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ozarkthedog · 7 months ago

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𝐟𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐠𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐬

summary: you wear Marcus’s gold laurel crown while he worships you.

pairing: Marcus Acacius x afab wife!reader

warnings: 18+ mdni. smut. body worship. basically, treating you like the Goddess that you are. feels. praising. oral sex (f). fingering. cream pie. i'm sure there are inaccuracies so just don't pay them any mind. reader is abled bodied. no y/n. no beta. w.c: 1.6k

an: so i had this thot the first time i saw Marcus and i haven't been the same since.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐬 ⋅ 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝐀𝐜𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

War is dreadful and barbaric.

Marcus plots the Emperor's commands despite the incessant regret that sours his stomach. His army of men slay soldiers and pillage towns. There is savagery wherever he looks. As he's aged, he's become callous to the bloodshed, no longer the feral ravenous beast he once was.

Finding you warming his bed is a sight bestowed to the Gods, he thinks.

His body aches, muscles sore from weeks on the battlefield, but the moment he sees you, all his pain vanishes. His white and gold armor rests against the foot of the bed; signs of war have no place in this sanctuary.

You beckon Marcus in the silence of his bedroom, lit only by candles that make the room glow an ethereal hue, while your supple body is wrapped in his cream-colored sheets like a bouquet. Your fingers find his as he climbs into the bed, interlocking like vines along a lattice as he lies beside you. He rests his laurel-crowned head on your lap like a child longing for warmth and compassion.

Marcus gazes up at you, his other half in this forsaken world, his goddess.

"You did well today." You praise, smiling down at him, remembering how regal he looked in the golden diadem as he gave another victorious speech to the crowd.

Marcus hums as you run your fingers around the golden leaves and through his curls. He allows himself to rest in your divine embrace, if only for a moment. Your heavenly harmony soothed his worn, remorseful soul.

"I do it all for you, my Lady." the General purrs, tenderly lifting your hand to kiss your knuckles.

Marcus's white tunic shifts as he rises to his knees and plucks the crown from his head. His curls bounce with the movement before he places the crown atop your own.

You timidly raise your hands, feeling the intricate design and the solid gold leaves as the crown sits heavy on your head, but he looks at you with awe.

"I've never seen such beauty in all my days." Marcus compliments like a man staring at the sunrise for the first time.

You were the shining beacon that kept him sane during the days of war, and he would make sure you knew the effect you had on him.

"My Empress," Marcus gently tugs the sheets, dragging the cotton down your body. He relishes your voluptuous form with a soft groan. "It's been too long since I gazed upon you." The skin at the corner of his eyes crinkles as he trails his gaze from the tips of your toes to your gilded halo.

His hands burn. He flexes them at his sides as he hungers to feel your tenderness, warmth, and compassion. "My goddess."

Your face flames as your lashes flutter to the sheets, overwhelmed by Marcus' adoration. If he only knew that you'd happily drown in the wake of his love.

A solid finger lifts your chin to meet his sober stare. "Do me the honor of watching me pour my devotion upon you."

A lithe gasp falls from your lips as he drops his hand and lightly cups your breasts. Worn and calloused, the hands of a known killer, though he's always so gentle with you, your nipples pucker as he skims each bud with delicate circles.

Your lips part with a gasp, chasing his hands when he withdraws. He chuckles at your panting breaths. "Do not fret. There is still much time to ravish you."

His mustache tickles your skin as he leans and sucks your left breast into his mouth. Tounging the pert bud, he brings succulent pleasure to the surface and a soft cry from your lips. He massages the right with expertise, kneading and pinching, knowing exactly how much pressure to apply until he has you squirming.

He strives to leave no spot unclaimed. He's a man of his word; nothing can stop him once he's begun. Stone walls and fleets of men wielding swords and canons cannot stop him.

Soft lips trace under the arc of your breasts before moving to your ribs. A mischievous tongue darts out at the curves, tasting the thin layer of salt on your skin.

"I'd sail across the ocean for you." he professes; the timbre of his voice is as deep as the sea.

A barrage of kisses presses to your waist and the softness that you carry. Marcus's stormy beard lightly grazes your skin as he makes his ascent, leaving pebbles in its wake.

"I'd fight my own army to get to you."

Your fingers card through his locks as he settles between your thighs, making room for himself and pushing your legs apart. He hooks them over his broad shoulders with a devilish smirk. A wry tongue licks a straight line from your pulsing opening to the crux of your mound, making you tug his hair with a wanton mewl.

Marcus stills, like a predator, having just sunk its claws into prey, and presses his scarred, aquiline nose into the soft curls that top your mound. His nostrils flare as your heady scent invades his senses. A low growl rumbles from his chest as he lowers his head, watching you from under his lashes. His once enchanted eyes have now become slivers of torrid black as he latches his teeth into your fleshy mound.

You cry out from the impish bite, hips unconsciously grinding toward your lover as he unlocks his jaw and finally smothers your cunt with his mouth.

Your nerves sizzle from the immoral embrace as his tongue dances over your clit. Nimble fingers trace your sticky petals, dipping in and out of your hole, drawing more blood to fill your already throbbing folds. Your heart beats in time with the pounding of your lower half as Marcus takes his time to worship you.

"Seems my Lady enjoys my touch." He purrs— a slick, shiny grin plastered on his face.

Your body bends, curving sharply like a bow aimed and waiting for the charge. Marcus keeps you primed like the General he strived for ages to become. "Tonight, you will not want," he claims, notching two fingers at the opening of your core.

He holds your fiery stare as he presses into your soaked channel. Your head lolls, and your eyes flutter like butterflies as his thick digits widen your velvet passage.

"Always so good to me." Marcus coos, curiously curling his touch along the hidden ridges deep inside. His cock aches, soaking the sheets with his pearly spend, desperate to be inside you. "Letting me adore and worship as I please."

You want to hold him in your arms and repeat every word he praises back to him in a whisper, but Marcus is a man of his word; tonight is about you and only you.

His shoulders stop your legs from closing as a violent wave of pleasure rolls over you. A wicked laugh rumbles from the man as he suckles your inner thigh. "So close, my Lady. I can feel it." Marcus works his fingers in and out, driving you to the edge, and there's nothing you can do to stop it.

Slick, drenched kisses stain your skin, another sign of his devotion, as your limbs tangle even more with the stoic man. His rough hands easily hold you down as you wriggle in his grip. Your breathing escalates, and blood pulses in your ears as the eager desire to come consumes you.

"Yes, my Love, take what I give you," Marcus begs, thrusting his weeping cock against the bed in time with his fingers, working you higher and higher.

Marcus wraps his lips around your clit, suckling and swirling the tiny bud until you're chanting his name. He tortuously hooks his fingers onto the spot behind your clit, forcing you to swell and explode into a mass of sparkling particles.

The moment your eyes blink open, having floated back down from your glorious high and into the comfort of Marcus' bed, he notches his cock at your creamy opening and thrusts himself to the hilt.

Your jaw drops with a silent cry. It's devastating and empyreal but your body welcomes him home like always.

"Her embrace is so warm and tight. Like how I dreamt on all those lonely nights", Marcus groans, dropping his head to your shoulder.

The image of Marcus touching himself in the darkness of his tent after a day of savagery makes your cunt quiver. The power you hold over this man is not to be taken lightly.

As you become one, your breasts press against his broad, dewy chest as he blankets your smaller frame and pushes you into the mattress with every cant of his hips, driving his length into the deepest depths.

Crescent moons pepper his freckled back as he shows you sights you've never seen, eliciting his name from your lips with a broken, gasping prayer. Your hold tightens around his bouldering shoulders, his thrusts gaining immense strength as the end closes in, shoving you up the bed.

Marcus noses your cheek, drawing your attention from the blissful heaven. "My Love," his hands encompass your face, from chin to temple, so cautiously, like he's holding a newborn. "I've never experienced such wonders than when I am inside you."

He continues to rock you in the safety of his arms and his bed, hurrying his thrusts when your eyes roll and your limbs become stiff. Marcus wants to meet the Gods with you and feel the rapture and glory as they carry you off into the heavens as one.

Marcus growls with bared teeth as he comes; his spine flexes as he spills his seed and fills you to the brim. He doesn't stop thrusting until his come is leaking onto the sheets, and your folds can no longer hold his offering.

You are his temple, and he will worship until the day he falls.

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

#marcus acacius #marcus acacias x reader #marcus acacius x you #gladiator 2 #pedro pascal

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navybrat817 · 2 months ago

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Hit to the Head

Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x Nurse!Female Reader

Summary: Bucky doesn't think he needs medical attention after a hit to the head, but he's glad he met you.

Word Count: Over 3k

Warnings: Meet cute (of sorts?), possible concussion, mention of HYRDA, team dynamic, humor, Bucky's POV, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?) and he's smitten.

A/N: A new AU (as if I need more) inspired by this wonderful nonnie. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411 (and thanks for the assurance on the medical discussion), but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky didn't need medical attention. That was what he told himself, and he said the same thing to the team after he took a hard hit to the head. But he made the mistake of telling Bob that he admittedly felt a little dizzy, who then told Yelena, who then demanded that he go to the hospital. Not only did she demand that he go, they all went and were currently hanging out in the lobby to make sure he was okay.

It was a sweet gesture, if not a wasted one.

He took a hit to the head. So what? He experienced much worse when it came to his head and he was a super soldier for God's sake, so he’d heal just fine. It was a bit cocky to think like that but others needed help more than he did and he wasn't in the mood for anyone to inspect him or ask questions.

At least he wasn't until he saw your face.

“Hi,” you smiled, pulling back the curtain to give him some privacy. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

He opened his mouth to say he hadn't waited long at all, but no sound came out. Thank God he wasn't hooked up to a heart monitor because it would've picked up on the accelerated rate when you smiled at him again. He almost forgot to breathe before his body reminded him that he needed oxygen. No one should look as beautiful as you in medical scrubs or under the harsh hospital lighting. He wondered if he looked okay despite the blood and dirt on his clothes.

Wait, why did it matter what he looked like? He wasn't there to flirt with or impress you. There was no reason for him to sit up straighter or flex his right arm. There sure as hell wasn't any reason to run his fingers through his hair to get the tangles out. It was a hospital visit, not a date.

You wore a name tag, but introduced yourself before taking a look at his chart. “I understand you took a pretty hard hit to the head, Mr. Barnes.”

His voice came out huskier than he anticipated when he said, “Call me Bucky.” Clearing his throat he added, “If you consider a slab of concrete to the head hard, then yeah, but at least my head didn't split open.”

He felt the need to assure you he was fine when concern crossed your beautiful features. “I’m very thankful your head didn't split open, Bucky.” He liked the way you said his name. “But a concrete slab to the head is no joke.”

“You should see the other guy,” he joked, making you giggle. Was he funny or were you only laughing for his benefit? “But seeing the other guy wouldn't matter anyway since you won't let me leave without an exam,” he guessed. Even if he didn't believe he needed one.

It wasn't just his belief that he was fine. Most didn't know it, but every now and then hospitals made him feel like he was back at HYDRA, ready to be strapped to a chair to await his next form of torture or to be experimented on. He wouldn't say he was afraid, but there was discomfort. Enough to make it feel like the walls were slowly closing in.

With a deep breath he thought instead of his wonderful treatment in Wakanda and reminded himself that he was safe, free. It helped the next breath come easier. He then looked at your face where he only saw concern and compassion. You weren't going to hurt him. You were there to help.

“Well, I wouldn't be a very good nurse if I just let you walk out, would I?” you gently smiled.

He managed a smile for you because you weren't just doing your job. You also seemed kind. “I guess not.”

He could get through a simple exam.

Bucky inhaled, detecting a hint of something sweet under the sterile surroundings as you checked his heart beat. It was so subtle that he wouldn't have been able to pick up on it if it weren't for his heightened senses. He almost leaned into you before you pulled away, and thank God for that. Would he have been able to blame it on his head if he did?

“I don't have a concussion,” he blurted out.

“Is that right?” He swore there was amusement in your tone when you shone a light in each of his eyes. “I imagine you're somewhat familiar with them in your line of work.”

“You can say that,” he said. He had his fair share of hits to the head, and helped his teammates get through injuries. “No nausea, no stiffness or imbalance.”

He didn't mention the dizziness since he didn't want to stay longer than he needed to.

“Any issues with your memory?” you asked.

He smirked a little. “That's a bit of a loaded question.”

“Can you tell me what day it is and what hospital you're at?” you asked.

He answered the questions with ease. He also spelled “world” backwards when you asked him to. “See? I’m fine,” he said.

“Your vitals are normal. Pupils reactive. But-”

“Look, I appreciate you checking me out,” he cut you off, keeping the bite out of his voice because he refused to snap at you. “But I don't want to waste your time.”

Bucky hated that he was trying to rush out when you were only trying to help, but he could hear people in the other rooms even as he tried to block it out. They were in pain, struggling. They needed you more than he did.

“And I appreciate that you're thinking of my time, but it’s my job and I wouldn't feel comfortable with you leaving without completing my exam,” you said, taking a closer look at him. It wasn't concern he saw in your eyes now, but understanding. “You're not exactly a fan of hospitals, are you?”

The question took him by surprise. How did you guess? “Not exactly,” he replied, choosing not to elaborate on that and you were thoughtful enough not to push. Just a sympathetic nod, which he appreciated. “But the work you and everyone else in the medical field does? It's incredible. Thank you.”

In his eyes, people like you were the real heroes. You didn't just face battles, you faced pandemics and life changing events. You risked your lives, saw the best and worst of people, and how many thanked you in return? And from the little time he knew you he could sense the love and dedication to your job and patients. He respected that.

“Thank you. And thank you for all that you do, too,” you said sincerely. The compliment had the corner of his lip tugging in a smile. “I know you want to get out of here, but I am here to help. If you're fine, great. If not, please, let me help you.”

He tried to look anywhere but at you. It unnerved him that you got under his skin with so few words and he wondered for a second if that hit to the head did more damage than he thought. “I feel a little dizzy, but that’s all,” he admitted, and he felt better by doing so.

You put a hand over his, little currents of electricity shooting up his arm. “Thank you for telling me,” you whispered, like it was your little secret. “Since you are feeling dizzy, I would like you to stay for observation.”

Bucky sighed. “How long do I have to stay?”

“As long as everything is stable and there are no new or worsening conditions, you’ll likely be discharged within an hour or two,” you replied. He almost argued that he healed from injuries faster thanks to the serum, but that wasn't too long. Better safe than sorry. At least it wasn't a headscan. “Would you like some water? I can get you a snack, too.”

The snack and drink were likely to make sure he could keep them down. “Sure, thanks,” he whispered.

“Sorry that you’re stuck with me checking on you for the next hour or so,” you said.

Bucky’s smile grew before he chuckled. “You won't hear me complaining,” he promised.

Hell, he'd probably fake an injury just to see you again, or at least ask for you if he ever had to come back to the hospital for any reason. He wondered if you were single. You weren't wearing a wedding band or an engagement ring. That didn't necessarily mean-

“I’m single,” you said quickly.

He glanced at you before his eyes went wide. Shit, he said some of that out loud? “Oh, well, that’s��” He wasn't sure what to say. Should he apologize? “Nice.”

He grimaced. Nice? What was wrong with him? Maybe he had a concussion after all.

You looked at him, your smile soft and easy. He either wasn't the first patient to make a fool out of himself like that or you were being nice. “I’ll be back shortly, but buzz if you need anything.”

