#and the connection between author and reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tofics · 3 days ago

Text

Broken - Chapter 7

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Summary: A year has passed since Joel and Ellie have returned to Jackson when he finds you on patrol, half frozen and half burning up. Jackson takes you in and nurses you back to health, welcoming you as the newest member of their community. The more time passes, Joel realizes that you and him have more in common than he likes… Until one day, everything changes and you get a gift that he��ll never get.

Word Count: ~8k words

This chapter is very dark. Reader discretion is advised.

Warnings/tags: show canon violence, clear intentions of killing, mentions of mental melt-downs, description of (underage) SA, cursing

Chapter 7 - Shared Pain Is Still Pain

The door to the room flies open and crashes against the wall with a loud bang, making the pregnant lady jump. Joel feels remorse for a split second before he appears in his line of sight and Joel sees nothing but red again. His hands dig into the man's collar with the determined grip of a python, yanking him off his chair with ease in spite of the man's size and mass.

Neither height nor weight stand a chance against Joel's rage. He slams the asshole into the nearest wall, wishing it was made of something sturdier than wood, something more gravelly perhaps or spikey even. Out of the corner of his eye, he registers movement, but he ignores it. Although the bastard’s head connected with the surface with a loud thump, it's not enough, nor is the dazed expression in his eyes after the impact.

"You like touching on little girls, hm?" Joel's voice is as cold as ice. The steps behind him come to a sudden stop. A quick sideway glance at Tommy tells him his words have struck a cord with his little brother, just like they had with Joel when you'd spat them out.

Joel slams the asshole against the wood once more. "Hm? Like how helpless they are, yeah? You get off on that, big man?"

"Joel." Maria's voice carries through the room with authority, her unspoken command clear. Stand down. But Joel doesn't obey, nor do his hands release the pig's collar. He feels his lips quivering in disgust as he stares into the bastard's eyes. It's taking every ounce of strength he has not to put an end to this pig’s life right here, right now.

"Maria," Joel pushes out between clenched teeth. "Might wanna take her out of the room." He cocks his head at the pregnant woman without ever taking his eyes off of his target. "She don't have to see this."

Immediately, the woman starts to protest, and Joel feels a fleeting tinge of worry for her and the unborn child in her belly. Images of Sarah's mom cloud his vision, belly and ankles swollen. Stress ain't good for the baby. The doctor had put her on bedrest for the last three weeks.

Over the loud protests, Maria instructs two men to remove the now screaming lady from the room and then closes the door behind them. “Don’t - don’t hurt her-“ The man’s cut off by another violent shove against the wall. “Shut your fuckin’ mouth,” Joel seethes. He’s grabbed the pig by his face, forcing his jaw shut by way of his fingers. They dig into the flesh with force, strong enough to leave bruises behind. “You think we’re scum like you, hm? Think we get off on hurting women like you do?” Joel’s spit lands just inches beside the scum’s ear. He has the decency to flinch, staring daggers into Joel’s face, but he keeps his trap shut.

"Joel," Maria warns again, but Joel’s grip doesn't loosen. If it did, his hands might wander straight to the man's throat instead, and he tells Maria so.

He hears her sigh behind him and then Tommy's right his side; a soothing hand on his back. "Liam's got a gun on him. He tries anything, we shoot. You can let go, brother." Tommy pats him on the back but doesn't urge him on. He knows him well.

Joel takes a couple more breaths, his face still distorted into a mask of disgust and fury. It feels like a monumental feat, but he manages to pry his fingers loose from the bastard eventually.

When he steps away, the other guy doesn't move from where Joel shoved him into the wall, just rightens himself slightly. Joel's delighted to see the man's hand come away soiled with blood after he touches it to the back of his head. It puts a grim smile on Joel's face.

He hasn't had much cause for blood-thirst as of late. Not since he rescued Ellie from the Fireflies. He became calmer after that, soothed by the safety Jackson had to offer and all that came with it. It changed him for the better, brought out more of the Joel he had been before the world had gone to shit and Sarah had been ripped from him. Her jarring loss had twisted something inside of him that only Ellie had managed to untangle. She'd made him softer in many ways, rounded out his hard and jagged edges where twenty years of brutal survival had chipped away at him.

But now that bloodlust has been rekindled inside of him, and the flames are licking up his insides, asking to be unleashed. Joel sees fire, and he wants to burn this man to the fucking ground until nothing but ashes are left of him.

As promised, Liam has his rifle trained on the man's chest. He's a good and loyal man, and Joel trusts him, but his hands are still itching to take the rifle from his hands and empty its magazine into the chest it's pointed at.

"So." Maria drags a chair over to herself and puts one leg up on the seat, her elbow casually resting on her knee.

"You wanna tell us in your own words what had one of our people react to you the way she did?"

Joel's glad to hear Maria's phrasing. One of our people. He knows Jackson's decision are run through the entire council. No one here decides anything monumental on their own, especially not the fates of potential newcomers. But he also knows that Maria's opinion carries weight with the rest of the council-members. It makes her phrasing of you as one Jackson’s own all the more meaningful.

"Go on," Joel urges when the man makes no move to open his mouth, just stares ahead blankly. His own hands are twitching, ready to beat the information out of him if necessary. Just give me a reason, Joel thinks. Lord knows he already has reason enough to beat this asshole to pulp.

Silence settles over the room. Four pairs of eyes rest on the man’s face, but he avoids all of them, just stares ahead blankly at the door he'd presumably love to leave through.

"Listen, you ain't doin' yourself any favors by not talkin," Tommy tries in what Joel recognizes as his ally-tone. "Better to hear it from you than someone else. You want a shot at livin' here? Give us your perspective."

"No way in hell we're letting that asshole stay-," Joel begins, but Tommy shuts him up with a look.

"Everybody gets their fair trial. That includes bein' heard out," his little brother chides him and Joel has to bite down on his lips to hold back a remark. Has to remind himself that this is why he wants Ellie to grow up here, and not in a QZ, with FEDRA and their sadistic version of what 'fair' means.

"He's right." Maria takes out a notepad and pen and looks at the scum expectantly, although there's no kindness in her eyes, just a neutral expression on her face. "Now let me tell you how this goes. You talk, we listen. We, that's our council. We decide things together in this town. You're gonna have a chance to tell your story to each of us individually. After that, we'll discuss your case within the council. It's in your best interest to stick to the same story. We'll all be taking notes and comparing them, so any discrepancies will be noted and followed up on. There’ll be a vote in the end about whether or not you get to stay. Any questions?"

Joel listens to Maria explain the town's prosecution process and can't help but feel like she is reading the man his rights. If you can't afford a lawyer, one will be provided for you. The wording from the old Miranda warning echoes in Joel's head, a remnant of a life that is long gone. Probably made one hell of a lawyer back in the day, he thinks and promptly feels a profound sense of pride for his sister-in-law.

Joel's head is swimming when he leaves the interrogation room two hours later. What a goddamn fucked up world we live in, he thinks as he heads out to find you.

Something like this was bound to happen, of course. Eventually, something was bound to disturb Jackson's peace. He just didn't expect it would come in the form of a rapist of all things, much less be brought in on his own damn horse. It sickens him to his stomach that him and Jeff are the ones who brought this evil into town, even if it happened unknowingly and with the best intentions.

Amber - the pregnant lady - is bound to give birth any day now, according to Jackson’s resident doctor. Joel could’ve told you as much on his own. By the looks of her swollen belly, it was clear that she’d be due soon. When him and Jeff came upon them, it had seemed like a no-brainer that they'd bring her and her husband back to Jackson with them. After all, they were a couple in need, and Jackson had both the space and resources to help.

It only occurs to Joel now that besides you, these are the first people he has brought into town. What are the odds that his second charitable act since becoming a member of Jackson could cause such a disruption?

His head is throbbing, both from what he's heard during the last two hours and a consistent worry about you. He needs to hear your version of what he's been told, but most of all, he needs to find you and make sure you're okay.

After what he witnessed not too long ago, Joel can't shake the looming worry that with the town's newest arrivals, your mental state is on the brink of a crisis and a meltdown is imminent. He just hopes he can catch you before you fall too deep.

Your visceral attack from this morning plays out in his mind again. He sees the fury in your eyes as you lunge at the man and bring a knife to his throat in a speed he did not think you were capable of. He’s sure that if he hadn't intervened, you'd have split that man open without hesitation.

Joel quickens his pace. He needs to find you.

You're showing Ellie how to bottle-feed the lambs when Joel all but bursts into the barn with a panicked look on his face. You can see the panic give away to confusion when he takes in the scene in front of him, just seconds before relief settles over his features, just a hint of suspicion remaining.

You can't blame him, of course. You know exactly what he was expecting to find, especially after he couldn’t find you at yours or his own house. It’s likely he looked there first. You would've left a note, had you been to either place before you came here, but you didn't trust yourself enough to allow yourself even the smallest of breaks.

You just walked straight across town to where you knew Ellie was working on the town’s barrier with her security crew. She seemed surprised to see you, and you could see the same hint of worry flickering in her eyes that Joel is now regarding you with. You couldn’t blame her either - it was taking all of your strength and then some to stay collected and to not fall apart at the seams.

Ellie didn’t hesitate when you asked her to come with you. You tried to keep the urgency out of your voice, to allow her the chance to stay out of your misery if she wanted to. She had already witnessed one of your meltdowns and you were hesitant to include her in another one, already feeling shameful that your legs had brought you here, to a teenager of all things, when you were a grown woman and supposed to be in charge of your own feelings. But next to Joel, she was the one who made Jackson feel like home; a faint echo of your own daughter.

You couldn’t deny that it was also worry that had driven you here and not just a need for companionship. With the personification of your worst nightmare having set foot into town, you needed to make sure that she was safe. You would sooner die than let that bastard lay a hand on her.

To Ellie’s credit, she didn’t ask beyond what was necessary. She accepted your answer of the barn as your destination without further inquiries, and didn’t even press on when you responded with “not yet” to the question of whether she should be worried.

You would have to tell her eventually, but you didn’t have the words just then. Not in the moment where he was being interrogated on the other side of town.

About what he had done.

About where she was.

About if he had lied; if she was truly still alive.

You didn’t have the strength to find the necessary words to explain yourself in a way that wouldn’t rip Ellie of whatever innocence she had left.

At the barn, you started prepping bottles and explained some of the vital factors to take note of when taking care of little lambs. Ellie listened intently, asking questions in all the right places. You loved her dearly for it. There was no hiding of the fact that you were teetering on the brink of madness, but Ellie either had enough instinct for self-preservation or your emotional needs not to question your lecture. You were almost certain that she recognized this barn excursion for what it was: an attempt at self-regulation.

As Ellie and you fed the little baby sheep, you tried your best to stay focused on the task at hand and to abandon all thoughts of the man Jackson's guards had taken into custody, but his words kept echoing in your head.

She's still alive.

You didn't allow yourself to think about what that could possibly mean, not even for a second. No lambs in the world could have saved you then, Ellie or no Ellie present.

But now, Joel is standing in the doorway of the barn, panting and visibly relieved to find you in such a 'composed' state, even though you're hanging on by a thread and your strength for self-regulation is slowly running out.

Ellie looks up when you stop talking mid-sentence about the correct way to hold a lamb's throat during feeding and notices Joel in the doorway. You feel her eyes going from Joel to you and back to Joel, and the shame for having dragged a teenager to the barn with you in an attempt to keep yourself calm washes over you once more. Here you are, at thirty-six years old, reliant on the presence of a teenager to keep yourself together.

Pathetic.

Worse than that, you can't help but wonder if Joel approves of your decision. You took Ellie out of a safe place and dragged her into your mess - again.

Something close to pain must flicker across your eyes, because Joel finally abandons his position in the doorway and strolls into the barn with an exaggerated sense of ease. It looks almost comical, the way he's trying so hard to appear calm and you wonder who he's doing it for - you or Ellie? Perhaps both. Either way, he's not fooling either of you which becomes evident when Ellie just outright comments on his funny pace. "Your foot fall asleep or something?"

Joel shoots her a glare, but Ellie just snorts, and before you know it, you're cracking up too, surprising even yourself. Emotions can be such a strange thing.

"No, I think he's just trying to be very casual so I won't be set off and go crazy, not while you're around," you say with a smile when your own laughter has subsided.

“Ah.” Ellie nods knowingly while she strokes the back of the lamb in her lap. You see her looking at you out of the corner of your eye. “Is this where I find out why I’m currently getting a free-of-charge lesson in lamb-feeding?”

Ellie's casual tone matches yours, and you suddenly find your heart filling with love, out of all the things you could be feeling right now. But you can't help it. Here you are, in the midst of hay and sheep, with the two people that somehow took you in and made Jackson a home without you ever having to ask for it in the first place. You don't know how you can ever repay them - if you can ever repay them for what they've done.

The unexpected surge of love works like a sedative and you feel your limbs growing heavy as the adrenaline slowly ebbs away. You're not calm by any means, but it finally doesn't feel like there's electricity coursing through your entire body anymore. "Because, kiddo." You sink to the hay-covered floor besides Ellie with a deep sigh and run a tired hand over your face. "Jeff and your father figure here unknowingly brought a man into town this morning that's responsible for my worst nightmare."

Joel looks like he's in pain at your words and you’re quick to point a finger at him. "You. Uh-uh. None of that. You didn't know," you say, hoping to nip whatever guilt-ridden bud is trying to take root in his head.

You beckon Joel over with a flick of your head. “C’mon.” He hesitates at first, but then walks over and kneels in the hay opposite of you and Ellie. You hand him one of your prepped bottles, then motion for him to grab hold of one of the lambs beside him. They’re all baa-ing and bleh-ing around the three of you, scrambling over themselves to get to the priced bottles. A flicker of a smile dances across Joel’s mouth.

You’ve been here for more than an hour, but you took your time, purposefully slowing down your movements in the hopes of also slowing down your heart. As a result, the lambs, used to a quick feeding, are slowly going insane.

You show Joel how to hold the lamb he’s picked, how to hold the bottle at the correct angle so the little one doesn’t swallow too much air at the same time. Ellie proudly shows off what she’s learned in her time with you and for a little while, it’s just the three of you feeding lambs, like a little wholesome family moment.

Eventually though, you have to ask.

You've avoided thinking about him as much as you could, trying to keep it together, but now you need to know.

"So. D'you kill him?"

Joel doesn’t answer right away. You see Ellie looking at him expectantly, like she has no doubt Joel could’ve killed a man just an hour ago. The thought doesn’t seem to scare her in the least.

He finally shakes his head with a look of distaste on his face. "No. Maria wouldn't let me."

Ellie snorts in response. "What'd you expect?" An unexpected grin flickers across your lips. You nod in agreement with her. "Yeah. Figured as much."

Something tightens in your chest. He's still out there. Still alive. Still breathing.

And so is your daughter. At least according to him.

“Did he say? Where…” You have to collect yourself, take a deep breath to get the words out. Prepare yourself for a no, you tell yourself. Don’t get your hopes up. But you know it’s too late for that. “Did he say where she is?”

The bottle in your hand vibrates slightly from how you’re shaking. You take deep, calculated breaths to steady yourself. Keep calm. You’ve got this. You feel the urge to scream as loud as you can.

“He did.”

The bottle in your hand squeaks as you press down on it too harsh. Milk shoots out of the top and soils the hay underneath and you’re glad you didn’t have a little one attached to the tip of it. You can feel Joel’s eyes boring into you, seizing you up, gauging your reaction. Deep breaths, deep breaths. Your vision goes blurry.

“So she’s… alive?” There’s a deep humming sound in your ear. You’re straining to hear Joel over it.

“That’s what he said.”

You slump forward, curl in on yourself. The bottle falls from your hand, spilling milk on the floor, but you don’t care. You can’t breathe, can’t hear anything over the intense buzzing in your ears. Your hands are shaking so hard you have to press them to your stomach to stop them from shaking.

She’s alive. She’s alive. My babygirl is alive.

The bottle gets picked up and is set down out of your sight. A hand appears on the back of your shoulder, stroking in soft circles, then a smaller hand appears on your lower back, mimicking the same gesture.

You try to breathe, to force air into your lungs. Alive, alive, alive. The word pounds in your head like the gong of a church’s bell, deep and strong. The rubbing on your back continues, offering a soothing counter rhythm to your erratic breathing. Slowly, the buzzing in your ears subsides. A few faint baa-s and bleeh-s reach you. The smell of hay seeps into your nose, grounding you to the floor. The rubbing on your back never seizes.

Joel’s on your left, Ellie on your right. He keeps his hand on your shoulder when you finally straighten yourself again. Ellie’s hand slips to your thigh, resting there assuringly. You would cry about the silent love you’re receiving if your brain wasn’t so occupied in the moment.

You take a deep breath, then look at Joel. His brown eyes are fixed on you, brows furrowed in concern.

“Where?,” you ask.

“He couldn’t say for sure,” Joel starts and you huff and roll your eyes. “Of course he couldn’t, cause it’s not true-“

“He couldn’t say for sure,” Joel loudly talks over you, his hand squeezing your shoulder, “but he gave enough pointers ‘bout where we could find her.”

You gnaw on the inside of your lip. You want to believe him so badly, but you don’t know how to survive if it turns out to be a lie.

“Do you believe him?”

Joel’s expression hardens. “I made it very clear he wouldn’t survive it if he lied.“

“I’m coming with!”

“Like hell you are. You’re stayin’ here.”

“Joel-“

“I said no, Ellie!” He doesn’t like raising his voice at her, not anymore. Joel and Ellie rarely fight, and when they do, he hates every second of it.

“Are you fucking kidding me!”

That girl’s got a mouth on her like a sailor, he thinks to himself. Joel pinches the bridge of his nose. He knows this argument is far from over, no matter how much he wishes she’d just listen to him and be done with it.

“Ellie, we ain’t got a clue 'bout what we’re walkin’ into. Hell, we got less of a clue than when I was takin’ you to the damn Fireflies,” he tries to reason with her. Can’t you see I’m trying to keep you safe?

“And that’s supposed to convince me to stay back? Just sit here and wait while you guys ride off into whatever danger? You can’t be serious.” Ellie’s got her arms crossed in that pissed-off stance she perfected over the years. It sometimes reminds Joel of the way Sarah would cross her arms at him. Always makes his heart ache, too.

“Babygirl, listen here, I just wanna-“ His warm approach is cut off when Ellie throws her hands in the air.

“Oh, don’t give me that. I know you wanna keep me safe. Don’t even start with that speech. I am not staying here. And asking me is downright cruel. I told you, I’d follow you wherever you wanna go. You’re my family. I’m not staying back.”

Joel doesn’t reply right away, just keeps firing clothes into his bag. He hates that she has a point.

“I’m coming with,” Ellie repeats.

Stubborn ass kid. Joel fires a pair of boxers into his backpack like they personally did him wrong and flicks his tongue. He knows asking her to stay behind while he rides out into danger is cruel, but what is he supposed to do? Chain her to the house?

“You know I’ll follow you either way. So just save all of us the trouble and take me with now.”

“You just know how to push my damn buttons, don’t cha,” Joel hisses.

“Course I do. All ninety-five of them. Now what’s it gonna be?” Ellie grins like she knows she has won. Of course she does.

“Alright, you listen to me.” Joel turns around with a sigh of defeat, a sour expression on his face. Damn that girl and her antics.

“Same rules as before. You listen to me, do as I say. No back talking, you hear me? I tell you to run, you run-“

“Yeah yeah.” She interrupts him with a smug grin. “I know. What you say goes. I know the drill.”

Joel flicks his tongue once more in annoyance. He sends her off to pack her things, then calls her back at the last second.

“One more thing.” Ellie lingers in his doorway, her eyebrows raised expectantly.

“You run it by her. This is her mission. She wants you to come, you can come. It’s up to her.”

Joel's tossing and turning in his bed. He can't find a single comfortable position, and even if he could, sleep would likely evade him anyway.

His brain is working overtime, running a hundred miles an hour. He tries to quiet his mind, to catch a couple of hours of sleep before the three of you ride out in the morning. But it's fruitless. The second he manages to put a cap on one thought, the next pops up and demands his attention, like an annoying game of whac-a-mole.

Joel grunts in frustration and sits up, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He knows sleep isn't on his side tonight.

Joel swings his legs over the side of his bed. He can't keep laying down.

He checks on Ellie first, slowly creaking her door open to catch a glimpse of her sprawled out between her sheets. It's a habit he picked up when they moved to Jackson, an echo of how he used to check on Sarah. He couldn't trust the safety at first, had to make sure that Ellie was still in her room, unharmed. Every nightmare of the Fireflies brought him to her door, night after night, sometimes more than once. Now it's just a force of habit, something he does when he can't sleep. The sight of her relaxed body has a soothing effect on him.

Downstairs, he pours himself a glass of whiskey, a luxury he doesn't grant himself often. Tonight, though, he needs one. If only just to silence his thoughts.

Joel's worried. About you, about Ellie, about riding out into a situation based on information he has no way of knowing are reliable. He fears what they might find. What you'll do if she's alive. What you'll do if she's not. How you'll react if you won't find her.

Will you leave? Leave Jackson to go look for your daughter that you were certain was dead, but has now been revealed to still be alive?

He knows he would. If it was Sarah, if there was somehow a way that she was still alive - he'd go out of his way to find her, move mountains if necessary. Not a soul could stop him if there was a chance he could hold his babygirl in his arms again. Not you, not even Ellie.

