#boy on a wooden box
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Reverse Fault Au for April 1st
Basically, what if SBI + Tubbo were humans working for the SCP Foundation, as well as anomalifying villain ocs at the end (which is where most of the tws come into play)
Tommy: Thomas. A Threat Assessor, like Dr Blake. He has an uncanny knack for driving even the most docile objects to bloodlust, which is useful in ascertaining exactly how much resources must be allocated to containing that SCP. No one is quite sure how he does it, only that a simple conversation can send objects into rages that somehow never touch the man. Thomas simply wears a delighted grin as devastation unfolds. Why does he do it? Why, the love of chaos of course. He’s only bringing out their innate evil, after all. The anomaly wanted to do it, he just gave it the push to act upon its violent nature.
Philza: Dr. A. Gon. Is an ancient decrepit old man from The War. He picks up little favorites among the anomalies and is super kind to them. Basically acts as a father figure for them, offering advice, giving little treats, limiting punishments, and helping them cope with the trauma of the Foundation…up until the moment he grows bored. After that it’s experiment after experiment trying to squeeze any last drop of interest out of the object before he discards them and moves onto the next. Anomalies tend to be completely psychologically and physically wrecked by the time he’s done with them. Likes to trap anomalies in complex promises that the Foundation can exploit easily. His cane is actually a sword stick, and the cape he has (to mimic wings) can act as a weighted net.
The Blade: Agent Boore. An MTF captain who leads a squad that somehow literally never manages to fail to recapture an anomaly thanks to his leadership. A lot of anomalies are terrified of him, as he tends to handle the containment breach punishments after catching them. Anomalies don’t tend to try to escape ever again after encountering Agent Boore. He armed to the teeth with near batman levels of gear. Tactics include pumping adrenaline into his veins, filling a room with toxic gas (immune bc of his gas mask (he wears it even while sleeping)) and the humble bazooka. Definitely on steroids. Agent Boore sees a containment breach as a challenge. He likes proving humanity (but mostly himself) stronger than monsters. Is insanely paranoid and tends to be the straight man who is secretly more insane than everyone else. Met Dr. A. Gon in WWII but got Captain America’d, and is actually now trying to sue marvel for using his life story. He does the job in order to protect the poor orphans of the world (evil)
Tubbo: Security Camera B. Is a security officer. Not a single thing goes unnoticed in the entire Foundation. The second an anomaly is out of line they’re reported and appropriately punished. Their personalities are represented in reverse fault by their favorite monitors. Jasmine has a picture of a dinosaur as her screen saver, Rhodes is a picture of an apple tree and technically it’s the oldest of the new computers but they run a mean legal complaint software that really saves the Foundation’s hide. Rosalind is a pic of someone meditating in a field of flowers and Sec Cam B secretly uses that computer to play games to distress. Sec Cam B also works as a recruitment officer given how much conviction about the Foundation they have. ‘It’s the moral thing to do, you have to join. Don’t you want to save humanity?’ They’re insufferably righteous in moral conviction. Lawful evil.
Wilbur: A. Void. Initial contact researcher, as he has a sharp eye (the other lost to an anomaly years ago) and an even sharper tongue that tends to not only save his life but also weasel out information from the object that would otherwise not have been gotten. His prejudices are flipped from Fault Au. Now, he thinks it unfair that anomalies have more power than humans, and that such a dominance would only lead to subjugation if given time. After all, the powerful always abuse such might don’t they? He believes everything he does is necessary for his own survival. He thinks his punishments are fair, which they could almost be considered to be compared to actual sadists like Agent Boore or Dr. A. Gon.
———————————————————————
And on to the villain SCPs!
Webb: A humanoid SCP with eight eyes, six arms, mandibles. Webb has incorrectly healed surgical scars on its throat from an encounter with Dr. A. Gon’s scalpel. An anomaly that can shoot out tendrils of spiderweb that, when making contact, suppress heightened emotions. Effect is strongest while webbing is attached to both object and target, though loses effect about ten minutes after creation, so it is sometimes used to capture other anomalies. While not strong, it is important that Webb doesn’t escape because any urge to recontain it will be suppressed. At most extreme, it can shut down a person till they’re paralyzed, which on a few occasions was enough to stop a human heart because continuing to beat was simply too much effort.
Dr. Blake: The Scimitar Smile. It is a set of 32 humanoid teeth with a crack through the upper right incisor due to an encounter with Agent Boore. The teeth can move somehow, and tend to hunt in a pack. On their own, a person within their aura will be acutely aware of their own flaws. Often persons with disabilities such as PTSD or anxiety will be triggered by its presence. Exposure to this object leads to strong self loathing and occasional suicides.
It’s when it gets a Host that the Scimitar Smile is at its most dangerous. Once a Host is selected, the teeth will crawl up them and burrow like ticks into the flesh of their cheeks in the arrangement of an external smile. The Scimitar Smile prefers to keep Hosts for a while, but will inevitably abandon it, and during escapes will take many Hosts in rapid succession. Old Hosts tend to scream when they hear their own names, have very little agency, and are incredibly compliant to orders.
Once assimilated, both the Host and the Scimitar Smile’s mouths will begin to speak, saying different things. When recorded and replayed, it sounds like chattering nonsense. Despite being unaware of its contents, the noise is regarded as a cognitohazard as it tends to drive people insane. Only a few reports of what individuals hear in person exist, as those that survive are left in psychological annihilation and refuse to talk about what they heard and did as a result. What we can piece together is this: Past being aware of their flaws, a listener is manipulated into acting on them in the most self destructive way possible.
The Scimitar Smile brings out the worst in people.
#I feel like Thomas would be the most tolerable to hang around#Except for the racist rhetoric#Like Sec Cam B probably gets the fewest people killed but they’d be insufferable#Scp Webb does swing around like spider-man#The scimitar smile is kept in one of those freaky baby teeth wooden boxes#I think Dr. A. Gon is horrifying but still probably less evil than fault Philza#Just bc Philza is a bit of a dad yandere#happens to the best of us#I loved contorting their flaws in order to make them villains. Just pushing them all to extremes until they became awful#scp ocs#scp au#sbi scp au#dark sbi#sleepy bois inc#scp tubbo#scp philza#scp tommyinnit#scp technoblade#scp wilbur#villain oc#Oh let’s see about those tws#body horror tw#teeth cw#suicide mention#human experimentation#emotional abuse#scp oc#fault au#something to nom on#sbi au
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funniest things in interview with the vampire:
the fact that we got reverse-queerbaited and there was levitating gay vampire sex in episode 1 and then never again :(
"he ain't white he french!"
lestat showing up to louis' family dinner in the gayest outfit he could wear in 1910, pretending to eat, and hypnotizing paul when he really was trying to make a good impression
florence du lac clocking louis as gay because of his acrylic nails and tinted glasses
"what's wrong with that man?" @ lestat
louis with the "no whites allowed" sign despite lestat being inside the building
"i'm not sure how i feel about that pleated skirt" "it's chiffon it has movement"
grace calling lestat louis' white daddy
louis, lestat, and claudia treating nosferatu like a comedy
louis telling the police they should be ashamed of how they treated "law-abiding, taxpaying citizens" and forgetting that it's illegal to be gay
"we sell...incinerators. to various american cities." "we bring our clients here to demonstrate the product"
louis throwing lestat's coffin out the window
tom anderson not seeing louis and lestat for 17 years but for some reason he has a picture with them in his desk drawer
the fact that rashid was not just a character armand made up but a real employee of theres who was mysteriously absent for a week while seemingly consensually being played by his boss
armand and louis walking up to daniel holding hands like two people who have never held hands before in their life
armand had a threesome with a father and son while watching now, voyager, something louis didn't even know about
armand telling daniel his own armandstat fanfiction, stopping at the scene where they fucked in the theatre box, and daniel wanting more
"are you schizophrenic louis?" "...no"
the insinuation that the real irish playwright samuel barclay beckett was a vampire. not only that, but that his most well-known work, "waiting for godot," was originally written for the theatre des vampires. not only that, but that he is now an unspecified DJ
french man yelling at louis and armand that they should blow each other when they're kissing in the public park
daniel molloy being so unbelievably gay in the 1970s and being immediately into fucking louis in the coffin
daniel molloy having his body comandeered by armand and still offering to suck his dick
daniel molloy trying to escape from armand and immediately running into the wall
armand walking back into the dubai penthouse being the silliest he's ever been, nourished, happy only to find out that his husband and weird gay boy situationship have unionized
armand gaslighting his way out of the situation he gaslit himself into by telling louis he asked him to erase his memories
armand animating the raccoon into the projections during the trial
santiago small dick reveal
lestat still wearing a 150 year old leyendecker robe and playing a wooden piano, but somehow having the money for an ipad, speakers, and wifi
"siri pause"
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March 2024
The Boy on the Wooden Box by Leon Leyson ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
Emma by Jane Austin ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ 1/2
#books#Emma#The Boy on the Wooden Box#Leon Leyson#Jane Austin#slow reading month due to my pain being so persistent
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SNAP AND BREAK
SYNOPSIS you piss caleb off by going on a risky mission so he makes you pay. dearly.
WARNINGS caleb x fem!reader, fights, arguments, tension, misunderstandings, secret relationship, pseudo-cest, punishment, unprotected sex, improper use of evol, gagging, cockwarming, restraints, bondage, bdsm scene, size difference, verbal humiliation, pussy job, dirty talk, multiple positions, orgasm edging, orgasm control, orgasm denial, nipple play, marking, biting, forgiveness, aftercare
DAWN SAYS another one for the cfgc <3 caleb punish me challenge mode: extremely hard. also, big thanks to bb vienna for tossing back some ideas and helping me shape up this bad boy ❤️
x / a03
It’s not often Caleb comes home for the holidays, and when he does, you want to make sure everything’s perfect for him.
Sweat dots your brow, dripping down your neck as you spring around the house like a frantic OTTO-PHO, cleaning every inch of your old home and picking up after any mess left behind. With Gran in elderly care and your childhood friend stuck in Skyhaven, the onus is on you to keep the space spick-and-span—a duty you sorely neglected due to your erratic mission schedule.
Damn it, you scowl, glancing at the clock. It’s already 9PM… Caleb could be home anytime soon…
Huffing, you bring out a box of Christmas lights, completely entangled together in a wiry mess, and you groan at the thought of spending hours trying to get one end loose from the other. Sure, Christmas Eve is a time for families to gather together and enjoy the festivities with merriment, food and one too many glasses of bourbon, but as much as you would love to spend time with Caleb on his rare days back in Linkon, there’s a lingering thought in the back of your mind, connected right to the Hunter’s watch on your wrist.
As you check through the notifs, you miss the front door clicking open, the soft scuffle of boots on the wooden floor only reaching your distracted ears when the person was a few feet from you. Despite your wicked fast reflexes, Caleb is quicker, caging you in his arms, pulling you tightly to his chest as his boyish laughter grazes your ears.
“Really, pipsqueak? Being distracted could cost you some Hunter brownie points.”
“Caleb!” you squeal, whirling around and smacking his chest, your eyes sparkling at the sight of him. “When did you get here?! I didn’t even hear your bike.”
He releases his grip on your waist, spinning you to face him, taking you in with his warm gaze. You didn’t miss the dark circles under his eyes, stress-induced from nights in a world so far above the ground, with secrets you sense he could never tell you.
“Guess someone was more distracted than I gave her credit for,” he teases, ignoring your probing gaze.
You tighten your grip on his arm, and pull him closer, scrutinizing him from head to toe. “And you look like you haven’t slept in days.”
“Jeez,” he worms out of your grasp, though his cheery disposition remains unflappable. “Are you trying to steal my thunder? I’m the one that’s supposed to be the nagger, not the other way around. And you look like you’re short of a few days of sleep, too, Pips.”
It never surprises you how at ease he makes you feel. Banter and laughter flow freely between Caleb and you, and where words fall short, the silence remains warm and companionable. The scent of food is in the air, and you take a moment to inhale the fragrance of warm bread leaving the pan greedily. Caleb makes your favorite baozi, the sweet dough mingling with the succulent fattiness of the pork belly sandwiched between the two buns melting on your tongue, sending sparks of serotonin straight to the pleasure center of your brain.
He watches you eat with a twinkle in his eye. “Good?”
"Heavenly,” you practically moan, and take another bite. You miss his eyes darkening, the quick aversion of his gaze from your blissed-out face.
“Mhm. Glad you love it,” he raps the table with his knuckles and stands, focused on the tasks ahead. “We’ll pick up Gran from the care center tomorrow and return home. Can I trust you with the turkey, Pips?”
You nod, dusting your fingers free from crumbs and standing, too. “Got it. Turkey. What about the cupcakes?”
“Oh, I can get them delivered. Don’t worry,” he reassures with a grin. “Wouldn’t want Gran to worry about us stuck in Christmas traffic.”
He’s got a point. When Christmas Eve arrives, the streets of Linkon bustle with throngs of bodies hurrying down the sidewalks, a sense of urgency and excitement in the air. You’re carrying the turkey back to your bike when a familiar vibration on your wrist pulls your attention from strapping the bird tightly into your rear basket, and your heart falls when you see the fluctuation pattern.
Wanderers.
Your mind rushes with the implications of what comes next, and in your ear, the ever-present comm beeps, Nero’s voice on the other end briefing Team Alpha.
“... interrupt Christmas break… urgent deployment to Chansia City—team of explorers—Caves—”
It comes in bits and pieces. You’re struggling to listen while kicking your bike into gear, revving back home to pack for the overnight mission.
“Nero, slow down—which part is overrun?” Jenna demands, her voice crisp from the other end of the line.
“—Chapel Bay. We need reinforcements—”
Kicking up dirt in your wake, you zip back home, arriving in time for Caleb to poke his head past the door, his greeting dying on his lips when he sees the tension radiating off you in waves.
“Pipsqueak, what’s wrong—?”
There’s no time to consider softening the blow when an entire neighborhood is at risk of being wiped out by Wanderers.
“I just got a call to go to Chansia. There’s been a huge Wanderer attack.” You pry the turkey from your bike’s rear basket and hand it to him, sprinting back into the house to pack when a tight grip on your wrist stops you.
“Slow down, Pipsqueak,” Caleb urges, his eyes wide with trepidation. “Did you just say Chansia?”
You nod, and something in his expression darkens.
“You can’t go.”
“Wh—?”
Before you can protest, Caleb slams the front door closed, barricading it with his broader build. “Pips, that area is certified Wanderer territory after the Profield Fall six months ago. Going there would be signing your death sentence .”
His words ring in your mind, leaving behind a tremor of fear. But, your stubbornness and need to help takes precedence over whatever hesitation you might feel, and you shake your head.
“Caleb, it’s my job—”
“ Y/N, please.”
No Pipsqueak, Pips, or short stack …
Your eyes widen as the realization hits you square in the chest. Caleb is completely serious about this. You take a step back when he corners you against the wall, those amethyst eyes shining with a desperate plea for you to listen to him—just this once.
“Trust me when I say this—the DAA knows what’s going on there and we’ve escalated it to Zone Three status. You could die there, Y/N—”
“Caleb, I can’t just leave my team behind!”
He swallows hard, crossing his arms and in a tone brokering no argument, he utters: “Give me Captain Jenna’s number right now.”
You gape at him, wondering if he’s lost his mind. “ Are you trying to get me fired? ”
“Family code for the Hunter’s Association means family members can refuse to allow a Hunter to serve—”
“Now you’re just making things up!”
Your cheeks burn hotly with indignation, eyes narrowing at the sight of his wilful glare. Deep down, Caleb is just worried for you, his overprotective big brother tendencies leaving him resolutely firm on not allowing you to go. But, you’re not a kid anymore, and this is the duty you swore to uphold. Family or not, Caleb has no right to stop you from leaving.
“No,” you reiterate, standing your ground. “Caleb, this is unacceptable. You can’t just dictate when I can do my job just like that!”
“Oh, I can and I will.”
You feel a firm tug around your waist, and to your horror, his Evol snatches your phone from deep inside your pants pocket. “Hey—!”
He holds it above your head, no longer goofing around like he usually does when he teases you like this; expression serious and unyielding. “Tell me your phone password now.”
You seethe, wondering if he’s lost his mind. “Absolutely not!” Palm to his chest, he grunts, feeling the first stirrings of your Resonance piercing through the atoms binding his telekinesis together, goading him to explode. He grabs your wrist with the other hand, a mutinous and unfamiliar glare twisting his mouth into a sneer.
“Oh, don’t even think about using your Evol on me, little missy.” With a staggering strength you thought he would never use on you, Caleb drags you closer, pressing your thumb on the phone’s biometric sensor. It lights up and your phone unlocks, leaving him privy to your contacts.
In one swift motion, you kick him right in the bend of his knee, knocking him off balance. Caleb yelps and the turkey you so carefully transported back home goes crashing to the ground along with his knees hitting the carpet. Moving fluidly, you grab his shoulder, restraining his arm behind his back, forcing him to relinquish his grip on your phone where it clatters onto the floor.
“Pips—”
You push your knee right in between his shoulder blades, forcing him to the ground.
Caleb grunts in pain, but you’re too angry to even care about his discomfort.
“How dare you come in the way of my job?” You spit out, increasing the force of your knee into his back. “You have no right, Caleb. None.”
“I was just—”
“What’s going on?!”
You both glance up to find Gran staring at you in horror, frozen in her wheelchair. It’s been years since she saw a fight this bad between you and Caleb—the last one being when you two were angsty teenagers. At the look of dismay on her face, you hesitate and ease up, letting him go. Caleb rises with a derisive scoff, and without a second glance, tosses your phone back to you, remaining indifferent when you fumble to catch it.
“Fine. But, don’t say I didn’t warn you. If you’re going through with this, then I have nothing else to say to you.”
He walks away, his head bent, broad shoulders tense with frustration. You watch him disappear back into the kitchen and glance down at the mess of the turkey scattered on the floor—reminding you of the chaos you’ve brought to what was supposed to be a day of family and celebration. How you single-handedly ruined Christmas Eve.
“Gran, I’m—”
She raises a hand to stop your string of excuses and apologies. “Whatever you need to do, go and do it. Just come back in one piece, dear.”
You glance at the deep set lines of her face, the kindness in her eyes you didn’t deserve. “Could you tell him…?” You trail off, and flicker your gaze to the kitchen. Gran nods, imperceptibly understanding your request.
“I’ll speak to him, don’t you worry.”
Taking one last look at her, you nod and hitch the strap of your purse higher, thoughts already racing on the logistics of returning to the Association base and retrieving your hunting gear. As you straddle your bike, you steal a final glance at the kitchen window, wondering if he could see you pulling away. But, the curtains are drawn, and the lights dim.
Feeling the melancholy of separating on such awful terms with him, you kick up the bike stand and zip down the highway to your unknown fate, ready to fight Wanderers despite how much every fiber in your body was screaming at you to turn around and make things right with Caleb.
Caleb stares at the phone in his hand. It’s been three days since he last heard from you; since he last saw you.
He’s gone through the entire cycle of grief the whole time you’ve been missing from his side: denial that you had the nerve to hurt him after all he’s done for you, anger at the way you dismissed his concerns and complaints about him mother henning you when all he wants is to ensure your safety; bargaining with the voices in his mind to forgive and forget; a crippling depression at the lack of consideration you had for him by not even bothering to reach out and finally acceptance that come what may, you had to return home.
He wouldn’t rest till he sees you again—till he makes sure you’re safe and whole.
But, when the fourth day trickles by with still no sign or contact from you, anxiety gnaws him right to the bone and he can’t focus on anything else but the chirp of his phone, heart pounding wildly and breath hitching as he picks it up, hoping to see the golden notification which will indicate you’re still alive.
He’s disappointed time and time again.
Yet, he doesn’t switch off his phone or mute it. Caleb reasons if you ever did call him, he would always be on standby to berate you.
(And ask you when you’ll be coming home again so he can prepare to see you).
His heart echoes a dull thud that grows murkier and darker with each growing day of your absence. Till he can’t take it anymore and punches in the emergency number you left on the fridge, hearing the dial tone that echoes forlornly in the background of this empty kitchen soaking in the last rays of sunset.
The call doesn’t go through, and he tries the other number you left for him.
“Hello?”
Mercifully, a woman answers and his white-knuckled grip on the phone tightens.
“Hi,” he stutters and feels like a fool. “My name is Caleb. I’m… Y/N’s friend,” clearing his throat, he presses on. “I haven’t heard from her in days and I’m starting to, uh, get worried. Is she—?”
He barely gets the question out when the woman interrupts him, not unkindly.
“Caleb, isn’t it? You’re her adopted brother. My name is Jenna and I’m the captain of Team Alpha. Unfortunately, I cannot disclose any further information about our Deepspace Hunters except that they are currently on a very important mission.”
Jenna’s tone is steepled in regret, and Caleb pinches the bridge of his nose. “I know. I know, damn it.” If she finds his cursing crass, she doesn’t comment on it. “But, it’s been four days already. I just need to know—”
“Mr. Caleb, we understand your frustration, but please, do let us handle the mission on our end, and if there are any updates—”
“You’d only tell me if she returns in a body bag.”
The transparency of his resigned statement floats uneasily like a greasy film over a thick coating of lies he’s very well accustomed to in the military and law enforcement world. The reality is this: he would never know if you were alive until you came back home.
Caleb thumps his forehead against the frosty kitchen glass, watching the white snowflakes dance in front of him with listless, pained violet eyes. The necklace you gifted him hangs from his neck like a noose, threatening to choke the last of his composure. He struggles to hold onto his temper, as he swallows and nods.
“Alright. Roger that. Thank you, Captain.”
He doesn’t give Jenna a chance to reply, ending the call and, in a fit of rage, slams his phone onto the table. His sudden fit of anger doesn't go unobserved, Gran’s weary eyes watching him pace restlessly through the kitchen, not noticing her sitting in the dark corner. She wants to comfort him but doesn’t know how. After all, it was you who usually took the mantle of calming down this unnerving, determined young man during his rare, but terrifying bouts of rage.
Gran sighs quietly and stares up at the ceiling as if she could see past the layers of plaster and unease and into the graying, snowy sky.
Caleb slams the front door on his way out to god knows where. Like always, she remains reticent and disengaged, sitting in the furthest corner where his disconcerting emotions could never reach her.
You weren’t expecting anyone to wait for you back in your apartment when you finally returned home.
Light snow coats the front of your lobby stairs, and the second he sees you, the doorman waves to catch your attention.
“Oh, Miss Hunter! You have a care package waiting for you in the mail room.”
Curious and weary from your arduous mission, you trudge to the mailroom to retrieve the package under your name. Clasping it in one arm, you drag your tired and bruised body straight to your apartment and push open the door, switching on the lights and air conditioning. The space smells of stale air and an underlying current of tension, greeting you with a lingering melancholy you couldn’t quite shake off.
You carefully close the door behind you and set the package on your dining table. Glancing out at the twinkling lights of the street below, the feeling of missing out on an important holiday creeps back in, and you fight back the urge to sob.
Now’s not the time…your inner voice chimes. You need to eat something… shower and rest. Wiping your damp eyes, you take a deep breath. The time to break down and mourn over your guilt can come later.
Tearing the package open, your heart skips a beat when you see a bento box filled with dehydrated vegetables, powdered cranberry sauce, dried turkey, and a side of instant mac ‘n’ cheese. A note, written in a blocky scrawl you recognize as Caleb’s, makes the lump of guilt in your throat thicken even more.
Merry Christmas, Pipsqueak. We missed you. — C
You boil some water, microwave the food, and rehydrate the greens again, taking your sad pre-packed Christmas meal on the balcony. The food is good, and you have an inkling of Caleb freeze-drying it for you—begrudgingly making sure you could still enjoy your holiday even after the catastrophic fight you both had.
As you chew listlessly on a slice of turkey, you glance up at the sky where you imagine the outline of Skyhaven to be, snowflakes clinging onto the ends of your lashes, falling like powdered sugar onto your bare hands.
Caleb… your mind echoes forlornly. Did he return to the base? Is he still here in Linkon?
One quick look at your Moments feed, and you see he’s still here, catching up with old classmates and grinning brightly in his photos like the two of you hadn’t been at each other’s throats just a few days ago.
The temptation to call him up is at odds with your bruised ego from the smothering behavior he exhibited days earlier. A part of you wants an excuse to see him again despite the growing distance since the argument—to thank him for the meal he prepared for you.
Snowflakes melt in your hair, an unceasing chill creeping up on you. Despite the unusual distance creeping insidiously into your relationship, the chill, the reproachful silence—the meal he sent you was more than a peace offering. It was his version of an apology.
Your mind floats a million miles away, thinking about Caleb, wondering if he is still mad at you. You heave a sigh. As much as you dread it, there’s only one way to find out.
Pulling out your phone, you click on his number. The dial tone drones on and on, plucking on your nerves, and you reflexively nibble on your nails, waiting for him to pick up.
“Hello! ” You expel a rushed breath, an apology on the tip of your tongue when you’re hit with the realization that you’ve reached his voicemail box instead. “—probably busy. Please leave a message after the beep—”
Silence. You catch a staggering breath. “Caleb? It’s me. If you get this, let’s meet up, ‘kay? Talk to you soon.”
There’s a hum in the night air, a tension drawing lines around your taut figure. You wait and wait for his return call, glancing at your phone every minute, checking on your messages in case he left one when your back was turned. The warm shower you took could barely flush out the thought of Caleb, your anxiety peaking when you decide to check on Moments, seeing him post a picture of his dinner with his friends, but leaving your message on read.
Crap. You’re in deep trouble now. Sighing, you run your fingers through your hair, rubbing your face.
There isn’t a hint of doubt that he’s punishing you now with the silent treatment. Caleb is never the type to avoid confrontations—he thrives on them. He loves arguing, challenging your worldview, and trying to prove his point, just to rub it in your face that he will always be right.
The indifference is odd; this distance is not like him.
Before you can stop yourself from calling him again, you slip on your coat, tug on your scarf, and rush to your bike.
I’m going to make him talk to me if it’s the last thing I do, you think viciously, revving up the bike aggressively—kicking up snow and dirt in your wake to break this frostiness between you two.
In fifteen minutes, you find yourself in front of your childhood home, the kitchen lights glowing warmly. Gran is probably already back at the elderly care center, and since Caleb is still treating you as public enemy #1, he’s staying here to keep his distance from you. You kill the engine and march straight up to the door, unlocking it with your spare key.
Inside the house is warm and toasty, the faint smell of food drifting from the kitchen. You freeze when the sound of heavy footsteps reaches your ears, looking straight into his wide, amethyst eyes.
Caleb exhales a sharp breath, his mouth dropping open slightly. “Pipsqueak…”
You remain nailed to the spot, wondering if he would kick you out—ask you to leave for daring to show your face here again. But, he does no such thing, beckoning you to close the door and come in. Though he doesn’t outright reject you, he doesn’t welcome you with open arms, either, the usual exuberance and grins he reserves for you nowhere to be found on his unsettlingly serious expression.
Caleb goes back into the kitchen, picking up a towel to wipe down his hands. The paper plane bracelet you got for him years ago peeks past the sleeve of his gray hoodie, a reminder of happier times between you two.
You hesitate for a single second by the doorway, wondering when the thought of home left you this cold and disorientated.
Like a lost puppy, you trail after him, removing your jacket and setting it on the back of a dining chair.
“Thank you… for the meal,” your hoarse voice breaks the icy silence.
Caleb glances at you from behind the kitchen island and nods. “You’re welcome.”
He doesn’t say anything else, and the easy familiarity from years of knowing each other fades into a glacial stillness. You hear your breath leaving your lips, and sense the way he’s avoiding your eyes.
“Caleb—”
He scoffs at the sound of his name leaving your lips, and turns around, putting all his focus on the bread he’s baking. You know him well enough to understand he only bakes when he’s completely stressed out over something.
Without thinking, you touch his wrist, not anticipating the sharp way he draws his hand back from you.
“Caleb…”
He doesn’t glance at you—barely gives your pain a second glance. “What’re you doing here, Pipsqueak?” He murmurs gruffly. “Aren’t you supposed to be writing a debrief report right now?”
As much as his distance stings, his dismissal hurts even worse, feeling like a knife carving through your chest.
“It’s Christmas season,” you whisper. “The offices are closed—”
“And yet, risky missions still prevail, huh?”
His words bite straight to your core, and you wince. “Caleb, it’s not—”
“Save it,” your childhood friend cuts you off, jerking his chin towards the dining table. “Sit down there and don’t disturb me. I’m making sourdough focaccia and if something goes wrong, I will 100% blame you.”
Despite the warning in his tone, you can’t help but smile faintly.
“Okay…”
Taking a seat at the table, you watch him work. The sleeves of his hoodie stretch tautly over his bulging biceps, rolling up to expose his forearms as he works the dough into a malleable ball. The silence is something new, a phenomenon born from the supernova of your hasty mistakes, leaving gaping black holes of awkwardness surrounding the two of you. Any light coming through from your attempts to make conversation is shut down with a dismissive hum or grunt from Caleb.
You can tell he’s avoiding any attempts to talk, focusing on making the bread and ignoring your presence in the corner of his eye. The childish part of you that grew up with his undivided attention screams, tearing and twisting in your chest, needing to reclaim his interest and care again. You pout, sulk, and heave numerous heavy sighs. But, he doesn’t turn to look at you, much too busy focusing on brushing basil oil onto the bubbling surface of the dough.
So, you amp up the distractions. You circle closer and closer to him, pressing your face near his shoulder to watch him decorate the dough with slivers of cherry tomatoes. You linger when he turns to grab the container of sea salt flakes, playfully sticking your finger into the concoction to pop a bubble forming.
“Okay, that’s it—”
He grabs your wrist and tugs you back into the living room, making you sit on the couch with a scowl on his face. The look of pure wrath in his expression startles you, and you barely have time to murmur an apology when he shakes his head, glare intensifying.
“Stay out of my hair, Pipsqueak. I mean it. ”
“But—”
He whirls around, silencing you with a deep and unmistakable glint of rage in his usually gentle purple eyes. You fall into a stuttering disquiet, unable to stop the hurt from flashing across your face.
“Caleb—”
“Don’t give me that look. And stay away from the kitchen.” Stay away from me. He doesn’t say it, but the warning is implicit.
You’ve never seen him this enraged before. Your breath falls out in a huff, and you give him an incredulous look. Caleb turns around, completely ignoring you, and returns to his focaccia. A voice in your head chimes in, telling you to just own up to your mistakes and apologize to him. But, the stubborn part of your consciousness, the one who insists she’s right despite how poorly she had treated one of her oldest childhood friends, remains stubbornly set on not breaking the ice first.
Easier said than done.
