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mandalhoerian · 2 days ago

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i think this is the absolute best caleb and overall lads fic i've ever read. i was fully lying on my side in bed when i started this, and by the end, i'd SAT THE FUCK UP and was doubled over with my faced glued to the damn phone. the sheer physical reaction i had to this fic has been like nothing else!!!!!

i stared out at nothing for a while after i finished it and like. scrolled down the notes for any explanation and then got to your profile and THANK GOD you made a q&a, but even before that i was like. playing ping pong in my head about so many theories -- but i was like full on panicking. PANICKING. IM GONNA BE THINKING ABOUT THIS FIC FOR LIKE A MONTH. ITS GONNA BE MY ROMAN EMPIRE.

PEOPLE WHO WANT TO READ IT DO NOT. I MEAN ABSOLUTELY DO NOT OPEN THE *READ MORE* IT HAS SPOILERS I NEVER THOUGHT I WOULD SAY THIS BEFORE BUT YOU NEED TO GO READ THE FIC OKAY. EXPERIENCE THAT SHIT. DONT READ THE SPOILERS. DONT . I PROMISE ITS WORTH IT SHUSH I NEED TO YAP I CANT CONTAIN IT

okay? OKAY. GET OUTTTTTTTT

first of all, you have unmatched mastery of the craft. like, *showing* the grief, and the internal hoops the reader goes through and her inner world. you never once forget her character and what she's going through, her motivations and driving force shows in everything she does and how she reacts. be right back is one of my favorites in black mirror and despite being inspired by it and borrowing some themes, i felt like i was experiencing the first watch of this episode all over again, you really made it your own!!! the reader just accepting her fate when not-caleb started isolating her and staying in that bubble with him despite being very-well aware at the back of her mind was just. you really showed what escapism was. i understood her so well even though i had sinking dread towards her downward spiral. this entire fic is just a portrait of grief done so very well, you never half-assed anything and the beautiful prose just took this to godly levels. it just has so much heart, and all of that passed through the screen to me, i don't know if this is because i relate so much.

the way not-caleb was perfectly caleb and not out of character to her up until the point he started expressing desire for her and she thought "yep. found it" was just. it was CHEF'S KISS GODDDDDDD ARGH along with so many little missable moments. the way she's guilty and regretful about something, the brief mention of how she hurt caleb before he passed, how not-caleb's eyes keep flashing, the way HE SMASHED THROUGH A DOOR LIKE NOTHING AND I ALMOST MISSED IT THAT'S HOW THE PUPPY EYES WERE EFFECTIVE EVEN IN HER POV, the not red flag-inducing way you weaved how gideon and caleb were working for EVER's robotics department, like. i am. i just can't express how the execution of EVERYTHING was so perfect in my eyes.

not-caleb is still a mystery to me, even though the reveal at the end explained SO MUCH about his behavior. i'd like to believe him going sentient was out of caleb's control. being aware of his purpose and his maker (and perhaps the intentions), it was no wonder he started going beyond paranoid after a long period of uncontrollable anxiety paralleling his falling in love process. but i really really wonder when he differentiated *himself* from *caleb's feelings*. i imagine he already came into existence loving the reader, so "i've wanted to do this for so long" is up to interpretation for me and i like the idea of this. but AGAIN, monopolizing the reader and keeping her away from caleb (which. is futile imo...) happening simultaneously with him gaining autonomy thus bringing in negative, anxious feelings he wasn't even supposed to have in the first place is so fascinating to me. does he want to be perceived different from caleb? or does he like it because the reader loves caleb? does he have opinions about being loved *as himself*? AGHHHHHHHH SO MANY THOUGHTS !!! SO MANY!!!!!

but he's painfully *caleb* in his ways of trying to keep her away from what he thinks is harm, by the way. which is. HIMSELF. this literalization of the metaphor took me into orbit i'm telling you. all he can do is keep her away from the outside world. but it's not sustainable. caleb is going to come down from skyhaven eventually to come fetch the reader perhaps, or take away this "faulty" robot. in a way, his plan backfiring so bad that it gained sentience is so fucking funny to me. thats what you get for being a SUPERVILLAIN and BABY TRAPPING THE POOR GIRL. i absolutely love where the fic left off but i want to see what happens SO BAD. i mean, he still does see through not-caleb's eyes, does he know he's going rogue kinda? IM GOING CRAZYYYYYYY IS THIS WHY HE REVEALED HIMSELF? HE'S GONNA BE CRASHING DOWN ON THEM FROM SKYHAVEN LIKE THIS

god, i really thought for a second "oh my god this isnt a random android this is literally caleb. they robot-ified him????" when i breezed through the last paragraphs, my heart was BEATING. i was like this makes so much sense why she got pregnant OMG OMG OMG. but then i re-read and "oh he's in skyhaven. what????" your q&a was so helpful in that regard i was so lost 😭😭😭 the title "trojan horse" is GENIUS . JUST GENIUS. IT LITERALLY GIVES AWAY THE ENTIRE PLOT I WANT TO KISS YOUR BRAIN IM GONNA TWEAK. WHAT THE FUCKKKKKKK

anyway, thank you so much for this fic. you've gained a loyal follower and fan!!!!! this was an insane work, i'm still sure there are so many things i'm missing and that i'll be doing so many re-reads. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR SHARING THIS MASTERPIECE WITH THIS FANDOM !!!!!

ps: this is my rendering of the reader in shock after she had sex with not-caleb for the first time, just awake, staring at the ceiling and questioning the decisions she's made

big girls don’t cry

𓍯𓂃 self aware robot! caleb x female reader

(wc: 9.5k) ✦ summary: after your brother passes, consumed by grief, you take to the internet to order a synthetic version of him. afterward, it’s impossible to throw him out. (or: alternatively titled the trojan horse)

✦ content robot! caleb, past engineer! caleb, au where EVER deals in robotics, non-evol au, 18+ nsfw/smut, mildly dubious consent, angst, grief, mental instability, bad coping mechanisms, robot pseudocest?? robot sex, mind games, moral grayness all around, dark/yandere undertones; this fic can have multiple interpretations, pregnancy

✦ sidenote have yall ever seen that episode of black mirror? ‘be right back’? basically this: the girl’s boyfriend dies so she orders an incredibly realistic, intelligent robot to replace him. they’re identical in personality and appearance, and yet… 👀 ANYWAYS ( ⸍ɞ̴̶̷ ·̫ ɞ̴̶̷⸌ ) i have a set plot for this in my head, but i left it a lil vague so ur allowed to think of it in ur own way 🤎 if u wanna know the ‘canon’ tho.. u can absolutely ask me. the lore is so deep its traumatizing :,) anyways hope u enjoy <3 ty for 1k btw!! take this as a lil celebration treat 🥳 it took so much out of me but i think i really vibe with it heheh

He’s perfect. Nigh on.

For the first few days since his arrival, since hauling him off the foot of your porch and into your living room to unpack him- heart tickering in your chest all the while, trepidatious- you’ve just stared. Reached out your hands to hover, ghosting over the broad blade of his shoulder, his chapped lips, the slight jut of his cheekbone.

His hands, as big and weathered as you remember them (but gentle, always gentle), hang limply by his sides.

You don’t dare slip your smaller ones in them.

All of the theatrics, yet you don’t press his- its- button, either.

No, you don’t even touch it after the initial unpacking, wrenching your fingers away as soon as they get too close. As soon as they get too tempted by hope and the wish that this hunk of metal was more than just a replica of your late brother. Half of you thinks it might burn if you get too comfortable; and you won’t get comfortable— underneath the solidified layers of grief and- you have trouble saying it aloud, but bitterness- there’s still just enough common sense to keep you from taking the leap. The leap from mourning to insanity.

It’s hollow. You know that much. A nothingness enwrapped in a steely chassis full of wiring and code too technological for you to understand, all covered by a synthetic skin suit as the pretty bow on top.

And you know- what with your emotional state- that if you could peer inside, strip it down to the framework and just… take a moment to look, that you’d vomit. It’d be too much to bear, being forced to reconcile with the fact that he really is gone— and in response to it all, you’ve blown your savings on an eerily-realistic, glorified doll of him with wires for veins.

You’re trembling when you stiffly prop him against the far wall, limiting contact as much as possible, and step away, keeping your eyes on him all the while. It. Not him. Not Caleb- that’s not your fucking brother, just a disgusting, soulless fascimile of him—

But as you stand back on your feet (with the coffee table in between, just in case) to get a good look at him, like a real, proper look, your breath is taken.

The thing: He’s not just a passable carbon copy, you realize. Admittedly, he’s…

Identical.

(He’s Caleb.)

All the oxygen gusts out of you in a breeze.

You lift a shaking hand over your open mouth and choke as silent tears spill from your lashline, blurring your eyes on the way down. Wetting your knuckles as they shake wildly.

You’re crying. Of course you’re crying. This is- you can’t do this. You just can’t.

Racing upstairs, retreating to your bedroom to slam the door as if the devil himself was on your tail, only then do you drop your hand and fully sob.

It’s pitiful, really. Wretched noises that resonate from deep in your throat, your spirit wrecked as you curl up on the floor and make yourself into a ball.

Darkness comes outside, the space around you muting itself in grey colors. The puddle beneath your cheek is moonlit. You sniffle and relocate, but you don’t even bother to tuck the not-Caleb robot in its special container, no- you just settle beneath your blankets and pray it’s all a bad dream you’ll awake from come tomorrow.

Tomorrow: you’ll send him off. Return him.

You don’t care how much money it costs- for all you care, it’s paltry, it’s replaceable. And it is replaceable, that’s the bleak truth: that android stood motionless by your couch, despite having a face so familiar it’s painful, has no emotional value whatsoever. There’s no depth to it. No substance.

A skeleton built by rods. Artificial flesh modeled around thin, colorful cables and circuit boards.

I mean- he’s no better than the stapler on your desk, or the toaster on your kitchen counter. Better yet, a crumb on the floor.

A nothingness, you think again. Prettily encased in smooth, sun-speckled skin and that cottony loungewear (that still retains his smell) you could hardly part with when the online form requested his attire.

He’s perfect, nigh on, you’ll give the company who forged him that much credit, because they sure followed his pictures to a T. It looks just like him; so much so you couldn’t even bear to look at him for more than ten minutes before bolting, the emotional response so violent.

But the problem is that he’s not real. He’s not your Caleb.

✦

It’s hard to throw him away when he looks like that. When he bears the likeness of your late, beloved older brother.

Yes, you want to stuff him back in his box and return to sender, but when it comes to courage, you lack the backbone necessary to carry out your decisions.

You tiptoe down the stairs to see him again and sputter.

He’s too real, you decide in a heartbeat. Too real.

Shutting your eyes as tears begin to pour anew, lunging forward with blind intent to cache him away in the elaborate box he came in, you get to work. And you get to work quickly. You can only bear to look at it- that heartless caricature of your gege- for so long until you feel something in you, your last fragile piece, begin to fracture.

After the explosion, all you had left of him were the memories. Not an explanation, not a goodbye, not even a body. What remained of the boy you were fostered with was ash and a puerile, yet no less beloved locket with its edges burnt copper.

Now, you have something exponentially more physical and intact, unsullied by the reality of what was.

So for a moment, yes- sue you and your heart for hesitating- but it’s a hard task to seal him away.

Agonizing, really.

His arms are stiff by his sides but you feel the skin; the lump of muscle in his forearm, the bump of his elbow. The only thing that keeps you from giving into the puffed-up illusion of his being real and alive is the coolness beneath your fingertips. The unnatural, icy feel to his otherwise mortal skin that reminds in a voice, condescending like all things out of reach, see? that’s not Caleb. And you’re insulting him by thinking that it could be.

You’re halfway done nudging him towards the box (careful, despite your frenzied, fluttering heart; afraid to damage his likeness) when you trip over your own feet navigating the narrow space between your table and the couch.

It’s unthinking, the way you grab him- arms flying out to steady yourself with his broad shoulders.

In all your scrambling- something clicks. Gives under your fingerpad.

A button.

With mute horror, you watch his eyes light.

…And you can see it too, you know, registering in his gaze as it settles over you and takes you in— a blip of mirth that quickly warps into worry at the look you give him. You must appear no different than a deer in headlights.

For several seconds, you simply stand there, your palms clamming up where they dig into his shoulders, and gawk as Caleb— not-Caleb’s— expression turns to one ready to comfort.

Familiar, painfully.

The stiff hands at his side are spurred into motion, lifting to cradle your cheek while the other helps ground you by the small of your back.

“Meimei?”

No, no- don’t say that, don’t say that, internally, you have to shoehorn down all your grief as it bubbles up, and harden your face to keep from crying all over again.

…Although it’s more or less obvious you had been. The puffy eyes rimmed in red, the certain wisp of defeat to your brow and the exhaustion written all over you is clear as day. It leaves nothing to ponder.

He sounds disturbed by it all, the sadness about you that lies thick as a coating of paint. Commiserative to a fault. Lassoing you to his firm chest as he burrows your head below the dip of his chin.

He goes, “What’s wrong?” Then, “It’s okay, I’m here. I got you. Just let it all out.”

And the world around you staggers to a fall.

✦

It was very difficult to get rid of him as he stood still; when you could convince yourself he was just a startlingly realistic statue.

It’s all but impossible when he begins to move, and speak, and smile at you.

You don’t get close enough to press his button. You’re not quite strong enough to apply the distance you probably should, though, so when he takes a step forward, you take one back- but you never run.

It’s a weird limbo you’re caught in. Do you leap into his arms? Do you… Do you toss him out the door, after all? Leave him to the elements to chip away at his body; the rain to erode his fleshy outer shell?

But no. How could you do that? He-

He fucking looks like Caleb. It feels more sinful to rid yourself of him, now that he’s… on, than to indulge a little bit in the idea that he’s still alive and breathing.

If Caleb was still alive, you wonder silently one morning with no small amount of hurt, would he hate you? For whatever the hell it is you’re doing now?

You can’t even blame Gideon, not really. Without his persistent messages, and all the links he sent you of articles revolving androids and how they can help the user cope with grief, you’d have been none the wiser to the concept, sure- but at the end of the day, you made the choice to get one.

A chunk of your savings and an unprompted, fat check from Caleb’s best buddy— you decided to throw that at some futuristic company (well, not ‘some’: both men worked there- albeit they always kept their work very hush (you did catch whispers of a promotion, though, before the accident)) and one of the many services they provide.

Gideon, over the course of some months, was all but pointing you at their website, promising it would help. He’d be there to clear any confusion, in any case; hey, how neat did a walkthrough of the site from a bonafide EVER engineer sound?: Just one of his probes.

It was only two weeks back, however, when he paid an unsolicited house call, wordlessly wrapping you into his broad chest, that you caved to them.

You think about the scene while you sit at the counter and sip from your mug.

Your home smells richly of coffee, just brewed, and bacon as it sizzles. Eyeing not-Caleb with a pang of unease— not fully able to snuff out that feeling of uncanniness even as some days pass peacefully— you offer a small smile when he glances up at you.

Beaming just as he was the day before. Beaming like nothing is terribly wrong.

(To be clear, something is.)

You… can’t help but feel like you’re being monitored when he stares.

Yes, it’s a silly fear, you know that. The company your late brother worked for wasn’t exactly open with all the scientific grounds they made breakthroughs on, but he always promised that their means were lawful. Caleb wasn’t one for lies- so your doubts were soothed. So as hush-hush as EVER is sometimes, you’re fairly confident they wouldn’t ship out mass batches of faulty or otherwise rigged products.

Anyway- you suppose the weird intensity in its eyes isn’t all that off-putting when you take into account the very real personality it was formulated from.

When the pancakes (your favorite: banana chocolate chip; information he apparently already knew) turn an appetizing shade of gold, he shimmies them off the pan with a spatula and onto a plate.

That plate- loaded tastefully with bacon, a scoop of rice, and eggs with a ketchup smile painted over its face- slides before you. But though your belly growls, you don’t eat. Not right away. Wherever the culinary arts are concerned, your older brother has always excelled. Growing up, maybe you even exploited him a little for it- but he never did anything he didn’t want to; sometimes it even seemed like Caleb enjoyed sticking his neck out for you.

He pats his hands over his too-small apron (not that he minds it), frowning.

“What’s wrong, Pipsqueak? Does… Does the food look alright? I haven’t made somethin’ for you in a while, huh…?”

Oh no, the food looks fine.

It’s just that you’re the only one eating it.

And maybe it’d be better to keep that thought to yourself: part of you is just over the moon to have him standing in your kitchen with you after months apart— but it doesn’t matter that you keep your mouth shut, because Caleb reads your mind anyway.

He’s at your side in a blink, hushing away the tears that bead at your eyes out of nowhere.

“Hey, hey… No cryin’, okay? I’m just not hungry this morning, Meimei- but that doesn’t mean I won’t sit with you and talk while you eat. C’mon,” he squeezes your hand where it lies on the counter, smiling lightly.

It takes everything in you not to flinch away from the touch.

“Wouldn’t want your breakfast goin’ cold now, would we?” Pulling out the barstool beside you, he sits.

You don’t ask him to, but Caleb picks up your fork and embodies one of the several memories you have of him spoonfeeding you as a child.

“I can feed you. Just like the good ol’ times. Here, you gotta open your mouth first,” His smile strengthens when your lips, as if by habit, part. Your lashes flutter shut when that first bite touches your tongue- syrupy hotcakes and fluffy scrambled eggs- and for that you’re glad because you don’t have to see the way he marvels at you as you eat.

It’s not good for your heart.

“So? What does Pipsqueak the number one food critic have to say about my dish?” He shines, “Does it taste as good as it looks?” You can’t help the breathless laugh that escapes- the scene too nostalgic to simply idle away with indifference. You wear all your emotions on your face, anyway; you’re not fooling anybody, least of all Caleb.

“Even better,” you murmur with the barest of smiles. He presses another spoonful to your lips and you giggle.

Violet hues glitter with delight. You’ve said practically nothing to him this whole time, and he’s been patient- weirdly patient, almost- but the joy in his gaze is palpable now.

Sometimes, though, you can almost swear you see something in his gaze shift. Tuning itself like a lens. He blinks and it disappears.

“…But I will say your presentation could use some work. It’s a 7 out of 10.”

Caleb, still holding the utensil out, uses his other hand to prop his chin up. He smiles fondly as he regards you. As you’ve gotten older, it’s like every time you see the brunet, he looks at you like he’s taking you in for the first time all over again.

“Yeah?” He encourages. “Enlighten me, oh Pipsqueak- what must I do to earn those three extra points?”

“The ketchup smiley face was all lopsided,” you explain in a quiet voice, having a hard time fully immersing in this lie unraveling before you; beautiful as it is. As much as you might ache to.

This isn’t a good idea. You know that.

Still…

Maybe… maybe just a couple of conversations with him can’t be too bad, right? I mean, it’s only a fraction of what Gideon was expecting of you (lounging around together to chat, game nights, and even public outings), but to him, it’d be a start. For you, though, it’s a stretch. An exception.

You should limit interaction with not-Caleb.

You know this, and yet—

Glancing back to him, you try and fail to hide a coy smile with a napkin. “Next time, keep a steady hand, and you’ll be a perfect chef in no time. Maybe not as good as me, but, y’know…”

He chuckles, brows lifting. “Oh yeah? Then expect surgical precision from me tomorrow morning. Chef Caleb won’t let you down again!”

An intense sadness slips through the momentary happiness you were allowed. It nags at your chest.

You blink rapidly, giving a feeble, light sound before looking away.

You’ve never let me down, Gege, you don’t say, taking your fork from the clasp of his big hand (much to his dismay) to prod at your plate.

It was me who failed you.

✦

Not-Caleb looks like Caleb, yes.

He acts like him, too.

You spend the span of the next few weeks trying to scrutinize him; hours spent on the couch, his hand in yours while you grill him. You treat him like a bug under a microscope. Prodding for answers to questions you’re sure his programming must miss- interrogations built on memories so old they’re near ancient. Just blurry wisps in your mind.

Not-Caleb remembers some better than you.

Puts you to shame with his mechanical replies detailing scenarios you’re missing fragments of.

What’s Caleb’s favorite fruit?

I like apples, Pipsqueak.

And what’s my favorite food he’d make for me?

Easy-peasy. You still love those boneless chicken wings, don’t you? Although, that braised pork I make for you comes as a close second, doesn’t it?