He knows this, and yet he can't stop himself from thinking that he doesn't want you to leave. It's selfish, he knows that, doesn't need to be told how incredibly selfish of a man he is to want you to stay when there's a chance that your daughter is still out there. But he can't help it. You've brought something back into his life that he never thought he'd feel again, and it's awful and selfish of him, but he doesn't want to give it up. It's too good, too sweet. He's been devoid of that kind of love for so long that he's not sure he's able to let it go, now that he's found it.

But he also knows all of this thinking is futile. Nothing is set in stone yet. For all he knows, if all goes well, you could be reunited with your daughter in a week, maybe less, depending on how soon they find the settlement.

Then again, when have things ever gone 'well' in this shit-show of a world?

Joel downs his glass of whiskey and wanders back to his bed through the dark of the house.

Only time will tell what the future holds. He only hopes you'll be in his.

Maria and Tommy had come over to Joel's to inform you of the interrogation. Ever the proactive man that he was, Joel had all but insisted for you to come home with him and Ellie. You didn't object in the least - you didn't trust yourself to be alone either. Not yet.

Ellie was lurking in the kitchen doorway, clearly unsure of whether she was welcome or not. You left the decision up to Joel, and he reluctantly agreed. "Ain't gon' be pretty, just so you know." Ellie took a seat next to you, silently squeezing your hand. Your heart ached with the love you felt for her.

"We've spoken to William at length," Maria opened. You recognized her tone as neutral. She was all business. No wonder she is a council member, you thought. "I understand that time is a valuable factor here, but we have to get your side of things first before you ride out."

You nodded. It felt like you were sitting on a pile of ants, the way you were squirming in your chair. What did he say? Where is she?

"In the name of fairness, we'd like for you to retell your experience before we share what he has said with you." Maria kept her eyes trained on you, her face a blank mask of neutrality. Tommy, however, did not quite have the same pokerface. He was leaned back in his chair the way Joel often was too, the resemblance between the two siblings showing in his stance. His arms were crossed over his chest and his lips were in a tight line, eyes trained on the table.

You nodded again. It made sense, it did. But to tell it all again, to relive it all over again... Do it for her.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. Then you began to recount the worst day of your life.

It's raining. Not just raining, but pissing down, endless buckets of water being poured out over the QZ. Just like the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that. Rain, rain, and then some more rain, until half the QZ is practically swimming, brewing in a stew of piss, rubble and murky rain water that stands a couple inches tall in the streets, despite the day-workers doing their best to unclog all the drains. The pay has gone up too. You get one whole extra ration card per hour if you're willing to sift through the murky and stinking water while getting drenched from head to toe. You scoff when Hailey tells you. "Ain't that the finest deal I've ever heard of." Hailey giggles, and you ruffle through her hair affectionately.

Despite your sarcasm, you consider whether you should take up some street-work shifts. Lord knows you could use the extra rations, even if it's just six per day. You and Hailey try to live as frugal as you can, you make sure of that. Resources are limited. You know it, she knows it, everyone and their uncle knows it. Still, you try to make as much of it as you can, trading and haggling where you can to get a little something extra out of it for your little girl. Anything that you can to brighten her day, you do it. The smile on her face always pays for whatever you had to go through to get here.

Tonight is special. It's Hailey's fifteenth birthday. You've saved up for this day for weeks, traded one of your finer clothes and some ration cards for the little cupcake that you're now placing on the cracked plate in front of you. It cost about as much as three normal food rations, but you don't care. You can go hungry for a night or two if that means you get to make her birthday special.

Carefully, so as not to mess with the delicate frosting, you push a single candle into the sugary goodness. That one you didn't get through cards, nor through a trade of goods. Nope. Something as simple as this little birthday candle cost you a blowjob, of all things. Not your favorite by any means, but still bearable. At least Barry keeps himself washed, unlike some of the other FEDRA soldiers.

Hailey's eyes gleam as you bring in the lit cupcake, softly singing 'Happy Birthday'. Her smile is about as wide as her face will allow her to stretch, and she blows the candle out carefully so none of the wax drops onto the frosting.

"How'd you get this?" She looks at you in wonder, like you can do anything. Your heart swells with love and pride. "Pulled some strings," you reply with a wink and gently tug on one of her hair strands. She giggles like she's ten years younger, the sound warming your chest and erasing any memory of when you were on your knees, working hard for the birthday girl's candle. Worth it, you think. Always worth it.

The knock on the door comes late in the evening. You're laid up in bed, your daughter nestled against you as you read to her from the book you've borrowed. The words die out on your tongue as your door rattles, a fist pounding against it from the other side.

"FEDRA. Open up."

Hailey's eyes find yours in a panicked, silent question. What's happening? You run a quick hand over her hair and press a kiss to her forehead, easing her worries. "Don't worry," you mumble as the two of you scramble off of the worn out mattress on the ground. "Probably just a routine check-in," you assure her with a smile that carries more certainty than you feel on the inside.

The second you open the door boots stomp into your little safe haven. Decked out in typical FEDRA tactical wear, four men barge in, all carrying a sense of importance around them that they are known and feared for.

The QZ was supposed to be a safe haven, a shelter from the horrors of the infected and raiders. That's what it had been marketed as, a pillar of society in a now broken land. You had soon found out that it was anything but.

"Come on in, boys," you say through a smile that promises a willingness to cooperate that you do not feel. But this isn't a time to revolt. Not when Hailey is here.

One of the men grabs the door out of your hand and shuts it with force. So much for this being a quick thing, you think and your stomach thinks.

There are four armed men in your tiny apartment, along with yourself and your daughter. You will your heart to beat steadily as you cross the room to stand by her. "What can we do for you?"

"Heard a little fun fact today," one of the larger men drawls. You know him - of him, really - he's one of the leading men in charge. You don't have a clue what he's doing here, but whatever the reason, it can't be good. He takes a look around the room like he's seizing up your possessions, to see if there's anything of value around. You'd give them the shirt on your back if that meant they'd leave again peacefully.

"Yeah?" You force your voice to be calm, force the smile to remain on your face. "What's that?"

He saunters over and comes to a stop in front of Hailey. Your hand reaches for hers involuntarily. His eyes roam over her, slowly, drinking her in from top to bottom. You feel bile climbing up your throat.

The man clicks his tongue and then puts a finger under Hailey's chin, turning her face up to him. You feel her shivering beside you, squeezing your hand in a panic. Calm, you tell her in your mind. Stay calm. You yourself are anything but. You want to gauge his eyes out with the way they're roaming over your daughters face, but you keep yourself composed. Keep her safe. Keep Hailey safe. That's your only goal.

"Little birdie told me it's this pretty one's birthday today," the man drawls. Your eyes flicker over to the rest of his men and you find Barry among them, an apologetic look on his face. 'Sorry' he mouths at you and your blood runs cold in your veins. Next time you've got his dick in your mouth, you'll bite off a good chunk.

"Fifteen years old! Practically a young woman now," he coos and runs a finger over Hailey's cheek. You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from reaching out and smacking his hand away.

"Gotta start payin' her dues now, doesn't she."

...no. No.

"My daughter does afternoon shifts after school, just as is law," you're quick to say. "You can check, too. We've got all the paperwork." You're already scrambling to find the papers in the drawer behind you when you hear an amused chuckle.

"I'm sure everything's up to code here," the man smiles. "Ain't what we're here for, though. Pretty thing like this? She gotta pay extra. Special pretty tax we got. Ain't that right, boys?"

The men all mumble something in agreement, and anger boils in your stomach. You hate all of them, cowards that they are.

"And when I heard that we got a pretty bird turning fifteen... Well. Just had to come see it for myself. Ya sure didn't lie, Barry. She's a sight to behold." He tuts as he twirls Hailey's face from side to side, examining her like one would a piece of furniture at an auction. You look at Barry, but he avoids your gaze. You're dead, you think. You're fucking dead.

"About time you get broken in, don't you think? Hm?" You feel Hailey shaking with fear as the man lowers his face to hers. Your hand is gripping hers so hard your knuckles turn white.

"Take me."

His eyes slowly wander from Hailey's face to yours. "Take me," you repeat, the determination edged into your face. "Do with me whatever you want, but leave her out of it." Your voice has authority, but you can't deny the pleading edge in your tone. Please. Not her.

The man's lips purse like he's considering it for a moment, then claps his hands together. "Ha! Nice offer, hun, but that's just not gonna work. Now you see, young William over here-" He pulls forth the youngest of the men who stumbles forward, a shy expression on his face. He can't be much older than Hailey. "-young William here is overdue for his initiation. And nice as you may be, but you're just a bit old for the young boy here, ain't cha." The ugliest wink you ever did see is thrown your way and you feel like you might scream.

"Alright, then." The man claps his hands and all three of you flinch at the sound; you, Hailey and young William. "Let's get to it. William, show us what you got."

For a moment, time stands still as the words echo in your brain. Show us what you got. Then you're shoving Hailey behind yourself. "No. No. Take me. Not her. Take me. I'll do anything."

The man in charge flicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I heard you the first time. Pretty sure you heard me too. Ain't gonna do it. Now sit back and enjoy the show, unless you want me to put a bullet between your eyes."

The gun is pointed at you before you know it and Hailey screams behind you. "No!" She's fighting to get out from behind you, but you keep her locked in place. With a hard swallow, you pry your eyes away from the barrel of the gun and force yourself to look at the man who's pointing it at you.

"Please." Your voice wavers, thick with emotion. "Please. Don't do this. Please." You feel tears brimming in your eyes as you beg for your daughter to be spared. Not her. Not her.

You hear the cracking sound first before you feel the pain explode across your scalp. Your vision blurs for a moment and you slump forward, brought down by the force of the blow. A muffled groan presses out from between your lips as you fall to your hands and knees. There's a high pitched scream behind you, and then you're yanked forward, across the floor and onto your mattress.

The world spins as you try to straighten up. Your head feels warm and sticky where the pain is pulsating, and you see red smeared across your hand as you bring it from the top of your head to your eyes.

The screeches in front of you grow louder, calling your attention away from the blood on your hands. You narrow your eyes to see what's happening, and when your view finally sharpens again, you feel your entire body growing cold in seconds.

Hailey is being forced to bend over by Barry and the other man that you don't really know but you're sure you've seen before, her pants being pulled down towards her ankles. She's screaming, fighting, and each of her words pierce through your heart like an icy dagger. "No," you groan and crawl forward on your bed to get to her, only to be kicked back by a boot to the shoulder. You fly backwards and slam into the wall behind you, making you see stars as your head feels like it's being split open anew.

"No! No! Please! No!" Hailey's screams cut through your dazed state. You fumble to get onto your knees again, crawling forwards in what seems like slow motion. The world is still spinning and your arms threaten to give out, but you force yourself forward until you're suddenly yanked forward by your head.

"You're just dying for a front row seat, ain't ya," a voice hisses in your ear like an angry snake. You wince at the sound and try to rid yourself of the hold, but the large hands that hold your head hostage clamp down on you harsher, keeping you in place where you can only watch but not reach.

"That's right, open eyes, baby," you hear in your ear and you gag, both from the pain in your head and the sight you're being forced to watch.

With all the things you've seen, with all the things you've been through, everything shrinks in comparison to what you're seeing now. You feel like your heart is being torn apart, shredded into a million tiny pieces and you can only howl out in pain until a hand clamps down over your mouth. "Shut your damn mouth, whore."

You sob into the gloved hand as your daughters innocence is ripped from her on her fifteenth birthday. You watch and cry and wish it was you instead of her while you feel yourself dying on the inside.

Silence hung heavy in Joel's kitchen when you finished. Joel looked like he wanted to break something, whereas Ellie sat on the other side of you with a somber expression on her face. Tommy let out a breath and ran a hand over his mouth.

"Maria," he said and leaned forward til he leaned on his knees. His wife nodded, seemingly straining to keep her mask of neutrality intact. "Yeah," she replied lowly, then cleared her throat.

"N' you're telling me he's entitled to what. A fair treatment?" Joel spat the words out like they're too bitter to keep in his mouth. You could feel his eyes on you, running over your head like he was looking for the scar he now knew is hidden beneath your hair.

"He does." Maria inhaled deeply opposite you and brought order to the stack of papers she brought with her. "But fair doesn't mean unjust." Then her hand reached across the table and squeezed yours. "In light of your... experience, I would suggest to the council that we work with your testimony as I've written it down, so you don't gotta repeat yourself over and over. Would that be in your interest?"

You felt some of the tightness in your chest slowly releasing.

Maria nodded as you voiced your agreement. "Good. Please read this over to make sure I got the details right. It's important."

When Tommy and Maria were gone, Joel and Ellie sat with you as you read through your own testimony. You had to set the pages down a couple of times, and each time, they were there with hands on your back, on your thigh, intertwined with your own. They silently helped you relive your worst nightmare for the second time that night, and you didn't know how to give voice to your gratitude.

Joel protested when you got up some time after dinner and announced you'd be going home for the night. There was something wild in his eyes, worry mixed with something you couldn't quite place, and it warmed your heart to see him so worried for you. You had to assure him thrice with a hand on his cheek that you would be okay, that you would come and find him if it got too dark, and that you would be back first thing next morning.

"I'll break down your damn door if you ain't here at 6am sharp," he growled and you had no doubt that he meant it. "I know." You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. "Good night, Joel. I'll see you tomorrow. Night, Ellie." She waved you goodbye, and Joel brought you to his backdoor, his hand on the small of your back as he walked you there.

"You sure you'll be good by yourself," he asked again when you turned to leave. The smallest of smiles appeared on your lips.

"Yeah. I just... need some time to digest everything."

He looked at you for a moment before finally nodding. "Alright. G'night, sweetheart."

You knew he kept watching you as you walked through his backyard and then up the street, and you couldn't blame him. But you had meant what you said. You needed to be alone.

You needed the time to think about the fact that for the first time in two years, there was a chance your daughter was still alive.

"I'm coming for you, baby," you whispered to yourself as you slowly walked yourself home.

Tomorrow, you would ride out to find her. Tomorrow, you'd go and look for your babygirl.

Series Masterlist - Mobile Masterlist

Feedback is always appreciated! If you have any requests, feel free to send them my way. I'm always happy to practice my writing! :)

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters!

Taglist: @eternallyvenus @frogsdeservelovetoo @akisfoxdevil @southernbe @nutterbitter

@yesjazzywazzylove-blog @orcasoul @foomoosworld @lilmizmoz @ashleyfilm

@casa-boiardi @sunandmuun @noisynightmarepoetry @puduvallee @aryaharmon

@strawberrymilktea @bensonispunk @hauntedpoetsdepartment @ellenmunn @picketniffler

@chochoooooooooo @elli3williams @sarahhxx03 @fancyyoouu @vickie5446

@missladym1981 @spotty-boo90 @duckybird101 @silas-aeiou

95 notes · View notes

wadewnstonwilson · 17 hours ago

Text

logan rescuing you from killgrave headcanons || suggestion by anonymous

pairing: logan howlett (wolverine) x genderneutral!reader

author note: let me know if you guys want me to make this into an actual fic!! also would love to make more headcanons in the future featuring logan or wade so please feel free to drop me an ask!

logan didn’t think twice when he saw you under killgrave’s influence, your body moving like a puppet to someone else’s will. his claws were out, his instincts in overdrive, and the protective rage coursing through him left no room for hesitation. he tore through killgrave’s defenses, ignoring the man’s manipulative commands. no one was going to control you, not while logan was breathing.

once killgrave was taken care of, logan turned to you, trembling and shaken. you collapsed into his arms, your body finally your own again, but your mind still reeling from the violation. logan’s strong arms held you close, grounding you with his presence. his voice was a low, soothing rumble as he reassured you, “you’re safe now, darlin’. i’ve got you.”

later, when the adrenaline faded and you were alone with him, the gratitude and emotions overwhelmed you. logan had saved you—not just physically but mentally too. you reached for him, your hands trembling, pulling him close. there was something in his eyes, a mixture of relief, concern, and something deeper, something raw.

in the privacy of your shared space, your thanks became more intimate. you touched him gently, tracing the scars on his hands, his arms, everywhere that bore the evidence of the battle he fought for you. “thank you,” you whispered, your voice cracking, but the sincerity in your words was palpable.

logan didn’t respond with words. instead, he leaned in, his forehead touching yours. the tension between you shifted—what started as comfort turned into something heavier, more magnetic. his hands, calloused yet gentle, cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away the stray tears on your cheeks.

the kiss that followed was slow but intense, full of unspoken emotions. it wasn’t just gratitude—it was the culmination of everything unsaid between you, the connection you’d always felt but never acted on. logan’s lips were rough yet soft against yours, his hands firm as they pulled you impossibly closer.

the night became a blur of heated touches and whispered reassurances, logan’s protectiveness manifesting in the way he worshipped every inch of you. it wasn’t just about desire—it was about grounding you, showing you that you were in control again, that you were safe with him. and you gave back just as much, your touches and kisses a silent promise that you trusted him completely.

in the aftermath, as you lay tangled together, logan’s arms wrapped securely around you, he muttered, “no one’s ever gonna take you from me, darlin’. not while i’m around.” you believe him—because with logan , you knew you were truly safe.

#logan howlett fanfiction #logan #logan howlett #james logan howlett #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan wolverine #my work #my writing #my headcanons #wolverine x reader #wolverine imagine #the wolverine #wolverine #wolverine x you #killgrave

49 notes · View notes

kirkwall-tourism-department · 1 day ago

Text

Extra Reading, Ch. 2

More illiterate rook x emmrich fluff

Opposites attract will always and forever be one of my favorite romance tropes.

Emmrich searched through the piles of books he had pulled from his shelves, all potential contenders to be the first book Rook would read. The gravity of the decision was not lost on him. Finding a balance between something that wouldn’t be too challenging at her current skill level and would actually interest her was a fine line to walk. Certainly none of his necromancy texts, nothing that assumed the reader was already somewhat knowledgeable on the topic, and nothing that overindulged in grandiose language. Which sadly precluded the majority of his library as candidates. He tried to think of everything he knew about Rook, and came up with a pitifully short list. She was a Grey Warden, she had spent time in the Anderfels, and she didn’t mind necromancy. When he had inquired if his magical practice would concern her and her teammates, she had just laughed and said “she had seen worse things happen to dead bodies than doing chores in the Necropolis.” Concerningly, she had not elaborated on that point. He paced the balcony of his room, repeating the words Grey Warden over and over in his head until they lost all meaning. Suddenly, the perfect book came to him, and he walked over to the bookcase that housed his choice for Rook’s first foray into literature.

The History of Grey Wardens in Ferelden by Ferdinand Genitivi. There was a reason he was one of the most popular authors in Thedas- his writing style was approachable, but engaging. And the subject matter was relevant, given Rook’s background. While she seemed to react to most things with amusement, when speaking about the Wardens, her demeanor changed. She spoke seriously, with passion and conviction, her connection in the institution clearly going deeper than ideology. Emmrich wasn’t sure what her life was like before joining the Wardens, or the circumstances that led to her recruitment. When he had asked where she was from during their initial journey in the Necropolis, she said she had trained in the Anderfels, but offered nothing about her origins. As curious as he was about Rook, he knew that if a Grey Warden didn’t freely offer information about their past, it wasn’t a good idea to inquire further.

A knock sounded on his door. He peered out over the balcony, searching for Manfred on the floor below before remembering he had left earlier in the night to watch Lucanis cook dinner. Tucking the book underneath his arm, he rushed down the stairs to open the door for Rook. She stood in the hallway, hands on her hips, a small smile on her face. Despite her diminutive size, her presence dominated whatever room she was in.

“Welcome, Rook!” he greeted her, the excitement over having a new student starting to build in him. As much as he had been enjoying his time away from the Necropolis, he couldn't help but miss the comforting routine of academia. She strode into the room, taking in the mess he had left when finding the perfect book for her. Turning towards him, she raised a questioning eyebrow, and embarrassment began to burn over his face. In his single-minded focus to find a suitable text for Rook, he had neglected to clean up after himself. “I apologize for the state of the room, I suppose I lost track of time.”

“Professor,” Rook laughed, “I promise you I’ve seen worse living situations than this.”

“Emmrich is just fine. This isn’t a setting that demands formality.”

“But it’s such a fun word! And I’ve never gotten the chance to use it before!” Rook argued, putting on a playful frown. “Let me at least use it while you’re actually teaching me.” She took a seat next to his desk, staring expectantly at him.

“If you wish.” Emmrich gave a slight laugh before sitting at his desk, opposite to Rook, and handing her the book. As Rook stared at the cover, he realized he didn’t actually know how much she could read. Previously, she had simply said she couldn’t read “well”, but that wasn’t a very useful description. If he underestimated her abilities, he ran the risk of appearing condescending, which is that last thing a teacher should be. Overestimating her, on the other hand, would leave her without the instructional support she needed, and if she felt too shy to ask for help when she needed it-

“I don’t know what that says.” Rook said bluntly, interrupting his overthinking, pointing to the word Ferelden on the cover. “I know the words Grey Warden. Obviously. I’ve seen those enough. But I don’t know what a Feer-... a Far-...” she narrowed her eyes as she stared at the text, her finger running over the word as she tried to sound out the syllables.

“Take it one part at a time.” Emmrich instructed, motioning for her to hand the book to him. He laid it flat on the desk, placing his hand over the word so only the letters “Fe” were showing. Once she read the syllable correctly, he moved onto the second, and the third. “Now string them together.”