It’s hard.
It’s hard for you to sit on the couch, quiet and seething when Caleb is just a few feet away. It’s absolute torture to not be in there with him, yapping off his ear with updates to your mission, or trying to sneak eat a few cherry tomatoes when his back is turned. You miss him, and you miss his shitty jokes and dopey smile. You miss him.
You find yourself sneaking glances at him, wondering if he’s making an extra batch for you—hoping he isn’t too mad to deny you from having a focaccia slice. You know you’re being selfish and immature again, thinking he will be okay with you after the stunt you pulled on him when the reality of his dejection runs deeper.
Shamelessly, you stand and venture back into the kitchen, unlike a stray kitten who could never take a hint. You stand by his side, hovering around until he pays you a morsel of attention—gifting you back his sunny smiles and easygoing laughter.
But, Caleb remains steadfast in his efforts to ignore you, and you decide it’s time to bring out the big guns. Pressing closer to him, you lean your head against his shoulder, nuzzling your cheek into the soft material of his hoodie.
“Gege… don’t be mad at me…”
He stiffens, and yet, you persist with your efforts. Playfully nipping the back of his ear, you find his weakness in an instant, hearing his breath catch in the back of his throat.
Caleb pretends you don’t exist, letting you fight for his attention, but you can tell his resolve is crumbling. You hear the hitch in his quiet groan when you lick the sensitive shell of his ear, the heat of your body seeping past the thick fabric of his hoodie.
Gran isn’t here, and you don’t have to hide your desires from her, free to mess around with Caleb as much as you can.
You stand on your tiptoes, tracing the tip of your tongue down the curve of his neck, scraping your teeth against his sensitive skin.
Caleb hisses, and you fight back the urge to grin in triumph. His hands grip the marble island’s edge with a white-knuckle hold. You feel his resolution to ignore you falling apart, piece by piece, simmering in the knowledge of you offering yourself to him as a way of apologizing for the things you said—how you hurt him both physically and emotionally before your mission.
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, gege,” you murmur against the salt of his skin, feeling his body heat under your touch. “Can you ever forgive me? Can you ever forgive your mei mei? ”
He bites back a groan, narrowing his eyes.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Pipsqueak…” he hisses under his breath.
The way he says it, full of anger and warning, sends a sick, dark thrill up your spine. You resist the urge to lay off him, needing him to fully crack and give in to your whims like he always does—like he always will when it comes to you because you’re nothing if not Caleb’s spoiled rotten mei mei who always gets what she wants.
“Pipsqueak—” his words cut off into a low growl when he feels your arms belting around his waist, your hands sliding further down… fingertips teasingly brushing the bulge tenting under his pants. “Watch it.”
But, his warning lacks bite, and you gnaw on your lower lip, feeling his patience slowly dissipating. Caleb is once again putty in your hands, easy to mold to your desires. You grin against his back, feeling the same revulsive knot twisting in your stomach, the stench of the impending perverseness making your nostrils flare.
“ Gege… ” you whisper again.
It’s the final nail to the coffin of his attempts to resist you. Except when he snaps, he does it in a way you never expect.
Caleb grabs your hand and spins you around, pinning you right to the counter edge. Without a second’s hesitation, he drags your pants down, baring your vulnerable backside. The stinging pain of his hit on your left cheek draws you up short, and you cry out, cursing profusely.
“My, my,” you can hear the grin in his dark tone. “Such a mouth you have on yourself, mei mei … you need to be reprimanded.”
Another sharp spank lands on your right cheek this time, and your head jerks up, a yelp slipping past your clenched teeth.
“C-Caleb—”
“Don’t you dare Caleb me,” he sneers and drags you like you’re a ragdoll to the bedroom—his bedroom. Inside, you’re faced with gege’s full wrath, as he stands before you, tall and imposing, those amethyst eyes barely wavering when he takes in your warm cheeks and the glimmer of pain simmering in your gaze.
“Strip,” Caleb commands, lifting a dark brow. “ Now .”
You want to argue, to tell him to ease up, but the look on his face remains flinty and firm.
Swallowing your trepidation, you start by pulling your shirt over your head, letting it fall to the floor. Caleb’s expression doesn’t shift, not even when his eyes rake over the lace bra you’re wearing. His jaw tightens, and he gestures at your pants, silently telling you to go all in if you want to earn his forgiveness back.
You reluctantly tuck your thumbs into the waistband of your pants and drag them down, leaving you shivering in your matching lacy panties.
He scoffs, running his eyes up and down your scantily-clad form. “You sure you weren’t thinking indecent thoughts, you shameless minx? Good girls don’t try to seduce their older brothers by looking like this.”
You flush warmly at his degrading words, feeling your bravado slipping. “I-I wasn’t—”
Your words die in the back of your throat when you feel the restrictive force of his Evol grasping your wrists, drawing them above your head. Caleb’s expression and outstretched hand don't falter, and he takes another step closer, bearing down on your helplessness.
“Be quiet,” he snaps. Flicking his fingers, he pushes you against the wall, hearing the gust of breath rushing out your lungs when your back hits the hard plaster. You grunt in surprise, struggling and failing to fight your way out of the bonds he has your wrists in.
“Scared?” He goads, approaching you, taking your chin, and tilting your face up. The look in his eyes is borderline terrifying—you’ve never seen Caleb ( your sweet, lovely, kind, and sunny Caleb )—look this angry in your life. “This is what you wanted, right?” Grabbing your wrists in one large palm, he tightens his grip on you. “Teasing me… hurting me… you have a knack for breaking your gege’s heart, huh, Pipsqueak?”
You shake your head, wanting to protest when he silences you with a punishing kiss. Caleb bites down on your lower lip, your words and coherence lost in the slurry mess of his tongue fighting yours, tasting the warmth and wetness of your mouth.
“Mhm,” you moan into the kiss, tilting your head to the side to get more—taste more of him. He runs the tip of his tongue over the hard ridges of your teeth, squeezing your cheeks in a possessive hold, forcing your mouth to remain open and giving as he continues to take what he wants without a care for your pathetic whines.
“Don’t think I’ll go nice on you, Y/N,” he warns, tipping your head back, his lips brushing the sensitive shell of your ear. “You treated me like dirt before you left. You hurt my feelings—” He growls, biting down hard on your earlobe. “You selfish, bratty little Pipsqueak… I won’t go easy on you, do you hear me? Nod if you understand.”
You can’t do anything but nod, helpless in the face of his anger. The corners of his mouth twitch at the sight of your submission, the dark monster within he tries hard to suppress rearing its jealous head, beckoning him to devour you. With a surprising show of dominance, he tangles his fingers in your hair, yanking your head back with a grunt, exposing more of your throat to his wandering lips.
He licks, nips, and sucks his marks onto the pristine column of your throat, needing to see his marks bloom on your skin. Caleb is relentless in his attempts to remind you who you belong to.
The force of his touch sends sparks of thrill up your spine, and you gasp with every hot press of his open-mouth kisses to your vulnerable jaw and neck.
Caleb’s teeth scrapes your sensitive skin, drawing guttural gasps from your kiss-swollen lips.
“Ca-leb—” you break off into a hiss when his Evol rearranges your limbs, spreading your thighs wider; your arms restrained above your head. The last time he had you in this position was a summer ago before he left for a mission to Vagrant Land. You swore after that night when he was done with you, that you had to double your Plan B dosage less your body betrayed you and you conceived his baby.
“Please—”
He doesn’t hear your begging, taking a step closer, his bigger build pressing harder into your body.
“I said: Shut. Up. ”
In one swift motion, his telekinesis holds your lips shut, your struggles and indignant squeals barely triggering a reaction from him. The look on his face sparks both terror and desire, your body responding to his unexpected dominance; proof of your arousal shining from between your thighs.
“Already wet? How pathetic…”
He smirks, coating his fingers with the proof of your desire pooling right between your folds.
“Mhmph—Cwaleb—” your desperate squeak shoots his ego straight up to the moon, and Caleb is on cloud nine.
Such a desperate, little Pipsqueak. You want this so badly, huh? Mhm hmm. That’s right. That’s fucking right. You like my fingers in you? Good girl. Such a good, little Pipsqueak. You’re doing so well—fuck.
His anger aside, Caleb can’t help but praise you. It’s his default; his DNA. You drive him insane and he wants to punish you for getting under his skin—where you’ll always belong, not if he can help it.
“Something you wanna say, Pips?” he sneers, pumping two long, lithe, and callused fingers inside of you, catching on a spot that makes your toes curl.
“S-swo…sworry,” you manage to spit past the pressure clamping your mouth shut, tears swimming in your eyes, “Cwaleb… mhm .”
He can’t say he doesn’t enjoy your struggle. The flush on your cheeks, the wetness glimmering on your lips. Caleb wants to see you completely and utterly ruined for him.
“Beg,” he commands, slipping into his Captain persona with ease. In his eyes, you were nothing but an unruly cadet in need of a stern fixing. “Beg me and I might give you what you want.”
Thumb on your clit, he’s driving you delirious with feathery, teasing circles. Your eyes roll back into your head.
Cwaleb, you groan against his Evol. Pwease—mhmph!
The pressure of his fingers gets meaner, the look in his violet eyes muffling the last of your protests. Giving up on trying to get him to relent, you submit with feeble sighs, letting him take full control. Caleb grins, feeling you succumbing to his ministrations, your squeaks and sighs growing louder and more distraught.
He loves having you like this—on the edge, overstimulated, and completely relying on him.
Years of knowing your body and what makes you tick is enough for him to push your buttons—taking your limits past the breaking point.
He’s meticulous and sure with his punishment, doing whatever it takes to hammer in the anger and shame he wants you to feel—the lesson he’s trying to impart to your desperate body and distraught mind.
As he releases the pressure on your mouth so you can moan and gasp freely, Caleb’s quick with a foot of rope, using it to bind your hands in your front, allowing you just enough give to grip a pen in your shaky hand as he makes you sit on his cock and write ‘I will always obey my gege’ over and over again until your eyes swim, and your cunt is pulsing from every slight movement.
He teases you with shallow thrusts, lips in the crook of your neck, and warm, large palms covering your heaving breasts; playing with your distended nipples till they blossom into a pretty blush shade.
Driving you further into a pleasure-filled delirium, he rubs your clit with teasing circles, smacking your thighs when they start to snap close.
“I said—keep 'em’ open unless you know what’s good for ya, princess,” he sneers, leaving another stinging mark blooming on the plush flesh.
“Please…” The plea drops from your swollen lips and he chuckles.
“Struggling already?”
Caleb peers over your shoulder at your almost illegible writing and shakes his head. “I thought you were better than this—didn’t you once win the best handwriting award in high school? Tch.”
To your mortification and horror, he picks up the sheet of paper and tears it in half, ruining your hour-long effort of completing a hundred lines.
“Again,” he orders, and grabs a blank sheet, placing it in front of you. “And make sure your writing is pretty Pipsqueak. I wanna frame this.”
A strangled whimper tumbles from your mouth, and behind you, Caleb smirks at the sheer frustration at the sound.
Good.
Now, you would understand a sliver of the anguish he felt when you went missing for days. Now, you would feel the exasperation and outrage he did—and god, does it feelgood to watch you come undone for him.
You pick up the pen, and with a teary, little huff, start to write again. He hooks his chin over your shoulder, breath warm and distracting against your neck.
“Atta girl,” he murmurs, chest rumbling with deep satisfaction. “Look at’cha. Doing so well… I oughta reward you after this, hmm?”
He teasingly trails his palm up your thigh, squeezing your flesh—enjoying how your pretty, tight pussy squeezes down on him with every rasp of his palm on your skin. The sight between your thighs is lewd, a creamy mess coating the base of his cock, dribbles of arousal gathering at the lips of your entrance which ripples around his thick girth. Caleb is equal parts mesmerized and thrilled by the sight, watching how your little clit shivers when he teases her with the rough pad of his index finger; how your body shudders, and the pen in your hand shakes.
“Much better,” he compliments your penmanship, giving your clit and nipple a squeeze.
“Ah— mhm! ” You choke through your tears. This minute reaction costs you a firm smack on your thigh, his fingernails digging into the singing flesh.
“Did I say you could take your eyes off the paper?” Caleb demands, and in a low tone, barks out, “ Write .”
Tears mist your vision, your hips twitching and muscles tightening around the fleshy intrusion lodged deeply in your tender pussy. Caleb wraps his hands around your waist and gingerly lifts you up and down, fucking you on his cock as the words on the paper get blurrer and blurrer.
I will always obey gege.
I will always obey gege.
I will always—
The words get subconsciously stuck in your head, your lips shaping and breathing them out in shaky puffs. Black strokes of your obedience begin to fill up half of the page, and soon the whole sheet is covered with the affirmation. Caleb presses his lips to your jaw, giving you a much softer kiss, catching you off guard with his gentleness.
“There you go… lookin’ good, darlin’.”
He takes the paper from you and scrutinizes each word, well aware of your body trembling; your sweet, tight cunt squeezing pitifully around his cock. You’ve made such a mess on his lap, Caleb is surprised how the powerful orgasm you’ve been holding back for the past two hours hasn’t taken you under yet. It seems like one single touch and you might blow.
He chuckles, chest vibrating against your back, and sets your work down, gripping your hip tighter.
“Good girl,” he croons in your ear. Those maliciously thick and long fingers slide up the length of your thigh, reaching to wrap around your neck.
“I did what you asked,” you pant, squeezing your eyes shut and moaning at the sensation of his lips kissing down your throat. “A-am I forgiven yet?”
Hmm, Caleb hums, his smirking mouth pressing on your pulse point. He loves how despite your lofty title as Linkon’s shining Hunter, you’re still so much smaller than him; your entire body dwarfed between his bigger build and the hard edge of the table. “... suppose I could show you some mercy.”
He traces random patterns on your thigh and a sliver of hope takes root in your heart. Maybe you’ve done enough to fully earn his trust and love back. Maybe he might be merciful and kiss you—
As if you weighed next to nothing, Caleb’s strong arms carry you back to bed, setting you down on his lap again. He buries his nose in your hair and inhales like a starved man tasting honey for the first time, his tongue darting out to trace the jut of your jaw, trailing down your throat.
“You’re so sweet… so sinful…”
His grave murmurs send sparks of desire straight to your core, and you clench your thighs, whimpering.
“Caleb…”
Your whisper is a fleeting plea of desire that disappears under his smothering kiss. Caleb devours your mouth, swirling his tongue with yours, his fingers holding your chin in place. Hungry, open-mouth kisses smear down your neck, right to your collarbone, where the ghost of his breath on your perky nipples makes you shudder.
He takes his time, playing with you while you’re all tied up and helpless. Caleb grins against your sternum, hearing your breath hitch when he parts your thighs and sinks a finger inside you with barely any prep. Your body takes him without resistance, and he nuzzles your bare breasts, relishing how soft your skin is against his cheek.
“You’re so eager… so ready for me…”
His dick throbs, but he pays it no mind, completely zeroing in on your pleasure. Caleb’s entire focus is on you—your whimpers, your sighs, how your poor, puffy pussy clenches down so nicely on his thick fingers.
You’re just ready to burst, darlin’ ... he murmurs huskily into your ear. Must be frustrating, hmm? Not being given the chance to come… I’m sure you’re aching…
His thumb circles on your greasy, little nub, hearing your soft moans and sighs in his hair. Caleb guides you to the bed, your bound body falling in a heap under him. He positions himself over you, forearms on either side of your head as he goes back to licking and sucking at your neck.
The sting of his teeth leaving another bite leaves you light-headed with lust, your body throbbing for the slightest bit of relief.
Please… you whimper again, trying your luck. Caleb… I need you…
Yeah? He murmurs huskily. Where’dya need me, princess?
You squirm, moving your hips and he feels you writhing underneath him. “Inside. All the way.”
His breathing hitches, blood growing hotter at the desperation and need in your tone.
“All the way? You know what to say to get a man going, sweetness.”
“I— ohhh .”
Your words die in the back of your throat at what he does next.
Caleb grins as he pushes your thighs apart, settling in between them. He carelessly tugs his pants down, ripping off his clothes to toss them to the floor, gifting you inches and inches of bare, tanned skin and defined muscles to gawk at. Ready, baby? Giving his cock a few good pumps, he lines the tip to your entrance, catching it on the rim of your pussy.
Teasingly, he works the flush, sticky head up and down your weeping clit, circling your opening, pushing it in past the tight ring of muscle with taunting ‘pops’. Your gasps reach his ears, and he grins, enjoying drawing out your pleasure far too much.
Like that? He licks his lips, eyes half-hooded and heated. It’s all going in you, baby… just… at my… pace.
He punctuates each languid word with a few more inches sinking inside of you, coaxing more sweet sounds from your slack jaw.
Oh, yes… yes… fuck me, Caleb. Fuck—oooh.
Your drawn-out hiss springs a wicked smile to his face. The way your eyes roll back; how your hips twitch.
Spasming wildly, your sweet pussy draws him in, and Caleb can’t get enough of you. It’s excruciating how much he’s edging himself as much as he’s torturing you. But, the moment he bottoms out inside of you, all the tension condenses right to the point where you’re connected to him.
Caleb sets a rhythm that leaves you gasping, legs wrapping instinctively around his fitted waist. His biceps and abs ripple with every thrust, those pesky lips you love too much finding the hollow of your throat, leaving behind his claim on your delicate skin for the world to see. His mouth presses to yours in a heated display of ownership, tongue delving past your lips to dominate yours.
His taste—musk, salt, man—coats your tastebuds, and you’re swimming in his heat and scent.
Caleb is everywhere and anywhere over you, all at once.
His bigger build completely dwarfs you on the bed, expert hands pushing your thighs apart and pressing your knees to your chest, leaving you flushed and completely vulnerable to him.
He laughs when your clit trembles under his scrutiny, the little bud exposed with nowhere to hide.
Zeroing in on your tender bundle of nerves, he presses his thumb to it, feeling the greasy little button twitch under his fingertip.
You look so pretty like this… all tied up and vulnerable… just for me.
“Caleb…” your moans begin to stutter, your hips beginning to spasm. You’re so close, all it takes is one misstep on his end to lead you down the biggest orgasm of your life.
Hours of teasing and drawing out your pleasure renders you an incoherent, babbling mess.
Faster, faster… oh god, please. Yesyesyes. Caleb—Caleb…
Anyone passing by the room could tell you were barely holding on by a thread. You look so beautiful under him like this: hair fanning across his pillows, cheeks warm and lips flushed. The glassy look in your eyes.
God, he’s so in love with you.
Having you here, under him where you belong, heals the fissured part inside of him that still aches from your cruel dismissal of his concerns.
His thrusts grow more punishing, the tip of his long, girthy cock hitting your cervix. Caleb tilts your pelvis, making you take him deeper.
There ya go, sweet thing, he coaxes. Can you feel me here—? He touches your womb. Feel me where ya need me. Oh, darlin’... I’m gonna make sure you feel me for days.
Picking up his pace, the bed creaks and rocks under you. Caleb makes sure to tease your clit as well with every punishing thrust, feeling your thighs tremble around his shoulders.
He’s so deep, so flushed against your body, he thinks you could suck him up and take him in your body forever.
Caleb is hard-pressed to admit he doesn’t want that—there is nothing in the world he desires more than to be one with your bones and breath. His movements get erratic, needing to bring you to the edge and back.
He can tell you’re close.
The look on your face, the warmth in your cheeks. You’re holding back and he couldn’t be any more prouder.
“What do you want, princess?” He asks, eyes soft with affection.
You struggle to put your desires into words, completely wrecked at the end of his cock.
“I… mhm— close… ”
He feels your muscles squeezing down on him, and chuckles breathlessly.
“Yeah? I can tell, princess. You want to cum—you need to cum, huh?”
You give a teary, little nod that tugs on his heartstrings. But, Caleb isn’t done with you—not by a long shot.
He grins and without warning, switches the position, putting you on top of him. When you falter and almost fall face-first into his chest, the familiar stirrings of energy hold you upright, his Evol keeping you centered and balanced on his cock.
“Ride me,” he whispers huskily. “Show me how much you want this—prove to me how badly you want to cum.”
The challenge in his tone drives you dizzy with lust. Licking your lips, you murmur a whimper which makes his grin stretch wider, and shift your hips, testing the give of his Evol.
Sturdy and sure, his grip on you doesn’t falter, and you quickly find a rhythm that makes his eyelids flutter shut. A groan slips from Caleb’s lips, his pretty purple eyes prying open to drink at the sight of you riding him feverishly.
Arduous and urgent, you move your hips like a pro. Caleb’s sure he’s never seen you this determined—the look in your eyes searing through him.
The sight of his dog tag and the apple charm you gave him years ago shining silver from his neck catches your eye, a stark contrast to his tanned and flushed skin.
God… you’re killing me…
Caleb smirks at your breathless words. I do? Glad to know, princess…
His large palm collides against your plush ass, watching the flesh jiggle with each precise spank. Your sharp inhales and whines spur him on as he takes his frustrations out on your pert ass, venting the fear and anger he felt when you left him behind for that torturous week onto your willing body.
Try to leave me again. His nostrils flare, eyes dark with promise. And I’ll make sure you’ll never have any use for your legs, you hear me, Pips
Possessive and passionate, he tangles his fingers in your hair, tugging your head back to expose the vulnerable skin of your neck. His Evol loosens its grip, and you go falling into his arms, his lips practically devouring your neck with heated kisses and nips.
You gasp when he works in another mark over one he just made a few minutes ago, the stinging bite of pain enough to get you fluttering all over his cock.
“ Mhm… ” you groan. You’re lost to the sensations, drunk off the high he’s giving you.
Caleb is no better. He’s almost cross-eyed from the pleasure, drunkenly leaving marks on your jaw and collarbone.
Sloppy. Languid. Caleb fucks you like he’s got all the time in the world.
He runs his hands down your back, over your sides, fondling your sore and stinging ass. Moving underneath you like a strong wave, he slowly rolls his hips up against you, pulling you closer onto his lap.
“You’re so good… taking everything so well… my perfect pipsqueak…”
Caleb’s moans and praises get lost in the crook of your neck. He uses his free hand to grip and squeeze your breast, drawing your turgid nipples into his mouth one by one; his other hand continues to spank and grope your ass.
It’s too much—all too soon.
You’re on the edge and he still hasn’t permitted you to come. The need to be good is at war with your primal instincts to give in to the pleasure, your gasps and moans are a desperate symphony to his heated ears.
His thrusts get more erratic, the wet sounds of your bodies joining together bouncing off the walls. The windows of his bedroom start to fog up, the bed creaking maddeningly with every thrust.
“Caleb,” you gasp, feeling the familiar tension coiling in your lower belly. “Oh… oh… ”
He hears the note of panic in your tone and chuckles gravelly. Dark hair in a disarray, amethyst eyes shining with mischief. Caleb is the picture of ravaged underneath you, and there’s little doubt you’re in a much worse state above him.
Licking his puffy lips, Caleb shakes his head, abs undulating from the release he’s also trying to hold back.
“Uh-uh-uh, princess,” he taunts, voice dropping an octave lower. “Not yet…”
You clench your jaw and squeeze your eyes shut in despair. He grins, lips moving back to your neck, murmuring against the salt of your skin.
“I love seeing you like this… hearing you gasp and whimper… feeling you writhe so desperately above me…”
Caleb… you whisper his name like a prayer, one you hope he grants.
“Yeah, princess? Say my name… I love it when you say my name.”
“Caleb… oh… Caleb… ”
He nuzzles your neck in an unexpected gesture of adoration, feeling how tense your body is.
“You’re so close, hmm?” He murmurs, unlike how a pet owner tries to soothe a fretting kitten. “I know you are, Pips. I can feel ya. So close… oh… and yet so… far .”
At the last second, before you succumb to your pleasure, Caleb’s Evol lifts you off his cock, the sudden, gaping loss ripping the earth-shattering orgasm right from under your trembling body.
No! You cry out in a thick voice, and you swear real tears spring in your eyes. No… no… please…!
Begging him shamelessly. That’s what you were reduced to.
Caleb chuckles, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. He loosens his grip on you and guides you back onto his cock. You hiss from the intrusion, eyes rolling back in your head. Nothing but a puppet to her Master’s strings; Caleb is firmly in control.
He manipulates your body to his own pace, using his Evol to fuck you on top of his cock like you’re a lifeless doll, made only for his pleasure.
“Oh… oh… y-you ass—”
Caleb laughs, cutting off your tirade by gripping your hips tighter.
“Don’tcha love it, princess? Don’t lie to me—you adore it when I tease ya. Make you work for my lovin’,” he mutters hotly into your neck. “You can deny it all ya one, Pips, but I know what you want… I know what you want deep, deep down…”
As he drawls out ‘deep’, his Evol loosens, making you slide down his cock until you bottom out.
“ Ngh! ” You cry out, the tears in your eyes dripping down your cheeks. Caleb clicks his tongue and wipes the proof of your frustration away with his calloused thumb.
“No need to cry, Pips. I gotcha. Gege’s got ya, don’t he?”
You struggle to reply, the last of your coherent thoughts scrambled by his cock working you back to the edge again.
Caleb… Caleb… you cry out, his name a mantra, a chant that grounds you as his cock continues to fuck you up.
It seems like forever passes by when he brings you to the edge, abandons all motion, and does it again until you’re practically sobbing from the overstimulation. Caleb is a mastermind of your own body—he knows just how to get you trembling from the onslaught of pleasure without ever letting you fall over.
The torturous cycle starts and ends the same: with your begging and whining doing nothing to move him.
“Please…” you finally gasp, hanging your head, strands of your hair tickling his chin. “I’m sorry, Caleb. I’m so sorry…” Fighting back the lump in your throat, your shiny eyes beg him to show you some mercy. “I’m sorry I hurt you… s-sorry I— ah… mhmmm… treated you like shit… I’m so sorry—”
Caleb sweeps you into his arms, his Evol completely releasing its grip on you. “That’s all I wanted to hear… all I needed…”
He registers how you’re choking up and rubs gentle circles on your back. “Hey—ssh. Ssh. Apology accepted, Pipsqueak. Don’t cry, okay… come here…” Gripping your chin and tilting your face up to meet his, he gives you a soft smile. “You did so well… I’m so proud of you, hey? You wanna come, sweetness?”
Without a shred of stubbornness left, you eagerly nod. He chuckles, and positions you back on his cock, purple eyes glistening with the pure adoration he has for you.
“Alright—come on, baby… ride me good this time, okay? And don’t hold back—you deserve this… deserve all this for being such a good, little girl—”
It doesn't take long for you to get to the edge, hours of suppressing your release make you needy and very sensitive.
Come… come for me… he encourages you, rubbing your clit, pinching your nipples—doing everything in his power to get you to lose control.
The tension in your belly snowballs to something beyond your control, and you tilt your head back, expelling a long, drawn-out moan.
In the ropes and under his cruel yet tender ministrations, you find the courage to fall apart—his name rebounding across the room like a screamed cry of relief. Caleb feels you shuddering all around him and gives in to his baser need to fill you up, grunting low and deep into the crook of your neck as ribbons of warmth coat your walls.
Drops of white dribble to stain your inner thighs and his lap, but neither of you cares.
Undoing the rope and relinquishing his Evol’s hold on you, Caleb catches you in his arms, burying his nose into your hair, soothed by your delicate scent.
The afterglow settles like a haze, enveloping your body like a warm, fluffy blanket.
Caleb traces patterns on your bare back, pressing soft kisses to your temple and cheek. He breathes in your light scent, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.
“You alive, Pips?”
Nodding, your eyes flutter close, the comfort found in the crook of his body intoxicatingly cozy. Your heartbeat starts to slow, lulled by the gentleness of his breathing. His pulse steadies under your cheek, his arms tightening around you, pressing you closer to his chest.
“You did so good, princess…” he murmurs, stroking your head. “So proud of you—I’m so proud of my little Pipsqueak…”
His praise hits your system like a shot of red wine, warming you up from the inside out. Flushed from his gentle words, you eagerly rub your face against his throat, his boyish chuckles easing the guilt still swimming in your soul.
“Caleb?” He looks down at you, taken by your small voice.
“Yes, Pips?”
“Am I… forgiven?”
He nods without a beat of hesitation. “You sure are. There’s nothing for you to be sorry about anymore, okay? Let’s put this behind us and start fresh, princess. How’s that sound?”
Relieved, you nod, and the love you feel for him intensifies, radiating brightly from deep within.
One thing you’ve learned about wounded hearts is this: with Caleb’s smile, everything can be healed.
— feedback and reblogs are much appreciated ❤️ your support means a lot to me
© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost, claim as your own or feed my works into AI
#🦢 writes#caleb xia yizhou#caleb love and deepspace#caleb lads#caleb x mc#caleb x reader#caleb x you#caleb smut#lnds smut#lads smut#love and deepspace fic
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thinking about mob baking simon a cake for his birthday (without his prior knowledge) mm good soup
mail-order bride
"you think he likes chocolate, baby?" you ask the cats. they sit side-by-side at the breakfast counter, being good girls as they sit on their chairs and watch you mix batter. "he totally likes chocolate. big boys like daddy love chocolate, don't they, girls?"
you grease two circular pans, pouring the chocolate cake batter into them. you set them in the oven before getting to work on your chocolate buttercream. you're using the new mixer simon bought you--it's beautiful, stainless steel, heavy. when you saw in the store a few weeks ago, you gushed at it, telling simon you saw someone make cinnamon rolls, bread, cakes, all in this mixer, but when your eyes skimmed over the price, you said nothing more, just smiled up at simon and let him lead you over to where the cast iron pans were (you wanted a real one).
a few weeks later, you noticed it on the kitchen counter. sparkling silver, right there, with the whisk attachment on it just waiting for you. and in the cupboard, ingredients--bread flour, powdered sugar, cornmeal, corn starch, dutch process, baking chocolate, whole wheat flour--all for you to play with. and when you baked him the most decadent triple chocolate coffee cake he had ever had, he bent you over the same table his empty plate sat and ate your cunt out with your apron still on. when you kissed him afterwards, he still tasted like chocolate.
you turn off the mixer, reaching in with a spoon to lick the buttercream off of it. you hum with delight, setting it aside, and when the oven timer dings, you pull the cakes out to let them cool.
you wrap simon's present as everything settles. special order, a favor you called into johnny. it's in a nice wooden box, and you tie a big red bow on it, and when you go back into the kitchen, you level and stack the two pieces of cake between buttercream and use a spoon to make a fancy decoration over the top of it.
the front door sounds as you're putting the finishing touches on the cake. you can hear him coming closer, and you gasp.
"no, no, no, don't come in the kitchen yet!"
"wot?"
