce offered after a long pause, his voice low.

Viktor shook his head and stood, leaning heavily on his cane. “No. Let me.” He moved slowly to the bedroom door and knocked gently. "Miláčku?"

There was no response. After a moment of hesitation, he pushed the door open slightly. What he saw made his heart sink.

Y/N stood by the dresser, her back to him as she pulled on a clean shirt. Her arms were bare, and the scars were impossible to miss—long, jagged lines running along her skin. Some were faint, faded with time, while others were fresh and angry red, a painful reminder of battles fought in silence.

“Oh, Lásko…” Viktor’s voice cracked, the word barely more than a whisper.

She froze, her hands trembling as she quickly yanked the shirt down. Turning to face him, her eyes widened, glistening with tears that she blinked back furiously. “Don’t,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Viktor stepped forward, his cane forgotten as he reached out to her. “Why didn’t you tell us?” he asked, his voice soft but heavy with pain.

“Because it’s not your burden to bear!” she cried, her voice rising as tears spilled down her cheeks. “It’s mine, and I don’t need you trying to fix me!”

Jayce appeared in the doorway, his expression stricken. “Oh, Y/N…” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

“You weren’t supposed to see this!” she sobbed, her knees threatening to give way beneath her. “You weren’t supposed to know!”

Viktor moved closer, his hands trembling as he cupped her face gently. “You are not a burden,” he said firmly, his golden eyes meeting hers. “You never were, and you never will be.”

Jayce stepped forward, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “We’re here for you, Y/N,” he said softly. “Whatever it takes, we’ll get through this. Together.”

Y/N stared at them, her defences crumbling under their unwavering support. For the first time in years, she allowed herself to break. She collapsed into their arms, her sobs wracking her body as Viktor and Jayce held her tightly, their presence a promise that she wouldn’t have to face her pain alone.

And for the first time, Y/N began to believe that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders.

VANDER

The Last Drop was alive with its usual buzz, the murmur of voices mixing with the clink of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter. Zaun’s finest and most desperate alike had gathered here tonight, the haze of smoke and the scent of cheap liquor creating a familiar, suffocating atmosphere.

Y/N sat at the bar, her fingers clenched tightly into fists on her lap, her nails digging into the rough skin of her palms. She felt caged by the noise, every sound around her grating against her nerves like steel on glass. Her chest tightened with frustration, a storm brewing just beneath her skin, and she struggled to keep it all contained.

Across the bar, Vander leaned against the counter, his broad shoulders a familiar and comforting sight—though not tonight. He was chatting with some regulars, his deep voice cutting through the din, but Y/N couldn’t focus on his words.

Her mind was elsewhere, replaying the events of the day. A deal gone wrong. Tensions in the Undercity reaching an unbearable peak. And now, this fight.

It wasn’t even about anything that mattered, not really. Yet the way his words earlier had cut through her had set her off, poking at wounds she’d worked so hard to bury.

“Why won’t you just talk to me, Y/N? I can’t help if you keep shutting me out.”

It had struck a nerve, slicing through her defences like a blade.

“Maybe I don’t need your help, Vander!” she’d snapped, her voice rising over the low hum of the bar. Her tone had been sharp, dripping with venom she hadn’t meant to release, but it was too late.

The look on his face—disappointment flickering in his tired eyes, his jaw tightening as he took in her words—was like a punch to the gut.

He’d opened his mouth to respond, but she didn’t give him the chance. She’d stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor, and stormed out of the bar before the emotions threatening to spill over could take hold.

The air outside was cold, biting against her skin as she stepped into the dimly lit streets of Zaun. The usual hum of the city echoed around her—the hiss of steam pipes, the distant clatter of machinery—but it felt muted, distant. Her own heartbeat pounded louder in her ears.

She walked aimlessly, her fists still clenched tightly at her sides, her breathing shallow. The anger inside her was a living thing, coiled and writhing, demanding release. She needed to let it out before it consumed her completely.

She found herself in a narrow, empty alleyway, far from the crowds. The shadows clung to the walls, the only light coming from a dim, flickering streetlamp at the entrance. Her chest heaved as she tried to steady herself, but it was no use.

The anger bubbled over.

Her gaze locked onto the wall in front of her, and before she could think twice, her fist shot out. The impact was jarring, the rough surface scraping against her skin. Pain shot up her arm, but it was a welcome distraction—a way to drown out everything else.

Again.

And again.

Her punches came harder, faster, the sound of her knuckles cracking against the brick mixing with her ragged breaths. Blood smeared across the surface, her skin splitting open as she continued. She swore she felt something break—a finger, maybe—but she didn’t care.

The pain wasn’t enough.

Nothing was ever enough.

“Y/N.”

The voice cut through the haze, soft but firm, and her movements faltered for just a moment. Her breath hitched, her vision blurry from unshed tears, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop.

“Y/N, stop.”

This time, there was a presence between her and the wall—warm, solid, familiar. Vander’s hand caught her wrist mid-swing, his grip firm but gentle. His other hand came up to press against her bloodied fist, shielding it from the wall.

She blinked, her tears spilling over as she tried to focus on him. He was crouched in front of her, his broad frame a stark contrast to the vulnerability in his eyes.

“Let me go,” she choked out, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“Not until you stop,” he said, his tone steady but strained, the worry evident in every word.

She tried to pull away, but his grip didn’t falter. His hand was so much larger than hers, warm against the cold, shaking skin of her wrist. She finally looked at him, really looked at him, and the sight broke something inside her.

His brows were drawn together, his expression a mixture of anguish and determination. His blue eyes weren’t filled with anger as she’d expected—they were pained, desperate, as if her own hurt was reflected in his gaze.

Her knees buckled, and she crumpled to the ground, her bloodied hand cradled against her chest. Vander sank to his knees in front of her, his movements slow and deliberate, as if afraid she might shatter at the slightest touch.

“What are you doing to yourself, love?” he asked, his voice breaking. He reached for her hand, but she flinched instinctively. He pulled back slightly, his gaze softening even further. “Please. Let me see.”

She hesitated, her breath catching in her throat, but eventually, she extended her trembling hand towards him.

His jaw tightened as he took it in, his rough fingers brushing over the swollen, split skin. Blood coated her knuckles, and her fingers were bent at unnatural angles. He sucked in a sharp breath, his thumb brushing lightly over her wrist where her pulse raced erratically.

“I… I didn’t mean—” she started, but her voice broke, and the words died in her throat.

“You didn’t mean to hurt yourself?” he asked gently, his voice low and filled with something she couldn’t quite name. “Or you didn’t mean for me to find out?”

She couldn’t answer. She couldn’t even look at him.

“Y/N,” he murmured, shifting closer. “You can’t keep doing this.” His tone was calm, but there was an edge to it, a rawness that made her chest ache. “You think hurting yourself makes it better? That it solves anything?”

“It’s the only thing that stops the anger,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“No,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “No, it doesn’t. It just hurts you more.”

His hand moved to cup her face, his thumb brushing against her cheek as he tilted her chin up to meet his gaze. His touch was impossibly gentle, as if he was afraid of breaking her further.

“You don’t have to go through this alone. You hear me? You’ve got me. Always.”

The sincerity in his voice was too much. Her walls crumbled, and the tears came in full force, her body shaking as sobs wracked her frame.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his shirt as he pulled her into his arms. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’ve got you, love,” he murmured, his lips pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “We’ll get through this. Together.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, she believed him.

SILCO

The Last Drop was unusually quiet that night, the hum of the neon lights casting a cold glow through the damp, smoke-filled air. The faint crackle of electricity and the distant murmur of drunken voices filtered up to Silco’s office, but none of it registered. His sharp, mismatched eyes stared out of the large, cracked window, his gaze focused but unseeing as he paced the room.

The argument still echoed in his head, a whirlwind of barbed words and heated accusations. Y/N’s fiery spirit had always been one of the things that drew him to her, but tonight, it had burned too hot. Her stubbornness against his unrelenting need for control had caused their tempers to flare. He had said things meant to wound, words he regretted even as they left his lips. She had fired back with equal venom, her eyes brimming with tears even as she stood her ground.

And then she had left.

He hadn’t seen her since. Hours had passed, and with each one, the gnawing dread in the pit of his stomach grew.

The creak of the door to their shared quarters broke the silence. Silco hesitated for a moment, steeling himself before pushing it open. The sight that greeted him froze him in place, his breath catching sharply in his throat.

Y/N lay sprawled across their bed, her body unnaturally limp and her skin pale under the dim light. Scattered around her were empty vials and syringes, their contents long gone, leaving only the sharp, metallic tang of chemicals in the air. Her chest rose and fell faintly, the movement so slight it was almost imperceptible.

“Y/N,” Silco whispered, his voice low and urgent as he crossed the room in long, deliberate strides.

She didn’t stir.

Kneeling on the bed, he leaned closer, his gloved fingers brushing strands of hair from her clammy forehead. He hesitated, his hands trembling for the first time in years. He pressed his ear close to her lips, straining to hear the faintest whisper of breath. Relief washed over him when he found it, but it was fleeting, swallowed by the rage and fear bubbling beneath his skin.

“What did you take?” His voice broke, sharp and laced with desperation. “What did you take, Y/N?!”

Her head lolled to the side, her lips slightly parted as if she were trying to answer, but no sound came.

Cursing under his breath, Silco slipped an arm beneath her, lifting her as though she were made of porcelain. Her body was limp against his chest, her weight unfamiliar and alarming. He carried her to the worn sofa tucked in the corner of the room, laying her down gently.

“Stay with me,” he muttered, almost to himself.

He checked her pulse, pressing his fingers against the fragile skin of her wrist. It was faint but steady, a fragile thread anchoring her to the world. Relief flickered in his mismatched eyes, though it did little to soothe the storm raging within him.

Silco didn’t leave her side. The hours dragged on as he sat in the chair beside the sofa, elbows resting on his knees and hands clasped tightly. His sharp, angular features were etched with an uncharacteristic vulnerability, his brows furrowed in an expression of anguish and frustration.

