#but i will say that the echoes of his presence are still there

[strayingawayy]

nothing fucks with my baby

...the one where someone messes with you and seungmin isn't having it

the hallway is quiet, but it isn’t empty. it hums with the weight of something unspoken, something sharp enough to cut if you’re not careful. seungmin stands there, just at the edge of the dim light, his figure carved from shadow and slow-burning anger. the air around him feels different. thick, heavy, like it knows better than to move.

you’re a few steps away, arms wrapped around yourself, the echo of too-close laughter still burning under your skin. your heart stutters against your ribs, frantic and unsettled. he looks at you then, and it’s not just a glance. it’s the kind of look that holds things...promises, warnings, the weight of something you’re not sure you can carry alone.

"you okay?" his voice is low, tight, like he already knows the answer.

you nod, but it’s shaky. "yeah."

it’s a lie, and he knows it. his eyes darken, his jaw tightens, and the space between you shrinks as he steps closer, his presence wrapping around you like armor. his fingers find your wrist, barely there, a whisper of contact, but enough to keep you from unraveling.

"tell me who it was." his voice is steady, but there’s something underneath it now. something that simmers.

you shake your head. "it’s fine, minnie. really."

but it’s not, and you can see it in the way his lips press into a thin line, in the way his shoulders coil tight, like he’s holding something back. there’s a storm in him, slow and deliberate, the kind that doesn’t lash out. it waits. builds. consumes. and then...

then, footsteps. a creak of a door.

and there he is. the staff member. the one who thought he could take up too much space, could laugh too close, could touch too freely. still smirking like nothing happened, like he’s untouchable and you feel it prick at your skin and you're trembling again.

seungmin doesn’t hesitate. he moves with a quiet kind of purpose, the kind that doesn't need force to be felt. he doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t shove. he just stands there, in front of the guy, like an immovable force. like something you don’t challenge unless you're stupid enough to try. because kim seungmin isn't one for confrontation. but you know you're absolutely fucked over if he does.

"you think you're clever, don't you?" seungmin's voice is calm, even and there's a twitch in his jaw which is visible even from the distance.

the man blinks, his confidence flickering. "i-i was just joking around-"

"don't," seungmin says, and it’s not loud. it doesn’t need to be. "not with them. not ever. you hear me? now get out of my sight before you dig yourself a bigger grave."

there’s something final in his words, something that settles deep, something that doesn’t leave room for argument. the guy stammers, shifts on his feet, then disappears down the hall, too cowardly to look back.

seungmin watches him go, unmoving.

you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, the tightness in your chest easing just a little. "you didn’t have to do that."

he turns to you then, and there’s something softer in his eyes now, something only for you. "i did."

his hand finds yours, laces your fingers together in a way that’s quiet and steady and everything you didn’t know you needed. his thumb brushes over your knuckles, grounding you back to this moment, to him.

"nothing fucks with my baby," he murmurs, and it’s not just a statement. it’s a vow, carved into the space between you, carved into the universe that's written with your names.

and you believe it.

[faesvorite]

┆ souls bound within reach. ★ ₊ ˚⟡ 

ᐟ𝜗𝜚‎₊༉⋆ a sylusmc story by faesvorite.

“These are the hands that once thrusted a sword upon my chest,” Sylus murmurs with such reverence as he leans into your palms. Turning his head slightly, he places his lips against your soft hand and takes a playful nibble on your skin. “And yet, these hands have also saved a damned soul like mine to be bound to yours.” a story in which your reoccurring dreams have finally led you back to Sylus's arms.

[notes: this is my first time ever posting here on Tumblr in a long while. very self indulgent. follow me on Twitter / X as well @faesvorite]

The wind whipped through your hair as you glance down the skyline of the N109 Zone. Standing at the very top of one of its many towers, you look around to the mess of bodies laying around the concrete roofing. As you stand by the edge of the tower's top floor, lost in thought with a recurring dream that seems to be more like reality, it was immediately snapped as you hear loud grunts behind you. Falling like flies, bodies thud down the concrete surface as you feel a familiar presence in the vicinity.

“Looks like the trash still needs to be taken care of, sweetie.” Your ears perked as you recognized that very familiar voice. Turning your head, you lock eyes with the leader of Onichynus. Sylus. Not too far behind him are the loyal twins— Luke and Kieran. The twins seem to follow his every move and every command. No surprise there that they’d be present, but you were hoping to have Sylus come alone. 

“Take care of this mess,” Sylus says with a snap of his fingers. A red string of energy manifesting around some bodies and piling them to the side as he approaches you. His eyes gleam as he stares at yours. “I can’t afford to waste anymore time not spent with a certain someone who seems to demand my attention right now.” 

You scoff. Here he goes again with the dramatics. Crossing your arms, you step off the ledge and meet Sylus’s steps halfway. “For the record,” You say as you glance up at him. “I am not demanding your attention. You invited me, and I happened to be free and wanted to chat.”

“I parked downstairs.” He says nonchalantly as he steps towards you, a hand now outstretched to your view. “Unless you want to dilly dally longer, then we should start heading out.”

———

Taking Sylus’s hand, he immediately envelops you in a comforting red mist. Sooner than you would even realize, you’ve both managed to arrive downstairs to where his motorbike was parked. Quickly tossing you your helmet, Sylus chuckles as you catch it with ease. 

“Come on,” He says smoothly as he starts the motor engine. Glancing at you, you could practically see that cocky smirk matched with that all-knowing gleam of his eyes underneath the visor of his helmet. “You’re in a rush.” You say as you place your helmet on and climb behind Sylus, wrapping your arms around his waist. Once you secure yourself embracing Sylus, he revs the engine, the powerful motorbike roaring to life beneath you. The city's ruined skyline blurred as you sped through the desolate streets of N109 Zone, a stark reminder of the world that once was. "You know me too well, sweetheart," Sylus shouted over the wind, his voice tinged with amusement. "But I'm not the only one with secrets, am I?"

You tighten your grip around his waist, feeling the warmth of his body through his leather jacket. Remaining silent, you take the time to ponder to yourself. There’s a reason why you wanted to talk to Sylus alone. Maybe he has the answers to the recurring nightmares you’ve been having recently. You must press on. There it goes again, echoing in your head as the wind whips through your ears. With a sigh, you take in a deep breath and focus on what’s important right now.

As you weaved through abandoned vehicles and debris, you couldn't help but wonder where Sylus was taking you.  "Somewhere special," he replied cryptically, as if sensing your curiosity through his leather jacket. "A place where we can talk without prying ears."

The motorbike suddenly veered off the main road, taking a hidden path that led deeper into the ruined side roads. You held on tighter as Sylus navigated the treacherous terrain with expert precision. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally slowed down, coming to a stop in front of a river looking over what seems to be Linkon City. 

Wait a minute, this place looks familiar. 

Sylus killed the engine and removed his helmet, revealing his piercing eyes and that infuriatingly handsome smirk. "We're here," he announces, offering his hand to help you off the bike. As you take off your own helmet, you survey the area. You were right. This was the place where you both enjoyed each other’s company, watching fireworks in the snow after releasing the injured dove you spotted.

“Surprised?” Sylus says with a chuckle. “I had an inkling that you wanted to be somewhere else.” 

You nod, his fingers still lingering over yours. You shudder, releasing a chilly breath as the wind seems to howl even more. Noticing this rather new side of yours, Sylus takes off his leather jacket and places it on top of your shoulders. “For a hunter to come unprepared, my.. That sounds rather troublesome. Aren’t you lucky for me to be such a benevolent host?”

With a laugh, you pull his leather jacket closer to your frame. It smells like him— a mix of gin fizz lingering and the husk scent of citrus dancing around with earthy undertones. Very on brand. “Maybe I am lucky,” You murmur softly as you glance back at him. Sylus matches you laugh, amused at your rather innocent antics. 

There’s a pause between you both as you gaze at one another. It’s beginning to become like that night once more as the snow falls slowly on your heads. As you and Sylus stood under the falling snow, you felt a sudden urge to share (quite bluntly) your own troubles. Sensing your worries, Sylus raises an eyebrow. “What’s wrong? I can always be an ear for you if needed.” 

Smiling at him, you now feel even stronger to share the recurring dreams that had been haunting you for a while now. Lingering mixed voices seem to echo in your head once more. Replaying like a broken record that you cannot seem to shake off. You must press on… I curse your soul... to never fade away. You'll always be tied to me. Forever.

“Sylus,” you began, your voice barely above a whisper, "actually, there's something I need to tell you as to why I asked to see you." Taking a deep breath to gather your courage, you resume your train of thought. "I've been having these dreams... vivid ones. They feel more like memories than fantasies. And they're always about... us."

Sylus's eyebrows raise slightly, but he remains silent, encouraging you to continue. 

“In those dreams… I can’t explain it, but it sounds like those fairy tales you would tell me about a dragon.” You let out a smile, recalling your dreams of a dragon flying you up in the sky and the sounds of laughter filling your ears. “A dragon, and instead of a princess… there was someone else. A girl. She was a damsel, but never in distress… and together, they were happy.”

You notice Sylus's breath catch, but you proceed to tell what you’ve been experiencing, the words tumbling on without restraint as if you were being possessed. “They were an unlikely pair at first, but they taught each other more of one another. How to live, how to laugh, and how to love.” You feel your eyes become teary before continuing the last part. “And she lost her dragon in the end. The dragon that she loved so much and taught how to be human.” 

“And that was… us.” Your eyes meet Sylus’s soft gaze, a moment of realization now striking you as you feel your heart— the aether core searching for Sylus’s. His eyes search yours, gleaming in the night light, before releasing a huff. He remains quiet for a moment, before taking a steady step towards you to cup your cheeks and wipe away any tears threatening to fall. His hands, calloused and cold, felt warm against your cheek. Normally you would have pulled away, but you didn’t. It’s like your heart wanted this. Wanted Sylus to be this close.

Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face. "I never thought you'd be the one to bring this up," he said softly. Your heart raced. "You mean...?"

“I’ve been waiting for you, sweetheart.” He says softly, barely above a whisper.  "I've had those dreams too long ago. I was just waiting for you to finally realize it, to realize how we’re the same and how we’re both true kindred spirits.” 

Sylus takes your hands in his, before placing them up to his cheek.

“These are the hands that once thrusted a sword upon my chest,” Sylus murmurs with such reverence as he leans into your palms. Turning his head slightly, he places his lips against your soft hand and takes a playful nibble on your skin. “And yet, these hands have also saved a damned soul like mine to be bound to yours.”

He looks back up at you, his lips still on your hand before releasing it with a soft pop. “I’d be glad to have our souls bound to each other, my sorceress.”

As Sylus leaned in, closing the distance between you, you realized that this confession was just the beginning. And with a new beginning, you both seal it with a soft kiss.

[zerocoded]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

unfortunately, you were scared of both.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you could never.”

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

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

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

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

a week ago.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

fuck, caleb was trembling.

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

—with the forgiving part, you wanted to complete.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it felt like your core had its own heartbeat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

in a good way, it seems.

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

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

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

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

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

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

did he feel this instant pull towards each other too? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

was he talking about your pussy? oh god.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it’s dramatic, sure, but it works.

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

was that what he wanted to hear all along?

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

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

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

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

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

a rope.

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

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

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

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

god, this was so hot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“caleb, fuck, caleb!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

taglist: @bbieainee

[anakinca]

I have this idea... There is a strong storm on Coruscant, Anakin's padawan is afraid of storms so she goes to look for him in his room since it's night time and there is no one in the corridors.

She arrives at the door but she feels ashamed to look for him because of something silly when she was about to leave, the door opens and she sees Anakin with a frown of concern when he sees his pretty girl with her eyes shining with tears, Anakin is about to ask her what's wrong when a thunder sounds and she shrieks and in an unconscious movement she rushes to hug Anakin by the waist with her face pressed to his (perfect 😍) chest.

Anakin lifts her up in his arms puts her on his bed he lays down next to her, faces her and looks at her with so much love , he tells her that as long as she is with him she should not be afraid he will protect her. In an act of adoration Anakin kisses her on the lips. And so she falls asleep happy to hear the constant heartbeat of her beloved master.

I hope you like it 💗 Please, fluff

—❝your sanctuary❞

anakin skywalker x reader

tw ; nothing, just pure fluff

a/n ; this was so adorable to write, angel 😭😭 i loved loved LOVED coming up with something for this, so i'm hoping u all enjoy this <333 also guys pls i swear im responding to all your requests soon, i'm writing all of them as of now 😭 but my requests are always open, so please feel free to send any in <3

THE STORM ON CORUSCANT RAGED WITH A FEROCITY THAT RATTLED THE VERY WALLS OF THE JEDI TEMPLE. Lightning painted the city in stark flashes of white and silver, the thunder following like a giant’s roar, shaking the floors beneath your feet. Rain streamed against the windows in relentless sheets, the sound echoing down the empty corridors.

You couldn’t sleep. Not with the storm raging outside, each crack of thunder making your chest tighten just a little more. The shadows seemed darker tonight, the cold more biting. It was silly, you told yourself over and over again. You were a Jedi Padawan—fear of storms was something you should’ve outgrown long ago. But no matter how much you repeated it, your feet carried you down the dimly lit hallways toward the one place that always made you feel safe; your master’s quarters.

Stopping just outside his door, you hesitated—the shame creeping in like a cold breeze. What were you doing? Anakin would probably laugh or tease you for this. Or worse—he’d think less of you for being so afraid of something so small. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. Maybe you should just go back to your room. The storm wouldn’t last forever, and you could handle a few more hours of this… right?

Just as you turned to leave, the door slid open with a soft hiss, and there he was.

Anakin stood in the doorway, his brow furrowed in concern, his hair adorably tousled from sleep. He was shirtless with only a black lounge robe on, hanging just slightly off his frame, and yet he somehow still looked like the most solid, comforting presence in the galaxy. His eyes—those familiar, warm blue eyes—softened the moment they landed on you.

“Hey,” he said gently, his voice low and a little rough from sleep. “What’s wrong?”

The words hit you like a wave, and before you could answer, a deafening clap of thunder shook the Temple. You couldn’t stop the small whimper that escaped your lips, or the way your feet carried you forward in an instant. Without thinking, you threw your arms around his waist, pressing your face into the warm, solid expanse of his chest.

His body stiffened for only a second before he melted into the hug, his arms wrapping around you protectively. One hand rested on your back, the other gently cradling your head as he leaned down, pressing his cheek lightly to the top of your hair. “Hey, it’s okay,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “I’ve got you.”

You didn’t say anything, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his robe as you buried yourself deeper against him. His heartbeat thudded steadily beneath your ear, a quiet, comforting rhythm that began to calm the storm inside you, even as the one outside continued to rage.

After a moment, he shifted, his hands never leaving you as he scooped you up effortlessly into his arms. The motion caught you by surprise, but you didn’t protest, instead curling into him like a lifeline. He carried you back inside, the door sliding shut behind him, muffling the sound of the storm ever so slightly.

He crossed the room to his bed, lowering you onto the soft mattress with the utmost care, as if you were something fragile and precious—which to him, you are.

You watched him through tear-brimmed eyes as he settled beside you, his body close but not overwhelming—his face soft with concern and something else you couldn’t quite place.

Reaching out, he brushed a strand of hair from your face with the kind of tenderness that made your chest ache. His touch lingered, his thumb gently tracing along your cheek. “You don’t have to be afraid,” he said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper. “As long as you’re with me, nothing can hurt you. I won’t let it.”

The sincerity in his voice, the sheer weight of his promise, made your heart flutter. His eyes held yours, filled with so much love, so much quiet devotion, that it made the rest of the galaxy seem insignificant.

You nodded, your lips parting as if to say something, but the way he looked at you stole the words before they could come. His gaze was intense yet tender, as if you were the only thing in the galaxy that mattered to him in that moment.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The storm continued to rage outside, but it felt distant now, like it couldn’t reach you here. His hand moved to cup your face fully, his thumb tracing soft circles along your cheekbone. And then, as if compelled by a force greater than himself, he leaned in.

You froze, your breath catching as his lips brushed against yours, hesitant and searching. It was a kiss unlike anything you had imagined—soft, reverent, and filled with so much unspoken emotion that your eyes fluttered closed as you kissed back. For a brief second, you thought he might pull away, but then he deepened the kiss ever so slightly, as if he couldn’t help himself.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. His eyes searched yours, filled with an almost desperate kind of love and a flicker of guilt that quickly faded as you leaned into him, your trust in him unwavering.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I couldn’t...”

You shook your head, stopping him from continuing, a small, trembling smile gracing your lips. “Don’t be.”

He exhaled a shaky breath, his arms wrapping around you once more as he pulled you close. This time, you didn’t hesitate, letting yourself melt into him completely. His embrace was your sanctuary, his warmth chasing away every lingering trace of fear.

The storm outside continued to rumble, but in his arms, you felt nothing but peace. His heartbeat, steady and constant beneath your ear, became the only sound that mattered. As sleep began to claim you, you felt him press a gentle kiss to your hair, his voice a soft murmur against your skin.

“Sleep, sweetheart. I’ll protect you, always.”

And as your eyes drifted closed, your last thought was exactly that—that no matter how loud the storm grew, as long as you were in his arms, you would always feel safe.

@thesassypadawan @anakinstwinklebunny @sydkneez @dessxoxsworld @nikiloveshayden @sweetcheesecakesblog

let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the tag list, angels <3

[wendichester]

Hello! May I request a poly (no wincest ofc) Sam & Dean x reader, where maybe reader is having a bit of a bad mental day

And though they both notice, they don't say anything bc they don't wanna be that last drop to a breakdown

And then later they come back from a food run and find ready crying and they comfort her with soft kisses and sweet words while she's sandwiched between them

Tysm lovely!! You're the best

⋆ ₊ ° ⊹ everything will be alright,

summary. sam and dean will always be there to comfort you when things are rough

pairing. dean winchester x reader x sam winchester ( poly relationship )

wordcount. 656

notes. thank you so much for requesting this, bubs! honestly--the dream it would be to have the comfort of both sam and dean sigh

The day feels heavier than usual, the kind of weight that settles in your chest and refuses to budge no matter how many distractions you throw at it. You keep your head down, trying not to let it show as you sit at the bunker’s library table, pretending to skim through lore books that might as well be blank pages for all the focus you can muster.

Sam and Dean notice, of course. They always do.

Dean keeps sneaking glances your way, his lips twitching like he wants to say something but thinks better of it. Sam hovers a little closer than usual, his hand brushing against your shoulder when he passes by, his eyes soft with quiet concern. They don’t push, though, which you’re grateful for. You’re not ready to put words to the storm brewing inside you.

“We’re heading out for food,” Dean announces after a while, grabbing his keys. “You want anything specific?”

You shake your head without looking up, your voice coming out quieter than you intended. “Whatever’s fine.”

Dean lingers for a second longer than necessary, and Sam gives you one of those tender, searching looks, but they don’t press. They just nod and leave, the sound of the Impala’s engine rumbling faintly as it fades down the road.

The quiet of the bunker feels deafening in their absence. You try to focus on the book again, but the words blur, the pressure in your chest building until it spills over. Before you know it, tears are streaming down your face, hot and relentless. You don’t even bother wiping them away, letting the weight of the day finally crash over you.

You’re still sitting there, shoulders shaking, when you hear the sound of the Impala pulling into the garage. You try to compose yourself, but it’s too late. The door creaks open, and their footsteps echo down the hall before they appear, bags of takeout in hand.

“Hey, we got—” Dean starts, but he freezes mid-sentence when he sees you, his brows knitting together in concern.

Sam is already at your side, the bags abandoned on the table. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he asks softly, crouching down in front of you.

You shake your head, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. Dean sits on your other side, his arm sliding around your shoulders as Sam takes your hands in his, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles.

“Sweetheart,” Dean murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “You don’t have to say anything. We’re here.”

That’s all it takes for the dam to fully break. You lean into Dean, your tears soaking into his flannel as Sam rubs slow, comforting circles into your back. They don’t rush you, don’t try to fix it with empty words. They just hold you, their presence solid and grounding.

After a while, when your sobs have quieted into soft sniffles, Sam tilts your chin up gently, his hazel eyes full of warmth. “You don’t have to carry everything by yourself, you know.”

Dean presses a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there. “We’ve got you, sweetheart. Always.”

You let out a shaky laugh, the tension in your chest easing as their words wash over you. They shift closer, sandwiching you between them in a cocoon of warmth and safety. Sam presses a soft kiss to your forehead, and Dean tilts your chin up to brush his lips against yours, his touch tender and unhurried.

“You’re stuck with us, you know,” Dean murmurs, his hand sliding down to rest over yours. “Whether you like it or not.”

Sam chuckles, his fingers lacing with yours on the other side. “And we’re not going anywhere. Not ever.”

For the first time all day, the weight in your chest feels manageable, their presence a steady anchor in the storm. You close your eyes, leaning into them fully, their love wrapping around you like a shield against the world.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @whereiwakewarm ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystemss ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos

[stxrsniolo]

ﾟ ˖ ꕀ reading on tumblr again?

𝐀𝐄𝐆★𝐍'𝐒 warning : smut, blurb one-shot, unprotected sex, dirty talk, p in v, blah blah blah. we're not done with the freakyness today yet.

matt walked into his room, the door closing with a soft click behind him, the air still charged from the day's filming with his brothers. but the sight that greeted him was the last thing he expected: you, on his bed, scrolling through erotic stories on tumblr, your cheeks flushed with the illicit thrill of the words you were reading.

he didn't say a word at first, just watched, the heat in his gaze making you aware of his presence. when you looked up, your eyes met his, the air between you thick with tension. "what do you think you're doing, kitten?" his voice was low, a mix of amusement and irritation.

before you could answer, he was on you, pulling you up by your arm, his fingers digging into your skin. "you think you can just sit here and get yourself all worked up without me?" he asked, his tone harsh as he pushed you back onto the bed, face down.

he didn't waste time; his hand came down hard on your ass, the sound of the slap filling the room, making you yelp. "this is what you get for teasing yourself," he growled, landing another sharp spank, the sting spreading through your body, mixing pain with a dark pleasure.

he didn't let you have what you wanted. instead, he teased you mercilessly, his fingers brushing against you, never quite where you needed them, ensuring you stayed on the edge but never allowing you to fall over. "you want to come? you think you deserve it after this?" his voice was mocking, his touch cruel in its precision.

he pulled your clothes off, leaving you exposed, his hand coming down on your bare skin, each smack echoing with the promise of more. "you're not coming until i say so, understand?" his voice was a command, not a question, his fingers now teasing your entrance, dipping in just enough to make you squirm but not enough to satisfy.

matt flipped you over, his eyes dark with lust and control. he watched as you writhed beneath him, desperate for release. he positioned himself, his cock hard against you, but he didn't enter, instead, he rubbed himself against you, making you feel every inch of him without giving you what you craved. "look at you, so fucking needy," he taunted, his movements slow and deliberate.

every time you got close, he'd pull away, leaving you panting, your body aching with unfulfilled desire. "please, matt," you begged, your voice a mix of frustration and need.

"no," was his simple, cruel response, his hand spanking you once more for good measure, the sting a reminder of your place. he continued this torture, his cock teasing you, his fingers playing with you, but always denying you the relief you sought.

finally, after what felt like an eternity of torment, he leaned down, his breath hot against your ear. "you're mine to play with, to edge, to deny. and right now, you're not getting what you want. but remember this," he whispered, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone, "every time you read those stories, every time you get hot and bothered, remember, i can make reality so much worse than your fantasies."

with that, he stood, leaving you there, aching, unsatisfied, your body buzzing with a mixture of pain and unquenched desire. he turned to leave, pausing at the door to look back at you, his eyes glinting with the knowledge of your state. "and to you and all those reading that kinda stuff, wondering what it feels like to be denied, to be at the mercy of someone like me... let this be a lesson. sometimes, the real thrill isn’t in the climax, but in the chase, in the denial. enjoy your sleepless nights thinking about it."

©𝗦𝗧𝗫𝗥𝗦𝗡𝗜𝗢𝗟𝗢 | 🏷 my little stars: @courta13 @chrislilcumslvt @marrykisskilled @chrislova @sturnshood @sturns-mermaid

and a special mention for @onevison for blindly choosing this blurb. ily <3

[gloomskulls]

WHAT LIES UNDERNEATH [cult member peter parker x reader]

pairings: dark! peter parker x reader

warning(s): NON-CON/DUB-CON (RAPE), heavy manipulation, toxic relationship, cult beliefs, oral (fem receiving), drugging (use of an aphrodisiac), p in v, multiple orgasms, breeding kink, obsessive behavior, mild violence, mentions of death, depression, suicidal thoughts, implied murder. lemme know if I missed any. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

If you don't wanna see my dark stories, please block the tag #madi: dark content

summary: after losing your family, your friends, and your boyfriend, Peter Parker casually crashes in your life out of nowhere. His presence was welcoming, as his so-called village is too. But his hospitality seems to have something darker underneath

a/n: this is loosely based on Midsommar, it's a really good movie. I have changed some stuff that i didn't feel comfortable writing or I just didn't want to write. Also this maybe the worst smut you've ever read probably. don't steal any of my shit or I'll steal ur head.

"I'm sorry sissy, the darkness is consuming me, and I will take them with me"

Those were the last texts your sister sent you. You were worried sick about her cryptic message and wanted disclosure from her, but she hasn't written back.

Your sister has been known to be a rather mentally challenged person. She was just venting to you. Right?

It was unnaturally still in the air, sitting at your kitchen table with the phone pressed close to your ear. Your fingers drummed an erratic rhythm against the edge of the table, still collapsed trying to ground yourself. All night, your sister has not picked up her phone. The strange text messages she had sent earlier in the day replayed like a broken record in your mind.

How many times have you been thinking of something really wrong, more than you would admit, but still dismissing it?

Somehow tonight felt different.

You texted Harry to reassure you, but the typical unsympathetic reply only served to add more weight to that chest heaviness again. Now you are left alone with your thoughts, and each one seems darker than the other.

You were about to not pick the phone because it looked like a spam call to you. The number was unknown, but that gut feeling inside you made you press accept.

"Hello?" Your voice dared as you strove to steady it.

The unknown caller said your name as they spoke, "Is this her?" The voice on the other end was calm but carried a cold detachment that made your stomach drop.

"Yes," you replied.

"This is Officer Hill with the NYPD. I'm sorry to tell you we've had an incident regarding your family," she said.

Air disappeared from your lungs suddenly, and your grip tightened against the phone. "What kind of incident?"

"I understand this is tough," she said, her voice carefully measured. "But I need you to come to the station. It's better to speak in person."

The issue of reality has been stretched and heavy between you, and it was so unbearable. “No,” you spoke finally in a panic voiding interiorly. “Please, just tell me now. What happened?”

There was a moment's hesitation in Hill's case. In that moment, you could feel the world starting to crack around you.

"There is no easy way to say this," she finally managed to come up with. "Your parents and sister were involved in a fatal accident. I am so sorry."

You could not comprehend those words for a moment. They swayed in the air outside with an unreal and incomprehensible quality. "What do you mean? Are they okay? What—"

"They didn't survive," Hill said softly, and that cut through your spiraling questions.

The phone fell from your hand and banged tipsily on the table. To this resonating rattle in the small space, however, your ear was tuned out. Your chest tightened, and the phrase ran in your brain, echoing in shallow gasps.

They didn't survive.

The days that followed the funeral just passed in a haze of hollow condolences and noise deafening silence. Your world had been torn apart while everything moved forward—all relentless and lame. Harry, your boyfriend of 2 years stayed as he assured you, but his presence seemed more of a fulfillment of an obligation than any comfort.

He was not exactly a cruel person; at least not really overt, for distance was a high-dubious chasm with every awkward conversation and with every minute spent by him scrolling through his phone instead of talking to you. Not blind are you to those glances he exchanged with his buddies once they assumed you weren't watching. There is pity instead of love and comfort in his eyes whenever you cry.

The last straw fell on a quiet Friday evening. You had dragged yourself to the apartment of Harry, looking for refuge in his presence after yet another sleepless night. He was lounging in the couch with one hand gripping a phone while the other was a beer.