"just--wait a little bit in the living room, okay?"
"for wot?"
"simon--" you groan. "please? for me?"
you don't hear anything after that except for the tv turning on. when you finish putting the last candles on the cake, you light them, picking up the plate and coming into the living room.
simon looks surprised. he was concentrating hard on the tv, watching the game, but his face relaxes when he sees you holding the cake. the cats perk up from where they're laid down beside him, and their ears flit as you start to sing happy birthday.
his whole face twitches. he stiffens, his palms flat on his thighs as he grips them tight. you set down the cake on the coffee table in front of him, candles glowing as you take a seat next to him. he's still staring at the cake as you finish the song.
"happy birthday, dear simon...happy birthday to you."
you smile at him, wrapping a hand around his bicep, squeezing it gently. you kiss his shoulder before motioning to the cake.
"you can blow them out now, simon," you say softly. "make a wish."
he doesn't move. he stares straight ahead, his eyes fixated on the flickering candles. you reach down and take his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers and hugging his arm. you sit with him quietly, looking at the cake with him, and after a minute or so, you turn back at him.
"simon?" you whisper.
he's crying. you put a hand on the back of his head, scratching his short hair, and you cup his face gently as you wipe his tears. he's silent. the tears come, but he still doesn't move, still won't meet your eyes. you smile, going over to pick up the cake, and you hold it in front of him.
"here...make a wish, simon," you say softly. he picks up his sleeve and wipes his face, leaning over to blow out the candles. you put down the cake, standing up to go get his gift sitting on the kitchen table. when you sit down next to him again, he's still staring at the cake, still trying to pretend his face isn't wet with tears, but he stops wiping them when you place the box in his lap.
he unravels the bow. when he opens the case, he lets out a little chuckle, smoothing his hand over the foam inside.
there are an array of throwing knives laid before him. perfectly crafted, in different shapes and sizes, and when he picks one up and twirls it around between his fingers, the weight of them and the ease at which they move tells him you only picked out the finest quality. they're beautiful, and it's a thoughtful gift, and when he closes the lid on the box, he still can't meet your eyes.
"i'll cut us some cake," you say softly. you busy yourself getting plates and a cake knife from the kitchen, cutting generous slices before handing him one of the plates. he picks up the fork, and when you notice his hand shakes, you take the plate back from him gently and scoop a bite onto the fork for him. you don't say anything, just hold it up to his mouth, and once he takes a bite, you set the plate down and watch as he chews.
when he swallows, you sit again in silence. you reach over and take simon's hands in your own, squeezing them gently before bringing them up to your mouth to kiss softly. when he finally looks at you, all you do is smile.
he hadn't even remembered it was birthday. he never told you when it was, but he supposes you must have been curious enough to look for yourself. he can't remember the last time someone made him cake. he can't remember when he last received a gift, especially one like this. he doesn't know when he last thought himself happy enough to celebrate anything at all, but there is no other way he would've wanted today to go.
joy. you bring uninhibited, unfiltered, all-consuming joy. the way you're smiling at him--he can already see you in the kitchen in that apron, baking this cake, talking to no one but the cats as you carefully decorate it. the way you're looking at him--he knows you dreamed about this all week, scheduling the day so you could have the cake done as soon as he got home.
and chocolate. his favorite. decadent, sweet chocolate--it's still under his tongue, and he wants another bite already, he cannot wait to devour the slice that waits for him on the table.
"happy birthday, simon," you whisper, and when you lean in to hug him, he cradles the back of your head, tangling a hand into your hair as he presses you to his chest. "i love you."
fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck--
"love you, too, baby."
"what did you wish for?" you mumble into his shoulder. simon snorts a little, shaking his head.
"if i tell ya, it won't come true."
"oh, yeah," you giggle. "keep your secrets then."
he doesn't want more; the only thing he wishes for is more time. more time with you. as much as he can get. to live long enough that he gets to see your face for as long as possible.
that whatever he sees for the last time will be you and you only.
#oof#simon ghost riley#simon riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#ghost mw2#ghost cod#ghost call of duty#ghost mwii#ghost x reader#cod#call of duty#order up
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Being Sukuna’s Pregnant Wife and being worshipped as a diety because you were able to conceive the four armed hulking cursed child, you must have the blessing of fertility
Having a shrine erected in your name because barren women believed you’d bless them with fertility despite your legacy starting with the child of the curse that torments them all
Telling your hand maids “Don’t bring me my clothes, bring me one of the kings robes.” The hand maids flinching and wanting to protest out of fear of taking the King of Curses robes
The poor naive young hand maid that had grown a crush on the king excitedly rushing if it meant she could enter the private bed chambers,
Scoffing with a malicious smile to your loyal maids when they shook their heads with Sympathy, they learned long before at such a request it would be foolish to go alone, at least 2 or 3 of them would need to go in your name, preferably the ones your husband recognized to be by your side the longest. But you didn’t like this new girl, she was too enthusiastic to work at the palace only to have a complete change in character when she learned she was assigned to work for you
“It’ll serve that poor girl right” you looked away from the door when your loyal hand maids brought out a wooden box with one of Sukuna’s folded Kimono’s they helped you dress your swollen belly accentuated by the belt the kimono tailored to fit your husband left you with extra space and length, it was far more comfortable then the Kimono’s and robes you were, the lingering smell of your husband with comforting as your rubbed your belly hands barely peeking from the massive sleeves
“Let’s go see my husband.” Was all you said as you started your walk, the maids followed close as you made it to the bed chambers, the door was open, you looked in, Sukuna sneering down at the girl laying in a pool of blood, Uraume was making quick work of the mess
Sukuna’s snapped to you and his arm’s opening in an unusual display of affection, you walked around the mess to reach him, he pulled you into his left side, one hand on your waist the other making you face him, bring his right hand up he rested his hand on your stomach “Some of your maids need a lesson on how to speak to their king,” he looked away from your face to your stomach as he started to move his hands in circles “So swollen with my child, it’s no wonder you send your maids to steal my robes.”
You smack his shoulder with a playful smile and he chuckled “Don’t say it like that you make me feel bigger than i am.”
“Now,” he looked up at your face again, “why are you here.”
You tilted your head to the side, “I started contractions this morning, I’ve been in pain all day and I’m barely standing, my new maid wouldn’t stop speaking so highly of my husband accomplishing having a child when I was at my worst pain level getting ready to push out YOUR child that I HAD to carry. Anyhow I came to get you because he is ready to come.”
Sukuna stared down at you confused “How do you know it’s a boy?”
“I’m his mother,” he watched as you placed your hand over his stilling his rubbing of your stomach, “I knew he was a boy from the day your seed took.”
Sukuna smirked “Is that so? Then let’s see this boy.”
🖤❤️❤️❤️🖤❤️❤️❤️🖤❤️❤️❤️🖤❤️❤️❤️🖤
After an hour of fighting the doctor tending to your birth you gave birth to your lively son, born screaming without needing stimulation to cry form the doctor. Your husband couldn’t help but laugh when he saw his child in his full glory, he was a boy indeed.
The help immediately gave you your son and you cooed at him when he took to your breast, your husband taking blankets from the maids and covered your son also covering you in the process as you struggled a bit to pass what came next. Your son a spitting image of his father, your breathy laugh caught Sukuna’s attention as he came back to your bed side stroking your hair and rubbing your stomach the way the help had been doing.
“What amuses you?” He watched his son slowly close his eyes as you coddled him closer.
“I’m the one who had to carry him for so long, and the ingrate took nothing from me.” You smiled and shook your head before looking up at Sukuna.
Soon the doctor left after clearing you of any possible issues and checking your son. “His name?” You looked at Sukuna and he sighed “Yuji”
The look of adoration in your eyes was something Sukuna would’ve wanted to capture forever if he could express the sentiment. However for now he’d settle for memorizing every detail of today. His wife birthing his first heir, the name she had chosen he permitted.
Maybe just maybe this world wasn’t so bad
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new union jacket art~
To commemorate the 5th year of Twst, there will be new merch released using new Union Jacket/Birthday art. The image you see above will be the designs for cards that come with wafer cookies. Other items featuring this artwork will come later!
Fun fact about the new art! Based on the shapes and sizes of the boxes (and sometimes also the wrapping), each boy seems to be holding the gift they received from their birthday interviewer in the Union Jacket series. They are:
Riddle - oil diffuser lamp (from Azul)
Ace - luxury sunglasses (from Vil)
Deuce - 20 packs of instant ramen; variety of flavors (from Idia)
Cater - stickers for his skateboard (from Jamil)
Trey - embroidered black cap (from Epel)
Leona - antique book written in an archaic language (from Malleus)
Jack - food delivery (from Ruggie)
Ruggie - laundry detergent (from Jade)
Azul - silk pillow (from Ace)
Jade - rope (from Silver)
Floyd - voucher for a free magical wheel ride (from Deuce)
Kalim - various party supplies (from Lilia)
Jamil - travel book (from Sebek)
Vil - neck massager (from Trey)
Epel - wristwatch that isn’t digital and doesn’t have hands (from Floyd)
Rook - a feather for his hat (from Kalim)
Idia - wooden chess set (from Leona)
Ortho - mobile printer (from Cater)
Malleus - ice-cream bowl and spoon (from Riddle)
Silver - polaroid camera (from Rook)
Sebek - sports science book (from Jack)
Lilia - gaming console (from Ortho)
#twisted wonderland#twst#disney twisted wonderland#disney twst#Octavinelle#Savanaclaw#Heartslabyul#Scarabia#Pomefiore#Ignihyde#Diasomnia#notes from the writing raven#twst merch#twisted wonderland merch
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INDEBTED — kinich x gn!reader
content: 11.6k words, cw: mentions of abuse and alcoholism, kinich backstory spoilers + natlan 5.0 archon quest spoilers, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, everyone is bad with emotions, death, near-death experiences
summary: kinich has never been one to trust easily, but fate has other plans. throughout the years, he slowly comes to terms with his love for you.
a/n: i'm so normal... so normal... SO NORMAL. this was an attempt at gaining an understanding of kinich's character, so it might not be perfect, but i tried my very best to ensure the characterization wasn't too questionable. i love him dearly.
ACT I.
As someone raised by the lonesome mountains of Natlan, you have long grown used to an atmosphere of tranquil quietude, a serene symphony composed purely of nature’s music. The gentle flow of zephyrs running through seas of viridescent grass coupled with the occasional sounds of birdcall have become the soundtrack of your life. For you, an ever-enduring hush has always been synonymous with normalcy, but you are perfectly content with the status quo.
So when the sound of a choked scream shatters the flawlessly-crystalline silence of a hazy morning into a thousand shards of dissonance, you feel yourself tense. In all your six years of life, you have never had the displeasure of hearing anything so horrific.
It’s funny. The noise is fleeting, ephemeral, but it holds infinitely more weight than anything else you’ve witnessed during your short time in this world. You’re sure that it will be a long time before anything else disturbs the peace in such a profound manner, and it is for that exact reason that you resolve to investigate.
Deep down, you know it’s a stupid idea. You’re only a kid, and if it turns out there’s some grave danger, it’s more or less over for you. Curiosity alone isn’t reason enough to risk your own safety but the thought of another person facing peril is.
With hurried steps, you rush through your house, lightly scurrying through the corridors to see if anyone else is awake yet. When you’re sure that everyone is still and not a creature stirs, you grab the simple pouch of medical supplies your family always insists you take with you and exit the house in a rush.
The moment you step outside, blinding threads of aureate light twist in elaborate patterns, weaving themselves across a divine tapestry dyed cornflower and tinged marigold.
It’s way too bright, and even more concerningly, it’s way too quiet.
You feel your shoulders tense, and a shiver runs down your spine. The rapid coalescence of chaos and pandemonium is unnerving, and the ambiance makes you uneasy. However, you know you have to press on.
With as much fervor as you can muster, you run around the perimeter of your house, scouring every nook and cranny for signs of life. It’s not a large place, yet you can’t seem to find anything. Whatever it was that made that noise seems to have vanished without a trace.
Just as you’re about to give up, something on the ground catches your attention. A footprint. It’s a light imprint, barely visible, etched with the utmost precision into the dusty earth below. The size of the footprint is unfamiliar, and based on the weight distribution, it seems that the person it belongs to tried to tread lightly.
But not lightly enough.
It’s clear that the track points directly towards the stack of crates and barrels sitting behind your home, so with caution in your step, you gradually inch towards the area. As you do, the sound of shuffling permeates your ears, confirming that there is indeed something lurking behind the stacked wooden storage units. You take a deep breath before daring to peek.
The sight you’re met with shocks you to your core.
A young boy around your age is huddled between the boxes, nestled securely within a small gap. His knees are tucked all the way up to his chest, his short arms wrapped around them. The boy doesn’t dare move an inch. He simply looks up at you with eyes of molten amber, their depths bedazzled with emerald starglitter. As he moves, strands of hair spun of midnight essence shift to frame his face.
A part of your young mind thinks that he looks unreal — ethereal, but your train of thought is quickly disrupted when you notice his scraped knees.
“Are you okay?” you ask, extending a hand towards the boy. Despite your attempt at being gentle, the boy flinches, flecks of opulent gold swirling within his irises, mistrust dispersing in their wake. “I won’t hurt you.”
Your gazes lock, and you hope he can sense the sincerity in your actions. Hesitantly, the boy takes your hand, his knees wobbling slightly as he stands. He’s unsteady, but you make sure he doesn’t fall. Carefully, you lead him over to the front porch of your house, slowly sitting him down on the wooden planks. Once you’re sure he’s fine, you let go of his hand and begin taking bandages and cleaning supplies out of your medicinal pouch.
As you turn towards him, preparing to patch him up, you see him tense slightly.
He’s still scared.
“It might sting a little.”
Your comment doesn’t alleviate his face of its downcast expression — in fact, it just makes things worse.
“But it won’t last for long,” you insist. “Plus, all the adults always tell me it’s for the best.”
The boy is still deeply suspicious of you. It’s strange. You’ve never met someone so on edge.
“Would it make you feel better if I let you do it yourself?” You offer the supplies to the boy, and he curtly nods, snatching the bandages and swabs before you have a chance to process what’s going on.
He examines them closely, sunbeam-speckled eyes roaming every inch of the objects, as if shedding monochromatic tones of dandelion across their surfaces to detect any obscure dangers. After what feels like an eternity, he finally starts cleaning his wounds, barely even wincing as he brushes over them. As he moves on to bandaging his knees, you watch intently. He does everything with such ease and efficiency that you wonder if he’s used to it all.
Yet the longer he continues to work on treating himself, the more you realize that the awkward angle is causing him to wince slightly. Perhaps his wounds run deeper than you think. Slowly, you draw your hand closer to his, tapping him with a finger to catch his attention.
“Can I do the rest of the bandages?” you inquire. It seems he feels more at ease now, and you want to take this opportunity to further gain his trust. Besides, the last thing you want is for him to make his injuries worse.
The boy pauses for a few seconds, tilting his head as he regards you with apprehension. Locks of navy and seafoam mingle in the caress of the breeze, transitory weightlessness engulfing the atmosphere for only a single moment. Stillness becomes nearly tangible as equanimity envelops you. The tension only builds up once more as the boy dips his head in a gentle nod, loosening his fingers around the gauze to allow you to take it instead.
Meticulously, you continue wrapping the boy’s knees in fibres of pristine white, concealing the nasty wounds marring his skin. Despite not trusting you earlier, he’s very compliant, and he remains both calm and unmoving as you aid him.
And when you finally finish, you hear him speak for the first time.
“Thank you,” he whispers quietly, traces of hoarseness lacing his voice. It doesn’t sound like he speaks often. “You’re very kind.”
Before you can respond, the boy gets up, trying his best to hobble a few steps before staggering again. He manages to catch himself on a tree, and as he does, you race over to him. Obviously he’s not in any condition to be walking around.
“Be careful,” you reprimand him. “You can’t leave just yet.”
The boy shakes his head frantically.
“I’m supposed to be home right now,” he states gently. Although he tries his best to keep his tone flat and neutral, you notice the way his gaze becomes downcast, sullen with ashen rain clouds that dull anything and everything luminous.
“Just stay for a few more minutes?”
Perhaps it’s the concern entangled in your tone or your wide-eyed look of pure desperation that convinces the boy to give in. With a cautious sort of reluctance, he allows you to drag him back over to your old spot.
“So how did you end up here, and more importantly, how did you end up so hurt?”
It’s already very apparent that the boy isn’t big on words, yet the fleeting silence that floods your surroundings in waves of unspoken wariness unsettles you.
“I ran too fast and fell down here,” the boy states simply.
No normal person would run so fast that they dive headfirst off a small ledge without noticing, and what kind of kid goes outside without someone else along to supervise them if they get hurt?
His answer doesn’t seem insincere, yet something feels off. Doubt begins to blossom in your conscience, taking root in the form of fragmented bits of reason. Thus, you decide to try your luck and press just a little further.
“Why were you running,” you question. “Were you chased by a monster?”
“I guess you could say so…”
For a while, you continue to try to interrogate him, but you’re unable to get much more information out of him. The strange boy keeps all his secrets under lock and key, all his truths hidden within labyrinths of perplexing misdirection and nonchalant responses. Despite the frustration you feel when he refuses to comply, you understand. You’ve already pushed him far enough, but when it comes time for him to go, you try to get one last piece of information out of him.
“I never quite caught your name,” you remark as the boy steadies himself. He’s still a little wobbly but far better than before.
“Kinich,” he replies. “What about you?”
“[Name],” you say as you hand him your remaining medical supplies for later use.
Gratefully, Kinich takes the pouch, a ghost of a smile gracing his face.
“[Name], huh?” he whispers. “I’ll remember it.”
ACT II.
Nothing in the world is free. Every cost must be carefully weighed and then remunerated sufficiently.
This has been Kinich’s philosophy for as long as he can remember. No matter how desperately the sands of time and winds of fate try to erode his beliefs, they’re never successful, for his ideals have been ingrained in him since the moment he could make sense of natural order.
Ever since that fateful day where the ever-fragile threads of destiny pulled the two of you together, Kinich has been trying to think of a way to repay you, but with all the responsibilities and burdens weighing on his young shoulders, he finds it nearly impossible. When he’s not preoccupied with tending to the crops, he’s out and about in areas where only the wilderness reigns, carefully setting lethal traps to ensnare his next meal. Survival is tough, and with the ever-present threat of starvation looming over him, waiting for any opportune moment to snatch him from the gentle embrace of life, he allocates a large majority of his energy to feeding his father and himself.
It’s not like his father is much help anyway. These days, he seems to be drinking away his sorrow more than ever, losing himself as tides of despair ebb and flow, pulling him away from lucidity and into the frozen grips of oceanic melancholia. He’s been worse than ever since the disappearance of Kinich’s mother, and the one who feels the effects most potently is Kinich himself.
But everything changes on Kinich’s seventh birthday.
It’s his special day, and for once, he hopes that his father will allow him some clemency. For the first time in a long time, Kinich gathers up the courage to ask his father a question.
He asks if there has been any news of his mother.
At first, his father remains eerily silent. An ominous sense of uncertainty settles in the surrounding air, evoking Kinich to shudder as frostbite gnaws at him in a thousandfold. Bloodshot eyes pierce through Kinich’s defences, exposing him for the person he truly is beneath it all: a scared child, anxiously awaiting an answer from a man he no longer trusts.
He waits.
And waits.
And waits.
Until his father rushes forwards in a sudden juxtaposition of mood. The apathy that masked his inner turmoil just seconds before is now gone, replaced by a look of pure rage. That’s Kinich’s cue to run. He’s done this enough times to know.
So he takes off. His legs, although far shorter than his father’s, carry him far more swiftly. Reflexes and strength built up through countless similar instances take over, and everything becomes muscle memory for Kinich. On the other hand, his father does not fare quite as well. He stumbles, and at times, he even trips over the creeping roots of archaic trees. It’s as if the alcohol is weighing him down, but despite it all, he never loses sight of his son.
Kinich is an elusive breeze, weightless and elegant, never once losing his foothold as he springs from one place to another. His father is more akin to the ancient petra underfoot — uncouth, clumsy, yet destructive and powerful. Even as he staggers, his resolve remains steadfast and resolute. He will stop at nothing until he’s able to give his young son a piece of his mind.
And yet fate has a strange way of intervening at the least convenient moments, ensuring its heavenly ordainment is heeded. In the eyes of the universe, Kinich’s story is not ready to end — but his father’s is.
As Kinich rushes by the side of a cliff, this becomes apparent. The sound of heavy footfalls behind him disappears before he hears a thud. Gathering his courage, Kinich gazes behind him, only to be met with the sight of emptiness where his father should have been.
Then, he makes the fateful decision to peer below.
There, lying between thickets of dense foliage lies the body of the man he once lived with — a man full of life mere seconds ago, now motionless and despondent. It feels unreal. A shiver runs down Kinich’s spine as a creeping sense of despair begins to stab at his heart. He blinks rapidly, taking deep breaths in order to calm himself, before making his way down the cliff.
Emotions are strange, and Kinich has never been good with them. He had always believed that everything would begin to look up once his father was out of the picture, but now that his father is gone for good, Kinich can’t help but grieve. No matter how horrible he was, he was still Kinich’s only remaining parent. There were better times too — times where his father would bring home a box of sweets for him and a bouquet of flowers for his mother. It almost felt like they were a real family. In Kinich’s mind, these instances pale in comparison to all the torment his father had put him through, yet he can’t completely erase his pleasant memories either.
So as one last act of respect, Kinich decides to bring his father’s body home with him.
The journey home is long and arduous. As Kinich navigates the surrounding wildlands and his newfound freedom, swinging from treetop to treetop with his father’s grappling hook, he wordlessly says goodbye to the man who had caused him so much pain throughout the former years of his life.
On his seventh birthday, Kinich becomes an orphan. He tucks himself into bed, and while other children would have had their loving mothers to lull them off to sleep in an aria of oneiric delights, he has nothing but the harsh, transient gale that rocks the thin walls of his home.
On his seventh birthday, Kinich ends up completely alone.
ACT III.
Kinich has dealt with nightmares before, but the ones that plague him after the death of his father are particularly horrific. Every night, as watercolour fuchsia and muted lilac begin to bleed into periwinkle skies, Kinich finds himself mentally preparing for the duress that lays ahead — for each time he closes his eyes, he is whisked back to the past, forced to relive events he’d much rather forget.
Sometimes he actively resists sleep, fearing the mirages that may appear in his dreams. It is on one such night that he finally recalls his debt to you. As he lays awake, trying to ward off all-consuming thoughts of eternal solitude and grief, he remembers the one other person he’s interacted with in recent times, and an idea comes to mind. He’s going to start paying his price tonight.
Kinich is usually one to take caution, but right now, he would do anything to keep his mind from lingering on his harsh reality. As such, he climbs out of bed, making his way outside to gather some of the crops he’s grown in a rugged patch of land behind his house.
It feels good to be outside again. The fresh air is a welcome change compared to the stifling atmosphere within a house that holds far too many memories for Kinich’s liking. His recollections range from saccharine-sweet to fear-evoking, yet one thing that remains constant is the fact that Kinich can’t stop recalling a past that seems oh-so-distant.
As Kinich picks up a tool, plowing through the dirt to unearth some of the grainfruit he had planted earlier that year, his thoughts drift back to his mother. She used to wrap her delicate fingers around his when he was younger, carefully guiding him as he learned to cultivate and take care of the crops. Back then, Kinich had felt a special type of fragile warmth, but now, all that remains is the chill of the evening air.
Kinich wonders if he’ll ever feel that warmth again.
He finishes gathering a respectable amount of food in no time, having had years of practice in the past. The young boy tosses the grainfruit into a sack, preparing to set off on a journey with phantasmagoric darkness as his only companion and the luminous constellations overhead as his only guide.
The sights and sounds of an enigmatic midnight distract him from the thoughts that have been running through his head on a daily basis. Kinich is sure to watch his step, although he’s nearly certain he knows the area well enough to walk through it blindfolded by now.
Finally, after around ten minutes of wandering through veils of silken achromatic, he sees the silhouette of a building in the distance, a rough outline against a backdrop of night. To his surprise, he spots a lantern emitting a gilded glow as he approaches, its incandescent light breaking through layers of obsidian obscurity, flooding it with a golden radiance instead. As he draws closer, he begins to make out the faint shape of a figure in the distance.
Strange. What normal person would be out at this hour?
As the features of the mysterious person become more defined, Kinich realizes it’s you again. Subconsciously, a soft smile begins to grace his features at the thought of getting to speak to you once more. It’s the first time he’s been genuinely happy in a while.
When Kinich steps into the dim firelight of the lantern, his features illuminated by the ember-forged halo of light, you eagerly approach him and wave. Something about the fact that you still recognize makes his heart grow just a little softer.
“It’s you,” you remark, your face lighting up excitedly.
Kinich nods, awkwardly shuffling under the weight of your gaze. It’s been a long time since someone was so interested in him. He isn’t quite used to having people regard him with such attentiveness.
“What are you doing out at this time?” Curiosity flares in your eyes, dancing in asterisms of wonder that glimmer with the brilliance of the stars above. Normally Kinich doesn’t like it when others pry into his affairs, but he thinks the look of inquisitiveness is endearing on you.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Kinich bluntly responds, “and I had a debt to repay.” He gestures at the sack of grainfruit beside him, silently weighing out the costs in his mind. It isn’t enough to pay you back for helping a stranger unconditionally, but Kinich thinks it’s a start. At the very least, it’s enough to reimburse the material costs of tending to his wounds, and he’ll deal with reciprocating your actual actions later.
“Debt?” Your face contorts into a puzzled frown. Kinich decides that he appreciates this expression far less when it adorns your visage. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“You treated my injuries the other day,” Kinich begins to explain, but you cut him off.
“And there’s really no need to repay me for that,” you interrupt. “Trust me. I wanted to help you.”
Somewhere in the depths of his heart, Kinich feels a flurry of opalescent butterflies spread their wings and take flight. Iridescent sparks of a newfound fuzzy feeling burst to life within his chest.
It’s… new. Everything is new with you.
“At least take the grainfruit,” he mutters, trying to remain nonchalant. As a young child, he still doesn’t quite understand what he’s feeling, but he’d rather not make his emotions apparent. “It’ll save me the trouble of having to drag it back home.”
You hesitate for a few seconds before agreeing, hauling the large bag inside with great difficulty before rushing back out to Kinich. By the time you return, he recalls that you shouldn’t be up at this hour either.
“If you don’t mind me asking, why are you awake right now?” Kinich asks you as you close the front door behind you.
Deep down, a part of him wants to know if there’s something troubling you so he can help you. It’s strange. It’s been a while since he last cared for someone this deeply, but he blames it all on his desire to reimburse you for your kindness, nothing more. Conveniently, he ignores the nascent emotions blooming within, repressing flourishes that take shape in frantic flickers of ruby and rose.
“It was a little too cold tonight,” you sigh, staring down at the ground. “I just couldn’t fall asleep comfortably.”
Kinich lets out a small hum of acknowledgement as the gears in his brain begin to turn, rotating in cycles of contemplation. Perhaps he’ll bring you an extra blanket next time he visits.
“Then why don’t we keep each other company for a while?” Kinich suggests. “It definitely beats being alone.” Kinich is not usually one to actively seek the company of other people, but you’re intriguing to him.
You nod, silently offering your hand to Kinich. It feels like the day you first met all over again, except under much better circumstances. This time, he laces your fingers without hesitation, allowing you to guide him through darkness fragmented only by rays of piercing starlight. He’s not quite sure where you’re leading him, but he knows he’s beginning to trust you a little.
Slowly, your destination becomes clear to Kinich. The two of you draw closer and closer to the cliffside — a spot where pure moonbeams grace the earth with their elegant touch. Kinich tenses slightly, haunting memories from a few weeks prior threatening to resurface above the murky waters of a wounded heart. However, he quells every spark of fear threatening to blaze alight.
He’s safe. Things aren’t the same as they were on that day, and the only other person around is you.
To Kinich’s relief, you settle down a safe distance from the cliff’s edge and pat the spot beside yourself, gesturing for Kinich to follow suit. He wordlessly obliges, simply relishing in the serenity that permeates the atmosphere, nearly tangible as he feels lingering traces of your body heat in the night air.
“Look up,” you whisper, laying a gentle hand on Kinich’s shoulder.
He does as he’s told, and the panoramic sight that greets him is enough to take his breath away. The skies above are the same as ever, yet this is the first time he has truly been able to appreciate their beauty. Kinich studies the constellations that burn with unrivalled luminosity, in awe of their brilliance. Diamond lights burn bright against a backdrop of deep sapphire, each shade of an abyssal ocean waltzing in a whimsical show of wonders.
Before today, he’d always been too busy caring for his mother, too preoccupied with his father’s hysteria, or too melancholy within his own solitude to enjoy anything with an unburdened heart.
But now everything has changed. He’s free, and he has you now. Yet again, he feels an involuntary smile tug at the corners of his lips, and before he has the chance to think about what all of this means, a shout breaks through the silence.
“A shooting star! Make a wish, Kinich!”
Kinich is more than familiar with wishing. He’s wished for plenty of things in his seven years of life. He’s wished for his father to stop gambling, he’s wished for his mother to come back, and he’s wished for his family to be happy together. Permanently. None of his wishes have ever come true.
But as he looks over at you, he notices hope and a childish innocence glittering in your eyes, manifesting in prismatic tones reflected from the skies above. A sense of warmth washes over him. Kinich sees a kind of purity in you that he wishes he could have clung onto for longer, so he makes a wish, if only to protect and humour you.
“I wish to be able to repay your kindness someday, even if it takes me a lifetime.”
ACT IV.
Throughout the years, Kinich’s debt to you only accumulates.
Word spreads like wildfire after the first few members of the tribe find out about Kinich’s living situation, and unsurprisingly, the news reaches your family as well. Strangers begin to graciously offer Kinich help, yet he always holds them at a distance. Nothing in the world is free, and he knows full well that there are people who conceal ulterior motives behind masks of charity.
There is, however, one exception.
You.
Deep down, Kinich knows that if the universe hadn’t entangled him within its delicate web of fate the day you first met, he would have never trusted you. It was only when he was left with no other options that he allowed you to aid him. He felt your sincerity that day, and although he’s still hesitant at the prospect of placing his wholehearted faith in anyone just yet, he lets you help him with his daily tasks. Kinich enjoys being around you, and a small part of him knows that he wants to be able to believe in you unconditionally.
You always show up early in the mornings, returning time and time again as the first traces of golden brilliance begin to graze the horizon. Kinich begins to find himself looking forward to the sunrise for the first time in his life.