The neon glow outside began to fade, replaced by the dim, grey light of dawn creeping through the grimy windows. Silco’s gaze remained fixed on Y/N, watching every shallow rise and fall of her chest.

Finally, she stirred. A soft groan escaped her lips as her eyes fluttered open, squinting against the dull morning light. Her head pounded, her body ached, and nausea churned in her stomach. As her vision cleared, the first thing she saw was Silco, his rigid posture and bloodshot eyes betraying the sleepless night he had spent beside her.

“Good,” he said, his voice cold but edged with relief. “You’re awake.”

“Silco…” she began, her voice hoarse and trembling.

“No.” He held up a hand, silencing her. “You’re going to listen, and you’re going to tell me why.”

Y/N’s gaze dropped to her lap, tears welling in her eyes. She couldn’t meet his piercing stare, the weight of his disappointment pressing down on her like a heavy shroud.

“I— I was angry,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “We fought, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. I… I wasn’t thinking, and they were there.”

“The same people I helped you leave behind,” Silco spat, his tone venomous. His mismatched eyes narrowed, his anger barely restrained. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? What could have happened?!”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking as tears streamed down her face. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Sorry won’t save you next time,” Silco interrupted, his voice softening slightly but still laced with frustration. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he ran a hand through his dishevelled hair. “You can’t do this to me. To us. I’ve fought too hard to pull you out of that pit, and now you’re clawing your way back into it.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” Y/N sobbed, her hands trembling as she wiped at her eyes. “I don’t want to go back to that life.”

“Then don’t,” Silco said firmly, his voice steady and resolute. His gaze locked onto hers, his mismatched eyes burning with intensity. “But if you do… I won’t be able to save you again. Do you understand?”

Y/N nodded, the weight of his words sinking in like stones in her chest.

Silco reached out, his gloved hand cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. His touch was gentle, a stark contrast to the fire in his gaze.

“I won’t give up on you,” he murmured, his voice low but filled with conviction. “But you have to fight for yourself, too. This isn’t a battle I can win for you.”

“I will,” she whispered, leaning into his touch. “I promise.”

Silco let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. They had a long road ahead of them, fraught with challenges and the ghosts of her past, but he wasn’t about to let her walk it alone. Not this time, not ever.

JINX/POWDER

The Last Drop was as loud and chaotic as ever, the air thick with the sounds of laughter, shouting, and the occasional clink of glass. The atmosphere felt tense, but not in a way anyone could place — it was the sort of unease that seeped in from every corner. There, at the edge of the bar, Jinx leaned back, her posture lazy, arms crossed as her gaze lingered on Y/N.

Y/N was crouched low, attending to a Zaunite child who had scraped their knee. She was focused, her movements careful as she applied a bandage to the small cut, her expression softening with an unspoken affection. The child, a younger boy, watched her with wide, trusting eyes, not even flinching when she gently patted the wound. She always did this for them, making the pain a little less real.

Jinx’s gaze, however, turned colder, narrowing with something darker beneath the surface. Her hands gripped the edge of the bar as she watched. Her voice sliced through the noise. “Why do you always waste your time with them?”

Y/N paused mid-motion, looking up, her frown immediate. She met Jinx’s gaze, trying to read the storm brewing in her eyes. “They need someone, Jinx. Not everyone has someone to look out for them.”

Jinx rolled her eyes dramatically, her posture shifting into something that was almost like a snarl, but she forced it into indifference. “They’ve got other places for that,” she muttered, voice laced with bitterness. “You’re supposed to be my person, not theirs.”

Y/N’s expression softened, but there was something resigned in the way she sighed as she finished bandaging the child. She gave the boy a reassuring pat on the head, watching him scamper off with a soft smile before walking over to Jinx. Her footsteps were light, but the air between them heavy.

“I am your person, Jinx,” she said, her voice steady. “But I can’t just ignore everyone else who needs help. It’s not who I am.”

Jinx’s sharp intake of breath was all the warning Y/N had before she was face-to-face with a storm of emotion. Jinx’s eyes, usually so mischievous and unpredictable, were now wide and wild. She was angry, and the fury was bubbling over. “Yeah, well, maybe you’re too busy playing saviour to remember the people who actually care about you!” Her voice cracked as the words spilled out, the vulnerability there too sharp to ignore.

Y/N’s heart clenched. She could feel the sting of those words more than she��d ever let on. “That’s not fair, Jinx. I’ve been here for you through everything. You know that.”

Jinx's mouth twisted into something almost painful, the hurt and jealousy in her eyes making Y/N’s chest ache. “Do I?” Her voice was quieter now, a tremor of emotion cutting through. “Because it feels like I’m always second place to your little sob stories!”

Y/N’s fists clenched by her sides, the weight of the accusation like a slap in the face. “That’s not true, and you know it!” she snapped, her voice sharper than intended. She wanted to reach for Jinx, to pull her close, but instead, she stood still, trying to hold her ground.

But Jinx wasn’t listening anymore. Her fists clenched at her sides, and in a burst of frustration, she threw her hands up into the air, muttering curses to herself. “You never get it, do you? You always think you’re better than everyone else, like you’ve got all the answers!”

Before Y/N could respond, Jinx turned and stormed out, her shoulders tense, her back rigid with fury. The door to the bar slammed behind her, and Y/N was left standing there, the emptiness of her heart settling in like a deep chill. Her hands shook slightly, and she bit her lip, trying to keep herself from sinking further into the storm that raged inside her.

The walk back to her flat felt endless. Every step felt like it was dragging her further into a pit, every memory of Jinx’s angry words echoing louder and louder in her head.

Maybe she was right, Y/N thought, her mind clouding. Maybe I have been too distant.

The door to her flat clicked shut behind her, and she leaned back against it, breathing in deeply, trying to steady herself. The usual peace of the small room was shattered, and for the first time in a long while, Y/N didn’t feel safe here.

She dropped to the floor, her back against the door as she slid down, her hands shaking violently. She dug through the drawer beside her, her fingers trembling as they closed around the small, cold object hidden inside. Her breath caught in her throat as she held it in her palm, the familiar weight, the cold steel, beckoning her in. She knew it was wrong, but the relief it brought... it was the only thing that could silence the noise in her mind.

The sting was sharp, cutting deep enough to pull her from the spiraling thoughts, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing ever was. The silence that followed was thick with guilt and shame. And yet, it was still the only thing that gave her even a moment’s peace.

Jinx had, as expected, cooled off faster than she’d thought. But the guilt gnawed at her like a persistent ache in her chest. She hated herself for saying the things she had to Y/N, especially when she knew how much the other cared. She didn’t want to hurt Y/N. She just... didn’t want to lose her.

By the time she reached Y/N’s flat, her mind was racing. “Stupid fight,” she muttered to herself, kicking at a small rock in frustration. “Stupid me. I’ll just say sorry, and it’ll be fine.”

She pushed open the door without thinking, hoping to find Y/N sitting in her usual spot. But what she saw made her stomach drop.

Y/N was curled up on the floor, her knees pulled to her chest, her face pale and streaked with tears. Blood stained her sleeve, and the small blade that had been the catalyst of her pain lay discarded beside her.

Jinx’s breath caught in her throat. She felt the world tilt on its axis as she took in the sight, her mind barely able to process the horror in front of her. “Y/N?” Her voice barely registered in the silence that hung heavy around them.

Y/N flinched at the sound, her body going rigid, and her hands hurriedly moved to cover the fresh wound. “Jinx, I—” she stuttered, her voice breaking. She was already trying to hide it, but there was no use. The damage had been done, both physically and emotionally.

Jinx’s heart slammed in her chest. She didn’t think. She didn’t care. She dropped to her knees beside Y/N, her hands shaking as she reached for her, pulling Y/N’s hands away from her arm. Her eyes — usually wild and erratic — softened, the fierce anger that had driven her earlier replaced by something far more vulnerable.

“Why... why didn’t you tell me?” Jinx asked, her voice cracking. She wanted to shake her, wanted to scream, but she couldn’t bring herself to do that. Not when Y/N looked so broken.

Y/N’s breath hitched as she tried to swallow the sobs threatening to escape. “I didn’t want you to know,” she whispered, voice strained. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

Jinx’s fingers trembled as they touched Y/N’s wrist, pulling it gently away from the wound. “I’m always going to worry about you, idiot. You think you’re the only one who can look after people?” Her voice was low but fierce, her own tears threatening to fall. “I’m your person too, Y/N. You don’t get to do this alone.”

Y/N let out a shaky laugh, but it was more a choked sob than anything else. “I didn’t want to burden you... You’ve got enough going on.”

Jinx shook her head furiously, her blue hair falling around her face like a halo of wildness. “You’re not a burden!” she shouted, her eyes fiery and wide. “You’re my family, Y/N. You’re my person. And if you’re hurting, you tell me. Got it?”

Y/N nodded, tears falling freely now, her chest heaving with the force of her emotions. “I’m sorry, Jinx,” she whispered.

Without another word, Jinx pulled Y/N into her arms, holding her tight, her own pain momentarily forgotten in the need to keep Y/N safe. “Don’t apologise,” she muttered, her voice trembling. “Just... just don’t do this alone anymore, okay? I’m not letting you slip away, not now, not ever. You’ve got me. Always.”

As they sat there on the floor, holding onto each other, Y/N allowed herself to sink into Jinx’s embrace, the weight of her pain lifting just a little. For the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel so alone.

And Jinx, despite all the chaos inside her, held her tighter, silently vowing to never let Y/N slip away again.

SEVIKA

The streets of Zaun were a labyrinth of decay, thick with the ever-present stench of chemicals, rust, and the low hum of machinery. It was a city built on the backs of those who dared to survive the grind, each day just another battle for those born without the luxury of choice. It was the perfect place for someone like Y/N—a Vastaya in a world that didn’t care for the different, the strange, the unique. A city where no one asked questions as long as you could fight, survive, and keep moving.

