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rainrot4me · 6 months ago

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My Muse - Halloween Special

Summary: What if the Creepypasta characters were real life killers idolized the same way horror movie slashers were? Kids dressing up as Ghostface or Pennywise? More like kids decorated as Jeff the Killer or Slenderman! You chose to dress as your favorite mass murderer, Ticci Toby- and, oh, how he couldn’t get enough of it. He had never seen someone look so good in his goggles.

Characters: Ticci Toby x Female Reader

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Vaginal, fluff and smut, fluff, vaginal fingering, handjobs, use of a condom, slight stalking, slight obsession, praise, alcohol, slight bullying, Jeff being a big brother, slight miscommunication, slight panic attacks, decompression, Toby is obsessive but we knew that, first time?

Tag: #rainykinktober2024

Words: 12k

A/N: Happy Halloween everyone! This work is based off of @h3llw1’s request made a while ago that I felt fit perfectly with a good spooky special! I will tag the request! Please be responsible and have fun tonight and this weekend!

Find the original request for this story here!

“Wait, so… Who are you dressed up as, again?”

You shuffled the goggles off of your eyes, pushing them onto your forehead and messing into your hair, turning back to your friend.

“Toby Rogers- y’know, that kid who burned all those houses down? Serial killer, dude.” You smiled awkwardly, turning back to your vanity mirror and pressing the makeup brush against your cheek, trying to recreate the infamous cheek gash in the image you had pulled up. You were almost done, detailing the fake teeth at the corner of your lips. “Was really obsessed with him in middle school…”

“Oh, right.” Your roommate, Avery, rolled her eyes, curling the strands of her hair into big voluptuous rolls, making sure each piece looked nice under her hat. She was supposed to be Strawberry Shortcake, you think, it was hard to tell with how little she was wearing of the actual costume. It was really more of a bikini topped off with a strawberry hat.

“You’re still planning on going to AJ’s party, right?” She chirped, flipping the curling iron off and lying it on the counter, reaching back to grab her phone. You paused, giving yourself a once-over in the mirror- your costume really wasn’t the ‘AJ’s party’ type. You turned around in your chair, a little overwhelmed with how messy your bedroom floor was, but promising yourself you would clean it up later tonight.

“Uh, sure- If you guys are still going.” Avery tapped away at her phone, your own lighting up with text messages to your group chat sent by her. You were waiting on the rest of her friends, some people she had become close with in her classes.

It would be fun… you hoped.

“Oh, they’re here.” Stepping out of your room, you followed her to the front door, making sure your makeup looked good in the mirror. Standing on your front step, the rest of the group was there, chittering their excitement as Avery swung the door wide.

You stood awkwardly as they all hugged, complimenting each other on their matching costumes- the other two girls were supposed to be Orange Blossom and Blueberry Muffin, but they more or less matched with Avery’s.

They each had a guy with them, the tallest one wrapping his arm around your roommate’s shoulder, the Ghostface costume he had on making her all giggly. You cringed, fidgeting with the hem of the hoodie you had stitched to look like Toby’s, the stripes on your sleeves were the hardest part.

“Oh! This is my roommate [Y/N], she’s gonna come with us tonight.” You nodded, giving a small wave as they all turned to you. Brushing your hair behind your ear, they all smiled sweetly, but you could tell they were a little put off by the outfit you were wearing.

“Ah, what’re you dressed up as?” The Ghostface guy chuckled, shuffling his mask up to get a better look.

“Oh- uhm, Toby Rogers? Like, that serial killer. Yeah.” None of them had a clue, you could see it in the weird glances they cast at one another. Avery waved them off, jingling through her keys to pull the door shut and locking it behind you. “We should get going, I don’t wanna miss anyone.”

Nodding, everyone began to walk down the hallway of your apartment building, the guys carrying six-packs of beer under their arms. Sighing, you followed behind, taking the fabric mask from under your chin and pulling it over your mouth.

You would try to have fun tonight, you swore it.

“Listen, kid, if you don’t hurry up I’m leaving you here.”

Jeff crossed his arms, a scowl on his face as he watched poor Sally try and adjust her costume. Toby shoved him, kneeling beside her and reaching back to tie the little bow around her waist, casting a nasty look at the killer.

She was dressed as Annabelle, the creepy dress splattered with fake blood, making the real blood pooling from her forehead look like nothing more than some face paint. Her hair was tied into two neat little braids, Nina’s doing. Sally turned to look at herself in the reflection of EJ’s truck- Jeff had stolen it for the night, claiming he wasn’t going to walk all the way into town just for some candy. She finally nodded, holding her little basket tight in her hands.

This was her first Halloween, with Jeff of all people, so she was a little anxious. The killer, on the other hand, found this holiday to be his favorite. He could waltz the streets of the small town closest to the mansion, hood down and everything, snagging as much candy and compliments as he wanted. People really admired his ‘makeup.’

Toby decided to tag along this year, curious to see all the costumes and jack-o-lanterns. He really loved this night as a kid, he wanted to make sure it was good for Sally, too.

“I’m ready now.” She hummed, skipping forward to wrap her hand around Jeff’s hoodie sleeve, the killer rolling his eyes as he began to walk. Toby followed behind, admiring the decorations and darkly colored leaves littering the ground, a surge of excitement coursing through him. It felt just like one of those older scary movies, the sun dipping just low enough to cast an orangish hue across the clouds, kids running around giggling and screaming, parents tossing out candy left and right- he missed this feeling, what it was like to be normal.

He was older now, officially ‘candy handing-out’ age. He used to relish these days, promising that he would dress up for Halloween until he was sixty- now he had much more important things to worry about than what costume he was going to wear. If only his younger self knew how much of a genuine horror his life would become.

“C’mon, twitch, I ain’t waitin’ on you, too,” Jeff called, snapping Toby out of his trance as he watched kids race across the road, some mother yelling about being careful. He nodded, pushing his mask up over his nose, shimmying his goggles off of his forehead and over his eyes. He was still too paranoid to go outright, the covers made him feel more secure, like fewer people’s eyes were boring into him. He felt that swell of anxiety, having to remind himself that people would be far more concerned with Jeff’s look than his. Shoving his hands into his pocket, he took a deep breath- he had to calm down.

He wouldn’t lose himself tonight, he swore it.

“Wh- What’d you get?” Toby helped carry Sally’s basket, the thing nearly overflowing with how much she was getting, everyone was loving her costume. They were nearly done with this neighborhood, but Jeff heard some kids yelling about a Baptist church’s trunk-or-treat, and he was more than excited to show up somewhere holy. It was getting late, the sun almost nearly disappeared, so Toby knew it was almost time to wrap things up.

“Lots’a chocolate. Jeff keeps stealing the good stuff, though.” Glancing up, the killer was popping a tiny box of nerds into his mouth, tossing the cardboard onto someone’s yard when he shrugged his shoulders. “You’ve got like, six more of ‘em- you’ll be fine, squirt.”

It was turning out a lot better than Toby had thought, the brunette’s worries nearly washed away as the night grew more crowded. Jeff had spotted some middle-schooler dressed as Slenderman, the killer nearly doubling over in laughter as Toby hauled his phone out to take a picture. The brunette had forgotten just how popular their boss really was, more of an internet spectacle than folklore now. A meme? Yeah, his big scary boss was a meme. Tim and Brian were going to get a crack out of it.

Teenagers were out now, older kids walking in packs with their friends, not so much worried about getting candy as they were trying to hide the alcohol they were carrying. Toby had forgotten just how much different Halloween was when you got older- girls dressed in skimpy outfits of cartoon characters, guys trying to play cool as some movie slasher chasing everyone around, and then you had the ones who just didn’t dress up at all. It was weird.

“Damn, when did Strawberry Shortcake lose the baker getup and start wearing lingerie?” Jeff snickered, crossing his arms and nodding towards a group across the street. Toby scanned them, the orangish tint of his goggles obscuring them, but he could easily make out who the killer was talking about. He gave the rest of the pack a once-over, their outfits more or less the same as guys clung to their hips, flirty little touches as they all walked.

He almost missed it though, the one in the middle of the group, unaccompanied. Jeff must’ve seen it at the same time because he was slapping Toby’s arm like crazy.

“Oh fuck, isn’t that supposed to be you?” Toby shoved his goggles off of his face, ruffling them into his bangs just like how you had them, looking utterly bored as your group quickly began to get out of his eyesight. The brunette looked down at himself, wearing that same hoodie that every popular image depicted him in, the stripes on his sleeves the telltale sign. There was no mistaking it, you were dressed up as him.

The brunette didn’t know how to feel, didn’t even really know what to say as Jeff’s teasing went unheard beside him. He couldn’t peel his eyes away, couldn’t stop his hands from flexing and fidgeting with utter excitement.

He had to get a better look at you.

“Hey! Where are you going?!” Jeff yelled across the road, Toby shoving the candy basket into the killer’s hands and jogging in the direction your friends were going.

“I’ll catch up with you guys later! Don’t wa- wait up!”

He disappeared into another block, Jeff letting out an exasperated sigh as he took Sally’s hand. “C’mon, kid. We’ve got some Baptists to freak out.”

It was already loud inside the house, music thumping against the walls as people tried to shout to hear one another.

You hung against the wall of the living room, sipping slowly on whatever alcohol-filled punch they were serving in the kitchen. People were spilling out everywhere, the front yard just as busy as the rest of the rooms of AJ’s house.

It was barely even 9 PM, but nearly everyone from your school was here, familiar faces passing by with glances or cheesy small talk. Avery and her friends had disappeared into the crowd near the speakers, couples dancing and talking with one another, the pulsing neon lights, cheers following every finished game of beer pong, and the atmosphere heavy with vodka and laughter. It was nice, a little overwhelming, but nice.

You could feel the buzz in the back of your head, the tipsy dizziness you held making it a little easier to relax, the music swaying your hips gently.

You couldn’t see through the crowd, but Toby rested his shoulders back on the wall across from you, tapping his fingers across his thigh as he surveyed the crowd. He didn’t even have a drink, awkwardly trying to pretend like he was supposed to be here amongst the buzzed-out college kids.

He had followed you there, staying a comfortable distance behind your group and out of your curious eyes. It was hard not to notice the way your eyes lingered on the houses you passed, smiling at the kids who ran by, and pointing out the overzealous house decorations. You really stood out from your group, a sore thumb from the rest of them.

What was he doing? Why was he even here? Following some girl because she was dressed as him? Toby knew he was popular, Ben reminding him every time some new post went up on the internet trying to debunk his whereabouts. It didn’t bother him, with his job came weirdos who idolized him- he had just never seen it in person before.

It really was surreal.

“Oh my god.”

Toby shot up, straightening as he looked to his side, panic sweeping over him.

Lost in his thoughts and the rush of the party, he hadn’t noticed you pushing to his side of the room, shuffling past to get back into the kitchen for more of whatever you were drinking. You had your mask tugged down under your chin, the facepaint on the left side of your cheek standing out against your flushed cheeks. You even had torn tissue paper to make it look realistic- God, he was going to freak out.

Holding your hands out, you look down at yourself and then at him, comparing your almost identical outfits with a bright smile. “Nice costume, man.”

Of course, you were cute. He was trying to register you, eyes flinching across your sweet face smiling up at him.

Toby teetered, shoulder flinching just enough to make you glance, but not enough to take the excitement away from your face. He also realized he was just staring and not saying anything- “Oh! Yea- Yeah, hah-” The cool metal of his mask pressed against his cheeks, staring oddly at the fabric one you had.

“Oh damn, you’ve got like- the legit facemask. I just got mine from Spirit, it’s pretty crappy.” You laughed to yourself, holding the solo cup awkwardly in your hands, fidgeting with the lid. Toby immediately regretted his decision, wracking through his brain for some way to get out of here- he forgot how painful small talk was. “I didn’t know anybody else even knew who Ticci Toby was.”

God, that nickname. The play on words was supposed to be funny, but its holder didn’t think it was all that humorous. He smiled at you anyway; there was just something about the way you said it, all giddy.

“Ah, yeah. Mine’s pre- pretty old.” He was fidgeting again, unprepared for how you snuck up on him. “I, uhm, tried my best. Haven’t re- really dressed up in a while.” You complimented him heftily, pointing out the ‘fake’ dirt and blood stains across his hoodie, the great quality of his goggles, and even how he got his makeup to that weird milky-gray skin color. To you, it was just a very well-done costume.

“No, I get it. I don’t usually go all out like this,” Looking down at yourself, you put on sort of a blush, nervous chirping about how niche it was. Toby couldn’t help but smile. “I just have always really loved his story, so I wanted to make one of my last Halloween’s memorable, y’know?” Ah, candy-handing-out age. A million thoughts ran in the brunette’s mind, but he found himself relaxing again, shoulder pressed onto the wall as you rambled. “I’m just glad I’m not the only one who likes him.”

With you, this close, cheery little features continuing to blab on about the rest of the small details of your own costume, he couldn’t help but find himself listening so intently. A fan? Is that what you were? It felt weird to think about it like that, but the brunette found himself blushing at the thought of an admirer.

“-And I fringed the bottom of his hoodie with a lighter. It was hard to get it to look right, but I really liked how it came out. Y’know, for like him burning his house and stuff- I thought it was a nice detail.” Toby was nodding along, surprised by the little burn holes near the pockets of your lookalike hoodie, the attention to detail far more than he was expecting. “That’s really cool, uh-”

“[Y/N].”

“Uh- Toby.” Was that going to give it away-

“Even got the name down too, huh? Man, I see why you dressed up as him- you fit everything to a T.” He relaxed, your obliviousness laughable, but also a heavy relief.

People brushed by, bumping into both of your shoulders and shimmying their way through. You refocused again, pointing back over your shoulder with a shy smile. “Would you, uh, wanna get some more to drink? I was going anyway-”

Woah- You were inviting him to hang out longer? He was about to refuse, come up with some weird excuse to get back to Jeff and Sally, but the way you gleamed up at him, flashing lights and overstimulating music, it felt so odd.

He was going to let himself give in. He was wearing a ‘costume’ after all, so why not play up the act and enjoy himself a little bit? Slender would have him out running these woods by tomorrow, so why not just take the night and at least pretend like he was still a normal kid? Like all those bad things never happened, being a proxy never happened… He was just a kid who grew up, spending Halloween how normal teenagers did now. Yeah, he was going to let himself have this one night if nothing else.

Toby nodded, pushing off of the wall as you led the way, pushing through the mess of wildly dressed people into the kitchen. Behind you, now, Toby could see the way you still stood out amongst everyone, odd glances being cast in your direction. Just like him, almost, a freak in a sea of hateful eyes. You get it.

“I don’t really know what this stuff is, but it tastes pretty good.” You laugh, flipping the nozzle of the jug holding whatever concoction was mixed with red Kool-Aid, pouring some into two cups. You handed it to Toby, the brunette awkwardly swirling the liquid around with a nervous stare. You giggled at him, wrapping your hand around the sleeve of his hoodie, and guiding him out the back door and onto the patio.

The atmosphere was much calmer than inside, the muffled thumping of whatever song was playing giving a nice rhythmic atmosphere as you sat on top of the stairs leading out into the backyard. You both watched friends and couples dare each other to jump into the pool, the chilly autumn air guiding you to believe the water wasn’t much warmer. Toby sat next to you, mask still snug on his face, revealing nothing for your curious mind.

“So, Toby, what’re you doing here?” You sipped lightly on the drink, contrasting flavors of vodka swirling in the fruity punch, the sting of alcohol making you cringe. Toby hesitated, still tapping his fingers on the side of the plastic cup, trying his best to calm his rushing nerves.

“Uhm- well, y’know… Halloween par- party stuff…” Even though you had taken notice of his stutter ages ago, you forcefully ignored it. You knew better than anyone about nerves, you didn’t want the poor guy to feel any worse about it. Still, his answer made you laugh.

“You’re not supposed to be here, are you?” You smile as he shakes his head, leaning back to glance up at the sky, the moon hanging bright and casting a milky glow across the clouds. Toby really enjoyed it when it was like this, made it easier to see where he was going at night. “That’s alright, I don’t really belong here, either.” You enjoyed the moon because it was pretty. Same worlds, different perspectives.

“How come?” Toby leaned back, too, kicking his legs out as he relaxed, easing into the conversation. You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “I only came because my roommate invited me, I didn’t really want to come. These things aren’t really my deal.” You took another sip, Toby taking in every inch of your face, studying every detail as you spoke. “I would’ve much rather gone trick-or-treating. I guess we’re all a little too old for that now, though, huh?”

The breeze ruffled your hair, wrapping your knees in tight against your chest as the air chilled you. Toby caught himself admiring- it was almost like you were wearing his hoodie, the top just a little oversized on you- he could imagine it. “Nah, I used to love it. Wish it wasn’t we- weird to go when you got a certain age like there’s a time lim- limit on when you can ask for candy.” He smiled, flinching his leg a little.

Toby felt his phone buzz in his back pocket, leaning over to dig it out, flipping the screen up to see a text message from Jeff.

“wtf r u?????” “party. dont wait up.” “😡🖕🙄”

Just to make sure, Toby shared his location with the killer, flipping his phone off and shoving it back into his pocket.

You gave him a sideways glance, smacking him on the shoulder playfully. “You haven’t even drank anything- at least try it. It’s not all that bad.” Clearly, considering you were throwing the cup back to finish off presumably your second glass.

Toby awkwardly cupped his hand onto the metal of his mask, sliding it down below his chin. Thankfully, he had remembered to get EJ to redo the bandages on the corner of his mouth, the gaudy wound becoming irritating to deal with. He wishes it was just cool makeup like yours.

Taking a sip from the cup, he cringed, brows knotting as he shut his eyes. “God- That’s like- straight vodka with fru- fruit syrup- Fuck-” It burned his tongue, your laughter so sweet beside him, resting your hand on his shoulder. He made a funny face, fake gagging on the terrible thing.

He sat straight when you gasped, cupping your hands onto his cheeks and turning his head forcefully. His instincts kicked, hands flexing to grab at you, to slam you down across the pavement below-

Until you were rubbing your thumb across his bandages gently, flattening out the ends that had become soiled with dried blood. Toby forced himself to relax, his heart thudding in his chest with adrenaline. No one usually got this close- touched him- unless they were clawing for their life. It was like a whiplash, having to condition himself differently for your ignorance.

“Dude, no way you’ve been hiding these all night! Fuck, even these look real- how in the world are you so good at dressing up?” You were taking in every detail of his face, assuming the scars across his lips and cheekbones were merely good makeup skills or a talented friend, Toby trying his best not to freak out with you this close.

You seemed to notice it too, because you were snapping your hands back, eyes blowing wide-

“Shit- sorry- I get real excited about these things… The drinks probably aren’t helping either.” You chuckled, awkwardly sitting back and tucking your knees against your chest, silently cursing yourself for making him uncomfortable with your weird obsession. Toby noticed it, immediately catching the switch-up in your attitude.

Holding his palm out, he levels it in front of you, catching your attention. “I’ve, uhm, got the weird hand bandages, too.” He sheepishly smiled, watching as you slowly lit up again, taking his hand between your own.

“No way…” You picked at the medical wrap clinging around his hand, little bandaids and medical tape snugged tight around his fingers to hide the terrible bite marks and scars he had given himself, that gaudy proxy symbol etched into his flesh. He wanted to compliment your makeup, to say something about how realistic it looked-

Until you both heard a piercing scream from across the patio.

“Tyler!”

Snapping your gaze to the noise, you watched as a tall jockey guy hauled a tiny blonde girl over his shoulders, taking two heavy steps before he jumped into the pool, dragging her along with him. Toby was concerned but was quickly caught off guard when you began to laugh, slapping his arm.

“Avery! Are you okay?!” The other girls on the side of the pool knelt down beside the water, reaching their arms out to help the poor girl back onto solid land. They quickly had a towel wrapped around her, and the guy, Tyler, hopped up onto the side, high-fiving the similar-looking guys accompanying them.

You were still laughing, Toby smiling even when the girl came over to the steps, hurriedly trying to get back inside.

“Ah- [Y/N]? Who’s this?” Your roommate gave Toby a once-over, casting a sideways glance as she noticed you both were wearing the same outfit.

“Uh, This is Toby- we’re dressed as the same thing, see?” You were all cheery, smiling up at her even as she dripped water everywhere. Toby recognized them now, the skimpy group you were walking with, the ones who left you alone almost immediately after getting to the party. You tried to act like it didn’t hurt you, but the brunette had seen it all, catching every time you longingly stared at them through the crowd- the way you still did now.

“Right… Well, I’m glad you guys found each other,” You could hear the sarcasm in her voice, her friends hanging behind her and giving you both funny looks, whispering to one another as she talked. Toby knew you noticed it, too. You were pressing your knees against your chest again, shriveling up into yourself. “Look, we’re leaving. Probably going to finish the night out at some bars if you want to head on back to the apartment.”

You began to nod, giving Toby a half-glance of defeat, taking your empty cup in hand as you began to stand up.

“Uh- Ac- Actually, we’re going trick-or-treating. So, don’t wa- wait up.” Toby stared daggers into the girl, unapologetically snagging your hand in his as he stood, taking his cup in hand. Avery watched him with a sour look, glancing back and forth between you two before stepping up the rest of the stairs. “You two have fun, then. Freaks.”

She definitely said the last part louder than she meant to, because her friends were giggling as they trailed behind her, quickly scuttling into the crowded house. You rolled your eyes, trying not to let it show, but the pang in your chest was heavy.

Toby looked at you, took a firm grip on the solo cup, and closed his eyes. You watched with bright eyes as he chugged the rest, throat burning as he groaned, crushing the cup in his fist and tossing it behind him. You smiled, forgetting that your hand was still tucked neatly into his as you both raced off the patio, pushing through the fence gate, and climbing out onto the road. The street lights were on now, kids dwindling as houses stopped handing out candy, but Toby was determined to get you some.

“Are we actually trick-or-treating?” You laughed, Toby dragging you along with him, pulling his mask back up and over his nose. “Dude, we’re like, totally too old for this stuff, now-”

“And? Just cause I’m older doesn’t me- mean I stopped loving candy.” He hollered. You clung against his side, the breeze pushing through your hair and giving your nose a cute little blush, eyes bright with excitement as you gripped his hand tighter. You tugged your own mask up, shimmying your plastic goggles off of your head and over your eyes, completing the entire look. Toby stalled, heart whirling in his chest as you raced down the sidewalk, excitement buzzing in the air.

Jeff was going to kill him, but it would be worth it.

“Trick or treat!”

You held out a plastic Walmart bag, the thing nearly busting with how many pieces of candy it was holding. You both had meant to stop five houses ago, but when you somehow wound up in the nicer neighborhood four blocks over, you couldn’t pass up the full-size candy bars they were giving out.

The tipsiness was really hitting now, you both holding onto one another as concerned glances from parents dumping the rest of their candy into your bag. You always hated those obnoxious people who laughed or talked too loud in public, but now, you found yourself doubling over, cackling at the mean comments Toby was dishing out to little kids’ costumes.

“Tha- That’s supposed to be Spiderman? Yeesh.” It wasn’t even that funny, but you nearly hit your knees from lack of air, laughing so hard that your chest was hurting. Toby’s eyes were heavy, neck jerking and body twitching from the overstimulation, his cheeks a rosy color from the swirl of alcohol in his bloodstream.

“Okay, okay,” You raised up, catching your breath as you leaned against his arm, the rusty smell of his cologne surrounding you. “I think if we get any more- hic- we’re gonna be picking all of it up off the ground.” You pointed at the sack, the plastic stretching and threatening to bust out everywhere. Toby nodded, reaching in and snagging a Hershey’s kiss, popping the sweet chocolate into his mouth. You acted offended, holding the bag close as you both laughed.

The streets were nearly empty now, most of the houses’ lights being turned off and decorations unplugged, the only sign of activity from cars driving by or random groups of kids racing back home to review their hauls. You could feel your own room calling to you, your intoxication pulsing sleepiness into your mind.

Toby noted when you yawned, taking that as a silent sign that the night was ending, preparing to part ways with you. He nearly reached back into his pocket, going to give Jeff a call to come pick him up.

“Wanna go back to my place?”

He paused, your heavy eyes grinning up at him.

“Uh- What?” He could feel himself blushing. Was it just the vodka? He hoped so.

“Well, I ain’t gonna eat all of this by myself. Besides, I’m not trusting myself to get back without crashing out in a bush somewhere.” Toby laughed, rolling his eyes as you waited for his answer, shifting your weight nervously. You smiled when he nodded, your arm quickly wrapping around his and dragging him down the rest of the street.

Reaching over, he took the bag of candy from your hands, stuffing it under his arm. You walked slowly, taking in the dulled-out character inflatables and oversized skeletons in people’s yards, pointing out the Spirit Halloween animatronics that you found so cool. He couldn’t help but find himself staring, encapsulated with you. You found such beauty in what everyone else found offputting, admiring what even he would call strange.

“You’re so weird.” He huffed with a grin.

You glanced up at him, rolling your eyes. “You like it.”

Toby couldn’t find a good answer, turning his attention back to the street lights out front. He did like it.

“So, I never asked about you- Like, really. What do you do when you’re not wearing the best Toby Rogers cosplay ever?” Toby glanced at you, stalling out mentally as he tried to come up with something.

“Uh, I travel a lo- lot. Kinda like an on-call thing. Uhm… Yeah.” You nodded along, but the brunette wasn’t entirely sure you were hearing what he was saying. You were just looking at him, eyelids hanging low as you took in every detail of his face. He smiled, reaching his free hand to tug your mask down under your chin, your sly grin hidden underneath.

“Tell me abo- about you, [Y/N]. What is Ms. Rogers doing when she’s not ob- obsessing over me?”

Toby paused, a dead stare into your eyes as he choked on his words. He slipped up- Did you notice, would you care? He could feel the panic rising in his chest, jerks twinging at the back of his neck, anxiety swelling-

“Woah, easy tiger-” You’re giggling, pushing the strands of hair that fell in your face when you did an unbalanced little bow. “Didn’t know I was in the presence of such a celebrity.”

Toby was already relaxing, shoulders untensing faster than they wound, trying his best to settle his shaky hands. “But, I don’t know. I’m in between jobs? School?” You fidgeted with your hands, your arm still wrapped tightly around his. The weight was comforting. “I’m only still here because it’s where I grew up, but I don’t know what I’m doin’ now…” Your stare was distant, fidgeting with the fabric of his sleeve as you talked.

He was about to say something, trying to muster up some affirming speech that Tim used to tell him when things got rough. But you were tugging him off of the sidewalk, skipping towards some apartment complex building. “We’re hereee…”

He followed you through the neat hallways, the stout smell of clean and tacky air fresheners strong on the brightly colored carpet. Toby didn’t know if he had ever been in a place so nice, dozens of doors lining everywhere you went, feeling like he could get lost if you weren’t dragging him into an elevator.

Pressing your floor button, he leaned back against the brassy walls, your hands rummaging through your pockets and hauling out a set of keys. Cute little keychains were hooked onto the loop, reaching back into your pocket for your phone, swiping across the screen.

“Here, smile-” You were leaning back against him, holding your hand high in the air to take a selfie, Toby grinning goofily up into the camera. Looking over the picture, you smiled, never moving off of his shoulder as the elevator took you up, Toby’s heart soaring much higher.

“How many of those are you going to eat?” You gasped, tossing another Skittles wrapper onto your floor, adding to the mess that you swore you were going to clean up.

Alternatively, you were lying on your back, laid out on your even messier bed, stuffing your face with possibly the most unhealthy amounts of sweets. Toby sat on the floor, his back pressed against your footboard, rummaging his hands through the sack and tossing pieces up to you.

He looks really good in just a t-shirt, you thought, catching yourself staring at his toned shoulders.

“As many as I want.” He grinned, popping another jawbreaker into his mouth. Your twin pairs of goggles and masks lay scattered on the floor, hoodies bunched at his feet. Toby was in bliss, the sweet smell of your perfume and clothes soaked in all around him, pieces of you everywhere he looked. Posters of your favorite bands, corkboard full of keychains and polaroids, even your wall-mounted TV playing some older murder mystery documentary. He loved how normal it felt, how comfortable, and different.

In his mind, he could see you going through the motions every day, the boy longing for even just a taste of that. In the way you admired his weirdness, he admired your normality. Same worlds, different perspectives.

“I’m officially cutting myself off until Christmas.” You huffed, climbing off of the bed and staggering to your vanity. Toby watched as you fiddled through your makeup, popping open the box of makeup wipes and taking one out. Pushing your hair behind your ears, you began to wipe the design on your cheek off, rubbing the wipe over your eyes and cleansing your skin of the fake deep-set eyes. The brunette was lost, mesmerized by how your rosy cheeks looked so sweet in the warm light of your bedside lamp, eyes brighter than ever.

Sitting off your chair, Toby sat up a little when you grabbed another wipe, kneeling next to him. “Your turn.”

He stuttered, glancing from your now-clean face to the wipe in hand, nervousness creeping up in his throat. The wipe was cold, pressing it against his as you tried to clean him off, Toby watching through worried eyes when your face started to contort, confusion heavy in your features. “Dude, like, none of this is coming off. What kind of makeup did you use?”

“Hah- Uh, the good stuff, y’know?” He could tell you weren’t convinced, scrubbing just a little harder on his cheekbone until the grayish skin became littered with red irritation. You sat back on your heels, cupping the side of his cheek with your free hand, running your thumb across the skin under his eye. Toby flinched, your other hand coming up to cup the other side of his head, eyes tensed in focus.

Fuck, here it goes.

“This isn’t makeup, is it?”

Toby cringed, refusing to look you directly in the eyes. His fingers flexed, the outline of his pocketknife pressing against his leg, a silent reminder. He didn’t want to do it, God, he silently begged not to, prayed for you to brush it off so he could get out of here. The room felt so small now, your closeness becoming increasingly irritating the longer you stared.

But the brunette knew that if you reacted how everyone else did, with panicked screams that would have your curious neighbors come knocking, he knew what he would have to do. Even someone as awestruck as you couldn’t keep him from the inevitable.

He clenched his jaw when you dropped your hands, parting your lips like you wanted to say something, but getting tangled in your own thoughts.

“[Y/N]. I’m- uhm- I’m him, okay?”

You just kept staring, “I get it, your costume was good- okay? I don’t-”

“No, I’m not- Jeez,” He slid his hand up the side of his thigh, finally forcing himself to look at your confused face, eyes snagging onto every detail. “I’m Ro- Rogers. Like- Toby, Toby Rogers… I’m Ticci Toby.”