"I feel like I'm falling apart," you admitted softly and settled next to him. Your voice cracked, and at last, the tears that were kept in were poured out. "I don't know how to do this without them. I don't know how to… keep going."

Harry glanced towards your direction, the look on his face inscrutable. After that, he set his phone down and fell into this heavy sigh as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I understand, okay? But you can't keep unloading things like this on me. It's…it's too much."

Your heart sank. "Too much?"

"I'm not your therapist," he said in defensive. "I don't know what you want me to do. I can't fix this for you."

"I'm not asking you to fix it!" You snapped while accepting the anger that had replaced the hurt. "I just need you to be here. To actually care."

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he diverted his gaze from her, tightening his jaw. "This isn't fair," he muttered.

"What do you mean fair!?" you yelled, your volume rising. "Me grieving my whole family? It isn't as terrible as needing the person who's supposed to love me to act and comfort me?"

Harry stood up immediately and started pacing the tiny living room. "I didn't sign up for this," he said. The words cut like knives. "I feel like… like I'm drowning too. I'm trying to keep my head above water, but here you are, pulling me under."

Your breath literally caught in your throat at that last sentence, as if a blow on the physical plane had hit home. "Is that really how you see me? As one who drags you down?" You asked in disbelief.

However, he stopped pacing and turned toward you, shoulders sagging. "I don't know," he said more quietly. "I don't know what I feel anymore. My friends tell me I should end it. They say I can't do this to myself. But I thought, you know, that might help."

"Help?" you echoed, voice breaking. "You think pity keeping me would help? Do you know how humiliating that is?"

Harry looked away. "Well, I'm sorry! alright!? It's not like I want to be part of your fuckin tenth reason in your suicide note!". Guilt was scrawled across his face when those words left his mouth. "I didn't mean for it to be like this."

You stood waveringly. Nevertheless, your voice remained firm. "If this is too much for you, then spit it out. Be frank for once, Harry."

He hesitated, his silence answering the question you hadn't dared to ask outright.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Well, that's what I figured."

You took your bag and stepped out of the apartment, closing the door behind you just before the torrent of tears fell as you stumbled down the street. For the first time in weeks, you were truly alone. Sure, Harry wasn't the best boyfriend, but now you didn't have family, Harry, heck, you don't even have friends to pat you in the back and tell you it's alright.

You were truly alone, crying in the middle of the streets.

A week later, at the dinner party of an old classmate's friend, Peter Parker walks into your life.

Peter wasn't meant to be there—he admitted that soon after you started the talk. "I kind of crashed this," he confessed with a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck. "I heard there was free food, and, uh… I have no self-control."

You laughed against your will. It was a real laugh that felt vaguely familiar after weeks of grief.

He was awkward but charming, with rapid tumbling out of words out of his mouth as he tried to start a small talk. "So, uh, how do you know Sam? Are you a friend from work? Oh wait, no, you don't look old enough to work with him—wait, not that you look like a kid or anything. I just meant—"

"It's okay," you interrupted, smile still there regardless. "I get it. I am also kinda crashing here, I never really got a proper invite, I just found out from one of my old classmates that there was a party, now here I am"

The more you could talk to him, the more you would discover how easy it was to be in his company. Unlike Harry, who had always been polished and withdrawn, Peter was frank and genuine, emotions laid out for all to see.

And by the end of the night, he had known your family. You had not intended to tell him, but somehow the way he listened— actually listened— made it spill out.

"I'm so sorry," Peter said softly, voice laced thickly with empathy. "That is… I can't even imagine what you're going through. But, if you ever need someone to talk to—or like, someone to distract you with dumb jokes—I'm here."

You've been taken aback by his earnestness. Finally, after what felt like years, someone might have noticed you.

It was indeed one of those nights which made time stretch out into eternity. You were there with Peter on a park bench where the faint light of the flickering city lights was shining through dense bushes and trees. The air was crisp, a cool kind that could very much seep into one's bones, yet Peter's company made it bearable.

He had this way of filling the silence without forcing it: sometimes talking, rambling on about whatever random thought invaded his head, sometimes just sitting with a person comfortable in the quiet, and today, he was acting especially thoughtful, staring at some faraway towers protruding above the skyline.

"Can I ask you something?" he suddenly blurted out, breaking the stillness.

"Sure."

He hesitated, bit his bottom lip as if he couldn't decide how to start, and began speaking. "Do you ever feel like…I don't know, like you're stuck?"

You blinked. It caught you off guard. "What do you mean?"

"Like everybody around you is moving ahead, but you're just there standing still," he explained, his words pretty crumbling out in that earnest, awkward way of his. "Like no matter what you do, you can't catch up."

The question was a little more awkward for you than you'd expected. "Yeah," you quietly admitted. "too many times than how I want it to be"

"It's tiring" he said, his eyes still far. "I get that. After my uncle… well died, after all that, I felt like I was trapped in this… I don't know, this loop. So, I couldn't allow myself to be happy because it would feel wrong, you know? Like I didn't deserve it."

You were gaping at him, flabbergasted by his openness. Peter was not the kind to talk much about himself—not like this, anyway.

"How did you get out of it?" you asked in a soft voice.

He smiled faintly. "I didn't. Not really. But I found something that helped."

"What was it?"

Peter gazed upward at the stars. "My hometown. It's a little dot in the middle of nowhere on the map. Quiet, kind of old-fashioned place. But there's something… something grounding."

He stopped for a brief while, casting a doubtful glance at you. "I go back every summer. It's like hitting a reset button or something. And, uh… would you want to join me this year?"

Totally unexpected. "You want me to go with you?"

"Yeah," Peter said quickly, blushing in the face of it. "If you want to. No pressure, or anything. Just you have been through a lot, and I thought maybe time away might help or something. It's not fancy or anything—definitely not the kind of place with five-star hotels—but it's peaceful. And I'd be there, so… you wouldn't be alone."

At his words, your throat became somewhat tight. He was not offering a vacation. He was inviting you to an escape.

"I don't know," You finally ventured with a little quiver of voice. "What if I just feel worse?"

"You won't," Peter said firmly, his brown eyes locking onto yours. "I won't let you."

There was something so genuine about the way he said it, like he truly believed he could protect you from the weight of your grief.

"What is it like?" you asked, helpless curiosity walking over your hesitation.

Peter's eyes set aglow at that moment, brimming over with a lot of excitement. "Oh gosh! Now where do I even begin? Okay, so there's this diner right in the middle of town. It's run by Mr. and Mrs. Beck. They've been married for like fifty years or something, and they make the fluffiest pancakes you've ever tasted in your life. And then there's this old library. Small, yes, but it has this weird charm, you know? Everything is crooked, and half the books are falling apart, but I love it. Oh, and there's this great big field just outside of town—it's perfect to stargaze because you can see the Milky Way out there. It's insane."

Now he was practically bouncing out of his seat, his enthusiasm almost contagious.

"It sounds… amazing," you found yourself admitting. A small smile tugged your lips.

"It's amazing," Peter said earnestly. "And I think you would love it. Everyone is so welcoming there. It's like… a little bubble of goodness in this horrible world sometimes."

For just a moment, you let yourself imagine it, far from the city and the reminders of everything that had been lost, somewhere I might again breathe.

"Okay," you said finally, barely above a whisper.

Peter's eyes lit up. "Really? You're going to come?"

"Yeah," you said, surprising even yourself. "I think I need this."

"Trust me; you won't regret it," Peter continued, his grin stretching from ear to ear.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a flicker of hope. Maybe this trip wouldn't fix everything. Maybe it wouldn't fix anything. But for now, it was enough to know you wouldn't be facing it alone.

It was a surreal feeling about the trip toward Peter's hometown. It was almost a relief because you sensed that you were really leaving everything behind, even thought it was just a few weeks. Driving in a comfortable pattern with Peter talking animatedly about all of the town's strange things, while you listened and occasionally chimed in with a question or a laugh at one of his goofy replies.

As you drove farther from the city and the scenery opened to rolling hills and dense forests before you, Peter shifted in his seat to adjust the radio. The soft tune filled the car and merged with the sounds of the tires over the road.

"You are going to love it," Peter said, glancing at you with an innocent smile. "Air's so fresh it nearly smells fake, and the stars. They're nothing like anything you've ever seen before. I promise."

"I'll hold you to that," you said, smiling despite the nervous knot still twisting about in your chest.

The town came into view just about the time the sun started sinking, dipping the horizon in gold and pinks. It was a little bit smaller than you had in mind, the kind of place that probably knew everyone by name.

Peter slowed the car as you entered the main street, which was lined with quaint buildings that appeared to have been plucked from another era. A few of the local's whereabouts were either on their porches talking, in their gardens working, or taking their dogs out for a walk. They would almost wave at Peter as they drove past.

"See? Told you. Nicest people on the planet," said Peter returning the waves enthusiastically.

"No shit," you said, watching a woman coming across with a basket of flowers smile toward you warmly.

Peter stopped in a graveled driveway leading to a homely two-storied fairy tale house. Crooked white picket fence and wildflower-laden garden, there was little that screamed charm.

The moment the car stopped, from the front door, she came, a petite woman in her 30's with brown hair, beaming with kindness in her eyes and warmth in her smile.

"There's my darling nephew!" she called out.

Peter jumped out of the car, practically bounding onto her, hugging her. "Aunt May!"

"And you must be the girl Peter keeps talking about," she said, her bright eyes finding their way to you. "Peter has told me so much about you."

"Oh, um, hi," you said, stepping out of the car and giving a small wave.

"Then that's it," she said, surprising with her strong hug for her small figure. "It's so lovely to finally meet you. Come in! It's rather hot out here during the summers"

Once you stepped into the house, you were met with interior that was as cozy as anyone could expect, the design suggests mixes between vintage and modern furniture, with colorful throw blankets and knickknacks making it feel lived in. There was also a faint waft of freshly baked cookies, which you soon spotted on the kitchen counter.

"Make yourself at home," May said, "Your room's already set up upstairs. Peter can show you around."

"Thanks May," Peter replied, already grabbing your bag before you could protest.

Up came Peter, leading you to a small but cozy guest room overlooking the backyard.

"Hope that's cool," said Peter, dropping your bag next to the bed. "Not fancy, but it's quiet."

"It's perfect," you said, placing your backside on the edge of the bed and taking a moment to breathe.

In the following days, Peter became your own personal tour guide, leading you through the town every nook and cranny, and introduced you to everyone as if you were already a part of the community, and to your surprise, they all welcomed you with open arms

Mr. and Mrs. Beck would insist on serving you their best pancakes while there at the diner even after breakfast time.

"We have heard so much about you," Mrs. Beck said it with a twinkle in her eyes. "Peter's nearly counting the days until you came."

Peter turned red and scratched the back of his neck. "Thanks, Mrs. Beck. Subtle as always."

Library, this was to be; the charmingly ramshackle structure seemed to sag under the weight of its many books. Peter's eyes lit up as he walked through those rows of crooked shelves with his fingers trailing over the spines.

"This here was my escape growing up," he said, pulling a worn copy of The Hobbit from the shelf. "Any time things got… overwhelming, I'd come here. Just me, a book, and a whole lot of silence."

This was the kind of moment when one caught a glimpse into Peter's world of quiet, reflective, introspective thinking where the depths beneath the sunshine state, as always, reside.

The very field that Peter had described so vividly turned out to be even more breathtaking than you ever imagined. The grass stretched out in every direction, swaying gently in the breeze, and the sky above was that of a canvas painted with stars, brighter and bolder than he had ever seen.

With a dramatic sigh, Peter flopped onto the ground, patting a spot next to him. "Come on, you're not getting the full experience unless you lie down."

You hesitated to lie down beside him, letting the cool grass tickle your arms as you stared up at the infinite expanse of sky.

"Wow," you breathed.

"Yeah?" he said, turning his head towards you. "It's like the universe decided to show off or something."

They lay there silently for a good while with the sound of the rustling grass and an occasional chirp of crickets. That was the most peaceful you had felt in a long, long time.

Maybe it was a little initial self-talk that told you it was just small town hospitality. People in cities don’t wave at strangers, though maybe that’s simply what people do out here. Maybe they were just genuinely curious about a stranger in a little place where everyone knows everyone.

But as the day went on, those small gestures, those innocent jests began to feel… different.

It started out slow.

At the diner, Mrs. Beck lingered longer than she ought to while refilling your coffee, her smile warm but sharp, penetrating eyes boring onto you.

"You're feeling like one of us already, aren't you?" she would have said, almost as if it were a statement rather than a question.

You gave a polite smile with no idea of how to answer. "Uh, yeah, everybody's really welcomed here."

"Oh, good," she said, with a firm nod. "That's what we want."

There's something in the way she said it, words weighing a lot more than they were supposed to.

And so it went; the Becks household was not the only one. The pattern held true for nearly every encounter.

"How are you settling in?"

Not "welcome" or "hi and how long are you staying?" The last kind of question you would expect from someone meeting a newcomer. The question, however, assumed permanence. It assumed that you were settling in, that you live here now.

Initially, you passed it off as just another one of those quirks that could be attributed to small-town hospitality. Maybe that's just their way of being polite. But after a few more days, it became pretty hard to ignore the repetition.

You brought it up to Peter one morning as the two of you sat on May's porch, sipping coffee and watching the sunrise.

"Is it just me," you began, keeping your tone light, "or does everyone here ask the same question?"

Peter looked up from his mug, a confused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "What question?"

"How I'm 'settling in.' Like, literally everyone has said it."

"Oh, that?" Peter chuckled, brushing it off with a wave of his hand. "That's just how people are around here. Small towns, you know? Everyone's in everyone else's business, and they just want to make sure you're happy. It's aggressively wholesome."

You nodded while struggling to let his explanation take root in you, but that feeling of unease lingered.

Then came the presents.

The librarian insisted that you check out a copy of Little Women, even if you just went there to browse.

"You'll love it," she said, sliding it over the counter to you with a knowing smile.

"How do you know?" you asked, only half-joking.

Her smile didn't waver. "I just do."

At the hardware store, the owner gave you a tiny potted shrub. "Every home needs a little bit of green," he said cheerfully, but his eyes had a dark intensity that made him more intimidating.

"Thanks," you mumbled awkwardly, holding the plant as you walked out.

It was the kind of gift given to a father like you, not at all because you wanted it, but so they could wave it in your face.

The real breaking point occurred one night at the diner.

Peter was treating you to dinner there after spending the afternoon wandering around town. It was quieter than usual, the counter occupied only by a few regulars. The place smelled of coffee and fries, and while Peter was busy demolishing a plate of the latter, you excused yourself to go to the washroom.

The hallway at the back of the diner is dark and narrow, the overhead fluorescent lights humming in slightly grating tones. At the door marked "Women," you caught snatches of voices from the kitchen-garbled, urgent.

"…And she's settling in?"

"She seems fine so far. Peter's doing a good job keeping her comfortable."

You were frozen with your hand on the doorknob. Your pulse raced. "Good, she has to feel like she belongs, it's important."

Then there was a crashing sound of many dishes, followed by a long heavy pause.

"So," says the first voice, "you think she suspects anything?"

"No. Not yet."

There, silence fell between the voices after that, then just the faintest clink—the sound of silverware-and the quick pounding of your heartbeat resounded in your ears.

When you stepped back to the table, Peter's easy smile greeted you. "Everything cool?" he asked as he dipped a fry into ketchup. "Yeah," you said quickly as you slid into your seat. "Fine."

The mind remained racing.

They must be talking about someone else—a new hire at the diner. Maybe a new family into town. There was no way they were talking about you.

Right?

You tried to shake it off, sinking into Peter's chatter about the upcoming festival, but the unease clung to you like a second skin.

May's small guest room became so beautiful in the rays of the morning sun that they filtered through lace curtains and softly flecked the walls. You stared ridiculously at the ceiling, a heavy weight on your chest, making sleep unusually elusive. Thoughts had been just too loud and tangled.

Those whispers from the diner, the rehearsed kindness from townspeople, and the way he seemed to brush it all off so easily were elusive things you couldn't shake off. The most you told yourself was that it was probably nothing.

This is what you told yourself as you forced yourself out of bed and down the stairs. Peter wouldn't lie to you; he was the most genuine person you knew. Right?

The smell of pancakes and coffee greeted you in the kitchen.

By the stove stood Peter, his hair at odd angles and humming a tune under his breath. For a moment, you let yourself relax. This is Peter, your Peter.

"Good morning, sleepyhead!" he greeted, grinning at you with that boyish grin. He slid over a plate of pancakes drenched in syrup and topped with fresh strawberries.

"Morning," you replied, low enough to be heard.

"You okay?" he asked, tilting his head.

"Yeah, just didn't sleep much," you tugged and picked little at your food.

"Frowning," Peter said and kept down his fork. "Anything troubling you?"

"No," you lied quickly. "Just one of those nights."

He studied you for a moment, and you forced a small smile. Whatever the unease was, there was no reason for dragging Peter into it. He'd just dismiss it as he always did.

At last, the day was spent in a well-practiced blur of activities. It seemed Peter had made up his mind to keep you as busy as possible, even dragging you around the town park and to that creek he used to catch tadpoles as a kid. And if that weren't enough, he picked you up from the bakery where the sweet aroma of pastries was very strong. Offering you so many pastries till your stomach ached

Evening had cloaked the house in darkness, and so much for bottled up emotions. After dinner, the two of you sat alone in the living room: May well and truly off to bed. And that left you here with Peter sprawled across the couch flipping through some book, while you closed yourself into a tight little knot in the armchair.

"Peter," you broke the silence.

He blinked up at you with alarmed eyes. "Yeah?"

"I need to ask you something."

His brows knitted slightly, but he set aside the book. "Sure. What is it?"

You pause, heart racing. "Last night at the diner I heard something. Two people in the kitchen were talking about me."

Peter's face remained impassive. Still in his eyes, there was a flicker of something that disappeared as quickly as the light.

"What did they say?"

"They said you were doing a good job keeping me comfortable. That I need to feel like I belong." You paused, faltering with your voice. "Peter, what does that mean?"

Peter leaned forward, dangling his elbows on his knees. "It's nothing, they were probably just being nosy. People here care about each other, and when someone new comes in, they get… curious."

"That is not how it sounded," you said shaking your head. "It sounded like, intentional. It sounded much like plotting."

"You're overthinking this" Peter sighed rubbing back on his neck "Seriously, this town—it's different—close-knit. They just want to ensure you feel welcome, happy here, nothing but that".

“Then why does it feel so fake?” you pressed, raising your voice. “Everyone acts like they already know me. Like they’re expecting something to come from me.”

Peter tensed his jaw, and then he did not speak anything for a moment. He then stood up suddenly. "I brought you here for your help," he said in a hard tone. "I brought you here so you might begin a fresh mental state, a place where you could heal. And instead of appreciating it, you are looking for ways to tear it apart."

"I didn't ask for this!" you shot back, standing as well. "I didn't ask to be dragged into some town where everyone acts like I'm part of some… some secret club!"

Peter turned to you, eyes flashing. "You didn't have to ask! You were falling apart. You needed this. And I've been trying my best to make things easier for you, but you can't even see that, can you?"

The words hit you like a slap. Staring at him, breathless, tears filling your eyes. "Peter… why are you doing this?"

He softened immediately, shoulders slumping. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to—look, I just… I care about you. I hate seeing you so lost. I thought bringing you here would help, but maybe I was wrong."

You wiped your eyes, and the mind is busy with thoughts. Maybe he is right. Maybe you are over-reacting. Peter was not that manipulative. He was just worried.

"Okay," you said finally, your voice shaky. "But if this town is so great, then why does it feel like there is something you are not telling me?"

Peter's eyes drifted towards the window momentarily—as if to check whether there were eavesdroppers outside—"It is not like that," he said, whispering faintly barely audible.

"Then tell me what it is," you said. "If you want me to trust you, then stop keeping secrets."

Peter sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging. "Alright," he said. "But you're not going to like it."

"And that's supposed to mean what?"

He moved closer, looking you straight in the eye. "Some things are better demonstrated rather than told," he said, his tone even more pleading. "I'll tell you everything tomorrow. Just…give me another day."

You gawked at him, feeling your belly tie up in knots. Every instinct in you screamed to demand answers right now, but for some reason, the look in his eyes stopped you. He looked… desperate.

"Fine," you said with reluctance. "One more day."

Peter nodded, a relief washing over his face. "Thank you," he said almost inaudibly. "I assure you, it will all come into perspective soon."

But climbing into bed that night only made more pronounced the doubts gnawing at you louder than they had done before.

The cold, crisp evening air wrapped tight around you like a noose, as they led Peter into the woods. Try as you might to ignore the uncomfortable hollow in your gut, the longer you sat in this strange, unsettling village, the more you felt that something dark ran underneath it all. Every villager's smile, how they seemed to know just a little too much about you—everything just felt orchestrated, perfect.

You had held the doubts to yourself, buried deep down because Peter had always been the perfect anchor. But tonight, something flickered in his eyes—his tense shoulders and that almost undetectable flash of something darker crossing his face—told you that you were no longer in control.

You entered the clearing, gasping for air by the time you stepped into the structure resembling a stone chapel. The door agonizingly creaked open, bringing in the cold air from outside in juxtaposition with the stifling heat within. There, illuminated softly, were the others. A few you recognized from the eerily quiet familiar faces that watched you through predatory eyes.

It felt thick and heavy in the air, almost stultifying. The walls were closing in, and the silence was becoming almost oppressive. Peter gently but firmly drew you forward, his comforting presence still providing warmth, though everything else seemed wrong.

He was more weathered and older than you imagined, the drawn skin of his face tight over sharp features, pale and unblinking eyes matching his face. The robe hung dark and almost blended into shadows as he approached you. A murmur swept through the people gathered, and you paid little attention. Everything spun in your head and your heart drummed against your ears.

"Peter," said the man with a voice which grated like a rusty hinge, as if he had been whispering for years. "She has come."

Peter's eyes had been fixed on you for some time, and now he nodded slowly. The heat of his gaze made your skin crawl. The man checked you out from head to toe, and his intense eyes seemed to promise a lot of something. "Perfect," he said under his breath but not for too long so that others could hear him as he shouted, "She is the one. It's time."

Time, just like that word, seemed hollow, reverberating in the air around you like a bad omen. Instead, you opened your mouth to argue or question what part of this was really happening, but then, Peter squeezed your shoulder so tightly that it felt like it might crush your bones.

"It's okay," he whispered against your ear with his very warm breath. "I'll explain everything. You'll understand soon enough."

But understanding was the last thing you wanted to happen. All you had in mind was running. The man stepped forward, never breaking the eye contact. "Our village has managed to survive for many centuries and still thrive at its odds. But there is one rule that we have to abide by—there is one rule that can't be broken. After every eighteen years, one of our own must depart from this world and find someone in the outside world—from beyond these walls to someone pure."

Your mouth went dry. "What… what do you mean by that?"

"Every time a child turns eighteen, he must leave for a period of time to spend in the world outside, learn its ways; but after this period, he must return, and he must bring someone from the outside to add to the village."

Your body suddenly turned ice cold. "What do you mean, bring someone from the outside?" You spluttered. Your voice barely made an impression on the silence.

The smile of the man became broad. "A new family member. A mate. Someone to whom they will get married, with whom they will create children. This is the law."

You turned to Peter with wide eyes filled with horror as your heart stuttered deep in your chest. "What do you mean… a mate? You want me to…?"

Peter tightened his grip on your shoulder and breathed shallowly. "That's how it is done. This is how we survive. The village needs strong new blood. The children produced from these unions keep the bloodline pure, preventing inbreeding."

Inbreeding. That one word roared through your mind like no other thought. You couldn't breathe. You felt suffocated under the weight of all that.

"What… what are you saying?" you gasped, stunned and unable to take in everything being revealed to you.

Peter stepped even closer; eyes dark with something almost predatory. "That's how this works. You're part of the plan now. You have no choice. You are here because you were chosen. You are going to help us keep the village alive. Our survival depends on… "

"No," you whispered, stumbling backward as you tried to retreat. "No, this isn't right. You can't—this isn't—"

And suddenly, an old man stepped beside you, his shadowy tallness overshadowing you. "You will understand soon. You are not the first, nor will you be the last. Every child who leaves returns with someone. And they will mate, they will bear children. This is how we preserve our people, how we protect our bloodline." He said as if it was your duty, as if this was your destiny.

"No!" You screamed tearing the air with your voice now choked in emotions. "This is insane! You're insane!"

The gentleness from Peter that used to soothe you all vanished, replaced by the steely resolve. He took another step forward, and instinctively you recoiled. "I did not want you to have this," he said, his voice low and strained, "but it is how it is. You will come to understand, and you will see that it is for the best."

The other villagers watched you with silent intensity as the space surrounding you felt as if it were closing in on you, with walls pressing from all sides. You could feel their hungry and expectant eyes on you.

You wanted to run. You wanted to yell.

But as soon as the old man reached out his hand to grab you, Peter's hold on your arm tightened, his fingers digging into your skin, keeping you anchored. "You don't understand yet," he said quietly, his voice tinged with something darker, something that, as it sent chills down your spine, made you think he was going to take you off somewhere to be tortured. "But you will. Soon, it will make sense. The only way to survive is this. This is something we can't let you ruin."

You were trapped. The weight of their expectations crushed you, their smiles now twisted masks of something monstrous beneath.

"Your child will also do the same duty," the old man said softly. "When they come back to the village with their mate, they will fulfill their destiny. They will carry our future."

Your chest constricted. Every part of you screamed to escape, to run, to fight against the suffocating nightmare into which you had been dragged. All the while, in the depths of your consciousness, you knew that there was no escaping this; they had planned for this. They had chosen you.

Back against the stone wall of the chapel now, your breath came in rapid, gasping suction since the reality began to drown in you. It beat loudly in your chest, a frantic mind racing for exit routes, for freedom from the path that had been laid out for me like a spider's web in all its horrible detail.

Peter's gaze was cold and cruel; it was no longer the warm presence one had hoped for. The heady words of the old man echoed in your ears, chilling and impossible to escape, like a curse. "You will return. You will bear our future."

As impossible as it was to believe, you finally realized it, this fucked up cycle wanted you to be part of it—and not by choice.

But you weren't going to let that happen.

You pushed past Peter and felt the sharp sting as he grabbed at your arm. You broke free, legs now trembling beneath you, as you headed for the door. You had to get out. You didn't know where you were running, but the woods were the only option. The only chance at freedom. You burst through the chapel door and into the cold night air, stumbling over uneven ground.

You heard footsteps behind you, but you didn't dare look back. The wind howled around you, swallowing up any sounds from the village. Your lungs burned as you pushed yourself faster, harder, your breath ragged from panic clawing at your chest.

You didn't look up when you heard a car approaching, but you didn't stop either, as your mind told you to keep running, to escape, but your legs were beginning to fail you.

The car stopped short before you, the headlights blinding. You turned with a wild heart as the door to that vehicle swung open. A man in a police uniform stepped out, his expression unreadable.

"Hey, are you alright?" he asked, with a soft voice but underneath carrying an authority.

He wouldn't let you trust him, and you could be in danger. "I-I need help," you stuttered, barely able to catch your breath. "They're chasing me. They—they won't let me leave."

The officer stepped closer, his eyes darting toward the woods behind you. "Who's chasing you? What happened?" His voice was smooth, coaxing, calm.

You stumbled toward him, the last shreds of your resistance slipping away. His presence was comforting, the uniform a familiar sign of safety in this strange world that had turned upside down. "Please," you gasped. "I need to get out of here. Please help me."

The officer smiled, that warm, almost paternal smile that gave you a moment's feeling of cocooned safety. "You are well within safety here. Get into the car and I'll take you to the station. They won't find you."

You didn't even think twice about it. Worn out and shivering, you climbed into the passenger seat of the car. The door slammed behind you, then the engine revved into life. You sank into the seat, closed your eyes, letting the sound of the engine create an illusion of safety. Finally, you escaped. Finally, you could breathe again.

The engine growled before heading out with the officer looking at you and softening his expression to almost a grin. "A strange night out here, huh?" Are you really sure you are, okay?"

You shook your head, catching your breath. "I need to get away from those people… I don't know who they are but they're dangerous."

"People can be dangerous, can't they?" he mused.

You glanced at him. "Yeah, I guess. I just don't know who to trust anymore."