“Ferelden... Oh! I know that, that’s where Harding’s from!” Rook grinned, joy from her accomplishment radiating off of her. Emmrich smiled, the familiar sense of satisfaction gained from watching a student succeed filling his chest. “One part at a time.” Rook reminded herself as she grabbed the book that lay between them and opened it to the first page. She settled back into her chair, tracing her finger over the lines of text slowly, silently mouthing the words to herself. Emmrich picked up his own book, a study of the aftermath of the Breach.

They spent the rest of the evening in a similar manner. Rook would stumble across a word or passage she struggled with, and would ask for help without hesitation or shame. After a bit of help, she would figure it out, celebrate for a moment, then dive back into the book. Eventually, Manfred returned, delivering a cup of coffee to Rook from Lucanis. A comfortable silence settled over the room, the only interruptions being the occasional question from Rook and the turning of pages. Emmrich peered out over the top of his own book, studying Rook. She was curled up in his chair, intently studying the book while hugging her cup of coffee, unaware of his observation. The contrast between the force of nature she was on the battlefield to who she was in the moments she thought nobody was paying attention to her was striking. He hadn’t gotten many chances to interact with her past the visit she paid to the Necropolis to recruit him. But here, without her armor and weapons, without the demands of the outside world, she radiated a sense of calm he had yet to observe elsewhere.

The colors of the Fade outside began to shift from pinks and oranges to a muted purple, which was the closest approximation to a sunset they got at the Lighthouse. As the light in the room shifted, the glow of his candles fighting off the falling darkness, Rook looked up from her book towards him.

“Emmrich… thank you.” Rook said gently. “Not just for teaching me, but for being so nice about it. I was never really embarrassed about not being able to read until I joined up with Varric and realized it was strange. So, thank you for not making me feel weird about it.”

“Of course! You have nothing to be ashamed of.” He reassured her, setting down his book to give her his undivided attention. “How are you liking the book?”

“It’s good! Makes me want to read about Wardens in the Free Marches.”

“Why the Free Marches?”

“That’s where I’m from. Grew up in the alienage in Tantervale.”

“I’m certain I can find it for you.” Emmrich smiled, gratified by Rook’s desire to delve deeper into the subject matter.

“I should probably try to get some sleep. Would it be okay if I took this with me?” Rook tentatively questioned, holding the book up expectantly. He nodded, and she smiled, hugging it close to her. It was difficult to not be charmed by her mannerisms. Among other things. “You do realize I’m going to be bugging you with a lot of questions, right?”

“I was hoping you would.”

#dragon age #dragon age veilguard #emmrich volkarin #emmrook #emmrich x rook #dragon age fanfiction

24 notes · View notes

midnight-shadow-cafe · 2 days ago

Text

Shadow and Paws

Chapter 6: Threads of connection Shadows and Paws

Pairing: Task Force 141 x reader

AU: Hybrid 141 x hybrid reader

Warnings: fluff, boys and Foxy talking about their future

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy, i’m currently working on making another story that is also a 141 fanfic but stay tuned for that release!

Word Count: 1.1k

Masterlist | 1 2 3 4 5

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The fire flickered in the center of their camp, its golden glow painting warm streaks on the group’s faces as night tightened its grip on the forest. It had been another long day of scouting, fighting off the occasional rogue hybrid, and navigating the tension-filled balance between predator and prey. Yet, as they sat together now, there was a calm that felt almost foreign—like the quiet before a storm they couldn’t yet see.

Foxy leaned back against the base of a tree, tail resting lightly on the ground as their amber eyes flicked over the group. For a long time, they had kept their walls up, believing that relying on anyone else was a weakness. But those walls were showing cracks now. It wasn’t just the lingering warmth of the fire that settled in their chest but the presence of the four men who had, despite their differences, begun to carve out a space in their life.

Captain Price sat closest to the fire, his broad shoulders hunched as he meticulously cleaned his weapon. His movements were steady, almost methodical, but his eyes gave him away. Every so often, he would glance toward Foxy, as if making sure they were still there. Price was a man of duty, of unshakable focus, but tonight, something softer lingered beneath his usual stoicism. For all his years of command, he had never quite encountered someone like Foxy. They were wild, untamed, yet carried a sharpness and cunning that he couldn’t help but respect. And if he was being honest with himself, the idea of leaving them behind once this mission ended was starting to gnaw at him.

Gaz perched on a rock nearby, his falcon-sharp gaze fixed on the horizon even as his hands worked on his gear. He exuded calm, his usual easy confidence wrapping around him like a second skin, but inside, he felt the tug of unease. They were growing closer, that much was undeniable, but Gaz wasn’t sure how to process it. Foxy had managed to challenge him in ways he hadn’t expected—both in the field and emotionally. The thought of leaving them behind felt wrong, like abandoning part of his own flock. And yet, he hadn’t found the words to express that.

Soap, sprawled out near Price with his head resting on his hands, watched the fire with a distant look in his eyes. His usual energy was tempered tonight, though the occasional twitch of his tail gave away his restlessness. For all his jokes and lightheartedness, Soap was struggling to push down the knot in his chest. He had always been the type to dive headfirst into connections, to throw his heart into the people he cared about, and Foxy was no exception. But what would happen when they had to leave? He couldn’t shake the image of their sly grin, their quick wit, the way they moved like the forest itself had shaped them. The idea of walking away felt unbearable.

Ghost lingered in the shadows, as he always did. He leaned against a tree, his mask blending seamlessly into the dark. Outwardly, he was the same: quiet, imposing, a figure you’d hesitate to approach unless absolutely necessary. But inside, Ghost was wrestling with something he hadn’t expected. Foxy had slipped past his defenses in a way that no one else had. They were unpredictable, capable, and, to his own surprise, they had earned his trust. He told himself it was just camaraderie, that it was logical to value them as an ally. But that didn’t explain the way his chest tightened at the thought of leaving them behind, or the way his gaze lingered on them when he thought no one was watching.

Foxy, for their part, was caught in their own web of thoughts. The group had started out as strangers, intruding on their territory, disrupting the quiet life they had built for themselves. But now? They weren’t so sure. They had never let anyone get this close before—not since losing the people they once called family. Yet, here they were, sharing meals, stories, and moments that felt… safe. Foxy wasn’t used to safety. And the realization that they didn’t want this to end scared them more than any rogue ever could.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Price said, breaking the silence. His voice was calm, but there was a weight to it that made Foxy look up.

“Just thinking,” Foxy replied, their tail curling tighter around their legs.

“About what?” Gaz asked, his tone curious but kind.

Foxy hesitated, their gaze flicking between the four of them. “About what happens when this is over. When you go back to your lives.”

The air shifted. It wasn’t the kind of question anyone had wanted to ask, but now that it was out there, none of them could avoid it.

“We’ll go back to base,” Price said eventually, though his voice lacked its usual certainty.

Soap sat up, his brows furrowed. “And what? Just pretend like none of this happened?”

“Would you want to?” Foxy asked, their voice sharper than they intended. “Pretend?”

Soap didn’t answer right away, his tail flicking behind him as he searched for the right words. “No,” he said finally. “I wouldn’t.”

“Neither would I,” Gaz added, his falcon-sharp gaze now fixed on Foxy. “But it’s not that simple.”

“It could be,” Foxy said softly, though they weren’t sure if they believed it. “If you wanted it to be.”

Ghost’s voice cut through the quiet then, low and deliberate. “And what about you?”

Foxy looked at him, their heart pounding. “What about me?”

“Do you want us to stay?” he asked, his gaze never wavering.

Foxy’s throat tightened. For so long, they had convinced themselves that they didn’t need anyone—that they were better off alone. But now? Now they weren’t so sure. “I don’t know,” they admitted. “But I don’t want you to go.”

The words hung in the air, raw and unfiltered. For a moment, no one spoke. Then, Price cleared his throat, his expression softening. “This isn’t something we need to figure out tonight,” he said. “But whatever happens, we’re not walking away from this. From you.”

Foxy’s chest ached at his words, and for the first time in years, they felt something they thought they’d lost: hope.

“Good,” they said quietly. “Because I don’t think I could go back to being alone.”

Soap grinned, his usual playfulness returning. “Guess you’re stuck with us then, eh?”

Foxy couldn’t help but laugh, the tension easing just a little. “Looks like it.”

As the fire crackled on, the group began to talk—not about the mission, not about the future, but about memories, stories, the things that made them who they were. And for the first time, Foxy let themselves believe that maybe, just maybe, they had found a place where they truly belonged.

—-

End of Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

36 notes · View notes

motherismotheringggg · 5 hours ago

Note

Omg pleasure dom Nicky. His whining above you as his thrust get sloppier but god he just wants to please you. Won’t cum until you do 😫

completely unraveled 🖤

summary: see the request above, anon you ATE with this one!!

type: pleasure dom! nicholas x sub! female reader

tags/warnings: 18+, hella smutty, cock worship, ice play, oral (f! receiving), orgasm restraint, cream pie, slight blood drawn, cream pie, cock warning, aftercare

author’s note: i need a cold cigarette after this is 😮‍💨

word count: 2771

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

For Nicholas, your pleasure was everything—it consumed him, drove him, defined every touch, every kiss, and every movement of his body against yours. It wasn’t just about the act itself; it was about the journey he took you on every time you were together. He reveled in discovering the things that made you gasp, made your breath hitch, and sent shivers cascading down your spine.

Nicholas had an uncanny ability to read you, to anticipate your needs as if your body spoke a language only he understood. He could sense the smallest shifts in your reactions—the way your fingers gripped the sheets or the way your voice wavered when you whispered his name. He knew when to push, when to slow, and when to draw you to the brink and hold you there, teetering on the edge of ecstasy until you were begging for release.

For him, the ultimate reward wasn’t just your climax—it was the way your body melted into his afterward, utterly spent, and the glazed, euphoric fucked look in your eyes that made his heart swell with pride. His mission wasn’t just to make you cum; it was to take you to places you’d never dreamed of, over and over again, until every nerve in your body sang with satisfaction. When he was with you, his sole purpose was clear: to utterly and completely worship you, leaving you breathless, trembling, and blissfully undone in his arms.

————

Now, here you were back in your shared loft apartment with your boyfriend, sitting on the edge of the bed, your skin still humming from the aftershocks of the last round. The soft glow of the city lights filtered through the window, casting shadows across the room as you caught your breath. Nicholas came back from the kitchen, he had something in his hand but you couldn’t quite see it.

He stood in front of you, completely exposed. His cock, still red and throbbing, you went to fill your mouth with him. You loved the way he felt in your mouth, the perfectly rounded tip, and the perfect vainness of his shaft, you loved to worship his body.

To kiss down his body, planting soft kisses on each of his abs before taking him in your mouth. To kiss and bite on his thighs, tracing small circles on them until he slowly guided you to his member.

But he stopped you, he wanted to look at you. He took a moment to appreciate you, his eyes tracing the curve of your neck and the way your breath hitched in between each exhale. His gaze softened, the lust in his eyes replaced by something deeper, more intimate. You felt it too—the unspoken connection that tethered you both.

“Are you okay?” he murmured, his voice low and tender, just the slightest hint of concern mixed with the satisfied edge of a man who knew exactly what he’d just done to you. He wasn’t asking for reassurance; he wanted to know how deep he’d taken you, how far he could push you the next time.

You nodded, turning slightly to face him, your lips curving into a satisfied smile. "Thank you, Nicholas," you whispered, the words thick with affection and desire. He liked when you thanked him; when you made him feel as special as he made you. He reached down to cup your face, letting his thumb grace your bottom lip. “You’re so beautiful when you look at me like this…like need me”, he said as he glared at you, his eyes were dark with lust.

He leaned down to kiss you, grabbing your face in his hand as he had full control. The kiss started slow but grew into something deeper. Your tongues wrestled each other, before his slipped of your mouth and licked you. Licked your lips, licked your cheek, licked wherever he pleased. You were wrapped up in the euphoria of the kiss that you hadn’t see what he had in his hand from before.

It wasn’t until you felt the cold burn of an ice cube on your back, still covered in sweat and radiating heat from before. You let out a deep long hiss, falling into Nicholas as he continued to kiss on you. You were breathless, barely able to call out his name but still needing to let him know how good he felt,

“mmm Nicholas, that feels so good…”

“Is that right baby?”

“Yes Nicholas, I need you so bad”

“Tell me where you want me baby”

“Nicholas I --” you were cut short by Nicholas dropping to his knees, taking that same ice cube from your back, which had melted down some, and putting it in his mouth.

“Don't stop baby, tell me what you want”, he said, muffled with the ice cube slightly muffling him.

Nicholas leaned in, his cool lips with the ice cube brushing your clit, your back arched with sheer pleasure. Your pelvis instinctively shot backward, but Nicholas quickly wrapped his hands around you pulling you closer, as he continued.

The coolness was intoxicating, heightening every sensation, every nerve ending sparking to life under his touch. Your body trembled, shivers of pleasure wracking you as you grasped at his shoulders for stability.

You tried to pull away, but Nicholas wasn’t having it. His strong hands were on you, pulling you closer, keeping you in place as his lips continued to work you, the ice teasing and torturing you in the most delicious way.

"Tell me what you want, baby," he muttered, his breath warm against your skin as he kept you pressed against him, determined to make you beg for more.

The weight of his presence, the passion in his touch, was almost too much to bear. The ice and his lips worked in perfect harmony, sending you spiraling towards something that felt dangerously close to madness.

You couldn’t hold back any longer. "I want you, Nicholas," you gasped, barely able to form coherent words through the waves of pleasure flooding you. "I need your dick baby”, you whined and pouted, letting him know bad you craved him.

He kept going, he could tell you were close, the way your core squirmed under him, the way you thrashed about, the whimpering you tried to contain but failed miserably at. He knew you were right on the edge ready to to unravel and he wanted you to cum right there on his face.

“Nicholas … Nicholas please baby, please fuck me”, you whined out more, thighs clenched as your hips rode in rhythm with him. He didn’t let up once, when the ice cube completely melted, he worked at you with his tongue. The way he lapped at your wetness drove you crazy, every flick of his tongue had an individual hand in undoing you. When he sucked on your bud, you shuttered as your eyes rolled back into your head.

You knew Nicholas wanted you to hold out as long as possible. He reveled in it—how you could push yourself to the very edge, fighting the overwhelming wave of pleasure just to stay in control, just to tease him. He loved it. The way your body trembled, the way your breath hitched in anticipation, it drove him wild. He knew exactly when you were on the brink, when you couldn’t take it anymore, but you fought to keep from falling apart. The anticipation in your eyes, the way your muscles clenched—he lived for that moment.

And when you finally did let go, when you couldn’t hold it in any longer, when you surrendered completely to the pleasure, that’s when he felt it. The pride, the triumph of having taken you to that place, completely fucking you to your limit turned him on. The way you clung to him, your nails digging into his skin as you came undone, made him feel like the king of your world.

Your body quivered with the first wave of release, but Nicholas wasn’t done. He was relentless, his lips, his hands, his body all pushing you further, coaxing out every drop of pleasure, bringing you right back to the edge again and again. He wasn’t just content with one, not when he knew you could handle more.

You tried to hold on, but with each touch, each movement of his hands, it became impossible. The way he worked you, with such precision and care, the way he knew your body better than you did—it was overwhelming.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he murmured, his voice low, as if he knew you were on the brink of breaking. And he was right. He always knew. “Don’t fight it.”

The heat between you two was undeniable, and as the second orgasm hit, more intense than the first, your body gave in completely, trembling uncontrollably against him. Nicholas held you close, steadying you as you went through the motions, his hands gentle but firm, the pride in his eyes showing just how much he loved every second of it.

As you came down from the high, his lips brushed over your thighs, soft and tender, contrasting the intensity of what had just happened. "You’re perfect," he whispered looking up at you with a dark lusty look. His eyes were huge and dilated., He moved up to you to hold you as you caught your breath. You had shifted up on the bed while he lay next to you, rubbing you and making sure you were okay. You had caught your breath enough to pull him in for a kiss, another deep and passionate one. You moaned into each other’s mouths as the kiss grew deeper.

Your hands roamed over his chest, feeling the hard planes of his muscles beneath your fingertips. Nicholas, sensing the shift in the air, took the initiative. His hands moved to your sides, pulling you beneath him as he gently but firmly positioned himself on top of you.

He paused for a brief moment, pulling away slightly, his eyes dark with desire but also a hint of concern. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice low, rough with barely-contained lust, his hand sliding down to massage your clit. He knew you wanted him, he just wanted to hear you whimper to say it.

You met his gaze, your chest rising and falling with deep breaths, your brows furrowing as you nodded. "Yes," you breathed out. "I need you so bad."

Nicholas didn’t need any more encouragement. He sat up, positioning himself above you as he adjusted to your entrance. With a slow, deliberate movement, he slipped inside, the feeling of your wetness guiding him in with ease.

The moment he entered you, you couldn’t contain the moan that escaped your lips. It was like an instinctual reaction to the depth and warmth of him filling you, your body instinctively arching toward him as your nails dug into his back.

Nicholas’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes closing briefly as he savored the feeling of being buried inside you. It wasn’t just about the act for him—it was about the way you responded, how you opened up to him in ways that made his heart race with a mixture of lust and tenderness. Your pleasure was his fuel, his every move driven by the need to make you feel as good as possible.

"God, you feel so good," he whispered, his voice rough and low. “So fucking wet and tight for me”, he continued, staying still for a moment, letting you adjust to the fullness of him inside you, his hands resting on either side of your body, holding himself up. The connection between you two was electric, both of you feeling the intensity of the moment, but Nicholas was waiting for you. He wanted to feel you tremble, wanted to see the pleasure flood your face.

He gave you a moment, but it wasn’t long before he couldn’t hold back any longer. Slowly, he started to grind, pulling back just enough before thrusting forward, the rhythm building as he sought out that perfect angle, the one that made your back arch and your breath hitch, knowing he was touching your cervix from how big he was.

His eyes locked with yours, watching every shift of your body, the way you reacted to each stroke. Every thrust of his hips was calculated to bring you closer to that peak, and with each movement, your moans grew louder, more desperate. The tension between you both was almost unbearable as he pushed you closer to the edge, but you were holding out for him—just like you always did.

Knowing what he wanted, you were holding out for him. Your body belonged to Nicholas, for him to play with and orchestrate an orgasm from you that almost brought you to tears.

Nicholas could see it in your eyes. You were so close, so close to breaking, but you held on. Your body quivered beneath him, straining against the delicious pressure building inside you. He knew you well enough to understand that you enjoyed the struggle—the way it felt to be pushed to your absolute limit, to be on the edge of complete surrender, all for him.

Your lip was swollen from how hard you were biting it, the ache in your chest growing with each thrust. Your nails had drawn blood from Nicholas’s back as you dug into him, the sting of your pleasure matching the heat coursing through your veins.

"Let me know when you're ready to cum, baby," Nicholas whispered hoarsely, his voice strained with his own restraint. His hair was floppy and slightly saturated with sweat, hanging messily over his face as he held himself above you, never once breaking the rhythm of his thrusts. The sight of him—wild and consumed by you—was almost too much to handle.

You tried to hold on a little longer, wanting to make him wait, but his relentless pace was beginning to unravel you, each stroke pushing you closer to the edge. You could feel yourself tightening around him, the warmth pooling in your stomach as you fought to stay just a little longer.

Nicholas’s hands gripped your hips tighter, his breaths growing shallow, each one a little more ragged as he became more desperate. He could tell you were close—he always could—but the need to hear you fall apart before he did had him on the edge of his own control.

"Baby, please..." His voice was softer now, almost whiny, as his hips faltered for a split second. "Let go for me... I need to see you cum. Please." The desperation in his words only spurred you on, pushing you to the brink.

His thrusts started to get sloppier, less controlled, as if he was teetering on the edge himself. The wet sound of his cock slamming in and out of your wetness grew louder, the intensity in his eyes matching the frenzy in his movements. "I can’t... I can't wait, baby," he muttered, voice broken as he pulled you closer, pressing into you deeper, harder. His cock slid into you with an urgency that matched the mounting tension, his pace erratic but still aimed at pushing you toward your climax.

You couldn’t hold back any longer. With a sharp gasp, your body finally surrendered, the pleasure bursting through you in waves. Your back arched off the bed, your nails dragging down his back even more as the orgasm hit you, intense and overwhelming.

Nicholas's eyes locked on you, his jaw tightening as he felt you clench around him, riding out your release. He gave one last desperate thrust, whining as the pressure finally broke inside him. "Fuck," he groaned, his movements sloppy and erratic as he spilled into you, his body shuddering with his own orgasm.

He collapsed on top of you, his body trembling as he held you close, both of you still panting for air. His head rested on your chest as he tried to catch his breath, and you could feel the thumping of his heart against your skin, while he was still throbbing inside of you.

"You’re so perfect for me baby” he murmured between breaths, pressing a soft kiss to your collarbone. "You were made for me"

You ran your fingers through his damp hair, gently soothing him as he slowly regained his composure. The bond between you two, unspoken but felt, lingered in the air, heavy and undeniable. Nicholas had given everything to make sure you were satisfied, and in that moment, as you both lay tangled in each other’s arms, you knew he wouldn’t have it any other way.