Tapping his heel on your carpeted floor, the brunette waited, collecting every twitch of your eyes or shaky breath that you took. He was ready for the yelling, the panic, taking calculated measurements in his head of just how many steps it would take for you to get to your bedroom door. He had done it a million times, ended someone’s life a million times. He would force this time not to be different.

His hand flexed around the indent of his pocketknife, ready to flip the metal open as you sat up onto your knees.

Your hands moved slowly, following the same motion you had been making all night, but this time it was more meaningful. Toby flinched as your warm fingertips brushed along his jaw, wrapping gently around his cheeks as you said nothing, the brunette trying to keep the floodgates of panic from cracking open in his mind.

That’s when he felt your fingernails picking at the bandage on his cheek, pinching the edge, and slowly, carefully removing the sterile cloth underneath, the fabric spotty with dried blood. Toby let his eyes shut, his facial wound now on full display, slowly ticking the seconds of silence by in his mind, relishing in the fleeting feeling of his ‘normality.’

He was a fool to ever think he could have something so nice-

“The pictures on the internet do not do you justice.”

The rush came to a stop, eyes slowly flinching open as he looked at you, his brows knitted in confusion. “What?”

“There’s these pictures on Twitter, really blurry, but still- of you. They don’t make this thing look half as cool as it really is.” As if to confirm it for yourself, you brushed your thumb across the edge of his skin where the flesh broke off in torn tissue and exposed the side of his gums. You watched to see if he would flinch, carefully pressing the softness of his cheek to watch the skin stretch and move- it was real.

Toby watched as you sat back, setting your hands down in your lap. It was strange how the brunette found himself missing the warmth of your touch, already.

“Toby… Toby… How the fuck did I not see it sooner?” You repeated his name over and over, rolling the syllables off your tongue and stapling them in your mind. “How did I not notice? I’ve seen your face a million times.”

Toby could barely register any of it, his heart thudding a mile a minute as you carried on like everything was normal, more angry with yourself for not noticing it was him than anything. It was almost a blur as you scooted forward, leaning in close to wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him in so gently.

He could feel himself melt, hand unraveling from his knife as the panic dissipated, the sweet, lovely smell of your perfume heavy in his nose. He had to be dreaming, he thought, slowly coaxing his hands around your back and pulling you in closer, forgetting the last time he had even had a hug at all.

But then it ends all too quickly, your hands pushing back on his shoulders, a panicked look in your eyes.

“I must seem insane.” And then you’re standing up, running your hands through your hair, pacing back and forth across the messiness of your bedroom. Toby shakes his head, standing off the ground, reaching out to you. “I’ve been going on and on about you all night- I must seem so psycho and crazy. This is so embarrassing- What the fuck?”

He’s grabbing your arms, pulling you back over to the foot of your bed, and sitting you down, an exasperated smile on his face. He was so worried about you freaking out or becoming terrified that he completely forgot who you were. You had been rambling about him all night, unknowingly complimenting the boy right to his face, and Toby was scared you wouldn’t like him. Just like how you’re worried about looking crazy, embarrassment flooding your face as you hide your palms in your hands.

“[Y/N], lo- look at me.” He tugs your hands away, sitting beside you on the bed, leaning down so you’re forced to look at him. You nervously hold his gaze, face so red and flustered, he’s smiling at you like a little kid. “It’s cute.”

And then you’re flopping back onto the bed, screaming into your hands as Toby laughs, running his hands through his hair.

Is this what it’s like? Teenagers hiding out in their rooms, casting sheepish glances at one another all night until one of them cracks, everything flooding out. He should be taking a priority, getting the hell out of your room and out of your life before he gets mixed up with something he can’t pull himself away from. But the flirty touches, teasing, and everything else that got him here clouds his judgment.

Then you’re sitting back up, scooting closer, and throwing your arms around his neck, abandoning every thought he was just brushing over in his mind. He holds you close, your face hiding in the crook of his neck, taking uneven, steady breaths as you try and rationalize it all, before giving up. “I’m sorry, Toby.”

And now it’s his turn to be confused, leaning back to look you in the face. “For?”

“Everything. The things even I couldn’t have controlled, the things that made you this way- Nobody’s probably ever told you before, so I will: I’m sorry. I’ve studied your story so many times, went over every detail, ran your perspective in my dreams- but even still, I can’t possibly imagine.”

The brunette can’t feel pain, he doesn’t understand the cut of a knife or the sting of a bullet. But the pang that snags in his chest, this heavy weight that feels like all the pain he's ever missed out on- that hurts worse than anything. But looking into your eyes, his hands planted firm on your skin, the solid weight beside him- It’s like it's all never even mattered in the first place.

For the first time in his life, he’s being seen. Viewed as more than just a weapon.

Screw the different perspective, screw the polar opposites, he’s in the here and now. It doesn’t matter if he’s been pretending tonight or his entire life, right now is real. He’s not going to lose it.

“Ca- Can I kiss you…?” It’s nearly a whisper, his voice so quiet and nervous as he leans forward on your bed.

You glance from his eyes down to his lips, heart thumping so loud you’re scared he might be able to hear it. You nod anyway, blinking slowly as you hold his gaze. “Y- Yeah.”

Toby brings his hand up nice and slow, cupping the side of your cheek as he leans in, fingers trembling against your skin. Your hand reaches to cup his, warm fingers relaxing atop his, a satisfying weight that has the boy swooning. Then you’re leaning in, too, slowly fluttering your eyes shut.

And then your lips touch, and everything just holds for a moment.

All the rush of the night, the nervousness, the excitement, it stops for just this one second.

You’re leaning into his touch, soft lips pressed firmly against his rough ones, slowly twinging your jaw to coax him deeper. He feels like he’s melting, skin so hot to the touch when you reel him in, your free hand snaking up the backside of his neck and into his messy curls.

He groans into your mouth, breaking the kiss and leaning back, breathing heavily. Your face is so flushed, cheeks a deep vermillion that makes Toby smile a little, grinning as he still cups your cheek. Your fingers brush through his hair, coaxing his head into your hand with such gentle touches. It’s so sweet, so calm, a complete turn from what the brunette is used to.

He knows pain, and rough, and cold- but you- there’s only sweetness, and caring, and warmth behind those eyes. He wants more of it, to feel more of it, he has to have it- to have you.

It doesn’t hit him what just happened until you’re giggling in front of him. Then that hold snaps, his conscience rushing back into him, and he’s leaning back further-

“I’m so so sorry- Oh my god- I don’t kn- know what I was thinking- I- Gah- I’m so sorry-”

“Toby.”

“If I should go- or- Oh, my god- I’m sorry- I should-”

“Toby.”

“I’m just so-”

And then your hands are wrapped into his hair, pushing forward until your lips collide, hurried, loud kisses that have the brunette spiraling, eyes fluttering shut again. There’s that warmth, your body leaning in to press close to his, arms wrapping around his neck, he thinks he might pass away.

You pull back, taking a deep breath as Toby collects himself, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. He’s a mess, brain running a mile a minute, his body having a hard time catching up as he twitches and jerks.

Throwing your leg over his, you straddle his thighs, wrapping your arms tighter around his neck and holding him close. He’s swallowed by the sweet smell of your perfume, resting his chin on your shoulder as he wraps onto your back, heart thumping against your chest. He finds the thoughts flooding, dissipating the more he breathes, disappearing into this blanket of quiet.

“You alright?” You whisper, brushing your fingers through the back of his hair, his skin tingling with your touch. He hums low against your shoulder, running his fingers up and down your spine, the touch making you sigh. He could live forever in this moment, could die happy right here.

But when his fingers mindlessly dip a little too low, brushing your lower back right above the waistline of your jeans, Toby mewls at the way you grip onto tufts of his hair. It’s abrupt, a reaction, but he feeds into it anyway. He brushes that spot again, right above your tailbone, and you’re taking a deep, shaky breath against his neck. He likes that a lot.

Gently, he tugs the hem of your shirt up, just enough to see a peak of your skin. You pause, hitching a breath when you feel his cold fingers wind up under your shirt and press against your back.

“Toby-” He promises he’ll stop if you ask him to, making sure you know that- but you’re shaking your head, gripping onto his arm as he pushes his hand higher, snaking his fingers along the bony press of your back. You let out a low groan, quiet, but just enough to have Toby aching for more. He stops when his fingers brush the strap of your bra, dipping back down to caress the curve of your skin, studying every detail you’ll let him get.

“You’re so pretty…” He whispers, the dull lamp glowing across your flushed face making him blush, your body relaxing against his hold. Your noises are like a drug, he wants to hear them over and over, the softness of your voice so intoxicating. But more than that, he wants you. If this is all he gets, he’ll cherish it for the rest of his days.

Wrapping an arm around your back, he’s flipping you over, pushing you up to the center of your plush bed and towering over you. “Toby…” He drinks in your sweet gasps as he intertwined his lips with yours, tasting how sinfully delicious you were with a swipe of his tongue across your lower lip. Toby’s hands wandered the expanse of your body, cupping your head to kiss you deeper, snaking down to rub your waist. It’s so greedy, so hurried and eager, but doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out.

Your fingers run through his curls, following his head as he moves off your lips, slowly pressing a trail of gentle, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck. You’re gasping, running your hands across his shoulders, digging your nails in when he kisses just above your collarbone- but then he’s sitting back, pushing up and off of you with a worried look.

“Fu- Fuck, I’m sorry-” And then you’re sitting up on your elbows, a concerned look on your face. “I’m not be- bein’ myself tonight- I don’t know what’s wrong. Shit, [Y/N], I’m sorry-”

“Toby, it’s alright-” You laugh, pushing up to sit in front of him, reaching out before he takes your wrists in his hands, holding them down.

“No- I just, never do any- anything like this- It’s like I can’t stop-” Even through his apologies he’s staring at your lips, that hunger pooling in his chest for another sweet taste.

“You’re telling me I get to kiss the boy I’ve had a crush on for years, and he’s worried about not being able to stop?” Exasperation was heavy on your face, it’s almost laughable how much playful irritation was in your voice. Toby caught that last part though, the words going straight to his head.

“You gotta crush on me?” He smiles, redness tinting his cheeks. He’s still holding your wrists, your eyes slowly widening as the heat settles on your face.

“I, uhm- Well, you see-” You’re scrambling for words, the cheesy smile on Toby’s face not helping your case at all. “I mean, I thought it was kinda obvious. I dressed up as you for Halloween, man.”

He doesn’t let his conscience weigh him down anymore, pulling your hands to wrap around his neck before he pushes you back down onto the bed, swallowing the sweet taste of your lips against him. He can still taste the sourness of the candy you were eating on your tongue, too. He licks at the plush of your lips, drinking in your gasps as he intertwines his tongue with yours. Kissing you like he’ll never be able to again. Because, God, knowing his luck- he probably won’t.

You’re a giggly mess, spreading your knees for him to slot between them, his muscled arms wrapping around the small of your waist. “And I’ve nev- never seen someone be able to pull off my go- goggles so well.” He prays you won’t be able to feel the bulge he’s sporting, but when your legs wrap around his hips, he loses all hope.

Your stomach flutters, tingles across your skin as he’s back on your neck, little nips and kisses that have your back arching off of the comforter, arms tightening around him. He would kiss you forever, marking every inch of your skin with a delicate brush of his lips, he could waste his time like that forever. You wrap your legs around Toby’s waist to pull him closer, feeling the outline of his cock. He grinds against you, letting out low groans at the snag of your clothed core. Both of you knew it- he needed you so badly.

But then you’re pushing your warm hands up the back of his shirt, fingers scorching across his toned muscles and scratching your nails into his skin. You push the top off of his shoulders, up and over his head before throwing it to the side, glancing down at the slim but strong figure looming above you. Scars adorn his skin, long gashes or scattered fragments of bullets that have clipped him, not to mention the littered cigarette burns all down his abdomen. He finds it disgusting, blemishes that he can’t stand to look at.

But you’re tracing them with your fingers, rubbing your thumbs across the blistered burns that made him sick, taking in every inch of him. And smiling. Was it possible to fall in love this fast?

“They’re disgusting.”

“They’re so cool.”

He can’t muster the words to fight you as you’re reaching deeper, pushing your hands further down his torso to snag onto his jeans, reaching for his belt. Toby’s body comes to a rushing halt, his heart beating so hard, the feeling of his cock finally getting the attention it wanted.

His hands rest on either side of your shoulders, a dark shadow over you as you slowly undo his belt, unbuttoning his jeans hastily. Hands dipping past the band of his boxers-

He was big- so mouthwateringly big. Flushed a deep shade of pink at his tip, pulsing in your hand so comfortably- every part of Toby was so endlessly pretty to you. He was gasping, eyes trained on how your fist slowly moved, so hot and heavy in your grasp as you pumped him at a steady, methodical pace. “Ah- Shit…”

Glancing back up to you, your face is so red, lips parted as Toby takes your jaw into his grasp, forcing you to look up at him before he bullies his tongue past your lips, little groans slipping past. Your back arches into him as his hands snake up your shirt, parting from your lips only to push the fabric over your head, capturing your kiss quickly again. He thinks he can manage, thinks he can keep his composure- but then your thumb runs over his slit, precum dribbling out onto your finger, and he's moaning into your mouth like he's never been touched before.

He hasn’t, not like this, not this gentle.

“[Y/N]- Oh God-” You’re biting his bottom lip, fingers clenched tight around the swollen head of his cock and pumping gently, his hips twitching and jerking for more. He pushes off of you, the breathless flush of your face so pretty under him, but then he’s glancing down.

And, fuck.

Your tits sit so pretty in your bra, blushed skin laid out beneath him as shaky hands reach to unbutton your jeans, jerky fingers quickly tugging them down your thighs and onto the floor below. And then he can’t believe how he's gone this long without you, or how he'll be able to survive another night if you’re not with him.

Where you admire his blemishes, he admires your perfection. Not a nasty knife scar or bullet nip anywhere on you, skin so soft and warm, his cold hands running across your smooth hips. “Gorgeous.” It’s the only thing he can think to say, but it doesn't do you any justice.

“Let me- Can I touch you? Pl- Please-”

You don’t answer, just rising up off of the bed to reach behind your back, unclipping your bra so seamlessly as it falls off your shoulders. Toby nearly moans when you toss the fabric to the side, chest rising and falling with shaky breaths, tits so round and heavy- so pretty.

Falling to your side, he’s holding you close, one leg draping over his bony hip as he shimmies his jeans off. Your legs spread wide, hands gripped tight into the softness of his curls as rough lips wrap around your nipple. You’re gasping, skin fluttering with every touch across your abdomen, cold fingers slowly trailing down just below your belly button. He stays there, tongue pressing flat across your nipple as the pads of his digits line the hem of your panties, teasing as you buck your hips up, silently begging for him to go lower.

The brunette’s fingers were now rubbing against your folds through your panties, causing you to jerk at the friction. He playfully nipped at your collarbone before glancing up at you through heavy eyelids. “My turn, pretty girl.”

“Toby- hah- Yeah-” His free hand wraps behind your back, cradling you into his side as he pinches at your unattended nipple, rolling the bud between his fingers. He smiles against your tit, a long sigh of relief when you feel his fingers break past the line of your panties.

His fingers dip into the warm folds of your cunt, dipping down to collect your arousal on his digits, messily swiping across your plushy lips. You’re already soaked just from kissing, Toby popping off of your nipple to snag your lips, kissing you hungrily as you pant into his mouth. His fingers circle your clit, the nub pulsing and jerking at his touch, hips rising and falling as they chase the sensation. “Jesus- You’re soaked.”

Swirling deftly around the sensitive nub, you gasp, heat so prominent on your cheeks. “Don’t worry, I go- got you.” He’s unable to decide between sucking harshly on your poor nipples, or soaking his tongue in the warmness of your mouth, lips glistening with his saliva. And it’s driving you mad, keening and pulling at his soft locks. You’ve never been touched like this before, and Toby didn’t know if he would be able to stop.

Then he’s plunging knuckle-deep in your gummy pussy, the tips of his long fingers massaging your plushy walls. You cry out, breaking from his kiss and giving him a good excuse to snag back onto your tit, gently biting on your reddened nipple.

He’s pumping his fingers rhythmically, curling them in a way that has your eyes fluttering shut, fingers tugging his hair so hard it makes him groan at the pressure. His digits glisten in the low light, hand stretching the fabric of your panties He’s hitting that little spot each and every time., looking like he was absolutely in heaven as he rolls and swirls his tongue against your nipple, lips wrapped tight around the skin.

“Sh- Shit, Toby-” You groan, grinding your hips down as he stuffs his fingers all the way to the knuckle, the two middle digits spreading and pressing against your walls, coaxing your legs to spread wider. His palm bumps against your clit, holding his hand there to press firm against the bundle of nerves, your jaw hanging loose when he leans up to go in for more kisses. He is all over you, barely able to breathe as he ravages your skin, fingers bullying their way deeper until you can feel yourself gushing across his palm. The noises are so lewd, the schlick, schlick of your wet cunt taking him back in, walls clenching around his thick fingers. You can’t stand it, can’t take it anymore-

Toby can see it in your face, in the way you stop kissing him back to let out a long, guttural moan that has him in bliss. His fingers beat faster, fucking your swollen cunt open as his unattended cock throbs and leaks against your thigh, begging to replace his fingers.

“S’good Toby. Fuck. Right there- Don’t stop.” And then your arms are wrapping around his head, cradling his face into your neck as you fall apart on his fingers, pussy gushing and practically dripping with your orgasm. You think maybe you see stars, or it’s just the freckles on the brunette’s skin when he captures your lips, drinking up every moan you feed him.

His cock is wilting, throbbing, and twitching against your leg as you finally settle out, breathy groans that have you both staring at each other through heavy gazes. He slips his hand from your ruined panties, pulling your knee up higher to spread your legs more as he slides the fabric from your hips and tosses them somewhere unseen, taking his cock in his soaked fingers.

Your breath hitches at the way he drags his swollen head teasingly across your slit, pooling your slick on his achingly hard tip, smearing your juices with his cockhead as he pumps himself lazily. It’s so torturously good, his face disappearing into the crook of your neck as he gently nibbles your burning skin. “Need you so bad, Toby.” You breathe out, nearly panting. “Co- Condom. In the nightstand-”

Despite wanting to feel you, really feel you wrapped around him, he kisses just below your jaw before rolling over. Fishing for a condom in your drawer, he misses you sitting up, fresh orgasm giving you a rush of need as you watch him haul the packet in between his fingers.

Because then you’re pushing his shoulders down onto the bed, straddling his thighs as you snag the condom from him, quickly tearing open the packet. Toby watches with excitement, hands reaching to cradle against the sides of your thighs, fingers digging into your plush skin when you slowly slide the latex down his throbbing length. It’s snug, but thin, able to feel every pulse of your cunt as you take the base of him in your hand, swiping his tip along your folds, wetting himself. It was all the preparation you were going to give yourself because fuck Toby needed to be inside your pussy right now.

Then you feel like you’re being split apart- Toby’s cock was slowly pushing up into your warmth as he presses through the first ring of muscle. Before you can overthink, you’re nudging your hips down gently. So agonizingly gentle that Toby has to stop his hips from riding off the bed. And you can do nothing more than let out barely-audible whispers of his name as you seat yourself on his throbbing cock into your snug cunt. “Ah- Hah-”

You feel so full. So drunk off of the delicious burn of your pussy, hands resting on his chest as he watches you.

You’re so nauseously tight, gripping his length in a way that had his eyes rolling back, fingers digging red marks into your skin. You’re both breathless, eyes clamped shut and bodies shaky when your hips finally meet his, so utterly full of him. Toby can’t even find the words for it.

That’s when you hear voices from outside your closed bedroom door, Avery and her friends returning from whatever drunken night they had, loud as ever.

In a panic, you push your hands over Toby’s mouth, the brunette’s hot breath fogging against your skin as he smiles, waiting patiently as they all file into Avery’s room, voices slowly dwindling out. Meanwhile, you’re pulsing around him, cunt clenching as you’re forced to wait.

But eventually it's all clear, palm slowly letting off of his mouth, a teasingly smile plastered on his face. You roll your eyes, quietly laughing as you steady yourself, pushing your knees further against his sides. You’re pulling your hips up eagerly, achingly fucking yourself at a slow, sensual pace. His tip kisses your cervix as you roll your hips sensually against his, making sure you feel every vein and twitch against your tight walls.

“Y’looked so beau- beautiful tonight. So pretty dressing up as me.” Toby gasps, running his hands across your thighs, up the sides of your waist as you dig your knees into the mattress. It sends shivers down your spine, ones that go directly to your clit as you lean forward, pressing your chest against his. Sweaty forehead meeting his, he leans up to meet your pitiful kiss, hips still pushing back as your clit rubs against his abs.

Surprised moans get choked in his throat as you rock your hips back and forth, pulling all the way up till his furiously flushed tip is teasing your sloppy hole, slick glistening on his length, just to nudge yourself down again, relishing in that full feeling.

Wrapping his hands around the back of your thighs, he massages the plushness of your ass, smiling to himself when you wrap your arms around his neck and hide your face into the crook of his neck. “More, Toby.”

“O- Okay…” He breathes, bending his knees to get a better angle, the divot of his cock pressing against that sweet spot and making you mewl. The weight of you on top of him is so satisfying.

Toby starts up a satisfyingly good pace, thrusts get deeper and deeper until he finally buries his cock into you as deep as it could go. Throaty groans spill out of his mouth, he looks over and kisses your forehead gently, taking in every moan and whine you muffle into his neck. “Oh- hah! Yeah, yeah, yeah-”

Even if his body was exhausted, he couldn’t feel it. All he could tell was that your cunt was gripping him so hard his jaw was clenched, grinding his teeth as he fucked himself up into that sweet warmth. “So good- Oh, feels so good-”

“Oh god. Toby, right there-” You gasp out in pleasure, starting to move in shallow thrusts that have your eyes rolling to the back of your head, the curve of his cock knocking that swollen sweet spot over and over, each thrust more prominent than the last. You bounce your ass back on him, meeting every thrust that he delivers so deep into the swell of your pussy, clit aching and throbbing as it rubs against his hard abs. “You’re so- doing so good, baby-” He huffs.

Feeling that very familiar coil in your abdomen, you mewl, “Toby- I’m gonna-”

But then his thrusts halt, hands reaching further up your back to hold onto you tightly, sitting both you and him up as he crawls up onto his knees. He’s got your weight in his arms, cock still nestled so deeply inside of you as you wrap your limbs around him, leaning in to kiss along his jawline sticky with sweat.

He gives up thrusting now, hips rutting and grinding into you in a way that has you moaning deep and long, cunt throbbing with the ache for release. He’s in so deep- so full.

Kissing against your rose cheeks, he looks at you with fucked-out eyes, trying his best to ride out the last of this moment as he feels his gut pool with warmth. His arms reach around your slender back to dig his nails into the unblemished skin, holding you as close as he physically could. It felt so perfect. Your hips grind back to meet Toby’s, thighs trembling as they cling to his hips. “Shit, [Y/N], I think yo- you were made for me.”

And then you’re capturing his lips, breathy moans as you feel him throb inside you.

“Close?”

“Mhm…” He sighs, leaning down to kiss along your shoulder.

You grind your hips deeper, chasing that heavy feeling that builds in your gut, clinging onto whatever you can grab of his skin, brushing your hands up into his hair and pulling. “Hngh- Toby. Inside- ” You whimper, overstimulated, and your senses filled with only the brunette, you finally cum, riding it out on his deep thrusts. “Oh, fu- fuck. Gonna cum. Gonna cum, my pretty girl- Hngh-” He moans out as your pussy clenches down on him, finally tipping over the edge as well.

You feel Toby cum in hot spurts into the condom, rasping your name over and over as if it was the only word he knew. He collapses onto you, careful not to crush you with his full body weight as he pants against your neck, slowly tugging himself from your gooey warmth.

As you both come down from your highs, he quickly removes the condom and hugs your sweaty body closer to his, kissing along your neck and up to the corner of your mouth. Eventually, he climbs off of your bed, searching your messy floor for his boxers, tossing you his t-shirt which you happily pull on.

He fishes new panties from your dresser- quietly spazzing out at all the different colored bras and matching bottoms you had to choose from- and tugs on his own boxers.

Every movement after that is laced with exhaustion, tired, sticky bodies shuffling under the covers as you cling to his side, breathing in his smell like it’ll be the last time you do. He’ll make sure it’s not.

Flipping your lamp off, the only glow is from your TV, dim lights reflecting off of your still-rosy skin. He takes every moment to kiss along your cheeks, brushing your hair from your face, and cradling your body tight against him. He doesn’t really remember how you coaxed him into taking off the wrap on his hand- with the false promise that you would change the soiled bandages out tomorrow- but you do, unraveling the fabric until that horrific proxy symbol contrasted against his pale skin. A mark, a reminder of who he was returning to when the sun rose tomorrow.

He promised to let himself have tonight, but he knew that tonight wasn’t going to last forever.

But then you’re bringing his hand to your lips, placing a sweet, deep kiss right at the center of his palm. And he melts. He wasn’t lying when he said he thought you were made for him, the sour look on his face disappearing when he was cupping your cheeks, pulling you impossibly closer to kiss against your skin.

You kissed against the scar on his cheek, soft lips on jagged flesh, and he knew.

You spend the rest of the night fishing stories from him, things he promised he would never tell, but find your reactions just too good at the mention of Masky and Tim. Your obsession seemed to run deeper than him, but he was your favorite.

Toby would have never felt the dip in the bed beside him, or the fingers that messed in his hair, but he did feel the fist that clenched onto his jaw much harder than you ever could’ve.

“Rise and shine, twitch.” Jeff, in all of his ugliness, sat on the edge of the bed, teasingly patting Toby’s cheeks. The brunette sat up, pushing the killer off of him and out of the bed, hoarse little chuckles erupting as he felt you stir next to him.

“How the fuck did you get here?”

“Front door, duh. You sent me your location last night, remember?” Toby noticed through your open bedroom door that your front door was swung wide open, the killer smiling with satisfaction, but his face slowly dropped when he saw you slowly sit up.

“Toby? Wha-” You see Jeff, Toby ready to reach out and clamp your mouth shut, prepping for a terrified scream. But then you’re sitting up, Jeff awkwardly glancing back and forth between you two as your lips part. “No way.”

Toby should’ve known better.

Because then you’re bombarding the killer, sitting on the edge of the bed, and studying every detail of his face, fangirling, of all things. Toby smiles, laughing to himself as you banter on and on about newsletters and obscure websites, Jeff casting you concerning looks as you recount his entire backstory.

It’s well into the afternoon by the time Jeff finally pushes Toby to leave, barking about how he was supposed to have him back hours ago. The killer would never admit it, but they were only there that long because he enjoyed hearing someone harp on how good of a killer he was, complimenting him like he had always wanted.

Jeff’s already in the truck waiting as Toby kisses your face, kissing against your hands as fear courses him, fear that this will be the last time. But then you’re grabbing his phone, typing in your number, and sending yourself a text. A promise.

“For whenever you want to stop by ;)”

Followed by your address.

And then he’s back on the road, Jeff harping on and on about how ‘you weren’t that bad’ or ‘if Toby wasn’t careful he’d snatch you up.’ He couldn’t hear him though, too busy studying every detail of the photo you had sent him, the two of you smiling half-drunk in that elevator. It was already his wallpaper by the time they made it back to the mansion.

And he was already making plans on how he could sneak away tonight to come see you.

God, how he loved Halloween.

Thanks for reading!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

Thanks to my wonderful editors @h3llw1 and @solarbites!

Happy Halloween!

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cutehoons02 · 9 days ago

Text

Between lust and revenge

*pairing: Leader alpha Heeseung x omega Girl

*trope: Forbidden love/Enemies to lovers

*synopsis: In an exclusive academy where alphas, omegas and betas coexist, Y/n, a sweet and pretty omega, is forced to marry Jiwon, an omega who does not love and treats her with contempt. But when she finds herself trapped in a fate she has not chosen, the only way out seems to be Heeseung, an alpha tormented by revenge for his brother’s death, caused by the family of Y/n. In despair, Y/n offers herself to Heeseung, asking him to knot her to escape a loveless marriage and the tyranny of her future husband. Despite his resentment towards his family, Heeseung accepts the proposal, but with one condition: he will never love her. As the bond between the two becomes more and more intense and dangerous, Y/n finds herself fighting not only for her own freedom, but also for a love that seems impossible.

*tags: Heeseung is the leader of his 6 younger brothers and whole alpha of the new generation, at first he is really cold and throws darts to Y/n, Y/n is a sweet omega but with a nice character, preliminaries, a lot of kisses, sucking, masturbation, fingering, unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl) knotting,filling, pet names (princess,little omega,slut) (Hee,alpha)

12.7k (♥️)

(English is not my native language)

The golden lights of the sunset filtered through the wide glass windows of the greenhouse, dancing among the climbing plants and blooming flowers that filled the air with sweet notes of jasmine and mint. The air was warm, scented with spring and anticipation. You stood there, behind a half-open glass door, your heartbeat echoing through your temples. On the other side of the greenhouse, among the shadows of the foliage, he was there. The boy with amber eyes who had never spared you a long look, but whose mere gaze on yours could make your knees tremble. Heeseung. Alpha. Damnably untouchable. And yet, there you were, spying on him as if just seeing him could be enough to make you breathe.

Your fiery red dress clung to your curves with elegance, the light silk swaying with every breath as your heels hesitated on the stone floor. Your hair, smooth as silk, slipped over your shoulders, and your lips, tinged with a soft red, trembled with unspoken thoughts. The heart-shaped necklace your mother had given you seemed to glow with its own light as if reminding you where you came from. But the ring… the ring that Jiwon had ordered for you, that one you didn’t wear. You didn’t want it. Only your bracelets, colorful and mismatched, truly spoke of who you were: a girl who dreamed of freedom, carrying with her fragments of every summer, every laugh, every escape.

"I can’t do it… I can’t marry him. Not Jiwon, that damn omega who never respected me, never respected my family’s name, and would have locked me in a cage as if I were an animal."

Your fingers clenched the edge of the door. Your heart was pounding, too loudly. Not because of the imminent wedding, but because of the tall, lean figure immersed among the greenhouse plants. Heeseung looked like a noble, deadly shadow, and yet there was something in him that gave you relief. Perhaps because, despite the resentment he held against your family, he had never looked at you as an object. In truth, he had hardly ever looked at you, but when he did… he saw your soul.