Y/N wasn’t just a survivor, though. She lived her life like a storm, a force that charged headfirst into whatever came her way, with no fear and no concern for the consequences. She wore her arrogance like armour, keeping the world at arm's length, pushing through the pain, the bruises, the blood. She didn’t care. Or at least, that’s what she wanted everyone to believe.

Sevika, on the other hand, saw through it. There was something about Y/N that tugged at her, something in the way she threw herself into danger, as if daring the world to take her down. It wasn’t reckless bravery. It wasn’t the kind of heroism that drove someone to fight for others. It was self-destructive. Y/N wasn’t just pushing forward. She was pushing herself to the edge, as if she didn’t care if she fell.

Sevika had seen it before—people like her, people who wore their pain like a badge, hiding behind the bravado of their tough exterior. People who wanted to be left alone with their demons. But Sevika wasn’t the type to ignore it. She couldn’t.

The first crack appeared after a brutal street fight that had left Y/N bloodied and bruised. They had been cornered by a gang looking for trouble, and Y/N had met them with a ferocity that bordered on madness. Sevika had taken care of the rest, but Y/N hadn’t slowed down—not even when her knuckles split open, not when a fist collided with her cheek, leaving her jaw sore and swollen. When the fight ended and the alley grew quiet, Y/N stood tall, as though she were untouched by the violence that had just unfolded.

Sevika watched her carefully, the concern in her gut growing with each step Y/N took. She was acting like nothing had happened, but Sevika knew better. There was too much blood on her skin for this to be normal. Too much pain buried beneath that stoic expression.

“You alright?” Sevika asked, her voice softer than she intended. Y/N didn’t look at her, but the way her shoulders stiffened told Sevika that her question had hit a nerve.

“Just another day in Zaun,” Y/N replied, her tone dismissive, like the cuts and bruises didn’t matter. But Sevika could hear the hollow note beneath her words. There was something wrong. She just couldn’t place it yet.

Sevika knew better than to push—at least not right away. But the unease remained in the pit of her stomach. Y/N had always been reckless, always pushing the boundaries of what was safe. But this… this was something else. She wasn’t fighting to win, or to survive. It was as if she was fighting to feel something, anything. And that terrified Sevika more than the violent streets of Zaun ever could.

Their mission for Silco wasn’t supposed to be complicated. A simple delivery, an easy in-and-out. But as they walked down the familiar, grimy path toward the rendezvous point, the sharp crack of gunfire shattered the silence. An ambush.

Without hesitation, Y/N charged forward into the gunfire, her movements fluid and fast, instinct taking over as she dove headfirst into the chaos. She didn’t pause. Didn’t think. It was as if she had already decided that this was her fate.

“Y/N!” Sevika shouted, her voice cutting through the cacophony of gunshots. Her footsteps were heavy as she tried to keep up, pushing through the smoke and the noise. “Get back here!”

But Y/N didn’t hear her. She didn’t care. She was too caught up in the adrenaline, too absorbed in the fight to notice anything else. Her movements were dangerous, graceful, and reckless. She darted between gunfire, taking down enemies with the precision of a trained killer, but there was no passion in her strikes. No hunger. Only a coldness that made Sevika’s heart tighten in her chest.

Y/N wasn’t fighting to protect anyone. She wasn’t fighting for Silco. She was fighting because it was the only thing that made her feel alive.

Sevika’s blood boiled. She had seen this before—people so willing to die that they no longer cared about the world around them. People like her. People who pushed others away because they didn’t want to be saved.

“Damn it, Y/N!” Sevika cursed, her voice low and furious. She saw Y/N dodge a bullet by mere inches, the flash of the shot almost too fast to register. But Y/N didn’t flinch. She didn’t even seem to notice.

That was when it hit her. The hollow look in Y/N’s eyes wasn’t just the result of battle. This was something deeper. Y/N was actively courting death. She wasn’t just being reckless. She was numb.

Sevika’s stomach twisted with anger and something else—something that made her fists clench. She couldn’t let this happen. Not to her. Not to someone who had stood by her side through so much. She couldn’t allow Y/N to keep hurting herself this way.

As the gunfight died down and the remaining enemies fled, Sevika pushed her way through the bodies, her eyes fixed on Y/N. The younger woman stood at the centre of the chaos, breathing heavily, but there was no satisfaction in her expression. No pride. Just… emptiness.

Sevika reached out, grabbing Y/N by the arm, pulling her around to face her. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded, her voice rough with frustration. “You’re not invincible, Y/N. You’re throwing your life away!”

Y/N’s gaze flickered, but she quickly masked it, her cold facade slipping back into place. “I’m fine,” she said, her voice sharp but distant. “I’m always fine.”

Sevika wasn’t buying it. Not anymore. She stepped closer, her tone softening, but only slightly. “You don’t have to pretend with me. What happened to you, Y/N? What are you running from?”

For a moment, Y/N didn’t answer. She looked away, her shoulders tight, her breathing shallow. She was hiding something. And Sevika knew that until she pushed her, she wouldn’t get it out.

But Y/N wasn’t going to let her in so easily. “Nothing,” she muttered, the words cold and empty.

Sevika’s heart clenched. She had been where Y/N was—lost, broken, unable to see the point in anything. She had her own scars, her own demons. But she wasn’t going to let Y/N face hers alone. She wasn’t going to let Y/N destroy herself just because she thought she deserved it.

“You’re not alone, Y/N,” Sevika said, her voice gentle but firm. “Whatever it is you’re hiding, whatever’s eating you alive… you don’t have to carry it by yourself.”

Y/N’s defences wavered, but only for a moment. Her gaze dropped to the ground, and her lips tightened in a grimace. Sevika’s hand reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from Y/N’s face, fingers grazing over the fresh cut on her cheek.

For the first time, Y/N didn’t pull away.

“I don’t deserve to be saved,” Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible, a shiver of vulnerability in her words that was too quiet to hear unless you were paying attention.

Sevika’s chest tightened. The words were a punch to her gut, a painful reminder of just how deep Y/N’s self-loathing ran. Sevika’s eyes softened, her resolve hardening. She wasn’t going to let Y/N slip through her fingers. Not like this.

“You do,” Sevika said firmly, stepping closer, her hand cupping Y/N’s cheek. “You deserve more than this. You deserve someone who won’t let you fall.”

Y/N’s walls were crumbling, slowly, ever so slowly. The fierce, self-destructive mask she wore was fading, and for the first time, Sevika could see the woman beneath it. The one who wasn’t just a warrior, but someone who had been hurt beyond measure.

“I’m here,” Sevika repeated, her voice soft, almost soothing, as she reached out, offering her hand. “Don’t push me away, Y/N. Not this time.”

Y/N hesitated, her eyes flickering between Sevika’s hand and her face. The weight of everything seemed to press down on her, but Sevika’s steady presence was grounding. For the first time in what felt like forever, Y/N didn’t want to run. Didn’t want to push her away.

Slowly, her hand moved towards Sevika’s, and without a word, she placed her palm in Sevika’s, finally letting someone else in. The fight was far from over. But maybe, just maybe, this was the first step toward healing.

#Arcane #arcane fandom #arcane fluff #reader insert #jinx x platonic!reader #jayce x reader #jayce x you #jayce talis x reader #jayce x y/n #viktor x y/n #viktor x reader #jayce x reader x viktor #viktor x you #vander x reader #silco x reader #jayvik x reader #arcane angst #sevika x reader

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cloverapple · 2 days ago

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How I Shift On Command + How You Can Too

I don’t plan on posting anything other than this or starting a blog, so I don’t need anyone to “believe” in me. The only person you should trust is yourself—trust yourself to resonate positively with what you see online and click away if it doesn’t serve you. This is here for you to take from if it resonates. I literally only made this blog to post this here. My hope is that it reaches at least one person who can take something from this and apply it to their shifting journey. If not, and this post ends up here untouched, I’m just glad to finally get everything down in words and off my chest.

Jumping straight to the answer because I’m not going to make anyone sit through a long post for it. The rest, the "advice," is here if you want to read it.

The "method"

I figured out what works specifically for me as an individual instead of following everyone else’s journey. Everyone has their “thing” that makes shifting click, a sweet spot that makes reality shifting possible. For me, it’s a combination of the law of assumption and inducing an altered state of consciousness.

During the day, I spend time affirming—or sometimes just reminding myself or keeping a little note nearby—things like:

I can shift.

I know how to shift.

I could shift tonight.

Shifting is accessible to me.

At night, I watch videos, look at Pinterest boards, or listen to music that reminds me of my DR. This ingrains where I’m going in my brain. Sometimes I do this for fun, and other times I skip it entirely.

When I lay down, I always lie on my back and stay somewhat still because I like the feeling of my body going numb. This isn’t necessary to shift, but I enjoy it—it lets me feel the symptoms of hypnagogia (that in-between state of wakefulness and sleep).

To meditate quickly, I count from 1 to 100 with a few affirmations in between to remind myself of what I’m doing. I do this until my body goes numb, and I start messing up the counting. Usually, the mistakes or random, nonsensical thoughts are my signal to start shifting.

At this point, I begin affirming the things I affirmed during the day:

I could shift right now.

I have the ability to shift.

I have the power to shift at any moment.

While I do this, I focus on the feeling of being in my DR—not my surroundings, not my senses, just the internal feeling of being there.

This is where “brazen impudence” comes in. I hard-force myself to feel like I’m in my DR. It’s not about imagining my surroundings but purely about embodying the feeling of being there.

Hypnagogic imagery and sensations like floating often kick in at this point. These are symptoms of your body falling asleep so your awareness can take shape in that sweet spot for shifting.

I continue this, then stop and start counting from 1 to 100 again, with affirmations like:

I can shift.

I know how to shift.

I could shift right now.

Then I repeat the process: using brazen impudence to force myself to feel like I’m in my DR.