#lavender baby #nicholas chavez #nicholas alexander chavez #nicholas chavez smut #nicholas chavez fanfiction #nicholas chavez fic #nicholas chavez x reader #nicholas chavez x y/n #nicholas chavez x female reader

29 notes · View notes

chaoslynx · 2 years ago

Note

I see you a a great parent figure

I will never tell you who I am but you are slay

Damn y'all really need better adult role models huh? Standards are LOW out here.

Starting to feel like that trope of the disgruntled old man who keeps accidentally adopting teenagers. Like I am BEGGING other adults to tell the kids in your life that you're proud of them. Please. Do it for my sake. I can't keep adopting teenagers!!

(This is all lighthearted and I am absolutely here to help y'all in whatever ways I can!)

BUT. That being said. Please try to understand that like ... me saying I'm proud of you, or letting you infodump, or giving my honest experience on something in an age-appropriate way, or WHATEVER the hecking fuck I did to make you think this? Literally the bare minimum you should be seeing from the adults in your life.

Like ... to be frank, I know there's a reason that a lot of you (especially the kiddos) are drawn to Banana Fish in particular, and also that there's a reason you're spending so much time in fandom spaces online, etc. etc. But just ... please know that you deserve better? Even if it's not feasible for you to actually HAVE better right now.

I'm not saying that every adult has to like kids or whatever. But I AM saying that ever person has to treat others with the respect that they deserve, and that kids and teenagers deserve exactly as much default respect as adults -- and that that respect is to be delivered in a way that is age-appropriate, but not inherently Less Than.

This turned into a bit of a ramble and idk where I'm going with it honestly. I'm honored that you think I'm slay, but just. know that you deserve better than a 25-year-old writer on the internet who is Trying Really Hard

Honestly like ... I'm sorry that a lot of y'all ever had to turn to my writing -- or to canon bfish -- to begin with. If you're just here for the stories, that's amazing, and I'm happy you're here either way. But if you're finding yourself in them, like ... I'm sorry.

#answers #anon #honeslty i touch on some similar topics in one of the fics i'm currently working on #it's a story in which ash is a well known fiction author #but at the start of the fic he's releasing his first book that like ... actually touches on some of his own experiences via fiction #and the way he sees things (at the start of the fic at least) is a little different (more cynical) than how i do #but i think it explores some interesting themes around consuming a story vs finding catharsis in it or both #and the connection between author and reader #and what draws people to (or pushes them away from) certain themes in media #and so on and so forth and blah blah blah idk where i'm going with this either #okay it's 6:30am i'm gonna try to sleep #ily anon

11 notes · View notes

quatregats · 2 months ago

Note

possibly it would make more sense to send this to catilinas but I was on your blog when I thought of it and I thought you’d be interested. Aeneas also loses his first wife (Creusa) (LITERALLY loses, he is escaping the burning city of Troy and doesn’t realize he’s left her behind) and marries a second wife (Lavinia) who Symbolizes Everything He’s Worked For. Lavinia and Barbara don’t have much in common besides that narrative role. But I’ve always thought of Maria as a Creusa figure - the first wife who represents everything the hero has to move beyond, through no fault of her own but literally just because she was there first. Probably Marie and Dido as well but I’d have to reread her books

Ohhh interesting! Yes, I know I've read a fic which is drawing the Marie-Dido parallel, but I didn't know that both of the other Women In His Life also had Aeneid parallels -it sounds like that's at least part of where Forester was getting the narrative ideas from, which is fascinating :0

What I'm getting from all this is that I need to read the Aeneid and also reread/read the actual entirety of the Odyssey.....but not being a classicist it's probably much more fruitful to see your guys' analyses haha

#boat books making me wish i had been interested in classics in undergrad but alas #love reading the analyses you guys post on here it's super interesting to see the parallels #since it's also a connecting through-line between boat guys and boat authors and boat readers #and that means that there's a lot of meat and substance there which they can draw on and expect readers to understand #was also looking more into the concept of pietas (re: catilinas' original post) and i'd be fascinated to know more about that #i don't want to say things until i get a better grasp on how it actually shows up in the aeneid but it does feed into some things #that i've been thinking about recently. particularly about pellew. but i digress #asks #percy yells at cecil scott

2 notes · View notes

fastepp · 2 years ago

Text

i need YA to be better written and I need full grown adults to stop recommending me YA. these two things are related.

#like i dont hate YA because its the only thing recommended to me #but its a close fucking thing #my relationship with current YA fiction trends.......bad. horrid. im ready to kill.#theres some good shit out there and then the rest is copy cat #and i knooooowwwwwww YAs whole thing is coming of age #but they need to write better coming of age novels. everything coming out rn is swaddling the demographic. nothing is brave.#'YA isn't a genre stop talking about it like a genre' YA both is and is not a genre #at its core it is a marketing demographic #and it should not be treated as a genre like fantasy or horror #however. YA novels have defining tropes and themes and characteristics that draw a sharp line between YA fiction and regular fiction #not only based on the age of the protagonists which is honestly the least relevant thing in a YA novel (fuck you my YA lit course)#but the a) POV b) character arcs #and c) context and tone #reading a YA novel as an adult i cant connect with the characters like i can do with even a middle grade novel #because the context and tone YA novels use to talk to the reader is so i dont wanna say patronizing but its like. im not with it.#its like on the level but above it #this has gotten off track. YA authors write less copy cat novels and start writing honestly. or die by my hand.

6 notes · View notes

mephisto-reporting · 13 days ago

Text

Jealousy, Jealousy with Sylus

Plot: Reader becomes jealous of Sylus and MC's closeness, distancing herself and seeking comfort in another LI. Sylus notices her growing distance and takes action. Based on this request. Pairing: Sylus x Non MC reader Content Warning: Insecurities, injuries, mention of blood, jealousy, angst, hurt/comfort Note: Reader is not the MC of the game. I think I got quite carried away writing this because I am a sucker for angst.

The faint hum of the air condition echoed through the Onychinus base, its opulent, luxurious atmosphere doing little to distract from the knot twisting in your stomach. You stood across from Luke and Kieran, their crow masks tilted slightly as if to gauge your reaction.

"Boss isn't here today," Luke said casually, his hands tucked into his pockets. "He’s in Linkon, Boss man’s got other things to handle."

Kieran, his mask tilted slightly to the side, gave a confused grunt. "But I thought he was meeting with her...?"

Luke raised a brow, correcting him. "No, no, he was meeting with Miss Hunter."

Miss Hunter.

The words hit you like a sledgehammer, even though they shouldn’t have. You were a hunter too, an informant who had been feeding Sylus critical intel on the association’s movements for two years now. But she was different. Special.

Captain Jenna’s star pupil, with her rare Anhaunsen-class Resonance Evol, was someone Sylus had spent weeks trying to connect with, both literally and emotionally. You weren’t blind to the necessity of it; resonating with her was crucial for his goals, ones he hadn’t entirely shared with you but that you trusted him to pursue.

Trusted him. Loved him.

You forced a tight smile. "Thanks for the update. I'll let you two get back to it."

Luke and Kieran exchanged a glance, but you were already walking away, the echo of your boots swallowed by the hum of the base.

The ride back to Linkon was supposed to clear your mind. It didn’t.

The cool wind whipped against your face, but all it did was sting the tears pooling in your eyes. The road stretched endlessly ahead, yet the pressure in your chest only grew. Sylus hadn’t seen you in two months. Two months of unanswered calls and messages reduced to half-hearted responses when they came at all.

You understood why he was focused on her. She was crucial to his plans. She was everything you weren’t: poised, pretty, powerful, and, most importantly, someone he needed.

But understanding didn’t make it hurt any less.

The world blurred around you as your thoughts spiraled. You had always known your place in Sylus’ life. You were the informant, the quiet insider who helped him stay two steps ahead of the hunters. Somewhere along the way, though, you had fallen for him. For the man who wasn’t as cold and calculated as others believed. It had been two long years since you started working with Sylus. Two years filled with secrecy, lies, and hidden truths. But over those years, you'd found yourself tangled in emotions for him that you couldn’t shake. Sylus, with his cold authority, his dangerous smile, his complex nature… He was all you could think about. He wasn’t as dismissive as people thought. He had a way of looking at you when no one was watching—a fleeting softness that you cherished, even if you couldn’t be certain if it was real.

And now, it felt like you were losing him.

Your bike screeched to a halt near Meow’s Café. You hadn’t planned to stop, but the sight of the familiar storefront tugged at you. Perhaps a coffee and a moment to breathe would help.

The glass windows glinted under the midday sun, and your breath hitched as you looked inside.

Sylus was there. With her.

They sat at a small table, a deck of Kitty cards spread between them. He was leaning back, his smirk in full display as she laughed at something he said. It was the kind of laugh that reached her eyes, the kind of moment you had only ever dreamed of sharing with him.

You froze, your hands tightening on your helmet.

For a fleeting second, you wanted to march inside and demand answers. To ask him why he had time to play cards but couldn’t return your calls. To tell him how his absence had hollowed you out.

But you didn’t.

He looks so happy... you thought bitterly, swallowing the lump in your throat.

The truth gnawed at you. Every interaction, every ignored message, every unread notification on your phone—it was because of her. Because Sylus had more important things to do. She was the one who mattered now. She was the one who he had to resonate with, had to bond with, had to make fall for him.

And you? You were just a pawn, a tool—forgotten. And there you were. Alone. Watching through a window, the warmth of the cafe contrasting the cold, empty feeling in your stomach. He hadn’t even bothered to let you know he was back. He was with her. You couldn’t bear to watch any longer, but you couldn’t look away either. It felt like the world was spinning faster than you could catch up, and you were left stranded, dizzy, and abandoned.

Instead, you turned away, your chest tight and vision blurred. The world felt suffocating, the weight of your unspoken feelings dragging you down as you climbed back onto your bike.

It was for the best, right?

You couldn’t keep doing this. You couldn’t keep waiting for him, couldn’t keep fooling yourself that there was something real between you two. He was busy. He had her. And you.. well, you didn’t even know why you bothered anymore.

The ride back to your apartment was a blur of taillights and muffled engine noise. The city’s glow that usually brought you some sense of comfort felt glaring and alien tonight. By the time you made it inside, the suffocating silence of your small space was overwhelming.

For someone who prided herself on being strong and independent, you barely made it to your couch before the sobs overtook you. Hot, angry tears streamed down your face as you clutched a pillow to your chest, trying in vain to keep your cries muffled. It felt as though something within you had been ripped apart, leaving an aching, hollow void that throbbed with every thought of him.

You replayed the image of him at the café in your mind, over and over, as if some part of you wanted to punish yourself further. His smirk. Her laughter. The ease of their interaction. It contrasted so sharply with the heaviness that now weighed on your heart.

Every chime of your phone made you flinch, hope briefly sparking to life, only to be cruelly snuffed out when the screen lit up with messages from others—work updates, pointless notifications, or friends checking in. Nothing from him. Of course, there wouldn’t be.

You wiped at your face, your chest tightening as you scrolled through the last few conversations you’d had with Sylus. They were short, clipped responses. A "thanks" here, an "I’m busy" there. You’d convinced yourself for weeks that he wasn’t brushing you off, that his focus was just elsewhere. But deep down, you knew. You’d always known.

You weren’t as important to him as he was to you.

That realization settled over you like a heavy blanket, suffocating and final. And yet, you tried to convince yourself it was okay. He doesn’t owe me anything, you told yourself, though the thought only twisted the knife deeper. He’s free to choose who he spends his time with.

But it didn’t stop the tears.

The days that followed were a haze of exhaustion and numbness. You threw yourself into your work, spending long hours tracking and confronting wanderers. The physical exhaustion helped, even if just a little. At least when you were in the middle of a fight, the pain in your chest was drowned out by the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Still, the nights were the worst. Alone in your apartment, the quiet crept in like a suffocating fog. You tried to distract yourself—reading, cleaning, even organizing old mission reports. Anything to keep your mind from drifting back to him. But it was impossible.

Each time you saw his name in your contacts, you hesitated. Your thumb hovered over the call button more times than you cared to admit, but the fear of hearing his indifferent voice stopped you every time. What would you even say? That you missed him? That you wanted to see him? That you’d fallen for him, even though you knew it would never be mutual?

No. You couldn’t do that to yourself.

You worked harder, pushed yourself further. Every wanderer you fought became a stand-in for your frustrations, your insecurities. You told yourself that if you could just stay busy enough, the ache would go away. But no matter how many missions you completed or how many late nights you spent staring at your phone, the weight in your chest never fully lifted.

By the end of the week, you were exhausted—physically and emotionally. But you were surviving. Barely. The bell above the door jingled softly as you pushed into the chocolatier’s shop, the rich scent of cocoa and vanilla wrapping around you like a warm embrace. The day had been grueling—hours of chasing leads, a narrow escape from a particularly aggressive wanderer, and not a single bite of food since morning. Your stomach growled in protest, a sharp reminder that you’d been running on fumes for too long.

Rows of meticulously crafted chocolates gleamed beneath the glass counter, their perfect swirls and shimmering finishes almost too beautiful to eat. Almost. You leaned forward slightly, scanning the display, your reflection ghosting over the pristine surface.

Dark chocolate truffles. Raspberry ganache. Caramel hazelnut clusters. The options were overwhelming, and your indecision felt heavier than it should’ve. Your chest still ached from the lingering emotions you’d been suppressing all week. The quiet joy of the shop felt alien, like stepping into a world you no longer belonged to.

Just pick something and go, you thought, your fingers tightening on the strap of your bag. But the choices seemed endless, each one whispering promises of sweetness you weren’t sure you deserved.

"If you’re struggling," a soft, measured voice spoke behind you, "the pistachio crème chocolate is an excellent choice."

Startled, you turned, your gaze falling on a man standing a few steps away. Tall and lean, he exuded an understated confidence that was both intimidating and captivating. Dark hair fell in against his forehead, and sharp hazel-green eyes, softened by gold flecks peered at you from behind thin-framed glasses. His white doctor’s coat was open, revealing a simple black shirt beneath, and he held a small paper bag in one hand.

You blinked, caught off guard by both his suggestion and his presence. "Oh, uh… thank you," you stammered, trying not to sound as flustered as you felt. "I’ll… I’ll try that."

The shopkeeper nodded and carefully packed your selection as you stole another glance at the stranger. There was an air of calm authority about him, a quiet assurance that made you feel oddly exposed, like he could see straight through you.

He waited patiently as the shopkeeper handed you your bag, but just as you were about to leave, his voice cut through the quiet again—this time, more direct. "Chocolates shouldn’t be your first meal of the day."

The statement was delivered without malice, his tone stoic and matter-of-fact, yet it hit like a stone to the chest. Your lips parted in shock, the question forming before you could stop it: How does he know? But before you could say anything, he was already moving toward the door. The bells jingled softly as it closed behind him, leaving you standing frozen in place. The stranger’s words lingered, intertwining with the rest of your messy emotions. Your fingers clenched the small bag of chocolates as you tried to process the brief encounter.

A soft gleam on the floor caught your attention, breaking your spiraling thoughts. A wallet, its sleek leather worn but well-kept, lay just inches from where the man had stood. You knelt and picked it up, your heart thudding as you opened it to check for identification.

The name embossed on his hospital ID was like a jolt: Dr. Zayne. Your eyes widened. Doctor Zayne? The name was familiar—a renowned surgeon whose skills and precision were legendary, often described as a miracle worker. You’d imagined someone older, more weathered, not… this.

For a moment, you stared at the ID, piecing together the puzzle of the composed, enigmatic man who had called you out so effortlessly. You tried the number listed on a card tucked into his wallet, but it rang unanswered, the sterile monotone only adding to your frustration.

"Of course, he wouldn’t answer," you muttered under your breath, chewing your lip as you debated your next move. The idea of keeping his wallet overnight felt wrong, and leaving it here in the shop seemed equally careless.

That left one option.

The hospital loomed ahead as you approached, its towering structure illuminated against the evening sky. Anxiety gnawed at your insides, twisting with every step you took through the sterile white halls. You weren’t sure why you felt so on edge—maybe it was the overwhelming sense of inadequacy that had been haunting you lately, or maybe it was the lingering impression of Zayne’s knowing gaze.

At the reception desk, you hesitated, gripping the wallet tightly as you cleared your throat. "Hi, um, I’m here to return something for Dr. Zayne. He… accidentally dropped this."

The receptionist barely looked up, taking the wallet with a polite but indifferent smile. "Dr. Zayne isn’t in right now. I’ll make sure he gets this when he’s back."

"Oh," You nodded, murmuring a quick thanks before retreating back toward the exit. You thought nothing of this interaction as you left. You did what you thought was right and left the hospital back towards your apartment.

The days blurred together in a haze of work and routine. You buried yourself in assignments from the Hunter’s Association, throwing yourself into dangerous missions with a single-minded intensity. Anything to keep your mind occupied.

Sylus messaged you once during that time, his tone professional as he asked for updates regarding a lead he was tracking. You’d responded quickly, sticking strictly to business. No pleasantries, no banter—just the information he needed. He didn’t press, didn’t call you out for your uncharacteristic coldness. Maybe he didn’t notice. Or maybe he did and chose not to say anything.

That night, you jogged through the dimly lit streets, your breath fogging in the cool air as you tried to exorcise the restless energy gnawing at you. The rhythmic slap of your sneakers against the pavement was grounding, steady. Jogging had always been your go-to, a way to clear your head and silence the endless stream of "what-ifs" and "if-onlys" that plagued your mind.

You shook your head, annoyed at yourself. There was no point in dwelling. Sylus wasn’t the kind of person to give you what you wanted, and even if he did, could you trust it? Could you trust him?

But no amount of movement could completely shake Sylus from your thoughts.

His voice, his presence—it clung to you, even now.

Why didn’t he ask how I’ve been? Why didn’t I?

The sound of skidding tires yanked you out of your spiraling thoughts.

“Look out!”

Before you could process the warning, a cyclist veered wildly toward you, their momentum too strong to stop. There wasn’t even time to brace yourself. The impact hit like a freight train, and suddenly, you were on the ground, tangled with the bike and its rider. Pain blossomed sharp and hot in your knees as the asphalt scraped them raw.

For a moment, you just lay there, stunned. The world tilted unsteadily, the city lights smearing together like a watercolor painting.

“Hey, you okay?” The cyclist’s voice snapped you back. They were scrambling off you, helmet slightly askew but otherwise unscathed. You shook your head to clear it, wincing as you sat up. You pushed yourself up, shaking the dizziness from your head, and checked on the cyclist who had crashed into you. They were already scrambling to their feet, looking slightly dazed but otherwise unharmed, their helmet and guards having done their job.

“I’m fine,” you managed, even as your knees throbbed in protest. “Are you?”

“Yeah, thanks to the gear,” they said, pulling off their helmet to inspect a small crack along its surface. “Guess it did its job.”

Relief washed over you. “Good. Let me just—”

“Wait.” A different voice cut in, firm but calm. You stood there, still trying to regain your bearings when a figure appeared beside you, moving with a grace that immediately caught your attention. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw who it was. Dr. Zayne. The same man who had crossed your path in the chocolatier's shop just days ago. His sharp eyes locked onto yours, and for a split second, everything else seemed to vanish. His expression shifted from mild surprise to something more concerned as he took in your state.

Without saying a word, he immediately began assessing you, his gaze narrowing at the blood now staining your knees. You winced, feeling the sting of the cuts that had begun to bloom with a fiery intensity, but you were determined not to show it. You were used to pain—used to the sharp discomfort that came with being a hunter. You didn’t need help. You could handle this on your own. You’d always been able to.

But Dr. Zayne wasn’t having any of it.

His voice, low and steady, broke through the haze of your thoughts. "You’re bleeding. Those need first aid," he said firmly, his frown deepening as he glanced at your scraped knees. "Sit. Wait here. I’ll be back in a minute."

You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him you were fine, but the words caught in your throat. He wasn’t asking. His tone, though gentle, was authoritative—demanding in its own quiet way. There was something about the way he carried himself, that calm, unflinching presence, that made it impossible to argue.

"I’m fine, I am a hunter." you managed to say, your voice rougher than you intended. "I can handle it at home. Really." You tried to force a reassuring smile

“Is this a hunter thing?” he interrupted, one brow arching skeptically. “Are all of you this stubborn about basic care, or is it just you?”

The words should have been biting, but his tone was almost... patient. Like he was accustomed to dealing with difficult people.

You flushed, suddenly hyper-aware of the sting in your knees and the heat of his gaze. “I’m not being stubborn,” you muttered. “I just don’t want to bother anyone over something so small.”

“Small injuries have a way of turning into bigger problems,” he said, folding his arms. “And I’m not bothered. As a doctor, I’m asking you to wait here. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Without waiting for your protest, he turned and strode off, leaving you no room to argue.

You sat stiffly on the bench, gripping the edge as the minutes dragged on. The ache in your knees was nothing compared to the gnawing discomfort blooming in your chest. Anxiety clawed at you, whispering insidious doubts.

He’s wasting his time on you.He probably thinks you’re pathetic and weak.Why couldn’t you have just gotten up and left?

Your fingers curled into fists, the tension radiating through your body.

The sound of footsteps interrupted your spiraling thoughts, and Dr. Zayne was back, carrying a small first aid kit. He knelt in front of you without a word, his hands steady as he cleaned the cuts on your knees. The gentle pressure of his fingers as he worked felt almost surreal. His silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was just… calm. You found yourself drawn to it, to the quiet that seemed to settle around him.

