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areislol · 2 months ago

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how honkai star rail men would be with their very heavily pregnant wife

pairings. jing yuan, blade, anaxa, phainon, mydei, aventurine, boothill, dr ratio, gepard, sunday, sampo, moze x fem/afab! reader

warnings. phainon and mydei might be ooc! slightly suggestive for mydei, angst if you squint for boothill

a/n. my professor is pregnant and i got inspired, is that weird? i think i went a little overboard when writing.

wc. 18.2k

jing yuan

✧ super protective general mode activated – jing yuan won’t let you lift a single finger. you’re a literal empress in his eyes, and he treats you like one.

✧ he constantly rubs your belly, murmuring sweet nothings to your baby, calling them “little cub” or “our future star.”

✧ yanqing is over the moon, already asking when he can start training the baby. jing yuan just laughs and tells him to be patient.

✧ he pretends to be chill, but he secretly has his cloud knights monitoring your every move. if you so much as sigh, he’s rushing to your side with a massage ready.

✧ jing yuan is so unbelievably soft with you. he treats you like you're the most precious thing in the world, because to him, you are. he’s already a laid-back general, but when it comes to you and your pregnancy, he becomes even lazier—only because he insists on doing everything for you, so you don’t have to lift a single finger.

✧ “why would i let you do anything, my love? you’re already doing the most important thing—bringing our child into this world.” he says it so smoothly, like it’s the most obvious thing ever, all while he’s feeding you slices of fresh fruit.

✧ he loves talking to the baby. every night, he rests his head against your belly, rubbing slow circles over your stretched skin as he murmurs soft words. “are you being good to your mother? not causing too much trouble, i hope.” his voice is teasing, but there’s so much warmth in it.

✧ yanqing is excited beyond belief. he treats your belly like a sacred treasure, constantly checking in and promising to be the best big brother figure. jing yuan just watches with an amused smile, letting the boy go on about how he’ll train the baby to be the best swordsman when they’re older.

✧ if you so much as sigh, he’s immediately at your side. tired? he’s carrying you. back hurting? he’s massaging you. craving something? he already sent someone to get it.

✧ he lets you sleep on him whenever you want. if you’re tired in the middle of the day, he just pulls you into his lap, arms wrapped securely around you as he leans back, perfectly content to stay like that for hours.

✧ you catch him daydreaming about your child a lot. he’ll be sitting at his desk, chin in his palm, a soft smile on his lips as he imagines what they’ll look like. “will they have your eyes?” he asks one day, reaching out to brush his fingers over your cheek. “i hope they do.”

✧ he’s secretly very nervous about the birth. he won’t show it, but you catch the way his fingers tighten slightly when he thinks about it. he just loves you so much, and he hates the idea of you being in pain. he’ll be right by your side when the time comes, holding your hand, whispering reassurances in that deep, soothing voice of his.

✧ at the end of the day, jing yuan is just so deeply in love with you. every moment, every touch, every gentle smile—he’s cherishing all of it, because this is the family he’s always dreamed of.

✧ jing yuan is absolutely smitten with you and your pregnancy. he’s always been affectionate, but now? now he’s downright insatiable when it comes to touching you. his hands are always somewhere—resting on your belly, rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back, cupping your cheek as he presses soft kisses against your lips. he just wants you to feel loved every second of the day.

✧ he’s a chronic nuzzler. when you’re sitting together, he leans in to bury his face in your neck, breathing in your scent, his hands splayed across your belly. when you’re lying down, he rests his forehead against yours, murmuring sweet little reassurances about how well you’re doing. if he could, he’d never let you leave his embrace.

✧ he absolutely spoils you. your cravings? already fulfilled before you even realize you’re hungry. your feet hurt? he’s massaging them while looking at you with those warm, golden eyes. you’re feeling emotional? he’s pulling you into his lap, whispering words of love as he strokes your hair.

✧ his favorite thing is feeling the baby kick. he lights up every single time—his eyes softening, a slow smile tugging at his lips as he presses his palm to your belly. “ah, little one, i see you’re already training to be a warrior.” he chuckles, his thumb tracing slow circles against your skin.

✧ he reads to you at night. sometimes it’s poetry, sometimes it’s old tales of the xianzhou, but he loves the idea of his voice lulling both you and the baby into sleep. he takes it as an unspoken duty to make sure you’re as comfortable and relaxed as possible.

✧ he will not let you lift a single thing. you could be reaching for something as light as a teacup, and suddenly his arm is there, effortlessly taking it from you. “tsk, tsk, my dear. what did i say about doing things yourself?” he smirks as he hands it to you, obviously enjoying how much he gets to dote on you.

✧ yanqing is so excited that it makes jing yuan even more excited. when yanqing starts talking about how he’s going to train the baby in swordsmanship, jing yuan suddenly finds himself indulging in the fantasy, too. “hm… perhaps they’ll wield a greatsword like me,” he muses, stroking his chin before glancing at you with a teasing smirk. “or maybe they’ll be as quick-witted and sharp as their mother.”

✧ he secretly makes a journal about the pregnancy. he writes down little notes—about the first time he felt the baby kick, about how breathtaking you looked under the moonlight as you rested, about how his heart aches with how much he loves you both. he never tells you about it, but he plans to give it to your child when they’re older, so they’ll know just how much their father adored their mother.

✧ he absolutely, 100% cries when the baby is born. he tries to be strong, tries to keep his composure, but the moment he hears that first cry, he’s done for. he cups your face with shaky hands, pressing his forehead to yours as he whispers, “you did so well, my love… so well.” and when he finally holds the baby, his chest tightens with overwhelming love—he’s never known a happiness like this before.

blade —

✧ he rarely shows outward emotions, but his hands always find their way to your belly, as if grounding himself in the reality of your shared future.

✧ if you ever feel pain, even if it’s normal pregnancy discomfort, he tenses up immediately, staring at you with worry. “are you okay? do you need something?”

✧ he lets you sleep curled up against him, his body warmth soothing you. even if he doesn’t need rest, he’ll lay beside you, hand on your stomach, eyes half-lidded.

✧ the stellaron hunters tease him for being so soft for you, but he doesn’t care. his priority is you and the baby—nothing else.

✧ buys you those pregnancy pillows, not one, not two, not three, but FIVE of them. why? don't ask why. he just did what he had to do.

✧ blade is both the most terrifying and the softest man you have ever seen during your pregnancy. anyone who so much as glances at you the wrong way gets a death glare so sharp it could cut through steel. he becomes hyper-aware of his surroundings, his protective instincts dialed up to a thousand. but when he's with you? when he's resting his palm on your belly, feeling the faint kicks of your child? he's tender in a way no one else will ever see.

✧ he doesn't speak much, but his actions say everything. he’s not the type to whisper poetic words about his love for you, but when he pulls you into his chest, his calloused fingers brushing through your hair—when he kneels in front of you, pressing the softest kiss to your swollen belly—you know exactly how much he cherishes you.

✧ he has a habit of placing his hand on your belly whenever you're together. it’s instinctual, protective, like he’s always ready to shield both you and your child from harm. even in his sleep, his hand finds its way to your stomach, fingers twitching slightly as if standing guard.

✧ he worries about you, even if he doesn’t always say it outright. you catch him watching you with furrowed brows when you move around too much, his lips pressing into a thin line when he sees you wince. if he had his way, you'd be in bed all day, wrapped up in the safest cocoon possible—but he knows you’re strong, so he holds back. barely.

✧ he is unbelievably gentle when touching you. it’s almost ironic—blade, a man who knows nothing but violence, whose hands are stained with countless battles, touches you like you’re made of the finest glass. every time he cups your face, every time he trails his fingers over your belly, his touch is so, so careful. he would rather die than cause you any harm.

✧ he talks to the baby when he thinks you're asleep. late at night, when the world is silent and you’re curled up against him, he whispers words he could never say when you're awake. “i will protect you.” his voice is barely above a breath, his hand splayed over your belly. “you and your mother. always.”

✧ he makes sure you're eating properly, even if it means forcing you to sit down while he prepares something himself. he doesn’t care if he’s never been much of a cook—he will make sure you're fed and taken care of, even if it means standing in the kitchen for an hour, staring at a recipe with a deep frown.

✧ he pretends not to care about the baby shopping, but he totally does. when you bring him to look at baby clothes, he acts indifferent at first, hands tucked into his coat. but the second he sees a tiny onesie in your favorite color? he picks it up, runs his fingers over the fabric, and mutters something about how “this one looks… acceptable.” (he buys it immediately.)

✧ he doesn't know how to express it, but he's excited to be a father. he never thought he’d have something like this—something soft, something real. he never thought he’d have a future beyond endless battles. but now, with you by his side, carrying a child that is part of both of you, he finally starts to believe in something more.

✧ when the baby is born, he is completely, utterly still. for the first time in his life, blade feels like he has no words. he holds the tiny bundle in his arms, staring down at this little life he helped create, and something deep inside him shifts. when he finally looks at you, eyes glassy with unspoken emotion, he whispers the only thing he can say—“thank you.”

✧ blade is absolutely helpless when it comes to your cravings. you want something specific in the middle of the night? he’s already putting on his coat, ready to hunt it down no matter how absurd it is. he doesn’t even question it anymore. one time, you craved something bizarre—like spicy pickles dipped in chocolate—and he just stared at you for a full ten seconds before silently retrieving the ingredients. when he watched you eat it with a satisfied hum, he muttered, “...i have never feared anything more than i fear your cravings.”

✧ there was one time when he brought you the wrong food, and you almost burst into tears. your craving was very specific—a warm peach bun from a particular vendor—but he accidentally got a different flavor. when he saw your lip tremble, he immediately turned on his heel and went straight back out to find the exact one you wanted. “i will not return until i retrieve it,” he swore, like he was going on some life-or-death mission.

✧ he tries to act like he doesn’t care when you make him try your strange craving combinations, but the second you say, “if you love me, you’ll try it,” he knows he’s lost. cue him begrudgingly taking a bite of something absolutely cursed (like ice cream and soy sauce) while you eagerly watch for his reaction. he chews. he swallows. he slowly looks away and mutters, “i am never doing that again.” (he does it again the next time you ask.)

✧ one time, you craved something so bad that you started getting emotional over it. “blade… what if i never get to eat it again?” you sniffled, burying your face in your hands. panic. absolute panic. he thought this was an actual emergency. he dropped everything he was doing, ready to fight the universe itself if it meant securing your food. when he finally got it and handed it to you, you sighed dreamily, saying, “you’re my hero.” his ears turned a little red after that.

✧ you get unbelievably clingy, and it’s both endearing and confusing to blade. he’ll be standing still, minding his own business, when you just attach yourself to him, draping yourself over his back like a koala. “don’t move,” you mumble. he doesn’t. if anything, he just shifts slightly so that you’re more comfortable.

✧ there was a moment when you dramatically flopped onto the bed, groaning about how your feet hurt. before you could even finish your sentence, blade was already kneeling down, silently massaging your feet. you gasped. “oh my god, you’re actually good at this—” his fingers worked into the sore spots with expert precision. you immediately melted. blade, meanwhile, just continued as if he’d been doing this for centuries. “your body is under strain,” he simply said. “this is the least i can do.”

✧ blade has an uncanny ability to appear whenever you need help. you’re struggling to bend down to grab something? suddenly, he’s there. you’re about to lift something heavier than he deems acceptable? boom, he’s already taking it from you. you once tested this by whispering, “i’m craving something…” and within seconds, he materialized behind you with an unreadable expression, already holding his coat, waiting for instructions.

✧ he does not tolerate anyone making unnecessary comments about your size. one time, a stranger made an offhand remark about how big your belly was, and before you could even react, blade was staring them down with the most chilling gaze imaginable. he didn’t even say a word—just narrowed his eyes ever so slightly—and the person immediately backpedaled.

✧ despite his serious nature, there was one time he made a mistake that neither of you will ever forget. you asked him to fetch your favorite snack, and he misheard you. instead of returning with the correct one, he came back with something completely different. when he handed it to you, looking all serious, you just… stared at it. “blade… what is this.” he frowned. “the food you asked for.” you shook your head.

✧ “no, this is not what i asked for.” a long silence. then, without a word, he simply turned around and walked right back out to get the correct one.

✧ sometimes, he gets so used to catering to you that he forgets he doesn’t need to keep doing it after the baby is born. one time, you got up to get something for yourself, and blade immediately tried to stop you. “sit down,” he said automatically, already moving to do it for you. you had to gently remind him, “blade, i can move now.” he paused. thought about it. then, in a deadpan voice, muttered, “...i don’t like that.”

anaxa —

✧ the man is obsessed with your pregnancy. every single day, he’s marveling at your growing belly, resting his head on it, whispering to the baby.

✧ “can you hear me, little one? your father loves you very, very much~” and then he looks up at you with stars in his eyes. you can’t walk five steps without him offering to carry you.

✧ he’d literally sweep you off your feet in public if you let him. he handmakes baby clothes, paints the nursery with celestial patterns, and makes sure you’re always surrounded by warmth and love.

✧ anaxa is absolutely ecstatic about you carrying his child. he’s a man of passion, and this is the most exciting thing to ever happen in his life. he showers you in affection constantly, hands never far from your belly, and every little change in your pregnancy fascinates him. one day, he catches sight of your growing bump in the mirror, and his golden eyes widen with pure admiration.

✧ “by the aeons, look at you… you’re stunning.” he twirls you around, beaming, like you’re the most divine sight in the universe.

✧ he is obnoxiously protective but in a warm, dramatic way. if you so much as sigh, he’s immediately cupping your face, his gaze filled with concern. “beloved, are you unwell? do you need anything? say the word, and i shall move the stars themselves to bring you comfort.” if you so much as stumble, he is catching you like a hero in a romantic novel, dipping you slightly as if it were a dance.

✧ he goes insane over your cravings. no matter how ridiculous, he takes it as a personal challenge. one time, you craved the most specific fruit from a distant planet, and before you could even consider changing your mind, he was already making arrangements to have it imported. it arrived within hours. you stared at him in disbelief as he proudly presented it. “for you, my beloved, there is no distance too far.”

✧ he gets competitive about taking care of you. he must be the one to do everything. need a foot massage? he’s already doing it. thirsty? your drink is already in your hands. you tried to reach for something on a high shelf once, and he gasped dramatically, lifting you into his arms instead. “such tasks are far beneath you, my dear.” you just wanted a plate.

✧ when the baby kicks for the first time, he is overwhelmed. his hands freeze over your stomach, golden eyes widening in shock. he looks up at you, utterly stunned, before breaking into the most lovesick grin you have ever seen. “they’re strong,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead against yours. “our child is strong.”

✧ he talks to your belly. all the time. and not just little greetings—he has full conversations. he tells your baby about the adventures he’s had, the beautiful places they’ll see, and how lucky they are to have you as their mother. sometimes, when he thinks you’re asleep, he whispers soft promises to them. “you will be loved beyond measure, little one. i swear it upon the stars.”

✧ he spoils you rotten. anything you want, you get. it’s impossible to stop him. the moment you so much as glance at a pretty item, he’s already purchasing it. if you tell him “you don’t have to—” he hushes you with a kiss to your forehead. “nonsense, my love. you deserve the world.”

✧ he gets extremely emotional when you’re in labour. despite his usual confidence, he is on edge, pacing the room, running a hand through his hair, whispering prayers under his breath. the second he hears your baby’s first cry, he collapses into the chair, exhaling a deep breath of relief (like he was the one giving birth.... 😒).

✧ when he finally holds them for the first time, he is speechless. his usual poetic words fail him, and he just stares, eyes glossy with unshed tears, before finally whispering, “you are the greatest gift i have ever received.”

✧ anaxa treats your pregnancy like the most important quest of his life. from the moment he learns you’re expecting, he dives headfirst into research. he devours every article, medical journal, and ancient text on pregnancy, memorizing every detail.

✧ at night, he’s hunched over stacks of datapads, reading about fetal development, prenatal nutrition, and even obscure childbirth traditions across different planets. when you wake up and ask what he’s doing, he simply replies, “studying for the most important role of my existence.”

✧ he takes notes. meticulous, detailed notes. he carries around a small journal where he writes everything—your mood shifts, your cravings, even what time of day the baby kicks the most. it’s filled with observations like “beloved seemed irritated today—possible correlation with lack of midday nap?” and “baby prefers right side of belly—will investigate further.”

✧ one time, you peeked into his notes and found a page titled “top ten ways to make my love comfortable” with a ranked list of his most successful strategies.

✧ he does field research. he doesn’t just rely on books—he goes out and seeks firsthand knowledge. he interviews every mother he can find, from warriors to scholars, recording their experiences and advice with intense focus.

✧ he once stopped an entire group of mothers in the marketplace just to ask, “ladies, if i may—what was the most effective way your partners supported you during pregnancy?” he listened very seriously, nodding at each answer, before thanking them with a deep bow.

✧ he becomes hyper-aware of pregnancy symptoms before you even notice them. you sigh slightly, and before you can say anything, he’s already handing you water because “dehydration can cause fatigue, my dear.”

✧ If you rub your lower back even once, he instantly offers a massage. one time, you mentioned feeling warm, and within seconds, he adjusted the room’s temperature to the optimal degree for pregnant comfort.

✧ no one can escape his lectures. if someone offers you food that’s even slightly questionable for pregnancy, he immediately intervenes, launching into a detailed explanation of why you cannot eat it. “that dish contains an ingredient known to cause nausea in twelve percent of expectant mothers. i simply cannot allow it.”

✧ you once caught him educating a fellow father-to-be about the importance of emotional support during pregnancy. “your partner’s needs must always come first. if she craves something at midnight, you go. no hesitation.”

✧ he gets way too into prenatal bonding. he doesn’t just talk to the baby—he reads stories, sings songs, and even plays music. one day, you walked in on him reciting a dramatic monologue from one of his favorite plays to your belly, gesturing passionately. “and so, my dear child, this is the tale of heroes and honor… may you inherit my love for storytelling.” you couldn’t stop laughing.

✧ when you’re nearing your due date, he prepares a full emergency plan. he has a route mapped out to the medical facility, a list of supplies packed and double-checked, and contingency plans for every possible scenario.

✧ if labor starts unexpectedly, he has multiple escape routes memorized for a quick departure. one time, he even did a practice drill, making sure he could carry you effortlessly if needed. “i must be ready, beloved. i refuse to falter in your moment of need.”

✧ the moment you go into labor, he activates like a man on a mission. his usually playful and dramatic nature is replaced with laser-sharp focus. he’s immediately by your side, holding your hand, guiding you through breathing exercises he memorized. but internally, he is barely holding it together.

✧ the second he hears the baby’s first cry, he lets out a shaky breath, his entire body relaxing. when he finally holds your child, all the stress melts away, and he just gazes at them in awe, whispering, “you were worth every moment.”

phainon

✧ this man treats you like the most precious treasure. If anyone so much as breathes near you the wrong way, he’s glaring at them. every craving? immediately fulfilled.

✧ even if you wake up at 3 am and want the most obscure food, he’ll find a way to get it for you. he’s fascinated by the baby’s movements and constantly asks, “did they kick just now?”

✧ when you can’t sleep, he’ll hold you close and hum soft lullabies, stroking your hair until you drift off in his arms.

✧ phainon is absolutely obsessed with the idea of being a father. from the moment he learns you’re pregnant, he acts like he just won the greatest cosmic jackpot in existence. he picks you up and spins you around before freezing and setting you down gently, apologizing because “right, right, must be careful now.” but he’s grinning ear to ear, already talking about all the things he wants to do with the baby. “do you think they’ll like stargazing? i’ll teach them all about the constellations, and we can name a star after them.”

✧ he immediately starts making preparations. within days, he’s turned an entire room into a nursery, but it’s not just any nursery—it’s a masterpiece. he hand-paints galaxies on the ceiling so the baby will always feel like they’re sleeping under the stars.

✧ he even commissions a custom-built crib that gently rocks like a spaceship in zero gravity. he’s so proud of it, constantly adjusting tiny details to make it perfect. “our little star deserves the best, don’t you think?”

✧ he takes baby-proofing to an extreme. he starts evaluating your entire home with the scrutiny of a scientist studying an uncharted planet. “this corner? too sharp. that table? unstable. this step? a potential hazard.”

✧ you catch him padding furniture, securing every single cabinet, and even installing a soft landing zone in case the baby ever falls. you try to tell him that it’s way too early for this, but he just winks and says, “better to be safe than sorry, starlight.”

✧ cravings are his absolute favourite part of the pregnancy. the moment you mention wanting something, he’s on it. he once woke up at three in the morning to hunt down a very specific dessert you were craving.

✧ when he finally returned, slightly dishevelled but victorious, he proudly presented it to you like he had just returned from a heroic quest. if you ever apologise for asking for something difficult, he just kisses your forehead and says, “there’s nothing i wouldn’t do for you and our little one.”

✧ he gets really into talking to the baby. not just casual conversations—full-blown storytelling. he lies with his head on your belly, telling the baby about all the wonders of the universe, all the places they’ll visit, all the things they’ll see.

✧ “you’re gonna love it out here. just wait until you see your first comet—it’s breathtaking.” he also sings lullabies, soft celestial melodies he swears have been passed down in his family. even you find yourself falling asleep to them.

✧ he fusses over you constantly. anytime you so much as sigh, he’s immediately checking in. “are you okay? do you need anything? here, let me get you some water. or a pillow. or—” you have to physically stop him from treating you like a fragile piece of glass.

✧ if you so much as try to lift something heavier than a book, he swoops in immediately. “whoa, whoa, whoa—absolutely not. no heavy lifting for my love. let me handle it.”

✧ despite all his excitement, he does have moments of deep, quiet reflection. sometimes you’ll find him sitting by the nursery, looking up at the painted stars with a soft smile. when you ask what’s on his mind, he just pulls you close and murmurs, “i just… can’t believe this is real. that i get to have this with you.”

✧ his hand will rest on your belly, his thumb tracing slow circles as he whispers, “i promise to be the best father i can be. i swear it.”

✧ when the day finally comes, he is a wreck. for all his usual charm and confidence, the moment you tell him it’s time, he panics. he grabs the hospital bag, then forgets where he put the hospital bag. he tries to call someone but dials the wrong number. you have to physically pull him back to reality.

✧ but once he sees you, really sees you, he takes a deep breath, centers himself, and holds your hand with all the love in the universe. when he hears the baby’s first cry, his eyes fill with tears, and he laughs, breathless, as he whispers, “welcome home, little star.”

✧ phainon is an absolute menace when it comes to public displays of affection, and your pregnancy just makes it ten times worse. he’s already the type to drape himself over you, kiss you whenever he pleases, and hold your hand no matter where you go, but now? now he’s practically glued to you. he’s always resting a hand on your belly, rubbing soothing circles over it, or just holding you close like he’s staking a claim. whenever someone congratulates him on the baby, he just beams and says, “i know, isn’t it wonderful? my starlight is glowing.”

✧ the chrysos heirs do not make things easy for him. the moment they find out you’re pregnant, it’s like they’ve been given free rein to tease him relentlessly. they’re always making comments about how he’s become soft, how he’s acting like an overexcited first-time dad, how he’s basically your personal servant at this point. phainon just waves them off with a smug grin, completely unbothered. “jealous? i would be too if i didn’t have someone as perfect as my starlight carrying my child.” the teasing only gets worse after that.

✧ some of them take it a step further, trying to rile him up by making bets on what kind of father he’ll be. “ten credits says he cries when he holds the baby for the first time.” “twenty says he panics and passes out before the baby even arrives.” phainon just scoffs, but the truth is? he does cry when he holds the baby for the first time, and he almost passes out from the sheer emotional overload. the heirs never let him live it down.

✧ despite their teasing, some of them are actually really invested in your pregnancy. they offer parenting books, advice (some useful, some absolutely ridiculous), and even propose setting up a baby fund to spoil the child the moment they’re born.

✧ phainon, of course, refuses. “i appreciate the thought, but my little one won’t need all that nonsense.” ten minutes later, he’s accepting a tiny celestial-themed onesie from one of the heirs with a soft, “... okay, maybe just this one.”

✧ in public, phainon is the proudest future father to ever exist. he makes sure everyone knows. if you go out together, he’s showing you off like you’re the most precious treasure in the galaxy—which, in his eyes, you are. if someone so much as looks at you the wrong way, he’s immediately on guard, slipping an arm around your waist and fixing them with a look that says don’t even think about it.

✧ he gets so protective when you’re in crowded areas. he insists on keeping a hand on you at all times, whether it’s resting on the small of your back or holding your hand tightly. if someone bumps into you even slightly, his entire demeanor shifts—his usual easygoing attitude replaced by something much sharper. “watch where you’re going,” he says, his voice deceptively calm but carrying an unmistakable edge.

✧ if you ever get tired while walking, he doesn’t even hesitate before picking you up. bridal style, over his shoulder, whatever gets the job done. you try to protest, but he just grins. “what? i can’t have my starlight overexerting themselves. besides, you deserve to be treated like royalty.” people definitely stare, but phainon does not care in the slightest.

✧ you catch him buying so many baby-related things on impulse. he’ll see a tiny pair of star-patterned socks and immediately grab them, muttering “they’re going to look adorable in these.” his collection of baby clothes, plushies, and toys gets so out of hand that you have to physically stop him from buying more.

✧ he gets so smug when people comment on how lucky your child will be to have him as a father. he’ll flash you a knowing grin and say something like, “of course they’re lucky. they have the best parents in the universe.” and then he’ll lean in and murmur against your ear, “but between you and me, they’re going to love you more.”

✧ at the end of the day, despite all the teasing from the heirs, the doting, and the over-the-top protection, phainon is just so deeply in love with you and the life you’re building together.

✧ every time he looks at you, he sees the future he’s always dreamed of. and every time he places a hand on your belly, he’s reminded that his greatest adventure is just beginning.

mydei

✧ overly doting husband award goes to… mydei! he treats you like royalty.

✧ if you ever try to do anything yourself, he’s immediately stopping you. “what do you think you're doing? you are carrying our child. i’ll do everything.”

✧ and he means it. he writes letters to your baby before they’re born, leaving them in a box for them to read one day. you constantly wake up to breakfast in bed, your favourite drinks prepared exactly how you like them, and soft, warm blankets because he wants you as comfy as possible.

✧ mydei is absolutely obsessed with your pregnancy in the best way possible. the moment he finds out, it’s like his entire world shifts—everything he does, everything he thinks about, revolves around you and the little life growing inside you.

✧ he becomes so soft, his usual cold, distant demeanor melting away when he’s with you. whenever he talks about the baby, his voice is filled with nothing but warmth. “our little one is going to be amazing. just like their mother.”

✧ he takes everything about pregnancy very seriously. he practically turns into a scholar overnight, gathering every book, article, and medical journal he can find. he takes meticulous notes, cross-references sources, and even reaches out to professionals—doctors, experienced parents, even midwives.

✧ he even asks random pregnant women and mothers about their experiences, carefully logging every detail. “everyone’s journey is different,” he tells you, eyes filled with determination. “but i need to be prepared for anything.”

✧ his research leads to some very specific routines. he makes sure your diet is perfectly balanced, ensuring you get all the necessary nutrients while still indulging your cravings.

✧ he tracks your hydration levels, sleep patterns, and even stress levels. if he notices you looking tired or overwhelmed, he immediately whisks you away to rest. “no arguments. you need to take care of yourself.”

✧ despite his usually elegant and refined nature, he is so comically weak to your cravings. he will go to the ends of the universe to find whatever it is you’re craving, no matter how difficult or absurd. “you want a very specific fruit that only grows on a planet halfway across the cosmos? give me a moment.” he does not settle for substitutes. if it’s not exactly what you want, he will not rest until he finds it.

✧ he gets extremely protective in public. he’s already the type to keep an eye on his surroundings, but now? he’s on high alert. he positions himself between you and any potential danger, shields you from crowds, and death-glares anyone who so much as bumps into you. he carries extra layers if it gets cold, makes sure you’re never overexerting yourself, and always finds the safest routes when walking anywhere.

✧ if anyone even dares to make an inappropriate comment about your pregnancy—whether it’s about your body changing or unsolicited parenting advice—his entire demeanor darkens. his polite mask drops, and his voice turns icy as he calmly but mercilessly shuts them down. “your opinion was neither needed nor wanted. kindly leave before i lose my patience.”

✧ pda with him becomes softer, sweeter, and more frequent. he was always a little reserved when it came to public affection, but now? he doesn’t care who’s watching.

✧ he kisses your forehead absentmindedly, holds your hand everywhere, and often keeps an arm around your waist, rubbing gentle circles over your belly. when he talks to people, his hand naturally rests on your stomach as if it’s second nature.

✧ at night, he always falls asleep with a hand on your belly. he whispers to the baby, telling them stories, making quiet promises. “i’ll keep you and your mother safe. always.” his fingers trace light patterns against your skin, his voice laced with adoration. if the baby kicks, his eyes light up with wonder, a rare, unguarded smile stretching across his lips. “already so strong.”

✧ he takes nesting very seriously. he personally oversees the nursery, ensuring everything is perfect. the colors, the furniture, even the atmosphere—he carefully selects everything with precision and care. he tests the crib himself, sits in the rocking chair to make sure it’s comfortable, and painstakingly arranges and rearranges decorations until he’s satisfied. if something isn’t up to his standards, it’s gone. “only the best for our child.”

✧ the moment the baby arrives, all the walls he’s ever had completely crumble. he holds them with the gentlest touch, his eyes brimming with emotions he can’t even put into words.

✧ he presses the softest kiss to their forehead, whispering their name like it’s something sacred. he looks at you, exhausted yet radiant, and for the first time in his life, he feels truly complete.

✧ mydei insists on accompanying you every single time you go shopping for maternity wear. at first, you think he’s just being his usual meticulous, overprotective self, but then you realise—he genuinely enjoys it.

✧ he treats it like an event, carefully selecting pieces he thinks will be both comfortable and stylish for you. he has impeccable taste, so he always picks out the most flattering outfits, running his hands over the fabrics with a thoughtful hum before handing them to you. “this one will look beautiful on you. try it on.”

✧ the moment you start feeling insecure about your belly, he notices. you run your fingers over the curve of your stomach, frowning slightly at how different your body feels, how nothing fits the way it used to. the way you sigh while looking at yourself in the mirror doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

✧ he steps behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he rests his chin on your shoulder. his hands slide over the curve of your belly, holding you close.

✧ “why do you look so troubled, my love?” his voice is so smooth, low, and filled with warmth. when you mutter about how different your body feels, how you don’t feel as attractive, he simply tilts his head, his lips brushing against your ear.

✧ “you look breathtaking. absolutely divine.” he turns you around gently, his fingers lightly tracing patterns against your stomach. “do you even realise how incredible you are? you’re carrying our child, our future. there is nothing more beautiful than that.”

✧ his reassurance does not stop there. if anything, it becomes a little suggestive. his lips trail down to your neck, placing slow, deliberate kisses as his hands roam your sides. “this body, this belly, this softness... all of it is perfect. you are perfect.” his voice is velvety, filled with unfiltered adoration, and when you let out a small, embarrassed laugh, he just smiles against your skin.

✧ “you don’t believe me?” he whispers, his hands sliding lower before resting firmly on your hips. “perhaps I should show you just how irresistible you are to me.”

✧ you swat at his chest, flustered beyond belief, telling him you’re in the middle of a clothing store, but he only chuckles, tilting your chin up so you meet his gaze. “fine, fine. I’ll behave… for now.” but the way he lingers, the way his eyes darken just a little, tells you that he’s far from done.

✧ even after leaving the store, his hands never stop touching you—tracing over your belly absentmindedly, rubbing soothing circles over your back, occasionally squeezing your hips just to see you flustered. whenever you wear the clothes he picked out, he cannot take his eyes off you.

✧ if you ask him why he’s staring, he simply smirks. “admiring my wife. is that a crime?” he pauses before leaning in, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmurs, “though, I must say, I quite enjoy seeing you without these clothes, too.”

aventurine

✧ he acts nonchalant (well not really...), but deep down? he’s besotted with you and the baby. he boasts about you to everyone at the family, showing off the sonograms like they’re a rare jackpot he won at a casino.

✧ every time you walk into the room, his eyes immediately land on you. “and how is my favourite future mother doing today?”

✧ if you’re feeling down, he spoils you like crazy, showering you with gifts and trips to the fanciest places just to see you smile.

✧ aventurine treats you like absolute royalty the moment he finds out you’re pregnant. not that he didn’t already spoil you before, but now? it’s on a completely different level. you barely have to lift a finger—he’s already taking care of everything before you even think about needing it.

✧ he immediately starts building a nursery, and by "building," he means designing the most extravagant, high-end, luxurious baby room money can buy.

✧ he spares no expense—custom furniture, premium-quality baby clothes, plush toys imported from different planets, the softest blankets in existence, a crib that probably costs more than a spaceship, you name it. everything is top-tier, only the best for his child.

✧ he goes overboard with baby shopping. you tell him the baby isn’t even here yet, and he just smirks, unbothered. “better to be prepared, sweetheart. besides, it’s fun.” he buys every cute outfit he sees, from tiny formal suits to cozy little onesies, and don’t even get him started on toys. he buys so many that you swear your baby won’t even get to play with half of them.

✧ food? taken care of. cravings? immediately satisfied. he has chefs on standby ready to make whatever you want, whenever you want it. at 2 am, when you wake up craving something obscure, you hesitate to wake him, but the moment he stirs and hears you shifting in bed, he insists. “tell me what you want, love. i’ll get it for you right now.”

✧ and if it’s something rare or hard to find? he pulls strings, makes calls, and by some miracle, has it in front of you within the hour. if that’s not possible, he personally goes out to find it himself. no complaints, no hesitation. he does it happily.

✧ he is obsessed with making sure you’re comfortable. if he catches you shifting around, trying to find a better position, he’s already fluffing your pillows, adjusting your seat, anything to make sure you’re perfectly cozy.

✧ he arranges regular massages for you, has the softest, most luxurious blankets at your disposal, and if he catches you even looking slightly uncomfortable, he fixes it before you can even say a word.

✧ the way he dotes on you is almost comical. he won’t even let you walk too much without insisting you rest. “why strain yourself when I can carry you, hm?” and if you protest? he smirks, effortlessly sweeping you off your feet anyway.

✧ he loves talking to your belly. at first, it’s just quiet murmurs when he thinks you’re asleep, soft reassurances and promises. but then? he gets dramatic. “you better take after your mother. if you inherit my gambling habits, we’re going to have a problem.” he fully has conversations with your unborn child, completely shameless, and honestly? it’s adorable.

✧ he lives for your flustered reactions. if you ever feel insecure about your body changing, he makes sure you never doubt how beautiful you are. “look at you,” he purrs, eyes gleaming as he trails his fingers over your belly.

✧ “glowing. divine. absolutely stunning. you have no idea how breathtaking you are, do you?” and when you get all shy? he just chuckles, pleased. “should I remind you some more?”

✧ the second you complain about your feet being sore, aventurine doesn’t hesitate—he immediately takes off his shoes, swapping them with yours. it’s a comical sight, especially when you see his ridiculously expensive, immaculate shoes paired with your cozy, worn-out sneakers. you can’t help but laugh, but he just smiles, so proud of his solution. “there, that��s better, right?”

✧ he then proceeds to buy you an entire new wardrobe of sneakers—comfort over style, he insists. no more heels unless you want them. “you don’t need to suffer in those when we can make you look just as good in something more comfortable,” he says, his voice serious, as he orders half a dozen pairs of different styles, colours, and designs of the softest sneakers imaginable.

✧ he doesn’t even flinch when the bill comes in, just waves it off like it’s nothing.

✧ lord your man is sexy.

✧ of course, if you really want to wear heels for an occasion, he’ll never stop you. “you look stunning in heels, my love. wear them for as long as you like,” he says, but he always makes sure there’s a soft, padded seat nearby for when you need to rest, and he’ll literally help you change your shoes afterward.

✧ now, when it comes to mood swings, aventurine is the ultimate calm presence. he knows it’s just one of those things, so he simply adjusts to whatever mood you’re in. when you get irritated, frustrated, or upset, he’s there with a soft, unwavering smile, letting you vent as much as you need to.

✧ if you snap at him, he’s not offended at all. in fact, he’s almost amused by it, seeing it as just another aspect of your beauty—your passion, your fire. “feel free to let it all out, darling,” he says, taking your hand, his grip steady and soothing. “I’m right here. whatever you need, I’m here for you.” he doesn’t try to calm you down immediately, because he knows it’s important for you to express yourself.

✧ after you’ve finished ranting, he checks in with you again, his voice soft and considerate. “are you okay now? did yelling at me help?” he asks with genuine care, his smile patient and gentle, never judging. if you’re still upset, he’ll simply hold you and let you settle into his arms, letting you know that whatever mood you’re in, he’s not going anywhere.

✧ nothing rattles him. no matter how dramatic your mood swings get, he handles it with endless patience, making sure you feel safe and loved through every moment. if you start to feel guilty afterwards, he’ll just smile and say, “you have every right to feel how you feel. nothing to apologise for.”

boothill

✧ rough cowboy, soft husband. he insists on carrying you everywhere.

✧ walking is not an option for you, his pregnant wife.

✧ calls you “darlin’”

✧ speaks so softly when talking to the baby, completely in awe that you’re carrying his kid. he always has a protective hand on your back, guiding you gently.

✧ if anyone stares too long, his hand moves to his holster. (you have to smack his hand and scold him)

✧ when you can’t sleep, he sits beside you and talks about life on the frontier, his deep voice lulling you into peaceful dreams.

✧ boothill’s love for you is overwhelming, and yet, at times, you can’t help but notice a slight weight behind his affection. when he spoils you, it’s not out of simple joy—it’s out of a deep need to make sure you’re always okay, that you’re always happy, and it’s almost like he’s afraid you’ll slip away from him if he doesn’t try hard enough.

✧ he goes all out with everything—buying the best things, preparing the most extravagant meals, filling the house with comforts, and making sure you never have to lift a finger. he does it all with a quiet, unshakable intensity, like if he’s not constantly doing something for you, he’ll fail somehow.

✧ his attention is unrelenting. if you so much as sigh, he’s immediately there, asking if you’re feeling okay, if you need anything, if you’re comfortable. and while you know it’s all out of love, sometimes you wonder if it’s a little too much.

✧ there’s an unspoken tension that lingers in his actions—an underlying anxiety that if he doesn’t care for you in every way, you’ll somehow slip from his grasp.

✧ when you become pregnant, that tension only intensifies. suddenly, he’s not just worried about you—he’s anxious about the baby, too. the world around him seems to sharpen, and he starts doting on you even more, almost to the point where it feels like he’s smothering you. but his love isn’t suffocating—it’s desperate.

✧ in the quiet moments, when he watches you sleep or rubs his hand over your belly, there’s a flicker of something deeper in his eyes—a quiet fear. he’s afraid, deep down, of losing you, or the baby, or both.

✧ he hates the thought of you being in any kind of discomfort. when you tell him about the aching in your back or the soreness in your feet, he acts immediately, as if your pain is his fault. it’s as if he believes that if he doesn’t fix it right away, something terrible will happen.

✧ he’s obsessive in his need to make everything perfect for you, and even though you appreciate it, sometimes you wish he would just let you be. let you have some space to breathe, to exist on your own terms.

✧ in moments when the weight of it all gets to him, he retreats a little—his jaw tightens, his eyes harden. when he’s alone with his thoughts, you can see the flicker of self-doubt, a slight crack in his usually confident demeanour. he knows that his fear is something he needs to deal with, but it feels so out of control that it’s hard for him to admit it. he doesn’t want to show you his vulnerability, doesn’t want to burden you with his insecurities.

✧ but you see it in the way he holds you at night, the tightness in his arms, the way he checks on you repeatedly, his hands brushing over your body as if he’s trying to make sure you’re all still there. and when you ask him what’s wrong, he’s quick to mask it, brushing it off with a grin, but you know. you can always tell. the angst isn’t loud or overt—it’s hidden beneath his gestures, his actions, his love.

✧ still, his devotion to you is undeniable. even though he has his own silent battles, even though there’s a constant flicker of fear within him, he loves you with every ounce of his being. the moments when he’s vulnerable with you are rare, but when they come, he holds you closer, as if afraid of letting go for even a second.

✧ you can feel the fragility in his touch, the quiet fear that you might slip away from him.

✧ he doesn’t always have the words to express what he’s feeling, but his actions speak louder than anything. and in the silence, when he looks at you, you know. you know that despite all of his worries and fears, he will always protect you, even if he has to keep some of that pain hidden in the quiet corners of his heart.

✧ when the sun is a little too bright for you, boothill doesn’t hesitate. he’s quick to take off his hat and place it gently on your head, adjusting it with a playful smile. “there, now you can enjoy the sunshine without turning into a tomato,” he says, chuckling at how cute you look in his oversized hat.

✧ if the sun is especially brutal, he’ll even suggest you both find some shade or just spend time indoors with the air conditioning, but he knows it’s about making you feel comfortable, not just avoiding the heat.

✧ if you’re feeling particularly tired, he doesn’t wait for you to ask. the moment he sees you yawn or slump a little, he’s already sweeping you off your feet, giving you a piggyback ride with the kind of enthusiasm that’s almost comical considering his usual serious demeanour. “i’ve got you,” he says, grinning widely, despite his usual stoic nature.

✧ if you’re too tired for a piggyback ride or just don’t feel like walking, he’ll immediately scoop you up in his arms. it’s as if you’re his most precious treasure, and he wants nothing more than to ensure your comfort at all times.

✧ “you know, if you just need to be carried all day, I’m perfectly fine with that,” he teases, and you can see the gleam of amusement in his eyes. he loves it when he gets to take care of you, and he’s never shy about showing it.

✧ sometimes, when you’re nestled in his arms, you’ll catch him quietly grinning to himself, probably at how happy he is just to be with you. you can tell it makes him feel lighthearted to see you enjoy these little moments of care.

✧ when he does these little things for you, it’s clear that he’s not doing them out of obligation, but because it genuinely brings him joy to see you happy, even in the smallest ways.

✧ girl do NOT get me started on "oh i'm too big for you" you are NEVER too big 😒 😒 matter of fact if boothill ever hear those words slip out of your mouth you best believe he won't be tolerating it (and hunting down whoever said that)

✧ if you ever tell boothill that you’re too big for him to carry, he won’t hesitate for a second to shut you down. “don’t even start,” he’ll warn you with a smirk, and before you can protest further, he leans down and presses a quick kiss to your lips, leaving you momentarily breathless.

✧ before you can even process what just happened, he’s already lifting you into his arms, effortlessly cradling you like you’re the lightest thing in the world. “see? not too big at all,” he says with a playful grin, clearly enjoying how flustered you get when he carries you, no questions asked.

✧ despite your attempts to argue, he’s not hearing any of it. “I’m carrying you whether you like it or not,” he adds with a wink, and when you roll your eyes or try to squirm out of his grasp, he just holds you tighter.

✧ his love for you is so overwhelming that he doesn’t care if you’re tired, big, or anything else—if you need to be carried, he’s more than happy to do it, and nothing will stop him from showing you just how much he cares.