Am I your real sister?

And you’d never ask the real Caleb such a thing. You’re only doing it now because it’s one of the most personal things you could possibly make a query of. His response would be very telling.

Life before you met him all those years ago is no more than a fuzzy glimpse, and you never minded all that much: so long as you had Caleb, nothing else, nothing before, mattered. All throughout your childhood, people didn’t know the difference anyway.

Far as they knew, you were family.

Which… isn’t wrong, per se— but it’s not biological. ‘Real.’

You, Caleb, and Gran were obviously aware of that. To you it was always a beautiful thing: a tale of rebirth, in a way, or a second chance, as a young girl found a new place to call home with a warm guardian and a brotherly figure. They’d stabilize her and bring warmth to an otherwise cold beginning.

Caleb was never spoken for on that front.

You… didn’t see eye to eye on all things. Oh, that much is true.

Sometimes you were convinced that he wanted nothing to do with the assumption that you were his little sister (albeit, you were never sure why). At others, it was like he was furious you were only bound to him in name and not blood. He saw it as an attack on your close bond.

…But Not-Caleb surely doesn’t know all his nuances. Not like you came to.

So you’re expecting a pause. A minor glitch or even a malfunction as the robot scours his database.

Got him, you almost think to yourself— then swiftly take it back.

The face of the android sat at your side falls, much to your surprise, into a small frown.

And the truth must be coded deep in the bulwarks of not-Caleb’s artificial brain: your and Caleb’s respective origins. The answer is no. No, you’re not his real sister.

…But your real Gege would lie and say yes, absolutely you are—

“‘Course you are,” Not-Caleb goes. And he does it with as much passion behind it as you’d expect.

You’re startled into silence.

He scoots impossibly closer and loops an arm over your shoulder, tucking your head to his jaw. Seamlessly, he pecks your hairline, saying, “You’re my sweet little Meimei. You’re priceless to me. Now no more pickin’ at me, okay?” He suggests in a light tone, rubbing your shoulder. “You’ve been questioning me all evening- look, it even got dark out. Let’s get you to bed-“

“I- I didn’t say I was tired-“

“You didn’t have to. I could tell you were startin’ to get sleepy, Pipsqueak,” he looks down at you and smiles- a reassuring, yet no less playful smile- and for one moment you cant breathe because fuck it’s him. It’s really, really him. “Your drooping eyes were a dead giveaway. Hm... I guess that big dinner we had put you in a food coma, huh?” He chuckles.

We. Funny, that. You recall the feast being one-sided.

Nonetheless.

Without prompting, he sweeps you off the couch and walks you up the wooden stairway. The old steps creak underfoot. He does it all effortlessly, though, arms as strong and capable as you remember.

You loop your slimmer ones around his neck.

With great hesitance, you lend a part of yourself to this illusion.

This beautiful, near unbelievable, oh-so fragile illusion that Caleb is not dead.

When you reach your bedroom, you don’t send him off to the guest room like all the nights before. No, when he carefully sets you down, you watch him, motionlessly, as he tucks you in and plants a chaste kiss to your forehead. When he turns to go- “don’t let the bed bugs bite”- you snatch his hand, half terrified you’ll blink and he’ll be gone, and flash him a look that silently pleads.

Stay.

The brunet’s lashes flutter, brushing over his cheekbones where the lamplight makes them shine.

He opens his mouth.

Pauses, then closes it.

“Stay. Please, Gege,” you breathe, on the cusp of shattering all over again. It’s become more manageable over recent days, this unresolved cluster of emotion inside you, but it’s times like these that make you feel blindsided by it.

You innocently add, “Like when we were kids.”

Oh, you’d go back to then if you could.

His long fingers, loose in your hold, flip to swallow up your hand. He stoops over to turn off the light.

His voice shakes ever so slightly, “Okay.”

Then, he clambers into bed with you and reminds you of just how small it is, how much he does not belong, but you’ve never felt more at home when he pulls you to his chest and- dutifully ignoring the quiet beneath your ear, the absence of a pulse- you cling to him.

Maybe it’d be a little weird, the proximity, what with your grown age and the fact that you were no longer children cuddling during thunderstorms…

It’s not like you’re hanging off him like he’s your lifeline for any nefarious reason, though- and it’s not like he can hold any judgment anyway. He’s… He’s not really Caleb. He’s not even a person. Just a sentient robot that resembles him to a shocking degree and soothes that ache in your chest- just by a smidge.

…And yet when he looks at you, suddenly, tilting your jaw up so he can admire what he sees in the darkness- your stunned expression lit faintly by the moon- it’s like he’s reading this in his own way.

His interpretation? you realize in a shaking breath?

He’s no longer holding his little sister, but a woman.

It’s in his eyes, rippling as he exhales deeply (all artificial, albeit you don’t dwell on that for long) and thumbs over your lip.

A boyish kind of wonder lifts his brow as he stares, cheeks slightly flushed.

Your heart bangs in your chest. Like gunshots punctuating the silence. It grows to be unbearable. This is weird, and wrong- the way he’s looking at you. But you quickly chalk it up to a malfunction.

It’s all a fluke, technology fucking up in a way that reminds you of humanity’s shortcomings and how far they can only go.

Finally, you’ve found the fault in its design. The place where Caleb and not-Caleb differ.

You know your beloved older brother like the back of your own hand, so when his eyes flutter (flash, almost) and he lurches forward to clumsily press his lips to yours— you label the action for what it really is.

An inaccuracy.

Perhaps, you think as you close your bleared eyes and let him, the only. Because the rest of his program is perfect. Infallible.

The scene unfurling is foreign- his big hands cupping your cheeks as he kisses you like his life depends on it- but as he shifts you beneath him and hovers atop, that signature softness remains. Really, as his fingertips reach for your shorts—

(A blip of something mechanical in its fiery gaze, almost as if it’s trying to rectify itself; the shortest of pauses—)

It’s all that grounds you.

“Caleb,” you moan, or cry. You don’t know. Just that when he helps you out of your panties to go down on you, digits delving inside your tight hole after he wets it with his tongue, your heart sings for him.

You don’t push him away. No, even as the humanoid sullies your late brother’s image with all his sinful hungering, you can’t break yourself free. Never find it in you to.

Because it doesn’t matter what he treats you as. You realize belatedly, with no small amount of horror, that you don’t even care how many flaws Not-Caleb has. He could have a million for all you care, you’re already too far gone- writhing underneath him as he holds your legs open and feasts- to pretend you have any right to feel offended.

And if the real Caleb was here, he’d hate you: an echo in your skull, sneering. He should, but-

“There, Meimei, ngh…” a hot tongue (no longer as cold as he was in stasis) laves along your folds. Mauve eyes look up to you with reverence, glittering in the dark.

“Just like that. Moan, say my name- I’ve been waiting for this for so long…”

You wear ignorance like a blindfold. Shutting your eyes and ears.

A fluke. His hardware stalling.

His hair woven in your fingers feels like velvet. Soft, silky; hanging over his brow as he eats you out- skillfully, might you add. Albeit his passion wins out by just a touch against his expertise, clumsily plunging his two middle fingers into your pussy.

“You taste so good, so sweet- mmph- I’ll take care of you, okay?” He mumbles in between lewd squelches.

In both physical and moral terms, there is not one thing about this that isn’t filthy.

Y-You know that, but…

“Don’t worry. I’ll- ah- I’ll make sure you feel real nice. I’ll make you come as many times as you want. I’ve been… dreamin’ of this for years now… I won’t mess this up, okay? I’ll do whatever it takes until you’re shaking.”

-but this is all you have left of him.

Hazily, you glance down to him, cheeks aflame, and barely succeed in asking, “C-Caleb- h-how are you even gonna-? You-“ you choke on the words you need to say. With a mite of dry humor, you think right then that you’re short-circuiting just as bad as him (because he is).

“Are you capable of it?”

Of fucking you? Of pinning you down and throwing your ankles over his shoulders to better plow you into your creaking, old mattress?

His brow twitches slightly. Voice ragged, he makes an agreeable sound, pressing a kiss to your clit so adoring it’s almost funny when his finger bends sensually inside you. “Are you doubting my abilities, Meimei? I’ll have you know I’ve been practicing this moment in my head for—“

No. You slam your eyes shut and drown it all out.

His words become a white noise. No different than the steady whir of the air conditioning as a cool breeze gusts beneath your door, cooling your forehead where it beads with sweat.

A- A glitch, you quietly decide. Even long after he’s made you cum thrice (twice on his fingers and tongue, once on his thick, flushed cock), you hold staunch to that.

It’s all just a fluke.

✦

When the sun rises, you wake with a start to a phone ringing- yours- and swallow a lump of unease at the figure lying beside you (your Gege, a voice in your head reminds: you silence it).

Prying off the solid arm around your waist to gingerly exit the room- still half-naked- you piously ignore the cum caked to the inside of your thighs. Yours, it must be. You don’t focus on the confusion, either, the ask of just how the hell last night was possible and why you let your emotions get ahold of you.

(Because you love him. And maybe, just maybe- in your own weird, admittedly morally-grey way- you can cobble together a sense of normalcy with him. At least just for a little bit...)

As you head to the living room downstairs, you tap your phone and lift it to your ear.

“G-Gran,” you say as greeting, smoothing your hair back, still quite ruffled over… recent events. Ruffled and ashamed.

Very.

But- while he looks like Caleb, he’s not in reality. That… malfunction last night is a blatant proof of that. You only got on your back and let him have his way with you because you’ve missed his touch so much that you’d quite literally accept it in any form.

If sex or his lips battling against yours- his whispered vows, as seemingly heartfelt as they were errant to Caleb’s true character- is all you’ll get of him, then so be it.

In your own way, messed up as it is, it’s almost like with his android, you get a chance to reconcile with the loss.

To say goodbye.

Because before that package arrived at your doorstep, you didn’t have the luxury of one.

A familiar, aged voice sounds over the line. “Hey, dearie, oh- I didn’t wake you, did I? You sound tired.” She’s one to talk, you think to yourself- but not with malice. Truth be told you’ve worried for her as of late.

It’s been lonely for you both, you’re sure, but even though she only lives on the other end of Linkon, you have trouble making the drive. You haven’t dropped by in a couple weeks.

There’s a few different reasons.

It’s hard to pretend you’re fine when you’re not, for one, that what happened with Caleb- the abruptness and lack of conclusion, the confusing aftermath of it all- never did. You try your best to plaster on a smile and be strong in your grandmother’s presence, but that’s easier said than done. Especially when that old house of hers is jam-packed with photos and tokens of your past with him— painful reminders whenever you do visit.

The newest excuse for not is guilt.

Frankly, Gideon is the only one who knows what’s going on. Hah- no surprise, being he was the main reason for your even ordering not-Caleb.

But Gran doesn’t know.

You haven’t told her about him. And after last night, what with your own release still dried to your legs (which wobble slightly; he was every bit passionate and then some), you don’t think you ever will.

She might actually slap you across the face, taking your willingness to believe in such a lie as an offense against her grandson’s vibrant character.

…If she found out what happened- that you opened your legs for him and moaned- she might go into cardiac arrest.

You didn’t… want that to happen, definitely not- I mean, you didn’t even have the time to prepare. But yes, you did let it.

And curse yourself for wanting your brother back, but—

“No, it’s fine, Gran,” you glance over your shoulder to the staircase. Finding it empty, you let out a breath. “Is something wrong? It’s… It’s early.”

—you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel a little fucking blissful to wake up to his face again, just like back when you were inseparable kids.

She sighs on the other end, “no, no,” she starts. You think you hear a TV in the background; something to fill the silence you leave her to sit in. “Nothing’s wrong, my dear. I just… I haven’t seen you in a bit. I miss your face, Y/n. How are you doing?”

Like a dart to a board, guilt lands its mark.

You shouldn’t fluster at such a simple question, but you do. Not just because it’s so direct and genuine, but because a big hand rests over your shoulder and suddenly Caleb is there, standing behind you.

You straighten up from where you’re propped against the wall and quickly lift a hand to silence any words he may speak.

“I-I’m well, Gran. Sorry, just- I’ll visit soon, I promise.”

“I’d like that,” she murmurs. You’re aware of how much she means it and close your eyes with a wince. A broad palm, as if sensing your inner turmoil, rubs your shoulder soothingly.

You rub the bridge of your nose and don’t look.

“What’s… What’s been keeping you?” She broaches after a beat. Laughter from the television fades in and out over the speaker.

For a second, you freeze. You freeze because you fear she might know.

All for naught: “You’re getting enough sleep, right? I don’t want you overworking yourself. I know you’ve had a lot on your mind, sweetie- oh, God knows we’ve both suffered all these months without Caleb, but that’s no reason for us to fall apart either-”

You sigh shakily and bite down on a cry.

“Yeah, I know. But I’ve been better, Gran, okay? I…” Shiftily, you wet your bottom lip and give a half truth- as if that can relieve you of this weight. “I was talking with Gideon a little; he’s…. he helped me.”

She sounds pleasantly surprised. “Oh? Good, good. What about?”

Nosy as ever. Not that you’re complaining. It’s good to know someone cares- someone… real.

You swallow your unease. “He was just talking to me about his job and stuff. EVER... He told me he was finally getting that raise or whatever, so he’s doing well... I- I was prying per usual,” you joke to lighten the mood, “He, uh… he tells me more than Caleb ever did, so…” (And when his name started to feel like a sin to say, you don’t know.) “So, you know. I was just curious. He was checking in on me, too…”

Warm breath fans at your ear, fingers closing around your shoulder as he peppers kisses at your neck insistently- and you shudder. Clasping the phone tighter (because it suddenly feels unstable in your hands), you shrug off (not)Caleb for just long enough to say,

“Gran- I- I gotta go. Uh- someone else is calling me,” and to preclude any probing on her end- or extra guilt on yours- you add, “I’ll visit tomorrow, okay? I promise. I’ll- I’ll be there. I love you.”

A voice timidly mirrors it back, and then a big set of hands is taking the phone from you and ending the call.

You turn to him with a notch in your brow as he pockets it in the sweats he must’ve hastily thrown on after finding the bed empty.

“Caleb-“

You start, and his lips press to yours.

With some encouragement- hushing you between kisses, knuckling down your cheek affectionately- he shepherds you back upstairs, to your room.

“Nuh-uh, just let me take care of you, pretty girl, ‘kay?” He murmurs, smiling. You could die in peace to it, you think hazily as he lies you down— because the last mental screenshot you took of him before the accident was his handsome face crestfallen after you’d said something scathing.

To your defense, at the time, you thought he’d deserved it. Maybe he did. It’s hard to remember, but whatever the argument was about, it must’ve been stupid. Not worth it.

And… he’s not Caleb, he’s not, you know that, but…

“Lie back. It’s… It’s just you and me here. I want you to know that. And everyone else-“

(Gran, you realize he must mean; Gideon and all the other familiar and unfamiliar faces both at EVER.)

“None of it matters now. Just focus on me. On Caleb.”

(And how eerie is that? You muse with a whit of your rationale. The rest, as it withers, perhaps only does so for the sake of your own sanity.)

The whole world as it stands: nudged away to oblivion at his behest.

“O-Okay,” you give.

He’s not Caleb. But if this is your best- only- shot at reconciliation, then you’ll take him with arms open.

…

When he’s done priming you, he clambers on top and you experience a repeat of last night.

Deja vu, as fresh as a wound reopened, makes your mind lag a few increments behind reality. But when he starts to slow down, thrusts growing sloppy- it feels oddly real, and, head a bit clearer than last night, you register that.

…But it’s your release that stains the sheets. Steadily trickling from your hole, slicking his hips. It only makes sense that way; he might fuck like a human, but that’s all inherent to his program, you’re sure, built to please- and ultimately, he’s made of metal. Rods. You think you can feel them when you grab too tight, that hardness.

He leads you to the proverbial end of the cliff, and you survey the bottom one last time before- geronimo- you make that final leap.

When not-Caleb comes, he shudders in your arms.

Yet you swear… You swear something inside him, behind his lidded eyes, deeper in-

It’s like it shutters.

A flash. Brief and jarring, for a moment so bright it’s like your eyes have been virginal to light all along.

Just a malfunction, you decide with a spent sigh, sweaty in his solid arms as they make a cage around you, eager to sleep until noon.

Maybe you’ll mention it to Gideon next time he drops by.

Maybe he would know how to fix it.

✦

The days that follow after are foggy and empty. Like a moratorium of everything that once breathed in your life.

You wreathe not-Caleb’s neck with that beloved apple-shaped locket like he’s earned it.

Knowing nobody ever could.

✦

Gideon knocks, one afternoon.

You send him away. Or- Caleb does.

At that, you feel the need to remind him of who he is: the people he cares for, his career path, how he operated as a person before the incident in his suite in Skyhaven.

Caleb stops you short, a palm dwarfing the back of your own, and says I know. I just don’t want my buddy interrupting our time together, Pipsqueak. Can you blame me for wantin’ it to be just you and me?

You stop going out.

He doesn’t let you- not really. I mean, he doesn’t explicitly declare these rules over you, but it’s in the strange glint in his eye- the one that makes you shut your mouth and purse your lips- when he stops you at the door and suggests you stay.

Says it’s better that way. Says he worries whenever you go. Says to take him with you instead if you really must.

Progressively, you’re drifting farther and farther out from shore. Mentally-speaking, you’re going off the deep end. But exiting your house hand-in-hand with your brother- the man the town declared dead in an email you couldn’t bear to finish reading- as he stares at you like a lover, is, no matter the ache, something you can’t quite bring yourself to do.

It’d make this illusion just a smidgen realer. You’d never wake from this dream if other people saw it- saw him- and therefore made his presence more solid in your mind. (Not to mention the disgusting assumptions they’d make- none exactly wrong.)

You’ve been so consumed by grief lately, though, that the knowing of your imminent breakdown can’t stop you from making other bad choices.

So when the brunet altogether bars you from going out in public for the fear that something bad will happen to you (nonsensical; not that he sees the flaws in his arguments), insisting that groceries can be bought online, Gran can be checked up on over the phone, etcetera—

Yeah, you bend to it, alright? Sue you. Of course you bend. It’s all you know what to do anymore.

Gradually, though, the unexpected charm of not-Caleb begins to fade, and you’re left with a possessive form of the brother you once knew. A man desperately clawing at straws, hellbent to keep you at his side, clingy and insecure and, frankly, sometimes scary.

As the inaccuracies build, you’re not sure for how much longer you can overlook them.

The only reason you even tolerated him originally was because he was passable. More than that, even- he was perfect. A dead-ringer for Caleb in both appearance and personality.

But this-

This isn’t Caleb. No longer. It never was.

You don’t believe it for a second.

You heave a soft sigh. Anything louder than a breath brings the chance that he’ll overhear from where he stands in the kitchen and come zipping over, no doubt ready to fret and question you. If you value your time alone- rare as it is these days- then you’ll stay silent.

It’s a near impossible task to separate yourself from him. It was a small miracle in itself that you managed to break away for half an hour or so- but even that was begat by a lie. It seems the only real way to rid yourself of the overly doting, obsessive older brother (even if just for a few minutes) is to give him another demand. This time, it was an ‘I’m hungry’ that finally earned you some peace and quiet.

It’s a little sad, but lately you treat him more or less like a jacket after entering a warm home: you’re eager to shrug him off because the climate has changed.

The climate has changed.

He- He’s changed.

He’s growingly insane and yes, while the irony of that observation isn’t lost on you (considering you’re the mad woman who bought a human-like robot as a replacement in the first place), you still can’t help but feel alarmed as the signs of wrongness don’t cease but worsen.

You think about pressing the button. Turning him off, sending him away.

Hell, maybe you’d just dump him in the communal trash receptacles out back. Leave him there in a human-shaped bag for the garbage men to come and squint at before hauling away like junk.

…Because he is junk, right? No different than a crumb on the floor, you’d once said.

Perhaps you’ve lost it.

The section of your brain responsible for caring must’ve shut off, though, because it’s currently hard to feel much of anything.

…But there, like a soft stirring (or the voice of God as it whispered to Elijah)- you can sense it. That feeling is reminiscent of a survival instinct, or a watered-down version of it to tired nerves, breathing down the back of your neck where hackles rise—

What are you doing here?