"You’re lucky," he said, glancing up at you as he bandaged your knees. "That could’ve been a lot worse."

You nodded, the words caught in your throat. There were so many things you wanted to say, things you wanted to ask him, but you didn’t know where to start. So you remained silent, watching as he finished his work, his hands moving with the practiced precision of someone who had seen too many injuries to count.

When he was done, he straightened up and met your gaze. "You should be more careful," he said softly, his voice a little lighter than before, though there was still a note of concern underlying his words. "Next time, don’t run so late at night. You never know what could happen."

You forced a tight smile, the words feeling like they were coming from someone else. "I’ll keep that in mind," you said, your voice quieter now.

Dr. Zayne took a step back after finishing the bandages, his sharp gaze softening ever so slightly as he packed the first aid kit. You glanced at him, your mouth opening to thank him, but before you could get the words out, he said, almost in unison, “Thank you.”

Both of you froze, the simultaneous expressions of gratitude hanging awkwardly in the air. A surprised laugh slipped out of you, breaking the tension.

“You first,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You swallowed, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “I was just going to say thank you for… you know, helping with this.” You gestured vaguely toward your knees, the bandages clinging to your skin. “You didn’t have to.”

The moment stretched between you, awkward yet somehow comforting. Zayne gave a small, almost amused smile at the simultaneous gratitude, but his gaze softened when it landed on you, his concern still present.

"Thank you for returning my wallet," he said, his tone steady but with a hint of appreciation.

His words caught you off guard. “Oh, right! That. It wasn’t a big deal, really.” You fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve, avoiding his gaze. “I found it at the chocolatier shop. I figured it was better to bring it to the hospital than leave it lying around.”

He nodded thoughtfully, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. “I appreciate it. Not many people would go out of their way like that.”

You tried not to let his kindness throw you off, but it wasn’t easy. There was something about Zayne that made you feel... small in a way you didn’t like to feel. He was kind, yes, but that kindness made you wonder if you were deserving of it. Why should you be the one he cared about?

But before you could dwell on that any further, his voice cut through your swirling thoughts.

"Have you eaten today?" His tone was light, but there was an edge of sincerity beneath it, one that made your stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with hunger. It reminded you of that conversation in the shop, of how he had so effortlessly read through your tiredness.

The sheepish look that crossed your face must’ve been obvious, because Zayne sighed, the sound so deep that it almost felt like a reprimand. He pinched the bridge of his nose in a gesture that was both familiar and surprisingly endearing.

“You’ve got to take care of yourself,” he said, his voice almost too gentle for the weight of his words. “It’s not healthy to go without food, especially if you’re going to keep running around like you hunters do.”

You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him it wasn’t a big deal, but Zayne didn’t give you the chance.

"There’s a diner close by. It’s the least I can do to thank you for returning my wallet."

You shook your head instinctively, trying to backpedal. "It’s really not necessary," you said, but Zayne wasn’t having any of it. His eyes were firm, and there was an undeniable warmth behind them that almost made you feel guilty for refusing.

"Yes, it is," he replied, his tone steady but with a hint of finality. "Now, come on.”

You hesitated for a moment, the unease building in your chest like a brick wall, but the thought of Zayne’s calm, commanding presence made it impossible to say no. So, with a quiet sigh, you relented.

"I’ll pay," you muttered as he led the way, the words almost reflexive. You always felt like you had to pay your way—like it was your responsibility to do so, especially with someone who had helped you, even in the smallest of ways. You were used to standing on your own two feet.

Zayne only gave you a side glance, his lips quirking up in the barest of smiles. "No, you won’t. It’s my thank you, remember?"

The diner wasn’t far from where you had been, a cozy, low-lit place with a soft hum of quiet conversations and the clink of silverware against plates. The familiar scent of warm food—steak, mashed potatoes, and the unmistakable aroma of fresh bread—immediately filled the air as you stepped inside. You followed Zayne to a small booth in the back, the vinyl seats creaking under your weight as you slid in.

You wanted to say something—thank you, maybe—but the words felt stuck, trapped somewhere in the pit of your stomach, along with everything else that had been piling up for weeks. Zayne didn’t seem to notice, his focus already turning to the menu as he gestured for you to pick something.

You wanted to ask him more, to understand him in the same way you understood the empty streets you ran through, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d just end up looking foolish. So, instead, you stared at the menu in front of you, unable to focus on the choices, as your mind churned with questions that had no answers.

Zayne ordered for both of you, his voice low as he made his choices, and when he looked at you, you caught a flicker of something—perhaps curiosity, or was it concern? It was hard to tell.

"You should eat more regularly," he said again, as though the words were a reminder he had to repeat for his own peace of mind. You nodded, letting the silence fill the space between you for a moment.

The food arrived, warm and satisfying, and you took a bite, surprised at how hungry you were despite the earlier denials. Zayne watched you for a moment, his gaze softening as you ate, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet it. His concern, his care—it felt too much. You weren’t used to people worrying about you.

But as the meal went on, you found yourself starting to relax, the initial tension loosening from your shoulders. Zayne was easy to talk to, his calm, steady presence settling you in a way you hadn’t expected. By the end of the meal, you felt... lighter.

"Call me Zayne," he said when the check came, his voice quiet but sincere.

You blinked, a little caught off guard by the request. "Zayne?" you echoed, testing the name on your tongue.

"Yes," he replied with a small, patient smile. "It’s easier than 'Dr. Zayne,' don’t you think?"

You blinked, taken aback. “Are you sure? I mean, you’ve earned the title—”

“And I’ll still have it in the hospital,” he interrupted, amusement flickering in his eyes. “But here, it’s just Zayne.”

You nodded slowly, testing the name in your mind. It felt strange, almost too personal. But there was something grounding about it, too.

By the time dessert arrived, the knot of anxiety in your chest had loosened considerably. The warmth of the diner, the steady cadence of his voice, and the shared laughter over a poorly made joke had a way of pulling you out of your own head. For the first time in what felt like weeks, you weren’t obsessing over your failures or doubts.

As you finished your meal, Zayne pulled out his phone and slid it across the table. “Here,” he said simply. “Add your number. In case you ever need anything.”

You hesitated, the gesture feeling far more intimate than it probably was. But his expression was patient, expectant, and you found yourself entering your contact information before you could overthink it. When you handed the phone back, his lips twitched into a faint smile.

“Thanks again for returning my wallet,” he said, his tone lighter now. “And for the company.”

You felt your cheeks flush, but this time, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “It’s not a problem,” you murmured, a small smile tugging at your lips.

As you stepped out of the diner and into the cool night air, a strange sense of calm settled over you. Zayne walked you to the corner where your paths would diverge, his presence steady and reassuring.

“Take care of yourself,” he said, his voice softer now, almost intimate.

“You too,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

The diner’s warmth lingered even as you stepped into the cool night air. For the first time in what felt like weeks, your chest didn’t feel as tight, the oppressive weight that had been bearing down on you now lifting slightly. You still felt the ache of Sylus’ absence—a hollow, gnawing sensation that seemed to creep in whenever you let your guard down, but it wasn’t as suffocating as it had been. Instead, a new sensation fluttered in its place, tentative and fragile: excitement. It was strange to feel this way, to look forward to the possibility of a friendship formed under such unlikely circumstances. Zayne’s calm demeanor, his steady presence, had surprised you.

As you walked, the sound of fluttering wings caught your attention. Instinctively, your heart skipped, your mind jumping to Mephisto. You tilted your head to the dark sky, half-expecting to see the telltale silhouette of his familiar. But it was just a cluster of pigeons, their wings catching the faint glow of the streetlights as they soared away.

Right. Of course. It was unlikely that Sylus was watching you tonight.

You exhaled, a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and forced your thoughts away from him. Zayne had offered you a rare moment of normalcy, and you weren’t about to let your memories of Sylus overshadow that.

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

The following weeks were a blur of activity, and before long, you found yourself stationed at an outpost on the outskirts of Linkon. A metaflux surge had disrupted the area, and the temporary makeshift hospital was bustling with injured workers, hunters, and even a few civilians caught in the chaos. The air was thick with tension, the metallic tang of metaflux faint but persistent, a reminder of the unseen dangers that lurked just beyond the safety of the encampment.

Zayne was assigned as the doctor for the outpost, and you often found yourself crossing paths with him. At first, your interactions were brief—a nod here, a shared glance there—but over time, you began to talk. It started with simple pleasantries, discussions about the metaflux readings or the influx of patients, but it wasn’t long before the conversations deepened.

You learned that Zayne had a dry sense of humor, his sharp wit often catching you off guard. He’d tease you about your stubbornness, and you’d retort with a quip about his overly serious nature. Despite his professionalism, there was a warmth to him, a quiet compassion that made him easy to trust. And though you’d never admit it, you found yourself looking forward to those moments of shared laughter, those fleeting glimpses of something lighter amidst the chaos.

But even as your friendship with Zayne grew, Sylus lingered at the edges of your thoughts, a shadow you couldn’t quite shake. The conversations you had with him were sparse and strictly work-related—updates from the Association, bits of intel you passed along to him. It felt transactional, a far cry from the intimacy you once shared. Yet, every time his name appeared on your screen, your heart still raced, betraying the fragile boundaries you’d tried to set.

One evening, a message from Sylus broke the monotony of your routine.

‘Come over tomorrow night, Darling. I have an exquisite wine I’d like you to try—procured it during a recent deal.’

The invitation was simple, almost casual. For a moment, you imagined it—the rich scent of wine filling the air, his sharp yet alluring gaze fixed on you as he poured you a glass. But reality quickly crept in, dragging you back to the present. You couldn’t go. You couldn’t risk it. Not when your heart was still so fragile, still aching in ways you didn’t want to admit.

You stared at the screen for what felt like an eternity, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as your mind raced. The truth was, you wanted to see him. But you knew better. You had to keep your distance—for your own sake, if nothing else.

‘I’m tired..'

You typed, the words feeling hollow as they formed.

'Busy day tomorrow. Maybe another time.’

You hesitated before hitting send, the weight of the message pressing down on you. When his reply came, it was as simple as his invitation.

‘Okay.’

The finality of it hit you like a brick, and for a moment, you felt like your breath had been stolen away. He didn’t push. He didn’t argue. That empty “okay” hung in the air, leaving you with the quiet realization that, once again, you had lost yourself in the haze of someone else’s world.

You tried not to read too much into it, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he had already moved on. That he didn’t care enough to fight for your attention. Instead, it felt like you were just a passing thought, like an aftertaste that wasn’t worth savoring.

Miss Hunter. The words echoed in your mind. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the tears to stay behind your eyelids, but they pressed hard, a sting that never seemed to fully fade. You rubbed your forehead, trying to push away the thoughts. But even as you did, you couldn’t escape the suffocating feeling in your chest—the one that always came when you were reminded of how little you meant to him. You felt foolish, but you couldn’t help it. It was like you were always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to come back, to pull you back into his orbit with that practiced charm, that voice that made you feel wanted, if only for a little while.

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

The dinner with Zayne had been a welcome reprieve. It had been two weeks since you last saw him, the demands of work pulling both of you in different directions. But tonight, seated across from him in a small, cozy bistro, you found solace in the familiar rhythm of your conversations. The mellow lights softened the sharp angles of his face as he recounted a mishap earlier in the week involving a particularly irritable patient.

His dry humor, paired with the subtle lift of his brow, drew a laugh from you—a genuine, light sound that felt foreign after the weight of recent days. For a while, the world outside blurred away. You weren’t Miss Hunter; you weren’t anything other than a person sharing a meal with a friend.

As the meal wound down, Zayne looked at you over the rim of his glass, his expression calm. “You’re doing better than when we first met.” he remarked softly.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Am I?”

He nodded. His calm demeanor always had a way of grounding you, and tonight was no exception.

The meal wrapped up with the two of you trading small updates and light banter. You paid for your half of the meal, Zayne insisting it wasn’t necessary, but you’d insisted back. There was a sense of normalcy here, something you weren’t willing to let go of easily. When you parted ways outside the diner, the night air was cool and quiet. Zayne’s warm farewell echoed softly in your ears as you waved goodbye and headed back toward your apartment.

As you walked, you felt lighter somehow. The stress of the past few weeks hadn’t vanished, but Zayne’s steady presence had reminded you of something important—moments of peace still existed, even in the chaos.

The faint scent of lavender greeted you as you unlocked your apartment door, a hint of the candle you’d left burning earlier. The lights were off, and the air felt too still—unnaturally so. Your heart skipped, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. A lump formed in your throat, panic curling its fingers around your chest.

You flicked the light switch, and the sudden brightness flooded the room, revealing the figure sitting on your couch. Sylus.

You froze. Your body stiffened, caught between fight or flight.

Your yelp of surprise filled the space, your pulse racing as you clutched the doorframe for support. “What—Sylus? What are you doing here?”

He was sitting on your couch, one arm draped casually along the backrest, his other hand resting on his knee. The dim light of the room softened the sharp edges of his face, but his expression was anything but gentle. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, tracked your every movement as if he were dissecting you with just a glance.

“How—what are you doing here?” you stammered, your voice shaky as your pulse raced.

Sylus didn’t respond right away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his gaze dragging over you slowly, deliberately. His silence was louder than any words he could have spoken, and it made your skin prickle.

“Darling,” he finally murmured, his voice low and smooth, laced with something you couldn’t quite name. “You look… exhausted.”

You blinked, still standing frozen by the door. His tone was soft, almost tender, but it was the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers tapped against his knee, that betrayed his underlying tension.

“Y-yeah,” you stammered, your voice wavering as you took a cautious step forward. “It’s been a long day. What are you doing here?”

Sylus leaned back, the leather of the couch creaking faintly under his weight. “A long day,” he echoed, his lips curving into a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yet you had time for dinner.”

“I…” you faltered, scrambling for a response. “It was just…”

“Just dinner,” he interrupted smoothly, his tone unreadable. “With… someone else.”

The air felt thick, charged with a tension that made your skin prickle. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words stuck in your throat. His eyes narrowed slightly, his expression still calm but his body language telling a different story. The way his fingers drummed against his knee, the slight clench of his jaw, the flicker of something dark in his gaze.

Your heart pounded, your thoughts racing. Why was he here? What did he want? And why did his presence—his very existence in your space—make your chest ache in that familiar, suffocating way?

“I didn’t think…” You stopped yourself, your voice trembling. “You didn’t say you’d be coming by. You can’t just—”

“Can’t just what?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft as he rose from the couch, his movements fluid and deliberate. “Show up to see what’s wrong?”

Your breath hitched as he closed the distance between you, his height and presence suddenly overwhelming. “Nothing’s wrong…”you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Is that so?” he murmured, tilting his head slightly, his eyes boring into yours. “Because from where I’m standing, it seems like you’ve been avoiding me, Darling.”

The accusation hung in the air, sharp and unyielding.

“I’ve been busy…” you said weakly, your voice lacking conviction.

“Busy,” he repeated, his gaze flicking over you again, this time with something close to disdain. “Too busy for me, but not too busy for… him.”

Your hands fidgeted at your sides, your breath coming in shallow bursts. You wanted to move, to put distance between you, but your legs felt rooted to the spot. “I didn’t think dinner with a friend would..”

“Friend?” he interrupted, the single word slicing through your sentence. His lips curved into something that might have been a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Your heart pounded painfully against your ribs, the anxiety swirling in your chest mixing with something else—something raw and painful that you didn’t want to name. The memories of your last exchange with Sylus came flooding back—the curt messages, the unspoken finality of his “okay.” You had tried to convince yourself that it didn’t matter, that you didn’t need his validation. But standing here now, under the weight of his gaze, you felt every crack in the fragile walls you had built to keep him out.

“I don’t understand what you want from me,” you said finally, the words trembling as they left your lips.

His eyes softened slightly, but the tension in his posture didn’t ease. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something, something important, but the moment passed as quickly as it came. Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a gesture so gentle it felt almost foreign.

“Don’t make me feel like I’m a stranger to you.” he said quietly, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability that made your chest ache.

Don’t make me feel like I’m a stranger to you. The words echoed in your mind, repeating, twisting, until all you could hear was the raw edge of betrayal laced in his tone.

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and bitter, a little too loud in the quiet of your apartment. Your chest tightened, and for a moment, you felt the space around you grow smaller. You couldn’t breathe—couldn’t think. All you could feel was the heat of anger building inside of you, raw and unrefined.

“That’s rich,” you scoffed, finally managing to find your voice. “That’s really rich, coming from you of all people.”

Sylus blinked, a subtle flash of surprise crossing his face, but it quickly masked over. His lips tightened, his brow furrowed ever so slightly, but it wasn’t enough. You had to push, you couldn’t hold back now. The words were tumbling out before you could even stop them. Your breath hitched, a strangled sob lodged somewhere in the back of your throat, but you refused to let it spill. You wouldn’t let him see you break—not like this, not in front of him. You knew the truth. He knew the truth. It hurt, yes, but you weren’t the one to blame.

“You've been treating me like a stranger for months,” you continued, your voice trembling with anger you hadn't fully realized was there. “Barely responding to my messages, not answering my calls, and when I do see you, it’s like you can’t be bothered. You don’t even see me.” You felt the weight of every unreturned message, every unanswered call, every promise left in limbo. “I’ve had to hear from Luke and Kieran that you’re in Linkon. But you couldn’t even make time to see me.”

You felt the ache deep in your chest, that familiar, suffocating knot forming. He didn’t deserve your pain. Not anymore. You wouldn’t let him have that. Not this time.

You took a shaky breath, suddenly feeling raw, exposed. “You don’t have to feel obligated to check on me, Sylus,” you said, your words clipped and cutting through the thick silence between you. “You don’t have to feel pity for me. I know where I stand. I know my place in your life.”

His expression, that unreadable mask, cracked for the briefest of moments. His lips parted, his gaze flicking to your face, then back down to the floor. His jaw clenched. But his eyes… They weren’t the same as they’d been earlier. The hardness was gone, replaced by something far more dangerous, something even more intimate. The storm was gathering, but it wasn’t just in the air—no, it was inside him too.

“You know where you stand?” His voice was quieter now, but there was an edge to it, a slight tightness you hadn’t noticed before. He took a step forward, his body closing the space between you, like a wave of raw energy crashing toward you. His proximity only made your pulse race faster, but you couldn’t back down. Not now.

“I’m just an informant, right?” you bit out, every word feeling like it sliced through the night air, cutting through the tension like a blade. “You don’t have to pretend you care, Sylus. So don’t stand there with that look on your face like I’m some important thing you need to check on.”

The air between you grew heavy, thick with unsaid words and stifled tension. Every inch of your body was telling you to get away, to shut down, to stop this before it tore you apart. But your feet felt heavy, stuck in place. Sylus’s presence was like gravity, pulling you toward him.

"You think that's all you are?" he murmured, his voice dangerously low, like the calm before the thunder. The way he said it made your heart stutter in your chest. It was both a question and an accusation or a challenge.

But there was something else in his voice. Something you couldn’t quite place. His eyes were intense, too intense, and they searched yours like he was looking for the answer. The truth.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he continued, his words clipped, as though they were difficult for him to say. “But I couldn’t....couldn’t make sense of it. Of you.”

It was the first time that he seemed genuinely vulnerable, and it left you breathless and confused. You had always wondered if there was more beneath his cold exterior. You had always told yourself that he cared. But you had never dared to confront him.

His hand was close enough now to reach out, his fingers barely brushing the edge of your wrist. The air between you was still thick with everything unsaid, everything unhealed. And yet, despite the words that had been thrown between you, there was something undeniably magnetic in the tension. The ache in your chest, the rawness, the feelings of betrayal—they didn’t wash away just because you said them out loud.

God, you hated him for this.

But part of you yearned for him. That part that still felt tethered to him, despite the distance.

Sylus’s fingers hovered over your wrist, his touch like fire against your skin. For a moment, the storm between you calmed, leaving only the faintest echo of it behind. The weight of his gaze, the force of his presence—it seemed to drown out the rest of the world.

He said nothing for a moment, his lips parting as though he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. His eyes darkened further, not with anger now, but with something you couldn’t quite define.

You took a breath, your body suddenly feeling too small beneath his gaze. The storm was still inside. You had to move away. Your heart pounded as if it were trying to escape your chest, desperate to flee from whatever was stirring inside you. You couldn't—no, you wouldn’t—let yourself get caught up in whatever this feeling was. You were not some fool, ready to throw everything away for the temporary pull of his presence. You knew better than that. You had to.

Every instinct screamed at you to retreat, to put some distance between you and the mess of emotions bubbling under your skin. His sharp gaze was enough to make your knees tremble, and it took everything in you not to look back, not to let him see the quiet devastation that flickered inside you.

“You need to leave… Sylus.” You whispered. You staggered back a few steps, your breathing shallow, desperate. Your feet felt like lead, yet you forced yourself to walk away. You turned your back to him, willing your legs to move, hoping to escape before you got sucked into whatever dark vortex of feelings he was drawing you into.

He didn’t move. Instead, you heard the familiar click of his boots against the floor as he took a single, deliberate step forward. “Why?” His voice, low and curious, sent a shiver down your spine. It was almost too intimate, as if he were searching for a piece of you, trying to understand what you couldn’t explain.