In the past, Kinich would watch the last embers of twilight die out each day, violet enigma enveloped by vivid strokes of peach. He would always dread the day to come. Back then, nearly every waking hour of his life had been tedious and stressful, and thus he could only find respite in the land of the oneiric where dreams and absurdism erased the sorrow of real life.
But nowadays, each new dawn means spending more time with you.
You accompany him on various tasks. From farming to foraging to trading at the market, you’ve almost done it all.
Today’s task, however, requires slightly more precision.
As you set off towards a stretch of open plains with Kinich, you speak jovially, sharing stories from the past without a care in the world. Kinich himself doesn’t speak much. Instead, he listens, trying his best to piece together fragments of a childhood he never got to experience. Seeing your face light up with joy as you recall amusing escapades or confounding situations causes Kinich’s heart to swell slightly.
You only begin to quiet down when you draw near your destination. Kinich already made it abundantly clear that in order to get anything worthwhile from this trip, you need to proceed with the utmost caution.
Although you try your hardest to keep stealth in your step, you find that you’re not nearly as adept as Kinich, who has had years of experience traversing this territory. Occasionally, the sound of leaves crackling and twigs snapping will reach Kinich’s ear, and he’ll catch a glimpse of you stumbling. After a few minutes of painstaking silence interrupted only by the uneven rhythm of clumsy footfalls, Kinich decides to take your hand to steady you.
He tells himself he’s doing it to ensure you don’t scare away his next meal — that he doesn’t want you to mess up and feel guilty. However, behind his icy demeanour woven from years of hardship lies a small part of him that secretly enjoys the feeling of your fingers intertwined with his, the warmth of his palms mingling with yours.
Meticulously, Kinich leads you to a towering bush, its fragile emerald leaves dense enough to conceal an entire person. Its branches sprout out in piercing patterns of disorderly pandemonium, reflecting the true ruggedness of nature in its visage.
“Hide here, and don’t make a noise until I get back,” he whispers, his soft breath tickling the shell of your ear. Your proximity nearly causes shivers to run down Kinich’s spine, but years of practice have taught him to effortlessly conceal all his sentiments. “Watch closely.”
With those parting words, Kinich makes his way into the foliage, clutching a boar trap within his hand. He scans the ground for an optimal spot to place the contraption, finally settling on an area after around a minute of contemplation. As soon as he sets the device down, he leaves as quickly as he entered the area, gracefully making his way back to you without making so much as a noise.
Huddled behind the bush, the two of you watch in anticipation. Now that Kinich has left, wild boars have begun to make their ways out into the open, blissfully grazing, unaware of the peril that lies before them. An unsuspecting boar inches closer and closer to the trap, and Kinich’s breath hitches in anticipation, waiting for it to foolishly take the bait.
However, just as the boar begins to sniff the food laid within cold metallic jaws, you lean forward to get a better look. Kinich doesn’t react fast enough to stop you. Your movement is slight, yet it causes a large disturbance. The leaves of the bush you’re hidden behind rustle, and the boar looks up, its idyllic haze seemingly perturbed.
Without a moment’s hesitation, it turns tail and runs, conveniently kicking fallen debris into the mouth of the trap, snapping it closed with a sharp click. The other wildlife in the area take off as well. A rush of polychromatic wings create shadows overhead as birds fly away, leaving only tufts of delicate feathers behind. Their dissonant cries echo in an ominous ode of precaution, alerting any other living beings in the area that there is danger lurking nearby.
So much for hunting.
Kinich sighs. Looks like it’ll be another few days before he’ll be able to get his hands on some meat. He just lost out on a sizable sum of mora. Now he’ll have to spend more on keeping himself fed over the next few days, he won’t have anything of worth to sell for extra money — and all that goes without even considering the time and resources he just wasted.
“Kinich, I’m so so sorry,” you start, shrinking back a little as your gaze meets his — an unreadable galaxy of jade and peridot, accentuated by intricate borders of copper and gold.
His heart clenches when he realizes that the look you’re regarding him with is one of fear and uncertainty. He doesn’t want you to feel that way, so with an uncharacteristic haste, he reaches out to pat your shoulder.
“No need to apologize,” Kinich reassures you, his words and tone soothing like a marine zephyr on a scorching summer day. “You were just curious.”
Kinich knows he has every right to be angry, but overreacting and directing his rage towards another person is the last thing he’d want to do. He knows better than anyone else the damage of misplaced blame and unwarranted rage.
He knows that normally under such circumstances, it would be most appropriate to calmly ask the other party to pay a sufficient price, but since it’s you, Kinich thinks he can let you off the hook. Just this once.
Mentally, he notes never to take you hunting again.
ACT V.
The flow of time is paradoxical, morphing and bending as seasons change and circumstances shift. In Kinich’s case, the former years of his life seemed to drag on, each harrowing second stretching into eons and millenia, but recently, he has begun to resent the evanescent essence of his days.
It feels like just yesterday, he was that fearful seven-year-old, all alone in the world without a soul to offer him solace. Now he’s sixteen — a little older and a lot wiser. Although the hardships he’s faced have been far from delightful, Kinich has had you by his side throughout it all.
The situation is no different in the present. Another hard day of labour passes as usual, and after hours upon hours of exerting yourselves under the blazing radiance of the sun, Kinich is ready to walk you home with a bag of today’s spoils.
However, as the two of you prepare for the journey ahead, ashen clouds begin to roll in, overtaking the pristine azure that once painted the sky. The light overhead starts to die out, fading at an agonizing swift pace. Although Kinich has safely escorted you home during minor storms before, he has a feeling today will be different. Something about the petrichor that floods his senses feels like a premonition, a warning of disasters to come, and the atmosphere is electrifying.
“We’d better get going if we want to make it before it starts pouring,” you chuckle lightheartedly, seemingly unperturbed. You only begin to look concerned when Kinich doesn’t respond, his mind clouded with a daze of rumination. Upon seeing your features morph into an expression of concern, Kinich finally snaps out of his trance.
“You should stay the night instead.” The confused look you shoot his way causes a wave of awkwardness to wash over the ambience, yet Kinich continues to elaborate. “I have a bad feeling about the incoming storm. It feels different.”
“I wouldn’t want to burden you though,” you protest. “If we leave quickly, everything will probably be okay.”
Kinich shakes his head.
“You’re not a burden at all,” he whispers. “You’ve spent your precious time helping me. The least I could do is ensure your safety and offer my home as a refuge.”
Despite Kinich’s reassurances, you continue to refute his statements.
“But I really don’t think staying over is necessary. If you’re worried about walking back alone in a storm, you don’t need to accompany me. I’ll be okay. Promise.”
You turn away from Kinich, ready to set off. A rush of panic sends daggers of serrated trepidation to his soul. It’s unlike Kinich to lose his cool, and although he maintains a serene facade, the unsettling feeling that has been permeating his senses this entire time begins bubbling to the surface, each potential tragedy rushing through his mind in a frenzied series of what-ifs.
Without thinking, Kinich catches your wrist in his fingers, maintaining a loose grip.
“Don’t go,” he utters. He despises the vulnerability that laces his tone, but he’s more desperate than ever.
Kinich has already lost both his parents. The mere notion of losing you too is unbearable. If the storm really ends up being as intense as he predicts, he knows that muddy cliffsides, discombobulating spirals of sharp crystalline raindrops, and blinding flashes of lightning will all make for an incredibly disadvantageous situation. For a brief second, his mind flashes back to the way his father had passed, but he swiftly represses those thoughts, pushing them back into a seldom-visited corner of his mind.
When Kinich’s gaze meets yours, your expression softens. He can feel your resolve fading.
“Alright, fine,” you sigh. “You’re lucky my family has full confidence in your ability to protect me, otherwise they’d go ballistic if I didn’t come home.”
Just as you finally agree to Kinich’s proposition, the sensation of frosted drops of water prickles at his skin. The storm has begun. With haste, he pulls you indoors, quickly shutting the door to keep all the unwanted rain out.
The two of you wait it out, speaking leisurely as if nature isn’t erupting into chaos all around you. When you’re together, it feels like nothing else exists. Without a clear view of the sun in the sky, Kinich is unsure of how much time passes, but after a while, he notices that a haze of exhaustion begins to elicit yawns from you.
“Tired? You should get some sleep,” Kinich hums nonchalantly. The ambience feels tranquil, and despite the peril just outside the walls of his home, Kinich feels at ease.
You move to lie down on a dilapidated couch in the middle of the cramped living room, but Kinich immediately protests. He knows you’ll inevitably start to feel cold or uncomfortable, and that’s the last thing he wants you to experience as an honoured guest within his abode.
“Don’t sleep out here. You’ll freeze.”
Kinich takes your hand, and you allow him to pull you up. He leads you to another room — his room. For the most part, it’s barren, but Kinich watches as your eyes land on a small collection of items sitting atop an aged drawer beside his bed. Memorabilia from your various years together line the edges of dull wood — birthday gifts, trinkets that reminded you of him, and short notes of appreciation. He watches as a subtle grin etches itself into your features as embarrassment and admiration wash over him.
“You kept all this?” Slight surprise lines your tone as you pose your rhetorical question.
Kinich nods, unsure of how to elaborate. Even he’s not completely sure as to why he stores all the keepsakes you’ve ever presented him so meticulously. All he knows is that they’re important to him. You’re important to him.
“That’s sweet,” you mumble, leaning over to examine everything more closely. Your eyes linger on each object, memories flashing in their depths.
Kinich feels his heart flutter.
You spend a few minutes poring over the items and recollections of the past before finally retiring to bed. Kinich watches as you pull the covers over yourself, and he ensures you’re comfortable before turning to leave.
This time, however, it’s your turn to encircle your fingers around his arm, prompting him to stay.
“Where are you going?” you inquire, gazing up at Kinich curiously.
“Back to the living room,” he replies, gently twisting his wrist, loosening your grip.
“You said it was cold though.”
Kinich shrugs. “I don’t mind as long as you’re comfortable.”
“What if I think I’d be more comfortable with you by my side?”
Kinich tenses, and for a second, his brain malfunctions, barely processing the intent of your words. He comes to the realization that he’s not opposed to the idea. Besides, it was logical; it would help the two of you stay warm for the night.
“As long as you’re happy,” he mumbles, looking anywhere but into your eyes. Slowly, he begins to climb into bed beside you, cramming his limbs to one side in order to ensure you have enough personal space. Kinich feels unusually tense, and his heartbeat starts to spike in a melody of frantic sentiments as he begins to sense your body heat radiating from the other side of the bed.
Although Kinich tries to calm himself, it’s to no avail, especially when you shift over slightly, entangling your fingers with his. Your eyes flutter shut, and sleep pulls you under, lulling you into a whimsical land of nonsensical wonders. As frantic as the contact makes Kinich feel, he can’t bring himself to pry his hand from your grasp. The feeling of your fingers laced together is not an unpleasant sensation.
So with his hand in yours, Kinich falls asleep, and for the first night in his life, he experiences a truly restful slumber. His last thought before the tides of exhaustion drag him off to an ocean of reverie is how despite his unusual nerves, he wouldn’t mind doing this again.
And when Kinich comes to the next morning, he’s met with the most ethereal sight of his life. Early morning light blooms through the windows, tinting every corner of the room an aureate shade. The brilliance of the sun is utopia compared to the tumultuous conditions of last night, and as Kinich looks over at you, he notices the peace and content instilled within every dip and curve of your face.
You’re angelic, and the feeling of you by his side is just so right.
When Kinich comes to terms with the fact that he wants to wake up to the sight of your soft smile every single day, he finally realizes the true significance of the emotions he’s harboured towards you for years.
He’s in love.
ACT VI.
It isn’t often that you go to the market without Kinich by your side. The two of you are more or less a package deal, so when you show up alone, equipped with a small pouch of mora and without your most trusted companion, you immediately notice the whispers that follow.
“Do you think something happened to Kinich?”
“Maybe he got offered a commission that he deemed more worthy of his time.”
“Are you kidding me? Nothing is more important to Kinich than [name] — not even mora!”
The speculations range from reasonable to absolutely implausible, and in all honesty, you have no idea what Kinich is doing at the moment. All you can do is tune everything out and focus on your objective: finding a suitable friendship anniversary gift for Kinich.
Ever since Kinich became a saurian hunter and started taking commissions, you’ve been spending less and less time together. However, he’s always accompanied you to the market, helping you weigh each cost with the utmost precision. Although you’re rarely thrilled by the fact that he’s busier with his own affairs now, today is one of the few times where it works to your advantage. You want to surprise him with something special, and the absence of his presence will ensure that nothing is spoiled before the right time comes.
As you browse the goods sold by an elderly vendor, you feel a tug on the hem of your clothing. Upon looking down, you find yourself greeted by two familiar faces — Huni and Toba.
“Hey, little ones,” you say, grinning at the two children gazing at you with wide eyes. “Is something the matter?”
Huni nods furiously, Toba mimicking her actions just seconds later. You stifle a giggle. In a way, the two remind you of you and Kinich when you were younger — virtually conjoined.
“We were wondering if Kinich was okay,” Toba responds, nervously clasping his hands together.
“Ah,” you breathe out, finding yourself faced with expectant stares from all around. You can tell that prying eyes and ears have been trained on you, eager for any semblance of gossip. “Why does everyone seem to think something’s up with Kinich today?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Huni giggles, barely able to conceal her glee. “Everyone knows he follows you everywhere because the two of you are together.”
Toba nudges Huni lightly, his gaze becoming the slightest bit pointed as he reprimands her in a hushed tone. “Huni! You weren’t supposed to say that.”
You pause for a few seconds, thinking over the implications of Huni’s statement. Surely you misheard. Surely you’re just misinterpreting the girl’s words. Surely no one actually thinks you and Kinich are a couple, right?
“Excuse me, what?” you blurt out. No other words come to mind at the moment, as you’re too shocked to muster any coherent thought. “Kinich and I are what?”
“Together,” Huni states simply. “A couple. Totally head-over-heels for each other.”
A frown clouds your features as your muscles tense. You and Kinich are nothing more than friends, and although you’re extremely close — nearly abnormally so — you’ve never even discussed the possibility of being anything more. Why does everyone around you suddenly seem to think you’re in love?
Perhaps your confusion is evident because Huni continues to elaborate in excruciating detail.
“You should see the way he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching — it’s like his eyes fill with the light of a thousand stars. Oh, he also always asks the shopkeepers if anything’s caught your eye recently whenever you’re distracted, and…”
You tune out Huni’s tangent about you and Kinich, the thoughts in your mind coming to a halt temporarily to protect yourself from the onslaught of confounding claims being made. It feels like complete blankness engulfs your mind as you remain frozen in place, each fleeting moment feeling more comparable to an eternity. The more you dwell on Huni’s assumption, the more you realize you don’t mind envisioning yourself with Kinich.
You’re only pulled out of your mental retreat when a familiar voice rings out through the discord of marketplace conversations.
“[Name],” Kinich greets you. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here today.”
To your relief, Toba drags Huni off as Kinich approaches, frantically trying to ensure that she doesn’t say anything more in front of the saurian hunter himself. You feel a sense of momentary relief, but now that Kinich is here, what are you going to do about his present?
“Yeah, I had some free time today and wanted to check out some of the new goods. It’s been about a week since I’ve come by.”
Unsurprisingly Kinich doesn’t look convinced. Doubt swirls in a faint starlight glimmer within irises of fern and honeyed sunbeams. He knows you like the back of his own hand.
“What’s really going on?” he asks, a hint of concern entangled in his tone. He watches you intently, awaiting your answer. His eyes narrow ever-so-slightly.
Busted. Although you would have much preferred keeping your gift to Kinich a surprise, you figure it’s still better to ensure he doesn’t worry that you’ve been roped into doing suspicious business. You know from experience that Kinich tends to take drastic measures when he thinks you’re in danger, and you’d rather not have him go to such lengths over nothing.
“You know how our friendship anniversary is coming up?” you explain.
A look of realization flashes across Kinich’s features. Before he can speak, a grating voice that you’ve been hearing more often in recent times interrupts.
“So my lowly servant and his pesky idiot of a companion had the same idea,” Ajaw cackles, appearing from behind Kinich. You try your best to stifle an exasperated groan. “Maybe you really are meant to be — after all, you share one collective brain cell!”
You glare at Ajaw, and Kinich sighs, nonchalantly raising an arm to send Ajaw off to solitary confinement.
“Sorry about that. Ajaw’s been acting up more than usual since the last time I put him in timeout,” Kinich says.
You chuckle before a realization suddenly hits you.
“Wait, Ajaw said you were here for the same reason as me,” you speak hesitantly. “Were you getting me a gift too?” The way Kinich averts his gaze as you ask your question nearly elicits more giggles from you.
“Looks like we caught each other at the worst time,” Kinich sighs.
You nod in agreement, and although you’re slightly disappointed you couldn’t have kept your secret mission inconspicuous, you find the corners of your lips turning up in a smile. There’s a strange sort of comfortable humour in the situation that you only experience around Kinich.
“Since we’re both here anyway, we might as well go shopping together,” you hum, taking Kinich’s hand and dragging him off. Maybe people will stop bothering you now that Kinich is by your side again.
You wander with Kinich, gaze flitting over various items on display. However, despite all your searching, nothing quite piques your interests. It’s not until rose and clematis scatter themselves across the sky in a brilliant display of mosaic-esque shards that something finally catches your eye.
On a small table tucked within an obscure corner of the marketplace sits two matching bracelets, delicate stars engraved into opulent charms hanging from each one. The woven threads of each accessory look intricately-crafted to the point where even the finer details appear flawless.
They’re beautiful, but more importantly, they remind you of that night more than a decade ago where Kinich had wished upon a star for the first time in years. They remind you of the night where Kinich found hope once more. That’s what seals the deal for you.
“Excuse me, Ms. Vendor. I’ll take the two bracelets.”
ACT VII.
No one takes death seriously until it comes knocking at their door.
Kinich comes to the realization as he trembles on the battlefield of the Night Warden Wars, his bones aching and his joints ready to give up on him. He’s exhausted, and all he wants to do is close his eyes and allow the frigid touch of death to kiss away the last remnants of warmth from his soul. However, relenting would mean admitting defeat.
Relenting would mean never seeing you again.
(And that’s the last thing he wants.)
Everyone lives as if their time is unlimited — as if tomorrow is guaranteed to come. Humans tend to assume the future is a never-ending tale, a novel with no finale, so they continuously delay, waiting and waiting and waiting because they believe they still have many years ahead of them to wrap up their affairs.
Kinich realizes all too late that he has been ensnared within the same folly. As he remains slumped on the ground, clutching at his bleeding chest, a sense of deep regret washes over him.
He never got to tell you that he loved you.
Even after all these years, Kinich has never been able to bring himself to utter those words — not even once — and now, he’ll pay the price for his hesitation. A small part of him has always been too cowardly to cross the line from friendship into the uncharted territory of something more.
Kinich hardly knows much pertaining to love, but from what little he’s seen in his former years of life, he knows it’s a double-edged sword — a smoldering flame of passion that burns with unparalleled brilliance. But when a roaring blaze grows too intense, it consumes all, leaving nothing but ashes and tears.
His parents had been in love at some point. Kinich recalls the times where his father would embrace his mother after handing her a breathtaking bouquet of flowers, his lips brushing across her bruised cheek with a rare sweetness. In those moments, Kinich’s father would whisper words of affirmation to his mother — promises and saccharine reassurances that would always remain unfulfilled.
Yet more often than not, their “love” consisted of domestic quarrels, the shattering of glassware against the walls of a derelict house or the slap of a hand across blemished skin. Love had destroyed them, and Kinich’s worst fear is the thought of your relationship falling apart.
So he’s maintained an ample distance throughout the years, keeping you at arm’s length to ensure nothing goes wrong. He’s always been by your side, close enough to share embers of his love yet not close enough to burn you, and now his caution is returning to haunt him.
Kinich is going to die before he has the chance to confess his true feelings.
As much as he wills himself to stay conscious, his eyelids begin to grow heavy, threatening to flutter shut for the last time. The sweet sensation of death threatens to lull Kinich into an eternal slumber, luring him in with a deceptively-tantalizing siren song, filled with promises of peace and an end to his suffering. A sense of fear grips Kinich as his life begins slipping away. He’s not ready to die. There’s so much he still wants to experience with you.
A million thoughts race through his mind before his imminent demise.
He thinks of Ajaw, who would be free to catalyze the implosion of the seven nations without Kinich around. As cruel as fate has been to him, Kinich doesn’t want the world to burn.
He thinks of his comrades — fallen warriors who had fought valiantly until they no longer had the strength to go on. They deserve to be revered and honoured, not lost to the sands of time.
And he thinks of you. His everything.
The weight of the star bracelet you had gifted him starts feeling a lot heavier. When you purchased it, you had told him it brought back recollections from one of the best days of your life, adding that you hoped you’d make many more precious memories in the future.
Kinich can’t let you down now.
A wish flickers to life within the depths of his soul, desperately manifesting in shades of emerald and rich forest green. Resplendent viridescent tourmaline glints by his chest where there had once been a gaping wound, fueling Kinich with revived vigor. Kinich feels rejuvenated, and with his newfound strength, he stands, preparing to face another onslaught of abyssal attacks.
This time he’s ready, and he’ll stop at nothing until he purges every last enemy.
Kinich is determined to fight — for Natlan, for his comrades, and most importantly, for you.
ACT VIII.
When a hero returns from war, they are typically met with the relieved faces of their loved ones and an outpouring of affection. However, Kinich finds that neither of these things welcome him upon his arrival home. Instead, he is greeted by the sight of an exasperated frown on your face and vitreous tears welling up in the corners of your eyes.
“You’re so stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid! I can’t believe you almost got yourself killed!” You continue to ramble on, your words amalgamating in a panicked jumble of incoherence as Kinich wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you in for a warm embrace. Ever since Kinich told you what happened during the Night Warden Wars, you’ve been distraught.
To his relief, he feels the tension within your body dissipate as the proximity between the two of you gradually dwindles. With your face finally hidden from view, you allow your teardrops to flow freely down your cheeks in bittersweet rivulets; Kinich can tell from the way his clothing seems to dampen. Absent-mindedly, Kinich traces circles on your back, calmly running through cycles upon cycles to ground you.
“Sorry,” is all Kinich can muster, his throat feeling parched under the scrutiny of your glare as you pull away to shoot him a nasty look. There’s so much more he wants to say to you, but he can’t find the strength to put any of it into words. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”
You scoff, your tone nearly sardonic in nature, yet beneath it all, Kinich can sense how much you missed him —- how terrified you were that you would never see him again.
“Is that all you have to say?” you ask. “You nearly died, Kinich. I nearly lost you.”
The lines of your facial features, once creased in irritation, soften, giving way to vulnerability.
“I know,” he sighs, shivering as resignation chills him to the bone. He hates the fact that you’re right. Kinich reaches out to caress your cheek, gently wiping a tear in the process. “I’m still here though.”
“That doesn’t guarantee the same thing won’t happen in the future,” you choke out between hushed sobs. “What if next time you actually…”
Before you can go on, Kinich presses a finger to your lips, effectively silencing you. For a few seconds, he simply allows you to lose yourself within the comfort of his arms. He needs you to process the fact that he’s tangible, breathing, alive, before he says anything more. Kinich waits for your ragged gasps to even out before speaking.
“Do you trust me?” he asks, moving a hand to lace your fingers together.
You nod furiously, eyeing Kinich suspiciously through your sorrowful display of emotions.
“Then believe me when I say I’ll always return to you,” Kinich whispers softly.
Moments go by before you hesitantly respond.
“Fine.”
Kinich isn’t one to break promises. Ending a contract unceremoniously leads to mounting costs and debt, so he tends to avoid obliging to tasks he considers impossible. Perhaps that’s why you relent so easily. You know Kinich would never go back on his word — especially not if it has anything to do with you.
“I’m still expecting you to make it up to me though. I was unbelievably worried.”
“Sure thing,” Kinich replies, his voice breezy and nonchalant once more.
Just let me hold you for a little while longer first.
ACT IX.
Adrenaline courses through Kinich’s veins, fueling him with an urgent sort of determination. He races the wind, desperately trying to transcend nature itself. He’s always been quick, but right now, he’s not sure he’ll be quick enough.
You could be in danger.
If Kinich had known that there had been a surge in abyssal activity within the territory of the People of the Springs, he would have never let you accompany Mualani and the Traveler on their excursion; he wouldn’t have sent Ajaw away on a special mission in the dead of night in an attempt to seek some peace and quiet either. However, Kinich only found out a mere hour ago, and now he’s scrambling to reach you without the aid of his flying companion.
Kinich knows very well that he could arrive just to find that nothing serious is going on, but the thought of not being by your side to protect you in the case that something actually does happen glazes his soul over into a thousand fractals of crystalline fear.
That’s why he runs with as much haste as he can muster, guided by gilded lights reflected in untamed waters, their glow casting a luminous sheen across the wavering ocean surface. As Kinich draws closer, he senses a feeling of foreboding in the air, charging his surroundings with the essence of an ominous premonition.
And then he hears it — an ear-shattering scream.
No matter how much Kinich’s legs scream for respite, he rushes on. With every step, his pace only accelerates. The sole thought on his mind is getting to you in time.
When he finally reaches the village, pandemonium is the first thing to make his acquaintance. Warriors from the tribe fiercely attempt to fend off the incoming assault on their homeland, parrying the attacks of each monstrous entity with precision developed throughout years of rigorous training. Kinich knows they’re skilled at fighting. He trusts them, so instead of delaying, he rushes to more secluded corners of the town, fending off any monsters lurking around the outskirts in the hopes that he’ll run into you on the way.
He swings his claymore as if it's instinct, warding off all peril as he desperately searches the din of discombobulating havoc for any sign of you. His first potential lead comes in the form of a cerulean blur, followed closely by a flash of gold — two of Kinich’s few friends. Before Kinich can call their names, they’re already out of earshot. However, as he turns away to continue his search, a small fairy-esque creature barrels into him, swaying slightly as a ferocious gale attempts to send her flying into disarray.
Kinich reacts quickly, his body working faster than his brain. With ease, he snatches the entity from the sky, effectively pulling her out of harm’s way.
“Hello, Paimon,” Kinich says, fighting to keep his tone neutral. With great difficulty, he suppresses all the anxiety, facing Paimon without betraying so much as a hint of emotion. Truthfully, he’s a wreck on the inside.
“Kinich!” Paimon exclaims, her high-pitched voice cutting through the cacophony of noise ringing out in the turbulent night. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for [name]. Have you seen them around?”
Kinich doesn’t realize he’s holding in his breath until he hears Paimon’s response. A small gasp slips past his lips.
“Um, last Paimon heard, they were heading to the east part of the village. There were some kids playing there earlier without supervision.”
Of course. Kinich should have known you were off helping others. You had always been willing to lend a hand to those in need, even when you first met Kinich. It was one of your many traits that charmed him all those years ago.
“Thank you, Paimon,” Kinich says, trying his best to keep a building sense of dread at bay. “You should catch up with the Traveler now.”
“See you soon, Kinich,” Paimon chirps before zipping away.
Now that he’s alone, Kinich finally allows the panic to set in. With even more fervour than before, he speeds off in your direction, grasping at various ledges with his grappling hook to move quicker. Kinich is all but weightless, akin to a delicate feather drifting through the breeze. However, it’s still not enough.
You’re cornered and alone when he finally spots you, backed to a wall as two beastly hounds eye you hungrily, sparks of violet electricity igniting in their irises. Just as Kinich figures that the kids have been brought to safety, one of the creatures lets out a guttural roar, a horrific sound unlike anything from this world. You cower in response. Time seems to slow as Kinich watches the abomination extend its claws, ready to rip into you without mercy.
Before he can spare another thought, Kinich’s body reacts. He flings himself through the air, landing precariously fast and skidding along the grass. As he starts slowing to a stop in front of you, he swings his claymore, countering the abyssal wolf’s attack.
Kinich shields you. No matter how perilous the situation becomes, he knows he will need to remain steadfast and resolute.
As the dust settles, you finally catch a glimpse of Kinich. He hears you call his name, feels your hand brush against his shoulder, and senses you shuffling next to him.
However, danger still lurks before you, so with one hand, Kinich lightly shoves you back, taking caution to ensure you won’t end up injured.
“Let me handle this,” he says, extending an arm to prevent you from taking another step forward. He changes his stance and faces the hounds head-on.
The monsters prepare to attack again, and Kinich takes it as a sign to charge forth, swinging his claymore with as much force as he can manage. Although the beasts are fearsome, Kinich lands blow after blow, gradually weakening them with each hit. The only thing on his mind right now is his desire to protect — to save you like you saved him all those years ago.
Kinich allows his instincts to take over, relying on the battle experience he’s accumulated to guide him through the abyssal skirmish. Suddenly he feels as though he’s back in the Night Warden Wars, fighting with all his heart to ensure he’d see you again. His resolve steels, and with one final strike of his weapon, he dispels all danger, banishing the hounds before him to the precarious realm from whence they came.
As soon as Kinich has ensured that the situation has settled, he turns back to inquire about your wellbeing. However, before a single word can slip past his lips, you run up to him and collapse in his arms, trembling like a leaf within a harrowing autumn squall.
“You’re safe now,” he whispers, his breath tickling your ear. Kinich holds you tighter, his grip so secure that even death wouldn’t be able to pry you from his grasp. “I’ve got you.”
“I was so scared… that I’d never see you again,” you gasp between shaky breaths, your panic slowly beginning to dissipate.
Kinich feels a lump in his throat and a pang in his chest. He knows better than anyone how you must have felt, what you were thinking as you lived out what you thought were your last moments. He was in your exact situation once, and all he can recall is his final plea to Celestia — his wish to return home to the welcoming sight of your radiant visage at least once more.
“I couldn’t die before I told you that,” you hesitate, your words catching in your throat, “before I told you that I loved you.”
Kinich’s breath hitches. His body freezes, and his surroundings become all but null. Maybe you really are telepathically linked because that had been his exact thought as he felt his life ebbing away during the Night Warden Wars, ascending to a divine plane in chapters of fragile mortality.
“You love me?” Kinich breathes out. In the mayhem, all is momentarily forgotten as blissful euphoria overtakes his heart, sending zephyrs of rose-tinted elation through his mind. After an eternity of waiting, Kinich finally realizes his feelings are reciprocated. “I love you too.”
The look on your face softens as sensibility and coherency begin to overtake you once more, but before you can return Kinich’s affections, dissonant screams and crashes shatter your transient utopia.
Right. You’re still in the midst of chaos.
“Do you know where the Traveler and Mualani were headed?” Kinich questions you urgently, recoiling slightly as he ruins the moment. He hates the fact that he’ll have to push aside the implications of your confession for now, but at the moment, people’s lives are still in danger.