The dream begins to fissure in real-time when Caleb (not-Caleb, you harshly remind yourself) cheerfully patters into the living room where you sit, helpful as ever, and his eye flashes as it settles on you. No different than a camera would.

The food looks delicious, per usual- you’d expect nothing less of your brother or even the robotic copy of him- but as nausea churns in your belly and you jolt upright, slapping a hand over your mouth as you run to the bathroom, nothing can save your appetite.

You shakily lock the door- but he’s knocking in an instant, worried.

You always did melt at his bleeding heart. Too often, men, especially the bigger of them, fell under the persuasion of apathy. Yet your gege was always different, always sweet, always gentle and patient and- yeah, okay, sometimes he was a touch mean, teasing to a fault- sometimes to the point of tears on your end as he quickly tried to right his wrongs- but he was preciously yours.

And he was real.

Dammit, he was fucking real-

He was alive and emotionally tangible in a way that this awful fucking hunk of metal is not and never will be—

“Pipsqueak-? Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Let me in. A-Are you not feeling well?” His words crack when you say nothing, dutifully ignoring him.

“Y/n… Let me in. Please-! don’t leave me alone, don’t go.” His voice becomes ragged, raw, the longer you don’t answer. Boyish in its vulnerability. “Stay- Stay here with me.”

By God your soul splinters down the middle. But you don’t answer. You- You can’t.

You throw your lunch up in the toilet and then your back against the wall, sliding down it with your hands over your ears like a child.

You don’t care, if he’s shouting and beating at the door, on the brink of hysteria like you’ve heard only once or twice when he was a boy too soft for his own good- you don’t care- you don’t care—

You sit there until he short-circuits out and thuds to the floor.

You flinch when he does.

Only then, however, do you tiptoe out- careful lest you trigger some internal response from him- to quickly pull on a hoodie and put your hair up, locking the front door behind you.

You don’t know for how long he’ll be conked out, but if luck is on your side, it’ll be for long enough to run to the local corner store and buy a pregnancy test.

You know you’re losing it, the little sanity you had left after your brother passed— misreading a common cold for a veritable child swelling in your womb.

It’s laughable: using your sleeve (another old piece of his clothing you ‘borrowed’, never to be returned) to dot away the tears at your lashline, you do laugh on the short trek to the convenience store.

But if not a reminder that you really are going crazy, losing control, then at least it’s just an opportunity to get some fresh air for a bit, right?

(…You also know that the first step to regaining back said control is to say goodbye to not-Caleb.

As it stands, though, you’re just-

You were never ready.)

✦

Two pink lines.

The thing clatters to the bathroom floor, and you along with it.

You sink to your knees and the white walls surrounding you feel more like an asylum than a space in your own house- because yes, you must be delusional. This is the final nail in the coffin.

But this- this can’t be right. It’s impossible. In the strictest sense of the word it’s impossible!

Heavy feet traipse in the kitchen; the livingroom; the hall, searching for you with faint, candied beckons of your name.

You rub your face as if to feel the color as it seeps from your complexion, and tell yourself that you’ve positively lost it as you thoughtlessly choose one of the corners to slump into, hyperventilating.

You’ll- you’ll send it back to EVER... You’ll send it back and forget and move on. You’ll move on. You’ll stop grieving, you’ll squirrel away your fraying, final memories of Caleb like you did all those precious photos in that old shoebox in your closet.

You’ll-…

A breath. The fan whirs.

The faucet, going full-blast, sputters, effectively drowning out the sounds you make as air becomes a tricky thing to intake; thick enough to choke on.

You’ll throw yourself into the fifth stage of grief then crawl out the other side of it if that’s what it takes to undo this fucking reality you’re lost in-

“Pipsqueak?” A hand on your shoulder.

Broad, big. A little weathered.

But gentle always. Gentle always. Just like you remember. Just like when Caleb meant Caleb; not the big glorified toy that walks and acts like him as an admittedly convincing, yet ultimately faux locum.

Your heart stills, hanging pendant in your chest. You swing from that uncertainty. By God you’d beat that handsome face in- oh, but by God would you kiss it, too.

The door sways on its hinge by splintered fragments, creaking behind the brunet.

Timidly, you lift your head over your shoulder to meet his eye where he towers behind you, violet hues softening with concern. They drift lower, honing in on the little item by your knee, wayward.

He coos immediately, enveloping you in his strong arms.

The feeling- it’s not exactly like that of the one you’d get while swimming in a hot tub, engulfed in its steaming waters, but it’s not too far off either. You let him hold you, unseeing as he all but sings in your ear, and restore the warmth to your bones.

Like a dead thing, or prey, you hang limp in his firm grasp. Terribly uncertain.

“Shh…” he croons, and you only realize a belated moment later that you’re crying. Hard and ugly.

He pets down your hair, ever the comforter, and as you press your head against his barrel chest it’s almost like you can hear a faint whirring in lieu of a heartbeat- speedy but low.

Unreal. Unreal. But then how-?

Perhaps you’ve lost it.

“We’ll figure it out together, honey,” you think it’s a barely concealed smile you register at the crown of your head, pasting down a kiss. “But no more cryin’, okay? I can’t stand to see you like this… Let me draw you a bath, hm? I’ll light some candles and we can talk about it. But don’t be scared. This is… such good news,” and then he laughs- a boyish, marveling little laugh that digs deep into your heart and twists.

The button, between his breastbone, just out of reach, glows faintly through his shirt.

For a moment you’re ready to press it like a player would on a game show— with urgency— but you blink and see those two pink lines searing themselves into your conscience.

Defeatedly, you shut your eyes. But you don’t shut him off.

✦

With Caleb preparing dinner, you’re able to slip away one evening for long enough to call Gran.

For worried friends and relatives, your voicemail box is becoming quite the hotbed- but among them, your grandmother is the priority.

Propping yourself by the sliding glass door, you brush back the curtain and look out to the small, cookie-cutter yard as you accept the call. Not without a shaky breath to prepare you, though; it’s been over a month since your last visit, and while your calls haven’t been quite as behind, you still wince a bit every time her contact pops up.

You want to tell her.

If not about Caleb, then at least the small bump forming beneath your oversized lounge shirt. There’s excuses for it- ones to be frowned upon, yes, but they’d be believable nonetheless. Obviously, a pregnancy is not something as simple to hide as a robot you can turn on and off and, if needed, stuff in the coat closet until the coast is clear.

You want to tell her. But-

You purse your lips, answering, “Hey Gran.”

The tone of her voice, frazzled and barely holding together, sends a chill down your spine.

“Y/n- where have you been? Is everything okay? I’ve been- I’ve been calling all afternoon.”

You digest that information with a quirk of your brow, scanning across the lawn outside, and a thick swallow.

There’s the voicemails, sure; it was only two nights ago you were poring over them all and holding back tears of guilt. But this afternoon? It was quiet- almost blissfully so, spent curled up to Caleb’s chest on the sofa as you watched an old favorite movie and he happily fed you fruit-flavored candies from his hand every so often.

Nobody called, let alone multiple times. You’re sure of it.

“Gran- what? No, I’m fine. What’s wrong?” You start, tossing a nervous glance behind you, internally grateful that Caleb’s absent humming while he chopped veggies was too distant for the phone to pick up.

She blusters out, apropos of nothing, “Is he there with you?”

Something in you stills.

“Y/n- is he there with you?”

An abnormal rush of blood to your ears and a murmur of your heart as you stand confused. The fingers curled around your phone case jitter.

You hold it closer to your ear.

“What? What are you talking about? I-Is who here with me?”

Does she- There’s no fucking chance- does she know?

How?

Chest thumping, your pulse fluttering in the column of your throat as it bobs uncertainly, you begin to wonder to yourself if this is the time you come clean, lay all your sins out like cards on a table. Make the confession.

Push has come to shove, you think. And fuck if you know where all this is coming from on her end, if Gideon told her or she just miraculously put two and two together or-

An exhale on her end, shaking on its way out.

“Were you not told? Dear-“ she broaches, louder, more firm— and this is just milliseconds before the world as you know it- the one you freed of your hands and let reshape itself around a delicate delusion- buckles at the knees. It’s right before you do, too.

“They found him. They found Caleb.”

That breath, right afterward of her telling you, is like the first one after drowning.

Your eyes widen as you break the surface.

His- His body. The tinny footage they dredged up from the area showed he entered his home, but after the explosion, there was no sign of him, no ash no corpse no nothing— So you don’t know how the hell they managed to recover his pieces, let alone after they already ran clean-up crews through the charred infrastructure and hosed it down- but you’re hysterical at the news.

You were cruelly forced, all along, to just assume he’d been burned to nothingness.

So you don’t even care about the how. How it’s possible or how this is happening after several months of white noise and hurting on your end— you don’t care.

You were made to come to terms with his death, and you did, at most, acknowledge it- but evidently, you could never quite accept it.

…If this is your final chance to say goodbye- even if it just means peering over a metal table in the morgue as he lies disheveled, hardly recognizable under a sheet- so fucking be it.

You’ll say goodbye if it kills you.

“What-? Where- where?” Your tone reflects as much, urgent as you stagger over to the sofa, nearly tripping as you reach for the jacket slung over the arm.

“I-Im coming,” you croak out, words failing you as the velvety carpet feels like mud beneath your bare feet- hard to walk across, every step making you feel like a baby taking its first ones.

One second you’re navigating a truth so unbelievable it’s near violent as it barrels into you; in the next, you’re collapsing under the weight of it, too caught up in your own scrambling for your keys and the door to even think of not-Caleb.

Gran goes to timidly say something, but your ears are shot and you quickly interject, “Let me get dressed- I-I’ll be there! Is he at the morgue?”

“Oh, no, honey,” she quavers out, “He’s alive. The town just messaged me; they made a mistake with his death certificate- they’re revoking it as we speak. He’s in Skyhaven.”

The phone drops to the floor.

And then that, too, gives way beneath you.

…It’s good a helping hand is there for you, then. Shouldering your weight without prompting- fretful as he confiscates the device, no different than a teacher with an unruly student, swiftly disconnecting the call.

It tuts in your ear, but- more sober than you’ve ever been- you can only note the sympathy practically dripping from its tone for what it really is: the upshot of its near immaculate programming as it mimics your considerate gege to a T.

Not-Caleb noses against your nape and sighs.

Mutely, you wind a hand, tottering, uncoordinated fingers and all, behind your back to grope along his chest—

He easily gathers both your wrists in his palm, “hey now,” turning you around. He lifts your knuckles up for a chaste kiss, watching you intently all the while.

A cold weight settles over you, soaking you through like meat left overnight to marinate. From the kitchen, stirfry sizzles in the pan. A few moments more of it and the smoke detectors will fire off.

…He just leans in to peck your forehead though, deaf to the sirens you hear wailing in your head, having mastered the art of playing dumb long ago.

He murmurs, as cloying as cake frosting, “C’mon, Pipsqueak, let’s go eat. Dinner’ll be done in just a sec. I made one of your favorites. After that, we can sit around the couch and brainstorm some more names for the baby- what d��you think?”

Flukes, malfunctions, glitches— no; Not-Caleb, you realize right then, ceasing to blink as you stare at its prototype through the shifting lens head-on, was never flawed.

“…But you’re not leavin’, not to him.”

The real one was.

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, + 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 ♡

#shai's fic recs

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onlyquinns · 3 days ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/onlyquinns/783571336627961856/oh-my-days-i-actually-love-you-jack-hughes-ideas?source=share

This is the first time I've really seen my self in a fic! That's the kind of shy awkward I am and I've never seen it reflected back. May I please make a request of Jack trying to woo the same kind of shy, awkward girl who's brushing it off and avoiding his attention because to her Jack either isn't flirting at all and she's making things up, doesn't mean it and just wants her for fun, or will eventually get tired of how she is and leave?

you stand still as some guy talks to you at the bar. your hands are laced together around a whiskey glass, and your lips are pursed in a straight line. the dude reeks of cheap beer and bad news as he talks to you, something about how the hockey boys in the corner of the room are awful people. which you know isn’t the case.

jack watches you from the corner, lips pulled into a scowl as the dude in front of you blocks your body from his view. he pushes himself off the booth he’s at with some of the guys and makes his way to you, throwing casual elbows at people who dance in his way.

“hey, pretty,” jack says as he circles you, wrapping an easy arm around you. he shoots a quick glare at the guy who’s forced you into a conversation. “how’s my favorite girl doing?”

your eyes flick to jack, filled with uncertainty at what he’s plotting, but a slight glimmer of urgency catches his attention and jack moves to remove you from the conversation.

he pretends to whisper in your ear, leaning in and saying, “just go along with my plan,” and then turning to the drunk. “thanks for keeping my girl company, man—she’s gorgeous, huh?” jack gives the guy a friendly smile, a flash of teeth catching in the dim bar light, and an unmistakeable look in his eye that challenges the dude. the drunk guy backs away, leaving with hands up.

your body relaxes as the guy vanishes from sight, a relieved sigh leaving your lips. your fingertips ache from how tightly you were pressing into the whiskey glass, knuckles turning back to their normal color rather than the unusual white.

“you okay?” jack asks, and you body stiffens once more.

you give a curt nod. “uh huh… thanks… for that.” you clamp your mouth shut again, rocking back and forth on your heels. “i’m gonna… go.” as you move to walk away, jack grabs your elbow and redirects you to his table.

“c’mon,” he says softly, tone more than what you’re used to for a platonic or professional relationship. “sit with me; let me buy you a drink.” he smiles at you, far too soft, and your cheeks feel hotter at the implication.

but you shake it away. no way in hell is jack hughes flirting with you.

as you sit down next to luke, you awkwardly scoot away so that his leg doesn’t brush yours. he gives you a funny look but doesn’t push, letting you position yourself at the edge of the booth, half of your body hanging off the seat as if you’re about to flee. jack excuses himself quickly and goes to get you a drink, something he promised you’d like.

“so, you’re the media girl, right?” someone asks, arms lazily draped on the back of his seat. “we rarely see you at the arena, so i figured i’d ask.”

you shake your head and glance at jack as he makes his way back. his steps are slow and thoughtful as he carries back two mystery drinks, one for him and the other for you.

“no… i…” you gesture vaguely in front of you, unsure of what to say. “i’m just normal staff. i only work when there’s a game or other event going on at prudential.” you place your hands in your lap, curling your fingers tightly. you give a nod as if approving of what you said.

jack laughs a little and pulls a chair up beside you, sitting with it placed backward so his arms can rest on the back. “makes killer nachos when she does concessions,” he says, looking at you fondly.

the guys laugh, and you figure you don’t have to tell them that the nachos are just normal corn chips with over-processed cheese on top.

after the laughter lulls, you fidget in your seat uncomfortably. you’re not sure what to say—if you even have to say anything.

“uh…” you start, glancing at people around the table as they sip beers. “i’m gonna leave.”

you stand from the table and raise your hand in a quiet wave. jack jumps up beside you.

“i’ll take you home,” he says, grabbing his jacket and throwing it over his shoulder. before you can say no, jack ushers you through the bar and toward the front door, a gentle hand ghosting over your lower back.

“you don’t have to do this,” you say as he holds the door open. you step out onto the sidewalk, hands behind your back as you rock back and forth a little. “i’m capable of getting home myself.”

jack shrugs and starts walking to a car parked on the side of the road, its headlights flashing twice as he unlocks the car. he holds the passenger door open for you, nodding his head toward the leather seat. you shuffle forward, rubbing at your arms in an attempt to comfort yourself.

“thanks,” you mumble, hauling your body into the seat and buckling yourself in. jack watches you diligently, waiting to hear the telltale click of the belt buckle before shutting your door and rounding the car.

when he slides in next to you, he turns and smiles. he gestures to the radio, “want aux?” he asks, reaching for the dingy phone cable. you shake your head no and jack shrugs, smirk pulling at his lips. “suit yourself,” he says, plugging his phone in and pulling up spotify.

jack shuffles through his playlists, scrolling through endless playlists with goofy names until he finally settles in one. you glance over as he chucks his phone into the cup holder and stiffen at the name typed at the top of the playlist.

songs for the pretty assistant.

jack whistles along to the song that plays while your mind spirals. you’re certain it’s just a random playlist that he picked—that you’re not actually the pretty assistant—but he glances over at you as cheesy lyrics ooze from the car speakers. you turn away and stare out the window, listening as jack chuckles and begins driving.

he doesn’t attempt conversation as he goes, content with sitting in silence and tapping along to the soft romance songs that play. you sit with your hands curled on your knees, back pressed harshly into the seat. jack doesn’t say anything about how stiff your posture is, he’s known you long enough to know you. but when he finally pulls up outside your apartment complex, he finally decides to bite.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, looking right at you with gentle eyes and furrowed brows. the automatic light in the parking lot shines down on his face, making the concerned glint in his eyes more apparent.

you gnaw on your lip. “nothing,” you lie, anxiously bringing your hand to your mouth to chew on your fingernails.

you turn your head so you’re staring out the window and jack leans over the middle console to gently grab your chin. your heart feels like it might combust at the sensation of his fingers on your skin, at how rough they are compared to the softness of your face. you swallow thickly.

“c’mon,” jack murmurs. “what’s going on inside your pretty head?”

you want the ground to open up and eat you whole, to take you away. your feet fidget, the sole of your sneaker pressing on your other shoe. you don’t want to admit it, but you like jack—he’s sweet and kind and understanding of your personality. but you know hockey players, and you know that love is a game to them.

so, you say, “why are you messing with me?” it’s the boldest thing you’ve said in the history of your relationship with him, and it shows.

jack stares at you, caught off guard. his eyes are wide and a frown pulls at his pink lips. “what? i’m not messing with you at all.” you want to call him out, but jack doesn’t let you. “i really like you, like, a lot. i thought i made it pretty obvious.” his eyes flutter over your face, ghosting over your eyes and your cheeks and settling on your lips. “just… just wasn’t sure you like me back, or at all.” he lets out a pained chuckle and you feel guilt rise in your throat.

without thinking, you fist the front of his shirt. the action is unpracticed and messy, but you make do. you surge forward and screw your eyes shut, slamming your lips to jack’s without another thought. for a second, he doesn’t reciprocate and you think you’ve made a mistake. you’re about to pull away, but jack wraps tight arms around your waist, hauling himself up just to be closer to you—as if he’ll die if he isn’t as close as he can be.

jack kisses with everything in him, all pining and yearning. he tilts his head and has a hand on the back of your neck, pressing you so close you can feel his chest rise and fall against you. you savor the moment, all of your nerves gone and your mind filled with just jack.

when you pull away, you’re breathless and light headed. you push open the car door and turn to jack, kiss-swollen lips pulled into a mind-blowing smile. “i hope that answers your question.”

#val’s reqs 🧃#nhl x reader #nhl imagine #nhl blurb #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #nhl players #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes x you #jack hughes fanfiction #jack hughes fic #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes fluff #jack hughes

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envy-of-the-apple · 19 hours ago

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Dangerous Men

(Yandere!OC x reader)

note: getting back to my yan roooots. oc is kinda supposed to look like Norra von Nürnberger. i wrote this a while ago and have no plans of continuing it buuut i didnt have the heart to just delete it so out it goes

Word count: 2.8k

(Warnings: implied slut shaming, highschool-level drama, implied torture ,yandere, character is accused of incest lmaooo)

Nuyan didn't really know you.

He thinks he's seen you once or twice. You're in the same year as him, so he kind of knows of your existence. He's also pretty sure you've spoken to him once, when you scooted past him to get to class, muttering a timid 'excuse me'. Other than that, Nuyan really doesn't remember you. You and he run in different circles. You take school a little too seriously, preferring to keep your grades up for college. Nuyan's honestly thinking of just dropping out, grades won't do him any good, not with his future 'career'.

He doesn't even blink when the rumors about you start. It's normal, he's used to something or another creating a buzz in this suffocating school. Honestly, it's not even one of the worst ones. To him, you got off lucky. It was something about you sleeping with a sleazy soccer player. He knows it's fake in a heartbeat. It's really not that interesting. It doesn't do a thing to cure his boredom. He doesn't really care.

You do, though.

"Why?"

He didn't mean to eavesdrop. If anything, this was your fault. Maybe you should have dragged that guy somewhere else rather than his favorite place to smoke. Now you have a slightly bored audience, forced to listen to your soap opera.