Soft chuckle from him, as if to sense that it sounds contrived, that it has to be learned. "What's trust? You just have to know whom to get along with and whom to avoid. It requires experience."

You just turned to the window and trees and darkness rushed by. The mind was reeling from the attempt at grasping everything that has happened as it was really too much: the town; the event; Peter's cold stare; and now this—this officer who has apparently materialized at just the right moment. He must be the one sent to rescue you.

"Where are we off to?" You asked

"Oh, just a little way out of town," he replied, his voice smooth, almost too smooth. "Nothing to worry about."

You nod, fatigue dragging heavily on your eyelids. For a moment, it felt good, like all was well. But then the cop's voice became a personal one.

''I'm Steve by the way, Steve Rogers. Was just coming here for a quick stroll," he began, "I never thought I was going to be out here, helping someone like you. It is really funny, how life turns out."

Brow furrowed, and incomprehension written all over the face. "What do you mean?"

The very slight narrowing of the officer's eyes at you, just for an instant, was followed by his returning gaze to the road ahead. "I spent a lot of time in these parts, and the people can be somewhat…. they are peculiar. But then, I guess you already know that."

Heck, what was he talking about? "What do you mean by a little hard to understand? Who do you mean by that?"

Just above a smile, something confidential, something dark, flickered across the officer's lips. "Well, my wife, Peggy… she was from around here. She got them, you know? Understood what was going on. It took me a long time to realize it, but eventually, I figured it out. I did too."

Your heart stops, hammering against the confinement of your ribs. "Peggy… Carter?" That name rang in your mind like a bell, sharp and dissonant. You had heard that name before, only in whispers, a long time ago.

From what you remembered Peggy Carter was one of the most vicious woman in the police force, even in her short time in doing her job. One day she got married to a man named Steve and nothing was heard from her again. As if she disappeared, she completely left her job and duty, and so did Steve who was a fellow police like her who also vanished from the face of the earth. That was all you knew, and all of that happened 10 years ago. Many believed they moved. Some believed

The officer's smile brightened, but now it had no warmth. His voice went down low, as if telling you a secret you weren't supposed to know, "That's right. Peggy Carter. She was special. A part of something much bigger than either of us ever realized. I didn't understand it at first. Thought she was just a regular woman… but then I saw it. I saw everything for what it was."

It had caught in your throat because your mind was connecting all the dots. Peter, in actual fact, couldn't stop saying that you were here for a bigger thing, that you actually belonged. And now there is the officer, Peggy Carter, the strange village thing, the quite twisted ceremony—now everything starts to get clearer while terrifying you.

Your pulse raced, and once more, you cast a glance at him, eyes wide with realization. "You… you’re one of them, aren’t you? You’re one of their… their plan.”

For just a second, something shadowy, something colder, flicked through his eyes; and with that flicker, somehow you knew you'd made a terrible mistake trusting him.

Steve Rogers, the cop smiled "I was hoping you'd come around sooner or later. You're a bit smarter than I thought," his voice was light, like he was discussing the weather. "However," a dangerous tremor lurked below his words. "Peggy always said you'd be the perfect addition - just like I was, just like she was."

You sprung back, your first instinct was to reach for the door handle, but before your brain could register what was happening, the vehicle shifted violently. Body flung against the door; your head crashed against the metal side with a sickening thud. Stars exploded behind your eyes, and suddenly, everything muffled.

When you woke up from what felt like the worst sleep in your life, but you weren't sleeping, or did you just doze off and you couldn't remember any of it? Everything felt like a blur, memories were juggled up, and everything seemed out of place. How did I get here again? You thought to yourself.

It was strangely silent all around. The engine's rhythmic humming gave way to a stifling, heavy silence. You couldn't move. The air around you was thick and stifling; you had a throbbing headache that was likely to make you nauseous.

You couldn't even comprehend what was happening before you saw the door of the car opened, your whole-body weight made you fall off the vehicle. You audibly groaned as your body hit the rough dirty cement

Lo and behold, standing right in front of was Steve Rogers, towering above you, his face expressionless. His cold stare that piercing through your soul at you while your arms continued to adjust the sleeves of his uniform with a calm expertise.

He circled you as if he was predator cornering its prey. He stopped just at your head. He looked at you with an expressionless face, he slowly smiled, the creepy type of smile you would see psychopaths do on movies.

You wanted to run, punch him in the face and fucking run. But you couldn't, it felt as if your feet have already given up on you, plus the blooming pain in your head made it hard to think.

"It just never gets the job done" He frowned momentarily, your eyes widened in fear as you saw him take a beer bottle from behind his back, you shook your head, no please, please, please. You tried your best to crawl away from him, but you couldn't even feel your legs.

You sobbed in defeat, but he just caressed your cheek and wiped your tears away, as if to lure you into a false sense of security. With all the softness of a feather, he said, "You'll be fine," really more to reassure himself than you. "The ceremony's just waiting for you."

Before you can act, a hard bang on your head seems to lurch your stomach. The officer had swung a beer bottle at your skull; it hit with a sickening crack and within the instant the pain exploded into darkness pressing behind your eyes, and the world went black.

It was the scent of incense—sickeningly sweet and heavy enough to churn in the stomach. Candlelight flickered. shadows danced on stone walls, making the small space feel smaller by the second.

You woke up all lethargic with a blooming headache. You felt relaxed underneath the soft bed that you laid, but once you took in the stone walls, it felt like a train has hit you. All of the events from a few hours ago running you over.

Your mind raced, scrambling for an escape route, but all you saw was Peter standing between you and the door.

He never looked more like a stranger.

The once boyish charm which drew me to him was now a hollow mask as he hid himself behind his dark eyes. The face had no malignance—worse, it was soft, almost tender, like he really believed in what he was about to do. And that thought haunted me most terrifyingly.

"You are trembling," Peter said, his calm and soothing voice only making the fear spike higher. "I know it's a lot, really overwhelming, taking it all at once… but… it will be okay, I promise you."

"Peter, please," you whispered, your voice breaking into pieces at the seams. You could hardly utter a word without your throat choking it. "You don't have to do this. Let me out. I promise I won't tell the police—"

But that was where he cut you off by shaking his head sadly. "You don't understand. This is my home. It is where I belong. And now, it is where you belong too. We are part of something bigger here. Something meaningful."

"Meaningful?" you spat. "You kidnapped me, lied to me, and brought me here to…" The words cracked at the tightness in your throat. You couldn't even say them. I dawned onto you that you have been too trusting with Peer, but who wouldn't? Who knew that clumsy little sweet Peter was capable of doing something this fucked.

Peter stepped closer, casting a shadow over the too small room where it suddenly felt claustrophobic and anchoring. “I didn’t kidnap you. I saved you.”

His voice is insistent, though not harsh. “You were lost out there. Alone. No family, no one who cared about you. Don’t you see? This is your chance to start over, to have a purpose. To be loved.”

“Loved?” The word struck your lips like venom. “This isn’t love, Peter. This is… this is sick.”

It darkened slightly his countenance, as a spark of frustration crossed his face before it was replaced by forced patience. "You're scared," he softly pronounced. "That's normal. But fear does not last. Once you embrace your role, once you understand what we're building here, you'll see that it's not sick. It's beautiful."

“No,” you whispered, the soft sound swallowed by the thrumming of your heart. “No, this isn’t survival. This is—”

“But” Peter cut you off firmer now like a knife slicing through your protests. “It’s already decided. The village chose you. I chose you. And now… it’s time to fulfill your purpose.”

Peter looked at you, with a voice deceptively soft. “It’s not about what you want. It’s about what the village needs. What I need. We can’t let our bloodline die. Every generation, we bring someone in—someone like you. It’s how we survive. How we thrive.”

“Not,” that voice barely came out through the rapid pounding of your heart. "No, this isn't survival. This is—"

The words sent the waves of nausea throbbing through you. Your knees buckled, landing you onto the edge of the bed, your body shaking violently. Peter knelt before you, hands gentle as they gripped your knees. The touch made your skin crawl, but you were frozen, paralyzed by fear.

"You are afraid," he repeated, the tone almost tender. "it needs to be this way. After the ceremony, you'll see there is clearly a need for it."

"Peter," you choked out, barely in a whisper. "Don't do this, please."

He tilted his head, softening in expression as if he really thought given how pitiful you look. "This is for them. For us. For the village. You'll thank me one day."

The door creaked open, and two women stepped in to the door. They moved with quiet, almost unnerving precision their white, long, and flowing robes covering the ground as they entered. Both had faces that seemed devoid of emotion—serene but cold as if they had performed this ritual hundreds of times before.

You instinctively tried to press yourself into the corner of the bed pulling down from Peter. “Who are they?” you asked unsure though your voice came out shaky and weak.

Peter turned toward the women; his posture casual almost welcoming. “They’re here to help,” he said softly as though the explanation should comfort you.

Help. The word in your stomach was like poison. You didn’t need help. You needed to escape.

One of the women carried a bowl filled with a dark unknown substance that shimmered strangely in the candle's light. She laid the bowl down on a small wooden table near the bed, her movements carefully controlled. The other carried a smaller cup with her fingers clutching tightly as she looked at you.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice trembling as you shook your head. “I’m not drinking that.”

It’s just to help,” he said calmly. "You’ve been through so much. You lived so much. You’re shaking. You’re exhausted. This will relax you.”

“I don’t want to relax!” you cracked your voice rising in desperation. “I want to leave! Please, Peter, don’t do this!”

He sighed, as though disappointed but his patience did not waver. “I know you’re scared,” he said reaching out to hold his hand on your knee. “But this isn’t about fear. It’s about trust. You trust me, don’t you?”

Your stomach tilted and a cold wave of nausea was rolling over you. Why would he even ask that question? "Peter, you are not the person I thought you were. I don’t trust you. I don’t even know you anymore.”

Peter’s jaw tightened somewhat ever so slightly, as if flickering with guilt. Peter was the funny and clumsy guy you met at a party, but this Peter. You don't know which dimension he came from. But his guilt was immediately gone in an instant replaced by the same calm, unnervingly patient expression, accompanied with a reassuring smile that could've been comforting in different circumstances.

“It’s my fear. I think that can be said,” he said, his tone softening again. "Once you let go of this, you will see. You’ll feel better.”

He gestured toward the woman with the cup to reach closer to you. Her movements were graceful, fast rehearsed as she held the drinking. The cup itself was simple, wooden. But compared to what's inside looked nothing compared to ordinary. It was a dark murky brown with faint swirls of crimson that seemed to ripple on its own.

Your stomach churned at the sight of it, you wanted to gag at the thought of even coming in contact with that liquid, you said again "I won't drink that." Your voice barely above a whisper.

The woman didn’t respond. She held the cup in her hand, as if waiting for you drink it still.

Peter reached for your hand and firmly gripped on it, but not a forceful one. "It’s okay,” he said softly, his eyes locking with yours. “This will help you. I promise.”

You tried to pull your hand away, but his grip tightened, and the woman moved the cup closer to your lips. Panic rolled. Your heart began to beat, and tears were falling from your eyes. “No!” you shouted thrashing against Peter’s hold. “Let me go!”

But he didn’t let go. His strength was shocking and unyielding as he held your and instructed the woman to force the drink in your mouth. The dark liquid sloshed down the rim, spilling onto your trembling chin as you refused to open your mouth, moving your head back and forth so that you could just avoid the unknown and disgusting liquid.

“Please don’t fight this!” Peter shouted; his tone now laced with urgency and desperation. "It’s better if you just let it happen."

The woman tilted the cup and poured the thick liquid into your lips. You clenched your teeth, refusing to let it in. Peter’s hand moved to your jaw, his fingers pressing firmly until your mouth opened involuntarily. Liquid graced on your tongue, its taste vile and metallic like rotting herbs and rust.

You gagged and coughed violently as they forced you to swallow. The bitterness burned all the way down, leaving an acrid aftertaste that made you want to rip out your tongue, you fell on the bed as you gripped your throat—massaging your throat, a pathetic attempt to soothe the taste that felt like it travelled all the way down to your throat, it didn't have any burning sensation, it just felt like your throat had taste buds.

You convulsed on the bed, “What the- What was that?” you asked; out of breath as you tried to gasp for air.

Peter stood “You’re going to feel it soon,” he said, pushing a damp lock of hair off your brow.

It was a gentle warmth blooming in your chest, then outward like the bright afterglow from the strongest of drinks. Then it grew. It scorched through your veins, making your skin feel alive with a burst of tingling sensations. Your breaths came quicker as you kept trying to dismiss the feelings, but they just wouldn't listen.

“W-What is happening to me?” came the stammers from you in a trembling voice.

Peter knelt beside you again, touching your knee ever so lightly with his hand. “The elixir is working its magic on you,” he said kindly. “It allows you to let go. To free yourself to connect with what is meant to be.”

This warmth soon transformed into a more diabolical sensation, a slow burn that throbbed low in your stomach that stretched to your clothed womanhood. Suddenly every nerve ending on your skin was hypersensitive, sending a shiver down your spine against that crawl of fabric over your body. Heart racing, but it was hardly with fear.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “No, this isn’t right.”

Peter merely smiled all the wider and relaxed his squeeze on your shoulder. “It’s okay to feel this way,” he said. “Your body is just responding. It’s natural.”

While your mind was telling you every reason to fight it off, your body would have none of it. That heat, the damn heat; it clouded everything snuffing off every thought but that strange feeling growing in you.

Peter leaned in closer as he whispered “This is how it’s supposed to be. Don’t fight it. Just let it happen.”

Your brain screamed against this intrusion, invoking all the force it could muster to reject it, to reject him. But your limbs felt heavy, thick, sluggish, as though they had been clapped into a steel frame. The drug took effect, you loathed it and wished to deny the dull calling of unwanted pleasure.

"Please," you managed to whisper, letting your tears flow down your cheeks. "Don't do this."

In every way this was wrong. You didn't want to partake in this, you wanted out. Peter was not the person you thought he would. Maybe he was before all of this, but not now.

Peter held your face with both his hands—gentle yet firm. "It's been done," he said, pinning his gaze on yours with steady resolve.

The heat had become unbearable; it drummed against your thoughts and created ceilings that pressed down on you. You could hardly breathe, each breath barely manageable since all control was lost over thoughts revolving around him. The very touch of him inflamed every nerve in your body.

Peter continued to lean forward until the distance separating your two faces became almost nonexistent. The darkness of his brown eyes was rendered soft, for all that, it was chillingly out of place now. "You're trembling," he said softly, his voice dipping with mock concern as he brushed his palm over your damp forehead, lingering perhaps a moment too long.

You turned your head away, yet your body was heavy and unwilling to cooperate. "P-please," you whispered, not even sure what it was you were begging for at this point—mercy, some distance, anything but this.

Peter's hand slid down again to cradle your face, thumb grazing your cheek. The warmth of his touch felt like additional treachery against your body, which leaned into his hand, once again, even though the screams of your mind were saying otherwise. "Shh," he said, his voice dropping to a soothing pitch. "It's okay. You're safe here. With me."

His words twisted a knife that lodged in your heart, and you were still trying to find a protest when his other hand clamped on your waist—gentle yet firm. Just enough pressure was applied to make acutely aware of every detail of your closeness: the scent of wood smoke and something faintly sweet, flooding your senses and drowning all your composure.

"You've had to fight for so long," he said; there was almost a tenderness in his voice. "Let it go—let me take care of you."

You shook your head weakly, your lips parting to say no words that would come. Everything in you resisted, heavily dulled by the drug that now crumbled your defenses and left you helpless to bask in warmth blossoming in your chest and the sickening affinity of Peter's presence.

He angled his face, gazing down at you as the thumb of his right hand traced the curve of your jaw. "So beautiful," he murmured, almost a whisper. "Yet you don't even see it? You are something else—so special."

The tears that had built up in your eyes crashed down, scalding lines down your cheeks. "Please," you said again, but it came almost like a feeble whisper, your power to protest fractured.

Peter leaned forward, and his breath ghosted over your lips. "I've waited for this," he murmured, as though revealing a secret. "Waited for you. I thought I would never even have a chance with you since you were so fucking smitten with your dick of a boyfriend. But you're mine now,"

And before you could think, hit him back or convince him otherwise, his lips crushed against yours.

The kiss was languid, purposeful, and claiming. His mouth flowed with an unsettling confidence, an almost eerie manifestation of such rehearsed movement, if it existed at all. You wanted to break apart from him and scream and fight him, but your body let you down one last time; it was folded under the drug and against the full force of his presence.

His hands moved, one remained cradling your face, while the other tightened at your waist as a gentle reminder that you belonged nowhere else. It was a kiss more claiming than forceful, a silent proclamation of his ownership over you.

He finally pulled away but only to press his forehead to yours, feeling warm against your skin. "It's time" he whispered, it was loud enough for the women to hear. They immediately scurried out of the room and closed the door on their way out.

Before even asking what was going on, Peter attacked your neck. You shrieked at his sudden actions. He kissed, licked, and bite every single portion of your neck.

Peter's hot tongue licked your skin as he leaned closer, lips barely grazing the curve of your neck. A shiver made its way down your spine as he softly sucked on the sensitive flesh, forming this sweet vacuum that made your heart stand still.

Peter kept on kissing and nibbling at your neck, fueling his excitement that grew hotter like a fire, determined to engulf you both. His hands tightened around your waist, drawing you closer as he deepened the kiss, lips and tongue moving together in a dance that spoke both pleasure and pain.

You winced; you want nothing more but for this to end. You tried to imagine yourself in another scenario, a happy one. That one time where Harry bought you this wonderful necklace for your one-year anniversary. Things were still calm, peaceful.

You were so deep in thought that the ripping sound of fabric made you flinch. You have realized that Peter has ripped off your thin graphic t-shirt, leaving nothing but your bra on full display for him. But of course, the bra didn't stay on for long.

He ripped your bra off you with such force. He threw the bra elsewhere, that was the least of his worries as your he saw your mounds with all its glory. Blood rushed up to his cock at the sight of you half naked and slightly damp from sweat. You on the other hand just wanted nothing more but all of this to end.

Peter leaned in, his lips grazing your skin down to the soft curve of your delicate breast. His mouth latched onto your nipple, and he started to suckle; the soft gentle tug sent a jolt of sensation radiating through your body. Your hands fisted the sheets as you let out a shriek.

"You have no idea how long I have waited for this moment" His words came in muffled since he was still stuffing his face with your breasts, but you heard it loud and clear. How blind were you? Peter has been lusting over you, longer than you even met him, how come you never realized it? All the warning signs were there, but they were subtle, now they're just coming to light now that it was too late.

He had grown more daring now, sucking, kissing, and licking every inch of your breasts. He nibbled and sucked at the curves, gently biting the flesh around them. Meanwhile, his hands traveled all over her torso, cupping and squeezing dear breasts as if to remember every contour.

"So beautiful," he whispered in between kisses. "Perfect. Mine." Those words sent a shuddering chill up your spine.

Peter stared into your eyes while he was sucking and nibbling on your breasts. They would have been a sweet sight if the present state of affairs were any different.

He released your nipple from his mouth, as drool connected from his lips to your erect nipples.

With urgent impatience, Peter fumbled with the buttons of his shirt and then tore it off, revealing a sculpted torso that demanded attention. The muscles of his torso flexed while he moved, and for a second, you could not help but look at the sheer grace and control that radiated off his body.

Now, Peter had long ceased to be interested in himself; he was now concentrating all his energy and attention on you. The moment he grabbed hold of your pants, and his fingers had clasped tightly around the waistband, panic ran through you at the sight of him pulling down on them. You didn't want to give in, not now, not ever.

Your hands went straight up to push against him; you punched at his chest with all the remaining strength that you have that wasn't stripped off by the drug. Your fruitless attempt on trying to gain some space between your bodies.

"Peter, no," you said, your voice wavering but earnest. "I don't want to. Please!"

His eyes never left the prize, and nothing was going to stop him. He yanked your pants down, regardless of how you kicked and thrashed against the force with which he was pulling. Your underwear met the cool air.

A wave of embarrassment washed over you as you realized that Peter was staring down at the small scrap of fabric that barely covered you in your most intimate area.

He wrapped his fingers around your underwear's waistband. You tried to squirm away from him, but he held you tight, his grip like a vice. In one swift motion, he ripped the fabric from your body, leaving you completely bare.

Peter's eyes had wandered across every inch of your naked body, you tried to look away from him, but your face was met with a wet pillow, you didn't even notice that you have let out a few tears.

Peter dove on to your crotch and his warm breath rolled over your sensitive skin like a wave of fire. His tongue flicked out as he suckled at your clit, and involuntarily, jolts of electricity pulsed up your spine. You attempted to push him off you once more, but Peter was far too strong

Peter continued his assault on your pussy, you felt a familiar sensation happening. You shook your head as your body betrayed you. Peter seemed to notice this, "There she is"

Before you knew it, he inserted a finger in your hole as he continuously licked your clit with such vigor.

You let out a strangled moan as your hand flew to his hair. Peter smirked at this as he slowly fucked you with his finger, which was a stark contrast to his tongue who ravished you like you were his last meal

"God, such a tasty pussy" He murmured, which just sent vibrations to your pussy. He continued, his tongue circles your clit, licking and sucking on it like he can't get enough. "Good lil fuckin pussy" He moaned as if he's the one getting head.

He continues to lap on your juices, slurping any arousal seeping through as if he hadn't drunk water in many years.

His voice low and soft, whispering how good it is, how perfect your sweet pussy was for him. "Fuck, baby, you're so fucking sweet—so good for me. God, I'm so glad your mine now." He kisses it so passionately, muttering praises to it while his tongue laps you up.

And as he continued to lick and suck at your clit, you felt a building pressure inside yourself. It felt like every nerve ending had been ignited by Peter’s ministrations.

Your legs stiffened, your hips jerked upwards, and your entire body began to tremble with anticipation.

With such joy and pain, you felt like you were seeing stars right in front of you. The intensity was too much to bear as your grip on Peter's hair tightened

That instant when the knot finally snapped and a deluge of pure, harmless ecstasy engulfed you, your body contorted, muscles oscillating and contracting rhythmically; an intense orgasm swooping upon you like a tempest.

Your legs stiffened and your toes curled in pleasure. You clutched at anything and everything. Peter's hair, bed linen, anything to hold on to the threads of reality, as everything before your eyes dissolved into an ocean of forced bliss.

River of tears were falling from your eyes. You couldn't help but reminiscence your time with Harry. For the first years you were together with Harry, he was sweet and loving, even if your relationship has turned sour after Harry found another hobby, he would never force himself inside you. When you had sex, it was always consensual.

With the final ripples of the orgasm fading away, Peter finally pulled his head from between your legs. His gaze brushed over you with a kind of possessive pride, and he took the disarray of your body in the messy fondle of your hair, the daze that lingered from where he brought you so close to the edge that you fell over it, and the slick of sweat glistening over your skin.

“You look tired,” Peter said with a soft almost guilty tone, "But I'm afraid that that was just to prepare you, were just beginning"

When those words came out his mouth you shook your head as you begged him, "Please Pete, please" You sobbed, your words barely even intelligible.

"Shhhhhhhh" He shushed you, "The more your accepting, the sooner this will end" No, you didn't want to accept this, there must be another way, there must be.

As he stood up and took off his pants, exposing his erect cock. His cock slightly bounced once the boxers were fully off of him. He climbed on top you as both of you were now fully naked as the day you were born.

"The bedding ceremony is about to begin” Peter said, low in his throat, his voice husky with desire. “It's going to hurt, but I think I prepped you enough”

He then aligned his cock to your slit. You gasped as his bulbous tip entered you, he wasn't big, but he was thick. He slowly pushed his cock inch by inch inside you, your sensitive flesh was still sore from the previous orgasm.

Peter suddenly thrusted deep inside you, fully losing patience, with a forcefulness that took your breath away. His cock touching your cervix when he bottomed inside you, it felt almost painful how intense it was.

“Please, Peter,” you pleaded, attempting to push him away. "You're hurting me."

But Peter just smiled at you, it gave you tingling shudders through your spine. “That's the first step of the ceremony” he said, pulling out then plunging back in. “You just have to learn to accept what I’m giving you, if you learn maybe Goddess will reward you"

His relentless cock was battering your insides, and you were starting to tear up. It was nearly unbearable agony; the pleasure was subtle that you could barely even get the gist of it, the searing warmth that burned itself into your very essence.

“Stop,” you said again, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. "Please just stop."

Through the pain and the fear, you never lost hope. So you fought back with a passion you never had before.

Your hands raked Peter’s chest, ripping at his skin to the point he grunted in surprise. Your fingers sank into his skin, but he only chuckled—a sound that was hollow and empty.

Unfazed, you fought on. Your teeth dug into his shoulder, biting down hard enough to make him hiss. But even as he grimaced, he wouldn’t stop — his hips pumping a relentless rhythm, one that threatened to swallow you whole.

You swung your fists, punching into Peter's face and chest with a frenzied abandon. Forced down in front of him as he sunk his cock deep within your needy hole, you tried to twist away, to squirm free as he held you in place, the weight of his body pinning your hands above your head, forcing you to take this.

And you tried, even though it was entirely pointless. You kicked your legs to try and buck him off you. But he was too heavy — too powerful — and he laughed again as he kept your legs pinned down beneath him.

With each thrust Peter grew more aggressive; almost brutal the heat inside you was burning you up; threatening to consume all reason and make you numb.

You were lost in the agonizing bliss, as Peter's cock continued its merciless assault on your insides. The fire in your belly grew more intense, it felt like it was spreading through your insides like wildfire.

"God, you're squeezing me so hard" Peter breathed as his thrusts slowed down just a little bit.

Yet whilst you sensed you were in pieces on the inside, that you were toppling apart, something in you relished it. It felt like your body had turned against you, reacting to the vicious attack with a disgusting cocktail of agony and pleasure.

Peter thrusts forward and you felt your hips bucking in time with his, your mind spinning in horror. It was like your body had created its own consciousness that responded immediately to the arousal with animal instinct that couldn't be suppressed.

You were losing yourself in the sensations, being sucked into a world both dark and depraved, where no line could be drawn between pain and pleasure. It was the most terrifying feeling in the world, when you wondered if you would ever find a way out of the grip of this monster who was responsible for everything.

With every thrust, Peter became more aggressive, more brutal - You could feel yourself losing control; teetering on edge, ready to plunge headfirst into unknown; uncertainty ignited both fear and anticipation.

Your breaths were coming in small gasps now as Peter gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin like a vice. You attempted to move; attempted to wriggle against him—but it was futile: he was too strong

This friction just poured gasoline into the flames that had been raging within you—turning those pleasurable sensations into unbearable ones. The edge of your sight blurs out; stars dance along the border of your vision as the world narrows down on a single point of focus: Peter

In pure ecstasy moment you found yourself surrendering, submitting to the wave pleasure that is tearing up your body. Its fear inducing and freeing sensation — like leaping off a precipice without a net — not knowing what awaits at the base.

The world went white and quiet. You hear Peters voice in your ear whispering "Come for me" and with that your body explodes into thousand pieces

You weren't sure what happened, your mind all fogged and your pussy sore. The only thing you have noticed was that Peter was still thrusting inside you.

He leaned as he whispered the most haunting words into your ear, "I almost feel bad for you. I guess you should always follow what your parents says, don't trust strangers"

@gloomskulls 2024. DON'T COPY, TRANSLATE OR USE ANY OF MY WORKS HERE OR ANY OTHER WEBSITES. Photos don't belong to me

[eclipixels]

Mine

Yoichi Isagi x Reader

Content: You finally meet Kaiser for the first time and, as expected, your boyfriend hated every second of it

[1,884 words]

      Isagi paced back and forth in his room, his frustration loud. The creak of the floorboards echoed his every step as he muttered under his breath, his hands running through his disheveled dark blue hair. Blue Lock had granted him a rare weekend break after the intense commencement of the Neo Egoist League, yet his mind was far from restful.

      "Winning against him isn't enough," Isagi finally blurted out, his voice a mixture of anger and resolve. "I want him dead."

      You sat cross-legged on his bed, your laptop perched on your knees. Finals had consumed your attention, leaving you out of the loop regarding Isagi's latest adversary and this whole new Blue Lock show. The way your boyfriend described this "Kaiser" guy was enough to make you believe the man might actually be the devil.