You didn’t want to look at him. Didn’t want to see the quiet confusion on his face—the faint flicker of disappointment that stung like salt in an open wound. You couldn’t let him see your weakness, couldn’t let him know how badly it hurt to be around him, how badly it hurt not to be around him.

“Is it so you can run back to your precious ‘friend’?” The words dripped with something unspoken, something that made your stomach twist.

You couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t. Not when his voice—that voice, the one that threaded through the air like silk—was digging into your mind like this. The word echoed in your ears, almost mocking you, and you felt something fragile snap inside you. The weight of the years you’d spent keeping distance, of guarding your heart against him, against whatever he made you feel, started to unravel. But you couldn’t let it.

You took another step away from him. One more step, you told yourself. Just one more. You didn’t need this.

Dark tendrils wrapped around you as you move, pulling you back. He was using his evol to pull you back. You didn’t need him pulling you in again. But then it came. That touch. He pulled you to him, forceful yet intimate, and your breath caught in your throat. You were too close. Too close to the edge of losing yourself, of falling into his presence.

His hands...no, his fingers—snaked around your waist before you even knew what was happening. You gasped, body going stiff in surprise, but his grip tightened, pulling you back into him. You tried to keep moving, tried to pull away, but it was useless. His hold was ironclad, his presence consuming. His grip tightened slightly, but there was an almost comforting pressure there, a subtle reminder that despite the dispute between you, there was something undeniable between the two of you.

“Why are you running?” His voice was a whisper against your ear, the words smooth like silk, but there was something jagged beneath them—something urgent, raw.

You struggled to hold yourself together, but the more you fought it, the more it pulled—this unbearable need to lean into him, to give in to the chaos that his proximity stirred in you. You knew you shouldn’t, but everything in you wanted to. You felt the ache of wanting something you couldn't have, the sting of the distance you had put between you and the thing that was somehow both poison and relief.

His hands tightened slightly, his thumb brushing over your ribs in a movement that sent a jolt through your entire system. The words you wanted to say, the reasons you needed to get away from him, all felt so small and pointless now. How could you possibly explain this? This tension, this pull? How could you say that being near him felt like the most excruciating thing in the world, but also the only thing that made you feel alive?

“You’re not just an informant to me,” he breathed, his words slipping under your skin, curling into the tight spaces of your chest. “I didn’t realize I was hurting you this much. That you’d want to distance yourself from me...” His tone softened at the end, but it only made everything worse. The tenderness in his voice—his tenderness—was like a dagger in your side, making the blood in your veins freeze. You wanted to say something, anything, but all you could hear was the deafening rush of your own heartbeat. You tried to stay composed, but the words were caught in your throat, and your body was still pressed so tightly against his, your breath shallow, your pulse thudding painfully against your ribs.

Why was this so hard? Why couldn’t you just say it—say that you couldn’t let him get close again? That you couldn’t survive another wound, another aching, empty feeling in your chest because of him? But the way his hands tightened, the warmth of his body against yours, made everything you were feeling a little too real.

You could feel his heartbeat against your back, the rhythm in sync with your own, and the pull of him was growing stronger. You could feel your anxiety bubbling up, the gnawing fear at the pit of your stomach. Was this just him toying with you? Was he trying to pull you into his world of darkness and manipulation? Or did he really care?

Your head was spinning. The emotions warred within you—anger, confusion, guilt, and something else. Something that made your heart race faster and your thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind.

“Let me go,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the storm that raged around you.

But you didn’t pull away. You didn’t push him off.

Sylus' grip on you tightened, his arm like a steel band around your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. His chest rises and falls against your back as his breath brushes against your ear, warm and heavy. It’s as if he’s afraid, like if he lets go for even a second, he’ll lose you forever. You can feel the tension radiating from him, but also something softer, something desperate.

“No, Darling,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with emotion, his tone possessive, as though the very idea of you slipping away shatters him. “You’re not going anywhere and neither am I.”

"You’re going to stay," He pulls you even closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he speaks again, quieter this time, but laced with something raw and vulnerable. "...and you’re going to listen to me. I won’t let you walk away from this."

You can hear the flicker of something beneath his words—regret. And then, his lips ghost over the sensitive skin of your neck, lingering just a little longer than necessary. He slowly spins you around, to face him. His voice softens, almost apologetic. “I know I was a dick. I know I didn’t respond to you, and I’m sorry for that. I didn’t know how to handle it… handle us. It confused me, and instead of facing it, I pushed you away.” His breath catches slightly, and you feel his chest tighten against your back.

His hand moves to cup your cheek, tilting your face slightly toward him, his thumb brushing over your skin as though it’s a promise, an apology. The weight of his gaze is intense, but there’s also something tender there, something that wants to pull you back in, closer. “I know you’re still hurting, darling. I see it. And I... I’ll spend a lifetime making up for it, because that’s what I want. A lifetime. With you. Not as some informant or some... thing, but as my beloved. You. By my side. Always.”

He pauses, letting his words hang in the air between you. His voice drops, the quiet sorrow of his confession sending a twinge of guilt through you. "I don’t have the right to ask this of you, I know," Sylus continues, his voice thick with emotion. "But seeing you push me away… It’s harder than I ever thought it would be. Harder than I want to admit." He presses his forehead lightly against your temple, his breath shaky. "I’ve never needed someone the way I need you, and I didn’t know how to tell you that. But I do. I need you."

You can feel him tense slightly, the shift in his demeanor telling you that his thoughts have turned darker. His voice lowers, the jealousy evident in the way he speaks, though it’s wrapped in a softness that almost makes it harder to bear.

"And Dr. Zayne... I can’t stand the thought of him being so close to you," Sylus adds, his voice low and thick with a possessiveness that unsettles you in its intensity. "It kills me, you know? Watching him with you, hearing you laugh like that with him, as if I don’t even exist." His arm tightens again, almost painfully, as if he needs to remind you, remind both of you, where you truly belong. "I know I have no claim on you... but... I can't help but feel like there’s a part of you that wants him in a way that... I can't compete with." His voice hardens, jealousy dripping from every word. "It eats at me, knowing he has a part of you that I’m fighting for."

"Sylus..." Your voice cracked slightly as you repeated his name, your breath hitching, caught in the tension between you. His name felt heavy on your tongue, like it was both a question and an answer. You had never said it so quietly, so vulnerably. The memories of earlier came rushing back—him with her, that delicate smile he gave her, the way she leaned into him just a little too comfortably. It had burned in your chest, the jealousy creeping in with a venomous ache.

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, too fast to gather, too painful to hide. "I felt the same... when I saw you with her," you confessed, swallowing thickly. "I felt so... so useless, Sylus. When I saw you with her, it felt like... like she was everything you needed. Better than me. And that... it broke me, Sylus. I felt like I wasn’t enough, like I wasn’t... worth it.”

The words stung, bitter and unrelenting, but the weight of them was finally lifted as you let them spill out. You felt exposed, naked in your insecurity, but somehow, it was all you could do to stand there and wait for him to respond. You could feel the weight of it, of how small you’d felt in that moment, how unworthy you had become in your own eyes. The self-doubt gnawed at your insides, each thought of her with him twisting like a knife in your gut.

Sylus’s expression softened, his features melting into a tender sadness, as though he were seeing you for the first time, truly seeing you. His hand reached out slowly, almost hesitantly, as if afraid to shatter the fragile space between you. His touch was a gentle comfort, his fingers brushing against your cheek, his voice a low whisper, "Darling, you're none of that... none of it, I swear."

You shook your head, feeling the tears threatening, but you couldn’t let them fall, not yet. His words were kind, but the ache in your chest was still there, an unhealed wound.

He continued, his voice steady but thick with something deeper. "I didn’t know you felt that way... about her, in the same way I feel about Zayne." His gaze met yours, and for the first time tonight, it wasn’t uncertain. It was so gentle, so soft, tender. "But you need to know, you're it for me, Darling…" he murmured, his fingers curling around yours, grounding you in the quiet storm of your emotions. "Yes, I want help from her, but..." He paused, as if weighing his words carefully, "...I need you more." His words were a balm to the wounds that had festered within you, but the tenderness in his eyes was what finally reached you. His hand slid down to your shoulder, his thumb grazing the skin there. His warmth surrounded you, and you let yourself sink into the comfort of his words. The jealousy, the insecurity that had burned so fiercely in you when you saw him with her, melted in the face of the tenderness he was offering now.

You swallowed, trying to steady yourself as your heart raced, the intensity of the moment almost overwhelming. “Zayne… Zayne’s just a friend,” you said, your voice fragile but firm, “someone who helped me... helped me see past the stuff in my head. After everything, I just... needed someone to remind me that I’m not broken.”

Sylus's eyes softened even more, the depth of his gaze sending shivers down your spine. He nodded slowly, his expression filled with understanding. The tension between you didn’t disappear entirely, but it was now laced with something more tender. More real.

“You’re not broken, Darling.” he repeated, and there was a quiet strength in his voice, something that made you believe him more than you ever had before. “You’re everything I’ve ever needed... and more.”

"I... I’m sorry," you whispered, a lump in your throat as you looked up at him. "I never wanted to make you feel like I didn’t care. I just... I was afraid you’d choose her over me."

Sylus’s fingers brushed against the nape of your neck, pulling you closer, his forehead pressing gently against yours. "You never have to apologize for that, Darling." he murmured, his voice warm, his breath mingling with yours. “It was my fault and I accept that.”

The room was quiet, save for the soft sound of your breathing, as Sylus stood before you, his face drawn with intensity. The flickering light from the lamp cast soft shadows across his features, but his gaze... his gaze was sharp, focused entirely on you.

"I love you, Darling" he said, his words lingering in the air as though they were the first time he had allowed himself to say them out loud. "I’m in love with you," he confessed, his voice steady despite the raw emotion that tinged it. "I’ve been in love with you for a while now, and I’ve tried to deny it. Tried to hide it from you and myself, but I can’t anymore. I won’t. I love you, and I need you to know that."

The breath you hadn’t realized you were holding caught in your throat. Everything in you froze, then splintered. The confession, so pure, so vulnerable, hit you with a force you hadn’t been prepared for. You stood there, unable to move, a mix of surprise and relief flooding your chest.

He loves you. Sylus. The one you had longed for, yearned, and hoped for in silence. Your heart stuttered in your chest, the world around you growing impossibly still.

"I…" you whispered, voice trembling, and you had to stop, had to steady yourself before the words could spill from your lips. "I’ve love you too," you said, your voice barely more than a breath, but it carried all the weight of everything you had kept inside. "I’ve loved you, and I never told you because I was afraid. Afraid that I was asking too much. Afraid of the rejection. Afraid that I wasn’t enough."

Sylus’s expression softened, his lips curling into a frown as he stepped forward, closing the space between you. His hands reached for you, but not in the way you had feared or expected. They were gentle, his touch a plea for understanding. "Oh, darling," he whispered, shaking his head slowly. "I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you ever felt like you needed to hide it from me."

He reached up, brushing his thumb along your cheek, and you flinched slightly, your emotions suddenly overwhelming you, raw and untamed. "We’re both idiots," he continued, his voice almost tender with the weight of the admission. "We’ve been skirting around each other, afraid of saying the one thing we both needed to say."

Your laugh came out soft, almost fragile, the tension in your chest breaking for the first time since Sylus had walked into your home. It was a quiet sound, but it was the first time you’d laughed all night, the first time you’d allowed yourself to feel something other than fear or uncertainty in the past few weeks with him involved. But that laugh didn’t last long. As soon as it came, the tears followed, the ones you had been holding back for so long, finally slipping free. The dam you had built up crumbled, and before you could stop them, hot tears streamed down your face. before you could even reach up to brush them away, his hand was there, steady and warm against your cheek.

"Don’t," you whispered, your voice thick with the ache you could no longer hide. "Please, don’t look at me like this. I’m—"

"Stop," Sylus interrupted softly, his hand holding yours gently, his gaze unwavering. "Don’t hide from me. I want to see all of you… everything you’ve been hiding. I know you think I don’t see it, but I do." His eyes locked onto yours with such intensity that you couldn’t look away. "I see it when you think I’m not watching. I see the way you pull back, the way you hide the parts of you that you think I can’t handle. But I am looking. I’ve always been looking. And I don’t want you to hide anymore. Not from me. And I’m here and I want all of you."

His words were a medicine to the parts of you that had been bruised, the parts that had feared being exposed, vulnerable. But in his eyes, there was only love. No judgment. No pity. Just... love. And it was enough. It was more than enough.

The tears that had slipped down your face slowed, but they didn’t stop. You didn’t try to wipe them away this time, allowing yourself to be seen for the first time in ages. The sobs that followed were soft but trembled with relief, with something finally breaking open inside of you.

Sylus’s arms were around you in an instant, pulling you close, holding you in the kind of embrace that made you feel as though you could finally breathe, as though the weight of everything you had been carrying could finally be set down.

"I’m sorry," you whispered, almost broken. "I’ve been so scared, Sylus. Scared of this, of being cast away... of losing you."

"You’ll never lose me, Darling." he murmured, his voice firm and unwavering as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

You tilted your head back slightly, your face still damp with the remnants of the tears that had fallen, and through your wet lashes, you searched his face. Sylus held you close, his arms wrapped around you in a way that made you feel safe, even as the doubts lingered in your heart. You wanted to believe him, but the fear, the uncertainty, was still there, buried deep beneath the surface.

He must have seen it in your eyes, the way you still hesitated, the uncertainty you couldn't quite shake. Sylus made a half-frustrated sound in the back of his throat, his hands tightening around you for a split second, before they slid up to cradle your face. His thumb brushed against your cheek again, a tender, pleading touch, before he leaned in, his lips finding yours in a sudden, urgent kiss.

The kiss was unlike any other. It wasn’t slow, it wasn’t soft. It was intense, filled with desperation, as though he needed you to understand just how deeply he felt for you, just how much you meant to him. His hands cupped your face, holding you as if you were the only thing that mattered in that moment, as if the world had stopped turning just for you. His lips pressed against yours with a kind of fire, but it wasn’t angry, no. It was passionate, desperate in its own way, like he wanted you to feel how important you were to him, how much you had been wanted, loved.

Your hands trembled as they reached up, gripping the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer, wanting to bridge the distance between you, as though the kiss itself could erase every lingering doubt in your heart. Your breath hitched when you felt his pulse quicken under your touch, his heartbeat matching the frantic pace of your own. Each breath you took seemed to echo in the stillness of the room, mingling with the heat of his kiss, our lips moving together with a quiet urgency, the world beyond the two of you fading into a distant blur. You felt everything—every brush of his fingers, every subtle shift of his body against yours, the way his chest rose and fell beneath your palms, how his breath felt against your lips as if he couldn’t get close enough to you.

Your chests rose and fell together, the world spinning around you. You could feel the heat of him, the urgency that still lingered in his touch, the way he kept you close, almost as if he were afraid to let go.

Breathing became an afterthought, both of you gasping for air when the kiss broke, but neither of you pulled far enough away to lose the connection. Sylus’s forehead rested against yours, his breath hot against your lips as he whispered, voice still heavy with emotion. “Every day, from henceforth, I will work to make sure you never feel the need to doubt yourself. Not in my life. Not with me." His words, slow and deliberate, sank deep into your heart like a promise he would keep.

The intensity of the moment hung between you both, the room still, save for the soft sound of your breathing as you both slowly came back to reality. But in his eyes, you saw nothing but certainty—certainty that you were enough. That you always had been.

His hand found yours again, fingers weaving with yours, and he gave it a gentle squeeze, as if the simple touch was a quiet reassurance.

"You are everything to me," he murmured, his voice steady now, grounding you as much as his embrace. "And I’ll make sure you never forget that.”

Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, absorbing his words, his warmth, his certainty. In his arms, you could feel the truth of his promise, somewhere deep inside, the doubts began to fade.

For the first time in a long time, you believed him. And when he kissed you again, this time softer, it was like the beginning of something new.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

3K notes · View notes

2hightocare · 6 months ago

Text

APOCALYPSE!

“I could go a fair bit crazy over you.”

Synopsis: In which your boyfriend loves doing corny things with you… he also loves doing you.

Genre: established relationship.

Pairings: boyfriend!jungkook x fem!reader

warnings: smut.. car sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up bro) creampie, praise, size kink, belly bulge, cussing, fluff at beginning and end, banter between couple, oral, overstimulation, squirting, making out, reader crying out of pleasure, choking, spanking, dirty talking, reader fucked ‘dumb’, mentions of ot7, they’re so corny it’s sickening.

author note 🗒️: wrote majority of this shit being faded as fuck so forgive me if it’s ass and ignore the mistakes (I’ll get to them eventually) js wanted to thank everyone for 3k🤍… writers block has been an thing these pasts months so sorry that I haven’t posted anything new. Here’s more of kuwtb oc and jk dating era 🤍

“I should’ve brought my glasses,” you whisper, a loud laugh ripping out of Jungkook's chest. “I can’t see anything, baby.” You turn to your side before swatting him on the chest— a pout displayed on your face, before going back to your original position, looking up at the dark milky way.

“We were having a cute moment, and you just blurt that out,” your boyfriend quips, his eyes focused on your side profile. A small smile tugs on his lips as he sees you scrunch up your nose, shaking your head slightly.

“You’re so right, we are so corny.” You playfully stick your tongue out with a small “yuck,” before bursting into a giggle when Jungkook tickles your side.

“‘Can we lay on the grass and look at the stars?’” Jungkook mocks your voice, changing his tone into a much more high-pitched version to match yours.

“Stop! I wanted to have a moment like Noah and Allie,” you puff, a smile threatening to come out.

“Baby, you know they look at the traffic lights and not the stars, right?” Jungkook raises an eyebrow at you.

“Of course I know, but I feel like we would actually get run over. Plus, I like you too much to just let you get run over.” You shrug, your fingers pulling on the grass on the floor. Your eyes connect to the sky as Jungkook stares at your side profile— taking in every imperfection and turning it into another reason why he loves you.

“Like?” he asks, his thumb running over your bottom lip before tilting your head to the side by your chin, making you look at him.

Your heartbeat skyrockets as he stares into your eyes, the twinkle in them prettier than the stars you were just trying to see. Your stomach lights up as if millions of fireworks exploded in heart-shaped sparkles.

“Love.” You correct yourself, rolling your eyes playfully.

“That’s better.” Jungkook clicks his tongue, pursing his lips out. You let out a giggle, dropping a small chaste kiss on his lips before turning back to the sky with a goofy smile on your face.

“You believe in aliens?” you ask, cracking a smile from Jungkook's face— his dimple carving into his skin as he bites his bottom lip, trying to contain the biggest smile.

“Fuck yeah.” Jungkook nods excitedly.

“We are literally a rock when it comes to the whole universe. There’s gotta be something out there.” Jungkook explains, expanding his arms and pointing to the sky, as you nod happily beside him.

“I agree, my mom said she saw one of those spaceships or whatever they’re called,” you pipe in, turning to your side to face your boyfriend.

“You mean a UFO, baby?” Jungkook's face scrunches in adoration.

“UFO?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Unidentified flying object,” he explains, scooting closer to you— dropping his head to your bare stomach.

“I like spaceships better.” You shrug, and he laughs, adjusting himself slightly. Your fingers find their way into his fluffy hair, combing through it. He moans slightly, melting into your touch, closing his eyes, and dropping a gentle kiss on your abdomen.

“What would you do if an alien kidnapped you?” Jungkook asks, his voice muffled.

“Funny for you to think I would allow it,” you say nonchalantly.

You both could hear a hairpin drop from how quiet you both went before breaking out into a fit of laughter. “Smartass.” Jungkook laughs, jokingly biting your stomach and earning a small squeal from you.

Your laughs die down after a while, replaced by silence, the only sounds being your guys breathing. Your eyes flutter shut with a smile, small goosebumps raising on your arms as Jungkook runs his fingertips on your belly— outlining ‘mine’.

“Tell me about your books,” Jungkook murmurs against your bare skin.

“Wanna know about my current read?” you ask, your fingers tugging softly on his hair, making him look up at you.

“I wanna know everything about you, baby,” Jungkook coos.

“Corny.” You scrunch your nose, placing a palm over his face and pushing softly backward, making him laugh. “Tell me about the thick-ass book I bought you two days ago.” Your boyfriend drops kisses all over your stomach.

“The dragon one?” you poke his cheek, before letting your finger play with his lip ring.

“There’s dragons?” Jungkook gasps, looking up at you.

“Yeah, and they have sex,” you say with a smothering giggle, whispering the last words in a hushed tone, making Jungkook's eyes widen.

“That’s enough, baby.” Your boyfriend raises an eyebrow before shaking his head, changing the topic to the latest drama, including Eunbi and Yoongi.

“Lora and I saw them coming out of the guest room while you were doing cartwheels with Taehyung,” Jungkook chuckles, the amusement on his face rubbing off on you.

“You’re lying,” you gasp, your jaw dropping open.

“I honestly didn’t see it coming.” Jungkook bites his lip, containing a smile. “Do you think Yoongi is the sub?” he continues before bursting out in a laugh, you following along.

"It's going to rain," you observe after a while, noticing a lightning strike in the dark sky. Jungkook hums in agreement before sitting up. He holds out his palm for you to take, which you do, and pulls you up onto his lap in a quick, soft motion.

You immediately wrap your arms around his neck, adjusting on his lap and straddling him. His thumbs rub circles on your bare thighs.