Eventually, I reach that threshold between sleep and wake—a liminal state of pure consciousness. Body asleep, mind awake, I call this the “rabbit hole” which is honstly just a deep state of hypnogogia. It’s a state where anything is possible: lucid dreaming, astral projection, slipping into the void, shifting—anything.

When I’m in this state, I use brazen impudence to force myself to feel like I'm shifting to my DR and don't take no for an answer (I tell myself I'm in Barbados and shut the door in my own face). This can involve affirmations or just talking myself through it, either way I wake myself up there. Occasionally, I simply relax, expect to wake up in my DR, fall asleep, and wake up shifted.

Does all that sound complicated? Let me simplify:

Lay down and get comfortable.

Count from 1 to 100 on a loop with affirmations in between until you mess up the counting, get sleepy, or have your mind wander. Like this:

Me: *counts from 1 - 100* Me: *says a few affirmations/askfirmations* Me: *counts from 1 - 100* Me: *says a few affirmations/askfirmations*

On a loop until...

Persist in the feel of being in your DR—not focusing on surroundings or senses, just the feeling. Feeling is the secret.

Alternate between steps 2 and 3 until you’re in that relaxed body asleep/mind awake state, OR just straight up hypnogogia tbh. (That is, if you don’t already shift lol)

From there, choose what feels right: shift from a lucid dream, affirm, slip into the void, or just feel yourself in your DR like I do, convince yourself that either you shifted and are there, or are shifting and will end up there.

One thing I’ll tell you now—regardless of your circumstances, how long you’ve been trying, how long it’ll take, who you are, etc—is that you already know how to shift. You, reading this right now. You know how to shift, and there’s nothing you did to learn it. There’s nothing you can do to unlearn it. It’s something that will stay with you until the end of time.

Why do you think people shift randomly without prior knowledge of shifting? Even people who don’t believe in it? It’s because everyone can shift. You can shift.

Right now, stop reading this post and say in your head or out loud, “I already know how to shift.” Or, if that doesn’t feel right, “I already have the ability to shift,” “No matter what, I have the power to shift,” or “My mind knows how to shift no matter what.”

Can you argue that? No, you can’t. And if your mind starts throwing out “buts,” go back and read that again.

Shifting isn’t difficult, and no one struggles to shift. I’m sure you’ve heard it before—that shifting is simple and happens in seconds—because it does. You don’t struggle with shifting. You can shift; everyone has the power to. What you “struggle” with, so to speak, is figuring out what works for you, what your brain likes, how it operates—because everyone is different.

What ended up working for me more than anything was figuring out how I operate and modifying shifting to fit me—not forcing myself to fit shifting.

Will my method work for everyone? I have no idea. Unless you assume it will work for you, this is what works for me. I’m me, and you’re you.

Before you say “Oh, but I’ve tried everything and nothing has worked so far” and expect me to sit here and ask you “but have you really tried everything? <3” , listen to me.

I could shift perfectly well with my own personal method before I started shifting regularly. I knew it worked well for my brain, but the thing that “blocked” me (so to speak) were my assumptions.

When you sit there and say “I’ve tried everything and nothing has worked” that’s your assumption about yourself. You believe that nothing works for you, that you don't know how to shift, that you’re this powerless, lost baby shifter who needs guidance.

There’s nothing wrong with this, it’s not your fault, and theoretically you could shift even with your “blockages” (I really hate that term), as shifting waits for no one.

This is why so many people shift randomly and with poor assumptions without meaning to. But you clicked on this because you want to know how you can shift consistently + on every time, and this is the answer I’m giving you.

You find out what works better for you, be it affirming, visualizing, scripting, shifting awake, shifting asleep, shifting with hypnagogia, shifting with hypnopompic, shifting through lucid dreams, shifting with brazen impudence, through SATs, robotic affirming, through letting go, through putting your DR on a pedestal, through listening to music, through law of assumption alone, and many more.

If that sounds overwhelming, please note that all of these are the same vehicles that get you to your destination. Just in different shapes and colors. Like how some people drive a car, others drive a motorcycle, others walk, others swim. The movement forward is always the same.

What you’re doing, no matter how you’re doing it or in whatever state of consciousness you’re doing it from, will always be:

Assume it's true, feel it, receive it. “Assume and persist,” “ground yourself in the assumption,” you’ve heard it all before.

How to Find What Makes You Shift On Command

You could either test different techniques (affirmations, visualizations, scripting, lucid dreaming, etc.) and see what feels natural to you.

You could (and I love this one because it’s a cheat code) Assume you already know what works, and let the law of assumption guide you. “Manifest it” so to speak.

Pay attention to your life, because you already shift on command, you've been doing it your whole life, but I guarantee you haven't noticed it. Pay attention to you, like how easily you slip into hypnagogia, your dream recall, or how strong your intuition is, maybe you put too much emotion into a scenario you don’t want in your life and it inherently manifests, things like that. Pay attention to the thing that makes you go “huh, that was weird”

“But Clover, I tried everything you mentioned above and still haven’t found my method!”

My darling. Listen up. Come closer—I’m about to let you in on a secret. The way you apply the law of assumption isn’t one-size-fits-all, because assumptions and beliefs are not linear. It's the same every time, yes, it's a law. But just like you, the way you can use it is unique to each person.

Let me tell you how easy it is so you don't think I'm over-complicating it

You could, for instance, believe you’ve got $1000 in your bank account right now and act like it, fully living in the end. Or you could believe you’re going to have $1000 in your account and act like it’s already on its way. Or maybe you believe something’s going to happen that’ll bring you that $1000.

The same applies to shifting. It’s been a game changer for me. I used to struggle so much with things like:

“You’re already in your DR, just act like it.”

“Ignore the 3D.”

“You’ve already shifted.”

Do those methods work? Absolutely, they work beautifully. But like I said, if it doesn’t feel good or true to you, don’t force it.

My dearest, darling reader. If the story you see in your 3D is that you can’t shift, can’t find what makes you shift, are you just going to sit there and accept it? What is more satisfying? Think with me here: accepting that you don’t know how to shift and cannot shift, or persisting that you do know how to shift?

“Clover, but I’ve been trying for 4 years! I’ve tried everything and I still haven’t shifted”

So that's your story? Your story, your assumption is that you’ve been trying for 4 years and haven’t shifted? If you’ve resonated with the phrase above, that’s your story. And there’s nothing wrong with it, but! there will be no magic solution for shifting. Or a magic method. Or a person like me giving you advice, that can make you shift without you changing your assumptions first.

“But I don’t want to reprogram my mind! It doesn’t work for me. I don’t want to do robotic affirming 24/7, I want results now!”

I know, right? It’s annoying having to do these 100-step methods, and drink charged water, and have to beg the universe for your desire, and loop affirmations in your mind that directly contradict what you’re experiencing in the 3D.

“Oh ignore the 3D, the 4D is your only real imagination!” they say, as you sit there, clutching your phone, rocking back and forth in bed, repeating affirmations you don’t resonate with while dreaming of being railed by your S/O.

Believe me, I've been there, wondering what the hell was wrong with me. I asked myself why couldn't these basic steps that worked for everyone else work for me. I blamed myself for not trying hard enough, for being lazy, for inconsistent. When all that time, the answer was me. I needed to manifest/shift in a way that felt good for me.

Just remember, the law of assumption isn't complicated, and the way you apply it is not one-size-fits-all. Reprogramming the mind through continuous repetition and affirmation works, and if that resonates with you or feels effective, you should absolutely go for it.

However, at its core, you don’t inherently need to reprogram your mind. It’s as simple as assuming your mind has already been reprogrammed and watching it unfold before your eyes. You do what feels right to you.

For example, if person A does better with visualization and listening to music, why on earth are they affirming and listening to subliminals?

If person B feels better scripting in a notebook, why the hell are they reprogramming their mind?

If person C feels good reprogramming their mind, why are they taking the simple route?

Funny, isn't it? Which is why if you've read all of this so far, and you have not resonated with it, just click away. Go find another post or advice that feels true to you. The words I'm writing right now are not universal, they're not the absolute truth. That's the beauty of the law of assumption. Whatever you believe to be true, becomes true.

I didn’t feel good with the affirmations “I’m already in my DR” and “I already shifted.” Do they work, are they true? Yup, but I didn’t feel good ignoring the 3D, even when I knew the 4D was the true reality. So I swapped them for affirmations like "I'm shifting to my DR", “I’m going to shift to my DR”, swapping things like “I already shifted” to “I’m shifting” because those are the kinds of affirmations my brain loves.

I've heard a silly bit of misinfo that these affirmations stating future events put you in an infinite loop, and that they don’t make you achieve your desire. That’s not true? At all? Makes me laugh, really. Because here I am, “master shifter” or whatever name people give it in this reality, shifting as much as I want to wherever I want with these types of affirmations.

Yet here I see every day on the internet, people implanting stubborn little rules and regulations to a practice that has been done for ages, a universal law that will work even when you don’t care for it to work.

How I Shifted The First Time

The law of assumption is what made me shift in the end. Initially, I surprised myself at the beginning of my shifting journey because I shifted three months after starting it. I woke up one morning in my DR room, felt it was real, knew it was possible, but accidentally shifted back because it was too good to be true.

What followed was a period of losing my mind; I shift back to my DR for a few seconds (mini-shifts), fully shifted to different rparallel ealities, and filled the hell out of shifting journals with my discoveries as I went along. But I never fully shifted to my DR and stayed there. I wanted to permashift. I was so focused on leaving my CR and going to my DR permanently, frustrated because I knew I could shift, knew how to in theory, but was stuck in this endless loop of assuming I couldn't make myself shift and had to rely on spontaneous shifts.

And then one night it clicked when I was reflecting on the law of assumption and reality shifting. I knew shifting was real. I knew I could shift. Everyone can shift. I had shifted before. I would continue to shift even if I gave up on shifting. I could shift that night if I wanted to. I could shift that night even if I didn't want to. I knew how to shift. And so do you.