      "Baby, don’t you think that’s a little too far?" you asked cautiously, hoping to diffuse the intensity.

      "Not as far as how deep I’m gonna shove my foot down his throat after I score the winning goal," he continued, looking like a mad man. Oh boy.

      You winced, unsure of how to respond. "Oh, um, that’s not…"

      "Honestly," Isagi interrupted, his voice rising, "he should go kill himself. Right, baby? Say yes. Yes. Agree with me, please." He turned to you with an almost desperate look in his eyes.

      "I don’t know—" you began, only to be cut off again.

      "God, I hope lightning strikes him down. That gay ass fucking fa—"

      "Woah! Let’s calm down there, babe," you interjected, alarmed. You raised your hands in a placating gesture, fearing where his words might lead. "Don’t say that."

      "You don’t understand, love," he said through clenched teeth, his fists balling at his sides. The raw emotion in his voice was both startling and heartbreaking. Who the fuck was this guy that had your boyfriend losing his god damn mind?

      “C’mere” You gestured towards yourself, setting your laptop down beside you. He pouted before collapsing onto you, snuggling his face into your body.

      You exhaled softly, trying to steady the conversation. "I may not, but you need to be the bigger person here. Don’t let it get to you, okay?"

      Isagi let out a frustrated huff, his shoulders sagging slightly as some of the tension left his body. "Hmpf, he just gets me so mad," he admitted, his voice quieter but still charged with frustration.

      "I know, my love. I know," you said softly, your tone soothing.

      He looked up at you then, his dark eyes softening, filled with an almost childlike vulnerability. "You love me?"

      You smiled, your heart melting at the sudden shift in his demeanor. "Of course, Ichi!"

      "You’d do anything for me?" he asked, tilting his head with a sly smile that hinted at mischief. Oh god.

      "Depends…" you replied warily, sensing a trap.

      "Fun date idea! I kill him and you help me hide the body," he quipped, his tone still tinged with residual frustration.

      "Yoichi!" you exclaimed, incredulous.

      "What? Praying on his downfall isn't enough, I need to participate in it."

      You groaned, throwing your hands in the air. "Oh my god."

      –

      You had decided to visit Blue Lock the following Monday, armed with a basket full of homemade cookies. Ever since that chaotic day during Blue Lock’s early days when you barged in unannounced, demanding to see Yoichi, you'd somehow managed to win over nearly everyone. It was surprising how quickly you'd become a familiar and welcome presence in such an intense environment. Even Ego, who rarely exhibited anything resembling warmth, seemed to tolerate you.

      “Oh, L/N. Nice to see you,” Ego grumbled, his eyes momentarily flickering from the numerous screens in front of him.

      “Nice to see you too! Here.” You handed him a cookie with a small smile.

      For a second, Ego simply stared at the offering, as if it were some foreign object. Then, with a curt nod, he accepted it. His usual gruff demeanor faltered ever so slightly, and you could’ve sworn his eyes lit up briefly. But that was most likely because it was the first time he'd eaten something other than cup noodles in weeks.

      Anri was next. “Oh, thank you, Y/N!” she said warmly, clearly delighted by the gesture.

      You made your way through the facility, handing out cookies to the players. A wave of gratitude followed you wherever you went. Even Rin came back for seconds.

      You were a little nervous to meet Europe's top five but by the end of it, you were cracking jokes with Chris Prince and even had Noel Noa, the Noel Noa, compliment your baking. It was like a dream.

      “Thank you so much, Y/N-chan! These are amazing!” Bachira grinned as he took a generous bite.

      “You got more?” Igarashi asked eagerly, his eyes wide with anticipation. After weeks of natto and pickled raddish, his taste buds were still in recovery so this was a rare and luxurious treat for him.

      You chuckled. “Don’t worry, I baked plenty. I know how much you guys eat.”

      However, your mind was elsewhere. You scanned the pitch for your boyfriend, but he was nowhere to be found. Just as you resolved to go look for him, you accidentally bumped into someone—a very tall someone.

      The strong scent of Dior Sauvage immediately assaulted your senses, making you wince slightly.

      “Oh, hello there.” The man’s voice was smooth and.. German?

      “Ah, sorry about that,” you replied in the same language, catching him off guard.

      “You speak German?” he asked, a brow raised in curiosity.

      “Just a little,” you admitted.

      “It’s good,” he remarked, a small smile tugging at his lips.

      “Thanks. I, uh, had a phase when I was obsessed with a German boy band at twelve, so I learned some German back then.” You chuckled, feeling a bit self-conscious about the admission.

      The man chuckled too, clearly amused. “Interesting.”

      Isagi emerged from the locker room, his eyes immediately landing on the group of players happily munching on your cookies. He smiled to himself, realizing you were nearby. However, his smile vanished when Nagi casually nudged him and pointed toward the field.

      There you were, chatting it up with none other than Michael fucking Kaiser.

      What the actual fuck?

      Isagi’s jaw clenched as he watched Kaiser lean in slightly, his body language oozing confidence and flirtation. Why was that bastard so close to you?

      “You’re interesting,” Kaiser murmured, stepping just a bit closer to you.

      You blinked, unsure of how to respond. “Uh… thanks? Want a cookie? I made enough for everyone.”

      “Maybe,” Kaiser said with a smirk. “But I didn’t catch your name.”

      “Oh, it’s Y/n.”

      “Michael.”

      Your eyes widened slightly. “M-Michael? Michael Kaiser?”

      “Ah, so you’ve heard of me.” He grinned, his hand reaching up to gently tilt your chin upward. “Good things, I hope.”

      Before you could step back, a firm hand grabbed your arm and pulled you away.

      “Actually, all bad things, you fucking asshole. Get away from my girlfriend,” Isagi growled, positioning himself protectively in front of you.

      Kaiser’s smirk widened as he processed Isagi’s words. His gaze shifted between you and Isagi, a glint of mischief sparkling in his eyes. It was clear he was already scheming. How had Isagi managed to bag a bad bitch like you? And more importantly, how could he use you as a pawn in this game of destroying Isagi’s ego?

      Isagi, however, was no fool. He could see the gears turning in Kaiser’s head and immediately shot him a look that screamed, ‘don’t you fucking dare even think about it.’

      Kaiser’s grin remained, but he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Relax, Yoichi. I was just being friendly.”

      “Yeah? Well, don’t,” Isagi snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument. “She doesn’t need you as a friend.”

      “Yikes, Liebling. Is he usually this controlling?” He turned to look at you.

      “Oh shut it, Kaiser,” Isagi snapped.

      “I think the pretty girl here can speak for herself. If she doesn’t want me talking to her, she can say that.”

      “Let’s just walk away, Ichi.” You tugged on your boyfriend’s jersey trying to pull him away from the situation. Isagi stared hard at Kaiser, secretly hoping that his look was enough to burn a hole through the European man and kill him.

      Your words from earlier echoed in his mind. Be the better person. With a deep breath, he listened to your advice, turning on his heel to walk away. But then Kaiser’s taunting voice cut through the tension like a blade.

      “She’s way too good for someone like you. Let me know when she’s done with you so I can take my turn.”

      That was all it took. Your boyfriend froze, his jaw tightening, his fists clenching at his sides. The restraint he’d managed only seconds before dissolved, and in an instant, he spun around and stormed back. Grabbing Kaiser by the collar, he yanked him close, his voice low and venomous.

      “Listen here, you shitty clown. Keep her name out of your mouth. You can talk shit about me all you want, but she’s off-limits. Say one more thing about her, and I’ll make damn sure you’ll never set foot on a soccer field again. Got it?”

      Kaiser didn’t flinch. Instead, he grinned. A sly, infuriating smirk that made it impossible to tell if he was taking Isagi’s words seriously or mocking him. You felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you as the scene unfolded, the attention of the entire field now drawn to the confrontation. Where was Ego? Normally, he’d step in by now on that damn screen.

      “You’re insane,” Kaiser finally said, his laughter ringing out as he grabbed Isagi’s wrists and shoved him away. He dusted off his jersey and added smugly, “But out of respect for the girl, I’ll back off. Not because of you.”

      Isagi’s shoulders were tense, his fists still clenched at his sides just itching to wipe that arrogant look off Kaiser’s face. But he noticed how uncomfortable you looked, and his own anger began to subside. Kaiser wasn’t worth it, not if it meant upsetting you.

      Kaiser walked away scoffing. But Isagi was still super tense.

      “Are you okay?” you asked, your voice cautious but warm as you stepped closer.

      “Fine,” he muttered, though his tone was gruff.

      Then his eyes met yours, and the storm within him seemed to calm. His muscles relaxed, and while he didn’t smile, his expression shifted, relief washing over his features.

      “Cookie?” Your innocent question caught him off guard. He chuckled, the sound light and genuine, before taking your hand in his and leading you back to where his friends were gathered. They were already devouring the baked goods you’d brought, and you doubted there would be anything left for him.

      But you knew this wasn’t over. You could already tell Kaiser would be a thorn in your boyfriend’s soccer career for a little while. You just hoped it wouldn’t take too heavy a toll.

      When no one was looking, Isagi stole a quick kiss, catching you by surprise. His lips tasted of the cookie he’d just eaten, sweet and warm.

      “Mine,” he whispered, his voice firm but filled with affection as he grabbed your waist.

      “Yours,” you replied softly, your heart fluttering.

[stylesonfilms]

ink & innocence - 29 (30 to i&i community)

word count: 5.8k

ohhh buckle up! (not proofread but then again none of my stuff ever is! 😋)

Harry's boots echoed in the sterile hallway, each tap against the cement floor a reminder of his raw, aching body. The SWAT headquarters buzzed faintly around him, but he felt removed, as if he were walking underwater. Zayn trailed beside him, their footsteps slightly out of sync, but the silence between them was louder than any words they could have exchanged.

Harry’s knuckles were wrapped in hastily applied white bandages, already tinged pink with fresh blood seeping through. His wrists burned like fire, the raw skin inflamed and angry where the ropes had dug in. Every step sent a dull ache radiating through his sides, his ribs protesting the movement beneath the ugly green and purple bruises that spread across his torso like an abstract painting. 

His busted lip throbbed with each beat of his heart, the familiar weight of his lip ring conspicuously absent. He felt naked without it, like the pain had stripped him of more than just his dignity. The stitches on his temple and cheekbone pulled at his skin with every subtle twitch of his jaw, and his fingers ached from the splinters that still embedded themselves deep under the skin, tiny reminders of the chaos that had unfolded.

Zayn fared better, at least outwardly. His wrists bore the same raw marks of captivity, the skin red and broken, but his steady gait and stoic expression made it seem like he’d shaken off the worst of it. Harry envied him. The weight Zayn carried was internal, buried beneath layers of forced calm.

As they approached the exit, the heavy steel door groaned open, and sunlight spilled into the dim hallway like an unwelcome guest. The brightness hit Harry like a slap, its warmth jarring and incongruous with the cold reality of the night before. 

The world outside felt too normal, too detached from the horrors they had endured. The sun didn’t care about the bruises on his ribs or the guilt gnawing at his chest. It kept shining, indifferent to the weight he carried.

The low buzz of the black gate ahead rumbled through the quiet, vibrating faintly under Harry’s boots. The gates peeled open with mechanical precision, revealing a car rolling into the lot—Isobel’s car. The sight of it sent a pang through Harry’s chest, sharp and twisting. He averted his gaze quickly, his jaw tightening. He wasn’t ready. He couldn’t bear to meet Aspen’s eyes, not after everything.

The image of her shirt— pulled from her closet and waved in front of him like a taunt—flashed in his mind, unrelenting. His stomach churned. The guilt clawed at him, sharp and unforgiving. 

He should have been the one to tell her, to explain what had happened, but the Commander’s voice had carried through the hall earlier, low and serious, recounting the events to Aspen and Isobel over the phone. Harry had overheard just enough to know they’d heard it all: the violence, the danger, the close call. 

And yet, he hadn’t been the one to say it. That truth ate at him more than anything.

His eyes drifted upward, catching the lingering rays of the sun. The light moved slowly, creeping across the pavement as if mocking the time he’d spent trapped in that hell. 

He thought about Aspen under that same sun, living through the hours he couldn’t. How many times had it risen and set without him by her side?

Harry’s hand twitched, his fingers curling reflexively around the stained bandage on his knuckles. His grip tightened, the pain sharp enough to ground him as Isobel’s car came to a stop in front of them. 

He didn’t even need to see Aspen to feel the weight of her presence. He already knew she was there, sitting quietly in the passenger seat, her silence louder than any words she could have spoken.

The sound of the car unlocking broke through the thick air, and Zayn sighed heavily, his fingers wrapping around the door handle. He paused, giving Harry a look that spoke volumes. It wasn’t just resignation— it was determination, an unspoken "Let’s get this over with."

When the door opened, the cabin filled with an almost stifling quiet. Harry slid into the seat, the fabric pressing against his bruised sides in a way that made him wince. The click of the seatbelt echoed in his ears, followed by the soft hum of the engine shifting into drive. The doors locked with a hollow thunk, trapping them all in an unspoken tension that hung heavy in the air.

Harry couldn’t stop looking at Aspen, though he tried. His eyes traced the loose strands of hair escaping from her frayed braid, the soft wisps curling near her ears. The gentle breeze from the AC ruffled those strands, creating tiny movements that seemed to demand his attention. 

Her glasses were gone now, but the faint indentations on her nose told him she’d been wearing them earlier. It was the smallest detail, but it anchored him in a way he couldn’t explain.

She didn’t look at him— at least, not fully. Her gaze stayed fixed on her lap, her hands loosely clasped as if she didn’t trust them not to shake. When she finally glanced over her shoulder, it was quick, fleeting, like she couldn’t bear to hold her gaze on him for too long. 

That glance hit him harder than any of Leone’s punches. It was worse than disappointment— it was detachment, as though she couldn’t bring herself to see him as the same person anymore.

Zayn shifted beside him, the subtle nudge of his knee breaking Harry out of his spiraling thoughts. Harry blinked, his furrowed brow easing slightly as Zayn gave him a pointed look. The silent message was clear: Stop staring. Get it together.

Harry exhaled shakily and turned to face the window, the city blurring past them as the car picked up speed. The towering buildings and bustling streets felt distant, like a world he no longer belonged to. 

He wanted to say something, to explain, to apologize, but the words lodged in his throat. The silence stretched on, thick and suffocating, as they drove further away from the chaos they’d barely survived.

The car door clicked shut behind Harry, the sound echoing faintly in his ears as he stood there for a moment, unmoving. The pavement felt solid beneath his boots, yet his legs trembled slightly, the exhaustion from the last 24 hours weighing on him like lead. 

He muttered a small, hoarse "thank you" to Isobel, his voice barely audible. His eyes flicked to Aspen, just for a split second, but the sight of her sitting there— hands folded tightly in her lap, her expression unreadable— sent a sharp pang through his chest. Without another word, he turned and began walking toward his building, each step deliberate, as if any misstep might send him toppling over.

He didn’t let himself look back, though the urge burned in him like a second sun. Not since that night— when he’d driven her home after Zayn’s party, riddled with the same guilt and uncertainty— had the pull to glance back at her been so strong. 

But now wasn’t the time. Not after everything. His fingers twitched at his sides, curling into the fabric of his jeans as he tried to steady himself, his body feeling foreign and disconnected.

Aspen’s eyes followed him, her gaze lingering on the slight limp in his step, the careful way he moved as if every muscle in his body screamed in protest. She noticed how his shoulders were hunched, as though the weight of his thoughts bore down on him more than his injuries. 

Her heart ached at the sight, but she quickly pushed the feeling aside, folding it into the pit of anger, worry, and confusion that had taken root inside her. But she couldn't just leave him there.

She inhaled deeply, the breath catching slightly in her throat, and opened her door. “I’ll be back,” she murmured to Isobel, who gave her a small nod but said nothing. Aspen stepped out, the soft thud of the car door closing behind her barely registering as her focus zeroed in on Harry’s retreating frame.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The air in the car was thick with tension, so heavy it seemed to press down on Zayn’s chest. Isobel’s fingers gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white, her jaw clenched so tight it was a wonder she could breathe. 

She hadn’t said a word since Aspen had stepped out of the car to check on Harry. The silence was oppressive, and Zayn knew it was only a matter of time before she let him have it.

He shifted in his seat, his hands fidgeting with the frayed hem of his hoodie. His wrists still burned, the raw skin hidden beneath the bandages, and the dull ache in his ribs reminded him of everything that had gone wrong. 

But none of that compared to the discomfort he felt sitting under Isobel's gaze, waiting for the storm to break.

It didn’t take long.

“Are you serious, Zayn?” Her voice cut through the silence like a knife, sharp and biting. “Are you fucking serious right now? get your ass up here, now."

Zayn winced, scrambling out of the back to replace Aspen's seat in the front. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Isobel, I—”

“No,” she snapped, her tone leaving no room for argument. “You don’t get to start with ‘Isobel.’ 'Isobel' abso-fucking-lutely nothing. Not after everything. What the hell were you thinking? What were you doing?”

Zayn let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. He looked down at his lap, avoiding her gaze. “I wasn’t thinking. That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

“Damn right it is,” she shot back, her voice rising slightly. “Zayn, you could’ve gotten yourself killed. You almost did. And Harry? Look at him! He looks like he got hit by a truck. What the hell were you two involved in? And don’t even try to lie to me.”

Zayn swallowed hard, his throat dry. He knew she had every right to be angry, but hearing the frustration and worry in her voice was like twisting a knife in his gut. “I’m sorry, Izzy,” he said quietly. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it, Zayn!” she yelled, slamming her hand against the steering wheel for emphasis. The sharp sound made him flinch. “Do you even understand how scared I was? How terrified I was when I got that call? I thought I was going to lose you.”

Her voice cracked on the last word, and Zayn’s chest tightened. He dared a glance at her, and the sight of her blinking back tears hit him harder than any punch ever had. He reached out, placing a hand on her knee, but she shoved it away.

“Don’t,” she said, her voice trembling. “Don’t touch me right now. Just... explain. Start from the beginning, Zayn. I want to know everything.”

He hesitated, his fingers drumming against his thigh. “You don’t want to know everything.”

Her head snapped toward him, her eyes blazing. “Yes, I do. Don’t you dare try to "protect" me from this. I’ve already been dragged into it by default, so you owe me the truth.”

Zayn exhaled slowly, leaning back against the headrest. His body felt heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and guilt. “It started small,” he began, his voice low and rough. “It wasn’t supposed to be... this. Just a couple of side jobs for cash, y’know? People came in wanting tattoos, and some of them paid more than what we charged— way more. We didn’t ask questions. We didn’t want to know where the money came from.”

Isobel scoffed, shaking her head. “That was your first mistake.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “But it got worse. Word spread, and suddenly we weren’t just doing tattoos. People started asking for favors. Deliveries. Meetings. It spiraled before we even realized what was happening.”

Her hands tightened on the wheel, and she let out a bitter laugh. “And you didn’t think to stop? To tell someone? To tell me?”

“I didn’t want you involved!” Zayn said, his voice rising for the first time. “Do you think I wanted you anywhere near this shit? I didn’t even want to be near it, but I couldn’t just... walk away. It doesn’t work like that, Izzy. You don’t just quit.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, her chest rising and falling with quick, angry breaths. “So instead, you dragged Harry into it? You let him take the brunt of it?”

Zayn shook his head vehemently. “No! It wasn’t like that. He... he was already there when it started. We both were. But yeah, it always seemed to hit him harder. I don’t know why. Maybe because he’s... I don’t know, Harry. He’s always had that... something about him. Like he’s got a target on his back.”

“Yeah, well, now he’s got bruises and stitches on his face too,” she snapped. “And that’s on you, Zayn. Both of you got into this mess, but it looks like he’s the one paying the bigger price.”

Zayn’s shoulders slumped, the weight of her words pressing down on him. “I know,” he whispered. “I know, okay? And it kills me, Iz. I didn’t want this for him. I didn’t want this for either of us.”

She let out a long, shaky breath, her fingers finally relaxing on the wheel. “You’re such an idiot,” she said, her tone softer but no less frustrated. “I don’t know how you always manage to get yourself into shit like this.”

“Because I’m me,” he said with a half-hearted shrug. “The king of bad decisions.”

Isobel’s lips twitched, like she was fighting the urge to smile despite herself. “You’re lucky I love you, you know that?”

Zayn’s heart clenched, and he looked at her with a mixture of guilt and gratitude. “I know. And I love you too. More than anything. That’s why I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

She sighed, her head falling back against the seat. “I hate that you think you’re protecting me by keeping me in the dark. You’re not, Zayn. You’re just making it harder.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on his lap. “I’ll make it right,” he promised. “I don’t know how yet, but I will. I swear.”

Isobel looked at him for a long moment, her expression softening. She reached over and took his hand, her thumb brushing over the raw skin of his knuckles. 

“You better. Because next time, I’m not just going to lecture you— I’ll kill you myself.”

Zayn let out a small, dry laugh, squeezing her hand gently. “Fair enough.”

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

He had almost reached the building when she heard it— the faint, involuntary wince that escaped his lips as he adjusted his bag over his shoulder. It was quiet, barely audible, but it was enough to send a pang straight through her chest. 

She hated that sound. Hated how it made her want to run to him, to help him, when she wasn’t even sure how to feel about him right now. She quickened her pace, her sneakers crunching against the gravel as she followed him.

Harry reached the complex doors and pushed them open with his shoulder, the movement slow and calculated. He didn’t look behind him, but he didn’t need to; he knew she was there. He could feel her presence, her quiet steps behind him, the weight of her gaze boring into his back. 

Part of him wanted to tell her to leave, to spare her from the mess he’d dragged her into, but another part of him—larger, louder—was relieved she hadn’t stayed in the car.

Inside, the fluorescent lights buzzed faintly above them, their cold glow casting long shadows across the walls as they walked silently down the hall once the elevator dinged open. 

Harry’s apartment was at the end, the farthest from the entrance, and every step felt heavier than the last. The tension between them was palpable, thick enough to choke on, but neither said a word.

When they reached his door, Harry fumbled with his keys, his movements sluggish and shaky. Aspen stood behind him, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her gaze fixed on a crack in the hallway floor. When the door finally swung open, they both stepped inside, the air between them growing even thicker in the confined space.

Harry dropped his bag by the door, the sound of it hitting the floor breaking the oppressive silence. He didn’t bother turning on the lights; the dim glow from the window was enough. His apartment felt stiflingly quiet, the hum of the fridge in the kitchen the only sound.

He turned to face her, his eyes heavy with exhaustion and something else—guilt, maybe, or shame. He ran a hand through his hair, wincing slightly as the motion pulled at his stitches, and finally broke the silence. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. “For... not telling you. For all of this.”

Aspen’s arms tightened across her chest, her expression unreadable. “Why?” she asked, her voice soft but steady. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Harry let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders sagging under the weight of her question. “I didn’t know how,” he admitted, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I wanted to tell you, I really did, but I thought... I thought keeping you out of it would protect you.”

Her brows furrowed, her voice sharpening slightly. “Protect me? H, do you even hear yourself? I’m standing here right now, in your apartment, after being dragged into this whole mess. You didn’t protect me, you lied to me. You hid this from me.”

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” Harry said quickly, his voice tinged with desperation. “I was trying to keep you safe.”

“Safe?” she echoed, her tone incredulous. “You call this safe? I’m a random college student, Harry. I’m not supposed to be dealing with... whatever this is. And now I’m here, tangled up in it because of you.”

Her words cut deep, and Harry’s chest tightened. He knew she was right, but the way she said it— a random college student— made his stomach churn. 

His jaw tightened, and his hands curled into fists at his sides, the fresh sting of his knuckles grounding him in his frustration. 

“So what?” he said quietly, his voice laced with hurt. “You’re saying you regret it? Regret... being involved with me?”

Aspen blinked, startled by the raw emotion in his voice, but she didn’t respond right away. The silence between them stretched out, sharp and suffocating, as Harry’s words hung in the air.

Her arms were still crossed over her chest, not in defiance but in self-preservation, as if holding herself together was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

“I don’t regret being with you, Harry,” she finally said, her voice soft but weighted with emotion. She lifted her gaze to meet his, her brown eyes glossy in the dim light. 

“I could never regret that. But I just... I wish you would’ve told me.” Her voice broke slightly on the last word, and she quickly cleared her throat, averting her gaze again. 

“It hurts to see you like this, so beat up, so... alone.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, the corners of his mouth twitching as he processed her words. He wanted to reach for her, to reassure her, but the knot of frustration in his chest kept his hands rooted at his sides. 

“I didn’t tell you because I couldn’t, Aspen,” he said, his voice steady but strained. 

“It wasn’t about shutting you out, it was about keeping you away from all this.” He gestured vaguely at his bandaged wrists, at the bruises visible even in the dim light. “This isn’t something I ever wanted you to be a part of.”

Aspen’s brows knit together, her arms dropping to her sides. “But don’t you see? By not telling me, you didn’t keep me away from it— you just threw me into it blind. If I’d known, I could’ve—” She stopped herself, unsure of what she was even trying to say. 

Helped? Supported him? It felt futile now, like trying to stitch a wound already infected. 

“You lied to me, Harry,” she said finally, her voice trembling with quiet hurt. “You manipulated me into thinking you were someone I could trust— someone who promised honesty, safety, a real relationship. And instead, you kept me in the dark about everything.”

Her words hit like a punch to the gut, and Harry couldn’t stop the small, sharp exhale that escaped him. He ran a hand over his face, the scrape of his bandages against his stubbled jaw grounding him in his rising frustration. 

“You think I wanted to manipulate you?” he shot back, his tone still low but carrying an edge now.

“You think it was easy for me to lie? I didn’t want to do this, Aspen. I hated it. But what was I supposed to do? Lay all my shit on you and just... what? Hope you’d be fine with it?”

“I didn’t say I’d be fine with it,” she replied quickly, her voice faltering. 

“But at least I wouldn’t have been blindsided like this! At least I could’ve prepared myself for... for this.” She gestured at him, her hands shaking slightly. 

“You talk about honesty and protecting me, but you didn’t do either of those things. You just—”

“What about you?” Harry interrupted, his voice calm but sharp, his gaze pinning her in place.

 “You want to talk about honesty, Aspen? What about the stuff you don’t tell me? Huh?” His words came faster now, the frustration spilling over. 

“I don’t know anything about your family. You’ve made it pretty damn clear you hate them, but you won’t tell me why. I don’t know what kind of emotional messes you’re dealing with because you won’t let me in.”

Aspen froze, her hands curling into fists at her sides. Her chest tightened, a mix of guilt and defensiveness swelling inside her. “That’s different,” she said softly, her voice shaking. “That’s—”

“How?” Harry pressed, taking a small step closer. His tone wasn’t loud or angry, but the intensity in his voice was enough to make her chest ache. “How is it any different, Aspen? You shut me out just as much as you’re accusing me of shutting you out.”

“It’s different because...” She trailed off, her mind scrambling for the right words. 

She glanced down at her shoes, her breathing shallow. “Because it’s not dangerous. My issues— they’re not like yours. They’re not life-or-death. I don’t—”

“That doesn’t mean they don’t matter,” Harry cut in, his voice softening slightly, though the tension still lingered. 

“You think I don’t care about that stuff? That I don’t want to help you? You keep everything locked up so tight, and then you stand there and tell me I’m the one keeping secrets? Do you know how hypocritical that sounds?”

Aspen’s breath hitched, her nails biting into her palms as she struggled to form a response. She wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, but deep down, she knew he wasn’t. And that only made it worse. 

“It’s not the same,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s not.”

Harry exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe not,” he said quietly. “But it still feels the same. To me, anyway.”

The silence that followed was thick, neither of them looking at the other. Aspen’s throat felt tight, and Harry’s chest felt heavier than ever, but neither knew how to break the stalemate. They were standing inches apart, yet the distance between them had never felt so vast.

Harry shifted his weight, leaning back against the wall, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His knuckles were pale beneath the bandages, and his jaw ticked with the tension that was building inside him. 

He wasn’t angry at her—at least, not in the way it might seem. He was angry at himself, at the situation, at the impossible weight of it all. But frustration had a way of twisting itself into words that didn’t feel right even as they left his mouth.