"He hates me. I know. But he's the only alpha who could break this curse. The only one strong enough to mark me. The only one who could not be controlled by Jiwon or my father."

You, a gentle omega, delicate, raised to smile, to not disturb, to say thank you, and remain composed. Your aura was faint, like the scent of lavender on a summer evening. People said your presence calmed the air, that your gaze brought peace. But they had no idea of the fire that smoldered within your heart. Of how your soul screamed every time Jiwon touched you with those predatory eyes.

Heeseung was dangerous, with fire and poison and silence. But he didn’t scare you. Because beneath his cold mask, you felt something. As if he, too, was waiting for a way to save himself.

"I wasn’t born to be a bride. Not for an omega like him. If only Heeseung would touch me... if only he would agree to bind himself to me... I could break it all."

The black tuxedo clung to his broad shoulders with almost cruel precision. The seams traced his form as if they had been stitched directly onto his skin, and the high collar barely revealed a vein that pulsed faintly on his neck. Heeseung stood with his back to you, still, like a statue of black marble planted among the shadows of the greenhouse. He seemed part of the landscape, as though nature itself had embraced him as a sovereign.

You bit your lower lip. A nervous gesture, but also one filled with awareness.

Did he hate me? Probably.

If someone from my family had killed one of my brothers, I would have hated to death anyone who bore that blood too.

Your fingers trembled as they brushed against the iron handle of the glass door. You lowered it carefully, and a faint click broke the silence, heavy with humidity and suspended petals. You stepped inside. No sound from him. Not even a breath. Only your gentle aura, warm and light like a caress in the dark, making its way into his realm. The scent of your skin—vanilla and wild honey—spread slowly throughout the greenhouse.

Then, after a few seconds, his voice.

That voice.

Low. Rich with a dangerous echo. A voice you had only heard during shared lessons, and even then, it made the hairs on your neck stand on end.

“A scent so sweet for an omega… Do you come into my territory? What have I done to deserve the presence of a single omega… unprotected… and, by the way, not even accompanied by anyone?” The air changed around him. As if he had pulled the strings of the world itself with those words. You lifted your gaze slowly. Your wide, shining eyes met his back, still turned. It felt like you were looking at a wall you could never scale. Heeseung was a true alpha. Not just any alpha. His aura was like a silent storm: strong, regal, impenetrable. He could pick up every single scent, every emotion, every nuance of your essence. And you were there, trembling, with your innocent air and humble gaze. A perfect prey. A gentle omega, with an aura soft as a nest of feathers, but a heart full of storms. With a nervous touch on your arms, you brushed against the bracelets you’d worn since childhood. They were your colorful armor. Light memories in a world that now seemed to crush you. You squeezed them tight. Then, with a clear voice, but with a thread of hesitation, you said: “I need your help, Heeseung.” His shoulders stiffened just slightly. Nothing visible to the untrained eye, but you felt it. He felt that voice. Sweet. Polite. Humble. But the same voice he hated with all his being. The voice of the daughter of the man who had taken his brother from him, the voice of enemy blood. Slowly, he turned around, and his gaze was an abyss of amber. Predator’s eyes. Contained coldness, the tuxedo jacket barely moving with his motion, his steps slow, controlled. When his eyes met yours, they didn’t see a threat. They saw a harmless creature. They saw prey, and you, there in your red dress, looked almost out of place, like a delicate flower in the middle of a fire.

What were you doing there? The daughter of the man who killed his brother, a sweet omega who, instead of kneeling to ask for forgiveness, dared to ask for help. From him.

You fiddled with your bracelets, making the beads you had collected over the years softly jingle as if their sound could calm you. But it didn’t work. Not with him in front of you. Not with those eyes. You observed him. Red hair, as if every strand had been kissed by fire. It fell messily over his forehead, but perfectly so. Amber eyes were so intense they seemed to bore into you. And yet… they didn’t scare you. No. They seemed like doe’s eyes, deep, glossy… melancholic. His face was sculpted with almost cruel precision: straight nose, full lips, a jawline that seemed carved by a tired god. His alpha frame made him imposing, much taller than you—and you, at barely 1.70 cm, felt like a feather before a storm. You took a deep breath, then spoke with a calm but sincere voice: “I know you hate me. And I swear… I hate myself too for what my father did to your brother. I don’t forgive him, not even I. But I… I am here to offer you a deal. A revenge you could use against him. Against the entire omega lineage and—” “NO.” His roar hit you like a sudden gust of wind. Sharp. Clear. Inviolable. He turned away as if you were nothing. As if your heart, right there on the table, wasn’t worthy of even a glance. He returned to his herbs, his hands mixing lavender and calendula in a black mortar with precision. The scent of flowers and rare plants filled the greenhouse, and yet you only smelled the rejection in the air. You sighed softly. A part of you wanted to leave, to cry in silence like a well-behaved omega, but the other part… the part that was tired of being commanded… took a step forward. You entered deeper into the wolf’s den. You approached his table and, with a sweet but firm voice, pointed at what he was doing. “You’re mixing lavender to soothe wounds… you’re adding arnica root. It’s for bites. To heal a wounded alpha… or a victim of an attack. Who are you trying to heal, Heeseung?” Finally, he lifted his gaze and he did it with a growl. “Out. Not another word from you. Not in my territory.” His voice was sharp, deep, filled with contained venom. But you…you didn’t move. Your eyes remained locked on his, and your fingers lightly rested on the edge of the table, between his herbs and his silence. “I’m not leaving.” You said, and a heady silence fell, where the only sounds were the distant trickle of a stream and the rustle of animals.

Heeseung stared at you, his aura growing dense, almost suffocating. The king of alphas was beginning to get irritated. Yet… beneath his coldness, something shifted. A tiny crack. A curiosity he didn't want to admit. "You're a problem, you know that?" His voice was as hard as stone. But his eyes… they were studying you. You, however, barely smiled. With sweetness, a smile that wasn't a provocation… it was a gentle challenge. It was that quiet strength only an omega like you could possess. "And you're so good at solving problems. Maybe… I could be your favorite." Heeseung's gaze darkened. But he didn’t speak. His fingers continued to mix the herbs, but the movements were no longer as confident as before. He was disturbed. Annoyed. Intrigued, and you knew it. Heeseung observed you. Not with the distracted look of someone who notices something pretty, but with the cold, calculating gaze of an alpha who scrutinizes, evaluates… and hates himself for what’s stirring inside him. He didn’t want to admit it, not even to himself. But you were beautiful: one of those rare omegas, born to make even the most stable alphas tremble. He would have wanted to — with his entire body, but not his mind — nurture you, tame you, mark you, bind you to him with the force of an eternal bond, sink every sign of his power into you. And yes… impregnate you, but he couldn’t. He shouldn’t. He knew how delicate the balance between omega and alpha was, how few couples truly worked, how easy it was to ruin a life just to satisfy an impulse. And then… you were the daughter of his enemy. Yet, it wasn’t fear he saw trembling in your fingers, it was awareness. A fear all your own. Not for him… but for what you were about to ask.

“You have two minutes,” he said abruptly, his tone cold but his gaze lit by something he couldn’t extinguish. “And then I want you out of here.” A smile appeared on your face. You clapped your hands softly, like a child who had just been permitted to enter an enchanted forest. He raised an eyebrow, irritated. “You’ve already lost five seconds, now it’s one fifty-five.” You sighed softly, but the smile didn’t completely fade. With a gentle yet firm voice, you spoke. “I don’t want to marry Jiwon. I don’t love him. I don’t respect him. And I already know what awaits me if I become his: a house, a bed, and a future made of nothing but pregnancies and silences. I want to be bound, yes, but I also want the freedom to choose, to study, and to live my life. And the only one strong enough to protect me… the only one Jiwon could never challenge… is you, Lee Heeseung.” He didn’t say anything. You swallowed, your heart racing but your gaze clear. “I know you hate me. And that’s fine. But you can use this resentment, this anger inside you… you can use it against my father. Against my bloodline. You can take revenge… with me.” An incredible silence fell over the greenhouse, the herbs seemed to hold their breath. Heeseung was shocked, staring at you with those amber eyes wide open, his jaw clenched. Then he burst out laughing, but it wasn’t a real laugh. It was a brief, incredulous explosion. “You’re crazy.” You turned slightly, your face serious yet soft, your tone sweet… but sincere. “No, I’m dead serious.”

He looked at you as if trying to find a crack in your apparent calm. But there was none. And that’s what truly unsettled him. “You want to offer me your body… your virginity… as a pact for revenge? Is that what you’re proposing? To be branded by me, tied, used… so that you don’t end up in Jiwon’s hands?” You didn’t look away. “In a sense, yes, and you’re the only way to do it, no alpha has your power, and if I’m tied to you, your scent and your fragrance will be all over my body and no male will approach me, only you, Heeseung.” Heeseung’s lips curled into a half-cynical smile. His eyes narrowed, dangerous. “Too bad I’ve never been the type to save princesses.” He took a step toward you, slow and ethereal. “Especially those who carry the blood of my worst enemy.” You lowered your gaze. Your fingers tightened around your bracelets as if they could save you from yourself. “The only one who can save me… is you,” you whispered. “You can take revenge… on your brother… by tying me to you.” But you didn’t manage to finish. His voice cut you off, sharp like a slap: “Pathetic.” You froze. A silent tear slipped down your cheek slowly. It slid along your face like an unsaid confession. Your omega aura blossomed, finally free, like a sweet and fragile scent that expanded in the room. You felt it, but he thought it much more. It was soft, welcoming, instinctively submissive but with a core of dignity impossible to extinguish. “You’re right…” you whispered, your voice low. “The two minutes are over.”

You turned slowly. And walked away, trying not to give in to the shame, or the pain, but then something happened. “Stop.” His voice was an order. A command, and you… you stopped. Not out of fear. Not because you wanted to. But because something in your omega nature forced you to obey. Omegas live to follow. To feel they belong. And with that voice… your body reacted before your mind. You turned slowly. “You’re pathetic, but also… brave.” He took a few steps toward you, his eyes still burning with distrust, but also something else. Something that tightened his chest. “No one has ever faced me like this. No one. Least of all an omega.” He stopped in front of you, his body just inches away. His warmth was overwhelming, and his eyes, now darker, locked onto yours. “Do you know what happens to an omega… when they’re tied by an alpha?” You swallowed. Your legs trembled. But you didn’t look away. “Yes,” you murmured. “Tell me.” You swallowed again, and with an uncertain but sincere voice, you said: “When an alpha ties an omega, his knot swells inside her… locking in for minutes, sometimes even half an hour. During that time… the omega loses complete control.” You said, looking at him with desperate eyes. “The body opens, surrenders. The scent changes. The orgasm is violent… uncontrollable. The bond forms. And… the omega can get pregnant at the first attempt if the alpha desires. But if the omega isn’t ready… if she’s afraid… her body may react badly. The pain can become too much and yes… in extreme cases… she could die.” The silence that followed was different from all the ones before. Heeseung stared at you as if you were saying the most absurd thing… and at the same time, the truest. “And despite all of that… you want to risk being tied by me?” “Yes.” you said, sure of your words.

Heeseung was stunned. For the first time in years, he didn't know what to do. Your words echoed in his ears, so sweet and desperate that they made him clench his fists. What would his brothers say? Him. Lee Heeseung. The most respected alpha at the Academy. Him, tying an omega. Not just any omega. But the daughter of the man who had wiped out his family. "If I bind you," he said quietly, with a hard voice, "you'll be mine forever, there’s no turning back. The bond will be eternal. Your body, your soul… everything will belong to me." You nodded, the tears threatening to fall, but with your eyes shining. "I know." Then, in an even quieter, almost broken voice, you said: "And I'll do everything you want, Heeseung. Even… even get pregnant. If that’s what you desire from me." The alpha's breath caught in his throat. Those words… offered so sincerely, without malice, without strategy… they were like a blade to the chest. “If you do this,” he thought, “your family will disown you. They’ll cast you out. They’ll cut you off.” But a voice inside him whispered: "Good. Let them. She’ll find a new family. Mine." You looked at him again, standing tall even though your body trembled.

"I… I can become your perfect revenge. Imagine my father’s face when he finds out that an alpha has bound me. That his perfect little girl has been taken, tied, marked… and maybe even impregnated. He’ll be furious. Humiliated, and I… I’ll be free from a forced marriage between two families pretending to support each other." Heeseung gritted his teeth, fighting with himself. "And you think I would give you freedom?" he said bitterly. You smiled, this time bitter but sincere. "I know you don’t like me, Heeseung. You don’t have to. But you… you and I are the best at herbology. No one beats us. And yet they always pit us against each other because they want to see us break. But I’ve always seen you. Always respected you. And I know that when alphas choose a mate, they love her. They protect her. They let her… live. Better than in a gilded cage with Jiwon. Better than being just a breeder to be showcased for my beauty and my calming power over people." Silence.

Heeseung’s breath was broken, his gaze fierce but filled with torment, looking at you as if you were poison and remedy at the same time. Desire and destruction. He took a step closer, then another. Now he was so close you could feel his hot breath on your face. "And if I marked you now?" he whispered. "If I pushed you against that table and bound you mercilessly… in front of these plants… while you cry, but not from fear… just because you’re finally free?" Your breath hitched. Your omega inside was trembling. You looked into his eyes, even though your heart was pounding, and the omega aura crackled in the air, ready to bend, ready to follow… but you didn’t look away. "I'm not ready yet," you murmured. His lips curled into a bitter sneer. "Pathetic," he hissed. "Not even for a kiss?" The tone was venomous and harsh. But you felt it… it wasn’t real. It was self-defense. It was fear. It was broken pride. Heeseung knew you were right. No one was truly ready for the bond of a knot. Not even him. And yet… as your omega scent mixed with his natural alpha fragrance – strong, resinous, with hints of musk and spices – something in the air became dangerously sweet; a mutual intoxication. Lethal but also… irresistible. He took a few steps forward. His voice was low, rasping as if scratched by pain. "Your father… killed my brother. Like a dog. He left him there… eyes open. And blood painting the end on the floor, and you… you’re here. Crying. Asking to be saved." You didn’t answer. You just listened, the tears now free, warm, slipping down your cheeks. Your heart screamed, but your mouth remained silent. He noticed. And for a moment, he softened. He sighed, running a hand through his fiery red hair that he was trying to smother. “…I’ll think about it," he finally said. "I don’t promise anything." Your eyes lit up. And with a light, almost ironic voice, but sincere, you said: “At least it’s not a hard ‘no’…” He looked at you, raising an eyebrow, both irritated and amused at the same time. "I’ve had enough for tonight. Go back to the dance. Surely your ‘perfect omega’ is looking for you. You wouldn’t want to disappoint him, would you?" You looked at him sweetly, with that touch of innocent defiance that only an omega like you could afford. "When will you decide?" Heeseung stared at you for a moment, then looked away. But his words struck straight to your chest: "You’ll know soon enough, and prepare yourself mentally, princess… because if I decide to knot you and make you mine, it won’t be for play." You nodded, feeling every word resonate inside you. You bowed, in the ancient silence of the greenhouse, and you left. Light heels, uncertain steps, a heart-pounding wildly, but behind your chest… a small flame had taken a life, and you knew, as you stepped out into the cold night, that not everything was lost.

Three days had passed, seventy-two hours, four thousand three hundred and twenty minutes. Not that you were counting, of course. Every time you crossed paths with him in the Academy's hallways, or during Herbology class, Heeseung didn't even spare you a glance. He was icy, impassive, as if that night in the greenhouse had never happened, yet… you could feel it. His scent. His fleeting gaze. His breath changing every time you entered the room. In the meantime, you had searched for everything there was about knotting between an alpha and an omega.

“The knot can last from twenty to forty-five minutes.”

“During the mating, the omega enters a state of controlled instinctive heat, where the body completely surrenders.”

“The alpha, if compatible, can permanently mark the omega, leaving an irreversible spiritual, emotional, and physical bond.”

“Fertilization is highly likely if the omega does not take the contraceptive pill, even during non-fertile days, due to the high release of pheromones.”

Every time you read something like this, your thighs clenched involuntarily, as if trying to hold something back. A strange, warm, pulsing sensation. Your body knew. Your body wanted. But your mind was scared. Your best friend was an alpha, Heeseung's cousin, and a small genetic miracle: daughter of a male omega and a female alpha. Like you, she had never been knotted. That afternoon, you both lay under the willow in the inner courtyard, your bare feet in the cold grass, talking softly. "My mom told me it's like… being branded by fire. It hurts. It's ecstasy and tearing together. But also that after, you can never live without him, especially if you start to have feelings during the act." You lowered your gaze, playing with the bracelets on your wrist. "I don't know if I'm ready… but I keep thinking about what he had to go through because of my family, the omega bloodline, and I don’t even know if he truly hates me. I just know that… I'm so sorry. Truly sorry. For him. For what he's lived through." She hugged you gently. Her embrace was warm, and reassuring. Familiar. "Heeseung… suffered more than anyone. You have no idea. He was just a boy when it happened. And since then, he hasn’t let anyone touch him. He’s never been close to an omega. Not even one." You looked at her, your eyes misty, but determined. "I know. And you know what the worst part is? That… I’m jealous." She chuckled softly, nudging you with her shoulder. "Jealous of what, idiot?" she laughed, though also intrigued by your candid confession. "That you can choose whoever you want, whenever you want. No one forces you. But I’ve already got a predetermined fate… unless…" you said, looking at the enchanted clearing in front of you. "Unless you rebel," she finished, hugging you. "Unless you choose who you want to be and refuse to give yourself to a man who will never satisfy you. You know that’s the easiest path, but if you give yourself fully to Heeseung, you know it will be the hardest road, but also the one where you can live and show who you are, not just a docile omega." You smiled and, to lighten the mood, teased her: "So, who would you like to knot you or, I don’t know, go out with someone? Come on, tell me. Jake? Jay? Or… Sunghoon? You’ve got three good options!" She blushed up to her ears and covered her face. "Don’t start!" You winked at her at the mention of Sunghoon's name, and she collapsed onto the grass with an exasperated groan, telling you not to start because she couldn’t stand that guy who looked like a human ice cube. Then, as you both laughed, you felt your phone vibrate. A single message.

One sender: Heeseung. "Friday. 21:30 PM. Classroom above the astronomical tower."

Your breath caught in your throat. You had been summoned, like an ancient ritual, a call that could not be ignored. Your mother had always told you that when an alpha wants you… you feel it, but no one had prepared you to feel it like this.

Friday evening had arrived. Too fast, too slow. Every hour that passed that day seemed to melt into your skin like hot wax. Anxiety? No, it was a deeper bubbling. It was the awareness that in just a few hours, your destiny would change forever or perhaps… you would truly become yours for the first time. You wore something simple but carefully chosen: a loose ivory sweater, slightly faded jeans, and your lucky bracelets. Your fingers trembled a little as you closed the door behind you. It wasn’t fear; it was awareness. You arrived before the set time, but he… was already there. The large classroom at the top of the astronomical tower was bathed in silence. Heeseung was sitting on the couch by the huge window, his back straight, hands in his pockets, his gaze lost in the lake where the moon reflected like a broken dream. His silhouette seemed drawn by the light: red hair like domesticated fire, broad shoulders, an imposing back. A true alpha. A king awaiting his new queen. You didn’t say a word. You entered quietly and sat next to him, fiddling with the bracelets on your wrist to hold back the heart that was beating too fast. Then you looked at him. His perfect profile, straight nose, long lashes, taut jaw. “Have you decided?” you asked, your voice low and sincere. He didn’t look at you, not immediately, and continued staring at the water. “Are you sure?” His voice was rough, low, like a dull blade, and you nodded. “Yes, only your cousin knows, my best friend. No one else.” Heeseung slowly turned towards you, his amber eyes piercing through you. “My brothers know. All six of them: Jay, Jake, Hoon, Sunoo, Jungwon, and Niki.” You swallowed hard. His “brothers,” as Heeseung called them, weren’t his blood brothers, but they had grown up together, seven of them, as a real family. All seven were alphas with true marks and supernatural powers, and Heeseung had been elected as their leader for his aura, his flawless hunting skills, always perfect and borderline survival, but he always made it, one way or another. Two years ago, he had been elected and crowned the leader of the new generation of alphas. You gathered your courage and asked him. “And… what did they say?” You knew some might have turned their noses up, like Sunghoon and Ni-Ki, but others could have pushed him to accept, like Jake, Sunoo, and Jungwon. But the one he trusted most was Jay. He turned fully towards you, leaning against the couch with his arms crossed.

“They said I’d be crazy to do it. That you’re a risk. An emotional bomb. That you carry a dirty past with you. That you don’t deserve a bond with our family.” Your heart clenched… until he added, coldly: “But Jay pointed out something: your family is on the verge of ruin, and they have land in the city that… is worth a lot of money. That’s why they want to marry you off to that scoundrel omega, because with his construction company, he can use his connections, but also benefit from your name. If you were to knot, and then… marry… those lands would become mine, ours, and my family would come out even stronger.” You stayed silent for a moment before interrupting him. “Wait, wait, did you just say Marriage?!”

Heeseung looked at you and shrugged. "You know, after a year of knotting… all bound couples get married. It’s law. It’s culture. It’s biology." You lowered your gaze, your fingers tightening around the bracelets, then lifted your eyes, unsure. "So… is this a yes? Are you telling me yes? That you want to knot me and marry me?" Heeseung studied you carefully for a long time, his gaze so deep it made you tremble inside, as though he could see every crack in you. Then he spoke: "Yes. But I won’t love you. Never. This isn’t a fairytale. There will be no love, no hearts, no ribbons. I’ll give you the freedom you want. I’ll rip you away from your destiny, but my heart… remains mine." His words were a punch to the stomach, but also… salvation. You looked at him with a small spark in your eyes. "I don’t ask for your heart, Heeseung, just the choice, the freedom to be myself." And he nodded. "Then prepare yourself, because when an alpha decides… there’s no turning back." As his words faded between you—cold, sharp, definitive—you didn’t think twice. You hugged him with small, trembling arms but full of courage. He was rigid, cold, like a statue carved from black stone… but you sank into him anyway. You sank into his chest, feeling the tension, the anger… and the heartbeat. That powerful alpha heartbeat that echoed against yours. "Tsk, what’s this, now omegas throw themselves into the arms of their enemies? How pathetic, cliché," he sneered. His tone was cynical, dismissive, but his words didn’t move you. You stayed there. With your forehead resting on his shoulder, eyes closed, and a breath that kicked inside you like a prayer. "I’ll thank you forever, Heeseung… I was more afraid of ending up in the hands of an omega like Jiwon, who doesn’t respect women… than being knotted, fertilized, reproduced, and maybe even dying." Your words were sincere, raw, and the truth made something inside him tremble.

Under his skin, in his blood, and then his heart raced. Unexpectedly, you felt a large hand rest on your back, a hesitant touch, almost instinctive, his fingers moving lightly in small circles.

A caress, a primitive form of contact that felt more like comfort than possession. And it was true what they said about you. A warm aura, made of light and peace, a gentle omega’s touch that soothed the soul, even before the flesh.

When you pulled away, Heeseung immediately felt the emptiness, as though you had torn away an invisible part of him. You lowered your gaze, rummaging in your bag, and handed him a folded sheet of paper.

He took it, perplexed, and opened it:

Medical certificate of Y/n (your surname)

Signature of the university gynecologist, and there were specific words written:

No illness.

Still a virgin.

Stable aura.

Mental and physical healing abilities.

Perfect response to stimulation from alpha, omega, or beta.

Adaptable to repeated knotting.

Receptive to imprinting and consensual domination.

He lifted his gaze to you, an eyebrow raised.

"Wow. My little elite virgin is already ready for the marriage packaging, huh? All that’s left is a pink bow and a tag that says ‘fertilize me, I’m pure.’"

He teased you, of course, with that sharp sarcasm from an alpha who didn’t want to give in.

But this time… there was a different tone, a hint of something not just irony.

It was interest, it was respect, and despite everything, it was… dangerously close to admiration.

You stuck out your tongue at him, playful but sweet, and were about to say something—but you didn’t have time.

His fingers gently took your chin, and for a moment…

those amber eyes—eyes of a deer and a predator combined—studied you like an enigma no one had ever dared to solve, and then he kissed you, without warning, without control.

The kiss wasn’t just a kiss — it was a restrained bite, a bite on instinct.

Heeseung wasn’t just anyone. He was the Alpha of all Alphas. Born to dominate, to protect, to take. And right in front of him stood the perfect embodiment of everything he was meant to destroy… and yet, he wanted to possess it.

You whimpered softly under his touch, and that alone was enough to awaken the darkest part of him — that hunger. That urge to explore every inch of you.

He pressed your shoulders with one hand and gently laid you down on the couch, slowly, almost like a predator who takes his time before devouring his prey. He leaned over you, barely giving you space to breathe.

His Alpha scent was overwhelming. Warm like fire, sharp like pepper. You trembled — not out of fear.

Your body was beginning to accept the inevitable.

Heeseung stared at you, and in his eyes, there was raw hunger.

Not just the desire to kiss you, but to tear away your control, and melt your resistance.

To see you fall apart under his touch and then… cry, call for him, beg for him.

"So small. So pure. I’d only need to spread her legs and she'd already be mine. One thrust, one knot, and her whole life would change. She was made to be filled, born to take me in, to be only mine," he thought as he heard your moan.

“Moaning from just a kiss? Pathetic…” he murmured against your lips, with that crooked, cursed smile — but he didn’t pull away.

He deepened the kiss, opening your mouth again and sliding his tongue in further — exploring, taking, claiming.

And you let him. As if you had been waiting for this all along.

Your bodies moved against each other without shame.

His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them slightly — just enough for you to understand that he could.

That if he wanted to, he could knot you right there.

“You’re not even ready for my kiss — let alone my knot,” he whispered in your ear, voice hoarse, while you trembled beneath him.

“Your thighs squeeze shut every time I get close, you know? I can feel it. Your body begs for me… and you don’t even realize it.”

You gasped, cheeks flushed, throat dry.

“I want it to be beautiful…” you managed to whisper, voice broken.

He laughed. A low, wicked laugh, thick with promises.

“It won’t be beautiful. It’ll be unforgettable. But let me warn you, little omega…”

He moved a strand of hair from your face, looking precisely where he’d mark you.

“When I knot you, I’ll do it properly. I’ll make you tremble. Cry. Come. Not just once. Every time I want it. I’ll train your body to welcome me until you beg to be bred.”

He paused, eyes blazing.

“Because when I want you, I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. No excuses. And you… will thank me.”

You nodded slowly, lips parted, unable to speak — only to feel.

“Good,” he whispered again, leaning close once more. “Then start taking the pill. Because if you forget even once… I swear I’ll knock you up and keep you tied to me forever.”

Classroom near the tower – the fourth day before the knotting

Time seemed to bend every time you entered that room. There was something about the scent Heeseung left on the walls, the curtains, even the wood of the desk — it made your thighs clench just crossing the threshold.

When he entered, silent as always, the air tightened.

You were already there, sitting with your hands on your knees, head lowered, your pleated skirt barely revealing the soft skin of your thighs.

But he saw you and chuckled softly.

“So good. Like a little puppy waiting for its master.”

His voice was velvet and venom. It hit you straight in the gut.

“I’m not a dog,” you murmured. But you didn’t lift your gaze. Never before he allowed it.

“Oh no?” he stepped closer, one slow step at a time. “Then why are you crouched here every time, ready to let me touch anything I want?”

You swallowed.

“Because that’s the deal, Heeseung. If you don’t touch me, don’t train me, I might die.”

He was on you in a second. His body pressed against yours, and his hand grabbed your face firmly, forcing you to look at him.

Those eyes — dark, liquid, hungry. “Stop pretending you're doing this just for the agreement. You don’t tremble like that every time I touch you out of duty.”

“I... I do it to survive, and you know perfectly well what my fate would be otherwise, Heeseung.” A smirk appeared on his lips as he brushed your mouth with his thumb.

“Then surviving turns you on, omega?” You wanted to answer, but you couldn’t. Because he was right. Your body spoke louder than your words.

With a jerk, he turned you around and bent you forward against the desk. Your cheek pressed against the cold wood. You could feel his breath behind you.

“Look at yourself. So obedient. So submissive. You didn’t even ask what I’m going to do to you today.”

“What… what will you do to me today, Alpha?” Your voice trembled.

“I’m prepping you, as always. But today… you’ll be on your knees. With your mouth this time. I need to know if you can take me there too.” Your heart stopped for a second.

Then you nodded slowly. “Yes, Alpha. As you wish.”

“Good little obedient omega.”

His voice dripped sweet poison, and you drank it like water. He made you kneel between his legs. He stroked your hair with slow irony like one would pet a domesticated animal.

“Look how docile my revenge prize is. The father kills my brother, and the daughter kneels for me. There is justice in this world after all.”

You wanted to talk back. You looked up at him, your breath already shaky.

“You don’t own me… yet.”

“But you act like I do. So tell me, little one — who’s in charge here?”

“You… Alpha.”

He made you stand again. Pressed you against the wall, his body locked into yours. His hands were everywhere: on your throat, your hips, under your skirt. He kissed you violently, and then his voice dropped.

“In just a few days, I’ll knot you. And it won’t be sweet. I want to feel your tears, I want to hear your voice begging for more. You asked for revenge… but you served it to me on a silver platter.”

His teeth sank into your neck.

Not to mark you — not yet. But to show he was close.

You gasped, your bare breasts pressed to his warm chest.

“Alpha… thank you… for not breaking me yet.”

He chuckled against your skin.

“Oh, princess… who told you I haven’t already?”

The dining room was bathed in golden light, the chandeliers casting a soft glow across the space. The guests' murmurs wove together in a steady hum. The long, dark wooden table was meticulously set, adorned with nothing but forced smiles and carefully measured words.

You sat poised, hands resting on your lap, back straight, cheeks lightly brushed with makeup. Beside you sat your “future husband”: Jiwon, leader of the new generation of omegas—perfect in looks, rotten in soul. His fake smile stung every time his elbow brushed against yours as if to remind you that you belonged to him.

But that wasn’t true.

In two days, Heeseung would claim you. He would mark you—make you his and none of the people seated at that table knew it.

Your father raised his glass toward you, a proud smile on his lips.

'You look beautiful, Y/n. I can’t wait to see you at the altar. You’ll be the purest bride this clan has ever seen.'

You nodded with a gentle smile.