"Why?" You repeat. You're angry. He guess he understands. Though he'd probably handle his anger a bit differently than you. When he got angry he uses his fists, weapons. When he got angry he uses blood smeared on walls, broken limbs as paintbrushes.

You don't have the luxury to do that. So instead you're pathetically using words. Reason.

"Why, what?" The other guy responds.

He looks bored. Nuyan's seen him around. The dude's in the same grade as him tallish, a little lanky. He's talked to him before but Nuyan forgot his name. One thing he didn't forget was the guy's notorious obsession with spreading rumors about girls he's interested in who rejected him. Looks like you were his latest victim.

"Don't-don't do that," You weakly say, "Why'd you spread those rumors? Is it-is it because I didn't go out with you? I said no? And because of that, you ruin my life?" Nuyan tsks a little at that. Now, you're being a little dramatic.

The guy next to you seems to have the same reaction. He crosses his arms. He keeps his gaze dull but Nuyan can see the spark of amusement in his eyes. He gets off to seeing you like this.

"Calm down," He says, "Are you seriously blaming me for all this? It's not my fault my friends took a few things out of context. How am I supposed to do anything about it?"

"How do you take 'I slept with you' out of context?" You're barely hiding your tears now, "How-how could you I-"

You chuck a hand over your mouth, like you're trying to stop yourself from really screaming.

The other upperclassman sighs, like he's giving you more attention than you're worth.

"Okay fine. I'm sorry. Happy now?" He shrugs, "Look I really don't know what else to tell you. You know how rumors are? It'll probably die down in a few days," You're silent, "And I guess we could go around and say we didn't do anything but people aren't really gonna believe us."

He's walking away, patting your shoulder.

"Again, sorry," Giving another insincere apology, he disappears behind the building, leaving you alone.

Nuyan watches as you stare at nothing. You're still crying, but your eyes look a little dazed, like you still can't believe this is your life. You hiccup a bit. He cocks his head in mild interest as you try to reel in your tears, angrily wiping at your eyes.

In his eyes, you only have two options; crack under the pressure and leave, or stay until the rumors die down. Again, they're not that bad, he's heard way worse. You've heard way worse. You'll get through it, probably.

Nuyan drops the cigarette, crushing it under his foot. He leaves before he sees anything else.

Good luck.

The family business is keeping him a little preoccupied lately.

He curses his grandfather at these times. Why hadn't the old man considered starting a career in fishing? Carpeting? MLMs? At least it'd be a little less messier.

Nuyan sighs, wiping a clean hand across his sweaty forehead. He really hates the Circle Room. He always gets so hot in here. He prefers the cold, the type of cold that makes his brown skin twinge the tiniest of red. The type of cold that bites, just a little.

But no, he's stuck in the Circle Room. At least until the guy wakes up again.

He considers washing his hands, the one covered in blood and god knows what else. The idiot was struggling before, so he was forced to get a bit handsy. Why can't people just stay still when he says stay still? It'd make their lives a whole lot easier.

"He's already out?" A voice hollers. Nuyan cringes.

Rhys is already halfway down the steps. He whistles at Nuyan's work. Nuyan ignores his cousin, focusing on his dirty hand. He really should have worn gloves.

Used to his aloofness, Rhys presses on.

"How far did you get with him?"

This time Nuyan is forced to answer. Both with Rhys technically being his higher up and just because he just wants the man to stop pestering him already.

"Not much," He replies, "He did rat on some other guys though. Here," He tosses a piece of paper with messy handwriting. Nuyan didn't really have time to find a pen so he kind of forced the guy to write the names with cracked fingers and blood. It was a little gross, but it saved him time from trying to find a writing tool.

Rhys doesn't even blink, snatching the paper to glance at the names.

"Oh hey, I know this guy," He points to the third line, "He owes me money."

Nuyan's pretty sure everyone under Rhys owes him money but he doesn't voice his quip. He's more than happy to silently nod back, pretending he's somewhere else, not stuck in the Circle room. Bored. He's always bored these days. His job is nothing like the movies. There's no excitement, no run-ins with the police, not when they're all paid off by his family. All the 'fun stuff' is handled by his grandpa's underlings. Even his job in the Circle room is starting to get a little tedious.

It's not much to ask for a little excitement in his life, right?

"Aw, what's wrong?" An arm is slung around his shoulder. Nuyan scowls, "Are you feeling down? Did your girlfriend dump you? Don't feel bad. Your big cousin is here."

"Get off," Nuyan groans, "You reek."

Rhys obliges, slipping off to meddle with some tools.

"You shouldn't be here all day, you know." His cousin is piping up again and Nuyan wonders if the guy has an off button.

"Your eyes will go bad."

Nuyan isn’t disagreeing. His eyes do feel a lot more tired these days. It’s probably because he refuses to turn the lights on, his eyes burn when he’s in the sun for too long. That probably isn’t a good sign. It’s just a lot easier to work in the dark. His ‘clients’ are more talkative if they can’t see him, can’t see anything except silhouettes. The monster you know is better than the monster you don’t.

"Maybe I'll get glasses or something." He responds, cracking his knuckles.

Rhys is humming, going over the list again. He's smiling, but there isn't a hint of mirth in his eyes. Nuyan is scoffing. His clients should be grateful. Between Nuyan and his cousin, Nuyan is the nicer one. When Rhys gets serious, he gets messy. The blood takes days to get off.

His mind wanders, thinking to what Rhys said. A girlfriend could be nice. A boyfriend, too, just someone to keep him company. Though it's kind of hard to find one, especially in his jurisdiction. Most people aren't keen on dating someone who threatens people with knives, and apparently, 'they owed me money' isn't a sufficient response. Most could also never handle the Circle room and, to him, it's kind of a rite of passage at this point.

He thinks he’s smiling. If you could barely handle a rumor, you definitely couldn't handle the Circle room. It was built to mess with people’s senses, the room itself was a torture to be in. He could barely stay for an hour, maybe even less.

He'd give you a minute, maybe two.

Then he's scrunching his nose. Again? Why was he thinking of you? Looking back, you weren't really all that eye-catching. Pretty, sure, but not enough to really get his attention. Was he horny or something? Or was it just the conversation he heard, replaying it over and over in his head.

He'd been wrong before, you wouldn't be able to handle it. Not someone like you. Timid. Weak. You seriously thought you could talk to the guy who-in your words- 'ruined your life'. You didn't even understand why he did it. It wasn't out of revenge. The guy was probably a little angry, a little drunk, a little less controlled. He didn't spread those rumors out of retaliation. He spread them because he could.

There's a tiny whimper that catches his attention. Nuyan is turning around, seeing the man finally start to move again. In hindsight, he could have just shook him awake, it might've made things move a bit faster. His grandpa would have appreciated his efficiency but Nuyan liked being lazy.

Rhys is noticing the man stir, too.

"Back to work," He roughly claps Nuyan on the back.

He nods, "Yeah yeah,"

Back to work.

Nuyan thought you only had two options: endure or leave.

He'd forgotten one more: retaliation.

'Apparently, he kept calling out his cousin's name'

'I feel so bad for her. She had to go through so much.'

'he's such a freak.'

Each one is getting more and more ridiculous. Each one is getting more fake, but the school is eating it up, gobbling up each lie like it's the last thing they'd ever consume. It's so jarring how quickly the stories turned from a slut who slept with a guy on the soccer team, to a poor victim that accidentally gave a pervert a chance. Within days, the guy turned from proudly walking around to timidly slinking around corners, avoiding as many eyes as he could.

And you?

You're practically basking in the new attention.

You play the part beautifully, feigning as the innocent, little, hopeless-romantic, not knowing how much of a freak the guy who asked you out was. You just wanted to give him a chance. You were curious. You didn't know.

"I hope he doesn't hate me because of this," You're softly telling your new group of friends, "I tried to keep it on the down-low but I couldn't help but think it's a little strange. I just wanted to know if those...things were normal to ask of a partner, that's all." Your eyelashes flutter down, and you look so cinematically sad, that he almost can't blame the girls for buying your act. They crowd around you, giving you quips of sympathy. No, this is not your fault. You shouldn't feel bad about this. He was such a weirdo. You didn't deserve any of this.

It's amazing.

He feels a little less guilty about eavesdropping this time, more intent on listening in on the discussion. After days, the senior had finally managed to get you to come with him alone, to that same spot he'd left you crying just a week ago. Nuyan isn't worried about being spotted. He's high enough to where you won't see him unless you know where to look, yet close enough to hear every whisper.

Now he's the one who looks nervous. The guy is shuffling under your passive gaze. You're waiting for him to speak first. So is Nuyan. His heart was pounding in anticipation. He wonders if the senior will snap. He wonders if he'll hit you, draw blood. Nuyan knows he wants to, but he's too much of a coward. He can't. Not with this many eyes on him, watching him like a hawk. Waiting for a wrong move.

"What the fuck," He starts, "Seriously, what the fuck?"

You tilt your head innocently and Nuyan stifles a laugh.

"What?" You ask.

He curses, running a hand through his hair. He looks stressed, like he hasn't gotten sleep in days. His eyes are wild, desperate.

You look so fucking pleased.

"You-you fucking bitch, you know what," He's laughing, more out of stress than actual joy, "The entire fucking school is talking about how I have a fetish about my cousin. What the fuck?"

Nuyan notices you flinch a little at that. You look a little guilty, a part of you thinking you may have gone too far. He's glad when the look is quickly washed away by cold steel.

"Wayner," Ah, there's his name, "Are you seriously blaming me right now? It's not my fault my friends took a few things out of context. How am I supposed to do anything about it?"

Your voice is soft, understanding, but it doesn't match your face. You're smiling and Wayner is paling because of those oh-so familiar words. Words he'd said to you not too long ago. Words he's probably begging to take back.

You sigh, pulling your hands up in mock sympathy. Your lips open in a dramatic pout. Nuyan noticed how soft they looked.

"Fine, I'm sorry, okay?" Your apology is just as fake as his once was. And you're sighing, like you've given him more time than he's worth.

"Look, I don't know what to tell you. You know how rumors are, right? It'll probably die down in a few days, anyways," You're waving your hand dismissively.

"If you want, we could go around and say they're fake, but it'd be a waste of time. No one would believe us," You pause.

Carefully, you examine your dainty hand. It's so small. Nuyan imagines it'd fit perfectly in his.

"No one would believe you."

Your smile is friendly, but there's no warmth. Nuyan wouldn't call you tall but you're towering over the bastard, looking down at him like he's pure scum and Nuyen feels his heart beat a little faster.

"You-you wanted an apology right?" He's stumbling over his words, "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. God I'm so fucking sorry. Just please-"

"I did want an apology," You're correcting, "You humiliated me, for nothing. The worst part is...this isn't even the first time, is it? How many other girls have you bullied like this?"

You're stepping closer, Nuyan is drinking each action, each expression from your gorgeous self.

"Ever wonder how it was so easy to convince everyone? Because no one fucking likes you. They don't care if you did it or not, it's just funny. They don't care about your dignity, just how you didn't care for mine."

You're turning around to head back in. Your hair looks so pretty today, Nuyan wants to touch it.

"Maybe you should taste your own shit every once in a while."

You're practically glowing as you turn away, leaving the guy to crumble, and Nuyan is pulling away out of earshot.

He was laughing. Fuck fuck fuck. You were so smart. You were so beautiful. So elegant. This entire stunt was so perfectly concocted, each step leading you closer to your malicious revenge. And you barely lifted a finger, just letting everything rot, fester, boil. Nuyan had no idea someone so average could be so ferocious. So vindictive.

You were dangerous.

He's sighing breathily, tracing his finger against the railing. His hands are covered in dust but he doesn't care.

Fuck.

Nuyan was in love.

#yandere #yandere oc x reader #yandere x reader #yandere male #obsession #implied death #implied torture #neither done to reader #mentions of incest

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twistedwonderflan · 14 hours ago

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How Many Synonyms Are There for the Word "Pest"?

seeing all the posts of jade's newest ssr made me go back through some twst wips i have saved. this one's short. can't remember what inspired it. i had it titled: how many synonyms are there for the word "pest"?

---

info: SFW; Jade Leech x Prefect/Reader (gender neutral); Jade's POV snippet: His eyes narrowed, focusing on a boy who was getting egged on by his friends. That annoyance got up, puffed out his chest, and began to approach your table. Ah. These pests were really getting on Jade's nerves.

---

With you being quite the popular and infamous student in this school, the amount of confessions you received from desperate schoolboys was both sad and unsurprising. Jade already tolerated the ones you called "friends," especially since they did a passable job keeping the more unsavory characters away from you when he wasn't around. But to see some no-name student approaching you with the intent of getting a date... It irritated Jade to no end.

What was more annoying was when these worms had the gall to approach you during your visits to Mostro Lounge by his invitation. The purpose for inviting you in the first place was so that even during his busy schedule, he could still squeeze in some time to spend with you. Yet these people still tried to interfere.

He was beginning to reconsider keeping the relationship you two had a secret. Should he just be more forthright with it?

...no. He wasn't going to let his decision-making be affected by scum that barely reached his ankles. If and when the romantic relationship he had with you was put out in the open, it was because you were ready to make it public, not because some nuisances forced either his or your hand.

Floyd was currently sitting with you at your table, grinning broadly as he told you something he found funny. You raised a brow as you tried to keep a straight face. The tremble in your lips as you fought back a laugh made Jade quietly chuckle to himself.

Floyd begrudgingly got up when he was called for help at another table. Jade watched as you waved goodbye to him before focusing back on your study guide. It was only when his brother was nowhere near your vicinity did Jade fix his gaze on a rowdy little group sitting at another table. His eyes narrowed, focusing on a boy who was getting egged on by his friends. That annoyance got up, puffed out his chest, and began to approach your table.

Ah. These pests were really getting on Jade's nerves.

He swiftly left his station behind the bar counter and, before the boy could get anywhere near your table, Jade smoothly slipped into the booth beside you.

You jumped in surprise, not having seen him coming. Jade smiled pleasantly and leaned over your shoulder to peer at your notes.

"Is everything going well?" he asked as he reached up and tucked a loose lock of hair behind your ear. A feeling of satisfaction welled up in his chest when you averted your gaze, looking shy but pleased.

"Um, yeah," you stammered, awkwardly reaching for your half-empty drink. "What's up?"

"Your drink's almost empty. Would you like to join me at the bar counter so I can refill it?" He spotted the reluctance in your eyes, perhaps thinking you would be a bother if you were seated so close to his work station, but Jade was already plucking up the cup. He smiled and stood up from the booth, giving you way to accompany him. "Perhaps I can also tutor you when I'm not needed."

A small huff of a laugh escaped you. You took hold of his proffered hand and stood up, making sure to grab your study guide. "Sure. What’ll I owe you?"

"Merely your pleasant company." Jade glanced back at the boy from earlier. He was facing the other way and standing stiff, as if he had abruptly turned around to fool Jade into thinking he wasn't about to bother you. Even his friends in the background had fallen quiet, most likely not wanting to risk incurring any more of Jade's ire. Jade smirked to himself and escorted you to the bar counter.

"Did you just leave bar unmanned?" you whispered as you took a seat at the last stool. You glanced around warily. "Azul's gonna get upset if he found out."

"It was for but a minute. I'm sure no one here would be so heartless as to squeal on me," he chuckled, eyes roving over the few other customers sitting at the counter. They nervously averted their gaze from his sharp smile. He refilled your drink and placed it beside your notes. "I have to fill a few orders but don't be shy to ask any questions."

You beamed, and Jade's smile turned into something softer. "Thanks," you piped before going back to sipping your drink and going over your notes.

Jade did a quick glance around the room, sensing some of the other customers' tension. Now that you were under his watchful eye, he'd like to see who among them would have the audacity to bother his favorite customer. Other than the occasional Floyd, perhaps the only person he didn't mind getting cozy with you, no one dared to come close to you for the rest of your time in the Lounge. Just as he hoped when he invited you here in the first place, he had your company all to himself.

#twst x reader #jade leech x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #reader insert #twisted wonderland #jade leech #wonderflan writes #it's been three years since i posted that handholding fic...#time sure flies #but my inability to think of titles shall persevere

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arcadecarpetgay · 3 days ago

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OUFHDKJFDFJKD HII IM BATSHIT FUCKING INSA EABOUT THIS AND ALSO. WROTE A DRABBLE FOR IT ITS UNDER THE CUT IM LOSING IT AS ALWAYS

Collin’s canine digs hard in his lip when he hears the door to the bank slam shut, just as he’d been hoping. He hears a horse whinnying outside, hurried footsteps on the wooden porch, setting the perfect tempo for the next passage. He’ll be hearing the hoofbeats in the back of his mind even after the runaway’s out of earshot, mentally measuring the distance it’ll take the poor bastard to call for the sheriff.

The rest of the bank is still, unsteady breathing swirling the dust hanging in the air, and Collins doesn’t break eye contact with the teller.

“Don’t get jealous, lad,” he says calmly, pointedly adjusting his grip on the revolver. “We’re not done here, are we?”

“No,” the teller says, but Collins can hear the thread of relief in his voice. Someone’s going to get the sheriff. At least, Collins hopes he is.

“No,” Collins confirms, with no little satisfaction.

The teller swallows, and nods hesitantly at the other patrons. “If I open the vault, are you gonna swear not to harm any of ‘em?”

Collins smiles. It’s an unexpectedly kind offer to make, one that he wasn’t expecting to hear– and it takes a lot to surprise him these days. Not only that, his shoulders aren’t tense, his breathing mostly steady. He almost gives the real appearance of someone used to threats like this, calmly accepting the demands while prioritizing the lives of those around him. It’s a valiant effort.

“You’re no place to be strikin’ deals with me, boy. I’m sure ‘get me the money and no one gets hurt,’ is something you’ve heard before, isn’t it?”

The teller’s expression changes minutely, the tiniest flicker of terror in his eyes betraying him. Collins hums.

“I’ll tell you something about the people who say that sorta thing, lad. A man like that is just as threatened by the gun he’s holding as anyone he’s pointin’ it at. He’s hoping he can leave with all the gamblin’ funds he needs, and without a drop of blood on his hands. But me? Well,” he exhales softly, tipping his head to the side. “The blood’s damn near as valuable to me as the gold.”

Fear seeps out from behind the teller’s collected expression, the way wax is forced out in a ring around the press of a metal seal, and it’s wonderful.

“Don’t tempt me,” Collins warns, voice low. “I can practically hear your heart.”

“Alright, I’ll– I’ll–”

“Good lad.”

“Just, just give me a minute–”

Right on cue he hears footsteps, outside. The sound’s picked up again, slipping into a crescendo as they approach the front of the bank, hard heels on wooden boards.

Collins’ back is to the door when it opens, hinges squealing in the heavy silence of the room. He sees the teller’s eyes flick over his shoulder, catches a glimpse of the figure in the reflection of constricted pupils.

It’s suddenly a lot more difficult to keep his smile bitten back, and no easier when he hears the very familiar clink of a pistol.

“Alright, doll, we can make this easy, or you can get a bullet to the back of the neck.” Collins knows that he’d be able to hit his mark. The man’s nothing short of a sharpshooter, and he’s at more than close enough range to kill him stone dead. “I need you to put your hands up.”

Christ, Collins has missed the sound of his voice. It’s been a month, four days, and seven hours since Collins heard it last, hummed half against his lips in the softened shape of I’ll see you in a while, doll, and he’s had nothing but that to subsist him.

Collins doesn’t move.

“I’m real capable of making this unpleasant for you.”

He turns, slowly raising his hands above his head, and stares straight back at Sheriff Finley, back home in his best coat and with the barrel of a gun pointed straight at Collins’ face. He’s silhouetted beautifully by the harsh evening sunlight spilling in from the door, setting the hem of his form aflame and draping his face in shadow. Collins wills his eyes to adjust enough to see his face, absorb as much of him as possible.

Noel’s expression shifts. Collins watches as the hope in his eyes dawns into the gleaming sunlight of relief, the emotion concealed beneath the cold scowl on his lips. Collins loves him.

“Set down the gun, doll.”

Grinning, Collins obliges, though Noel’s eyes don’t leave his own as he slowly sets it down with a heavy clink on the counter. He lifts his hand above his head again.

“Out!” Noel barks to the other patrons, jerking his head in the direction of the door. “And you, I suggest you hold still.”

The bank clears out quickly, and it’s only once the door slams shut for the final time that Collins speaks.