✧ honestly, seeing you trying to act tough or insisting you’re fine just makes him more determined to spoil you even more, and he won’t back down until he’s made you comfortable.

cthe look on your face when you realize you’re in his arms is priceless, and he can't help but tease you a little more, enjoying every moment of your adorably flustered reaction.

dr. ratio

✧ he’s cocky as always, but so in love. if anyone dares to say anything about your size, he smirks and goes, “they’re carrying the most important person in the universe. of course, they’re radiant.”

✧ he’s fascinated by the baby’s development and reads every medical book on pregnancy, making sure you get the best care possible.

✧ he massages your feet with so much care, just pure, devoted attention.

✧ if you ever feel insecure, he immediately shuts it down with the most poetic, heartfelt words. “there is no beauty greater than you right now, my love.”

✧ dr. ratio is a caring but incredibly meticulous partner, and when you’re pregnant, that side of him intensifies even more. he’s deeply invested in making sure everything is perfect for you, often researching new ways to ease your discomfort, asking you how you feel every few hours, and keeping track of your health and well-being like he’s running a scientific experiment.

✧ his medical knowledge, which is already impressive, becomes even more focused on pregnancy, and he treats every small change in your body like vital data.

✧ he always has a plan, and that plan often revolves around making sure you’re as comfortable and well taken care of as possible. if you mention even the slightest symptom or discomfort, he’s already reading through notes or pulling out his tablet to find solutions. while it can feel like being under constant observation, you can’t help but appreciate how much he genuinely cares about making sure you’re healthy and happy.

✧ when it comes to cravings, he’s often a step ahead. if you mention wanting a specific snack, he already knows where to get it, and if it’s something unusual or rare, he’s willing to go to great lengths to satisfy it. he finds it endearing, but you can also see his scientific curiosity come into play as he observes how your body reacts to certain cravings or foods.

✧ at this point you're convinced he's some sort of magical being.

✧ in moments of stress or discomfort, he’s your rock. he has a calming presence, always knowing just what to say to put you at ease. if you’re feeling overwhelmed by the changes your body is going through or the looming responsibilities of parenthood, he’ll gently remind you that you don’t have to do this alone. his reassuring words have a way of grounding you, and the love he shows through his actions makes you feel like everything will be okay.

✧ his gestures of affection are quieter but deeply meaningful. he’s not as overt with PDA as others might be, but when you’re not looking, you’ll catch him gently rubbing your back or offering you a hand when you need to stand. when you’re tired, he insists on carrying your things or opening doors for you, always thinking about the little things that make your day easier.

✧ even in moments of humour, dr. ratio’s playful side comes through. if you’re grumpy because of a pregnancy-related mood swing, he might joke about the scientific nature of your hormonal fluctuations, but it’s all in good fun and meant to make you laugh.

✧ he knows exactly when to lighten the mood with a well-timed quip, which helps take the edge off when things feel heavy.

✧ though he’s not as expressive with physical affection as others might be, his love is shown in the constant attention he gives you and the thoughtfulness behind every action. when you’re feeling down, he’s there with a cup of tea, a warm blanket, and a comforting smile.

✧ dr. ratio also gets very protective when it comes to your health. if you’ve been overdoing it, he’ll gently scold you, reminding you that you need to take care of yourself. when he catches you ignoring his advice, he might get a little frustrated, but he’s quick to calm down, making sure to reassure you that he’s just concerned for both you and the baby.

✧ you can always feel the intensity of his care, and while it might feel a bit overbearing at times, you know it comes from a place of deep love.

✧ when it comes to the baby, he’s already making plans for the future, trying to ensure everything will be in place. he’ll bring up practical things like cribs, baby monitors, and even names, all while jotting down notes.

✧ he’s already mentally preparing for the next phase of your life together, and though it might seem like he's focusing on the logistics, it’s clear that he’s doing it all because he wants to make sure your little family is as secure and happy as possible.

✧dr. ratio’s care for you and your pregnancy is absolute, while his approach might seem a bit clinical at times, it’s easy to see that everything he does is out of love, ensuring both you and the baby are taken care of in every way.

✧ dr. ratio’s students are surprisingly invested in your pregnancy, much to his exasperation. at first, he tries to keep things professional, but it’s impossible when they bombard him with questions. “sir, is it true your wife’s craving the weirdest foods? can she still beat you in an argument with pregnancy hormones? is the baby gonna be as smart as you?!” the sheer enthusiasm wears him down, and despite his usual cool demeanor, he eventually (and very reluctantly) brings you along one day to satisfy their curiosity.

✧ the moment you step into the room, his students light up like it’s their favorite lecture of the year. they’re practically buzzing with excitement, treating you like an honored guest. some of them even bring small gifts—cute little trinkets, baby books, and even a stuffed animal or two—much to ratio’s dismay.

✧ he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose, but there’s a slight twitch at the corner of his lips, betraying the fondness he has for them (not that he’ll ever admit it).

✧ and of course, the moment everyone settles down, they start betting on the baby’s gender. someone pulls out a makeshift betting board with tally marks, arguments breaking out as they debate whether you’re carrying a boy or a girl.

✧ “based on my calculations, professor ratio will absolutely have a daughter—” “nah, the baby’s definitely gonna be a mini him.” you’re laughing at the chaos while ratio sighs dramatically, muttering about the intellectual downfall of his students.

✧ what really makes you melt, though, is how gentle and considerate his students are toward you. they ask how you’re feeling, if you need anything, if you have any weird cravings (which, of course, leads to them trying to outdo each other with the weirdest food combinations to test your reaction). ratio, meanwhile, is standing beside you with his arms crossed, watching his classroom turn into a circus with a half-annoyed, half-amused look.

✧ “if you all put this much effort into your studies, perhaps your grades wouldn’t be so pitiful,” he finally deadpans, earning groans and protests from the students.

✧ but despite his sarcastic remarks and eye-rolls, he’s oddly protective over the whole situation. if any of the students even joke about you overexerting yourself or getting too tired, he shuts them down immediately. “don’t encourage bad habits,” he scolds. “she needs to be resting.” and then he’s ushering you to sit down, subtly adjusting a pillow behind your back like the doting husband he is.

✧ he pretends to be indifferent, but when he catches one of his students quietly mentioning how cute you two are together, he doesn’t correct them. if anything, he just glances at you, and for a brief moment, the smallest, softest smile crosses his lips before he composes himself again.

✧ when you finally leave, he huffs as if he’s endured the most exhausting day of his life, but the way he holds your hand just a little tighter tells you otherwise. despite all his grumbling, he secretly doesn’t mind how much his students adore you, and maybe—just maybe—he even enjoys it.

✧ DON'T POINT IT OUT THOUGH

✧ dr. ratio will never outright admit it, but deep down, he doesn’t care whether the baby is a boy or a girl. all that truly matters to him is that the baby is healthy and, if he’s being honest, hopefully inherits some intelligence.

✧ “no child of mine will be foolish,” he says with a smirk. Still, the underlying meaning is clear—he wants the baby to thrive, to have every opportunity to succeed. He’s already mentally drafting an entire syllabus on how to make that happen.

✧ however, if he had to pick something personal, something that isn’t dictated by logic or science, he’d want the baby to look like you. he won’t outright say it, but there are little moments where it slips out.

✧ like when he’s absentmindedly staring at you with a thoughtful expression, then mutters under his breath, “it would be preferable if they took after you.” when you catch him saying it and ask what he means, he simply waves it off with a “don’t worry about it.”

✧ the truth is, he thinks you’re beautiful, and the idea of a child with your features makes something warm settle in his chest. he pictures small hands, bright eyes, a little face that mirrors yours—and the thought alone is enough to make him pause.

✧ when he sees you asleep, one hand resting on your stomach, he wonders if the baby will have your smile, your expressions, your way of looking at the world.

✧ and maybe the idea of a mini-you running around makes his heart clench in a way he isn’t quite ready to admit.

gepard

✧ overprotective knight mode: ACTIVATED. he refuses to let you do anything remotely strenuous.

✧ literally the type of pick you up effortlessly and throw you (gently) on his shoulder when he sees you doing something you shouldn't be doing.

✧ he wakes up early to make sure you have everything you need—food, comfort, warmth. you’re never lacking anything.

✧ every night, he reads to your belly, his deep, soothing voice telling fairy tales as if he’s already preparing your baby to sleep peacefully.

✧ you catch him practising how to hold a baby with stuffed animals, and he gets so flustered when you tease him about it. (oml you're gonna overload him with kisses at this point!!!)

✧ gepard tries—he really, really tries—to be there for you as much as possible, but being a knight, let alone the captain of the silvermane guards, means he’s constantly being pulled away for duty. he feels horrible about it.

✧ every time he has to leave you alone at home, every time he misses one of your check-ups, every time he’s not there to comfort you when you’re feeling exhausted, it gnaws at him. he’ll come home late, tired and covered in the dust of another long patrol, only to see you already asleep, curled up in bed with your hands resting on your belly. it makes his heart ache.

✧ he tries to make up for it whenever he can. he’ll bring home small gifts—a bouquet of your favorite flowers, a dessert from that bakery you love, anything to make you smile. when he does have a free moment, he dedicates it all to you, making sure you’re comfortable, massaging your sore feet, listening intently to you talk about your day because he wants to be involved in every way he can.

✧ “i’m sorry i haven’t been around much,” he murmurs against your hair one night, voice heavy with guilt. “i should be here with you more.”

✧ and you understand—you always have. you know his duty to belobog is important, that he’s responsible for so many people. so you reassure him, tell him it’s okay, that you’re not upset because you know he’s doing his best. but no matter how much you insist, he still feels guilty, still thinks he should be doing more.

✧ it’s sweet, really, how much he wants to be present, but you wish he’d stop beating himself up over something he can’t control.

✧ sometimes, though, frustration does creep in—not at him, but at the sheer unfairness of it all. one particularly bad day, when you’re feeling extra emotional, you storm into the silvermane guards' headquarters, demanding to speak to the general.

✧ the poor guards are stunned, unsure how to handle their captain’s very pregnant wife glaring daggers at them. when you finally get an audience with the general, you don’t hold back. “my husband is working himself to the bone while i’m carrying his child, and you can’t even spare him a little time off?!”

✧ the general tries to placate you, explaining that gepard is needed, but you cross your arms, huffing, “well, i need him too.”

✧ word of your little outburst spreads quickly, and when gepard hears about it, he’s equal parts embarrassed and touched. “you... actually scolded the general?” he asks, eyes wide. when you nod, still grumpy about it, he lets out a chuckle before pulling you into his arms.

✧ “i appreciate it, but you don’t have to fight my battles for me.” but you just pout, mumbling, “if they won’t give you a break, then i will.”

✧ and despite everything, despite the exhaustion and the never-ending duty, gepard swears to himself that no matter how busy he gets, he’ll always find a way to be there for you and your child. because at the end of the day, you’re the most important thing in his world.

✧ despite his constant guilt, gepard does everything in his power to make things easier for you when he is around. he wakes up extra early to prepare breakfast before heading out for duty, making sure to leave little notes beside your plate if he has to leave before you wake up.

✧ “good morning, my love. make sure to eat well today, and don’t forget to drink plenty of water. i’ll be home as soon as i can.” sometimes, he even sneaks in a silly doodle of a chubby little knight standing guard over a tiny baby, which never fails to make you smile.

✧ when he finally does have time off, he dedicates every second to you. he follows you around like a loyal knight, carrying anything remotely heavy before you can even try to lift it.

✧ he’s constantly fluffing your pillows, adjusting your blanket, and making sure you’re not overexerting yourself. if you so much as sigh, he’s immediately asking, “are you okay? do you need anything?” you start to joke that having him home is almost more exhausting than when he’s away because he fusses over you like a mother hen.

✧ sometimes, the exhaustion from work catches up to him, and you find him nodding off while sitting beside you, his head drooping onto your shoulder. you know he should be resting, but there’s something endearing about how he fights off sleep just so he can be near you.

✧ “gepard, go to bed,” you whisper, brushing a hand through his hair. he grumbles something incoherent before shifting to hold you close, murmuring, “just a little longer…” and really, how can you say no to that?

✧ his fellow silvermane guards are incredibly supportive, though they also love teasing him about how smitten he is. “captain, you should see yourself when you talk about your wife. it’s like watching a lovesick puppy,” they joke, and while he tries to maintain his usual composure, the tips of his ears turn red every single time. but he doesn’t deny it—he is completely and utterly devoted to you.

✧ if he ever gets called in for an emergency while he’s finally spending time with you, he gets so frustrated. “i just got home,” he mutters under his breath, clearly torn between duty and being with you.

✧ you give him a small smile, placing your hands on his cheeks and gently pressing a kiss to his forehead. “it’s okay, love. go, do what you need to do. i’ll be right here when you get back.” and he sighs, pressing his forehead against yours before reluctantly heading out.

✧ but the moment he returns, he makes up for it tenfold. he brings back your favourite snacks, runs a warm bath for you, and massages your feet until you’re practically melting into the couch. and when you’re in bed, he places a hand on your belly, speaking softly to the baby as if making up for lost time.

✧ “i’ll be around more soon, i promise,” he murmurs, his voice filled with love and determination.

✧ and no matter how much his duty calls him away, you know one thing for certain—gepard will always come home to you.

✧ serval is your biggest supporter and, quite frankly, your partner-in-crime when it comes to dealing with gepard’s overwhelming guilt. she checks in on you constantly—not just for you, but because she knows her brother would want her to.

✧ “if gepard had it his way, he’d probably never leave your side,” she jokes, plopping down next to you and handing you some of your favorite snacks. “but since he’s stuck being captain serious all the time, you’ve got me.”

✧ she’s a lifesaver when gepard is too busy with work, stopping by with homemade meals, comfortable clothes, and the occasional silly gift to make you smile.

✧ she even offers to help you with stretches and light exercises, claiming that a rockstar like her knows all about keeping the body in top condition. sometimes, she’ll strum a gentle melody on her guitar while chatting with you, creating a warm and relaxing atmosphere that makes the time pass a little easier.

✧ and of course, she’s the first to tease gepard whenever he finally has time to come home. “wow, look who finally decided to show up! i was starting to think you’d abandoned your poor wife.” she grins as gepard groans, running a hand through his hair.

✧ “i didn’t—i was just busy—” but serval only laughs, nudging him toward you. “relax, i’m just messing with you. now go dote on your wife before she decides i’m her favorite landau instead.”

✧ she’s also not afraid to scold him when he’s being too hard on himself. “gepard, you’re doing the best you can,” she tells him one evening when he’s sitting on the couch, guilt heavy in his expression. “she understands, you know? stop acting like you’re failing when you’re clearly not.” and though gepard still struggles with his guilt, serval’s words always stick with him, reminding him that he’s doing enough.

✧ but perhaps the funniest part of all is how she sometimes acts as an undercover spy, gathering intel on your moods and cravings to report back to gepard.

✧ “hey, just so you know, she’s been craving those honey pastries from that bakery again. if you don’t bring some home tomorrow, you might be sleeping on the couch,” she whispers conspiratorially to him one night, and gepard immediately makes a mental note to buy them on his next break.

✧ at the end of the day, serval is always there—not just for you, but for gepard, too. she makes sure both of you are taken care of, keeping an eye on her little brother when he gets too caught up in his responsibilities and making sure you never feel lonely. and when the baby finally arrives, you already know serval is going to be the coolest aunt in all of belobog.

sunday

✧ he’s the most excited husband ever. every day, he’s kissing your belly, murmuring sweet promises to your unborn child.

✧ he calls you “sunshine” even more, saying you’re literally glowing with life.

✧ if you so much as sigh tiredly, he immediately rushes over, rubbing your shoulders and making sure you’re comfortable.

✧ he’s already planning family outings, even though the baby isn’t born yet. “oh, i can’t wait to take them to see the stars. you think they’ll like astronomy?”

✧ "honey i think they'll just be obsessed with your cute fluffy wings like me!!"

✧ but lets be real...sunday is, without a doubt, the most dramatic and doting husband in existence. from the moment you wake up to the second you go to sleep, he is right there, acting as if you are the most delicate, precious treasure in the entire universe.

✧ “ah, my love, are you comfortable? do you need anything? shall i fetch you the moon? pluck the stars from the sky?” you’re used to his flowery words, but pregnancy has made him even more extra, if that was even possible.

✧ he spoils you absolutely rotten. he treats you like royalty, making sure every possible luxury is at your fingertips. you so much as glance at something while out shopping? it's already paid for. your back aches? he's on his knees, massaging you with a level of devotion that could make poets weep. the moment you sigh even a little, he's dramatically lamenting,

✧ “alas, this cruel world dares to bring discomfort to my beloved! how dare it!” you roll your eyes, but the way he kisses your hands so reverently makes your heart flutter every time.

✧ when you’re out together, he is practically glued to your side, one arm always wrapped protectively around you. if it’s too sunny, his coat is suddenly draped over your head to shield you.

✧ if you so much as stumble, he’s catching you before you can even process it, scolding the ground for daring to trip you. he doesn’t care who’s watching—his priority is you, always.

✧ sometimes, his dramatics get absolutely ridiculous. one time, you had a small craving for a very specific dish from a very specific place, and before you could even tell him it wasn’t a big deal, he was already on a mission. “fear not, my love! i shall return with your heart’s desire!” he declared, disappearing into the night like some kind of hero embarking on an epic quest.

✧ when he finally returned, victorious, with the food in hand, he dramatically collapsed into your lap. “it was a perilous journey… but for you, I would traverse the ends of the world.” you simply kissed his forehead and enjoyed your meal.

✧ he is obsessed with talking to your belly. no matter where you are, no matter who’s around, he kneels down, placing his hands gently on your stomach and whispering sweet nothings to your unborn child.

✧ “ah, little one, do you hear me? it is i, your devoted father, who eagerly awaits your arrival.” if he feels a kick, he gasps like he just witnessed a divine miracle, his eyes practically sparkling. “they kicked! they love me, my love!”

✧ sunday does everything in his power to make sure you never feel lonely, even when he’s busy. he writes letters to you if he has to be away, each one filled with poetic declarations of love and exaggerated longing, as if he’s been separated from you for years rather than a few hours. when he finally returns, he rushes to embrace you like a man starved, spinning you carefully in his arms (if you let him).

✧ and when he thinks you’re asleep, he gazes at you with so much adoration it’s almost overwhelming. he runs his fingers gently through your hair, his voice soft as he murmurs, “you and our child… my greatest treasures. i will cherish you both for all eternity.” even in slumber, you can feel his warmth, his love wrapping around you like a promise—one that you know he’ll keep forever.

✧ sunday has always been a man of grand gestures, poetic words, and boundless devotion—but this, this is his dream made real. to love and to be loved, to have a family with you, to witness the very embodiment of your love growing within you… it is almost too perfect, too beautiful. sometimes, when he watches you rest, his hand gently cradling your belly, he wonders if he is merely lost in a dream.

✧ he never thought he would find something—someone—that truly anchored him. he always spoke of eternity, of the stars and the endless sky, but nothing in the cosmos compares to you. and now, with your child on the way, that love has expanded into something even greater, something he didn’t know was possible.

✧ late at night, when the world is quiet and you’re curled up against him, he traces slow circles over your stomach and whispers, “this is my dream… and you’ve made it come true.” his voice is softer than usual, lacking its usual theatrics, filled only with raw, unfiltered love. and even though you’re half-asleep, you squeeze his hand in response, as if to say, i know. me too.

✧ sunday absolutely refuses to leave you unguarded when he’s away for business or handling matters of the reverie. even though you insist it’s unnecessary, that you’re perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, he simply will not take the risk. the moment he steps away, you have a team of skilled agents discreetly watching over you. “indulge me, my love,” he pleads with that charming smile of his. “i would never forgive myself if anything were to happen to you or our precious little one.” and really, how can you argue with that?

✧ when he returns, however, it’s as if he’s been deprived of air itself. the second he sees you, he sweeps you into his arms, pressing lingering kisses to your temple, your hands, your stomach—anywhere he can reach. “ah, my beloved, i have been lost without you,” he murmurs dramatically, holding you as if you might disappear. and though you roll your eyes at his theatrics, you let him cling, because you know he truly means it.

✧ public appearances with sunday are nothing short of dazzling. he insists that the two of you look absolutely impeccable whenever you step out together—not because of status, but because he sees you as his perfect match, his divine counterpart. “you always look breathtaking,” he muses, adjusting your accessories with delicate fingers. “i must simply strive to be worthy of standing beside you.”

✧ when you’re out together, he is attached to your side, his arm securely around your waist, hip to hip, refusing to let an inch of space come between you. he whispers sweet things in your ear, makes you laugh with his endless romantic declarations, and shoots sharp glares at anyone who so much as looks at you the wrong way.

✧ if the sun is too bright, his coat is draped over your shoulders in an instant. literally the definition of "is the sun bothering you, queen?"

✧ iykyk

✧ if the crowd gets overwhelming, he subtly maneuvers you to a quieter space, all while keeping his usual suave demeanor. if you even look the slightest bit tired, he’s already preparing to whisk you away somewhere more comfortable.

✧ and when the night finally winds down and it’s just the two of you again, he presses a kiss to your hand and murmurs, “no matter where we go, no matter who is watching… my love for you remains the most magnificent thing in this world.”

✧ sunday takes so much pride in being your husband that it’s almost ridiculous. the way he says "my wife" is always so smooth, so deliberate, like he’s showing off a rare treasure. even in the most casual conversations, he will find a way to bring you up.

✧ “ah, yes, that reminds me of something my wife said the other day—brilliant, truly.”

✧ “oh, you need advice? well, my wife is an expert in these matters, allow me to consult her.”

✧ even when it’s unnecessary, he finds a way to slip it in. someone asks him how his day is going? “Better now that I’ve spoken to my wife.” A meeting about logistics? “Oh, my wife would find this terribly boring, but let me humor you all.”

✧ it gets to the point where even his closest advisors and subordinates are just nodding along, fully expecting him to mention you in every conversation. you overheard one of them sigh, “yes, yes, we know your wife is the most wonderful being in existence, my lord.” sunday only grinned and said, “it’s good that you understand.”

✧ and of course, he boasts about you endlessly. your intelligence, your beauty, your kindness—every little thing about you is worthy of praise in his eyes. “have i mentioned how radiant my wife looks today? oh, but she always does, so I suppose that goes without saying.”

✧ sometimes, he’ll purposely say it just to fluster you. if you’re walking together and he spots someone eyeing you for too long, he’ll lean in, voice full of smug adoration, “ah, my wife, the most stunning woman in the room. it’s only natural they’d stare, but truly, they stand no chance.”

✧ even when you roll your eyes or playfully smack his arm, he just chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “what can I say? I’m simply a man who adores his wife.”

✧ the second you even mention a craving, sunday is already making arrangements to have it delivered to you. it doesn’t matter how strange, complicated, or impossible it seems—he will find a way.

✧ “you want watermelon dipped in honey at three in the morning? say no more, my love.” within minutes, he’s either personally retrieving it or sending someone out on an urgent mission.

✧ once, you offhandedly mumbled, “i kinda want ice cream… but with pickles.” sunday, ever the devoted husband, merely nodded and said, “consider it done.” you expected him to hesitate or at least question your taste buds, but instead, he had it in front of you within the hour, presented on a fancy plate as if it were some gourmet dish.

✧ he has absolutely no shame in going out himself to fetch your cravings. the sight of sunday, regal and refined, walking into a market and asking for the most bizarre food combinations with a perfectly serious face is something to behold.

✧ one time, a vendor tried to stifle a laugh when he requested “mango slices with chili powder and a side of marshmallows” and he just smirked, “ah, you must not be married. love requires dedication, my friend.”

✧ if your cravings happen while you’re out in public, he wastes zero time in getting it. you once sighed, “i really want those fried dumplings from that one place…” and before you could even finish your sentence, sunday was already steering you toward the restaurant, ordering extra just in case you wanted more later.

✧ on the rare occasion that something isn’t immediately available, sunday turns it into an entire event. “so, my beloved desires an elusive dish? very well. give me a moment.” cue him charming his way into exclusive restaurants, pulling strings with high-profile chefs, or even attempting to make it himself (which… well, let’s just say his skills lie outside the kitchen).

✧ no matter what, he refuses to let you go without the things you crave. “nothing is too extravagant for my wife,” he insists. “if she wants it, she shall have it.”

sampo

✧ sampo is the type to absolutely spoil you when you're craving something, even if it's something a little... unusual. he loves seeing you happy, and the thought of you having that big smile on your face when you get what you want? priceless.

✧ the minute you mention a craving, he's already brainstorming how to get it, and he won't take no for an answer. if it's something he doesn't have access to, well... prepare for a wild goose chase. he'll sweet-talk vendors, bribe people, or pull off the most ridiculous stunts just to get his hands on that weird combination of foods you’re desperate for.

✧ one time, you casually mentioned wanting a mix of sweet and salty—like peanut butter on pretzels with chocolate chips—and the next thing you knew, he had a whole banquet of different combinations lined up. there were different dips, chocolates, chips, nuts, and a few other things he thought you might like. it’s over-the-top, but it’s his way of making sure you feel cared for and, well, indulged.

✧ sometimes he’ll get the most outlandish things, especially if he finds out you want something quirky. “you want... a spicy banana with a side of vanilla ice cream?” he'd ask, grinning mischievously, clearly excited for the challenge. even if he finds it a little odd, he's all in for making sure your cravings are satisfied.

✧ when you're pregnant, sampo loves the idea of you being pampered and treated like royalty. he buys you all sorts of snacks, drinks, and little comforts to make sure you're always content. when he's busy, he'll bring you a stash of your favorite treats or send someone to deliver it, ensuring you never go without.

✧ though he's a bit playful and mischievous, when it comes to your cravings, he’s incredibly attentive. if you need him to grab something in the middle of the night, he’ll pull on his jacket without a second thought and head out, even if it’s something bizarre like kimchi-flavored cupcakes or a weirdly specific kind of sushi.

✧ sampo is honestly obsessed with making sure you’re taken care of, especially when it comes to cravings. as soon as you mention something—even if it’s just in passing—he’s on it. like, the minute the words leave your mouth, he’s already thinking of how he’s going to get it for you.

✧ one time, you half-jokingly mentioned wanting pineapple pizza with extra olives, and sampo didn’t even hesitate. you thought he was just humoring you at first, but nope, by the time you blinked, he was on his way out the door, calling a bunch of places to find one that would make that monstrosity of a pizza.

✧ he’s ridiculously resourceful, so if the craving is something that seems impossible, he’s more than willing to go to extreme lengths. you want blueberry-flavored potato chips? he’s already calling his contacts in different cities or bartering for them. at one point, you had a small shipment of weird snacks from different parts of the world just for you. it was honestly a lot, but the joy it brought you made it all worth it for him.

✧ despite his usually carefree, mischievous attitude, when it comes to satisfying your cravings, sampo becomes the most serious person. nothing else matters—nothing. it’s almost like a personal mission for him.

✧ and don’t get him started on your late-night cravings. there was one instance where you groggily mentioned wanting chocolate-covered pretzels with marshmallow fluff and coconut water (a combo you swore sounded amazing) at 2 AM. most people would groan at this, but not sampo. he simply flashed you a grin, grabbed his jacket, and was out the door, whispering, “leave it to me, darling. i’ll have it before you know it.”

✧ when he comes back, it’s always with a dramatic flair. whether it’s him showing up with a big bag of snacks or an entire custom-made meal just for you, he’ll present it like it’s the most important thing in the world. “look what i’ve brought you, my love,” he’ll say, “your cravings are my top priority.”

✧ he loves watching you enjoy whatever it is you’re craving. he’s that guy who will sit beside you, watching you devour your food, completely delighted. when you make a happy sound after taking a bite, he’ll do a little victory dance in his head. “it’s always worth it,” he’ll think, watching you savor the food.

✧ sometimes, when he’s really feeling it, he’ll even surprise you with a whole set of snacks or meals. if you mention anything at all—whether it’s flavored milk or a certain kind of fruit—you better believe sampo will get it, and he’ll make it fun.

✧ and don’t even get started on the weird cravings. when you randomly crave something odd like caviar and ice cream, he’ll be the one to ask, “is that really what you want?” but then, of course, he’ll follow through and go out and find it, all while making jokes about how only you could crave something so bizarre. “but you’re worth it, darling,” he’ll say with a wink, even if he thinks it's totally ridiculous.

✧ when you’re pregnant, sampo gets extra excited. there’s something about the idea of making sure you’re always happy and comfortable that makes him go all-in on the care and attention. you mention wanting a certain kind of food? he’s already planning his next move to make sure it gets to you—whether it’s food from a restaurant, a local shop, or a weird internet order.

✧ the best part? he’s not even embarrassed about the effort. he’s proud of it. he’ll happily boast about how he’s the one who got you exactly what you wanted, often bragging about how efficient he is at taking care of you. “no one does it like i do, darling.”

✧ sampo loves to live life on the edge, and that often leads him into all sorts of trouble. whether it’s a cheeky scheme gone wrong or him getting caught up in some questionable business deals, he’s not exactly a stranger to trouble. but when you scold him—especially with that concerned look on your face—it hits him harder than anything else.

✧ you’re his weakness, and the thought of his reckless actions affecting your baby’s future stings. when you point out how he’s putting the family in danger, he can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt. you’ve got that motherly tone, and even though he’s used to being the troublemaker, something about you scolding him like that makes him pause.

✧ sampo never expected to feel this way. before, he was all about living in the moment, but now, with you carrying his child, things are different. he realizes that his impulsiveness can affect more than just him—it could affect your life, the baby’s life, and even the future you two are building. it’s a huge wake-up call for him.

✧ though he tries to laugh it off and shrug off your scolding, he can’t deny that it bothers him. he wants to be the best for you, to provide and protect, but sometimes his overconfidence and mischievous nature put him in situations he shouldn’t be in.

✧ after you scold him, he’s quiet for a while, just processing everything you said. he doesn’t like seeing you upset, and he definitely doesn’t like the idea of his actions potentially affecting the baby. so he really takes it to heart.

✧ eventually, he’ll come to you, genuinely apologizing. it’s not like him to be serious about these things, but the thought of his baby’s future shifts something in him. he’ll say something like, “you’re right. i can’t keep being reckless. i’ll tone it down, i promise. for you... and for the little one.”

✧ from then on, you’ll notice a shift. he’ll still be his playful, mischievous self, but there’s a little less of the risk-taking, and a bit more thought behind his actions. sampo may not be perfect, but he really wants to be better for the sake of his growing family.

✧ even though he might still slip up occasionally—because it’s just who he is—he tries harder, always making sure to check in with you and reassess how his choices could impact you both. and when you see him being more cautious, you can’t help but smile, knowing he’s trying his best.

✧ and of course, he’ll make it up to you in the sweetest way possible: with more gifts, more little surprises, and tons of affection. he might be reckless sometimes, but when it comes to you and your baby, he knows he has to change, even if it takes a bit of effort.

moze

✧ moze, being the quiet and secretive type, is surprisingly very attentive when it comes to your cravings. he’s not the type to joke around about it or make a big deal, but rest assured, he listens intently and takes note of every single thing you say.

✧ the second you mention a craving, even if it's something a little weird, he silently goes into action. if he doesn’t have it on hand, he will immediately find a way to acquire it, no matter how obscure or hard to find it is.

✧ when you crave something specific, he won’t make a show of it, but he will go out of his way to make sure you get it—whether it’s a rare ingredient or a dish from a different part of the world, moze finds it without fail. if you want a specific kind of fruit, he’ll find the best one, even if it means going to multiple stores or making a special trip somewhere.

✧ he enjoys seeing the soft smile on your face when you get what you’ve been wanting, and while he may not say much about it, there's this quiet satisfaction in his eyes.

✧ moze is also keenly aware of when you’re craving something. sometimes, he picks up on your hints without you even saying anything, noticing a small change in your mood, or when you absentmindedly mention wanting a snack, he’ll be right there to offer it to you.

✧ although he’s a man of few words, there’s a certain gentleness to the way he cares for you. when you’re restless and craving something comforting, he’ll get it, set it down beside you, and quietly say, “this should help.” he’ll never ask for recognition, but the satisfaction he gets from seeing you happy is more than enough for him.

✧ when it comes to very odd cravings, he’ll just give you a knowing look, grab his coat, and leave to get it—sometimes even with a hint of a chuckle, as if he secretly finds your requests amusing. but in his heart, he enjoys making you happy more than anything else.

✧ moze’s stealth skills are incredible. he’s so good at sneaking up on you that it’s become almost a reflex for him to appear out of nowhere, especially when he’s busy with his work. but when you’re pregnant and a little more sensitive, the sudden pop-up can be a bit much. he doesn’t mean to scare you—he really doesn’t—but sometimes, he forgets just how silent he is. ✧ the first time it happens, you let out a startled gasp, and moze immediately freezes, guilt washing over him. he’s used to appearing out of thin air and being the silent observer, but the thought of scaring you, especially with the baby on the way, sends a pang of worry through his chest. ✧ his usual nonchalant demeanor falters. "i'm sorry," he says, his voice almost too soft, the realization hitting him like a ton of bricks. "i didn’t mean to startle you." there’s something in his tone that sounds almost apologetic, more so than usual. ✧ you laugh it off, brushing it off as an accident, but moze is still visibly uneasy. later, when he’s alone, he keeps thinking about it—wondering if his unexpected entrances could potentially stress you out or, worse, harm the baby. he’s never been particularly affectionate in the traditional sense, but with you pregnant, he’s suddenly a lot more aware of everything. ✧ after that, every time he needs to come in or check on you, he makes it a point to announce his presence. it’s not like moze to do that—he’s always preferred moving in the shadows—but for you and the baby, he decides it’s best to make his approach a little less jarring. ✧ when you’re just relaxing, maybe reading or resting, you’ll hear him say something like, “it’s me, moze. i’m here.” he’ll even knock on the door sometimes before entering, something he’s never done before. it’s funny at first, but also endearing to see him adjust his behavior for you. ✧ moze starts being extra cautious, constantly checking on you but in a much gentler, less intrusive way. the last thing he wants is for you to feel uneasy because of him. he’ll still show up in his usual manner—quiet, reserved, but now with the added softness of his voice when he speaks to you. ✧ when you ask him if he’s okay, he’ll quietly admit that he’s worried about scaring you again, and maybe even causing some harm to the baby. you can see the genuine concern in his eyes, something he rarely lets slip. it’s strange for him to care this much, but when you’re carrying his child, his protective instincts are starting to kick in. ✧ when you reassure him, telling him that you’re okay, he seems to relax a little. but don’t be surprised if you catch him giving you a small smile in his usual quiet way, his fingers lightly brushing against yours in a rare display of affection. it’s subtle, but for moze, it’s a huge step forward.

✧ and the next time he appears out of nowhere? he’ll make sure to be extra careful, just to make sure you don’t get a shock again. it might not be his usual way of doing things, but with you, he’s willing to change—even in the smallest ways.

✧ moze's protectiveness reaches a whole new level once he finds out you’re pregnant. while he’s always been a careful and observant person, this new development has him acting in ways he never expected. the thought of you and his child growing inside you ignites a fierce, almost primal instinct to keep both of you safe at all costs.

✧ he becomes hyper-aware of your surroundings, always analyzing every situation to ensure there’s no danger nearby. if someone even looks at you wrong, he’s already on high alert. he’s never been one for confrontation, but when it comes to you and the baby, any potential threat—no matter how small—will make him react swiftly and decisively.

✧ if anyone dares to make a comment about your pregnancy—whether it’s an unintentional insult or even a curious question about your condition—moze is there, stepping in before you can even respond.

✧ he’ll be quick to intervene, his voice cold and firm. “is there a problem?” he’ll ask, his tone leaving no room for argument. he doesn’t care if it’s a stranger or a close friend, he’ll defend you without hesitation.

✧ sometimes, though, his protectiveness comes off as a bit much. when you’re out and about, he’s constantly by your side, his eyes scanning the area. if there’s a slight shift in the atmosphere, if someone moves too fast or too close to you, he’s immediately on guard, subtly stepping in front of you to shield you from whatever danger his sharp instincts are sensing.

✧ even in private, when you’re just relaxing or resting, he’s often hovering nearby, keeping a watchful eye. it’s not that he doesn’t trust you—it’s just that his protective nature has escalated to the point where he feels he can’t leave your side for too long. it’s almost as if being near you makes him feel like he has more control over your safety, as irrational as it may be.

✧ there are moments when you notice him getting anxious if you’re out of his sight for too long. whether you’re running errands or simply walking in another room, moze’s mind starts racing with worries about what could go wrong. he’ll quickly excuse himself from whatever he’s doing to make sure you’re okay, often without telling you beforehand.

✧ when you call him out on his behaviour—teasing him about how overprotective he’s become—he’ll brush it off, his usual calm demeanour faltering for just a moment. deep down, he knows he’s being a little too much, but he can’t help it. the thought of anything happening to you or the baby is unbearable to him. “I’m just making sure you’re safe,” he’ll say, his voice almost apologetic, but there’s an undeniable seriousness in his words.

✧ the most intense expression of his protectiveness comes when you’re asleep. when he knows you’re resting, moze will often sit beside you, his eyes flicking to the door, the window, anything that could pose a threat. it’s not out of a lack of trust in the people around you—it’s just that he can’t help but imagine all the worst-case scenarios.

✧ when he’s out on missions, he’ll always leave something behind for you: a note, a small gift, or even a piece of clothing with his scent on it. it’s his way of reassuring you that he’s thinking of you, even when he’s not physically present. but it’s also his way of ensuring you feel protected, even when he’s far away.

✧ he’s so protective that even the slightest health concern about you makes him panic. if you’re feeling a little tired or have a headache, he’s there, checking your temperature, demanding you rest, and refusing to leave until you’re fully recovered.

✧ moze’s protectiveness isn’t just physical; it’s emotional, too. when you’re dealing with the stress or uncertainty of pregnancy, he’s your steady rock. he’ll listen to every concern, soothe every worry, and make sure you know that you’re not alone. he’s already planning for the future, researching everything he can about raising a child, so he can be the best father possible.

✧ in quiet moments, when he’s just holding you or resting beside you, he might admit his fears. “i’m scared,” he’ll say softly, his usual stoic expression softening. “i don’t want anything to happen to you or the baby.” his vulnerability is rare, but it’s a testament to just how much he loves you both.

✧ his protectiveness never fades—it only grows stronger the closer you get to your due date. he’s constantly by your side, offering comfort, reassurance, and unspoken protection in every gesture, every word, and every action.

✧ moze is already extremely attentive to your cravings, and when you start to ask for something a bit more specific or unusual, he’s not one to shy away. but there's a catch—he’s not exactly a culinary expert. while he’s incredibly skilled in other areas, cooking is not his strong suit. so, naturally, when you have a craving, he’s quick to ask jiaoqiu to cook for you.

✧ at first, moze might be a bit embarrassed, but he genuinely wants you to feel comfortable and satisfied with whatever you’re craving. he might come to jiaoqiu with a sheepish smile, saying something along the lines of, "i’m afraid I’m not very good in the kitchen... could you help me?" his usual composed demeanor is a little shaken because he knows that jiaoqiu is probably a much better cook than he could ever hope to be.

✧ jiaoqiu, ever the understanding friend, is happy to oblige. he can’t resist helping out when moze comes to him with that rare moment of vulnerability. but knowing that moze is trying to be thoughtful and learn, jiaoqiu has a bit of fun with it. he doesn’t just cook the food—he starts teaching moze along the way, much to moze’s discomfort.

✧ “You need to do this carefully... and don’t forget the seasoning,” jiaoqiu will say, demonstrating how to chop ingredients just right or stir the pot at the perfect pace. moze, on the other hand, looks a bit lost, trying his best to follow along but occasionally making a mess. it’s clear he’s not exactly a natural, and jiaoqiu’s teasing makes it even more amusing. “i thought you were good at everything, moze? this looks like a disaster in the making.”

✧ moze, determined not to fail you, listens closely, even though he might grumble under his breath when jiaoqiu critiques his knife skills or the way he’s holding the pan. he’s doing it all to make sure you’re satisfied and happy, even if it means a little bit of embarrassment along the way.

✧ meanwhile, he’s still keeping a protective eye on you from the kitchen, glancing over to make sure you’re resting and not pushing yourself. “you’re doing okay?” he’ll ask, even if it’s just a quick glance. he doesn’t trust anyone else to take care of you as well as he does, and he’s constantly checking in.

✧ when jiaoqiu hands over the finished dish, moze’s face lights up, but there's still a hint of guilt for not being able to do it himself. he insists on thanking jiaoqiu profusely, though deep down, he’s already planning his next attempt at cooking so he can surprise you one day.

✧ “i’ll get better at this... for you.” he’ll say to you later that evening, offering you a gentle smile. “next time, i’ll cook it myself.” and while jiaoqiu might snicker at his attempts, moze’s resolve is firm. after all, he’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy, even if it means learning how to cook your cravings—even if it takes more than a few lessons from jiaoqiu.

note: i'm obsessed with anaxa n mydei

taglist 🏷️: @tomansimp @one-offmind @miitchiji @dainsleif-when-playable @momoewn @stygianoir @irethepotato @v4an @imetsk @fiannee @sunnyf4lls @yuri-is-silly @khoiyyu @daydreaming-paradies if im missing anyone please tell me because i have an inkling feeling i missed a few..

liking + following + reblogs are greatly appreciated!!!

#hsr x reader #jing yuan x reader #blade x reader #anaxa x reader #mydei x reader #phainon x reader #aventurine x reader #boothill x reader #dr ratio x reader #gepard x reader #sunday x reader #sampo x reader #moze x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x you #hsr x yn #—✧ · . honkaistarrail

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ceilidho · 3 months ago

Text

BIRD DOG | Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

MOODBOARD · AO3

A few times a year, Simon goes home to an empty apartment in a shithole city and counts down the days until he can leave. This time, there's someone waiting for him when he comes home.

Convenient. He was already planning on ordering takeaway.

Or: the live-in masseuse au

tags: Size Difference, Size Kink, Explicit Sexual Content, AFAB reader - Freeform, Masseuse Reader, Forced Cohabitation, Strangers to Roommates to Lovers, Porn with Feelings

The mangled hand of fate lets him go but seldomly.

He does, though, get a few weeks off a year. Bids farewell to his captain (the barest hint of a nod after leaving each other on the runway, chopper blades spinning faster and faster, the other man headed back out, his duties never finished; the world can never let them both rest at the same time) and then he’s gone, bags long packed and truck loaded the night before last. He drives a long, circuitous route after leaving the military base, the mask only shed when the paranoid prickle in his head finally abates.

It never quite goes away though.

And then comes the drive back, the road long and the drudgery endless. One hand on the wheel, the other hanging out of the side of the truck, a cigarette pinched between two knuckles. Occasionally, he takes a drag.

This is the part he always hates. The drive back. Roads winding through quiet towns and over hills, blue disappearing into black, streetlights piercing the darkness and demarcating the beginning and end of civilization. Manchester is a long drive north. He stops once for a piss by the side of the road and then carries on.