Pure.

If only he had seen your bruised knees, your reddened neck, and the bites Heeseung had left on you just two nights ago.

Jiwon grinned and added in a smug voice, “Yeah, I’m excited too. Maybe we should put a collar on her to keep her from running off the altar—like she does every time I try to kiss her!”

Scattered laughter rippled among the guests, but the air grew noticeably colder.

You smiled politely, though deep down you wanted to rip his tongue out.

Then Jiwon’s mother, seated across the table, chimed in with a sweet voice and a probing tone.

-And you, Y/n? Where would you like to get married? Something simple, I imagine? A nice garden near the countryside, perhaps. Nothing too extravagant…-

You answered her gracefully, eyes lowered in a courteous smile.

“I’ve always dreamed of getting married at the White Peak Falls. It's wrapped in mist—like it’s floating in the sky. It feels... intimate.”

The woman frowned, clearly displeased.

-Too damp. It would ruin the hair and makeup. Better something classic, like the Hidden Rose Pavilion. At least there, you can breathe nobility.-

Before you could respond, Jiwon shifted in his seat and raised his voice just enough to draw attention.

“Anyway, there’s still time. The wedding can only happen a year after the bonding ceremony, and I haven’t exactly… left my mark on her yet.”

Silence fell for a moment.

Your cheeks flushed—not from embarrassment, but from the searing memory of Heeseung’s hands gripping your waist, his warm tongue on your skin, his raspy voice calling you his "well-behaved little omega" as he bent you to his will.

To everyone else, you seemed so naïve. So obedient. So inexperienced.

But they knew nothing.

You knew how to ignite desire. How to stroke an Alpha’s pride without bruising it. How to touch not just the body—but the mind.

And you had learned it all from the Alpha among Alphas.

You smiled sweetly and raised your gaze.

“Well, a year may sound long... but time flies when one is busy... learning.”

Jiwon looked at you with a flicker of surprise and curiosity, as if the double meaning had taken him a moment to register. Then, he smiled.

He leaned in and took your hand, kissing it in front of everyone—slowly, with exaggerated elegance.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Soon... I’ll be the one teaching you. And you’ll be all mine.”

You shivered. Not with desire— But with disgust.

And under the table, your nails dug into the skin of your palm, just to stop yourself from screaming the truth that burned in your throat:

“No. I already belong to him.”

The night was thick and humid, the fog still clinging to the air, and the faint glow of the streetlamps seemed to float in midair. Every step you took was a risk—sneaking past the night guard, entering the male quarters where omegas weren’t allowed without permission—but you didn’t care. He was waiting for you. When you turned the corner of the main hallway, you saw him. Heeseung was there, leaning against his doorway, hands in his pockets, that usual look in his eyes—slow, dark, like the night itself. “Took you forever,” he said, his voice slipping under your skin. “There’s fog and it’s damp… I even straightened my hair and got ready,” you murmured with a soft huff, tucking a strand behind your ear. He raised an eyebrow and shook his head, smirking. “What a waste. I’ll have my hands in that hair soon… and you might end up sweating, too.” You rolled your eyes, but didn’t bother hiding the heat rising in your cheeks. “You’re awful.” “And yet you still came.” His room took you by surprise. It wasn’t what you’d expected from an Alpha like him—no hunting trophies or flexed muscles covering every wall. Instead, shelves lined with collectible Legos, a wall of perfectly arranged video games, a music console with headphones hanging neatly… and then—the bed. Massive. Dark. With rumpled sheets and heavy blankets. The room was dim, yes, but it radiated him. That blend of dominance and stillness. Controlled chaos just beneath the skin. It crept over you like a chill. “Sit.” His voice was lower now, closer. You looked him in the eyes and obeyed—like a true omega. You sat at the edge of the bed, hands in your lap, back straight, heart in chaos. He stood in front of you, his hands placed on either side of your legs, his body bending forward just enough to make you feel small—just how he liked it. He stared at you for a long moment, then spoke, quiet and serious. “One last time. Are you sure?” You met his eyes—no hesitation left in yours. “Yes. I want this. I want you.” Slowly, he lifted a hand and brushed your cheek with his knuckles. The touch was warm, certain. Then he smiled. Not the soft kind—but the sharp one. The one that sent every nerve on high alert. “To think… out of everyone, you looked the most innocent. The purest. And yet here you are, sitting on an Alpha’s bed, ready to be knotted like a good little obedient doll.” Your breath hitched, but your gaze didn’t falter. His finger ran over your lips, parting them just slightly. “But don’t worry, sweetheart. Tonight, I’ll teach you how to ask for pleasure. And how to receive it… only when I decide.” You nodded shyly, though your heart pounded like a drum. Heeseung sat beside you on the bed with the calm danger of someone who knows exactly what they want. “Kiss me.” You didn’t hesitate. You leaned in, kneeling on the edge of the bed, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him close with that sweetness that tasted of surrender… and need. Your omega scent mixed with the damp air, and your lips sought his—quietly desperate, respectful, hungry.

The kiss was slow, like a silent plea for permission in every touch. But Heeseung… Heeseung was different.He kissed you with teeth, with tongue, like he was taking something from you.

Like every moan you gave was a small revenge pressed into your skin.

His hands gripped your waist, pulling you tighter, and then he chuckled against your mouth.

“Mmh. So good… so hungry… you’re like one of those sweet little dolls, just waiting to be unwrapped.”

You blushed but didn’t get the chance to reply. His hands grabbed your ass, lifting you swiftly to straddle his lap, your body fitting perfectly against his.

Beneath your light skirt, his hands roamed upward, shameless.

“And underneath… what’s my little liar wearing, hmm?” His fingers brushed along the curve of your backside, finding the edge of the fabric.

“Panties…” you whispered, voice barely audible.

“What color?” His voice was poison and honey, the Alpha demanding truth… and control.

“Blue and white… with a little bow.”

He let out a low, amused laugh.

“Well, would you look at that? Do you really want me to take you while you’re still wearing those good-girl panties?

Tsk… you’re just a little omega dressed up as temptation.”

You flushed again but didn’t move.

You stayed still, just like a well-trained omega, breath trembling, lips slightly parted.

Heeseung leaned in again, kissing you with more hunger, more claim.

One hand gripped your hips, holding you in place; the other slid up your back, under your shirt.

Then it moved down—his lips trailing your neck, stopping at the exact point between your jaw and shoulder.

A soft, choked moan escaped you—honest, fragile.

Your body recognized him. Craved him. He smiled against your skin.

“Oh, listen to that moan… so easy, so sweet. Baby, we haven’t even started. And you’re already melting.”

He took your chin in two fingers, making you look into his eyes.

His lips were everywhere along your neck—warm, deliberate, hungry.

Each bite, and each suck left you gasping quietly.

And when you tried to speak, you stuttered.

“H-Hee… y-you’re…”

“What?” he whispered against your damp skin, that teasing tone of someone who already knew.

“Omegas are always so submissive… but you? You’re something else.

You stutter just from me brushing your neck?”

You wanted to reply with something sharp—but another moan betrayed you.

He laughed.

“Pathetic. I haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

Still, your voice—trembling—came through, laced with that spark he always liked.

“You talk a lot… but if I wasn’t worth it, you’d never have wanted me in your bed.”

He paused for a second.

Then looked you dead in the eyes, a half-feral grin on his lips.

“Touché.”

His hand slid up your arm, fingers hooking into the edge of your sweater.

“Take it off.”

Of course, you obeyed. Like every well-behaved omega.

Like his omega.

You slipped the sweater off slowly, revealing your bare shoulders and a simple white lace bralette—delicate, but elegant.

Heeseung whistled low, that crooked grin still playing on his lips.

“Cute. But without it… you'd be perfect.”

And without waiting for permission, he unclasped it with one fluid motion.

The fabric slipped away, and your bare breasts rose with each shaky breath.

He bit his lip, eyes locked on you.

“Would you look at that… so sweet, so full… like they’ve been waiting just for me.” He teased you but didn’t give you time to reply. He leaned down over you, his mouth capturing one of your sensitive buds, sucking slowly, savoring the way you trembled, the way your fingers clung to his shoulders. His hand kept you still, but then slid down, grabbing between your legs with sudden force. “H-Heeseung… it’s t-too much…” You whispered, voice trembling between a moan and a gasp. He stopped. Looked at you with a sharp, amused expression. “Too much? What, is my Omega fragile?” Then he nodded, voice dropping lower. “Alright. I’ll go easy… for now.” His hand changed pace—slow, almost gentle. But his mouth didn’t stop. It moved from one breast to the other, licking and nibbling with a hunger he no longer cared to hide. “This skin… this body…” he murmured against you, “—soon it’ll all be mine. Completely. And no one will ever touch you again.”

His lips didn’t stop. They were everywhere on your body: your neck, already marked by his kisses, your aching breasts, then lower… down past your belly button. You trembled not only from his touch but from what it meant. From what was about to happen. Heeseung noticed. He stopped. His hands rested on your hips, his gaze climbing up to your eyes. “Don’t be afraid of me,” he said, voice low, almost dark. You nodded, hands still clutching the sheets beneath you. “I know… it’s just… I didn’t expect any of this. I feel like a lamb laid out for slaughter.” A crooked smile tugged at his lips. Cruel. Tender. Heeseung was everything and it was the opposite. “That’s exactly what you are. A sweet, fragile little omega… too good for this world.” Then his tone shifted, more serious. “But you forgot—there were only two choices: me or Jiwon.” You didn’t hesitate. “I want you.” His eyes narrowed. Something flickered inside him, fast like lightning. Maybe pride. Maybe… something more. “Good girl,” he murmured. “That’s how you answer an Alpha.”

Gently, he laid you down on the bed. Your body sank into the dark sheets, your skin already hot from every touch of his. He knelt in front of you, bare chest rising and falling with deep breaths. He reached out and stroked your cheek—a soft gesture. Unusual. Disarming. As if, just for a moment… he wanted to be something more than your master. Then he leaned down again, this time pressing his lips to your belly button. He kissed you there slowly, and you… giggled softly. A small, unexpected sound. Fragile. Childlike. He stopped and looked at you. “Did you just laugh?” His voice was surprised, but not harsh. Almost… amused. “You tickled me there,” you murmured, hands moving to cover your face in embarrassment. Heeseung shook his head and gave you a light slap on the thigh—a playful scolding. “This is the preparation for the knot, and you’re laughing? Are you disrespecting me, little Omega?” But his tone was no longer just dominant. It was… something else. He stared at you like he didn’t know anymore if he just wanted to mark you… or protect you. And you felt it. Something was changing in the way he touched you, in the way he looked at you, in how he took care of your body… without rushing, without fully dominating. As if he, too, needed to feel something. Not just vengeance. And inside your chest… fear mixed with another feeling. “Now,” he murmured, voice rough and deep, “I’m taking this skirt off.” And it wasn’t a request. With one swift, impatient motion, he pulled it down your hips. The fabric gave way with a sharp tear, and in an instant, you were exposed to the cool air of the room, bare skin tense beneath his gaze. Instinctively, you closed your legs. Too exposed. Too vulnerable. But he didn’t allow it. “Keep them open for me,” he growled, grabbing your knees and spreading them with fierce slowness. “Your scent is everywhere. Do you know how much you’re dripping for me, little Omega?”

He leaned down. His hot breath on your core made every part of you jolt. “Mmh, panties already soaked?” He smiled. The smile of a predator. “You’re really that desperate for me, huh? How cute…” He started kissing your thighs, slowly, with warm lips and a slow tongue, like he wanted to mark you there too, inch by inch. But every now and then he’d graze a sensitive spot, and you… you’d squirm, tremble, giggle quietly. “S-stop… you’re tickling me…” “Tsk,” he muttered, lifting his eyes with mock disapproval. “No girl laughs this much before being knotted. Are you mocking me, Omega?” You looked up at him, breathing in short gasps. Your eyes glimmered with shame and wonder. “Maybe I’m special.” For a moment, the silence was thick. Heeseung stared at you, and something in his gaze shifted.

The pure Alpha mask cracked—just a little. Maybe from pride. Maybe because deep down… he really thought you were special. Then he lowered himself again between your thighs, his fingers slowly trailing along your panties. “Special or not,” he murmured, voice rough like sandpaper, tonight you’re mine. To the last drop of your scent. Until no other man dares to even look at you.”

Heeseung took off his hoodie with a slow but determined motion, and you watched him — you couldn’t help but stare. His body was sculpted, and strong, radiating that raw energy only a powerful Alpha could possess. But what truly struck you were the scars. They ran across his chest, his biceps… old, some of them deep. Painful even to look at. Your hand rose on its own, hesitant, brushing one of the faded lines on his arm. He tensed. For a second, he seemed to hold his breath, even as his lips were still on your skin, right there between your thighs. “Don’t touch those,” he said, voice rough, almost harsh — but you didn’t pull back immediately. You looked at him, with a tenderness you hadn’t expected from yourself. “Who did this to you…?” Heeseung didn’t answer. But he didn’t move away either. Instead, he lowered his head again — and this time, there was no more gentleness. With one sharp move, he tore off your panties too, leaving you completely exposed under his gaze. “Don’t talk about the past. Not now.”

His voice had turned harder. Hungrier. He spread your legs again, and his warm breath made you shiver. Then — without a warning, without a word — he spit slowly between your thighs, and the wet, hot sensation made you jolt. Your breath caught, and a moan escaped your lips. His mouth followed right after — hungry, relentless. “H-Heeseung…!”

You stammered, hands clutching at the sheets, your body trying to hold back a tidal wave you'd never felt before. “Wa–wait… I… it’s too much…” “Too much?” he growled against you. “We haven’t even started.” He looked up at you from below, eyes gleaming with desire and domination. “I’m going to fill you. First with my fingers, then with my cock — and you’ll thank me for every second.” You nodded. You couldn’t do anything else. And then you felt the first finger sink into you — your body tensed, breath catching for a moment, and your mouth tried to form some kind of response: “I-it feels… it’s warm… it’s overwhelming… but I like it…” He smirked, a fierce whisper at your ear. “Look how you open up for me. Such a good little Omega, so desperate. I thought you’d resist at least a little… but you're already trembling from just one finger.” The movement grew deeper, slower, exploring every inch of you — then, without warning, he added another. You moaned loudly. Almost a cry. Of pleasure, of shame, of surrender. And Heeseung watched you, like he was already carving your name under his skin. His fingers moved slowly but with purpose, sinking deeper between your thighs with increasing confidence. Heeseung stared at you like he owned every breath you took, every shiver that ran through you. When he added a third finger, your body arched toward him, and the words tumbled from your lips, a trembling whisper: “It’s… beautiful…” Heeseung laughed softly — a low, sharp sound. “Listen to you talk, little thing. Falling in love with something so simple. You really are an Omega… born to be beneath, born to entertain me.” His tone was cruel, but his voice scratched like molten honey. Already warm and vulnerable, you whimpered as he dipped down again, kissing you slowly, savoring every reaction he could pull from you. You grabbed his hair, tugging with a broken moan — and for the first time, you heard him… groan. A low, animalistic sound, while still buried deep inside you. Your body started to tremble. You knew it. You felt it building. “Hee… I… I’m about to…” He didn’t wait. He pushed you over the edge, adding a third finger, thrusting into you with firm, confident strokes — not even asking for permission. You screamed. And he smiled against your skin, while your body exploded beneath his control. “Look how you come for me…” he murmured, voice low and dangerous. “A little Omega who gives in so easily. So wet, so desperate. You were made to be filled by me.” You were gasping, still trembling, voice shattered by pleasure and surrender. “Only you… only for you, Heeseung. I’m your Omega…” He didn’t answer right away. He just stayed between your thighs, savoring every wave that still shook you. Then he rose slowly, his chest rising and falling, and his lips crashed onto yours with hunger. The kiss was raw. Wet. Tongues searching, claiming. No sweetness. Just possession. Instinct. “Can you taste what surrender feels like?” he whispered against your lips. “It’s sweet. It’s mine.” And you — breathless, shameless — kissed him again.

The room was immersed in a warm pre-shade, imbued with a tense silence. Heeseung slowly pulled off his pants, dropping them at the foot of the bed, and you couldn't take your eyes off him. The boer When he lowered them, your breath froze for a moment. It was like you had heard about the alphas: imposing, thick, damp at the end. You bit your lip slightly, instinctively, without even realizing it. His eyes rested on yours, and in a hoarse voice he asked you: "You want to touch it?»

You barely nodded, and with trembling fingers you brushed him, caressing him shyly, starting a slow movement. He whispered: "Are you sure?"

"One hundred percent," you replied, without hesitation. A satisfied growl came out of his throat. "Well. Then stay still." His hand slid between your legs, touching you with that confidence that only an Alpha like him could afford. he used his length to tease you, rubbing it on your clit until you shivered. "Put your hands on my shoulders. Squeeze, if it hurts." You nodded, your heart beating like crazy. Then, with a single shot, he entered you. Deep. Hot. Too.

Your body stretched, your eyes filled with tears ... but you did not protest. Not a word, just a broken groan. "Good, little omega," he whispered in his ear. "Now you are mine." His cock was completely inside you, and you were shaking under him, thighs slightly apart, hands clinging to his shoulders. Every muscle of yours tightened it with pure instinct, as if your body was born only to welcome it. Heeseung stood still, deeply immersed within you, his chest rising and falling slowly, his eyes nailed to yours. "Look how you're taking it," he growled. "I'll fill you up... and still you can hold me so well." You gasped slowly, your cheeks hot and red. "It's too much... you're like that... large...»

He raised an eyebrow, his smile crooked and dismissive. "Does it really surprise you? What did you think, princess? That the Alphas were delicate?" You shook your head slowly, your eyes shining. "No... it's just ... I didn't think I would like it so much ... and that it was so big" His expression changed. Darker. More intense. He bowed to you, his lips almost against your ear. "Do you like it? Feeling full? To know that you can't run away from me, that I took you all in and I won't let you go until you're branded?"

"Yes..." you whispered in a trembling voice. "I like it, Alpha..." "So you talk," he said, and pushed out slowly, leaving you empty for a moment. But before you could even complain, it came back into you forcefully, making you moan. "M-move ... but ... slowly, please..." Your voice was low, subdued. He laughed. "No. Now I decide. You made the deal, remember? You asked me to tie you. This is the price. And you'll be mine all night." His thrusts became slow but decisive, deep, calibrated to destroy you with sweetness. Every time you heard him go back inside, you moaned against his neck, hungry, surrendering.

"You squeeze so tight ... fuck ..." he muttered as he looked at you from above. "I didn't know an omega could take it this way."

"Because ... because I'm yours..." Those words came out to you without thinking, spontaneous, and had an immediate effect on him. "Repeat," he ordered, grabbing your chin, forcing you to look at him. "I'm... yours, Hee..." He looked at you, growled softly and pushed harder, deeper. Your legs tightened around his waist, your body was looking for his, desperate. "So good... so obedient ... A perfect little omega..." He ducked again, kissing you with hunger, as his cock filled and tamed you, one blow after another.

"And now... get ready, because when I knot you, it will be forever." His cock was so huge that you felt him press high, in the stomach, every push deeper than the previous one. Each blow barely lifted your pelvis, snatched an increasingly messy moan from you. Your legs closed around his hips with force, trying to hold him inside you as if you were afraid that he might leave. But Heeseung was not going anywhere. He was there to destroy you. "C-fuck... It's too much... you're too big ... I'm ... I'm— " you stammered, eyes half-closed, clouded with pleasure.

"What are you doing, huh? Tell me, little omega, are you breaking for my cock?» His voice was hoarse, deep, dripping with enjoyment. "S-yes ... Alpha ... I'm-I'm going crazy..." Your breath was broken, words broken with pleasure. "I can't... you're too much... you're filling me up too much..." Heeseung growled with satisfaction, sweat dripping from his temple as he continued to push into you with increasingly full blows.

"That's what you wanted, isn't it? Get fucked like a real omega. And now look how you're taking me ... you're my fucking prey.»

And you were. Your body had become one with his. Every fiber of yours vibrated to the rhythm of its thrusts. You felt the effect of Alpha running through your veins-hot, searing, like lava. Your muscles tightened more and more around him, held him, welcomed him. Then, suddenly, you felt him hitting something in you. A deeper, more sensitive area. Explosion.

"A-AH! HEESEUNG!"you screamed, your voice broken, as you clung with your fingernails to his back. "Oh God ... it's too ... too hot..." you stammered, trembling under him. He smiled against your neck, as he kept pushing against that precise point. "It's your body that's getting ready, baby. You're knotting. Your uterus ... feels it. And he wants me everything."

You felt your belly swell slightly. A sense of fullness that went beyond the physical. It was the bond that was forming, the knot that was coming. "A-Ah... Alpha... be—" The words came out to you with difficulty, as if you were drowning in pleasure. "I'm ... coming... you're draining me..."

"Very good. Come while I'm knotting you. I want to hear you squeeze it until the last shot."

His breathing became more labored, his thrusts slower but deeper. His hands held you still, and you, completely open to him, stammered only his name, like a desperate mantra. His knot began to swell inside you, slowly but surely, until it filled you in a way no one else could. Each push made it grow even more, and with each lunge your body strained more, unable to handle that superhuman pleasure. "Do you feel how big it is now?" he growled against your skin. "My knot is branding you from within. No one else can ever catch you. You're mine. Mine forever." He kept pushing hard into you, and you could only scream, the body shaken by continuous tremors, the legs clutching him with all the force. "Yes! Yes, I'm yours, Alpha! Only yours!"

"Good omega," he demoted you, in a rough voice.

"Now everyone will know. You're mine to take you in every way. Mine to fertilize you whenever I want. Your pussy is mine. Your body is mine. Every moan you make is for me." The knot was completely swollen now, blocking your every exit, and the feeling was driving you crazy. A heat wave swept over you, you screamed and scratched his back.

"I'm coming! Hee,—" His hand slid down, quick, and he started teasing your clit with expert fingers. You almost screamed from the overload. "N-no... I can't resist ... s-I'm ... I'm exploding!" you stammered between groans. "Your cock ... destroyed me! You're filling me up too much... too much... Heeseung!" Your body strained into a violent orgasm, a real mess that trickled down his knotted cock inside you. You writhed under him, not being able to stop the moans, completely consumed by pleasure.

"Look at you ... a good slut with all my knot in it. You messed up all over my cock.»

He praised you, but his hips did not stop. "And I'm not done yet... I can't stop, baby. The knot is swollen... but I want everything. To the last drop."

"Then give it to me..." you whispered, gasping for breath. "I want everything, I want to hear you... I want you to stay inside. Fill me up, Alpha ... make me yours ... all the way.» Heeseung looked at you with a dirty grin, eyes shining with animal instinct.

"I want you swollen with me. I want you full, smashed, marked. And when you're tired, I'll use you again." And with those words, he pushed again, slow but firm, as the knot throbbed inside you. His viscous cum slowly trickled out of your poor, hot, swollen, still pulsating pussy after knotting. But he didn't stop. He kept pushing inside you, slow, deep, with the knot still stuck, enjoying the way your body shook under his.

"I'm about to fill you again," he whispered in a broken voice, his breath warm against your ear. "You are mine. And I want you to feel it, deep inside." You moaned, the body already tired but still hungry, and then you screamed, bent with pleasure as you felt him ejaculating inside you with force, wave after wave, a boiling river that seemed to never end. Your belly swelled slightly, and your breathing became short. "It's too much... Hee ... it's so much ... you're ... filling me all..."

"You must be. I have to be sure." His thrusts became slower, almost sweet. But he didn't stop until he was sure he had branded you thoroughly.

When the knot finally began to deflate, Heeseung slipped out with a low, deep groan. The hot liquid dripped down your thighs, dirty, impudent. He took you by the hips with a force still present, but no longer violent. He drew you to himself. You huddled against him, your forehead against his bare, sweaty chest, and your body trembled, overwhelmed. Heeseung gently stroked your side, still slightly panting.

"Are you okay?" he asked, the voice calmer, but still hoarse. Nod quietly, without speaking. But after a few seconds, the silence was broken by a sob. One. Then another. Your shoulders trembled, your eyes filled with silent tears. He stiffened for a moment. Then he trembled.

"Did I hurt you?"he asked in a whisper, almost frightened by what he might have caused. He lifted a little on one elbow, looking for your gaze. "Look at me" But you didn't. For the first time, you did not obey. You huddled more, confused, vulnerable, fragile. Then he took you by the chin gently, but with his usual authority.

"princess... look at me. Now." And you, with tears in your eyes, finally looked up. Your eyes met. And without saying anything, you kissed him. A trembling kiss, which smelled of salt and surrender. Heeseung stood still for a moment, surprised. Then he reciprocated, slowly, sweeter than he had ever done. His hands clasped your face as your mouths merged into something new. Between kisses, you whispered: «Thank…» He just peeled off, his lips still close to yours, and laughed quietly, almost in disbelief. "I thought I had broken you... and instead you thank me?»

He shook his head, and stroked your side again, this time more slowly, almost protective. "You're really weird little omega." he said stroking your cheek "It was... beautiful," you whispered against his chest, still short of breath, his voice tired but sincere. Heeseung raised an eyebrow, a half-smile on his lips. "Beautiful, huh? You just got fucked until you lost your voice and now you're talking like you're out of a romantic movie."

You snorted softly, hiding your face in his arms, and he laughed. But that laugh was no longer sharp, nor cynical. It was soft, true. He stroked your hair with his fingers, then said in a lower voice: "You were brave, princess. To trust an Alpha like that... is not for everyone." You were silent for a moment, then you spoke in a low voice. "I didn't want to suffer. I didn't want to be used anymore..." He stiffened slightly, then took you by the chin and forced you to look into his eyes. "I can't promise you you won't suffer, omega. But one thing I can promise you: from now on you are mine.» His voice was deep, definitive.

"You have a new home, a new family. In my eyes you will always be an omega — but not just any omega. Inside you is my seed. My knot. And no male omega can get closer to you. Not even trying." You got a shudder. Not of fear, but of awareness. That connection was real now. Heeseung leaned slowly, her lips warm on your skin. He licked away his sperm that was still dripping between your thighs, slow, precise, as if he wanted to clean you and at the same time remind you that it was all his. His tongue moved where you had the marks of his bites, and he soothed them with moist, warm kisses.

"Hee… it tickles..." you whispered, chuckling softly. He paused for a moment and looked at you with a little grin. "You’re really strange, you know?" He lightly bit your thigh, pretending, then moved up and pulled you into his arms. "I’m sleeping with you tonight." He said it as if it were obvious. You looked at him, surprised. "Really? I thought... once we were knotted, I’d leave." He huffed, as if you’d said something silly. "You still don’t get it, little omega. You’re tied to me now. And I’m tied to you. We’re sleeping together. End of story." He pulled you against him, his broad chest against your back, and wrapped his arms around you, fitting you perfectly into his body. "Close your eyes. We’ll think about everything tomorrow. Now... sleep." And for the first time, you felt truly safe.

You woke up surrounded by a warm, almost reassuring sensation. The sheets were still damp from what you’d done the night before, and your lower belly throbbed slightly, a twinge that reminded you of every thrust, every moan, every possessive whisper that had broken and rebuilt you. You slowly turned and found him there. Heeseung. He was sleeping as if the world outside didn’t exist. His lips, slightly parted, formed an almost tender pout. His nose, large but perfectly proportioned, barely moved with his steady breathing. His red hair was a total mess: it fell messily over his forehead, and you remembered perfectly how you had tugged at it the night before, lost in pleasure. You blushed involuntarily. The little moles on his face seemed to be drawn by hand. And his arms—strong, warm, dominant—still held you close, as if he wanted to make sure you couldn’t escape even in your sleep. Then, without opening his eyes, he whispered in a hoarse voice: "Stop staring at me like that, or you’ll end up falling in love." You lifted your gaze, sighing. "You have an ego as big as your knot, you know that?" He opened one eye, then chuckled softly, that deep laugh that made you tremble even without meaning to. He pulled you closer, pressing you even more into his chest. "And it seems you liked both of them, princess." You sighed, even though you couldn’t deny it. Then, with a more serious tone, you asked him: "And now? What happens?" Heeseung gently caressed your back, his fingers slow, distracted. "Now, when you walk out that door, your scent will have changed. Everyone will smell it. Every alpha will know you’ve been knotted. Every male omega will keep their distance. And no one will dare touch you… because the scent will be mine." You swallowed. "And if... if Jiwon still tries?" Heeseung paused for a brief moment, then looked at you. "Are you more afraid of him... or your father?" You stayed silent, then whispered softly: "My father." He moved, pressing his forehead against yours. "He won’t do anything. Not as long as I’m here or my brothers are. You’re mine now. And no one touches what’s mine." You nodded slowly, but a small knot formed in your throat. Heeseung seemed to notice, but didn’t say anything. He slowly stood up, his muscles flexing as he stretched, and looked at you. "It’s time to see what’s happening outside this room." You were about to get up, but he stopped you. He bent down slowly and left a kiss on your forehead, unexpectedly tender. You looked at him, surprised. "And this?" He shrugged almost indifferently, though his tone was softer. "Post-knot ritual. All alphas do it with their mates." He was lying. And you knew it, but you didn’t say anything, even though you had seen something in his eyes that wasn’t there the night before: something strange, something dangerously close to a feeling.

PT2?

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months ago

Text

You'll Be Home For Christmas

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: You agree to do a favour for your coworker but it might be more than you can handle.

Character: Clark Kent

Day Nineeen of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - fake dating becomes too real.

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

"I know it sounds weird, but, my mom's getting up there..." Clark looks away as he pokes his tongue into his cheek.

You're not sure how he does it. How someone like him can make himself look pathetic. He's a big man. Mountainous really. He dwarfs just about everybody in the office. Even the desks look tiny next to him. And the chisel of his face is so sharp yet in that moment, he looks heart-wrenchingly soft.

"It's just you two this year?" You ask.

"Um, yeah," he rubs the back of his neck then drags his hand around and down his chest. He shifts in his chair and clears his throat. "Look, I know I can be nosy but I overheard you and Maggie. You said you don't have any plans this year--" He cringes and leans forward, putting his elbows to the desk as he covers his face then peeks out between his fingers. "It's a dumb idea."

"It seems like you're pretty stressed," you fold your hands behind you. You don't want to agree with his last statement and make him feel worse.

"Yeah, after Lois..." he shakes his head, "my mom's convinced I'm going to be alone forever and she keeps telling me how old she's getting. Says she wants to live long enough to see me happy."