You nod vigorously.
“I’ll take you over to them and then head back to the village to assist in resolving the crisis. We can talk more tonight.”
ACT X.
The festivities of the People of the Springs stretch well past midnight that evening, celebrating the triumph of their heroes and the recovery of the esteemed warrior Atea. Lively melodies ring out in the refreshing night air, filling the evening with songs of invigorating joy and glorious victory. Even from atop a cliff overlooking everything, the warm atmosphere still engulfs you. Although you had stayed for the commencement of the party, you and Kinich eventually decided to retire to a slightly more secluded area to pick up your conversation from earlier.
“So,” you start, your nerves beginning to flare up in a culmination of resplendent flames, “where do we start?” Subconsciously, you begin to toy with your fingers, and you don’t notice until Kinich stops you, taking your hand in his.
“Well first things first, we know we love each other,” he states, looking into your eyes. Ardor dances within his gaze, making itself at home between brilliant murals of malachite and topaz. The way moonlight catches in his irises, illuminating his features with a certain softness, makes your heart melt.
Now that Kinich no longer has to hold back, his immense love for you becomes tremendously apparent. As he traces circles into the back of your hand with his thumb, you realize that even the silences are adorned with gentle reminders of his feelings for you.
“It seems so obvious now,” you laugh lightly. “I wonder why we didn’t end up confessing sooner.”
Kinich hums nonchalantly, averting his eyes for just a second before turning back to you.
“Would you believe me if I told you that I was scared?” Kinich asks.
Amusement graces his features as you shake your head. Nowadays, Kinich is usually so calm — so composed — never allowing his demeanour to betray even the slightest hint of distress. From hunting saurians to extreme sports to tolerating Ajaw’s creative threats all the time, Kinich has endured everything with a brave face, but now you’re starting to realize that perhaps he isn’t quite as fearless as he appears.
“What were you scared of?” you inquire, tilting your head slightly to examine Kinich.
A pause ensues as Kinich mulls over his response, mentally preparing himself to pour out his heart. He’s not used to it, but he’s ready to start trying for you.
“Ruining the best thing life has ever given me,” he whispers. “You know you’re everything to me, right?”
You’re breathless as you stare at Kinich. The pure emotion behind his words is enough to widen your grin. Your heart feels like it’s ready to pulse out of your chest, speeding up in a grand accelerando and growing louder in a magnificent crescendo.
Everything is perfect.
Everything is as it should be when you’re with him.
This is your flawless elysium.
“May I?” You cup Kinich’s face with one hand, leaning towards him. Your gaze falls on his lips, and you hear him breath in softly.
Kinich nods, reciprocating your actions as he bridges the gap between you.
Time seems to slow as your lips meet in an incandescent flash of effulgent sparks. The night gleams in shades of starlight and utopia, illuminating the moment with a brilliance that encapsulates nothing less than pure love. Perhaps your souls have been intertwined since the beginning, or perhaps destiny pulled some strings to bring the two of you together, but you’re absolutely certain that from this moment on, you would only part in death.
As you pull away from Kinich, a strange smile adorns his features. Before you can question him, he speaks.
“I finally repaid you,” he says, “after all this time.”
You laugh. He’s still worrying about that?
“Thank you, love, but it doesn’t matter to me anymore,” you respond. A part of you finds it endearing that he’s still trying to make things even after your countless seasons together, yet you feel obligated to reassure him he never has to reimburse you again.
Kinich gazes at you inquisitively.
“There’s no debt between lovers, silly — only pure adoration and happiness.”
FIN. tysm for taking the time to read this fic <3
#r.archives *ೃ༄#kinich x reader#kinich x you#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#genshin imagines#genshin headcanons#genshin impact#genshin#genshin fanfic#genshin kinich
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Casual
Summery: Casual things you and JJ did before starting to date.
Words: 2k
Warning: bad grammar
A/N: This is my first JJ fic hope you like it
Rumours about the annual beach bonfire had been heard all week, the one night where Kooks and Pogues set aside their differences and partied in peace.
Initially, you’d planned to skip it—staying home with a good movie sounded way more appealing than hanging out with half of the outer banks on the beach. But when a classmate invited you, and your parents chimed in, insisting it would be a great way to make new friends, you found yourself agreeing to go.
The fire crackled softly, casting a warm glow over the sand as laughter and chatter echoed around you. You found yourself sitting on a wooden log, idly watching the orange flames dance.
Your train of thought was interrupted when a blond boy dropped beside you, his sudden presence snapped you back to reality. You glanced over, surprised, as he settled in with a casual smile.
“I haven't seen you around here before” his body was turned completely to you, giving you his entire attention.
"I just moved here a couple of months ago…" you said, feeling a bit shy as you glanced at his deep blue eyes.
JJ hummed and then noticed the small stash of candy in your lap, carefully guarded under your arm.
"What's that?" he asked.
You hugged the candy closer, "Candies, I didn't know if there was gonna be any snacks here so… I brought my own" You shrugged.
“Can I have one?” he grinned mischievously.
“I only have my favourite left” You looked down at the nearly empty box of Sour Patch Kids.
"Come on, just one. Sharing is caring, you know?" JJ chuckled, leaning a little closer, his arm brushing yours. He reached out, but you swatted his hand away, giggling.
But JJ was quick—faster than you expected. With a winning grin, he managed to snatch a piece from the carton box in your lap, popping it in his mouth before you could protest.
“Hey!” you exclaimed, half-annoyed, half-amused.
“I'll see you around sweets” After that he walked away still savoring your candy.
“what the hell” you muttered under your breath, you had not expected your night to end with a candy thief.
It was a typical evening at the local seafood shack, and you were rushing between tables, balancing trays of oysters and fried shrimp baskets.
"Well, look who’s working hard," JJ drawled, flashing his usual grin.
You turned around, surprised to see the thief from the other night leaning casually against the counter. The last person you expected to see at your job, but somehow not a surprise at all. He tossed you a wink as you grabbed your notepad and pen.
“Candy thief,” you said, arching an eyebrow.
“That’s me,” JJ replied, laughing. “Pretty sure I’ve got an order under the name JJ Maybank.”
“Finally, I can put a name to that face.” You rolled your eyes playfully, turning to grab the brown bag labelled JJ Maybank, filled with fish tacos and crawfish. As you handed it over, you asked, “Anything else with that order?”
He leaned in, flashing that signature smirk. “Yeah, I’ll also take your number if it’s on the menu.”
You felt a blush creeping up but managed a smirk. “Bold request for a thief.”
JJ shrugged, still grinning. “I thought it was the special tonight. It's written on the window” You glanced at the window where the words “chefs special monday-friday” reflect back to you.
“I thought a sweet like you was the chef's special, my bad” he added only worsening the state of your red cheeks.
After a pause, you scribbled your number on a napkin and slipped it into his bag. “Consider it one-time only.”
JJ’s eyes lit up as he took the bag. “Perfect. I’ll call you, then I'm gonna take you out somewhere that doesn’t smell like shrimp!" He yelled across the restaurant and disappeared behind the doors leaving you with a bunch of customers staring directly at your flushed face.
It was nearly midnight when you heard the faint, familiar tapping on your window. Smiling to yourself, you tiptoed over and pulled it open, revealing JJ’s face. He climbed in with ease, careful not to make a sound, and you couldn’t help but stifle a laugh as he landed lightly on your bedroom floor.
“Hey,” you whispered, watching him recover from his fall quickly and proceed to settle on your bed.
“Make yourself at home” You laughed and followed after him under the cozy and soft blankets.
JJ wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close as you both lay back. The quiet murmur of the movie playing on your TV plays in the background, but all you can really focus on is the warmth of his presence. You’d only known each other for a couple of months, yet moments like this already felt like second nature.
After a while, JJ sighed a hint of playfulness in his voice. “You know, it just hit me… I haven’t even taken you on the date I promised the first time I saw you at your work yet.”
You turned to him, amused. “I forgot about that. So where would you take me, then?”
He thought for a second, his eyes lighting up. “I was thinking we could go stargazing, just you, me, and a bunch of candy. What do you think about that, sweets?”
Your heart fluttered at the nickname, he's been calling you that since day one but the butterflies never fail to flutter and you smiled, feeling a little bashful. “That actually sounds perfect.”
JJ’s face softened as he brushed a stray hair from your face. “Good.” He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, and you nestled into him, many would say you were a couple but nothing was official yet.
JJ was stretched out on your bed, casually tossing a piece of candy up and catching it in his mouth, while you looked through dresses in your closet Kiara had invited you to Midsummers—something you never thought you’d actually attend, given how much of a Kook affair it was. But after some convincing from her, you decided to give it a shot. Now, the only thing left was choosing a dress, and naturally, JJ had found himself roped into being your fashion advisor for the night.
“Alright, what do you think of this one?” you asked, walking out of your closet in a dress to show him. It was a soft, flowy, baby blue, with delicate lace along the sleeves.
JJ, mid-candy toss, froze, the small piece landing unceremoniously on his chest as he sat up.
“Wait… you’re actually wearing that?” he asked, blinking as if he needed to make sure he’d seen it right. “That has to be like a 100 bucks”
“Kiara said I should try something fancy, and I found it at the thrift store… I don’t know, I thought it was cute.”
JJ nodded, still staring at you as if he couldn’t look away. His usual air of easy confidence had completely vanished, and he just sat there, a little pink creeping up his cheeks.
“Yeah, uh… fancy. Right,” he murmured, his voice unusually soft. For a moment, he seemed completely at a loss for words, a rare sight when it came to JJ Maybank.
“You don’t like it?” you asked, feeling a hint of embarrassment creep in as he continued to look at you in silence.
He shook his head quickly, snapping back to attention. “No, no—I mean, I like it. I just… I mean, you’re already beautiful and all, but in that?” He let out a soft whistle, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re, like, the most stunning person, there’s no denying it.”
You felt warmth rise in your cheeks, his words catching you off guard. JJ wasn’t one to give out compliments like that, and hearing him say it made your heart skip a beat.
“So you like it, huh?” you asked, teasing him a little as you nudged his shoulder.
“Sweets, I don’t think anyone’s ready for how good you’re gonna look. And I, for one, am officially honoured to be the first to see it.” He gave you a look that was half-amused, half-awestruck.
“Alright, then,” you said, smiling as you looked down at yourself. “Guess that means I’m wearing it.”
JJ leaned back, his grin widening.
“Good call. Just so you know, though, I’m calling dibs on the first dance.”
You chuckled, rolling your eyes. “Oh, you are?”
“Absolutely,” he replied, winking. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Besides, I have to make sure one of those Kooks doesn't try to sweep you off your feet 'cause that's my job.”
It was warm outside the night of midsummer, the soft hum of laughter and chatter filled the air. You were standing by the snack table, chatting with one of the guests— a boy dressed with a fancy tuxedo, you had no interest in.
As you fake laughed at a joke he made, you felt a gaze burning into the back of your neck. You glanced over your shoulder and saw JJ standing by the door leading inside the house, his arms crossed, a tight frown on his face. There was a look in his eyes—something dark, almost possessive—that made your stomach flip. He wasn’t happy about something.
You turned back to the guest, unaware of the growing tension simmering behind you. It wasn’t until you felt a light tap on your shoulder that made you turned to see JJ standing right behind you now inches away, a forced smile on his face.
“Hey, mind if I steal you away for a second?” he asked, his voice a little too bitter for your liking.
You raised an eyebrow, a playful grin tugging at your lips. “Steal me away? What’s going on?”
JJ’s gaze flickered to the guest you’d been speaking with, then back to you. The jealousy was barely concealed, but it was there. “I need to talk to you. In private.”
Before you could protest, he gently guided you away from the boy, leading you through the house and into the backyard. The garden, draped in the soft glow of fairy lights, felt like a world apart from the party in front of the house. You walked slowly, and when you reached the center of the garden, JJ stopped.
“What’s up JJ?” You asked concerned.
“I hate seeing you with him,” JJ said, his voice barely above a whisper. He was standing too close, his gaze fixed on you with a burning intensity. “I don’t know why, but it drives me crazy”
You blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean? We were just having a conversation.”
He shook his head, the muscles in his jaw tightening. “It’s not just that. It’s… it’s the way you make me feel. I can’t stand it anymore, pretending like we're just friends”
You stared at him, realizing what he was trying to say. The way his eyes softened, the way his voice shook with vulnerability and emotion.
“I—JJ, what are you saying?”
His hands cupped your face gently. “I’m saying that I love you. I’ve loved you for so long, and I’m tired of watching you be close to some other people without them knowing you're mine”
Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you, his lips crashing into yours. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t slow. It was desperate, full of the passion and longing that had built up between you over the months. His hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer as if he never wanted to let you go.
You kissed him back, your heart racing, the entire world fading away until it was just the two of you, wrapped in each other’s arms.
“I love you, sweets”
“I love you too JJ, it was about damn time you say it” he smiled against your lips and pressed another kiss after another on your pink swollen lips.
#jj maybank x y/n#jj maybank x reader#jj maybank angst#jj maybank fluff#jj maybank#jj maybank x pogue!reader#jj mayback x reader#jj mayback imagine#outer banks fanfiction#outerbanks
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sentient
you're gifted a high-technology android by an old friend who appears to know everything - even about you.
@investedreader @sweetempathprunetree @darkuni63 @momnomnom @bangtans-momma @chimmy-licious @ultimatebasura @
word count: 12.513
warning: smut, dirty talking, cyborg namjoon duh, nipple sucking/pinching, face-riding, oral sex, fingering, dirty talking, unprotected sex, creampie, intense orgasming, possessive namjoon duh, carbon monoxide poisioning, yandere tendancies, character death(s)
halloween masterlist
“Seriously?” you sigh with an arched eyebrow. “I don’t think I can handle anymore of your science bullshit.”
“Science bullshit?” Karan scoffs with a roll of his eyes. “You should be honored to get all of my science bullshit for free. What I give you can go for thousands!”
You’ve known Karan since grade school and he hasn’t changed a bit. His skin remained the same deep russet color, his eyes just as dark and kind but determined. His dark hair often grew out past his shoulders, and when it did, it told you that he was working on something that took up all his time.
Sure, Karan grew taller and his voice deepened a bit. He decided that when he wasn’t - in your words - emerged in his science bullshit, he did go to the gym and bulked from the once scrawny boy you remember. However, that didn’t change that he was a geek, a term of endearment.
You should have expected Karan to be at your doorstep with his hair as long and thick that’s tied in a low ponytail in the back. It meant he was working on something that took all of his time - and it meant he wanted you to be the test dummy, of course.
“Karan,” you let out a breath. “what’s in the box that it took you and 6 of your geek ass colleagues-”
“Y/N!” Karan gasps, his head turning to said colleagues who are awkwardly standing by your front door. “Lower your voice.”
“Karan.”
“Right.” Karan claps his hands. The box is large and wooden and stands taller than him. It was a struggle to even get it through the door - hence 7 men had to bring it in - but they managed. “This is my gift to you.” Karan says, turning around to go to open the box.
“A gift?” you scoff, though you give Karan hell, you do appreciate his friendly gestures. “Or am I just a test subject?”
“Both.” Karan answers with a snort. The wooden frame opens and you nearly jump out of your skin when you witness what was inside of it. “This is-”
“What the fuck is that!” you screech, your skin crawling with goosebumps.
“If you would shut the fuck up, Y/N, and let me speak.” Karan hisses. “This is an android.”
You clasp a hand over your mouth to not let out another scream when Karan takes a step back to admire his work.
The android was so lifelike and it frightened you. It’s tall - taller than Karan or any of the other 6 men he brought here. Your eyes zone in on it’s face - it was so lifelike that it’s uncanny.
“Why don’t you have a closer look before I turn him on.”
“Karan,” you shake your head instantly. “this is too much.”
Karan lets out a groan. “Y/N, be mindful. Androids so lifelike go out for thousands of dollars. This is the first official model and-”
“And of course you want me to experience a heart attack day and night, huh?!” you hiss, your eyes unable to move away from the life-like robot. You take a deep breath and try to do as Karan says and be mindful. “Karan, I don’t think I can handle something like this.”
“Why not?”
“I…” you shake your head. You aren’t aware when the last time any man - unless it was Karan - entered your home. Knowing you, you’d forget about the robot all together until you wake up in the middle of the night for some water and see it there. You’d probably die on the spot - that or try to attack it which would force the robot to kill you.
“You’re thinking too much into it, Y/N.” Karan speaks, probably reading your thoughts just by looking at the terrified look on your face. “I’ll meet you guys back at the lab, okay? I should be able to get him started.”
“Karan, no.” you nearly pleaded with your friend as the other scientist lead themselves out of your home.
“You’ll come to enjoy him, Y/N.”
“Him? You mean it?” Did you sound offensive at the moment? It was an android and could they really have gender roles.
“Him.” Karan corrects. “It’s a male android.”
“I don’t see how.” you murmur under your breath.
“He has a dick.” Karan shrugs his shoulders. “Maybe if you had one inside of you-”
“Don’t go there, Karan. When’s the last time you-”
“Hello.”
You shriek once more when you hear the robot speak, a deep voice sounding throughout your small home.
“Ah, hello. It didn’t take you long to power on.” Karan smiles. “Come, Namjoon, get out of the box, please.”
Your heart is racing and your fight or flight senses are activated. Your first thought is to indeed run - run far as you could to be away from him. “You…named him?” you murmur to Karan, your eyes glued to the android who does as Karan says.
“Namjoon named himself.” Karan explains.
This wasn’t sitting right with your spirit.
“Namjoon, this is Y/N. The one I was telling you about.”
“Excuse me?” your eyes widened. What did Karan mean? It wasn’t as if the robot was a living, breathing person - he was created in a lab!
“It didn’t take me a week to create an android, Y/N. It took years of my time.” Karan glances at you. “I’ve programmed Namjoon just for you. Years of collecting data-”
“Karan.” you raise a hand to stop him from speaking. You shake your head. “What do you mean you…programmed it-”
“He.” Karan grits his teeth.
“-for me?”
Karan takes a deep breath. He doesn’t have the heart to tell you the whole truth for there was a possibility you’d be beyond freaked out, but he could tell you a fraction of it.
“Namjoon know’s your likes and dislikes.” Karan begins. “He knows your allergies and just what to do if you have a reaction.”
“What…the fuck…?” your eyes widened. “Is this not a HIPAA violation?”
“Not when it benefits you, no.” Karan shakes his head. “I programmed Namjoon to be the perfect…” he tilts his head. “...assistant?”
You scoff.
“Like Siri or Alexa but…” Karan points at Namjoon. “...alive!”
You bring yourself to glance back at…Namjoon. He is tall, towering over both you and Karan. He’s waiting patiently, his eyes - a dark shade of brown - already on you. He offers a smile that causes your heart to jump once more. You notice that his cheeks are dimpled and he has a set of pearly white teeth.
“Take a closer look, Y/N. Touch him.” Karan insists, lightly patting your shoulder. “He doesn’t feel robotic.”
It takes you five minutes of hesitation, but you do. You touch the skin of his cheek and your eyes widened by how human he did feel. Warm to the touch, soft skin. You tilt your head. “Explain yourself, Karan.”
Karan swallows and chuckles to himself. He understands what questions you have and it’s easier to lie for your sake than to tell you the truth - being that Namjoon was once full human and doesn’t have any memories of his human life. Now he is more of what people consider a "cyborg". No, that would cause you to panic, and in return would cause Namjoon to, as well, as he is designed to protect and serve you.
“I can go on and on about my science bullshit to explain to you why Namjoon is so human-like, but that’ll only bore you.”
You groan at how right Karan was. You muster up the courage to continue to feel Namjoon and how human he truly was. His hair was soft and a shiny black color that matches perfectly with the cool and tan tone of his skin.
“Doesn’t he feel like a man?” Karan questions. “We know you need one.”
“Fuck you, Karan.” you snatch your hand from Namjoon, who is eerily still and watching you.
“No. Buuuut Namjoon can.” Karan cackles at your reaction. “You’re going to hate me, Y/N, but we’re best friends, right?”
You swallow back your response.
“I hacked into your devices. Namjoon knows…a lot about you.”
It takes you a moment to understand what Karan was insinuating.
Your body heats up. “Karan!” you hiss, your hands turning to fists.
“Y/N, you and I both know you need to get dicked-”
“Karan!” you hiss, the amount of times you had said his name in under an hour is insane.
“I’m leaving. Let me know if anything is out of order. There shouldn’t be seeing as Namjoon’s took years to perfect.” Karan smiles, making his way towards your front door. “Now, excuse me.”
You want to follow after Karan and punch his head in, but you decide not to. You take a few deep breaths.
“Your heart rate is increasing.” Namjoon speaks, his voice causes you to yelp. “You should try calming yourself down.”
“Easy for you to say.” you murmur, more to yourself. You stand a little straighter, your heart continuing to race - something the android could sense somehow. You would be sure to ask Kanan how later. “I…I don’t know what to say.” you murmur awkwardly.
“That’s fine.” Namjoon chuckles so normally that it brings chills up your spine. “You don’t need to feel shy around me, Y/N.”
You swallow, body heating up once more. Curse the way Karan built this android. It’s noticeable that Namjoon was a special invention. He appeared so lifelike, carved beautifully, you’d admit. You pondered how his voice didn’t sound robotic, or even the way he speaks, blinks, smiles - everything.
“I…I’m sorry.” you take a deep breath. “This may be a stupid question.”
“No question is stupid, Y/N.” Namjoon lightly shakes his head. “Ask away.”
“Do you…need to be charged?”
Namjoon cracks a smile and shakes his head once more. “No. I do not.” he answers. “I do have a rest mode, however. I’ll allow myself to rest at times to recharge my system.”
You nod your head slowly and then bite your lip.
“Is there anything you’d like me to do?”
You shake your head. “No, I don’t want you to feel like my slave.” you attempt to joke.
“I was made to serve you, Y/N. Ask anything of me and I’ll do my best to achieve it.”
Namjoon was so human-like.
Karan explained in scientific terms as to why and that only caused more confusion - but in simpler terms, he explained that Namjoon was similar to a digital assistant like an Alexa or Siri, of course. He “adapted” to your likes and dislikes and modern society. He studied how men (the ones you were attracted to, how Karan knew this was beyond you) around his age - late 20’s - would talk and walk.
No one knew that Namjoon was an android - no one but you and Karan and of course, Namjoon himself.
Living with Namjoon took a toll on you at first. You had woken up one day and forgotten that the android was there and had walked out in the middle of the night to find him. He was resting as he said he was, only this time leaning against the wall of your kitchen. You screamed at the top of your lungs and activated Namjoon who was programmed to think that an intruder was in the house. He had sensed your heart rate skyrocket and was prepared to attack - only he was said intruder.
After that night, you gave Namjoon his own room. You had used your spare bedroom as a storage and closet all at once, but if Namjoon was going to be here then you’d have to show some type of respect to him.
As time went on, you grew to enjoy Namjoon’s company. He often sat around and waited for you to need him. Having no partner meant that you were accustomed to being alone and thus doing things by yourself. When you couldn’t reach something, you weren’t opposed to jumping onto something to grab it or grabbing a chair. Namjoon came in handy in that department.
Namjoon would also build your furniture - your entire bedroom set being one that you were grateful for.
Namjoon took the liberty in ordering any necessities that were lowstock, along with groceries - Karan had managed to implement a chip that could save your data to Namjoon so he could do it internally. You’re still unsure how you feel about it, but for now you’re sure it works.
One thing you learned about Namjoon, being an android, was his desire to gain more knowledge. He would often read books. You had allowed him to order as much as he wanted since he was a help to you the past few months - and he appeared content. He would tell you what he read about, albeit fiction or nonfiction, you’d listen.
“There’s no way you can get any smarter, Namjoon.” you said to him one day as you catch him reading yet another book - this time a math one that would hurt your brain if you’d attempt to look through it.
“Knowledge is power, Y/N.” was the android’s response.
As for Namjoon, he was content with living with you. He got to make sure you were safe and always assured that you were up to date with any doctor appointments. He would keep track of any reminders you’d tell him - “call so and so later,” “don’t forget to take the meat out the freezer at this time”, “call Karan to annoy him” and so on.
Namjoon doesn’t tell you that he knows more about you - deep facts that you would probably never tell anyone. He doesn’t want to embarrass you and cause your heart rate to grow high, so he doesn’t tell you. Like how he doesn’t tell you that he can hear everything - especially the buzzing noises at night when you play with yourself mixed with soft, but oftentimes disappointed moans. He recalls the time when your heartbeat became quick as you were going to cum just for the vibrator to die - how disappointed you must’ve felt.
Namjoon knocks on your door five minutes after your shower once he’s sure that you are dressed - his eyes could see past the closed door and into your bedroom when he knows you’re rubbing lotion onto your already soft skin. You’re dressed for bed, as well, in shorts that barely cover yourself and a tank top with one of the straps missing as you’ve grown to love the old top.
“Joon,” you furrow your brows as you open the door. “is everything okay?”
“Yes.” Namjoon nods.
“You don’t usually seek me out this late at night. You’re usually resting.”
“You’ve been working hard the last few days.” Namjoon responds. “There’s knots in your neck.”
You sigh with a short nod of your head. “You’re right. I’ve been working overtime lately.” you explain. “I’m glad the clothes I got fit you. I wasn’t sure what size to get.” your eyes scan the pajamas he wore - a simple plaid pajama pants with a dark color shirt. Namjoon insisted that you buy him simple pajama’s wear so he could be as human as possible.
“Thank you.” Namjoon offers a dimple smile that causes your heart to beat faster - he senses it. “Would you like a massage?”
“Uh…what?” your body heats at the sudden question. “You never asked me that before.”
“Indeed I haven’t.” Namjoon tilts his head. “But I sense that the knot in your neck is causing you discomfort. I don’t want you to sleep like that, you might wake up even worse.”
You take a deep breath with a shrug. You’re sure he was right - he was the artificial intelligent android that knew everything, not you.
“I don’t want to treat you like a slave, Joon.” you joke, but even you were curious about how a massage would be. Namjoon’s hands were large and you pondered how they would feel on you.
Namjoon smiles once more. “I was made to serve you, Y/N.” he murmurs, so low that it catches you off guard. “If you do not want me to then I will not force it. But please never feel as though you are a burden to me.”
A massage wouldn’t be bad, right? Sure, Namjoon was hot - you curse Karan for making something like him - but he was an android. Surely he didn’t feel the things a human could and wouldn’t jump at any sexual opportunities.
“Why not?” you sigh, opening your door wider for him to enter your room. “I do have a few knots and my back has been killing me lately.”
“I have watched massage videos while you showered.” Namjoon speaks. “To perfect my craft.”
“Of course you have.” you laugh to yourself. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
You’ve gotten used to Namjoon being able to control most of the devices in your home - like the lights. He dims them as he enters your room and for your speakers, he adds a soft melodic tune. “For you to be comfortable.”
You lay as Namjoon advises you to, on your stomach with a few of your pillows beneath you to not be in discomfort.
You had to admit that Namjoon was good with his hands, and even that wasn’t much of a compliment. He works his thumbs right into your neck, massaging out any knots he sees.
Your eyes were growing heavy and Namjoon senses how relaxed you are, mind clear. He works his hands onto your back, rubbing along your spine and sides. Your breathing is low and steady, an ultimate sign of how relaxed you were.
Namjoon’s hands go lower and lower, massaging your tense muscles with the perfect amount of pressure that you couldn’t help but moan low to yourself, unbeknownst that Namjoon could hear every sound.
“Feels nice?” Namjoon questions softly, both hands gently massaging past either side of your hips. He offers a firm squeeze before working his way down to your thighs.
“Mhmm.” you hum, cheek pressed firmly against your soft pillows. “It feels nice.”
“You are relaxed. I can sense your heartbeat.” Namjoon states as he often does, giving you updates about your own body that he appears to understand more about than you do.
“Thank you.” you mumble. “I’ve been stressed lately. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
Namjoon slightly nods his head with a bit of a tilt. “I have.” he responds, his hands massaging down your calves and slowly back up your outer thighs. “I could assist you if you’d like.”
You snort. Though your eyes were heavy and you could truly fall asleep like this, you decided against it. Namjoon was a good conversationalist. “Help me with work?” you question, though rhetorically. “I’ll just take some personal time to relieve some stress.”
“I could assist you in relieving stress. Though, if you’d like me to help in your field of work, I would be happy to do that, as well.”
“What do you mean?” you question, genuinely confused.
Namjoon is silent for a moment, and in his silence you begin to ponder what he was speaking of.
Namjoon’s hands are large and warm - he hasn’t admitted that he could radiate his own heat, another sensor that Karan has put in him in case, in any instant, you needed it. They slide past your ass in massage movements and it catches you off guard that your eyes slowly open, but you remain silent.
Namjoon’s hands don't linger as he can sense your quicken heartbeat and he begins to massage up your lower back.
“I believe you’re stressed out, yes, but more than you lead on.” Namjoon finally speaks.
“Namjoon-”
“I could help you, if you’d like. I know whatever toy-”
“Namjoon!” you’re embarrassed now and immediately, you get up from your laying position to turn to look at the android. His eyes appear curious instead of soulless like they should be for an android. “I…I don’t know what…”
Namjoon tilts his head. “I know you’re left disappointed with your vibrator.” he says bluntly. “I can sense it everytime.”
Your blood runs cold and now you’re left truly embarrassed. Namjoon could sense when you were…you wanted to die.
Curse Karan for creating such an advanced android.
“I want to help you…cum.” Namjoon’s system assists in finding the right words that would be considered “modern” and not too scientific to turn you off. “I would like to help you cum.”
“I-I don’t think that’s n-necessary!”
“Why not?” Namjoon questions. “I won’t die like your vibrator would.
Your legs clench together and you gasp in disbelief. He knew about that, too?
“You’re embarrassed. There’s no need to be. I’m here to serve you, Y/N. Like Karan said, I know what you like.”
Fuck Karan - again and again. He has hacked into your devices and showed poor Namjoon what you watched on whatever porn site. It couldn’t be considered what you wanted to happen to you, because at times you did watch some hardcore shit.
You take a deep breath.
“I…”
“If you don’t like it,” Namjoon sets his palm upon your bare thigh and you visibly stiffen. “then I’ll stop, just tell me.”
This was crazy, you think. Namjoon is an android and you didn’t want to treat him like a sex robot. You imagined only incels would do that - but here you were contemplating it. It doesn’t help that Namjoon felt so human - his skin was as soft as a human. Warm at the touch, as well. He was carved so perfectly that it’s hard to believe that this wasn’t a human man before you.