It’s a wonder they let him go at all. He is violence forthright; setting him free does no one any good. It’s hardly even a reward for him, more of just a pretense of normalcy. A week to stretch his legs, so to speak. If he were anything other than human, maybe they’d force him to stay on base indefinitely, secured and contained behind barbed wire fences and reinforced concrete walls.

But a few times a year, they play this game and send him off into the world.

There’s an apartment in Manchester that he’s rented for as long as he can remember. A shithole flat in a shithole borough, and though Simon’s squirreled away enough money to buy a place of his own, the thought of owning anything makes his skin crawl. It’s not in his blood, he thinks. He’d sooner live in a shack in the woods, no fixed address or way to find him. Even his flat in Manchester is rented under a different name, and he pays his landlord in cash for the year.

It’s dark when he reaches the city, the sky soot black and patchy with clouds. Moon nowhere in sight. Nothing beautiful ever visits Manchester.

But there’s a light on in the window when he pulls up in front of his place.

Odd.

Would’ve remembered if he left the light on the last time he was in town months ago; filament would’ve blown out in at least that time as well. Still, there’s a light on in the living room window and a new curtain pulled across to keep anyone from looking in.

Simon stares at the light while he leans outside against the truck and finishes his cigarette. Stubs it out under his boot when it’s down to the filter and locks the car door behind him. Violence already itches under his skin, knuckles tingling like they know what’s coming if he opens that door and finds some junkie living in his flat. It’ll be worse if he finds out that his scumbag landlord moved someone else in after picking up on him being gone nearly half the year.

His key still works though. Fancy that.

He finds you like that, sitting up from a nap on his couch, sweater slouched down a shoulder and groggily blinking open big doe eyes that widen when you notice him in the doorway, fear making you freeze up.

You’re a pretty little thing; a pleasant surprise to find something like you sitting on his couch. It quells the violence simmering in his belly because it awakens another appetite instead. Like a meal delivered right to his door. He was already planning on ordering takeaway.

He drops the duffel bag by his feet, propping the door open with it. “You lost, bird?”

Terror leaves you mute. He can only imagine; he must seem like something straight from a horror movie—defenceless girl waking up to the dead-eyed stare of a giant dressed in all black watching her sleep and blocking her only way out. That’s not completely true; there’s a backdoor through the kitchen that leads into a laneway behind the house, but the door sticks in the winter, not easy to open in a hurry.

He has as much right to ask as you do to run at the sight of him though, considering it is his fuckin’ flat.

You can’t seem to choke out a single word. Scared stiff, likely, heart slamming against your chest while the worst scenarios possible play out in your mind. Simon nearly rolls his eyes.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he grumbles, finally kicking his bag out of the way so the door can shut behind him. “Cat got your tongue or somethin’?”

The sound of the door slamming shut must finally snap you out of it because you scramble off the couch, nearly tripping over the arm when you run for the back. Screaming too, just to piss him off extra. His back already aches something fierce from the long drive—he wasn’t expecting a headache on top of everything else.

“Heeeeeeeeelp! Heeeeelp!”

Your screams are borderline deafening, almost more aggravating than finding someone living in his flat in the first place.

You scramble down the hall, so terrified that you go for the first open door, slamming it shut behind you. His eyes follow the shape of your bare legs and the way the muscles in your ass move as you run.

“I’m c-calling the police!” you yell from behind the bathroom door.

When Simon looks back down the hall, he notices your phone on the floor, bright side up. Must have dropped out of your pocket when you bolted like a scared cat.

“No, you’re not,” he says blandly, staring at the door. There’s a pause on the other side like you just noticed your missing phone, then a bleat of panic. “Don’t try going out the window either—thing’s been sealed shut since the nineties.”

On the other side of the door, the window rattles in its frame for a good few seconds before you give up on trying to escape that way. There’s a pause while you consider your options. Simon waits patiently on the other side of the door, his temper slowly but surely getting the better of him the longer he goes without a shower and a beer, locked out of his own bathroom.

What a bloody headache.

He pounds a fist against the door, bracing his feet in case you try to open it and scurry out around him before he’s had a chance to have a chat. “Gonna come out now?”

“Get out of my house!” you shriek instead of being polite.

Figures. He should’ve known his landlord would pull some shit like this. “How long’ve you been living here, bird?”

“I have a knife!”

Pretty thing that likes to lie. There’s not a shot you have anything better than a hair dryer or nail clippers in there.

“Better get away from the door ‘cause I’m kickin’ it in,” he announces, taking a step back to give himself some distance and waiting a few seconds for you to realize that he’s dead serious before you start screaming at the top of your lungs again.

Got quite a set on you. That doesn’t matter much to him though. The door caves in after only a few good kicks, the frame splitting right up through the lock when it finally gives, and the two halves—the door itself nearly snapped in half—banging against the wall when it ricochets open.

You’re trembling between the toilet and the wall when Simon walks in, knees practically knocking together. The crotch of your shorts are wet and there’s a small puddle under you; must’ve pissed yourself in fear, and he’d almost pity you if you weren’t squatting in his flat.

The closer he gets to you, the harder you wail. Full on bawling now, snot and drool dribbling down your face, and Christ, he sure picked a bad time to grow a heart. He’s not immune to a pretty girl in distress, much as he wishes he could be.

He kneels in front of you, purposefully blocking your only way out, before knocking his knuckles under your chin, huffing out a breath when you flinch. “Ain’t gonna hurt you, bird. You’re just in my flat, is all.”

“Your flat?” you repeat in disbelief. “This is my flat. I pay rent!”

“Got a lease then?” he asks, and though your eyes are still bloodshot and your nose is still leaking, you nod.

“Yes.”

“Show me then,” he orders.

And you do when he steps back to give you some space, scampering shamefully to your—his—bedroom to rifle through the dresser until you pull out a handful of papers that look suspiciously like a lease. He skims it with a growing tick in his eye. It looks like one because it is one.

“See?” you mumble. He ignores the attitude in favour of reading until the end, where he finds his landlord’s name, the blotchy signature underneath it unmistakable.

“Bullshit,” he grunts through his teeth.

“It’s not. You can call him and ask! Where’s yours?”

His copy of the lease is tucked away in a drawer in the kitchen, buried under loose rubber bands, old batteries, and takeout menus from restaurants that went under years ago. When he returns with it and holds it up to your nose, you frown.

“Oh. I guess that explains some things.”

“Explains some things, huh? The clothes didn’t tip you off?” Simon asks, referring to the sweatpants and shirts still lining the dresser shelves. Your lips tighten.

“I thought the previous tenant skipped town and left his clothes. I was gonna throw them out eventually.”

“Good thing you didn’t.” His voice is thick with sardonicism.

It’s an interesting standoff to say the least. You, standing there in your soiled sleep shorts with tear-streaked cheeks, and him still decked out in his military gear and boots tracking dirt across the flat. You sway on your feet, the adrenaline crash likely intense. He catches you when you sway too close to him and you flinch when his hand clamps down over your shoulder, a new wave of adrenaline coursing through you.

“I’m fine,” you snap, taking a step away.

For fuck’s sake. His mood darkens at the continued hostility. It’s not like you’re the one who came home to a strange man squatting in your flat—if anyone has a right to be hostile, it’s him.

Skittering back into the bedroom, you shut the door behind you, likely to change into another pair of shorts. Simon’s mood festers the longer he waits for you to come out. The last string of his patience nearly snaps when you finally creep back out into the living room, the sour expression on your face pissing him off even more.

“I’m gonna call Tom,” you mutter, picking your phone off the coffee table.

“Go ahead.” He doesn’t bring up that it won’t change a thing. Not his problem if you’re so green behind the ears that you think your landlord will drop everything to answer a call, especially after dinner.

No one answers when you ring, just as he thought. He plops down on the couch and rests a foot on the coffee table, ignoring the way you pace back and forth waiting for your landlord to pick up.

“No answer?” Simon asks rhetorically.

“Aren’t you gonna try?” you ask.

“Yeah. Tomorrow. When ‘e’ll actually pick up.”

“Well, what are we supposed to do then? I’m not getting a hotel room for the night.”

“Me neither, birdie.”

He meets your stare with one of his own. It doesn’t take long for you to give in.

There’s a pullout bed in the couch that you offer to take and he lets you because he is, at the end of the day, a selfish prick who won’t give up a week of decent sleep for anybody. Not when his back and neck have been acting up for the past month and keeping him from getting more than three hours at a time.

The ache behind his eyebrow throbs as Simon sits on the edge of the bed. A slow exhale.

Tomorrow can’t come quick enough.

In the morning, Simon rings his landlord and listens silently as the fuckhead blubbers on the other end of the phone about late payments and eviction notices.

“This ain’t a charity, y’know,” the other man sniffs. “I gotta pay my bills too.”

He lets the man make excuse after excuse and accuse him of this and that until he finally goes silent when he notices Simon hasn’t said a word in minutes. At which point, Simon icily reminds him of what he does for a living and the fact that he paid him for the year in full just a few months back.

Not much to be done after that. There’s silence on the other end before his landlord tries to hem and haw his way out of it. He offers Simon one of his other properties currently sitting vacant on the other side of town, but that’s not the answer that Simon is looking for.

“If anyone’s moving out, it ain’t me,” Simon growls into the phone.

The wounded look that you shoot at him rubs him the wrong way.

His landlord’s still rambling on about moving costs and lawyer fees when Simon hangs up, no longer in the mood to try and talk things out.

He doesn’t really understand the legalities here, but he knows he can’t just toss you out on your ass when you’ve also got a lease, same as him.

“I have every right to be here,” you start up the second he hangs up the phone, not letting him get a word in edgewise, shoulders rolled back like you’re trying to be assertive. “I’ll take it to court if I have to.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ.” Simon scrubs a hand down his face.

“I’m serious. Rent is expensive and this is the only place close enough to where I work that doesn’t cost an arm and a leg—and I don’t have the money to hire a lawyer to get my money back—”

“I’m not gonna kick you out,” he finally snaps, fed up with your caterwauling.

You pause, hope warring with disbelief. “You’re not?”

He gives a curt shake of his head. “Too much of a headache. I’m only…in town for a week anyway.”

“Oh. ‘Til when?”

“‘Til whenever I’m back.” Purposefully cryptic. He gives you a flat look when you open your mouth to pry some more.

You reconsider, chewing your bottom lip until a better question occurs to you. “Are you in town a lot? Because I’m not sure how else we could make this work. I could sleep at my cousin’s until you leave?”

“Your cousin live around here?”

You hesitate. “No.”

“Then that ain’t gonna work, is it?”

“At least I’m trying,” you hiss, and Simon has to tamp down the amusement that swirls in his chest at the sight of your shoulders puffing up. “I’m not ripping up my lease and if you’re not either, then we have to figure out something unless you feel like taking this to court.”

While Simon wouldn’t usually take kindly to being threatened, his annoyance never quite develops into anything more substantial.

“Just keep outta my way and I’ll keep outta yours,” he says.

“Fine.”

The agreement you come to is that when he’s in town—seldom and erratic—he’ll take the bedroom and you’ll sleep on the couch, a fair compromise since you have the flat to yourself the rest of the year.

He doesn’t explain himself, of course. Doesn’t explain why he’s allowing this instead of dragging you to court kicking and screaming. It’s no one’s business but his why he chooses not to go down that road.

He tells himself that it’s easier this way; that it’s easier just to run your lease out and spare himself the legal mess. It’s not like he’ll even be around most of the time anyway.

What he carefully side steps, even in his own mind, is the sharp displeasure that accompanies the thought of forcing you out of his flat and onto the streets.

Cohabitation is—

Easy wouldn’t be the right word. He certainly doesn’t make it easy on you, leaving his dirty dishes in the sink and his half-empty beer cans in the shower caddy, his cum drying on the wall over the tub spout. You try to do the same by leaving your dirty laundry on the communal furniture, but it doesn’t have the same effect.

It’s interesting, at least. It’s not as though he’s never lived with anyone before—his memories of his early years in the service are littered with bunkmates packed into every corner of the room, and learning to sleep everywhere from moving caravans to while standing in formation, always surrounded by other people—but he’s paid his dues. Barring deployment, he thought he’d earned the luxury of his privacy.

But it’s not all bad; it’s been years since he had fun like this.

You try your best to annoy him in return, but you don’t realize that you’re playing chicken with a man who’s been buried alive. There isn’t much someone like you could do to break him.

Living with another person doesn’t soften him up one bit. There’s a time for change and it’s not off the back of a four-month covert operation, his nerves still razor sharp and ability to sleep practically nonexistent. He gets precious few weeks to himself and he isn’t going to waste them trying to get in the habit of smoking on the porch instead of in his own living room.

“I’m a masseuse.”

“Oh yeah?” Simon grunts, barely listening. There’s a match on the telly and a beer in his other hand—a perfect afternoon, if only you’d just stop yapping in his ear for five fuckin’ minutes.

“Yes, and I can’t show up to work reeking like a chimney,” you explain, scooching closer to him on the couch while being careful to leave some distance between the two of you. For all your posturing, you’re still timid around him, like a kitten hissing and spitting around a much bigger cat.

“What’s that got to do with me?” he asks rhetorically, not in the slightest interested in how it pertains to him. He takes another drag from the cigarette dangling between his index and middle finger, ashing it over the side of the couch.

“It means I’d prefer if you didn’t smoke in the flat,” you say, hissing the last few words.

He takes another drag, turning to look at you before exhaling right in your face. “That’s a shame.”

You cough and squawk, and he fights down a grin.

For the most part, he leaves you to your own devices, intent only on enjoying his time off. He fixes the bathroom door at least, which you begrudgingly thank him for.

A week and a bit, Simon reminds himself when you come in through the front door chirping into your phone, your voice effectively drowning out the TV on in the background. When you spot him staring at you from the couch, you go quiet as a mouse and slink off to the bathroom, locking the (newly installed) door behind you. He supposes it’s the only place where you feel any semblance of privacy since his bedroom is off limits until he leaves. It does leave him without a bathroom though.

Pissing in the alleyway behind the flat half an hour later, he scowls into the darkness and reminds himself that he has no one to blame but himself for this mess.

When his leave comes to an end, Simon doesn’t bother to give you a heads up. You’ll realize it in a couple of days when you notice his absence around the flat, the siege finally lifted. He supposes you’ll be grateful for his departure and grateful not to make you feign politeness.

Duffel bag packed away in the car, he leaves with the bed still unmade. Knows that’ll ruffle your feathers later on when you come home, but it’s his parting gift. His reminder to you to enjoy the couple months reprieve his job allows you.

And then the road slips away under him and he’s gone.

The months away are just complex rearrangements of the same thing. Each time it drives his soul deeper into the gully, buffeted by katabatic winds.

His daily life on base is split into brackets of time. Wake up, go to the gym, work, clock out, see the captain for a drink. Wash, rinse, repeat. Each day blending into the next. Back where he belongs, under the thumb of a system that he’s long sold his body and freedom to, and sent out God knows where to do God knows what.

Then, again the rooster crows at first light and he lifts himself out of bed.

When he’s deployed, everything changes while everything stays the same. He doesn’t have the same freedom of movement as he does on base, but in truth very little changes from one deployment to the next if you zoom out enough. Limited time to sleep on the chopper before it touches down, body tensed for what’s to come, and then he’s off, his objectives clear.

Driving a knife into a neck to the hilt and pulling it out one inch at a time. It’s the one he knows how to do, and he does it well. He doesn’t have to like what he does; he doesn’t even have to think about it so long as it gets done.

Ghost exhales and slips the mask back on.

In [redacted city] in [redacted country], he sets his scope up in the window of a building across from one where his target is slated to be in twelve hours and then he waits. Flexes his fingers when they go numb and ignores the thirst clawing up his throat. Four hours later, his elbows ache something fierce from digging into the ground for hours on end, a sharp pain shooting up his arms, but Ghost pays it no mind. Mind over matter.

Amidst the hours of laying there and waiting for his target to come into frame, his mind doesn’t wander. That’s a luxury for a different time—when the job is done and his target is executed.

At the very edges of his consciousness though, something flickers. The skin around his eyes pinches as he pushes the half-formed thought away.

Then his target walks into the room and everything else disappears.

You’re still there when he returns months later on another government ordered leave. Same petulant frown and wobbly lower lip when he walks in through the front door, dripping wet from the rain outside. When he tosses his duffel bag onto the couch, you scowl, nudging the bag onto the floor with your foot.

“You could’ve rang,” you mumble, pulling the throw from the back of the couch over your lap to hide your bare legs. Pity to be deprived of a nice view, but Simon doesn’t take it to heart.

“Didn’t think you’d still be ‘ere,” he grunts instead, shrugging out of his jacket and shaking it dry, suppressing a smirk when you start squawking about getting water all over the floor.

That’s partly a lie, though not one he’ll ever admit to. Simon figured there might be a chance you’d be gone, but in the time since he last saw you, he’s done enough digging around online to know that you weren’t kidding about the lack of affordable flats in the area. There’s hardly a unit nearby that isn’t going for double what he pays, some even more.

“Well, guess I’m sleeping out here tonight,” you grumble. You’re on your tiptoes in the doorway to the living room now, the throw wrapped around you like a security blanket.

He doesn’t answer that. No point getting your hopes up when he has no intention of giving up the bed.

In another life, he might be enough of a gentleman to let you sleep in the bedroom while he takes the couch, but in this one, his back is ravaged by sciatica and his dominant hand and wrist twinge with the beginning of carpal tunnel syndrome. Most nights, it’s a miracle if he can get five uninterrupted hours.

So no, he won’t be giving up the bed.

But Simon toys with the thought of dragging you in with him. It’s been awhile since he had a woman, so long that the memory is fuzzy when he dredges it up, and though his hand does the job when the itch grows severe, he’s no monk. He could pull you in with little effort, sweet talk you until your knickers are around your ankles and your legs are in the air, hot cunt steaming when your legs part and he sinks his cock in deep. Wouldn’t take more than a half dozen thrusts before he busted, pretty pussy painted with his cum.

In the doorway, you eye him dubiously, scrunched nose expressing your discontent.

It’s an idea, at least.

He still leaves his dishes in the sink and wakes to you pounding on the bedroom door, whining about having to scrub his plates with a pot scraper, but time and distance have mellowed any hostility in you. You treat him less like a stranger intruding on your space and more like a roommate you’ve grown to tolerate despite his many faults.

The oddest thing is opening the fridge up to more than just a six-pack, a stick of butter, and three half-empty bottles of mustard. Fresh produce and meat spill from the shelves now, leftovers packed in tupperware and neatly labelled. He eats like a king now, takeout relegated to the days when you don’t feel like cooking. On those days, Simon heads down to the chippie a few streets away and gets enough for the both of you before heading back to eat on the couch with you.

He still gets a kick out of leaving his cigarette butts in cups strewn around the flat for you to find.

“So what do you do anyway?” you ask out of the blue.

“What’s it matter?” Simon grunts from beside you. He has to slow his usual gait to keep pace with you—which is irritating as all fuck—but you didn’t leave him much choice when you insisted on going to the store well after dark.

“I’m just making conversation. You always get so squirrely when I ask—what are you, some kind of secret agent?”

He’d roll his eyes if he had any less self-control.

“No way. No way. You are?” you gasp, suddenly glued to his side, hands scrambling for purchase on his bicep and shoulder.

Simon stares down at your hands clutching his arm, unconsciously tucking his bicep between your tits. “Best to not ask questions, bird.”

You pout. He ignores the impulse to lean down and sink his canines into that plump bottom lip.

His nose itches because the world is changing.

He used to catalogue his time off base in much the same way. Wake up, workout, tinker with the junk pilfered from estate sales and scrap yards he’s frequented over the years, then head to the pub for a drink. Wash, rinse, repeat.

That’s changed since you came into his life. Aside from when you’re out working, you unbalance his schedule. Upset his routines. The structure propping up his entire existence gets taken down in an instant when you open your mouth and ask him to the market with you, giving him no choice but to slam the door shut behind him and drive you there.

Each day comes with its new flavour, a new bite to it.

“You’re not eating takeout again?” you ask him, aghast when you come home from work to find takeout containers all over the coffee table

“Always a fuckin’ lecture with you, huh?” Simon grumbles into his curry. Shovels another forkful into his mouth.

Just as he expected though, you don’t let it go. He was a fool to think you would. It’s not so bad at first when all you do is cook for him—with the life he’s lived, he’s never been one to turn down a home cooked meal, so he accepts the proffered food happily—but it’s another thing entirely when you rope him into it.

He’s already pissed off when you wrangle him into the kitchen under the guise of needing his help—absurd after your subterfuge from the day before, his expectation being that you were happy to do all the cooking yourself, not force him to debase himself by chopping up all the vegetables and meat while being ordered around like a line cook.

What really ticks him off though is that—

he grumbles to himself as he chops the mushrooms into thin slices

—you keep getting away with it.

The worst is when you catch the tremor in his hand at the breakfast table, quick eyes picking up on the subtle quiver instantly.

“Something wrong with your wrist?” you ask. Always prying into his business.

Simon closes his hand into a fist. “It’s nothing.”

You frown. “Doesn’t look like ‘nothing’.”

“Well, it is.”

“Can you relax your grip? I just want to see that again.”

How he lets you talk him into massaging his wrist is beyond him. Then you press your thumbs into the meat of his palm and rub in smooth, circular motions, and his brain goes offline for half a second. The relief hits him like a cudgel to the head; knocks him upside.

“Jesus fuck, bird,” Simon groans. His knee bangs against the leg of the table.

“Feels a bit better, huh?” you ask, the corner of your mouth quirking up in a crooked, teasing smile.

And fuck if it doesn’t feel a thousand times better by the time you’re done. He snaps when your thumbs dig in too deep at his wrist and pain radiates up his arm, but all you do is laugh it off, smiling to yourself when you press down on a tender point on his wrist and his jaw goes slack.

Sometimes, he wishes he could study you like a bug. Pin your arms and legs down to get a closer look. Kneel over you and pin your shins down with his to keep you from squirming away, then tuck his fingers into the inside of your cheeks to pull them open.

But he keeps his hands to himself. Just barely.

He doesn’t stay long this time, called back from his katabasis before the week’s even up, Price’s voice urgent over the phone. His duffel bag is packed before the call is even over, boots laced up and mask folded neatly in his pocket for when he leaves the city limits.

“You’re leaving?” you ask when you notice, and if Simon were less of a realist, he might think you sounded upset.

“Need me to take out the trash?” he asks, his answer implicit. Yes, he’s leaving. Even if it weren’t for his job, he’s not the staying type; those kinds of decisions are out of his hands anyway, and even if it were up to him, he’d be long gone by now. Adrift; across the pond or somewhere down in the Balkans, far enough away that you couldn’t find him even if you wanted to.

That’s what he tells himself. Whether he believes it anymore is another question.

You’re quiet for a second. “Sure. Thank you.”

Simon nods. Nothing more to say. The ache in his gut could be anything else.

He lifts a hand on his way out, ruffles your hair once before he’s gone.

Rain soaks him down to his britches but still he stands in it without complaint, watching some of the privates unload a delivery truck parked outside of the commissary. Even the mundane parts of his job are his to attend to and he does so with little complaint.

When they finish around eighteen-hundred hours, he signs out for the day and heads to Price’s office for a drink. It’s so routine it’s practically part of his DNA.

Price already has both glasses poured when Ghost arrives, two fingers each, and it goes down smooth when he rolls the mask up over his nose to take a sip.

“Got out the pricey stuff just for me?” Ghost asks. He can tell by the taste and from the bottle sitting on the shelf behind Price, label facing outward.

“What else am I saving it for?” Price asks rhetorically. “I’m not letting the good stuff go to waste.”

Ghost hums. It’s still raining buckets outside. He watches as it hits the windowpane behind Price’s desk, almost transfixed.

“Got time for a drink before you’re out on Friday?”

He shakes his head. “No time. Gotta be out by six.”

“Six?” Price repeats, a mite surprised. “Why? Something waiting for you back home?”

Ghost doesn’t answer.

Price lifts an eyebrow. “Well, spit it out.”

He shrugs. “Nothing to tell.”

“So there’s no one back in Manchester?”

“Didn’t say that.”

Price’s lips twitch into a grin under his mustache, eyes faintly amused. “Heard.”

Truth be told, he has started to think of you as someone waiting back home. Maybe not for him, but waiting all the same. Why else would you be back in his flat in Manchester in his bed if not to wait for him to come back?

It almost makes him itchy to leave. He can tamp down the urge when the situation calls for it, but it sits right under his skin most days. If he thinks about it for too long, his focus goes razor sharp and the edges of his vision go blurry.

In the present moment, he brings the glass to his lips and tips his head back, letting it pour down his throat.

He has some nascent idea of where this is going.

As always, you’re curled up on the couch watching TV when he walks through the front door, on the verge of sleep. When your eyes land on him, you blink away the sleep and smile so brightly that his chest aches. “Simon!”

In nearly forty years, no one has ever said his name like that. Brimming with brightness and warmth. Like for once someone has longed for him in his absence.

All he can do is stare at you for a time. It should make his skin crawl, and it does, to an extent. He should be out the door already—lease broken, all his shit in the back of his truck, ties cut, and so many kilometers between you and him that he has no choice but to forget your face.

Instead, he kicks the door shut behind him and ruffles your hair when he passes on his way to the bathroom to piss and scrub a towel over his face.

It must be a form of self-punishment. That’s the only explanation for why he comes back every single time when he has more than enough money to fuck off down south for a week instead—he could be spending his leave in Costa Brava or sipping rakija in Kotor, but he chooses to come back to this hovel with its bleak weather and seedy underbelly every single time. What other urge would drive him to abuse himself like this other than masochism?

Any attempt to answer that is swiftly dismissed.

One day. One day is all he manages after promising to keep himself in check this time around. He manages to get through that first day largely because of the physical distance he puts between the two of you, playing chess with a couple old men in the park, rock doves pecking at the birdseed scattered under the wrought iron tables and benches.

His restraint breaks when he catches you dozing off in front of the television, socked feet tucked under your thighs and head balanced precariously on your fist, elbow resting on the arm of the couch.

He sits down beside you and his lip twitches when your head bobs, slumber briefly breached when the cushion under you dips with his weight.

“C’mere, girl,” Simon grunts, pulling you onto his lap.

You go somewhat willingly, only putting up a little bit of a fuss. Grumbling to keep up appearances. But that melts away the second he tucks your head into the crook of his neck, body going lax and fingers burrowing into the fabric of his shirt at his belly, gathering it together in your fist.

Christ, Simon thinks, dropping his head back on the couch. What am I doing?

Even he doesn’t know these days, but his chest aches in a way it never has before. He makes a mental note to see a doctor when he’s back on base.

His back aches too, but you pick up on that rather quickly, hounding him when you recognize the stiffness in his back for what it is. It takes you days to wear him down enough to agree to a massage, but eventually you do. He regrets it the second the words leave his mouth, leery at the thought of putting himself in such a vulnerable position.

You lock him out of the bedroom while you set up your table and do all the little things that you need to do in order to set the mood. His nose wrinkles when the smell of incense hits him.

“You can strip down to your comfort level,” you explain after letting him back into the room, patting the bed as if he doesn’t know where to lie down. “Then get under the blanket and let me know when you’re ready.”

He cocks a brow. “You trying to get me naked, bird?”

“Simon,” you sigh, a touch exasperated, hands on your hips to emphasize your weariness.

His belt clinks as he unlatches it. “Don’t worry, birdie, just gimme a second to get these off.”

A frustrated growl and then the door slams shut behind you when you bolt out of the room.

He spares you the indignity of having to repeat yourself, sliding under the towel and barking at you to come back in when he’s stripped bare and covered. You slip back in quietly and flit over to the dresser to press play on your music.

The first touch of your hands against his bare back almost makes him flinch. All his regret comes rushing back and he very nearly calls it off, and then you press the heels of your palms into the meat of his shoulders and the bottom falls out from under him. Then you drag them down the length of his back and he very nearly bites his tongue clean off.

Simon doesn’t bother muffling his noises when you dig your hands into his back to work out the plethora of knots, huffing and groaning like he’s balls deep. When you get to his shoulders though, he has to fight to stay put,

“Oh, your back is really messed up,” you note, a bit breathlessly.

He doesn’t acknowledge your words, too intent on not vocalizing his pain. Not even a grunt passes his lips.

You work years of hard labour and soreness out of his muscles, leaving behind a new man. The oil coating your palms makes your hands glide across his back.

He must fall asleep at some point because he wakes to the sound of television in the other room. Groggy at first, cotton mouthed and sleep drunk, and when Simon stumbles into the living room, you’re sitting on the couch with your knees drawn into your chest.

“Oh hi,” you say when you notice him standing there. “Sleep well?”

Speech still beyond him, all he can do is nod and plant himself on the couch beside you. Shirtless still. Simon only notices it himself when he tips his head to look over at you and finds that you won’t meet his eyes, gaze steadfast on the TV.

“Shoulda ‘ad you do that when you moved in,” he says.

“I could give you another one before you leave,” you reply, still not looking over at him. He bets that if he brushed his knuckles over your cheeks, they’d be hot to the touch. “Just tell me when.”

Maybe he will. What use is there in depriving himself of life’s little pleasures when his soul bears all of life’s bruises?

He reaches over to pinch your cheek, grinning when you yowl. Just as warm as he thought.

One thing Simon doesn’t take for granted anymore are his scarce moments of privacy. No stranger to a little exhibitionism (barracks walls and tent flaps hardly muffle sound, and he’s learned over the years that men will tolerate anything if it means they can rub one out in peace), he still appreciates the time he gets to himself to take care of things.

He’s only just finished tugging one out, his jeans buttoned back up and his hand still wet with his spend, when you walk in the front door.

You start up the second the door slams shut behind you, steam practically billowing out of your ears. “Well, thanks a lot—one of my regulars just gave me shit because she said I smelt like an ashtray and she couldn’t ‘properly relax’ for the whole hour—”

Afterglow proper scotched, Simon sits there and lets you cuss him out until the pounding behind his eyebrow becomes unbearable.

You go quiet when he rises to his feet, unused to him actually reacting to your whinging. Sometimes you don’t realize how accustomed to him you’ve become—how ingrained he’s become in your everyday life. What continues to elude you for no good reason is that you live with a stranger, and a strange man at that. It would piss him off if it were anyone other than him.

Practically chest to chest now, you nearly go cross eyed staring up at him. Jaw unhinged and mouth dangling loose, just the slightest gap between your lips like you forgot to close them. He lets you size him up for a second before lifting his hand to your mouth and slowly but firmly shoving his cum-covered fingers into your mouth.

Dumbstruck, all you can do is stare up at him with his cum-slicked fingers in your mouth, holding them there for a few more seconds and whimpering when he drags them out and then feeds them slowly back in. You even go a little glassy-eyed.

When he finally pulls his fingers out and lets his arm drop to his side, you sway on your feet a little, at a loss for words. There’s a creamy sheen on your bottom lip that disappears when you suck it into your mouth on instinct, eyes going wide when you recognize the taste on your tongue.

“Thanks for cleaning that up, birdie.” And then he reaches down to zip his fly up, smug when your eyes flit down to his crotch.

The stakes are different now than what they were all those months ago. It can’t be a carefree cohabitation when he’s playing for keeps. Whatever that means.

But his time is cut short again, the world catching up to him and yanking him back. And when Simon goes this time, he can’t help but drag his feet on his way out.

You’re looking good. A comment made in passing, Price’s face barely twitching through it, but Ghost catches it and he lets it sit for a moment before responding.

“Yeah?” he grunts, looking away. The recruits round the part of the track closest to where they stand, panting through their seventh lap.

“Put on a bit of weight since you left,” Price notes.

“Calling me fat, sir?”

He rolls his eyes, huffing out an exasperated breath. “Give it a rest, you fuckin’ muppet. I said you look good.”

Price isn’t wrong though. He both looks and feels different. With increasing regularity, he watches the clock and counts the days down until he’s released from his duties again. His want has him circling like a bird of prey.

All his life, he’s had to live in the moment, concerned only with the immediate, tangible present because that’s all that life let him have. And though it’s been decades since he’s needed to be in survival mode, those instincts have never quite left him.

The shock to his system has left him forward-thinking for once. A girl in his house and food in his fridge; his body feeling better than it has in years—he’s still lucky if he gets more than five uninterrupted hours of sleep, but his expectations are different when he’s not at home. Even the concept of home is foreign, like a language he’s just starting to learn.

The future isn’t some nebulous concept out of his reach but a real place that he gets to walk into.

Desire tips him like a scale. There may not be any coming back from this.

Love shows him no mercy, so he doesn’t show you any either.

Months pass before Simon’s leave comes around again, and when it finally does, he’s already packed and signed out before his last day on base is even up. He says his goodbyes to Price on his way out and the other man visibly suppresses a smile, eyeing the bag clutched tight in his hand.

“Give her my best,” is all he says before getting back to the paperwork in front of him. Simon leaves without another word.

Then the long drive back. A skein of birds in flight follow him for part of the journey. A train running parallel to the throughway follows him for the rest. Tree boughs bend under the weight of the last snowfall.

Then he blinks and when his eyes open, he’s home.

You’re still sitting on that blasted couch when Simon opens the front door, pretty as a peach in August, and his name rings like a bell off your tongue when you say it, summoning him to you. It’s not his fault that his urges prevail, that he has no choice but to throw his bag down onto the carpeted floor and stomp over to you, lifting you up by the collar of your housecoat and dragging you into a scorching hot kiss.

“Mmf,” you squeak against his lips, eyes flying open.

It’s messy and frenzied, spit dripping down your chin and his tongue halfway down your throat. No finesse or skill to speak of, only an incessant buzzing at the back of his head that only quiets when you give a helpless little moan, an instant balm to his suffering.

Simon pulls back for a moment to let you breathe. “That’s my welcome ‘ome?” he murmurs. His lips brush against yours when he speaks.

“W-welcome home?” you repeat, flustered, your lip catching against his. He sucks it between his when it does, cock throbbing in his pants when you gasp, hot breath billowing into his mouth and making his head spin.

This is nothing like being high on pain meds or three sheets to the win. It pulses through him and makes his cock chub up, forcing him to shove a hand down between his legs to readjust himself. That gets you good when you notice.

He kisses hungry and mean, ever greedy for your mouth, fitting his hand over the back of your head and angling you how he likes. Holding the delicate cradle of your skull in his palm and knowing that he could crack it if he squeezed his fingers hard enough. The thought sends a rush right through him, his violent underbelly scratched in just the right way.

“W-where’s this coming from?” you gasp when Simon pulls back. You look thoroughly flustered, but he ignores you to hook a finger in your mouth and wrench it open.

“Open,” he grunts, giving your inner cheek a sharp tug.

You go cross-eyed when he spits in your mouth, the glob of spit landing right on your tongue, and your affronted little gasp hits him like an arrow shot straight through his heart. He’s considerate enough to seal it in with a kiss, making sure not to let you waste a drop. Tongue pushing in right after to lick it up, growling at you to suck it when you only nervously kiss back.

His patience isn’t infinite though and kissing barely wets his appetite. It’s not enough to plumb the depths of his hunger when there’s something uglier down there waiting with its jaws wide open.

He twists you around and bends you over the back of the couch, rucking your housecoat up to your waist. Your knickers get ripped clean off, tearing at the seams, and your ensuing shriek nourishes the hunger simmering low in his belly. Appetite never satiated, belly never full.

He likes that you didn’t expect him back so soon. Fuzzy, unshaved legs and holey socks; pimple patches on your face and nothing under your robe. The lazy domesticity appeals to him in a way he never would’ve expected.

Then his fingers split the seam of your pussy and the runoff of his appreciation cascades down the slopes of his shoulders and his back. Slick drips from your winking hole, gathering together into a tight bulb before a single drop drips onto the couch beneath you.

“Fuck—now there’s somethin’ to come ‘ome to,” Simon grunts, and then drags his tongue between your dew-slicked lips.

His enjoyment was a foregone conclusion when he imagined this back in his quarters in the barracks, cock in hand, but the reality of having his mouth on your pussy exceeds his expectations a thousandfold. It’s all soft, pillowy skin and sweet nectar. He gorges himself on it, an almost pathological need to be tongue-deep in your cunt.

“Wet little gash just sucks ‘em right in…” he murmurs, plunging two fingers into your hole slowly. The soft flesh of your hole bulges around his fingers when they sink in all the way to the knuckle.

“Fuck—don’t call it that,” you bleat, so pathetic that he’s smitten.

“Shouldn’ta wagged it at me if ya didn’t want me to touch it,” Simon teases, then crooks his fingers just so and your leg spasms.

He keeps you stuffed full until your legs shake, on the verge of coming, and then he rips them out.

You practically scream in frustration, twisting to look at him from over your shoulder. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Somethin’ wrong, birdie?” He smirks when you arch your back, pushing your ass back in his face.

“I want to come, Simon,” you whine, wagging your ass in his face again. Just his luck that a little slut like you dropped into his life.

“Alright,” he sighs, mock aggrieved. “Lemme see if I can ‘elp with that.”

Ungrateful little thing, he thinks when he turns you over onto your back and heaves you up into the air.

“Simon—” you keen his name when he has you pinned up against the wall, his arms scooped under your thighs to hold you in place.

He plunges into that warm little honeypot between your legs in slow, measured strokes at first, savouring each punctured whimper and hiccup that drops from your lips. Each flex of his hips brings him that much closer to heaven and that much closer to hell.

“Didn’t think you could just barge in without consequences, did ya?” Simon asks rhetorically, voice gone brassy and tiger-stripped, thick in his chest. “Been sleeping in my bed for nearly a year, ‘aven’t ya? Ain’t I owed this?”

He means it too.

“You’re—so full of it,” you retort, hiccuping through your words.

Your arms hang limp around his neck, fingers twined at his nape and nails scratching at his hairline. The low ache in his back is barely a deterrent—he’d hold you up all night if it took that long to make you come. A distant voice at the back of his head reminds him that he’ll suffer for it in the morning, but he shakes that thought away.

He chases the beads of sweat snaking down your chest and tits with his tongue, straightening back up only when that nearly makes you lose your grip around his neck and topple out of his arms.

“Hey,” you pout when Simon chuckles, digging your nails into his back in retribution for laughing at you. It has the opposite effect though, the pain stoking his pleasure and sending a shiver down his back, his next thrust so rough that you bounce in his arms.

Your skin smells like sweat and musk this close, so heady that his head spins. It registers dimly at the back of his mind that he’s still dressed while you’re fully nude, housecoat and knickers in a pile on the floor in front of the couch, but he can’t pull away now, not with the need to come pressing into him on all sides, dick hard enough to split diamonds.

He stares down between your legs where his cock splits you again and again, a ring of white cream at the base. He could paint that little snatch white with his cum or stuff it deep inside, both options appealing to his baser instincts. It’ll be a coin flip in the end.

When the ache in his back grows too significant to ignore, he lifts you up off the wall and drops you down on his cock, burying himself to the hilt before carrying you to the open door to the bedroom.

“Sorry, pet,” Simon murmurs when he feels you clench around the thickest part of his cock, whispering a little oh fuck to yourself under your breath. He kicks the door shut behind him with his heel. “Back’s shit. Mind taking over for me?”

The mattress squeaks under his weight when he sits down on the end. You blink up at him. “You want me on top?”

He nods and hums his assent, digging his fingers into the muscle and flesh of your ass and kneading. “Yeah, bird. Still wanna see all the pretty bits though.”

The pretty bits being the globes of your ass facing him while you ride his dick, his hands pulling apart your cheeks to watch you take it inch by inch, thighs quivering with the strain.

Your thighs are stretched out on either side of him, pretty calves resting perpendicular to his chest and toes curled into the mattress. He eyes those with some interest before your pussy distracts him again. There’s no angle that isn’t nice to look at, but this has got to be his favourite so far, tight bud between your cheeks clenching every time you drop down onto his dick. It’s easy to ignore the ache in his shoulder with a view this nice.

“Fuck, birdie,” Simon murmurs, dragging his hand over your ass and then swatting it, grunting when that makes you clench up around him, inner walls squeezing his length and nearly milking him dry. “Coulda been doing this the whole time.”

You laugh a bit breathlessly. “No—you were way too annoying.”

Smack. You yelp when he backhands your ass and your shoulders go stiff, spine a taut line with your impending orgasm. Simon can feel it like a knot in his throat, pussy so hot that it nearly burns him alive.

“Shit,” you gasp, hands on his legs the only thing keeping you upright. You nearly rip out the hair on his thighs when you curl them into fists.

His hands glide up and down your sides, touching wherever he wants. It’s his God given right after housing you for so long, and though Simon clings belligerently to that belief, like the foundation of his existence is built on quid pro quo, on doing nothing for others unless there’s something in it for him, there’s something else that burrows underneath that maxim. Something far truer and more terrifying, and if he were to look it dead on, it would bring him to his knees.

Simon grunts, lungs pummelled when you squeeze around his length, tight as a vice.

Good thing you’ve got him on his back instead.

In the end, it’s not up to him whether he comes in you or not. When his cockhead bumps against your cervix and he feels teardrops land on his thighs, your shoulders shaking with the force of your sobs, the spigot loosens and his stomach aches with how hard he comes. His heels dig into the mattress, hips lifting up, trying to cram more and more of his cock into your cunt, tendons straining against his neck.

“Take it, bird,” Simon snarls, teeth grinding together, his voice sounding wrecked even to him. “Take it nice ‘n deep, fuck—wanna see it leak from your hole when I pull ya off—”

Your nails sink into his thighs, cutting him off.

He does too, when you flop down beside him onto the bed and he tucks you under his arm, spreading your legs so he can push his cum back into your cunt, fingers pearly white with your mixed juices.

“Oh God,” you whisper, squeezing your thighs together around his hand until he’s forced to wrench them open again, hovering over you this time, the cudgel dangling between his legs already thickening up again.

And that’s how he spends his week, in a suspended state of euphoria, no sense of time passing. It doesn’t matter where it goes as long as you crawl into bed with him at the end of the day, eyes sparkling with delight.

The leaving is tougher than it’s ever been, claws scoring right through his chest when Simon tips your chin up and leans down to slot his lips over yours. He’s not made for this sentimental bullshit, but it finds him either way.

His chest burns on the drive back to base, acid reflux a bitch as always.

The next time his landlord calls, he comes bearing good news.

“I’ll cut you a deal on the first month to make up for the…mix up,” he starts begrudgingly. “But don’t worry—the girl’ll be out of your hair by the end of the month. Gonna tell her today that I can’t renew her lease.”

Simon hangs up without saying a word, swathed in anger. Nearly crushes the phone in his grip when his landlord calls back a second later. He ignores that call too.

If he were a different man, if this was a different world—

No one ever knows when their world is about to change until it does.

But even if his walls have grown barbed wires in the years that he’s been alone, there’s always a way to dig out from under.

The return home is different this time around, the wind under his sails all but lifting him into the air.

A year to the date almost. Another month and time will wrap back around on itself, the seasons changing the same way they have for all thirty-seven years of his life. When fate lets him go this time, Simon heads over to Price’s office before taking off for the week, carving out time for one last drink before he hits the road. Over a whiskey and kretek, he tells Price his plan and only just keeps from rolling his eyes when Price barks a laugh, clapping his hands together.