“I will,” he said, his finger itching to push the remote the second you left him alone.

He leaned back in the bed and tried to make himself comfortable while he slowly looked around. How was it that the room seemed darker, as if you took a bit of the light and warmth with you? He shook his head slowly and carefully. It was a ridiculous thought.

“Observation for an hour or two. You okay sticking around so you can drive me back?” he messaged Yelena.

Yelena messaged back almost immediately. “Everyone is staying. Even Walker.”

He scoffed, but there was a smile behind it. “Not that you need my permission, but you can punch him if he steps out of line.” Yeah, John was still an asshole, but they did work together and he was trying. Some days.

He perked up when you came back with a cup of water and a snack. “You doing okay?” you asked.

“Since you left a minute or two ago, yeah,” he teased.

“Were you a sarcastic guy before the hit to the head, or is this a new side to you?” you teased back.

“Oh, the sass has always been there,” he said, taking a sip once you handed the drink over. “Better to be smart-ass than a dumbass, right?”

Why was he talking so much?

“So much better,” you smiled, going to the small computer to type something in. He tried not to stare as your fingers flew across the keyboard. He could always blame it on his head if you caught him. “I’ll be back in just a bit, but-”

“Buzz if I need you. I know,” he smiled.

“At least there isn't too much sass in your tone,” you joked before you left him alone once again.

If he didn't know any better he would think you were flirting with him, but you were just being a friendly nurse.

He also tried not to eavesdrop when he heard you assisting others, but your voice drew his attention and he hung on your every word. You were professional, yet personal, showing each patient expert care. You lightly scolded an older gentleman who hadn't listened to you, which brought a smile to Bucky’s face when the man apologized and didn't give you any trouble after that. It was a delicate balance to be kind and assertive and you did it well.

“You are something,” he said to himself.

For the next hour or so Bucky didn't say much when you checked on him, but you had his undivided attention, his eyes following you wherever you went. He wanted to find excuses to keep you there and possibly make small talk, but it felt wrong when there were other patients who needed your attention. He caught that sweet scent again whenever you were close to him. Alluring, captivating. He tried to figure out if it was a body wash or just you.

Something he noticed and tried not to was that your heart raced faster when you were near him. Maybe there was a slight chance that you were attracted to him? Beyond being a friendly nurse, maybe the possible attraction was why you kept smiling at him. He wanted to believe so. He wanted to feel your hand on his hand again. The brief touch had him wanting more, which was crazy.

And before Bucky knew it, it was time to leave.

“Vitals still look good. No change in symptoms,” you confirmed after he said the dizziness had subsided and he didn't feel at all nauseous after the snack. “Do you have someone to drive you home?” you asked.

“Yeah, I have some friends here,” he answered. Even if he wasn't dizzy there was no way they'd let him drive after that.

“Try to take it easy for the next 24-48 hours. If there are new symptoms or if the dizziness gets worse, you should return to the hospital,” you told him. “Other than that, I think you're good to go,” you smiled, but it didn't look as bright as before.

Were you disappointed that he had to leave? Bucky was disappointed, but what could he do? He had no excuse to stay. Ironic how he was itching to leave when he got there when he now wanted a reason to stick around.

“Thanks.” He grabbed his jacket after slowly getting to his feet, your gaze lingering on him when he slipped it on.

“Why don't I walk you back to the lobby?” you offered.

“Oh, you don't have to do that,” he said, regretting it since it sounded like a brush off and that wasn't his intention. “But if you wouldn't mind?”

Your face lit up, at least he thought it did. “I don't mind at all.”

Keeping a respectful distance, but not too much of a gap as you walked together, he stole a couple of glances at you. The quiet confidence in which you carried yourself was beautiful and you turned a few heads from nearby patients. He wondered if you noticed.

He smiled to himself when he spotted his teammates sitting in the waiting area. None of them looked particularly comfortable, but they stuck it out for him. It meant a lot.

“That group right there is my ride,” he said, not wanting you to go any closer. If they got the slightest hint that he enjoyed your company for a short time, they’d pounce. “Thanks again.”

“I’m glad I could help," you said, gazing at him. “Havd a good night. And don't forget to take it easy for the next 24-48 hours, hero.”

Hero. The nickname almost made him smile. “You have a good night, too.”

You lingered for just a moment, almost as if you expected him to say something else. When he didn't, you offered him one last smile and scanned your card to get back through the double doors. His shoulders dropped once you were out of sight. He should've said something.

“Hello?” Yelena asked, snapping her fingers in front of his face. “What are you staring at?”

He blinked a few times. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? Oh, I think he was staring at that pretty nurse,” Ava answered.

Bucky shot the entire group a glare, his cheeks hot. “No, I wasn't,” he grumbled. Except he was. He stared at you. And by the amused looks on their faces, they all saw it.

Yelena exchanged a look with Ava before they both smirked. “Yes, you were. Do you like the nurse?”

Bucky’s fists curled. He was not having this conversation after a hit to the head. “Can we leave?”

“It’s okay to stare or have a crush. She’s a beautiful woman.” Alexei clapped a hand on his shoulder. “She would be lucky to date the Winter Soldier.”

A growl escaped before Bucky could stop it. Yes, you were beautiful. Did he need Alexei to point that out? And he didn't have a crush. How could he?

“When was the last time you went on a date?” Ava asked.

Bucky took a deep breath. He really didn't want to talk about this. “Does it matter?” he asked.

“Ask her out! I drive you for your date!” Alexei offered, rubbing his hands together. “I’ll set the mood. You see.”

Yelena pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered, “Dad, stop.”

Bucky shook his head and shut his eyes, wishing he could teleport himself out of there. “Yes, please, stop.”

“Is your head okay?” Bob asked, making him open his eyes. Of course he was concerned with his pain, and Bucky was glad for the change of topic.

“I’m fine,” Bucky assured him. There was nothing for him to worry about. “I just need to take it easy for the next day or so.”

John stretched his back once he stood up. “If you really want to see that nurse again I can make sure you get another hit to the head.”

Bucky’s eyes turned cold. “I’m not a killer anymore, but I may make an exception if you try anything.”

John held his hands up, but still had a smirk on his face before Yelena shot him a look. “A small injury could bring you back here.”

“No one is injuring me to bring me back here,” he announced. Everyone looked disappointed except for Bob. “What, you all want me to get hurt?”

Why did he decide to join this team again?

“No, we just want you to see the nurse again,” Ava said.

“Let’s go,” he ordered.

As the group left, Bucky snuck one last look over his shoulder. You were a good nurse, and you made his night better. A small part of him hoped he made your night a little better, too. And while he certainly didn't want more injuries, a part of him did if only to bring him back to you.

So, what injury is Bucky getting so he can see you again? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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peachsayshi · 3 months ago

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note: I'm like a bottomless pit right now with pirate!sukuna x mermaid!reader, I am so sorry but I need to purge them out before they curse me forever. ps I am so sorry for pending requests. I have a tiny brain that gets distracted way too easily. minors - ageless - blank blogs dni - suggestive

"you found it?" you chirp, your voice echoing around you.

sukuna gives you a sheepish grin, the afternoon light gleaming against his sun kissed skin. he holds out the compass, as he steps down closer towards the pool of glittering water.

"did you know this thing glows the closer I get to you?"

you dip underneath the surface to hide your smile. your fin kicking up from behind you.

sukuna makes it to the edge, and places the compass on a rock. he starts to unbutton his worn shirt. unfastening each one to reveal the chain of necklaces he was wearing underneath. your eyes widen with intrigue, taking in the definition and lines of that physique. mermen aren't built like humans - their shoulders are naturally broader but they are more lithe than human men. you've never seen a creature built like he was made of marble and rock.

sukuna's abdomen flexes, his whole upper torso covered in the dark ink that makes all parts of you pulse. his arms flex as he undoes the buckle of his belt, ripping out the strap from around his waist and you making you gasp lightly at the sound.

you watch as he unzips his pants, your cheeks burning so suddenly and you quickly dip under the water to turn yourself around.

when you rise to the surface you hear a chuckle.

"there's no need to be shy," he hums. "you can look..."

you stay facing the depth of the cave, focusing on the sharp rocks and streaks of light cracking through the surface above. the water is deep enough for you to hide most of your body, but shallow enough where you can still feel the floor bed.

you hear his mass break the surface of the water, and it makes your ears twitch. the water rolls and sways as sukuna sinks into the cool pool, and you release a sigh that you've been holding in. your spine tingles from his presence growing closer and closer.

he swims right pass you.

"are you just going to float there?" he teases, making you smirk.

you flip forward and dive, moving to swim beside him while doing your best to keep your attention to yourself. you both swim around side by side, sparring mindless chatter to one another.

but from his movements you can see this human loves being in the water.

the sun sets, and twilight paints through your surroundings, stroking the cave in shades of dark purples and lilac. you can see he's a little worn from all the swimming (though, you make note how impressive his stamina is).

you swim up towards the shallower side of the water, and perch your back against the very cold surface of the cave.

sukuna heaves, the water at this point resting just underneath his pecs. your eyes fall from his, your lips parting slightly at the way he pants and how his body moves. you clench your hands into two tight balls, your nails digging into the flesh of your palm.

he runs his fingers through his hair, slicking back the pink strands and revealing all the parts of his handsome face. his jaw is strong, the angle accentuating the length of his neck. the tips of his cheekbones and ears are blushed, and the shape of his nose is absolutely regal.

your eyes linger on his mouth.

you think about the kiss.

he hasn't kissed you since that day he offered you fruit. and you don't want to admit how much you've dreamt about that moment again and again. how you thought about the heat of his mouth on yours and the way his hand slid across your body.

"like what you see?" he remarks, snapping your attention toward his burning irises.

your mouth goes a little dry.

he is so handsome, is all you can think, and it makes your head spin.

"your markings," you reply in a quick attempt to change the subject, "you say they were painted on your skin. when?"

sukuna inches closer, leaving only a small gap of space between you both.

"prison"

you furrow your brows. "are you a bad man?"

it's so innocent the way the question rolls off your tongue, but there is no sign of apprehension in your voice. sukuna has earned your trust somehow, and it makes his heart ache for one reason.

humans must have a notoriously cruel reputation to the merpeople if his comment didn't even make you budge. back on land, people feared him with their lives.

but if his small acts of kindness was enough to sway your opinions on him, then he doesn't need to know how far his own kind went to have crossed yours.

his mouth ticks upward, "I don't think I am," he says nonchalantly. "but the law thinks otherwise..."

you don't understand the politics and morality behind his statement, nothing of these things matter to a creature of the sea who is simply governed by nature, and your disinterest stops you from asking further questions.

sukuna moves a little closer, placing both hands behind you and caging you between his body. your eyes sparkle with approval, and goosebumps ripple across his skin when he feels the sensation of your tail wrap around the length of his leg.

you pull yourself even closer, hoisting yourself up and using his body as a frame to hold your weight. one hand falls to his chest, your fingers tracing the tattoos along his body.

"how long did it take?" you ask.

"three and a half years," he replies. "that's how long they had me in the cell..."

"what made them capture you?"

he huffs out a laugh, "I pillaged a naval boat and stole the King's gold. I thought I could get away with it, but their fleet caught up with my ship."

you giggle, amused by the story.

"I managed to escape when my first mate found me. I owe them my life," he explains, though his attention is mostly on your touch lingering over his skin.

he feels himself growing hard, and your body stills. your eyes drop, revealing to him only the fan of your lashes.

your tail loosens from around him, but he quickly moves one arm to wrap behind your lower back.

"it's okay," he soothes. "this...is normal..."

"I know," you stutter out, and it catches sukuna's attention almost immediately.

you've spoken about your old lover to him before, but sukuna knew he was a mer-creature, much like yourself.

"how would you know?" he flirts suspiciously, but you shake off his question.

such a mysterious thing, he ponders, but one he wants to solve and understand more than his life can depend on.

"I like them," you state, changing the subject. "your...markings..."

two hands find his shoulder, and you stare up at this criminal like he's remarkable.

sukuna chooses to be bold then. he's been holding himself back up until this point. but he still logs your reaction into the back of his mind, hoping to revisit the subject at another date.

your hair is cascading over your chest again, and he uses one hand to move half of it over your shoulder. his fingers trace up your ear, towards the slightly pointed tips where his remain smooth and curve. it reminds him of murex shells that he finds scattered across beaches.

"I like your ears," he says softly, "they are cute..."

you smile sweetly, your tail tightening slightly around his leg.

his fingers play with the pearl dangling on your lobe, then glide down your neck and over your choker.

"where did you get this?" he asks.

"I made it," you reply proudly.

"your eyes," he adds on, "they shine like this too..."

"yours are saturated for a human," you point out, soaking in the deep red. "not icy or dark, but warm. like the shell of a crab..."

your comparisons always catch him off guard, but he has to remember that what you perceive of the world versus him is completely different.

silence hangs in the air, the two of you taking the other person in with soft and tender touches.

"what happened to your eye?"

sukuna remains silent. he doesn't want to tell you the horrific tale of how he lost it. doesn't want to admit that the deformity brings him a sense of unease which is why he wears the patch.

"injured myself while sailing," he lies.

he's not willing to share all his secrets either.

your hands probe across his chest, moving a little lower to feel the ridges of his strong stomach. sukuna takes his own actions a step further, with one of his hands gliding down over the mound of your breast. your lower back arches away from his arm. he brushes his knuckles against your pebbled nipple, doing everything in his power not to tug at the bud with his fingers.

but he can feel the heat against the tip of his cock. feel it throb with desperate need.

he'll have to take care of himself later on the ship as he's been doing night after night.

you're trying hard to keep things casual, your mind rattling with what to say next. "I don't have any markings..." you point out, because you like to compare your bodies. try to understand how there are so many parts of you that are so similar, but are yet so different.

his hand cradles your jaw. he lifts you to look at him, his thumb carefully stroking your cheek.

he has to be conscious of how much time has passed now. at some point his crew will start looking for him if he's been gone for too long.

but not before he gets his fix.

"I can give you one," he offers, tilting your face to the side as he brings his lips to your neck.

he finds just the right spot that makes you whimper, his tongue licking over the salt and sweetness of you. he kisses you, and sucks down, using his teeth and lips to make you quiver in his arms. your eyes start to flutter, your head falling back longing for that sinful mouth to be everywhere else.

when he pulls away, he thumbs over the noticeable bruise that appeared. "there you go,"

you bring one hand to the side of your neck, but you're caught off guard when you feel his lips press against yours in a delicate kiss.

"I have to go," he whispers, "I don't want anyone to find me here with you..."

"why do you protect me?" you question.

sukuna cocks his head back, his thumb tracing your perfect bottom lip. "you think I'm willing to share all the treasure I find?" he declares.

he pecks you once more, and you release yourself from his leg.

you both swim back to the edge. you prop up onto one of the rocks, but keep your back turned to him as you give him the privacy to change.

"when will I see you again?" you ask, your gaze to the distance as your heart steadily speeds.

you feel his touch on the back of your neck, and you turn up to find him arching down to meet your lips once more.

"tomorrow," he replies. "there's no need for you to come near my ship. I'll just find you here..."

you nod your head, but hold his jaw pulling him back in for another kiss. "alright. tomorrow then..."