“Fancy seeing you here, sheriff.”

There’s a pause that Collins savors, the breathless hesitation of a half-rest, before Noel slowly lowers his gun. His hands don’t shake when he puts it away, the familiar implication of calmness– except it isn’t fear Noel is trying to hide, he knows. Noel straightens his coat and approaches him, and Collins instinctively reaches to touch his arm affectionately.

“Did you miss m–”

Before he can finish Noel’s hands are on the sides of his face and he’s being kissed so hard that he feels his hat slip from his head and land on the ground by his heel, caught off-guard by the sudden warmth of a mouth against his own.

Noel kisses him like he needs it to live, and Collins isn’t complaining. The music in his mind sings with contentment, as if finally freed from a halting, unfamiliar tempo to fall back into the beat it knows best. He realises only belatedly that he’d briefly forgotten what Noel smelled like, in the time he spent unable to breathe in the leather of his coat and taste the smoke on his lips, accented by the hazy, overheated weight of the bank in the late afternoon.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Collins breathes, when given the chance.

Noel’s still holding onto him, a wide hand against the side of his arm, keeping him close. He laughs in a short, dry scoff against Collins’ lips, as if a moment ago he hadn’t nearly knocked him to the floor.

“You wish.”

wild west dollins sketch comic inspired by a message from @arcadecarpetgay who is CRAZY AND INSANE and has been a terrible enabler regarding this au ⬇️

#giggling thank you lee for the idea of his hat falling off #they SUCK i AHTE THEM theyre the WORST #im fine and normal and fine #Wild west au #dollins #dennis collins #detective noel #Charlie dowd #noel malevolent #malevolent #malevolent au #malevolent fic #bagels typing #bagels secret drabbles

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mymelllllinda · 11 hours ago

Text

Pretty Mouth 2 — Geum Seong Je x F!Reader x Na Baekjin

“You look so fucking pretty like this,” Seongje said, voice low . Baekjin didn’t speak at first, he just reached out brushing your hair from your face with a tenderness that made your breath catch. His eyes lingered on you, dark and certain. “He’s not wrong,” he said softly. “You’re breathtaking like this.”

cw: dark!seongje, noncon, forced oral, hair pulling, praise kink, degradation, slight breeding kink? #MDNI

link to part one here

“Maybe next time… I’ll bring Baekjin.”

That sentence has haunted me for a week.

Seongje said it like a threat as he walked out of the bathroom stall, leaving me on my knees, throat sore and spit-slick, the taste of him still clinging to my tongue. He didn’t look back.

Baekjin.

He said it slowly, like a threat wrapped in silk.

And ever since, my brain hasn’t stopped trying to fill in what that "next time" looks like.

And then—

Snap.

A pen hits my desk, hard enough to make me flinch.

“Shit, sorry,” Jun-tae says, voice low and half-laughing. “Didn’t mean to wake you from whatever dark place you just went to.”

I look up too fast, heat blooming up my neck.

He’s already grinning, sliding into the chair beside me.

His gaze flickers to my face.

“You okay?” he asks, quieter now.

I nod. “Yeah.” A lie.

Jun-tae leans back in his chair, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Haven’t seen you around much since last weekend. What’s up with that?”

I shrugged, keeping my gaze fixed on my notebook. “Nothing, really. Just been studying.”

A weak excuse, but I didn’t trust my mouth with anything closer to the truth.

Jun-tae let out a short laugh. “Studying?” He tilted his head, clearly amused. “Didn’t think I’d ever hear you say that with a straight face.”

Before I could answer Jun-tae, a pair of arms suddenly wrapped around my shoulders from behind.

“Baku!” I breathed, startled.

He leaned in with a grin, chin brushing my hair. “Hey, hey! you guys up for fried chicken later?”

Before I could respond, he added, “And don’t even think about saying no.”

I glanced between them—Jun-tae still watching me closely, Baku’s arms heavy and warm around me, both of them waiting. The attention made my chest tighten, the unspoken pressure curling in my stomach.

I swallowed. “Yeah… sure. Let’s go.”

Baku gave a satisfied hum, and I felt his grip linger just a second longer than it needed to before he let go.

"I'm so full," Hyun-tak groaned, leaning back with a dramatic sigh like he’d just survived a war.

Baku snorted, stealing one of the last fries off his plate. “You say that now, but I swear your hand’s been hovering over the basket this whole time.”

“Let him breathe,” Jun-tae said, stretching lazily with a grin. “Hyun-tak’s body’s 80% chicken at this point. We should be grateful he hasn’t started clucking.”

Sieun laughed, deep and low, the kind of sound that made people lean in just to hear it again.

Then my phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

I barely glanced at the others before unlocking it. One tap. Then the air left my lungs.

It was me. Staring back at myself through the screen—eyes wide, mascara streaked, lips parted like I’d just been wrecked. Because I had.

My chest tightened. My grip on the phone faltered.

FLASHBACK

“Seongje, what the fuck are you doing—delete that right now! You can’t—”

“Shut up.” His tone was flat. Razor-sharp. “You think you get to fuck around with that little pretty-boy, Baku, and not pay for it?”

He angled the screen toward me to see my own image staring back. Mascara smudged. Mouth open.

“You belong to me now,” he said. Calm. Cruel. “And if I see you near him again, hell, if I even hear his name in your breath, this photo goes to every inbox at your school.”

END FLASHBACK

"Hey."

I flinched.

Jun-tae was frowning at me, leaning across the table. "You good?"

“Yeah,” I said too quickly. “Yeah. Just spam.”

“Spam,” Baku joked, bumping my knee under the table. “Must’ve been your secret admirer confessing in Morse code.”

They laughed again, easy and bright.

I forced a sound that passed as a chuckle and shoved my phone deeper into my pocket.

But I could still feel it. The weight of Seongje’s voice. That picture burned behind my eyes. His threat.

And across the table, Baku smiled at me.

I smiled back.

Even though all I could hear was:

“You belong to me now.”

“Alright guys, I think I’m gonna call it a night. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said, forcing a smile as I stood up.

“So soon?” Jun-tae asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah… sorry for being a buzz kill.”

“Nah, you’re good,” Hyun-tak said, stretching. “I was about to head out too. Want me to walk you home?”

I shook my head quickly. “No, it’s fine. I wouldn’t want to drag you out of your way.”

He hesitated. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” I smiled again, a tight one. “But thank you.”

“Alright... if you say so,” he said, still sounding unsure.

“Night, guys!” I called over my shoulder with a wave as I slipped out the door.

The moment it clicked shut behind me, the smile collapsed.

Gone.

I stood there on the street for a second, the cold air biting against my skin, my breathing suddenly too loud in the quiet night.

And then I started walking—fast. Hands shoved into my pockets, head down, heart hammering.

I was so deep in my thoughts—spiraling about that damn photo, about what Seongje could do with it—that I didn’t notice the car until it was already beside me.

The door swung open, and before I could react, hands grabbed me from behind.

Rough. Forceful.

I barely had time to scream.

“What the—fuck!” I yelled, kicking back, but I was already being shoved inside. The car door slammed shut before I could process what was happening.

Then I heard it.

“Oh, so noisy.”

That voice.

I froze.

Seongje.

He was in the front seat, half-turned in the passenger seat like this was all some casual meet-up. A cigarette dangled from his lips, lit with an audible click of his lighter. He took a long drag, exhaled slowly through his nose, and smirked like a snake watching a mouse twitch.

“Miss me?” he said, voice low and smug, as if this was all some inside joke I was too slow to catch.

I couldn’t speak.

My heart was beating too fast. My skin was ice.

He tapped ash out the cracked window and looked forward. “Let’s hit the bowling alley,” he said, like we were going for fucking ice cream.

The moment he said it, my stomach dropped.

I knew what that meant.

I knew exactly why he was taking me there.

I knew exactly who he was taking me to see.

“No—Seongje—please,” I stammered, panic rising in my throat. “I don’t want to—”

He turned his head just enough to glare at me from the corner of his eye, cigarette perched between his fingers. His smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Did I ask you something, babe?”

Silence.

Complete. Crushing. I couldn’t breathe.

“Oh, right. I didn’t.”

His voice was calm. Too calm. Like he was talking about the weather—not about dragging someone off the street and shoving them into a car.

I pressed back against the door, fingers scrambling for the handle. It wouldn’t open.

Child lock.

He leaned his elbow on the seat, cocked his head, and smiled wider.

“Try it again,” he said. “Please.”

My hand froze.

I didn’t move.

“Smart girl,” he whispered.

And all I could think was:

Oh god!

When we pulled up to the bowling alley, the air in the car thickened.

"Alright, everyone. We're here," Seongje announced, mocking cheer in his voice, like we were on some twisted school trip.

I didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

My body locked up in the back seat, my fingers curled into fists against my thighs, praying he'd forget I was even there.

But of course, Seongje noticed.

He turned, annoyance flaring across his face like a switchblade. “Hey! Get the fuck out.”

His voice cracked like a slap.

That jolted me. I scrambled to open the door, fumbling with the handle like a scared animal. My feet barely hit the ground before his hand clamped around my wrist, tight.

He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to.

He yanked me behind him, dragging me across the lot like he was pulling a dog on a leash. His half-finished cigarette hung from his lips until he spat it out mid-step and ground it into the pavement with his heel—never even breaking stride.

The whole walk, I felt it—eyes on me. They were watching him drag me like property, like a joke.

We slipped through the front entrance and into the hallway down the stairs.

I knew where we were going. I didn’t want to go there.

But Seongje didn’t care what I wanted.

We reached a door—Baekjin’s office.

Seongje kicked it open like it belonged to him and shoved me inside.

The room was dim, smoke still hanging faint in the air. Baekjin sat behind the desk, calm and unmoved, while Dong-ha and Seong-mok stood nearby, mid-conversation.

Everything stopped the second they saw me.

Baekjin’s eyes met mine.

My knees gave out.

I hit the floor hard.

“Didn’t think I could scare her that easy,” Seongje muttered, grinning as he stepped over me, like I was trash in his way.

I looked up.

Baekjin was still staring.

His face was expressionless. Not angry. Not surprised.

Just interested.

“Out,” Baekjin said softly.

Seong-mok and Dong-ha didn’t ask questions. They left quickly, closing the door behind them without a sound.

And then it was just us.

Seongje leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching me like a wolf with a rabbit in it’s mouth.

Baekjin stood slowly, pushing back from the desk like he had all the time in the world. His movements were precise.

He circled around and stopped in front of me.

I couldn’t meet his eyes.

I stared at his shoes instead. Shiny leather.

I couldn’t breathe.

He knelt.

I flinched.

Then his hand came down grabbing my jaw with cold fingers and forcing my face upward.

"Eyes on me," he said quietly.

I met his eyes.

And immediately regretted it.

There was nothing human in them.

He tilted his head, studying me like a piece of meat someone had delivered as a present.

“What do we have here…” he murmured. “You look smaller than I expected.”

Seongje laughed behind him. “She’s fun when she’s scared.”

Baekjin didn’t respond. He just kept looking at me.

Like I was something beneath him.

Like I couldn’t escape even if I tried.

And I knew nothing good was going to happen if I tried anything.

Baekjin let go of my jaw with a slow, almost thoughtful motion, like he was deciding whether I was worth the trouble or not. His hand lingered a second longer than it needed to, and then he patted my cheek.

Soft. Patronizing.

Like I was something to be pitied.

Then he stood, gaze never leaving me, and slid his fingers to his belt. The click of the buckle sent a shock down my spine.

“I want to see how good your mouth really is,” Baekjin said, voice like warm silk hiding something rotten underneath.

He wasn’t smiling.

Not really.

Just watching me—calculating.

Behind him, Seongje let out a twisted little laugh, pacing like he couldn’t sit still.

“She’s got talent,” he said, grinning like a madman. “Been rating it five stars all week.”

He tilted his head toward Baekjin and clicked his tongue. “You’re gonna love it. She tries so hard when she’s scared. Starts off all shaky, but the second you praise her? She melts.”

He leaned closer to my ear from behind.

“She lives for it.”

Baekjin’s eyes darkened with amusement. “Do you?”

His voice was quiet. Too quiet.

The kind of voice that made your skin crawl even though it never rose above a whisper.

“I think you do,” he murmured, letting the belt slide from his waistband. “Because girls like you... the ones who pretend they’re too good for this? You break so beautifully when someone tells you you’re doing a good job.”

His gaze dropped to my lips.

“You want that, don’t you? To be useful. To be told you’re perfect when you’re on your knees. Even when you’re full of shame.”

I stared at the floor, pulse racing in my throat.

“Look at her,” Seongje cackled. “You see that, right? She hates this. But she’s soaked. Probably didn’t even notice.”

He crouched beside me, his grin wide, manic, wrong. “I’d say she’s got a praise kink... but the degradation’s what really makes her squirm.”

Baekjin gave the faintest nod, like he was filing that detail away. Like I was a lab experiment reacting exactly as expected.

“This isn’t about what you want,” he said, leaning down, cold fingers brushing my jaw again. “It’s about what you're made for. And you, sweetheart?”

He bent lower, eyes locked on mine.

“You were made for this.”

I didn't move.

Not until I felt Seongje’s fingers thread into my hair from behind, yanking my head back just enough to make my eyes water.

“Come on,” he whispered against my ear, tone high and sharp like he was barely holding back a laugh. “You know the rules. Good girls don't wait to be told twice.”

“Show him,” he said louder, for Baekjin now. “Show him how well you’ve been trained.”

My hands moved before my brain caught up. My knees ached against the cold floor, and I felt heat crawling up my throat.

Baekjin didn’t stop me.

He just watched.

Like a predator watching a trapped animal make the inevitable choice.

Seongje laughed again, a short, breathless sound like he couldn’t believe how easy it was. “She’s perfect like this, isn’t she? Scared out of her mind, but still trying so hard to be good.”

Baekjin tilted his head, still watching me with that same cold curiosity. “It’s fascinating,” he said. “How humiliation makes you obedient.”

His hand brushed my cheek.

Not gentle.

Just possessive.

“You want to be useful, don’t you?” he asked. “Want to be praised. Even when you’re on your knees, you want someone to tell you you’re doing well.”

Baekjin stood over me, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the floor. His eyes, cold remained fixed on my face. The belt dangled from his fingers, a silent threat and promise.

"Go on then," he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Show me what that clever mouth of yours can really do. And don't leave out a single inch."

Behind me, Seongje laughed—low and dangerous, his voice bouncing off the walls like a warning. He fisted a hand in my hair, yanking my head back to bare the vulnerable column of my throat. Then he crouched behind me, close enough for his breath to graze my skin.

"Fuck, I love watching her choke on it," he crowed, eyes wild with sadistic glee. "Especially since she acts all high and mighty at. Makes it so much sweeter when she gives in."

Baekjin's gaze never left mine as he slowly undid his fly, the sound of the zipper seeming to echo in the charged silence. He pulled out his cock, already hard and heavy in his hand.

"Open," he ordered.

My lips parted on a shaky breath, and he took that as the invitation it was. He pressed the swollen head of his cock against my mouth, smearing the salty precum across my bottom lip.

"That's it," he encouraged, voice low and rough, like gravel crunching under tires. "Take it in. Show me how well you can follow orders."

Seongje chuckled darkly from behind me, a sound that sent chills down my spine. "Fuck, I can't wait to see her gag on it," he said, voice dripping with twisted anticipation. "She's got such a pretty throat. I bet it's going to look even better stretched around your cock."

Baekjin ignored him, his attention solely focused on my face, on the way my lips parted wider as he pressed forward, pushing his thick length past my teeth and onto my tongue.

"Relax your throat," he instructed. It was gentle. Like he wanted me to do well, to please him.

I tried. I swallowed around him

Baekjin groaned, a low, approving sound as he felt my throat constrict around his length. "That's it," he praised, voice rough with pleasure. "You're a natural at this, aren't you? Born to be on your knees, choking on cock."

Seongje let out a high, manic laugh, still gripping my hair tight enough to make my eyes water. "You see that, Baek? She fucking loves it. Pretending to be all reluctant, but her throat's sucking you in like she can't get enough."

Baekjin started to move, thrusting shallowly at first, letting me adjust to the thick intrusion stretching my mouth. His free hand came up to grip my chin, holding me in place as he began to fuck into my face with more purpose.

"Look at me," he demanded, voice tight with concentration. "I want to see your eyes when you choke on my cock."

Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes as he hit the back of my throat, his length pulsing, twitching against my tongue. I gagged around him, throat convulsing, but he didn't let up. If anything, he seemed spurred on by my distress, fucking my face with harder, deeper strokes.

"Fuck, she's gripping me so tight," Baekjin grunted, hips pumping faster. "Her throat's like a fucking vice."

Saliva dripped down my chin as he used my mouth, my body, for his pleasure. Drool pooled on my lap, soaking into the fabric of my skirt as he fucked my face with brutal intensity. Seongje's grip on my hair never loosened, holding me in place as Baekjin took his pleasure.

"Don't forget to breathe through your nose," Seongje mocked, voice breathless with sadistic amusement. "Wouldn't want you passing out before he's done using that talented throat of yours."

Baekjin just snorted, the sound almost drowned out by the wet, obscene noises of him pounding into my mouth. The room filled with the scent of sex and the taste of him, thick and heavy on my tongue.

"Fuck, I'm close," he growled, voice strained. "Gonna fucking cum right down your throat.”

Baekjin slammed his hips forward one last time, burying himself to the hilt in my throat as his cock jerked and pulsed. Thick, hot ropes of cum shot down my throat, choking me, forcing me to swallow.

"Fuck, yes," he groaned, head thrown back in pleasure as he emptied directly into my stomach. "Take it all, you fucking cock slut."

As suddenly as it began, it was over. Baekjin pulled out, his softening cock slipping from my abused lips with a wet pop. A strand of cum connected the swollen head to my mouth before breaking, dangling obscenely on my chin.

He smiled then, a twisted mockery of a genuine smile, more like the baring of teeth than anything else. His eyes glinted with a dark, satisfied light as he looked at the mess he created.

"Beautiful," he purred, voice like honey laced with poison. "You look so perfect like this. You're really something special, aren't you?"

Seongje didn’t give me a second to catch my breath. He had me by the hair, his fingers twisted deep in the strands as he dragged me up, yanking me forward. I stumbled, catching myself on the edge of the metal desk that dominated the back of the office, the cold surface biting into my palms. I barely had time to catch my balance before he spun me around and lifted me onto the edge of the desk. My thighs clenched against the cool steel as he stepped between them.

"I've been waiting for this." he growled.

His voice was low, razor-sharp.

“For what?” I asked.

His hand slid up under my skirt, slow and possessive, until he hooked his fingers in my underwear and pulled them down with deliberate precision. “Waiting for you to fuck up, to give me a reason to put this pussy in its place."”

He unbuckled his belt with practiced ease, his eyes never leaving mine. Then he freed himself, gripping his cock at the base, spitting into his palm before stroking once.

“You ready, baby?” he asked, voice dripping with cruel affection. “already wet like a filthy little whore.”

Seongje didn’t wait for permission.

With one sharp thrust, he buried himself inside me, thick and unrelenting, forcing a gasp from my throat that shattered the silence. The metal desk beneath me groaned with the force, the cold surface biting into my skin as my thighs trembled against his hips.

“Fuck,” he growled against my neck, his breath hot and ragged. “You feel like a fucking dream—tight, wet, and so fucking needy. I bet you were waiting for this, weren’t you? Waiting for me to use you like the little cum dump you are.”

His hands gripped my hips with bruising strength, slamming me back onto him again and again, each thrust harder than the last. My body jolted with the rhythm, spine arching involuntarily as pleasure twisted violently with shame.

“That’s right,” he whispered, dragging his teeth along the shell of my ear. “Take it like a good little slut. This pussy was made to be ruined.”

Behind him, I could hear a slow breath.

Baekjin.

He was lounging on the couch like he owned the room, one hand lazily stroking his cock, eyes glued to where Seongje was splitting me open on the desk.

“Fuck,” Baekjin murmured, his voice thick with lust. “She looks so fucking perfect like that—stuffed full and shaking. You breaking her in good or do you need help?”

Seongje chuckled, low and cruel. “She’s dripping around me like a bitch in heat. She’ll be cock-drunk in a few.”