“Never thought I’d see the day,” he chuckles, shaking his head.

“Shut up.”

“It’s a big step, Simon. I’m proud of you.”

Simon rolls his eyes, pleased despite himself. “Stuff it, old man.”

And then he’s gone again, following the same winding road back, with one stop along the way this time. He stays overnight at a local inn after signing the paperwork, too exhausted to keep driving. Too much on his mind anyway.

It means nothing to him that people do this sort of thing all the time. He has survived the locust years of his life and come out the other side. That should be enough to give himself some grace when he tosses and turns all night, back pain flaring up and immobilizing him for an hour. Only when the first rays of dawn pierce through the threadbare curtains does it finally abate, and he heads out after his morning piss, ignoring the cramp in his belly on the drive over.

You greet him at the door when you hear his car pull up, standing under the door frame while he gets out and rounds the car, bare toes curling at the cold air. And any effort to tamp it down now is in vain, his chest filling with something unspeakable and unsaid.

“Put your shoes on,” Simon instructs, coming over just to pull you in for a kiss before nudging you back into the flat, shutting the door behind him.

“Why?” you ask, lifting a brow. “Wanna go for coffee or something like that?”

“Something like that. Why aren’t you putting your shoes on?”

Herded into the truck after getting dressed, you badger him with question after question the whole drive over while Simon keeps his mouth shut, focusing on the road in front of him. It’s not a long drive at least, but your incessant questions make it last an eternity.

Until he pulls up in front of a house with a short gravel walkway and a garden in desperate need of attention, milkvetch growing near the front step. The outdoor sconces are new though, and though Simon already has a few things in mind to fix up around the house, it’s got good bones. Leagues nicer than the place you just left.

“Are we picking someone up?” you ask when he puts the car in park, confused. You stare at the door as if waiting for it to open.

Simon doesn’t respond.

You look over at him and he takes one of your hands, holding it palm-side up and covering it with his own ugly mitt. You feel something cold drop from his hand into yours and he curls your fingers into a fist to hold it.

“No.”

When his hand moves away, you uncurl your fingers to find a key. It means so little and so much all at once. If he could say it with words, it wouldn’t be the same so there’s no point in trying.

“It’s ours?” you ask.

“Yeah.”

There’s a watery sheen over your eyes when you look up, and your lip wobbles. And in a way different than ever before, his chest grows tight, the ache in his heart a fresh and welcome pain.

#ceil writing #cod x reader #ghost x reader #ghost/reader #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you

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esyra · 2 years ago

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After the hospital bombing, I finally heard back from my grandmother and confirmed that several of my relatives were murdered by Israeli bombing. Seven of them, to be precise. Three are still going, including her. We've been talking constantly ever since.

Asked if it was possible to head south, and was told they did but were also bombed there. So they decided to go back home, in Zeitoun. Their home was bombed and they were pulled out of the rumble, then driven by ambulances to the al-Ahli Arab Hospital. There were people in every corner. Gazans sheltering, sleeping on the floor. Gazans dying on the floor, waiting for beds.

Four were declared dead on arrival, three were in need of surgery and other three were just bandaged. Then, a bomb was dropped in the parking lot that made parts of the ceiling collapse, like Dr. Ghassan Abu Sittah reported in that horrific conference/interview. Those in need of surgery died.

By the way, just in case you didn't know: the Church of Saint Porphyrius, the third oldest in history, bombed by Israel a few days back, was located near the hospital.

When looking for new shelter, they saw schools with signs hanging outside, "We can't take any more families." They met families, sympathetic but already sheltering too many people. They're now staying in an apartment building they found empty. Sleeping in the corner of the living room. If the family comes back, they'll apologize and leave.

Told me she was saving her phone battery for when the bombing stopped, and she had to ask for help to rebuilt the neighborhood. But she doesn't think it's gonna stop anymore. The ones still with her are mute most of the time, like they're saving energy, but she feels lonely and wanted to talk. There's no internet and to connect to WhatsApp, people are buying "a card from the supermarket, there's a password and username." Not sure what she meant. Still, the internet is inconsistent and won't load neither videos or images nor pages, so she doesn't know what's happening on the outside world.

Told her there were a lot of people protesting to stop the genocide, she replied, "The bombings are getting worse by the day." The bombing yesterday was the worst she ever witnessed. The entire neighborhood is infested with the smell of death, of decomposing bodies. Bodies are piling up in the streets and she's not sure if it's because they ran out of places to store them, but most of them are in bags. The smoke of the bombings hide the blue sky—she hasn't seen the clouds for a while.

Asked if I could share their pictures, names and dreams with people and was told, of which I partly agree, "they're not entertainment." If anyone genuinely cared, they would be alive—I'd argue there are people who do care, but I'm not gonna lecture her pain. And they don't deserve to be used to fulfill someone's sick fantasy. Told me to remember what some Israelis do with pictures of dead Palestinians. And I do.

For those of you who are not familiar, many times before settlers got together to celebrate the murder of Palestinians. For one, in 2015, Israeli settlers set a house in Duma, West Bank on fire. An 18-month old baby, Ali Dawbsheh, was burnt alive. Both parents later died of wounds and only a 5-year-old, Ahmad, survived, although severely injured.

Two celebrations of their murder are widely known, one at a wedding and others outside the court in which two were indicted for the terrorist attack. In the wedding, guests stabbed a photo of the toddler, Ali, while others waved guns, knives and Molotov cocktails. Israel's Minister of National Security, Itamar Ben-Gvir, was present.

That's what happens in an apartheid. Palestinians are so abused by authorities that their "innocent civilians" come to accept the brutality as necessary or are desensitized by our suffering. After all, it's been 75 years—get used to it!

So I won't risk the image of my loved ones, in fear they are used in these kinds of depravity. I will say, though, the world lost a young footballer. Lost a female writer and an aspiring ballerina. Lost a kind father, who was also a great cook, and a loving mother that enjoyed sewing and other types of handicraft art. Lost a math teacher and a child that wanted to become one.

People think Israel is testing new weapons on them. There's civilians arriving at the hospital with severe burns, which they thought was from white phosphorus, but apparently the pattern is different from the one caused by white phosphorus. It's widely believed Israel tests weapons in Palestinians.

Jeff Halper, author of War Against the People, a book on Israel's arms and surveillance technology industries, said: "Israel has kept the occupation because it's a laboratory for weapons."

They've ran out of drinkable water and the "aid" Biden sent was only for the South of Gaza and no fuel, for hospitals, was allowed in. Many shelves in the supermarket are empty. She said many are convinced that if they don't die from the bombing, they'll die from starvation or dehydration, or whatever disease will develop from the dirty water they're drinking.

Told me all people do now is pray, cry and die. Told me she hopes West Bank is spared. Told her Israel bombed a mosque in West Bank and dozens of Palestinians in West Bank are being murdered by settlers, so she bided me goodbye.

#palestine #free palestine #gaza #free gaza #may allah protect them #may almighty allah see our pain #hopefully she'll message me tomorrow

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sangunary · 27 days ago

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YANDERE BATFAM × NEGLECTED READER!

- Hush now crybaby.

\\Part 1// \\ Part 2// \\ Part 3 //

SYPNOSIS: After your death nothing felt the same.

Warning: Gore, death, violence, blood.

Everything happened in a flash, you couldn't even remembered what had hit you so hard to make your entire body run this high on adrenaline. You could feel your every pulse and the pounding on your head makes it hard to think properly.

When the clouds in your head finally clears you finally opened your eye's and looked down at your feet, your lifeless body laying on the ground.

Blood was profusely seeping out from the bash you received after the impact of the car... The car had hit you so hard that you flew and unfortunately your head landed on a fire hydrant.

The impact was so powerful that it left an open wound on your head... Everybody stopped to tape the situation not a single soul decided to even checked if you were still breathing.

You watched as the ambulance took your cold body. You watched as the medical staff's tried their best to wake you up. You watched as your own blood father hang up the call from just hearing your name, not even inquiring them further- He acted like your name was some curse.

You sit there by your body side, holding your own hands. Taking the little nursery book by the side table you began to read, you felt a little comfort but you can't complaint even a little was better than nothing.

The heart monitor began to beep indicating that you were no longer breathing. Staffs runs in trying to bring back your heart beat yet nothing worked you died that day.

You died because none of your guardians wanted to be involved with you... The hospital needed them to agree to a surgery yet since nobody or even if they picked up they just hang up without listening further.

You stood outside the morgue waiting patiently for your family to retrieve your body. You've been standing there for hour's, for someone who doesn't have a heart anymore it ache alot.

When your family finally arrived they were shocked, Damian was abit caught off guard, Bruce with the same face just more disappointed, Dick in tears, Tim was too sleepy to even react much... Jason was not present.

Barbara and Stephanie were crying holding your tiny cold hand's in theirs apologising, Duke was distraught and Cass you could tell she was uncomfortable.

Even during your funeral you stood beside your physical body, stroking your cheek and wishing yourself well. The funeral was small just the batfamily, your body was buried near the manor with high security.

Even your own mother didn't attend your funeral which made you frown which wasn't even your intention, your intention was to cry but not a single drop of tears could even fall.

Fortunately your mother did came but weeks after your funeral burst inside the manor and attack yout father. She was a mess, her mascara was ruined from the tears that won't stop flowing, her hair was extremely mess which was new. Your mother was a fashionable woman and seeing her this wild made you sad.

"You Piece Of Shit! OUR daughter died! How could you not inform me my babygirl is dead! I wanted to see her- To say goodbye!" Your mother yelled as she slap Bruce across his face. Bruce stays silent enduring the pain she was conflicting upon him.

"I left her with you so she could have something! How could You! She was so happy to have a father yet you let her chase your love and affection?! Even if you couldn't see her as your daughter why not call me??! I would have taken her with me!"

"...She was my world Bruce! My daughter... My baby... Now I can't even say goodbye. Im terrible, I should have been there..."

Your mother's grip on Bruce loosen as she fell onto the floor, sobbing into her hand's.

You slowly walk towards your mother, you wished you could have hug her in that moment for her to feel the warmth but you were cold.. Freezing, you don't think she would be comfortable.

Instead of hugging her you sit beside her holding her right hand, as you lean onto her...

"Im sorry mom, forgive me it's not father's fault... I was being emotional and being emotional makes me stupid...Maybe this is why nobody love's me"

Ever since that day Bruce became worst. You were haunting the manor watching as everybody tried to cope with your death.

You felt abit happy to be death, afterall you felt as your family finally noticed you. And all it took for them to love you was for you to die!

But it was tragic to watch your allready insane family become... This.

Dick was now sleeping on your bed every night, even when others tried to interfere he didn't budge. Holding onto the dress you wore that day and mumbling on and on about how he would take you to the park if you just come back.

Jason was also affected as much as it shocked, he was smoking more and barely even coming to the manor inorder to avoid anything that reminded of you.

Tim health was getting worst, he didn't even have the heart to look into any case at times and would just stare at blankly talking to himself and imagining that you were there.

Damian didn't show any weakness to anyone else he didn't show that he was greatly grieving. Nobody had a clue that he was trying to bring your soul inside your favourite doll. He would talk to himself which was alot tame than Tim but he was indeed speaking about how he will force your soul inside the doll just so everything could went back to normal.

Barbara was neglecting her job as Oracle. She doesn't have the energy to do anything, without your presence everything felt dead to her and if everything is dead what's the point of trying to salvage it.

Duke was taking it very well, talking about his feelings and making sure to clean your grave everyone Saturday, replacing the flower as much as he could... He was obsessed with your grave. At times he would sit there for hours just staring at it...

Stephanie wasn't as cheery as she was and even when she genuinely smiled it faid quickly... She kept getting nightmares of your body inside that morgue as a result she can't deal with crime including death in it. She gets reminded of you and when that happened she went into panick mode.

Cass on the other hand tried her best to move on unlike the others. But sometimes you would watch her as she entered your room and leaving quickly, it was as if she was trying to imagine you inside your room solely.

Bruce took it the worst, he would take his pent up guilt and anger out on any criminal, he even broke a couple bone of a guy who just rob a store with a knife. It was as if he was ignoring his own and the most important rule.

Silently blaming himself. He thought that Jason death would be the end of death in the family but that wasn't the case.

Alfred was heavily affected as well. He knew he was also in the wrong for favouring your other siblings while trying his best to avoid you during your time on Earth as a human. He would bake your favourite food and left it at your grave.

Alfred also had to stop the family from bringing your rotting corpse and dipping it into thr Lazarus pit. He knew you wouldn't like the idea of being brought back plus your body was too old to be able to be put together again.

Crime rate was raising because none of the family members were willing to talk about your death and keeping to themselves only. You could only watch as sigh as they tried to bring you back to life over and over.

The body inside the casket which was buried sixth feet underground was a simple decoy.

Your corpse have been rotting slowly inside a special room, where Bruce tried to bring you back somehow. You couldn't help but get teary just by looking at your corpse.

It was skinny and extremely pale... The stretch was horrible... Your body was clearly rotting away. It was not fun witnessing your organ being taken from your body just so your suddenly crazy/obessed father could bring you back.

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pin-k-ink · 3 months ago

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OFF THE RECORD ⋆✦⋆ gojo satoru

synopsis ➸ you know gojo too well to believe he’s here for a quick fuck. he’s here for a favor—one you have no intention of granting. too bad he’s never been good at taking no for an answer.

tags ➸ implied former student/teacher relationship, slight age gap, friends with benefits, possessive behavior, mild dom/sub themes, power play, manipulation, daddy kink, mild objectification, dirty talking, semi-public/public sex, mention of past sexual encounters, implied blackmail (it’s really not as bad as you think)

wc ➸ 10.9k

The steamy tendrils still clung to your skin as you stepped out of the shower, toweling off with a contented sigh. Mornings like this—quiet, peaceful routines before diving headfirst into the chaotic world of jujutsu—were increasingly rare these days. So you tried to savor each precious moment while it lasted.

With the towel secured around your body, you padded toward the bedroom to get dressed for yet another long day at headquarters. However, the second you stepped over the threshold, the hairs along your nape instantly prickled upright. A presence. An unmistakable shift in the air currents that could only mean—

"Well, good morning, gorgeous! Sleep well?"

You barely stifled the startled yelp as Gojo Satoru's cheerful baritone seemed to resonate from directly behind you. Whirling around, sure enough, there he was—all towering height, shredded muscle, and bright eyes glinting with clear amusement. How someone so powerful could also be so utterly shameless sometimes, you'd never know.

Doing your best to ignore the heat flooding your cheeks, you planted your hands on your hips in a stern facsimile of composure. "Satoru...what an unexpected surprise. Here I thought teachers were supposed to set good examples about respecting boundaries, not traipsing into former students' homes unannounced."

Rather than appear even remotely chagrined, Gojo simply chuckled and leaned back against your kitchen counter as if he owned the place. You watched in mild annoyance as his gaze slowly trailed up and down your towel-clad figure with undisguised appreciation.

"Hey now, no need for such icy formalities between us old friends," he chided, the barest hints of a smirk tugging at those infuriatingly full lips. "Besides, when have I ever cared about doing what's expected of me, hm? That's like...95% of my appeal, babe."

Rolling your eyes, you huffed out a resigned sigh and crossed the room to your closet, firmly squelching the instincts that urged you to yank the towel higher and more securely over your body. Gojo had seen—and thoroughly enjoyed—far more of you than this in the past. No sense getting flustered over his blazing regard now.

"Right, so does this impromptu visit have an actual purpose?" You shot him a pointed look over your shoulder as you fished out a crisp blouse and trousers to wear to HQ. "Or are you just being a pain as usual and raiding my fridge for a sugar fix again?"

You heard Gojo's low snort of amusement before his heavy footfalls sounded, clearly bringing him closer despite your protestations. "What can I say? Your kitchen is better stocked with sweets than most convenience stores. I can't help craving a little nibble now and then..."

The sultry undercurrent in his tone triggered a fresh blaze of heat along your nape. You could practically feel the smoldering weight of Gojo's stare boring into your ass as you bent to rifle through your bottom dresser drawer.

"But you're onto something with that other theory as well," he continued in a lower, more contemplative register. All traces of levity seemed to evaporate as his presence loomed larger behind you. "I did actually come to ask a favor of my very favorite former pupil. An important one that I wouldn't bother you about if the stakes weren't so high."

Curiosity and trepidation warred within your chest at the unexpected gravity clouding Gojo's usually buoyant candor. You instinctively straightened, clutching your clothes to your chest as you slowly turned to face him once more.

And just like that, the heated tension seemed to ratchet up several palpable notches as your eyes met and held in the claustrophobic space. Gojo's sculptured features had taken on a severe, intense edge—all sharp angles and tightly leashed power that instantly siphoned the breath from your lungs.

Suddenly, his earlier "playful" flirting and teasing manner seemed less like an act and more like a fragile facade barely containing his true tempestuous nature. You swallowed hard against the liquid lick of thrilling trepidation skating down your spine as Gojo maintained that weighty, piercing stare for several moments longer.

"...Is everything okay?" You finally managed in a hushed murmur, scarcely recognizing your own voice under the abrupt spell of Gojo's domineering energy. "What could possibly have you riled up enough to ditch the flippant act?"

Rather than immediately answering, Gojo closed the remaining distance between you with two long, purposeful strides. You had to crane your head back slightly to maintain eye contact as his powerful silhouette utterly consumed your space—the scalding brand of his body heat and crisp, masculine scent enveloping you from all sides.

"Believe me, kitten...if I came here for anything even remotely fun or pleasure-oriented, you wouldn't need to ask," he rumbled at last, voice pitched low enough to instill a full-body shiver along your nerves.

One of Gojo's large hands came up, and you froze as the rough pads of his knuckles grazed a feather-light caress along the line of your jaw. His thumb swiped over the seam of your lower lip in an utterly artless, possessive sweep—smoldering gaze following the motion with incendiary focus.

"I'd already have that smart mouth wrapped around my cock doing something far more useful than talking..."

Despite the crudity of his words, you couldn't quite stifle the punched-out whimper that slipped free at the graphic implication. Gojo's pupils blew fractionally wider in answer, tongue darting out to lave his lower lip as if tasting the charged undercurrents now rippling between you.

"Lucky for you, this is actually about business," he continued in that same resonant timbre that seemed to spark straight between your thighs each time his rich cadence washed over you. "The kind of serious business that even a lazy pervert like me can't afford...distractions for at the moment, got it?"

You managed a jerky nod, too disoriented by the heady spiral of desire cloying at your senses to do much else. Gojo's expression seemed to tighten further—a muscle feathering in his chiseled jaw as if steeling himself for whatever came next as he stepped back a bit.

"Itadori Yuji is scheduled for execution..." The blunt statement punched out like a missile deployment, brutally shredding the increasingly rapacious atmosphere between you. "And one way or another, I need that sentence postponed before it's too late."

You immediately shook your head, mouth set in a grim line. "Postponing Itadori Yuji's execution? That's not going to happen, Satoru."

His brows pinched slightly at your blunt refusal. "This is serious, kitten. That kid is instrumental to—"

"Don't you think I know how serious this is?" you cut him off, firming your voice into an authoritative tone. "I work directly under the higher-ups, remember? I'm well aware of the situation with Sukuna’s vessel and the potential ramifications of his continued existence."

Squaring your shoulders, you leveled Gojo with an unwavering stare. "My answer is final. Bringing this to the elders would be pointless at best, and could potentially jeopardize my position if they see it as insubordination. I'm not sacrificing everything I've worked for just because you showed up and gave me those stupid puppy dog eyes."

Rather than back down, Gojo simply regarded you with a contemplative tilt of his head—bright gaze assessing as if turning over your words from every possible angle. You could practically see the gears turning behind those piercing blue irises as he recalibrated his approach.

"Okay, let's table the business side of things for now," he said at last, tone losing some of its previous urgency. Straightening his body, Gojo prowled a step closer—effectively reclaiming the charged atmosphere from earlier. "Maybe you just need some...persuading to see reason."

You refused to be baited so easily, keeping your expression coolly neutral even as his scalding presence flooded your personal space once more. "I'm not some hormonal teenager letting her heart sway business decisions anymore, Satoru. Those games won't work."

Gojo hummed softly in response, head cocking as his lips curved into a slow, molten smirk. "We'll see about that..."

Without warning, his hands clamped down on your hips, thumbs digging in with delicious friction as he hauled you flush against the solid wall of his torso. You couldn't withhold the tiny gasp that punched free at the sudden, searing contact—every ridge and cording muscle of Gojo's powerful physique branding itself against your towel-clad frame.

"Does this position feel...familiar to you at all, gorgeous?" he murmured in a honeyed rasp right against the whorl of your ear. His nose trailed a path along your jaw as he dipped to mouth steamy, lingering kisses down the fragrant column of your throat. "Maybe sparks a few memories of the last time you found yourself pinned underneath me...crying out for more the whole night through?"

A shudder rippled down your spine at the crude allusion to your long-ago graduation celebration with Gojo. You remembered that encounter vividly—every slick rasp of skin against skin, the sweltering tangle of limbs, the exquisite ache of being split open on his thick cock over and over until the entire room reeked of your joined passion.

Gojo merely chuckled at your flustered squirming, nosing aside the collar of your towel to lave a heated path along your collarbone. "Mmm...that's right. There were points that night where I had my cock buried so fuckin' deep in this perfect pussy of yours that you could taste it on the back of your tongue with every breath."

You bit back a shuddering whimper at the crude imagery, willpower rapidly crumbling beneath his carnal onslaught. Despite your best efforts, the memories he so skillfully stoked were stoking liquid tendrils of arousal thrumming to life between your thighs. Gojo's grin stretched wider as you unconsciously arched into his scorching frame.

"Always did love ruining you on my dick that first time," he rumbled with blatant gratification against your heated skin. "Watching those gorgeous eyes glaze over while I split you open again and again until you passed out..."

Abruptly, Gojo detached his mouth from the thundering pulse at your jugular with one final lingering sweep of his sinful tongue. Smirking down at your glazed, panting expression, he tucked an errant lock of hair behind your ear.

"But hey...while fun memories are nice, I'd rather make some new ones together after work," he said, suddenly all casual nonchalance once more as he meandered towards the door. "I'll pick you up from HQ when your shift is over and we can...discuss this Itadori thing some more in private. That sound good to you, babe?"

You blinked rapidly, trying to reassemble your scattered thoughts as the searing proximity of Gojo's presence withdrew—leaving you bereft and utterly unbalanced by the shift.

"Don't worry your pretty head over giving me an answer," Gojo called over his shoulder as he palmed the doorknob. "I already know you'll say yes when I remind you again how much that tight little pussy loves being split open on my—"

The door snapped shut with a hollow thud, cutting off the rest of his filthy promise. Though the last rakish wink he slanted your way before departing was more than enough to sear the implication deep into your psyche.

Sinking heavily back against the wall, you fought to regain your equilibrium—limbs quaking and breath escaping in ragged pants that did nothing to dissuade the rising tide of feverish arousal still gripping your core. Gojo had utterly unraveled you into a breathless, squirming mess from just a few suggestive caresses and searing endearments.

And despite your best efforts, you got the gnawing suspicion he'd made up his mind to thoroughly capitalize on—and ruthlessly extend—that molten state when you inevitably saw him again tonight.

The long hours crept by at an agonizing pace as you tried to focus on your duties at headquarters. But the memory of Gojo's heated presence that morning, his crude allusions to your long-ago passionate tryst, made it utterly impossible to concentrate.

You vividly recalled the way his powerful frame had caged you against the wall, face nuzzling along your flushed throat as that rich, smoky timbre painted filthy promises about thoroughly splitting you open again soon. Just the phantom whisper of Gojo's searing lips tracing your thundering pulse was enough to catalyze wild tremors of molten arousal deep in your core.

Each time you shifted in your seat or bent over the piles of paperwork, you could've sworn a delirious ache throbbed between your thighs—muscles fluttering with unbearable emptiness. Like they instinctively yearned to be stretched taut around the thick, punishing girth of Gojo's cock once more, just like that rapturous night of your graduation celebration.

The explicit images and flashes of sensation made concentrating an exercise in futility. Only your rigid adherence to professionalism and composure prevented you from squirming like an utter harlot right there in front of your subordinates.

By the time the evening hours finally rolled around, you felt strung as taut as a high wire—electrified nerves screaming for any sort of reprieve from Gojo's lingering psychic imprint. So you hastily packed your bags and paperwork, determined to slip out before he had a chance to accost you again.

However, the second you passed through the main entrance gates, a powerful hand shot out to clamp around your bicep in an authoritative grip. You barely contained the strangled gasp as Gojo's sheer masculine presence enveloped you, dragging you into the shadowed seclusion of a nearby alcove.

The cool stone bit into your back as he firmly levered your wrists overhead, utterly pinning you in place with his hulking silhouette. Gojo's piercing blue eyes glinted in the dim light, scorching a path down your disheveled figure with undisguised intent.

"Leaving so soon?" The deep, resonant timbre of his voice washed over you in smoky tendrils, already catalyzing a fresh blaze of arousal in your veins. "And here I was looking forward to picking up where we left off earlier..."

To emphasize his point, Gojo surged forward until every inch of his powerful frame molded against yours in a delicious, searing brand. You whimpered softly as his weight pinned you fully, feeling the unmistakable rigid line of his erection notching against your lower belly.

Gojo ducked his head with a low rumble of approval, searing lips and tongue mapping a scorching path along the fragrant hollow of your throat. You instinctively tilted your head aside to grant him better access, shuddering helplessly as he indulged in long, openmouthed draughts of your scent and flushed skin.

"F-Fuck...Satoru, not here!" The words emerged in a reedy, breathless whine against your better judgment as his wicked mouth found that sensitive bundle of nerves just below your ear. You writhed beneath the slow torment with increasing desperation. "Anyone could catch us...this is crazy!"

Rather than immediately address your token protests, Gojo merely chuckled—the warm puffs of his amusement ghosting deliciously along your tingling nerves as he mouthed a stinging graze against your racing pulse. One of his large, calloused palms slid down to engulf your hip in a possessive squeeze, already kneading and grinding you in a slow simmer of friction.

"You say that like you've never been desperate enough to beg me to fuck you right here in these hallways before..." The low, sensually-charged growl shivered your bones down to the marrow. Gojo finally pulled back enough to cage your dazed features fully within his piercing stare—lips curved in a lascivious smirk of fond reminiscence. "Multiple times, if I'm recalling correctly."

Heat flared through your cheeks as the graphic imagery took shape against your fraying resistance—lurid memories of breathless encounters where the thrill of potentially being caught by patrolling sentries only fueled the delirious flames higher. You swallowed hard against the thickness now cloying your throat, squirming in feeble denial.

Gojo's smirk deepened into something utterly sinful as he drank in your expression with clear relish. "Do you need me to refresh your memory about the last time you had me backed into a supply closet?" he rasped, leaning in until the blistering brand of his body seared you from chest to hip once more. "How hard you came when I finally pulled those thighs apart and licked straight through your soaked—"

"Enough!" you gasped out before he could fully unleash the damning words. You renewed your efforts at wriggling free in earnest, well aware your weakening restraint wouldn't last against Gojo's relentless carnal onslaught. "I-I...maybe we should actually go somewhere more appropriate first. Dinner, maybe?"

Despite your sudden meek suggestion, you couldn't quite mask the desperation laced through the plaintive request. Gojo's eyes seemed to glitter brighter at the shift in your demeanor, clearly scenting weakness in the offing as he allowed his grip to relax somewhat.

"Dinner first, huh?" He pursed those full lips into an exaggerated pout of contemplation before relenting with a dramatic sigh. "Well, I suppose that's only fair since I'm the one working up an appetite here..."

With one last blistering look that robbed you of breath entirely, Gojo stepped back and pivoted on his heel to swagger away down the narrow thoroughfare like a man supremely assured of victory. You could only sag back against the alcove wall, chest heaving with exertion as the towering remnants of arousal slowly ebbed.

However, there remained little doubt in your overwrought psyche that this temporary reprieve from your joining was little more than the universe's taunting cruelty. You'd awoken Gojo's darkest, most lascivious appetites earlier that morning.

And if the way he slanted one final look over his powerful shoulder—bright irises already blown wide and jaw clenching subtly around what had to be punishing levels of restraint—then the true feasting was only just about to begin in earnest. With your achingly empty body as the main course.

The opulent restaurant oozed sophistication from every polished surface and perfectly-starched linen. The sommelier's formal bow and crisp recitation of the evening's premier wine offerings seemed utterly wasted on the two of you.

You eyed Gojo over the rim of your glass, the dry Cabernet doing little to dull the lingering tension still thrumming between your joined frames. As always, he looked utterly nonplussed about the lavish indulgences surrounding you—crisp white dress shirt straining across his muscular torso and sharp jawline rasped by the beginnings of late evening stubble. Like a predator eternally at ease, regardless of situation.

Gojo's piercing gaze roamed over you with the same slow, assessing intensity one might reserve for an exquisite delicacy awaiting consumption. You tried not to squirm under that molten scrutiny, clearing your throat pointedly.

"I'm assuming there was some purpose behind corralling me into this place," you remarked in your best professional tone. "Beyond getting me liquored up for some inappropriate table exhibition, that is."

Rather than rebuff your dig, Gojo simply angled his head in a catlike tilt—lips curling into a devilish smirk that telegraphed his carnal interest crystal clear. Leaning further back in his chair, he allowed one broad palm to splay suggestively over the crisp linen covering his lap, fingertips drumming out an idle staccato.

"Well now, I certainly wouldn't say no to having those gorgeous lips wrapped around something else for a change." His deep timbre emerged laced with sin and smoky insinuation. "You always did look like an utter vision stuffed under these fancy tabletops sucking me off..."

Heat blossomed across your cheeks despite your best efforts at composure. You knocked back another bracing swallow of wine, struggling not to dwell on the searing flashes his words evoked—memories of delirious encounters where Gojo had hauled you under secluded tables to properly appreciate your skills with relentless, undisguised gratification.

Swallowing thickly, you gripped your fork with slightly more force than necessary."I'd ask if you're always this disgracefully crass and lascivious in public these days...but then I remembered who I'm talking to," you said dryly. "So in the interest of not causing a scene, why don't we get to the point of this little ambush?"

One brow arched infinitesimally as Gojo cocked his head further, clearly drinking in your prim and vaguely irritated state with evident relish. "You seem awfully anxious to rush right to business," he murmured, fingertips continuing their idle rhythm against the tablecloth. "Where's that simmering self-restraint and haughty composure I remember enjoying unraveling piece...by...delicious...piece so thoroughly back in the day?"

You opened your mouth to fire back a scathing retort, only for Gojo to cut you off with a low, lush rumble. "Unless you've simply decided being insatiably thirsty for this cock is more your speed these days..."

With that quiet taunt, his free hand disappeared beneath the pristine linen swathe in a heavy, meaningful descent. You swallowed convulsively as his fingertips slid along the unmistakable ridge of his thick cock straining against the unforgiving fabric of his slacks. Every knuckle undulated in a deliberate, stroking glide that tightened your throat like a vise around trapped breaths and unspoken pleas.

"Can practically already taste how soaked you're getting beneath those prim layers just from the thought alone..." Gojo continued in a molten rasp heavy with undisguised gratification. "Imagining that filthy little mouth stretched wide around my girth again, glazing yourself in my cum right here in front of god and all these polite company..."

A tiny, reedy sound slipped unbidden from your constricted chest despite your best efforts at locking it down. Gojo's lascivious smirk turned rapacious as he correctly scented the spike of liquid want now cloying the humid space between you.

"So what do you say, gorgeous?" He pitched his timbre slightly lower, allowing each gravelled syllable to curl around your senses with lashes of pure elemental sin. "Going to be a good little famished cocksleeve and give me a hand under the table before we get down to—"

You cut across his brazen soliloquy with a forceful rap of your fork against the tabletop. Pulling yourself together, you fixed Gojo with a severe glower that finally seemed to give him pause.

"If you can't conduct yourself with any semblance of decorum befitting your station, then I'm through entertaining these adolescent displays," you bit out in a hushed tone edged with adamant warning. "I'm not some wide-eyed underling fresh off the training fields anymore, Satoru. I have higher standing and responsibility than you seem to grasp."

Silence stretched between you for a weighted beat—Gojo's heated gaze flickering over you with renewed focus you couldn't quite decipher. When he finally spoke again, there was a note of uncharacteristic control underpinning his typically buoyant candor. Clearly, he'd grasped the need to change tactics once more.

"You're absolutely right," he said after a prolonged pause. "Part of me forgets just how much you've grown and ascended the ranks over the years." One side of his mouth curved higher in a lopsided ghost of his usual smirk. "Clearly earned the elders' respect and esteem far beyond that of a simple 'secretary' as I put it earlier."

Before you could retort, Gojo pressed onwards—hand sliding almost absently back into view to wrap around the stem of his wine flute. "Which is exactly why your assistance is pivotal to turning the tide regarding Yuji's current...perilous circumstances."

There was a grim finality in his words that snapped you back to the seriousness of the moment like a sobering slap to the face. You shifted fractionally taller in your seat, expression hardening as Gojo continued in low, adamant tones.

"Whether you're fully aware or care to admit it right now, that kid is destined to be pivotal for the upcoming events on the horizon," he rumbled with quiet conviction. "Leaving him to get executed off the books tomorrow morning would be tantamount to losing our most powerful asset before the real battles even begin."

Swirling his wine idly, Gojo paused to take an unhurried pull directly from the bottle before continuing. "Which is why I'm going to need to call in more than a few favors getting his sentence postponed tonight. Starting with you, of course..."

There was a new current of steely focus glinting in his gaze as it bored into you with ruthless intensity. For several protracted beats, you simply held each other's stares—gauging the lengths and motivations rumbling beneath the surface beyond petty physical exploits.

Finally, you pursed your lips and shook your head in a solemn negation. "I'm sorry, but I can't overstep protocol and abuse my influence with the elders like that," you stated, quietly adamant. "Not even for you, Satoru. The ramifications could unravel everything I've worked decades to attain if word got out I went rogue."

Rather than exploding in his usual flashes of arrogance or wounded pride, Gojo merely raked you with a glower of narrowed, simmering intent. His next words emerged more pointed and resonating than any innuendo or filthy endearment preceding it.

"Are you sure about that stance?" he intoned darkly. "Because if memory serves, there are a few distinct...indiscretions we've engaged in that could certainly be construed as 'unraveling' by the elders' view, wouldn't you agree?"

The waiter's polished footsteps faded as he departed to fetch their entrees, leaving you and Gojo in a weighted silence. You could practically taste the undercurrent of tension simmering in the air between you both.

Sipping his wine slowly, Gojo dragged his incandescent stare over your features with undisguised intensity. "I'm serious about this," he stated in a low, firm rumble that brooked no further evasion. "We're talking everything from inappropriate use of jujutsu techniques to conduct we both know crosses so many lines..."

He trailed off meaningfully, leaving the implications to hang heavy as his tongue slicked over his lower lip. You swallowed hard against the rising heat prickling across your cheeks and neck.

"Like that night in the east gardens behind the training halls," Gojo continued, voice dropping into a deeper, more intimate register that curled straight between your thighs. "Where I pinned you down in the grass and ate you out until you came all over my face. And then I fucked you so hard, you nearly passed out before we got caught."

Despite yourself, a tremulous shiver raked through your nerves as the visceral flashes assaulted your mind's eye—the frantic rasp of his calloused palms roaming and kneading, the slick motions of his tongue probing and savoring parts of you meant for far more intimate settings.

Gojo noticed your reaction with a dark chuckle, clearly satisfied he'd reeled you back in completely. "Or what about the time you wrapped those pretty lips around my cock in the maintenance closet and let me rail your throat until you choked on my load? How many rules was just that one encounter bending, hm?"

The directness of his words scorched through you with dizzying potency, making you flush and squirm. You parted your lips on a shaky exhale, determined to regain some semblance of control.

But Gojo smirked knowingly and pressed his verbal advantage in a low, filthy rumble. "Face it, I've got enough material on you ruining me with that greedy little mouth and pussy all over campus to get you defrocked hard." His hooded azure gaze practically seared into your core. "And yet you really wanna risk me airing all those dirty details to the elders? Leaving Itadori's fate to chance like that?"

Your mouth felt suddenly dry as you wrestled with the undeniable truth behind his taunting words. For several fraught beats, the frustration and righteous indignation warred with your embedded sense of duty to the cause. Finally, you released a shuddery breath and lifted your chin.

"I'll...see what I can do about swaying things in your favor," you muttered in a low, slightly strained tone. "No promises, but I'll try discussing options with the higher-ups."

Rather than seem appeased, Gojo's expression only hardened further—carved features settling into a granite mask of tenacious stubbornness and smoldering impatience. "'Not good enough, kitten," he rumbled, forearms tensing atop the table. "This mission is too fucking important for halfhearted measures. I need you to outright insist on a stay of execution being granted, got it? No more stammering 'I'll try' bullshit that lets them sidestep."

His unyielding stare pinned you with the intensity of a physical force, raising your hackles slightly despite your attempt at diplomacy. Still, looking into those blazing blue embers, you got the distinct impression that you'd sooner achieve moving a mountain with vocal commands than sway Gojo on this matter. That steely resolve would accept nothing less than complete victory in postponing Itadori's fate.

Just as you began resigning yourself to digging in for another round of heated back-and-forth across the fancy tablecloth, the arrival of the main courses mercifully broke the combative spell between you. Gojo seemed to settle back imperceptibly as the waiter swept in—that scorching intensity banking down to a more companionable smolder for the time being.

Still, you recognized the temporary reprieve for what it was as you tucked into your meal with far less gusto than anticipated. Despite his best efforts to gloss over the previous tension with idle banter and lighter conversational tones, it remained silently understood that the evening's main purpose still hung unresolved and delicate between you until matters were final.

So it was with an undercurrent of somber expectation that you finally settled the check and rose to follow Gojo from the opulent dining hall at evening's end. A subtle snap of his fingers triggered a curiously disorienting sensation of compression and vertigo—only to release you blinking in surprise mere heartbeats later, finding yourself suddenly standing in the familiar living quarters you called home.

"I'd say you're handling that little trick with far more aplomb these days," Gojo remarked with a lopsided grin, clearly drinking in your adjustment to his impromptu teleportation with amusement. "Remember when I first started zipping you around like that? Pretty sure you heaved your guts all over those ugly penny loafers you used to wear back in the day."

Huffing out a noise of semi-fond exasperation, you aimed a swat at his sculpted arm without malice. "Yes, well I suppose youth and naivety breed certain...overzealous behaviors, don't they?" you retorted before immediately sobering once more. "Like making reckless judgment calls that imperil an entire system..."

Gojo's expression remained impassive, giving no outward indication whether your choice of words struck any particular chord with him. However, you caught the faintest glimmer flickering behind those incandescent blue irises - the barest hint that perhaps you'd underestimated just how much gravitas your dissenting opinion potentially held with the higher-ups.

After all, you were Gojo Satoru's first and most distinguished pupil back when he initially ascended to teaching status, weren't you? Not only that, but your judicious control and prime mastery of your innate techniques embodied many of the fundamental philosophies and fighting styles the old guard so staunchly valued. On numerous occasions, your skills had been cited as quintessential examples to uphold for future generations...

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard as the weighty truth of your potential sway with leadership gradually bobbed to the surface of your consciousness like drift debris after a storm. This entire evening, Gojo might have simply been maneuvering to forcibly realign your perspective on leveraging the hidden influence you apparently wielded without ever fully grasping it.

To truly comprehend the magnitude of the gambit he intended to play using your standing as the key gambit.

Before you could properly parse that sobering epiphany, however, Gojo had already closed what little distance remained between your frames with purposeful strides. The blistering heat of his body all but blanketed yours as he leaned in with that familiar aura of prowling, casual intensity that always made your breath stall.

"So..." he murmured, voice pitching into a lower register that seemed to slither straight down your spine. "Does that mean you're gonna be a good girl and invite me inside so we can continue this intriguing conversation in more...comfortable accommodations?"

Gojo punctuated the brazen implication by cocking one arm against the doorframe, effectively caging you between the cool wood and the searing, masculine planes of his torso and hips. You were abruptly overwhelmed by the reality of his proximity - each subtly shifting ripple of sinew and musculature utterly inescapable from this range.

That distinctly virile, elemental musk that always set your senses clamoring was back in full force as well. You swallowed hard, nostrils flaring fractionally as the delirious essence of Gojo's body heat and clean, faintly spiced perspiration flooded your olfactory receptors. Despite your most ardent efforts, you felt your lids grow heavy and mouth part unconsciously as liquid frissons of pure, burgeoning temptation licked through your veins.

Just like that, with a few deftly aimed strokes, Gojo had reeled you back to the precipice of helpless surrender once more. Still, you summoned the dregs of your stern resolve and planted your palms squarely against his chest, levering back an inch to preserve some semblance of boundaries.

"Subtle as ever, I see," you managed in a tone you hoped came across more dryly exasperated than outright breathless. "I should've guessed the moment we arrived you'd be angling to make yourself at home uninvited."

One brow arched higher, though you didn't miss the slight crinkling at the corners of Gojo's stupidly pretty eyes betraying his hushed amusement. "Oof, someone has their defenses wound just a tad tightly if they think I require permission these days," he shot back with a wry rumble.

Before you could summon a retort, that leonine physique surged forward in a slow, sensual undulation—once again pinning you fully against the unyielding wooden slab with the scorching brand of his larger frame. Gojo's free hand drifted down to palm the generous curve of your hip with sinful insistence, hips canting forward until there could be no mistaking the ridge of his erection notching against your lower belly.

"Better question might be..." His voice dropped several delirious octaves into those sandpaper-rough timbres that seemed to sizzle straight through your nerve endings. "Why even bother pretending at token protests when we both know how this little dance is gonna end...?"

Those incandescent azure irises flickered down to where his fingertips were already stroking teasing swirls against the exposed strip of skin between your top and waistband, silently daring you to rebuff such an implicit capitulation.

"So why delay the inevitable any longer, gorgeous?" Gojo rumbled against your lips, voice dropping into that gravelly timbre designed to liquefy your restraint. "Let's get down to stripping off all these formalities once and for—"

"You haven't even kissed me yet today," you blurted out, cutting across his heated soliloquy.

Gojo's pale brows pinched infinitesimally as the words seemed to momentarily stall his single-minded determination. You could practically see the gears turning behind those hooded azure irises as he processed your statement—likely running back through every provocative encounter and instance of attempted seduction throughout the evening.

When his piercing stare finally snapped back to yours, there was the faintest glimmer of sheepish realization burning there. "...Huh. You're right," he remarked in a slightly lower, more subdued tone. "Here I've been working overtime to rile you up, and I haven't even had the balls to properly lay one on you yet."

You tried not to visibly preen under the gratifying acknowledgment, but couldn't quite suppress the tiny quirk tugging at the corners of your mouth. Sensing a rare window of opportunity, you shifted your weight more fully against the solid contours of Gojo's frame, allowing your fingers to trail upwards in delicate spirals.

"Well?" You arched one brow in playful challenge, throat bobbing on a swallow as your digits mapped higher along the tendons of his powerful neck. "Are you going to actually follow through, or am I going to have to take the initiative here?"