#sukuna x reader #sukuna fluff #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk au

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mephisto-reporting · 6 months ago

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The Engineer's Gravity - Yandere! Caleb

Plot: You're a biomechanical engineer in Caleb's fleet, incharge of repairs of prosthetic parts. What happens when you become the subject of the Colonel's obsession? Based on this request. Pairing: Non MC Mechanic! Reader x Yandere! Caleb Note: This story is with slightly darker themes. I do not want people to come at me saying Caleb isn't like this. Yes, I know. This is a Yandere! version of Caleb. Please keep that in mind. If you want to be a part of my taglist, please let me know in the comments, DMs or inbox. Content warning: Yandere male, implied deaths, mutilation, mentions of blood, possessiveness, gaslighting, voilence

CALEB'S POV

The faint hum of the Farspace fleet’s engines was a constant background noise, a rhythm that Caleb had grown accustomed to. It filled the silence as he walked down the dimly lit corridor toward the engineering bay, his gloved left hand flexing instinctively while his right hand remained eerily still. It wasn’t the arm itself that unnerved him anymore. No, he’d gotten used to the weight, the cool touch of the synthetic skin against his chest when he rested his hand there. What grated on him was the maintenance—the vulnerability of needing someone else to keep it functional.

The first time he’d come to the mechanic for maintenance, he had been indifferent, as he was to most things in his life. The arm was a tool, no more. Just another part of the machine that was Caleb, the Colonel. She was just another cog in the vast machine of the fleet, a means to an end. He barely remembered their first meeting beyond her clinical efficiency and soft voice, far removed from the barked commands of his officers or the detached drone of his superiors. She’d introduced herself simply, a name he didn’t bother committing to memory at the time, and had begun her work without wasting a second.

He’d sat in silence, his arm stretched out on the diagnostic table, his gaze fixed on the wall as she meticulously checked the connections and replaced worn components. She’d asked him questions—about the arm’s performance, any discomfort he’d noticed—but he’d only answered in monosyllables. He wasn’t trying to be rude; he just didn’t see the point.

She had been… different.

No. She spoke with compassion, with a voice that held an undercurrent of something human. When she’d first touched his arm to inspect it, there was no clinical detachment in her touch—no cold professionalism. Instead, there was a softness, a care.

But she kept showing up, week after week, her presence a constant thread in his routine. She didn’t just maintain his arm; she paid attention. She noticed when he was tense and adjusted her tone accordingly. When she worked, she hummed under her breath—a tune he couldn’t place but found oddly soothing. And unlike the professor who saw him as little more than a prototype for their next experiment, she treated him like a person.

Caleb first noticed it when she spoke to the other fleet members. The soldiers and officers with Toring chips embedded in their bodies, their minds augmented for efficiency but stripped of their individuality, were often treated as tools. Most of the crew barely acknowledged them, but she… she smiled at them. Asked about their day. Made sure they were comfortable during her examinations and modifications.

It wasn’t long before Caleb began to see her differently.

Their interactions changed subtly over time. He found himself lingering in the engineering bay longer than necessary, watching her work under the sharp white lights. She was focused, hands deft as they manipulated wires and micro-tools, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“You’re due for recalibration next week, Colonel.” she said during one session, not looking up from the neural interface she was fine-tuning.

“I’ll be here,” he replied. Then, after a pause, “You’re good at this.”

She glanced at him, surprised. “I’ve had a lot of practice.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Not just the work. The way you… treat people. You’re good at that, too.”

Her lips parted slightly, and for a moment, he thought she might dismiss the comment. But instead, she smiled—a soft, genuine thing that made something unfamiliar stir in his chest. “Everyone deserves to be treated like they matter.” she said simply, turning back to his arm.

He didn’t respond, but those words stayed with him long after he left the bay. Caleb watched her closely, taking note of every smile, every laugh, every time she showed kindness to someone else. It made something dark curl in his chest.

The first time Caleb intervened on her behalf, it was almost instinctual.

He was passing through the mess hall when he heard the sharp edge of Lieutenant Varro’s voice. “You know, for all your compassion, you take forever with repairs. Maybe stop coddling the freaks and do your job faster.”

Caleb froze, his blood turning cold. He rounded the corner to see Varro towering over her, his expression smug. She was holding a tray of food, her shoulders tense but her expression calm as she replied, “I do my job thoroughly, Lieutenant. If you’re unhappy with my work, you can file a complaint.”

Caleb’s steps faltered, his jaw tightening. A cold, simmering rage filled him as he turned to look at the man. He wanted to snap his neck right then and there, but he couldn’t let her see this side of him. Not yet.

So he smiled instead. A cold, calculating smile that sent a chill down Varro’s spine.

“Lieutenant,” Caleb said, his tone deceptively calm. “A word.”

Later that night, Varro didn’t return to his quarters. Whispers spread through the fleet about an "incident" during a routine maintenance check. Caleb made sure it looked like an accident—a malfunction in Varro's own bionic enhancements. No one questioned it, least of all her.

She remained blissfully unaware of the lengths Caleb went to for her.

As the days turned into weeks, Caleb’s obsession deepened. He found himself lingering in her workshop longer than necessary, watching her every move. She would smile at him, her eyes warm and kind, and Caleb would feel something he hadn’t felt since he left home for the DAA. A strange, aching need to keep her close.

“You know,” she said one day, her voice light, “you don’t always have to come here for repairs. You can just... visit, if you want.”

Caleb froze, his gaze locking onto hers. Did she know? Had she figured out how much he craved her presence? But her smile was so genuine, so innocent, that he realized she didn’t suspect a thing.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, his voice steady.

He told her about his family one evening, when the workshop was quiet and the rest of the fleet was asleep. He spoke of the girl he had grown up with, her fiery spirit, and the way she had carved a place for herself in Linkon.

“She is strong…” Caleb said, his voice low. “Stronger than anyone I’ve ever known.”

She listened intently, her expression soft. “You must miss her.” she said gently.

Caleb hesitated. Did he? The memory of that girl felt distant, overshadowed by the woman sitting in front of him.

“I don’t think about her much anymore.” he admitted. “There are... other things on my mind.”

He didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t press.

But Caleb couldn’t stop thinking about her. He thought about the way her hands moved over his arm, the way her laughter echoed in the workshop, the way she seemed to light up the cold, sterile corridors of the fleet.

And when he saw other officers talking to her, laughing with her, something in him snapped. He didn’t like the way they looked at her. He didn’t like the idea of anyone else getting close to her.

Caleb began to manipulate things behind the scenes, ensuring that no one spent too much time with her. He assigned officers to tasks that kept them far away from her workshop. He spread subtle rumors, casting doubt on the intentions of anyone who showed too much interest in her.

She never noticed. She never questioned why the workshop seemed quieter, why fewer people came to her for help.

And Caleb made sure it stayed that way. In the privacy of his quarters, Caleb would sit in the dim light, his bionic hand flexing involuntarily as he thought about her. She was his. She didn’t know it yet, but she belonged to him.

And he would do whatever it took to keep her safe. To keep her close.

Even if it meant destroying anyone who stood in his way.

YOUR POV

Lately, you’d noticed something strange.

The crew didn’t treat you the way they used to. At first, it was subtle—an officer averting his gaze when you greeted him in the corridor, a technician hurriedly ending a conversation when you approached. Then it became more blatant. People gave you a wide berth in the cafeteria, whispers died the moment you entered a room, and the occasional sidelong glances you caught were laced with something unspoken.

Fear.

It didn’t make sense. You’d always prided yourself on being approachable, on treating everyone with the respect they deserved. Sure, your work was demanding, and your position as the fleet’s biomechanical engineer meant you often had to be firm when it came to protocols, but you weren’t cruel. Far from it. You treated the crew like people, not machines.

But now? It was as though you carried some invisible aura that screamed danger.

And then there were the... incidents.

The first time, you brushed it off as coincidence. Lieutenant Gregor had been reassigned to another fleet without warning, just days after he’d mocked you during a team briefing. You’d chalked it up to bad luck or his own poor behavior catching up to him.

But then it happened again.

And again.

Officers and fleet members who dismissed your concerns, who snapped at you during high-stress missions, who made snide comments about your methods—they all disappeared. Some were reassigned to far-off posts, others were suddenly discharged for disciplinary reasons, and a few even suffered freak accidents that left them unfit for duty.

The pattern was impossible to ignore.

The only constant in all of this was the Colonel.

Or just Caleb, as he’d asked you to call him when it was just the two of you.

“Colonel” felt too formal, too distant, he’d said one evening as you adjusted the fine motor controls on his bionic hand. He’d leaned back in the chair, watching you with an intensity that made you feel both self-conscious and oddly comforted.

“Just Caleb,” he’d said, his voice softer than usual. “When we’re alone.”

You hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Over the past few months, he’d become a steady presence in your life, someone you found yourself looking forward to seeing.

And lately, he seemed to be around you more than ever.

It wasn’t just during maintenance sessions anymore. He’d stop by your workshop for no apparent reason, lingering by your workbench as you tinkered with your tools. He’d accompany you on supply runs, his tall frame a protective shadow at your side. When the fleet docked at Skyhaven for shore leave, he invited you to join him for coffee or walks through the market district. He’d cook for you and bring you meals to your residence in Skyhaven, unprompted.

It felt... nice.

You couldn’t deny that you enjoyed his company. Caleb had a dry sense of humor that never failed to catch you off guard, and there was a steadiness to him that you found grounding. Still, there was something about him—something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

The way he always seemed to know when someone had upset you. The way his gaze lingered on you just a little too long, as if he were memorizing every detail. The way his voice dropped when he said your name, like it was a secret only he was allowed to keep.

You tried to push the thoughts aside. Caleb was your superior, your colonel. He’d never given you any reason to distrust him. And yet...

One evening, as you recalibrated the sensory feedback in his arm, you decided to bring it up.

“Have you noticed how people have been acting lately?” you asked, keeping your tone light as you adjusted a tiny screw. “It’s like they think I’m some kind of... I don’t know, threat or something.”

You glanced up at Caleb, expecting him to shrug it off with one of his usual dry remarks. Instead, his body tensed, just for a moment. If you hadn’t been watching him so closely, you might have missed it.

“What makes you say that?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

“It’s just a feeling.” you said, turning back to his arm. “People avoiding me, whispering when they think I can’t hear. And then there are the reassignment orders. It’s like anyone who crosses me is... gone.”

There was a long pause.

“It’s nothing.” Caleb said finally. “Tensions have been high since the last Deepspace tunnel exploration. People are on edge.”

You frowned but didn’t press the issue. Maybe he was right. The fleet had been through a lot recently, and stress had a way of making people act strangely. Still, something about his explanation didn’t sit right with you.

“Yeah,” you said, forcing a smile. “That makes sense.”

But it didn’t. Not entirely.

Still, you knew better than to poke your nose where it didn’t belong. You’d learned long ago that asking too many questions could lead to trouble, and trouble was the last thing you needed.

So you stayed in your lane, focusing on your work and pretending not to notice the way Caleb’s presence seemed to permeate every aspect of your life. You told yourself it was fine, that his increased attention was nothing to worry about. After all, you trusted Caleb. He’d always been kind to you, always treated you with respect. And if his gaze lingered a little too long, if his touch was a little too gentle when he handed you a tool, if his smile held a hint of something darker—you ignored it.

Because Caleb was the only person who hadn’t changed. The only person who still treated you like... you.

The ship was silent at night, the hum of its engines a low, constant thrum beneath your feet as you walked through the dimly lit corridors. You’d been restless, the bitter taste of Lieutenant Reese’s words still fresh in your mind. The new Lieutenant had been transferred to Caleb’s fleet three weeks ago and was already causing tensions within the hierarchy of how things ran in the fleet.

“Guess even engineers need quotas filled, huh? They really let anyone take up space on this ship these days,” he had sneered during a systems check earlier. “Bet you’ve only kept this position because someone up high likes the way you look.”

His smirk had twisted into something crueler as he leaned closer. “Face it. You’re not here because you’re good—you’re here because you’re convenient.”

The humiliation burned as much now as it had then. You clenched your fists at the memory, your footsteps echoing softly against the metal floor. You’d worked too hard, poured too much of yourself into your work, to have it dismissed so callously. And yet, his words lingered like a stain, refusing to be scrubbed away.

You were so lost in thought that you almost didn’t hear the sound.

A muffled grunt. A crash.

And then—a sickening crunch.

You froze. Every instinct screamed at you to turn back, to return to your quarters and pretend you hadn’t heard anything. But your curiosity—or perhaps some misplaced sense of duty—compelled you forward. Quietly, you padded down the corridor, following the noise until you reached a maintenance bay.

What you saw made your breath catch in your throat.

Caleb stood over Lieutenant Reese, who was slumped against the wall, blood smeared across his face. The lieutenant’s arm hung at an unnatural angle, his body trembling as he let out a pained whimper. Caleb’s hand was clamped tightly around Reese’s throat, his grip firm but not enough to choke.

Not yet.

“You thought you could get away with it?” Caleb said, his voice low and steady, each word laced with venom. “Insulting her. Undermining her. Disrespecting her.”

Reese tried to stammer out a response, but Caleb’s hand tightened, silencing him.

“You signed your life away the moment you opened your mouth.” Caleb continued, his tone almost conversational, as if he were discussing something as mundane as a supply requisition. “She’s worth more than you’ll ever be. Do you even understand that?”

Reese’s legs kicked weakly, his breaths ragged. Caleb tilted his head, his expression shifting from cold fury to mild disappointment.

“Pathetic!” he muttered, releasing the lieutenant’s throat. Reese crumpled to the ground, wheezing and coughing. Caleb watched him for a moment, then raised his foot and brought it down sharply on Reese’s hand. The sound of bones breaking echoed in the bay.

The lieutenant went limp, his body a lifeless heap. Caleb crouched beside him, his expression one of disdain. “Weak,” he said, his voice barely audible.

And then he turned his head, his gaze locking onto you.

The moment seemed to stretch, the air thick with tension. Caleb’s expression shifted from cold to shocked in the blink of an eye, but his eyes—the ones that had always been so warm towards you—now seemed empty, calculating.

He stood still for a moment, then took a step toward you, his movements slow, deliberate. His voice was a whisper, but it cut through the silence like a blade.

“Don’t be scared,” Caleb said softly, though there was an edge to his words. “I’m just protecting you. I would never let anyone hurt you, never.”

Your mind raced, your pulse quickening. You’d seen this side of Caleb before—quiet, intense, protective—but this? This was something else. He was different.

“Protected me?” you repeated, your heart pounding. “From what?”

“From him,” Caleb replied, gesturing to Reese’s motionless form. “He disrespected you. He questioned your worth. He hurt you.”

His gaze softened, and he took another step closer. “I won’t allow that. Not from him. Not from anyone.”

“This—this isn’t right,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “You can’t just—”

“I can,” Caleb interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind. “And I will. You may not see it now, but this is what’s necessary.”

You stared at him, searching for any hint of remorse, but there was none. Only conviction.

“I’ll always protect you.” he continued, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Even when you think you don’t need it. Even when you don’t understand why.”

You took a step back, your mind racing. But even as you tried to process what you’d seen and heard, a cold realization settled over you.

He closed the distance between you, his steps soft but purposeful, until he was standing right in front of you. His face was close, too close, his breath warm against your skin. “You’ve been through so much,” he continued, his voice soothing, almost affectionate. “You don’t need to worry about the people who don’t understand you. I’ll always protect you.” He repeats. “Even when you don’t ask for it.”