I whimpered, shame burning across my cheeks as Seongje fucked me harder—deeper—his cock dragging against every spot inside me like he was mapping me from the inside out. His hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back to expose my throat.

“You hear that?” he hissed into my ear. “He’s watching you. Jerking off to the way I use you. You like being put on display, you fucking whore?”

My moan gave me away.

Baekjin groaned from the couch. “Goddamn… she just clenched around you.”

“Of course she did,” Seongje spat, slapping his hips hard against mine. “She loves being degraded. Don’t you, baby? You love when we treat you like nothing more than a wet little hole.”

“Say it,” Baekjin called out, his strokes getting faster. “Say you love being used.”

Seongje wrapped a hand around my throat—not tight, just enough to make me feel the heat of his dominance. “Go on,” he growled. “Let him hear you.”

“I—I love it,” I gasped, my voice cracking. “Love being used.”

Seongje’s groan was primal. He slammed into me so deep I saw stars, his breath breaking against the side of my neck.

“Good fucking girl.” He said as he finished inside of me.

He pulled out with a filthy squelch, a trail of slick clinging to his cock as he stepped back. My body collapsed onto the metal desk—used, aching, shaking. I didn’t even get the chance to exhale before his hand gripped my jaw and turned my head toward the couch.

Baekjin was watching.

His dark eyes never blinked, his cock stroking lazily in one hand. His lips were parted slightly, breath uneven, his face was flushed with arousal.

He stood up slowly and circled the desk, his bare chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. I could hear the slick rhythm of his hand as he walked—slow, teasing strokes down his length as he approached the chair opposite the desk.

He sat.

Spread his legs.

And smiled.

“Come here, baby,” he said softly. Like he was inviting me into his lap for a hug. “Climb up and sit on my cock.”

My throat tightened.

I didn’t move.

He tilted his head, voice still soft. “Don’t get shy on me now, sweetheart. You’ve already let him fuck you like a cheap little toy. You gonna pretend you’ve got any dignity left?”

Behind me, Seongje laughed—cruel, sharp. “She’s too fucked out to pretend anything.”

Baekjin reached down, stroking the tip of his cock with his thumb, smearing precum over the flushed head. His voice dropped lower, breathier.

“Come on, princess,” he cooed. “Be a good girl.”

The sweetness in his tone made the filth hit harder. It felt like being stroked with too much care—like a mouse in someone’s palm.

I slid off the desk.

Stumbled.

I dropped to my knees, breathless, my legs too shaky to hold me after the way Seongje had fucked every ounce of strength out of me.

Baekjin watched me crawl to him, pupils dilated, the corners of his mouth twitching with delight.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “So messy already. All stretched out and leaking all over my floor.”

I reached him—shaking, breathless.

He patted his thigh gently. “Up. That’s it. Come ride me like a good little slut.”

I climbed into his lap.

His cock pressed against my entrance.

But he didn’t thrust up.

Didn’t grip me.

He looked me in the eyes and whispered:

“You do it.”

My lips parted.

“I want you to fuck yourself on me,” he said, so gently it made my stomach flip. “Because you need it, don’t you? Need to be filled again. Need someone to remind you you’re nothing but a greedy little whore.”

I whimpered—but I obeyed.

Slowly, I sank down, inch by inch, until he was fully inside me.

He let out a soft sigh, as if I was the most relaxing thing in the world.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Nice and full again. Just like you’re supposed to be.”

His hands smoothed over my thighs, deceptively gentle as he started guiding my hips.

“Bounce for me, baby,” he said, kissing the corner of my jaw. “Let me feel how tight this filthy little cunt still is.”

And I did.

Because his voice made it impossible not to.

Each movement dragged him deeper, his soft groans filling my ear like praise turned poison.

“You’re doing so well,” he breathed. “So fucking good for us. Just a pretty little thing who likes being passed around and filled up.”

He kissed my throat.

“Such a sweet, obedient little slut.”

My moan cracked in the back of my throat as I trembled in his lap.

Baekjin’s hands tightened on my waist, his breath suddenly harsh, uneven.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned softly, voice still wrapped in silk even as his cock twitched inside me. “You feel too fucking good. This perfect pussy, all warm and stretched and used up—like it’s begging to be bred.”

My body seized at the words. And he felt it.

“Yeah,” he cooed, thrusting up gently once, twice—deeper than before, slower. “You want that, don’t you? Want me to fill you up?”

His voice dipped into something darker.

“My cum inside you. Leaking down your thighs when you walk out of here.”

I gasped, nails digging into his shoulders—but I didn’t stop him.

I couldn’t.

His grip tightened.

“Say thank you,” he whispered against my lips.

“T-Thank you,” I choked.

And then he came.

A deep, guttural moan spilled from his throat as his cock throbbed inside me, thick warmth pulsing into me in slow, possessive waves. He held me down—buried to the hilt—as if he wanted every drop to stay inside.

I barely registered the moment Baekjin pulled out—his cum thick and warm as it spilled out of me, dripping down my thighs and onto the floor. My body gave out, slumping boneless against him, my mind fogged and flickering at the edges.

fin

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smittenmeraki · 21 hours ago

Text

I kind of love the idea of Jean offering his last name before him and Jeremy are even together, like havent even had their frist kiss yet. Maybe they take Jab on a walk and someone recognizes him and calls him Knox, which just puts him in his standoffish mood, coming to terms with the fact that he does genuinely want to change it. Jean obviously picks up on the discomfort and asks him about it.

"I don't want to be a Knox anymore. I won't take the Wilshire name, I refuse to, but keeping Knox just isn't good for me anymore. It makes me feel stuck I guess. Maybe I should search a list of baby names. Or do you think its legal to simply not have a last name?" Jeremy teases the idea of being simply 'Jeremy Alan' while Jean ponders, eyes on Jab who is now chewing on a bush. Tapping Jab on the back to distract him from the potentially harmful plant, he states it as a fact "You can use Moreau." Jeremy stops walking, staring dead ahead with a completely blank face.

"What." It comes out on the third try, barely auditable.

"If you wanted, you could be a Moreau." Jean looks at him and Jeremy can feel heat over his entire body.

"I don't think you understand what that might imply to people." Jeremy tries to keep his voice steady, still avoiding Jeans eyes.

"I wouldn't mind." And Jean smiles, a soft genuine smile, to which Jeremy loses every bit of composure he had. Jab circles at Jeremys feet, wanting to keep moving. Jeremy finally brings himself to look at Jean, his knees nearly giving out at the peaceful look of...longing.

"You would actaully want that?" A small spike of panic rises when Jean full body turns to face him.

"Jeremy Moreau." Jean nods, as if agreeing to the way it sounds on his lips. The heavy feeling of butterflies swarming Jeremys stomach has him feeling light headed.

"Yeah." He manages to whisper out. "Jeremy Moreau. I could get used to that." Still frozen in place on the sidewalk, Jean reachs a hand out, brushing against Jeremys as he takes the leash. Jean doesn't say anything else, but calmly gets them moving again. Jeremy lingers slightly behind, his gaze locked on Jean, on the way he so naturally walks with Jab, on how none of this conversation seems to weigh on him. Jeremy has a thought, rushing to catch up. "In what context?" He forces the words out before he can second guess himself. Jean says nothing, turning to him, his eyes flicking to Jeremys lips for a split second, then meeting Jeremys'. Jean shrugs, focusing back on the walk, not directly answering and yet Jeremy feels like his heart is going to give out. Jeremy goes to take the leash back, needing a distraction, but Jean grabs his hand, not letting go as he puts their hands down by their sides. Jeremy stares at the concrete, red faced and breathing uneven as he laces their fingers together. It repeats in his head the whole walk home, Jeremy Moreau, Jeremy Moreau, Jeremy Moreau.

#aftg #all for the game #jean moreau #jeremy knox #all for the gay #jerejean #the golden raven #tsc #jeremy moreau

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strawberryblue-blog · 2 days ago

Text

Look at me and say it —Pedri González.

Summary: At the Barça victory celebration party, you have an argument with Pedri and it ends in what you both most desired.

Warning: Yes. +18. Smut, Pedri being an idiot, enemies to lovers, cursing, p in v, unprotected sex, sex in public.

Words count: +2.2k.

The music thundered off the walls of the elite disco, the lights burst into fleeting flashes as bodies adorned the place in their expensive and glittering attire.

It was Barcelona's «Copa del Rey» celebration party and as Fermín's best friend and Barça's number one fan, you were a VIP guest tonight and you couldn't be enjoying this more than ever.

It wasn't your first time hanging out with the guys, you had a good relationship with most of the young men and their girlfriends and had become a great group.

Just now as you were dancing and drinking with Maria, laughing while having fun for quite a while already. The guys are some around drinking or chatting, others are dancing with their families or partners and your gaze falls on one of the younger players. He looks at the dance floor with some shyness and barely smiles towards the guys, as if he wants something more.

On impulse, you approach Pau, the shy guy in the group, the one who always looks down when you talk to him and you think for some reason this is a good time to make him feel good. You try to ask him to dance, you take his hand and gently pull him towards the dance floor. He smiles at you and your body vibrates. He's cute and cuddly and really is a nice guy but his shyness and determination won't let him go any further, so you feel the need to help him.

You drag him to the dance floor even though he whines in embarrassment but you know that deep down, he wants this, to have fun. You smile encouragingly and twirl with Pau until you both laugh as you move your bodies. He touches you gently and warmly, as if he's afraid or cautious or maybe because he's a gentleman.

But a hand grabs your arm with sudden force. He holds your wrist tightly and begins to drag you away from the people, dragging you away. Pau looks at you in sorrow when you give him one last look before you are violently pushed away. You try to pull back but you are already too far away and you see no one to excuse you. Your eyes see the dark-haired man walking in front of you as he keeps pulling your arm and you do nothing to stop him. It's as if you have no choice.

He drags you down a dimly lit hallway until the music is drowned out by the large walls and the remoteness of the hallway. You stop him with a thud and manage to break free of his grip as he corners you against the hallway wall. You see him out of the corner of your eye, tall, with that hard expression he always wears when he looks at you.

"Really?" Pedro says, his dark eyes fixed on yours. "Pau?"

Your blood boils. "What the hell do you care? We were having fun"

He leans in, his smile crooked as if he knows something you don't. You shake your head, trying to dodge him to leave but he takes your hand again.

"I know exactly what kind of game this is" he mutters harshly. "And I'm not going to let you use him for your whims"

Anger pushes at you. You take a breath and walk towards him, standing firm, not caring that their noses almost touch. You're enraged and you'll let him know it. Who does he think he is?

"You're an idiot, Pedro. I just wanted him to have fun. It's not all about you, even if you love to believe it"

His laugh is low, almost a growl. His face reflects an air of superiority that makes you shiver. Before you used to think that gaze was catching and deep, that it somehow called to you and enclosed you in its aura. But now you know it's the look of just another idiot.

"Have fun? Sure. It's always a game with you, isn't it? You tease, you smile, and then you play innocent" He spits angrily.

His voice is firm and he seem to speak suspiciously. As if you owe him something. You don't respond. You just raise your head to face him. Many say that to be silent is to be granted. But you won't give him the pleasure of talking nonsense about you, much less lower yourself to his level.

"You look like you're looking for attention" he says mockingly, his gaze sweeping down your body, scanning you slowly and completely.

You roll your eyes, letting out an overwhelming sigh.

"What about you, are you the vigilante of the group now?" you spit, crossing your arms. "You can't live without meddling in what you're not supposed to"

Pedro takes a step towards you, closing the distance all at once, more than you had done before. Your back brushes against the hallway wall and the air between you becomes heavy, suffocating.

His hand doesn't touch you, but rests right next to your head, enclosing you without giving you space. His eyes roam over your face, lingering on your lips for a second that makes you swallow saliva.

"Maybe I can't" he whispers. "Maybe I can't stay out of your business"

His words break but he emphasizes the word 'your', as if he wants to generate something in you and you feel the heartbeat accelerate in your throat. You don't want to give in, you don't want to give him that power. But your body burns with that damn attraction you've been denying for weeks.

"Admit it" he murmurs, his breath brushing against your skin. "You follow me like I follow you. You want my attention but when you don't get it, you look where you shouldn't be looking"

An unhinged laugh escapes your throat as you listen to him. Maybe this could go far but you're not afraid, not at all. In fact, you like to provoke it. You like to tease him. You've done it ever since you've known him, since then you've been a back and forth of intentions.

"You're good at creating stories in your head, Pedro. You should have been a novelist before you were a footballer, you're much better at it, believe me" you pat his shoulder mockingly, his jaw tightens and he clenches it.

"And you're good at being a bitch" he spits angrily, getting defensive.

Ouch. It's supposed to hurt you to hear him say that, yet you smile at him. Honestly, you care more that you hit him in his superior, spoiled child pride, checkmate. His brow furrows in anger, his eyes are darker and his breath hitches as you smile victoriously.

"You are..." he says in his hoarse voice.

"I know, an attention-seeking bitch because I can't live without you" you mock, interrupting him in a fake voice, grimacing.

Pedri swallows saliva, tilting his head to one side, narrowing his eyes. Rage can be seen in the edge of his eyes fighting against yours. The air is suffocating. The distance is overwhelming.

And then, without further ado, his mouth collides with yours. It's a fierce kiss, without sweetness, like a battle neither of us wants to lose. The hand that was on the wall around your head, grabs you by the neck and kisses you wildly, guiding your mouth on his. He is dominant, he marks every move before he makes it, as if he had planned it and maybe he has. But you've dreamed of kissing him too, you can't deny it.

Every time you fought with him, every time you argued or teased each other, you wanted to hit him and kiss him at the same time. Just like now.

His other free hand runs up your legs, caressing the beginning of your thighs slowly. Your air is cut off for a second, your body goes into a general spasm and you can barely move. His mouth never stops mauling yours as your tongues caress each other in the heat. His fingers sneak into your skin and begin to work their way up your thighs, caressing you. A gasp escapes your lips as the heat begins to release from your body.

Your hands refuse to touch him but it is inevitable when his hand moves up to your crotch with a sharp touch, as if following an invisible line down your body. Your fingers move tangling in his hair as he finally touches you, his hand warm on your hip, pulling you closer, as if he needs to feel every line of your body against his.

The kiss is deep and hard, with some hatred but a lot of desire. Repressed desire that was burning your hearts from the moment you met until just now. The sudden desire to feel his hands roaming your body and his lips devouring you as they are doing.

The music dies out in your ears. The world is reduced to this, his mouth, his hands, the desperate heat between you. It is a war and a surrender at the same time.

When you separate, you both breathe hard. Your foreheads lean against each other, your lips swollen, and still you say nothing, because any word would break the spell.

Your hands on his chest push him away as a seductive smile plays on your lips and with a single push, you push him away from your body and turn to walk away.

However, as your body turns his hand takes yours quickly and with enough force, he pushes you over the cold wall.

A startled and surprised gasp comes out of your mouth but is almost mistaken for a gasp of pleasure. His chest sticks to your back and presses you against the wall as your face leans against it. Another gasp comes out of your mouth. But this time it's at the feel of his swollen cock in your ass, rubbing you desperately.

His hands circle around your belly and up your body, to the hollow of your breasts. You swallow saliva as his hands encircle your breasts clothed but bare with the simple silk fabric of your violet dress. Your nipples harden at his touch and he laughs teasingly but you can't respond but moan and give in.

Damn. He's not even really touching you and you feel your crotch moisten. In fact, you're pretty sure you were already aroused before you came down this hallway. Yes. When you saw him on the dance floor dancing and playing with his friends or when he gave you a murderous look from his place while you were chatting with Ferran.

Neither of you say anything, you just stand there, glued like chewing gum, as you touch each other. Your hands wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you and your back rubs against his chest, seeking friction to feel his cock in your ass. His hands keep squeezing and circling your nipples, as you both gasp from the friction.

Curses come out of your mouth in whispers as he keeps touching your desperate body, his lips attaching to your neck and kissing you hard. You don't mind at all being in the middle of the hallway, it's not like so many people walk by. And anyway, this is a restricted area.

So you don't waste time touching each other. His warm hands encircle your waists and help you turn and you look at the image in front of you. His cheeks are red, as if he had run 90 minutes in the game, his skin glows in the darkness of the place and you can barely see his black eyes under the flashes of the neon lights. You bite your lips as his hands delve into your dress, you're thankful it's loose enough for him to pull it up and you're also thankful you put on black lace panties, as if you knew this was going to happen.

With your hands you take the belt of his dress pants and undo it, pulling his pants down just a little, making room for you to stroke your hard member inside his boxers. Pedri gasps, resting his head on your shoulder and biting your neck hard, returning your surprise.

His hands wrap possessively around you and you rise from the floor, wrapping your legs around his waist. Your back slams against the wall and you gasp as you feel your abs rub against your damp panties. His eyes search yours hungrily and furiously, your mouths say nothing to each other but at the same time your gazes speak too much. His hands position themselves on your ass, squeezing you and his fingers run down the side of your panties, caressing your center as you did before, preparing you.

He sighs settling into your center, his cock eagerly jumping out of his pants to have you and who are you kidding, you can't wait to feel him inside you. You close your eyes and bite your lips as he gently slides inside you, in a delicate, smooth motion, opening your hot walls.

"Oh god" you say as it hits you completely.

"No babe, it's not God, it's me" he murmurs in your ear as he begins to penetrate you hard.

Your moans become uncontrollable as the stimulation begins to take over you. His cock hits just the right spot while his hands grip your ass possessively. Your hands take his shoulders trying to hold on, this position is not the most comfortable but it is the hottest and most pleasurable. He's in control, he always was. He lets you know it as he fucks you against the wall again and again, you're even afraid your dress might rip completely. Shit, this is heaven and he's god.

"Look at me, babe" He groans. You can barely keep your eyes open, but you make the effort. "You're my bitch, say it"

His deep voice makes you feel like you're on the verge of orgasm, or maybe because you really are.

He don't have to ask again because you are at his feet. You can't ignore the fact that he's fucking you like no one else has, smashing you against the dirty club wall. That he has your soul as his own and that you want this as much as he does.

"I'm your bitch, Pedri" You say with your gaze on his.

His smile appears on his face like another victory, while he continues to fuck you hard and passionately as if it were just another game. And in that charged silence, you know you've just crossed a line from which there is no turning back.

And you don't regret it at all.

#football imagines #imagine #football one shot #fc barcelona #pedri #pedri x you #pedri imagine #pedri gonzales one shot #pedri gonzalez one shot #pedri gonzalez smut #pedri gonzalez soft #pedri gonzalez #pedri x y/n #pedri x reader

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eufezco · 3 days ago

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hi, can I request an angst+ smut with joel? after breaking up on bad terms, you met him on a random event and you hook up with him? I love your writing 😍 it’s amazing!

maria convinced you to go to the new year's eve party. you wanted to argue, you had a dozen reasons ready, joel and every memory of what happened between you being there was just the biggest one. the idea of being in the same room, breathing the same air, was enough to make your stomach ache. it would be easier to just stay home, to pretend the party wasn’t happening at all.

but the thought of having a night to have fun with the people you cared about softened something inside you. and who knows, maybe the old man wouldn't even show up.

the place was nicely decorated, the lights were soft, warm, tables were pushed to the sides to make room for dancing, and the laughter of everyone filled the space. and what was best, he was nowhere to be found. you walked further inside, the air smelling of wood and something sweet someone must’ve baked specially for the night. you let yourself breathe, maybe you’d worried for nothing.

you poured yourself a drink and joined a group. you’d been on patrol with them a few times. they welcomed you easily, sliding aside to make space, pulling you into whatever story they were laughing about. across the room, someone caught your eye. ellie with dina and jesse. when she caught you looking, you smiled but she didn't smile back, she just pressed her lips into a thin line and looked away.

you tried to rejoin the conversation with your group but all you could think about was the way ellie looked at you. and then in the worst moment possible he appeared, standing just a few feet away, looking tired in that way he always did. his dark eyes scanned the room, until they found you. you rolled your eyes and he clicked his tongue.

you tipped your glass back, finishing your drink in one long swallow. joel looked for tommy. —you told me she wouldn't be here, —tommy just shrugged his shoulder and added a she's part of the community, you can't keep avoiding each other forever. joel huffed.

you avoided each other for the night, successfully. you caught each other looking a couple of times and each time you pretended it didn’t happen.

after midnight, you decided it was time to go home. you said goodbye to tommy and maria and walked out. but then you heard it, the sound of a pair of boots crunching behind you. it was that man, the one who had been bothering you for days. you told tommy about him a couple of times, trying to make it clear how uncomfortable you were, but it hadn’t stopped him.

you kept walking, your pace just a little faster, trying to make it seem like you were just heading home. you heard him calling your name, telling you to stop and talk to him for a second, and by the sound of his voice, he was also drunk as fuck. you breathed as you told yourself it was fine, that you could just get to your place, and then it’d be over. the sounds of the boots on the snow grew louder, closer to you and you turned around.