“Look,” he began, his voice rough and low. “I get it, okay? I screwed up. I didn’t tell you, and maybe I should’ve. But you standing here acting like you don’t have walls up too— it’s just... I don’t know what you want from me, Aspen.”

Aspen’s lips parted slightly, her breath catching at his tone. “I’m not—” she started, but Harry cut her off, his words spilling out faster now, the frustration bubbling to the surface.

“You keep saying it’s different,” he said, his voice firmer, though still not loud. “But how is it different? You’re a grown college student, Aspen, and yet you flinch at the sight of alcohol like it’s going to jump out of the bottle and hurt you. You sip on juice like you’re afraid to touch anything stronger. Is that what’s not so dangerous?”

The words were out before he could stop them, his tone sharper than he intended. The second they hung in the air, he regretted them. 

Aspen’s face fell, her expression crumpling in a way that made Harry feel like he’d punched her in the chest. Her arms dropped to her sides, her shoulders shrinking inward as if she were physically recoiling from his words.

“Is that what you think?” she said softly, her voice trembling. Her eyes glistened as she stared at him, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. “You think I’m just... scared for no reason?”

Harry opened his mouth to speak, to take it back, but she didn’t give him the chance. Her voice wavered, but the hurt was clear in every word as she continued.

“My dad was an alcoholic, Harry,” she said, her tone raw and unsteady. “And not the kind you joke about in college or see in movies. He was mean. Violent. Physical. He’d come home drunk and take everything out on me and my sister. Every stupid little thing that went wrong in his day. If we didn’t clean something right, if we spoke too loud, if we even looked at him the wrong way... it was hell.” 

Her voice broke, and she quickly wiped at her eyes, as if frustrated with herself for crying. “So yeah, I flinch at alcohol. And yeah, I’d rather drink juice than have it anywhere near me because it’s not just a drink to me, Harry. It’s years of walking on eggshells, of bruises and broken furniture and my mom begging him to stop.”

Harry’s stomach dropped, a wave of guilt hitting him so hard it almost made him dizzy. He felt like the air had been sucked out of the room, like the walls were closing in on him. 

“Aspen...” he murmured, his voice barely audible. He pushed off the wall, taking a tentative step toward her, but she held up a hand, shaking her head.

“Don’t,” she whispered, her voice cracking. She took a step back, her arms wrapping around herself. “You didn’t mean to say it, I get that. But it still hurt.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said quickly, his voice thick with regret. He raked a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends as if trying to punish himself. 

“Aspen, I swear to you, I didn’t mean it like that. I wasn’t thinking, and—” He stopped himself, realizing how hollow the words sounded. 

Of course he hadn’t meant it like that. But what did that matter when it had already hurt her?

Aspen shook her head, her gaze fixed on the floor. “You don’t have to explain, Harry,” she said softly, though her tone was distant. 

“It’s not like you knew. I just...” She paused, taking a shaky breath. “I just didn’t expect that from you.”

Her words cut deeper than she could have known, and Harry felt his chest tighten. He wanted to fix it, to say something— anything— that would make this better, but he knew there was no quick fix for this kind of pain.

 He had said something cruel, even if unintentionally, and now he had to sit with the weight of that mistake.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice quieter this time, almost pleading. He took another step closer, though he stopped short when he saw the way her arms tightened around herself. “I swear, Aspen, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just... I’m an idiot, okay? I’m frustrated, at myself, and I said something I didn’t mean. Please, just... please don’t shut me out over this.”

Aspen looked up at him then, her eyes red and glossy. “I’m not shutting you out, Harry,” she said quietly, though the hurt in her voice was still evident. “I just don’t know how to handle this right now.”

She wouldn't know how to deal with this if she had been through it a thousand of times. Aspen never expected to be in this spot, to have such a heart breaking conversation, with the man she allowed herself to fall in love with.

Her honesty was like a knife to the chest, but Harry nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Okay,” he said softly. “I’ll give you space, if that’s what you need. But... just know I’m sorry. For everything.”

She didn’t respond right away, her gaze dropping back to the floor. Harry felt like his chest was caving in. He didn’t know how to reach her, how to make her believe how sorry he truly was. And maybe he couldn’t— not yet, anyway.

Aspen stood there for what felt like an eternity, her arms still wrapped tightly around herself, her gaze firmly on the floor. Harry could see her struggling to hold herself together, her breaths shaky and uneven, her body tense like she was bracing herself against an invisible storm. 

The silence between them wasn’t just heavy— it was unbearable. It crushed him, suffocating him with the weight of all the things he wished he could take back, all the things he should have done differently.

Finally, she lifted her head, her eyes meeting his. They were glossy with unshed tears, but there was something else in them too— something that made Harry’s chest ache even more. It wasn’t just hurt. 

It was disappointment. And that hurt worse than anything she could have said.

“Maybe space is for the better,” she said softly, her voice so quiet he almost didn’t hear her. But the words hit him like a freight train, each syllable sinking into his chest and twisting the knife that was already lodged there. "At least... at least for right now."

Harry’s lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out. His mind raced, grasping for something— anything— to say that would make her stay, that would make her change her mind. But nothing came. 

What could he say? He’d already done the damage. She was looking at him like he was a stranger, someone she no longer recognized, and he didn’t know how to fix that. How could he have been so stupid?

Aspen took a step forward, her movements slow and hesitant, as if she wasn’t sure her legs would carry her. She walked past him, the soft sound of her footsteps against the floor echoing in his ears like thunder. 

As she reached the door, she paused, turning her head slightly to look at him over her shoulder. Her eyes were red, her face pale, and the sadness in her expression was like a punch to the gut.

“You know,” she said quietly, her voice trembling, “I don’t regret being with you. I don’t regret any of it. But I just... I wish you would’ve trusted me enough to tell me the truth. And I wish a part of you could realize that you have someone who cares about you, H. I know it's not just on me.”

Her words hung in the air, raw and vulnerable, and Harry felt like he couldn’t breathe. He wanted to reach out to her, to beg her to stay, to tell her that he’d do anything to make it right. But his body felt frozen, his legs heavy and rooted to the spot. All he could do was watch as she turned away from him and opened the door.

She stepped out into the hallway, the light from the corridor casting a faint glow on her figure. For a moment, she hesitated, her hand lingering on the doorframe as if she might say something else. But she didn’t. She simply looked at him one last time, her eyes filled with a sadness so deep it made his stomach twist. And then she was gone. 

With shaky hands and a blurred vision, she mustered up the courage to keep walking.

The door clicked shut behind her, and the sound was deafening in the stillness of the apartment. Harry stood there, staring at the closed door, his chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths. 

He felt like the world had tilted beneath him, like the ground was threatening to swallow him whole. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing like a drum in his ears. But it wasn’t the kind of pounding he was used to. It wasn’t adrenaline or anger or fear. It was heartbreak.

He sank down onto the edge of the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands gripping his hair so tightly it hurt. He felt hollow, like someone had reached inside him and scooped out everything that mattered. 

The weight of his guilt pressed down on him like a crushing force, and he could feel the sting of tears burning at the corners of his eyes. He blinked them away, swallowing hard, but the ache in his chest wouldn’t go away.

Harry wasn’t a stranger to pain— he’d been through his fair share of fights, of losses, of nights spent wondering how things had gone so wrong. But this? This was different. This wasn’t the kind of pain you could punch your way out of or drown in whiskey or forget about after a good night’s sleep. This was the kind of pain that stayed with you, that carved itself into your soul and refused to let go.

He replayed her words over and over in his mind, each one cutting deeper than the last. “I wish you would’ve trusted me.” He closed his eyes, his jaw clenching as he let out a shaky breath. She was right. She was absolutely right.

He should’ve trusted her. He should’ve told her the truth from the beginning instead of hiding behind lies and half-truths, thinking he was protecting her when all he was doing was pushing her away.

His fingers dug into his scalp as he let out a low, frustrated groan. He hated himself for what he’d said, for how he’d let his frustration get the better of him. He hated that he’d hurt her, that he’d made her feel like her past didn’t matter, like her pain wasn’t valid.

And he hated that he might’ve just lost the one person who made him feel like he could be more than the mess he’d always been.

The apartment felt unbearably quiet without her, the emptiness swallowing him whole. He looked around, his gaze landing on the faint imprint of her shoes by the door, the memory of her presence lingering like a ghost.

He’d never felt his heart break like this before, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so utterly, completely alone.

[techhiz]

Can do Resquest Tfa Blurr With Femme Cybertronian Reader, both are married and Reader is expecting a Sparkling and is like a housewife, but everything changes when some elite guards come to tell Reader that Blurr died, but later in the comic it is confirmed, they manage to bring Blurr back to life which brings back Reader who gave birth to her Sparkling and Blurr retires.

Retrieving the Spark.

The city of Iacon, once a gleaming beacon of hope on Cybertron, had become a quiet, peaceful place for you and your husband, Blurr. As one of the fastest Autobots to ever live, Blurr had earned his place in the frontlines, but now, in this moment of tranquility, he had chosen a different path. You and Blurr, newly married, had settled into a modest home far from the chaos of war. With the shadows of battle behind him, Blurr had taken to spending his days with you, tending to your small, peaceful life together. You were expecting your first sparkling, and the thought of a new life blossoming between the two of you had filled both of your sparks with joy.

You were content—more than you’d ever been. Blurr would often come home from his brief missions, his excited voice filling the home as he talked about the future. “I can’t wait to meet our little one,” he’d say, his speed-filled voice softening in the comfort of your presence. He’d often rest a hand on your growing belly, whispering words of encouragement to you both, as if you were already the family he always wanted.

However, all that would change on a seemingly ordinary day.

You were standing in the kitchen, preparing an energon mix for yourself when the door to your home suddenly chimed. You hadn’t expected anyone; Blurr had left early that morning, saying he had a small mission to run with the Autobots’ elite guard. You were used to his long hours, but it had never bothered you—it meant you had more time to prepare for your little sparkling’s arrival.

When you opened the door, the sight of several Autobots standing in the doorway froze you. They were in full armor, their faces grim. The lead soldier stepped forward, his voice soft but firm. “Are you Y/n, wife of Blurr?”

You nodded, feeling a chill run through you. “I am.”

His optics darkened, and the words he spoke were a blow to your entire being. “I’m afraid there’s been an accident. Blurr… Blurr is dead.”

Your world seemed to shatter in that moment. The words echoed in your mind, but nothing seemed to make sense. You staggered back, barely able to process what had just been said. The Autobots at the door watched in silence as your optics watered, your hand instinctively placed on your stomach, as if you could somehow shield the spark inside of you from the grief that was threatening to consume you.

“No,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “No, that can’t be true.”

“I’m so sorry,” the lead soldier said gently. “We tried… but there was no way to save him.”

You barely registered them leaving, the door closing behind you with a soft click. You stood there in stunned silence, alone with the weight of their words. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. The life you had so eagerly built was crumbling around you.

Days turned into weeks. Your once-joyous home now felt cold and empty, the sound of Blurr’s voice echoing only in memories. You hadn’t left the house, hadn’t been able to bring yourself to even look at your sparkling’s room. How could you bring a new life into this world when the person who had been so excited to be a part of it was gone?

But despite the darkness in your heart, life carried on. You could feel the baby stirring inside you, kicking as if to remind you that there was still something to look forward to. It was this small spark of life that kept you going, no matter how much it hurt.

And then, one evening, the impossible happened.

You had been lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, when you heard a knock on the door. You ignored it at first, too exhausted from the weight of your grief to care. But the knocking persisted. A soft voice called your name through the door.

“Y/n? Please, open up. It’s me.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You recognized that voice—Blurr’s voice. But it couldn’t be him. He was dead. It was impossible. Yet there it was again. His voice, steady and warm, calling you by name.

You rushed to the door and flung it open, only to be met with the sight of Blurr standing there, very much alive, looking as he had the day he left for his mission. His optics met yours, and the flood of emotions in your chest threatened to overwhelm you. You could barely speak as you stared at him, disbelief coursing through your spark.

“Blurr,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “How? How are you…?”

Blurr gave a small, almost sheepish grin, but there was something in his optics that spoke of deep relief. “I’m here, Y/n,” he said softly, taking a step closer. “It’s a long story, but… I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere.”

The tears you had been holding back finally spilled over. You ran to him, throwing your arms around him and pressing your face into his chest, as if to make sure he was real. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close as he whispered words of reassurance.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “They told me… they told me you thought I was gone. But I couldn’t leave you like that. Not when we’re about to start our family.”

The months that followed were filled with a whirlwind of emotions. Blurr’s return didn’t just heal your heart—it brought new hope for the future. You both prepared for the birth of your sparkling, and with each passing day, Blurr’s excitement only grew.

It was the day you gave birth that everything changed. You had gone into labor, and Blurr had been by your side every step of the way, holding your hand, whispering encouragement. The birth was difficult, but with Blurr by your side, you managed to bring your sparkling into the world—an energetic little bot with a sparkling new spark.

Blurr cradled the tiny form in his hands, his optics filled with pride as he looked down at the life the two of you had created. “Our sparkling,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

You smiled, exhausted but filled with love. “Our family.”

In the days that followed, Blurr made the decision to retire from active duty. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing you again, especially now with your new sparkling to care for. It was a peaceful retirement—one filled with quiet days spent in the company of your sparkling, your bond stronger than ever.

“You’ve done enough for the war,” you told him one evening as the three of you sat together in the warm glow of the sunset. “Now it’s time to live for us.”

Blurr smiled, his spark content. “I’m just happy I get to be here with both of you.”

And with that, the three of you embraced your new life—together, as a family.

[adumbratrapedme]

Gaara x ftm!reader | a wonderful date

anyways, daily reminder that my requests are always open here! and check out my ruleees here!

This is a pt.2 to this.

The Sand siblings had lingered in the Leaf Village a little longer than expected after the Chūnin Exams, assisting with diplomatic discussions and finalizing alliances. Gaara hadn’t minded—especially since it meant he might have a chance to see Y/N again. The apology had gone better than he expected, and while Y/N’s words still replayed in his mind (Just think before you speak next time), Gaara couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more he wanted to say.

That’s how he found himself standing outside the training grounds where Y/N was sparring with Naruto. Temari and Kankurō had told him to “stop moping and do something,” so here he was, awkwardly watching from a distance as Y/N dodged one of Naruto’s clumsy attacks.

“You’re staring again,” Temari muttered from behind him, startling him slightly. She smirked, crossing her arms. “Just go talk to him already. You look ridiculous.”

Gaara frowned but didn’t respond. Instead, he took a deep breath and stepped forward, his presence immediately noticed by Naruto, who dropped his fighting stance and pointed dramatically.

“Hey! What are you doing here?” Naruto shouted, his voice echoing across the training grounds. He moved to block you from hom again, arms stretched out protectively. “Didn’t we already settle this?”

You turned around, confused at first, but when you saw Gaara, your expression softened. “Calm down, I don't think he’s here to fight.”

Naruto narrowed his eyes. “You don’t know that! He could—”

“Naruto,” you cut him off with a sigh. “Go practice your Rasengan or something.”

Naruto grumbled but eventually walked off, muttering something about “sand freaks” and “bad vibes.” You turned back to Gaara, raising an eyebrow. “Is there anything i could help you with?”

Gaara shifted awkwardly, his hands tucked into his pockets. He didn’t know why this was so hard. He had faced enemies in life-or-death battles without flinching, but standing here in front of you, he felt somehow… vulnerable.

“I wanted to ask you something,” Gaara said finally, his voice quieter than usual.

You tilted your head in confussion. “Okay. What is it?”

Gaara hesitated for a moment, then spoke quickly, like he was afraid he’d lose his nerve. “Would you want to spend some time with me? Alone. Outside the training grounds.”

You blinked, completely caught off guard. “Are you… asking me on a date?”

Gaara felt heat creep up his neck, but he forced himself to nod. “Yes.”

There was a beat of silence before your lips twitched into a small smile. “You���re… surprisingly straightforward, huh?”

“It seemed like the most efficient way to ask,” Gaara replied honestly, though there was a faint hint of nervousness in his tone. “If you’re not interested, I’ll—”

“Wait, I didn’t say no,” You interrupted, raising your hands. “You just caught me off guard, that’s all.”

Gaara stared at you, hope flickering in his eyes. “Then…?”

You crossed your arms, pretending to think it over and over. “Hmm… Well, I guess you did apologize. And you’ve been less scary lately. So yeah, sure. Why not?”

Gaara blinked. “You’re agreeing?”

You chuckled. “Yeah, I’m agreeing. But I’m picking where we go. You don’t seem like the type who knows what a fun date looks like.”

Gaara frowned slightly, but he nodded. “That’s acceptable.”

Your smile widened, and he clapped Gaara on the shoulder. “Alright, it’s a deal then. Tomorrow afternoon?”

“Tomorrow,” Gaara agreed, his voice firm despite the slight nervousness he felt.

As you walked back to rejoin Naruto, Gaara turned on his heel and started walking back toward his siblings. He didn’t need to look to know that Temari and Kankurō were grinning like idiots from their hiding spot nearby.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Kankurō said as Gaara approached. “You actually did it.”

Temari smirked. “Looks like our little brother is growing up.”

Gaara ignored them, but he couldn’t stop the faint smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

The next afternoon, Gaara stood at the entrance to a quiet park in the Leaf Village, his heart racing in a way it never had before. He had fought in life-or-death battles, faced unimaginable threats, and survived, but waiting for Y/N to arrive had him on edge. He adjusted the strap of his gourd on his back for the tenth time, though he had already decided he wouldn’t need it today.

When you finally appeared, wearing a simple but relaxed outfit, Gaara felt his chest tighten. You looked casual and confident, the same as ever, though Gaara thought there was something particularly captivating about the way your smile lit up his face as he approached.

“Yo,” You greeted, waving a hand. “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”

“You’re on time,” Gaara said, his voice calm but softer than usual.

“Good,” you replied, grinning. “I’ve got the whole day planned out. I figured we’d start with some snacks, then check out the market, and maybe end with watching the sunset. Sound good?”

Gaara nodded. “That sounds… nice.”

“Alright then, let’s go.”

The first stop was a small street vendor selling dango. You ordered two sticks and handed one to Gaara, who stared at it for a moment before cautiously taking a bite.

“It’s sweet,” Gaara said after a moment, tilting his head.

“Yeah, it’s one of my favorites,” you said, watching him closely. “Not bad, right?”

Gaara nodded. “It’s… pleasant.”

You laughed. “I’ll take that as a win. Come on, let’s keep going.”

Both of you wandered through the market next, the bustling atmosphere a stark contrast to Gaara’s usual environment. For Gaara you seemed to know everyone, greeting vendors and cracking jokes as they passed. Gaara stayed quiet, but he found himself watching you closely, drawn to the way you carried yourself with such ease.

At one point, you stopped at a stall selling small trinkets and accessories. You picked up a simple bracelet made of polished wood beads.

“This looks cool,” you said, slipping it on your wrist. You glanced back at Gaara. “What do you think?”

Gaara stared at the bracelet for a moment before reaching into his pocket. “I’ll buy it for you.”

You blinked, surprised. “Wait, what? You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Gaara interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. He handed the vendor the payment and turned back to you. “It suits you.”

Your felt your cheeks getting heated slightly, but you smiled. “Thanks, Gaara.”

By the time the sun began to set, both of you had made your way to a quiet hill overlooking the village. The sky was painted in hues of orange and pink, the perfect backdrop for the end of your day.

You flopped onto the grass, leaning back on your hands as Gaara looked out at the view. “This was a good idea,” he said, glancing at you. “I’m glad we did this.”

Gaara sat beside you, his hands resting on his knees. “So am I.” you answered back, a soft smile plastered in your face.

You sat in comfortable silence for a while, the sounds of the village fading into the background.

Eventually, you decided to break the silence. “You know, I wasn’t sure how today would go. You’re not exactly the… ‘dating type.’”

Gaara tilted his head. “Was I that bad?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, you were great. A little quiet, but that’s just you. It was… nice. Really nice.”

Gaara looked down at his hands, his expression thoughtful. “I didn’t know what to expect either. But I enjoyed spending time with you.”

You smiled, leaning back to look up at the sky. “We should do this again sometime.”

Gaara’s heart skipped a beat. “I would like that.”

As the last rays of sunlight disappeared, you glanced at Gaara, your smile soft. “Thanks for today, Gaara. It meant a lot.”

Gaara turned to meet your gaze, his teal eyes sincere. “Thank you… for giving me the chance.”

You chuckled, leaning back again. “You’re not so scary once people get to know you, huh?”

Gaara didn’t respond, but for the first time in a long while, he felt at peace.

@sirenofthesand Hope you enjoy this part as much as you did with the first one! (┐「ε:)

[mediocre-shark-tales]

Qatar GP

Masterlist

Trigger Warning- slow burn of increasing themes including sexism, SA, depression, and implied grooming

Walking into the paddock for the Qatar Grand Prix, I felt the weight of a thousand eyes on me, even if it was just my imagination. My head was low, shielded by the brim of a hat, and a hoodie was pulled tight over my head in an attempt to shrink away from the world. Every step I took felt heavier than the last, like the whispers and judgment from the outside world were tangible, dragging me down.

The media had gotten hold of the story—every last excruciating detail. Henry’s disgusting actions were now public knowledge, and while most had rallied behind me, voicing their outrage and condemning him, there were still those whose whispers cut deeper than any headline ever could.

“She’s just playing the victim.”

“Do you really believe her? She’s probably exaggerating for attention.”

“She’s just trying to distract from her mediocre driving.”

The comments stung, even if I pretended they didn’t. No matter how much support I had, those voices, those narrow-minded, sexist narratives, always seemed to drown everything else out. And the thought that someone, anyone, could think I had “masterminded” something so painful made my stomach churn with anger and grief.

I kept my head down as I walked past the reporters stationed at the paddock entrance. A few tried to call out to me, their voices echoing, each question laced with urgency or faux sympathy. I ignored them all. My team had advised me to keep my focus, to not let the outside noise get to me, but that was easier said than done.

Inside, the paddock felt no better. There were eyes on me everywhere, drivers, engineers, even staff I’d only met a handful of times. Most looked at me with concern or a sort of helpless pity, their sympathy almost suffocating. A few, though, wore skepticism on their faces—a look I’d grown used to seeing from certain people who underestimated me for reasons that had nothing to do with talent.

I clutched the straps of my backpack tighter, trying to steady my breathing as I made my way to my team’s hospitality. The familiar green and yellow of Aston Martin felt like a beacon, but even there, I couldn’t quite escape the anxiety that clawed at my chest.

Fernando had taken it upon himself to stick close to me ever since the chaos had unfolded. He wasn’t smothering or overbearing—he understood that I was processing everything in my own way. We’d talked briefly, and he’d made it clear that he was there if I needed him, no questions asked, no judgment given. His presence offered a quiet sense of comfort, a stabilizing force amidst the storm that had become my life.

As we moved through the paddock, he kept a subtle but protective distance, always within arm’s reach. I appreciated it more than I could put into words. He didn’t make a show of it, didn’t draw attention to the way he lingered near me, but I noticed. He was watching over me, quietly shielding me from the stares and whispers that followed me everywhere now.

He’d also noticed the way I scanned my surroundings incessantly, my eyes darting from face to face, corner to corner, like I was expecting someone to jump out at me. It wasn’t intentional—it was instinctual. The trauma of everything I’d been through had left its mark, and no matter how hard I tried to act normal, the hyper-awareness lingered.

Every unfamiliar face set me on edge, every sudden movement in my peripheral vision made my breath catch. Fernando didn’t say anything about it, but I caught the furrow in his brow every now and then, the flicker of concern in his eyes when he thought I wasn’t looking.

“Relax, amiga,” he said softly as we walked toward the garage. His voice was low, calm, like he was trying not to startle me. “You’re safe here.”

I nodded but didn’t say anything. The logical part of me knew I was safe, but my body hadn’t gotten the memo yet. The fear, the tension, it was all still there, coiled tight in my chest.

The McLaren boys, Lando and Oscar, had become a constant presence in my life ever since everything unraveled. They didn’t hover or overwhelm me, but their concern was palpable. I could see it in the way their eyes lingered on me just a bit too long, the way their smiles didn’t quite reach their eyes when they thought I wasn’t looking.

They seemed to have made an unspoken pact between themselves: whenever they were near me, I was their priority. Only then, it seemed, did they relax, their tension easing when they were sure I was within arm’s reach. It was like being in my vicinity offered them some peace of mind, even if it didn’t always do the same for me.

Between media duties, they found me in one of the quieter corners of the paddock. I’d been trying to blend into the background, keeping my head down and my focus on getting through the day, but they always managed to track me down. Today was no different.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Lando teased, flopping down into the chair across from me. He grinned, but his eyes searched mine carefully, scanning for any sign that I wasn’t okay. “You’re not hiding from us, are you?”

Oscar leaned against the nearby wall, his arms crossed in his usual laid-back manner. “You look like you could use a distraction,” he said, his tone light but full of genuine care.

I shrugged, offering a weak smile. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to us,” Lando replied with a wink. “We’re very perceptive.”

They started chatting about anything and everything—Formula 1 gossip, their latest ridiculous banter on the grid, and even the most absurd “what if” scenarios they could think of. Lando suggested opening a karaoke bar as a side hustle, while Oscar deadpanned that he’d rather open a library.

Their antics were just enough to pull me out of my own head, if only for a little while. I found myself laughing softly at their banter, the corners of my mouth curving up despite the weight I’d been carrying. They didn’t push me to talk about what had happened, and I was grateful for that. Instead, they filled the silence with lighthearted chatter, doing everything they could to keep my mind away from the darker corners of my thoughts.

Every so often, one of them would sneak a concerned glance my way, but they never pressed. They just stayed there, a grounding presence, reminding me without words that I wasn’t alone in this. And in those moments, even if I couldn’t quite shake the trauma, I felt a little less heavy.

Max and Lewis had quietly slipped into an almost father-like role, their concern manifesting in ways that were both endearing and slightly overwhelming. It wasn’t something I had expected from them—two drivers who were fiercely competitive on track and yet so united in their determination to look after me off it.

Max, ever practical and blunt, would show up with an array of snacks that ranged from healthy options to guilty pleasures. “You’re not skipping meals, are you?” he’d ask, though it sounded more like a warning than a question. He’d sit there, arms crossed, watching me like a hawk until I finished whatever he brought. No excuses were acceptable.

Lewis, on the other hand, had a softer approach. He’d appear with a smoothie or a carefully prepared plate of food, his tone warm but firm. “I know it’s hard, but your body needs fuel to keep going,” he’d say, placing the meal in front of me and waiting until he saw me take the first bite. Sometimes, he’d even eat alongside me, his calm presence encouraging me to do the same.

They took turns checking in, almost like they’d coordinated a schedule. If one wasn’t around, the other would be, and they never let me brush them off. Hydration, too, became part of their mission. Bottles of water or electrolyte drinks would mysteriously appear next to me, and they wouldn’t leave until they saw me finish at least one.

At first, it was a bit suffocating. I wasn’t used to this level of attention, and their insistence made me feel exposed. But as the days went on, I realized it wasn’t about pity—it was about care. Max and Lewis weren’t hovering because they doubted me; they were there because they genuinely wanted to make sure I was okay, even in the smallest ways.

“I’m fine, really,” I tried to tell Max one day as he handed me a container of pasta he’d brought from Red Bull’s hospitality.

“Maybe,” he replied, his tone firm but not unkind. “But you’ll be better after you eat this.”

Lewis wasn’t any easier to shake off. “I get it,” he said gently as I stared at the salad he’d placed in front of me, my appetite nonexistent. “But you’re stronger than you think. One bite at a time, yeah?”

It was in those moments, with their unwavering presence and quiet insistence, that I began to feel a flicker of something close to safety. They weren’t trying to fix me or rush my healing—they were just there, making sure I didn’t fall apart completely. And for that, I couldn’t thank them enough.

Liam was always nearby, his protective instincts kicking in without hesitation. As my childhood friend, he understood me in ways that most people didn’t, and it showed in the way he silently watched over me. But this time, his actions felt more deliberate, as if he was following a guide.