You swallowed; your throat dry. You should have been afraid, terrified even. But you weren’t. A part of you was frozen, caught in the web of his words, of his gaze. He was so sure of himself, so confident, and it was hard not to believe him when he looked at you like that.

His hand reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

“You’re mine,” Caleb whispered, his words not a command but a promise. “No one will ever take you from me. Not ever.”

You should have questioned it, should have asked him what he meant, why he was doing this. But you didn’t. Because in that moment, you realized you couldn’t escape.

Not really.

You knew who Caleb was. You knew what he was capable of. And you knew that the resources of the Farspace Fleet, the professor, and Caleb’s power meant there was no running, no hiding from him. You’d seen what happened to those who crossed you. And now, you didn’t doubt for a second that Caleb was behind it.

But what unnerved you most was the way he looked at you now. Not with malice, not with cruelty, but with something softer. Something almost tender.

“Stay.” he said, his voice coaxing. “I’ll keep you safe. You don’t need to worry about anything else.”

You swallowed hard, your mind screaming at you to run, to fight, to do anything but stand there. And yet... you nodded.

Because deep down, you knew he was right about one thing.

Caleb would never hurt you.

As long as you stayed.

He would never let anyone touch you. He would never let anyone harm you.

You were his, and he was yours.

At least, that’s what you told yourself as you stood there, the weight of his gaze heavy on you.

And as Caleb stepped back, his eyes softening, a reassuring smile tugging at his lips, you knew one thing for certain: you were far past the point of no return.

And maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t so bad.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

Taglist: @cordidy, @natimiles @leighsartworks216 @notisekais @raining4food @fallthelong @pomegranatepip @juliuscaesarsstabbedback @krystallevine @lemurianmaster @nenggie @loverindeepspace @sinsodom

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x1asirene · 2 months ago

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push n' fracture ! — caleb 夏 (f1 rider! au)

— ! lexical count : 5.7k words

— ! affinity : caleb (xia yizhou) x fem!reader

— ! essence : caleb doesn’t do rivals. especially not when they’re plastered across your skin. jealousy twists into something sharp and dangerous as possession takes over, and the line between love and obsession blurs. tangled, messy, and burning with tension—this is about claiming what’s his, no matter the cost.

— ! precautionary : fem!reader, use of ‘y/n’ and feminine pronouns, f1 rider!caleb, sexual content, jealousy, possessiveness, intense physicality, car crash (non-fatal), semi-public setting, slight degradation, overstimulation, roughness, dom!caleb, rivalry-based tension, angry sex

— ! writer’s foreword : just crash-landed home from, brain leaking out my ears, and what did i do? rest? recover? touch grass? no. i opened my laptop and immediately started writing this unholy, feral filthfest. if this fic makes no sense or feels like a fever dream, blame the caffeine overdose and my sleep deprivation. also, send help (and snacks). preferably both.

— ! soundtrack in play : ohmami by chase atlantic

this is my only account. any similarities between this work and others—published or unpublished—are entirely coincidental. i pour a great deal of time, care, and emotion into what i create. it is against both my principles and my moral compass to plagiarize or steal from the work of others. i hold deep respect for the creators who came before me, and i would never knowingly compromise the integrity of their work or mine. furthermore, i do not condone the use of AI in the creation or replication of fanworks. everything here is original and made with clean intentions.

minors dni. this work contains dark, mature themes and is intended for adult audiences only. accounts that do not clearly indicate age in their bio or blog will be blocked without warning. this is for my safety and yours—respect boundaries, respect creators.

you weren’t even wearing his team hoodie.

no red bull colors. no little sticker of his number on your cheek like you wore in monaco. no subtle sign that you were his—not even a glance in his direction. instead, your shirt clung to your skin in the dry desert heat, speckled with sun and cropped enough to bare your ribs when the desert wind blew. that tight mclaren crop tee clung to your skin, the bright tarocco tone screaming his rival’s colors as you stood too close—way too close—to rafayel.

it all started with a laugh. just a laugh. nothing more.

you’d meant nothing by it—just a shared joke with rafayel in the hospitality lounge before qualifying. rafayel leaned toward you with that signature half-grin, elbow on the counter of the lounge, head tilted just enough to make it intimate. charming. relaxed. fucking smug. his hand had brushed your arm when you’d thrown your head back, the soft trill of your giggle carried into the desert air. head tipped back, fingers brushing his arm as you caught his eye and giggled at something he said. a soft, unconscious motion. a friendly exchange. nothing malicious, nothing overt.

you should’ve known. you should’ve seen it in the way caleb’s jaw locked during the driver briefing—helmet held by its chin bar, fzipped up to his collarbone, gloves hooked around two fingers—and for the first time in his career, he wasn’t thinking about tire temps or DRS zones. his jaw flexed tight enough to cramp as he watched rafayel lean in closer, and watched you—his girl, the girl who should never let anyone that close—giggle and tuck your hair behind your ear like it wasn’t a fucking dagger straight through his sternum.

“caleb,” his engineer’s voice crackled through the headset. “you alright, mate? you seem out of it—everythin’ okay?”

he didn’t answer right away. swallowed hard, blinked once. his grip clenched tighter around his helmet, the carbon fiber started to dent. “…peachy.”

he didn’t look at rafayel again. didn’t need to.

he’d already decided.

i’ll deal with you later.

P2 on the grid.

of course it was P2.

rafayel sat in his mclaren like he already had the win wrapped around his fingers, one gloved hand drumming rhythmically on the top of his wheel, the other giving a little mock salute to the crowd through the visor cam. caleb didn’t look at him. his gloves were already tugged tight, helmet sealed, eyes locked forward—but all he saw behind the visor was the orange shirt stuck to your back in the heat with the stupid bold mclaren settled on the fabric right over your heart. his number and name nowhere in sight.

“radio check,” his engineer called.

he didn’t respond.

“caleb? radio check, mate?”

his voice finally came through, taut and venomous. “loud and fucking clear.”

there was a beat of silence. a pause on the line, “you good, man?”

he forced a breath through his nose. “let’s just get this over with,” over the loud hum of the engine, all he could hear was the echoes of your laugh with that shithead rafayel.

“five lights on,” the race director counted. “and it’s lights out and away we go—!” rafayel’s launch was clean—but caleb was rabid. the red bull fired forward like a predator loosed from the leash, barely missing P3 as he launched straight into turn 1 side-by-side with the mclaren. rafayel closed him off with a hard brake, forcing caleb out wide on the dirty part of the track, but caleb didn’t lift — not even when his front wing came within centimeters of rafayel’s rear.

“he’s driving like he wants to fuckin’ kill me,” rafayel spat over comms, his voice crackling. caleb didn’t respond on his own. he was too busy chasing. he spent the first dozen laps locked inside DRS range, not even trying to overtake clean—no, every move was calculated pressure. he drove like he wanted rafayel to feel him breathing down his neck. every brake was late. every corner exit was close enough to make the mclaren engineer panic.

“back off, caleb!” his own team barked at one point. “you’re risking a collision!” but caleb didn’t care. he wanted him to feel cornered. to know that he was prey. because he was. you don’t put your hands on her, he thought darkly as he tailgated out of turn 10, and walk away unscathed.

you were on the pit wall by then—wearing orange, still—and caleb saw you glance up at the timing tower. every time his number lit up right behind rafayel’s, you tensed. he saw it.

good, he thought. watch me. watch what i do to the man who touches what’s mine.

it built slowly—tire wear creeping in, temps rising, his rear losing grip in sector 3. still he stayed out, defying every team call to box. lap 26, rafayel’s tires began to fail. the tires wore down. rear traction faded. lap times dropped. still, he didn’t box. ignored every pit call.

“caleb, come in, we’re losing compound.”

“negative.” his voice came back hoarse. “i’ve got him.”

lap 28, rafayel’s grip was breaking—caleb could see it in the rear twitch. turn fourteen, he closed in so tight the slipstream pulled bits of rubber into his halo. he could’ve tapped the diffuser with his nose cone if he wanted. could’ve unstitched the seams of that mclaren.

“final lap,” came the call. “no funny shit, caleb.” but it was too late for that. he already knew where he’d do it. turn 13. fast. blind. unforgiving. he waited for the right moment, nudged inside, and turned in early.

the contact was immediate.

carbon fiber shredded. both cars locked up in a scream of tire smoke and screeching brakes. rafayel’s mclaren spun violently off the racing line, back end slammed against the barriers, dust pluming into the air. caleb’s red bull skidded into the gravel with a thunderous jolt.

yellow flags. double waved.

red flag. the race was over.

rafayel was out. caleb’s engine stalled in the gravel. static choked the radio. “what the fuck was that?!” screamed race control. he didn’t answer. not until he saw the red flag and the dust settle. not until he saw your face on the edge of the pit wall go white.

he didn’t attend the press conference. didn’t even unbuckle until a marshal banged on his cockpit. his PR rep trailed after him with panicked eyes and a clipboard full of damage control bullet points, but caleb walked right past him, suit still half-zipped, jaw clenched hard enough he could swear his teeth would crush with the pressure. they tried to stop him. camera caught his shoulder. reporters called his name—he didn’t even turn his head.

no interviews. no apologies. no explanations.

let them speculate. let them talk.

he didn’t give a single damn.

because rafayel wouldn’t touch you again.

not after this.

you didn’t speak the entire drive back.

he’d refused the medical tent. ignored the swarm of reporters like they weren’t even there, brushed past the PR team screaming his name with a pace so brutal you’d had to jog to keep up. he didn’t speak. didn’t even look at you. just reached back once—wrist tight, fingers wrapping around yours—and yanked you with him through the mess of the paddock and straight into the red bull private lot.

the silence was suffocating. not tense in the way people usually meant it—not awkward, not uncomfortable. it was a pressure chamber. the kind that made your ears ring and your chest hurt. you could hear every turn signal click, every swipe of the wiper across the windshield, even the way caleb’s grip on the wheel creaked under his gloves. he hadn’t taken them off. still in his fireproofs, zipper low on his chest, collarbone glistening with sweat and dust, jaw locked so tight it looked like it might snap.

the door slammed shut behind you with a vicious bang!—a sound that echoed like a gunshot off the walls—and it made your shoulders jerk involuntarily. he didn’t say a word. didn’t glance back. just stalked across the living room like the adrenaline was still burning through his blood, ripping open the fridge like something in it might anchor him, steady the fury in his bones. but even from where you stood, you could see the tremor in his hand. the way his fingers gripped the handle too hard. the tension still coiled in his shoulders like a spring wound to the point of rupture.

he wasn’t calming down. not even close.

the silence throbbed around you, thick and charged. you shifted on your feet, breath shallow, heart hammering like it wanted to crawl out of your throat.

“caleb—” you started, voice small.

“take it off.” his voice was low, sliced through the air like a whip.

you froze. your mouth parted, a breath catching in your throat. “w-what?”

he closed the fridge slowly. deliberately. then turned.

his eyes were black beneath the heavy shadow of his brow, dark and molten like they hadn’t cooled since the second his front wing clipped rafayel’s tire in that brutal turn. he took a step toward you, slow and controlled, like a predator choosing exactly how to pounce. “the fucking shirt,” he said, voice low and thick with venom. another step. “take it off before i rip it off ‘ya.”

your stomach dropped. you looked down instinctively. that stupid, traitorous mclaren tee still clung to your sweat-damp skin, streaked with grime and faint splashes of champagne from a podium that wasn’t his. that bright orange logo burned against your chest like a brand, and suddenly it felt radioactive.

you didn’t move. you hesitated.

and that was all it took.

two strides, and he was on you.

your back hit the wall so fast the impact knocked the breath from your lungs. the world narrowed—your heartbeat screamed in your ears, adrenaline flared under your skin, and caleb was there, crowding you in, body a furnace, heat rolling off him in waves. his fingers hooked the hem and yanked—not teasing, not even urgent. violent. the fabric caught against your arms, dragged over your skin so fast it left a burn, your hair tangled and pulled, nipples tightening into stiff peaks in the sudden rush of cold air.

caleb tossed the shirt onto the floor like it disgusted him.

“you wanna wear his colors?” he muttered, voice low and curling with fury. his breath hit your collarbone, his words too close, too hot. “wanna sit there in his fucking garage and giggle at his jokes while he stares at your tits through my windshield?”

tone wasn’t raised. he didn’t have to shout. it was the quietness that made it worse—quiet like a threat wrapped in velvet. quiet like a knife at your ribs.

you breath stuttered, your voice coming out weaker than you wanted it to. “c-caleb, i wasn’t—he didn’t—”

“shut it,” he snarled it, close enough for your lips to brush, and the force of it made your breath stutter. his hands came up—hard—gripping your waist, rough fingers digging into your hips like he meant to leave marks, like he wanted to brand you into him, carve out any memory of someone else’s eyes on your skin. caleb dragged you forward, chest to chest, his heart thudding against yours like war drums.

“i don’t want your pathetic excuses,” he ground out. “you don’t wear his name. you don’t smile at him.”

the silence after was suffocating.

his fingers curled tighter around your sides. his mouth hovered near your jaw, breath ragged and warm, chest heaving with every inhale like he couldn’t catch it. rage coiled off him in waves, not loud anymore—just molten, buried deep, a kind of fury that didn’t explode. it consumed. slow. controlled. and it was deadly.

and it was all aimed at the thought of him touching you.

of you letting him.

caleb’s thumb ghosted over your ribs, rough and possessive, tracing the bare skin now exposed in the absence of that damned shirt.

his mouth crushed against yours before you could speak—hot, brutal, punishing. all teeth and fury, like he wanted to bite the silence from your tongue, like tasting you was the only thing anchoring him to the present. he didn’t kiss you so much as devour you, lips bruising, jaw tense with barely-contained rage, breathing you in like you were air after drowning.

his hands were everywhere—frantic, careless. they slid down the arch of your spine, fingers pressing into every vertebra like he meant to memorize the shape of you, then sank lower, palms gripping your ass with bruising force. he hauled you against him so hard your breath fled, pelvis grinding to his through the fireproofs still clinging to his hips. he was already half-hard. already throbbing through the thin barrier between you. the press of it against your lower stomach made your knees tremble.

and then his gaze dropped.

his eyes caught on the denim. the sound that tore from his throat was less a breath and more a mocking scoff.

the low-rise shorts clung to your hips like sin, skin peeking out from under the frayed hem, teasing with that reckless kind of innocence that only made his fury burn hotter. they sat just high enough to hint at modesty but dipped scandalously low, hugging the softness of your waist like a taunt.

slowly, he reached down—deliberate, fingers flexing—and let his hand splay flat over your stomach. his palm was hot against your skin. the heel of it rested against the waistband, and then—without breaking eye contact—he slipped his thumb beneath it. just the barest intrusion. a single brush of rough skin over the delicate swell of your mound, not enough to touch you properly, but enough to make your whole body jerk with a whimper.

“these,” he sneered. “you wore these to the paddock? while he was watching?” his voice dropped into a guttural rasp. you opened your mouth to protest, but his voice cut you off—deeper now, dipped into something feral.