—i suggest you back off, —joel’s voice dropped even lower. he stood there between you and the man, his posture wide, blocking any path forward. —you sure don’t want to make this a problem, —he added.

you could tell he wasn’t used to being talked to this way.

—just wanna talk to her for a bit, yeah?

when he tried to step forward, his chest met joel’s. joel pinched the bridge of his nose, like he was holding back, controlling something inside him.

—come on, you're not even together anymore, why you care?

he tried one more time and his chest met joel’s again, but this time, he used his weight, pushing against joel’s body, and for a second, joel stumbled back. joel’s eyes burned with something darker. it wasn't just the push, it was the persistent idea behind it. the idea that this man was still trying to force his way past him, still trying to get to you, trying to force you onto something you clearly didn't want. he clenched his jaw so hard you thought his teeth might crack.

joel shoved him off his shoulders with a force that sent him stumbling back. —i said, back off, —joel grunted, his index finger pointing directly at the man. his eyes moved between you and joel, weighing his options. he mumbled something under his breath, something indistinct, before turning to walk off.

you turned around to continue your way to your house but you still heard boots crouching the snow. this time was joel. you exhaled sharply through your nose, feeling the irritation. without stopping, without even looking back, you said, loud, —are you gonna follow me to my house too?

—just making sure you get there in one piece.

you rolled your eyes, even though he couldn't see it. —i don't need your help, joel. i didn't need it then, and i sure as hell don’t need it now.

for a moment, there was only the sound of your boots and his, the snow crunching underfoot. you expected him to say something back, but he didn’t, he just kept walking behind you, silent.

—i said i don't need your fucking help, —you snapped, turning sharply on your heel to face him.

—what makes you think i wanna be out here playin' your fuckin' babysitter instead of inside the party? —he shot back, his voice angry.

—then go. no one asked you to come after me. you never did anyways, —you turned around before he could say anything else as you walked toward your door, digging into your pocket for your keys with shaking fingers from the cold. but you could still feel joel behind you, not too close, just there.

—yeah, well… you never ask for anything. that’s the problem.

you paused, your hand resting on the door, the lock still closed. you clenched your jaw, the familiar bitterness creeping back in and slowly turned your head to look at him. you didn't say anything, just threw him a glance that easily could've killed him. joel stood there, a few feet away, face unreadable, breath visible in the cold air.

you shook your head and unlocked your door. —if i have to ask, ain't fuckin' worthy.

—that what you think? that we weren't worthy?

you opened the door and before you could take a full step inside, joel was already there right behind you, pushing through the threshold like he belonged there. you turned to look at him, standing inside your house. except for the occasional time maria sent him to fix something, joel hadn't been here, in your new home, the one tommy assigned you when you decided to leave the one you shared with joel and ellie.

—yeah, of course i think we weren't fucking worthy. that's why i left.

joel slammed the door behind him angry, making you turn around, eyes wide, disbelief written all over your face. —no, you left because that's what you do, because it's easier that than dealing with anything real. —you were shocked. the audacity of him barging into your home and throwing accusations around.

—you think i left because it was easy? do you even hear yourself right now? —you took a step toward him, fists clenching by your sides, —i left because it was suffocating being around you, because ellie didn't want to know anything about us 'cause of what we did and you decided to push me away too.

—i didn't know how to deal with it, okay?! i didn't know how to fix us! i know i didn't do enough but damn it, i was trying. i was trying and you just walked away like i meant nothing to you.

you froze, staring at him. you could see it now, maybe for the first time. the pain, the regret, the frustration and there was a finally a quiet understatement. the silence between you both grew heavy.

—leave, —you said, low but clear.

joel blinked, —leave? no, —he stated.

your brows furrowed, what did he mean no? —you don't get to say no. this is my home. you don't get to...

joel stepped forward, his hands came up, rough, cupping your face like he still had some right to touch you, like nothing had happened. and he leaned in fast, pressing his lips against yours. your hands connected with his chest to push him and you palm met his face with a clean slap.

his cheek burned where your hand had landed but he didn't touch it, joel just stood there, breathing hard, jaw clenched. your chest rose and fell, every breath sharper with fury. you just looked at each other for a few seconds in silence. you should've screamed, shoved him out the door, slammed it behind him. but instead, goddamn it, you reached for him. grabbing the collar of his jacket, you yanked him down and kissed him.

it wasn't gentle, it wasn't sweet, it was all teeth and breath and desperation. your hands dug into the hair at the back of his head. your back hit the door, breath catching as joel pressed your body with his against the wood behind you. his big hands slid around your waist.

—you're a fucking asshole, —you muttered against his mouth.

—i know, —he whispered back. his fingers started working on the buttons of your coat and you let him.

—this doesn't fix anything, —you stated, also unbuttoning his coat.

—i know, —he repeated.

you pushed the heavy coats from each others shoulders. joel's hands slid beneath your shirt, lifting it with urgency. you raised your arms and let him pull it over your head, your lips connecting again with him immediately after. your fingers moved to his belt, working on the buckle with impatient hands.

joel knelt in front of you with a grunt, the kind that reminded you of the years between you and him. this old man. he looked up at you as he unzipped your jeans and slid them down your hips. you steadied yourself with a hand on his shoulder as he helped you step out of them and then he stood again. your fingers moved to the buttons of his flannel as joel's hand found the base of your neck, not squeezing, just there, his thumb brushing the line of your jaw as he kissed you.

you undid each button one by one and when you pulled it open, your eyes dropped. you bit your lower lip at the sight of his tummy.

joel turned you around, face against the door of your own house, your back meeting his chest. he pulled his cock out of his underwear, giving himself a few pumps before lining himself up against your aching entrance. shit, it's been months since he was this hard it almost hurt. you parted your legs, ready for him, and gasped when joel finally pushed himself inside you.

his forehead came to rest against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. for a moment, neither of you moved. then, he started rocking his hips back and forth and you closed your eyes, moaning a fuck, joel was so thick and it had been a long time. you squeezed your eyes tighter, feeling his pace grow faster, needier. your body pressed against the door, its surface cold against your skin, a reminder of the winter outside. you tried not to moan too loud because the door wasn't that think and though most of the town was at the new year's party you never really knew.

but oh if joel wasn't fucking you good. he had pushed all your hair to one side to move his mouth to your ear. —i know you've missed me. i can feel it. this pussy is made only for me, —you nodded to every word, even though you were too lost in the pleasure to fully comprehend what joel was saying. with each thrust of his hips, he mumbled something dirtier. —those boys you've been seeing... —his blood boiled only at the thought of another man touching you. —they can't fuck you like this, can they? i bet they can't make your pussy clench like this, —he said through gritted teeth.

you shook your head, too gone to even thought about answering. he grunted, satisfied. you pressed your palms flat against the wood of the door, feeling how your legs started to weaken. you felt joel's hand cover yours, finger threading through yours as his other arm went around your body to help you and stay on you feet.

you threw your head back as the orgasm hit you, resting it on joel's shoulders. your free hand went to the one he had around your body and squeezed it. joel came a few seconds later, spurting heavy loads of his cum inside you. you swallowed, trying to ease your throat that felt dry from all the moaning. joel didn't move, still pressed behind you. the hand he had laid over yours against the door, moved with yours and also wrapped around you body, hugging you tightly now with his both hands.

he kissed your cheek, his mouth close to your ear, —you good?

you nodded, —you?

—yeah, i think.

you stayed like that, joel still inside you, arms around you, like he didn't want to let go and maybe he couldn't. the silence was heavy, only your breathing filled the space. maybe tomorrow you'd go back to hating each other, to cold glances and pretending like once you hadn't known every inch of each other, body and soul. but right now, you didn't complain, just let yourself lean back into his chest.

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weirdgenetic-fuckup · 2 days ago

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I had a sucky geography exam today you should totally cheer me up with a subby james fic🌚🌚❤️

-🦀

A/n: I know I'm a few days late to this one but I hope it still helps nonetheless

Also this is the actual fic based (???) on the teaser I made for April Fools Day, as you can tell I like getting two things out of the way at once, I also really liked how this turned out because a lot of people really wanted it and I never felt like writing it but here you have it

Warnings: Smut, James isn't stated to be a virgin but it's kind of implied I think (it was supposed to be in the original but I never added it in this), dacryphilia, mutual masturbation, overstimulation, orgasm denial, oral (f receiving), submissive James, mommy kink, degradation, praise near the end, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

James sat there, naked on the bed in front of you. You straddled his lap, hands working his cock fast, using your spit as lube. His chest was all red, his face flushed as tears rolled down his cheeks, heels desperately kicking into the mattress.

“You’re not cumming yet.” You stated, James didn’t miss the annoyance in your voice, it made more tears come to his eyes. “I’m not letting someone fuck me if they can’t last more than a few seconds.” You’d been at this for almost a half hour, ruining countless highs for him while he just whined and begged for you to let him cum.

“Please-please, mommy… I-I can’t- I can’t take it anymore, please, just lemme cum, been so good!” He said through grunts, teeth gritting together as his hips bucked helplessly into your hand.

"Been good?" You repeated, eyes widening slightly as you scoffed. "Been so good, but you're humping my hand, have been for a while." He whined loudly, throwing his head back and doing his best to force himself in place. "You're a fucking whore is what you are." You pulled your hand off of James and he cried out for you weakly. "Get yourself off if you're so desperate and I'll think about riding you."

James watched you with wide eyes as you got off his lap and pushed yourself to the other end of the bed, watching him try to catch up with what just happened. You were no more clothed than James was, naked with your legs spread so he could see just how wet you were, how much seeing him cry and beg was truly turning you on. It gave him some motivation and he wrapped one big, calloused hand around his girth.

He knew what got him off, he'd been working with his hand for so long and it sucked to keep going when you were right there. He started slow, whimpers leaving him as he was severely overstimulated. He tried moving his hand faster but it just made things worse. You couldn't help but to laugh at his pathetic little noises.

"Little dicks hurts so bad you can't even get yourself off." You teased with a chuckle.

James's breathing was coming out in rough pants. "It-it's not small-small..." He managed to get out.

His eyes followed your hand as it trailed down your body, landing on your cunt as you spread your lips with two fingers, showing him your pretty pussy clenching around nothing. "I'll give you that, at least." You murmured, watching his hand painfully work his length.

You started rubbing yourself, two fingers circling your neglected clit at a good rhythm. James's eyes were locked on the side, his breathing coming out ragged as he watched you touch yourself while his hips bucked up into his hand before jerking away from the pain of overstimulation.

Your fingers moved faster, breathing getting heavier. "Fuck, you really do look so pretty like that." You mused, looking at his glassy eyes and tear streaked cheeks, bruised lips pursed in a pathetic little pout, soft little whimpers leaving him along with the sobs he did his best to choke back. "Just a good boy, all this pain for a little satisfaction?" You asked. "Doing everything mommy tells you to, huh?" He still couldn't take his eyes off your fingers on your glistening cunt. "Perfect little slut."

He couldn't take it anymore and crawled across the bed, grabbing your hips and holding you in place while he buried his face in your cunt, hungrily lapping at your folds while he humped the mattress. You gasped at his little burst but quickly relaxed, liking this much better. "Ah- oh fuck, James! Oh god, oh you know how to do something right." You said between moans as you threw your head back, leaning back on your hands while you let him eat you out.

He looked up at you, desperate eyes locking on yours when you looked back down at him, aching for praise, something to show he was doing it right. "Oh, fuck, you're mommy's good boy, aren't you? Keep-keep doing that- fuck!" You reach for the back of his head, fingers tangling in his lank blond hair and giving it a harsh tug which he just moaned at.

He was whining into your cunt, hips sputtering as he fucked your mattress. His brows knit together as he watched your every expression, loving the way your hips moved against his face as his tongue dipped into you, clit bumping his nose and drawing out little sounds.

"Ah-ah! James! James, you're-you're gonna make me cum!" You moaned out loudly, words echoing off the walls. Your legs twitched, knot quickly building in your gut before snapping as you came.

James lapped up everything, every little drop that squeezed out your pussy landed on his tongue sooner or later. He was getting too desperate, licking a little too low and that's when you yanked his hair back. "Fuck, you're good but not that good." You scolded, glaring down at him.

"M'sorry, m'so sorry, mommy." His brain was fried, the words came out all mumbled and slurred but he couldn't do anything about it now so he just leaned against your thigh, searching for some comfort.

Instead you got off the bed and left him alone. "Can you roll over for me?" You asked, tone a lot softer than it had been as you walked over to your closet. You went to look for clothes so you could change after you showered, glancing back you saw James flopping onto his back, dick limp and dead on his abdomen, a milky white puddle where he'd been rutting into your sheets.

#metallica rp #thrash metal #metal #heavy metal #metallica fic #metallica fanfiction #metallica family #metallica #metallica imagines #metallica smut #metallica x reader #james hetfield #james hetfield x reader #james hetfield imagine #james hetfield fanfiction #james hetfield smut #james hetfield x you

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angvlicsoulll · 3 days ago

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In another life

Warning : A lot of angst, mention of past relationship, mention of miscarriage, and I think that’s all, tell me if I forgot anything!

A/N : English is not my first language, please send requests <3

Hope you enjoy it :)

Masterlist

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄

The music pounded in my ears like a drum. The dim lights, the guest’s voices, all this noise was overwhelming. People danced, laughed, and seemed to be having a really good time. But I felt disconnected, like a stranger in a place that should have been familiar.

I look around. Sara, my best friend is talking to me but it seems like I can’t hear anything, too focused to find what is bothering me.

"Are you okay ?" Sara asked me a little bit worried. I nodded my head yes, a forced smile on my face. "Yeah, there’s just…too much people" I answer, hoping that she doesn’t notice my discomfort. But I know that she saw it, she know me too well.

I look around me for the hundredth time and I spot him.

He was there, talking and laughing with his friends, you recognize Dustin, and Robin. His gaze instinctively turned to me, I’m captivated by his eyes. Steve. My heart jump on my chest, he looked different of course, more mature, a little more tired maybe, his hair look a little bit shorter, but his eyes were the same. We keep looking into each other’s eyes.

I look away. ‘Why does it have to happen right now ?’ , ‘why is he here ?’ , ‘why this party ? A place where I thought I would forget’.

I feel a hand on my shoulder. "Do you want to go out a little bit ? For some fresh air ?" My best friend Sara ask me, noticing my embarrassment. I didn’t even need to answer, she drags me outside.

We go outside together. I could feel his intense gaze, heavy with everything we have lived. If only things have turned differently…

Once outside, I took a deep breath, the fresh air slightly relaxing me. I knew I was going to see him again, I just needed to prepare for that. I keep taking deep breaths, Sara’s next to me.

Then, he appeared, alone. Sara saw him too, she told me that she’s going to give us privacy to talk, she give me a little hug then turn around to go back inside, where the party was.

He walk towards me, his step hesitant, like he needed to take time before facing me. Steve stop in front of me, a few feet away.

"I didn’t expect to see you here…" he started, his voice low, a little hoarse. His tone was calm but I could hear him clearly. "It’s been a long time" he look down for a second then look up at me again.

I took a breath, looking for my words. "Me neither, but I knew we would see each other again one day you know…" I look down at my feet, playing with my fingers nervously.

"How have you been ?" He asked, I’ve heard this question thousands of times since the past 3 years, since that happened. I look up at him again, feeling my heart beating harder. "It’s complicated…" I look into his beautiful brown eyes, trying to guess what he’s feeling at the moment.

He nod then look into my eyes. "What about you, Steve ?" he looks sad, his lips are slightly downturned, his brows in a frown, his eyes empty. "I wish things were different…" he put his hands in his pocket.

There's a heavy silence between us. There was nothing more to say. We had separated too soon, and the past that we once shared together is coming back to haunt us, in this ordinary party.

"I never wanted all this to happen" he whispered, it was like a confess, we look at each other in silence, I try to hold back my tears that threatened to spill.

Then in the silence, Steve did something that I didn't except he would do. He extended his arms for me to hug him. I looked at him confused. "Can we ?..." he asked hesitantly. I looked at him nervously then nod. He walk closer to me and wrap his arms around my shoulders. I hug him back and wrap my arms around his waist and put my head on his chest.

I closed my eyes for an instant, feeling his hand rubbing my back, trying not to think about the past, about what happened. The hug feels right, like we needed this. I can't hold back my tears anymore, I let them flow, staining Steve's shirt. It's like the hug that we needed in a long time. If only we hadn't lost our baby...If only.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #stranger things #angst #steve harrington angst #fiction #my fic #writers on tumblr #writing #send requests please #angvlicsoulll

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writingdevil · 23 hours ago

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hello!!! i LOVEE your writing, i was wondering if you could perchance do something about contrarian ? no pressure ofc ^_^

(Hello ask that disappeared from me and made me question my sanity/j. Anyway, I love Contrarian, but I always feel like I have trouble writing him, so I hope this one is good. I put Cheated here as well because I've seen really cute dynamic ideas with them-enjoy!)

Cheated groaned and shoved his face into a pillow, trying and failing to go to sleep for the last three hours.

His body was just aching too much for him to be able to drift off, and it pissed him off so much, because he knew that he would just be irritable and cranky in the morning, and that was the last thing he wanted.

Some nights the pain was more bearable and Cheated could get some sleep, but tonight was not one of those nights, evidently.

He sighed, pushing himself up and out of the bed. There was no point sitting there and watching the hours pass until the sun rose in the sky again.

He grumbled to himself as he made his way down the hallway and past all the other bedroom full of people that had no problem with falling sleeping, while Cheated was left to suffer with his stupid body and its stupid chronic pain.

He decided that a walk might do him some good. Maybe he'll just overpower the pain with simple physical exhaustion until his body had to sleep. It was worth a shot.

Cheated walked out into the living room drenched in shadows, making his way for the front door, when he suddenly froze at the sound of-sniffling?

He stopped, and turned around, squinting in the darkness, and he heard the sniffling again, this time followed by a whimper as well.

Cheated didn't take his eyes away from the room as he reached over and grabbed the front of a curtain, then yanked it back, allowing moonlight to shine in through the window.

There, sitting curled up on the couch, very clearly crying, was Contrarian.

Contrarian yelped in surprise as the curtains were pulled back, having seemingly been too in his own head to hear Cheated enter in the first place.

Contrarian wrapped his arms and wings around him, head twisting around wildly until they landed on Cheated, and Cheated hated how he immediately forced a smile onto his face.

"Cheated! Almost gave me a heart attack there!" Contrarian whispered with a nervous chuckle, using one hand to desperately comb down his ruffled feathers.

"What are you doing up?" Contrarian asked, still keeping that playful smile on his face, as if everything about this situation was completely normal.

"I couldn't sleep," Cheated quietly replied, much more focused on Contrarian's expressions, and how deflated the other looked, despite the way Contrarian tried to perk himself up.

"Same," Contrarian said with a casual shrug. "Just got too much energy, you know what I mean?" Cheated narrowed his eyes at him, taking a step forward, and didn't miss the nervous glint in the other's eyes as he asked, "Are you sure that's the reason?"

Contrarian tensed up, but just chuckled at the question, even as Cheated began to make his way beside him on the couch.

"I thought you'd be doing something stupid to pass the time," Cheated said, sitting down next to Contrarian, "not just sitting on the couch."

Contrarian kept his gaze forward, only giving Cheated the briefest of side glances as he said, "Yeah, I would, but being given out to by Hero once for waking the house up, is enough for even me to tone it down."

Cheated remembers that night. It sounded like an explosion had gone off inside their home. To this day, Cheated still has no idea what happened.

"So you're just sitting here in the dark? Why not go for a walk?" Contrarian lowered his head, his smile getting smaller and more weak by the minute.

"Just- uh- didn't want to," was Contrarian's answer, and Cheated sighed, leaning back as he took in Contrarian's whole form.