"Wow, sounds worse than my mom," you kid but quickly deflate. "Sorry, I'm not trying to make light."

"No, it's ridiculous," he heaves and drops his eyes. "I've asked two of my neighbours, I asked my mail lady, and oh, yeah, the girl who made my coffee today. I'm all out of shame."

"Can I think about it?" You ask. You know you're going to say no, but you don't want to do it right away.

He perks up and his blue eyes flick to meet yours. His brows rise hopefully and he rolls forward in his chair, "really?"

"I didn't say yes."

"But you're the first person not to say no," he smiles.

Oof, there it is. You've always had a hard time in situations like these. You're a people pleaser in the worst way.

"Anyway, I should get back to work," you say.

"When-- when will you know?" He asks.

You hesitate.

"End of today?" He suggests.

You nod. Alright. You just need to get out of there before you cave to that puppy dog sparkle in his eyes. A man who looks like that shouldn't be able to make himself so pitiful.

✨

You don’t know why you said yes. You really were going to say no but when Clark came back to check in, you weren’t prepared. So absorbed in your work, that you forgot about the odd request.

So here you are, right beside him, wound as tight as a spring as you try not to show it. It’s not how you imagined spending Christmas. When your typical traditional obligation felt through, you were almost relieved. Now that dread has returned but in a new flavour. Meeting someone else’s family is somehow more intimidating than your mother’s judgement.

Clark’s own anxiety pales in his knuckles as he drives silently. Only the radio provides some softness in the tension between you. It’s always strange to spend time with coworkers outside the office and now you’re jumping headfirst into their most personal facet.

You fidget in your seat and let your eyes blur out the window. You didn’t expect his mom to live this far, yet you should have. He’d mentioned before he grew up on a farm. It must have been nice in a way, peaceful, out where you can’t hear the city honking and hollering.

The snow thickens as you get further into the country. His large truck doesn’t falter as he steers cautiously through snowed over tire tracks. Would the plow even get this far out here? If it did, you don’t imagine it would come very often.

Your mind latches onto those random things to avoid the obvious. You’ve always been this way. Instead of worrying about your mother lecturing you about your stagnant work situation, you’re usually more concerned with how your hair lays or if she’s going to the like that bottle of wine you spent too much money on for her.

“Thanks again,” Clark’s baritone rolls over you like thunder. “Really. I know it’s... strange. I’m just not ready to date again but... my mom...”

“Trust me. I get it. My mom can be... a lot,” you chuckle, though it’s really not that funny.

“Oh yeah? I didn’t want to be nosy, but...”

“Right, uh, you know, my brother asked if we could have dinner on Christmas Eve instead and the rest of us agreed. She insisted that Christmas Eve isn’t Christmas...” Your heart picks up with the anxiety you bury deep down. “Well, she cancelled Christmas since no one agreed with her.”

“Wow, really?”

“Uh, yep,” you can’t look at him. It’s embarrassing. It’s like when your mother dumped your birthday cake in the garbage because you pointed out you were 13 not 12 that year. Or when she walked out of your graduation because your grandmother wouldn’t switch seats. “It’s whatever. Family, right?”

“I guess,” he says. “My parents always loved holidays too. Especially when dad was around.”

“I’m sorry about your dad,” you murmur.

“Don’t be. Sorry if it seems like I keep bringing that up,” he sniffs.

You look ahead to the sole structure as it looms closer and closer. A farmhouse that comes clearer through the drift of flakes, and a barn like a shadow near its rear corner. It’s like one of those classic festive paintings printed on an advent calendar or some 1950s domestic dream.

He pulls up to the house and shifts in his seat. Concern needles in his cheek as he squints over the steering wheel. He wrenches the shifter into park and kills the engine. You sit futilely and let him take the lead.

“Lights are off,” he mutters.

You nod, unsure what to say. Is something wrong?

He gets out and you watch the snow dust into his dark hair and across his broad shoulders. He is unfettered by the deep snow. You zip up your coat and turn to your door. You push it open and look out into the perilous carpet.

Clark surprises you as he comes around. “Here,” he puts his arms out, “it’s deep.”

You grab his hand and his other goes to your waist. He as good as lifts you and sets you down in the path he’s stomped through the piles. You thank him and awkwardly detach. He shuts the door and moves around you closely.

He leads the way to the porch so you can walk through his footsteps. Your lashes catch the snow as you look up at the grey sky. You don’t think you’ll make it home that night. Shoot.

Clark kicks off his boots as he digs in the pocket of his coat and pulls out some keys. He unlocks the door and gestures you in ahead of him. You try to clear off your treads before you enter. He reaches around the frame to flip on the light.

He crowds you as he enters. You try not to step off the mat and make a mess of the floor. You slip free of your Adidas, not the best choice for the weather, and shuffle aside. He hangs his jackets and combs his fingers through his hair to clear the flakes out. The dark strands glisten with the moisture.

“Give me your coat,” he reaches for you.

“Oh, yeah,” you unzip your jacket and hand it over. It isn’t exactly climate appropriate either. You’ve been meaning to invest in winter gear. A lot of times your intentions are only ever that. “Thanks.”

“Quiet...” he mulls as his eyes skim the ceiling and he hooks your jacket on the rack.

“Yeah, a little.”

“Ma’s probably laying down,” he utters with a hint of concern. “I’m gonna go check and see what’s going on.”

“Oh, I hope she’s okay.”

“No worries. She stays up all night reading,” he shakes his head. “Feel free to make yourself at home.”

“Right, er, okay.”

You back up as he passes you. He heads upstairs and you slowly pivot to take in the interior. The pale wood is marked with knots which give it an even more rustic atmosphere and the decor is simple but in a quaintly traditional way. The details etched into the slender drawer of a side table or the dainty trim of the area rug give a lived-in effect.

You tiptoe into the front room and hug yourself as you feel a draught whisper in around the window. You find the light switch and flip it on to cast more light across the neatly arranged furniture. There's an old-fashioned iron firestove in the middle of the room, the flue built up to the ceiling.

You can hear Clark moving around above. The rest of the house is silent. You look at the old grandfather clock standing against the wall. It’s just after eleven in the morning.

You turn as the stairs creak. Clark appears in the doorway with a sober expression. “Mom’s just waking up. It might be a while. She... she’s having a tough day.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Is she sick?”

“She is and she isn’t. Just getting older, you know? Ever since she broke her hip last year, she’s been a bit slower,” he explains.

“Oh, gosh, Clark,” you say. “Is there anything I can do to help? You said she was planning on dinner but I can get all that started for her.”

“Sure, she usually thaws the turkey in the sink overnight,” he says. “We should probably start there.”

“Right,” you chew your lip.

“It’s nice of you to offer but if it’s too much--”

“No, no! It’s cool. I’ve just never stuffed a turkey on my own,” you say. “I was always just an observer.”

Your mother never believed anything was done right unless she did it herself. Then she’d complain about having to do it.

“I can help,” he offers.

“Sure, sounds like a plan. I think she might appreciate the help, huh?”

He smiles but doesn’t answer right away. For a moment, he only stares. He clears his throat and nods at last, “she would—will.”

“Show me where it all is,” you show your palms, not wanting to presume too much.

He beckons you after him as he leads you through the doorway perpendicular to the one you came through. He turns on another light. This place feels desolate with them off.

“So uh...” he begins as he goes to the counter and peeks in the sink, “yep, turkey’s in here.”

“Great, hopefully it’s dethawed,” you say. “Alright, do you mind if I poke around?”

“It’s all yours. I’ll try to help but gotta be honest, as a kid, I was out in the field,” he stands back to watch you.

“Right,” you come forward to look the turkey over. Good thing is it won’t need extra time due to being half-frozen.

“Hum... do you know if your mother does stuffing from scratch or a box?” You turn back to him.

“Scratch, probably,” he shrugs.

“Cool, uh, I need bread,” you declare. It’s almost nice being in charge. A very new but refreshing feeling.

✨

The smell of turkey wafts from the stove as you work at the other fixings. You follow the list on the fridge. The paper is a bit yellowed but you can read it nonetheless. At least Clark’s mother is a planner. Although a few of her ingredients are a bit... aged. Nothing you can’t use but the spices have a little extra dust on the caps.

Clark appears again. He’s been pacing in and out, helping where he can, but he seems too restless to focus. You tap pause on your phone to stop the music. You don’t get any signal out here but you have a bunch downloaded. It helps ease the silence that thickens with the fall of snow.

“So, how’s mom? She doing okay?” You ask.

“Mom?” He hesitates, “yeah, she’s getting there. Sorry about this. I know the whole reason you did this was to make her happy. For me. I just didn’t expect--” He blows out a heavy breath and leans on the counter. “It’s hard when you get older and everyone you love starts to leave. Or change.”

Your heart flickers. You try not to frown too deep, “I’m sorry, Clark.” You look back down at the bowl of soaking cranberries. You take your family for granted. The might be a little toxic but they’re there.

“Not your fault. I just... I thought I had it figured out with Lois. Everyone was happy and my mom was ecstatic,” he clutches his hands together. You meet his eyes sheepishly. “I just wanted her to be that way again. And you’re so sweet and nice.”

“Aw, Clark. Well, you know, I should thank you. At least I’m not alone on Christmas,” you try to pep yourself up. “Um, I gotta wait for these cranberries a little long. Could I use the bathroom?”

“Right, er, it’s just down the hall,” he points towards the second doorway that interconnects with the same hallway that leads back to the stairs.

“Thanks,” you wipe your hands on a dishcloth and leave him with a thin smile.

As you flit out, your chest sinks. You think of everything you’ve said since you got there, how insensitive it must have seemed. And back in the car when you complained about your mom. Ugh, he must think you’re so ungrateful.

You close yourself in the bathroom and tend to your business. You’d been holding it since he picked you up from your building. You wash your hands, pumping the soap bottle hard to dislodge a clog in the tube. You finally finish up but find the smell of mildew stuck to your hands from the towel.

You come out of the bathroom and look up and down the hallway. You shift to see the framed picture a bit better. Those must be his parents, and little Clark. You can’t believe he was ever that small.

There are other pictures across the table below. A cluster of frames; class photos, impromptu snaps of memories, and posed family shots. Beneath one, there’s a slip of paper. You try not to be intrusive but the fading font catches your eye. You lean in as you tilt the frame to see the full letter, the card bent and forgotten beneath.

‘Our condolences. We were so sorry to hear of your mother’s passing. Please do let us anything we can do for you.’ The message is signed Mallory and Chuck. You blink in confusion. Maybe it’s an old card meant for his mother; for a grandparent.

“She died last year,” Clark startles you so you whip up and nearly tip as you stand straight. “It’s my first Christmas without her,” he continues. “I’m sorry I lied but I didn’t want to be alone.”

You shake your head. Confusion swells through your stomach and clouds your brain. The fog clears and your eyes wander up to the ceiling.

“Your mom?”

“I miss her,” his voice cracks. “She took care of me.”

“Oh, well, yeah,” you quaver unevenly. You’re reeling. Why would he lie about that? And to get you here? You’re just coworkers. “That must be hard.”

“Mhm,” he nods and pouts. As he comes closer, you tense, wavering with his steps. “You’re not mad at me?”

Your lips part then close. The wind whistles outside and reminds you of how isolated this place is. Clark drove you here...

“I’m just... wondering why you need to lie,” you eke out.

“I know it’s wrong but... if I told the truth, you might say no.”

You nod and as he reaches for you, you wince away. You hug yourself and push your shoulders up. You swallow, “Clark, what is the truth? Why am I here?”

He tilts his head and his eyes drift to the side. The light fades in his pupils and his jaw clenches. His fingers twiddle by his leg.

“To be with me,” he looks at you again and smiles. A smile shadowed sinisterly beneath the worn bulb above. “You’re alone too.”

You stare at him. Terror floods your veins and paralyses you. You want to turn and run but you won’t get far. All you can do is bide your time and hope that you can find a chance and way to get out. But for now, with him so close, so much bigger, you have to pretend. That is exactly what he asked you to do, after all.

#clark kent #dark clark kent #dark!clark kent #clark kent x reader #fic #december daze #dark fic #dark!fic #superman #dcu #dc #navy and roo's sleepover

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always-just-red · 4 months ago

Text

Merry Christmas, guys!!! Ok, so this is a day early, but I wanted to say thanks to you all with a feel-good follow-up to my Game Night fic! So, here: a Christmas Eve sleepover with the boys, and they’re on their VERY best behaviour this time, I promise 😌

The Night Before Christmas

L&DS Boys X Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Summary: It’s time to get the gang back together!!!

Genre: Fluff + humour

Warnings/Additional Tags: gn!reader, kinda poly? but mostly platonic, a lil bit of wholesome intimacy, one particularly suggestive joke from Sylus (he can’t help himself), also probably needs another proofread but my eyes are tired 💀

| Word count: 4.8k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Right! Let’s try this again.”

You glance around your living room with your hands on your hips, channelling your inner Captain Jenna as you fight to suppress flashbacks that verge on traumatic.

Some of this is exactly the same as last time. Sylus is sprawled in the same spot on your couch, looking inordinately pleased with himself for someone who has only just arrived. The very image of smugness; you immediately suspect that something is horribly wrong, or on track to go horribly wrong. You glance to the other couch, where Xavier and Rafayel sit, equally braced for your presentation. Neither one has been teleported to the roof of your building.

Sylus is reading your relief, and he gives you an exclusive smile, as if to say: yet.

Try not to think about it.

You stand by a large drawing pad— currently flipped closed to create a suspense that only Xavier has bought into. He gives you an eager nod, the blue of his eyes warm and encouraging.

The faces around you haven’t changed, but your little apartment has. Strings of twinkling lights run around your walls, casting faint, festive glows. There’s frost on your windows. Littered everywhere are ornaments: small, glittery birds and wintery creatures. Lots of snowman plushies, courtesy of a few, dedicated arcade expeditions with your favourite doctor.

New season, new start.

“We all remember how this went last time,” you push on finally. “Mistakes were made. Shit happened. Whatever— we’re not gonna dwell on it.”

Sylus lifts his hand. “I, for one, would enjoy a reminder of said mistakes.”

“Motion denied,” you dismiss with a grin and a customer-service enthusiasm that screams: don’t fuck with me right now. Sylus’s eyes sparkle, like embers anxious to become something brighter— more destructive. Don’t think about it. “It wasn’t my fault. You outnumbered me four-to-one that night, which is why my first order of business today is to appoint a co-host.”

Rafayel’s hand shoots into the air. You look at him incredulously. Zayne is stood beside you, his arms folded, and everyone else in the room has connected those particular dots.

“It’s Zayne, Rafayel,” you sigh.

“What?!” He sits up straighter. “Why him?! What are his qualifications, huh? His credentials?”

“I’ve never set the kitchen on fire,” Zayne says.

The artist scoffs, adds under his breath: “Turned it into an ice rink, though.”

There’s a chuckle from Sylus, and a part of you feels bad, pitting Zayne against the others like this. But he’s not alone. He has you, just you, so you should probably do something. “That actually brings me really nicely to my next point, Raf, thank you.”

Unexpected praise. Rafayel stutters, a faint blush to his cheeks, and you take full advantage of having staggered him. “Zayne, do you wanna…?”

“Of course.” The dark-haired man adjusts his glasses, then addresses the rest of the room. “In the interest of everyone’s safety, we have devised a few rules to be adhered to for the rest of the evening. These will be enforced by a point system, which we will record… here.”

He flips the drawing pad open, and a blank table fills the top half of the page. Each quarter has been assigned a name. “Basically—” you gesture to it— “three strikes and you’re out.”

None of your guests look perturbed by this.

“The first rule is simple,” Zayne explains, pulling away a strip of paper from the bottom of the page, then reading the writing underneath: “No unauthorised use of Evols.”

Rafayel’s hand shoots up again. You tilt your head at it. “Yes, Raf?”

“Ok, so what if there’s a power-cut or something? Lights are out. Heating’s out. Big disaster, yeah? You’re saying I couldn’t—?” He clicks his fingers, spawning a small flame.

“We would use my Evol,” Xavier says with the gentle authority he uses to steer civilians away from a Wanderer incursion. “It’s safer.”

The flame is snuffed out. Rafayel huffs: “Don’t you use it to, like, kill things?”

“Yeah…” Xavier shrugs. “Bad things.”

“Second rule!” you chime.

“Second rule,” Zayne echoes, peeling back the next strip of paper. There’s absolutely no showmanship, nor energy at all as he continues, “No unauthorised sarcasm.”

Another hand raises. “What would be authorised sarcasm?” Xavier asks, squinting as though he can’t quite figure it out on his own.

You purse your lips in thought. “If it makes me laugh?”

Rafayel is stroking his chin, his eyes narrowed, because he’s also thinking. “High risk, high reward,” he muses, and you shoot him a smile.

This is going better than you thought it would, actually. If you were to turn a few more pages of the drawing pad, you would see crude illustrations of the worst-case scenarios you’d sketched out for Zayne earlier. There’s one where Rafayel is trying to strangle Sylus with Christmas lights. There’s another where Zayne has turned you all into snowmen.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, though. The evening is young, and the snowman scenario is still very much on the table.

Culprit of about ninety percent of your nightmarish visions and drawings— Sylus has been unnervingly silent. You meet eyes with him, an inherent mistrust in your gaze. The success of this sweet, humble Christmas Eve hinges on you figuring out what he’s here for. His agenda. His ulterior motives.

What does he want from tonight? He smirks at you. You’re vaguely competent, and you can figure it out without him holding your hand, can’t you?

That reminds you of something. “Zayne.” You jostle your co-host by his arm. “Do the last rule!”

You’re excited about the last rule.

Zayne isn’t; he hesitates. “The last rule…” He rubs at the back of his neck. “It’s… it’s only applicable to you, Sylus.”

Sylus is now also excited about the last rule. You can tell from the way his lips part, for a second, like he wants to tell you just how flattered he is you spend so much of your time thinking about him.

You put Zayne out of his misery, tearing the final strip of paper away from the pad. The paper flutters to the ground like a very plain snowflake, and you wiggle your fingers, adorning the final rule with a touch of pizazz:

No smirking, sass, or general smugness.

A corner of Sylus’s mouth lifts. “Believe it or not, kitten, your little point system doesn’t scare me.”

You pick up the pen and score a mark under his name.

“Oh no,” he mutters lifelessly.

“Sarcasm!” Rafayel coughs.

You’re well ahead of him, already turning to make another mark. “Gods,” you hear Sylus grimace, not much more than a whisper, “you’re such a boy scout.”

There’s a snort from Rafayel. “Sorry, say that again? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of you totally getting kicked out of here.”

“Sarcasm,” Sylus says.

“Wait, I didn’t mean— no!”

You giggle as you issue Rafayel’s first strike, and he groans behind you, slumping down in his seat. When you turn back around, his face is buried in his hands.

Sylus is smirking again, but the expression drops the moment he senses your gaze. You both know what’s at stake here. Back in the N109 Zone, Luke and Kieran are lamenting the fact that you’ve stolen their leader— it’s not very Christmassy of you, after all. There were a lot of things they wanted to do with him. Snowball fights, presents, and a heist that required disguises: Santa and his two, hard-working elves. They already have the suit, custom-made for him.

So here is the big, bad boss of Onychinus, hiding in your apartment, and definitely not smirking.

You pop the lid back onto your pen, then post it into your pocket like you’re holstering an all-powerful weapon. That’s one point to you and Zayne, and zero points to Sylus, thank you very much.

…

“What are you doing?”

Sylus sighs, evading a furious lilac gaze while he focuses on the task at hand. Freshly escaped from you and the doctor’s terrifying lecture, he’s making the most of his liberty.

“What I am doing,” he mumbles, tying string around a sprig of mistletoe, “is between me and our charming host. Run along, little artist.” He tightens the knot. “This doesn’t concern you.”

Rafayel crosses his arms, his eyes dark. “You’re cheating.”

“Ha.” Sylus spares him a glance out of pity. “You’re jealous.”

“Am not.”

He definitely is, but Sylus doesn’t have time for this game. He can hear you in your bedroom, rooting around for the phone charger you’d vanished in search of. Your door isn’t closed, but it’s closed enough. You can’t see him. He can’t see you. What a perfect opportunity.

“Give it to me,” Rafayel says— an interruption that warrants a roll of the eyes.

“No.”

“Give it—“ the artist starts again, then makes a grab for the mistletoe. Now that’s jealousy. He could incinerate the plant with a click of his fingers, but no, he wants it. Covets it.

Sylus chuckles quietly, his arm stretching up: holding the mistletoe out of an ever-more desperate reach.

To Rafayel’s credit, he persists. He goes up on his toes, tugging at the older man’s sleeve to try and drag the mistletoe closer. The plant evaporates in a swirl of dark energy the second he succeeds. It materialises behind Sylus’s back, in his other hand, and Rafayel realises instantly. He tries to stretch his arms around him. To take it from him.

“Absolutely not!”

Sylus’s fingers are suddenly empty. Mistletoe-less. He turns reluctantly, still holding Rafayel back.

You stand at your wide-open door, one hand on your hips and the other clutching his confiscated item. You’re frowning. Tapping your foot. Your lips are pursed adorably.

“What a coincidence, kitten,” Sylus smiles, and behind him, Rafayel pokes his tongue out, overcome with nausea. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Clearly.” You jostle the mistletoe, looking… disappointed? Huh. “Never thought I’d catch you indulging an old cliche.”

Sylus shrugs charmingly, like a cat performing a leisurely stretch after toppling a vase from a very high shelf.

“Give me the rest of it,” you command.

“Hmm?”

“The back-up mistletoe, Sy. I’m not an idiot.”

Sylus scoffs, but you do have him wrapped oh so prettily around your finger. He rolls his neck, stalling. If giving up were a slope, he would already be a heap at the bottom of it, but he doesn’t really mind. Three more sprigs of mistletoe appear from thin air, dropping into your open hands.

“Honestly, Sylus,” you groan, stepping past him. Then you thrust the plants to the artist’s chest. “Burn these, Raf.” You’re dusting your hands down as you walk away.

Sylus frowns. That’s neither ideal nor part of the plan.

Rafayel is looking at him, telling him with gloating silence that there’s no playing diplomat, here— no negotiating the return of the hostages. That bridge has been— rather fittingly— burned. The mistletoe turns slowly to ash: darkened by licks of flame that curl with the eager spite of their master’s lips.

It would be beautiful if it wasn’t so damned inconvenient. When the fire’s had its fun, one sprig of mistletoe remains, rich green and ivory— wholly untouched. You’re across the room, talking to Zayne, so Rafayel smirks in triumph. Tucks his prize into his pocket.

Sylus’s heart sinks with it, but he still smiles back.

…

Rafayel isn’t looking too good.

Well, the Rafayel is looking fine, but your Rafayel? Not so much. You steal a glance at the artist across the cluttered kitchen island; he’s sat, leaning, propped up on his elbows, his eyes glazed— he’s clearly away with the fishies. He catches you staring. Gives you a wink.

You glance down at the gingerbread man you’ve been decorating: the blue-pink of his iced eyes, and the mess of purple hair, at least three shades too dark. Oh, gods— probably a million shades too dark through the gaze of a Lemurian. At least the outfit is cute? You’ve recreated Rafayel’s signature cardigan. The plaid pattern isn’t quite straight, but that was a… deliberate choice. This is your interpretation of his cardigan, and you wanted it to reflect its owner. A little all over the place, but still, you love it. Even when it’s coming undone, it keeps you warm.

“Would you like to go next?”

Zayne is talking to you, smiling at you. He was the first to reveal his gingerbread creation: a miniature Xavier that was surprisingly true to life. Your hunting partner had almost glowed with delight, while you were dark with jealousy. The biscuit sits before you all, boasting details that could only be achieved with an exceedingly steady hand.

Worse: Rafayel’s gingerbread is next to it, stupidly, predictably perfect. It’s Zayne. It’s really Zayne, from the sweep of black hair to the hazel eyes; how on earth did he manage to make that colour? The tiny doctor is dressed in his lab coat, sporting his badge and a pocketful of even tinier pens and medical instruments. There’s… shading? Ugh, you can see the creases in the fabric.

“Umm… sure, I can go next,” you mumble.

It was just your luck, pulling Rafayel’s name out of that hat. Sheepishly, you move aside the cookbook you’d stood to guard your project from any prying eyes. Your gingerbread is nudged forwards.

“That’s me!” Rafayel exclaims.

“Yeah…” you confirm half-heartedly. “Sorry, I know it’s not great, but I—”

Lack the skill of a celebrity artist, or the steady hands of a cardiac surgeon? You have no idea which exact pool of self-pity your sentence was set on drowning within, but it doesn’t matter. Rafayel has plucked your gingerbread up for a closer look, and his smile is enormous. “This is amazing!”

“You don’t have to—”

“That’s my cardigan!” He’s crashing the pity party again. “And look at my eyes— the colours! This little guy is so handsome, yeah? You really did me justice, cutie. Look at him!”

He holds the gingerbread up to his face, trying to match its two-dimensional grin. He looks around for affirmation, and it’s just his luck, because is a single man at this table ever going to insult your hard work?

“The eyes are amazing,” Xavier enthuses. “Like the sky at sunset. Who knew my partner was so talented?”

“I did,” Rafayel chirps happily.

Xavier frowns. “No, it was rhetori— never mind.” He smiles at you. Rolls with it. “I knew too, by the way.”

“As did I,” Zayne adds.

Everyone looks at Sylus, who shrugs a shoulder and says, “It was up for debate.”

“Can we please move onto the next person?” you press. This is all too much attention. “Sylus, can you… please?”

He does like it when you beg, but he likes it even more when he can play knight in shining armour. “My pleasure, sweetie.”

For a man whose creative side is mostly indulged by vintage gun restorations, he reveals his gingerbread with a staggering amount of confidence. It’s placed at the centre of the kitchen island, where you all stare down at it. Its hair is snow-white, and its eyes: blood-red.

“That’s…” Zayne begins.

“That’s you, Sylus!” you take-over, voice shrill with betrayal. “You were supposed to say something if you picked yourself! And you— wait, what are…?” There are distinct lines over the gingerbread’s midriff. It dawns on you: “Are those abs?!”

Sylus shrugs again.

“They so are!” You snatch up the biscuit, standing to wave it in Sylus’s face like a crime-scene photo. “Where’s his shirt, huh?”

“He lost it.”

“Bullshit!” you snap. This gingerbread competition had come with its own set of rules, one of which was very clearly: “Nothing obscene! I said nothing obscene, Sylus!”

He leans away from you with a tut. “It’s tasteful, sweetie. The artist will tell you.”

“The artist is staying out of this,” Rafayel murmurs, off to your side.

Sylus crosses his arms, regardless, as though his case has been made. You cross your arms too.

“Can I show you my gingerbread now?” Xavier asks, and his tone is deceivingly soft: a hand on your shoulder, pulling you back.

You release the tension in your body with a sigh, then set the gingerbread down so you can’t throw it at Sylus’s un-smug face (which he’s been very careful about.) “Of course, Xavier,” you smile, slinking back onto your stool. You can throw something at Sylus later. “Ooh, is it me? It has to be me, right?”

Xavier chuckles awkwardly. “It’s you. I don’t think it’s very good, though.”

“Show me!” you insist.

The final cookbook is removed, and Xavier unveils his hard work. You clamp a hand to your mouth.

You don’t have a single word for what you’re looking at— only laughter, and you can’t let yourself laugh, no matter what. If that gingerbread is you? Then it’s a you who’s been torn apart by Wanderers, at least seven consecutive times. Your face is a swirl of colours and features— you think Xavier must have tried to wipe it off to start again, more than once, but it hasn’t worked.

The gingerbread has been broken, too. Three of the four limbs, to be exact, and that you could forgive, but… did he have to use dark red icing to glue them back on? It drips out of the joins messily, almost making you wince.

Everyone is silent.

“A perfect likeness,” says Sylus.

You burst out laughing, and the moment you do, Rafayel’s right there with you. Even Sylus caves— it’s one of the most sincere laughs you’ve ever heard from him. There are tears in your eyes; you can’t help it. Zayne is the strongest of you, but even the tight line of his mouth quivers. He’s biting his lip.

But it’s fine. Xavier is laughing, too. “I said it wasn’t very good!”

“Xavier!” you wheeze. You can’t even look at him. Your stomach hurts. “What… what happened to me?!”

“What do you mean?” he practically giggles.

“What do I mean?” you repeat, and it tips you into another breathless bout of laughter. You go to point at the gingerbread— all the explanation you need— but it almost kills you. You really can’t breathe. After half a minute, you try again. “I look like I’ve been in an accident!”

“Here,” Rafayel grins, and he slides the Doctor Zayne gingerbread over to poor, suffering gingerbread you.

“Aww!” you smile, having finally caught your breath.

Wordlessly, Zayne retrieves his likeness— pulling it away from yours. You frown at him, as confused and wounded as Xavier apparently imagines you. “Even I have my limits,” the doctor shrugs.

That’s it. You’re gone again, your sides aching as your whole body shakes with laughter. It’s too much. Gods, it’s too much. You’re gonna need another minute.

…

“I can’t believe you made you.”

It’s been fifteen or so minutes, and you toy with Sylus’s gingerbread counterpart, pinching his hands between your thumbs and forefingers— making him walk (well, penguin waddle) across the kitchen island.

“Believe it, sweetie,” Sylus huffs with a smile.

“Is this really how you see yourself?”

Before you can walk the gingerbread any further, his creator plucks him up by his head, away from your reaching fingers. “It’s how I think you should see me,” he chuckles. He holds the gingerbread out to you. Wiggles it. “For your eyes only, kitten.”

“Except the other guys saw it—”

“Shhhh, shh shh!” In his haste to silence you, he almost pushes the gingerbread to your lips.

You glare at him. Complain from behind it: “Get your shirtless abs out of my face, Sylus.”

“Make me.”

You snatch the gingerbread, pinning it down on the counter. “Keep pushing your luck, Sy. Wanna see what’ll happen?”

He absolutely does, and his eyes glint with mirth as you reach for a near-empty bowl of crimson icing. You scrape some of it up with a discarded teaspoon, then let it drip generously over his gingerbread. It takes a few, long seconds to really cover him in it. To make him look as fatally tragic as gingerbread you.

“Here,” you say, dropping the spoon in a bowl with a satisfied clink. You hold out the gingerbread. “This’ll be you when I’m done with you.”

Sylus regards it for a moment, his eyebrow quirked. Then his eyes find your gingerbread likeness. “Want to see what you’ll look like when I’m done with you?”