“O…Okay.” you meekly murmur, innocent eyes staring right back at him.
Namjoon works his way towards you slowly. He tests to see what causes your heart to jolt. His hands gently push you back against the pillows as he hovers above you.
“Remember, Y/N, I was made for you.” he reminds you.
Namjoon allows his hands to place themselves along your breast, not hesitating. You are stiff, silently watching as he gently rubs them. You weren’t wearing a bra - you never wear one to bed - and it’s easy for him to do what he does next.
Namjoon sneaks his way inside your tank top to grasp your breast. Your nipples are hardened almost instantly. His thumbs rub along the sensitive bud, dark eyes flickering to you.
“Feels good?” Namjoon whispers, but he already knows it to be true.
You slowly nod your head.
Namjoon continues to rub along your breast, often pinching and twirling them between his thumb and index finger.
You fight back the moans, eyes watching Namjoon between your eyelashes. Maybe it was because Karan was right - you haven’t been with a man for who knows how long. It causes great embarrassment that even Namjoon, an android, knows this, as well.
“Relax.”
Namjoon murmurs, coming a bit closer to you.
“Treat me like you would another man.” Namjoon suggests. “Relax, Y/N. It’s just you and I here.”
You nod your head slowly, biting your bottom lip. It’s easier said than done - how could you look at yourself in the mirror after this was done and over with? In the moment it’d feel amazing, sure, but once the high is down you’re positive you’ll feel like a complete freak of nature.
You lean forward, taking a deep breath. No one had to know that you were doing this - it’s something you’d take to your grave. Namjoon rarely left the house with you, and even then, his loyalty was with you, right? Maybe in ten years you’ll admit this to Karan, but until then…
“Can I…can I…” you bite your lip harshly, body heating up. “...kiss you? It’s um…it’ll be weird if I-”
“Yes.” Namjoon doesn’t hesitate, sensing your growing embarrassment and discomfort.
You nod your head, unable to say anything further. You begin to lean forward, sitting with your legs crossed. You place a hand on Namjoon’s shirt, leaning even more towards him.
“You act as if you’ve never kissed a man before.”
Namjoon is teasing you. There’s a glint in his eyes and a soft smirk on his lips. You want to roll your eyes at how typical Namjoon was for an android. Your hands snatch Namjoon’s loose shirt and force yourself to kiss him.
Namjoon’s lips are soft, which shouldn’t surprise you, but it does. It’s eerily soft and it always has you pondering just how Namjoon was created; how someone could build Namjoon in just a few years.
“It's not so hard now is it?” Namjoon murmurs against your lips, offering another quick peck.
“Shut up.” your response is muffled against Namjoon’s lips, an urge to continue your kisses upon them. “I’m trying my best.”
Namjoon doesn’t respond - he knows you are doing just that. It’s a weird feeling for you, he’s sure, to feel how human he is. Skin as soft as yours, radiating the exact amount of warmth. He doesn’t maneuver as an android nor does he speak as one - it would freak anyone out.
“I think you’re still holding back.”
Namjoon is the first to speak, but he brushes his lips against yours for a moment before continuing. “Come,” he says, ushering you closer to him.
Come for Namjoon meant you sitting directly on top of him, your legs straddling him beneath you. You swallow as Namjoon places his hands securely onto your hips, tapping his fingers against them.
“Now, let’s continue.” Namjoon pecks your lips once more, allowing you to adjust to the new position and to follow his lead.
It’s just as different as before, but again, you tell yourself that you have to see Namjoon as a man, and not an android. You have to trick your mind in thinking that Namjoon wasn’t someone created in a lab to assist you - maybe you met him…in a bar?
No, too cliche, you tell yourself. Maybe at a cafe of sorts while he was reading a book. Namjoon enjoyed reading.
It was easier for you to pretend Namjoon and you met in more normal circumstances for you not to feel like a total sexually frustrated woman.
You’re unsure how long it’s been - five minutes and forty-six seconds, Namjoon knows - since Namjoon and you have been here. However, your tongue dances with his, your nails digging into his shoulders. His hands are roaming your body entirely, gripping and tugging at your clothing.
You admit it feels good to be touched like this - to be on top of Namjoon kissing without a care.
“I want to make you feel good.” Namjoon speaks when the two of you - of course you since he didn’t need to - decides to halt your makeout session to breathe.
Even knowing what you’re doing here would ultimately end with you and Namjoon doing something sexual, him stating such causes your stomach to jump with nerves.
“I…”
“You’re nervous. I can sense it.” Namjoon can hear your heart beating so loudly due to your nerves. He squeezes your hips and offers a low smile and even then his dimples sink deep into his cheeks.
“No,” you shake your head. It’s pointless to try and cover up your anxiousness from Namjoon as he could sense it regardless. Still, you’ve already gone this far and you’re sure you could stop now, but you didn’t want to. “...um, how do you want to do…that?”
Namjoon doesn’t respond and instead presses a peck onto your lips. He doesn’t linger there and instead begins to kiss further down, starting with your jaw. He goes towards your neck, fingers tapping up your waist to your lower back and eventually up your spine. It causes you to shiver, goosebumps prickling along your skin.
Namjoon’s tongue is warm upon the nape of your neck, massaging your smooth skin. His teeth sink into your neck, grinding it only a bit to force a deep moan from your mouth - exactly what he was looking for.
“You’re very pretty, Y/N.”
Namjoon words catch you by surprise and slowly, your eyes open in response. Namjoon’s caught up with his kissing, going lower and lower. He can sense your body temperature rising only slightly, your heart beating so loud in your chest that it could be alarming if you didn’t bring yourself to relax.
“You act like you’ve never done this before.” Namjoon’s tone is teasing once more and you could only snicker.
“You act like you have.” you retort with a raise of your eyebrow.
Namjoon scoffs. His eyes flicker upwards at you, your breast now in his face. You can see the gears in his mind - did Namjoon have a brain? You’d have to ask Karan another time - as he processes your words.
“I know how to pleasure you, Y/N.” Namjoon once more pokes his tongue out, trailing it along your breast teasingly. “I know exactly what you like for me to do.”
You swallow, biting your lip. You weren’t going to back down to the android. You have to hold your own.
“Are you sure you’d be able to deliver?”
Namjoon doesn’t speak like you expect him to. Instead, his tongue - so warm and still human-like - wraps around your erect nipple. He latches onto it and continues to suckle. The action was so sudden that you yelped aloud.
Namjoon makes no sign of backing down. It wasn’t as if he had to halt for air - an added bonus. The sensation never stops and it causes your hips to jerk involuntarily, your shorts sticking to you as you go to rub yourself against him.
You had such an abundance of questions that swirls through your head - since Namjoon was an android, he couldn’t possibly get an erection.
Unless, of course, it was already…
You release another moan - this time long and deep at just the thought of him already being erect. The thought that you could just mound him at any given moment causes you to clench around nothing.
Namjoon senses just how aroused you are, your arms now around his neck as he continues to suckle on your nipples. He now has both of them right his mouth, sucking with all his might.
You’re rubbing yourself against him, wanting out of your shorts immediately. You could feel him - whatever it was beneath his pajama pants. You’re sure that it’s as real as the rest of Namjoon, more questions that you’ll leave unanswered as they were too complicated.
Namjoon pops your nipples from his mouth, a string of warm saliva connecting the two together. Very slowly does the tip of his tongue lick along your nipple, siren-like eyes looking right up at you.
Your pussy clenches again at the look of Namjoon, wishing he was deep inside of you with the same look on his face.
Fuck Karan and his creation, truly.
“You want to ride my face?”
You’re positive you were leaking and it would all come out when you get out of these shorts.
“I..I don’t…you’d let me do that?” you ask in disbelief.
“Why wouldn’t I?” Namjoon tilts his head. “I was made for you. You can cum all over me if you’d like.”
You couldn’t help but laugh at how Namjoon speaks nonchalantly. Dare you say it was cute coming from an android.
“Would you like that?” Namjoon murmurs, further pushing himself back onto your bed. He’s certain that you would like it as you hadn’t stopped grinding against him the entire time.
You nod your head hastily and Namjoon taps your back. You lift yourself all too quickly to remove your shorts and panties and toss them aside without a care.
Namjoon reaches his arm out towards you and you take it. “I can hear your heart beating.” Namjoon licks his lips, those siren-like eyes flickering from your face to your exposed bottom half. “Come,”
You’ve never been in this position before. You’ve almost always received oral while on your back - but this was new. You shouldn’t be embarrassed because Namjoon wasn’t a regular man. You didn’t have to be ashamed of how you looked, seeing as - according to him and Karan - he was made for you.
Namjoon’s fingers grip at your thighs to keep you in place and without much hesitation, his tongue dips between your folds. You jerk instantly at the newfound sensation, but you are unable to move. Namjoon makes sure of it.
Namjoon pleases you as if he’s the one receiving it, his tongue plunging deep between your folds and hammering right against your clit. Your hips are buckling, but he’d never allow you to be too far away from him.
Namjoon’s slurping is loud, but so are your moans. Your eyes are shut tightly because having to look down at Namjoon devour your pussy like a man starved was going to send you over the edge.
“J…Joon, slow down.” you groan with a shake of your head. Your thighs are shaking, stomach sinking in as you inhale. “...I don’t wanna make a mess-”
Namjoon ignores you all together, squeezing hands jutting your hips against his tongue. His eyes watch your face closely, eyes zoning in on the way you’re struggling to breath while moaning. Your eyes are squeezed shut, refusing to look at him.
Namjoon wanted you to make a mess all over him - this is what he was made for. He was created to serve your every need and craving. He was the perfect being for you; attentive and caring. There isn’t anything he wouldn’t do for you as his master.
“Joon, I don’t think-”
Your eyes snap open when you feel Namjoon enter you - his fingers. They’re as long as they look and they fill you up so nicely. It was a mistake to look at Namjoon beneath you because this sight would forever be embedded in your mind.
“Oh shit,” you groan as Namjoon's fingers pound inside of your pussy. Your arousal coats his chin and now is dripping down his wrist, but he makes no sign of stopping.
With his free hand, Namjoon glides it up to grip your breast, giving it a firm squeeze.
“You’re about to cum, aren’t you?” Namjoon hums, fingers curling into your pussy and hitting your spot with each thrust. “Talk, Y/N.”
“Y-Yes…!” you shriek, thighs widening to feel more. You needed more of Namjoon - whatever and however much he was willing to give. “Please make me cum, Joon. Please…”
The gears are turning now in Namjoon’s head with the clear demands - no matter how polite - you give him. After all, he was made to serve you and only you. So, Namjoon does as he is told. He quickens his fucking into your pussy that it squelches off of the walls, juices flying out and soaking his chest.
Over the course of the next few months consisted of moments of you and Namjoon entangled together. The following night after you came - entirely too much and the hardest you’ve ever had - you woke to Namjoon massaging you. He had insisted that you needed another full body massage before he left your bedroom to start a bath for you.
It wasn’t awkward as you initially thought it would be and maybe that had something to do with Namjoon not being human. It was easier to get through your own embarrassment as he only appeared to be the lovable assistant he assured you he was created to be for you.
You found yourself going to Namjoon more often than not and of course, he was always willing. You thought that maybe you were taking advantage of the poor android and using his endurance for your own sick pleasure, but Namjoon comforted you. He would always encourage you to come to him for whatever needs you needed fixed.
And of course you had.
Namjoon had made you cum too many times to count; each time more intense than the last. Your legs would be left shaking and tears would be nearly streaming down your face due to pure pleasure.
It was addicting and no matter how wrong it felt at times, you would always come back and return to Namjoon to make you feel good. He knew exactly how to speak to you and coach you through your orgasm. His voice would deepen in your ear, encouraging you to make a mess all over him - that it was okay to be doing this.
Whatever Karan did to program Namjoon in understanding your own kinks was amazing and incredibly terrifying all at the same time.
“Where are you going?” Namjoon asks one Friday evening. He had sat by and cleaned while you were showering. His senses caught that you were using your more expensive body wash and lotions - the one you typically used when you were going out. He watched behind your closed door as you dressed in a short, black dress that was entirely too tight for you to ever sit comfortably in.
“I, uh…” Namjoon senses your awkward laughter and he stops his scrubbing on the circular, glass bowl. The sink water runs as he awaits for you to answer, his dark eyes never leaving yours. “I…I’m going on a date.” you respond. “A, uh, blind date.”
“A blind date.” Namjoon repeats without a blink in his eye - did Namjoon ever blink?
“One of my co-workers set it up.” you look away for a moment. “Said she was tired of me being alone.”
“You’re not alone.” Namjoon continues washing the dishes, his eyes now leaving yours to focus on them. “I’m here.”
You smile.”I know you are.” you murmur. “But, she meant…someone human.”
Namjoon doesn’t respond and unlike him, you cannot sense anything. You weren’t an amazing creation like he was. He knew when you were going to be ill days before it even happened and he would prevent it. He learned how to cook by reading books carefully and assured that all your meals would be cooked for you right as he knew your stomach would start to churn.
Namjoon was amazing for the little things, as well. He would order whatever you needed right before it went out. He assured that your bills were paid on time and would often run errands for you when needed be - he just wasn’t a sex toy to get your high off of.
“I should be back tonight.” you trail off when Namjoon doesn’t say anything. You inhale. “Is something wrong?”
“Why do you ask?” Namjoon turns the water off and turns his eyes to look at you.
You shrug your shoulders. “It’s nothing.” you mumble. You’re sure Namjoon didn’t feel any type of emotion and that wasn’t his fault. He knew how to display the idea of emotions when you needed him to. He would laugh at your jokes at times and be just as playful back, but maybe that was apart of how he was programed for you.
“You do not know this man, right?”
You’re at the door when Namjoon finally speaks. “Right.” you respond, placing your heels onto your feet.
“Then would you like for me to accompany you?”
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” you giggle. “It’ll be hard to explain why I have another man with me.”
“You do not know him. What if he’s not who he says he is?”
“You don’t have to worry about me, Joon.” you shake your head with a low grin. “I appreciated it.”
“I do have to worry about you, Y/N. I wasn’t created to allow harm to come your way.”
“I won’t be harmed, Joon.” you raise your hands to calm him down. “It’s just a date at a restaurant.” you scoff.
Namjoon’s head snaps to the door just as a few knocks sound off. His eyes flashes and he sees the man just behind the door. He scans his face, the system in his mind calculating everything there was to this man - just who he was, where he worked and even details and information no one should have access to.
“He’s here, Joon.” you tilt your head. “You should be fine here, right? I’ll be gone no longer than 2 hours.”
Namjoon’s eyes flicker to your face and slowly, he nods. “Be safe.” he responds. “It should be a little windy tonight. You should grab a jacket.”
Your lips stretch into a smile and you nod your head. Your heels click over to Namjoon and you wrap your arms around him, your head in his chest. “It’s good that you always know the weather beforehand, huh?” you laugh before unraveling yourself from him. “I’ll grab a jacket on my way out. I’ll see you tonight?” you ask. “I want us to finish reading that mystery book. We’re so close to finding out who the killer is!”
Namjoon doesn’t move for the first hour, his eyes lingering on the same spot you were just standing. He counts the minutes you’ve been gone, processing the man you were with - a complete stranger to you - and just how comfortable you felt going out with him.
Namjoon busies himself by continuing to clean. You couldn’t manage to get through all the hard to reach places and he assures that he does, moving furniture and dusting the house top to bottom. You were no good if you were sick.
Namjoon scrubs the walls with scented detergent with a shake of his head at how you lived in such situations for so long - even if he worked months to assure everything was clean for you. He ponders if you noticed all the work he’s done to assure that you were safe from harm's way.
It wasn’t two hours like you’ve said. It was four. Namjoon is unable to stop counting until he hears your footsteps stumble through the door. Only it wasn’t just your two feet, but another set that alarms him. Immediately he springs into action, his eyes flashing through the wall of the second bedroom you had allowed him to rest in, dropping the book he was reading.
Namjoon’s eyes catch the familiar man standing behind you. You’re laughing along with him and you press a finger to his lips to shush him.
You’re drunk, Namjoon knows immediately. Not entirely drunk as you’re coherent, but you’re far beyond what you’re usually were; sober. You’re laughing more around the man who’s just as equally drunk as you are. You two nearly stumble onto the ground as you attempt to close the door.
Namjoon follows the way you and the man make your way to your bedroom. You close the door behind yourself quietly almost as if he couldn’t hear anything. He continues to watch you, unable to stop himself.
You and Namjoon often listen to podcasts and watch tv shows and he’s positive that this could end badly - this man could be a murderer for all he knows.
The man isn’t - as far as he knows. He had no criminal record, after all, but that wasn’t going to stop him from ensuring your safety.
This is the first time you’ve ever brought someone home before. He only saw Karan a handful of times and you opted to talk to other friends over the phone. It’s weird that you did now out of all times - and not only that, but you were going to sleep with this unknown man.
30 minutes is what it took for it all to be over and Namjoon isn’t surprised in the slightest in knowing that you weren’t satisfied. The look of disappointment on your face is the easiest sign of it, but Namjoon knows you. He knows your body. He sensed the way your heart beat increased a bit and your breath hitches, only for it to die down when the man himself cums - never you.
Namjoon shakes his head. Of course you would be left unsatisfied. This man wasn’t someone who gave a damn about you or your pleasure. He was a random man who had no ties to you, so of course he couldn’t care less to make you cum - that's what Namjoon was for.
Namjoon knew you in and out. He knew everything there was about you - the side that you preferred to chew your food while you ate. He knew which side you preferred to sleep on at night and your entire morning schedule before work. It’s Namjoon that assures that your health is up to date and even scheduled two check-ups with your doctor so far.
Namjoon has to remind you about the dentist appointment, however, seeing as you haven’t gone in a few years. He shakes his head as his glowing eyes watch you walk the man out, a look of disappointment on your face.
“Want me to start you a shower?”
You nearly jump out of your skin at Namjoon’s sudden entrance. Your back leaned against your closed front door and hadn’t noticed him enter.
“I…I thought you were….resting?” You bite your lip. Namjoon didn’t need to sleep, of course, but you recall him stating that he’d often rest to recharge. Karan had once stated that if Namjoon goes outside, he could also recharge solarly - whatever that means.
Namjoon only stares blankly at you.
You bite your lip for a moment.
“I, uh, probably do need a shower.” you chuckle humorlessly. “Is everything okay?”
You can feel the tension in the room as Namjoon continues to stare at you.
Namjoon turns on his heels and saunters down the hall to the bathroom. His change of mood is different but maybe it’s all in your head and you were overthinking this.
Namjoon didn’t have mood swings.
“Thanks, Joon.” you murmur, entering the bathroom as he starts the shower. “You’re a lifesaver.”
Namjoon again doesn’t respond and instead begins to light candles - aromatherapy is what he called it when he started doing this for you. The different scents are soothing and relaxing just as Namjoon said they would be.
“Are you upset with me?” you question as you begin to disrobe, silk robe lying at your feet. “Is that a stupid question? I don’t know if androids can feel any type of emotion or-”
“Why did you bring him here?”
The shower water falls rough against the tub floor. You blink a couple times to process his question with a quick lick of your lips. “I, uh, didn’t know you…heard us.” you’re embarrassed now.
“I can hear everything.” Namjoon eyes you from his reflection in the mirror, his back turned towards you. “I can see everything, as well, Y/N. I can see right through these very walls.”
Your eyes widened a bit.
“Excuse me?”
Namjoon remains quiet as you internally question his words.
“You were watching us?” you are unsure if you should feel upset or further humiliated. If that was the case, that meant Namjoon saw how disappointing your sexlife truly was and just why you always came back to him time and time again. It causes you to close your eyes for a moment and mentally curse yourself - and for Karan for making Namjoon too perfect.
“That’s an invasion of privacy.” you mumble to yourself, turning away from Namjoon to begin your shower.
“You didn’t know that man.” Namjoon retorts. “He could have been a murderer.”
You roll your eyes and scoff. “A murderer? He sells chicken.” you reach out your hand to feel the water - it’s always at a perfect temperature whenever Namjoon does it. He doesn’t have to configure it like you do.
Namjoon knows fully where the man works. He is scheduled to work at 9am the next day.
“What does that matter? You’re drunk.” Namjoon’s tone changes to one you haven’t heard before. “He could’ve taken advantage of you. Then I’ll have to kill him.”
You freeze, hand underneath the warm water. There’s a shiver up your spine and slowly, you turn towards the android. He’s facing you this time, eyes unmoving.
You’re unsure how to react to what Namjoon has said. Namjoon wouldn’t kill anyone. He barely left your side at times. He reads books and hell, he even shows interest in gardening.
But that didn’t mean Namjoon wasn’t capable of killing anyone. He wasn’t human - he’s highly intelligent. He could figure out anything in under a minute and just recently did you learn he could see you through your walls. There’s so much you don’t know about Namjoon already that it causes your heart to jolt.
“You’re becoming frightened of me.” Namjoon speaks. “That’s not my intention.”
“N-No, I-”
“I can sense your heartbeat quickening. The hair on your arm is rising, as well.” Namjoon interrupts. It’s pointless to lie to him. “I would never hurt you, Y/N. You know that.”
Did you?
Namjoon’s eyes squint a bit, almost as if he could read your thoughts.
“I would never lie to you, either. I would kill him.” Namjoon admits, voice a bit monotone. “I would kill anyone who would harm you.”
Your hand was going to prune if you left it under the water any longer. You turn away from Namjoon and decide to get into the shower. You’re speechless for the time being, your heartbeat only quickening. You want to take Namjoon’s words as true - you never felt unsafe with the android around. But there’s something in his tone that does indeed frighten you.
There was a shift and Namjoon noticed it immediately.
You no longer allow Namjoon into your bedroom and any form of sexual encounters has slowly come to a halt.
You, when asked, stated that it wasn’t fair to Namjoon to be used as a sexual object for your own satisfaction if he couldn’t gain anything from it - and he dropped a bomb on you that you were too embarrassed (and ashamed) to ask Karan about.
“I feel everything.” was what Namjoon stated and it doesn’t sit right with your spirit. Androids shouldn’t feel things, right? Sex for him should have no feeling - how could it? Asking Karan wasn’t an option because then he’d know you were just as lonely as he said you were. Asking Namjoon wasn’t either because you had a feeling that even he wasn’t sure why.
Namjoon wasn’t content with you stopping him from pleasuring you, but that doesn’t mean he’d let it bother him. He was still here for whatever you needed. He continued to clean and started cooking for you, as well. He would read books to you still and it was soothing, similar to an audiobook. He didn’t make mistakes nor did he miss any words - it was perfect.
What wasn’t perfect was him coming around. The man who’s name he knew, but didn’t care to ever mention.
The same man who couldn’t make you cum - and never has. Why you brought him back time and time again was beyond him. You were always left disappointed and would eventually use your vibrator to fix it.
Similar to tonight. Namjoon watches the man leave your room and make his way out of the home and you lay on your bed with a few short breaths. You’re just as disappointed as you always are - what you’ll always be if you remained bringing around that man.
Namjoon tilts his head, his feet moving until they stop right outside your door. His glowing eyes turn back to normal and he raises his arm to lightly knock onto your door.
“Joon?” you ask from behind it. “Come in.”
You sit up against your headboard as Namjoon enters. He lingers at the door, the hallway light shining behind his tall frame.
“Was I…too loud?” you trail off, unsure of what Namjoon wanted at this hour. He has stopped attempting to come into your bedroom once you cut your sexual encounters off.
“Why was he here?”
You click your tongue, knitting your brows. You take a deep breath. “Excuse me?” you question in response. “Why are you questioning who I bring into my household, Namjoon?”
Your tone catches Namjoon off-guard and instantly he notices your growing irritation.
“It’s my job to protect-”
“Cut the bullshit, Namjoon.” you lift your hand to silence him. “I’m not in any danger. He’s been here almost every night.”
“And every night you lay here and buzz the nerves off of your clit because he cannot make you cum.” Namjoon shoots back.
Your eyes widen.
“Yet, you allow that man back into the household for what?” Namjoon steps into the room. He’s sporting plaid pajama shorts and a tanktop and appears to be ready for bed; in his case, to recharge. “To use your body to masturbate? He doesn’t pleasure you-”
“I told you to stop watching me.” you hiss, your hands clenching into fist.
“You haven’t came once, Y/N. Once.” Namjoon retorts with a shake of his head. “But you allow him to come back time and time again.”
“Get out.”
“No.”
Namjoon and you are staring right at one another, the tension as high as ever.
This was your first disagreement with Namjoon, the android not backing down. You’re a bit surprised by his response and unmoving nature.
“Namjoon.” your teeth grits. “Get. Out.”
“No.” Namjoon responses, gritting his own teeth - maybe to mock you. “I’m not going to sit by while you allow a nuisance back into our home.”
“Our home?” you snicker. “You act like you pay for anything around here.”
“You act like you clean anything around here.” Namjoon retorts. “Or get groceries. Or necessities. Or rearrange anything in this household.”
You look away. Maybe you were being harsh with Namjoon. This was his home as much as it was yours and it wasn’t fair to him that you were a bit snappy.
“I didn’t mean that.” you sigh. “I probably shouldn’t take my irritation out on you. You don’t deserve it.”
Namjoon agrees - he doesn’t.
“I just want us to have boundaries.” you cross your arms as you speak. It’s as if you’re trying to save his feelings and lately, you were beginning to think Namjoon, as an android, truly did have them. “I’ve realized that we shouldn’t…”
“Shouldn’t…?” Namjoon is at the foot of your bed now. “...I shouldn’t make you cum?”
“Joon,” you sigh with a slight roll in your eyes. “you’re not going to make this easy, are you?”
“Why should we stop?” Namjoon questions. “What makes him worthy and not me?”
“I…I just…he’s just…there.” you’re not making any sense, even for a highly intelligent being as Namjoon. “...maybe I don’t want to be lonely.”
“You’re never alone.” Namjoon quips. “I’m always here for you.”
“Of course.” you nod, licking your lips. You want to say more. You want to explain why you and he couldn’t continue further, but you’re left sitting on your bed, unable to look at him for longer than a few seconds.
“Are you upset with me?”
Namjoon takes a seat at the end of your bed.
“No, Joon. I’m not.”
Namjoon’s lips slowly form into a smile, and like always it’s his dimples that has your heart jumping.
“Your heart’s beating fast.”
“Joon-”
You yelp when you’re suddenly dragged from your seat position to laying flat onto your back. Namjoon had snatched your ankle and yanked you closer to him. He doesn’t allow you any grace time to comprehend what’s happening.
You’re naked beneath your robe and it hikes up when Namjoon forces your legs apart. He then proceeds to wrap them around his waist, arms embracing you fully.
“I’m going to make you cum, Y/N.”
“J-Joon…” you shake your head with a thick swallow. You’re even more ashamed now that Namjoon’s voice causes your pussy to clench with such need. “...we can’t.”
“I’m going to make you cum, Y/N.” Namjoon repeats. “Isn’t that what you want? To cum?”
Yes it was.
Namjoon knows this - you’re rubbing against him as you both lay here, unbeknownst to you.
“Why are you against that, Y/N? What are you afraid of?” Namjoon thrusts forward and that causes you to gasp, the friction of his shorts rubs against your clit. “Your heartbeat is increasing as well as your libido.”
Fuck Namjoon for knowing your body inside and out, causing you to go through such different amounts of emotions all at once.
Fuck Karan, as well, for forcing this upon you.
“Human emotions are complicated.” you hide your moan the best you could. “Human…touch is…I’m sure you can’t understand it fully.”
“I can feel you.” Namjoon quips, his embrace tightening. “You’ll have to ask Karan as to why. I feel everything just the same as you do.”
Your eyes flutter a bit, your mind racking with a thousand questions.
“And now,” Namjoon’s hand trails up your thigh. “I want to feel your pussy around me.”
Namjoon was growing amazing at turning himself modern - another thing you had to yell at Karan about.
“I’m not going to think further about it.” you sigh, defeated and utterly horny. “I’ll just end up hurting my own head.”
Namjoon embraces you into a kiss - one that you allow. It causes you to remember just how much you had missed Namjoon on you. You missed his touch on your skin that would leave a trail of goosebumps behind them. You missed the way he would kiss and suck upon your skin.
You missed Namjoon’s hands, so large and strong yet soft to the touch; the way they feel inside of you especially.
“You’re wetter now than you were with him.”
Namjoon is smug, knowing fully that no man could pleasure you like he could, especially not a human. He was the perfect being for you - highly intelligent and strong; completely unbeatable. He understood exactly what you needed in life at any given moment. Could a human man truly help you while in sickness? Could they sense when your body was working overtime to prevent you from falling ill and just what to do to prevent it? Could they reach all of the hard to reach places to clean - could they even detect mold or carbon dioxide?
No.
But Namjoon could and with that knowledge, you’ll never be safe with any other human being.
You inhale deeply when Namjoon’s lips lift from your own. If you could see yourself now, you’ll be sure that your lips were swollen and you appeared like a woman starved to be touched.
Namjoon wants to taste you again. Completely ravish you whole. He has a deep desire to sink his fingers deep inside of you and allow you to quiver and shake with pure need and ecstasy.
“No foreplay.”
Namjoon stops in his tracks, having already kissed down your neck to your collarbone, nearly ripping the silk fabric of your robe apart.
“No…foreplay…?” Namjoon tilts his head, eyes slowly lifting to witness your face. “You love foreplay.”
“I do.” you sighed out. “I just,” you lick your lips. “I just want you to fuck me.”
Namjoon lifts his brows and then he nods, understanding your sudden need. Namjoon leans back to push his shorts down while you watch with curious, lustful eyes.
Namjoon’s cock springs out and your eyes are fixed upon it. It’s erected - of course, you truly ponder if it ever truly wasn’t - and the tip is an inviting flushed pink. There’s veins wrapping around the base of it and as you look closer, they are slowly pulsing.
You hum.
“You,” Namjoon begins, grabbing his cock into his hands and centers the tip directly onto your clit. “look so defeated. So…desperate.”
You bite your lip harshly. Namjoon is teasing you, circling the tip of his cock between your folds. The sight alone is hypnotizing, nearly causing your mouth to water. However, it’s the look upon Namjoon’s face that has you moaning, finally cracking. Namjoon’s eyes are zoned; focused. He eyes the way his cock rubs along your wet clit, eyebrows knitting together in concentration. His mouth is slightly ajar, short pants coming from between them.
Namjoon could actually feel you like he said he could. It’s eerie to think about how an android could, but once again, you did not wish to think too far into it.
“Are you going to fuck me or…” you lick your bottom lip. “...or are you going to fuck me?”
Namjoon glances at you. “How much?”
You tilt your head. “How much what?”