For one heated beat, Gojo simply held your pointed stare in taut suspension—the atmosphere between you both seeming to atomize down into charged ionization particles awaiting the slightest catalyst to detonate. Then, his lips curved higher in a lopsided smirk you'd come to recognize as pure, unrepentant recklessness sublimating into physical form.

"You're going to have to come and get it, gorgeous," he rumbled, the raspy undercurrents sending delicious frissons shivering along your nerves. "Show me just how badly you've been starving for a real taste all evening."

His dexterous fingers slid up to cup the line of your jaw, thumb sweeping suggestively across your lower lip in a searing caress. You struggled not to whimper at the electrifying friction as Gojo leaned further into your personal space.

However, rather than ducking his head the final few scant inches to seal his mouth hungrily over yours, the insufferable tease merely arched backward—body undulating in a slow, sinuous retreat until he towered over you at his full impressive stature. The tip of his tongue darted out to lave his lower lip in clear relish, eyes glinting with wicked invitation as he silently dared you to make good on rising to his heated gauntlet.

A thrill of excitement and determination lanced through your chest as you instantly grasped the game afoot. With purposeful, unhurried movements, you allowed your palms to splay across the granite warmth of his abdomen before slowly, teasingly tracking higher in a worshiping glide. Every rippling corde and sinewy groove of his musculature became briefly profiled as you glided your touch upwards - mapping the scorching acreage in ardent appreciation.

Gojo watched your journey with blown pupils and ragged breaths, torso visibly expanding with each shuddering inhalation he dragged against his impressive restraint. You didn't miss the flex and bunching of his arms and shoulders as you passed over his pectorals, clearly fighting not to haul you bodily against him right then and simply crush your pliant frames back into mutual rapture.

But still, he remained steadfast and motionless—a living marble statue gloriously chiseled from pure virile perfection, awaiting your reverent indulgences with a banked smolder burning behind his hooded stare.

Finally, your fingertips dusted across the sharp angles of his jaw and cheekbones, body arching and straining upwards in your single-minded pursuit of that elusive, smug mouth you craved with mounting desperation. Try as you might to extend yourself onto the balls of your feet and go fully up on tiptoes, Gojo maintained a scant whisper of distance—always hovering just out of your reach with an expression of blatant masculine gratification at your squirming efforts.

A huff of breathy frustration nearly slipped free at the persistent denial, only to be silenced by the way Gojo instinctively dipped lower as if to grant your wish...only to arc back with a low, filthy chuckle that reverberated against your now-thundering pulse. It was as much a sensual dance of control and restraint as a taunt or test of wills at this juncture—simply savoring the delirious friction generated as your pliant, questing form sought to twine and pull him down into decadent oblivion, inch by maddening inch.

"Easy there, kitten..." he rasped in a low, smoky cadence designed to further short-circuit your resolve. "Why don't you try dropping to those pretty knees for me? Might give you better leverage and angles to play with in reaching those tempting lips that have been tormenting that insatiable appetite of yours..."

You answered with a full-body shudder and a needy keen spilling free from your very marrow—all thoughts of recalcitrance and willpower now thoroughly banished beneath the inescapable gravity well of Gojo's hypnotic presence and unholy temptations.

You whined out loud, an unguarded noise of pure pleading desire that seemed to momentarily crack through your usually reserved demeanor. "Satoru...please, wanna kiss you so badly."

The raw, plaintive tone of your entreaty hung in the air between you, heavy with naked yearning in a way that gave even Gojo pause. His brilliant eyes seemed to smolder brighter for an instant, no doubt dredging up fond recollections of past occasions where he'd so thoroughly unraveled your ironclad poise and reduced you to this state.

Rather than pounce on your vulnerability or tease further, however, Gojo's expression softened ever so slightly. One broad palm cradled the back of your skull as he ducked in closer, guiding your trembling frame until your brows nearly brushed.

"Since you asked so nicely..." he murmured, deep timbre emerging somewhere between a graveled purr and heated rumble.

You barely managed a shuddering inhalation before Gojo sealed his mouth over yours in a searing brand of possession. The initial clash of lips and tongue was something closer to an elemental force than a mere intimate exchange—not at all gentle, but rife with pent-up longing and ravenous need finally given free rein.

Your fingers instinctively knotted in the soft fabric of his shirt as Gojo laid an utterly thorough claim upon your senses. He swallowed each desperate little noise and whimper that punched free as if savoring the most delectable of delicacies. One thick forearm banded around your lower back to anchor you fully against his solid frame as he deepened the devouring cadence with relentless intensity.

A husky growl of clear approval and gratification rumbled against your slick, swollen mouth as Gojo momentarily allowed a scant parting for air. "Fuck...I'd almost forgotten how greedy and eager this talented little tongue can get," he grated with clear relish.

You could only pant and squirm fitfully in answer, thoughts scattered like dandelion seeds on a breeze. Gojo simply chuckled richly—the timbre vibrating straight through your very cells in a way that somehow untethered your feet from the ground entirely.

The next thing you clearly registered were his powerful arms banding beneath the backs of your thighs to haul you securely against his body in one smooth, easy motion. Your startled yelp melted into a tremulous sigh as the bunching plains of his torso and abdomen braced your arched spine in a sublime full-body embrace.

"Don't go passing out on me before the real fun starts," Gojo husked against the thundering pulse at your nape, even as his long strides carried you across the threshold of your apartment. "I've got plans for putting that gifted mouth to far better uses than just kissing..."

With your legs now locked around his narrow hips, you could feel every delicious ridge and twitch of his growing erection grinding against your dampening heat through the flimsy barriers separating you. A piteous whine slipped free as the swaying rhythm of his determined gait threatened to unravel you down to your very foundation.

"That's it, let me hear just how desperate I've got you aching to taste me properly again," Gojo growled against the whorl of your ear, each guttural rasp sparking fresh convulsions of need between your thighs. "Been waiting all fucking day to unwrap this gorgeous little prize and savor you inch...by...inch."

Gojo punctuated the lascivious promise by swiveling to carefully lay you out amidst the rumpled linens and cushions—each flickering shadow casting his chiseled features into harsh relief. No more levity or evasion glossed his expression, only the stark severity and zero-compromises focus of a predator fully engaged.

Rather than pounce on you immediately, however, Gojo seemed to pause and simply drink in the sight of your breathless, disheveled state with smoldering intent. His bright eyes roamed over every inch of your upturned features and the generous curves left tantalizingly displayed by your askew clothing.

"Goddamn..." he rumbled in a deep timbre thick with undisguised yearning. "Look at you splayed out for me, practically begging to get worked over already."

You swallowed hard, unable to tear your gaze away from the pure masculine intensity blazing in his stare. There was an undercurrent of restrained hunger there that made your pulse thunder—heady and distinctly feral even as Gojo slowly prowled over your prone body.

Rather than immediately claim you in a reckless flurry of lust, his calloused palms mapped your sides in a languid, purposeful glide all the way up to your rib cage. You arched instinctively into his maddening caresses, whimpering softly in anticipation.

"Easy there, baby..." Gojo murmured in a low rasp against the whorl of your ear. His nose trailed along the thrumming tendons of your neck, clearly savoring the scent of your desire. "You act like it's been months since this pretty pussy has been spread out and stuffed full. And after all the time I spent working you into this gorgeous, wrecked state..."

You squirmed fitfully beneath his unyielding weight, needy whines spilling past your parted lips as Gojo continued leisurely nuzzling and nipping along your jawline and throat. Despite the unhurried leisure of his attentions, you were rapidly spiraling into molten delirium between his hoarse endearments and the tantalizing friction where your bodies met.

"What, so impatient you can't even let me take a second to savor this?" Gojo husked out in a gravel-rough rasp that made you shiver. "I had to spend all damn day thinking about bending you over the second we were alone...so you'll excuse me if I take things slow now that I've got you all wound up and drenched for it."

Emphasizing his point, Gojo slotted one thick, muscular thigh between your parted legs, rocking forward in a slow grind that dragged the solid length of his cock against your molten entrance through the thin barrier separating you. You cried out sharply at the delicious friction, back bowing as frantic nails scoured tracks down his flexing shoulder blades in desperation.

"Yeah...that's it, squirm and moan for me like a good girl," Gojo growled in clear approval, tongue laving a wet path along the fragrant hollow of your throat. "Keep making those filthy sounds and just MAYBE I'll finally give you what you've been gagging for all night."

You could only whimper raggedly in compliance as his mouth moved lower, searing a path from collarbone to the generous swell of your breasts. His large hands cradled and kneaded the soft flesh with relish before tugging the stretchy fabric aside to bare one nipple to the calloused heat of his lips and tongue.

"That's right...let Daddy get his fill and reacquaint himself with every lush goddamn inch," Gojo growled around the rosy peak, sending lightning bolts of sensation zinging straight to your molten core. "Been thinking about sucking and biting these perfect tits all over again ever since you walked into that restaurant looking like a goddamn meal..."

Despite his crude admission, there was an undercurrent of clear reverence and tender devotion laced through his ragged cadences now. Gojo laved and nuzzled at your breasts with all the ardent indulgence of a penitent savoring their last meal before execution. His hooded azure gaze seemed to blaze brighter with each piteous keen and arch you offered up in answer to his lavishing.

Just as you felt yourself ascending the spiraling crescendo toward mindless bliss under his skilled attentions, Gojo abruptly detached from your saturated nipple with a low noise of harsh restraint. You whined plaintively, eyes glassy as your hands reflexively fisted in the front of his shirt—silently pleading for him to resume lapping away at the fiery deprivation swiftly devouring you inside out.

"Easy, baby..." he rasped through gritted teeth, clearly suppressing his own spiraling ardor through sheer force of iron will. "I didn't wait this long to absolutely wreck you just to blow it all on some half-assed foreplay."

Slanting his mouth over yours in another scorching, possessive claim, Gojo cradled your overwrought features between those rough, calloused palms with surprising tenderness.

His thumb smoothed along your cheekbone as the kiss gradually shifted into a slow, sensual undulation.

"Tell me what you want," he murmured against the seam of your lips. "Let Daddy hear you ask for it nice and loud."

The command emerged as a gravelly whisper, though his blazing stare held an unmistakable glint of command. Still, the blatant carnal hunger etched into his expression made you feel positively giddy and invincible as your fingertips trailed along the corded lines of his powerful throat.

"I want you inside me, Sensei," you pleaded, voice pitching into a breathy whine. "Please, I need to feel you filling me up again."

Gojo groaned, clearly relishing the shameless admission and the way your thighs clenched reflexively around his hips. You could feel the rigid contours of his cock twitching eagerly against your slickened folds through the layers separating you.

"Fuck, the mouth on you," he rasped, nipping lightly at the underside of your jaw. "You know what it does to me when you call me that."

"Good," you purred, allowing your fingers to trail higher until they carded through the silky soft strands of his hair. "Now, are you going to stop stalling and show me how much better you are at playing teacher in bed?"

Your bold retort earned a snarl of pure male approval, though the sound quickly tapered into a groan as you deliberately canted your hips to drag the seeping damp of your panties against his throbbing erection. Gojo's fingers instinctively curled tighter around your neck, pinning you into place as he bucked and rolled his pelvis forward to reciprocate the delicious friction.

"Alright then, smartass..." he rasped, pupils blown nearly black with ravenous need as he stared down at your upturned, flushed face. "If that's how you wanna play it, I'm gonna make damn sure you're thoroughly re-educated on who exactly holds the reins here."

Without further ado, his hands drifted down to tug insistently at your waistband, practically shredding the flimsy fabric in his haste to free you from the rest of your clothing. You shivered at the way the cool evening air instantly pebbled across your newly exposed skin, though any instinctive modesty was quickly chased away by the hungry stare drinking in your naked form.

Gojo's expression shifted into a predatory leer, the sight sending another jolt of electric anticipation shooting through your already-jangling nerve endings. "That's better," he rumbled, broad palm skating a path up your inner thigh with unhurried reverence. "Nothing should be allowed to hide such a perfect view of my favorite fucking dessert."

You bit back a whimper at the possessive timbres lacing his gravel-rough voice, thighs twitching restlessly as Gojo's touch continued mapping higher. Finally, his questing fingertips slid into the sticky slick coating your swollen folds, dragging the copious evidence of your desire back to where your clit throbbed with need.

"Oh, look at that..." Gojo practically cooed, the filthy delight and awe laced through his voice sending a fresh rush of warmth spilling out against his dexterous ministrations. "Daddy's been neglecting his baby girl, and she's absolutely soaking wet already. How long has my gorgeous kitten been aching like this, hmm?"

The words emerged somewhere between a teasing croon and a gravelly growl, and you could only shudder and keen as Gojo continued rubbing maddening circles over your hypersensitive bud. The friction was already pushing you rapidly to the edge, and judging by the way Gojo's hooded gaze flickered up to watch your rapture, he could tell as much.

"Ah-ah...no cumming until you beg Daddy to fuck you properly," he rasped, even as his index and ring fingers dipped shallowly into your fluttering channel—teasing and stretching the seeping velvet heat in a way that made you sob out loud. "Don't make me have to punish you for being so naughty, kitten. You know I can keep you on the edge all night if I need to."

Your spine bowed and back arched as you writhed and thrashed beneath his touch, a litany of breathy whimpers and pleas falling from your kiss-swollen lips. "Please, please, Daddy, don't tease me," you begged shamelessly, the words nearly slurring together with raw need. "I'll be a good girl, I swear. Please, please just fuck me..."

Gojo's gaze sharpened with clear gratification as you entreated his mercy, and he finally eased off on the merciless friction between your thighs. Your lungs burned with the force of gulping down ragged lungfuls of air, but you were given scant reprieve before his hands gripped and lifted your thighs, effortlessly hauling you closer and spreading them wide.

"There's my good girl," he murmured, the raw timbre of his voice sending delicious frissons shivering across your fever-warm skin. "Such a sweet little angel when you finally submit."

With one more brief nip at the delicate flesh of your inner thigh, Gojo began working the fly of his trousers open, finally freeing his massive erection. He stroked and pumped his straining shaft a few times for good measure, eyes raking across your splayed, naked form with clear relish.

"Look at how pretty this tight little pussy is, dripping all over my fingers and cock just begging to get filled," he grunted, lining the bulbous crown against your quivering entrance and rubbing it back and forth through the sticky arousal saturating your folds.

A pitiful keen slipped past your parted lips at the taunting pressure, and you could feel a fresh gush of slickness welling up in response to his crass praise. Gojo smirked at the telltale reaction, one calloused palm sliding down to part the plush folds of your pussy even further.

"Goddamn, look how wet and greedy this is for me," he rumbled in a low tone thick with pure male satisfaction. "Bet you were fantasizing about having Daddy's cock stuffing this pretty cunt the whole time we were sitting there in that restaurant. Isn't that right, kitten?"

Your brain was barely capable of stringing together a coherent thought, much less a snarky comeback, but somehow the words slipped free despite the mindless delirium clouding your head. "Y-you were the one who wouldn't stop teasing," you moaned, squirming fitfully against the delicious pressure poised at your molten core. "Can't say I wasn't tempted to drag you into the bathroom and suck you off..."

The words dissolved into a keening cry as Gojo abruptly slammed into the hilt, filling you to the brim and beyond in one brutal, unyielding stroke. Your legs reflexively locked around his hips and lower back as he immediately began pounding into your clenching walls, each powerful thrust punching the breath from your lungs.

"Is that so, sweetheart?" Gojo gritted out, hissing through clenched teeth as the clutching vice of your inner walls seemed to squeeze the very life from his engorged shaft. "You were just planning on being a dirty little tease the whole time we were at dinner? What a fucking minx..."

Gojo punctuated the statement by angling your hips upward to drill even deeper, each merciless thrust nudging the sensitive spot at the very end of your channel until the pressure sent stars exploding behind your eyelids. The only sounds that could emerge were a series of broken mewls and wordless whines, utterly incapable of doing anything but lay there and take the exquisite torment of his unrelenting, devastating pace.

"Yeah, that's it, let me feel just how desperately you've been needing this," he snarled, large hands gripping your waist as his pelvis hammered a merciless rhythm against your overstimulated sex. "Soak this fucking cock like a good little kitten. Don't hold back on me, baby. Show me how much you missed Daddy's cock and I might let you cum."

You could barely process the filth spilling free from his mouth at this point, each syllable dissolving into an electric buzz as his ruthless assault stoked the pressure mounting inside you. It was a familiar, heady rush of sensation—a coiling tension that seemed to grow tighter and more unbearable with every punishing roll of Gojo's hips against yours.

He was driving you toward a cliff's edge without pause or quarter, and the sheer force of his intensity was dizzying. Yet, despite the frantic, almost savage cadence, you could feel the subtle shift in his grip and angle as Gojo's gaze bored into your face. Even in the midst of his own delirium, the sheer focus and attentiveness in his stare was intoxicating.

"F-fuck, I'm so close," you gasped out, feeling your core spasming and clutching against the rigid pistoning length impaling you. You feebly reached out, desperate for any kind of anchor amidst the relentless tidal wave of sensation threatening to pull you under. "Satoru...please, want you to kiss me again."

Without missing a beat, Gojo's hands shifted, scooping you up until you were practically cradled in his lap. Your legs reflexively locked around his hips and midsection, ankles hooking together as his thrusts never paused. The new position left your torso arching up toward his chest, and Gojo quickly took advantage, slanting his mouth over yours with renewed hunger.

Each slide and curl of his tongue seemed perfectly in time with the driving roll of his hips, and the added closeness was swiftly becoming too much. You were hurtling toward the edge of the abyss, and this time, Gojo seemed intent on taking you down with him.

"My perfect girl, taking my cock like such a good little slut," he gritted out, one hand tangling in your hair while the other braced your back, keeping your bodies fused together. "Been dreaming about this tight cunt for fucking days, and it's even better than I remember. Now be a good kitten and soak Daddy's cock for me."

You could feel yourself tumbling over the precipice even before Gojo's hand snaked down to thumb your clit, and the dual assault was all it took to send you reeling into blinding euphoria. Your climax hit like a freight train, ripping through you with an almost painful intensity that left your toes curling and vision blurring.

Gojo continued thrusting his full length in a rapid-fire tempo, hissing out a strangled groan as the spasms of your inner walls finally dragged him into the depths of oblivion alongside you. Your limbs felt like jelly, and you were grateful for his grip holding you steady as the waves of rapture subsided.

He didn't release you, though, not right away. Rather, Gojo simply held you in his arms, his cheek pressed to the side of your head and the slow rise and fall of his chest syncing with yours. The two of you remained silent for a long moment, simply breathing together as the room gradually stopped spinning around you.

Eventually, Gojo pulled back enough to cup your jaw and slant his mouth over yours in another gentle, exploratory kiss. It was nothing like the devouring claims and searing conquests that had preceded it, and the tenderness in the simple press of lips left you feeling utterly weightless.

When Gojo finally withdrew, the smirk curling his lips was positively self-satisfied. "I'd say that’s enough foreplay, wouldn't you, baby?"

You could only huff a soft laugh in response, shaking your head as the residual tremors of bliss faded. "You consider thatforeplay?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, was I too gentle?" he retorted, feigning a look of innocent confusion. "Maybe we should try round two, then. I'll give you a chance to demonstrate what you meant about sucking me off."

The words emerged in a low, silky murmur as his large hands gripped and squeezed the supple curves of your ass, eliciting a soft squeal from you. You smacked at his broad chest ineffectually, unable to fight the grin tugging at your own mouth.

"You're incorrigible."

"That's not a no," Gojo pointed out, his smug expression practically radiating his unrepentant satisfaction. "And if you keep acting all cute and sassy, I can't promise I'll be able to resist the urge to bend you over and remind you exactly who's in charge."

Your stomach fluttered at the casual, nonchalant admission. It was an undeniable thrill knowing just how badly Gojo craved this—craved you. The thought alone was enough to send a fresh wave of warmth flooding through your veins.

"Maybe I'm not opposed to the idea," you murmured, biting down on your lower lip as you glanced up through your lashes.

The look was clearly too much for Gojo's self-control. His eyes darkened with fresh desire, and his grip shifted to lift and turn you so that you were sprawled facedown across the rumpled cushions.

"Well, in that case," he growled, the heat and weight of his body blanketing yours as his hips pressed flush to the swell of your backside. "Let's see just how filthy this mouth is, shall we?"

The room seemed to exist in its own hushed, velvety cocoon of tranquility - a stark contrast to the ferocious passion that had consumed every inch mere moments ago. You lay draped languidly across Gojo's powerful frame with your cheek pillowed on the rises and valleys of his chest. The steady thrum of his heartbeat reverberated through your lashes in a soothing cadence.

One of your hands traced idle, featherlight patterns over the expanse of his toned abdomen - mapping the ridges and grooves so recently sheened and flexing under your ardent worshiping. Gojo remained equally at peace beneath your sprawled embrace, those brilliant azure irises at half-mast while he reclined with one arm crooked behind his head.

Despite the palpable aura of repletion surrounding you both, a new undercurrent began to gradually assert itself in the weighted stillness. You felt compelled to disturb the quietude to address what this entire evening had truly culminated towards - the deal quietly brokered between heated sheets and joined bodies.

"I'll contact the elders first thing," you murmured, the words seeming to slip free before your mind fully grasped their implication. "About postponing Itadori Yuji's case, like you wanted."

Gojo's chest expanded minutely on a slow inhale, but otherwise his statuesque form remained comfortably inert as your words hung in the air between you. After several beats, you felt the subtle weight of his stare alighting on your upturned features.

"Yeah?" His resonant timbre emerged in a low, stripped rasp - sounding as thoroughly unraveled as the rest of his carefully compartmentalized composure. "They'll actually listen to your stance on something so high-stakes?"

You allowed your own eyes to slip shut in a protracted blink, thoughts rapidly trying to align and process how to even begin verbalizing the sheer revelations that had bloomed open tonight about your place within the jujutsu hierarchy.

"I didn't fully grasp it at first," you admitted, voice coming out slightly roughened from earlier exertions. "But now I'm starting to understand the actual leverage my positioning and reputation has afforded without me even noticing."

Rather than respond directly, the only sound came from a protracted exhalation through Gojo's nose - seeming to signal his grasp of the situation finally mapping out as well. You hoped he also understood just how monumental a gambit he'd set into motion by hammering the truth home in his uniquely heated approach tonight. Not to induce guilt, per se...but perhaps a smidgeon more humility about the harrowing stakes being juggled.

As if sensing the direction of your thoughts, Gojo abruptly shifted his weight until you were rolled over onto your back - his solid bulk carefully blanketing yours without pressure. When your gazes met and locked, you felt that simmering connection arc back into incandescence once more between your joined frames.

"You continue underestimating yourself," he murmured in a timbre now rendered warm gravel thanks to its gravelly softness. He cupped the side of your jaw, thumb tracing the bow of your lips in a barely-there caress that spoke to so much more than surface motions. "Which is exactly why I'm never going to stop knocking some sense into that stubborn head of yours..."

With that throaty declaration, Gojo dipped his chiseled features lower until your foreheads brushed - noses scanting along one another in an electrifying gossamer graze. The intimacy of the motion seemed to steal your very breath straight from your lungs as he carried on in a husked rasp.

"So thank you. For listening to reason and actually wielding your power for once when it really mattered..."

Unable to resist the unspoken pull between your joined gravities any longer, you surged up to seal Gojo's mouth in a slow, simmering clash of satin flesh and indulgent possession. All the unvoiced sentiments and roiling tides of turbulence hovered for a suspended eternity within that singular nexus point before gradually dispersing into peaceful becalm once more.

Eventually Gojo broke away with the barest hint of a crooked smile tugging at those stupidly perfect lips, clearly satisfied with your acquiescence for the time being. The two of you simply basked in silence for a while longer, relishing in this well-earned moment of bonded lassitude.

That is, until the first stirrings of Gojo's impish irreverence inevitably bubbled back up in the form of his rich baritone laced with none-too-subtle swagger:

"So...I take it this means I get to thoroughly ruin you again before breakfast? No more insufferable teasing about you not putting out until your higher-up buddies get their precious signatures?"

You scoffed out a long-suffering sound of semi-amused exasperation, already anticipating the thick cloud of smug virility about to descend. Sure enough, Gojo's chest puffed with unrepentant satisfaction as he slung one heavy arm around your waist and lightly squeezed.

"That's what I thought. Face it kitten, that pretty pussy has officially been drafted into service under my uncompromising authority until further notice..."

He punctuated the lewd declaration by slanting his mouth over yours in a deliriously thorough deluge of hunger and virility, effectively stealing your very breath for a second rapturous cycle before exhaustion could dare creep back in.

And as your joined frames spiraled back into the delirious vortex of blissful dissipation once more, you couldn't help hazarding one last, bemused thought: somehow, you got the distinct impression Gojo would be exercising his latest "authority" over you with particularly unrestrained enthusiasm this time around.

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jjklvr9 · 10 months ago

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ʙɪᴛᴛᴇʀꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ ᴛᴇᴇᴛʜ (ᴘ.ꜱʜ) ᯓ★

18+ 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭 .ᐟ

𐙚 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 : 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋'𝗌𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽!𝖲𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝗑 𝖿𝖾𝗆!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𐙚 𝗌𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌 ⇢ 𝖨𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋'𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝗏𝗈𝗎𝗋.

𐙚 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 : smut- 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗈𝗋𝖺𝗅 (𝖿𝖾𝗆 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀), 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗎𝗇𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗑, 𝖺𝗅𝖼𝗈𝗁𝗈𝗅, 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖺 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗌𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇, 𝗃𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈n ... 𝖽𝗈 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝖿 𝗂 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀!

𐙚 𝗐.𝖼 : 10.8𝗄

𝖺/𝗇: 𝗂 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝖿 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂 𝗐𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗅…𝗂 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝖻𝗈𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉 𝗒𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀…𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌! :)

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 ♡

⌌⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰⌍⌌⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰⌍⌌⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰⌍

The pitter-patter of the rain befalls your roof, the sound echoing in your ears as you stare out the window of your room. Greying clouds shrouded the sky, covering what little left of the sun was visible in the storm brewing on what was supposed to be a lovely sunny Sunday afternoon. Well, it still is lovely.

Usually on days like these, the floor of your room would be cold to the touch of your feet and the only thing offering you comfort would be the covers you would hide under your bed; which you were in as of now with some extra warmth beside your lying body. You turn your head to the side to face the sleeping figure next to you, his arms wrapped around your waist securely like it was held on by a lock. The dark strands of hair fall on his face perfectly, covering his closed lids so gently it barely poked his skin. You make use of the time to study his features, his sharply curved nose, his inviting plump-coloured lips to counting all the spotted moles perfectly decorating his soft skin.

He looked perfect in this state of his yet there was a heaviness pulling the back of your throat, the palpitations of your heartbeat increasing the more you tried to hold in from bursting into tears. It was exhausting, having to rationalize yourself and bury the feelings that arise when looking at him like that. It felt so right and wrong all at the same time, you blame nobody but yourself for the demise brought to your own heart.

His chest was moving up and down pace fully as his breath softly contacted your face, the tip of his nose inches away from brushing yours; ever so gentle and vulnerable like that next to you, holding you as he continued to slumber like the world outside never grew dark. It was really, a lovely Sunday afternoon. Well, that was until you heard the sound of your younger brother’s loud chatter and footsteps covering up the walls of your house, sounding closer each second as he made his way up the stairs to his room next to yours.

Immediately snapping yourself out of your daze from the loud bang of his door closing shut, your eyes widen in horror as they are still locked onto the boy’s face next to yours. This was not good. You had to wake him up quickly before anyone finds out he was ever here, in your bed; before your brother finds out his best friend was lying next to you. “Sunghoon! Wake up!” you hiss under your breath as you shake his arm, trying your hardest to be gentle with your touch yet making it known how urgently he needs to act. “Hmm? What?” the boy groans, eyes still fully closed and no attempt of waking up was made with the arm around your waist instead tightening and pulling you closer to him. “No, wake up! Jungwon is home.” You try to pry yourself off his hold and hope he gets up this time with the mention of your brother, his best friend. And how this was not a situation any of you wanted to deal with right now.

“Oh.” Finally, Sunghoon opens his eyes and unlike your panicked ones, they are tired. Maybe even sad? Who knows, but you did feel your heartstrings pull a little bit at the sight of his locked gaze, feeling all sorts of bad at how you ruined his peaceful sleep to have to go running out in the rain that probably caused him to feel what you assumed was sad. You stop your movements of trying to get his grip off your waist once your eyes stay on each other’s for a few beats too long, not entirely sure why he was still in place. The longer the silence and the sound of only your breaths and rain outside took over the moment, the warmer you felt your cheeks turning. Seeing him like this felt like a new angle into things when he is awake and staring right into the window of your soul.

For some reason, what were mere minutes felt like an eternity that you seemed to find yourself lost in his captivation, searching for meaning behind every glint that shone in the pupils of his dark brown orbs. You could see yourself in them staring right back at you and you wonder if he sees the same thing as you.

“Right, I better go then.” He snaps you back to the reality of the moment, the reality of the situation you need to get out of. The warmth of his skin disappears as fast as he pulls himself away from you, rolling over and getting up from your bed in search of his scattered clothing on the floor. It seems he does not waste any time in getting ready to leave, putting himself back into one piece presentable enough like whatever happened before the sun rose never did. You did not take any offense to it though, knowing how it goes. He is your brother’s best friend. It was never meant to happen, ever.

Sunghoon walks over to your table and bends a little as he fixes his hair a few more times in front of your vanity mirror, glancing at the reflection of you sitting on the bed watching as he does so. You had the covers wrapped around yourself now, holding it tightly together as the cold of the air finally catches up with you. The boy clears his throat and stands straight again, turning around to face you with his hands resting in the pockets of his jacket, a smile playing on the corner of his lips. “I’ll text you.”

You look up to him with a similar sentiment you fake with a smile, nodding slightly at his words. “Be careful, it’s raining.” And with that, he makes his way out of your room in stealth and much experience with this already, not without first planting a swift peck on your cheek and escaping out of your house successfully into the wet steps outside. To his car parked a few jogs away from your house behind the yellowing trees where Jungwon would not notice. Just like every other time for the past two months.

Two months of sneaking around in sealed secrecy, spending most of your time together intertwined in each other’s beds. You don’t remember how exactly it all started, damn sure alcohol was the cause of it though. How drunk you both must’ve been that fateful night at whoever’s turn it was to host the house party of the week. But you do remember the first touch of how his big hands cupped your face. The first mesh of your lips as he pulls you in for a kiss. Thus, spiralling down the road of not being able to keep your hands off each other no matter how hard you both tried to (not hard enough). He was intoxicating you with the taste of his lips, his cock, and offering you the pleasures of vulnerability like you never had before. In simple terms, he was the best fuck you ever had and kept having. See how you’re stuck in a predicament?

You do wonder if there was ever more he felt with you, even for just a second but you never dared venture into those territories of asking questions. This whole thing was a problem in itself and maybe you just didn’t want to face the reality by talking about it more. Sunghoon and you had your share of moments, exchanging stories, getting to know each other bit by bit and sharing intimate touches that never carried any sexual nature. But at the end of the day, you know he only sees this as a hook-up, an agreement you’ve found yourselves in to give and take from one another. That doesn’t make it any easier to deal with though, having to suppress how fond you’ve grown of him and ignoring the growing sentiment but you let the guilt gnaw you freely, losing the light sparkling in you in his company only to be reignited on the next meeting.

It was a miracle Jungwon never realised, not having even the slightest clue about what was going on inside his own house with the two people he was the closest to. There were times you’d both almost slip up, Sunghoon having come out of your room a mere second too early or too late before your brother disappears; or when he’d eye fuck you in front of a group of people be it at a party or even under your own roof with Jungwon standing right next to him. If he did notice, he never brings it up and sometimes that gets your hopes up of maybe, just maybe he doesn’t care. But seeing from time to time how he’d bring up girls’ names to Sunghoon and talk freely as boys do when you’re around, you prefer to assume he was absolutely clueless.

You lie back down on your bed, exhaling a sigh when your head hits the softness of your pillow. You fish your phone out from under it and squint at just how bright the screen is, finding your brother’s contact to call him. “Are you home?” you ask feigning a sleepy voice when he picks up, glancing out the window as you wonder if Sunghoon had reached home safely in the heavy-paced rain. “Yeah, like for a while now. Practice ran short cause of the rain and Sunghoon never showed up, again. Did you just wake up?” you could hear the tinge of annoyance in your brother’s voice as he mentioned his best friend’s name on the phone.

Your brother and Sunghoon were in the college football team, having their semis of the season coming up soon; and with how serious the team was set on victory, they would have practice even on Sunday mornings sometimes. Sunghoon was one of their best players and with how much he has been missing weekend practice lately for ‘family emergencies’, it is validated that your brother who happens to be the captain of said team put his annoyance on said boy.

“Y/n?” the knock on your door and Jungwon’s voice calling you out from behind it startles you, not realizing he ended the call when you failed to respond to him. You put your phone away and get up from your bed, putting on a hoodie over the thin fabric of your shirt before opening the door to your brother, who had one ear pressed against your wooden door almost falling head-first into your room.

“What are you doing?” You watch him stumble on his feet as he tries to stand back up straight, arms crossed resting against your chest. “I thought you died.” The younger just shrugs as if that was a reasonable enough answer, walking away from you and down the steps of the stairs. “Come down, I’m gonna heat the pizza.” Rolling your eyes, you chuckle a little to yourself at his antics, closing the door of your room before hurrying down the stairs.

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

“Again?” You sigh to yourself at the sight in front of you at the doorstep. Another Friday night, another drunk Jungwon was to be let in and carried to bed. Lucky for you, his best friend was the one who brought him home, supporting one side of Jungwon’s weight on his shoulder. “Yeap, I tried to stop him but you know how stubborn he gets.” Sunghoon offers an apologetic smile as he practically drags the boy by his shoulder into the warmth of your house.

“Just leave him on the couch.” Plopping him down onto the couch of the living room, you drape the throw blanket over him, watching as he slept through with a snore. You watch him for a bit more, bending down to brush a little of his bangs away from his face before making your way back to where the kitchen was, opening the fridge in search of some cold bottled water. You hear the footsteps following you and finally stopping right behind you, you can feel his breath prickling the skin of your neck. Clearing your throat, you try your hardest to ignore the reddening of your cheeks. You had to keep your cool.

“May I help you?” you don’t bother turning around, pretending to look for more things in the fridge as you keep your focus on it longer before picking up two bottles from the side. “Yeah, you could. I deserve a thank you, don’t you think?” pushing the fridge close, Sunghoon encases both of his arms around your waist and pulls your back to land on his chest, chin resting on top of your head so easily. Damn him for being so tall. Letting out a deep exhale, you dismiss his hold off you easily before turning on your heels to face him this time, having to tilt your head up slightly to meet his eyes.

“Thank you.” You say with a short smile enough to come off genuine on your lips, pushing one bottle of the water in your hand to his chest, forming some distance between the two of you. It’s bad enough he had your shorts riding up a little from his back hug before, it was getting tougher by the day to act nonchalant as if he doesn’t make your heartstrings tug at the sight of his teeth showing when he smiles ever so innocently to you.

Knowing you'd go around in circles trying to put a stop to your 'relationship' only to go back to him again, you had to control yourself. Glancing to the couch in the living room where your brother sleeps, you remind yourself why it is important you do this. Sliding away from the compromising position Sunghoon has put you in, he watches with confusion forming on his face at how you walk off to lean on the kitchen counter facing him but avoiding his eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asks, brows furrowed deep you'd think they were connected by now. His asking that question makes you scoff in disbelief at how oblivious he was trying to play as if everything was just alright. "What's wrong? This. This is wrong. We can’t keep doing this, Sunghoon.” you softly answer, not wanting even the walls of your kitchen to hear what you'd have to open up about tonight, let alone Jungwon in the next room. The boy rolls his eyes at your words, having expected to hear of the same thing you've been repeating for the past two months of your 'relationship'. He knows why you feel the way you do and he knows why you think what you have to do is right but he decides to stick in denial of the fact that everything in front of him could crumble in an instant.

Sunghoon walks over to you and holds you firm by the waist this time, slotting one knee in between your thighs as he leans himself closer to your body. You gasp at the sudden movement, not being able to move out in time before he takes one grip off your waist and pinches your chin with his thumb and index finger to face up at him. "Are you sure?" he whispers under his hot breath trickling your lips, your eyes engrossed in his like chains pulling you in. Causing you to abide, yet again.

One heartbeat ticks before Sunghoon leans in and crashes his lips onto yours which you immediately return with haste. One minute it was slow, the next messy with your hands roaming around each other and tongues slipping past lips to connect with saliva dripping down your chins. His knee under your covered core settles in quickly and so do you sitting on it, grinding your way through the heat engulfing you whole with lids barely open but you do not close them completely, reality setting in like a switch in your brain. Your fingers gripping his hair to pull him closer before are now pulling it away in one swift motion, lips left bare and connected only by the air you struggle to catch.

"No, we can't. I'm serious.” Your change in demeanour to his usual flirtatious ways confused him. It wasn’t shocking, not the first time this ‘routine’ of yours came before giving in to him anyway but this time, it felt different. Like you’ve made your mind up and are choosing to take a stand on the choice he so much despises to believe. Sunghoon furrows his brows deeper now lines were forming on his forehead, hand reaching out to hold yours that seemed much farther than it used to be as you push him off of you.

“Please, I’ve told you again and again that everything is going to be fine, Y/n and-“

“What if it’s not going to be fine, huh? What if everything goes to shit and Jungwon, you, me- everything just falls apart? I-I don’t want anything to change.” You whisper-shout and pull your hand away from his grip once again, folding your arms and tucking your fingers away out of his reach if he ever tries to hold you again. It would make everything much, much harder to handle. Turning away from him, you sigh to yourself and walk towards the couch trying to clear your head of all the jumbled thoughts making you not see straight.

It was the right thing to do and you assured yourself a million times in your heart, knowing you weren’t one to take risks of even the smallest things that could change the trajectory of your family relations. Or get caught up in the downfall of their friendship? Hard pass. Yes, you knew it was wrong from the moment your eyes laid on Sunghoon that night and for two months consecutive; the notion to put a stop to it only came now. Who could blame you, really?

Sunghoon follows behind you and stops a few steps away, one hand ruffling his hair messily in frustration. If only he had the right words to say to convince that persistent head of yours to stay. “I get it, I do. Listen to me, I-“

“I think you should leave. It’s late, thanks for bringing Jungwon home.” You cut him off immediately before he could continue whatever he’s come up with to sway your decision, deciding to look up and face him dead in the eye. His arms fall limp to the side with eyes staring right back at you, pupils moving around endlessly trying to find just anything, any reasoning he could use in your eyes; yet all he witnessed were the trembling of your lips. With a heavy sigh, he says what he always does before leaving. “I’ll text you.”

Sunghoon picks his feet up and starts walking towards the front door and opens it, walking out with one last look at your face though you’re not focused on him anymore. He gazes at you crouched down beside your brother one last time before shutting the door taking all of himself that he gave to you with him. Hearing the soft thud of the lock was when the tears you’ve bit your tongue holding it in started falling down your cheeks.

And he does text you that night and all the nights following, but you always leave them unopened.

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

The gust of wind blows in signal of fall passing through, messing up the bangs on the side of your face to much dismay. It was reaching 4 pm now as you sat on one of the picnic benches outside the library alone, hoping to catch up with some of your notes from class while waiting for Jungwon to finish up with football practice. Not for another hour though.

So you sit there, studying; well trying to at least, constantly being distracted with thoughts floating around in your mind. Some were about school, some were about trivial matters you won’t even remember by the end of the night. And some were about Park Sunghoon, the boy you swore to yourself not to contact anymore. It was impossible though, unlocking your phone now to read another one of his text messages in your notification bar from last night that you left unopened for reasons you deemed would help in your ‘journey’. Wasn’t this what no contact was all about?

“Can we talk, please?”

You sigh at the words slowly ingraining in your brain the longer you stare at it, not realizing the figure planting himself to the seat opposite you. “Whatcha doing?” you blink in surprise at the sudden intrusion, eyes wide slightly as you look up from your phone to Jake’s face smiling at you with his hands clasped together resting on the table separating you. He wasn’t a stranger but you didn’t know him well enough to say he was a close friend; more of an acquaintance? Classmate. Sure. Jake Sim was in your sociology class, always kept himself engaged in lectures and was pretty well known around your major mates. You’ve been in group projects with him several times but the exchange between you two never exceeded the academic level of interest before.

“Waiting for my brother.” You say with a smile, locking and tucking your phone back into the pocket of your jacket. “Jungwon, right?” Jake tilts his head to the side when he questions, the smile never leaving his lips but he looks so innocent it almost made you want to pinch his cheeks. “You know my brother?” “Everyone knows your brother, Y/n.” a small chuckle leaves his lips now, and you can’t help but do the same. He was right. Everyone did know your brother, the captain of the football team. How could you forget for the slightest how popular your brother actually is? How popular him and his friends were?

It grows quiet for a few seconds, not sure if you were meant to wait for Jake or you to say something else or anything at all to continue the conversation, which didn’t seem like one that bore any importance as of now. Jake still had his hands held together on the table, smile evidently growing wider as he kept his eyes on you like he was studying you. Your eyes carelessly did the same; seeing him up close under the warm sunrays shining through the cracks of leaves that tower over you both. Undeniably he was good-looking looking with a tinge of innocence playing in his expression. He seemed benign, genuinely pleasant and confident that you don’t care to wonder why he was well-liked among your peers.

You open your mouth slightly but before any words built up in your mind could come out, Jake softly taps the table and stands. “Well, I’d like to keep you company longer but I need to get home now.” It wasn’t expected of him to stay with you after that little exchange anyway but somehow a speck of disappointment fills you.

“Would you like to get coffee sometime?” Jake rubs the back of his nape sheepishly with a wide grin, not able to keep his eyes on you so confidently this time around. And to think he was incapable of being shy around you. “Y-yeah, sure. Okay.” You weren’t any better than him though, the tip of your ears heating up at the sudden invitation. “Great. I’ll text you!” with that he walks away, turning around after a few steps to wave you goodbye accompanied by a smile. For some reason, your ears grow hotter as you wave back at him, not entirely opposed to this newfound excitement starting to bubble in the pits of your stomach. You watch him a little longer as his silhouette grows small and disappears into the distance, smiling to nobody but yourself now.

You glance off towards the other side where you can hear the football players yelling in the distance from the field, holding your breath momentarily when you meet Sunghoon’s eyes. Standing at the side of the field, staring at you as he wipes off the sweat dripping down the tips of his hair. Being quite far away, you couldn’t make out clearly the way his face expressed dissatisfaction but with those thick brows of his, anyone could see the way they quirked up from a mile away. He’s been trying to contact you for the last week and this was what he had to see after you not responding last night? Who was that guy anyway? Sunghoon tongues the inside of his cheek in annoyance, scoffing when he catches you looking away and pretending like he didn’t exist.