That guide, I soon realized, was Hannah. Though she couldn’t be at the Qatar GP, she had been texting Liam constantly, giving him advice on how to support me. It wasn’t just about being there physically—it was about understanding the subtle cues I gave off and knowing how to respond without overwhelming me.

“She says you don’t have to talk about anything if you don’t want to,” Liam said one afternoon as we sat in the Aston Martin hospitality. His voice was soft but firm, a reflection of Hannah’s influence. “But she also said distractions help. So, I brought this.” He held up his phone, already queued to play a stupidly funny video we used to laugh at together back in the day.

I smiled faintly, appreciating the effort. “Thanks, Liam,” I murmured, leaning back in my chair.

“Anything for you, mate,” he replied, his usual joking tone slightly subdued but still present. “Besides, Hannah’ll kill me if I don’t do this right. She’s flying out for Abu Dhabi, by the way. Said something about needing to check in on her dear friend.”

The mention of Hannah brought a pang of both relief and emotion. She had always been a constant source of strength, and knowing she was making the effort to be there for me, even under the guise of a casual visit, meant more than I could express.

Liam picked up on my silence and nudged my shoulder gently. “She’s got a point, you know. You don’t have to do this alone. And even if you try, you’ve got me, her, and apparently half the grid now,” he joked, his grin softening the seriousness of his words.

I chuckled despite myself. “I’m lucky to have you guys.”

“Damn right you are,” he said, his smile widening. “Now, eat your food before Max or Lewis show up and give me a lecture about letting you skip meals.”

It was a small moment of levity, but it was exactly what I needed. Liam’s presence, his calm understanding, and the promise of Hannah joining us soon helped ground me.

Of course none of this had been an on track only privilege. Most of us had been put in the same hotel for this GP, so each of them and even others from the grid had come to check on me in my hotel room every now and then. 

After finishing the sprint qualifying and securing P7, I couldn't help but let disappointment settle in. The session had been average at best, and though I tried to shake it off, the frustration lingered. Changing quickly into my hoodie and sweats, I avoided staying around the paddock longer than necessary, the noise and energy of it all making my thoughts louder rather than quieter.

I needed something—someone—to ground me again. And the first person who came to mind was Franco. He’d become my go-to since everything had gone down, his calming presence offering a sense of peace I hadn’t been able to find elsewhere. He never pushed for answers, never tried to fix me—he just was, and it helped more than he probably realized.

Walking through the paddock, I kept my head down, my hat pulled low as I weaved through the crowd. A few people called my name, but I waved them off with a quick smile, determined to find Franco. It wasn’t hard to locate him; he was sitting outside the Williams5 motorhome, scrolling through his phone with his signature laid-back demeanor.

“Franco,” I called out softly, just loud enough for him to hear.

He looked up immediately, his expression shifting from neutral to concerned in seconds. “Hey, you okay?” he asked, standing and moving toward me without hesitation.

I nodded, though it probably wasn’t convincing. “Yeah, I just... I wanted to ask if you were free tonight. For another sleepover, like last time.”

A small smile tugged at his lips, and he nodded without missing a beat. “Of course. Same setup? Snacks, movies, and bad jokes?”

“Exactly,” I said, feeling some of the tension in my chest ease at his easy acceptance. “I just need a distraction.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only I could hear. “You don’t even have to explain. I’ll bring the snacks this time. You just focus on chilling out.”

I couldn’t help but smile, grateful for his effort to keep things light. “Thanks, Franco. I really appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” he said, his tone earnest. “Go ahead to your room; I’ll meet you there in a bit.”

With a small nod, I turned to leave, already feeling a bit lighter knowing he’d be there. It wasn’t much, but having someone like Franco—someone who made me feel safe without even trying—was enough to keep me going. And tonight, I’d let myself enjoy the comfort of his presence, even if just for a little while.

The evening unfolded like a quiet reprieve from the whirlwind of the paddock. Franco arrived at my room just as the sun dipped below the horizon, the golden glow of the sky giving way to the soft, ambient lights of the city. His arms were laden with snacks—chips, candy, and even a small container of fruit because, as he put it, “We need some balance, right?” I couldn’t help but laugh, letting him in and feeling my mood lighten almost instantly.

After setting up a small makeshift dining area on the floor with a blanket, we dug into the room service I had ordered earlier. Burgers, fries, and milkshakes—comfort food at its finest. We ate and talked about everything and nothing: the awkward fan interactions Franco had earlier that day, my thoughts on the upcoming race, and our shared love for old-school video games.

Once the food was gone and the snacks had been opened, we moved to the TV, hooking up a console Franco had insisted on bringing. “You can’t call it a sleepover without games,” he’d said, grinning as he powered it on. We spent the next hour or so battling it out in Mario Kart. Despite his smug confidence, I managed to beat him twice, much to his dramatic dismay.

“You’ve been practicing,” he accused, leaning back against the couch with mock suspicion.

I smirked, grabbing another chip. “Or maybe you’re just losing your touch, Colapinto.”

He gasped, clutching his chest as if I’d just mortally wounded him. “Low blow, but I’ll let it slide... for now.”

Eventually, the competitive energy mellowed, and we found ourselves scrolling through movie options. “Something light,” I requested. “I don’t think I can handle anything heavy tonight.”

Franco nodded, settling on a classic animated film—one we’d both watched countless times as kids. The familiar soundtrack filled the room as we got comfortable. I curled up in the corner of the couch, pulling the blanket over my legs, while Franco stretched out next to me, his arm resting along the back of the couch.

Halfway through the movie, I felt myself inching closer to him. Whether it was the warmth he radiated or the way his presence made me feel safe, I wasn’t sure. He didn’t comment when I shifted, tucking myself against his side. Instead, he adjusted, wrapping his arm around me as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His hand rested lightly on my shoulder, his thumb brushing small, soothing circles against the fabric of my hoodie.

“Better?” he asked softly, glancing down at me.

I nodded, my cheek resting against his chest. “Yeah. Thanks, Franco.”

“Anytime,” he murmured, his voice low and comforting.

The movie played on, but my focus drifted. The rhythm of Franco’s breathing, the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the gentle way he held me all lulled me into a sense of calm I hadn’t felt in days. My eyelids grew heavier with each passing moment, and before I knew it, sleep claimed me.

The morning sunlight filtered softly through the hotel room curtains, casting a warm glow over the mess of blankets on the couch. I stirred slightly, blinking sleepily, and realized Franco was still next to me, his arm loosely draped over my side. His face was peaceful, his features softened in sleep, and for a moment, I just watched him. The world outside the room felt far away—like it didn’t exist.

As if sensing my gaze, Franco shifted, his eyes fluttering open. He blinked a few times, looking adorably groggy before his lips curved into a small, sleepy smile. “Morning,” he murmured, voice raspy.

“Morning,” I replied, unable to stop the smile tugging at my lips.

“How’d you sleep?” he asked, adjusting so he was leaning back slightly against the armrest, his arm still lightly resting near my shoulder.

“Better than I have in a while,” I admitted. “Thanks to you.”

He grinned, running a hand through his already messy hair. “Well, I’ll take that as a compliment. Guess I’m not the worst company after all.”

I chuckled, nudging his side lightly. “Far from it.”

There was a beat of quiet as we just sat there, the room filled with the comforting stillness of a morning unhurried. His gaze softened as he looked at me, and I felt my cheeks warm under the intensity of it. “You know,” he started, his tone quieter now, “I’m really glad you invited me last night. I mean, I know things have been... hard, but I hope you know you’re not alone. Not anymore.”

His words settled in my chest, warm and grounding. “I know,” I whispered. “You’ve been amazing, Franco. Really.”

He shrugged, his cheeks tinting slightly pink. “Just doing what a good friend does.”

There it was again—that word. Friend. But the way he said it, the way he looked at me, it felt heavier, like it carried something more. I didn’t press it, though. Instead, I reached over and gave his hand a small squeeze. “Thank you,” I said, meaning it with every fiber of my being.

We eventually got up, Franco stretching dramatically while I headed to the bathroom to freshen up. By the time I returned, he had already set up a small breakfast spread with the leftover snacks and some fruit he’d picked up from the hotel’s dining area. “Not much, but it’ll hold us over until we get to the paddock,” he said with a sheepish grin.

“It’s perfect,” I assured him, sitting down to join him.

As we ate, the conversation flowed easily—banter about the upcoming race, memories from past seasons, and a few jokes at each other’s expense. Every now and then, our hands would brush while reaching for something, and I’d feel that little flutter in my chest again, the one I was trying so hard not to dwell on.

Franco stayed true to his word, sticking around until the last possible minute before we both had to leave for the paddock. He’d brought a small duffel bag with him, so he quickly changed into his team gear in the bathroom while I finished getting ready. When he emerged, all dressed up in his Williams polo, I couldn’t help but smile.

“What?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” I said, shaking my head. “You just clean up well.”

He chuckled, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “And here I thought I looked good all the time.”

Rolling my eyes, I grabbed my own things, and we headed out together. The walk to the car was quiet but comfortable, and as we arrived at the entrance to the paddock, I felt a pang of reluctance. The day was about to begin, and soon we’d be swept up in the chaos of it all, pulled in different directions.

Franco turned to me, his expression soft. “You gonna be okay today?” he asked, his voice low enough that only I could hear.

“I think so,” I replied honestly. “But I might need another sleepover soon.”

His grin was immediate. “Anytime. Just say the word.”

With that, he gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze before heading toward the Williams side of the paddock. I watched him go for a moment, my heart feeling a little lighter despite everything. There was something about him—something steady and sure—that made me believe I really wasn’t alone anymore. And for now, that was enough.

[dayurno]

robin cross and kevin day parallels actually go so crazy. they both spent their formative years in a basement underground with exy-obsessed captors. they both saw exy as freedom. they both were isolated even within the foxes’ group of outcasts. they were both under andrew’s protection. it cost kevin jean to leave the nest and it cost robin another girl’s life to escape her kidnapper. robin carried her racquet with her to self-soothe and kevin restrings the net of his when he’s anxious. they’re even bird coded

[retiredteabag]

Sukuna assimilating to you

Synopsis: After discovering that Sukuna has been wide awake every time you nap together, you become embarrassed around him.

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

It is a scientific fact that when we are around people we love and trust, while in a healthy relationship, the release of oxytocin makes us sleepy.

Sukuna does not need sleep. He is the king of curses, able to continuously use his technique without ever becoming exhausted. When you first suggested that his chambers were "perfect for napping", he had simply raised a brow and considered what that could possibly mean.

You are like a weak creature to him. A kitten or perhaps a rabbit. And since you are never safer than when you are in his presence, you frequently find yourself growing sleepy when you are around him.

Throughout your strange relationship with the king, something that you loved most, is that there never needs to be words exchanged between the two of you. You were both contented to sit in silence. Frequently dozing off together, or so you thought.

You caught on eventually, that he was always awake before you. That his breathing pattern never really changed. That his face never relaxed more than it would if he had simply been sitting with his eyes closed.

One morning, after having stayed the night sleeping, you mumbled to him, "How is it you're always awake before I?"

He rose a brow at you, his upper set of eyes were looking into yours, the lower staring at how you lay across his bed sheets.

"I do not know your meaning." He grumbled out.

You huffed, rolling your eyes. "You never sleep in longer than I do, one day I would like to wake up before you."

"I never sleep at all." He stated before you had even really finished your sentace.

"What?" Your breathy outburst echoed slightly in his bed chamber, "What do you mean you don't sleep?"

"I do not require such things." He turned his torso now toward you, all four eyes studying your face, you had quickly sprung up, seemingly miffed.

"So... so all this time, you've just been... laying there while I've been sleeping?"

"I suppose I have, I do not see how this matters in the slightest." "It matters because I've been... It's just been a big waste of time for you. Sukuna you should have said something." You're upset, he can tell. Your face is scrunched up, your blood is pounding in your veins. Sukuna, however, does not know what to say in this situation.

In all honesty, he figured you knew and were just including him. Did you really think he was that weak? Or could you simply not conceive of a restless existence? Whatever the answer, he had no response for you, expecting a shrug of the shoulders- you he would discover, would not so easily let go of things.

And how humiliated you were. How many HOURS had you spent sleeping with him, within his grasp, in his space for him to have been conscious the whole time? You tried thinking back, attempting to recall a time you had requested a nap when he was uninterested.

He had never uttered a word about it. Never turned you down. Sukuna was not a kind king, he rarely ever did things that were not out of necessity, and he certainly did not do things he didn't like. That, at least, was consolation. You knew he had not been suffering for your sake, but even so, it was embarrassing.

Sukuna, still, could not understand your sheepishness about the subject. He did not care to explain that time works differently for him, that his mind is not so simple as yours and does not require entertainment all the time, that he could sit still for years and not be bothered, and frequently did before you came along.

He assumed you would get over it quickly. In your time as well as his. But days passed and he rarely saw you. You took your dinner with other people of the palace and spoke with him in the most cordial manner. One night, he informed Uraume that they needed to prepare a dish suited for you, something that would entice you, and serve it to him.

He figured this would bring you crawling back to him, tail between your legs. Yet, you did not budge.

Odd.

You were wallowing. You knew it. He did not care to spend time, what? Watching you sleep? Of course, he wouldn't, but it hurt your pride, to know you had been taking up such huge chunks of time lazing about in his presence. Well, not anymore. You slept in your chamber and your chamber alone. Gone were the days of blankets on the engawa, gone were the days of resting beneath the kotatsu while laying your head in his lap, gone were the days of sharing his bed.

If ever he wished for someone to share his bed, he had a whole cast of concubines, though you knew they were never of any use to him, they were mostly just house staff with a fancy title.

The evening he finally decided enough was enough, you were in the washhouse doing laundry.

Your back was arched over a bin full of soapy water. Your hands working tirelessly on some cloth.

"Have you not circumvented me enough?" He spoke in a low and slow tone.

"Lord Sukuna." You bowed, clothing in your hands, suds up your forearms, you bent your neck as to not look at him.

"You will reply now." He raised a brow, watching your hands quietly splash in the washbin.

"Was there something you would like me to assist to?" You questioned. Your head was full of possible reasons for what the king meant by seeking you out personally.

"Do you believe that by not sleeping in my presence I would come to believe you do not require rest?" He spoke in an unserious tone, eyes unblinking.

"No, my lord." Now what was he playing at? Of course that wasn't your intention.

"Then you hide yourself from me because you no longer have time for your king, I suppose." He mused.

Oh, for heaven's sake, "No, my lord."

"I see," He bent down to look you dead in the eyes, "So, you must no longer crave my occupancy of your space. You must not desire my hand running through your hair? I suppose you have tired of staying in my chambers?" His tone remained deep but his eyes were dead serious now.

"I-" You began, but suddenly you felt the urge to cough, swallowing you tried again, "I wished not to preoccupy so much of your time."

"And you made this decision without enlightening your king."

You said nothing.

"You will eat with me tonight, you shall stay in my chambers henceforth." He rose in record speed, turning without a second glance your way, maids were staring wide-eyed at the king of curses as he halted at the entrance of the washhouse. You could not see, but there was finality in his voice.

"I wish not to waste-" You were cut off by Sukunas voice, his broad back still facing you.

"Your wishes do not interest me now, so it seems. It is my wish for you to spend your time with me." His steps resounded through the compound, your face slack.

The maids smirked, and with shocked faces, side-eyed one another. A couple entered the washhouse giving you big open-mouthed smiles, and patted your shoulder as they passed.

That night Uraume made something you would go on to beg them to make for years to come. And when Sukuna pulled you prone from your seated position on his bed, he took a firm fingertip and stroked the space between your eyes, one of his enormous hands encircling your skull and massaging your temples with his thumb and ring fingers. He traced the bridge of your nose to your forehead, the way you would stroke a cat.

Perhaps he thought this would induce drowsiness but all it did was make you feel all floaty inside at his silliness.

And for the first time since that night, you slept alongside him. Within his embrace, and when you awoke, Sukuna's eyes were closed.

[s0dium]

𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑!!!

𝐒𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫!𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮 𝐱 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Never in your wildest dreams did you think you’d find out that your crush, Geto Suguru, was just like you: a murderer. Not only that but you share the same passion; killing criminals and pedophiles! (Happy Kinktober) 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: DARK CONTENT, gore, mutilation, murder, mentions of pedophiles (y/n kills them), serial killing, unprotected sex, breeding, choking, teasing, knife play, whipped Suguru 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10.3k 𝐀/𝐧: This is based HEAVILY on the novel Butcher and Blackbird by Brynne Weaver. The original idea is credited to Brynne Weaver ONLY. This work is fan fiction and is not intended for commercial purposes or to infringe on the intellectual property rights of the original author.

Being a serial killer who kills other killers, pedophiles, and rapists is a great hobby.

Until you find yourself locked in a cage.

For three days.

No AC.

With a body you carved up.

You glare at the fly-riddled corpse whose legs are kneeling opposite of you in the locked cage you were both trapped in. The air is thick with the putrid stench of decay, a relentless assault on your senses. The body's skin is pallid, marred by the writhing mass of white maggots that feast mercilessly. Where eyes once held gaze, now only hollow sockets remain, tediously scooped out and vacant. The ears too have been sheared off, leaving clean edges that blend into the mottled, blood-stained flesh. Its chest has been cracked open; ribs pried apart in a macabre mimicry of an unhinged broken cocoon, revealing the dark, empty cavity where a heart once beat.

Then, of course, the piste de resistance of your work, the removed eyes, ears, and heart rest in the corpse's upturned palms—placed with ceremonial care amidst the chaos of mutilation.

So now, if anyone were to walk down the steps of Gary Green House's basement, they would not only find his mutilated body, but the person who did it, trapped in a cage together.

"Fuck." You curse at yourself for the millionth time since you've been trapped here for the last three days. The cold realization that you've fallen into Gary’s final trap gnaws at your mind as relentlessly as the maggots at the corpse across from you. The cage, a cruel relic of Gary’s twisted pleasures, had seemed the perfect place for your ritual—turning the hunter into the hunted in his own den of horrors. But in your fervor to see him pay, you overlooked one crucial detail: the cage's sinister design, which sealed shut the moment its door swung closed.

The remote control, now a mocking symbol of freedom, lies just beyond the bars, on a small, grimy table. You remember the sickening click of the lock, the finality of it echoing in the cramped space as you turned back from the grisly task of dismembering Gary—his last, silent victory.

Even the idiot police could deduce that this was all your doing, seeing as all your bloody tools were still with you in your backpack. With fingerprints. It was just a matter of time before they opened the basement door.

You could practically hear Gary’s voice from beyond the grave: "Hah! Serves you right, you stupid bitch! That's what you get for killing me!" The taunt echoes in your head like a song over and over again and you're seriously contemplating banging your head against the iron bars.

"FUCK FINE!" You yell into the darkness. "I renounce my wicked ways!"

"That's a shame. I bet I would like your wicked ways."

You jump at the sound of a man's deep, smooth voice, the cadence of slight raspiness warming every note. Your curses cut the humid air from the startlement of the man's presence. How the hell did he even get in here? You didn't hear the basement door open. You scurry out of reach of the man who saunters into the thin thread of light from the narrow window, the glass opaque with fly shit.

"You seem to be in a predicament." He says stepping into view. The thin light from the window partially illuminates him, allowing you to make out his face. Oh rather, what is on his face.

Holy shit.

A ghost mask stares back at you, its hollow eyes and elongated mouth frozen in a chilling scream. The stark white of the mask contrasts sharply with the surrounding shadows, and you watch with wide eyes as he tilts his head.

Holy shit holy shit holy shit.

In any other situation, you might be fan-girling. You know exactly who you're staring at: the infamous Crucifer, a killer, like you, but notorious for his crucifixion of criminals in rather, flamboyant displays. The few eyewitness accounts of the Crucifer all mention the ghost mask, leaving no doubt in your mind about his identity.

While your hunting grounds have been Osaka, his have typically been Tokyo, but despite the geographical difference, his reputation precedes him. In all honesty, you shouldn’t be surprised he’s here. Your victim, Gary Greenwich, is notorious even among the authorities. Despite his crimes, the lack of solid evidence has always allowed him to slip through the cracks of the justice system, leaving him free to continue his heinous activities. He was high on your kill list, and it’s no surprise he was high on Crucifers as well.

He takes a few steps closer toward the cage to stare down at the corpse, bending to take a closer look.

"Well what happened here?" He chuckles.

You are on day three of no food. No water. The gnawing hunger in your stomach feels like a relentless beast, clawing at your insides with increasing ferocity. You wonder if your body has started to eat its own organs at this point.

You can't deal with this shit.

"Self defense." You say.

The man chuckles. "I doubt that, you're not his type." Despite his mask you can feel his eyes shift from the corpse to linger on you.

"And how would you know that?"

"Well disregarding the state in which you "self defense" left him, you're not a 6 year old boy. And," he steps closer so now he is inches away from the bars and his whole body is illuminated. "I make it my business to know."

You don't answer. Instead you watch as he crouches down to meet your gaze. You try to hide behind your tangled hair and folded limbs, giving him only your eyes.

And of course, just your luck, he is stunning

Black hair flows behind his mask and down his shoulder. He's wearing a black compression shirt that hugs every muscle of his biceps and forearms, accentuating his athletic build. His broad shoulders enhance his imposing presence, giving him the aura of a seasoned athlete. Black cargo pants complete his ensemble, practical and intimidating, with a hunting knife sticking out of his pocket, probably what he would've used on Gary if you hadn't got to him first.

Something about him looks familiar, something you can't put your finger on.

"I guess you made it your business to know too." He pauses before moving even closer so his mask is practically pressed against the iron bars. "Hey, you look pretty familiar."

You shift uncomfortably, feeling the prickle of anxiety creeping up your spine. Instinctively, you brush a tangled lock of hair from your face, wincing as it catches on your dry lips. The man's shoulders tense as if he has been electrocuted.

"Y/n?" His voice cuts through the thick silence like a knife.

Oh, what the hell.

You jerk your head up from your hunched posture, eyes wide in shock, meeting the unsettling, hollow eyes of the ghost mask. Your heart races, pounding loudly in your chest.

"Wha-"

"Oh my god, it is you!" He exclaims, his loud deep voice echoing through the basement.

"I'm sorry, I don't-" you stammer, confusion and fear knotting in your stomach.

"It's me," he interrupts, and with a swift motion, he takes off his mask. The sight of his familiar face makes your breath catch in your throat. "Suguru Geto."

Suguru Geto. The name alone sent ripples through your thoughts, dragging along memories and emotions you had long buried. Suguru wasn’t just any ordinary guy; he was a micro-celebrity in Tokyo, renowned for his breathtaking tattoo artistry. His ink adorned the bodies of celebrities, flaunted in TikToks and Instagram posts that garnered thousands of likes. His reputation was impeccable, his designs sought after by the elite.

You had crossed paths with Suguru a few times at various parties, your social circles occasionally overlapping due to mutual friends. Each encounter left an indelible mark on you. His presence was magnetic, drawing you in like a moth to a flame. It wasn’t just his talent that made him irresistible; it was everything about him. Those hawk-like eyes that seemed to pierce through to your very soul, the perfect curve of his lips that could shift from a smirk to a genuine smile in an instant, and those dimples that appeared whenever he graced you with that smile—each feature was a weapon, effortlessly disarming.

You, like many other girls, harbored a secret crush on Suguru Geto. It was impossible not to. That face alone could kill, and his charisma was the final blow.

And now, here he was, standing right in front of you, unmasked and undeniably real. The reality of it all hit you like a tidal wave, leaving you breathless and a little overwhelmed.

Suguru clears his throat, a small smirk playing on his lips from how obviously you are gawking at him.

"Shot in the dark here but are you the Mute Collector?"

You part your lips to say something but you can't seem to form the right words.

"I-"

Suguru's grin widens and a sharp laugh escapes his perfect mouth. "Oh my god. I knew it. I fucking knew they had it wrong about you with that bull shit profile they built. What was it, they said you were a 30 year old white man?" Suguru throws his head back and smiles at the ceiling. "And the Mute Collector? You? That's just awesome. I'm such a huge fan."

"Yeah..." You clear your throat and push your hair completely out of your face. He grins at you, as though awe struck, and if you weren't wearing 100 layers of grime on your skin you are sure he'd be able to see the blush flaming in your cheeks for a second.

"And you?" You nod toward the mask. "You are?" You don't know why you are feigning ignorance but something about humbling him seems tastier than actual food right now.

"Oh come on." Suguru's tone flattens and he brings the mask up next to his face.

"The Crucifer?"

You shake your head.

"The cross maker?"

You shake your head again. Lying through your teeth is fun.

"The Tokyo Butcher?" When you shake your head he sighs and stands up. "Well," he glances to Gary whose maggots have made their way to the empty eye sockets. "What do you say? We ditch this lousy scene and get something to eat. Maybe when you get food in your stomach you will remember some of my little nicknames."

Your eyes widen and your stomach growls loudly, reminding you of how long it's been since you last ate. You glance up at your Suguru, a mix of hope and suspicion in your gaze.

"Are you serious?" you ask, your voice hoarse from dehydration.

"Yeah, after we get you a shower, some clothes and burn the house down."

You gulp and stand to your feet. "Could we get burgers?"

Suguru grins before grabbing the remote and pointing it at the cage.

"Fine by me."

~

The Mute Collector.

Geto Suguru is sitting across from the fucking Mute Collector.

And god you are beautiful.

Not that he just realized it now. Like many others, he has always known how attractive you are; he just pushed it to the back of his mind. But now, knowing who you really are and what you do in your free time, your body has practically been encompassed in bright warm light and your head adorned with a halo. He watches as you down your 6th cup of water with a sigh and wipe your mouth with your sleeve.

The two of you sit in a cozy booth at a restaurant, the warm, smoky aroma filling the air. Suguru leans back with a beer in hand, watching you with a mix of amusement and caution. The waitress approaches, placing a large plate with a double cheeseburger and fries in front of you. Your eyes light up, and without wasting a second, you pick up the cheeseburger with your fingers and take a big bite, savoring the flavors.

Suguru chuckles, raising his beer in a mock toast. "You look like you've just found the Holy Grail."

He doesn't miss the way you stifle back a laugh, trying to speak through a mouthful of burger. "If the Holy Grail were covered in cheese and ketchup, then yeah, maybe."

He takes a sip of his beer, grinning. "I’ve never seen someone so excited about food. Maybe you should give up your little hobby and do food reviews."

"Well, that's what being trapped in a cage with the rotting corpse of a pedophile does to you I guess." You grumble, setting down the burger and taking another drink of water.

Suguru's eyes stay on you, and he takes the opportunity to really assess you. Your hair is damp, and the wetness seeps into the white Mickey Mouse shirt you're wearing, causing it to cling slightly to your skin and reveal the elegant lines of your collarbone. He bought that shirt and the shorts for you at a thrift store, and despite the fact that such clothes should look bad on anyone, you are rocking them effortlessly.

He can't help but notice that you didn't buy a bra, a fact that makes him smile to himself.

No bra.

"So tell me." Suguru sets his beer back on the table and leans in.

"The whole ears, eyes and heart thing." He waves his left hand in the air. "The police say it's satanic ritual stuff but I don't buy it."

You pause, a hint of a smile playing at your lips as you meet his gaze. "It's simple, really. Hear no evil, see no evil, fear no evil."

Suguru raises an eyebrow. "You have a way of making the macabre sound poetic."

You're about to reach for a fry, but he snatches it before your fingers could reach it.

"Why not the tongue?" He says. "You know, speak no evil."

You roll your eyes and snatch the fry out of his fingers. "Tongues are hard to cut, too slippery and make a mess."

He nods thoughtfully, leaning back in his seat. "You know, most people would be horrified to hear you talk like that."

"Good thing you’re not most people," you reply with a smirk.

"Touché."

He watches as your lips wrap around the thick fry and your teeth rip off half of it into your mouth.

No bra.

"What about you Suguru?" You lock eyes with him. "Why are you here?"

"Why am I here?"

"You heard me. You swoop in all superman-like, save me from the dipshit’s pedo dungeon and take me out for a double cheeseburger. Why are you here?"

Suguru shrugs and averts his gaze from your unyielding stare. Shit, your piercing eyes are almost making him sweat.