His hand goes out for the bowl of red icing, except… it goes past the bowl of red icing, and lands on a tube of white icing instead. He holds it up with a smile.

“Inappropriate.”

The tube is swept out of his fingers, and he blinks at the empty space, legitimately surprised.

“It was snow, doctor,” he remarks bitterly, once he’s recovered from the second ambush of the evening. He glances over his shoulder. “From a snowball fight?”

“Sure it was,” Zayne mutters, already turning back to the bowl he’s washing in the sink.

Sylus is frowning, affronted, but the expression softens when you’re filling his gaze again. You: your hands on your mouth, so close to spilling laughter. “Oooooh,” you tease with a secretive sing-song voice, “you got in trouble!”

He wrinkles his nose like ‘trouble’ is an insult. It sets you off sniggering uncontrollably.

“What did I miss?”

It’s Xavier, back from the lounge.

“Nothing,” Sylus answers.

“He got in trouble!” you counteract with a not-at-all quiet whisper.

You earn a glare from the criminal, and a little laugh from the hunter. “Third-strike trouble?” the latter enquires. He might have handcuffs on stand-by; it wouldn’t surprise you.

“Not yet,” you grin cheerfully.

Zayne sets a plate on the drying rack. “Give it time.”

…

“I don’t think we have enough, sweetie,” Sylus quips, peeking over the stack of blankets you’ve piled high on his arms.

What was it Rafayel said? High risk, high reward? You mercifully chuckle. Your arms are wrapped around three, plush cushions— the last of your sleepover supplies. Snacks? Are ready. Guests? Haven’t killed each-other yet. You toe open your bedroom door, shouldering the rest of the way through with your missing puzzle pieces of luxury.

“Oh, nice!” someone exclaims from the kitchen. Xavier is watching you, starry-eyed, and his cheeks are full; he’s midway through a cookie.

Sylus steps through the door behind you, issuing a faint noise of disgust. He sounds like he’s being attacked by a bug, so you turn around, ready to leap to the rescue. He’s stood within the door frame, eyes cast upwards to where a sprig of mistletoe hangs on the end of a string. It’s swaying gently; he must have caught his head on it. You frown, lips parted. He was with you the whole time you were looting your bedroom. When did he…? How did he…?

He looks down at you, the mistletoe still hovering above him. You raise an eyebrow, waiting for the inevitable joke, or the even more inevitable invitation.

“I…’ he starts gingerly, “I didn’t…”

Oh. He’s just as confused as you are, and it’s… really cute. He’s lost for words— the man who came here with not one, but four sprigs of mistletoe. The man who threatened your gingerbread with white icing. The man who’s spent the entire evening thinking about how he wants to be close to you.

Sylus laughs, but it’s full of nervousness. “It’s alright,” he says, “you don’t have to—”

You tilt him towards you, your hand on his shoulder and cushions around your feet. “Merry Christmas, Sy,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his cheek. It’s warm on your lips.

His eyes flutter closed. “Merry Christmas,” he breathes, barely more than a whisper.

You hum contentedly as you pull away from him. When his eyes reopen, they’re warm with a nostalgia you cannot explain, but you can feel, too— so inexplicably. His gaze is blood-red, but it makes you think of flowers.

What a funny feeling. It strikes you a lot, nowadays, and not just with the man in front of you.

Speaking of the others, you glance towards your lounge. Xavier is telling Zayne a story, and Rafayel is watching you from over the back of the sofa— turning away when you spot him. That’s one mystery solved. You collect the cushions from the floor, sparing Sylus a smile before you meander back to your party. The coffee table’s a banquet of sweet, sugary snacks, so you carefully skirt past it.

Xavier’s hands grab at air. You laugh and toss him a cushion. “Thanks,” he grins.

“Here— your favourite.” Zayne is pointing at your freshly-filled mug, and you grin your own thank you as you settle down next to him.

Sylus soon arrives too, handing out blankets, and for all the evening’s animosity, he gets a grateful smile for each. He sits down next to Xavier, and it’s odd, you know? You’ve slain Wanderers, saved lives with every person around you. You’ve seen them bleed and kill.

They’re all wrapping themselves up, like snuggly little Christmas presents. Xavier’s managed to collect another cushion— from Zayne, maybe?— and he’s practically building a fort on his side of the couch. Some of it infringes on Sylus’s space, and you notice him notice, but he doesn’t say a word. Oblivious, tucked under two blankets, Xavier’s already looking sleepy.

Someone’s making less of an effort to get comfortable. On the other side of you, Rafayel sits, uncharacteristically quiet. He hasn’t met your eyes since you sat down. You remember him, watching you under the mistletoe from across the room, and the thought has you leaning in closer.

“That was sweet of you,” you whisper, even though he disobeyed you.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shrugs.

But he does, so you kiss his cheek, ever so fondly, with that funny feeling in your chest again. It’s the first time, but it doesn’t strike you as such. Uncharted waters, a foreign land— when have I been here before?

Rafayel has relaxed: sunken deep into the sofa and the security of your touch. You smile, pulling his blanket up higher around him— tighter around him— until he’s as much of a cocoon as everyone else. His lips curve with a smile of surrender, ever-willingly captured. Silly fish.

You draw away from him, readjusting in your seat until you’re cuddled up next to Zayne. You don’t see the wink Rafayel shoots Sylus, or the look of begrudging respect in the latter’s red eyes.

“Are you comfortable?” Zayne asks, head angling towards yours.

Co-host to co-host. “Yeah.” You snuggle closer to him. “This is kinda perfect, isn’t it?” He feels cold, despite his Sylus-issued blanket, so you lend him part of yours.

“No,” he confers softly, distractedly.

“No?”

“No.” He gives you a look, and you know it as intimately as the chill of his hands and the warmth of his heart. His ‘I know something that you don’t’ look. Sure enough, he says: “I think it’s missing something.”

On the other sofa, Xavier is beaming at you, having caught onto your conversation. It’s suspicious— harmless conspiracy, surprise-party sort of suspicious, but your pulse still picks up.

“Close your eyes,” Zayne instructs.

And you do, without question. Darkness, yes, but you’re under his care, aren’t you? There’s no anxiousness in your excitement, just trust for the man who was looking out for you long before he was your doctor. Your hands are over your eyes and you’re younger, again, playing hide-and-seek, again.

Zayne’s is a familiarity you can place. A nostalgia built on memories, not reveries.

Something icy touches your hand, then melts without any resistance.

“Open,” Zayne prompts, leaning against you to stir you.

Your apartment has changed again. The lights are all out, save for the fairy lights. The spectrum of colours flicker from the walls and the tree, catching on tiny, white specs in the air. Snowflakes are drifting down, impossibly. Falling, dancing— maybe a bit of both. You look up and some land on your face, cold with their kisses. You giggle in delight.

Everyone’s gaze is on the ceiling: sapphire, emerald, amethyst, ruby. It ought to be dark. Instead, an entire night sky fills the space above you, scattered with thousands of stars. Every pinprick is deliberate. Meticulously placed. There are constellations— infinite patterns that transcend every life you might’ve lead, and every life you’ll ever lead (if you believe in that sort of thing.)

Xavier glances at you, and you forgo the spell of his masterpiece so that you can glance back. Snowflakes are in his hair, dusting him with sparkles. He smiles in a way you think could defy lifetimes, too.

“This is… really something,” Sylus says, and there’s not a hint of sarcasm.

It’s everything. The stars, brighter for darkness. The snow, only novel in warmth. These things don’t always work— they’ll undo each-other, overpower each-other, but there’s an ultimate balance, in-between every conflict. An occasional harmony, and it’s…

Perfect.

Rafayel scoots close to you. “Was this authorised?” he whispers.

You look over to the point board, where there are first strikes beneath Zayne and Xavier’s names, and you don’t know how long they’ve been there.

“No,” you laugh tenderly. “No, it wasn’t.”

#🖋rach is actually writing #xavier x reader #zayne x reader #rafayel x reader #sylus x reader #love and deepspace #lads x reader #lads x mc #shen xinghui #li shen #qi yu #qin che #lads #lnds #l&ds

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dilemmaontwolegs · 1 year ago

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The Perfect Life || CL16 {1}

Summary: On the outside it appeared you had the perfect life but Charles didn't know the secrets that had been kept from him. In order for him to succeed deals were made with your family and no price was too much to pay. Warnings: nsfw, swearing, fighting, mentions of character death, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, horrible parents, Arthur Leclerc being the best friend ever WC: 2.5k

One || Two || Three

“What have you got yourself into now?”

There was no simple answer to that question and it was the very reason you had specifically not called the man waiting for an answer in the corridor. You dragged your eyes away from the chipped grey walls of the cell and stopped reading the tagging that littered the bricks - you didn’t really care that P & H were 2getha 4eva - and sat up from the concrete bed you had attempted to sleep on.

Stretching your tired muscles, you ignored his question and asked one of your own. “What are you doing here, Charles?”

“Arthur called.” Charles grabbed the bars that separated you, his knuckles turning white as he scanned the other vagrants you had been locked in with. “Did you have to get him involved?”

“What makes you think it was my idea?” It was your idea, but it was rude of him to assume so.

“My brother wouldn’t know how to find an underground fight club, let alone join one.”

“Maybe you don’t know your brother as well as you think.”

“Maybe, but I know you.” He looked at your cheeks that were still shiny from the Vaseline that helped the blows glance off, then he looked at your busted knuckles that not even tape could stop from splitting. “Why?”

You shrugged, but it tweaked your shoulder that had taken quite the punch and you winced at the spike of pain. “For a bit of fun, let off some steam.”

“Yeah, you look like you are really enjoying yourself,” he muttered sarcastically before walking away.

“Wait, Charles, where are you going?”

“Home, it’s late and Arthur is waiting in the car.”

“You’re just going to leave me here?”

“You didn’t call me,” he stated coldly. “Bail yourself out this time.”

Your clenched fist hit the metal bar and he briefly paused as the ringing sound followed him down the hall. “Dammit, Charles. Please?”

He continued walking away and you dropped back onto the hard slab of concrete wondering why you bothered. Charles never cared for you and the friendship you had with his younger brother, in fact merely breathing around him seemed to be an offence. It had been that way ever since your family sponsored his career, it was like he resented you for your family’s money.

“Y/L/N,” a burly bailiff called out, interrupting your ranting inner monologue. “You’ve been posted.”

A frown pinched your brows together as the door opened and you saw Charles standing in the shadows behind the officer. “Now would be the time for a thank you,” he muttered.

You were tempted to throw a ‘fuck off’ his way but bit your tongue and accepted the thick hoodie he had draped over his arm. While the sex workers you had shared a cell with wore just as little clothing, yours was for an entirely different reason. The sports bra and bike shorts were perfect for fighting in but left you cold in the early hours of the morning, so you quickly pulled the hoodie over your body. “Thank you. I’ll pay you back.”

“I don’t want your money,” he sighed, rubbing his temple and leaving you with the impression that you were the headache he had.

“That’s not what you said to my father 10 years ago.”

“Is it too late to lock her back up?”

The bailiff looked awkwardly between the two of you and if you were in Monaco the officer would have probably marched you back to the cell, but Charles was in Nice now, he was in your city.

You quickly signed the release form for your belongings and slipped the family signet ring back onto your finger before turning your phone on. A flood of messages from your father, his assistant and his lawyer, appeared in the flurry of vibrations that made Charles scoff and shake his head. “Worried about his little princess, huh?”

It was your turn to scoff. If only he knew how utterly wrong he was, but you weren’t one to air the dirty laundry of your family - even if it would shut the pretentious twat up for one minute. “Same time next week, boys,” you said with a nod to the officers behind the Perspex wall.

“You’re seriously messed up,” Charles commented as he followed your quick descent down the front steps and aimed for the dark blue Porsche.

“Keep sweet talking, you flirt,” you shot back sarcastically. “I thought you had a girlfriend.”

Arthur had opened his door the moment he spotted you and he knew from the pained look on his brother’s face, and the smile on yours, that the interaction had gone as well as expected. He couldn’t understand why two people he loved dearly had to fight like cats and dogs every time they were in the same room. He had tried to get you to talk to Charles, to tell him the truth about your situation, but it had been hard enough talking to Arthur about it and you trusted him with your life. You weren’t going to go through that again for someone that would be more likely to spit in your face.

“How’s your nose?” Arthur asked as he gently cupped your face and inspected it.

“Relax, I already reset it.” You took comfort in the warmth of his palms but the fuzzy feeling that came with knowing someone in the world cared about your wellbeing was gone in an instant.

“Daddy can always buy you a new one.”

“Charles!”

“Forget about it, Tur,” you murmured as you stepped back and started to make your way home on foot. “Text me when you get home safe.”

“If you care about him you will leave him alone,” Charles called out as he opened the driver's door. “You’re just going to drag him down with you.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Arthur growled at his brother before he started to follow you down the street. “Wait, please.”

“You should listen to your brother,” you said over your shoulder. “I’m a sinking ship.”

Arthur’s footsteps quickened as he jogged to your side and pulled you to a stop. “You’re not a sinking ship, but if you are then I will be your lifeboat.”

“That’s stupid analogy,” you scoffed as he pulled you into his arms. “I’m sorry I got you arrested.”

“I could have run when they raided but what kind of best friend would that make me?”

“One with a clean record,” you pointed out, feeling his chest bounce with a silent laugh.

“It’s overrated. I’m thinking about getting a tattoo now, one to remember my incarceration by. Maybe a tear, just here,” he said as he touched his cheek. “Think it would make me look cool.”

You rolled your eyes and laughed. “Oh yeah, the ladies would love that.”

“Please don’t give my brother any more bad ideas,” Charles muttered as he rolled by slowly in his car with the window down. “Get in, both of you.”

Arthur opened the door and pulled you down with him, tugging you into place on his lap before you could escape. He wasn’t going to let you walk home at 3am, no matter how safe Nice was, but it was annoying that his brother only bought a two seater sports car when he knew that the two of you had been arrested.

You guided Charles away from the waterfront mansions and into the industrial area that was abandoned at the late hour. Arthur had been to your place plenty of times but it was a first for Charles to see the concrete building with a chipped tile roof at the end of the rundown street.

“What are we doing here?” Charles asked as he parked in front of a rusted metal door.

“Thanks for the ride,” you said, kissing Arthur’s cheek before opening the door.

“What is this place?” Charles asked again as he followed you out, frowning at the key to the door you found under a shattered pot plant.

“I can’t exactly go home like this, can I? Genius.”

Arthur’s door shut as he got out to referee the second round of verbal sparring for the evening.

“I’m surprised they even let you home after the crap you put them through.”

“Yeah, well, I'm still useful to them so they can’t get rid of me yet. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

“It must be so hard living your perfect little life,” Charles drawled sarcastically and Arthur inhaled sharply at the insult.

“You think my life is perfect?” You laughed bitterly and Arthur looked down at his feet. “Do you know why I fight in that shitty underground cage? The only freedom I have is when I get in that ring. It is the only choice I get to make for myself. For five minutes, I am in control of my own life, Charles, I get to fight for myself.”

“In control? You have always done and gotten everything you wanted,” he argued. “You wanted a pony, you got a fucking pony.”

Your vision narrowed as anger exploded in your chest. “There was a price, you fucking idiot! I am paying that price now. You don’t know what it’s like to have your entire life planned out for you, to find out those gifts came with terms and conditions, so do me a favour and shut the fuck up for once in your life please.”

Charles took a step closer but Arthur placed himself between you, his palms pushing his brother back as your breath quickened to uncontrollable pants. “You don’t understand, just let it go.”

“Damn right I don’t understand. I don’t understand why you listen to her bullshit, Tur. Jules couldn’t stand to be in the same room as her, and I can’t either.”

The whomping of blood rushing around your head echoed in your ears as time slowed and Arthur’s arm pulled back. You watched him close his fist like you had taught him, keeping his thumb on the outside to avoid breaking it. You watched the veins on his hand grow thicker as he threw the punch at his own brother and the shock barely registered before Charles fell down on his ass.

“Jules couldn’t be in the same room with her because he knew the truth and he felt guilty!” Arthur screamed down at his brother. “You were too young to understand then, but we aren’t kids anymore.”

Charles broke free of his state of shock and scrambled to his feet, spitting out a mouthful of blood. “What truth? Huh? Is it worth ruining our brotherhood?”

“Jules was engaged.”

“Bullshit.” Charles shook his head violently and you sank to the ground, leaning back against the cold bricks for the second time that night. “He would have told me.”

“Ask Enzo.” Arthur knew Charles would believe him. Lorenzo was Jules’ best friend, it was why Charles met Jules in the first place. Jules already had ties to your family and he used them to broker the deal that funded Charles’ career.

“Okay, so what if he was engaged?” Charles snapped as his agitation grew. He was suddenly questioning everything he knew about his godfather and it showed on his shaking hands.

“Because he was engaged to me,” you whispered, a shadow falling across your face as Arthur crouched down beside you and wiped away the tears you hadn’t even felt fall. You couldn’t tell if they were tears of anger or sadness, the two seemed to blur when it came to Jules. He was always there, even in your earliest memories. He was like an older brother to you, he even taught you to ride your bike without trainer wheels. He was always there, until he wasn’t.

Charles was right, he couldn’t stand to be in the same room as you once the deal was made. You couldn’t blame him for that.

“No, no fucking way,” Charles laughed, raking a hand through his hair. “Arthur, are you listening to this shit?”

“I’ve seen the contract, Cha.”

“You’ve always been gullible but this is actually stupid. She was 16. Jules wouldn’t have married a girl. He was 25 for fucks sake.”

“We didn’t have a choice,” you admitted quietly. “It was the price for the deal he made, and you are right, Jules was too noble for that. It took a lot of convincing on his part to wait until I turned 21. My father resented that fact, I think he was hoping to sell me off to someone sooner.”

Charles stumbled back to the hood of his car, watching as Arthur took a seat beside you and draped his arm protectively over your shoulders. The brothers stared at each other but you stared at the gravel between your legs while the truth lingered in the air.

You could feel the pieces connecting in Charles’ head as if they were being screamed aloud and you flinched at the moment they all came together. Arthur’s arm tightened, Charles' throat bobbed and nausea roiled in your stomach.

“It was me,” Charles choked. “Wasn’t it?”

You didn’t bother looking up as you nodded. “My father never cared about your career. He wanted a union with the Bianchi family and he finally got the opportunity when Jules asked to sponsor you.”

“Why the hell would he agree to that?”

“Because he believed in you, obviously, and I like to think that maybe he thought he could get out of the agreement before I turned 21.” You shrugged because you would never know the complete truth now. It made you sick to think that maybe he did find a way out of it, in the worst way possible.

“Your father…”

“Is a real asshole? Yeah, I know.”

“I was going to say sick bastard.”

You chuckled in agreement and tipped your head back. “Perfect life, am I right?”

Charles had the decency to winch at the reminder. “You’re an adult now, why don’t you leave?”

“I wish it were that easy. All my bank accounts are under his control. They didn’t let me go to college. I don’t know anyone that isn’t indebted or loyal to him,” you sighed. “I got this place with my fight winnings. It’s not much but it’s mine, at least until he arranges another marriage for me, then I suppose the poor bastard gets it too.”

“Marry me.”

You barked a laugh and looked at Arthur, his lips still parted like they were shocked the words had passed by. “Now you are being stupid. I love you, Tur, and that is precisely why I wouldn’t wish this shit on you.”

“Then marry me,” Charles offered. “You hate me already, and I owe Jules everything. You can come to Monaco and study, or get a job, or whatever you want to do.”

“No, thank you,” you said as you pulled yourself to your feet and opened the door. “Drive safe.”

“I’m serious,” Charles growled as caught the door before it closed. “I am offering you a lifeline, why won’t you take it?”

“My father taught me many important life lessons but the first one was if it seems too good to be true, it probably is. Good night, Charles.”

Part Two

#charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #f1 x reader #arthur leclerc fanfic

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really-burnt-toast · 7 months ago

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Redesigning my COTL cast pt.1

HAHA I'm finally done! I only made busts tho bc Im lazy and Im not putting myself through drawing a size chart... YET.

It WILL come, just so I can show pretty outfits and show how ridiculous Leshy's hight is LOL

If you see any spelling mistakes, please ignore them <3

(more info and rambling under cut)

Here I'll write some more things relating to each character;

Lamb

Born in Darkwood to a single mother, their mom had named them Mellia after the flowers that grow there, since they had aided in striving off an illness she had during the pregnancy.

The Lamb grew up pretty happily despite being on the run. Their mother was eventually caught whilst they made an escape. During their years of hiding, they broke their leg during one particularly risky escape and were caught not long after.

Their number is 1.600.666 because I keep making a connection between Darkwood and Germany's Schwartzwald - there are 1.6 million sheep in Germany - so I decided to have that be the approximate number. 666 was just added for fun.

Their ear was tagged to keep track of how many sheep were caught in which realm. They just so happened to be the last to be executed. By mere coincidence.

They were born without horns and kinda made the crown shape into a set. It has the benefit that they can rip em off and use them as impromptu weapons.

Due to centuries of being treated as a tool for a prophecy and merely a vessel, their self esteem is downright horrid. Whilst they don't condone followers speaking ill of them, they pretty much let Narinder trample on their feelings up until they had snapped one day. In the end it did help them both, but it wasn't great it had to be taken to that point.

Extra: I added the vitiligo because when I imagine a human version, I couldn't help but see them as having Vitiligo. Their leg limp was made after I thought it would make them look more imposing seeing someone "weak" suddenly pull out a giant hammer.

Narinder

Found within a burning village under rubble, clutching a crown as war raged around them. He was found by Shamura and taken in.

He was the first to create resurrection and back then it was an EXTREMELY taxing ritual. It would require his own godly flesh to beckon people back to life - thus it would literally cause his skin and flesh to melt off his bones. Now that's not needed anymore but his body is still weak to it, meaning during certain stress factors, he can still become skeletal. He doesn't have scarring from it, but gained some cool markings.

He was bound by his arms, torso and neck - all of which are scarred. In the afterlife he was perpetually sitting, causing him to be paralyzed from the waist down. Once he was usurped he had to regain his ability to walk and was taken care of by the Lamb.

He was in a catatonic state for many years and it only got better gradually with many setbacks. For years he never left the bed and by the time his Siblings had been rescued, he had barely started going outside. He was also suffering from chronic pains which wasn't really helpful.

He's also very... Temperamental. It took him just as long to say anything nice to the Lamb and it took him extra long to see them as more than his vessel.

Extra: I changed his markings to be more like I had imagined them. The catatonic trait and chronic pain was added after the update and I remember how horrible it was having tendonitis and I wanted to channel my distaste into Narinder.

Shamura

Found and raised by the last gods, they weren't the greatest sibling. They may have taken in the others but it took them a long time to be anything other than cold. With Kallamar, Shamura was distant and strict - then with Narinder they attempted to be less harsh after the kid started crying himself to sleep. With Heket and Leshy they got less and less cold. They tried their best, they'd argue.

They got carried away by their feelings as they had feared at the start and that's when the first prophecy came to them. They had kept it hidden for way too long until the balance of the crown's powers were ripping at the seams due to Narinder's pursuit in power - and they made a decision. They had told Kallamar first. Then Heket and Leshy were brought in.

Stuff happened. Now they are barely coherent and at most have an hour or two at a time where they seem to make sense. Leshy stays with them the most. Kallamar takes care of them. Heket takes care of the rest. Their skull is caved in, they lost an eye and limbs - some of the damages can't be hidden by bandages.

There's also this thing that their crown keeps getting out of control whilst trying to keep their mind stable - sometimes they'll get startled - attempt to form a weapon and instead end up with their arm speared through. They have scarring all over their body from it.

Upon recruitment they are pretty overwhelmed. Their crown can't stop them from breaking anymore and they have gotten so used to godhood that mortality now feels like they are literally rotting alive. They can feel their body wasting away.

Only after getting their relic back do they start becoming more independent and stable. They nowadays go through some sort of rehab to try and regain their sense of self.

Extra: Not much was added. I wanted to give them Glasses but I can't for the life of me draw them with a pair... So Ill just say they have them but not show them LOL

Kallamar

His past is basically forgotten. It sorta slipped away since he hadn't deemed it fit to be remembered. At first he had MANY fights with Shamura, then it ceased after a confrontation turned violent which left him with a bad scar.

He had to take care of his younger siblings whilst coming to terms with godhood - filling in whenever Shamura wasn't physically or mostly emotionally unavailable. For a long time he was the only one that could comfort his ailing siblings. Dealing with that sort of made him pretty easily agitated.

When Shamura proposed the plan, he had been hesitant - but ultimately didn't say anything.

Now he takes care of his siblings medically. He hates himself more than he hates anyone else and as much as he is quick to condemn and betray Shamura - he is also quick to condemn himself. Though maybe not as enthusiastically or openly.

He likes to compensate. Giving gifts to request forgiveness - grand displays of favoritism or mainly decking himself and his multiple spouses out with Jewels. He still keeps his wedding rings around his neck and his earring references his siblings.

Funnily enough, he caused the least troubles to the Lamb. They could argue he even seemed relieved after a short while of staying in the cult.

Extra: Added Jewelry and two tentacles because he looked naked without them.

Heket

Loudmouth frog that when found with her crown, she started trying to fight Shamura - insulting whatever parent they had. She kept threatening to poison them too.

In the lineup of her siblings, she was often the one who took the sidelines. If she was happy, she was left alone. If she was displeased, she'd let herself known. The most uncomplicated of the siblings.

You'd almost miss how every other bishop would seek her out when help was needed. While Shamura helped with godhood and Kallamar with emotional needs - Heket was a good person to pester with anything else. She'd handle it - just let big sis do it. Even if she was the second youngest - it's funny how even Kallamar and Narinder would occasionally use the nickname.

Then when everyone else was dealing with their wounds, she picked up the pace and kept their respective cults from falling apart. She handled Silk cradle until Shamura could - helped with Darkwood and took over Anchordeep when Kallamar was tending to the others. No problem.

She was still loud when entering the cult. Not as much as her brother - but she loved to cause scenes. Her muteness didn't seem to hinder her at all with that. She's not allowed near knives but somehow can handle axes?

Her temper problems don't get better. She just stops being an asshole about it.

She prefers having scarfs covering her neck bandages whilst they're all bloody and disgusting.

Extra: Nothing because Heket is already perfect.

Leshy

Literally a weird insect that kept clinging to the crown until it grew big enough to hold in one hand. It bit anything that got close and by the time Shamura found it - he had started eating small critters.

And god, he kept growing and growing until he wasn't a small worm in Shamura's hand but literally too big to fit through most doors. They suspected he'd grow until the end of time. Or well, now since his crown is gone.

He never listens. He screams for fun and overshares the worst details to the point he manages to break his siblings into just accepting anything he talks about. They can't even scold him or punish him since Leshy always finds a way to make things worse for anyone else but himself.

He also copies everyone. First it was Heket's tone. Then it was Narinder's behavior - now he started growing flowers and vine braids to make fun of Kallamar and his antlers were at first a crude mimic of Shamura's pedipalps and now they grow vines to be similar to the jewels hanging from them. He refuses to acknowledge doing so.

He's very clingy. After locking away Narinder, he stayed with Shamura every day until they were out of bed rest. He follows his siblings around and when he does give them a second to breathe - hes probably laying around in Darkwood instead of doing anything productive. He does tends to plants occasionally, but he prefers "to let chaos do its thing" - as if that means anything.

He makes for a great gardener after he stopped trying to break everything upon recruitment. And once he got over growling at every living thing - he actually became one of the most well liked people living there.

Leshy knows exactly what someone needs and somehow finds a way to achieve that with the littlest of efforts. It's the thought that counts.

Extra: Braid and vines because I thought Leshy would look cute with it.

Special: The 4 bishops all wear old faith themed robes, but Shamura got the elder clothes for comfort and Leshy kept tearing his clothes apart so he is not permanently excluded from having any special outfits as punishment. Narinder wears fancy robes (who happen to be loose and warm while being special - otherwise he'd complain)

The Lamb wears one of the leaked fleeces since I loved the red riding hood aesthetic.

In the end this turned more into biographies than actual explanations but its 3:30am, Im sleep deprived and I wanted to get my thoughts out because I start having memory problems again YIPPEE

#cult of the lamb #cotl #cult of the lamb fanart #cotl fanart #cotl au #cotl three times #redesign #furry art #cotl lamb #cotl narinder #cotl narilamb #narilamb mentioned very slightly #cotl leshy #cotl heket #cotl kallamar #cotl shamura #god im tired

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o-sachi · 9 months ago

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My Golden Girl ‧₊˚ ⋅ One Shot (Request)

ଳ Kaiser loves his generous golden girl, but he hates it when people take advantage of her kindness

ଳ character; michael kaiser (bllk)

ଳ tags; afab reader, no y/n, FLOOF, soft mihya

[🐟]: This takes place before the Blue Lock project, so Kaiser should still be in Germany and practicing with Bastard.

The moon can only shine at night because of the sun.

That's what your relationship is like with Kaiser.

He honestly had no idea where he'd be without you. There were days when he felt like he was slowly losing himself—drowning in the pressure to remain at the top. But as he teeters on the edge, you always come to pull him right back in.

Your sweet words at the end of his day were enough to keep him grounded. As a matter of fact, you barely needed to do much to pacify him. But knowing you—you would go over and beyond for him. Seriously. It puzzles him why someone as pure as you would mess around with someone like him.

But who was he to question you?

"Yo, your girlfriend's been here for like an hour. Have you even seen her already?" Kaiser snaps out of his daydream as the locker room door swings open. It was some guy from his team who he never really bothered to remember the name of. His gaze follows his teammate as he saunters over to his locker.

"Eh... but she's out helping the managers again." That's when his attention was truly caught. "She's what?" "Y'know... handing out bottles and stuff. You should ask her to become a manager too. She'll fit right in." Tsk.

Kaiser shakes his head and grabs the towel off of his head. He aimlessly chucks the piece of fabric to the side and gets up without another word.

His teammate watches—dumbfounded—at the lack of a response. "Hey, Kai-"

But as soon as he spoke, Kaiser was already out of the door.

He wasn't angry or annoyed that you showed up unannounced. Truthfully, he didn't know what he felt. There was a reason why he avoided bringing you or inviting you to his practices.

You were too kind for your own good and the people here aren't shy about taking advantage of you.