These are all assumptions I went to sleep with in mind, laying there, feeling like an idiot as it all clicked for me.

If there was no doubt in my mind that I could shift that night, why wouldn’t I be able to shift?

What followed was an overwhelming sense of peace washing over me. I let go. What more was there to be done? I could shift. There was no crying or screaming that could make me shift more than I could right then.

I laid there and started my process. Just like I mentioned earlier. I began counting from 1 - 100 on a continuous loop. With affirmations that I could shift, I knew how to shift , I could shift that night.

And then I reached hypnagogia, and began inducing the feeling of being in my DR, just like I mentioned earlier. That liminal space rabbit hole shortly followed. I could go anywhere I wanted then. I could lucid dream. I could astral project. I could slip into the void. I could shift, and I did. Just…letting go and inducing the feeling of being in my DR. Not the surroundings, not the 5 senses, no affirmations. Just knowing that I was in my Dr.

It was peaceful.

I was at ease.

And then I was woken up by a violent crack of thunder because my dumbass scripted my DR wakeup scenario to be in the middle of spring, and it was raining -_-

I woke up in my DR, fully grounded, fully there, pinching my skin purple because I couldn't believe I was looking out the window at my DR city.

I wish I could tell you that I remained cool, but I so didn’t. I sat in bed for a good 10 minutes, mouth agape, repeating “oohh fuck it’s real….ohhh my god it’s real…whaaat the hell.”

And then I paced around my room panicking, giggling like an idiot, checking my DR phone because all my friends and DR life was on there as evidence, opening drawers, looking at myself in the mirror, and straight-up freaking out.

What followed after that was incredible, something I lack the words to describe. I spent a few weeks in my DR before shifting back, spending a few weeks here and then shifting back–here, back, here, back and forth, spending more time in my DR then my CR to the point where I consider my DR my true reality, and this one as my “other” reality.

I shifted back here in early December of last year, and I’m here now before I shift back permanently—meaning, I’ll shift there, and then the next time I shift will be to another DR or a waiting room somewhere in the multiverse. I’m taking a "break" so to speak and hanging out here until events I scripted in my DR start to happen, and my life changes (positively, all good things I assure).

I’m not sure if the person or people who find this post will care, but my other reality was originally called my “Witch DR”, where, as the name suggests, I’m a witch :) But not the fun kind, with a broomstick, a cauldron, and a pet cat though 😂The kind where I have to be up early for work in the mornings, can’t keep a cat because the building I live in doesn’t allow it, and have more responsibilities there than I do in this reality.

One thing I didn’t expect about shifting before I lived there the first time is that—it’s life. You will have good days. You will have bad days. You will fuck up. You will laugh so hard that soda comes out of your nose. You will cry more than you ever have. And the people you once saw on a TV screen are very real, and can be very annoying lol. I miss my DR friends dearly right now, but I can’t go poking around the internet for videos and pictures of them because it feels so weird.

Gut feelings are strange. I use them as a compass in both realities whenever I have to manually flap the butterfly’s wings and take a route. I felt compelled to write this post, and I’m not sure why. But if what this post has the power to help one singular person and help them realize their power, I'll be beyond happy.

#reality shifting #shifting #shifting community #shifting blog #shifting motivation #shifting reality #permashifting #shifting methods #shifting success #shiftblr #shifting antis dni #shifters #shifting storytime #shifting tips #respawning

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evelyns-envy · 3 days ago

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Hi, I really liked your account <3. Could you make a hc of Daisuke with the reader being Swansea's daughter? But I understand if you don't want to :>

(sorry if the writing is bad, English is not my first language and I used the translator ಥ_ಥ)

YES YES I WILL HAPPILY WRITE THAT (your english is better than mine and english is my first language lmfao.)! this is such a cool idea though and i never even thought of it. this is my first req ever im so excited tysm!!

✎ "but daddy i love him!" (i'm havin' his baby, NO IM NOT but you should see your faces ;)) -taylor swift

warnings! - SMUT HCS + SFW!, vibrator, pegging, reader being swanseas daughter and getting w daisuke, MY FIRST REQ GUYS BE SO PROUD, evelyn is freaky 😼

SFW!!

oh jesus this is certainly a concept

you're there for almost the same reason daisuke is, for in internship.

however... daisuke is there since his parents are rich asf and paid for him to go, you're there because you've been rejected from your dream job and went into a depression due to it.

swansea knew he wouldn't let his daughter suffer, so he asked if you could been an intern on the ship for Anya.

the Pony Express executives were hesitant at first, but caved when Swansea offered for them to renew his contract for longer.

your first day aboard, you make fast friends with Anya and faster friends with Daisuke.

you ended up having to share a room with daisuke, in bunk beds.

a flirty/silly argument about who got top bunk, ending with daisuke going “what if we just share?”

he knew damn well

taking advantage of your stunned face and mind, he jumped up on the top bunk and stuck his tongue out at you.

”i was just joking, mini mechanic.”

100% calls you mini mechanic for the rest of the time on the ship even though technically HES the mini mechanic but wtv let him have his fun

is actually so glad you’re relatively the same age as him, and was really excited to be able to talk w you about younger and occasionally inappropriate stuff

UNTILL he found out you’re his boss’s daughter..!

tries to keep the dirty jokes to a minimum, but fails miserably

it was always pretty obvious that he had a thing for you, even before yall got together

would be asking swansea abt you 24-7 and your hobbies and favorite things only to be met with “stay away from my daughter, juarez.”

is now 10x more scared

and you’re also 10x more attractive to him since he knows he can’t have you

intentionally gets his finger jammed in something while helping your dad so he can go to medbay and see you

once you’re about a month into the trip, you two have regular staying up late and YAPPING sessions in your room

he’ll occasionally come down from his bunk and sit on the floor next to your bed if the topic is deeper, until you notice he looks uncomfortable on the metal floor and tell him to come sit on the bed

anddd thats how babies are made folks! the end!

nah jk anyways you two talk until the early hours of the artificial ‘morning’ on the ship

when yall finally run out of things to talk about, you realize he’s laying next to you and you’re laying on his arm

oh nooo how did that happen (fuck already damn)

“comfy there?”

”shut up.”

”make me, mini mechanic.”

”now is not the time to bring up my father, dai.”

you playing w his hair and growing to understand how much he loves when you do that

eventually falling asleep in each others arms

you cannot tell me this mf isn’t SO comfy to sleep on be so fr

waking up to YOUR DAD 🤗 banging on the door demanding that daisuke get up and come help him fix smth in the storage

getting jump scared and shaking dai awake bc bro is knocked out and snoring

him opening the door and yall having to act like you weren’t wrapped in each others arms, entirely consumed in the other

holy shit that was fuckin poetic

awkwardly waving bye to him, both of you having a knowing smile tugging at your lips

he eventually asks you out, VERY awkwardly and in the middle of one of the routine late night talks

you accept happily (no shit)

doing basically everything together

always bringing dai along when you’re in front of your dad js for funsies and to piss him off a little

even while swansea doesn’t seem like he approves of the relationship, he secretly loves how sweet and gentle daisuke is to you

+ his parents are rich so you’re set!!

always telling Anya you need to go ask your dad something when really you js wanna see your pretty boyfriend

you both love each other so fucking much it’s insane. and getting your dad to approve is next level

NSFW….!! (watch out 😛😼 ‘ya girl evelyn is a wee bit freaky)

if you’re a little bolder, you definitely jerk dai off under the workbench where both he AND YOUR FATHER are working (this hc isn’t mine i saw it somewhere else on tumblr btw i js love it sm)

ok listen. dai is a sub at heart, but a bratty sub.

tries to talk back to you? his ass is getting bent over the nearest surface and fucked stupid by your strap (it’s always close by 😼)

also jacking him off while another crew mate is nearby, one i think would be good is curly’s bday celebration. jacking dai off as he’s trying so hard to focus on making the cake while all you can focus on is his slutty noises spilling uncontrollably from his mouth.

going down on him while he’s talking abt his usual unluckiness when trying to find a girl to truly love him, and now js his money. slowly unzipping his jeans while he keeps ranting, breath slightly jagged now.

“they alway-.. (y/n)? uh- what are y- mhmmm. never mind. feels good.”

he says as you gently tug his pants down, letting him fall around his ankles as you look up at him w those fucking eyes. shit. he’s a goner.

leaning back against whatever wall you undoubtedly have him pushed against, head thrown back as his trimmed nails run through you hair, egging you on.

you’re totally in swansea’s office change my fucking mind and he’s sitting on your dad’s desk 😋

“don’t mess up any papers, pretty. don’t want my father finding out you were gettin’ all ruined by his daughter on his desk, now do you?”

“n-no.. don’t mm- don’t want that.”