"Same thing you already did. I was going to skin him alive and and display the fucking monkey Jesus style infront of his house. At least, something like that."

"Yeah but why him? I thought your hunting grounds were in Tokyo?"

Your eyes widen slightly as the words hang in the air, the weight of your mistake sinking in immediately. You feel a rush of heat to your cheeks, a telltale sign of your embarrassment. Your lips part as if to take back the words, but it's too late; they've already been spoken.

A sly smile spreads across Sugurus face as he watches your face fall.

"Oh you totally know who I am Y/n."

"Fucking hell."

"You do! You know that I like to hunt near my home, how long have you been a part of my fan club?"

You roll your eyes and fall back into your seat. You blink rapidly, trying to maintain your composure, but the subtle tension in your jaw and the furrowing of your brow betray your embarrassment.

"So which one was your favorite? The monkey I strung up next to the police station? Or the one I flayed inside the Tokyo Union Church?"

"Oh my god I can already tell you are going to be insufferable." You grumble, the heat of embarrassment slowly dissipating as you take a deep breath. Suguru leans back, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he swirls the beer in his hand, watching you with an almost predatory curiosity. As seconds pass, Suguru assesses your face, following how your eyes dart around the room, searching for an escape route, and Suguru’s playful expression falters for a split second. He realizes with a sudden jolt that you're trying to leave. He can't have that. He needs to see you again.

"Hey speaking of suffering," Suguru clears his throat. "Have you heard about the women killings in Kyoto?"

Your eyebrows raise, curiosity piqued. "Yeah, I've heard. Pretty gruesome stuff. Why do you ask?"

A playful smile tugs at his lips. "How about a friendly competition? The killer's already taken six lives so far."

You tilt your head, your eyes narrowing slightly as you try to decipher his intentions. "What do you mean by a competition?"

Suguru leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "That's exactly what it sounds like. Who can hunt him down first?"

For a moment, you're taken aback, your eyes widening as you process his proposal. A mix of surprise and intrigue flickers across your face. "Are you serious?"

He chuckles, clearly enjoying your reaction. "As sin."

"And what do we get if we win?"

Suguru's eyes gleam with amusement and something else—admiration. "Bragging rights, of course. And maybe... another dinner like this one."

You throw your head back and let out a laugh. "Oh yeah? Who says I'll need you to get me another dinner?"

"Can't let you go hungry again. What do you say?”

~

You sit at your desk, the dim light of your laptop casting a pale glow on your face as you scroll through articles about the woman killer from Kyoto. The room is quiet, save for the occasional click of your mouse and the hum of the laptop. Your phone buzzes, and you glance at the screen to see Shoko’s name. With a smile, you answer the call.

"Hey Shoko, how’s your night shift?" you greet her with a teasing tone.

Shoko’s laugh crackles through the speaker. "Busy as always. Just patched up a guy who thought he could outsmart a bulletproof vest with sheer willpower. Spoiler: he couldn’t."

You chuckle, shaking your head. "Sounds like my type of guy."

By day, Shoko is your best friend and a dedicated med student, excelling in her studies with a, albeit, half hearted, passion for helping others. But when the sun sets, she transforms into the notorious Dr. Reverse, the underground doctor every criminal and lowlife turns to in their time of need. Using her medical expertise, she serves those who cannot seek help through legal means, operating in the shadows and patching up criminals who live by a different set of rules. In addition to her medical skills, she also deals in poisons, further cementing her reputation in the underworld.

You first met Shoko in a moment of desperation. After cornering a serial rapist, you were attacked with a machete, almost severing your arm. With nowhere else to turn, you sought out Dr. Reverse. Shoko skillfully sewed you up and, in the process, deduced that you were the infamous Mute Collector. To your surprise, she didn't seem to care about your identity, and you, in turn, didn't question her underground business or her dealings with poison. This mutual understanding and acceptance laid the foundation for a strong bond, and you've been best friends ever since. 

Shoko laughed, a sound that always manages to lift your spirits. "Right? Anyway, what's up? I saw your SOS text."

You hesitate, glancing at the photo of Geto Suguru on your screen on a separate tab. His annoyingly white teeth glare back at you, and you try to resist staring at his six pack in an instagram photo someone took of him at a pool party.  His dark eyes seemed to stare right through you, as if mocking your indecision. "It's about Geto."

There was a brief pause before Shoko's voice came back, tinged with curiosity. "Geto? What about him?"

You take a deep breath, your fingers drumming nervously on the desk. "He's the Crucifier."

Shoko's reaction was immediate and loud. "Geto is what?" she practically yelled through the phone, causing you to wince.

"The Crucifier. I know." You scoffed, rolling your eyes at the absurdity of it all. "Can you believe it?"

Shoko let out a low whistle. "Wow. I mean, he always seemed like a guy with secrets, but I never pegged him for a serial killer, I mean, someone like you."

"Yeah, well, here we are," You mutter, rubbing your temples. You focus your attention back on your computer screen. Suguru is squeaky clean, not even a bad review on his website. There was only his questionable taste in best friends: Gojo Satoru—the biggest playboy and the infamous heir to the Gojo Company, Japan's largest and most influential corporation. Gojo's notoriety was legendary, his exploits plastered across tabloids and whispered in gossip circles. You’ve met, and been hit on by the man a few times, and not once did you fall for any of his slimy cheap antics. No, Geto Suguru is who your eyes fell on. 

 "And now he’s proposed some sort of competition."

"A competition?" Shoko's voice was practically dripping with amusement. "Like a hunting competition?”

You let out a snort of air through your nose. “Basically.”

Are you gonna do it?"

"I don't know," You admit, leaning forward and resting your chin on your hand. "I said I would, but I don't know. I barely know the guy. Well, I thought I did."

"Well, you should," Shoko said, her tone shifting to one of gentle teasing. "Besides, isn't this your chance to get closer to your crush?"

You feel your cheeks flush. "Shoko, seriously? Come on, that was ages ago."

"Hey, I'm just saying," she replies, laughter bubbling up again. "This could be your big break."

"You're impossible," you grumble, though you can't help but smile. "How's the side business, by the way?"

"Thriving," she says and you can practically see her small smile through the phone.. "You'd be amazed at how many people need a little untraceable something for their enemies."

"I don't doubt it," you say, shaking your head. "Just stay safe, okay?"

"You too, Mute Collector," Shoko says, her voice softening slightly. "And remember, if you ever need anything, you know where to find me."

"Always," you reply, your smile growing wider. "Thanks, Shoko. Talk to you soon."

"Later," she says, and the line goes dead.

You lean back in your chair again, your thoughts drifting back to Geto Suguru and the strange, dangerous world you both inhabit. As much as you hate to admit it, Shoko is right. This is your chance, not just to catch some sick killer, but to uncover the secrets that lie hidden beneath Suguru’s enigmatic exterior.

With a sigh, you close your laptop and stand up, determination settling in your chest. The competition awaits, and you have a feeling it's going to be a game changer.

~

“What’s got your panties in a twist?”

Suguru rolls his eyes at the white hair man’s mocking tone and continues to stare at his phone. It's been 10 minutes. How long does it take for someone to respond to a text. Suguru lay sprawled on the couch, his eyes fixed on his phone. Across the room, Gojo was bustling about in the kitchen, the sound of utensils clinking and food sizzling filling the air.

"Is this about Y/n? The Mute Collector or whatever?" Gojo asked, glancing over his shoulder with a mischievous grin.

Suguru didn't respond, his gaze unwavering from the screen. He could feel Gojo's eyes on him, the scrutiny almost tangible.

"I don't think I've seen you put this much effort into a woman since, like... ever," Gojo continued, his tone teasing. He turned back to his cooking, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement.

Suguru's jaw tightened, but he kept his silence. Gojo, undeterred, pressed on. "Besides the fact that she's the Mute Collector, what do you even see in Y/n? Well, I guess she does have other assets," he chuckled.

"Keep her name out of your fucking mouth, you prick," Suguru snapped, his voice low and menacing.

Gojo raised his hands in mock surrender, a laugh escaping his lips. "Alright, alright, no need to get all territorial."

Suguru continued to stare at his phone, his fingers hovering over the keys. "How long does it take for someone to respond to a fucking text" he mutters under his breath.

Gojo leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "Maybe she's busy. Or maybe she's just messing with you. You know, playing hard to get."

Suguru finally looks up, his eyes narrowing. "She doesn't play games. And she's not hard to get—she's hard to keep."

Gojo raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by Suguru's reaction. “Touchy, touchy,” he mutters, returning to his culinary task.

Just then, Suguru's phone pings. His heart skips a beat as he sees your name flash on the screen. He quickly opens the message, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he reads your response.

Y/n: Fine, I'll do it. But what are the details?

Suguru: Oh, I'm thrilled

Y/n: Shut up.

Suguru: The rules are simple: whoever deduces the monkey’s identity first and guts the bastard wins.

Y/n: And how do I know you don’t already have a head start?

Suguru: I guess you'll just have to trust me. 

Y/n: Trust you? That’s rich coming from someone who literally stabs people in the back.

Suguru lets out a snort of air from your comment catching Gojo’s attention. “Ah, there it is. The smile of a man who's finally gotten what he wants.”

Suguru doesn't dignify that with a response. Instead, he focuses on your message, feeling a grin grow on his lips.

Suguru: You wound me, truly. But where’s the fun without a little challenge? Besides, I wouldn’t want to make it too easy for you

Y/n: Easy, huh? I suppose you think you’re quite the genius, then?

Suguru: Only compared to the average monkey. You, on the other hand, might actually make this interesting.

Y/n: Is that a compliment or are you just trying to butter me up?

Suguru: Can’t it be both? 

Y/n: Oh, don't worry. You’re not the only one who enjoys a good chase. But don’t cry when I beat you at your own game.

Suguru: Cry? Please. I’ll be too busy admiring you in action. It’s a win-win for me.

Y/n: Flattery will get you nowhere, Suguru.

Suguru: Really?

Suguru: Not even a little bit princess 🥺?

Y/n: *One attachment*

You send an image of your hand flipping him off. Your middle finger nail is painted black and he assumes so are all your other fingers. His heart thuds against his chest. God, how he would love to have those nails dragging down his back. His dick twitches just thinking about it. 

Gojo snickers as if he can read Suguru’s thoughts and Suguru considers throwing his phone at the smug white hair man when Gojo’s phone rings. Any humor falls off Gojo’s features like snow from a shaken tree branch. He glances at the caller ID, his eyes narrowing, and picks up the phone with a serious tone.

“This is Gojo.” He says. His voice is gruff as he responds to the caller with clipped “yes” and “no” answers, his timbre low. “I'll be there in 30 minutes.” 

When he sets down the phone, Suguru meets his blue eyes, Gojo’s brief smile is grim.

“Trouble?” Suguru asks.

“Trouble.” Gojo repeats.

On the exterior Gojo is Japan's most infamous playboy and philanthropist. But by night he is the devil's tool, the country's most lethal assassin for anyone from politicians to presidents.  What Suguru and you do for a hobby, Gojo Satoru does for his job.

Gojo dumps his hot food in a container, grabs his hunting knife coat and bag and heads for the door. Before he exits, he turns around to lock eyes with Suguru.

“Be safe. A woman killer is a deadly combo.” He says.

Suguru chuckles, and for a second he doesn't know if Gojo’s talking about you or the guy in Kyoto. “You to ass hat.”  

~

You can't believe you are doing this. 

You can't believe that you took up Suguru’s competition, spent 120 dollars on a train and hotel room at Kyoto and an extra 20 on room service. Moreover you can't believe that you are here, hiding in a forest of bamboo shoots at the dead of night, watching some man who may or may not be the Kyoto women killer.

It’s a warm summer night, and every time the wind blows, the bamboo shoots rustle against each other, creating a haunting melody that sets your nerves on edge. The air is thick with the scent of earth and foliage, and the occasional hoot of an owl punctuates the silence. You’re crouched low, your body tense, watching a man named Noaya Zenin who you followed out here. He seems to be wandering aimlessly, but you know better than to underestimate him. The Zenin clan's reach is long and shadowy, and their involvement in the Kyoto women killings is a tangled web you’ve been unraveling. All key witnesses were either paid off by the Zenin clan or had lawyers representing them from the Zenin clan. The pattern was too precise to be a coincidence.

Your heart thuds in your chest, adrenaline coursing through your veins. The thrill of the chase, the hunt, makes your senses sharper, every movement and sound more pronounced. You can feel the need creeping up on you, slowly reaching your brain until your skin itches with anticipation. 

Each minute feels like an eternity as you scrutinize Noaya’s every move. He stops occasionally, looking around as if sensing he’s being watched, and you hold your breath, pressing yourself closer to the ground. The moonlight filters through the dense bamboo, casting eerie shadows that dance with the wind. Your mind races, piecing together fragments of evidence and suspicion. If Noaya Zenin is indeed the killer, catching him here could be the breakthrough you need.

“Hiya.”

A scream almost rips through you when you feel someone's breath against your ear, but you quickly cover your mouth and whip around. Of course, you’re met face to face with the man you least wanted to see right now. Familiar hazel eyes gaze back at you, glinting with mischief and amusement. Suguru is crouched right next to you, his nose mere inches from yours, a sly smirk on his face. You didn’t even hear him approach.

“Suguru, what the fuck?” you hiss, keeping your voice low. Your first instinct is to grab your knife out of your pocket and press it against his throat but he holds both his hands up as if surrendering, stopping you.

“Woah woah princess, let's cool our engines.” He chuckles softly, clearly enjoying your reaction.

Your pulse is still racing, but you force yourself to calm down. “You could have given me a heart attack. How did you even find me?” You seethe.

“I have my ways,” he replies cryptically, his smirk widening. “Besides, I couldn’t let you have all the fun, now could I? So,” his eyes flicker to Noaya, who still seems to be staring at his phone. “Who are we looking at?”

“We?” You scoff and roll your eyes. “Are you kidding me? There is no we. This is a competition, remember? Go do your own research.”

Suguru raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Oh, come on. You know you love my company.”

Before you can retort, Noaya picks up his phone. You both strain to listen, and you catch his words clearly.

“Yeah, I’m at the bamboo forest. See you soon, babe.” He then hangs up the phone with a click and puts it back in his backpack. But just when you're about to turn back to Suguru and rip into the man, Noaya pulls something else out too. A hunting knife. A large one at that with serrated ends and a pointed tip that glints in the moon light. Just like the one used on the victims. And as if things couldn't get any more apparent, you watch as a wicked grin spreads across his face when he draws the blade diagonally through the air.

“Oh shit,” you whisper, eyes wide. “That’s definitely him. That’s like some comically evil villain shit right there.”

“Dibs,” Suguru whispers back, a glint of excitement in his eyes as he puts on his ghost mask. “I call fucking dibs.” He stands up, the crunch of leaves making Noaya whip around and stare right at the area you both hid in.

For a solid 5 seconds your two flabbergasted to even form words, you can only watch as Suguru steps out from the bamboo shoots and onto the trail, slowly walking toward Noaya like a lion cornering a gazelle. 

Or course, Noaya turns, screams like a little girl, and makes a hard right straight into the forest of bamboos.

“Oh hell no,” you mutter, leaping up and chasing after him. You sprint through the forest, the warm summer air thick and humid around you. Each footfall is muffled by the dense undergrowth, but the occasional snap of a twig or crunch of leaves marks your frenzied pace. Moonlight filters through the dense canopy, casting ghostly shadows that dance along the forest floor, creating an ever-shifting maze of light and dark.

Your breath comes in quick, controlled bursts, each inhale filling your lungs with the earthy scent of the forest. Adrenaline surges through your veins, sharpening your senses. The rhythmic pounding of your heart in your chest matches the rapid beat of your footsteps. Ahead, you can just make out the faint silhouette of Noaya, his panicked movements betraying his desperation.

Branches claw at your clothes and face, but you push through, eyes locked on your target. The thrill of the chase ignites every nerve, propelling you forward with a singular focus. Suguru’s presence is a constant just behind you, his footsteps a steady reminder of the competition driving you both. You can hear his breaths, steady and calculated, mirroring your own.

The path twists and turns, the bamboo growing thicker, creating a claustrophobic tunnel. You duck and weave, dodging low-hanging branches and vaulting over fallen logs. The forest floor is uneven, riddled with roots and hidden pitfalls, but your reflexes are sharp, your movements instinctual.

The thrill, the excitement, the danger—it all converges in this moment. You are a predator in your element, and your prey is within reach. The bamboo forest seems to blur around you, time stretching and contracting with each heartbeat. This is what you live for, the ultimate test of skill and nerve, the ultimate game of life and death.

Just as you’re about to close the distance, your fingertips brushing the fabric of Noaya’s shirt, he whirls around with surprising speed. The moonlight catches the gleam of his hunting knife as it arcs through the air. Instinct takes over, and you try to dodge, but the blade slices across your palm, leaving a hot, stinging line of red in its wake.

For a split second, time seems to slow. You see the wild desperation in Noaya’s eyes, the way his chest heaves with exertion and fear. But there’s no pain, only a white-hot fury that floods your veins, fueling your next move.

Your grip tightens around the hilt of your own knife, slick with blood but steady. The cut on your palm feels like a mere scratch compared to the surge of adrenaline that courses through you. With a fierce snarl, you lunge forward, using the momentum to drive Noaya back a step.

He stumbles, his confidence faltering as he realizes the severity of his mistake. You don’t give him a chance to recover. You move with a predatory grace, every muscle coiled and ready to strike. The forest around you fades into a blur of green and shadow, all your focus locked on the man in front of you.

Noaya swings wildly, his movements frantic and uncoordinated. You sidestep his attacks with practiced ease, your fury giving you a sharp, clear edge. The scent of blood mingles with the earthy aroma of the forest, and your pulse pounds in your ears like a war drum.

You close the distance again, this time with a calculated precision. Your free hand shoots out, grabbing his wrist and twisting it until the knife clatters to the ground. Noaya yelps in pain, his eyes widening in terror. The tables have turned, and he knows it.

Your injured hand, still bleeding, clamps down on his shoulder with a vice-like grip. You lean in close, your breath hot against his ear. “Nice try,” you hiss, the fury in your voice making him shudder. “But it’s over.”

With a swift, brutal motion, you plunge your knife into his chest. The blade sinks into flesh with a sickening thud, and Noaya's eyes widen in shock and agony. Blood spurts from the wound, hot and sticky, spraying across your face in a macabre mist. The initial strike is met with a gasp, a desperate, choking sound that fuels the savage fire within you.

A wicked grin spreads across your face, the thrill of dominance electrifying your senses. You pull the knife out, feeling the resistance of tissue and bone, and then plunge it in again, and again. Each thrust is accompanied by a wet, squelching sound, a symphony of carnage that drowns out the world around you. Blood flows freely, pooling at your feet and soaking into the earth.

Noaya’s body jerks and spasms with each stab, his strength fading with every violent assault. His once panicked eyes grow dull, the life draining from them as you continue your relentless attack. The coppery tang of blood fills the air, mingling with the scent of the forest, creating a heady mixture that makes your pulse race even faster.

You lose yourself in the rhythm of the violence, the way your muscles strain and flex with each plunge of the knife. Blood splatters across your face and clothes, warm and viscous, painting you in the evidence of your victory. Your grin widens, a feral expression of triumph and fury.

Amidst your frenzied stabbings, Suguru places a hand on your shoulder. "I think—" he begins, but when you turn around to face him he immediately shuts up.

Your eyes are wide, pupils contracted like a deranged predator. Your hair flows wildly in the wind as you grab Suguru's throat with your bloody hand, smearing the crimson on his skin and pressing him against a tree. 

"This woman-killer fucker is mine." You seethe.

His dick strains against his cargo pants waistband. You look divine.

“ Of course, All yours baby.” He coos.

~

Geto Suguru would be lying if he said that watching you tear apart that woman-killer wasn't the hottest thing he had ever seen. 

To Suguru, you looked divine. The moonlight accentuated the sharp angles of your face, casting shadows that danced across your blood-splattered skin. Your eyes, wild with the remnants of fury, glowed with an unearthly intensity. The contrast of crimson against your complexion made you seem otherworldly, a dark goddess of vengeance. Suguru couldn’t tear his eyes away, mesmerized by the raw, primal beauty you exuded in that moment.

The walk back to your hotel was silent, but not because you were soaked in blood or because he felt awkward. More like it was because the only think he could think to say is “You are so fucking hot.”

Now here he is, twiddling his thumbs as he stands outside of your hotel door, trying to think of the right thing to say to you because god he needs to see your face one last time before he goes to bed.

He raises his hand to knock, but before he can, the door swings open. You stand there, your hair wet and smelling faintly of vanilla. You’ve clearly just come out of the shower. A tank top clings to your damp skin, and sports shorts hug your thighs. His eyes widen slightly, and he gulps, struggling to keep his composure. 

No bra.

The sight makes his mouth go dry.

"Just checking to see if everything is good," he says, nodding toward your bandaged hand.

You feel yourself fidget in your place and you try to flash a small smile but your emotions betray you. What if you freaked him out? What he saw back there, what you did back there, that was you, the raw you. Behind all the layers of kind smiles and pleasantries, in many ways, you were no different than an animal, consumed by your predatory instincts. You wouldn't blame him if he never contacted you again after this. Shit, did you just fuck up everything?

 His presence fills the doorway, and you’re acutely aware of the tension between you two.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you reply, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Thanks for asking.”

His eyes flicker down to your hand, then back up to meet yours. “How’s the hand?” he asks, genuine concern in his voice.

You hold it up and wiggle your fingers slightly. “It’ll heal. No big deal.”

Silence fills the void between you two and you clear your throat, searching for something to say to break the awkward silence, but he beats you to it.

“Mind if I come in?” he asks, a smirk playing on his lips as he leans against the doorframe. “Or are you planning to keep all the fun out here in the hallway?”

You roll your eyes, though you can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Sure, come in. But I warn you, it’s a mess.”

“I’m sure I can handle it,” he quips, stepping inside. His eyes scan the room, taking in the organized chaos. Bandages and clothes are scattered around the floor and he doesn't miss the splatter of blood on the white sheets of the hotel bed. After a moment, Suguru turns around and takes a step closer to you, like he’s examining you. 

You tilt your head slightly, letting a smirk play on your lips. "So, now that I’ve won the bet, what do I get?"

He chuckles, the sound low and smooth, as he takes another step closer, closing the distance between you. "I was wondering when you’d bring that up." 

You arch an eyebrow, trying to keep your composure despite the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. "Well? I’m waiting. What’s my prize?"

Suguru stops just inches from you. "I don’t know," he quips, "What do you want?"

You let out a short laugh, though it’s clear you’re testing him now. "That’s a big question."

Suguru's eyes darken slightly, his playful demeanor shifting into something more serious, more intense. He leans in just a fraction, his breath warm against your skin. "Try me."

The tension between you two is palpable, electric. You’re the first to break the silence, your voice quieter now, almost hesitant. "I want," you pause, averting your gaze from Suguru’s hawkish one. “I want to know if I scared you.” The question slips out before you can stop it, your bravado faltering as doubt creeps in.

Suguru blinks, then a slow smile spreads across his face. "Scare me?" He repeats, as if the idea itself is laughable. He steps even closer, forcing you to take a step back until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed. "Scare me?” He repeats again. “You didn’t scare me," he continues, his voice low and sincere. "You… captivated me. I have never, and I mean never, seen something so magnificent as what you did. And that's saying a lot because I've done a shit ton of magnificent things.”

You sit down on the bed, more out of necessity than choice, as he looms over you. Your heart is pounding in your chest, and you feel a mix of emotions—relief, curiosity, and something much more dangerous.

"What are you doing?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper as he leans in, his hands resting on either side of you, trapping you in place.

He smiles, a slow, almost wicked grin that sends shivers down your spine. "Well, I thought I might kiss you now, you know, after telling you how magnificent you are.” He tilts his head. “Is that a bad idea?"

Your breath catches in your throat as the weight of his words sinks in. You forget to breathe.

You finally find your voice, though it’s a bit shakier than you’d like. "That depends…"

"On?" He asks, his face inching closer to yours, his gaze locked onto your lips.

"On how good you are at it," you murmur.

He doesn’t need any more encouragement. Suguru closes the remaining distance, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s as intense as it is tender. It’s a slow, deliberate connection, his hands moving to cradle your face as if you’re something precious, something worth savoring.

The kiss deepens, and all the tension that had been building between you two finally snaps, leaving nothing but raw desire in its wake. You respond in kind, your hands gripping the front of his shirt, pulling him closer as if you can’t get enough.

When you finally pull apart, both of you are breathless, and the world seems to have shrunk down to just the two of you in this moment. Suguru’s forehead rests against yours, and he smiles, a real, genuine smile that you can feel in your bones.

"So," he says, his voice husky and low. "How was that?"

You laugh softly, still trying to catch your breath. "Not bad," you admit, your fingers running through his black hair. "Not bad at all."

"Good," he replies, his lips brushing against yours in a whisper of a kiss. "Because I plan on doing it again."

Suguru’s lips are on yours again before you can even catch your breath, this time more insistent, more demanding. He’s not asking for permission anymore; he’s claiming what he wants, and it makes your head spin. The kiss deepens as his tongue slips past your lips, exploring your mouth with a slow, deliberate intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. You can taste him—warm, intoxicating—and you find yourself leaning into his lips, craving more.

His hand, warm and firm, slides down your side, tracing the curve of your waist before coming to rest between your thighs. The touch is electrifying, sending a jolt of sensation through you, and you gasp against his mouth, your heart pounding in your chest.

But it’s too much, too fast. Your mind races, and you instinctively pull back, breaking the kiss. “Wait,” you murmur, your voice breathless, “I dont know if we should….” You avert your gaze and turn your head toward the wall but Suguru grabs your chin, forcing you to look right into his hazel eyes. Then, he dips his head to whisper in your ear.

“Aw come one Y/n” He grazes your earlobe with his teeth. “I’ve been on my best behavior, a good boy,” Suguru pauses to deliver a soft kiss to your temple. “I've been waiting, waiting ever since I met you in that cage to do this. Don't I deserve a reward for my patience?” 

You thickly gulp as he rubs the sides of your neck with his lips.

“I’ve been-” He kisses your jaw. “Such a-” he kisses his way up to your mouth. “Good boy.”

You cave. 

As his words sink in, you feel your resolve crumbling, the weight of his desire pressing down on you in the most intoxicating way. Before you can even process what’s happening, Suguru's strong arms wrap around you, lifting you off the bed with effortless ease. His grip is firm but gentle, as if he's afraid of breaking you, and you can't help but let out a soft gasp as he lifts you off the bed and up so your head rests on the plush hotel pillow. His eyes lock onto yours, dark with intent, and you feel your breath hitch as the world narrows down to just the two of you. The room is filled with the sound of your breathing, heavy and uneven, mingling with the quiet rustle of sheets as he leans over you.

“I know you have been thinking about this too.” He coos. Suguru’s hands move with a deliberate slowness, as if savoring the moment. His fingers curl around the hem of your tank top, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he begins to lift it. The cool air hits your skin as he pulls the fabric up and over your head, exposing you to his hungry gaze. But before you can feel self-conscious, his lips are on your newly exposed skin, pressing gentle kisses along your collarbone, his warm breath fanning over your skin.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs between kisses, his voice filled with awe and reverence. “Just so gorgeous.”

His hands are on your shorts next, tugging them down your hips with the same careful slowness, as if he’s unwrapping the most precious gift. As the fabric slips down your legs, he trails kisses along the newly exposed skin, his lips brushing against your thighs, your knees, your calves, until the shorts are discarded on the floor.

Now you’re lying before him in just your underwear, and the way he looks at you makes your heart pound. His eyes are dark and intense, filled with a hunger that makes your entire body flush with heat. “You’re gorgeous,” he repeats, his voice thick with emotion. “Just so damn gorgeous.”

Suguru straightens up slightly, his hands moving to the hem of his own shirt. In one fluid motion, he pulls it over his head and tosses it aside, revealing his bare chest. The sight of him makes your breath catch—his body is lean and athletic, muscles defined and sculpted from years of discipline and training. Tattoos cover his skin in an elaborate tapestry. He’s handsome, impossibly so, and the sight of him like this, just inches away, makes your pulse quicken.