The red-rimmed eyes. The tremble in his body. The heaviness in his voice.

"Connie," Cheated whispered softly, making Contrarian flinch and turn his head the other way. "It's okay to be upset."

"I'm not upset! I'm just tired!" Contrarian argued in a low voice, twisting to glare at him for a second, before realising what he'd done and quickly turning away again.

Cheated wasn't so sure how to go about this, so he just moved a little closer to the other, making sure not to scare him away just yet.

"Connie, I heard you crying when I walked in."

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did."

"No, you didn't!"

Cheated sighed, reaching a hand out to rub Contrarian's back, who flinched at first, but ultimately relaxed against the touch. Cheated kept his movements soft and slow as he said, "You don't have to be embarrassed about being sad. We all have bad days. Shit, I've probably had more bad days than anyone, so if anyone will understand, it's me."

Contrarian was silent for awhile then, shoving his face back into his arms, and Cheated was content to just rub his back, and he could feel the way the other bird's body shook beneath his palm.

After what felt like forever, he heard Contrarian sniffle again.

"It's just-" he started, before sighed and lifting his head, and now Cheated could see the tears rolling down his cheeks more clearly. Cheated didn't like seeing Contrarian cry, he decided.

"It's just that my day had actually been pretty good," Contrarian confessed, resting his chin on his knees. "I hung out with Hero, had a flying match with Stubborn, I even made Cold chuckle." Contrarian smiled fondly at the memories, before it quickly fell into a frown that didn't suit his face.

"But then I fell asleep and- and-" Contrarian suddenly let a shaky breath out, letting a whimper out as he squeezed his eyes shut, as if trying to block out memories.

"-and then I was back in-in-"

In the cabin.

Cheated sighed, knowing exactly what had rattled Contrarian so much.

He didn't say anything or urge Contrarian to continue. He just silently wrapped an arm and a wing around him, and Cheated felt the way Contrarian tensed at the movement, before slumping against Cheated's side.

Cheated hugged Contrarian tight, hoping that he was able to provide some comfort to the other. Cheated has never seen Contrarian upset before, so he's not exactly sure how to make him feel better.

But he's pretty sure not leaving him alone at a time like this was a good start.

"I'm sorry that happened to you," Cheated whispered, and he heard another sniffle, but didn't comment on it. "It always sucks to get a nightmare like that."

"But you know," Cheated muttered quietly, as if afraid of someone overhearing their conversation, "you don't have to be all happy and smiley all the time. It's okay to not be a jester every once in a while."

Contrarian leaned further into his side, and then nervously asked, "But what if the others don't know how to handle a different side of me?"

"I can handle you. All of you."

He heard Contrarian gasp-and Cheated suddenly feared that he had said the wrong thing-but then Contrarian's breath hitched, before he burst into quiet sobbing, twisting to hug Cheated tight, and Cheated's arms were already bringing Contrarian into a secure hug.

Cheated held Contrarian close as he cried, and he only hoped that he was strong enough to make all of Contrarian's dark thoughts go away for good.

#slay the princess #stories #my writing #writing prompt #stp #stp voices #stp contrarian #voice of the contrarian #stp cheated #voice of the cheated

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katethetank · 2 days ago

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Possession of the Heart - Chapter 10

Rating: 18+ minors gtfo Chapter Summary: Steve meets Wayne, and the pup makes its grand entrance CW: Mpreg, pregnant sex, labor, birth, and all the gore that comes with it, breastfeeding Pairing: Alpha!Eddie x Omega!Steve Word Count: 3.7k

Chapter 9<<Masterlist>>Chapter 11

Wayne Munson is a stern and quiet man. That is, at least, what Steve has been led to believe by the stories told to him.

The morning after his arrival in Hawkins, Steve awakes to a knocking at the cabin door. He is sadly alone in Eddie’s bed, but the smell of sausage cooking on the stove makes up for it. He sits up from his comfortable spot on the mattress and blushes when the blanket falls around him and reminds him of his nudity. He had never slept without bedclothes on, much less with another person. The thought of Eddie’s body against his makes him flush with desire, and he forces himself to shake the image from his mind when he hears the murmur of two voices.

He searches for something appropriate to wear, but can’t recall where he unpacked everything the previous evening. He settles on a pair of Eddie’s pants from a matching set of bedclothes, soft cotton with blue and white stripes that he has to tie low on his hips, and a work shirt that just barely covers his belly, but is loose enough on the top that it keeps slipping off his shoulder. He feels quite the fool as he shuffles across the wood floor and the bottoms of the pants completely cover his feet.

But he reminds himself that he’s not in high society anymore, and maybe it’s not so terrible to be seen when one is not completely put together. He’s also pregnant and hungry, and that sausage smells too good to not investigate.

Steve quietly opens the door to a conversation between Eddie and a man with a southern drawl.

“-promise I’ll introduce you when he’s up and has had some breakfast. He just needs his rest, Wayne.”

“Dang it Ed, I got nothing against your boy sleepin’ after travelin' so far. Just wish you weren’t bein’ so squirrely about him. You been telling everyone who’ll listen about this Omega of yours, I think it’s only right I get to put a face to the name.”

“And you will! There’s just…a lot that’s happened and I want to make sure he feels safe here, and that he’s fed and rested before he meets everyone.”

“I ain’t everyone, you little shit.”

“I know that, old man! I meant people like Joyce, and her whole pack.”

“Why would Joyce be comin’ around?”

Steve feels bad for eavesdropping, and that name rings a bell from yesterday, so he steps out of the room and startles both men asking, “She’s the midwife, right?”

Eddie’s eyes land on him and trail down his body, the shirt slipping again off his shoulder, the material stretched over his belly and most likely a peek of the bottom sliver he couldn’t quite cover, the pants tied around his hips, and flopping over his feet. A fond smile spreads on his face.

Wayne, on the other hand, looks stunned and his eyes are locked onto Steve’s midsection. There’s a moment where he feels like the man he’s been told so many stories of will make a face of disapproval or have some stern words to say to him. But then he lights up and barks out a laugh.

“Damnit, Ed! Why didn’t you tell me I’m gonna be a Grandpappy!”

Wayne makes his way over to Steve with open arms and wraps him in a warm embrace. He’s momentarily frozen in place before he returns the affection and breathes in the comforting scent of pine and leather. When Wayne lets go, he holds Steve by the shoulders and looks him over, spotting the bite on his neck.

“Well I’ll be. My boy’s bonded and has a pup on the way. Let me be the first to welcome you to the family, son.”

Steve feels his cheeks flame and gives a demure nod of his head. “Thank you sir. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Munson.”

Wayne looks at Eddie over his shoulder and smirks. “This one’s got manners, huh? You could learn a thing or two.” He turns back to Steve and pats his shoulder before letting go. “No need to be so formal, Steve. Just call me Wayne. You’re family now, so none of that sir stuff either, you hear me?”

“Yes si- I mean, yes Wayne.”

He chuckles and walks back to the kitchen, taking over the frying of sausages as Eddie comes over and cups his face, kissing him slow and sweet. “Good morning, princess. God, you look so precious in my clothes. Did you get enough sleep?”

Princess. He’s never been called that before and finds that he quite likes it. “I did, yes. Waking up alone wasn’t too pleasant, but I think you can make it up to me with some of those sausages.”

Eddie laughs and kisses his forehead. “Coming right up, darling. I’ve got potatoes and fried eggs too.”

Steve hums his approval and takes a seat at the kitchen table. Soon he’s joined by both Munson men and they dig into their breakfast. Steve is so grateful that his appetite is returning, because everything is delicious and a far cry from his toast and soft boiled egg he’s used to having at the manor.

Wayne holds off on any of his questions until Steve’s cleaned his plate and stolen a sausage or two off of Eddie’s.

“So tell me, Steve. How’d you manage to make it out to Hawkins? Ed told me about that Hagan fella. Sounds like he wasn’t too keen on letting you go.”

“Wayne,” Eddie scolds.

“It’s ok, Eddie. You’re right Wayne, he wasn’t. It’s a long story, and still a bit difficult to discuss. But I was able to find some documents that stated some clauses in our marriage contract I wasn’t aware of, and proof that there were grounds to have it dissolved. I owe a debt of gratitude to Dr. Owens and Judge Newby. They were able to help me and had the deputy serve papers to Tommy telling him our marriage was over. They saved me, and got me the money to get a train ticket to Indianapolis. I don’t know what I would have done if…if…” A tear falls down his cheek and Eddie is quick to get out of his chair and take a knee next to Steve, offering comfort by rubbing his back and holding his hand.

Wayne clears his throat and shakes his head. “You’ve said enough, Steve. Sounds to me like you had some guardian angels watching over you. I’m glad you’re here, son. It’s no manor, but the farm is peaceful and quiet. It’ll be a real nice home for you and your pup.”

“Thank you, Wayne. I think so too.”

In the following weeks, Steve gets himself settled in the cabin, making sure his clothes are put away where he can remember, and gets acquainted with some of the residents of Hawkins. He meets the neighbor from down the road, Mrs. Henderson, who reminds him much like Wayne to just call her Claudia. Her son Dustin is a friend of Will’s, and seems to enjoy walking over to the farm regularly to follow Eddie around like a lost puppy while he works, telling him of all the things he’s learning in school about science and mathematics. He’s a brilliant boy, and Steve can’t help but laugh at the look of exasperation on Eddie’s face when he comes running up the road.

Claudia is warm and welcoming, and Steve finds out that she’s a seamstress in town. She promises Steve to show him some tips on expanding the stitches in his clothes to make room for his growing belly when she finds out that he enjoys embroidery and is no stranger to sewing needles.

He also has the pleasure of meeting the midwife Joyce when she found out from her boys of Steve’s condition, and came rushing over to introduce herself and ask him every question under the sun about his pregnancy. She’s energetic and talkative, and Steve takes a liking to her immediately. She’s much like the mother he wishes he had, especially when he finds himself being hugged by her every time they see each other.

Her husband Jim is the sheriff and something in Steve settles knowing that there’s a strong and noble Alpha protecting the town. Jim’s daughter Elenore, or El as she prefers to be called, is part of Will and Dustin’s group of schoolmates and was so excited to meet Steve when she learned of the pup. She politely asked if she could feel his belly, and he obliged. She looked up at him with big eyes and a soft smile and told him, “It’s a boy,” before scampering off with her friends.

He eventually meets the whole gaggle of pups, and is delighted by all of them. Mike is the younger brother of Nancy, the Alpha he learned of from Jonathan on his ride into Hawkins. He’s a bit moody and doesn’t give away much, but clearly has a love for all his friends. Lucas is a sweet and respectful boy, and spends half of his time with his eyes on Maxine, or Max and she insisted Steve call her. She’s as bullheaded as a child can be, and he takes much joy in watching her boss the boys around.

The community here seems rather tightly knit and Steve is amazed by all of it. He was never raised in circles where people knew each other so well and genuinely cared for each other. It’s refreshing to be among people who see him as one of their own. Part of a pack. They keep him busy and entertained, and he finds that the days pass quickly as he makes a new home for himself and his pup.

In early June, after a night where Steve rides Eddie twice, milking his knot for all it’s worth, he wakes up with a dull ache in his lower belly that quickly intensifies. It’s gone as soon as it arrives, but returns again even stronger. From what Joyce told him to look out for, he believes this is the start of his contractions. He shakes Eddie awake and tells him to run to the house and ring Joyce, that he thinks it’s time for their pup to make its grand entrance.

Eddie paces the cabin helplessly as Joyce and Jonathan get everything set up for the birth. All he can do is stay by Steve’s side as the contractions hit and hold his hand through the pain. Steve has long lost any clothing and only wears a simple robe to cover himself. However, as the contractions increase in intensity and frequency, his body flushes and the feel of cloth on his skin is unbearable. Joyce moves him to the bedroom where towels have been laid out on the floor and a cloth is tied to the bedpost. She explained to him prior to going into labor that the best way to ease the baby out is by squatting, and the cloth can be used to pull on and steady himself as he pushes.

Once they’re in the room, Steve tears the offending robe off, and Jonathan tries gently to get Eddie to wait in the sitting room or out on the porch. His Alpha is having none of it, and vowed to Steve when they married at the courthouse that he would stay by his side and protect him at every moment. Childbirth included, evidently. Joyce has never had a husband present for a birth before and forgoes shooing Eddie out in favor of tending to Steve.

As the moment arrives and Steve is guided to squat over the towels, Eddie kneels by his side, holding the hand not gripping onto the cloth. Following Joyce’s instructions, he bares down and pushes as the next several contractions overwhelm him. Naked, exhausted, in pain, and screaming, Steve feels the moment his pup is released into the world, caught by the loving hands of Joyce Byers.

Small cries fill the room and it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. Holding up his pup, whose lungs are working quite well for the first time as they protest their eviction from the dark and warm home it’s known so well, Joyce smiles at Steve with shining eyes. “Congratulations, sweetie. You have a son.”

Steve bursts into tears and collapses to his knees. Eddie is quick to brace him and shuffles behind him to let Steve rest on his lap, careless of any mess that’s surrounding them. He holds Steve close and sobs into his neck, kissing his bare shoulder and telling how proud he is, how much he loves them.

Jonathan is quick to wrap the wiggling pup in a towel and stays close as the placenta is delivered. Eddie takes the honor of cutting the umbilical cord and Joyce expertly ties it off. Then they finally hand the little bundle into Steve’s waiting arms. He’s so tiny, still covered in blood and fluids, wrinkled skin, and eyes that are barely open as he takes in the world around him for the first time. He’s perfect.

“Welcome little one,” Steve chokes out through a sob.

Jonathan helps clean the pup while Joyce and Eddie help Steve into the bed where more towels have been laid out. Eddie takes over his care and gently cleans where he can as Joyce and Jonathan check over the pup to make sure he’s responding well. Once their work is done, he’s unwrapped and laid on Steve’s bare chest. Joyce explained that it helps to regulate the pup’s temperature and bond with Steve’s scent.

Eddie takes his place next to him on the bed, staring in wonder at the miracle they made together. He gently strokes his fingers over the dark curls on the pup’s head, as soft as the downy feathers of a chick, and kisses his crown. “My son…Stevie, you gave me a son.” A tear falls down his cheek as he locks eyes with Steve. “You’re amazing, princess. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Ed.” They kiss and their lips are wet with tears, and it may be the best kiss of Steve’s life. They part when the pup wriggles in his arms and nuzzles his face into Steve’s chest.

“He’s rooting, Steve. That’s a good sign, sweetie. He can smell your milk and he’s trying to find where it is.” Joyce helps to turn the pup in his arms so he’s facing Steve’s body, and assists in getting him to latch correctly. Once he’s settled, she drapes a blanket over them both and lets them enjoy this new bond. It's such a strange sensation, having this brand new little person knowing exactly what to do, as he suckles at Steve’s breast. He’s in absolute awe.

When he’s done nursing, Eddie takes the pup so Joyce can examine Steve and make sure there’s no tearing. She tells him everything looks good and he’ll benefit from staying in bed as much as possible while his body heals. They both watch on in amusement as Jonathan teaches Eddie how to fasten a diaper. It only takes four attempts.

The sight of Eddie holding their pup in his arms, the look of pure love and wonder on his face…it’s enough to make Steve fall in love with him all over again.

Once Steve has had a chance to wash properly in the tub, and is carried back to the bed by his husband, he’s settled into clean linens and the room has been cleared of all the soiled towels and sheets. Joyce and Jonathan make an incredible team, ensuring Steve and the pup are comfortable and well taken care of. She also takes the liberty of preparing some food so Steve can start to regain his strength. It’s nightfall by the time he gets to eat his first meal of the day, and he’s endlessly grateful for the hearty stew and crusty bread.

“So. Now that you three are settled, have you decided on a name?” Joyce takes Steve’s empty bowl and sets it aside, perching herself on the edge of the bed.

Steve looks to his husband. “Whatever you’d like, Alpha. He’s your son.” That was always the expectation in the world he grew up in. Alphas had naming rights to their pups, especially the first one, and even more so if it were a son.

Eddie gives him a funny look and kisses his temple. “He’s your son too, my love. You grew him. You carried him and brought him into this world. It’s only right that you choose his name.”

Steve is taken aback by Eddie’s willingness to hand this duty over to him. His looks down at the sleeping pup in his arms and a whirlwind of masculine names swirl in his head. But he keeps landing on one. “What about Samuel? We could call him Sam.”

Eddie strokes his fingers through the baby’s soft curls and mulls it over. “Sam…Samuel Munson. I quite like that. What made you think of that name, love?”

“It’s in honor of Dr. Owens…Samuel Owens. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him.”

Tears spring up in Eddie’s eyes and he kisses Steve before leaning down and kissing their pup. “It’s perfect. Any ideas for a middle name, darling?”

“Of course. Wayne.”

Eddie laughs quietly and shakes his head. “You’re going to make that old man cry, sweetheart.”

Just then, Jonathan taps his knuckles on the doorframe and pokes his head in. “I hope it’s not a bother. I went up to the house to let Wayne know that the pup is here and everyone is well. He insisted on following me back, but if you’re not ready for visitors I can send him away.”

Steve shakes his head and smiles. “It’s no bother at all, thank you Jonathan. Can you send him in?”

Joyce and Jonathan leave the room to give them a moment alone with Wayne. He looks timid when he steps in, like he’s uncertain if he should be there or not, and his eyes are already watering. “Heard tell there’s a new Munson in here.”

Eddie carefully climbs off the bed and greets Wayne with a tight embrace and firm pat to the back. “There sure is, pops. Come meet your new grandson.” He guides Wayne closer to the bed with a hand on his back and looks every bit the proud father.

“Well I’ll be. He’s got your hair, Ed. Sweet little thing, ain’t he?”

Steve looks up at him and tilts his head. “Do you want to hold him?”

It takes a moment of adjusting, being it’s been over twenty years since Wayne properly held a baby, but they get the pup settled in his arms easily enough not to wake him. Wayne stares down with that same look of wonder Eddie has and takes in all the little features of his new grandson. “So, this little fella have a name yet?”

Eddie looks to Steve with a raised brow and nods at him to answer.

“It’s Sam. Samuel Wayne Munson.”

Wayne’s breath catches and he tries to turn away to hide the tears that well in his eyes, but he can’t with a newborn in his arms. He laughs through a sob and lets the tears fall. “Well shoot. Y’all didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to. You welcomed me into your family and your home, you’ve shown me nothing but kindness. You’ve cared for me more than my own father ever did. I wanted Sam to carry your name.”

Leaning down and kissing Sam’s little button nose, Wayne takes a deep breath. “Well it’s an honor, son. And you did real good with this pup here. He’s beautiful.”

In the weeks that follow, Joyce stays at the house with Wayne so she can check in on Steve and Sam regularly and provide any care that’s needed. Eddie surprises him by taking charge of diaper duty and waiting on Steve hand and foot. The Munson cabin is often occupied by visitors wanting to congratulate the little family on their new member, and to get a chance to hold Sam. All the kids who tend to linger around the farm bothering Eddie take an immediate shine to him, and he’s often passed around from one to the next and fawned over like the little doll he is. And Steve constructs a new nest with scented items from all the people in their pack.

He never had the luxury of so many loving and caring people. It overwhelms him at times, this feeling of family and safety. But he welcomes it with open arms, knowing that he chose this for himself, a life where he belongs to the people around him, just as they belong to him.

Steve found a peace here that he didn’t know was possible. Since he returned to the arms of his Alpha, his heart began to settle and heal. He had gone through so much torment to get where he is, and thinks often of the people who helped him. After writing to Dr. Owens letting him know of his safe arrival in Hawkins and the announcement of little Sam, and thanking him for all he did to save them, he receives a letter in return informing him of what happened in the wake of his departure.

Judge Newby called for the immediate arrest of both Tommy and Billy. Because of his disgraceful actions and attempting to cover up his infertility, the Hagans disinherited their son. They reclaimed the estate and removed him from all future business dealings. It would be hard for him to conduct business from a jail cell anyway.

There is no mention of Steve’s parents.

He finds it’s just as well. All the family he needs is right here, in this cabin, on this farm, in this small town that he is proud to call home. His heart will continue to heal every day, surrounded by people who truly care for him, and held tight in the loving arms of his Alpha.

Chapter 9<<Masterlist>>Chapter 11

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One happy little family!

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