“then keep quiet and be good.”

he’s so fuckin freaky he’s defo an exhibitionist

you’re a girl- so you obviously brought a vibrator be SO fr w me rn

you definitely press it against his tip while slowly licking up the base

he is SO vocal that you have to tie his hawaiian shirt around his mouth so that he won’t YELL

gets cum on an important paper and yall have to throw it away lmfao

swansea being confused as shit abt where the document went and has been searching the Tulpar and asking all the crewmates if they’ve seen it

oopsies…

#evelyn💋#x reader #anya mouthwashing #mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing #wrong organ #swansea mouthwashing #mouthwashing game #jimmy mouthwashing #mouthwashing fanart #daisuke x reader #daisuke mw #intern daisuke

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snowluvvie · 2 days ago

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₊˚⊹ ♡ . farmhand!JJ maybank

MINORS DNI. | warnings — fem!reader, degradation, name-calling, crying, sweet pet names, clothes ripping, public sex (kinda, not really), hair pulling, pinching and slapping (he's so annoying), hickeys/bruises, oral (f. receiving), p in v

farmhand JJ who's a total burnout, a high school dropout with no prospects, but he can work

farmhand JJ who's really got nothing but his own two hands, but he'll lift and pull and plant, and his smile's pearly white and all too charming, so your daddy hires him on your farm to help out

you wander around the farm with your top pulled a little bit too low, just enough for that little lacy white bra to peek out of the top

farmhand JJ who looks at you like a shark, like he'd devour you if you let your guard down for two seconds—and you do, and he does

you're inventing excuses out of thin air as to why you have to be outdoors when JJ's working—sometimes it's something sweet, like bringing him a glass of lemonade in the heat—sometimes you just go out to "check on the cows," and you develop a certain affinity for "reading under the big oak tree." you'll come up with anything if it means being out there with him

farmhand JJ who’s so gentlemanlike to your daddy when he comes around, bows his head respectfully and shakes his hand every time

when your daddy says things like, "you make sure you're takin' care of her when she's out here!" JJ’s grinning nonthreateningly and assuring him, “‘course, sir, wouldn’t dream of anythin' less.” with a humble nod, though he makes obscene gestures at you behind your father’s back when he turns around. you almost feel pity for your poor, sweet father and his far too-high opinion of you and JJ. you have to lie that the heat’s quite intense when your father catches you fanning the fiery heat spreading across your cheeks and neck

farmhand JJ who's got a mouth on him (no, not like that) (well, yeah. like that too, actually) who teases you endlessly. calls you a priss and a daddy's girl, a hay slut? whatever the hell that means (he definitely made it up.) he makes fun of your girly clothes and that sweet look you always have on your face, says "you ain't got a clue what's goin' on, huh?"

farmhand JJ who will and has ran his mouth until it made you cry, and waits until there are tears streaming down your face to give you a big grin and grab your face, kissing all over your cheeks and your forehead, insisting, "c'mon babydoll, ya know I didn't mean it, right?" though you're pretty sure that's a lie

farmhand JJ who keeps pressing obnoxious kisses to your tear-stained face until you stop mumbling protests and trying to push him off, and finally just kiss him back

farmhand JJ who always smells like sweat and grass clippings and motor oil, and tastes like sweet tea with too much sugar and sweet corn

farmhand JJ who doesn't care about your cute clothes or your nice hair. he kicks dirt at you when you walk past him, goes out of his way to rip your nice panties when he's having his way with you. when the two of you are rolling around in the barn loft, he manages to get you even more disgusting than you already would've gotten

farmhand JJ who messes up your hair something awful, and if you go out there wearing one of your pretty ribbons, he makes sure to tug it out one way or another—either when you're under him, or just when you're innocently walking past. he grins at the squeal you let out, and tucks it into the back pocket of his jeans, the little sliver of red poking out for the rest of the day

farmhand JJ who kisses you like he wants to eat you, he squishes your cheeks together in his hand, bites your lip and licks at the inside of your mouth feverishly, and when you finally pull away, a string of saliva still connects you

farmhand JJ who’s fucking annoying, who grabs one of your braids and pulls, pinches your cheek—your face and your ass—hard enough to make you yelp, and then gives it a slap with a satisfied grin, tells you he loves hearing you “squeal like a piggy”

when you tell him he can’t leave bruises where your parents can see them, and JJ takes that as a personal challenge

farmhand JJ who leaves massive hickeys on the tops of your breasts, the inside of your thighs between mouthfuls as he goes down on you ravenously, your soft stomach. he decorates you with purple and blue and red and admires each and every one of them

he leaves massive handprint-shaped bruises on your hips and your ass, from slapping and gripping onto you too hard, but they’re hidden by your cute little dresses and skirts—you just can’t wear anything too short, and JJ prefers you have some restrictions anyway

farmhand JJ who's never selfless, not even when he's going down on you. he gets you sat in the seat of the tractor, spreading you wide open until you have one foot up on the dash and the other leg slung over his shoulder, and then he eats your pussy for him

he makes out with it like he's kissing your lips, going slow until you're mewling pathetically and begging him through choked sobs to let you cum. when he gives in to your begging, you almost wish he hadn't with the way he makes you cum over and over again, until you're sobbing and he has to muffle it with his hand

he kisses you, and you taste yourself on him, though you're such a sniffling mess you can barely kiss him back. JJ tells you what he always does: "you're so beautiful when ya cry, baby. ya know that? got the prettiest tears in the whole world, my girl," and you smile a little bit through them

when you’re inside your family's farmhouse, you watch him out the window—mowing the lawn, fixing the fence, lugging a hay bale across the yard. with the disgusting, greasy wife-beater or, if you’re lucky, shirtless, his tan skin bared to the sun. either way, dripping with sweat

you practically swoon every time you watch him out the window, head leaned against your hand. from that distance he almost looks like a nice boy—though you know better

farmhand JJ who catches you, of course, how could he not with the way you’re leaned halfway out the window. he brings it up when he’s fucking you, he’s got you on your back with your legs wrapped around his waist as he ruts against you wildly, telling you: “c’mon baby, get your fill. i saw ya earlier, starin’ at me. ya like what ya see, huh? c’mon, look at me.”

farmhand JJ who grabs your face and makes you stare at him, makes you hold eye contact while he fucks you. when your brain goes all fuzzy and your eyes lose focus as you cum, he looks at you triumphantly, though it makes him bust inside of you with a drawn-out groan

farmhand JJ who holds onto you so tightly

not just when he's holding you in place, or bouncing you on his cock, but also when you're not fucking. when you're both breathless, chests heaving afterwards, laying side-by-side in the hayloft, the muscular arm he has wrapped around your waist is like a vice

farmhand JJ who squishes your hand when he holds it, crushing your fingers with his until you complain owww, and then grins unapologetically

he crushes you when he hugs you, like he's trying to break your ribs between his biceps, fingers digging into your skin and face shoved into your neck as he inhales you

you tell him once, jokingly: "I'm not gonna run away, Jayj," when he's practically squeezing the life out of you. he laughs, but he doesn't loosen up. "ya never know, right? won't take my chances." it's the closest thing he ever says to I don't wanna lose you—the JJ version of saying that

farmhand JJ whose laugh is the closest you've ever gotten to the sound of sunlight. it echoes off the walls of the barn and through the fields, it's loud and gleeful and carefree, and you'd do anything to hear it

farmhand JJ who teases you for all your "rich girl shit," but gets rock-hard at a single whiff of your rose petal perfume, or the barest glance of your candy-sweet lip gloss. "daddy's money, huh? fuck," those are the rare times he fails to make fun of you, his teases dying on his tongue in favor of yanking your skirt up and making quick work of the buttons on your little blouse so he can take his fill of you

farmhand JJ who—rarely, but still sometimes—falls asleep in the hayloft after he tires himself out cumming one too many times inside of you. sunlight still filters through the barn slats, and his tight grip around your waist doesn't loosen at all. you get to stare at his face when it's smooth, not grinning or teasing or twisted up, though there is still a giant smudge of dirt across his cheek

you wonder what it would be like if it stayed like this forever, if neither of you left the farm. you think about JJ at the head of the farmhouse table one day, instead of hauling shit around the yard, and you can't help the fat tears that well in your eyes when you think about how JJ would never go for that. he doesn't stay still. he comes and he goes

eventually, he would go. you knew that. but you lay your head on his chest and play pretend that he won't—just for a little bit

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call-me-rucy · 4 hours ago

Text

Speaking of tragic lyrics, how about the lyrics for the songs in Professor Layton and Eternal Diva?

From the song "A Transient Life's Departure", hurriedly translated by yours truly:

We'll meet again someday, so don't be sad just now. Our transient lives are fleeing... Why do you leave us behind? Life is clinging just to you. I dream of the day when I can see you again after a thousand nights, and sing this song. I cry just for you, and the tears will never run out. I think just of you, and I'll keep doing it while I sleep.

Tragic Ships Tournament Quarter Finals

Propaganda under the cut!

Orphydice:

"y'all probably know the story of orpheus and eurydice. but they are SO tragedy. they are TEXTBOOK tragedy. they redefined the genre. on their literal wedding day as she's walking down the aisle eurydice gets bit by a snake and dies. orpheus loves her so much he goes down to the underworld to try and save her. hades allows him to take her back to the land of the living, as long as she walks behind him, and he cannot look back, otherwise her soul will be taken. he's mostly fine , but begins to doubt and at the very end of the tunnel, he looks back. they lock eyes for a moment before she disappears back into hell. orpheus is then so distraught that he wanders the earth singing mournful melodies and gets stoned to death by some nymphs who think his sad songs are bumming them out. DUUUUDE their story consumed my every waking thought as a child."

Janice and Melina:

No propaganda submitted :(

#professor layton #professor layton and the eternal diva

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buttercandy16 · 2 days ago

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A Taste of her Masterpiece

PAIRING(s): DarkChef!Agatha Harkness x Reader

SUMMARY: Celebrity chef Agatha Harkness hides a dark secret behind her fame. When a young fan joins her kitchen, obsession takes a twisted turn, blurring the lines between love and danger.

WARNING(s): Dub-con, Cannibalism, Blood, Murder, Manipulation, and other Dark Themes.

A/N: This is sick, and I love it. Don't read if you can't handle it.

The name Agatha Harkness was synonymous with culinary perfection. She wasn’t just a chef; she was an artist. Her restaurants, scattered in the most elite corners of the world, weren’t just places to dine but experiences to be revered. There was something about her food that entranced people. Some described it as divine. Others said it evoked emotions they couldn’t quite explain—comfort and terror, ecstasy and unease, all in one bite.

You had followed her career for as long as you could remember. Watching her TV specials, reading her cookbooks, religiously recreating her recipes—it was a passion, maybe even a mild obsession. She was captivating, her confidence magnetic, and her talent undeniable. When an opportunity came up to apply for a position at her flagship restaurant, Memento, you didn’t hesitate. Landing a job there wasn’t just a career move—it was a dream.

What you didn’t know was that it would also become your nightmare.