He doesn’t stop there. His fingers move to the waistband of his sweatpants, and he slides them down, revealing more of his skin, his strong legs, until he’s kneeling before you in just his boxers. The fabric clings to him in a way that leaves little to the imagination, and you can’t help but stare, mesmerized by the sheer physicality of him.

Suguru catches your gaze, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Something catches your eye princess?”

You nod, “Yes. You. All of you.” Your eyes tracing every line and curve of his body. He’s more than just handsome—he’s breathtaking, a perfect combination of strength and beauty that leaves you feeling weak in the best way possible.

He leans down again, his body hovering over yours, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Good, wouldn't want you to be disappointed.”

With that, he captures your lips in a heated kiss, his hands trailing down your sides, touching, feeling, exploring. 

You are too lost in the kiss not to notice his hands slipping under your underwear and making their way to your dripping cunt, and when they do, you jump at the feeling of his index finger tracing your slit.

"Gotta get you ready baby.?" Suguru hums and you shake you head vigorously.

"No please Sugu~, I can take it."

You don't have to tell him twice.

In one fluid motion Suguru tears off your underwear, lays you on your back and positions himself between your legs.

"Been waiting to do this for so long," he murmurs as he pulls down his boxers and whips out his dick. You thickly gulp at the sight, you could've guessed he was big not this big, could he even fit in you? A white bead of precum dribbled from his pretty pink tip and down his length and he uses the liquid to stroke himself in a few fluid motions.

You could hear your heart in your ears and adrenaline coursed through your veins at rocket fire speed. The need in between your legs was too much, it was clouding your head and twisting your stomach so tight you almost felt sick. You jolt when his fat tip bumps into your clit; collecting your juices before pressing against your quivering hole.

"Suguru please~" You whine and nearly miss the way his ears go bright red at your words

"I know baby, I know. Don't worry, lift your hips for me love?”

You oblige and immediately when you do so you're struck with the feeling of his length spreading you so helplessly wide and his tip smashing against something which must be your cervix you think. It’s painful, but in the pain is so much pleasure. He presses his forehead against yours as he slides into you, gripping the sheets with his supporting hand as your hot, wet entrance swallows his cock. Instinctively, you're cunt squeezed around the foreign intrusion, trying to push it out, making Suguru let out a low groan of his own and pushing even deeper into you. 

“F-fuck I can feel you doing it to me,” he said hoarsely.

His fingers gently press into the skin of your hip, guiding and steadying you as he pulls back and thrusts into you. The sudden friction and collision with your G-spot knocks the wind out of your lungs. Ticklish pleasure courses through your veins and you immediately throw your head back against the wall as Suguru thrusts into you.

"Hnghh, s-so good~~" You whine. It was dizzying, the curvature of his dick digging itself against your g-spot, scraping against your vaginal walls every time he backed his hips up.

Simultaneously, his other hand sought yours, finding it with a purposeful tenderness. His fingers intertwined with yours, locking them together in a grip that was both a clasp and a caress.

You dont even realize that your eyes are closed until Suguru whispers into your ear.

“Come on baby, open those pretty eyes, look at me.”

You do as he says and when you do you feel your heart thud in your chest. Suguru’s eyes were fixated completely on you, how you were reacting, as his hips were continuously slamming into your body as if it were clockwork. The sight alone had your walls clamping down on him, earning a groan from the base of his chest. 

Suddenly, the hand that had been intertwined with yours released its grip and began to rummage through Suguru’s discarded pants. Your breath hitched, eyes glazed over as you watched him retrieve a knife from his pocket, unsheathing it effortlessly with a flick of his finger. The sharp glint of the blade caught your attention from beneath Suguru’s body, even as he continued thrusting into you, not missing a beat.

Your body reacted instinctively, clenching at the sight, drawing a low, dark chuckle from Suguru.

“Hah, I knew it,” he said, his voice laced with a teasing edge as he brought the cold steel to the base of your throat. “You’re just a slut for knives, aren’t you?”

A moan escaped your lips, the sound betraying any chance of denial. Suguru took it as an admission, pressing the blade firmly against the skin of your throat as he angled his hips to hit even deeper inside you. The cool metal at your throat was electrifying, but it was his other hand, strong and unyielding, that sent a euphoric thrill coursing through you. His fingers flexed, tightening around your neck, the pressure intensifying.

It wasn’t just the air being cut off—it was the dizzying, intoxicating pleasure that came with it. The way his grip constricted, pushing you to the edge of control, ignited something raw inside. Every squeeze of his hand made your body burn hotter, a perfect balance between pain and pleasure, leaving you gasping for more.

What a primal dirty sight you where, being choked with a blade against your throat while fucked brutaly. Even the devil would clutch his rosaries.  

"Were we doing it like this in your head baby?" Suguru grunts, his Adam apple bobs as he groans from the pleasure of how fucking heavenly your pussy feels. “Because we were doing it like this in mine.” Good? Try euphoric, how could he ever think his fist could substitute the wet squeeze of your cunt?

You can't even open your mouth to respond. The friction of his dick against your walls and the adrenaline from the knife is just too good and as his pace intensified, a dizzying warmth spread through you, filling every corner of your being with a euphoric haze. The sensation of being completely enveloped, utterly connected, sent electric flesh arrows of pleasure through your body, making your eyes flutter and roll back slightly in sheer bliss. Every motion Suguru makes, every time his fat tip collides with your cervix, leaves behind a trail of sparkling heat that seems to light you from within.

"Come on eyes on me when I fuck you baby~" Suguru releases his hold from your neck and snakes his fingers between your body , finding your clit and pressing down on the pearl back and forth with the pad of index finger. "Tell me how good you feel, tell me how badly you want to cum.

He doesn’t slow the ministrations on your clit for a second as he snaps his hips into you with primal vigor, your breasts bouncing from the brutality.

"So good Sugu!" You sob. You cant even open your eyes from the colors you're seeing behind your lids. Every time your pussy squeezes around him not only do bolts of pleasure shoot up your body but a ring of milky white cum forms around the base of his cock.

Suguru’s eyes are locked on how good you're taking him - the fat of his head has a hard time popping out with how greedy your cunny is being. He lets out a sharp moan at how wet you are on the inside.

"S-shit baby wanna feel you cum on me, been waiting so long." Suguru is not a whining man but here he is practically stumbling over his words. Fuck, he wants to keep himself inside you forever. He wants your kisses, your skin, your touch, your blood, your lips, to be his to claim until you die together. No one has seen, truly seen him, before you. You are what he thinks about when he wakes up, when he is eating, when he is plunging his knife into some worthless monkey. You are his goddess. 

The world beyond this intimate cocoon of warmth and breath seemed distant, irrelevant. His gaze was locked with yours, deep and unwavering, a silent communication that tethered you through the mind numbing ecstasy.

Then, he reels his hips back and slams into you in a new angle that has your body jerking.

“Found it didn't I?” He breathes through a smile and pummels into you with vigor. And your about to disagree with him, insist that the feeling is too new and foreign to feel good when all of a sudden your body begins to shake and your head starts to feel fuzzy

And suddenly—you feel it. What you’ve been craving for and what you have seen in porn.

Its like all your body's energy centers are activating at once and your left utterly helpless to the feeling of tingling ecstasy wrapping your brain and stomach.

You dont know how to tell him that something is happening, not when the pleasure is too immense your barely breathing full breaths. But he understands once again the words you tried desperately to communicate.

“Do it baby. Cum. I’ll fill you up, and if it spills I'll fuck it back into you"

So you do.

Release washed over you in an all-encompassing wave, radiating out from your core to the very tips of your fingers and toes. It swept through you like a storm, leaving a trail of starbursts in its wake. Your body arched instinctively, clinging to Suguru as the wave crested, then gently, slowly, began to ebb.

“Ah, princess, please,” he moaned. “Be a good girl and take it all, yeah?” 

Your fingers trailed up his shoulder, only to drag them back down his spine, nails biting into his skin as he buried himself deep inside you, releasing with a powerful shudder. His movements grew erratic, hips pressing yours firmly into the mattress as his hot breath skimmed across your neck, ragged and heavy.

The world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you in this moment, lost in each other, with nothing but the sound of your breathing and the feel of his touch to guide you.

The warmth of his cum spreads through your body with a shiver, and you can feel the liquid expanding against your walls while he kept you plugged and full of him. As you both floated back down from the heights of bliss, your breaths came easier, softer, the lingering aftershocks of pleasure pulsing gently through you.

"You're mine ok?" Suguru coos, and all you can do is dumbly nod.

"I'll die for you, I'll kill a thousand monkeys for you, i'll hold them down so you can cut our their eyes. Just stay by my side."

[himbodruid]

Crying Wolf

My take on the 105 affinity Secret Times audio 😏

Intended for 18+ readers ONLY. MINORS DNI

Sylus x Reader/You

Breeding kink (probably)-:- marking -:- possessive sex -:- soft sex -:- consent is hot -:- aftercare

Fic Master List

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The soft plinking sounds of the silly game you were playing echoed in the otherwise vacant room. You’d awoken from disturbing dreams in your own bed at the base, and snuck into Sylus’s room. And now you were curled up on his bed and clutching one of his pillows to your chest. He wasn’t home yet and it was a day off for you, but you figured he wouldn’t mind you borrowing his space.

“What are you playing?”

His voice suddenly appearing right next to your ear startled you and made you jump. Your hand struck out on instinct, which he caught with a chuckle before it could connect with his face.

“Shit, Sylus, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Are you trying to scare me?” You settled back down, trying to calm your adrenaline.

“Am I trying to scare you? You’re overthinking it, love.” He chuckled again at your pout.

“Still rude to sneak up on people like that.”

“Meanwhile, Miss Hunter didn’t even notice me when I was this close.” He leaned in, sending your pulse racing again for a different reason. “Your lack of vigilance is worryin-“

With a scowl, you slapped your hand over his mouth to prevent him from finishing that sentence. He was right, but you wouldn’t willingly admit it. Could he hardly blame you for feeling safe in his space?

You felt him smile under your hand for a brief moment, before he pulled it away from his mouth and flashed you that devilish half smirk of his. “You’re that eager to shut me up? Oh, you’re gonna need more than just your hands, Kitten.”

The tension that had built in those few seconds was interrupted by the sound of your game ending. Your phone was still in your other hand, but it had been all but forgotten when you got lost in Sylus’s predatory gaze.

“Oops, guess you lost,” he rumbled without breaking eye contact with you. Amusement twinkled in his eye. “Sorry for interrupting your game.”

You cleared your throat and looked away from him. You hated how easily he could get under your skin, with just a simple look from those cat-like crimson eyes of his. You made to return to your game and start again.

“But I remember an hour ago, someone promised to go to bed early starting today.”

“Oh, so you did see my text,” you muttered under your breath. He pretended not to hear you though.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.” The smile in his voice made you want to reach out and punch him. Instead, you reined in the impulse and restarted the game.

“I haven’t forgotten. This is a sleep aid game,” you said with a huff, pointedly ignoring his presence now.

“You…play a game to help you fall asleep. This is the first time I’ve heard of it.” He made a noise of suspicion and leaned in again. “Looks like someone’s trying to pull the wool over my eyes.”

You narrowed your eyes at him and scooted over on his bed. He rose from the chair he’d been occupying and sat next to you at your beckoning, and raised a brow when you handed him your phone with a freshly started game.

“Why are you giving it to me? I’m not into these little games.” He said gruffly.

“Just try it,” you say. “I’m trying to prove my innocence here.”

With a chuckle, he accepted your phone. “Alright, we can do that. Scoot over.”

You shifted over some more, placing the pillow you’d been cuddling back against the headboard. He stretched out languidly beside you, resting against the pillow you’d just placed, and held out an arm to you.

“Come here, rest your head on my arm,” he commanded softly. You smiled and laid beside him, where his arm wrapped around your shoulder, and immediately his hand began tracing soft patterns against your arm.

“Now then. Shall we get started?” You explained basic concepts of the game to him and showed him what to do, trying not to zero in your focus on his deft fingers lazily brushing your skin. After three sheep appeared on screen, Sylus paused.

“So the whole point of this game is to count sheep?”

“I mean, I tried to tell you it was a sleep aid game, but you didn’t believe me,” you laughed. He smirked back.

“Well, it is boring enough to make anyone fall asleep.”

With a playful punch to his chest, you took up your phone again and continued playing. You were trying hard not to focus on all the points where your bodies touched, trying to cool the heat that was slowly settling into you as he continued to trail his hand on you. You were trying not to lose yourself in the smoky spice scent of him. You were pretty sure he could feel your racing heartbeat, maybe even hear it, so you threw your focus into the game and tried hard to ignore how much you wanted to straddle him at that moment.

“Hmm…how many have we counted?” His voice was rough, like he was distracted. It took all of your effort not to squirm against him.

“You’d know if you’d stay focused,” you replied, thankful that your voice was steady. You were entirely too conscious of the fact that his shirt was stretched taut across his chest, and the sleep pants were slung low enough on his hips you could almost see his v-line.

“It’s not that I’m unfocused. Your hair is tickling my neck,” he rumbled. You scowled at him again.

“Seriously?” Was all you could think to say. He chuckled.

“Yes, it tickles. Only a little, though. Do you need me to help you tame this unruly hair of yours?”

Before you could give him an answer, his hand reached up and brushed strands of hair away from your face. His palm lingered on your cheek for the briefest of moments before moving down your neck. The action in no way removed your hair from his vicinity, but his focus was solely on you in that moment. Your breath hitched as his palm traveled further and then flattened against your collar bone. His eyes followed the contour of your neck before resting on the dainty necklace that rested in the hollow of your throat. You could see hunger ignite in his eyes when he saw it.

“Hmmh. Isn’t this the collarbone necklace I gave you?” He murmured while fingering the pendant. “My taste is pretty good, I guess.”

“Yes,” you say almost dumbly. “I love it.”

“It is very pretty,” he murmured, leaning over you. You couldn’t tell if he meant the necklace or your neck as he buried his face there. You thought you could feel his lips ghosting over your skin and the soft gasp that escaped you was nearly involuntary.

“S-Sylus, what are you doing?” You questioned, hating how breathless your voice was. He took a moment before replying, not bothering to pull himself away from you.

“Nothing. I just thought,” he said, punctuating with a soft kiss to your collarbone, “this spot was very enticing.”

His mouth descended onto your collarbone once more, a full open-mouth kiss that you couldn’t hold back your gasp at. Teeth scraped against your skin and then he latched onto you in such a way that you knew would leave a mark. It hurt at first, the aggressive pull of his mouth, but then there was a zing of rapture that flowed through you when he released you. His breath tickled across your now-damp skin and you shivered.

“It tastes just as I imagined it to be,” he murmured. “I wonder what this will taste like.”

Sylus moved to the opposite side of your collarbone now, his hand cradling your head while he gave the same treatment to that side. You tried your hardest to calm your thundering heart, to quell the heat that raced through you, to soothe the blush that spread mercilessly from your face to your now nearly exposed chest. You felt embarrassed at how quickly and easily he was able to turn you on. The sounds of the game came back to you and you desperately tried to return your attention to it. This didn’t escape Sylus’s notice.

“What? How many sheep are there now?” He nuzzled into your neck. “You’re still concerned about them? Looks like I haven’t gotten your undivided attention yet.”

“S-Sy,” you started, unable to find words when your breath came short.

“I don’t like you being so far away from me,” he growled before rolling his bulk atop you. You dropped your phone onto the mattress, the game forgotten now. “Come closer, let’s cuddle.”

You knew your face was aflame as he leaned down to nuzzle and kiss your neck. In a desperate bid to escape embarrassment, you mutter the lamest excuse you could. “B-but Sylus, it’s too warm.”

“To be honest,” a kiss on your neck, full of tongue, interrupted his thought, “it…can get even warmer. Than. This.”

His mouth found yours then, and he coaxed you open to him so that his tongue could plunge in and tangle with yours. You inhaled sharply, unable to keep your hands from him any longer. You kissed him back in equal fervor, not entirely ignorant to the hard length of him resting against your belly. Your hands combed through his silk-soft hair, all but holding him to you.

A sudden plink from your discarded phone brought you back to your senses. You were kissing Sylus. The two of you had been intimate in other ways, but nothing nearly as far as this yet. Holding hands, quick pecks on the cheek, chaste kisses here and there. But nothing so all-consuming, so passionate.

“Hmm? Oh. We lost,” rumbled Sylus against your lips. You turned your head and looked at your phone.

“Hmm. Looks like a wolf snuck in because you weren’t focused on our sheep,” you admonished lightly.

“Yeah. All of them were eaten,” Sylus replied with a smug smirk. He returned to burying his face against your neck. “How do you think those sheep were eaten? Like…this?”

He raked his teeth against the slope of your neck. You didn’t even have the mind to feel embarrassed about the moan that slipped from you.

“Or…like this?” His lips moved to the other side. A heavy, charged sigh escaped from him as he all but worshipped your neck. Kisses, bites, even rolling his tongue against your pulse. You were unravelling beneath him, and then his hand had the audacity to add to the sensations by running down the length of you. Your breaths came in short gasps and you longed to completely wrap yourself around him.

“I take back what I said about the game. It does have some redeeming qualities.”

The comment was so sudden, you couldn’t muster a response. All you could do was watch him with eyes half-lidded by desire while he elaborated.

“For instance, it is very realistic.” He gave another one of those heated sighs, followed by a soft growl while his hand continued to roam your body. You were fully aware now of his cock resting heavy against you, still held by the prison of his sleep pants. Somewhere he had wedged a knee between your own and was slowly sliding his way fully between your thighs. You could feel the heat blazing in your face and looked away from his assessing and possessive gaze.

It just happened that your attention fell back to your phone.

“Where are your eyes going? Honestly, I don’t think you need to get your phone back.”

You looked back to him, and he hiked your leg up to hook around his hip. The length of him was now pressed against your core, hot and hard.

“If you need a sleep aid, then I can fulfill that role.”

You felt like your brain was going to short circuit. Out of a desperate attempt to hide your madly blushing face, you covered it with the comforter.

“A sheep can’t escape if it’s trapped under the covers,” he said, tugging them away. “So, is this little lamb prepared?”

Another moan escaped you unbidden as he pressed his hips into yours.

“A wolf is coming,” he growled into your ear.

Fuck, I sure hope he will, you thought.

His mouth found yours again, and his roaming hand slipped underneath the cotton tank top you were wearing. Like electricity on your skin, his touch sent shivers through you. His thumb found your breast first, and then the rest of his hand engulfed the mound of flesh. You couldn’t help but arch into his touch, releasing pleased gasps into his fierce kiss.

Next thing you knew, your shirt was pushed up above your breasts and his hot mouth moved to teasing them. His tongue swirled around the nipple of one, while his hand continued kneading the other.

“S-Sylus,” you moaned with a shuddering breath. His teeth scraped against the underside and your hands dug into his scalp at the sensation. Your back bowed, arching firmly into his touch until his mouth moved further down. A blazing trail of kisses and bites all the way down your torso until he came to the hem of your shorts. All the while he kept his crimson gaze locked on your face, thoroughly enjoying the reactions he elicited from you.

He tugged at the hem, offering a silent question to you and going no further until you nodded your consent and lifted your hips for him. He stripped shorts and underwear away in one swift motion, and suddenly you were bared so intimately, so lewdly for him. You tried to pin your knees together, but he was already there, mouth at your hip and drawing out a mark to match the ones on your collarbone.

“I think,” he said, detaching from your skin, “I might enjoy seeing my marks on you a little too much.”

Your gaze landed on the bruise-like mark he left on your hip and you had to agree with him. Something about seeing his smirking mouth hovering there and a hickey darkening was just absurdly hot.

You let your head fall back into the pillow, covering your face with an arm. “You’re gonna be the death of me, Sylus.”

“Is that so?” He chuckled. “If you permit me, I can easily give you a little death, as a treat.”

Somehow your face flamed hotter at his innuendo. You didn’t have time to dwell on it, as you felt his thumb brushing through the soft fringe at your core.

“Mmh,” he growled. “So wet for me already, Kitten.”

And then his tongue followed the touch, and you were lost. A moan escaped from you, your hands flying to tangle once again in his hair. If he hated that you were messing up said hair, he didn’t say a word. In fact, the action seemed to provoke him further and he soon added fingers curling into your cunt. He worked you hard until you spilled over the edge with his name falling from your lips like a chant.

He crawled back up your body, planting a soft kiss before pulling away. He caressed your cheek while he gave you the tenderest of looks. It appeared he wanted to say something, but held himself back. Instead, he opted to lean forward and kiss your forehead.

And then the infuriating man tugged the comforter over you and made to leave.

“Wait, what?” You panicked and grabbed his arm to stop him from leaving.

“It’s late, Kitten, and you need to sleep.”

“No! I-“ your words were cut off by his chuckle.

“As much as I want to, Kitten, I hadn’t really prepared for sex. I don’t have any protection.”

You eased your shoulders, secretly relieved that he wasn’t rejecting you per se.

“That’s simple, though,” you say, swinging your arm wide and showing him the tiniest of protrusions on the inner side of your arm. “The Association pays for all of us to get temporarily sterilized. Those of us that want it, anyway. It lasts for five years, and I got it put in a few months ago because-“

You cut your words off, completely aware that you were rambling and embarrassing yourself further. You looked away, hating how desperate you sounded. But it was true, after being with Sylus and getting to know him, you wanted to prepare for a ‘just in case’ kinda situation just like this one. When he didn’t move or respond, you began shuffling yourself back under the duvet in awkward self-consciousness.

His hand shot out to stop you, though. “I truly don’t deserve you.”

With that, you were stripped bare before him once again. The duvet was discarded, and his crimson gaze followed every curve and edge of your body. It was like he was trying to memorize the picture of you naked in his bed.

“So damn beautiful,” he growled before falling upon you once again. His kisses were needy and hungry, working to quickly reignite your every sense. Your hands worked to slide his own shirt from his body, discarding it alongside your own clothing. The valleys of his abs called to you and you were unable to resist touching. Your fingers traveled the dips and rise of his torso, earning you panting groans from him. Testing, you allowed one hand to go even further downward. When he didn’t stop you at the hem of his pants, boldness overtook you and you grasped at the prominent bulge over the fabric.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his hips jerking forward of their own volition. He let his head fall against your chest with rough kisses while you pressed and kneaded the length of him in wonder. He was very clearly a large man as he all but dwarfed your petite frame underneath him, but down there he was also exceptionally large.

“How in the world is this supposed to fit,” you wondered aloud while still stroking him. He chuckled darkly in your ear, rolling his hips into your touch.

“Why don’t we find out, Kitten.”

His mouth engulfed yours again while he worked to strip the pants from his body. His tongue swept into your mouth, undulating in a way that suggested he was about to do that to you with his cock. Finally his hips nestled between your thighs, and you could feel how big he was resting against your body. You opened as wide as you could for him while his hips continued rolling forward and back. While not penetrating, his cock still dragged deliciously against your folds, urging your heart to pick up pace in anticipation.

And then, gods, the moment he pierced you, you wanted to cum. His movement was infuriatingly slow as he allowed you time to become accustomed to his girth first, and then his length last. You let your head fall back into his pillows, his name tumbling from you as you clung to him desperately.

And then he stilled, though you could tell by his shaking that it took all of his effort to hold back.

“Fuck, you feel so good on me, Kitten,” he whined. You wrapped your legs firmly around his waist, ensuring that he couldn’t suddenly change his mind and pull away from you in that moment.

A slight tilt of your hips and a clenching of your walls, and he nearly collapsed atop you at the forceful pleasure that rocketed up his spine. His moan was deep, guttural, and damn near feral. It only goaded you into shifting your hips again to rattle him further. His hips jerked forward involuntarily, and fuck the feel of him slamming so impossibly deep into you was almost enough to throw you over the edge.

“Sylus, please,” you whimpered to him. His gaze found yours and locked on as he so slowly pulled himself out, right to the tip. And then his hips rocketed forward and the force of him slamming into you all but ripped his name from you as a scream.

From there, the frenzied coupling reached a crescendo so quickly that neither of you were prepared for the full force of pleasure that toppled you over the edge. His cock was buried in you and responded in kind when your walls fluttered and milked him. You took every last bit he had to offer, and still he wasn’t done with you.

He shifted your legs so that the backs of your knees rested in his elbows, and he all but folded you in half while he pistoned into you. All you could do was cling to him, crying out in the pleasure he ripped so vehemently from you. The new position let him fuck into you even deeper somehow, and gods the way his cock dragged against your inner walls.

And the sounds he made only added fuel to the fire. Grunting moans, harsh whispers of praise, guttural growls. All of them possessed you, making you respond to him in kind between other cries of pleasure. His name became like a prayer with the frequency it tumbled from your lips, and gods when he growled out your name you were gone.

Climax swept through both of you again swiftly, more hot ropes of cum flooding you only to be used as lubricant while he continued to pound into you.

Three times he brought you over the edge and he jumped alongside you. Three times before he finally released your cramping legs and let them rest back around his hips. More marks dotted your body, and you added your own collection to his neck and chest.

Three times your body milked his, and yet he was still so impossibly hard inside you. You would be surprised if you weren’t leaking his cum for days after this.

“Fuck, Kitten, you feel so damn good. I don’t know if I will ever be able to stop fucking you,” he growled.

The pace of his thrusts slowed in reverent worship of your body. You could feel him more fully than the rapid driving of the last three rounds. You could feel how the scooped edge of the head caught and dragged along your walls, tugging and pushing electric shocks of pleasure that coursed through you. And gods the hard push of his hips when he buried fully to the hilt, the feel of his sac compressing against the slick of your combined cum. The sticky feel of it all when he pulls away with the obscene sounds echoing in the room with your twinned heavy breathing. The slow ascent of your pleasure was near infuriating, but you knew that the fall would be much sweeter, more intense.

“This is how I originally wanted to take you,” he murmured into your skin as he kissed the two marks on opposite ends of your collarbone. “But you feel too damn good, I couldn’t control myself.”

You could only respond with a moan as his cock continued to brush against that sweet spot inside you. Your legs slid up his body to bracket his torso, the slight shift just enough to give him even further access.

“Sylus, you feel so fucking good,” you whimpered to him, your nails digging into his back.

“Fuck, I’m close,” he said, nuzzling his face into your neck. He was doing that a lot, almost as if he was trying to absorb the scent of you.

“Yes,” you hissed. “Take me.”

“Come with me, Kitten.”

At his words and a final hard thrust of his hips, you shattered beneath him. Your body arched off the bed, limbs jerking with your head thrown back into the pillows. His name echoed into the room from your pleasured screams. This climax was the most intense one you’ve ever had, threatening your consciousness with black spots dancing at the edge of your vision. It was like Sylus had lit your entire body on fire with electricity. It crackled through you, your body’s convulsing no longer yours to control as you just tried to continue to cling to him.

You could feel his own orgasm steamroll through him as well. His hips jerked erratically as his cock twitched and pulsed inside you. His moans in your ear were punctuated by panting breaths and guttural growls. His sac grew taut and then he was spilling into you once more. He experienced full body trembling, quivering, spasming, and his desperate moans filled the room with yours.

His cock finally seemed to be through and he slipped from you. He left the bed without a word, coming back seconds later from the bathroom with a warm rag to help clean you up and a cool glass of water that you chugged. You were embarrassed but grateful at his care- though it was almost for naught as the two of you couldn’t keep your hands off each other in the shower. It seemed like there would be a never ending stream of cum flowing from your cunt with how many times he couldn’t resist burying himself in you.

After several more rounds in various positions, you were finally tucked against him and nodding off to the sleep you should have had at least six hours ago.

__

When you finally did wake, Sylus had stepped out with instructions to the twins to bring you breakfast and whatever else you wanted. Unfortunately for you, Sylus didn’t think about any kind of implications when he directed them to his room instead of your own. To make matters worse, you were bundled in his blankets, looking like you were still exhausted from a night of little to no sleep due to Sylus’s bullshit stamina.

The twins, though, were so obnoxiously delighted by the news that you “finally slept with the boss” that they kept trying to high five you whilst you were trying to fight them away out of embarrassment.

You got no peace that night or day, but it didn’t stop the contented grin that planted itself on your face.