No matter how much he tried to text, call, or anything- he kept himself behaved and respectful every time he was in near proximity of you much thanks to Jungwon. The boy was desperate but he wasn’t about to let another drama unfold in the midst of him trying to get a grip of present matters. He doesn’t know how long more he could stand watching you from afar, not being able to hold you close like before- he didn’t know how to handle being rejected. It was close to torture-no, it was absolute torture having to watch you greet him when he came over to hang out with Jungwon, only to scurry off in your little shorts back to your room and lock yourself in there till he was out of sight.

It was a mental battle for him, knowing at some point you were right about not wanting to hurt Jungwon in the long run of continuing whatever you had between the two of you. He knew that, he understood that. But what about him? What about the true feelings that he realized was a little too late to admit he had for you all this time of just ‘messing around’? He sighs to himself and tries to brush off his thoughts, tossing the towel to the ground before running back to his teammates huddled up in a circle. Letting go of you just seemed impossible in his books.

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

The next day, you were surprised to find Jake standing out the hallway of your lecture hall with a cup of coffee in each hand. His eyes travelled around the sea of students exiting the hall after your morning class, grinning ear to ear when he spotted you walking over. “Good morning, this is for you but it’s hot, so be careful.” You stop to stand right in front of him, biting down your lips to stop from smiling too widely in hopes he doesn’t get how embarrassingly happy you were of this surprise. How does he know you even had class this morning right here? Maybe because he had classes next door, idiot. How does he know what coffee you’d even like? Why was he being so friendly with you? You take the cup from his hand and notice the way his cheeks turn a little hue of pink when your finger brushes against his. “Thank you, Jake. That’s so sweet of you.”

“You’re welcome, and before you think I’m a creep for knowing your schedule- I just happen to have classes next door at the same time as you do here every week. So I’ve seen you walk by a few times.” What, he's a mind reader now? Taking a small sip of the drink, you hum in approval as the taste of hot coffee washes over you and smile up at Jake’s intrigued face. “This is really yummy! Thanks again, Jake.” “I’m glad you like it.” He nods with satisfaction painted over his face, glancing around the hallway momentarily to concede the decreasing amount of students present now.

“So, are you free right now? Want to go to the library and study?” Jake asks with a tilted head, taking a longer sip of his coffee as if trying to hide half of his face. You take a look at the watch on your wrist and damn, you were hoping to fill your empty stomach up before your next class. “Um, actually- could we get something to eat? I haven’t had breakfast so..” trailing off your words, you glance down to your feet before meeting his eyes apologetically. Maybe he really wanted to study and here you were, asking to go eat instead. What if he really just wanted a study buddy for the semester and he thought you were trying to hang out with him? It is almost noon so that’s perfect for lunch so why would he even ask to study right now but what if- damn you and your overthinking.

Instead, Jake looks at you with slightly widened eyes and you were hoping that didn’t mean anything bad. “Yes, of course! I’m sorry, I should’ve asked to go to lunch instead. We can go to the library after if you’re still up for it.” Not sure why you found his reaction endearing, you lightly chuckle and nod along to his words as he leads the both of you out of the building and to the cafeteria of the campus. It wasn’t a long walk from where you were so not much awkwardness was present in your conversation, but that was thanks to how easygoing Jake was as a person.

He’d ask every little thing in that head of his about you and he never seemed to run out of questions or hold back from them, despite evidently feeling shy prior. You notice the way he had this captivated look on his face whenever you answered and sometimes they were pretty long answers but he didn’t seem to mind one bit that you were spouting all sorts of trivial matters at this point. You liked that about him and don’t question anymore his intentions of getting all friendly with you, easing up to him quicker than you’d expect. From then on, you’ve shared most of your meals on campus together, studying together when you could find the time and there were times he’d just ask you to hang out with him, doing nothing but talk. It felt refreshing, a (not so) new face taking your time up you almost, almost (not at all) forget the face that hangs around in the background of your life.

Sunghoon was definitely aware of your newfound friend; watching, glaring, judging every little interaction you had with Jake every time he’d see you. Always, always with Jake. Smiling, talking, laughing. Was he that funny that had you giggling your way all through lunch? Anyone with eyes could see that Jake was being flirtatious with you, or maybe that’s just what the younger boy wanted to believe to justify his feelings of envy. Have you forgotten about him and all those moments you’d laugh at his jokes? Sunghoon catches himself smiling whenever he remembers them and sighs in defeat when he realizes it would never be a sight he’d see again.

Unless he decides to finally take matters into his own hands. He was not going to let you go just like that, despite your bullshit reasoning about caring for Jungwon’s feelings or whatever you’ve been saying. It just felt unfair knowing how you really felt about the ‘relationship’ but choosing to end it anyway. It felt selfish and Sunghoon wanted to at least, make you listen and be selfish of his feelings for once- pushing back the regret slowly creeping in before it’s too late to have done something.

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Two weeks pass by and spending time with Jake has added productivity into your routine; being that it used to be only studying and occasional social life activities with your friends; and hooking up with your brother’s best friend. It was good to distract yourself with Jake, though you hated how you thought of him that way. It wasn’t your fault Sunghoon was still intruding on your life when he saw an opportunity, making it impossible for you to dismiss him or even get over him completely these past weeks.

He was with Jungwon more often than not these days, always coming over to your house for hours on end it felt intentional to mess with you at this point. He wasn’t even keeping to himself like he used to around you in public, making small talk last longer and teasing you as if you’re the one he’s best friends with and there was no reason you could justify giving him the cold shoulder in front of your brother. Jungwon never found it odd or out of character though, deeming it as if your relationship had always been this way.

You hate the way he still looks at you the same way he used to; with so much fondness and attachment no matter how menacing his words try to sound when he satirises you. You hate the way his scent fills up the air around your house now, taking you back to all those times he spent being so close to you. You certainly hate the way he lingers his touches on your skin, letting his hand brush softly on yours when he passes you things or placing his hand on the arch of your back when he wants to walk by you. It seems like anything you tried to do to put it all in the past crumbles down and pulls you back in like everything was still in the present.

Mostly you hated yourself, for letting your thoughts wander on and on about him on sleepless nights, for even letting him still make your heart skip a beat with that smile of his. It seemingly gets more difficult when you can hear his voice in Jungwon’s room, both of them yelling or arguing about whatever game they were playing that Friday evening before heading out to some party happening the same night.

Jake was coming over to work on a paired project you had for Sociology and it being the first time stepping foot into the home you share with Jungwon, you hoped it’d be some sort of an ideal comfortable place to get school work done. Definitely underestimated your brother’s loud voice and your household. You make your way to his door and rap a couple of hard knocks on it to send a hint that maybe, you weren’t in the greatest of moods right now. Jungwon opens the door with a quirked-up brow and you try your best to not glance away from his face to the one behind him. “What? I’m busy.”

“Jake is coming over to study so keep it down a little okay? I really-“

“Jake? Jake Sim?” Sunghoon chimes in and cuts your words off, standing up from Jungwon’s bed and walking over to stand next to him with arms crossed over his chest. This time, you had no choice but to look at him and you pray to God he doesn’t see the way your feet fidget.

“Yeah, they’re like going out now or something,” Jungwon responds instead of you, shrugging his shoulders with not a care in the world as he walks off to pick his phone up from the bedside table. Sunghoon stays put though, arms still crossed and now leaning his side against the door frame as he intensifies his look on you. It felt like you were being interrogated for a crime you had yet to commit with the way he was looking. “We’re not! Just-just keep it down okay?” you raise your voice a little higher to talk over Sunghoon’s towering figure, only earning an agreeing whine from your brother.

You roll your eyes in annoyance, taking a step back from the door to turn and walk off before Sunghoon grips your wrist momentarily and pulls you back to face him. “Are you coming to the party later?” The boy questions and this time Jungwon looks up from whatever got his attention on that phone of his awaiting your answer. “No, I’m not.”

“Well, you should. Invite Jake, though I’m sure he’s already going so he’ll probably ask you.” Sunghoon says in such a nonchalant manner, giving you a smile that seems so fake like he meant to let you know it was. Alarm bells ring in your little head every time he mentions Jake’s name but you try to ignore them, not wanting to delve deeper into why it bothers you. To stop overthinking was to stop thinking in the first place.

“Whatever. Maybe.” You decide to brush it off and walk away as quickly as possible back to your room, holding yourself from sparing a glance back at his watchful eyes as you close your door shut. “Have fun!” Spending another second a breath away from each other would shatter the wall you’ve built up completely.

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

“Okay, let’s take a 5-minute break and we can wrap this up for tonight,” Jake says as he leans to rest his back on your bedside, both of you sitting cross-legged on the floor of your room with laptops and research papers cluttered around. The clock reads 10 pm now, not having realised time flew by so quickly and you felt it though that’s unusual given doing school work was boring and draggy. Guess having Jake around your company made time work differently. You smile and nod in agreement at his suggestion of taking a well-deserved break. It was taxing trying to read the words written in those papers with him being in your room; well at least for the first 20 minutes until the only thing that could annoy you more than feeling anxious was the boisterous peals of laughter echoing next door.

“Sorry about my brother and his friend.” you huff out having to apologise on behalf of such things you couldn’t control but to your surprise, Jake didn’t seem to mind it at all. “Nah, it’s all good.” He shakes his head and lets out a soft chuckle under his breath which somehow increases assurance that you had nothing to worry about. “Anyways uh- there’s a party at my friend Jay’s later. You should come with me.” There it was, the invitation you previously had rejected in your head but now- with the way his puppy-eyed smile slowly convinced you? It’d be cruel to say no. “Sure, but I need a little time to change.”

The physical space between the two of you seemingly grew closer without you noticing, only the bumping of his knees into yours takes you to recognise this. The shade of his eyes differs from a few seconds ago with the light on your ceiling reflecting on them it settled like tiny little stars. They gaze at your dark brown ones longingly and you don’t know why your hands are getting clammy.

“No matter what you wear, you’d still be the prettiest girl there.” Before you could respond with words instead of just widened eyes and tinted cheeks, Jake gradually leaned in closer to you with a hand reaching out to cup your cheeks. The moment felt still, the air held back down your throat from exhaling and all the thoughts in your head paused. You glance down at his lips and every single second your heartbeat increases he is getting closer and closer to touching yours. Sure, you were aware of the growing uncertainty between the two of you after hanging out endlessly but you never did decide on what to call it. Friendly banter? Flirting for the sake of humour? Jake seemed to have his mind made up with this forward move and all you could think about at that very last second was how Sunghoon used to call you pretty.

“My pretty girl.”

And then a loud laugh echoing through the house kills the moment. Speak of the devil. It was like he knew what was happening behind these walls that separated the two rooms and he had to remind you that he was still living in the back of your mind. Jake immediately pulls his hand away from your face and clears his throat, the switch from confident to fluster taking over him. The moment fleets away and snaps like a flash, the trance-filled air evaporates from your systems which quickly takes you back to reality.

“Sorry.“ Jake ruffles his hair in an attempt to hide his eyes but you notice the smile he bites back from showing. You do the same in averting your gaze with how hot your face was getting, shaking your head in dismissal at his apology. “It’s okay.”

“I think we can continue the project on Monday. I’ll wait for you downstairs and we can go?” The flustered boy says while packing his things and stands up after, expression clean like nothing ever happened. “O-okay. I won’t take long.” You get up on your feet and nod, watching him close your door as he leaves and now all alone you stand there, gathering everything in your head to figure out what just happened. And- why was your blood feeling warm again like relief had washed over you? Whatever. You shake those thoughts away and stumble to your wardrobe, picking out the first top and short skirt in sight and changing quickly while adding a few touch-ups to prim your appearance.

Walking down the stairs slowly you hear chatter in the living room and when you do land on the final step, the sight of Jake casually conversing with Sunghoon and your brother on the couch welcomes you. They didn’t seem aware of your presence at first, engrossed in their little discussion and you slowly make your way to them.

“Well, don’t you look pretty?” Sunghoon was the first to blurt that out when you came into view, earning questioning (a little weirded out and a “dude!” mostly from Jungwon’s) glances from the other two. He’s never openly complimented you, especially in front of your brother and what in the world does he think he’s doing that now? You blink in astonishment at the sudden forwardness he was showcasing, even more surprised the younger did not seem to think it was a misstep on his part at all. Jake decides to let it slide and smiles at you as he stands up. “You do look pretty.”

He might not have heard it but the scoff Sunghoon lets out under his breath rings right through your ears. “Are we done? Can we go now?” Jungwon stands up as well now, groaning along his steps towards the front door with Sunghoon following suit from behind. “Yeap, see you guys there.” He says without even a glance back, implying they are heading out in Sunghoon’s car and you were left to go in Jake’s. It had you hesitant to be alone with him once again, unsure whether the conversation would pick up where it got interrupted.

Much to ease your worries though, Jake appears to have moved past the recent events, effortlessly slipping back into his usual self as he drives you to Jay's place. Talking and laughing with you like he always would, devoid of any awkwardness you mentally prepared to face.

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Arriving at the party, you were welcomed by a music-blasted house full of drunken students, the smell of booze thinning through the air and a ton of new faces you had to meet. Jake introduces you to his friends the moment they spot him arriving, learning that despite being third years just like you- they were all good friends with Jungwon and Sunghoon who were in their second and always attended Jay’s parties. It’s no surprise Jungwon never mentioned to them he had an older sister all this while and that it was you, given how dumbfounded their faces expressed when you were introduced.

“C’mon, let me get you a drink.” Jake holds his hand out to take yours, leading the both of you through the swarm of bodies to the kitchen counter where a variety of bottled alcohol were lined up for your choosing. He releases your hand to grab one, pouring its contents into a red cup mixed with what he explained was apple juice before passing it for you to try with anticipation in his eyes. “Good?” “Great.” You nod and smile in approval as the taste of liquor mixes in your throat but it doesn’t burn like it should thanks to the added condiment. Jake laughs softly in relief and makes one for himself, bumping his cup with yours for a little ‘cheers!’ before taking a sip and exhaling in delight at the taste.

You were not one in favour of much drinking even when you do attend parties with your friends but to relax with Sunghoon still roaming around nearby and at any given moment could catch you off guard, you decided why the heck not.

After a few more leisurely sips, Jake gently gestures with his chin towards a cosy, unoccupied couch nestled in a quieter corner of the living room. With a warm smile, he reaches for your hand once more, guiding you towards this inviting spot where you both settle in next to each other, finding comfort in the serene ambience of the less crowded area. “I’m really glad you decided to come with, you know,” he states when he catches you turning to smile at him, confidence from the early spur of the moment in your room seeming to have returned. “Oh, and why is that?”

“Cause I like hanging out with you. Plus, you tell the funniest jokes known to mankind.” You roll your eyes playfully at his bantering remark, nudging his side softly. “Not as funny as the ones you tell, Mr Sim.” Jake’s laughter infects you, drawing you into a lively exchange where conversation flows like it usually does with him.

You seemed to be really enjoying yourself and when Sunghoon sees you from across the room where he’s leaned up against the wall with his own condiment in hand; getting up to presumably head to the bathroom, he wipes the frown he wore while observing your interaction with Jake and quietly follows you.

Admittedly, he was very jealous of Jake. Of anyone and everyone who got to receive your warm reactions he used to be the reason of. With other eyes around the room glancing and looking at you in ways only he allowed himself to do so felt like fire charring through his skin and veins. The alcohol he kept chugging every time your voice grew clear to his ears that he could make out the words in detail, was certainly not helping his mind be kept sane at this point.

Turning the tap off and giving yourself a once over in the mirror of the bathroom you found empty in the back, a sigh falls from your lips. Looking straight into your reflection you no longer see yourself with expressions earlier directed to Jake. No, not when you were alone once again under the coarse fluorescent lighting with a swarm of thoughts coming back to haunt your mind. You don’t know why the fact Sunghoon was here at the same party as Jake bothered you so much, after the whole compliment he decided to throw out in the open you felt defeated.

For one, Jake was a decent guy and you weren’t so naive to throw out the option of venturing into your relationship with him more than just friends. Plus, he wasn’t your brother’s best friend- Jungwon already thinks you’ve got more going on. All positives, no cons to be detected. But one, he was not Sunghoon. You groan in frustration and curse yourself, why the fuck does this guy have such a hold on you that you couldn’t even do this one thing right? It’s over and done with, you’ve got to stick with your decision no matter how long it takes for you to convince yourself that.

A loud knock from the door startles you from overthinking (your personality at this point) and you roll your eyes in annoyance. Drunk people and their impatience with bathrooms, especially when occupied never cease to tick you off. “Yes, yes I’m done,” you grumble while straightening your skirt, stepping towards the door to unlock it and before you can even open it fully; Sunghoon forces himself in and bumps you to stumble backwards as he shuts the door and locks it.

The hair on your skin stands and shock waves wash over you, not fully comprehending what exactly is going on. He takes notice of your bewildered expression and smirks, back leaning against the door with eyes gazing at you with nothing but grey in them. It’s quiet for a few beats, save the faded-out music playing in the background from the party happening outside this small room you were seemingly trapped in.

“What are you doing?”

"What are you doing?" he questions back, a hint of attitude present in the tone. Bafflement spreads across your face, and he pushes himself off the door, walking forward slowly and stopping just right in front of you. Sunghoon had both hands tucked in the pocket of his jeans as he towered over you, prompting you to tilt your head up to meet his eye. With a gentle motion, he removes one hand from his pocket, brushing aside the bangs that have fallen on the side of your face. His finger then traces a slow, deliberate path up and down your arm, sending a shiver up your spine.

“Threw me away for that guy, huh?” a playful pout formed on his lips now, moving down his hand from your arm to wrap around your waist with a tight grasp pulling you to bump his chest. Red colours your features from the contact and there was no way to hide it at this point, being so dangerously close to him everything in you weakened by the minute. For a flicker, you don’t even recall Jake, or his name or him being the context of the conversation. Your mind grows more cluttered it is like everything was upside down, with Sunghoon’s mere touch of skin sending your brain into a wired mess.

“Thro- I didn’t throw you away, Sunghoon. I told you why-“

“You probably have no idea, but I’m quite a jealous man.”

Before you can respond, Sunghoon leans in, capturing your lips with a fervent kiss. You taste the yearning in his kiss and, almost instinctively, you return it with equal intensity. Any remnants of your defences crumble, and you know there's no point in trying to rebuild them, especially now as you fully succumb to him. Moments like this remind you why you typically don’t drink alcohol. Though there wouldn’t really be a different outcome even if you were fully sober; knowing and finally admitting to yourself that you do want this. You want all of him.

The kiss deepens, becoming more passionate as he pushes you up against the edge of the sink. One of his hands remains tightly gripped around your waist, anchoring you to him, while the other slowly travels down to the hem of your skirt. With a deliberate motion, he lifts it slightly, allowing his hand to slip underneath, where he firmly grasps your thigh, pulling you even closer to him. A moan escapes through your connected lips as you feel his hand firmly gripping every inch of your thigh and tracing along the curve of your ass, his touch sending electric sensations through your body.

Your hands roam eagerly over his broad chest, fingers threading through his locks and pulling him closer like your life depended on him. Sunghoon seizes the momentary parting of your lips, his tongue sweeping in to explore the wet warmth of your mouth. He skillfully intertwines his tongue with yours, drawing you deeper into the kiss, his movements becoming more eager and vigorous.

Breaking the kiss briefly, a thin strand of saliva glistens between your lips, hinting at the raw desire that lingers. "You think I don't see the way he looks at you?" he whispers huskily, his eyes now a darker shade. "Flirting with you, touching you—God, it's so fucking annoying.” Your mind too clouded to respond, you tug on his shirt, urging him back into the kiss, but he hesitates, teasingly resisting your pull. The fingers resting on your dampened cloth underneath start to circulate and that just sends you into a drive of lusting need for him, now.

"And you choose to wear this skimpy ass skirt around him—around me, all wet like this,” Sunghoon murmurs, frustration evident in his voice. "I swear, you'll be the death of me." With a sigh, he reconnects your lips with his, each moment growing hotter than the last. You moan in between kisses, your own hands now gripping onto his shirt to tug and pull him even closer, bodies pressing against each other. With that eagerness coming from you, Sunghoon holds your underwear to the side with his thumb, pushing two fingers into your folds without breaking the kiss. Your gasp disappears into his mouth as the intrusion takes you off guard.

“F-fuck.” Unable to hold it in, you let out a moan and pulled away from his lips with your eyes closed shut surrendering to the pleasure overtaking your senses. He doesn’t stop kissing you though, moving down to the side of your neck and you tilt your head giving him an easier excess in smothering your bare skin with kisses and marks you really hoped would be easy to cover up tomorrow.

“You’re mine. My pretty girl.” the way he exhales those words tickles your skin and makes the hair on your body stand up as if electrified, the fingers pumping in and out of you intruding harder than before. Your senses grow hazier by the second and a sting shoots through your veins at the feel of Sunghoon’s teeth sinking on your flesh and he sucks on it, lips not leaving your neck only to grow rougher when you give his locks a harsh pull.

“M-mhm.” you bite your lips hard from stuttering out any coherent words, gasping for a little bit of air to come soothe your quickened heart when Sunghoon pulls himself away from you. He grips both sides of your panties from underneath your skirt and pulls them down as he gets on his knees directly in front of you.

The rush of cold air breezes through and tickles your exposed core making you squeeze your thighs together which earns a playful smirk from the younger's lips. He then leans his face close and has his hands gripped onto your thighs for support before he dives under your skirt to give your wetness a clean lick. The warm feel of his wet tongue on your folds jolts you in a gasped surprise, making you pull onto his hair harder as you wobbly stood against the sink praying your knees didn’t decide to give up so easily. He didn't seem to mind the aggressiveness, more so enjoying it now as he gets on the same level with the flick of his tongue and saliva all combed up around your core.

“M-mhm, right there.” you bunch your skirt up now to get a good view of him under you like this, his eyelids closed as he hungrily swirls his tongue around and inside you with quenched thirst trying to taste every inch of your dripping wetness. It’s a sight you wish you could take a picture of and stare at forever.

Sunghoon opens his lids a little to gaze up at your face, both hands on your thighs now going up to grip the cheeks of your ass harshly as he accelerated his pace. Guiding you to ride his face with his hands, your vision starts to blur at the heightening sensation brewing in your stomach with every jab of his tongue. The sloshing sound of wet licking and the groans vibrating through your folds with such a face clamped up between your legs, you were reaching to release quicker than intended; wanting to devour the moment of pleasure a little bit longer but it wasn’t really a choice you could’ve made.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah- I’m cumming-” the words grow a pitch higher with your moans as you grip onto his hair fully, coming undone right into his mouth for his senses to devour all of you, and he doesn’t stop licking even when your insides were throbbing. After a few breaths, Sunghoon licks your bare flesh clean and finally pulls away from your core, standing back up to his feet to leave a bruising kiss on your lips. He doesn’t leave out the swift swiping of his tongue on your lips for you to have a taste of yourself.

“Tastes so fucking good, my pretty girl.” The room felt like it was spinning, nothing was making any sense but it felt too good to be probing for any. Getting a morsel of what you’ve been missing for the last month has made you long for more- an addiction that fed you a little too well.

“I’m not done with you yet,” Sunghoon says in the silent seconds of the moment and grabs to hold the sides of your waist again. He then turns you around to face the bathroom mirror, pushing himself up on you until your skirt rides up even more to feel the hardened bulge in his pants making you grip onto the sink tightly to balance yourself. The look on both of your faces stares back at you from the reflection, plumped-up lips and reddened skin paint the view of the state you are in.

What a turn of events- you really had faith in yourself to not end up in this exact situation again and maybe if you just avoided gaping at what was in front of you, you might feel a little better about yourself; not that any ounce of regret would stand in the way of any of this.

The boy snakes up one hand over your shoulder to hold a grip on your jaw, making you look straight into the mirror while using the other to unzip his pants down. He knew what was going on in your head and wanted to make sure you saw this; saw the truth of what you both really feel. “Say it, admit it, whose are you?” he growls and gives your earlobe a little suck until it turned red, pushing you down to bend over the sink with your bare ass fully pressed against him. That makes you lose your balance a little, hands once gripping the sink swiftly falls off to the side and he instead takes hold of your waist again seeing how you struggled to stand in place in such a position. “Y-yours, I’m yours.”

A smirk recreates on his lips while he pulls his boxers off and you see this through the mirror, eyes trying so hard to focus on him but immediately failing when his sprung-out cock presses against you. “M’ gonna fuck you so good, you don’t ever forget that.” Sunghoon inclines forward to plant a soft kiss on the back of your head before thrusting himself into your still throbbing wetness with a loud grunt. “Fuuuuck, I missed you.” As he starts to catch his pace, the lump forming on the back of your throat threatens to let the tears in the brim of your eyes fall. You missed him too.

The fill of his length pulls you into overdrive with how much ecstasy is streaming through your veins with each pump he pushes in you. The sound of skin slapping on skin gets faster and louder, only covered by the moans and groans falling out both of your lips. Sunghoon had his eyes closed momentarily as he pulled his head back, swimming in the sensation of your walls clenching on him, enveloping him with such a warm welcome it felt like home.

“A-ah, feel so full.” “Yeah, baby? You like feeling me all in you?” You nod along your moans that you don’t even try holding back anymore, despite being in the bathroom of someone else’s house which, who cares at this point? The people outside were probably all gone in their respective vices and nobody was bothering you, yet. Opening your eyes only to meet Sunghoon’s shaded ones reflected in the mirror, and seeing him fucking you in such a view with his hair all dishevelled and tongue constantly licking his lips; how could you not fall to your knees for this man?

“Fuck, fuck, keep squeezing me like that and I’m gone baby.” he breathily pants with furrowed brows, hand reaching out to bunch up your hair and giving it a pull to make your back arch while he uses another hand to trail up your chest, groping onto your boobs over your shirt so harshly you were sure his hands were printed on your skin. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

“F-feels s-so good, Sunghoon, mhm fuck.” You weren’t sure if saying that made him angry or more turned on but with the way his hand from your chest made it way up to encircle your neck and his pace growing quicker than before you could barely keep your legs upright; you figured it was the latter. “Yeah, baby say my name again. Say my name and I’m gonna cum all in you.”

“Mmnn! I’m a-almost there Sunghoon please-” The tears plunge from your eyes and the saltiness glistens your lips, gulping down the lump in your throat forming when he continuously slams his tip on your walls. “M’ gonna fill you up so good, fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m cumming” He says this through his breath barely reaching your ears, too busy indulging in your own pleasure as you ride out your high clenching yourself around his warm spill filling you to the brim.

The vigour of pleasure you felt made you see nothing but white, the air rising so hot and clammy it made you feel like combusting. Sunghoon gives it a few more pumps to make sure his load doesn’t spill out in a mess and groans at the aftermath of it all, leaning forward again to kiss your head before pulling out of you slowly. Your waist throbbed in pain when you do stand up straight again and turned back around to face him, but you seemed still stuck in a daze to focus on that.

The room fills with nothing but the panting of your breaths hoping to slow down your heaving and the burning still buzzing in your brain. Sunghoon pulls his pants up and fixes himself in the mirror with a satisfied smile etched on his face, and you watch him reach out to take some tissue from next to the sink and bend down in front of you yet again. You look down at him with a quirked-up brow and he looks back up to you still wearing the same expression. “C’mon, let me clean you up.” he then proceeds to do so, wiping every inch of your core and thighs clean from any excess that could (hopefully not) spill down later on.

It takes you back to those times he used to take care of you after fucking you until you saw stars; this habit of his making your cheeks burn up like it was the first time. Sunghoon throws the used tissue away and gets up on his feet, eyes no longer grey but complete of longing, gazing into yours once again drawing you in. He leans in closer to brush his nose against yours before planting the softest most loving kiss on your lips and you wish it lasted a lifetime. “I missed you, Sunghoon.” you blurt out first this time after pulling away and it comes to both of your surprise that you didn’t stick to denying and hurting his feelings anymore. What did they say about growth?

“Y/n, I-“ Sunghoon begins with a desperate plea in his tone, hands clasped on yours but was immediately cut off by the knocking of the door from continuing. Ah right, you were still in Jay’s fucking bathroom. Realisation seemed to hit only seconds later, both trying to shush the other from erupting with laughter. “Let’s go outside first.” You say with an assuring hold on his hand, reaching for the doorknob to swing it open. “Sor-“Taking a step out, you gasp at the sight of widened eyes looking straight back at you and Sunghoon, most probably in horror.

“What the fu-“

#enhypen #enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #sunghoon #park sunghoon #sunghoon smut #sunghoon x reader #enhypen hard hours #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen imagines #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon fanfic #sunghoon hard hours #enha smut #enha imagines #enha hard hours

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plumipal · 6 months ago

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The Tattoo (part three)

After scarabias overblot, and seeing what Ace and Deuce were willing to do for you, you were so touched that you decided to get them tattooed on your body as a small heart and a spade. After that chaos ensues-

If you wanna read the whole prolouge, then it's here

Oh poor Idia, where do we even start for him?... poor guy is absolutely shattered as soon as he saw those two tattoos on you through the cameras. He felt his entire reason to live just shatter. He feels his entire world collapsing in on itself. He completely just, breaks down, sobbing to himself on the floor trying to rationalise how the tattoos were not real, to try to keep his sanity in tact.

The days after that disastrous breakdown, he has been stuck in bed, too depressed to frankly do anything but to sulk. He had not eaten, not drank enough, and his personal hygiene is downright awful.

Once Ortho has convinced him to get up because crowley demanded him to actually attend his classes or it's byebye NRC for Idia, his pity for himself has turned into rage. Whenever he sees the dumb duo he can't help but to want to do anything against them, he sure would LOVE to doxx them...

But after some reconciderence from Ortho (statistics show he would be one of the top suspects for it and therefore make the prefect hate him even more (he believes)) he instead chose to take care of himself, putting actual effort in how he looks as to win you over with that. He sure hope it works, please...

Don't think ortho is just hyping up his brother, cuz he is sure helping on the sidelines. Digging up info the students don't want anyone to know abour sure is easy when you have unlimited internet access (and some illegal ways to obtain the info)

That's the easy way of getting students away from you, but getting you trapped up with them is almost just as easy. He starts calling you his siblings as well, subtly telling you how you and idia would be the greatest siblings ever to him, even backing up and glorifying hos brother in your eyes, anything it takes to get you to chose idia.... you will all be a happy family....

Sebek, for once in his life, is stunned to silence. He cant quite grapple the thoughts and feelings swirling within him is making him feel quite sick, making him quiet for the rest of the day..

Once classes has ended, he bolts over to his dorm only to dramatically lock himself in his dorm room and let out the worst crying session ever. He is sobbing,

The whole ordeal and emotions results in him having the need to constantly watch over you, as a way to show that he too can protect you, he can be there for you, just like ace and Deuce, but better! Please, he needed you, he needs you to need him too, please...

Silver don't quite know what to think about this. He cant blame you, the heroic stunts of your friends sure are nice, but why with something so permanent? He could do what they did and so much more for you, give him an opportunity and he will show you.

After "the talk" the four of them had, he has had a hard time sleeping for the first time in his life. He feels exhausted yet can't close his eyes, pictures of you happily being with ace and Deuce clouding his poor exhausted brain. He will take this on the only way he knows, a duel for your love and your hand.

You're not dumb either, you see how tired he had been and the lack of sleep he has been getting, and feeling bad for him you let him sleep on tou if that would help him. He takes this opportunity and sure is greedy with it, wanting more and more sleep time with you. It's one way to claim you, and at the moment it's enough for him, but don't think he won't demand more in the soon future..

Lilia feels heartbroken. First that the prefect, his beloved, has shown this love that he would love to have for someone else (especially two people), it breaks his heart. What breaks his heart even more is how he needs to go against his own sons for his beloved too. But he will do whatever it takes to secure you for himself.

When he meets you after hearing about the tattoo, he tries act as normal as possible, not wanting to scare you away with his desperation. Despite that though, he will also try to advance, because he is NOT losing to all these youngsters, he's old enough to know exactly how to treat someone right. Let him treat your right, please, he begs of you....

Malleus feels like there's a storm inside him, getting worse by every second he thinks about that forsaken tattoo you have. He activately tries to think less about it, not wanting the whole school to be stuck in a storm for weeks, especially when you're situated in that poor awful old and decrepid building. He will try to smite ace and Deuce if he has the choise to though-

After the anger dies down, that's when the sadness flows in. The fact that he was not your favorite, that he was not worth his own tattoo, frankly brings him to tears. He has never been denied something in his life, especially something that he wants so badly. It's a foreign feeling, and a horrible one at that.

He is an attention hungry dragon, give him what he wants and he will give you the world without question. Just, please, give him the love and affection he both crave and deserves...

Chat, im tired. Let me sleep- FINALLY THIS SERIES IS FINISHED! or so I thought- o will focus on other comics/ideas before I come back for the endings tho, because I kinda wanna do other stuff and not just the tattoo shenanigans yknow :) one again huge thanks to @artdolliewishes for lots of support and help lmao

I hope yall enjoyed this shitshow of a series atleast, was lots of fun to create after all

#yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst art #yandere twisted wonderland art #yandere idia shroud #yandere idia x reader #yandere sebek zigvolt #yandere sebek x reader #yandere silver #yandere silver x reader #yandere lilia vanrouge #yandere lilia x reader #yandere malleus draconia #yandere malleus x reader #the tattoo series

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otkuhotgirl · 7 months ago

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─── 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 .

# with roronoa zoro.

zoro feared the prospect of sex, for his cock was much too large for comfort. you made sure to reassure him on the contrary.

⎰ & KINKTOBER, day two. smut (mdni). cock worship. deepthroat. oral (male receiving). afab!reader.

WC: 2k.

zoro was a sizable man. he was neither towering nor lean, more often than not short in comparison to the opponents he faced in the new world. his height remained above average for a common man, yet it was not length that made him; it was width. one had no need for a ten foot stature if the forethought disadvantage happened to be compensated with strength — and that was the one thing zoro did not lack in. muscles the size of a head and a body made for largeness, it was of no surprise that the same statement applied to his cock.

zoro was not prone to over-compensating competition with other men when it came to size, however, whenever the shitty cook was concerned, he was not beyond it either. sharing baths was a common activity, and he’d be caught dead before admitting to checking curly’s length — but he did. sanji was longer; whereas zoro was larger. he figured the other man’s cock would slide easier, cause less struggle, and when such thought traveled to you, zoro’s mood was quick to sour.

his yearning was nowhere near hidden. eyes trailed to your figure; a never-ending hunger; the redoubled effort to protect you alone. wasted months as a pirate-hunter, previous to the acceptance of an offer that would grant him the iridescent value of life, were but a blur of steel and blood; the meaningless pursuit of foreordained woe. a famished beast wielding sharp canines was unfit to claim the passionate touch of another, for it was meant to maim rather than to sooth. yet, under the golden grace of his captain’s command, zoro had become neither a hound nor a fiend. he was the fierce protector; the shield and the sword that soared above those deserving of his strength.

the acceptance of such character had cost him months of lonesome pondering. yearning for one he could not have; finding himself an ogre daring to dream about a deity’s kiss. being separated from the crew had countless disadvantages, but perhaps distance could present a cure for the enchantment you had placed on him.

he was — as expected — wrong.

the castle zoro had been sent to was one of many hallways and rooms, ensuring considerable privacy if one was to disconsider the ghost woman’s antics. whenever he was spent from training, a phantom at night secured under covers, his hand would trail itself to his aching cock, testing the waters; finding what pleased him the most.

you’d then invade his thoughts as though a promise of heavenly bliss. his hands were rougher; calluses born from a life of sword-wielding. his grip was brutal; his pace relentless. the length not fitting quite well around his palm, inches left uncovered. zoro would lose himself in the image of your struggle — tear-stained face and wide-opened mouth, the recurrent effort of swallowing him whole. he’d picture his hands on your head; your nose against his pubic hair. zoro would then rut his hips, pleasure born from the sound of your gagging, muffled by his cock. you’d whine and scratch at the flesh of his thighs; a trail of thin, pale, rose marking the muscles as yours to ruin. glossy eyes aimed at him, spit dripping down your chin. his bliss thereafter would be thundering, and though his load would cascade from his restless palm to his abdomen, zoro dreamt that it was meeting your tongue and face instead; coating your figure with spurs of white.

the act was recurrent. two years coated in training and masturbating. re-encountering you — the muse whose sacredness he dreamt of ruining —, zoro failed to return to the previous camaraderie. he withstood but six agonizing days before claiming your lips on the crow’s nest, the pent-up desire clouding logic. yet, the you from his subconscious — fucked-up, writhing, struggling — proved to be easier to ruin. zoro struggled to convey the idea of doing it so to the real you, meaning that, while your relationship was anything but cold, it wasn’t as passionate as you’d figured would be.

zoro feared his length to be an unwanted monstrosity; an overbearing amount of flesh. you were eager to prove him wrong.

his usual nightwatch approached, accompanied by guaranteed six hours of alone-time with your swordsman. when zoro reached the crow’s nest, a bottle of cheap sake in hand, and found you sitting the couch with a sly glint to your eyes, he seemed conflicted — both fearful and excited. you tapped on the cushion, and he grinned in faux confidence upon his approach.

zoro’s teeth dug on the cork and he spat it out, drowning his nervousness with awful-tasting alcohol. a solitaire string slipped past his parted lips to drip down his chain, a droplet of it resting on his clothed thigh. your fingers gripped the fabric of your shorts, not quite enough to contain the desire.

“how was your day?” he inquired, amused by your reaction.

“solid, nothing worth-sharing,” you rasped, glancing at his lips. “what about yours?”

“it’s better now,” he answered, intonation carrying a smoothness enough to leave you flustered.

zoro grabbed a fistful of your thigh before guiding your legs to his lap, making himself a tool for your rest. another swig; a renewed cascate of alcohol sailing through the rough seas of tanned skin.

“came to sleep with me?” zoro teased, tapping his fingers on your leg without proper rhythm. it was a double-edged sword hidden amidst inoffensive silk; ambiguous inquiry meant to embarrass, for he had never dared to surrender to lust. yet.

“trying to, but you’re a hard shell to crack,” you blurted, fearing the possible loss of bravery.

the bottle hovered mid-path; damp glass meeting chapped lips. zoro held himself with certain astonishment, unplaced doubt whose roots you could not find. he cleared his throat, perhaps pondering on a suitable approach for subject shift. you were swifter, readjusting the angle of your legs in order to sit on his lap.

zoro’s heartbeat was a wild flutter of butterfly wings under the touch. he shuddered when your lips were dragged through the flesh, tender kisses with warm tongue following-in-suit. you resisted the urge to recoil at the bitter taste of sake, smearing your palate as you wiped his chin clean. you blew a gust of air over his earrings, teeth around cheap gold.

his free, calloused palm gripped the covered flesh of your ass, the back of his head resting on the wall as zoro guided your movements; a grunt at the leisure roll of your hips.

your fingers toyed with the hems of his kimono, parting it open. the sleeves hang on his forearms before zoro freed his upper figure from the fabric altogether, allowing it to pool on his hips. your lips left a trail of kisses in its wake, hickeys drawn from his collarbone to the thin, large, scarred tissue on his chest. zoro groaned, muffling a pathetic moan with the swallowing of sake.

your figure retreated, coating his flesh with saliva, adoring the sword-wound who had once been fresh and bloodied, skin relinquishing to another’s blade. the scar was a symbol of his survival; the token of his dream. zoro had not once seen it past the image of strength, unable to convey it as an object worth-loving. yet, your lips held nothing but fondness, and that had been his uttermost undoing.

zoro’s cock hardened, a constant poking under the weight of your ass. his hips rutted after a particular swirl of tongue around his nipple, and he grew desperate; a tender attempt to nudge you away.

your fists clenched around his muscles, face pressed against his chest. you looked up at him, a voice coated in confusion. “what is the matter?”

zoro’s lips parted, yet his voice was lost when a particular roll of your hips dragged your cunt above his aching cock. his eyes trailed down to the covered bulge, breathless at the idealization of what was to come.

“zoro,” you hummed, brushing your cheek against his muscular frame.

“it’s too large,” he grunted, gripping the bottle. “you will hurt.”

you were confused, biting it down. the frustrating hesitation from his part; the absence of lustful touches. for the briefest instances, you were drawn to believe that he deemed you unattractive. yet, all could be resumed by his fear of bringing you pain. it was adorable, although not what you had the need for whatsoever. for there was a looming beast, starved and yearning for a decent prey.

“of course it will,” you grinned, aiming to provoke the creature under the man. “you would be a disappointment otherwise.”

his demeanor shifted, tenderness vanishing amidst a gust of wind. zoro leaned back, drowning down a considerable amount of sake. he raised an eyebrow; challenging, demanding.

“what are you waiting for?” he grunted, gripping the back of your head; tearing your face off his warmth. “get on your knees and work.”

your legs clenched at the command, and your figure slipped to the ground; knees pressed against the harsh wood. your figure arched, so as to offer him the clear sight of your ass. zoro grunted, pressing your face against his covered member.

“don’t make me spell it out for you,” he rasped, curling his fingers in a bruising grip. “strip me.”

zoro made no efforts to aid you in such a task. you undid the knot of his kimono; tugged on his haramaki; removed his pants and underwear all but enough to witness the sight of his leaking shaft slapping against his abdomen.

he was not one to trim. the extension was curved; prominent veins twitching the second you had licked your lips. the tip was of violent swolleness, urging to be touched. the source of previous apprehension shone clearer, for zoro — although not quite as long —, was far larger; enough to stuff your mouth full.

“done watchin’?” he mocked, wiping a drop of sake from the corner of his lips. “all bark and no bite?”

he was offered a glint of faux innocence, your lips parting to produce yet another provocation. zoro had clutched the opportunity then, shoving his member inside, groaning at the warmth of your mouth wrapped around him.

a snap of his hips had pushed his length further, his tip brushing the back of your throat. you gagged, overcome with shock. tears rolled down your cheeks, and you struggled against his grip, a failed attempt at retreat. zoro pushed you back, suffocating your nose with his pubic hair; halting the flux of air with his cock. you moaned around him, squirming under his strength.

“look at you,” he cooed, caressing your chin with his thumb. “wasn’t i the one at risk to disappoint? can’t handle it, can you?”

obscured spots overcame the crystalline tears, clouded vision and an aching head as you were drawn closer to unconsciousness. zoro laughed, pulling you back. your burning chest filled itself with oxygen, desperate gasps and coughs all but amusing him further.

“open up,” he snapped, inserting a thumb inside your mouth and parting your jaw. zoro angled the bottle and poured sake on your tongue, liquid-fire igniting your throat. once he had enough, he pushed your chin up, forcing your lips sealed. “swallow.”

you obeyed, a slap of his cock meeting the side of your face. he teased his tip on the entrance of your mouth, gripping your nape. you gave him the desired access, and without an inch of hesitation, zoro filled you with his cock. no longer unused to his largeness, you began with swirling movements of your tongue, wetting the twitching veins; hollowing your cheeks to increase the pressure.

zoro groaned with unthought loudness, raising his hips to force himself deeper. one hand massaged his ball; nails dug on his thigh, scratching the surface, fresh blood pouring from the muscular flesh. his tip teased your uvula, returning to the tip of your tongue before reaching the end yet again. the up-and-down bobbing of your head was a constant; repetitive sounds of your gagging.

spit dripped down your chin, the salt of his essence nudging your palate. zoro chugged down the remaining sake, moaning as he glanced at your tear-stricken face; sweat and spit and pre-cum maiming the sculpture of your being.