Walking into Memento for the first time was surreal. The ambiance was intoxicating, luxurious, and yet strangely eerie. The staff moved like ghosts in their pristine uniforms, their faces stern and obedient. There was no sound of clattering dishes or shouted orders—only silence, broken occasionally by Agatha’s voice drifting from the kitchen like a symphony conductor’s commands.

You didn’t expect to meet her right away, but there she was: elegant, poised, and powerful. Her sharp features were framed by soft waves of dark hair, and her piercing eyes seemed to look right through you.

“So, you want to learn?” she asked, her voice smooth as silk but carrying an undercurrent of something sharp.

“Yes, Chef. I—I’ve admired your work for years,” you stammered, suddenly aware of how small you felt in her presence.

Her smile was faint but genuine. “We’ll see if you’re worthy of my kitchen. Follow me.”

You didn’t realize then that stepping into her kitchen would mean stepping into her world, a world where culinary brilliance masked a much darker truth.

The first few days working in Memento were grueling yet exhilarating. Agatha Harkness was a perfectionist, as ruthless as she was captivating. She demanded excellence and punished failure with sharp words, but she rewarded brilliance with smiles that made your stomach flip.

From the beginning, she singled you out. When your fellow apprentices were scrambling to keep up with her instructions, she pulled you aside to demonstrate techniques herself. Her hands would brush yours as she corrected your grip on a knife. Her whispers, low and intimate, felt like secrets meant only for you.

“Don’t let the others distract you,” she said one evening, as the rest of the staff cleaned the kitchen. You had stayed behind, eager to please her. “They don’t see what I see in you. But I do, darling. You’ve got potential. If you trust me, I can make you extraordinary.”

She poured you a glass of wine, her fingers lingering on yours as she handed it over. The way she looked at you made your pulse race. There was something disarming about her, something that made you want to confide in her. You started telling her things—about your ambitions, your struggles, even your insecurities.

She listened intently, nodding and offering words of comfort. But Agatha had a way of twisting the knife.

“You give too much of yourself to people who don’t deserve it,” she’d say, her tone dripping with venom. “The people you love—do they really love you back? Or do they take and take, leaving nothing for you?”

It stung because part of you believed her. Soon, you found yourself drifting away from old friends, even family, making excuses not to call or visit. Agatha was always there, always ready to fill the void.

“You don’t need them,” she told you one night after a particularly long service. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll teach you everything. You’ll be my masterpiece.”

Her words were addictive, and you found yourself craving more of it, more of her. She was always near, her presence wrapping around you like a fog. But there were cracks in the veneer of perfection. Little things—a peculiar smell wafting from the back freezer, missing staff members who were never spoken of again, whispers from the other cooks that stopped abruptly when you entered the room.

She handed you a plate of food to taste. It was exquisite, the flavors rich and unfamiliar, yet they lingered uncomfortably on your tongue. “What do you think?” she asked, watching you intently.

“It’s... amazing,” you said, though something about it unsettled you. Her smile widened, and for a moment, you swore there was something predatory in her gaze.

“You’re learning,” she murmured, placing her hand on your shoulder.

As the weeks went on, Agatha tightened her grip. She insisted you take more shifts, pulling you away from your life outside the restaurant. Your coworkers began to whisper, their jealousy evident, but Agatha made it clear you were above them.

“Don’t let them drag you down,” she hissed after you mentioned the cold glares the others had been throwing your way. “Mediocrity despises brilliance, and you, my dear, are destined for so much more.”

But there was always an undercurrent of cruelty beneath her praise. If you made a mistake in the kitchen, her disappointment was palpable, her words cutting.

“I expected more from you,” she said once, after a dish you’d prepared fell short of her expectations. “Maybe I was wrong about you.”

Her disappointment was unbearable, a gnawing ache that kept you awake at night. The only way to earn her approval was to work harder, to give her more of yourself.

One night, as you sat together in her office, Agatha poured another glass of wine and leaned closer to you. “Do you know why I’m so hard on you?” she asked, her voice soft.

“Because I have potential?” you replied hesitantly.

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Because I love you,” she said.

The words hit you like a thunderbolt, rendering you speechless.

“I see you, truly see you,” she continued. “And I’ve given you everything. My time, my knowledge, my devotion. No one else will ever care for you like I do.”

Her hand rested on your thigh, her thumb tracing slow circles. “And you love me too. Don’t you?”

Your heart raced. It wasn’t true—was it? But the way she looked at you, the way her presence filled every corner of your life, made you question everything.

“Yes,” you whispered, though the word felt like surrender.

Her smile turned triumphant, her fingers tightening on your leg. “Good. Because I’ll never let you go.”

Then came the night when she revealed her “true art.”

She led you into the backroom after service, a place the other staff seemed to avoid. The air was cold, the metallic scent of blood hanging heavy. In the center of the room was a table, and on it lay what could only be described as a macabre masterpiece—a carved human leg, meticulously prepared, the skin glistening under the fluorescent lights.

You stumbled back, bile rising in your throat, but Agatha caught you, her hands firm on your shoulders.

“Do you see now?” she whispered, her voice soothing yet terrifying. “The secret ingredient. The reason my food touches people’s souls. It’s because they taste life itself.”

“You’re insane,” you choked out, but even as you said it, you couldn’t pull away from her.

“No, my darling. I’m an artist,” she said, her eyes alight with passion. “And you... you’ve already tasted it. That’s why you’re still here. That’s why you can’t leave.”

Your stomach churned as you realized the truth. She’d been feeding it to you all along, seducing you not just with her words but with her food.

Whether out of fear, fascination, or something darker, you stayed. She lavished you with attention, pulling you deeper into her twisted world. She claimed it was love—that her obsession with you was pure and consuming, and she began to whisper her ultimate truth:

“When you truly love someone, you must consume them. Body, mind, soul.”

You didn’t fight as hard as you should have. Maybe you were too far gone, too ensnared by her charisma, her manipulation. When the night came, you let her guide you to the table, let her touch you with tenderness as she prepared to take what she believed was hers.

The room was dimly lit, candlelight flickering across the table where Agatha had arranged an array of her finest culinary tools. The knife she held glinted as she tilted it, running a finger along the blade with the care of a maestro tuning their instrument. Her expression was serene, as though preparing for something sacred.

You sat in the chair, wrists trembling against the restraints she’d insisted were “necessary.” Her eyes met yours—intense, full of adoration and madness. “I would never hurt you,” she purred. “This is love, my darling. This is how we become one.”

Your chest tightened. “Agatha, please…” you whispered, though it wasn’t entirely fear driving your plea. Deep down, a horrifying part of you craved her touch, her obsession. The thought sickened you, but her words and actions had eroded your sense of self. You didn’t know where your revulsion ended and your strange desire began.

She knelt before you, taking your trembling hands in hers. Her touch was tender, her thumb stroking your palm as though to calm you. “You’re exquisite,” she murmured. “Every piece of you is a masterpiece. And when I consume you, it won’t be to destroy you. It will be to preserve you. Forever.”

Agatha pressed her lips against your wrist, the warmth of her mouth a cruel contrast to the sharp chill of the knife resting on your skin. The blade kissed the delicate flesh of your forearm, slicing with precision. A slow bead of crimson welled up, and Agatha’s breath hitched, her pupils dilating as though she were beholding the most precious wine.

She licked the blood, her tongue darting out to taste the coppery warmth. Her eyes closed, and a shiver ran through her, a sound of pleasure slipping from her lips. “You’re perfect,” she whispered.

Terror gripped you, but so did something else—a morbid fascination as she pressed a square of white cloth to the wound, pausing only to meet your gaze. “This is trust,” she said softly. “And trust is love.”

You wanted to scream at her, to fight the straps that bound you, but her presence overwhelmed you, her obsession having carved itself into your psyche over weeks of whispered devotion and manipulation. You were hers now. You didn’t even remember what it felt like to belong to yourself.

Agatha turned away briefly, her movements deliberate and graceful as she arranged small bowls on the table: herbs, spices, drizzles of amber-hued oils. She hummed softly, the melody haunting and strangely comforting.

She cut a small piece from you. Your mind blanked, panic giving way to numb disbelief. She handled the slice of your flesh delicately, as though it were a rare delicacy. Blood still oozed from the cut, staining the pristine white of her apron, but she paid no mind.

“I’ll make this beautiful,” she said, her voice hushed in reverence. “Because you’re beautiful, and you deserve only the finest presentation.”

You were shaking now, tears streaming down your face as she seared the flesh on a small cast-iron pan. The smell wafted upward, rich and intoxicating, and it sent a new kind of horror rushing through you. Her movements were confident, almost graceful, as she added butter and herbs, basting the slice of you in its juices.

When she plated it—garnished with an artful smear of sauce and a sprig of thyme—it looked like something out of one of her shows. Perfect.

Agatha returned to you with the plate, her face alight with a mixture of pride and something darker. She cut a bite-sized piece, her hand trembling slightly as she brought the fork to your lips. “Open, my love,” she whispered.

You pressed your lips tightly together, refusing, but her gaze sharpened, her tone turning firm. “You’ll taste it,” she demanded, her obsession igniting into something commanding. “You have to. You’ll understand everything when you do.”

Reluctantly—out of fear, out of exhaustion—you parted your lips. The morsel slipped past your tongue, and the flavors exploded in your mouth: rich, savory, decadent. A groan escaped your throat before you could stop it, tears rolling down your cheeks as you hated yourself for the pleasure that coursed through you.

“There,” she said, smiling as though you had just declared your undying love for her. “You feel it now, don’t you? You feel how special you are.”

Your voice cracked. “You’re insane, Agatha…”

“I’m in love,” she corrected sharply, cupping your face. Her thumb wiped a tear from your cheek before brushing across your lips. “And you will love me the way I love you. We’ll be inseparable.”

Her mouth hovered over yours, and before you could recoil, she kissed you—deeply, possessively. You tasted your own essence on her lips, and something shattered inside you, replaced by a grim acceptance.