Kaiser was stuck between a rock and hard place. One on hand, he loved that you cared enough about him to go out of your way even help the management or even his team. He couldn't bring himself to scold anyone—especially not you. On another, he knew what they were doing to you. They pretended to be all nice and sweet when asking you favors. But don't they have any shame asking so much from you?

Just like what Mr. Forgettable Name said earlier, you were almost like a manager here. But, fuck that. You're supposed to be a guest. You're his girlfriend, so you deserve nothing but the best treatment.

Yet, here he was—watching you as you scurry around, handing water bottles to his... not teammates. What the hell were you even doing giving water to the second string players? Jesus. He wasn't even sure if they were on the second string.

The more he observed, the angrier he became. Someone better hold him back and tell him what he just witnessed wasn't what he thought because one of the players definitely handed you an empty bottle—which, of course, you threw in the trash for him.

Sure, he's probably tired from running all day and yeah, you were closer to the trash bin. But who the fuck does he think he is to ask you of something like that?

He didn't even notice that his legs moved on their own. His body wanted nothing but to walk over to you. Never mind what his heart was telling him.

"Hey."

You spun around, knowing whose voice it was that almost startled you. His bright blue eyes peered down at you and he seemed... a bit pissed.

"Sorry... I know I should've told you that I was coming today, but-" Kaiser sighs heavily, running his tattooed hand through his blonde locks. "Don't apologize. I'm not mad—I just..."

But he was—he was most definitely mad. Just not at you.

It was like the world was testing the limits of his patience today because damn was he not even able to finish his sentence without another person bothering you.

As Kaiser struggled to express himself, one of the managers taps you on your shoulder. She had on the fake smile she always wore whenever she'd ask you a favor.

"Can you go distribute the lunch for the players today? I just have some paperwork to go over. You know how it is... managers get busy~"

Before you could even respond, Kaiser steps forward—putting distance between you and the manager. "And why would she do that? Isn't that your job?"

You grabbed his arm, telling him that it's alright. In a way, his team and the people who manage it have become your friends. You appreciate them for taking care of your boyfriend while you're not there and you're grateful for their warm greetings whenever you walk past any of them.

There wasn't any issue in you helping these people... or so you thought.

The manager smiles nervously at Kaiser, but she doesn't back down. "Well... I mean... if she's willing to do it, right? What's the harm in that?"

Kaiser exhales audibly. This is why he doesn't confront this dynamic. The manager was partially right because his girlfriend was always willing to help no matter what. Now he looked like the bad guy here.

The conversation shifted to an awkward atmosphere. All three of them felt it. But she was the first to break the ice... as usual.

"Mihya, it's alright. I like helping out the team. Consider it as me helping you as well," she says, smiling warmly.

"Baby," he clicks his tongue. "Forgive me, but... how the hell does it help me when you hand out water and food to these third stringers?"

Your eyes widen. "Mihya! Tone it down; they'll hear you."

He scoffs. "So what? Let them hear it."

At this point, the manager had grown quiet, slowly distancing herself from the developing quarrel.

"I've had enough watching people like her," he says, pointing at the manager before she could escape, "take advantage of you."

"It's not your job to hand out lunch boxes to everyone nor is it your responsibility to make sure they're hydrated. Baby—you might as well wipe their sweat for them while you're at it," he adds.

As he released these pent up frustrations, he failed to notice the gradual increase in the volume of his voice. It wasn't just you and the manager hearing it—but everyone else on the field. Even those who were far away, ran over to the commotion.

Kaiser never gave up even a second for you to butt in. "Remember that time they asked you to run to the nearby convenience store to buy God-knows-what? Or that time you had to go with... with... whatever-the-fuck-his-name-is to the hospital?"

"It's Igor," a faint voice reminds him.

"Shut the fuck up!" he retorts. Kaiser sighs deeply, the realization that everyone else was listening finally dawning on him. "What I'm trying to say is that... I'm just tired of seeing you be used like that, especially since I know how pure your heart is and all that," he says, softly.

He wanted the last part to be heard only by you. After all, you were the only one that mattered to him at the moment.

You were... well... staring at him in awe. Speechless. Unmoving. Stunned.

You were clueless to how he felt. Sure, they did ask too much of you. But you didn't think Kaiser was observing you to that degree. Your heart melted at his personal show of affection right in front of everyone.

"Mihya..."

You felt stupid that you could only mutter his name despite everything he had said. But before you could do anything else, his large hand grabs on to your wrist—pulling you along with him. His strides were purposeful and his grasp was firm. You hurriedly shuffled to keep up with his pace.

After gaining some distance from the group, Kaiser halts and turns to look back at them one last time.

"If I see any of you ask a favor from her again—I'll make sure to deal with you."

A promise and a threat.

He yanks you again and continues walking away. Overwhelmed by the sudden turn of events, you try to stop him despite his strength. "Hey... slow down. Let's talk... please?"

Kaiser blatantly ignores you, only stopping once you were inside of the facility and away from prying eyes. The firm grip that once wrapped around your wrist was replaced by a gentle caress as he brought your hand to his lips.

"Sorry... I got carried away. You know I can't let them do tha-"

"It's okay. I understand. Thank you for standing up for me," you say, cutting him off.

He blinks a couple of times, surprised at how well you took it. "You're not mad?"

"Why would I be mad at my boyfriend protecting me?"

You couldn't help but giggle at him. How silly would it be for you to get angry at him right now? What he did was one of the sweetest things anyone could do for someone; not everyone is brave enough to stand up for their significant other like that.

His look of astonishment was quickly replaced with a small smile. "I guess you're right, baby."

And before you know it, you were already caged in his warm embrace.

ε( ε ˙³˙)ɜ ｡° ⚬ ｡ likes and reblogs are appreciated

pls do not translate/copy/reupload my work on other platforms.

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #kaiser x reader #michael kaiser #kaiser blue lock

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gotham-daydreams · 3 months ago

Note

Hello!! I love your batfam series, rereading chap 2 got me thinking: Imagine Christmas

Reader is a child, they're so excited for Christmas, perhaps her new family forgot about her birthday because she's new to the manor, but no one forgets Christmas! Maybe this is the chance to spend time with their whole family! Reader takes the time to make little Christmas cards for everyone, each with her own wishes for them like:

"I hope this year, you get that [insert what the character is interested in here] you've always wanted!" and they add sweet little notes and doodles too.

It's Christmas eve, reader goes to where the tree and presents are, they want to put the cards on the mantle, or maybe the table? just somewhere where everyone can see them.

Reader passes the gifts and they get curious and excited.

'I wonder which one's mine?' their eyes get all sparkly and their smile widens, they place the cards on the table and head to the gifts, they read each tag.

"Dick, Jason, Tim, Dick, Alfred, Bruce, Bruce..." But no [Y/N]... No, that can't be true right? Everyone gets a present on Christmas, all the kids on the nice list gets a present, and [Y/N] made sure that they were nice all year, I mean, look at all they've done for their family! As tears well up in their eyes, a choked sob escapes [Y/N].

The door creaks open, "Master Y/N? What are you doing here so late?" Alfred asks.

"*hic* Christmas *hic* cards..." Alfred is alerted by the child's crying.

"Now, Master Y/N, why are you crying? Are you hurt?"

"Alfred...*hic* I was nice all year, right?" Alfred nods at this. "Then...why didn't I get a present?" Reader looks up at Alfred with those sad eyes, all hurt and desperate for an answer.

Alfred thinks for a moment and in an attempt to comfort the child, "Master Y/N, your gift isn't here because it's coming tomorrow, it's a very special gift, so it took some time to come here."

Reader calms down at this and asks, "Really?"

"Yes, Master Y/N, now, we must get you to bed, it's quite late, off you go now." Alfred leads them to their room and as Reader bids Alfred goodnight, Alfred is thinking of what he can order for Reader that would make them happy and that could be delivered immediately tomorrow.

please forgive me that it is very long hehe, it's my first time sending an ask ❤️

thank you for the batfam series tho 😊

I'm honored to have your first ask be sent to me! And I also apologize for the horrendous delay 😅

Don't worry about the length, I love long asks and your writing is amazing! I can definitely see that happening in the story, and can even imagine more of it!

Like imagine the family going back to look at the cards, and never really questioning where they came from or who wrote them until recently? Like, they sort of all had an assumption of who it was or could be, and didn't bother to really look into it until, well, all that happens takes place.

Imagine the reader had their letters sent to Dick, and tried to leave them by the window in the kitchen or hall for Jason. How they would sneak into Bruce's study to leave the note right on top of all the work he had left to do, and slipped a little envelope or note under Tim's door. They've tried to give it to Damian in person, but maybe got all nervous and just attached it to Titus' collar instead. Of course, Alfred always gets his handed to him or put into a little nook in the kitchen wall that only both of them know about. With Barbara's getting hers in the mail or rested upon a counter top, Cassandra's by a little side table next to her room, and Stephanie's close to the front door.

Imagine little reader trying to come up with new locations and areas every year, and trying to be more positive in their letters and also make them more meaningful - but just find it hard. It's hard to make something mean anything when you barely know the person your giving it too aside from exchanges that don't go past greetings and so on, but the reader tries as much as they can. Until that, like with all the things they tried to do, eventually stops as well - but maybe in a fit of self loathing. With them finding their own letters to be annoying, and the gifts they try to give obnoxious or meanings.

It drives them up the wall so much they eventually can't take it, and come apart. Hell, maybe they still continued the little 'tradition' but stuck to the little notes and letters. Now having grown used to getting no reply in return.

I know on that first night, Alfred most likely, personally tries to search for something before going out and getting it himself if he can. At least personally, I'd imagine it's a music box and it sort of serves as one of the inspirations that the reader has for even trying out music. Especially when it's the first thing they see when they get up the next day, and the soft melody is the first thing they hear.

It could have a larger effect from there, having been the reason the reader starts out doing school plays and so on - since it has two people dancing as the lullaby plays - before the reader eventually falls in love with music.

Ah! But that's just my own interpretation, and again, thanks so much for sharing! I'm so sorry about the delay, and not noticing this ask sooner! I love the idea, and can definitely see something like that happening in the series :]

#talking daydreams #yandere batfam #not series

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neon-junkie · 1 year ago

Note

How would TBB react to seeing the reader about to leave on a night out dressed up in a super hot outfit?

Gender-neutral reader, but feminine presenting. Words like 'beautiful' and 'pretty' are used!

Hunter - Even with half of his face tattooed, he still manages to blush through the thickness of the ink. - He's truly lost for words. - Hunter has an adorable stutter as he compliments, "wow, you look… nice- I mean, incredible. Good. Beautiful?" - Hunter then facepalms as he scolds himself for picking "nice" as his first compliment. Ugh, you look so much more than nice! - You'll both be giggling as Hunter takes a deep breath, and begins going into detail about how good you look, highlighting the specific parts that really stand out to him. - You're heading out with friends, but Hunter is quietly hinting that he wants to come along. Totally not because he's jealous or anything, but because he hopes to meet your friends, right? The friends that he's met several times before? Yeah! - Tell him that you'll still be looking this good when you come back home later tonight, and he'll get the hint. - However, he may need to leave a fresh mark or two on your neck, just to get the point across that you're taken.

Echo - This poor, poor man is going to turn the deepest shade of red when he finally sees you. - Why, just WHY did you have to wear that specific outfit that he loves so much?! And you're going out without him too?! Oh, what a tease! - Echo is lost for words as he gushes over you. He feels like it's his wedding day - How is he this lucky? How did he land an angel like you? - There's a tear in his eye as you smother him in kisses, reassuring him that you're all his, that you're the lucky one for being with him, that you can't wait to come home and snuggle up with him later. - Echo doesn't ask for much, but he would like to be kept in the loop on your whereabouts. Purely for your own safety! - "And when you reach the next bar, just comm me. Your friends have my comm number too, don't they? If anything goes wrong, and you want picking up-" blahblahblah. - One final smother in reassuring kisses, and you're good to hit the town!

Wrecker - His mouth instantly hangs open, his eyes turn wide, and his facial expression swiftly turns into a grin as he comments, "HOT!!" - You know in cartoons where the character's mouth drops open, and they begin howling and barking? Yeah, that's Wrecker. - Seriously, you look hot, and Wrecker's going to ensure that you know it. - "Look at you! I can't believe I got myself an angel as sweet as you!" - He'll mention how he's sad that he's not tagging along, but he'll assure you that it's important you spend your time with your friends. - Wrecker isn't as clingy as he seems. After all, he'll be right here, waiting for your return. - And when you do return, all your hangover needs will be met. A tall glass of water waiting for you, a midnight snack, breakfast in bed, and a big buff man to cuddle you back to health!

Tech - This will go one of two ways: - Option one: Tech eyes you up and down, and with a firm nod, he comments, "that is suitable attire for your evening. I hope you enjoy yourself." - Option two: Tech's brain short circuits. He can barely muster up a thought, let alone a comment. Radio silence, but his expression says it all. - Either way, Tech is more than impressed with your outfit choice, and how stunning you look. He just… struggles to find the words, like a deer in the headlights. - Give him a few moments, and you'll be met with suitable praise. "How exquisite you look, a truly elegant and radiant creature." - Tech can't pinpoint one specific word to describe how beautiful you look, so instead, he selects the most complex and in-depth ones. He doesn't want to rely on a 'standard compliment.' - A few kisses later, and you're off to meet your friends. All the while, Tech begins pacing around the Marauder like a lost puppy. He needs to keep himself occupied until you return!

Crosshair - He's instantly thirsty for you, smiling cheekily as he eyes you up, gawking at the sight of you. - Crosshair has a way with words, and spews out his praise, all whilst kneading at your waist, his hands trailing down to grab your ass whilst he steals a handful of kisses from you. - And then it dawns on him… - You're going out with your friends tonight, not him… - Jealousy swiftly takes over, and his compliment turn into teasing (yet petty) jabs. Nothing to hurt your feelings, though. - "Any reason why you're wearing this tonight? Do you need more attention? Am I not enough for you?" - Whilst his tone is teasing, there's a desperate need for validation. - Yes, he knows you'd never be stupid and hurt him, but… can you please remind him one more time? - Don't be surprised when you leave, and minutes later, Crosshair sends you a holotext. "Comm me if you need anything, Beautiful."

#tbbwriting #the bad batch #tbb #tbb x reader #the bad batch x reader #reader insert #gn!reader #fluff #hunter x reader #echo x reader #wrecker x reader #tech x reader #crosshair x reader #tbb fanfic

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steddieas-shegoes · 2 months ago

Text

not to me

for @steddielovemonth inspired by the quote “I’ll take care of you” “it’s rotten work” “not to me. Not if it’s you”

rated t | 947 words | cw: injury recovery | tags: pre-relationship, post-Vecna, friends to lovers, getting together, first kiss, disabled Eddie Munson

👨🏻‍🦽‍➡️👨🏻‍🦽‍➡️👨🏻‍🦽‍➡️👨🏻‍🦽‍➡️👨🏻‍🦽‍➡️👨🏻‍🦽‍➡️👨🏻‍🦽‍➡️👨🏻‍🦽‍➡️👨🏻‍🦽‍➡️👨🏻‍🦽‍➡️👨🏻‍🦽‍➡️

“Fuck!” Eddie yells as he throws his hands up in frustration.

He’s been trying to stand on his own for days now, and the furthest he’s gotten is pulling himself most of the way up. His legs shake. He falls back down.

Repeat again until he finally isn’t even strong enough to get himself upright.

Wayne’s always home, but he doesn’t watch. At least he doesn’t let Eddie know if he is. But he’s home in case Eddie ends up hurting himself or falling onto something other than his bed or the couch.

Steve’s come by a few times, offering to be a steady body to hold onto. He doesn’t accept the offer. Usually, he jokes that Wayne’s the only man he’s ever trusted and distracts him with something else.

“Alright, Ed?” Wayne calls to him from the kitchen.

“Fine!” Eddie calls back because he doesn’t want Wayne to come into his room and see him splayed out in his bed while his walker is still unused by his bed. He glares at the wheelchair in the corner of the room.

The doctors said he’d be in it for a long time, maybe months, but he’s determined to prove them wrong. They also said he wouldn’t play guitar again, but he was already able to play most of the chords.

He hears a car pull up outside and he just knows it’s Steve. Of course he would come over now.

The car door opens and closes.

The front door opens and closes.

Wayne greets him like he’s an old pal and he kind of is. It’s a little weird how close they’ve become since Eddie woke up, but whatever.

There’s a knock on his bedroom door before it opens.

Closes.

Steve looks nice. Not dressed up, necessarily, but he’s wearing his good jeans and a new polo. His hair is done a little less carefree, more like he actually went through the phases of blow drying it, putting product in it, and then showing up here to drive Eddie and his unrequited crush crazy.

He smells nice, too.

“Is that a new cologne?”

“It’s not new, I just only wear it for dates.”

Eddie’s heart sinks. It shouldn’t.

Not only is Eddie a man, but he’s also weird. And, at this current time, he’s pretty much bedbound or being pushed around in a wheelchair.

Steve’s a good guy, but he isn’t gonna waste the good cologne on visiting Eddie.

“Oh. Where you taking her? Movies? Dinner?” Eddie sits up so he doesn’t have to look up at Steve. His mind starts to wander to other reasons Steve might be above him, but luckily, Steve answers before he gets carried away.

“I’m taking you to my place,” Steve replies simply.

“I thought you were going on a date?”

“I am. I’m taking you to my house.”

“No offense, but I’d rather not sit alone at your house while you’re on a date,” Eddie snorts. “Is this because Wayne’s leaving in the morning for a weekend trip? I swear I’ll be fine on my own. Dustin’s coming by tomorrow anyway.”

“Eddie.” Steve takes both of his hands. “I’m taking you to my house for a date. You and me. On a date. I’m making dinner for us and I thought you could help me make a character sheet.”

Eddie must’ve fallen and hit his head. He must’ve blacked out. Wayne will be so pissed that his independence has landed him in the hospital again.

“You’re saying words to me. I hear them.”

Steve groans. He lets go of Eddie’s hands and cups his face instead.

“Wayne said this would be difficult.” He rubs his thumb against Eddie’s cheek, smirking. “You’re awake. You’re alive. I’m really here in front of you. I’m asking you to come to my house so I can charm you and maybe kiss you at the end of our date. And then you can stay at mine, but there’s no expectations. I have the guest room made up for you.”

“This is crazy. You realize this is crazy?” Eddie squeaks. “You’re not even gay!”

“I’m a little gay,” Steve laughs. “And I really like you.”

“But-“ Eddie turns to his wheelchair. He’s definitely gonna need it to get outside and then back inside Steve’s house. And then he’ll probably need help getting upstairs to the guest room, or Steve’s room if he’s lucky. “You’ll have to help me. For a long time maybe. The doctors might have been right on this. I can’t even stand, let alone walk. And I’m miserable about it. What you walked in on was my 28th attempt at getting up to use my walker today and I’m no closer than I was on day one, attempt one. It’ll be a lot of fucking work, taking care of me.”

“Not to me. Not if it’s you.”

Eddie’s speechless for quite possibly the first time in his life.

“Can I kiss you?”

Eddie nods once. Steve beams at him, like he’s given him the best gift he’s ever received.

He gets lightheaded almost immediately. Steve’s lips are gentle against his, full of so much tenderness and love. It’s almost more than he can handle.

Eddie chases his lips as Steve pulls away.

“Don’t stop,” Eddie whines.

“I’m gonna take you home. We’re gonna have a date. And then we’re gonna kiss again. Let me treat you right, though,” Steve says and winks.

“You stop that. I can’t handle your winking.”

Steve laughs, kisses him again. He leans back and claps his hands together.

“Alright, let’s get you in the chair so we can get home. Dinner’s gonna take about an hour to make.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddielovemonth #getting together #friends to lovers #steddie events

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chaoticbardlady99 · 3 months ago

Text

Now and Tomorrow and Everyday After (Sylus x F! Reader) MDNI 18+

Synopsis: In spite of the 'tails' attempts to separate you from Sylus, it only seems to bring the two of you closer.

CW: Fingering, Oral (Female receiving), P in V, Praise Kink, after care, adult themes

Author Disclaimer- I do not own the LADS characters or lore and did use some dialogue from the recent banner's Sylus Card. I do NOT use AI and do not permit anyone else (or any other entity) to copy and advertise my work as their own. Definitely not proof read or edited because I was having “don’t post fear” and just needed to go for it.

Author Note: I made an attempt and this is my first time writing Sylus and posting it so yeah! Thanks for reading- all kind comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated! Remember, to be kind to yourself and others today! I also high key think Sylus is going to this zone to protect MC from Ever cause he makes mention of that but that's beside the point.

*this is my take on the Night of Secrecy Card. I wanted to fill in some gaps*

You pick at your nails nervously under the warm air of the AC. The city of Linkon passes you by- your eyes flickering to Sylus every so often as he drives you both to one of his safe houses.

Your nerves are on fire- not from the danger of whatever pot Sylus decided to stir up, but rather the fact that tonight is the night.

Or so you have decided.

And the night meaning boning. You want to bone this man hard.

Okay- wait, it’s probably more like make love to, but you aren’t sure where you stand in Sylus’ life or if his feelings are all that deep.

And would he even be capable of feeling that way towards you?

The thought makes that tight ring of nerves turn into a heavy ball in the pit of your stomach. Sylus really means a lot to you and you feel he shares that sentiment, but you have also been wrong before and it ended up just being a friends with benefits situation. You weren’t “girlfriend material” as you often joked with Tara.

But he is having you tag along, you think, he didn’t say he didn’t want you around. He just said he was leaving to protect you so maybe-

“What are you agonizing about over there?”

Shit.

“If you changed your mind-“

“No!” You say probably too abruptly, “I’m fine- everything is great, better than great even! Just thinking.”

Sylus chuckles and you don’t even have to look at him to know he is seeing right through. He knows you better than anyone at this point and he knows when something is bothering you.

You would honestly consider Sylus the closest thing to a best friend you could ever have. You can confide in him, depend on him, and you have a lot of fun with him.

For the most part, you think he has learned to depend on you, confide in you, and he certainly seems to enjoy himself when he is in your company. Luke and Kieran say they can tell when he’s been with you because he’s less trigger happy with the people he’s dealing with (which you’ll take as a win if you need to find one somewhere).

Not to mention- the way his hands were splayed along your thighs last night when he sat you on the kitchen counter was mind numbingly intimate. His fingers drew gentle shapes on your bare skin and left goosebumps in their wake. Sylus’ forehead was pressed against your own and his lips mere inches away, but he didn’t kiss you and you have been thinking about that all day.

What if he didn’t want to because he’s just trying to lead you on until you are of no use to him? What if all of these nice things and words and actions are all just to make sure you will still help him and resonating won’t be an issue again?

“What is it?” His voice is gentle, “maybe I can help you be less… befuddled.”

You shoot him a look that earns you a laugh, but you can see the genuine concern in his eyes. Sylus has been so invested in hiding you from the worst parts of his world and now that he’s opened up, he’s worried he’s lost you unintentionally and that all the time you have spent together is long forgotten.

You shrink slightly into your seat- avoiding his eyes the best you can and you say your question as quietly as you possibly can.

“I didn’t catch that, Kitten.”

You say it slightly louder now but still not enough and you can feel the deadpan look he is giving you.

“Howdoyouknowifsomeoneisromanticallyinterestedinyou?”

It’s all a bunch of gibberish, you had been far more confident of your assessment of his feelings when you were both walking and he was holding your hand. That would have been a really natural transition into discovering this question without any anxiety, but now you’ve had time to think about it and overthinking is the enemy of success.

And love, evidently.

“How they treat you, I suppose.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, sweetie, when someone is interested in you romantically, they may do things like hold your hand, call you pet names,” he says with the slightest bit of humor, “go to the movies, buy you gifts, play the Claw Machine until it’s dark outside and the arcade owner has to finally kick you both out. Maybe even play kitty cards in spite of losing almost every match because their opponent is a cheater.”

“I am not a-“

Your brain does a hard reset as you begin to realize what he is trying to tell you.

Sylus is telling you ‘yes- I am romantically interested in you’ and the dumbest, biggest smile ever on your face.

“Was that the answer you were looking for?”

You nod, suddenly feeling shy, “yeah- that was exactly the answer I was looking for.”

The rest of the ride is quiet with one of his hands on the steering wheel and the other on your thigh. You watch as the city quickly turns into a distant dream and Sylus’ safe house, not to your surprise, is very very large and it does very little to calm your nerves.

“I see owning multiple properties can be quite handy. A smart crow always has a few tricks up his sleeves.”

“The same can be said about having multiple slippers.”

You turn to him and stick your tongue out playfully, “ha ha, very funny.

“This safehouse doesn’t happen to warm up, does it?” your teeth begin to chatter slightly and your bare legs are littered in goose bumps, “it’s colder than hell in here.”

Sylus rolls his eyes at you, but begins to walk towards the fire place.

“It is snowing outside.”

The warm hues of the fire illuminated the room and reveals several boxes scattered about, some opened and others not. The rest of the house looks similar to his main house, but maybe slightly more scaled down. It’s beautiful and it has a great view of Linkon and the mountains behind it. It’s almost easy to forget this is a safe house and not a vacation home.

“I’ll leave after dawn. You should stay here for a while.”

You turn with a scoff, “I know your ‘territory’ is pretty safe, but as I said, a hunter doesn’t like being passive.”

“Really?”

You choose to ignore him- knowing all too well that he will suss out your plan to join him on his dangerous little adventure. There isn’t a single thing in the whole world that could convince you to stay here otherwise, but Sylus has his own ways of ensuring things go the way he wants and you don’t feel like waking up handcuffed somewhere for your own safety.

“What’s with all the gifts? I didn’t think you celebrated Christmas.”

Sylus chuckles, “I don’t, sweetie. I held an… ‘appraisal salon’ not that long ago.

“Would you like to take a look?”

It honestly is kind of like being in a candy shop, but the candy shop is the black market and instead of delicious treats, they sell guns and while guns are cool (when used appropriately), they certainly aren’t helping you get Sylus any closer to the bedroom than you were five minutes ago.

“Look at these bad boys!” You hold the unwrapped vintage gun, “this is a classic piece and very difficult to find.”

Then a stroke of genius occurs.

“Let’s have a contest,” you flash a cheeky grin, “whoever can disassemble their gun first gets to ask the other any question they want.”

“You truly are relentless.”

And of course Sylus agrees because he’s Sylus and he loves a good challenge. However, you are extremely determined to be the person asking the question and you know this specific gun quite well. You and Caleb learned how to shoot using these guns and you could disassemble it by telling it to.

The gun is pointed at Sylus’ chin right as he is about to finish putting together his own weapon. You eat up the delicious grin on his face. It makes you feel empowered- he makes you feel empowered.

“First- say the thing.”

He rolls his eyes and gives you a soft smile, “I like your confidence and your determination very much. Now go ahead, ask your question.”

Uh oh- you hadn’t actually thought that far ahead.

“I’m sleepy.”

WHAT ARE YOU EVEN SAYING RIGHT NOW?

Sylus looks a bit perplexed and you cannot blame him- you need to fix this NOW!

“Can you… tuck me in?”

“I thought a certain relentless hunter would ask about my destination.”

You shrug, “I care more about the present than an answer I won’t get. So will you do it or not?”

Sylus is suddenly swinging you up into his arms and you yelp in surprise, but it doesn’t seem to get the usual laughing reaction you thought it would. Instead, there is a heat in his eyes that you have seen before but could never place what he was feeling until you began to feel it too.

“Of course, Kitten,” his nose brushes against yours, “this request is way more powerful than that little gun.”

Every footstep closer to the bedroom is another step towards you having to be brave and you find yourself studying Sylus’ features as the dim light of the hall lamps barely kisses his features. He is so beautiful- you could probably study him forever and find more things you adore about him.

He catches you looking and he returns your smile of adoration- flinging your shoes to the side and going to set you on the couch to quite literally tuck you in.

And ACTION!

“I’m not ready to lie down just yet.”

Sylus cocks an eyebrow, “if you don’t want to lie down, I can keep holding you until I leave.”

“What if I don’t want you to leave?”

Your question hangs in the air and it’s hidden meaning seems obvious to you, but then Sylus puts you down on the ground and you realize he may have missed the actual meaning of your words. Is it that unbelievable that you would want to have sex or are you doing a magnificently poor job of conveying that point?

“We better make the most of our time until dawn then.”

In the spur of the moment and desire coursing through your veins, you find the courage to push him down onto the couch behind him. With a gracefulness you have never been able to execute before, you straddle him and the way his breath hitches makes something inside you break.

Sylus’ face is an adorable and sexy pink and his breathing becomes more unsteady in your clumsy hands.

When your lips finally touch his, it feels as if you have been asleep your entire life until this very moment.

Your fingers find purchase in his hair and Sylus pulls you into him- his fingers surely leaving bruises along the back of your thigh. The kiss is filled with passion and desperation- his skin feels like it’s on fire under your touch and every moan against your lips sends shockwaves through you.

“You really don’t want me to leave.”

To emphasize his point- you tease his lower lip between your teeth that makes him feel absolutely feral.

“S-Sylus,” you pant between kisses, “over there.”

You anticipated him to be a bit rougher, maybe throwing you down on the bed or something, but he lays you down gently like you are a precious, fragile gift. His hands are firm and confident as he cradles you, needing to have you as close as physically possible.

Your clumsy hands make quick work of the buttons on his shirt and loosening his tie. Your hands glide across his chest and your nails gently graze your territory- one of your nails taking the time drag across his nipple. Sylus bites your lower lip in response, his hips grinding into you, and the growl that claws it’s way up his throat excites you. Your heart feels as if it’s beating out of your chest by the time he pulls away and (not so gently) takes of your shirt.

The cool air is a stark contrast to the heat you feel on the inside- Sylus roams your bare chest and core with his eyes, his fingers hooking into your pants and pulling them down. You help by lifting your hips at an embarrassingly fast pace.

“Looks like we are on the same page with not wanting to waste any time.”

He crushes his lips against yours again, leaving bruising kisses on every inch of skin he comes in contact with. Sylus returns the favor from earlier, his practiced mouth circling your nipple with care. His tongue flicks and laps at the sensitive skin and his teeth are quick to follow, leaving love marks and spit littering your skin before making his way to the the other.

You are mesmerized as you watch him- your core wound tight and dripping with need at the sight of him worshipping your body. Leaning back, you close your eyes and enjoy every single sensation.

You have soaked the bed underneath you by the time he makes his way between your legs- you are so caught up in his silent worship that you can barely focus on the task at hand.