“ngh— ‘m close,” he warned, snapping his hips and forcing himself further, uncaring as to whether or not you had relaxed your throat to receive his largeness.

you hummed around him, shutting your eyes in order to appreciate the entirety of his bliss. zoro snarled, snapping. “don’t you dare close your eyes. i want you to see me.”

your lungs burned, pooled tears. zoro was but a hazed image, though you could see the pleased glint in his eyes, the face contorting with the thrill of desire.

“you will swallow,” he stated, his head falling into the wall. zoro clenched the muscles of his abdomen, offering you a clear sight of his bobbing throat. “you’re close to passing out, aren’t you? i will fuck you unconscious if you do.”

you whimpered, failing to nod as zoro’s load drowned your throat and tongue. swallowing it all was but impossible, multiple strings of white dripping past your lips; traveling down your chin and throat. the removal of his cock left your mouth oddly empty, and zoro dragged your body to his lap, pressing you against his figure. he placed a hand above your chest, guaranteeing that your heart and breathing were steadying.

zoro’s thumb pushed his essence yet again into your mouth, humming when you offered him the sight of your tongue, stained with his cum.

“not a disappointment at all,” he mused, kissing your temple. “i wonder, does your cunt stretch as much as your mouth?”

— 🐈‍⬛ : zoro fuck my mouth challenge. happy second day of kinktober!

#kinktober 2024 #one piece #op #op x reader #op x you #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece smut #op smut #zoro roronoa #roronoa zoro #zoro roronoa x reader #zoro roronoa x you #zoro x reader #zoro smut #roronoa zoro smut #zoro x you #zoro imagine #zoro

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year ago

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How lock-in hurts design

Berliners: Otherland has added a second date (Jan 28) for my book-talk after the first one sold out - book now!

If you've ever read about design, you've probably encountered the idea of "paving the desire path." A "desire path" is an erosion path created by people departing from the official walkway and taking their own route. The story goes that smart campus planners don't fight the desire paths laid down by students; they pave them, formalizing the route that their constituents have voted for with their feet.

Desire paths aren't always great (Wikipedia notes that "desire paths sometimes cut through sensitive habitats and exclusion zones, threatening wildlife and park security"), but in the context of design, a desire path is a way that users communicate with designers, creating a feedback loop between those two groups. The designers make a product, the users use it in ways that surprise the designer, and the designer integrates all that into a new revision of the product.

This method is widely heralded as a means of "co-innovating" between users and companies. Designers who practice the method are lauded for their humility, their willingness to learn from their users. Tech history is strewn with examples of successful paved desire-paths.

Take John Deere. While today the company is notorious for its war on its customers (via its opposition to right to repair), Deere was once a leader in co-innovation, dispatching roving field engineers to visit farms and learn how farmers had modified their tractors. The best of these modifications would then be worked into the next round of tractor designs, in a virtuous cycle:

https://securityledger.com/2019/03/opinion-my-grandfathers-john-deere-would-support-our-right-to-repair/

But this pattern is even more pronounced in the digital world, because it's much easier to update a digital service than it is to update all the tractors in the field, especially if that service is cloud-based, meaning you can modify the back-end everyone is instantly updated. The most celebrated example of this co-creation is Twitter, whose users created a host of its core features.

Retweets, for example, were a user creation. Users who saw something they liked on the service would type "RT" and paste the text and the link into a new tweet composition window. Same for quote-tweets: users copied the URL for a tweet and pasted it in below their own commentary. Twitter designers observed this user innovation and formalized it, turning it into part of Twitter's core feature-set.

Companies are obsessed with discovering digital desire paths. They pay fortunes for analytics software to produce maps of how their users interact with their services, run focus groups, even embed sneaky screen-recording software into their web-pages:

https://www.wired.com/story/the-dark-side-of-replay-sessions-that-record-your-every-move-online/

This relentless surveillance of users is pursued in the name of making things better for them: let us spy on you and we'll figure out where your pain-points and friction are coming from, and remove those. We all win!

But this impulse is a world apart from the humility and respect implied by co-innovation. The constant, nonconsensual observation of users has more to do with controlling users than learning from them.

That is, after all, the ethos of modern technology: the more control a company can exert over its users ,the more value it can transfer from those users to its shareholders. That's the key to enshittification, the ubiquitous platform decay that has degraded virtually all the technology we use, making it worse every day:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/19/twiddler/

When you are seeking to control users, the desire paths they create are all too frequently a means to wrestling control back from you. Take advertising: every time a service makes its ads more obnoxious and invasive, it creates an incentive for its users to search for "how do I install an ad-blocker":

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/07/adblocking-how-about-nah

More than half of all web-users have installed ad-blockers. It's the largest consumer boycott in human history:

https://doc.searls.com/2023/11/11/how-is-the-worlds-biggest-boycott-doing/

But zero app users have installed ad-blockers, because reverse-engineering an app requires that you bypass its encryption, triggering liability under Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act. This law provides for a $500,000 fine and a 5-year prison sentence for "circumvention" of access controls:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/12/youre-holding-it-wrong/#if-dishwashers-were-iphones

Beyond that, modifying an app creates liability under copyright, trademark, patent, trade secrets, noncompete, nondisclosure and so on. It's what Jay Freeman calls "felony contempt of business model":

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

This is why services are so horny to drive you to install their app rather using their websites: they are trying to get you to do something that, given your druthers, you would prefer not to do. They want to force you to exit through the gift shop, you want to carve a desire path straight to the parking lot. Apps let them mobilize the law to literally criminalize those desire paths.

An app is just a web-page wrapped in enough IP to make it a felony to block ads in it (or do anything else that wrestles value back from a company). Apps are web-pages where everything not forbidden is mandatory.

Seen in this light, an app is a way to wage war on desire paths, to abandon the cooperative model for co-innovation in favor of the adversarial model of user control and extraction.

Corporate apologists like to claim that the proliferation of apps proves that users like them. Neoliberal economists love the idea that business as usual represents a "revealed preference." This is an intellectually unserious tautology: "you do this, so you must like it":

https://boingboing.net/2024/01/22/hp-ceo-says-customers-are-a-bad-investment-unless-they-can-be-made-to-buy-companys-drm-ink-cartridges.html

Calling an action where no alternatives are permissible a "preference" or a "choice" is a cheap trick – especially when considered against the "preferences" that reveal themselves when a real choice is possible. Take commercial surveillance: when Apple gave Ios users a choice about being spied on – a one-click opt of of app-based surveillance – 96% of users choice no spying:

https://arstechnica.com/gadgets/2021/05/96-of-us-users-opt-out-of-app-tracking-in-ios-14-5-analytics-find/

But then Apple started spying on those very same users that had opted out of spying by Facebook and other Apple competitors:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

Neoclassical economists aren't just obsessed with revealed preferences – they also love to bandy about the idea of "moral hazard": economic arrangements that tempt people to be dishonest. This is typically applied to the public ("consumers" in the contemptuous parlance of econospeak). But apps are pure moral hazard – for corporations. The ability to prohibit desire paths – and literally imprison rivals who help your users thwart those prohibitions – is too tempting for companies to resist.

The fact that the majority of web users block ads reveals a strong preference for not being spied on ("users just want relevant ads" is such an obvious lie that doesn't merit any serious discussion):

https://www.iccl.ie/news/82-of-the-irish-public-wants-big-techs-toxic-algorithms-switched-off/

Giant companies attained their scale by learning from their users, not by thwarting them. The person using technology always knows something about what they need to do and how they want to do it that the designers can never anticipate. This is especially true of people who are unlike those designers – people who live on the other side of the world, or the other side of the economic divide, or whose bodies don't work the way that the designers' bodies do:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/20/benevolent-dictators/#felony-contempt-of-business-model

Apps – and other technologies that are locked down so their users can be locked in – are the height of technological arrogance. They embody a belief that users are to be told, not heard. If a user wants to do something that the designer didn't anticipate, that's the user's fault:

https://www.wired.com/2010/06/iphone-4-holding-it-wrong/

Corporate enthusiasm for prohibiting you from reconfiguring the tools you use to suit your needs is a declaration of the end of history. "Sure," John Deere execs say, "we once learned from farmers by observing how they modified their tractors. But today's farmers are so much stupider and we are so much smarter that we have nothing to learn from them anymore."

Spying on your users to control them is a poor substitute asking your users their permission to learn from them. Without technological self-determination, preferences can't be revealed. Without the right to seize the means of computation, the desire paths never emerge, leaving designers in the dark about what users really want.

Our policymakers swear loyalty to "innovation" but when corporations ask for the right to decide who can innovate and how, they fall all over themselves to create laws that let companies punish users for the crime of contempt of business-model.

I'm Kickstarting the audiobook for The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues, narrated by @wilwheaton! You can pre-order the audiobook and ebook, DRM free, as well as the hardcover, signed or unsigned. There's also bundles with Red Team Blues in ebook, audio or paperback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/24/everything-not-mandatory/#is-prohibited

Image: Belem (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Desire_path_%2819811581366%29.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #desire paths #design #drm #everything not mandatory is prohibited #apps #ip #innovation #user innovation #technological self-determination #john deere #twitter #felony contempt of business model

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thewatcher727 · 11 months ago

Text

Writing Description Notes: Mental Pain

Updated 3rd June 2024 More description notes

The hallucinations were the same as being tortured for real, all of the emotions, all of the trauma, and none of the empathy that would come with such a real life ordeal.

There was something in that shout, a pain behind it. John watched. He watched Jane’s eyes. Then he knew. The anger was nothing but a shield for pain, like a cornered soldier randomly throwing out grenades, scared for his life, lonely, desperate. He breathed in real slowly. What if nothing blew up? What if there were no consequences? Wouldn't John have to calm down? Wouldn't the shield clatter to the ground and let the pain tumble out?

John sees Jane. He does. He sees pain in her eyes. It has sat there for her lifetime, trapped in the confusion we all carry. He sees love too, the love she would have given were it not for the scars. It's still there, and one day he will set her free. John is not perfect, yet he loves her, and he knows what love means. He asks for a chance to find his feet, to stop his own head from spinning, and he will prove it. There is so much of her life that is a hell for her soul, and she stays there from strength rather than weakness, he knows. So he wants to join her in that pain, walk with her, feel the same torture he knows she bears. And one day, he will find just the right way to bring her home, his love.

Jane's emotional pain seeps out in her words, and it hurts John to hear them, hurts to read them. He senses what is inside that troubles her, yet also there is so much goodness there too—bravery, tenacity. She holds on like a fighter, every morning rising at the ringing of "the bell." All he can offer her is a brighter horizon, a hope that one day she will be free of all this. One day there will be choice, freedom, and security of food, shelter on a healthy Earth.

Emotional pain leaves invisible scars, yet they can be traced by the most gentle of touch.

Nobody wants to hurt, yet if John's pains can be used to help others, he feels blessed. Anyhow, perhaps his scars are his road-map; maybe he would be lost without them.

He turned towards him, a pained expression plastered across his face, teeth clenched as he tried to steady his breathing.

Gripping the ground as hard as he could to take some of the pain away.

It was as if a thousand needles of doubt and self-loathing were piercing her heart with each passing moment, leaving behind a tapestry of scars that only she could see.

It was as though a veil of sadness had been draped over her eyes, distorting her perception of the world and casting everything in shades of gray.

The weight of sorrow was a constant companion, pressing down on his shoulders until he felt he might collapse under its burden.

Her mind was a battlefield, each thought a landmine ready to explode with memories she wished she could forget.

The storm inside his head raged on, a relentless barrage of thoughts and fears that left him feeling exhausted and defeated.

It was as if a dark cloud had settled over his soul.

Her chest felt hollow, a yawning emptiness where joy and peace once resided, now replaced by a gnawing ache.

His mind was a prison denying him the freedom to live fully.

She felt like she was drowning in an ocean of despair, every attempt to surface met with another wave of hopelessness.

Every laugh felt hollow, every smile forced, as if she were playing a role in a play she didn't want to be in.

She felt like a ghost, wandering through life unnoticed, her pain invisible to everyone but herself.

The nights were the worst, when the darkness outside matched the darkness within, and sleep was a distant dream.

It was like a fire burning within, consuming all that was good and leaving behind nothing but ashes of what used to be.

The pain was a silent scream, a cry for help that no one could hear.

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lolita-lollipop · 11 months ago

Note

YANDERE CHROLLO YANDERE CHROLLO YANDERE CHROLLO YANDERE CHROLLO YANDERE CHROLLO YANDERE CHROLLO

Romance novels

Chrollo Lucifer x reader

Where Chrollo comes home, and you aren't there.

Warnings: Violence, cursing, yandere tendencies, Stockholm syndrome

The house was too quiet. Not that it was ever truly loud, you tended to keep to yourself even when he did prompt a conversation, you had a soft voice and a quiet nature of living, something he admired about you. Even so, as much as you wished he couldn't, he would always be able to tell where you were. He was hyperaware of your existence, of course he was.

So, coming back to the fancy apartment that served as your cage, to see no lights on, hear no footsteps, to not hear the soft pitter patter of your heartbeat, or the near silent sound of your breathing in another room. The apartment was far too quiet. And something had to be very wrong here.

Chrollo had been out for a week now , leaving you with a fully stocked fridge, a TV with any movie or show you would ever need to watch, and a phone that could only ever call him, or machi in the case of emergency. You were also left with one of the best security systems in the world, a stainless steel door that would only ever unlock with his fingerprint, and windows that were securely locked. Even so... walking in to the luxury apartment, it was clear that you had not been present for at least two or three days, and even worse, it was even more evident that you had not left willingly.

As he walked through the apartment, seeing the shattered vase of flowers he had gotten you before he had left, crushed glass littering the floors from the broken mirrors across the hallways, handprints and scratch marks lining the walls, and a large puddle of blood on the floor followed by a long trail where you clearly had been dragged. He realized that this was intentional, whoever did this wanted him to see your struggles, see our fingernails torn out from trying to scratch against the walls, be able to see exactly where they hurt you. Anyone who could get into this high security building, especially without him knowing, could kidnap a weak girl like you without any struggle or mess. This was personal, this was against him.

Slowly approaching the phone, he saw the cord had been ripped out of the wall, with the microphone piece thrown across the room, it had bloody fingerprints on numbers he could easily recognize as the start of his own phone number. You had tried and failed to call for help, to call him for help. Fuck. Fuck Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Chrollo Lucifer is not an impulsive nor an emotional man. He never has been one to get frustrated nor fearful, and he has certainly never been in a situation where panic would cloud his usually steady decision making process.

But here, now, his hands were shaking, his breathing heavy, and his heart was threatening to launch out of his chest. The thought of you, the one he was so terrifyingly in love with, the only person in the world who could make him feel something other than hate for the world, precious little you who couldn't harm a fly- the thought of you in the hands of one of his enemies (which as you could guess, he has a lot of), attacked and scared and barely able to speak up for yourself, let alone fight back. The thought alone had his eyes tearing up and his voice wavering as he called the troupe for a meeting, which was quite the rare event in itself.

They would pay. He would make sure they

Would.

---

It wasnt long before every single member of the troupe was standing in this apartment, they knew to be punctual, especially when chrollo sounded as pissed of as he did on the phone. Everybody knew you, at least knew about you. The only who had actually met you was machi, even then the word spread quick that you were to be protected with their lives if you were ever in danger, and their spot in the troupe was forfeited otherwise.

So here they were, sittting in your bloody living room, staring at the crime scene with such a sharp stare it could cut you. Nobody dared to even speak, Chrollo had never looked so angry. It wasn't often anybody had the balls to steal from them, especially something as priceless as you. All 13 of the spiders looked to chrollo for guidance, all of them knew how this would end. hundreds of people would die tonight, they all could only hope that you weren't included in that number.

A loud ping from Chrollos phone broke the heavy silence of the room. Nobody but you and the troupe had this number. And they were all standing right in front of him.

He was swift with checking his messages, coming from an unknown number.

“1,000,000,000,000 jenny. Or the girl dies.”

Sent 9:23 PM

The thought alone made his heart stop, he hadn’t even realized the phone had been crushed in his hands before the glass began to cut into his calloused skin. He wasn’t an idiot, criminals, scum like him would never let you go, even if he was to pay the price. They would see your value and hold you tight. You would be coming back into his arms tonight, but not through payment. He wanted to see blood.

“Shalnark. Track my messages, find where it came from. Everybody else, be prepared to kill. This will be an in and out, if you see someone who isn’t us, they die. Are we clear?” He wanted blood, countless bodies needed to lay at his feet just for taking you out of his sight. They were idiotic Neanderthals, messing with him, who was undoubtedly the most powerful nen user in the world. Let alone messing with the troupe, combined they could do anything. Kill anything.

They would pay. An eye for an eye. They took you, so he would take their lives. Seems fair.

He found himself sat in your usual spot on the couch while the rest of the troupe lounged around the apartment. His hand met the top of one of those silly books you enjoyed reading, the ones where the protagonist gets a super power and falls in love with the enemy. He always poked fun at you, told you how you should be reading more mature texts. He would always buy them for you though, anything to make you happy. Had you been reading when they had taken you? He couldn’t imagine.

Little defenseless you cuddled on the couch with a blanket and a book,just to be snatched and bound and terrified. You were too good, you probably didn’t put up enough of a fight, you were probably too scared to hit them where it would hurt. It’s why he kept you here, to keep you safe, what good that did for him. He sad in the couch , head in his hands. Such an abnormal thing for a man like him, it had the sorrounding troupe wondering who you really were.

You had to be something special for the one and only chrollo Lucifer to be so torn up about your well being. Chrollo has watched millions of people die, too many to even try counting, so one person should be forgettable. But you, special you, had chrollo functioning out of wack.

“753 crescenta lane, the apartment building on the left, three floors up apartment number 628” the second the words left shalnarks mouth as he typed away on his laptop, chrollo shot up from his seat, crescenta lane. A street far in the slums of the city,riddled with poverty and crime. Only a couple streets away from where he grew up, the outskirts of meteor city. Not a place for a soft thing like you to be. Not a place for any of his things to be, not anymore.

The rest followed as he quickly made his way out to the cars, heart rate slowing, excitement growing for revenge. He was prepared to do the utmost worst things he could ever do. Whoever did this deserved to suffer. To scream and cry and call for help while he tore them apart.

Oh you poor thing. You don’t understand the effect you have on him. He is never the violent one, that’s supposed to be feitan. Nor is he supposed to be the angry one, that’s uvogin. He just needed you back. Now.

———

-Y/n-

You weren’t really sure what had happened to you. One second you were on the couch, a cup of tea in your hand, and a new novel in the other. When you felt a little pinch in the back of your neck, your fingers went numb first, that’s how you knew something was very very wrong here. You could slightly remember going to the phone, and then being yanked back. Your head hit something, That must be why your neck hurts so bad. Before you knew it you couldn’t move, couldn’t blink, couldn’t even breath. You remember something picking you up by the wrists and tossing you into the trunk of a car. From there on you mustve either been asleep or heavily zoned out. You couldn’t remember anything other than the roar of a loud engine.

You didn’t know much here

But you did know this was not your home

It smelled like mildew combined with unfiltered sewer water. The air was hot and dense, feeling heavy on your shoulders and in your lungs, and the feeling, oh the feeling. You had been barefoot when they had taken you, and here you were propped up in an uncomfortably rigid metal or wooden chair. As your bare feet felt the ground it was harsh concrete. It was so rough and cut up that it left a cut at the bottoms of your feet, there was something wet in the ground, if you could see you would assume it was blood.

Your neck was aching more than you could handle at the moment, your hands and arms were still numb from whatever drug that was floating through your bloodstream. You could barely muster up the strength to breath shallowly, let alone feed your lungs the air that was much needed. the lack of air combined with the lack of feeling in your body left your brain to feel fuzzy and understimulated. You hadn’t left the house in what felt like years, the familiar smell of vanilla (your favorite candles chrollo kept buying) being ever so absent freaked you out. Familiarity was comforting, and here you had absolutely none of it.

There was the quiet dripping of a faucet in the distance, maybe a leaky pipe or ceiling, the scuttle of a rat or two made you jump. You were below ground, maybe a basement, just by the way the air was denser and heavier. You used to be very observant, you haven’t had to think like this in a long time. Chrollo never gave you the chance.

That leaves the big question up in the air.

Would chrollo do something like this to you?

You have always known that he wasn’t the most stable individual, no matter how collected he might seem on the outside. There was always something complex going on, not that you ever had the brain or the care to figure it out. Thus far he hadn’t made any move to harm you, actually quite the opposite, he had always shown care, love even. You didn’t think he would do something like this.

You surely hoped he wouldn’t. You had known he was a criminal for quite some time now, and judging by his lavish lifestyle he was a bad one. You don’t get this rich by being nice. You also don’t kidnap people. If this was him, if he was the reason you were here, you were in for much worse than you could anticipate.

You should be more freaked out, it would be totally normal for you to be very very freaked out right now. Especially with how high strung you had become since moving in (being taken) with chrollo. A combination of sedatives and shock had your brain going in circles endlessly. Likely distracting from the impending doom you knew was to come.

Your head was basically off of your shoulders, floating up in space, to the point that you hadn’t even realized the heavy footsteps of a person entering the room. The crinkling of some kind of plastic, the clanking of metal.

What brought you back to earth was the feeling of a bag being pulled over your head.

A strangled gasp left your lips as the bag got tighter, a hand circling around your neck to fasten it. Confusion flowed freely through your veins as the hand released your neck and you were able to freely breathe once more. You didn’t know much, but if they were trying to suffocate you, shouldn’t you not be able to breathe? You heard the click of a camera turning on, likely for a video, before you were tipped back to be lying down on what felt like a medical metal table.

It was quiet, aside from your mumbles and moans of protest. It was quiet.

Then the water came.

It was like it was out of no where, the gag stuffed in your mouth was soaked with it in seconds, hefty splashes of water covering you and the bag over your head. You lied there in confusion for a few moments, not completely understanding what was happening. Whoever was doing this to you had yet to say anything, leaving you blindsided.

You tried to stay calm, you really did. But when the rag in your mouth soaked all the way through, and you realized you could no longer breath, panic seared off all of your calm nerves.

You’d never even thought of death, not once, not even in chrollos home. But here, but now , all you could think about was how you were going to die. How this was it, how your light was fading. How you couldn’t breathe how you couldn’t breathe. Oh god you couldn’t breathe.

You tried to thrash around, but your arms wouldn’t move, neither would your legs, all you could do was scream and thrash your head, if that. You feintly heard the sound of laughter past the bag, past the water. Were they laughing at you? Psychos. Fucking psychos. They were sitting here giggling while you slowly drowned. Fuck this. Fuck them. You hoped they would choke and die with you.

Fuck fuck fuck

Fuck fuck fuck fuck

Fuck this

Abruptly, the bag was ripped off your head, and the rag out of your mouth. The sounds of laughter continued as you sat there and cried. Heavy sobs left your mouth, if your hands were alive they would probably be shaking right now. The sound of a cameras click reverberated through the room, before the heavy footsteps getting quieter, then the slam of a door. You were left alone, cold, wet, and sniffling. What were you going to do? You were tied up, you couldn’t see, could barely think. They could do anything they wanted to you, and you would just have to let them. Oh god, this really was it wasn’t it. You were a gonor. And nobody would know where you were, not even chrollo.

Video sent 10:40 PM

Read 10:41 pm

———

-Chrollo-

They were On the way to your location when his phone buzzed again, this time with the notification of a video. He had asked pakunoda to watch it before him, in the case of the worst . He didn’t want to be the first one to know, otherwise everybody in this car might end up dead in his rage of a reaction. The woman politely grabbed his phone and viewed the video, the volume on low.

He could still hear it, hear your cries, your begging and whimpering. God he was going to obliterate everything in that building, and take you to the safest facility out there. Everyone around the small communication device looked tense as they watched it. Mainly because chrollo was tense enough for all of them.

They were used to torture and blood and all of the above, however not on people they liked, or at least on on people the boss liked. They have never been on the receiving end of the aftereffects, and they had absolutely no clue how to deal with it.

No doubt, it was something they would see as minor torture, but because it was you, it was nothing but major. Chrollo tried to be collected, tried not to show how much he truly cared. But the slow cracks of his knuckles and the tapping of his foot showed the members that he was anything but calm right now. He was out for blood, itching to get his hands back on you and hold you and love you and clean your wounds and keep you forever. He couldn’t wait to rip their organs about and then make them eat them, tear their eyeballs out and send it to their families, make them watch all of their colleagues find and slow gruesome death.

He was ready to spill blood by the time they had arrived, the malice in his energy making the air feel heavy and unbreathable, not anything special for the troupe around. But absolutely unbearable for any average passerby.

They were silent as the air itself as they entered the building through an open window, absolutely undetectable, even uvogin who was usually loud and blusterous. The tensions were high, bloodlust even higher. A majority couldn’t help but feel passionate over you, the boss was excited (a rare occurrence) so why wouldn’t the rest of them be?

It was calm in the building one second, the next, it was like a whole different dimension.

The screaming overpowered any other noise around, once the troupe had split up it had all began. The tearing of limbs, the cutting of heads, the more reckless members used their bare hands to pull people apart, the calmer ones settling for weapons. And chrollo, chrollo was different. Usually diplomatic till the inevitable death of his victims, he was now a cold killer, not even caring about conversation. The building was sweeped in minutes, dead bodies littering every nook and cranny. But still no you, they must’ve known that the troupe would come, you must be in high security.

“Where is she” the book master chrollo hissed, the collar of a man’s shirt bunched in one hand as he lifted him off the ground, mildly choking him. He looked petrified while looking into chrollos eyes, rightfully so. The man was covered head to toe in blood, sorrounded in a room of dead bodies.

“I-can’t tell you” chrollos grip began to tighten around his neck, beginning to crush his wind pipe.

“I may consider letting you free, letting you walk out if you were to answer. I’ll ask again. Where. Is. She.” He hissed once more, his grip brutally tight. The man looked fearful, his eyes flicking from one end of the room to the other , maybe to check for witnesses of his crime, maybe to check for his possible fate. Either way, he gave up to chrollos tight grip and empty promises.

“There’s a small door in the floor three rooms to the left of here, once you enter that door, you’ll have to search for a metal rimmed door with a lock. She’s in there. C-can I leave now?” The man stuttered out. Quivering in his grasp, chrollo let him go immediately after he answered, pulling his book out of his pocket. He gave a calculating glance to the short man, grimacing.

“You took too long to answer”

The man was splattered on the wall before he could even scream

———

-y/n-

It had been hours since the man was last in here, and the air had only gotton colder and wetter. Your clothing seemed to never dry and instead stay damp and frigid. They must have intentionally made it freezing in here, knowing that you would be lying down in the cold wet medical bed. You contemplated sleep, but eventually decided against it as you might wake up to some even stranger form of torture. So you sat, and you waited. You wanted to cry, but it seemed no energy was left in you to even let a tear drop roll your check. you also contemplated screaming, begging for your safety. bargaining, telling them how you were kidnapped before. But were again halted by doubt and exhaustion. it came to a point where you just lied down, still cold and ever so wet, and dry heaved. unable to cry, unable to scream, only able to sadly breathe. it felt like days, weeks even that you sat there wallowing in self pity and fear.

Then the screaming started.

At first it was just a faint buzzing in the air, something you wouldn’t been able to hear had you not been blindfolded and forced to listen as intently as possible. Then, it got louder, to the point where you could tell it was human cries, and a lot of them. Once it was loud enough to hear individual cries for help. You began to question, what is going on up there, did somebody invade, is there some kind of war… did somebody come to save you?

you tried to push out the thought, hope made you weak. made you sad once it was crushed. If chrollo had taught you anything, he had taught you that.

You tried at first to block them out, but eventually gave up as they were far too loud and far too constant to ignore. Instead, you opted to listening to what they were saying, there was the occasional “somebody please”, or a "help me". You found yourself intrigued once it got quieter and you started to hear the more specific cries of "We don't know where she is" or "we didn't know she was yours". You forced yourself to swallow that hope once more, secretly wishing for a knight in shining armor, even if it was chrollo. At least he wasn't water boarding you and laughing through the process, at least he was kind and calculated and loving. well shit, what a crazy situation to make even you believe chrollo was the good guy.

you had already been fearful when the screaming was loud, echoing through the empty room.

but when it went silent? thats when the real fear kicked in.

you werent an idiot, you knew whatever it was, even if it wasn't in your favor, was going to comb through this entire building, they must be looking for something. wether they were looking for you or not simply didn't matter, somebody was going to find you.

the fear that it could be your demise brought out that last bit of energy you needed in order to cry. And once more, you were in tears again. they only got worse as heavy footsteps found their way coming closer and closer, loud slams signifying doors being blown open. whoever this was, was not the man who was in here earlier, you could feel power radiating off them, and they were loud, and clearly big, noisier than the man from before. you were holding your breath by now, hoping to either not be heard, or pass out. either way you would not meet this man face to face.

just your luck though, presumably the metal door (you were still blindfolded and couldn't tell what it was) was ripped off its hinges, the sound screeching through the once-quiet room. it was thrown to the floor with a loud slam, and you were dumbfounded by the pure bloodlust radiating off this man, you could basically smell it in the air. you tried to peek through the blindfold to no avail. and once more found yourself in tears. you had found your arms slightly mobile by now, and were struggling with al your might, screaming, whimpering,and crying. anything to get you out. surprisingly, whoever this was had not harmed you, hadn't put you out of your misery. either they were winding up their power, or waiting till the time was right. tension settled in the room.

"uh-boss, I found her"

The voice was much closer than you had anticipated, causing you to jump a couple inches off of the seat. The blindfold was torn off your head in one fell swoop, leaving you squinting and unable to see clearly, a large man was standing in front of you, that much was obvious. He was staring, not in a creepy way you had grown used to in the presence of chrollo, but in a “what the hell do I do” kindof way. Like he had to make a decision but also didn’t want to touch you, most of all he looked at you like you would break if he so much as spoke too loud.

The silence and staring came to an abrupt end when you were able to hear quiet footsteps in the hallway, followed by chrollos familiar face. Albeit it was covered in blood, however still recognizable. It was like your world had just, stopped. Came to a screeching halt leaving you and chrollo there with locked eyes and a bit too much love for somebody who had been kidnapped multiple times over now. You had never thought that seeing him would make your heart slow, make your breathing become even, make your nerves fizzle into nothing. At first you had believed that he was the worst thing to ever happen to you. But here, but now

When he wrapped his arms around you like never before, holding you tighter and closer than usual. His smell drowned the coppery stench of blood out, leave your arms to squeeze him back for the first time ever. You don’t even remember how your restrains were taken off, but it didn’t even seem to matter as his hand cupped the back of your head and pulled you tighter. Maybe you could love chrollo, maybe you already did.

“I want to go home” you muttered, finding his hand and squeezing. You lifted your head up, finding the watching eyes of a couple others in the room. You weren’t used to people anymore, it was strange seeing so many, seeing that they saw you. You wanted away, to go home and be happy, although you were greatful to them for helping, for saving you. Strangely enough, the thought never crossed your mind to ask for help, wether it was because you figured out they were with chrollo, or that you simply didn’t care.

As he hooked his arm underneath your Knees and lifted you up, cradling you like a child. You would usually complain, but you won’t. This felt too nice. Your eyes found themselves fluttering shut as your hand interlocked with his, he squeezed. Thsi was safe, he was safe. That was the last thing you were able to think before you fell deeply and uncaringly unconscious.

How things have changed

With a quick flick of his wrist he opened the same phone that got him into this situation, and with a snide smirk tapped with his free hand. Thank god this was over. And you were his again.

Fuck you

Sent 4:37 AM

———————————————————————

There’s a lack of chrollo content, if anybody has any recs plz send them lol.

Have a great day, bye.

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mugglebornmarvelite · 4 months ago

Text

Husband Material

Paring: TASM!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Summary: It was one of those days where nothing seemed to go right. A proper shit day and all you need is a hug from your boy.

Word Count: Roughly 1.1k words

Warnings: Domestic fluff, reader has a shitty day, one curse word, mild innuendo, slight angst if you squint

Author’s Note: A little drabble for those who need a Peter Parker hug. This was done at 3 in the morning and is barely edited.

Navigation

Divider by: @strangergraphics

It had been one of those days.

From the moment you woke up, everything seemed to go wrong. Work was a disaster. Your boss was unusually demanding and you got bad news from a co-worker. Plus, the heated argument with a family member during lunch had left a bitter taste in your mouth.

That sealed the deal.

It was a fucking horrible day.

By the time you got home, you felt like a storm cloud ready to burst.

It was a complete and utter shit day.

As you unlocked the door, Peter was on a call, gesturing to you with a warm smile and mouthing, “Hey, bug,” before leaning in to press a quick kiss to your temple. It was a small thing, but it helped

You offered him a faint smile, the best you could muster, before muttering something about needing a shower.

The hot water didn’t wash away the bad day like you hoped it would. Instead, it just made you feel even more exhausted.

You got dressed with a deep sigh, trying to summon the energy to face the rest of the evening.

But your sour mood came to pause when you saw Peter. Your Peter.

Peter was on the couch, a mug of tea resting on the coffee table in front of him, his glasses perched low on his nose. His eyebrows were furrowed in an adorable scrunch as his long fingers absently toyed with the corner of the page as he read.

You couldn't decide if you wanted to bury your face in his sweater or have him buried inside you until you couldn't think.

He was wearing his softest sweater, the light blue one you always steal, and a pair of loose sweatpants that hang just right on his hips.

He looks impossibly cozy, his hair slightly messy, and the sight alone makes your heart ache in the best way.

Peter glances up as he hears your footsteps. “Hey, bug,” he says with a smile on his face, his voice warm, making you want to melt into him. “Everything okay?”

You nod, but the corners of your mouth tremble as you step closer. “I just need a hug,” you whisper, your voice small.

Without hesitation, Peter sets the book down, his glasses slipping off his nose and he rests them on top of his book.

“Come here,” he says, his arms already opening for you.

You practically fall into him, burying your face in his chest as his arms wrap securely around you. He’s warm and his sweater is so soft. The faint scent of his cologne and the tea he was drinking enveloping you.

Peter holds you tightly, one hand gently rubbing circles on your back, the other cradling the back of your head.

“You’re okay,” Peter murmured, rubbing slow circles on your back. “I’ve got you.”

You sniffled, clinging to him tighter. “It was such a shit day.”

“I know, bug.” His lips brushed the top of your damp hair. “I could tell the second you walked in. Talk to me about it, or don’t. Whatever you need.”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your eyes glassy but thankful. “I just really needed this. You.”

His thumb brushed over your cheek, and he smiled softly, his brown eyes warm. “You’ve got me. Always.”

Peter leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, then another to your nose, before finally capturing your lips in a sweet kiss. You melted into him, letting his love wrap around you.

When he pulled back, he studied you for a moment, brushing a strand of damp hair behind your ear. “How about I make us some hot chocolate? We’ll watch something mindless, eat whatever snacks we have, and just shut the world out for a while.”

You let out a breathy laugh, the first real smile of your day tugging at your lips. “That sounds perfect.”

Peter grinned, stealing one more kiss before standing up. “Stay right there. I’ll take care of everything.”

As you curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket that still smelled faintly of him, you realized that even on the worst days, Peter Parker was the kind of husband material that made everything else bearable.

He's your home.

Peter disappeared into the kitchen and a few minutes later, Peter returned, balancing a tray with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate, a plate of cookies, and a bowl of popcorn. He set it down on the coffee table then plopped down beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“Hot chocolate for my lady,” he said, handing you a mug.

You took it with a grateful smile, the warmth of the ceramic seeping into your palms. “You’re too good to me, you know.”

“Not possible,” Peter said, leaning back and stretching his legs out in front of him. “You deserve all of it. Even on your worst days. You take care of me on shitty days, I'd be stupid not to do the same for my girl.”

You nudged him with your elbow, but he just grinned, pulling you closer. “Now, what are we watching? Rom-com? Thriller? Or do we just marathon bad reality tv until we can’t feel feelings anymore?”

You laughed softly. “Watching reality tv sounds like the exact thing I can handle right now.”

“Perfect,” Peter said, grabbing the remote. “I’ve got the trashiest shows lined up just for this kind of emergency.”

As the first episode of some ridiculous dating show began to play, you leaned against Peter, resting your head on his shoulder. He held you close, his hand tracing patterns on your arm as you both sipped your warm drink.

Halfway through the episode, he pressed his lips against your temple again. “Feeling a little better?” he murmured.

You nodded, looking up at him with a small smile. “Yeah. A lot better, actually.”

Peter’s gaze softened, and he reached up to brush a thumb across your cheek. “Good. Because seeing you upset kills me, bug. You don’t have to handle it all on your own, okay? I’m here.”

“I know,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Lucky for you, you’ll never have to find out,” he teased, his lips turning into a playful smile before he kissed you again, this time slower and deeper.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice low and full of affection. “I love you.”

You smile softly. “I love you too, Pete. So much.”

He smiled, kissing the tip of your nose. “Good. Now, let's relax and eat way too many cookies.”

You laughed, snuggling closer to him. And as the ridiculous show unfolded, Peter’s sarcastic commentary made you laugh even harder than you thought you would tonight.

No matter how bad the day had started, being with him made everything feel okay in the end.

Always.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

Tags: @princess-lil-spidey @laaundromat @mgchaser @sparklystarsandstrawberries @bethies-world @rnurse-kole @juliebluehufflepuff @chayceschultz @kdelarenta @alexxavicry @gryffindorsblog

If you'd like to be added to my taglist

Much love x

- Maeve

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rcvcgers · 5 days ago

Text

Rotten Apples, part 11

masterlist , series masterlist , ao3 link

part one , part two , part three , part four , part five , part six , part seven , part eight , part nine , part ten

oh yeah, i made a spotify playlist for this <3

18+ MINORS DNI

pairing: caleb x non!mc reader

synopsis: caleb desperately searches for you. what he finds leaves him unsettled.

word count: 10.5k words

warnings: please, please, PLEASE read the trigger warnings before proceeding. lightly proofread...it ain't perfect!

author's note: hi! thank you so much for being patient with me! the story is taking a slightly darker turn! it will still focus on their relationship but...this is going to put their relationship to the test

content warning: mentions of death/murder, bodily harm, manipulation, experimentation, exploitation, self loathing, angst, professor lucius is lowkey a sadist

my rotten apples <3 : @militaryapple , @kebarney , @pinkismyfavcolor , @romils , @erisnxxi , @rik0shii , @reni502 , @spacehopper27 , @llamabois , @likesvader , @pandoras-rabbit , @princessfruit , @lukassafespace , @jexireads , @etsuniiru , @tinnyrabbit , @orianakira , @xiaorixx , @beomluvrr , @sanzy4 , @vickykazuya , @blcknebula , @sleepydang , @flamedancer13 , @gojosbedwarmer , @silmeria-lafleur , @ikiru-wa , @animecrazy76 , @fealy , @i-messed-up-big-time , @motheraiya55 , @vvonunie , @1uv4jiya , @yuuuumii , @okumurarinsbabe , @mcdepressed290 , @luleck , @sanzy4 , @lucifers-silhouette , @crazygirl3001 , @april-likes-smut , @kazbrkker , @l1ttlebabyapple , @writersandroses , @kookie-my-little-sunshine , @curryexpress , @earthykitsunesrain , @raining4food , @chaoticbardlady99 , @lemonwithstupidity

want to be added to the taglist? click here!

Seven months and twenty eight days.

It has been seven months and twenty eight days since Caleb let the woman who haunts his every waking thoughts and nightmares slip through his fingers.

He allowed himself to fall from the sky that day, slipping through the clouds as Ever’s plane vanishes from behind, becoming a black speck amongst the birds in the blue sky. The image served as a reminder of his failure to keep you safe, to keep you out of the professor’s hands and away from Ever.

Now, you’re gone and all he is left to do is pick up the remaining pieces of his sanity while trying to find you.

The days pass him by. Days blur into weeks and weeks blur into months. Caleb has become a shell of himself in your absence. All of the color in his life has been drained and his once (somewhat) patient persona as Colonel has become known as an officer to avoid in the headquarters.

Caleb dedicates every single second of his day to finding you. He pokes around the Fleet’s security files, just barley able to grasp onto a lead before the General, most likely puppeted by the Professor, locks him out of the system.

Caleb has become a Colonel that holds no power within the Farspace Fleet. He holds no power in Ever, having been dropped from the Professor’s precious right hand man spot, and he has no power in whenever he goes home, forever forced to stare at the ceiling, trying to think of new ways to get you home.

It is like a ticking time bomb slowly eating away at the seconds of his days. Knowing that you are in the clutches of Ever and Professor Lucius scares him. He is terrified because he knows that the Professor has a sadistic side to him, an unstable hunger for power and evolution that will devour the entire world from around you. Professor Lucius will not stop until his final plan comes to fruition and you, my dear, just happen to be at the center of his plans.

Caleb sighs, closing his eyes. He lays in his bedroom, the weather destroying the outside world as he battles impulsive thoughts of storming into Ever as a one man army, ready to do anything to bring you back into his arms, to smell your perfume, to feel your warmth against his skin…

Your face crosses his thoughts. A small smile spreads across his face, the man instinctively reaching out for your. Your hands are just about to meet, his fingertips just barely grazing yours, before your body is enveloped in smoke, being dragged away into the depths of his mind. Your screams and cries for help twists his stomach, contorting it so all he can feel is nausea.

A tear slips from Caleb’s eye. His mind is a battlefield and yet his heart remains steady, unable to betray the turmoil that crashed throughout his mind. From the first day they took you, Ever’s surveillance on him has increased. He has felt the whir of the chip inside his body, the person on the other side of the monitor closely looking at his vitals, his heartbeat. He can’t let Ever or the Professor think that he has become unstable with you away, a flight risk that will destroy everything that Professor Lucius has built. He cannot allow them to have a reason to bring him in to, to beat him into submission.

Maybe this has been Professor Lucius’ plan all along. Once Caleb has found someone to fill in the void of his heart and mind, the elderly man planned to rip them away from him, to use them as a pawn in their never ending game of cat and mouse.

Caleb has always been a good soldier when he believes in the orders he is given. Anything outside of what he deems to be right, well, let’s just say that the Professor made sure to erase any part of him that likes to disobey. The Professor has made sure to erase the morals Caleb once held. He has left Caleb with an obedience that a losing dog has towards its owner.

You helped him loosen the collar. Your prescience reminded him of what he is fighting for, his motivation to continue on with his days until he can finally rest. With you gone, his life has no more meaning. Maybe he should give in to the Professor, to allow the older man to consume his mind and body, to contort and twist his limbs into a person — no, a solider — that Caleb cannot recognize in the mirror.

His purple eyes feel heavy. His eyes flutter shut, his body almost succumbing to the disastrous desire of sleep.