Then she pulled away, and before you could think to protest, she took a knife and made a shallow cut across her palm. Blood trickled down her wrist, and she let it drip onto the plate. She cut a thin strip of skin from herself and prepared it the same way, searing it with precision.

“This,” she said, handing you the fork, “is how you love someone. By letting them become part of you. Eat.”

Your body betrayed you. Your trembling hands reached for the fork, and you brought the slice to your lips. The flavor was different—darker, heavier—but no less intoxicating. Agatha’s smile widened as she watched you chew.

“You’re mine now,” she whispered, leaning close, her breath hot against your ear. “Completely. And I am yours.”

In the weeks that followed, the world outside faded into nothingness. Your life became Agatha—her kitchen, her obsession, her love. She continued to take pieces of you, small parts each time, weaving them into her dishes and savoring them with a reverence that frightened and thrilled you.

You didn’t recognize yourself anymore. You weren’t just her apprentice—you were her masterpiece. And as she fed you pieces of herself, you realized the horrifying truth: Agatha’s obsession with you seemed boundless.

The way she looked at you—hungry and adoring—was equal parts unnerving and intoxicating. But you noticed a shift after she began feeding you pieces of herself and consuming you in return. Her affection deepened, but so did her control.

“You’re ready,” she told you one night, her tone reverent, like a priestess before a sacred ritual.

“For what?” you asked, still raw from the evening’s events—both in body and soul.

“For the next step,” she said, cupping your face with hands that were simultaneously tender and unyielding. “You’ve trusted me enough to taste and be tasted. Now, it’s time you create.”

She didn’t elaborate, but her words lingered in your mind. The next evening, when service ended, she led you into her private quarters. Unlike the rest of the restaurant, which gleamed with sterility and perfection, her personal space was dark and opulent, with velvet-draped furniture and walls lined with bookshelves.

She handed you a glass of wine and sat beside you, unnervingly close. “When I first began my journey,” she began, her voice soft and hypnotic, “I was lost, like you. Then I discovered the art of it all—the power of taking life and transforming it into something divine.”

You felt your blood run cold, but you didn’t interrupt.

“Every great artist begins with an apprentice,” she continued. “And you’re mine. To understand true creativity, true mastery, you must do more than taste. You must take. I’ll guide you, my darling. I’ll teach you how to savor every moment.”

You should have refused, but her words wove themselves around you like a spell. Agatha made it seem so... inevitable.

The next evening, Agatha brought you into the backroom again, but this time, a man was bound to the same steel table where you’d first learned the truth. He was unconscious, his face bruised but breathing steadily.

Your heart thundered in your chest as you looked at her. “Who... who is this?”

“No one of importance,” she said dismissively, brushing her fingers over the man’s temple. “He made mistakes. Crossed lines. But his life doesn’t matter now. What matters is what he will become.”

Agatha handed you a knife—your knife, she said, one she’d chosen specifically for you. The handle was cool and smooth in your hand, the blade shining under the stark light.

“Don’t look at him as a person,” she said, her voice low and coaxing. “He’s an ingredient. A canvas. And with my guidance, you’ll make something beautiful.”

Your hands trembled, bile rising in your throat. “I can’t,” you whispered.

“Yes, you can,” she said firmly, standing behind you. Her arms wrapped around you, her hands guiding yours as she brought the knife closer to the man’s bare arm. “Do you trust me?”

“I—” Your voice cracked.

“Do you love me?” she whispered into your ear, her lips brushing your skin.

“Yes,” you croaked, tears spilling down your cheeks.

“Then trust me,” she said, pressing your hands forward.

The blade sank into flesh, and the man stirred, his groan muffled by the gag in his mouth. You flinched, pulling back, but Agatha held you steady. “Good,” she said, her voice filled with pride. “You’re learning.”

It was agony and ecstasy at once, your body rebelling against the horror of what you were doing even as her praise lit something deep within you.

Agatha breathed, her voice thick with approval. "Now, don't stop."

Obediently, you continued to cut, each slice of the knife sending a jolt of dark pleasure through you. Agatha watched, her eyes glinting with pride and something else—something hungrier, more primal.

When you finally stepped back, covered in blood and trembling, she pulled you into her arms. Her lips found yours in a searing kiss, her tongue delving into your mouth. You moaned, tasting the coppery tang of blood on her lips.

"You're amazing," she purred, breaking the kiss to trail her fingers down your neck. "I knew you had it in you."

She pushed you back against the table, her hand sliding under your shirt. Her touch was rough, possessive, igniting a fire low in your belly. You arched into her, craving more.

Agatha seemed to sense your need. She tugged your shirt off, tossing it aside carelessly. Her mouth latched onto your breast, sucking and biting at the sensitive flesh until you cried out. All the while, her hand worked between your legs, pushing your skirt up and rubbing your clit through your soaked panties.

"Please," you gasped, grinding against her hand. "I need you."

She chuckled darkly, tearing your panties off with one swift tug. "Patience, my darling. I'm going to take care of you."

She plunged two fingers knuckle-deep into your dripping cunt without preamble, making you scream. Her thumb circled your clit as she pumped in and out, building a rhythm that had you writhing on the table.

"That's it," she growled, her eyes dark with lust. "Take what you need."

You did, fucking yourself on her fingers as she drove them deeper. Your orgasm built quickly, coiling tight in your belly. Just as you teetered on the edge, Agatha pulled her fingers out.

"No coming until I say so," she commanded, smacking your clit hard enough to make you yelp.

"Please," you whimpered, "I can't take it anymore. I need to come."

She smiled cruelly, pressing the fingers coated in your arousal to your lips. "Suck," she ordered.

You did, moaning at the taste of yourself on her skin. Agatha watched, her expression intense and consuming. "That's my girl," she purred.

She pushed you to your knees, opened her pants and took out her fake cock."Now, put that pretty mouth to work."

You obeyed, taking her into your mouth without hesitation. Agatha groaned, thrusting her hips forward. "Fuck yes, just like that."

She set a brutal pace, fucking your face with abandon. Tears leaked from your eyes as you gagged and choked around her cock, but you didn't stop. You couldn't stop. Not with the way she was looking at you—like you were the most precious thing in the world.

"Come here," she growled when she finally pulled out. She lifted you onto the table, kissing you deeply as she shed her clothes.

The head of her cock pressed against your entrance, and you braced yourself for the invasion. But when she pushed inside, it was different. gentler. She filled you completely, stretching you in the most delicious way.

"Mine," she whispered against your lips, starting to move. "All mine."

You clung to her, your nails digging into her back as she rode you hard and deep. The table creaked beneath you with each thrust, the scent of blood and sex mingling in the air.

Agatha reached between your bodies, finding your clit. She rubbed it in rough circles, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"Come for me," she commanded, her voice rough with need. "Let go."

Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, your cunt clamping down around her cock. Agatha followed shortly after, burying herself deep as she came with a hoarse cry.

She collapsed on top of you, both of you panting and sweat-slicked. You looked over to the lifeless body, the reality of the horror of what you've done finally sets in. Agatha cradled you in her arms, her fingers stroking your hair as you sobbed. “You did wonderfully,” she murmured. “You’ve taken your first step into becoming truly extraordinary.”

From then on, Agatha began involving you in her process. She taught you how to choose victims—how to find the “undeserving,” those who wouldn’t be missed.

“You’re not taking life; you’re elevating it,” she explained one evening as you watched her methodically butcher a new victim. “Without us, they’d vanish into nothing. But we make them immortal, unforgettable.”

Her justification worked its way into your mind, twisting your guilt into something almost noble. You began accompanying her on hunts, watching as she charmed her targets with her beauty and wit. When the time came, she’d make the kill swift, then turn to you with a smile of triumph.

“You’ll do the next one,” she told you after a particularly successful hunt. Her tone was light, as though she were offering you a new recipe to try.

And when the moment came, you did. Your hands trembled as you held the blade, but Agatha was there, her voice soothing and encouraging. “That’s my girl,” she whispered as the life drained from your victim’s eyes.

You felt sick afterward, but she kissed your forehead, wiping the blood from your face with a tenderness that only deepened your confusion. “I’m so proud of you,” she said. “You’re mine now, completely. And together, we’ll create something the world will never forget.”

The more you killed, the more natural it felt. Agatha’s voice became the only thing grounding you, her touch the only thing anchoring you to reality.

“You’re perfect,” she said, pulling you into her arms. “You’ve surpassed even my greatest expectations.”

Her lips met yours, the kiss passionate and consuming. You melted into her, unable to tell where you ended and she began.

“You and I,” she whispered against your lips, “we’re gods in the kitchen. Together, there’s nothing we can’t create. And nothing we won’t destroy. You’re everything I ever dreamed of—my equal, my masterpiece.”

And yet, no matter how deeply entangled you were in her world, you couldn’t quite banish the small voice of doubt within you—the part of you that still longed for freedom, for the version of yourself that existed before Agatha.

But Agatha knew. She always knew.

“You’re wondering if you can leave,” she said one evening as the two of you stood side by side in the kitchen, preparing the next course. Her tone was calm, but her eyes glinted with something dangerous. “You can’t. You’re mine. And if you ever try to escape, you’ll realize just how far my love for you truly goes.”

The blade in her hand gleamed as she worked, the casual threat lingering in the air between you like smoke. “Love isn’t something you can abandon,” she continued softly, slicing into the meat before her with precision. “It’s something you surrender to. Completely. Just as I’ve surrendered to you.”

Her words left you paralyzed, your mind a storm of fear and dark infatuation. Escape was no longer a possibility. You were trapped, not by the physical confines of her world, but by the chains she’d woven around your heart and mind.

And as Agatha stood behind you, her arms draped possessively over your shoulders, she whispered the words that sealed your fate:

“We are one now, my love. And nothing—not life, nor death—will ever change that.”

In that moment, you knew there was no going back. You were hers, just as she was yours, bound by blood, obsession, and an unholy art that would forever define you both.

Her love was a cage, but it was warm. And you couldn’t imagine life without her.

_-_-_

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