"I want another tattoo," Jungkook murmurs, his lips pressing kisses along your collarbone and neck. You nod slightly, enjoying the sensation of his lips against your skin.

"Where?" you ask, holding his head in place with your palms. He bites his bottom lip, looking up at you with dilated pupils.

"My forehead, and it'll be your name," Jungkook says with a grin, making you roll your eyes playfully.

"You're annoying," you retort, pushing his head backwards, making him gasp dramatically.

"I think it'll look good, you know? Just got to pick a cool font," Jungkook jokes, poking your side, sending you squirming on his lap.

"You're never ever getting my name tattooed on you," you shoot him a glare, which he only responds to by sucking in his lips and widening his eyes before shrugging.

"I think your lips tattooed on my hip bone would be hot," Jungkook wiggles his eyebrows.

"You're crazy," you pout, scrunching your nose as he gives your cheek a kiss.

"Yeah?" Your boyfriend smirks, his hands gripping the sides of your waist, squeezing softly, pulling you closer to him.

"I could go a fair bit crazy over you, baby." His lips brush against yours.

Suddenly, the air is knocked out of your lungs when his lips crash against yours. It doesn't matter how many times he has kissed you; you just can't control the utter madness of butterflies swarming your stomach. The fuzzy feeling fills your senses with every touch of his fingertips on your hot skin. The warmth of his touch, the softness of his lips against yours, all conspire to make your heart flutter with the same giddy excitement as the very first time.

His touch is electric, sending shivers cascading down your spine as his fingers trace the curve of your jaw, his hand gently cradling your face. With a tender yet insistent pressure, he deepens the kiss, his lips parting yours in a silent invitation.

You can feel the heat of his body pressed against yours as you move your hips against his. A soft moan slips past your lips into Jungkook's mouth as he guides your hips on his hardened length.

Jungkook's hand travels up, tangling in your hair, small, light rain drops start to fall down from the dark sky.

"Car?" he says in between kisses. You nod, moaning at the sensation of his lips on your collarbone, leaving purple, reddish marks.

You could never get tired of the way Jungkook looked at you, his eyes shimmery with a mix of love, need, and adoration. It was intoxicating, making you forget all your problems. The universe could have collapsed around you, and you would only care about his mouth on yours.

Everything about him was perfect, his scent, his touch, his voice, those beautiful lips, the way he looked at you, as if you were the only one that mattered in his world.

"Yes, car," you agree, breathy and disheveled.

In a swift motion, Jungkook stood and lifted you, carrying you to the car as you wrapped your legs around his waist. It wasn't until you reached the car that he broke the intense kiss, leaving your lips tingling with desire.

With a wicked grin, Jungkook, laid you on the backseat of his car. Jungkook’s fingers found the hem of your crop top, lifting it up, and you helped by throwing your hands over your head- revealing your lacy black bra.

A soft moan fell from your lips as he freed your breasts from the lace, by tugging downwards.

Your soft moans echoed within the car when your boyfriend cups your tits, massaging and kneading, your nipples hardening.

His lips found your jaw, kissing your neck— his eyes darted up to meet yours before his lips met the peak of your nipple, hot breath, then suckling gently, keeping his gaze locked before shifting his attention to the other breast.

Moaning, you bit your lip, head falling back from the sensation. Jungkook loved how responsive you are, the way your nails dig into his upper back.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful.” Jungkook moans, his calloused hands grip your waist in place to stop you from squirming on the leather seat.

He leaned in close, planting a trail of soft kisses along your neck and shoulders. “Mine.” Your boyfriend whispered into your skin.

You licked your lips, not able to find the words to say what you wanted, as all your thoughts were consumed by lust. Your back arched, encouraging the caresses he was giving. His hand grabbed the back of your head, pulling you closer. His lips met yours, deep and hungry, claiming your mouth as his. You let out a soft moan, your hands finding their way to his face.

“Spread your legs princess.” Jungkook says, his voice deep and gentle— he taps on your inner thigh.

You hum softly, watching your boyfriend work on the zipper and buttons from your denim shorts. Jungkook pulls down your shorts down your legs— your panties following quick after.

“Look how pretty this pussy is,” Jungkook chuckled, his eyes making contact with yours raising an eyebrow. He runs a finger down your slit making you choke out a desperate whine.

“Feels good baby?” He says, he adjusts himself— pushing your legs back, giving him more space to be face to face with your dripping core. You only moan in response when he drops a soft kiss on your clit.

You couldn’t help the whimpers that escaped your lips, He smiled against your heat, He licked his lips as he slowly parted your folds with his thumbs, revealing your glistening clit. He took it into his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around it. You let out a desperate moan, your hips bucking in desperation.

He started flicking his tongue against your clit, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Your back arched, grinding your pussy against his tongue, feeling it flick deep inside your folds.

“Ngh, right there,” You dug your nails into his hair, your toes curling.

“Right here baby?” Jungkook smirked, inserting two fingers into your sopping hole. You couldn't help but moan and nod, as his fingers curled inside you, hitting your sweet spot perfectly.

“Ass up, princess.” he ordered. Without needing to be told twice, you did as you were told, with wobbly legs you flip around. He roughly grabbed one cheek, squeezing it and spreading you, giving him a view of your tight, puckered hole.

Jungkooks cock twitches in his pants as he watches your holes clench over nothing. “Feeling empty?” He chuckles, a rough hand makes contact with your ass with a hard smack— your back arches. You let out a loud squeal, pleasure and pain mixing together.

He lets out a low growl, his cock straining against his pants, Jungkook moans as he watches your wetness begin to drip down your thighs onto his seats.

“Actually, do you want to tell me about the dragons you were reading about?” Jungkook jokes behind you making you snap your head backwards with a glare.

“You’re annoying.” You pout, Jungkook eyes twinkle with amusement— he bites down on his bottom lip containing the smile that is threatening to spill out. “Annoying? I have you spread out in front of me baby… your pussy is literally dripping.” Jungkook tilts his head to the side cheekily.

Your boyfriend taps on your ass for you to turn around.

He didn’t have to tell you twice as you flip around, before reaching for the waistband of his sweatpants. You pull down on the waistband, alongside his boxers. His cock springs out, the head red and aching.

Jungkook watches you wrap your hand over his thick length, giving a slow pump causing him to blow out a sigh. Jungkook stops you before you connect your lips with his cock.

“As much as I want you to give me the head of my life, I fucking need to be inside your pretty pussy right now baby.” Jungkook rushes out, tugging on your loose hair backwards.

You pout at him. “Let me fuck you.” Jungkook whispers, the grip on your hair tighten pulling you upwards— his lips milliliters away from your face.

“Fuck me.” You whimper.

The moment the words left your mouth jungkook is picking you up and placing you on top of his lap. You’re leaning your back against Jungkook's chest, your legs spread open on each side of his big thighs. His arm is snaked around your waist pulling you closer into him.

“Cramps?” Jungkook whispers into your neck, “not yet.” You joke, he shakes his head with a small laugh before you wrap your hand around his cock aligning it to your entrance.

“Going to take my cock like a good girl?” He guided your hand, aligning it to your dripping entrance. He rubbed the tip of his cock against your pussy before pushing his cock inside you. You feel the familiar pressure as he slowly slid his length inside you, your pussy sucking him in.

“So big.. fuck.” You moan, your pussy clenching around him making him moan against your ear. “If you keep doing that I’m going to cum.” He chuckled.

You dipped down onto his cock, his cock hitting your cervix when you completely sat down on it. Your legs shake beside you, his hands fastly grip underneath your thighs.

“All up my belly.” You moan, arching your back against him.

The sight of his cock inside you, buried up to the hilt, made him moan. "You're so tight," he half-whispered, half-growled against the shell of your ear, the roughness of his voice only fueling the intense passion that already burned through your veins.

He wove his fingers into your hair, guiding your head with an almost possessive need as he tilted you to give him better access to your lips. Jungkook crashed his mouth against yours, his tongue invading, claiming. His eyes closed for a moment as he savored the sensation of your wet, tight pussy engulfing him completely.

He groaned as you lifted yourself, his cock popping out momentarily before sliding back in when you slammed down on it, your cervix meeting his tip with each movement. It was a merciless, primal form of pleasure, your wetness coating his length with every thrust.

His eyes remained locked on you as you got lost in the sensation of his thick length filling you up, throaty moans leaving your lips as you moved on top of him, grinding down onto his cock, your hips moving in a circular motion. Jungkook couldn't help the low growl that left his throat

He pulled you back up, forcing you to bounce on his rigid cock, watching as your full lips parted in an ecstatic moan. The sway of your hips in time with the motion of his cock sliding in and out of you was so fucking erotic it was almost a crime.

You gasped, leaning back just enough to give Jungkook better access to your exposed neck. His cock hitting your g-spot repeatedly which each bounce.

Jungkook's hips bucked up, meeting your bounces, desperate to get as deep as he could, to fill you up completely. The sensation was almost overpowering. A familiar heat was building inside you, a sweet ache that craved release.

Your eyes rolled back, waves of pleasure overwhelmed you.

His hips pumped faster, his cock buried deep inside you, stretching you in the most exquisite way. Jungkook took your lips in another deep, greedy kiss, muffling the sounds of your cries as you rocked your hips wildly, trying to take him as deep as you could, desperate to reach that peak that felt so tantalizingly close.

“I can’t.” You cry, "That's it, baby, feel every inch." He urged you on.

The thrusts grew rougher, deafening the world around you except for the sound of your moans, his grunts, the soft squelching of your bodies coming together and the rain pouring outside.

The pressure built and built, coiling tighter and tighter until you could no longer contain it. Your entire body trembled as you came undone, shattering the quiet of the car with a lustful cry. Your pussy clamped down around Jungkook's cock,

"Cum for me, baby," he whispered, his voice hoarse with lust.

You let out a loud whine as his cock slipped out of you. Your body continued to rock back and forth, the ache of denial from not having his cock buried inside you being too much to bear. You glanced down between your legs, flushed when you noticed the stickiness that coated your inner thighs.

Jungkook picked up your trembling body and placed your back onto the leather seat. “Gon’ fuck you missionary so I can see your pretty face when I fill you up with my cum.” Your boyfriend growls.

Jungkook wasted no time, returning home, his cock sliding inside you once more as you let out a needy moan.

His thrusts were relentless, deep, and hard, driving himself into you. The way your pussy immediately clenched around him, took him in so greedily, made him groan, his eyes locked on yours.

A hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough to keep you eager for air. “H-harder,” you pant, your voice growing hoarse as his grip tightened.

The car rocked beneath the force of his thrusts, the sounds of wet slaps echoed, mixed with your cries of pleasure, your head tossing back, your eyes rolling back at the ferocity of his thrusts, the sensations building once more, the climax burning beneath your skin.

"Harder...fuck, harder," you cried out, your voice high-pitched and desperate. Jungkook chuckled, releasing his hold on your throat, you gasp as you inhale deeply for air.

Jungkook fingers find their way to your clit once more, his thumb rubbing it in circles while he continues to thrust into your soaked cunt.

The mix of the insistent pressure on your clit and the rough thrusts was too much, a wave of pure pleasure crashing over you, your pussy gripping his cock, your body pulsing around him. Jungkook pulled out, watching with a devilish grin as your pussy squirted all over the two of you.

Jungkook slapped his cock on your swollen clit— watching your pussy spasm with spurts of juices, before pushing his cock back into you.

The sensation of being filled once more, the echo of your screams, bouncing off the car roof, and the overwhelming orgasm had left you lightheaded. You clung to Jungkook, panting, drool sliding down your chin.

"Fuck, you're so wet for me..." He groaned in pleasure, the sensation of your slick walls gripping him, almost drowning him.

"You... fuck me so good, baby," you panted, the words slurred, your voice bordering on sounding completely fucked-dumb. Your body shuddering, your pussy spasming around his cock, your orgasm brewing fast. Jungkook's hips sped up, his cock pulsing inside you.

Suddenly, your back arched, your vision filled with a white haze as another orgasm crashed over you. The delicious agony coursed through your body, your pussy clenching down on his cock, Jungkook grunted, feeling you contract around him, the sensation sending him over the edge. His cock pumped inside you, the warmth of his seed filling you up completely. He moaned against your neck, his heart pounding, lost in the sensation of having you completely wrapped around him

"Fuck, baby," he groaned, his jaw clenching, his eyes closed as he rode out the intense wave of ecstasy. His breath hitched, his hips jerking, before he collapsed against you, his cock still throbbing inside you, spent.

Your body continued to tremble, the aftershocks of the powerful climax lingering. Your heart raced, your breaths coming in ragged pants, sweat beading on your forehead.

With a low growl, Jungkook slowly pulled out of you leaving you feeling impossibly empty. The slick sound of his withdrawal accompanied by a heated chuckle of his.

Jungkook looked down, the sight of your pussy dripping with his cum— your wet pussy gaping, waiting for him to fill you once again.

Jungkook watched, captivated by the scene, as you reached down to collect his cum, watching as you pushed it back inside.

“Fuck.. that was hot.” Jungkook groaned, his lips landed on your face, trails of wet kisses from your forehead, down to your nose, your cheeks, and finally landing on your lips. The storm outside, the rain and thunder providing the soundtrack to your post-coital bliss.

Your limp, spent body sprawled over his car seats, your heart still racing, your breaths coming in shallow pants. You gazed up at him, the sweat on his forehead, the flush on his cheeks, the lust still in his eyes, his breathing heavy. A hand cupped your cheek, his fingers gently stroking your jawline as his lips moved against yours in a tender kiss.

Jungkook traced his fingers along your jawline, pushing a lock of hair behind your ear.

"You good, baby?" He asked, the tenderness in his voice, an unexpected warmth to the intensity of what had just happened.

Your eyes fluttered open, looking up at him and giving a slow, lazy smile. "Yeah, just a bit sore," you responded, blatantly referring to the aching between your legs.

"You're cute, baby," Jungkook whispered into your lips, the simple remark warming you, leaving your heart fluttering. You hummed in content.

The two of you lay there, naked, your skin still glistening from sweat, the weight of the storm outside more comforting than daunting. Your breaths slowly returning to normal.

A beat of silence permeated the car until Jungkook finally broke it, his voice brimming with mirth. "So... do you think we fucked better than the dragons from your book?"

4K notes · View notes

stjohnstarling · 10 months ago

Text

Alright, so: I want to explain a little more about this connection between the Twilight fandom, Fifty Shades of Grey, and seemingly, the self-publishing industry as a whole. It's a lot, so I'm going to have to chip away at it a bit at a time, and I think the best place to start is by describing the scene in late 2000s Twilight fandom.

In 2009, Twilight was one of the biggest fandoms in the world, although it was nearly invisible to outsiders because it

Was about a straight couple, while most other fandoms were predominantly gay, and

Was conducted almost entirely on fanfiction.net among a group of people who had little other background in fandom. (x)

That meant for many Twilight fans, Twilight was fandom. It was all they knew, and many had no path out. That also made it a corked champagne bottle with the pressure building.

Because of these community dynamics and the declining quality of the Twilight books themselves, Twilight fanfiction evolved to be mostly AUs so alternate they were more-or-less original romance novels that used Bella and Edward as broad character templates. (x)

Seriously, Twilight fandom got really crazy big for a few years there. It was not totally uncommon to get multi-million clicks on a semi-popular story. It's weird looking back on it and calling it "Twilight fandom" because it was really more like "Romance Novel fandom". For real, for a period there, calling a Twilight fanfic author a 'Twilight fan' would be the ultimate insult. But they never stopped writing about Edward and Bella! It's so weird. (x)

If you were in 2000s era fandom, you're probably aware of the phenomenon of Big Name Fans and the various social-climbing dynamics that happened around them. The Twilight fandom took this social power game another level:

This wasn't even just an author thing. There were Big Name Authors (BNAs) but there were also Big Name Readers. These were basically like... full-time rabid fans of a BNA. They devoted so much of their time to helping out the BNAs, reviewing their chapters, making them fanart, promoting their fics, kissing their asses with cringe-worthy intensity, you name it. Which is why you saw what looked like BNAs having 'employees', such as Moi, tby789's Director of Marketing. (x)

It became apparent that these power games weren't just for fandom clout. The fandom was proving that that social power could be translated into real-world dollars. You see, the Twilight fandom used to organize charity auctions where big name authors would auction off custom fanfiction, and the money generated was substantial:

Mostly authors would auction off stories. So if you donated in my name, I'd write you 10,000 words of porn in my Tattward universe, or something new, etc. That's how it worked. The 2009 auction raised $80,000. The 2010 auction raised $140,000. The 2011 auction raised $20,00. [NOTE: this is likely a typo] (x)

A lot of these dynamics were not unique to the Twilight fandom, but it was the combination that created a perfect storm of opportunism. This would end up changing not just fandom dynamics but the publishing industry as a whole.

#original post #fifty shades liveblog #Working on the rest of this #Part one of not sure how many

6K notes · View notes

biteofcherry · 1 month ago

Text

All the better to eat you

werewolf!Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: You muster the courage to visit Scaretale, with your heart full of hope for a magical romance. After all, the club promises that no client would leave without having their wishes fulfilled. So the love you've been longing after should be waiting for you, right?

warnings: werewolf!Steve; dark!Steve; monsterfucking, but no bestiality; heavy dub-con; blowjob/facefucking (possibly the nastiest bj I've ever written 😳); unprotected sex; knotting; biting; size kink;

word count: 5.3k

Author's Note: This is a part of the Scaretale universe. I think it's fitting I'm starting the monster fucking extravaganza with my fave man to ruin me, right? 🤭 The title is an obvious tease on the classic Red Riding Hood text.

It was a thrill reminiscent of the first minutes of a movie. The kind you watched on a late autumn evening, with a candle lit up and hot chocolate in hand, curled up on a couch and wary of any sounds creaking inside the house.

It spiked pulse and lured in with the mystical, almost forbidden atmosphere; keeping you on your toes in fear of something truly scary jumping out at you.

You grew up in a rather tolerant household, taught not to be scared of monsters more than you should human men. Still, certain caution and fear pumped through your veins as you neared the entrance of the Scaretale.

A building straight out of a fairytale, situated on the border of lands between human and monstrous worlds. Though those merged fluently over the past half a century, or so. Half of your coworkers were other species. It was impolite to call them creatures, or monsters, even if that word somehow always echoed in your head.

Perhaps you’d never have the balls to visit Scaretale, if it wasn’t for the deepening sense of loneliness and heartbreak. And since your regular methods at dating all failed, leaving you with an even worse feeling of self-loathing, the glow of the letters embroidered on the dark leaflet enticed you even more.

All fairy tales install fear, but they also give satisfying completion in the end. Come and start your own tale, find who you’ve been missing. We promise that once you get inside, you won’t leave without your ever after.

Scaretale tempted with making those dreams come true. Was it naive of you to have your heart squeezing in hope at the prospect of it?

Not a part of you was a romantic - it was all of you. Craving someone to share the life with. You didn’t expect perfection, that was unrealistic. But you yearned for connection and support, for a warm embrace to hold you after a tiring day, for someone to call you theirs and mean it.

Oh gods, how obsessively you sometimes wished that someone would really consider you theirs - even to the point of possessiveness, of certain ownership.

You explained it with your prolonged lack of any deep connection and love. A hole in your heart that kept growing and growing, until it was no longer sated by casual dates and sweet flirting, but needed a more intense, obsessive kind of love.

If human men failed in that department, maybe a monster would be your match. Didn’t even have to provide a warm embrace, you joked to yourself as you readied for the night. A nice, cold vampire would do. They had years to mature, most of them had an established income, or savings, a sense of dark humor.

So you left your apartment with your heart fluttering, moved by the flashes of dreams of a great love you’ve been chasing half of your life.

However, the second you stepped inside the Scaretale, your heart froze for a second.

It didn’t look scary, nor was it filled with screams and sounds of violence. Quite the contrary, the air of tranquility coated the space. But the glow within, that didn’t seem to come off of any actual lamp, heightened the sense of wariness.

Humans were here, but it was obvious this space belonged to the monsters and was most of all their realm. That enchanting sense of calm began feeling like a mesmer that forced your body to move forward, while your brain filled with rising anxiety whispering that perhaps it would be better to leave.

Somehow, you couldn’t.

You took a deep breath, smelling sweet berries and gardenias in the most natural combination, as if you were walking through an actual garden. It was relaxing, yet in a way seemed to clog your mind.

Maybe if you went outside for a minute to breathe the crispy, chilly air of late October evening, it would clear your head and help you regroup your thoughts.

Even as that thought formed in your head, your body didn’t move toward the exit. Only a step forward.

At your pace - shy and unsure, but never a step back.

The echo of the words from the leaflet clenched your heart in a tight grip. We promise that once you get inside, you won’t leave without your ever after. It appeared to be an actual enchantment.

Scared, you looked around. No one was charging at you, no gnarly vines gripped you to swallow you under the ground. Patrons were calmly mingling around. Some sat in booths alone, simply observing the others. Maybe even looking for the same thing as you - someone to love. Or less romantically, someone to share a passionate night with.

There were also groups, like in one of the big booths where a bunch of thickly muscled, quite scary looking orcs were drinking beer. Neither of them looked approachable, their faces seemed frozen in permanent scowl. Their bodies, though clean of any trace of it, screamed of bloodbath.