Caleb’s body jolts awake. He sits up in bed, shaking away the drowsiness that lingers in his limbs, and slips away from the confines of the sheets. His feet carry him out of the bedroom and into the openness of his apartment. None of the lights are on, just the occasional flash of lightning through the large windows he hasn’t been bothered to shield with curtains.

The thunderstorm outside serves as a reminder for him letting you walk away. He should have never gone inside and left you alone. Caleb knows that you’re a runner, it is one of your fatal flaws that inevitably cut your time together short, and it is a flaw that he will try to bury with love and reassurance once you’re back into his arms. If you’ve fallen to a fate that he’s unable to bring you back from…

Caleb stops once he reaches the kitchen. He hasn’t cleaned since the night you left. Crumbs litter the countertop from his last meal. He sighs, knowing that you would have had some witty comment about him turning you into a housewife whenever you come over, always having to pick up after him. He knows you wouldn’t mean it. He desperately misses the toothy grin that would flash across your face as you swiped the crumbs into your hand and into the nearest trashcan.

A sigh leaves his lips. It hangs in the air, weighing down on his shoulders. The man cleans the crumbs and places his dishes into the sink, not wanting to clean them just yet with the hop that you’ll walk through the door at any moment, wanting to hear how you’d chastise him for being so messy during a time when he needed to be clean the most.

Every now and then, Caleb grabs the perfume you left behind and sprays it inside the rooms, on his pillow, and in all of the places you used to fill in whenever you were at his apartment. The last time he sprayed was a week ago when he could barely bring himself to leave his bed. The notes from your perfume kept him going and it helped him push through the monotonous days.

Should he spray it again? The bottle is almost empty so maybe he should salvage it instead of being selfish. He should spare the leftover drops of perfume, be merciful, and not take out his frustrations and depression on it.

Caleb finds himself on the couch. He sits in your spot, grabbing the pillow that you always hugged to your chest and mimicking your movements, resting his chin against the smooth material of the fabric. He slowly inhales, his body melting into the couch’s cushions, as your familiar and welcoming smell lulls him into sleep.

There’s a knock at the door. Caleb’s head perks up, his purple eyes landing on the dark brown door. A pair of footsteps run from behind, infectious giggles and laughs while Josephine tries to keep up. Caleb looks over his shoulder, watching as Josephine attempts to grab her as she jumps around with damp hair.

“Caleb? Would you be a dear and grab that for me?” Josephine’s voice is light and airy.

It’s everything that Caleb hates. She may not remember what Josephine and her colleagues have done to them, but Caleb does. The boy decides to not fight it, though, and stands from his spot on the brand new couch. He scratches around an old bandage that sits on the inside of his arm, a place where he was frequently poked with needles while in the clutches of Ever.

Caleb navigates the house, weaving through a plethora of opened cardboard boxes. Inside sit brand new items. Clothes, kitchen utensils, shoes, decorations, picture frames…all of which were bought to give off the image that Josephine is a gracious grandmother to her adoptive children.

He cautiously approaches the door, hesitating to grab the doorknob. He hopes that he can get away with the excuse that the people left or that it was some prank, like the ones he saw on the screens when he first left the facility. The boy thinks that the coast is clear when another knock sounds off from the door. He sucks in a breath and opens it up, expecting it to be soldiers from Ever when in actuality it’s…

You.

You stand in front of him, just slightly shorter, with a bright smile on your face and a plate of cookies in hand. Your mother stands behind you, a proud smile on her face as you extend the cookies towards him. Your dress is a navy blue and you have an white ribbon laced into your hair, formed into the perfect bow any girl has. Caleb is unable to breathe, his eyes flickering between the plate of baked goods and your pretty eyes.

“Hi…” your voice is quiet and your demeanor is shy. You take a step forward, the rim of the plate pushing into his personal space. He isn’t complaining, though, and holds out his hands to take the plate from you. “Um...” you turn around and look at your mother, who gives you a thumbs up and a smile. You turn back around and meet his eyes again, making Caleb’s tiny boy heart skip a beat. “Welcome to the neighborhood! My mom and I baked these for you and your family.”

Caleb is unable to say a word. All he can do is nod and smile, warmth spreading through his chest at the kind gesture. He has never experienced this before, to have someone gift him something with no ulterior motives or expectations to receive something back. Just as he’s about to say something, Josephine and her come walking down the hall.

Her laughter grows as she gets closer and Caleb instinctively steps to the side so she and Josephine can come out. The two of them smile down at you, thanking you for the cookies and king gesture all while Caleb just stares. Your eyes move to him every now and then, sharing a small smile with him. Eventually, he returns it, sheepishly looking away as his cheeks warm up.

“It looks like you have a lot on your hands,” your mom speaks up from behind, approaching the door, “would you like me to take them for a bit so you can have some time for yourself?”

“That would be wonderful,” Josephine smiles, a sigh of relief washing over her body.

Caleb looks up at her, his mind already fighting against the idea of leaving the safety of their home, but his gut tells him that it’s okay, that he doesn’t need to forever live in a state of fight or flight. He watches as you, your mother, and her leave the close proximity of the door. He turns his face away, looking back up to Josephine who leans down, placing her hands on his shoulders.

“It’s okay, Caleb,” her voice is tired, weary. She holds the weight of his and her’s worlds on her shoulders, carrying the weight of responsibility and accountability for her previous actions. “You deserve to go be a kid. Go and try to have some fun, okay?”

Josephine gently nudges him towards the trio. Her laughs fill the air, the young boy listening as she lists off her favorite types of sweets and favorite things she has seen since moving here. He sighs, nodding, and turning around. He keeps his eyes on the ground, unable to look away from the dark gray gravel. When he looks up, though, he notices you waiting at the gate for him.

“You’re Caleb, right?” you quietly ask. He nods as he approaches you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. You tell him your name and he instantly memorizes it, loving how sweet the sound of your name is against his ears.

A butterfly flutters overhead. You look up, your smile growing brighter at the sight. You reach a hand out and the insect immediately lands on your tiny hand. Its wings are a bright orange color. It’s reminiscent of a sunset, one that he desperately wishes to see sometime soon.

“Do you…like butterflies?” he asks, finally breaking his silence. The two of you begin to walk in the direction of your house, which sits right next door to his. You ecstatically nod, a quiet laugh leaving your lips.

“My dad likes to say that we’re all caterpillars ready to become butterflies,” your voice is like music to his ears, your words as sweet as you are. The orange butterfly leaps from your hand and takes flight, its orange wings quickly flapping under the afternoon sunlight. You turn to look at him, smiling as the two of you approach the open door of your home. “Everyone deserves a second chance to become something better, don’t you think?”

Caleb nods, wholeheartedly agreeing with you. His heart swells and feels so full with a newfound purpose blossoming inside his body. He’ll become a butterfly, one that is as pretty as the wings that you already wear. He will not let his past define who he is, even if he is just a young kid who has no idea how the world works.

No longer does he love the colors white and gray. Instead, he much prefers blue and orange, the color of your dress and the butterfly that brought you two together.

“Come on,” you take his hand, tugging him towards the door, “let’s play!”

As soon as the two of you step through the door, your appearance changes. The two of you are older now. Eleven years old, to be exact. He finds himself in your backyard, surrounded by thriving greenery of your parents’ garden. A swing set sits in the middle of the lawn and she swings back and forth with the help of another kid, one whose hair is as black as night and his eyes sharing similar shades of the green grass and yellow flowers.

He sits beside you on the red and white blanket, popping an apple slice inside your mouth while you watch Zayne push her on the swing. There’s a small smile on her face, one that he has always found comfort in whenever he needed it the most. He rests his chin on his hand, melting into his own touch at the sight of you. Your eyes move to him, a small blush creeping up onto your cheeks. You look away, pushing your hair behind your ear.

“What are you looking at?” you ask, unable to meet his gaze. He found it so cute, how you always avoided his eyes whenever you caught him staring.

In just a few years, you’ll be boldly challenging him instead of being so shy. He loves the fact that you were able to undergo a third rebirth, shedding your cocoon of shyness and coming into a confident persona that he loves even more.

“Nothing,” he chuckles, leaning in to make your blush deepen even more.

“You’re such a jerk,” you mumble under your breath, earning a hearty laugh from him.

He wishes he can respond to you, to come up with some quirky quip about how cute your blush is or that he wishes that you would sit with him like this for longer. But all good things must come to an end. It’s just a fact of life.

She comes running over and places herself between the two of you, a proud smile on her face while Zayne takes his place at your side. You greet him with a smile and he nods in return, the man never having really changed throughout the years, which makes Caleb feel a tinge of jealousy.

“Let’s play a game!” She proclaims with a fist in the air. Caleb’s eyes move between you and Zayne, his attention not on her as she begins to list off games that the four of you can play.

“Is there something you would like to play?” Zayne leans in to ask you. Caleb clears his throat, standing from the blanket. Everyone turns to look up at him but his purple eyes remain focused on yours.

“I propose that we play hide and seek,” Caleb smirks, knowing that it is the perfect opportunity to get you away from Zayne. “I can be the first one to find you guys! How does that sound?”

“Hide and seek?” Zayne stands from his spot, arms crossed over his chest while Caleb’s remain on his hips. “We aren’t—”

“It sounds like fun, Caleb,” you comment with a smile, standing and helping her up once you’re done. Zayne quickly shuts up and diverts his gaze, a hint of embarrassment flashing across his face. “Give us a minute to hide?” Caleb immediately nods, one that you return with a confident smile.

Not even a second later, the three of you bolt away and out of the backyard, knowing the set boundaries that your parents set so none of you go too far. Caleb turns around and closes his eyes, beginning to loudly count down from 60.

The closer and closer he gets to the last number, he can feel the summer air turn chilly. The once warm and inviting wind turns cold, slapping across his chapped skin like how one of Josephine’s colleagues would slap him whenever he cried about not wanting to crush metal objects with his mind or didn’t want to drink the bad tasting juice they made him drink before another experiment.

Caleb stops counting. He opens his eyes, seeing that he still remains in your childhood backyard. Everything is dead, though. Decomposed, overtaken by complete and utter decay. Rotten.

He looks down and spots his Colonel uniform on his body. He can’t move, feet cemented into the ground. No matter how hard he tries to fight against it, even trying to use his Evol to move but it doesn’t work. Tears fill his eyes as the familiar feeling of helplessness from his childhood seeps into his body. He cries out for help and looks around to see if someone — anyone — is there to help him.

A pair of hands cover his eyes from behind. He shudders under the touch. The pair of hands become wet from his tears. He closes his eyes, unable to bring himself to stare at the person who graces him with their touch.

He feels like a child all over again. Hopeless, unable to do a god damn thing to fight back against those who have hurt him so much. Caleb lets out a loud sob, his body trembling. The touch over his eyes turns warm, the feeling inviting and familiar. He keeps his eyes closed as a tingling sensation spreads across his face as their small fingers begin to wipe away his tears.

Caleb opens his eyes. Suddenly, he’s eight years old again. You stand in front of him, wearing the same navy blue dress you did when you first met him. You gently caress his face, wiping away his tears. A small, reassuring yet bittersweet smile spreads across your lips. A single tear rolls down your chubby cheek, eyes red from irritation.

“Find me,” you breathe the words out.

“What?” his voice cracks from under the pressure. He closes his eyes and shakes his head, trying to fight away the image of your strained eyes.

When he opens them, he’s seventeen years old. You wear the outfit on the day you told him to leave you alone, a command that he should never have obeyed.

It’s his downfall…being a good soldier.

“Find me,” your voice that was one strong begins to deteriorate. Caleb feels like he’s being suffocated as his body racks over from helpless sobs.

“I can’t!” he cries out, “I’ve done everything I can!” Caleb reaches up to rub his eyes.

You stand before him in the same dress you wore on the night of the Peace Summit’s Gala. The black dress is a sight for sore eyes, something that he wished so many times that you would wear again during the happy and peaceful hours of your newfound relationship. He reaches out for the silk fabric, wishing to feel the material. His white sleeve of his Colonel uniform catches him off guard, unable to bring himself to close the distance.

“Find me, Caleb!” you raise your voice as the rain picks up, drenching your hair and outfit.

From around the corner of the house, Farspace Fleet soldiers appear. Their dark uniforms remain ominous, faces covered with pitch black goggles and the black fabric of their uniform covering the lower half of their face. Their footsteps are loud, the Colonel able to feel each and every vibration from their steps as they grow near. Caleb reaches out for you, desperate to hold on, but your arms are taken by the soldiers.

“Find me, Caleb! I’m going to die here!” you scream over the thunderous wind. Lightning strikes from a distance, the thunder rattling the bones inside of his body. “I don’t want to die! Please!”

The soldiers begin to drag you away from him. You kick and push them way, trying to fight against their forceful grasps. You gasp for air, making Caleb feel even more breathless, the Professor’s hand around his throat slowly tightening, making it impossible to breathe.

“I’m coming!” Caleb cries out, trying to force his feet to move.

He gasps, feeling as the vines from the garden curl around his ankles. The thorns push through the smoothed leather, piercing into his skin. Caleb hisses and reaches down to fight the earth as it begins to swallow him whole. He gasps, looking up as your bloodcurdling screams echo inside his ears, the sounds haunting him as his body is forced beneath the earth. Dirt and mud cover his body. A strike of lighting hits his body, forcing him deeper into the ground.

Caleb’s body jolts awake. He screams out your name. He loses control of his Evol, the living room becoming destroyed within seconds. The picture frames that once hung on the wall have fallen, the glass shattering and scattering across the floor of his living room. The television screen cracks and the ottoman that sits beside his couch flies across the room, landing near the kitchen. Pillows disperse, a few of them shredding from the sheer force and power of his Evol.

His chest rapidly rises and falls, his heart pounding on the inside of his chest, his breathing ragged, unable to fully catch it. He looks around, desperate for something that reminds him of you, to trick himself into thinking that you’re here or that you’ll be back in his arms sometime soon.

He can still hear your screams. Your pleas and cries for help.

Tears run down his face. Caleb doesn’t wipe them away and looks to the side as he tries to get his breathing back under his control.

With once glance to the side, he notices that the sun is out. The storm has passed. The sky is a remarkable shade of blue, one that he would comment on to you to try and get a smile out of you so early in the morning. His heart aches. He stands from the couch, his bare feet avoiding the remnants of shattered glass that lay across the floor.

His Colonel uniform feels heavier than usual. The corners of the metal pins on his chest are unusually sharp when he drags his finger along the edge, the metal cutting into the pad of his thumb. He doesn’t mind the pain. If anything, he deserves it.

Caleb steps through the door, slamming it behind him, leaving behind a wake of destruction that bloomed from his grief over you.

Today, things are going to change. Today, Colonel Caleb Xia is going to find you.

The day has dragged on for longer than it needed to. Caleb remains behind his glass desk, shuffling through random forms and mission reports that he quickly stamps his signature onto. The stack slowly shortens, just like the leash that the Professor has him on.

Whenever he leaves his office, he can feel the eyes of lower ranking soldiers and Adjutants on him. He pays them no mind, simply making the mental note to keep an eye on them just in case they decide to follow him and test his patience.

He wants them to follow him. He wants them to give him a reason to put them in their place, to declare them to be treasonous, to give him a reason to crush them beneath the weight of his Evol. Caleb would do anything to unleash the anger that he feels towards the Professor and Ever. He wants to avenge you for the harm that they have undoubtedly caused you. He wants them to pay with their blood, to break their bones until they are begging for mercy, for him to go easy on them.

Is that something you would want too? Will you also wish for them to pay with their bodies for all of the sins that they have committed?

Caleb’s mind wanders to you whenever he’s alone. He tries to put himself in the mindset of Professor Lucius, wondering where in the world he would tuck you away, where he’d hide you as a punishment against him.

Ever’s main base would be too risky. Caleb has been there one too many times for the Professor’s comfort, having been one of his many soldiers in the army he is slowly building. Holding you hostage in the Farspace Fleet’s administrative building is too risky as well seeing how Caleb knows the place like the back of his hand. There are other Ever bases that you could be held at, places that Caleb has visited as a child. What Caleb neglected to look at, though, are the bases that the Fleet has. A few of which that are placed conveniently close to one of Ever’s laboratories.

Caleb faintly remembers something that Josephine once told him. It was on one of the many nights in her later years, a time in which she was beginning to slowly lose her mind due to constant migraines and trips to the hospital. She was lucid one night, sitting alone in her chair as she slowly knitted a new scary for him to take back to the DAA.

Josephine stared out the window, the metal knitting needles frozen in her hands. It was a particularly cold day in Linkon. Caleb came back to help Josephine out, to shovel the snow in the driveway while she stayed inside on her day off from the Association. Caleb came back inside, hands frozen and his heart chilled by not having seen you at home.

“Caleb,” she called out to him. She barely looked in his direction, her eyes forever trained on the snow that falls from the window. Caleb approached her side, sitting in the old chair that he used to fight with her over who gets to sit in it. She usually won.

“Yes, grandma?” he spoke through gritted teeth, hating the affectionate family name. He only said it for her sake.

“Do you remember that snowy day?” Josephine’s voice is quiet, tired. She finally turns to look at him. “The Professor let the two of you go out and play in the snow as a treat for completing the job.”

The job meaning Ever killing her and forcing him to lift retired fighter jets and rusted train cars. Caleb fractured both arms from the sheer force of his Evol, the weight of the objects shattering his body. He remembers how the Professor called him broken but that it’ll be okay, that he’ll give the poor boy a second chance for her sanity.

“Yes,” he follows her gaze outside the window. Each snowflake is different, that’s a fact you told him when you partnered up for a class project.

“That place…nobody can leave it once they’re inside. You should consider yourself to be lucky.”

An ugly silence falls between them. Josephine reaches out and places her hand on his knee. It doesn’t bring him comfort.

From just outside the window, you cross by with a red scary covering the lower half of your face. You scurry across the frozen sidewalk, laughing after you almost slipped and fell. That brought him the comfort he needed.

What was Josephine trying to tell him? Was there a hint within her words or was she just spewing out crazy talk like she usually did before the house blew up?

Caleb sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

He should consider himself lucky to have escaped from that place? Did Josephine not realize that she was the one who brought them there? That she is the reason for their pain and suffering as innocent children caught in a mad man’s crossfire and fucked up plans for the world?

Caleb turns to his computer. The Farspace Fleet’s logo stares back at him, the dark blue hues reminding him of the place he works at, the circumstances that he lives within. The confines of the cage are closing in on him. All he needs is a key to get out and escape so he can break you free too.

He stands from the desk, glancing at the family picture of him, her, and Josephine. His heart twists inside his chest. He should have placed a picture of you on here instead.

Caleb grabs his work laptop, one that he rarely ever uses, and places it inside his bag. He quietly exits his office, feeling no eyes or stares on him, as he begins to formulate a plan. If there is any chance that the place Josephine was speaking about still exists, then he is going to find it. He will do whatever it takes, spend however much money it will require, just so he can bring you back into his arms.

“Where are you going?” a voice says from behind him in the parking garage. Caleb places his bag into the backseat and turns around, shrugging his Colonel’s jacket off of his body.

“Home,” Caleb’s response is short, cold. His Colonel persona quickly takes over his body, any warmth that was once stowed away and tucked beneath the confines of his skin disappeared. He stares at his Adjutant, Liam’s eyes cold and unresponsive yet there is a hint of desire behind them…a desire to help out his superior officer in his time of need.

“The General will be back today,” Liam’s voice remains monotone, dead. Caleb raises an eyebrow and rolls up his dress shirt’s sleeves. “He’ll want to see you.”

“More like me with him,” the angry comment leaves his lips before he can even think about it. Caleb sucks in a breath. Liam steps forward, a slow nod moving his head.

“Lunch made you sick,” Liam slowly speaks the words. Caleb straightens his posture, narrowing his eyes at the slightly shorter man. “You had to go home to recuperate. To be the best that you can possibly be for the Farspace Fleet.”

“The General will understand,” Caleb nods, confirming Liam’s cover story.

Caleb gets inside his car and closes the door behind him. Without looking at Liam, he drives away, speeding back to his destroyed apartment.

He sits himself down at the desk inside his bedroom. He pushes aside anything that will get in his way and opens up the laptop. He quickly logs in and moves to the Ever security database. It is something he has had access to seven months ago, but was kicked out. Since then, Caleb has been unable to get back inside the database to try and find the corporation’s files on you.

He stares at the log in page. The cursor blinks at him, slowly ticking away with every passing second. It beckons to him, your screams and cries filling his mind. Caleb swears he can hear you from down the hall but pays no attention to it, believing that it is just his mind playing stupid tricks on him. He wouldn’t even be surprised if it was a new aspect of the Toring chip inside his body, a way for the Professor to taunt him while he tirelessly searches for you.

Caleb types in his username and information. He is immediately kicked from the server, the login page staring at him once again. He sighs, leaning back in his chair, and cracks his knuckles. He loosens his tie, tossing it to the side. He glances away from the screen.

If only Josephine were alive to help him find the arctic base. Maybe then would this search finally come to an end, his pain and agony being able to rest with you back in his arms, your skin pressed against his as he protects you from the world, vowing to never let you go ever again.

Wait…Josephine.

Caleb turns back to the computer. Although it was a little under twenty years ago that Josephine left Ever with her and Caleb tucked away in the back of a car, she still may have access to the company’s mainframe. Holding onto that small sliver of hope that flashes across Caleb’s heart, he slowly types in Josephine’s username, guessing what her password could possibly while trying to remember if she had told him about it in the past.

The damn Toring chip just had to do a number on his memories, didn’t it?

He stares at the small asterisks of the password. It’s long, yes, but everything that he has learned since living with Josephine as her perfect grandson, the spitting image of what a role model should look like before his untimely death. He sucks in a slow and deliberate breath.

The air around him turns stale. Your scent no longer lingers in the air. The rays of the sun leak into the room through hastily closed curtains, the golden light of the decaying day spread across his bedroom floor.

Caleb knows he will only have a few minutes inside the database before they recognize Josephine’s user inside the mainframe. In and out, that’s what needs to be done.

His finger hovers over the keyboard, ready to press the enter button when he hesitates again. He draws his hand back, gnawing at his bottom lip, his teeth digging in harsh enough to pull blood from his body. Caleb looks to the side, his Evol opening up a drawer. Inside sits a USB drive. He quickly inserts it into the computer, opening it up so he can download any and all files that revolve around you before he is kicked out.

His hands tremble, his breathing unsteady. Is he ready for what he’s about to see? How badly has the Professor treated you? Or have you been sitting pretty this whole time ready to be saved at any given moment?

He slowly breathes in, mentally preparing himself for the absolute worst. How will he react to the news that your body is stuffed inside some bag ready to be incinerated at any given moment?

No! He can’t think like that. He can’t afford to.

The man grabs his phone, his wallpaper lighting up. It is a photo of the two of you at your friend’s wedding. You look gorgeous in the bridesmaid dress, while he smugly smiles at your side, your purse strung over his shoulder. He sighs, focusing on the smile you wear. Your hand lays on his chest, head resting against his shoulder.

Caleb wishes he could go back into that moment and steal you away, to lock you away in the tallest building he can find so nobody can ever hurt you ever again. Only he will have the key to the door that you are hidden behind. Only he can move in and out. The rest of the world can politely ask him to see you. He’ll consider it.

He slowly exhales. He clicks the enter key and waits, watching as the database processes the login information. His heart races. His palms are clammy. He rapidly taps his foot against the bedroom floor. The small circle stares at him, his heart hoping that for the love of god it lets him in, getting him one step closer to you.

The screen goes blank. Caleb’s heart stops. The computer screen refreshes and it displays Ever’s database but from Josephine’s security clearance, one of the highest an employee can have. He gasps, fingers attaching to the laptop, and he quickly begins to navigate his way through the security system.

Caleb disregards any files about Viper or any of the other people he works with through Ever. He shifts through newer files, isolating it from the past seven months to narrow his search. Many of the reports are filled with nonsense about new diets for the team that lives on the base while others talk about upcoming research on Evols that Caleb doesn’t pay attention to. That is, until he sees a familiar number.

V-03

Caleb’s body goes numb, his blood cold. He blinks at the numbers, moving closer and closer to the main file source involving the mysterious V-03. He knows his place as X-02, and she is A-01, so who is V-03?

The deeper and deeper he moves inside the project file, the heavier his shoulders become. They begin to slouch, his eyes unable to blink or move away from the screen. Caleb quickly clicks through the folder, downloading anything and everything that he can find. The USB drive keeps up and swallows the files, making untraceable copies that will not be led back to him. He looks at the clock that blinks on the glass panel by his bed.

Three minutes have passed by. He guesses that he has about two or three left before they realize that Josephine, a phantom they killed a year ago, is haunting their security system.

One folder in particular catches his attention. He doesn’t open it just yet, staring at the label.

Programming

He swallows the lump in his throat and downloads copies of it. His purple eyes move to another folder, quickly repeating the process as it dawns on him that he has finally found you. The file containing documents for V-03 were hidden away, only being accessible through back routes and hyperlinks imbedded into other documents. Professor Lucius is safe, Caleb knows this, and he knows just how precious you are to him. He’s going to keep you as hidden as possible yet keep you in plain sight so that it can torture Caleb with the idea that he could have found you sooner.

Two minutes quickly goes by and Caleb has downloaded everything involving V-03. It’s a long shot thinking that he has found you but with all of the clues and hidden messages with the way many of V-03’s comments have been blacked out only makes him believe that it is you, his heart aching at the thought that the Professor has made you endure the same process he did as a boy.

Caleb quickly logs out of the mainframe once he is done with little under a minute to spare. He removes the USB drive from the laptop and places it on his desk beside his personal computer. He takes the other laptop and uses his Evol to make it float the air. He inserts the USB drive into his computer while the Fleet’s laptop is slowly crushed into a small metal ball, the force of the surrounding gravity replicating the anger that simmers inside Caleb’s chest. The metal ball falls to the ground just as Caleb opens up the files about V-03, staring at the folder’s names.

Programming. Experiments. Evol. Purpose.

Caleb’s mouth goes dry. His mouse hovers over the names, sliding back and forth, unsure which one he should take a look inside first. He sighs and clicks on the folder labeled Purpose, hoping that this is the least worrying of them all.

Inside the folder sits a single document alongside a video. The video’s thumbnail is of Professor Lucius. Caleb sighs, his heart racing inside of his chest, as he clicks the video. It begins to play.

Professor Lucius enters the frame. He sits down and Caleb recognizes the office he is in. He leans closer to the screen as if it is going to transport him inside.

“The purpose of Project V is simple. The Farspace Fleet has given Ever the task of enhancing its soldiers and worker so that every single one of them will be able to fight with whatever threat it is that comes their way. The General has personally requested me to do this,” the Professor sighs, a slight smirk tugging the corner of his lips, “and he even has a participant in mind for the trial period.”

Caleb shudders. He pauses the video as a wave of nausea crashes throughout his body. Caleb suddenly becomes aware of his surroundings. The smell of decay that comes from the kitchen, the way the curtains flow back and forth from the ceiling fan, and the way his leg bounces up and down as anxiety courses throughout his body. He closes his eyes, unable to stare at Professor Lucius, and presses play.

“She’s a spitfire and yet she is one of the most obedient Fleet employees I have ever met. She is strong minded and gets the job done no matter what. I have only met her a handful of times but she has proven to be the perfect mound of clay for me to mold.”

Caleb stands from the desk and rushes away. To hear Professor Lucius talk about you so casually, talking about you as if you are a toy to be played with, makes his skin crawl.

“She will be our lucky V-03, a continuation of the…failed experiments from twenty years ago,” the Professor emphasizes the word ‘failed’ with such disgust and contempt that Caleb knows it was directed at him.

Caleb is the man the Professor hasn’t been able to tame. Caleb is the soldier that disobeys orders. Caleb is the weapon that got away, that fights back against the Toring chip every chance he gets. Caleb is the man who has evaded many of the Professor’s traps. Caleb is the person that Professor Lucius wishes to tame and he is using you as his leverage.

“Experiments will begin shortly. Additionally, she will be the first test subject to receive an all new Toring Chip, one that hands full bodily autonomy to Ever and the Fleet for controlling. It will be controlled through a small tablet. We’ll be able to control her breathing, consciousness, and emotional regulation while the chip is inside her body. Whoever holds her leash is in control.”

Caleb exits the video. His fingers move at a light speed pace, moving into the folder labeled Programming.

The inside of the folder is filled with hours of footage. You sit in the center of the screen. In some thumbnails, you look tired, in other ones tears run down your cheeks, frozen in time as you cry. The last video, though? Your face is completely still and is void of all emotion.

Caleb presses the first video, a sharp pain already striking through his heart.

“Day one of programming,” the Professor’s voice is heard from behind the camera. “V-03 is uncooperative and is unwilling to accept the Toring Chip implant. We will give her one last chance to accept before we turn to…more severe consequences.”

He can hear the amusement in Professor Lucius’ voice. You sit in the center of the frame, strapped down onto a chair. Your eyes dart around the room, hands trembling from beneath the straps. Your eyes well with tears. You begin to shake your head, arms tugging against the restraints that hold you down.

“Please…” you speak out, voice quiet, fear laced throughout your tone, “I-I don’t know what I did or why I’m here but please…don’t hurt me.”

Caleb knows what your plan is. He knows exactly what it is you’re thinking int his moment. He knows that you’re trying to appeal to Professor Lucius’ humanity. The irony here is that while you think the Professor holds humanity, Caleb knows he has none. If you think that he only experiments on adults — as if that makes it humane and acceptable in the first place — what would you think when you inevitably find out that Caleb was just a baby when he was passed off to Ever?

“Will you accept the Toring Chip? Yes or no?”

“What? Why would I?” you audibly laugh, leaning back as much as you can into the metal chair, the same chair that Caleb once at in when he was just four years old. “I’ve seen what it does to people! Why would I want to do something to myself like?”

You were always so opinionated, weren’t you?

“One more chance…because I’m in a good mood.”

“No!” your voice lowers, shaking. One of the scientists in the room nears you. You try your best to wiggle away from him, fighting against the restraints. “NO! Stop! Get off of me! You can’t make me do this!”

Your screams and yells are animalistic. Your appearance is covered by the scientist’s back. Caleb’s breath gets caught in his throat.

“Please stop! Ca—” the video’s audio cuts out. All Caleb can do is watch as your body thrashes around from under the scientist’s grip, a long syringe hangs in their hand, the metal catching the light. The video abruptly ends when you kick the scientist, causing him to topple into the camera. He exits the video and opens up a document, one that has been meticulously blacked out.

Your name is blacked out of the document, erasing any trace of your true identity. To Ever, you are V-03. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Caleb scrolls through the document. His eyes widen at the horror they put you through the first day. He connects the clues through the redactions, his stomach twisting and churning.

Subject will be known as V-03. Her psychological evaluation (REDACTED). V-03 refuses to answer questions about (REDACTED). Professor Lucius stepped in. He informed her of previous experiments. When (REDACTED) is mentioned, (REDACTED) and she (REDACTED). V-03 mostly speaks of the Colonel after this.

Caleb’s breath gets caught in his throat. The Colonel… Why are you trying to save him before you save yourself?

Subject was told that she will have Toring Chip V.3.9 implanted in the base of her neck. Subject refused and became aggressive. Once sedated, subject was told that if she does not cooperate, we will (REDACTED) and make sure he (REDACTED). Subject agrees.

He moves out of the document, brows furrows at the computer screen. Caleb glances to the side and catches a brief glance of a document that acts as an overview for the new Toring Chip.

Toring Chip V.3.9 will be implanted as the base of the subject’s neck. Toring Chip V.3.9 will not be (REDACTED). Unlike Toring Chip V.1.3, V.3.9 will not be taken out (REDACTED). Professor Lucius says that this makes the Toring Chip permanent instead of temporary.

An unsettling feeling ferments in the bottom of Caleb’s stomach. He closes his eyes, swallowing the bitter taste that forms across his tongue. It only worsens, though, leaving him trembling. He scrolls to the next video.

You sit in the same chair with dark eye bags under your eyes. Caleb blinks away his tears. He reaches for the screen, the tips of his fingers grazing against the image of your face.

Silent tears flow down your cheeks, eyes completely dissociated as the world moves around you. A man and woman in white lab coats move about the room like they live in it. They laugh and talk about their days, their plans for the night. The man’s wife made a pot roast. The woman plans on watching a movie. You stare into the nothingness of the room, allowing them to move your body and insert various needles into your arms in the same exact spot Caleb’s were located as a kid.

He looks down at his arm, the light and faint scar mocking him. He can’t help but wonder if you’ll have the same scar once he gets you out of there.

Professor Lucius enters the room. You don’t meet his gaze. He sits in his usual chair that is placed across from you. Caleb can see his reflection in the two way mirror that is right behind you. The two scientists shut up and move behind the camera. Caleb memorizes their faces as they pass the camera, making a note to make them pay for their sins as well.

“Good morning, V-03.”

“My name is—” the audio cuts out again.

Caleb is unable to look away, unable to bring himself to breathe as he reads your lips, the way you make for sure the Professor knows your name. Through the reflection, Professor Lucius leans forward. The side of his arm slips into frame. He can’t read the Professor’s lips, but he can continue to read yours.

Caleb? You said you wouldn’t hurt him. You promised!

You jolt forward in the restraints. The Professor’s body shakes, probably laughing at your plight. Tears well in your eyes.

Don’t hurt him…please. He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve any of this!

Caleb leans forward, his nose almost touching the screen. Oh, how he wishes that he would have been there to wipe away your tears of agony, to rip you out of the chair and away from the people who are subjecting you to such torturous methods. He clears his throat, pushing away the urge to throw up, and moves to the next document.

It is a scanned copy of Professor Lucius’ notes. His handwriting is barely legible to anyone outside of Ever but Caleb knows the special characteristics of the way he writes, having deciphered many notes from meetings and hidden messages that hid orders behind veiled threats. Caleb scrolls through the file, unable to tears his gaze off of the screen.

V-03 remains uncooperative. The chip has been implanted into her neck but she shows signs of defiance. Threats towards (REDACTED) do not work anymore. Will calling her by her name work? Or do I need to beat her into submission?

V-03 is too much like X-02. If only she were more like A-01, then we would have made more progress.

Caleb closes his eyes. He knows how much you hate being compared to her. He can’t even imagine how you would have reacted if the Professor said these words to your face. Caleb can’t help but wonder if you fought back or accepted his words as the final truth to put you in your coffin.

Moving to the next page, there are pictures of you while you’re asleep. The back of your head has been shaved, just enough space for them to insert the Toring Chip. Caleb memorized the way the stitches were sewn into your skin, the way that the Ever doctors treated you with little care seeing how the stitches were jagged and messy.

Were they taking care of you? Have the stitches been properly taken care of or did you get an infection due to lack of care?

“Good morning, V-03.”

You look tired. You’ve lost all of the extra weight in your face, your cheeks sinking into your skull. You remain dissociated as the Professor sits beside you. He wears a big puffer jacket, his breath prominent in the air, while you’re stuck in a thin hospital gown with wires and tubes connected into your arms. Caleb watches as he takes your hand, brushing the hair out of your face. There are bruises on your arms with one particularly nasty bruise across your cheekbone.

“Are you ready to cooperate?”

You don’t respond. You slowly blink, staring into nothing, eyes glazed over as the Professor straps you down into the chair. He sighs, shaking his head at you. The audio cuts out. Caleb sucks in a breath and reads the Professor’s lips.

X-02 isn’t coming to save you, V-03. He’s a broken weapon. You…you will be our saving grace.

The audio comes back to the video just as the Professor sits back in his chair beside the camera.

“V-03, it was recommended to us by psychologists to undergo the Interlinked Program so we can have your full cooperation before we begin our experimentation,” the Professor sighs. You look away, tears rolling down your eyes.

Caleb’s heart aches. Exhaustion has taken over your body. At this point in the process, which Caleb estimates to be about a month or two in, Ever makes sure that the test subject is mentally hazy, to take advantage of their weaknesses and offer a way out, a saving grace that feels like an oasis in the middle of a never ending desert.

“V-03, if you do this for us, we will make sure that you get a blanket tonight. It’s so cold out, don’t you think? Wouldn’t a blanket be nice to sleep with before your big day?”

“Please don’t hurt me,” your voice trembles through the speakers of the computer. It is just loud enough for the camera’s microphone to pick up. It sends icy daggers through Caleb’s chest.

He should have worked harder to find you. He should have flown after the plane and done what the Professor has taught him to do best: destroy things.

“Look at the screen, V-03. We are going to show you a series of images. I’ll guide you through them. The camera is going to read your body temperature and language. We have full control over your reactions. We know everything. Whenever I say interlinked, you must say it as well. Understand?”

You weakly nod.

A screen illuminates from behind the camera. A man steps into frame, moving behind you with a tool that Caleb knows. It is to adjust the Toring Chip’s functions, to tweak it to fit the soldier they have put inside of. He presses it up against your neck and you shudder, more and more tears rolling down your cheeks as you tug against the restraints.

“Let’s begin,” Professor Lucius states. He clicks a button and your face is covered in various different lights. “I’m going to tell you your baseline. Memorize it. If you don’t, you know the consequences.”

You weakly nod again.

“Your baseline is: Weeping willows decay under the scorching sun with no water to flourish. Repeat it.”

You remain quiet. The Professor sighs and snaps his fingers. A soldier walks into frame with a baton in hand. He slams it into your stomach. You cry out in pain, head rolling back. The soldier grabs your hair and movies it so you look at the screen once again.

“Say it, V-03.”

“Weeping willow decay under the scorching sun with no water to flourish.”

“Good,” Professor Lucius scribbles something into his notebook. “Have you ever been in an institution? Interlinked.”

“Interlinked.”

“A man and woman hold hands. Interlinked.”

“Interlinked.” You gulp. With a wave of the Professor’s hand, the soldier hits you again. You let out a cry, jolting around in your chair to try and get away.

“Whenever an animal is trapped, V-03, it will chew of its own leg to escape. Are you the same? Are you an animal? Interlinked.”

“Interlinked,” you breathe through word out, fear already running through your body.

Caleb closes the video, unable to watch anymore. He is in a trance, his clammy hands slipping along the keypad as he moves over to am untouched folder.

Experimentation.

Caleb sucks in a sharp breath, the chilled air of the room making his lungs tingle, feeling so dead yet so alive. It is the bulkiest folder with thousands of documents as well as hundreds of videos.

You lay on a table completely naked with tubes moving in and out of your body. The camera is set to the side, your appearance hidden behind doctors in lab coats and scrubs. You look to the side, the terror and pain flickering across your eyes as they begin to tear into you.

Caleb remembers this feeling. He remembers being awake for every experiment and modification they made on his body. They numbed him so he wouldn’t be able to move or feel agonizing pain. He could still feel the drag of the scalpel into his skin, the way his flesh was sliced into with such ease as Ever modified his arm.

You look as if you want to scream out, to cry for help. You can’t do any of it. Caleb wishes he were in your place instead. He would undergo hundreds of more experiments if it meant that you wouldn’t have been touched by the Professor’s plans.

He opens up a new video. Professor Lucius sits in the center of the video, sitting inside his office with a look of determination and sadistic satisfaction written on his face. He clears his throat as he settles into his seat, shrugging off his jacket before tossing it away.

“Our mission here at Ever is to push the human race to its fullest potential. We want to make life easier for mankind, wanting it to thrive and flourish with no obstacles in our way. The way I see it, despite all of the technological advances that we have seen in the world, we are still in a Stone Age. With the growing population of Evolvers, I can’t help but think to myself if there is a way to gift the same abilities to normal people. V-03’s DNA sequence is unique. She, like many other people, possess the DNA sequence needed to become and Evolver. It just…needs to wake up.”

To wake up? What is he talking about? Caleb thinks to himself. Chills run down his spine. The place where his Toring Chip sits tingles. His arms vibrate, his Evol having a mind of its own, his bones rattling underneath the flesh and muscles of his arm.

“What happens when we push he human body to brink of death? To stress it out so much that the body is forced to ignite the DNA needed to evolve in real time. V-03 will be the first of her kind if this hypothesis proves to be true.”

Images of you on the medical table flashes through his head. Caleb winces, closing his eyes as he tries to fight off the images of Professor Lucius digging into your chest, grabbing your beating heart into his hand, squeezing it to get you to squeal. Caleb can see the smile on the man’s face, the sadism of his actions giving him immeasurable pleasure as you wither beneath his touch.

The next video begins to play.

“V-03 will undergo beatings and lacerations as the first step of her Evolver process. The Toring Chip will send shocks throughout her body when she is about to pass out to keep her awake to prolong the process.”

The video ends and the next one begins.

You lay on the ground, your sobs curdling Caleb’s blood as soldiers beat you with their batons, kicking you with their metal toed boots. He watches as you tremble, crying out for them to stop — to have mercy on you — but they don’t let up. They continue their kicks before Professor Lucius calls them away like dogs. You shiver. You’re curled up into a ball, protecting your stomach as you cough up blood, face beaten beyond recognition.

“Your baseline, V-03,” the Professor calls out.

“Weeping willow decay under the scorching sun with no water to flourish,” you speak between coughs.

“An animal needs to be beaten into submission. Interlinked.”

“Interlinked.”

The video ends.

“V-03 shows signs of Evolving. Her Evol is special. Health regeneration. We’re going to push further to see just how far we can take it.”

Caleb opens up a file filled with countless photos. He thanks whatever higher power there is for sparing him from hearing your pained cries and begs for them to stop hurting you. Seeing them, though? He wishes he could go blind.

He shuffles through images of you with various wounds. A knife dragging along your arm. A torch being held against the flesh of your stomach, burning you. In another photo, you’re laying on the ground with multiple bloodied spots on your body, presumably where you’ve been shot multiple times.

Caleb can feel the phantom pains of the small metal bullets digging into his skin. His skin burns. His breathing grows heavy as he continues to see what they have done to you.

“V-03 cannot die. We can slice her neck and she will go unconscious, her heart still beats, but her brain activity shows that she is still alive and is…asleep. We cannot figure out where her consciousness goes if it is a dreamlike state or if she is truly just asleep. Her heart is her weak spot. If that stops beating, then she will die. V-03 also shows signs of being able to heal others with her touch. She has Evolved far beyond our expectations.”

Professor Lucius hesitates when he speaks. He rubs his eyes and turns back to the camera. A small smile graces his face. He’s finally reached his victory.

“We plan on showing the General this in a month. A showcase of our progress of the toy he has gifted to us. He deserves to see how we have molded his soldier into something…remarkable. With her DNA, we can figure out how to change the sequences of others. We will help make unstoppable soldiers for the Farspace Fleet and for the world.”

A phone rings from the other room.

Caleb slams the laptop shut. He shudders, body uncontrollably shaking. He pushes away from the desk, tears freely flowing from his eyes while his heart remains still. He exits his bedroom. His motions are calculated and careful. He enters an office that sits just at the end of the hall, a space where the two of you decided to have Fleet business happen whenever either of you brought work home.

Caleb sits in one of the chairs, grabbing the ringing phone, and brings it to his ear.

“Colonel Xia,” Liam’s voice is low from the other end of the call. “Professor Lucius has invited you to an Ever Group meeting as the General’s temporary Adjutant.”

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