“he was probably fucking imagining what you looked like bent over the pit wall in ‘em,” caleb rasped, and the way he said it—like it sickened him, like it possessed him—made your stomach twist.

his eyes darkened—and in one swift, brutal motion, he popped the button on the shorts with a flick of his thumb. the metallic click echoed in the room like a shot. then his fingers gripped the zipper and yanked it down so roughly you gasped, fabric jerking against your hips before it slid down to your thighs, pooling at your feet in a useless, tangled heap.

he didn’t stop. his hand moved fast, unforgiving—already pulling your panties to the side before you had time to react. the elastic scraped the crease of your thigh, baring you to the chill of the room and the heat of him, and still, he didn’t look away. didn’t blink. just stared down at your cunt like it had betrayed him, like it belonged to him and had wandered somewhere it shouldn’t have.

“c-caleb,” you stammered, your voice catching, high and desperate, “you’re being—,” but the words dissolved on your tongue.

because his fingers were there, already brushing against slick heat, already groaning under his breath like it physically hurt him that you were wet for this—wet for him, even now, even after everything.

you could hardly breathe.

your head lolled against the wall as his fingers fucked you open—deep, firm, unrelenting. You were soaked, the wet sounds of it obscene in the charged silence, broken only by the staggered hitch of your breath and the rough rasp of his. your thighs were trembling, barely holding you upright, and caleb didn’t let up. he wouldn’t let up.

his voice curled against your ear, low and smug and absolutely feral. “you’re not even trying to stop me.” your mouth opened but nothing came out—just a soft, cracked moan. “yeah,” he hissed. “that’s what i thought.”

he drove his fingers in deeper, curling them just right—pulling a strangled sound from your throat. your hips jerked helplessly, and he groaned as your pussy clenched, dripping all over his knuckles.

“f-fuck,” you gasped, arms scrambling for purchase across his chest, clutching at the fabric of his fireproofs like he was your anchor. “c-caleb, i—nnh, please—”

you whimpered, broken and breathless, voice catching on each gasp. “i-i didn’t mean—nnh ahhh—d-didn’t mean to—”

“you wore that fucking shirt. wore his team, his number, his name. you meant it.” his teeth dragged over your neck, biting down hard enough to make your legs quake. “don’t act like you don’t like this. like you don’t love being fucked dumb right after i almost took him off the track.”

you sobbed out a noise that barely resembled his name—“p-please, i—oh, god—”

his fingers hit that spot again, and your body jolted, hips rocking into his palm like you couldn’t help it. the muscles in your stomach tensed, fluttering around the edge of your climax. he felt it, saw it, and laughed—low and delighted.

“oh, baby… gonna cum, aren’t ya’?” he mocked, breath hot against your jaw, eyes glittering. “you’re so easy. just a couple fingers and you’re already soaking me. dripping like a goddamn whore.”

“p-please—ah—please, i can’t—” your words broke apart, swallowed by the sounds of your own whimpers as your orgasm built sharp and unbearable. “i-i c-can’t hold it, caleb, i—fuck—”

“then don’t.” his hand gripped your jaw, forcing your eyes to his. “let me hear how mine you are.” and you shattered. a sobbing, shaking mess.y our body locked up, thighs clenching around his wrist as you came with a choked cry—wet and slick and pulsing so hard around his fingers you felt your knees threaten to give out. caleb held you upright through it, murmuring dark praise between your panting breaths.

“that’s it. that’s my girl.” he pressed a kiss to your temple—mockingly tender, wicked and warm. “so good when you’re ruined.” his fingers slipped free with a wet noise, glistening in the low light. he brought them to your lips, eyes still sharp and burning. “suck f’ me, will ya’?”

you blinked, dazed, mind swimming in the haze of pleasure and want. slowly, obediently, you parted your lips, tongue flicking out to wet them just before his fingers slid into your mouth. the taste was warm, messy—you, tangled with him—and the sound that escaped you was soft, shameless, utterly desperate.

caleb’s groan rumbled low in his throat, eyes darkening as he watched every motion, every subtle shift of your tongue curling around his fingers. “god, you look so pretty like this,” he rasped, dragging those soaked fingers out with a sharp pop that echoed in the quiet room. “dumb little mouth wrapped around what’s mine.”

you whimpered, the sound raw and fragile, knees trembling as they brushed his in the cramped space. your body sagged into his, burning and unsteady, craving his touch like air. then that smirk—slow, sharp, slicing through the tension like a knife dragged through silk. his voice dropped even lower, slow and deliberate, thick with dark amusement. “think we’re done?”

your breath hitched, caught in your throat as his eyes bore into yours, unblinking and heavy with promise. the room seemed to pulse around you, heat swelling in your skin, every nerve ending screaming alive. you tried to shake your head, but your voice was barely a whisper, broken and trembling: “n-no—please…”

his fingers curled in a slow, possessive grip against your jaw, tilting your face up so your lips hovered just inches from his. “behave,” he murmured, voice rough like gravel. “because i’m nowhere near finished with you.”

his mouth claimed yours again, teeth grazing your lower lip as his hands gripped your hips, holding you so tightly it was almost painful—but you didn’t care. you were already melting into him, breath shallow and fast, heart hammering against your ribs like a warning bell.

without hesitation, he ripped open his fireproofs, pulling out his thick, heavy cock, already leaking thick beads of precum, flushed red from holding back for too long. he shifted, pressing the full length of himself inside you, inch by agonizing inch, his body a hot, solid weight that filled every space. your breath hitched sharply, a stuttered moan slipping free as your walls stretched and clenched around him, tight and trembling.

your body jolted—smack!—as he bottomed out in one punishing motion. he didn’t stop to let you adjust. he just started fucking you. hard.

“is this what you needed?” he snarled, teeth at your throat again, biting down—hard. “some real fucking? not the attention of some weak little paddock rat.”

you sobbed, arms flying to his shoulders, clawing for purchase. he drove into you over and over, hips snapping up—wet noises echoing through the room. your slick ran down your thighs, onto his, then pooling onto the floor.

“fuck, you’re mine,” he growled into your hair, voice thick with need and possession. His hips slammed harder, faster, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. “say it. say it or i’ll fill you up and walk out without another word.”

“i—i’m yours!” you sobbed, legs trembling. “caleb, please—i’m yours, i’m yours! a-always yours!” another slap to your ass—sharp, loud. then his hand gripped your hair, yanked your head back, and his teeth sank into your shoulder—deep, a bite so hard it made stars dance behind your eyes.

“you wear my number. my colors. my fucking name on your back. not that mclaren shit or anything else. never fucking again.” caleb’s hips slammed harder, faster, each thrust a brutal claim that sent your body shuddering beneath him. his teeth grazed your collarbone, sinking in deeply with a savage bite that left a bruised crescent burning hot against your skin. You gasped, head thrown back, breath shattering into sharp sobs that mixed pain and pleasure so fiercely your whole body trembled uncontrollably.

“fucking feel that, yeah?” he growled against your skin, voice thick with venomous hunger. your hands ripped down his sides, nails clawing cruel lines along his ribs as caleb dragged his teeth lower—trail of sharp bites blooming bruises along the curve of your tits, marking you with brutal possessiveness. “you think that idiot could ever fuck you like this? make you cry out, beg, lose your goddamn mind? no chance.”

you whimpered, caught between sobs and desperate moans, hips jerking instinctively with every ruthless stroke. “n-no—! only you, caleb! please—fuck, please mmm—!” your voice broke, breath hitching in a ragged stutter as your muscles clenched around him tighter, convulsing in waves of scorching overstimulation that stole your ability to think straight.

“bark f’me, sweet girl,” his teeth sank deep into your hip, biting down hard enough to draw a gasp, pleasure twisting with pain in a raw knot of sensation that made you cry out and claw at his back. “say you’re mine. my filthy little wreck, mine.”

“’m yours! yours, caleb!” you sobbed, body trembling, tears stinging your eyes as relentless orgasms crashed over you, folding you in a violent, layered tangle of ecstasy. your voice came out breathless and shattered, “please, don’t stop! i—i’m gonna—f-fuck, i’m gonna—please, i’m c-cummin’!”

“tell me,” he snarled against your neck, voice low, dark, teeth grazing skin like a threat, “tell me who you’re cummin’ for. me or that pretty little fucker?”

his hips snapped up cruelly, deep and fast, dragging a sob from your lips. his hand stayed locked tight around your throat—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who owned every gasp, every tremble.

“you!” you cried out, voice cracking on the edge of desperation. your nails dug into the fireproofs still half-wrapped around his waist. “you, sir—only you, ah, fuckkk—!”

he grinned, vicious and possessive, like your surrender was his prize. “yeah?” he hissed, slamming into you again. “say it louder. make sure even that bastard hears it next race.” caleb didn’t slow. if anything, he fucked you harder, rough and relentless, like he was trying to erase any trace of rafayel from your body—if there’d ever been any. one hand gripped your hip bruisingly tight, the other still curved under your jaw, forcing your teary eyes to hold his.

“damn right,” he growled, sweat-slick and flushed, but no less in control. “say my name. not ‘sir.’ not ‘please.’ mine.”

your whole body jerked with each thrust, barely able to keep upright, tears streaking your cheeks. “caleb—! caleb, i’m—i’m yours, i swear—”

“louder,” he barked, voice edged in a snarl. “c’mon, sweetheart. want you hoarse for me. want that voice ruined so you can’t say shit to anyone else.”

you shattered then—crying his name, choking on your moan as your body seized, shaking, breaking apart in his hands like it always did. and he didn’t let up. not when you came, not when your body tried to squirm away from the overstimulation.

“too much?” he murmured mockingly, breath hot against your temple. “too bad. i haven’t had enough yet. not till i’m sure he knows you walk funny tomorrow ‘cause of me.”

he crushed his mouth to yours, swallowing your desperate sounds with a hungry roar, his fingers digging deep into your hips as he drove you harder over the edge. your walls fluttered around him, clenching and pulsing uncontrollably as you teetered on the brink—then tipped.

your body convulsed violently, a flood of sensation so fierce it wracked every nerve ending. you cried out, a broken, trembling sound filled with pure, overwhelming need. his thrusts became more savage, relentless, “mine,” he rasped between clenched teeth, voice thick and harsh as he chased his own climax, “only mine. gonna fill you up so fucking deep you’ll be leaking my cum for days.”

the force of him stole your breath again as another orgasm ripped through you, your body arching wildly. you trembled, clinging to him, sobbing his name like a prayer. he chased you over the edge, one hand tangled possessively in your hair, the other bruising your waist as he came with a shuddering, broken groan—low, guttural, right against your skin—his teeth sinking into your neck as he spilled hot and thick inside you, every pulse of him a claim you’d never shake.

he stayed still a moment, breathing hard, chest rising and falling, panting like he’d survived a battle. then—slowly—he pulled out. you whimpered at the sudden empty ache, your slick and his own, trailing down your inner thighs.

your body was still quaking when caleb carried you, trembling and ruined, to the couch—his grip bruising, but reverent. his jaw was tight, his breath still shallow from the exertion, and the whole room still reeked of sex and heat and rage. your thighs stuck to his fireproofs, slick and smeared, and your chest rose in ragged, shallow pants as he laid you down like you were something precious—but barely.

"look at you," he muttered, his voice hoarse with raw satisfaction. "still shakin’. you don't even know your own name, do you?"

your only answer was a weak, broken sound—something between a whimper and a plea. he chucked, low and dangerous, fingers brushing your jaw as his other hand gripped your thigh, spreading you open again just to look. but then—he stilled.

his thumb stopped where it had been tracing, reverent in its own brutal way. his gaze, once burning with hunger, flickered—hesitating. you blinked through the haze clouding your vision, and there he was again: caleb, not the fire-eyed predator but the boy who used to hold your hand under the covers during thunderstorms, the boy who always laced your shoelaces when your fingers were too cold to do it yourself.

“…fuck,” he murmured, and something in his tone cracked open. he exhaled hard and let your thigh fall gently against the couch cushion, his body sinking beside yours, no longer looming—folding. a different kind of tension took its place, quieter, older. his hand cupped your cheek again, softer now, trembling faintly.

"you okay?" he asked, and his voice was lower. wrought with guilt, with fear, with love. "talk to me, love. tell me you’re okay."

you nodded, just barely, then leaned into his palm with a broken little sound. “o-okay…’m okay,” you breathed, voice ragged but true.

he closed his eyes.

for a moment, caleb didn’t say anything. just let his forehead press to yours. his thumb traced the line of your cheekbone like you might vanish if he didn’t keep anchoring you to him. then, with careful arms, he pulled you into his lap—blanketing you in the throw he’d once haphazardly tossed on the couch. your legs curled over his, trembling.

“you’re shaking,” caleb murmured again, his voice low and rough, like gravel coated in velvet. the heat radiating from his body pressed against your back was a fierce, solid warmth that somehow grounded you, but you could still feel the tremors racing through your limbs—shaky, fragile, like you were made of glass. his arms tightened around you, not crushing, but possessive, protective—as if he wanted to keep you from breaking apart entirely.

his lips brushed your skin like a feather in slow, feather-light kisses. first your bare shoulder, where the soft warmth of his mouth left a trail that sent a delicious shiver down your spine. then along the hollow of your collarbone, his breath hot and steady, carrying the faint scent of smoke and sweat from the race—intoxicating and unmistakably him. when his mouth ghosted to the corner of your lips, he paused, lingering like he was memorizing your shape, tasting the faint salt of your skin, the quickening pulse beneath.

“you scare the shit out of me sometimes,” he breathed, voice husky and trembling with emotion, the raw vulnerability undercut by the fire of his obsession. “the way i feel about you... it’s not normal. maybe it’s because… i love you more than you realize.”

his hands roamed slowly now, tracing the lines of your body with a possessive tenderness that set your nerves alight. one palm slid down the curve of your side, fingers pressing into your hip bone, grounding you in the heat between you. the other curled in your hair, thumb brushing your temple softly, coaxing the tension out of your clenched muscles.

“you don’t have to say anything,” he whispered, voice rough but gentle. “just be here with me.”

your eyelids fluttered open, meeting his gaze—dark, intense, burning with a hunger that softened only when it landed on you. the sight made your heart squeeze painfully, a sweet ache that spread through your limbs like wildfire.

your fingers twined tightly in the thick fabric of his fireproof suit, heart hammering against your ribs like it was trying to break free. you curled into him, the solid beat of his heart against your palm a grounding anchor amid the storm of emotion crashing through you. no words came—only the soft press of your lips against his jaw, the whisper of a kiss that said everything you couldn’t say aloud.

caleb’s breath hitched sharply, eyes darkening with a fierce tenderness as he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. his thumb brushed away a tear that had slipped silently down your cheek, his touch so gentle it made your breath catch. his smile was fragile, barely there—but real. like he was offering you a piece of his soul wrapped in vulnerability.

“you’re everything to me,” he confessed, voice thick and laden with something bittersweet, a promise and a curse intertwined. “every lap, every breath, every fucking heartbeat. you ruined me, and i don’t ever want to be put back together.”

his arms squeezed you tighter, possessive and fierce, a silent vow to keep you safe and claim you utterly. the heat from his body seeped deep into your bones, steady and relentless, chasing away the shadows that lingered inside you.

your hand rose to cup his cheek, fingertips tracing the sharp angles of his jaw, memorizing the rough scrape of stubble beneath your touch. “l-love you..i’m yours,” you whispered, voice trembling but resolute. a soft, possessive smile curved his lips. “yeah,” he said, voice low and thick with pride, “only mine.”

when he kissed you this time, it was different—slow and tender, a deep press of lips that spoke of ownership and devotion, not just need. his mouth was warm and soft, roughened by days on the track and sleepless nights, and the taste of him—smoky, faintly metallic, and utterly intoxicating—settled deep inside your senses. his hands cradled your waist, fingers digging in just enough to remind you that you were his, that you belonged here, to him, in this moment.