In the center of the room, far deep inside the neverending space of the club, stood an oval bar. The shelves hanging above the counter were so thin it looked like the glasses and bottles were floating in the air, among teardrop-shaped bulbs of light. A slim, graceful bartender was running the bar; her hair long and a color of impossible blue.

Two men sat at the bar, their gazes turning your way as you walked closer. At a first glance they appeared human, but the similarity quickly dissolved. Their dark skin had markings of burgundy red that flashed with a shade of molten lava. Between the curls of their dark hair sparked flickers of pure fire.

Ifrits.

A flush of heat passed over you as they scanned your form with interest. For a moment you felt a spike of curiosity, wondering how an ifrit’s heat would feel against your skin. But it quickly passed, being only a figment of natural desire, but not the deep connection you searched.

The men seemed to read you well enough to realize you weren’t one looking for an adventure and they weren’t interested in providing more than that. They nodded politely at you, then moved their gazes to roam around.

Though you felt a certain relief, there was also that bitter pang of sadness. Once again, you weren’t what someone was looking for.

All those years you repeated over and over again to yourself, that it was okay to not be interested in someone. After all, you weren’t interested in some people either. But for so long it felt as if you were never anyone’s choice, that you couldn’t help but think you would never be.

When you went out with your friends, back in college years, or even recently, someone always flirted up, or approached your group. Just not you. All your friends, but never you. Some talked to you, but it was obvious they weren’t interested in more.

A dreadful thought settled with heavy weight on your shoulders. What if you were now trapped here forever? Not leaving without your ever after, but if there was no one for you, what would happen to you?

Just when your heart squeezed painfully, your chin dropping to your chest as you stared at the dark green floor in hope to hide the shine of your tears, a low, rumbling sound teased your ear.

You didn’t feel anyone’s presence behind you, or anywhere near you, but you heard that sound. That… growl.

Slowly, you raised your head and looked around. For a long moment you didn’t notice anyone who could’ve been the owner of that voice. Until your eyes settled on the shadowed nook across from the bar.

Only a faint outline of the silhouette was visible from your standing point. And a pair of glowing, blue eyes. Beautiful, but wild. Something dangerous lurked in that gaze, raising goosebumps on your arms.

Anxiety rose anew, your instincts screaming at you to run. Fast and far. But you couldn’t move your feet an inch back, only stay in place, or move forward.

Breath hitched in your lungs as the mysterious shadow slowly stood up, stretching to its full form. He was even bigger than you assessed him to be while sitting. Those eyes held yours captive, demanding you watch him as he approached in slow steps. Once he got into the light and you took in all of him, your breathing stopped altogether.

He wasn’t just big. He was huge! And broad. Massive. His dark clothes didn’t hide what was obviously cords of muscles on top of muscles on top of muscles. While his shoulders were wide enough to get stuck in the door, his waist was tapered. His legs were long, but with thick thighs. Legs built for running.

For chasing…

His dark blonde hair curled at his nape, his beard was thick and trimmed. You saw curls of dark golden hair covering his forearms, where the sleeves of his dark sweater were rolled up, revealing skin.

As he approached you, his tongue swiped out to lick his bottom lip, then over the upper row of his teeth. You caught a glimpse of a sharp canine, but it wasn’t a vampiric one.

No, this monster was very much living. Blood and flesh and all things primal.

A werewolf.

Your body jolted, struck with an inner bolt of adrenaline. Like at a jumpscare in a horror movie, but this one very much real.

Your heart thumped rapidly, forcing your blood to rush so fast it almost made you dizzy. It was scary. He was scary. Yet, you couldn’t help, but follow that sensation further. Just like never turning off the horror movie and continuing to watch it, even though you’re shaken and sweaty.

“Hello.”

His greeting was so simple, seemingly unimpressive, but the timbre of his voice alone made it a knee-weakening seduction.

Or maybe a threat…

Because the way he loomed over you, his eyes never leaving you, you started to realize that he wouldn’t allow you to step away from him.

“Hi,” you squeaked out, then cleared your throat to hopefully regain your normal voice.��

“I won’t ask what a sweet bunny like you is doing here,” his sharp, white teeth flashed in a truly wolfish smile, “but I will ask that you stay still while I take a first deep whiff of my future mate.”

What?! Your mind screeched. Your body, meanwhile, went still. Just like he asked.

“Ma- what?” Your tone dried breathless. “We’re not- I’m not-”

Your words got stuck in your throat when the werewolf breached your personal space and bent down to drag the tip of his nose against your neck.

A shiver rocked you, but a solid arm wrapped around you in a flash, steading you. Or maybe holding you in place, so you wouldn’t dare inch away from him. His incredible warmth engulfed you like a weighted blanket - a layer of comfort hidden deep beneath the scary sense of constriction and suffocation.

He smelled of pine and burnt wood and a heady note you couldn’t describe as anything other than masculine.

“Absolutely delicious.” He hummed appreciatively, leaning back with visible reluctance.

“I’m not your mate,” you managed to blurt out, looking around in panic in hope that someone would come to your aid.

“Of course not.” He smiled, but it wasn’t reassuring at all. “Not until I have you writhing on my knot and bite you.”

The visual of it had you whimpering in fear; your eyes stung with tears that threatened to spill out. He had you caged out in the open of the club, publicly; you were sure your discomfort and trembling were visible to others; yet no one came to help you. Were they scared of the huge werewolf, or maybe they just didn’t care?

“No, I meant that I won’t-” your nervous explanation died on your tongue the second his hand snapped your way.

His large hand cupped your chin; surprisingly gentle, even in its firm hold. However, the long claws protruding from his fingers, grazing the delicate skin of your cheeks, were far from non-threatening.

Shockingly, your body responded in contrast to your mind’s anxious thoughts. As the werewolf’s claws dug into your soft cheeks, your nipples hardened into stiff peaks.

“You will.” Came his calm, unyielding decision.

He yanked your face up, forcing you to stand on your tiptoes and rely your weight to be supported by his hold alone. Starking blue eyes stared down at you, the rim around the irises glowing a silvery moon.

Then there was that grin again - sinister and teasing, with a flash of teeth (which made your skin prickle in fear of the vicious bite mauling your flesh).

“Scaretale promises its patrons realization of their deepest desire.” He said and you felt dread building in your chest with a silent scream. “But I’ll let you in on a little secret, bunny. It’s the monsters that get the privilege of having their desires met. Sweet humans are the prey that gets to fulfill our demands.”

Your hope shattered into a million pieces. Or was it your heart that broke for yourself and the love you were dreaming of finding. Tears welled up in your eyes as the heavy reality of entering a nightmare settled in.

“Aww, why the tears, sweet bunny?” He cooed at you, with the pad of his thumb brushing away a tear trickling down your cheek.

“Because I didn’t want this,” your meek voice barely made it past your lips.

“I would perhaps believe you, if your nipples weren’t poking right through your pretty dress,” he chuckled. “Or-” he leaned closer, lips brushing the corner of your mouth- “if I didn’t smell your pussy priming itself for me.”

A flush of heat scorched your cheeks. You weren’t paying much attention to that part of your body, too lost in the anxious wailing of your mind, but as he mentioned your core your focus shifted to the pulse between your thighs. You weren’t wet, not exactly. But you felt that warmth and tingling; the growing interest your body had in the werewolf’s brutal ways.

“Will you let me go? Afterwards?” You asked, sniffling quietly.

A part of you wondered, if you had any chance fighting him off, but logic itself made that calculation quick. There was no way you would manage to slip away from his grip, without him allowing you to. So as bitter and numbing it was to accept, you knew you had to give in, to at least protect yourself from too much damage.

A frown marred his handsome face for a second, before it relaxed into that easy charm he first greeted you with.

“There’s no afterwards. There’s only forever.” He tenderly stroked your cheek with his thumb. “Werewolves mate for life, bunny.”

Your crushed heart gave a pang, a reawakening jolt.

Didn’t you want someone to call you theirs forever? To own you?

Scaretale gave you that wish, in its own very twisted, cruel way.

“But I don’t even know your name.” Your hands twisted in the fabric of his sweater; half of your mind still considered trying to fight the monster off.

“Steve,” he grinned. He released your chin to run his fingers down your neck and then to the back of your head. “You can tell me yours, or I can keep calling you bunny.” He gripped a fistful of your hair and nipped your earlobe with his teeth.

“Though, I admit, I’m a sentimental man and I’d like to groan your name when I break your holes.”

You made a pitiful sound of protest, which didn’t get a chance to really resound as Steve’s mouth claimed yours. Like with the way he moved and touched, his kiss spoke of the wild beast that ruled him. He wasn’t just kissing you, he was devouring. Conquering.

And you melted into it. Your body became pliant and aroused.

He tapped your swollen lips with a sharp claw, once again asking for your name. You whispered it and as your mouth parted to sound the word, Steve slipped a finger into your warm cavern. Tip of his claw teased at your tongue, causing you to stiffen in fear. Suddenly, there was pressure on the flat of your tongue as his thick finger settled on it and massaged; but there was no slice of claw anymore.

Steve withdrew his finger, but the grip of his other hand on the nape of your neck tightened. He pushed you in front of him and led you deeper into the club’s depths. In time, lights seemed to dim and the main room divided into three corridors.

The left and right corridors were shrouded in darkness, your human eyes couldn’t see any path other than the abyss. The middle corridor was doused in glow - soft, magical, luring.

Steve turned left and you felt yourself shiver as darkness engulfed you. He didn’t seem to have any problem in navigating the eternal, starless night that filled the tunnel. Finally, you reached the end, marked by the outline of an ornate door. The markings lit up as Steve’s hand touched the frame.

When he pushed you through it, you stumbled into a bedroom. A cozy looking, not too big bedroom, with a massive, wood frame bed taking most of the space. The place didn’t look like a fancy hotel room, nor like a bedroom that could match Scaretale’s interior. No, this place was personal and lived in. It was someone’s home.

A home that smelled of pine, burnt wood and musk.

You turned around, glancing at the door now closed behind Steve’s back. They didn’t look anything like the ones you stepped through, but like a normal door in what could be a cabin in the woods.

An intricate marking glowed on the upper beam of the frame, suddenly igniting in flame that burnt all the magic out. Leaving only a reminder of the portal that was activated, but now closed permanently.

You had no way back to the Scaretale. Or your home.

“Steve-” you took a tentative step back as your gaze returned to him.

“Strip.” He ordered, taking off his own sweater in one, swift move.

“P-please…” you felt the sting of tears again, even as your walls pulsed at the sight of Steve’s half naked, impressive body.

His skin was fair, near marble like sculpture of defined muscles. But not as bare and smooth. Thick curls of dark golden hair covered his arms, shoulders and chest, from where it trailed low across his torso in a stripe leading to…

Holy fuck, you were going to die!

His cock wasn’t just proportionate to the rest of his massive body, it was near monstrous looking in its shape - with the bulbous head angry red and shiny with pearly precum; pulsing veins that curved along his girth; large, heavy sack nestled in a crown of gold hair; and a thick, wide ring of a knot at the base that already felt impossible to push into any of your holes, much less when it inflated.

“I’m growing impatient, bunny,” Steve snarled, prowling towards you. “I can rip it off of you, but I don’t know if it’s a dress you really like, so I don’t want to make you sad by ruining it.”

“Why don’t you care about making me sad by ruining me?” You snapped, but it lacked viciousness. Partly because of fear, partly because you were breathless with unexpected need.

You had nowhere else to run when the back of your legs hit the bedframe and Steve loomed over you.

“Trust me, bunny,” he emitted a low growl, “when I ruin your holes, you’ll feel nothing but delirious pleasure and happiness.”

He didn’t give you a second chance to undress. With two harsh moves he ripped the fabric apart, his claws so sharp they easily sliced through. He held your gaze as he hooked one pointy talon beneath the lace of your panties.

“Such beautiful eyes,” he murmured, slowly dragging his claw back and forth. “That fear and arousal. Can’t wait to see it as you struggle to take my cock.”

A single snick and your panties were ripped away and tossed to the side. Then Steve’s hand was curling on your shoulder and pushing you down.

“On your knees, bunny. And open your mouth wide.”

You obeyed, feeling yourself shiver as your face found itself at level with his hard dick. Your fingers trembled against your thighs; the need to slide them between your folds growing stronger than the instinct to push the predator away.

“It won’t fit,” you stared wide-eyed at the cock bobbing in front of you.

“It sure won’t,” Steve chuckled, cupping your face in his big palms. “But you’re still going to take it. Now, tongue out.”

A whine shrilled in your throat when the wide crown stretched your lips and pushed deep inside. The more of him was forced forward, the wider your mouth had to open and the less room to breathe was left. A cry for mercy became only a garbled pitch as Steve held your head in place and pushed his cock to the back of your throat.

Tears streamed down, your drool flooded out as he slowly withdrew. Your spit was sticking to the curve of his dick, strings of saliva breaking and splashing on your chin.

When he surged forward again, your hands flew to his thick, hairy thighs. But there was no way of stopping him from taking you as he wished. It terrified you.

It also made your pussy drip.

“That’s all sweet, bunny,” Steve groaned, feeling your tongue moving against him helplessly, your throat constricting in resistance as he speared your mouth.

“But I need more from my little bitch!” He snarled and abruptly stepped forward.

You were pushed backwards, forced to change your position from kneeling to landing on your butt. Your back hit the sturdy frame of the bed; your legs spread wide, knees pressed to your chest.

Steve had your head tipped back, hands holding you in place as he fucked your face straight from above.

With your mouth and throat in one line, he could force his cock deeper. His balls were hitting your drool-covered chin over and over again. Your choking and obscene wet sounds mixed with Steve’s lewd groans of pleasure.

“That’s it!” He moaned, dipping in and out of your throat. “Taking your mate’s cock like a good little bitch and enjoying it. I can smell it, you know.”

You wouldn’t be able to protest, even if you wanted to deny his nasty claim. The worst, however, was that Steve was right. You were spread open, dripping slick down your buttocks; your pussy clenched around nothing, desperate for that monstrous cock.

You coughed and spluttered when Steve pulled out, a wheezing sob leaving your sore mouth. Steve slapped his wet cock against your cheek, then rubbed it all over your face, smearing your own spit and his pre-cum all over you. He barked at you to keep your pretty mouth open, then stuffed it with his heavy sack. Well, as much of it as he could fit in.

“Suck a little, bunny,” his instruction came out breathy, betraying how affected he was by the whole ordeal. “I know they’re a mouthful, but they’re just full of all the cum I’m going to fill you with.”

Your cunt spasmed and you let out a garbled moan.

Finally, another reprieve for much needed air was granted. Steve took half a step back, breathing heavily as he looked down at your messy, shivering form at his feet. Dark hunger flashed in his eyes and you weren’t sure, if it was only desire, or something more dangerous.

He picked you up so easily, lifting you into his arms with no strain and tossing you onto the bed. Instinctively, you squirmed up the mattress, seeking escape. Steve followed in that unrushed, steady prowl; like a predator, who already knew his prey was his to devour.

He spread your legs. You stilled, feeling tips of his claws pressing into your skin.

“My, my, bunny,” he licked his lips, “what a pretty, soaked cunt you have.”

Steve swiped his fingers higher. You squeaked when he lightly brushed your puffed, glistening folds with his claws. It made him grin wolfishly and he pressed a little harder.

“All the better to take all of your mate’s cock,” not easing his pressure on your core, Steve stretched above you.

Your thighs stayed parted wide for him, allowing him to brace the weight of his body on one arm placed next to you, while he settled on top of you.

“What tempting, hard nipples you have,” he continued his twisted fairy tale, his voice a deep, haunting caress.

“All the better to suck on and torment,” Steve closed his mouth around one peak and sucked, at the same time flicking his tongue over it.

Your back arched. Your arms encircled his back, fingers digging into the steel muscles as you held on. When his mouth moved to your other breast, one of your hands weaved into his hair. Your tugging evoked a growly rumble that reverberated against your sensitive nipple.

Steve trailed open mouth kisses up your chest and along your neck, grazing the dip over your pulse with his sharp teeth. You squirmed, a new surge of adrenaline quickening your blood flow as you remembered his promise about the bite.

When he took your mouth, it was with less vehemence than the first kiss. He coaxed your lips open and teased your tongue with his own. The fingers splayed over your pussy kept steadily moving, smearing your slick all over.

“What a sweet mouth you have,” he murmured, nipping your bottom lip. “And we already know what can be done with it.”

His blue eyes sparked as your breath hitched, when he spread your folds and dipped his fingers deeper. The fear of pain from the claws had you reacting first, though there was nothing to hurt you. He retracted them.

“You’re fucking dripping, bunny.” Steve groaned in satisfaction. “So much that I bet it trickled to your dirty rosebud, too.”

He didn’t wait for your confirmation, just slid a single digit lower, where he found exactly what he predicted. You strained against him; one of your hands shot down between your bodies to clutch at his wrist. But Steve didn’t budge, pressing his finger against your tight rim, which was slick with your juices.

“Shh, shh,” he cooed. “Why are you fighting so hard, bunny? Afraid it’s going to hurt? Or that you will cum from having your ass played with, like a weak, needy bitch?”

He circled and pressed, circled and pressed, driving you mad with sensations you couldn’t untangle.

“I promise you, my lovely bunny,” though he removed his finger from between your asscheeks, there was nothing reassuring in the dark promise he vowed against your lips- “You will cum from anything I do to your sweet body. Because you are my little bitch.”

“And it’s time that I claim what’s mine!” His snarl combined with your cry as Steve suddenly sat back and flipped you onto your stomach.

He yanked your hips up, making you kneel on the mattress. One of his hands pressed against the back of your head, pressing it into the sheets. You felt pinpricks of claws grazing your skull.

Steve settled behind you, coarse hair on his thighs tickling your delicate skin. His cock spread your swollen folds and he rocked his hips, rubbing the whole length of him against you, soaking himself in your slick. He was already wet with your saliva, but considering his size you didn’t mind him adding more lubrication.

“Ungh!” You keened when he pressed into your hole. “Too big! Steve, it’s too-”

Your toes curled, feet kicking helplessly against the mattress, as Steve ignored your pleas and inched forward.

At least he was taking it slow. But maybe slow was more tortuous than if he broke you on one, single thrust.

His hand on your head pressed harder when your body jerked in an instinctive attempt to scramble away. The other hand landed on your ass with a hard slap.

It made you clench around him, causing a new kind of ripple of pleasurable pain.

He was stretching you so much, so close to the edge of ripping pain. But for the most part it was igniting a delirious ecstasy, confusing you and burning away any protests. Your pussy wasn’t used to sensations like that, yet she welcomed it with creamy joy.

“There you go, bunny.” Steve encouraged you, delighted in the way you moaned obscenely when he was halfway in and the head of his cock nudged that special spot.

To reward you, he withdrew and slid back in, once again teasing that point. And again. And again. Until your thighs were shaking and your wetness was dripping onto the sheets.

“Almost there, huh?” He chuckled, feeling your walls fluttering. “Well then-”

He withdrew in the same steady pace, only to ram the whole length of him in one stroke on the next thrust.

You screamed, but even as the pain short-circuited your consciousness for a split of a second, your pussy spasmed.

Steve stayed buried to the hilt, relishing in your orgasm milking his cock. He didn’t wait for the aftershocks to subside, before starting a brutal rhythm. He fucked you like the animalistic monster that he was - with unparalleled hunger, incessant need, and no regard for your discomfort.

“Good girl, bunny.” He draped his weight over you, hot breath fanning your cheek. “Such a good bitch for your mate.”

He licked a wet line along your jaw, then down to the crook of your neck. Your mewling protest was ignored as Steve scraped his teeth over the spot he was going to mark.

“Do you feel it swelling?” He teased. “Do you feel it spreading you wider each time I drive into your tiny pussy? My knot ’s about to pop, bunny. And when it does, I’m going to fill you so much. It’s going to lock your cunt in place, so that you have no other choice, but to take every fucking load.”

“Until it feels like your belly is too heavy. Like you’re about to burst at the seams.” His thrust became harsher, jerky and - just like he said - each stretching you with the growing knot. “Like your cunt aches from taking too much.”

“And you will take it all, bunny. You know why?” Steve’s teeth dipped into your skin, not yet breaking, but threatening. “Yeah, you do. You know why. Say it!”

He slapped your ass when you didn’t reply, only moaned helplessly..

“Say it!” He spanked you again.

“Because I’m your little bitch!” You cried out, face half buried into the sheets and tears streaking down.

Beast’s teeth sunk into your skin, breaking it and drawing a flow of blood. His jaw locked in, just like his cock did in your pussy. Inflated knot, spreading you wider than ever before, shifted your channel so that the crown of Steve’s cock rested right against your cervix. And he bathed it in his seed.

White haze filled your brain as the pinnacle of pleasure and zap of pure pain switched off your consciousness.

When you groggily reconnected with bits of reality, your body was curled on its side. Steve’s body was aligned with yours; his cock still nestled deep inside of you. His arms were holding you tight, providing enough warmth for you to realize the tremors rocking you weren’t from cold, but the aftershocks from an orgasm.

Though you weren’t sure if it was still the one his knot ignited, or if the werewolf coaxed another climax out of you while you were unconscious.

You wouldn’t put it past him.

“Steve-” you croaked out.

“I’ve got you, bunny.” He tenderly kissed your shoulder. “I’ve got you and I always will. Your ever after, mate.”

#scaretale universe #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers smut #werewolf!steve rogers #chris evans smut #all the better to eat you

1K notes · View notes