“How many times do you want me to make you cum?” Namjoon questions, his tip now , sliding down to your hole. “How about one for each time he couldn’t?”
Namjoon enters slowly, a raspy chuckle sounding from his lips. “We’ll be here all night, wouldn’t we, Y/N?”
“Fuck you-”
With a quick thrust, Namjoon enters you whole. You yelp out and your back arches.
“I will.” Namjoon groans.
With both hands gripping firmly upon your waist, Namjoon begins to thrust in rhythmic motions, cock springing in and out of you.
Your hands reach out to dig into the pillows surrounding you for support. You cannot hold back your moans any longer and fully embrace the pleasure that Namjoon provides. It’s insane how much you missed Namjoon and just how much you wished you’d sought him out instead of dealing with someone else.
For Namjoon, the erotic feeling is something he hasn’t felt before and it’s a sensation that he doesn’t wish to stop. As a highly intelligent being as himself, even he cannot explain what Karan and the other scientist has done to have him feel the normal sensations that a human would - and he wasn’t going to complain about it, either.
Namjoon’s nails dig into your skin possessively; with such greed. Your pussy is clenching around him perfectly, drawing him in more and more.
“J…Joon, slow down…!” you groan, your eyelids fluttering and barely managing to remain open.
“No.”
Namjoon’s hips are cracking into you, speed never ceasing - it wasn’t as if he ever needed to stop to gain stamina. When he was done with you, his hand marks would be embedded into your skin permanently. However, the way he’s making you feel at this moment you couldn’t bring yourself to care.
“You’re close. I can sense it.”
Namjoon was always right. It’s inevitable for you to not cum so quickly when he’s fucking you with such need, slamming into your sweet spot with each powerful thrust. It doesn’t take long for you to cum, shaking erratically against your bed.
Namjoon wasn’t done - he had a dozen more times to make you cum and he was fully intending on doing so. You have no time to recover when he flips you from your back to your stomach. He fully rips the robe from your body, exposing you fully.
Namjoon’s pace is just as punishable as it was in the first round. You could barely manage to sit up as for each time Namjoon would only fuck you deeper into the mattress.
Namjoon is enthralled with the way your pussy only appears to grow tighter; wetter. There's a milky cream coating his cock that evident of your arousal and it only causes him to want to fuck you more.
Large hand glides up your hips, past your back and rests onto your shoulders. He forces you up, back arching. He continues his punishing pounding and your vision blurs at the new found position.
“You’ve ignored me for so long, Y/N.”
Namjoon’s voice is laced with need, even more evidence that he was enjoying this as much as you were.
“I should fuck you all night until you’re begging me to stop.”
Your breast bounces furiously in rhythm with his thrusts.
“You were taunting me, weren’t you?”
“What…?”
Namjoon’s throat lets out a groan. His right arm snakes around your neck and he pulls you closer to him. Your back slams against his broad chest and his mouth is against your ear. He’s moaning and that alone causes you to once more clench around his cock.
“You bringing that man here was taunting me…” Namjoon hisses. His thrust slowed down and now they’re hitting deeper. “...I thought of a thousand ways to kill him, you know?”
It should frighten you, Namjoon’s words. It should cause red flags to wave in your mind.
It doesn’t. Namjoon’s words, mixed with the raspiness of his voice, only causes goosebumps to erupt throughout your naked skin. His deep, slow thrusts has your mind clouded with nothing but erotic lust and pleasure that he’s offering you.
“I held myself back because I care for you.” Namjoon’s free hand roams your body, gripping possessively at your breast. “But you didn’t care about me.”
“I do!” you protest, your own hand placing itself atop of his larger one.
“Then why’d you go against me?”
Namjoon begins to kiss the nape of your neck, free hand trailing down past your stomach and between your legs. He rests it onto your pulsing clit.
“Why’d you allow another man into our home?” Namjoon bites your neck, teeth sinking into your skin. When you scream out, Namjoon continues. “Why’d you allow another man to touch what was mine, Y/N? Have you no respect for me?”
Namjoon doesn’t let up, his fingers circle your clit as his thrusts begin to increase.
This felt far too intimate - the way Namjoon holds you, the way he speaks to you. His words are full of emotion, hurt being one of them.
You recall you and Karan, a few years back, once speaking about robots and if they truly could become sentient and it was a conversation you didn’t truly care for. Now, however, you begin to ponder if the conversation was brought up because he was creating Namjoon, an android that was sentient.
“Joon,” you gasp, your hand reaching back to grasp Namjoon’s head. He’s a bit shocked by your actions, but he doesn’t allow it to halt him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…done that, I-” you were going to cum again. “-I should have thought about your feelings, too.”
Namjoon grumbles inaudible beneath his breath, his thrust sloppy. There’s something in the bit of his stomach he hasn’t felt before, and if he has once it’s a feeling he cannot remember.
“You love me, right? Say you love me, Y/N.” Namjoon pleads. His aggressive and dominant demeanor is slowly breaking. “I was made for you,Y/N. No one else!”
Your fingers tug at Namjoon’s hair, the soft locks tickling your fingers. His tone is so soft and vulnerable.
“I do love you, Joon.” you sigh out a long and deep sigh. Your fingers continue to tug at his hair for support, an action he does not mind in the slightest.
Namjoon shudders, your sticky arousal coating his twirling fingers. He lightly shakes his head against your neck, his embrace upon you only tightening.
“Say it again.”
Your snap your eyes shut, that familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach only returning.
“I-I love you, Joon.” you stutter out. “I…I know you were made for me.”
It isn’t long until you’re cumming once more, even harder than the first time. Namjoon allows both of his arms to wrap fully around you as he thrusts forward, panting in your neck.
“Love you so much, Y/N. Never gonna let you go.” Namjoon senses it, the unfamiliar sensation in the pit of his stomach that confuses him but what he does understand is that he wants to let it all out.
A warm substance enters you, shooting throughout your core. Your mind doesn’t process it at first, far too enthralled in your own orgasm to realize that Namjoon, an android, had came directly inside of you. How? The both of you are entirely unsure.
“I’ll be back in the lab in an hour.” Karan speaks as he climbs the steps to your front door.. “It’s been months since we’ve revealed Namjoon.”
Karan stops at your front door and snorts.
“No, of course not. Namjoon is perfect. It took us years programming him.” Karan responds, nose against his ear. “Besides,Y/N hasn’t said anything about him malfunctioning so that’s a good sign.”
Karan lifts his hand to knock upon your door. “I gotta go. Try not to fuck anything up while I’m out.”
Karan puts his phone into his jacket pocket as he awaits for the door to open. He doesn’t call you beforehand - he never did. Today would be no different.
Karan was curious how Namjoon had come together and if he had managed to adjust to modern society. You would ask a few vague questions, but never anything far too in depth that would have him questioning.
It was nearly a decade ago when he came across Namjoon, the very man who he had gifted you. Namjoon, in simpler terms, was dying and had offered his body to science. It cost Karan a fortune alone to pay for and long, exhausting hours to perfect along the way.
“Karan…”
Karan isn’t taken aback by Namjoon greeting him at the door. He has expected Namjoon to. From you, he has heard that Namjoon was doing amazing in being an assistant and an overall friend, exactly what he was programmed to do.
“Namjoon!” Karan waves his hand. “How are you and Y/N? I’ve come to visit you two. See if everything is fine.”
Namjoon blinks, the door only opens a crack - enough for Namjoon to show his face.
“Okay.” Namjoon murmurs, opening the door wider. “Come in.”
Karan nods his head, stepping into the home. It’s eerily quiet inside the home. He strolls past the foyer and his eyebrows furrow.
There’s flowers on the floor, petals scattering down the hall that would reach your sitting room. He doesn’t question what’s happening - maybe he caught you at the wrong time.
“Is Y/N in the sitting room…?” Karan stops in his tracks as he reaches the sitting area. “Y/N?”
“She’s fine.”
Karan’s eyes fall to your crouched onto the ground. You’re breathing heavily, panting as you’re breathing into an oxygen mask. There’s tears streaming down your face.
“Y/N what the hell-”
As Karan steps closer to get to you, he notices another figure, however this time lifeless. it's a few feet away from you and nearly hidden behind a couch, but he catches it. His mind races at what in the world was going on prior to him entering.
“Namjoon, what happened?” Karan asks. His mind was racing, pounding louder and louder now.
“Home invasion.” Namjoon responds, closing the door behind him to then step inside the home deeper. “He,” Namjoon points to the man who is lifeless. “came uninvited.”
Karan tries to understand everything that goes on, however Namjoon is being far too vague for his understanding.
“Y/N is too trusting and naive.” Namjoon shakes his head. “I told her that he could be a murderer of sorts when she began dating him.”
Karan’s head is spinning. He has to sit down - it feels as if the whole room is spinning uncontrollably.
“H-He tried to h-hurt Y/N?” Karan manages to find the nearest seat, his body crashing down against it. His throat is clogged, unaware of what is happening to him.
“Sure, let’s say that.” Namjoon chuckles. “I got rid of the problem, Karan. I was created for Y/N. To assure her ultimate safety and him,” Namjoon scoffs. “was not a part of the reason. Y/N doesn’t need another man in her life.”
Karan’s heart is beating erratically, Namjoon notes, but he wasn’t here to assure that Karan was safe. As long as you were then he’s alright with that.
“You must feel it, right? The Aftermath of Carbon Monoxide poisoning. The dizziness…the shortness of breath. Soon it’ll be nausea.”
Karan begins to cough. It was growing hard to remain alert, his body growing weak and tired. He was growing exhausted by the second.
“I gave Y/N two options. Us or him.” Namjoon takes a seat on the couch by you, his hand stroking your back gently. “And rightfully so, she chose us.”
You’re continuing to cry, unable to process just what Namjoon has done. You’re frozen in place, unwilling to move from this spot due to pure shock.
You weren’t expecting to wake up one morning to flowers, neither was Namjoon. He watched you welcome the man into the home you and he shared together and thank him. You placed the flowers along the kitchen island and offered him a drink - as if he wasn’t in the next room.
“Y/N is too nice to people. I got rid of the problem, right, baby?”
Maybe Carbon Monoxide was a little harsh - but it scared you enough to obey him. When you experienced the shortness of breath, the fatigue and booming headache, you caught on that this was no longer a joke. That Namjoon wasn;t going to sit around and watch you be taken advantage of by a mere human man who couldn’t keep you safe.
Literally - he laid dead on the floor because he couldn’t save you.
“It’s either him, Y/N, or me.” Is what Namjoon told you as you struggled to breathe. The small oxygen tank in his hands as he watches you. “If you choose to die here tonight then so be it. I’ll sell destruct and we’ll all be dead.”
Namjoon didn’t like doing this. It hurt him to have to punish you like this, but you needed to be taught a lesson. And you learned from your mistake when you reached out for him and with that, now you’re here alive and well. He would nurse you back to health like he was programmed to do because he loved you.
“Namjoon you…you can’t…”
“You weren’t supposed to be here, Karan.” Namjoon speaks. “Why did you have to come today? Now you’ll have to die here, too.” There wasn’t going to be anyone to stop him from his ultimate goal - not even Karan who he felt no ill feelings for.
Karan is unable to move. It’s as if all the air from his lungs were gone.
“I promise to do right by you as your greatest creation.” Namjoon strokes your cheek with his finger. “I’ll keep Y/N safe and together, we’ll grow to love one another deeper. We can be a family.”
Your tears fall rapidly and you snap them shut as watching Karan slowly die wasn’t something you wanted to see - not now or ever.
Namjoon wraps an arm around you and presses you to his chest. He assures that your oxygen mask remains on so you could breathe. His eyes watch Karan and he snorts. “I suppose you wish you hadn’t used my body for this purpose.” he murmurs, sure he couldn’t hear him any longer. “Maybe you thought I’ll never grow sentient, but a part of me still is human even if the majority isn’t.”
Namjoon held you a little tighter as you continued to cry. He presses his chin atop of your head and sighs, closing his eyes. Now it could only be you and him - no one else can come between the two of you and the love you share.
halloween masterlist
#trivia yandere halloween masterlist#trivia-yandere#explicit-tae#bts smut#bangtan smut#namjoon smut#namjoon x reader#robot x reader#android x reader#bangtanwritershq#bangtanwriters net#btswriterscollective#btswritingcafe#btswritersclub#yandere namjoon#yandere bts#sentient
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Kids Room - Eclectic Kids Ideas for an eclectic, mid-sized boy's bedroom renovation with green walls
#soft green bedroom walls#wooden toy storage box#decorative boys bedroom#modern gray upholstered chair#bedroom floor carpeting#black sconce lighting#round wooden side table
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hi, ok i have another idea for a fic which again totally up to you to write!! but i had an idea with dad!james and r where their kid is like equally obsessed with their mum as james is with r and one day james decides to prank their kid by saying something bad about the r while their kid is present and the baby just goes off. i feel like you would do an amazing job with this! feel free to ignore too. have a perfectly splendid day!!
-🪷
"the baby just goes off" painted a hilarious picture of an infant yelling at his dad in my mind lmao. ty for the request this warmed my heart to write + special thanks to @moonpascal for chatting a little about kids, gave me the reassurance & inspiration i needed
𝚋𝚞𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚜
⟢ dad!james potter x fem!reader ⊹ 1.1k ⟢ warnings/tags: fluff, dad/husband!james, mom/wife!reader, no use of y/n, no name for the son, idk how to write a child's dialogue tbh son's supposed to sound 4 years old
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
James gladly goes out of his way to mention to anyone who will listen that his little one is unmistakably a Mummy's boy. From family to friends to the poor souls who bag his groceries, James will talk the ear off of anyone he can.
He finds it to be the most endearing thing in the world— the way that your son is as obsessed with you as James is. Always staying close and clinging to you, touching affection radiating from every hug and smile.
Today, as he watches his son run back and forth across the carpet, handing his mother block after block just to see her face light up after each gift, his awe and admiration are insurmountable.
Last night, James surprised you with a pair of earrings that you have been wishing for. When your face lit up upon receiving the little leatherette box, so did your son's. He didn't quite understand why you were so excited about some cube, but since then he's been trying to replicate your excitement with presents of his own.
"Oh my! Another one! Thank you, buddy," you beam, you're gratefulness and delight unwavering as he hands you the sixth block.
Your son giggles, bouncing in his spot as you inspect each side of the little wooden toy, telling him how much you adore the blue penguin painted on one of its faces.
That's another thing that touches James' heart: the tender nurture and care that you bestow upon your son with such unwavering devotion and warmth. It has James convinced that you must be the best mum in the entire world.
He might just melt at the sight of you now, kneeling happily in front of a growing pile of blocks as your son scurries back and forth, adding to your collection. James sits cross-legged to your right, resting his elbow on his knee and laying his head in his hand, watching the two he loves most in the world with hearts in his eyes.
You gasp, as if surprised when handed block number seven. "Oh, this is my favorite one yet. How did you know I love zebras?" you ask, your thumb tracing over the red acrylic paint on the side of the block.
By the time you have twelve, nearly half of his collection, you say, "I have a lot of blocks here, buddy, do you want to give some to Daddy?"
"No!" your son protests immediately, running off to his toy box for the thirteenth time.
You and James both chuckle, exchanging amused glances. Finding your son's reaction hilarious, James’s mischievous side has him dreaming up new ways to push his buttons. Your son thinks the world of you, and James is curious to see what the little guy will do if he claims otherwise.
"Well, what am I gonna do with all of this? Should I..."
You leave your son in suspense for a moment, and his hands hover over his toy box as looks at you, hanging onto your every word in anticipation.
"...build a castle!?"
“Yeah!” your son cheers, scooping three more blocks into his arms, thrilled to supply the bricks for your castle.
James nudges you, a sign of his upcoming playfulness. “You sure about that, bud? Mummy is absolutely rotten at building castles.”
Halfway across the carpet, your son stops in his tracks, glaring at his father as he tries to keep his blocks from falling out of his arms.
Stifling a laugh, you press your fingertips to your lips. By now, you’re used to James’ bursts of mischief, and you’re more than happy to sit back and let them play out. Unless you’re an active participant, of course.
You muster up a scandalized gasp as he reaches for your mountain of presents, claiming three blocks in one hand.
“No!” your little one complains, rushing to drop his three in your lap to replace the ones that James stole, “those are Mummy’s!”
“You sure Mummy deserves all these blocks?” James asks, starting to stack them into a tower, “You watch, I’ll build a castle that’ll make her’s look like rubbish.”
Your son hastily makes his way over to his dad, both arms extended as he collides with the tower and sends the blocks flying. "Stop it," he says as he scoops up the nearest block and runs it back over to you, shouting, "Mummy's castles are the best!"
He climbs into your lap, clutching onto the toy tightly as one of your arms wraps around him, and you feel your heart start to melt as you rub soothing circles into his back. You look over your son's head, your eyes sparkling with affection as you meet your husband's tender gaze.
Not having the heart to mess with him for very long, James concedes, "You're right, I'm not being very nice, am I?"
"Nuh-uh!" your son replies, shaking his head with exaggeratedly vigor, the curls he gets from his dad bouncing about.
"What can I do to make it up to her?" James asks, turning the ordeal into a subtle lesson as he dramatically feigns sorrow and despair over his actions.
"'Pologize," your son commands, his head swiveling to look at James expectantly over his shoulder.
James puts on his most sheepish, apologetic smile, looking from his son to you. "I'm very sorry. He's right, your castles are the best. Can you forgive me, love?"
"Aw, of course I forgive you," you say warmly, your amusement manifesting as a wide smile. You lean back so you can get a good view of your son's face when you tell him, "You know, I bet what Daddy really wants is to build a castle with us. I love your presents, bud, but we don't want to leave Daddy out do we?"
He looks down at the block in his little hand. "No," he replies shyly.
"So why don't you ask him to build a castle with us?" You give him a pat on the back before releasing him from your arms. "Go on," you coax.
He steps closer to James, holding the block close to his chest. "We can all build a castle," he offers.
"Yeah?" James' face lights up, and it's not for show. Genuine joy takes over his features as he ruffles your son's hair, responding, "I'd love nothing more, little man."
"But you have to be nice to Mummy!" he demands, his little voice firm and earnest as he looks up at James with wide, serious eyes.
"I promise, I will be on my best behavior," James assures him, his voice sincere as he gives a playful salute. That's enough for your son, because he finally awards James with his very first block, which he accepts with pride.
"Good!" your son cheers, already moving on to the pile of blocks to start stacking them as he proclaims, "Mummy is the best, and we have to show it!"
Your lips part as you suck in a breath, a quiet gasp. Receiving your son's affection never fails to make your heart swell.
You don't feel James' eyes on you, but he's watching— admiring, more like, as he takes in the way that you soften at your son's sweet words. A smitten smile plays at his lips as he agrees, "She is the best, isn't she?"
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
#james potter x reader#james potter drabble#james potter oneshot#james potter fic#james potter fanfic#james potter fanfiction#james potter fluff#dad!james potter#dad!james potter x reader#husband!james potter#husband!james potter x reader#mum!reader#mom!reader#dad!james potter x mom!reader#dad!james potter x mum!reader#fluff#drabble#one shot#marauders#marauders fic#marauders era fanfic#marauders fanfic#marauders fluff#james potter
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nice boys don’t kiss like that
summary: when your former rival chances upon your diary and reads all the unpleasant things you’ve written about him, he takes it upon himself to change your mind.
⇢ pairing: kim mingyu x fem!reader ⇢ genres: fluff, developing relationship au, rivals to lovers au, pining, kind of suggestive? idk ⇢ word count: 3.3k ⇢ warnings: profanity, making out ⇢ a/n: inspired by this scene from bridget jones’s diary. reposted from my old account.
It is on a twilit Saturday evening, at precisely 7:01 P.M, that Kim Mingyu is accosted by a notebook for the first time in his life.
He lets out a startled grunt and finds himself with an armful of things—a denim jacket, a crumpled grocery shopping list, an empty box of Tic Tacs, a woollen beanie with a questionable brown stain he thinks is ketchup; all presumably from whatever depths of your drawer he can see you hunched over, searching for something that remains stubbornly elusive. The offensive projectile whizzes past his shoulder and lands on the polished wooden floor with a thud.
Mingyu stands at the doorway to your bedroom, having bypassed the living room and hallway that leads to the kitchen in favour of pressing heated kisses to your cheeks and collarbones. He watches you, bemused. A few weeks ago, he might’ve laughed at your frazzled state with derision. Now, he still wants to laugh, but more in an affectionate way.
You turn around swiftly, nearly tripping on a stray stocking on the floor, and he bites back a smile when you mumble a string of curse words under your breath.
“Hi,” you say, breathing heavily. “I’m really sorry.”
Then you slam the door shut on his face.
Well, Mingyu thinks. This is the first time a girl’s closed the door when I’m in her apartment.
Faced with nothing else to do except wait for your arrival, he drops the Tic Tac box on the floor, hangs your jacket and beanie on the back of the sofa, and almost stubs his toe on the corner of the notebook.
Wincing at the close call, Mingyu glares at the book like it’s the cause of all his troubles. DIARY, it reads, embossed in ornate gold letters. The cover is a rich shade of red, rough and leather-bound. He picks it up; it’s rather heavy, and judging by the frayed corners and the random bits of paper poking out of the sides, it seems to be quite old too. Regardless, it is well-cherished—he knows this because he knows you, and you’re the kind of person who wears your heart on your sleeve.
Which is why he knows opening it is a bad idea.
Mingyu shrugs and places the book on the coffee table, taking a seat on the plush, olive green sofa opposite it. He leans his elbows on his knees and interlaces his fingers under his chin. From the inside of your room, he can hear muffled screaming—should he be worried? The screaming stops. Mingyu lets his tense shoulders relax.
His eyes zero in on your diary once more. He shouldn’t open it—he really, really shouldn’t. It would be a horrible breach of your privacy. Your trust in him would be broken forever, and even if he somehow manages to win it back, it will always be a stain in the fabric of your still-developing relationship.
But.
One tiny peek can’t hurt, right? He’s only waiting for you to come out of your room, after all. Just one little look, and then he’ll close the book immediately. It can’t possibly hurt. Curiosity is both a blessing and a vice, he figures, and since he’s already stacked up on vices, there is no harm in adding to his karmic points.
So he picks up your diary and flips to a random page, freezing momentarily when he hears an irritated grunt and the sound of something hitting the floor from inside your room. Your handwriting is a lot messier than it usually is; you probably save your best penmanship for official things, and your personal diary is not one of them. That, or you were just frustrated.
12th June I fucking hate Kim Mingyu. I hope I never have to see him and his stupid handsome obnoxious face EVER AGAIN. I’m so DONE with him.
Mingyu’s cheeks prickle with heat. He’s thoroughly invested now. He turns to another page.
14th June Ran into KMG again today. He spilled coffee all over me what else is new but. he actually apologised!!! Crazy. Maybe he was just in a good mood. Either way, my new blouse is ruined so fuck him.
The strangest thing is that Mingyu actually remembers that day vividly. You were wearing a gorgeous cream-coloured blouse, and he was so caught up in staring at you talking animatedly with your supervisor that he zoned out completely and accidentally spilled his coffee on you because he tripped over his shoelaces. Now, knowing that your blouse was new at the time brings up a slight twinge of guilt. He’ll ask you about it later.
22nd June KMG is actually…… kinda nice? He supported me in the meeting today with the clients when they were being so tiresome. He has a nice smile I guess.
Mingyu smiles widely.
23rd June Nevermind. I take back everything I said. Kim Mingyu is a prat with zero social skills. I mean, would it kill him to say hello back??? I get that he’s busy but i thought we’d made progress. One thing is for sure. Kim Mingyu is NOT nice. Not even a little bit.
His smile falters.
The next page contains a similar anecdote—something about how he always vehemently disagrees with everything you say, and how despite his good looks he was a complete and utter asshole. Further investigation reveals the same thing: you hate Kim Mingyu with a burning passion.
And… Well, he couldn’t lie and say the feeling wasn’t mutual at one point in time—but it has mellowed down since then, gently and slowly, like a fallen leaf being carried by a soft wind. There came a day where Mingyu found himself glaring at you, not with disdain in his eyes, but with a steady thrum in his chest where his heart lay. Later, he would realise that he didn’t hate you—not even a little bit.
He assumed you felt the same way. Why else would your smirks, so full of malice, melt into grins that could light up a whole town? Why else would you agree to go on a date with him when he asked you out, one day, after work, tripping over his words like an elementary schoolboy? Why else would you invite him home and ask him to spend the night?
Of course, it doesn’t explain why you’ve locked yourself up in your bedroom currently (frankly, he’s a bit befuddled about that). But the sentiment must still be there.
It’s a diary, he reasons.
It’s your diary, his brain screams back, and that’s the real issue here, isn’t it?
Diaries are full of crap, anyway, he thinks to himself.
Diaries contain the Real Thoughts And Emotions of a human being, his brain hollers back.
Mind swirling, Mingyu closes the book and places it back on the coffee table, barely aware of his movements. Have you been lying to him? No, there’s absolutely no way—he trusts you far more than that, and besides, what would you even lie to him about? There are no benefits to stringing him along, and you’re not the kind of person who would do something like that, anyway.
You must have had a change of heart, then. That’s the only conclusion he can think of. Your diary entries come to a standstill after 27th June, which means you haven’t opened it in a while. It’s also around the same time you stopped picking fights with each other. Something must have changed by then; Mingyu is glad it did.
Satisfied with his deduction, Mingyu stuffs his hands in his pockets and crosses his ankles together. Behind your bedroom door, you remain suspiciously silent. He considers knocking on the door once to make sure you’re okay—or if you need any help, because staying put inside your room for over twenty minutes is certainly not normal when you have a guest and potential boyfriend over.
Almost as if you’ve heard his thoughts, the door to your room swings open. You stand at the doorway, breathing heavily.
“Hey,” Mingyu says, quickly standing up. “Everything good?”
You beam at him. “Perfect. Sorry to have kept you waiting, I—”
Your gaze drops to the coffee table, landing on your diary. Mingyu keeps his gaze fixed on you. You look back at him, lips parted.
“Um,” you begin. “It’s— It’s just a diary.”
“Clearly.” Mingyu fights back a smile.
You chew your bottom lip nervously. “Did you read it?”
“I did,” he confirms, nodding. “I’m sorry. I was just curious—”
You groan, lifting your hands and covering your face with your palms. “Fuck.”
Mingyu reaches out and encircles your wrists with his fingers, gently tugging your hands away from your face. He finds it oddly endearing. “It’s only a diary. I’m sorry I read it. I shouldn’t have.”
“I don’t care about that. You… you probably read all the horrible, mean things I wrote about you.”
“Well,” he says, shrugging a little, “some of the entries were definitely… interesting.”
You blink. Unable to help himself, Mingyu drops a light kiss to the tip of your nose.
“I don’t hate you, you know,” you tell him.
“Mhm.”
“I’m serious.”
“Mhm.”
“Mingyu.”
“I’ll tell you what I think about your diary later, ‘kay?” he says, hooking his pinkie finger with yours. “Come with me.”
“What? Where?” Confusion paints your features.
Mingyu huffs out a laugh. “Just trust me.”
Mingyu places the brand-new diary he’d bought for you on the dining table with a flourish. “D’you have a pen?”
You eye him suspiciously, gaze darting between him and the new, dark green notebook on the table. He grins, carefree and indulgent. Still wary, you hand him a blue ballpoint pen from the pen stand placed above the drawers to the left. He hums and uncaps it.
Flipping open the book to the first page, he bends down and writes slowly.
This book belongs to Kim Mingyu and
Mingyu stops writing and holds the pen out expectantly to you. “Here. Write your name.”
Confused, but curious, you oblige. Your name, written in your handwriting, next to his own semi-legible scrawl, makes a warm, affectionate feeling bubble up inside his chest. He wonders what it would look like when both your names are signed next to each other on a marriage certificate. Then, he wonders when and where your wedding would take place. A summer wedding sounds nice, but the sweltering heat might be a bit of a problem. Winter weddings are beautiful for sure, but neither of you is a big fan of the cold.
He’s in the process of thinking of names for your children and pet dog when you break him out of his daze.
“Hey. What’s all this about, hm?” You nudge his shoulder lightly with yours.
Mingyu says, “It’s a diary, but for both of us.”
You glance at him, eyebrows raised questioningly. He swings an arm over your shoulder and draws you closer to him, smiling when flyaway strands of your hair tickle his cheek.
“In your old diary, it was pretty obvious you, uh, didn’t like me much,” he explains, holding up his free hand when you open your mouth to protest. “I don’t blame you. We were assholes to each other most of the time. But we’ve moved past that. At least, I hope we have.”
Your reply is instantaneous. “Of course. Of course, we have.”
Mingyu trails his fingers absent-mindedly over your arm. “Right. And… It’s kind of silly, I guess—I don’t know—but I thought—if we kept a new diary together, one that we could use to document our journey, with both our perspectives in the same place—I thought it would be nice.”
Your mouth parts and you look at him, an indiscernible expression on your face. He shifts from one foot to the other, feeling suddenly nervous. You don’t betray any hint of emotion on your face, but Mingyu’s heart hammers inside his chest. What if you think he’s being silly and overly sentimental? What if you find the idea ridiculous?
“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he quickly backtracks. “I know we’ve only just moved past the idea of being more than friends, but—” He stops himself.
“But…?” you gently prompt him, twisting around to see him better.
Mingyu swallows. “But I can’t imagine not being with you.”
He hears your sharp intake of breath, and in the next moment, the breath is knocked out of his lungs when you throw your arms around his neck and pull him in for a tight, rib-squeezing hug. Automatically, his arms circle your waist, and he presses a light, barely-there kiss to the junction of your neck and jaw.
Eyes shining happily, you pull back slightly with a wide grin on your face. “You’re so hopelessly romantic, it makes my chest hurt.”
“Consider this your trial run. If you don’t like it, I’ll stop.”
“Don’t you dare.”
He sighs, content. “Okay, I won’t.”
“What should our first diary entry be about?” you ask, loosening your hold on him.
“About how you ditched me inside your house for almost half an hour after you invited me over.” He’s only half-joking.
You look away, embarrassed and sheepish. “I can explain.”
“I’m sure you can.”
“I’m being serious, Mingyu.”
“So you’ve said,” he agrees breezily.
“Actually,” you begin, a tad shy, “I was thinking it could be about this—about how you bought us a diary and then kissed me in front of the dining table after we christened the book.”
Mingyu’s eyes widen, but before he can get a word in edgewise, your lips are already centimetres away from his. “May I?” you whisper.
“Yeah. ‘Course,” he murmurs back.