“sleep,” he murmured against your lips, voice husky but gentle, a soothing promise that wrapped around you like a blanket. “i’ll be here when you wake up.”

your eyelids fluttered closed, sinking fully into the fierce, steady warmth of his arms. his heartbeat thrummed against your back, a wild, unyielding fire that burned only for you—and you let yourself be consumed by it.

caleb didn’t sleep. not for a second.

he stood bare-chested in front of the fire, the room thick with heat and shadows that flickered like ghosts on the walls. the dry crackle of the flames filled the silence, but inside him, a storm still raged—cold, sharp, relentless—but not for you, no, never.

his knuckles bore the faintest traces of dried blood where he'd gripped the wall to steady you, but the ache there was nothing compared to the sharp edge of his hatred for rafayel. the mclaren tee lay crumpled at his feet—a stubborn reminder that wouldn’t fade.

he bent down and picked it up slowly, fingers tightening around the fabric, a silent vow burning hotter than the fire before him. with slow, deliberate movements, his fingers curled around the fabric, pulling it close. he traced the soft cotton absently, the smell faint but familiar, and it stabbed at him like a fresh wound. the color—too bright, too loud—reminded him of everything he hated to admit. he fed the shirt to the flames, watching the orange cotton curl, blacken, and twist in on itself. the smell of scorched cloth filled the room, but it couldn’t burn away the rancor that still coiled tight inside.

he didn’t blink until the last ember faded to ash, eyes cold and unyielding, mind still racing with bitter thoughts.

rafayel had crossed a line.

and caleb’s fire wasn’t ready to die down—not yet, not ever.

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caffeinewitchcraft · 1 year ago

Text

The Mayor's Daughter and the Outlaw

Summary: After ten years, you've finally got your shot at your revenge. You've found the Hero. You have him in your sights.

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Pull the trigger.

You’ve worked too hard not to pull the trigger. The sweat, blood and tears you’ve shed have been the least you’ve given to be here. The air is crisp and clean nearly a hundred feet up in a pine tree overlooking a remote forest. You’re probably the only person in the world capable of spotting the brown, camouflaged building spanning the length of the small river running through the valley. There’s a hologram of the river it’s covering playing over the building’s walls. Hell, there are even birds flicking occasionally across the illusion, not often enough to draw attention, but just often enough their movement sends your eyes darting to other trees, trying to find where they went.

You breathe in the scent of sun-heated sap so slowly that it takes a solid minute for your lungs to expand. Your pupils flex and adjust whenever the wind rocks your tree. The window you’ve been staring at for the past hour remains in your focus.

The Sun, hair just as fake-gold as it was ten years ago, sleeps on. He’s definitely older now that you can see him in real life instead of on magazine covers or under studio lights. The skin of his neck is loose and folded under the weight of his chin drooping towards his chest. His eyes flicker under his eyelids. The bastard still has the audacity to dream. His arms are crossed over the sun motif emblazoned across his breastplate, his dust-covered boots kicked up on his desk so you can see how worn the soles are. Judging by the way his lips tremble, he’s snoring.

Pull the trigger.

You exhale. This is when you should do it. When your shoulders drop and the wind dies so that, for a moment, the world stands still. There are no whispers across the canopy. Every bough is frozen. The reflection of the sun in the river is overcome by a well-timed cloud and the Sun’s head tilts back to expose the long line of his throat.

The trigger presses back against your finger like an eager puppy. There’s nothing special about the bullets, nothing special about this gun. It’s not the right weapon for what you’re asking it to do, but you’ve had longer and harder shots. You know that you’ll shoot true and the confidence steadies your hand even more. You smoothly pull--

If you kill a Hero, there’s no going back.

Your pupils dilate at the memory. For a moment you don’t see the Sun; you see her with her face burned as red as her prom dress. You try to dispel the image, try to remember that she didn’t die in her prom dress, but it’s too late.

I want you to live, Elian.

You’re suddenly aware of how your lungs ache and your legs burn from the way they’re wrapped around the tree and the bark is digging into your cheek and your fingers are like ice on the trigger. You’re out in the middle of nowhere. This is the Sun’s private residence. The security must be insane even if there doesn’t seem to be anyone else around. What’s your exit strategy again? Your thoughts scatter as her voice rings through your head again.

More than anything, I want you to live.

-------Ten years ago----

You’re what the heroes tactfully call a nuisance. A juvenile delinquent with powers, aka a kid that the police aren’t equipped to handle and the local Hero chapter is too overqualified and too understaffed to address often.

Your moral compass has never had a true north and it only gets worse the more your powers develop. Soon you aren’t just stealing your mom’s car – you’re stealing the neighbor’s and then the neighbor’s neighbor’s and then the neighbor’s neighbor’s neighbor’s until you’re breaking into houses at the top of the hill and joyriding in a car worth more than your entire neighborhood together.

You find out pretty quickly that the heroes care a lot more when money is involved.

You spend your first night in jail after getting chased for three hours in a neon green lambo by the four heroes packed like sardines in a standard issue SUV. It’s laughably easy to out-drive them, choking around corners and careening down alleys that you scouted in the afternoon. Honestly, it would have been easy to get away, but your mom called just as the tank hit empty, asking when you were coming home. You decided to give the heroes a break before they decided to play too rough with a minor.

Mom isn’t thrilled when you tell her you won’t be home in time for school tomorrow.

You kind of expect to be sent to prison the next day when you find out just whose car you stole. The Mayor’s daughter’s car, bought new for her seventeenth birthday a month ago. There are two open secrets about the mayor. One, he’s probably one of the heroes that protect the city judging from how much he praises them every time there’s a mic nearby. Two, he loves his daughter more than anything else.

So when you’re released the next day with a slap on the wrist? Yeah, you’re surprised.

When you’re released the next day to find the golden-haired, blue-eyed Mayor’s daughter waiting outside? Having just bailed you out?

You feel fear for the first time.

“You could have at least crashed it,” she says when she notices you gaping at her from the end of the parking lot. She’s leaning against the hood of a black SUV that looks a lot like the one the heroes chased you in last night. She waves a hand in the air. “Dad says the dents you put in the side will be out by tomorrow.”

Fear, apparently, makes you snarky. “What, you wanted to spend another week getting chauffeured by a hero?”

Her brows jerk up towards her hairline. She throws a glance over her shoulder. “You seeing ghosts? Nobody’s in there. I drove myself.”

“Good for you,” you say. You think you smell. They didn’t give you access to a shower last night. You’re upwind from her and damnit why are you embarrassed if you smell or not? Your chin jerks forward in a challenge. “You gonna give me a ride back home?”

You’re joking, but she nods like it was the plan all along. “Let’s go.”

Is that an answering challenge in her words? Your teeth grind as you force yourself forward. “Very kind of you,” you chirp, swinging up into the passenger seat. The car smells like leather and justice. “Just drop me off on the other side of the train tracks. I can find my way home from there.”

She snorts. “Is that a Footloose reference? Very dated.”

You stare at her profile. “…No. I literally live on the other side of the tracks.”

She flushes. “Right. Well…I’m not dropping you off yet. I want to talk first.”

The doors are locked. You swallow as she carefully pulls out of the parking lot and then guns it into the road without looking. Luckily, no one’s there. “Talk? About what?”

“About how you’re going to steal my car again,” she says. “And this time you’re going to crash it right.”

“You hate the color that much?” you joke.

Her tone is not joking. “You have no idea.”

You don’t find out her name until dinner when your mom’s managed to entice her into a third slice of homemade pizza. She stares down at the slice while your mom waves for you not to stay up too late before going to bed early. Gamely, you’re already on your fifth helping. Criminal activity takes a lot of energy.

“Does your mom know who I am?” she asks.

“Like, in theory,” you say. You��re full and warm as you lean into the hard wooden back of your chair. Mom added olives to your side of the pizza. “She probably doesn’t know you’re the Mayor’s daughter though. Just that he has one.”

“The Mayor…right,” she says. Her jaw firms. She flicks some olives off her pizza and then eats half the slice in one bite. “I’m Gina.”

“Elian,” you say instead of No, you’re the Mayor’s Daughter. You refill her soda cup before your own, just to show her you can be fancy and have manners too. She’s so out of place in your family’s one bedroom apartment. Her shirt is crisp and white, her gold necklace so shiny, that it’s like there’s a sepia filter over the eggshell walls and oak cabinets. “Sprite. Only the finest for the lady who bailed me out.”

“I’m thinking you can take my car next weekend,” Gina says so abruptly you nearly spit out your soda. There’s a hard light in her eyes. “Dad’s out of town for…business. He won’t notice for a few days. You take it, you get out of the city, you drive it off a cliff once you’ve wrecked it doing donuts or whatever.”

“A cliff?” You know exactly where she’s talking about. There’s an abandoned quarry about an hour outside of town. You shake your head. “That’s where people dump bodies. No way am I going out there.”

“They find bodies there because it’s outside of Hero Force’s patrol,” Gina says. She waves her hands in the air so the yellow light from the inset ceiling lights catches on her golden manicure. “If you think about it, it’s the best place to dump a car. Especially when the heroes are going to be out of town.”

You stare at her. “Did you just admit your dad is part of Hero Force?”

Her eyes skitter away from yours. “No.”

“Your dad is out of town next weekend.”

“Yes.”

“And the heroes?”

“Maybe they’re traveling together.”

“I don’t think anyone is supposed to know when the heroes are going to be out of town. Isn’t that like a national secret, or something?”

“We’re not a big enough chapter for it to be a national secret,” she denies. She bites her lip. “Probably a state secret though.”

You stand and your chair chatters against the linoleum. “No. Absolutely not.” It’s time for Ms. Mayor’s Daughter to leave.

She scrambles up after you, following you into the living room. “Why not?! You already mess with the heroes. Weren’t you the one who kept breaking into the mall on a motorcycle? You hijacked one of their delivery trucks a month ago—”

“A food delivery truck,” you say. “Which was more of a commentary about the city’s investment in Hero Force luxury rather than after school programs—” You bite your tongue. You spin so that the couch stays between you. You glance at your mom’s closed door and consciously lower your voice. “How do you even know that?”

“I’ve been watching you,” she says. She laughs without humor, dragging one hand through her golden hair. “Sometimes living in this town is like being in a simulation. We have four A-class heroes for a population of 30,000 and everybody loves them. Nobody thinks it’s strange to have walking nukes in a small town. They love my dad. Did you know no one’s even run against him for the past two elections? It doesn’t matter what he does. He owns this place and these people. He has – could commit murder and it would be justified. People would think it would be justice.”

“He loves you,” you say weakly. Isn’t four heroes a pretty normal number? Sure, the ones in your town are big names, but that’s not weird.

Is it?

“He loves me so he gets to be a tyrant?” Gina scoffs. “If he’s even capable of love.”

“I’m not going to mess around with heroes’ civilian identities just because you’ve got daddy issues,” you say. When hurt flashes across her face, you wince. “Sorry. But it’s one thing to mess with heroes in masks, okay? Messing with a hero’s family—”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem when you were stealing my car the other night.”

“That was before I knew your dad was Mr. Solve or whatever—”

“The Sun,” Gina says.

“What?”

“My dad’s the Sun.”

“That,” you say, “is so much worse. Didn’t he burn some minor villain’s eyes out last week?”

“Yes,” Gina says. Her mouth twists. “The guy got off easy compared to some others.”

You stare at her, momentarily speechless. “And you wonder why I’m not going to antagonize the guy?”

“But you already do,” Gina says. Her eyes are glinting. She looks so out of place against the dim interior of your home, a radiant girl dressed all in white and gold. She rounds the couch and snatches up one of your hands between two of her own. “Everyone else loves my dad. Except you. My entire life, and you’re the only one who dares to make—make statements about Hero Force consumption by stealing their deliveries or make the heroes chase you around an abandoned mall on foot like regular people. You challenge them, Elian. All I’m asking is that you do it again.”

“That sounds like a lot more than just crashing your car,” you say. Your voice sounds very far away. You never thought of your actions as so noble. There’s a tingling in your stomach that you’ve never felt before and your hand is so warm. She sees you. You shake the fantasy out of your head. “I—look. I’m flattered, but I’m not your guy. The heroes know my face. It’s only a matter of time before I get sent to whatever detention super-powered kids get sent to. I have to graduate high school.”

Rather than discourage her, Gina presses closer. “What if I told you there’s a way to do both?”

Her closeness fogs your brain. “Both?”

“Take the heroes down a notch and maintain your identity,” she says. She releases you and whirls to get her purse off the couch. “I can help you. We can train so that the heroes never recognize the new you. You can use your powers in new ways. And you can wear this.”

She thrusts a piece of chewed leather into your hands. A mask.

“I’m thinking,” she says, “we call you Outlaw.”

------ Now ----

You can’t shoot. Night is falling by the time you admit it to yourself. You press your back against the rough bark of the tree and stare up at the first stars. You cradle your gun in your hands.

The bloodlust is still there. You aren’t a fair lily incapable of staining your petals red (as red as her). So why can’t you pull the trigger? Because of her ghost? Her last message to you?

If you kill a Hero, there’s no going back. More than anything, I want you to live, Elian.

You grind your teeth. Easy for her to say. The dying never have to feel the weight of consequence. They can just say whatever the fuck they want.

You aren’t thinking when you climb down the tree. Your powers give you a lot of things – speed and healing, an instinct for the outdoors, and excellent eyesight. You don’t need to look to find one branch and another, dropping to the forest floor in ten-foot increments. By the time your boots hit the ground, you know what the problem is.

Unlike your other kills, this one is personal. It was never going to be enough just to see him dead. You need him to know why you’ve got him in your sights.

The Sun is an old school hero. The traps you were so afraid of are predictable, turns out. You pick your way around bear traps and landmines, sharp eyes easily picking out silver trip wire when it glints in the moonlight. There are cameras, but there’s likely only one person with access. In the past ten years of following the Sun, you’ve learned two things about him.

One, he’ll kill the things he loves before he loses them.

Two, he doesn’t trust anyone but himself.

You get to the building inside of an hour. The first floor is hidden by steel shutters and there’s no light peeking out from behind them. The second floor window where he’d been sleeping for most of the day shines with the faint blue glow of a television.

The front door looks like a bank’s with how thick it is. There’s a keypad and a biometric scanner you don’t have a prayer of hacking.

That’s okay. You’ve already seen your way in.

You climb up the nearest pine tree. The Sun likes to think of himself as a competent hero, but too many mayoral kickbacks over the years made him soft. He surrounded himself with powerful heroes and never once struggled to win. Because of that, he’s missing some caution and common sense. The building’s first floor is locked up tight, but the windows on the second are regular glass.

And he hasn’t trimmed the tree line back far enough.

You fire your first shot of the night into his empty desk chair, exactly where his chest had been hours earlier. Immediately a siren sounds, and the TV glow coming through the office’s open door is consumed by bright light. You run two steps and then leap, neatly flipping through the empty window frame. Your boots slide for a moment on the broken glass and you catch yourself on the edge of his desk. There are medical papers scattered across it, prescriptions and diagrams of the face and eyes and heart.