Strong, corded arms pull you to the edge of the bed and you jolt from your bliss filled daze- and God are you grateful you have. Sylus looks beautiful between your legs with his cocky smirk and pink cheeks- his warm breath lingers on the sensitive skin between your thighs.

With your legs slung over his shoulders- Sylus licks a stripe along your folds and ends at your clit, circling the sensitive nub and making lewd noises that you have only ever heard in porn. No one has truly, properly gone down on you and when they have, it always seemed like a chore.

“Sy-Sylus, you don’t have to if you don't wan-”

You are cut off when he sucks on your clit, his tongue taking the time to tease the nerves and leave you a whimpering mess.

“I’m not doing anything I haven’t thought about doing for a very long time now,” he kisses along the inside of your thighs, “now stay focused, kitten.

“Don’t look.”

One of your hands tangles in his hair and the other twists into the sheets. Sylus feasts and laps up your pleasure, his face covered in your essence and his nose breathes in your heady scent with happy, deep hums. His large hands roam your body, keeping your hips down and your legs clenched around him. They eventually return to your sore nipples and those practice, cold hands, become warm and attentive. He gropes and squeezes your breasts in time with his tongue as it darts in and out of your heat, his nose working to keep your bundle of nerves stimulated.

“Sy-” you clench your legs around his head tightly, a string of curse words leaving your mouth, “f-fuck- I’m, I’m-”

Sylus’ fingers dip between your folds and his tongue returns to your clit. His other hand holds down your hips as his fingers drive you to your first orgasm of the night. Your moans are shrill and untamed- embarrassing almost- but the more you sing for him, the harder Sylus works to get more and more of those pretty noises out of your mouth.

When he finally comes up for air, your pleasure is dripping from around his mouth and down his chin. Crimson eyes make eye contact with you and he brings his soaked fingers to his lips- shamelessly savoring the taste of you on his skin.

You can barely contain yourself when he begins to crawl along you- your greedy hands using his hands to pull him to you faster. Sylus gazes at you adoringly and you are overwhelmed with your own affections for him. You went from hating him to loving him, desiring him, and at least for tonight, he is all yours.

“What are you thinking about?”

Mindlessly, your hand cups his cheek and your thumb traces the spot where a scar should be from your first encounter.

“Am I being too greedy… if I ask you to keep your eyes only on me?”

Sylus almost looks relieved by your words, grabbing your arm and leaving a plethora of kisses as if to reward you for being open with him.

“You always had that right,” his warm breath and deep tone sends goosebumps of excitement up your spine, “which means… you can be even greedier. Do you want it, kitten?”

Your breath catches when you realize what he is insinuating and you blink a few times before nodding. He smiles and leans down, but you stop him momentarily. Your mind feels like it is going a thousand miles a minute as you run through every negative outcome. What if you are really bad in bed? What if he decides he doesn’t want to be with you or bother with you anymore after you share such an intimate moment with each other?

“Sylus-”

“You haven’t changed your mind, have you…? You just said “yes?” his voice is desperate, “I’m hoping yes is still your answer because… I just can’t hold back anymore.”

A wave of want and need flows through you, but before you can continue, you want to make sure this isn’t the beginning of the end.

“If we do this,” you whisper, “if we have this intimate moment together- you can’t just disappear on me. I want you, Sylus. Now and tomorrow and everyday after.”

The Onychinus leader blinks a few times before the largest smile paints his face.

“Oh, y/n,” he sighs against your lips, “you have no idea how long I have wanted to hear you say those words.”

Sylus kisses you deeply, his lips caress yours and your hands explore each other- your nails make designs in his back as you try to keep yourself as close to him as you possibly can. Sylus’ clothed crotch is stained in the mess between your legs while he rocks his hips into you. His hand is tangled in your hair and the other is pressing you flush to his sweat soaked chest. The kiss only continues to deepen in passion and need- you barely get him to let you take a moment to breathe.

“He-hey- no biting here,” you tease, pulling him back by his hair after he nips the skin on your neck a bit too roughly.

His pupils are blown wide with lust and pent up frustration, “First you want it rough, then you want it soft. You’re a tough one to please tonight, y/n.”

You are lost in the depths of his eyes and the pooling of emotions behind them. You forget to breathe until he breaks eye contact to leave soothing kisses over the bite mark.

“What do you really want?” he uncharacteristically pleads, “won’t you tell me like you just did?”

While his voice may be innocent, you are far from believing this act. With a smirk, you use your strength to roll him on his back and your hands intertwine with his- keeping them pinned to the bed. The look of surprise on his face is refreshing, to say the least.

You lean down and kiss him slowly, nipping at his lower lip and eating up the breathy chuckle he releases.

“I told you a hunter doesn’t like being passive.”

“So you want control?”

You nod victoriously, certain you are going to be the one in control tonight. Sylus returns your confident smile with one of mischief before he somehow pins you down in the spot he was before.

Sylus chuckles deeply, “Unfortunately, I can’t give it to you. Not yet, at least.”

Before you can inquire about what he means, you feel the pressure of two of his fingers sliding inside your wet cunt. An open mouthed, guttural moan leaves your lips and Sylus just watches- his other hand holding your chin so he can make eye contact. He wants to see your pleasure and know he is the only one you are thinking of- the only one you are seeing.

Sylus wants you to know- no, understand- that you are his, not anyone else’s.

“Sy-sylus,” you plead, “pl-please I ne-”

“Don’t run.”

Your back arches upwards and you try to pull away from his hand when you feel a warm wave gush and soak the sheets beneath you. Sylus doesn’t relent and quickly coaxes another orgasm from your shaking body.

“Yo-you’re… so annoying…”

“I won’t deny it,” he crawls off of you with a grin, “I guess you can say I lied. Tonight, you’re not the only one feeling greedy…”

Sylus unzips his pants and pulls down his brief- his cock springs free and slaps against his lower ab muscles. Your mouth is watering in anticipation at his size- of course he’s perfect. He’s Sylus.

He climbs back on the bed and pulls you closer to him- the head of his cock presses against your folds and you feel yourself clench around nothing.

“I misspoke.”

“What…?”

Is he changing his mind?

“Greed can never be satisfied,” he places your hand on his chest, your hearts beating in sync, “but you can temporarily soothe it.

“Say it again, y/n, do you want it?”

Time feels like it stops completely when his eyes meet yours. Your devotion and adoration for each other is magnetic- an unspoken magic between both of you. Your fingers lace themselves in his hair, pulling him to you and you take your time to kiss him slowly, reassuringly.

“This is my answer.”

Whatever lust and want that had been held back erupts within an instant. Sylus crushes your lips with his and he slowly glides himself inside of you- your legs tighten around his torso and your whine of pleasure interrupts the heated kiss.

“F-fuck, y/n.”

Sylus’ pace is both gentle and punishing- you can feel him trying to be gentle, but the more he holds himself back, the more you want him to let go.

“Let go, Sy,” you whisper, “I’m yours.”

His hips set a punishing pace- your collective sighs and moans are the melody to the filthy sound of sex soaked skin and your hips meeting. His tip grazes the opening of your cervix and his abs stimulate your aching clit. The spongy sensitive spot inside of you is relentlessly stimulated with each movement.

“Such a good girl,” he growls into your ear, “fuck you’re so tight.”

Your only response to his praise is pathetic whimpers and cries. It doesn’t stop him- if anything, he only begins to praise you more. Sylus is wrapped up in the moment and wants nothing more than to stay in this moment with you forever. You are safe and in his arms- he is finally reunited with you in body, mind, and soul and this spurs him on more, his cock driving into you harder and harder and his hands digging into the flesh of your ass and hips to keep you in place.

You cling to each other, lips and teeth clashing against each other sloppily as you both lose your composure to the others’ wanting. Your velvet walls clench around him desperately and your fingers try to find purchase on his back, in his hair, anywhere as your orgasm overtakes you.

With a few more rough thrusts, Sylus stutters inside of you and thick ropes of cum coats the inside of your walls and fills you to the brim. He lays on top of you with very little of his weight, his face in the crook of your neck. Sylus leaves soft kisses along your neck and sings words of praise that you can barely register.

At some point, he gets up and you hear the bathtub turn on and the soft padding of feet. Sylus’s strong arms cradle you- taking you to the now filled bathtub that is more than big enough for two.

You straddle his lap so that you can face him. Sylus kisses you slowly while he cleans you- pouring water on your hair, scrubbing your scalp, cleaning the sweat along your shoulders and on the back of your neck. You return the favor, taking your time to make sure he can feel all the love you have for him and how much you care for him.

He helps you lotion and brush your teeth- at no point do your feet ever actually touch the ground again. Sylus sets you on the couch in one of his shirts and begins to change the sheets.

“Do you want some help?” you offer, your legs sore, but not wanting to be too much of a pillow princess.

Sylus rolls his eyes at you, “I’m capable of tackling this mission on my own, sweetie, but I will let you know if another pressing issue arises.”

You scoff playfully and wait for him to finish making the bed. Sylus picks you up and places you on the bed, you snuggle up next to him as soon as he lies down and, much like when you were in the grasslands, you lay your head on his bicep and he pulls you closer to him. You have never felt quite so warm or safe in your entire life and your resolve only hardens further.

You cannot allow Sylus to go by himself into the jaws of danger. You refuse to.

You turn and kiss his bicep, settling deeper into his arms.

“Good night, my clever Crow,” you say with a yawn, “remember not to steal the blanket.”

He snorts, “I will try my best, kitten. Now get some rest- I’ll keep you safe.”

You nod- knowing in your heart that you will always be safe with Sylus around- and let sleep take you. You have a long flight and some ass whooping on the agenda tomorrow, after all.

247 notes · View notes

godmadeaterribleerror · 2 months ago

Text

Where Do You End Pt. 2

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03! - Pt. 1 - Pt. 3

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, angst, body swap, mentions of smut, humor, horniness, very weird

Summary/Warnings: You put the plan into motion, and Sam realizes you're not Dean a little too late.

Author's Note: Supernatural characters are incapable of the just making the emotionally smart choice on the first try, but they're doing their best.

Word Count: 4.5k

Dean had half shoved the phone into your hand. His hand. Your hand was the one who shoved it into Dean’s hand, and Dean’s hand was the one that was dialing Sam while your hand drummed on the table, and your own eyes watched you with a searing intensity that only Dean was capable of.

You’re not sure what suddenly made him take this seriously, but you don’t really care. You just need this to be over.

Because the last twelve hours have been the longest of your life.

It started with your eyes wandering where they shouldn’t. Dean would shift in his chair, your body would shift with him, and when your boobs would bounce it was suddenly impossible to stop staring at them. Dean would walk away from you—to the parking lot, or through a door, or over to the bar—and your hips would do a little swaying thing that made Dean’s body tense.

Your body tense. Dean’s body that was right now your body—and only about twenty percent in your control—tense.

And he’d bend over, and your ass would stick in the air, and it was like your eyes were magnetically drawn to it.

You have a nice ass. You’ve never really seen it before, but it’s a nice ass. And nice tits, and an overall face that was better than you’d ever really given yourself credit for. You’re pretty. You have good features, a nice voice, and a great body.

This experience would be an overall ego booster, if you haven’t spent the whole time trying not to lose your mind.

Because then Dean wiggled his ass—your ass—and your jeans felt tight. Almost painful. And there was a weird throbbing feeling between your legs that was deep in your core, but it was heavier than you were used to-

You’d glanced down at your lap with a frown, worried you’d done something to fuck up Dean’s body, and almost fallen out of your chair.

You never wanted to experience an erection again. They were uncomfortable and sudden and annoyingly obvious. They made it hard to focus when you were trying to talk to Dean about the situation, and distracting when you were trying to do research.

It didn’t help how they were purely out of your control. How easily they appeared, and how impossibly they went.

And Dean was not fucking helping. He’d squirm when you touched him, and you’d get a boner. He’d use your voice to whine or mumble or just say anything at all, and you’d get a boner. At one point he kicked you and you got a boner.

You don’t know how he functions like this. You’d been a little worried that he doesn’t. That you’re getting turned on by your own shockingly attractive body for some fucked up Freudian reason, and Dean’s got nothing to do with this.

Then you’d dragged him out of the diner, and it had killed that doubt with fire and smoke. You’d never drag your own body like that. You hated it when Dean did that to you—the close proximity and overall Dean-ness of the action always made you weak and soft, molding into him when you were supposed to be pounding on his chest and calling him an asshole—and you hadn’t even really been considering it as an option to stop him going to the bathroom, but Dean’s muscles had flexed against your will, his body had stood taller without your permission, and suddenly you’d been grabbing your own arm and manhandled Dean out of the diner.

He’d been sulking the whole ride back. It was the same way you usually sulked after he did that to you, with a pout and arms folded over your chest.

His boobs—your boobs—were pushed up. You could see cleavage when you glanced to the side, and your cock twitched in your jeans to shove between those pretty fucking tits-

What the fuck was wrong with you.

It was like your body—Dean’s body—had a mind of its own. Behaving as Dean would behave, had none of this shit ever happened. Opening doors and placing that broad hand on your lower back, towering over you closer than he had any right to be and pressing you into corners until he was only just not touching you.

You really wish you’d pushed harder to make him stop doing that. If only for the sake of you now, crowding your own space and getting hard whenever Dean would squirm away from you. But you hadn’t, because when it was you in your own body, you loved it.

It was a cruel, masochistic drug you’d hooked yourself on, where Dean didn’t want you like that but he was still giving you this. You were only his friend in his mind, but he still liked you as a body. He didn’t feel anything for you the same way you felt things for him, but there was still an animalistic attraction that made him hover and smirk and tease you.

It gave you something to hang onto. It gave you something to hate about him, because you really did love everything else.

You really loved Dean. You really loved his dumb jokes, and his shit-eating grin, and how loud and annoying and adorable he could be. You loved how he loved his car, how he cared about Sam with everything he had, how he was maybe to biggest, hottest geek you’d ever met.

You really simply loved Dean.

And he didn’t love you, and you’d forced yourself to live with that because you had to. He was still your best friend. You hate him, and you’re furious with him for telling you no and then acting like nothing had changed when he’d ripped your heart out of your chest, carved his name on it, and returned it without any desire to care for how he’d mauled you in a beautiful and irreversible way, but he’s your best friend. And you love him.

And this needed to be fixed now, because you can’t keep living in such firm and solid proof that Dean’s body wants you, but there’s something revolting enough to his brain that he never ever cross that line you’ve had to restrain yourself from all day.

The first step is to call Sam, and execute the secrets plan so you can have some help that isn’t just a grumpy Dean. The second step is to hiss at Dean that he needs to leave the room before Sam picks up, because the whole point is that this a you and Sam secret, and Dean isn’t allowed to hear it.

“You can’t just cut me out of this, sweetheart,” he hisses back, narrowing your eyes. It’s cute. You’re going to fucking die. “I’ll be damned if I let you and Sammy whisper about me while I just stand in the freakin’ hall-“

“Not everything is about you, Dean.” You sneer. “And if you want this to work, wait outside.”

“But-“

“Outside.” Your voice raises slightly as you point to the door, and there’s an authoritative, commanding tone to it that makes Dean’s eyes—your eyes—widen. “Now.”

Dean scowls and shuffles outside, his low grumble about this being bullshit muffled as the door closes behind him.

You glare after him—not loving how annoyed his body is that you just let Dean walk away without picking him up and kissing his hair—and Sam picks up seconds later.

“Listen, Dean, I know you’re freaking out, but you can’t keep calling me.” Sam sounds exasperated, and you frown into the air as he continues. “This is supposed to be my week off with Eileen, and it’s hard to relax when you keep fucking calling me.”

“I-“ You shake your head slightly, glancing back to the door. “What?”

“You’ve called me seven times, Dude. Listen, it’s not going to go bad, she doesn’t hate you, and all you need to do is talk about your feelings like an adult and everything will be fine.”

“I don’t-“

“Yeah, I know.” You can hear Sam’s eye roll through the phone. “There’s nothing to talk about, she doesn’t know what she’d be getting into, you’d rather be miserable and all that shit. Look, Dean, at this point all I can tell you is to get your head out of your ass, and stop calling me.”

“Sam.” Your voice is slow, cautious, and wired with things you don’t fully understand. “What are you talking about.”

He says your name like it’s obvious, and you think the world stops spinning. “I know you didn’t wanna solo hunt with her, but-“

“Why didn’t he- Why didn’t I want to solo hunt with her?” Your voice is more frantic than Dean’s usually is. You don’t really care. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Nothing’s wrong with her, Dean, you’re just still in love with her, and kind of being a fucking dick about it.”

Sam keeps talking. Something about how Dean’s always worried about hunting with you, how he’s always worried he’s going to slip up and put you in danger, how he’s afraid you’ll catch on to his real feelings, how he believes it’s easier when Sam is there to run interference and prevent too much of Dean’s hand from being shown.

It’s all just noise, though. Because there’s no way Dean loves you. He’d said he didn’t. He’d said you were his friend and nothing more, he’d shot you down, he’d apologized and told you the feeling would fade, because it was just a crush, and it would pass.

You’d spent months forcing yourself to be okay with that. You couldn’t make him love you. It would kill you to contort and reshape yourself into someone he would want, and if you did go down that path there was a chance you’d come out the other side someone he hated.

You’d lost sleep reminding yourself that Dean loving you was not something you were owed. That you were lucky he cared about you enough to be your friend, and to let you down gently. He could’ve been cruel, and listed every reason you were vile and repulsive and had no right to be his. He could’ve told you to pack your bags and leave the bunker.

And you’d tried to move on, because you owed him that much. You’d failed, but you tried.

He’d always stopped you. At countless bars he’d stepped between you and whoever you were flirting with, telling you Sam was drunk and they had to go now, or you all had an early drive in the morning and had to go now, or you just had to go now.

Sam had never really looked that drunk.

Dean had always guided you out of the bar with a possessive hand on your lower back.

He’d rejected you, and he’d never let you get over him.

As if he-

“Sam.” Your tone is harsh and cold. You don’t care. “How long has- Have I been in love with m-“ You correct yourself again with your own name, your voice dropping another octave, and there’s a long pause over the speaker.

“Forever, dude. You told me that like, day one you were whipped. I mean- You know that. Are you-“

“I’m fine.” You snap. You’re barely breathing. “Sam, I need you to feed the cat.”

For a second, you think the call dropped and that the plan hadn’t worked. The plan needed to work. You needed to get back into your own body so you could fucking kill Dean-

“Dean, we don’t have a cat. You’re allergic-“

“Sparky. In storage room nine. He needs food.”

“Spar- I don’t- What- Did-“ Sam snaps your name, and your heart jumps into your throat. “Did she tell you something? Did you get her drunk again? Because you know she’ll kill you when she gets sober, she hates it when you do that-“

You know exactly what Sam’s trying to accuse you—accuse Dean—of. You get loose-lipped when you drink. You tell secrets and lose your filter, and you always feel horrible in the morning because they’re rarely your secrets and the lack of filter is really embarrassing.

Dean’s told you it’s adorable. That he likes drunk you, because she’s honest and takes somehow less shit than sober you. That she’s you in the rawest form, and its’s awesome.

You can’t believe you ever bought that he didn’t have any feelings for you at all.

“There’s wet food in the pantry, behind all the cabbage and carrots. Should be enough for Sparky until I get home.” You push on, narrowing your eyes at the air. “Scoop the litter box too. I think I forget.”

“You- You’ve never been in the pantry. That’s why we-“ Sam cuts himself off, and you can hear the gears spinning in his brain over the phone.

Then he says your name, and there’s an element of horror in his voice that feels pretty appropriate.

“Thank fuck.” You mutter, and take your chances to try and just say it. “Code Vermilion, Sam.”

“Code- That’s a zombie situation, are there-“

“Shit- sorry.” You chew on your tongue, trying to recall the emergency system you’d fucking designed. “Code Puce.”

“You fucking body swapped?!” There is it. Thank God. “Why didn’t you just, you know, say that-“

“I couldn’t!” You were shouting, but Sam was also shouting, so it was only fair. “I called you all day on my phone, and the moment I tried to, the call dropped! I tried to email or text you and it never sent, I tried to fucking snail mail you and the letter burst into flames! Dean short-circuited a fax machine-“

Sam groans. “Shit, you’re gonna kill me. I mean Dean, Dean’s gonna kill me. I was never supposed to tell,” Sam says your name, then cuts himself off with another groan. “Fuck, I mean you, I wasn’t supposed to tell you- God damn it-“

“Sam.” Your voice has become clipped. Short. You don’t need a reminder of the previous conversation, and this just really needs to be over. “If I email you all the details, can you start looking for fixes?”

“Yeah, sure, just-“ He pauses, his voice dropping sightly. “You think emails gonna work now?”

“We’re talking about it and the call’s not dropping.” You shrug, even though he can’t see it. “Text me any solutions you have. I’ll keep you updated on my end, and when Dean gets home, make him sleep on the floor of your room and don’t let him go to the bathroom alone. Okay?”

“Oh- Wait-“ Sam says your name, and you can hear the confusion in his voice. “What do you mean when Dean gets home-“

“I mean when Dean gets home. Bye, Sam.”

You hang up, and spend a long minute just staring at the wall.

Dean’s in love with you. Sam says Dean’s in fucking love with you, and you believe him, and you-

You can’t stay here.

This needs to be fixed, but you cannot stay here.

You open the door to the hall. And there he is. There you are, and your body—Dean’s body, the one that’s allegedly in love with you—is leaning forward to be closer to you. To Dean.

Fuck.

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

Dean frowns at you, pulling your lips down into a pouty frown. It makes your dick—Dean’s dick—twitch in his pants.

“Tell you what?”

You brace your whole body, standing a little taller. “That you love me.”

“That I-“ Dean’s eyes narrow, and you’ve never been on the receiving end on your own glare. It’s more violent than you’d imagined, and his dick is twitching again. “What the hell did Sammy say to you-“

“Don’t blame Sam.” You snap. “Answer me.”

“You didn’t ask a freakin’ question, sweetheart-“

“Yes. I did.” You lean down a little, holding Dean’s gaze. “Were you ever going to tell me you’re in love with me.”

Dean stares at you, and you think he’s going to deny it. That he’ll grunt that you’ve had this conversation before, and he doesn’t love you. That he doesn’t know what the hell you’re talking about, and whatever Sam said was a joke. Just a prank, and you need to focus on fixing this body swap instead of your feelings.

What he does is worse.

He shakes his head, refuses to meet your eyes, and pushes his words through his teeth.

“You were never supposed to know.” He mutters. “It was for your own good-“

“Shut the fuck up, Dean!” Your voice is a roar, and you make yourself flinch, but Dean doesn’t.

He’s in your body.

You never flinch when Dean shouts, because you know he’d never actually hurt you-

You’re going to start fucking crying. You probably already would have, if it didn’t feel like an effort in Dean’s body.

“You- You broke my heart.” You glare at him, your voice half between a hiss and a whisper. “You told me you’d never seen me that way, and you apologized. You said you didn’t want me. You told me the feeling would pass, and then you fucking stopped it-“ Your voice raises, and you stand a little taller. You can be shattered and furious. You can be a fucking storm of glass to break and carve into Dean the same way he did to you, because how could he do this to you. “You fucking stopped me from moving on! You cockblocked me, and you got angry whenever I’d go out without you, and you kept touching me and acting like everything was fine-“

Dean says your name slowly, and you can hear the regret in his voice, but you don’t care. This hurts, this hurts so much worse than before because you’d felt insane, you’d driven yourself mad with love for Dean and he’d just tightened the straitjacket and acted like you’d find a cure for this when he’d been actively keeping it from you-

“Why the fuck would you do this?! Do you hate me? Am I really that horrible that you can’t stand the idea of being in love with me-“

“It’s not you.” Dean snaps your name, shaking his head. “It’s- I was keeping you fucking safe-“

“Fuck off-“

“No!” His voice—your voice—is trying to mimic your own shout, and it’s not really working in his favor. “You- you don’t fucking get it, sweetheart, if I let us do that, let us be that, you’d have a target on your back, every son of a bitch in hell and heaven would use you and hurt you, just to get to me-“

“I’m not stupid! I know what the risks are just associating with Winchesters, and I don’t care.” You rub your face, and everything hurts. You feel like you’re choking on the air, and you can’t be here. “I didn’t care, Dean, I just wanted you.”

“You would’ve cared.” His voice—your voice—is bitter. Hollow. Resolved. “When you were being tortured and murdered, you would’ve cared. And I would’ve had to live with it. With the fact that I lost you-“

“You wouldn’t have lost me, Dean.” You fish the keys to the Impala out of your pocket, and toss them to him with his phone. “You never would’ve lost me, if you’d actually fucking tried.”

It would be kinder to let him get in a word, or a protest, or even a sort of apology. But everything hurts, and you really can’t fucking stay here or you’ll rip off your skin—Dean’s skin—and beat in your own skull with your hands.

Your real skull—holding Dean’s mind—with how raw and furious this pain is, or Dean’s real skull with self-inflicted pain.

And that’s why you’re past kindness. You’ve been shot and choked and stabbed and sliced to pieces, but this is the worst pain you’ve ever know. He was never supposed to hurt you. You’d always trusted that this huge lunk of a body would never hurt you.

But you hadn’t counted on Dean, and how he’d been willing to risk your of peace of mind for his misguided, self-sacrificing martyr bullshit.

You’d always tried to tell him that you didn’t want him to sacrifice for you. That him staying with you meant more than him leaving you alive, but alone.

And he’d never listened.

So now you’re walking away.

Dean will be fine. He’ll get your body safely back to the bunker, tell Sam everything that happened, and figure out how to justify this to himself.

Sam will make sure nothing happens to your body until this gets fixed. And you’ll take care of Dean’s body by yourself, far away from Kansas, hiding in a shitty little harbor town until you work this out.

Alone.

Just like Dean had wanted.

For a long week, time drags to a crawl. You hole in a motel room with a laptop, coffee and vodka—you don’t really care which on you’re drinking when your go for a glass, just as long as it’s one of them—about half of a gas station’s junk food supply, and the local library’s entire collection of books of cult, myth, and lore.

The motel is dusty and warm, and the nights are horrible and cold, but this is what you needed. You stop running into doorways and hitting your head on things, and you figure out how to sleep comfortably in his body. You learn how to go to the bathroom and barely touch or think about what you’re doing, how to not get weirded out when the same face you see in your dreams is the same one that greets you in the mirror.

And you miss him. A lot.

But your fury is stronger than the ache for him to return to your side. And there’s a slightly fucked up comfort to being trapped in his body. You can watch the hands you’ve had graphic and detailed dreams about sort through papers, and you can bite your lips and understand what that sensation would do to Dean’s body.

You never cross that line. Dean’s cock will call itself to attention at random time, and you’ll just ignore it, no matter how demanding it feels.

You’re getting really good at ignoring things.

Calls. Texts. Voicemail after voicemail from Sam and Dean. You listen to one or two, just to check—they’re fine, just angry you’ve vanished and demanding to know where you are—and delete all the rest. Sam gives up after a few days, when you respond to his email about Eurasian body swapping lore with a list of your own working theories.

You think he’s just happy to know you’re alive.

This doesn’t seem to be the case for Dean.

He doesn’t stop trying to get you to pick up the phone. His voicemails get longer and longer, and his texts come more and more frequently, and the only thing that save him from being blocked is that you still love him.

You’d meant what you said. Dean would never lose you, not really. You’re just certain that if you talk to him or see him he’ll try to explain himself, and you don’t want an explanation. You just fucking want him, and as long as he’s going to keep pretending that’s something he can’t give you, he doesn’t get to have you at all.

So you keep the door locked, keep your phone on silent, and just fucking work until you fix this.

And when you do, you don’t bother with a warning. You find the exact curse, work out the ritual for reversal, and do it.

The world blur, your head spins and Dean’s body seizes like it’s been struck by lightning, and that’s it.

You’re in the bunker library, lying on the floor as Sam hovers over you, and it’s over.

“Dean, what the-“ Sam jostles you slightly, and a little vomit shoots up your throat. After effects. “Dean-“

“Not Dean.” You mumble your own name, shoving Sam’s hands away from your face and pushing yourself upright. “I fixed it.”

“You-“ Sam shakes his head, scanning over you with a frown. “You fixed it?”

“Obviously.” You rub your temple, your head pounding and everything far too bright. “Dean’ll be in Sekiu, Washington.”

“Why-“

“Because that’s where I was-“

“I know that.” Sam snaps, giving you a glare. “Why are you telling me. You’re the one going to get him.”

You roll your eyes. “No, I’m-“

“You are.” Sam’s making a stern bitch-face. He’s about to get punched. “Because either you act like an adult and go talk to Dean, or he stays in Washington until you grow up.”

“Until I-“ You give Sam a look of pure disbelief. “He’s the one who lied to me! Why do I have to grow up-“

“Because it’s Dean. You know he wasn’t trying to hurt you-“

“But he did.” You rub your arms for comfort, and God, it’s nice to be back in your own body. You know where to pinch your own skin to keep your head right, and you can cross your legs without any discomfort, shielding your face from Sam by bowing your head and letting your hair take care of the rest. “He was just going to let me think he didn’t love me, that he didn’t care-“

“You know he cared.” Sam says, his voice still firm, but a little more gentle. “He does care. He spent the whole week trying to figure out how to fix this, and when I told him to stop calling you he told me to shove it, because he needed to work this out. He’s just-“ Sam sighs. “He’s Dean.”

“I know.” You chew on your lips, frowning at the floor. “But it’s- It wasn’t fair, Sam. It was mean. It- I don’t feel loved. I just feel like he didn’t love me- didn’t want me enough to do something about it.”

“Okay.” Sam shrugs. “Tell him that. Or just kick his ass, because he deserves it, or make out with him. I don’t care, as long you go pick up Dean, and I get my week off.”

You give him a flat look. “You just want your secret spa time-“

“Yeah, I do. Get out.”

“But-“

“You get to drive the Impala again. The keys are in your pocket.”

Your hand flies to your jeans, and they are. And Sam’s right, you do have to work this out somehow. If you leave the bunker, you’ll be abandoning the secret cat to Sam, and it’ll die within the week.

So you’re either kill Dean or-

You don’t let yourself think of the alternative. You’ve trained yourself not to.

But it doesn’t stop the spark of hope in your chest when you start Baby’s engine, take a long breath, and head out to go get Dean.

End Note: Sam I hope you have a wonderful secret spa day, you've earned it my king.

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