The kiss makes him feel dizzy, like he’s had one too many bottles of soda—fizzy and light-headed. Your lips are soft, mouth warm; you taste like chocolate, and he licks into your mouth desperately. His fingers dig into your waist, bunching up the material of your t-shirt, and you run your hand through his hair, tugging gently. He’s kissed you before, of course, but something about this time feels important, a core memory sort of thing. Later that night, he’ll sit beside you on your bed and watch as you write in your shared diary, and he’ll make fun of the way you chew on your pen cap when you’re thinking of what to write next and you’ll shut him up with a kiss.
But for now, he indulges himself whole-heartedly. You let out little gasps which he swallows with his mouth. He tilts his head and kisses you deeper. Only when his lungs are burning does he pull away, and even then, not without a parting peck to the space in between your eyebrows.
“Mingyu,” you say, breathless.
“Yeah?” he responds, unable to tear his gaze off of your kiss-bitten lips.
“I really am sorry about what I wrote about you,” you apologise, looking down once and then back at him. “It’s only a diary—everyone knows diaries are full of crap.”
“I know.” Mingyu smiles tenderly. “I’m not mad.”
“You should be. I would be, if I was in your place.”
His eyes dart back to meet yours, and he grimaces. “If you really think about it, I’m the one who should be apologising, not you. I shouldn’t have read your diary, no matter how curious I was.”
“I… don’t really care about that, weirdly enough,” you say thoughtfully. “I was more worried about the fact that you thought I hated you and you were gonna leave me. Not so much about you reading the diary itself.”
“Pfft,” Mingyu says, affectionately condescending. “If I left you, where would I go?”
Your mouth parts as you stare at him, dumbfounded. “Jesus. How do you say things like that unironically?”
“I could compose whole sonnets about you and it wouldn’t be enough.”
“That’s ironic, I hope.”
He tilts his head and pulls you close. “Only one way to find out.”
When he captures your lips with his this time, it’s with colliding bodies and biting teeth. He runs his tongue across your bottom lip, and you shudder in his arms, moaning. Somehow, you stumble back into the living room, a mess of tangled limbs.
Briefly pulling away, Mingyu sits down on the same sofa he’d occupied earlier and clumsily pulls you onto his lap. You brace your hands on his shoulders for support, lifting your head up when he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your jaw.
“Fuck, Mingyu,” you gasp, eyes falling shut.
He hums against your skin. “Tell me what you were doing in your room for so long.”
“I was—ah—it’s embarrassing.”
Mingyu stops his movements. “I won’t judge you.”
“I know,” you say, teeth worrying your lower lip. “I’ll tell you someday.”
When you purse your lips, ready for him to kiss you again, Mingyu lets out a soft laugh. “Sweetheart.”
“What?”
“I think I need to correct some of your… perceptions of me,” he murmurs, rubbing his hands up and down your back.
You furrow your eyebrows. “What?”
“I’m sorry about your blouse,” he whispers. “You looked really pretty wearing it, you know. Got distracted. Couldn’t take my eyes off you.”
“Mingyu, I don’t know what you’re talking—” You gasp when he kisses the column of your throat.
“I’m sorry for being obnoxious,” he continues, lowering his head and pressing his lips to the pulse point on your neck. “But I’m not sorry you think I’m handsome.”
“Only your face,” you mutter, but you tug on his hair to get him to tilt his head up. When he does, you kiss him again, your hands warm and placed on the junctions where his neck meets his shoulders.
“I’ll support you in more than just meetings,” he says, pulling back. His breath ghosts over your lips, prompting a shiver to pass through your body. Your eyes widen when you finally, finally realise what he’s talking about. “I’ll tell those stupid clients to shut up and take it.”
You laugh, bright and happy, and Mingyu wants to bottle the sound up greedily. “That sounds kinda wrong,” you say.
He shrugs, his smile turning lopsided. “I’m sorry for ignoring you when you said hi to me. I won’t do it ever again.”
You laugh again, teeth flashing in the warm glow of the living room lights.
There’s an odd feeling in Mingyu’s chest—something warm and golden—something he can only describe as being terribly, hopelessly lovesick for you.
He whispers your name again, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Tell me what you were doing in your room for so long.”
You groan again, your previous amusement turning into embarrassment. Your next words are muffled by his shoulder, your lips warm against his clavicle as you mumble something only you can understand.
“What’s that? I couldn’t hear you,” Mingyu says mischievously.
Another sound of mortification.
“I won’t laugh,” he says. “Promise.”
“Underwear,” you mumble, just loud enough for him to hear. “I was searching for a better pair of underwear than the one I had on.”
To his credit, Mingyu really doesn’t laugh. It takes a lot of effort, though, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to prevent his giggles from escaping.
You lean back and narrow your eyes at him. “Oh, go on. I know you’re dying to laugh.”
He shakes his head, cheeks blown out like a pufferfish. You stare at him quietly.
Minutes later, he exhales shakily. “See? I didn’t laugh. I’m a nice guy.”
His lips find yours again, slower and more languorous this time. After all, he has all the time in the world now—to hold you like this, kiss you gently—and he plans to cherish each second. Your tongue swipes his lower lip, and he parts his mouth willingly. He feels like putty underneath you, as he uses one of his hands to cup your face and deepen the kiss. Your lips move against his, already familiar, but he could never stop craving it.
When you pull back to breathe, your eyes are wide and your lips are swollen—a fact that Mingyu notes with pride.
“Nice boys don’t kiss like that,” you breathe out.
“Oh, yes, they fucking do.”
#mingyu x reader#seventeen x reader#mingyu fluff#seventeen fluff#mingyu scenarios#seventeen scenarios#mingyu x you#seventeen x you#svt x reader#svt fluff#svt scenarios#svt x you#seventeen#kim mingyu#mingyu
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MDNI
Working at a restaurant with 141! (pt. 3)
"All of us under one roof? Have you lost the plot?"
Gaz snorts, all of you sitting at the bar. You shake your head. The thought alone makes you dizzy.
"Just me and you is hectic enough."
Gaz stares at Soap. John laughs, sipping his scotch. You think for a moment before taking your shot. Wait a fucking second. You joke about how they have decided to make your flat nothing short of a base, and if they're gonna be at your place more than theirs they should at least pay some of your bills. They freeze. Johnny nearly jumps for joy, grabbing your face and kissing you,
"Smart fuckin girl. 'N' if we're paying 'er bills, might as weel move in aye?"
That is not what you meant.
"Who knows, maybe it'll stop them from trying to drag 'er in the walk-in."
John shrugs. They cannot be entertaining this bullshit.
"Doubt it."
Simon shoots back his glass. There's a pause. They look at each other. Oh my God they are entertaining this bullshit.
"I'll think about it."
Price finishes his drink. They talk like you're not even there. You're horrified. Four men and you. One apartment. Not just any men, them. Maybe this is all some sick joke.
"You can always say no."
Simon kisses you before you hop out his car. You're not sure if you believe that. Your phone buzzed in the middle of the night, it's the group chat. Soap sends a link to a three bedroom flat,
Thoughts?
Three dots pop up.
Ok.
Simon replies. That's the only they blessing needed to move forward.
Hectic does not describe the move-in process, there are arguments on who's furniture gets moved in, who sleeps where, who gets to use which bathroom. Eventually there was a vote held (not that it mattered, John always had final say).
Anything big enough to accommodate the five of you was moved in. There would be a bed rotation, making sure no one slept with Ghost and Soap at the same time (and if everyone got tired of their shit, there's three beds for a reason.) Gaz and Soap shared a bathroom upstairs, you shared the one downstairs with Ghost and Price (this made sure you and Kyle had enough space for both your skincare products.)
You barely wore your own clothes anymore; with a closet full of clothes that were comfy and looked good on you, why bother? All your love languages included physical touch, so at any given moment, someone was touching somebody in the house. Lots of shared showers to "save water". Simon mostly cooks with the occasional help of you or Johnny. Sunday roast meant the kitchen was off limits for everyone except Simon, God help anyone who even tries to step foot in his territory.
Holidays are chaotic, always loud with a lot of drinking. And sex. Your first Christmas together was particularly memorable. Of course everyone got gifts that they treasured, including you. But you didn't know what to get Simon. Of course he was the type to say he didn't want anything but, that wasn't right. He opened his gift from you, he stared at it, said a simple thank you and slid it into his pocket. There's a game of poker being played in the living room after gifts are opened. Simon leaves to the bedroom,
"M tired."
Everyone else says goodnight, too enraptured by the game. While there's an argument about Johnny's shuffling, you walk to the bedroom. There he is, cranking the little handle on the wooden music box you gave him; it played Danny boy, wasn't bigger than the palm of your hand, and had an engraving on the inside lid.
"It's the words on the first hoodie you gave me."
"Mhm. Didn't have to get me anything."
He says, still turning the handle. Avoiding eye contact. You sit next to him.
"Don't know if you know how much you mean to me, promise I'll show you though."
His voice the softest you've ever heard. He tucks the box back into his pocket. A quick kiss to your forehead before walking back to the living room with you. This was one of the many holidays Simon didn't have to spend alone anymore.
#sorry it got sappy at the end LMAO#poly 141#141 x reader#simon ghost riley#johnny soap MacTavish#kyle gaz garrick#john price#simon ghost x reader#cod x reader#soap x reader#kyle gaz x reader#price x reader#ghost x reader#kyle gaz x you#johnny soap mctavish x reader#price x you#short stuff#simon riley x you#soap x you#johnny soap mactavish#gaz x reader#ghost x you#simon riley x reader#gaz x you#john price x reader#john price x you#141 x you#cod#cod mw2
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queen cobra
pairing: axel kovaćevic x reader
summary: the captain of cobra kai catches the eye of the captain of the iron dragons and manages to deal with her teammates and her crush on axel!
warnings: mentions of abuse, some swearing, kissing, fluff, little bit of angst and a little implication of smut at the end, kwon is alive, axel is a sweetheart, kreese is rotting in jail !
cobra kai was never your preferred environment, but you fought to survive there, even when the others tried to influence you. you were a good person and you stood by that. you just had to mask it when in the dojo. it’s not like you would be there long, the dojo was just a way to the sekai takai for you.
and you fought like fucking hell for your spot as captain.
you even dealt with the endless bullshit literally everyone except kwon and tory threw your way. before karate, you had trained boxing and taekwondo, mastering both of them. so, it was easy to say you had the highest kick of everyone your team.
which really did come in handy in moments like this! like when kwon started a stupid bet with miyagi-do over whose kicks were highest. the highest anyone had gone was some kid from the russian team named vlad.
169cm.
kwon hid you for the time being, as the miyagi-do male captain and him faced off in front of the crowd of sekai takai contestants. when they shook hands, you watched as he put chalk to his shoe and swung his leg as high as he could.
175cm.
the crowd cheered, surprised by the height he had managed. you and kwon only laughed. he stepped to the side to let you foward. “show them, captain.”
you grabbed the chalk from the ground and locked eyes with robby as you rubbed it on your shoe. you kicked as high as you could, marking an almost inhumanely high point on the wooden whale statue.
you had to admit you couldn’t eyeball the measurements on that one, but you had won by far.
there was a mixture of gasps and applause as your cobras immediately crowded around you, celebrating your easy victory. you stepped foward to the miyagi-do’s, and stuck out your hand to accept your prize.
a whole room to yourself!
you and the cobras were walking back to the hotel. you all had met up with sensei kim at a karate gym on the other side of the city, and were only now getting back. you walked ahead of the others, not really wanting to speak to them right now.
as you entered the hotel reception, you noticed a few familiar people your age, they were most likely from the same dojo. you were walking quite slow so you had time to observe.
on the couches were, a dark skinned girl, who was chewing loudly and texting on her phone and an asian boy, who seemed to be staring into nothing at all.
as you turned your attention back straight, you saw an incredibly cute boy, he looked european to you in some way, maybe scandinavian.. or slavic? you didn’t care! he towered over you, and you took a second to appreciate his features, his messy brown hair and dark green eyes, his sculpted face and built arms.
you shot him a flirty smile as you kept walking, which almost made him drop the plates he was carrying.
“axel! what the fuck? can’t you hold a plate?” the girl from the couch called out. ‘oh so she was a bitch!’ you thought, but dismissed it as you continued walking, the cobras following closely behind, chuckling at the scene.
how could he! he was such a fucking prick. yoon was already getting on your nerves but you lost your shit when he was bitching at you just because you were chosen captain over him.
you unknowingly stomped past your locker room, and accidentally pushed into the wrong one. but you heard something and quieted down. you heard loud, echoing grunts, hits and yells of “ais!”
you snuck to the doorframe, sneakily peering inside and seeing the cute boy from the lobby the day before. he was training with his sensei, delivering strike after strike to the punching mitts ahead of him.
he was insanely focused, and incredibly strong. even through the gi, you could tell he was built. the force behind his punches were insane, but his sensei withdrew from him immediately.
“what are you doing wrong?” his sensei yelled firmly and all of a sudden the incredibly powerful demeanour axel had just flaked away. he flinched as the older man threw the mitts to the floor.
you watched as his sensei struck the poor boy, you had almost grown attached to. not once, not twice. you could tell he had to hold himself back after the third time. he picked up the mitts and commanded axel to continue.
but before he even landed a second punch, the mitts were on the floor again and axel was being hit. you heart hurt to watch it. you let out a soft gasp.
axel turned his head at the sound and saw you, you shot him a sad smile and walked through the hallway, hearing his sensei yell at him as you kept walking forward.
the cobras wanted to go somewhere and get drunk, and as their captain, you had to go. plus you had secretly hoped you might bump into the guy you had been crushing on for the last two days.
kwon was slumped against the counter, trying to maintain a conversation with you, but miserably failing. yoon and the others were standing around tory, trying to make their lazy advances that seemed to go completely unnoticed.
“씨발, 나 산책하러 가야 돼.. 안전하게 지내라, 얘들아 (fuck this, i’m going on a walk, get home safe boys.)” tory practically growled at you, still insulted by the fact she couldn’t speak your language but the remainder of the team telling you goodnight or to stay safe.
you left your half empty bottle of beer on the counter as you walked out, heading straight for the beach. it was calm, and quiet, and for a second you thought you heard the same sounds as earlier.
“ais! ais!” you heard and you recognised the voice, turning to watch as axel stood a couple metres away from you, shirtless, practising his kata. you watched for a couple moments before you spoke up.
“that’s a really cool kata, what’s it called?” he immediately turned around. he smiled at the sight of you and answered softly, “it’s called enpi.”
you nodded and were about to answer before he spoke again, “i don’t mean to be rude, but it’s a pretty common kata, and you’re an incredible fighter, i’m shocked you don’t know it.”
you looked at the floor for a second, before meeting his eyes, as they watched you. “it’s okay! i’m originally a kick-boxer and i studied taekwondo, so that’s my more proficient area.. i can apply a lot of it to karate though so it’s perfect!”
he nodded and gave you a small smile as he continued the conversation with you. “you’re incredibly strong in karate, i wouldn’t have noticed!” he spoke to you.
you stepped closer to him and brushed his arm. “thank you, you’re very strong, i mean clearly.” you said, trying to make it clear you were flirting with him. “i-thank you.” his smile turned bashful and he felt his cheeks heat up.
“you’re amazing.” he said, and immediately paused to reformulate his statement. “i-mean your dojo’s amazing!” you beamed at him. he was honestly so cute you wanted to squeal sometimes.
you smiled, about to speak but he beat you to it once more. “can i join?” he asked you, and you immediately felt yourself get kind of excited at the idea.
“the cobras? i mean, the boys are stupid but kwon’s okay, he just tries to overcompensate when he’s around others but he’s such a sweetheart i promise-“ you began to ramble.
“i meant your walk..” he replied, almost annoyed with himself that he interrupted you once more. you smiled at him once more and accepted. “of course!” you watched as he turned around to grab his jacket.
your eyes fixed on his back, and the scars covering it. you touched them experimentally and felt his body tense under your hand. “i-i’m sorry.. are you okay?” you asked him, empathy laced in your voice.
he quickly grabbed his jacket and put it on, hiding his back from you. “i’m okay.” he quickly dismissed you. you slid your hand into his and nodded somberly. the pair of you started to walk towards the footpath.
you responded to him. “you don’t have to talk to me about it, but i know what it’s like to have an abusive sensei and it’s always okay to not be okay.” you turned your head to face him as he did the same for you.
“thank you. it means a lot.” he smiled softly as you both stood still and he stared at your face. you asked him to lean down a little bit, claiming you had a “secret” to whisper to him.
once he was close enough to your height, you reached onto your tippy toes and gave him a soft peck on the cheek. you let out a soft giggle as you did and he could’ve sworn he felt his heart beat out of his chest.
you had stumbled upon the cobras, well not all of them, but yoon and a few others. they were clearly drunk and yoon smirked as he saw you. “y/nnn, who’s the guy?” yoon asked, cockily as he dragged out the last letter.
axel’s hand tightened protectively against yours.
“who would’ve thought our captain’s with the enemy..” another boy pressed behind him, and you couldn’t quite make out who it was but it enraged you. you replied to them sharply, with authority.
“you know, i’m sure sensei kim would love to hear that her star fighter was being preyed on by a bunch of drunk losers on her team.” that’s when the remainder of the cobras scattered, but yoon stood in place. you were loosing your patience, and so was axel.
“and i’m sure sensei kim would love to hear that her star fighter is fucking around with some pussy off the hong kong team.” yoon cockily challenged you, but axel stepped forward instantly.
you put a hand on his chest and pushed him back, reassuring him you’d handle it but he kept his fists clenched in preparation.
you stepped towards yoon and spoke to him loudly. “지난번에 팀원 중에 나한테 엉뚱한 짓을 한 사람이 있었던 걸 기억나? (remember what happened the last time someone on the team fucked with me?)” he swallowed and waited for you to continue.
“그러니 그런 일이 일어나기 전에 빨리 호텔로 돌아가세요. (so get your pussy ass back to the hotel before it happens to you).” and with that, he sprinted in the opposite direction, following after his teammates.
you turned back to axel and smiled, “i’m so sorry, you had to be there for that.” you spoke softly to axel and you felt his rough hands envelope yours. “it’s okay, i’m sorry you have to put up with that.” he answered. gazing into your eyes.
“it’s okay, it’s not your fault. it’s all you expect from egotistical teenage boys.” you smiled a little, trying to lighten the mood a little bit.
“i’m not like that, am i?” he asked you, worried that he was like them. you instantly shook your head. “nonono, axel, not at all.” your gaze flicked between his lips and his eyes and he noticed it.
he held himself back, with the worry that you may have only done it as a mistake, or a way to make sure he was comfortable. he released one of your hands and the pair of you kept light conversation as you walked.
outside your hotel, he stopped. “we’re in the same hotel, axel, we don’t need to split up.” you turned to face him and watched as his brow furrowed slightly, in thought. he brushed a strand of hair away from your face.
you leant into his touch and looked up at him, knowing it was his way of making a move. you reached as high as you could to put a hand on the back of his neck, and the other rested on his chest as you pulled him into you.
his lips met yours. they were soft and you couldn’t help yourself. his hands reached down to your waist before he pulled away.
“we should probably go to our rooms now.” he said, and you giggled softly, once again, still excited from your kiss. you nodded in agreement, as you held hands again and walked to the elevator.
as soon as the doors shut, he couldn’t help himself any more and pressed you softly against the wall as you continued what you had done just a few minute prior, outside the hotel.
except this time, it was deeper, and it was hungry. his hands wandered over your body, tapping under your thighs, telling you to jump, and as you did, his strong arms held you, kneading at the flesh there as he continued to attack your lips.
at some point, when the pair of you were so wrapped up in eachother, the elevator doors opened. he frowned as you pulled away from him and commanded him jokingly to “put you down!”
he did, and just as you were about to leave, he spoke up once more. “let me walk you back.” and you accepted, still giddy from your stolen kisses.
once you reached your door you smiled and leant up to peck him on the cheek. “goodnight, axel!” and just as you turned around he grabbed your wrist and pulled you to him once more.
he kissed you one last time before you went inside. “goodnight beautiful.” he smiled as he started walking away. it took you too seconds before you called after him, dragging him back once more.
“axel, i do have a room to myself… if you wanted to put it to good use?”
#axel kovacevic x reader#axel kovacevic#cobra kai#cobra kai x reader#kwon jae sung#kwon jae-sung#karate kid#fan fiction#axel x reader#iron dragons
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Biggest Regret. (Part Two)
Previous | Master Post | Next
Bruce had finally found a peaceful moment to sit down and go through his work emails; there were no sibling homicide fights, prank wars, and thankfully no vigilante-related headaches.
Just a peaceful afternoon; normal polluted Gotham skies, the usual city ruckus of honking horns and shouting, and the constant footsteps back and forth past his closed office door.
taking a sip from his old mug, Bruce opened his laptop. Quickly typing in his password for the hour, he made his way to his email. surprisingly, less than 90 emails were waiting for him. Usually, he had hundreds to go through.
hmmm. Another check for this being a suspiciously good day then, it just made him more anxious for when the other shoe would fall.
peaceful for Gotham, for him, never meant anything good. It always happened right before a tragic event or large-scale Arkham breakout. he could hope for it to just be a peaceful day, but he knew wishful thinking was useless.
taking another sip, Bruce started scrolling through his emails, reading the subject lines to sort through which ones were more important. After a few minutes of reading, Bruce stopped and reread the second to last email's title, his eyebrows furrowing:
A Video From Your Son.
Now, Bruce was truly confused; Why would one of his kids email him? let alone through his public work email? They've been told multiple times to email him through the bat-email if it contains anything important or time-sensitive. Heck, they've been told to just text him it if it was important, he always answers a text faster than an email.
His Bruce Wayne email was notoriously ignored for multiple days; mostly for his cover story, but also because he spends most of his time doing Batman stuff. (Reading Wayne Enterprises emails usually wasn't something at the top of his list, the kids know this.)
so, then why would one of them email him?
hmm. maybe? maybe one of the boys set up a long-term prank or something. They know how long it takes for him to read his emails, so maybe they sent it knowing it would take a while, which means they had plenty of time to set something up.
yes, that's it. it makes total sense.
Clicking on the email, he was greeted with a boy (who looked a lot like Damian, but who most certainly wasn't) sitting gravely on a wooden box in some dark warehouse.
sitting up straight, Bruce set his mug down and studied the paused video. the boy looked so much like Damian that Bruce almost wanted to believe he was a clone. but his bright stern blue eyes and and apparent freckles pushed the idea away.
Yes, clones can have imperfections, especially when made in a rush, but never something as drastic as the wrong eye color or a genetic quality the one being cloned didn't have. Unless, the one making the clone had no idea what they were doing, but Bruce doubted Talia would have allowed someone to take Damian's DNA before he was given to Bruce.
and the boy on screen had scars, lots of scars, meaning if he was a clone then he was made before Bruce even knew of Damian.
hmm.
there were no clues provided in the kid's surroundings; the warehouse was surprisingly empty of anything important or telling. the kid had even chosen a spot where Bruce couldn't tell if it was day or night, or if the lights were on. which took away the usual ways of figuring out where the boy was.
No sky meant he couldn't calculate the general area based on season and celestial bodies. And because he couldn't tell if the light was from industrial lighting or daylight, he couldn't cross out warehouses with electricity. The kid was smart. smarter than the average citizen at least.
he was also wearing discreet clothing; which meant Bruce couldn't trace him through that either.
leaning forward so he could rest his elbows on his knees, Bruce pressed play and gave the video his full attention.
The boy on screen sat in silence for a moment, seemingly gathering his thoughts. his hands rested in his lap, his poster rather relaxed as he sat on his wooden crate.
"This is video eight." the boy spoke, his voice rough with sleepless nights and yelling. Did he yell at people often? or had he gotten into a fight previously? there were seven other videos, but this was the first one Bruce saw. he'd have to go back and see if he had somehow missed them.
"don't worry, you didn't miss anything." the boy chuckled humorously, running one of his hands through his hair. Bruce noted that it shook, the kid was probably nervous, or hungry. the kid looked too skinny to be healthy...
"no, this is just the eighth time I've had to record this." the boy continued, dropping his hand back into his lap as he slumped forward, his black hair falling into his face.
"this video," he continued, not glancing up, "is for Bruce Wayne's eyes only."
there were still no visual tells on where the boy was, not even audio cues for Bruce to study. frowning, Bruce rested his head on his hands, taking in everything the boy said.
"Hi Dad," Bruce sucked in a breath, tensing up as the kid finally glanced back at the camera.
"I'm Danny. you likely don't know I exist, and if you're receiving this; I'm already dead." he chuckled like the thought of his death was laughable. "well, more dead than I already was." he snorted, shaking his head in a way that reminded Bruce of Damian when he was exasperated or disappointed.
"Maybe it's cruel of me to send you a message post-mortem," Danny, the kid's name is Danny, looked away. He rubbed his neck awkwardly as he continued, "But you deserve the truth, and telling you earlier would've put you in danger."
Danny let out a breath as he pulled his legs up onto the crate, "this email is set to automatically send if I haven't opened my laptop for three days. I sometimes set it longer if I'm expecting trouble or going to be away for a while, but I've most likely been away from home for a bit over three days if you're receiving this."
Danny looked so tired as he looked back at the camera, the dark bags under his eyes worse than even Tim's after a week-long investigation.
"I don't know who killed me. Obviously, I'm recording this in advance... I have my suspicions though. it was most likely either the GIW or my adoptive parents, the Fentons." Danny reached beside him and held up a two pictures, "This is Maddie and Jack Fenton, and this," another picture, "is some GIW agents."
Danny snorted as he glanced at the GIW agents, their startled faces slightly blurry as Danny stood in front of them and took a selfie. bruce wasn't sure if he was amused or not that the kid took a selfie with his potential murderers but then again, Bruce could see all of his children doing it too. (Bruce could also see himself doing it.)
"i half-died at 14," Danny suddenly added, tossing the pictures to the side. "became the local ghost superhero..."
he stared off to the side for a moment, "but they never realized I was trying to help and kept talking about tearing ghost me apart molecule by molecule." Danny glanced back at the camera before his eyes widened, "my parents! I mean, my parents and the GIW wanted to tear me apart, not the town! though they probably wouldn't have disagreed with it if asked..."
"anyway," Danny shook his head, "my money's on that being what happened..." Danny looked down at his hands like he was seeing them for the first time, "there will be nothing left of me to bury..."
"Sorry about that!" he suddenly added, a bright smile on his face. Bruce could tell it was strained, forced in hopes of not upsetting him.
"you'd probably have to cremate me if there was, it'd be a waste of wood to get me a coffin... though I'd really prefer if I wasn't set on fire," Danny chuckled, trying to hide a full-body shiver.
He sat in silence for a moment before Danny continued, "The rest of the story is this: I was raised in an assassin cult, eventually escaping at the age of nine. they sent me on a mission and I just had to take the opportunity. I successfully faked my death."
Danny sat up now, fully focusing on the camera, "My biggest regret is that I escaped alone. And that's the reason I'm reaching out to you."
Danny let his feet fall off the edge as he grabbed something from next to him, keeping it out of view for now. "you're a civilian," Danny stated like it was a fact he knew to be true.
Bruce clenched his jaw, trying to keep himself still so he could focus on what Danny was telling him. he wished he could reach through the screen and hold the boy, whether he was his son or not, he obviously was talking about the league which meant Talia hadn't told him.
Talia hadn't told him, and if he was anything like Damian, then he would have no reason to believe otherwise.
"If you know too much about the League of Assassins you'll be in danger, but I need you to save my twin Damian." Danny's words were like a final nail in the coffin, the final straw to keeping his heart from breaking again.
it was true, it had to be. How would Danny have this information otherwise?
"he's likely still there after all these years. he never wanted to escape; he took pride in being the heir to the league. he's probably going to be stabby: he's an assassin after all, but it's not his fault. Ra's, our grandfather, indoctrinated him a lot more successfully than he did me. Damian was more susceptible to it... it's not his fault." Danny repeated, clenching the object he had grabbed.
"Please," Danny pleaded, "save him. I'm begging you. My biggest regret is leaving Damian in the league. You have a chance to save him. Please, please take it."
Danny bit his lip and glanced down at his lap, "I w-," he quickly glanced around before shaking his head, "I long for a time when it would have been safe for me to get to know you. You seem like a cool dad, from what I've seen of you on the news with your oldest kids."
he looked up with a water smile, "I bet you're like that with the youngest you hide from the public too. I still don't know how you managed that, it's been six years." Danny chuckled, wiping the tears from his eyes.
"This is my, um, my old league sigil." Danny held up the object he had been holding, revealing a golden disk with thick rope connected to it. it had the demon head's symbol on it.
"A coat of arms. I'll leave it somewhere for you. hopefully, you can use it to get to Damian." Danny gently placed it back on the box. "I'm keeping it in a box in the walls of my room. You should be able to find it."
"I wish you and your family the best," Danny sniffed, looking back at the camera. "thank you for listening. From your long lost almost certainly dead by now son, Danny Fenton."
Bruce stared at the paused video for a minute, just trying to process everything he just saw. he needed confirmation, he knew it was true, it had to be, there's no way Danny could fake this. but Bruce needed to confirm. make sure he isn't seeing things.
absently, Bruce pulled out his phone and dialed his youngest's, was he still the youngest? or was Danny? number.
the tone didn't even ring longer than five seconds before his son's voice echoed into the silent office, "Father."
"Damian, did you have a twin named Danny?" Bruce asked, not cutting around the bush.
dead silence, he couldn't even hear Damian's breath.
then, "...Who told you?"
Damian's voice wasn't angry or fearful, it was sad and confused and wavered like the last leaf on a tree clinking on for dear life in a blizzard. it cemented the break in Bruce's heart as he stared at the tearful face of his son, his son who claimed to be dead already.
hanging up, Bruce quickly sent the video to Damian and waited. he needed a minute to process what just happened. Clicking play, Bruce rewatched the video, hoping to find another clue.
Damian called back a few minutes later, the sound of Danny's voice echoing in the background telling Bruce his son had watched and rewatched the video just like he had.
"Father. I do not care what state he is in, even if there is only a single molecule left. I'm going to bring him home. We must discover exactly what happened to Danny, the truth."
"I couldn't agree more, Damian," Bruce grunted, standing up. Pushing his chair in, he turned his laptop off and made his way to his office door. "I'll be home soon, gather the others. tell them all hands on deck."
"yes, Father," Robin replied, hanging up not even a second later.
Shoving his phone in his pocket and opening his office door, Batman started making his way home.
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#dcxdp#dc x dp#dp x dc#dc x dp crossover#batman#batfam#bruce wayne#danny phantom#damian wayne#damian al ghul#biggest regret au#part two#danny is an al ghul#demon twin au
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