You chew your cheek at the sight of a pill bottle. There had been rumors that the Sun is sick with his own radiation poisoning. It’s good you’re here before nature runs its course.

The siren wails for another beat before dying. The silence rings. Your heartbeat picks up as your ears strain to hear if anyone’s coming to meet you. Strange. The Sun had to have been the one who shut off the alarm.

So where is he?

You hold your gun out in front of you and check your mask. The Sun knows who you are by now, but you want him to see the mask she gave you. The handsewn leather, patched more times than you can count, is recycled from one of his old leather jackets. It feels oddly poetic to be dressed in the first iteration of your costume, cowboy hat tipped back and a biker vest embroidered with the name she gave you.

Is the Sun hiding? You creep out of the office, eyes darting from the quaint landscapes hanging on the wall to the tasteful wooden floors. The Sun’s safe house feels more cabin-y than you expected. The property deed has been in his name for the past fifteen years. Did Gina ever visit? Her ghost runs ahead of you, golden nails dragging along the peach wallpaper to the first open door on the left. She looks over her shoulder and smiles.

There are times when you’re glad for the afterimages your brain conjures. This is not one of those times. You don’t think she’d be happy to see what you’re about to do.

You swing around the doorway gun first, a snarl on your lips. “You old bastard, drop what—”

The smell of antiseptic hits your nose first, dashing away the red haze filling your vision in an instant. A TV murmurs against the wall, some rerun of an old western, but it’s not what holds your attention.

There’s a bed in the center of the room. The Sun sits at bedside, his attention wholly invested on the hand he’s holding up. Carefully, he applies gold paint to the nails without once looking up at you.

The woman in the bed is obscured with white gauze and beige compression bandages. Her breathing is soft and even. The one eye you can see is closed and still. No dreaming, no awareness.

“Outlaw,” the Sun says. He gently sets Gina’s left hand down on her stomach and picks up her right. He squints at her pinky nail. “Close the office door, would you? I don’t want the heat to escape.”

“What,” you breathe, “the fuck.”

-----Ten years ago ----

It’s a good year with Gina. You never realized how friend-starved you were until she was there, over at your house every day after school. She always makes it sound like she’s coming over to talk about the Outlaw thing, but there’s other stuff too. Movies and cooking and tutoring.

“Life is about balance,” Gina says sagely during one such tutoring session. “Besides, even heroes don’t go on more than two missions a month. We’re doing just fine.”

There’s always a pressing need to do more though. Whenever you pull off a particularly daring heist, she smiles this secret and pleased smile that makes your stomach flip. Sometimes, when the two of you watch news coverage of your getaways, she murmurs how impressed she is, how smart you are, how cool your powers are.

It makes you want to do anything for Gina.

You’re watching the news one day, waiting for a recap of how you stole the Sun’s favorite shield from the armory, when a rare story comes on. A Hero is dead, some guy named Ibis from Atlanta. There aren’t any leads to the culprit except for eyewitness accounts of a mysterious, winged super-powered individual flying low over the city, hiding in storm clouds.

“I’d kill a Hero,” you blurt out.

Gina jerks so hard that the popcorn bowl goes flying out of her hands. She doesn’t seem to notice. “What?”

“N-not your dad or anything,” you say quickly although yes, if you had to kill anyone, you’d start with the man who makes Gina cry like that. “Just…in general. The news anchor said Ibis was connected to a civilian’s death, right? I could kill a Hero like that.”

“No,” Gina says. She drops off the couch to kneel by you. “No, Elian.”

You flush like you’ve done something wrong. You sink into your hoodie. “I’m not going to, I’m just saying—”

“If you kill a Hero, there’s no going back,” Gina says. She’s too close, so close that you can see the flecks of gold hidden in her eyes. “Your life—it’s not like what we’ve been doing. Dad’s got rules when it comes to stealing. But if you kill a hero?” She shudders. “I want you to live, Elian.”

“I got it—”

“Please,” she blurts out. The plea in her voice makes you really look at her despite the pounding of your heart. Her eyes are wild and her mouth is pressed into a thin line. “No matter what. Promise me.”

“I—” No matter what? You slowly shake your head, trying to get away from the instinctive desire to agree with her. “I-if someone is really bad, I’d—”

“Elian—”

The tension makes you truthful.

“If your dad hurt you, I’d kill him,” you say. When she rears back, this time you follow. You brace your arm against the couch so you can lean into her space. With your other hand, you trace the fading burn on her cheek that could pass for an old sunburn if you didn’t know the truth. “I know you don’t think he will, but he’s been erratic lately. And I know about his temper. If he hurts you, I’d kill him.”

The air thickens between you. It’s rare that you don’t back down, but you’re not backing down now, staring into her eyes. Competing wills. For a moment you let everything you feel come to the surface. Your frustration when she visits with that fucking shadow in her smile, the helplessness when there’s another burn on her arm, the adoration when she’s just there.

Gina shudders and looks away first. She licks her lips. “I—I…appreciate what you’re saying, but I’m fine. You agreed I got to make the rules for Outlaw. I’m telling you one. Don’t kill heroes.”

She’s pulling away. You do too, falling to her side and sitting next to her rather than hovering over her. You try for a careless shrug but fall short. How can she make you feel so powerful one second and so powerless the next? You avert your eyes. “I won’t kill heroes,” you promise.

You hear her suck in a breath. “Good. Because I need you alive.”

“I do like being alive,” you say and don’t finish the sentence with with you.

“We’re done studying,” she decides. She darts up towards the kitchen. “I’m getting another bowl of popcorn before we start the movie. You want some?”

You stare at your reflection in the dark TV. Your jaw works. Finally, you say, “Nah. I’m good. I’ll just eat it off the floor.”

“Don’t be gross, Elian!”

------Now.----

“I will regret that day for the rest of my life,” the Sun says. He hasn’t looked at you once. His eyes are glued to the steady rise and fall of Gina’s chest. He times his breathing to hers and then sighs. “What a fool I was. Drunk on power.”

You’re standing on the opposite side of the bed. Your gaze flicks from Gina to him and back again. “Is she ever conscious?”

“It’s a medically-induced coma,” the Sun says. “The doctors say she should wake up any day now that most of her injuries have healed. Her last surgery was the final one. Now it’s up to her.”

This might be the first time in ten years that you’ve breathed. You suck in air greedily and imagine you can taste her scent under the layers of sickness and medicine. “They told me she died.”

“I told Hero Force you did it,” the Sun says. There’s no remorse in his voice. “They always tell villains they were successful, so they don’t try again.”

A decade of rage slides around your ribs. “You fucking bastard.”

“I did think it was your fault ten years ago.” He carefully picks up Gina’s left hand again to apply a second coat. It takes all your willpower not to slap him away from her. “If you hadn’t stolen Hero Force data, I wouldn’t have had to come after you with my full power. She would never have been in the line of fire.”

You’re fists shake at your sides. “I didn’t steal Hero Force data, I stole your fucking car. Don’t rewrite history.”

“There was Hero Force data in that car.”

“It was your Porsche, your civilian Porsche!”

“My fault to have left sensitive data out,” the Sun says. His confession surprises you into silence. “But I had to get it back no matter what. Then I blamed you by thinking how if you’d only asked me to take my daughter to Prom, I would’ve known she was in the car.”

“She’s not your property and it’s not the 1800s, of course I didn’t ask if I could take your daughter to—”

“I’m telling you what I thought,” the Sun interrupts. He finally looks at you. He looks worse than he did earlier, the years cutting deep lines into his face. There are black bags of exhaustion under his watering eyes. He breathes out shakily. “I had to tell myself it was your fault. It was the only way I could survive, Elian.”

Your real name shocks you. You stumble back. “How do you know that name?”

“She calls for you sometimes,” the Sun says. He drags a hand over his face before grimly returning to his daughter’s nails. “She’s never been really conscious for long. The d-damage took a long time to heal. But when she’s awake, she calls for you and she calls for Outlaw. Wasn’t hard to put the pieces together.”

Your chest throbs. “I should have been here. You should have—I could have—”

“Blaming you let me keep her by my side,” the Sun says. “I don’t expect you to forgive me or even understand me. But I…I regret more than anything what I’ve done to my daughter.”

“You’re going to regret it even more,” you say. The rage you feel is like a tidal wave. Ten years. Ten years. You could have held her hand through her recovery. You could have been there for her. And this selfish asshole who never even loved her like a father should took that away from you. You remember your gun. “You never deserved to be her father.”

“I didn’t, did I?” the Sun asks. He sets her hand down and swallows hard. He looks down the barrel of your gun without flinching. “She says one other thing, you know. When she asks for you.”

The curiosity stills your trigger finger. “What?”

“She says, Don’t kill heroes.”

Your face contorts. There’s the memory of popcorn in your mouth and the heat of her eyes on you. “Yeah, she said that to me before too. Back when I offered to kill you the first time.”

The Sun hangs his head. If he’s surprised to hear that, he doesn’t show it. “I wasn’t a good father.”

“No. But she didn’t want you dead.”

Understanding dawns. “Don’t kill heroes.”

“Exactly.” You tilt your head. “Do you feel like a hero?”

His lips tremble. His gaze drifts back to his daughter. Her eyes are flickering under eyelids. “I—I—”

The trigger presses back against your finger, eager and ready. “Do you?”

He licks his lips. “N-no,” he whispers. He closes his eyes. “No, I don’t suppose I do.”

This time, it’s easy to take aim. Steady your breath. And—

Fuck.

“Leave,” you say. You drop your gun back to your side and scowl when the Sun’s eyes fly open in surprise. “If you do what I say, you’ll live long enough for Gina to decide what to do with you. Leave and don’t tell anyone about this.”

The Sun shakes his head. “No, no I can’t leave her—”

“Then die here,” you snap. You bare your teeth at him. “Leave. We’ll be gone in a week. Maybe she wakes up and calls you. Maybe she—” You take a deep breath. “Well. Maybe she doesn’t. Either way, your part is done here.”

“I need to be there when she wakes up. Please, I’m her dad—”

“You’re her murderer,” you say. More than anything, you want to pick Gina up and run out of here before the Sun can stop you. You eye the monitors and know three people you need to call for advice before you even attempt to move her. A week should be just enough time to disappear. “You think you deserve to stay by her side?”

The Sun opens his mouth twice before he finds words. “I just—let me stay until she wakes up. That way I’ll know.”

“I spent ten years thinking she was dead,” you say. “You can last a month in limbo. If I have to ask you again, we’ll finally see who’s stronger now that I’m all grown up.”

The Sun picks himself up slowly. You think he cries. You’re not sure. He may even plead with you again. You’re deaf to it. Your brain has given up on splitting your attention and every atom of your being is homed in on Gina.

She’s alive. She’s alive.

You kneel at her bedside and wait for her to wake up.

----

Thanks for reading! If you want to read more of work or get access to stories like this a week (or more!) early, please consider checking out my Patreon (X)! This week's short story for my Triple Shot and above tiers is about a world where being loved adds years to your lifespan!

Based off this prompt (X): Love determines how long you live, some people are in their hundreds, but some don’t even live to be 20.

#my writing #short story #superheroes and villains #my superpowers

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littlelovelunette · 4 months ago

Note

Sevika x reader as Sevika's boss, smut!! but reader finds her so attractive so she's been eyeing Sevika since before. So one day reader intendedly wears fitted low cut top and short skirt and didn't wear any panties to seduce Sevika. She called Sevika to come at the office and Sevika was so shocked at the sight of her boss's body. Also, make sevika being submissive to reader as she respect her so much but her boss is so freakyyy

"Yes, Boss."

Modern AU!Sevika x Boss!Reader

Contains smut, biting, submissive!Sevika, oral, masterbating

You're not dumb, you've seen the way your worker Sevika looks at you. As if she's mentally undressing you, fantasizing how your breasts would feel in her hands and wondering of all the risky places to ruin all three of your holes.

You didn't deny your desires to yourself, you felt the same way. But if you were a betting man, you'd put your money on Sevika NEVER acknowledging she felt that way about you. No matter how Sevika's social life was outside of work, she wasn't the type to put her job at risk by confessing such depraved thoughts to her boss— you.

If anything, it made you like her even more. The way her muscles always flexed under her blazer, you would be licking the ground she walked on had she come to you with that demand.

It had been only two months Sevika started working for your firm, you hadn't hired her personally you usually let the manager handle such tedious tasks. You were a very busy woman but the moment your eyes laid on her... You started clearing your schedule out for even the less impactful meetings just so you could catch a glimpse of Sevika. She was a sight to behold.

One particular day, you couldn't find a top to wear so you wore a shirt that barely held onto cover your cleavage and just before a big meeting, the top button popped.

Thank goodness, you had a tanktop in your car. You put it on under the shirt so it somewhat hid the lacy bra underneath. It was slightly better that way.

That day, Sevika didn't stop eyeing you as if she'd spread you over the table and devour you all the way.

As if she'd bend you over your own desk and give you the most ruthless backshots ever.

However, of course, Sevika had quite the good self control and an even straighter moral compass but if there was something that wasn't straight— it was her sexuality.

You gestured all the other workers to leave after you had said a soft, "Dismissed."

Sevika got up, but you gestured her to stay behind. Sevika, now slightly confused, stared at you as if waiting for you to give her your reason for holding her back but you never did. Instead, you closed the door and clicked the lock in place.

"What do you nee—"

Before Sevika could finish asking her question, your lips went crashing against hers in a bruising manner. Her eyes fluttered shut and she grabbed the table behind herself to keep balance, your tongue swept her bottom lip in a silent ask for entry.

Sevika opened her mouth granting you the opportunity to tongue fuck her mouth. And oh, her mouth was exactly how you expected it to be. You could smell cigarettes on her breath and her mouth was feverishly warm.

"You need me, don't you?" You smirked.

Sevika, flushing slightly now, swallowed the spit in her mouth before giving you a hesitant nod.

"Come on, say it," you urged.

"I need you," Sevika mumbled.

"That's a good girl," you pushed her to sit down.

As she sat down on one of the arm chairs, you bent, your short skirt riding up and exposing your glistening cunt from underneath. Your fingers wrapped around her muscular calves, giving them a good squeeze before moving up to remove her pants followed by her boxers.

There she was.

A happy trail spreading evenly over the mound, her fat clit was swollen and red as if she'd been denying its needs for the longest time. Her folds were wet. Maybe not as much as yours but still wet.

"And you never made a move on me?" You looked up, shaking your head, "Tch."

Sevika blushed darker and had the sudden urge to grab the back of your head and stuff your face in her pussy if it meant shutting your smug comments. But she didn't. She respected you with all that was in her. She didn't want to risk losing her job.

You spread her pussy lips using two fingers before licking her slit, a small kitten lick.

"Oh, come on, tell me what you like," you teased.

Sevika seemed as if she was deep in thought, contemplating what she should say. She didn't want to get too freaky, she didn't want to say something that would repulse you so she chose her words very carefully.

"Biting," Sevika muttered.

"Biting?"

Your smirk darkened. You grazed your teeth against the inner side of her thigh before sinking them in just enough to leave a dominating mark, nothing enough to make her bleed though.

But Sevika wanted it.

You could see it in her eyes.

Sevika's head was thrown back exposing the mid column of her throat, so fucking slutty and so fucking hot. Your pussy clenched around nothing so you trailed a hand down to give it some attention.

Two fingers disappeared inside and you moaned, biting onto Sevika thigh again this time dangerously close to her pussy making her hips raise off the chair for a brief second before she obediently sat her ass back down.

Her body was shuddering from the pain but you could see just how wet she was getting from being treating like a chewtoy.

You let go of the reddened bite mark and moved to lick her clit, taking it in your mouth and giving it a firm kiss. Your tongue circled it before pressing flat against it. Finally, Sevika let out a—

"Hnngh..."

"Yeah, you like that?"

Your voice was a low purr, your tongue working its magic on her pussy. You lapped up all the juices she was spilling on the chair. Tongue slithered easily over her folds and between them before sinking inside her slit and tongue fucking her. You retracted your tongue just to tease it back inside.

Your fingers started working faster in your cunt causing you to moan in her pussy, a vibration making Sevika let out another small yet incredibly slutty—

"Hah," she exhaled.

You were nowhere done with her, in fact you had only started. Sevika was a complete mess although she wasn't exactly the verbal kind, the way her body reacted to your touch spoke volumes she didn't have to.

"So damn responsive," you praised.

"Yes, boss," Sevika whispered, coming undone causing her body to tense up and the veins in her neck rose, her clit twitched.

And that's how you and Sevika became a thing. A very interesting dynamic.

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pearlymel · 4 months ago

Text

Fishie's birthday

Sum. Spending the night with your lovely spoiled lemurian bf on his birthday <3

WARNINGS. NSFW, smut, fem reader, not based on his birthday card memory!!, oral (m! rec), unprotected (but he pulls out), mm that's it I think, 1.2k words.

NOTES. i love Rafayel, too.

“what about fish?”

Rafayel spits the water he drank from the bottle you handed to him earlier, when he whined about how far it was away from him.

The question popped ‘what should we eat for dinner?’ right before he took the small sips of water that's now.. Everywhere on his clothes.

“Is that a joke?” he shakes his head with a quiet “tsk tsk”, and then grins with a teasing tone. “You’re mean to me. A little bit of compassion is all I’m asking for…” He pouts jokingly while you try holding in your smile as you pat dry his clothes with a towel.

“Happy birthday, i was just teasing you.” you hum.

“I didn’t know humans paid attention to things like birthdays,” he says, a smirk on his face, and your face falls, “or do you actually remember the birthdays of all your lovers?”

So, he wants to play like that…

“Mhm,” you smile, “all five of my lovers.”

If Rafayel was still drinking water, he would've (accidentally) spat it all on you.

You cut him off before he could spew out any dramatic words, “all five of your personalities.”

You could almost see how he tried covering up his sigh of relief before his arms crossed, “hey, don’t talk about my five personalities like that,” he playfully chides. “They’re all just as charming as I am.”

He grins a little wider, then leans in closer, his voice dropping to a purring tone. “besidesss, I’m the one you like, right? I’m your favorite?”

You grin, “my ultimate favorite.”

He nuzzles into your neck, almost like a cat, and you couldn't resist the urge to twist some of his violet strands.

“since I'm your favorite… Would you be so kind to give me the ultimate birthday gift?” He whispers, his hand gently rubbing at your side.

“what would you like, baby?” you glance down at him, and his eyes meets yours for a brief moment. “You?”

“me?”

“Mhm,”

“You want me to peg you?”

“pffft—” he tries not to laugh, the voice muffled against your neck, “can't keep your mind out of the gutter, can you?”

You gently pull his head back, to see those rosy cheeks painting his face, “well… back to our topic of food, I am getting hungry.

…

“N-not that—” Rafayel inhales sharply through his teeth as your lips wrap around him, the heat of your mouth is dizzying, the slick slide of your tongue along his sensitive slit makes his toes curl against the sheets.

He watches you through heavy-lidded eyes, the dark blue-pink of his irises glinting in the low light. The sight of your lips stretched around his long length, the obscene slurping noises you make as you take him deeper, it's all too much and not enough at the same time.

He wants to memorize every second, commit it to the vaults of his mind so he can revisit it later when he's alone and aching and desperate for your touch.

“why do you have to be so—ahh—I can't think—” His hips flex upward, driving himself deeper into the welcoming heat of your mouth. The head of his cock kisses the back of your throat, making you gag slightly around the intrusion.

He starts to rock into the tight clasp of your mouth, shallow thrusts that grow longer and harder as he loses himself to the sensation. “g-gods, I can't...” The obscene squelch of your lips moving along his shaft fills the air, punctuated by his harsh pants and the creaking of the mattress beneath you.

A low whimper tears from Rafayel's throat as you suck harder, his grip on your hair tightens reflexively, fingers curling into the strands as he fights the urge to thrust mindlessly into your mouth.

The way your cheeks hollow as you breathe through your nose, the desperate little noises you make as you rub your thighs together... fuck, it's almost too much to bear.

“Stop,” he lets out a breathless plea, “P-please I want you to cum on my cock first.”

Rafayel tugs sharply on your hair, pulling you off his throbbing length with a pop. Before you can protest, before you can even draw breath to speak, he's flipping you onto your back and settling between your spread thighs.

A smirk tugs at your lips, “you just love edging yourself, huh?”

“… Guilty as charged, cutie.” he drawls out as if he was drunk. drunk on nothing but you.

he then rolls his hips slowly, deliberately, grinding the length of his erection against your aching, soaked panties. The friction is delicious, maddening, but never enough.

It draws a strangled moan from your lips, his hand slips between your bodies, fingers delving between your slick folds after sliding the fabric off to circle your clit with slow strokes.

The pad of his thumb presses down on the sensitive bundle of nerves, rubbing tight circles that make your hips jerk and your thighs tremble.

With him not having patience anymore, he's sliding up your body, the head of his cock nudging insistently at your entrance. He teases you with shallow thrusts, barely dipping inside before pulling back out, over and over until you're a writhing, mewling mess beneath him.

“Rafayel,” you hiss through gritted teeth while trying to push your hips to take more.

He suddenly hilts himself inside you with one hard, deep thrust, burying himself to the base, catching you completely off guard.

“You little—oh—” he starts to move, rolling his hips in a slow grind, the drag of his cock along your fluttering walls is maddening, each inch of him stroking your deepest, most sensitive spots until you're seeing stars.

Your hands scrabble for the pillow, sheets, anything to grip onto to try and hold yourself together.

“So. Goddamn. Beautiful.” Rafayel punctuates the declaration with a sharp thrust of his hips, driving himself impossibly deeper, until he's kissing your cervix with each roll of his pelvis.

“ah, my heart.” he whispers, to you. And he slows his pace, wanting to make this meaningful.

But it doesn't last long. It was partially your fault for moaning his name out loud that it echoed in this closed up room.

“j-just like that,” he pants, burying his face against your chest as his thrusts grow sloppier by the second, it was too obvious he was close, and so were you.

You were the first to cum, after his fingers shakily pinch and rub at your clit that gave you the final push to flutter your walls tightly around his cock before gushing all that you had.

Your limbs feel like jello.

“I'm going to—ahh—” he whines, quickly pulling to spurt ropes of his hot release all on your stomach and chest, the sensation makes you whimper as you look up at his almost rolled back eyes.

After a breath or two, Rafayel blinks before grabbing the previously tossed shirt from the side to attempt and clean you up.

“sorry for the mess, baby.” he pouts, and you only laugh with your head thrown back.

“Happy birthday, my spoiled fishie.” you tease before grabbing his face to press an affectionate kiss right on the mole sitting prettily on his skin.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace rafayel #lads rafayel #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #rafayel x you #Rafayel #rafayel #lads smut #lads x reader #rafayel smut #rafayel birthday

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thebrothersinbitchiness · 1 month ago

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Kevin was not raised kind. He was not raised to feel compassion, sympathy or to care about anyone but himself and Riko. (He wasn't supposed to care for Jean but Jean had a three on his face and was a part of the perfect court so Kevin flexed the atrophied muscles as best he could. It hurt to use them. Hurt more to see Riko rip him apart again and again.)

Kevin learns maybe not quite how to be compassionate, but what compassion should look like, from his father. He wants to feel it, wants to act on it the way his father does. It's hard. It doesn't come naturally to him. When he offers a hand to Neil after Evermore, part of him is relieved when Neil bats it away.

It doesn't stop him from trying again. He brings his father's compassion with him to California and weilds it clumsily. As he looks at Jean in that messy whirlwind kitchen, he's almost jealous of how easily Jean feels for these people around him. But then Jean had always found compassion easy. Too easy. It had broken him so many times.

But Kevin can't help but be grateful of it when Jean presses against his palm, not quite forgiveness, but proof that this thing between them has not yet broken. That Kevin hasn't broken it.

He wishes he was a compassionate man. It seems to him compassion is a power of unrivalled fortitude. But for now, he'll settle for performing compassion because one day, he hopes it won't just be a performance anymore.

#this ended up way more kevjean than I expected when I boarded this thought-train #kevin day #jean moreau #aftg #all for the game #neil josten #kevjean

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mylovesstuffs · 28 days ago

Text

OT13 reaction to their s/o being a pageant queen or miss universe

Request: OT13’s reaction to their wifey being a pageant queen or being a miss grand international or miss universe THANK YOU 🫰

Was already in love, now he’s also obsessed with your global slay — Seungcheol, Dokyeom, Mingyu, Dino

I genuinely think he was already in love even before knowing this thing about you, but that's another matter for another day. He’s so proud, it’s almost embarrassing. No one’s even asked and he’s already like, “Did you know my wife was literally Miss Grand International?” Shows strangers your crowning moment and can’t help beaming at every clip of you walking like a goddess in heels. He cheers the loudest at events that you attend, throws his hands up like you just scored a home run or something.

“She’s not just a beauty queen, she’s my girl” — Jeonghan, Jun, Woozi, Minghao, Vernon

He's the type who is so confident in you that it’s not even surprising when you win the crown. You’ve always had that star quality: poise, purpose, and presence. So when the world starts treating you like royalty, he just lean back with a smug little smile like, “Yeah, welcome to what I’ve known since day one.” He's not the loudest cheerleader in public, but he don’t have to be. It’s the subtle (?) flex when how he treats you. But don't let the calm vibe fool you. If anyone dares disrespect your journey or reduce your worth to ‘just a pretty face,’ it’s game over. You won’t even have to lift a finger, he’ll shut it down with one sentence, “She’s got more grace in her pinky than you have in your whole body.”

Worships you like a goddess and will not stop calling you Queen — Joshua, Wonwoo, Seungkwan

He cannot and will not stop calling you Queen. Even at home. In pajamas. With a toothbrush in your mouth. “Your Majesty, would you like mint or chamomile tea tonight?” But fr, he sees the pageant world as more than just beauty, because to him, it’s strength, composure, intelligence. He respects the hell out of you. Helps you prep for interviews, speech training, social issues, and holds your hand through the pressure. If people sexualize or objectify the crown, he shuts that down instantly, “She didn’t just win with looks. She won with grace, compassion, and a killer walk.” Literally looks at you like you hang the stars in the sky.

Is convinced you’re out of his league but supports you with everything he has — Hoshi

He still cannot believe you married him. You're always like, “You’re literally a K-pop star.” and he's like, “AND YOU’RE MISS UNIVERSE, BABE??” He cheers like a proud dad at every appearance. Helps with choreography for your talent round. Gets more nervous than you before interviews, and if the world ever tries to dim your shine, he’ll turn into your fiercest hype man, “YOU SEE THIS WOMAN?? SHE CHANGED LIVES.” He’ll sit front row in a crowd of suits and gowns wearing the brightest smile and biggest heart. And later, at night, when you’re taking off your crown, he hugs you like it’s you and not the title he’s in love with.

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shizuturnspages · 1 month ago

Note

I was thinking about male reader who rejected male yanderes because he is straight.

Can you make one for female reader rejecting Arlecchino and other female characters of your choice?

The Breaking Point

Synopsis: You never thought saying “no” would be this dangerous. You were kind about it, even gentle—because you never wanted to humiliate or shame them. You simply didn’t return their feelings. But for these women, whose hearts had twisted into something possessive and obsessive, rejection wasn’t closure. It was war. And the moment you walked away… something inside them shattered. Pairings: [Separate] Yandere Arlecchino, Yae Miko, Beidou, Clorinde, Ningguang x Female Reader

Arlecchino – The Orphan Flame That Burns Alone

You never wanted to be part of her world.

The fires of the House of the Hearth burned too hot, too cruelly—and though you admired her strength, you feared the way her gaze made your bones go cold. When she finally pulled you aside, voice low and hand warm on your wrist, you didn’t panic. You simply told the truth.

You said it cleanly, with no room for doubt.

“Arlecchino. I don’t return your feelings. I admire you—but I don’t love you. I don’t think I could.”

The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was tense. Brittle. Like something had just been snapped in half and hadn’t realised it yet.

Her lips quirked into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“I see.”

You took a step back when her gaze sharpened. She looked down at her gloves, slowly pulling one off, knuckles flexing.

“Then you’ll have to be reeducated.”

“… What?”

“I protect what’s mine. I offer kindness to those who accept it. But if you reject it—if you throw it away like some child who doesn’t understand the value of what she’s been given—then I have to take control.”

You backed into the wall. Her footsteps were slow, deliberate.

“You will love me. Whether as my equal… or as my possession.”

Yae Miko – The Kitsune Who Doesn't Share

“Oh, dear,” she said with a smile.

But her tail had stilled. Her eyes sharpened like blades behind silk.

“You’re turning me down?” she echoed, voice lilting but frigid beneath its polish. “You mean to say, after all that time in the shrine, all that teasing, all those glances—you didn’t mean it?”

You swallowed. “I didn’t think you were serious. And I… I don’t feel the same way.”

She was silent.

Then: click. Her fan snapped shut.

“You wound me,” she said lightly. “But I suppose it’s not your fault. Mortal hearts are fickle things. Easily misled.”

Her smile didn’t move. But the air grew heavier, thicker with something you couldn’t name.

“I’ll forgive this, of course,” she said, stepping closer. “But understand—there are things in this world more persistent than love. Like obsession. Like fate. Like me.”

One of her fingers trailed your cheek, slow and possessive.

“I’ve watched you flourish beneath Inazuma’s cherry blossoms. I’ve waited, quietly, when I am not a woman made for patience. And now you reject me?” she whispered, brushing your cheek with the back of her clawed fingers.

“You don’t understand what you’re walking away from, little flower.”

You looked her in the eye. “I don’t want to. Let me go.”

The amusement drained from her expression. She tilted her head, curious—like a predator unsure whether to pounce.

“No.”

Beidou – The Pirate with a Broken Compass

“You’re not into me. Hah.” She tossed her head back, laughing.

But it was bitter. Too sharp. Her knuckles tightened around her cup.

“Nah, nah, it’s fine,” she muttered, slamming her drink down and turning away. “You’re just confused. You’ll see it eventually.”

But when you didn’t change your answer—when you said it again, just as gently, just as firmly—her storm broke.

“You don’t get it, do you?” she barked. “I’ve taken down sea serpents for less than what I feel for you. I let you into my crew, my heart—my home. Do you have any idea what that means to me?!”

You tried to walk away.

And she grabbed your wrist.

“You think you can just sail out of my life?” she hissed, voice tight. “I’m not some port you pass through. I’m your goddamn anchor.”

Her voice broke.

“You’re everything I want. And I don’t lose what’s mine.”

Clorinde – The Knight Whose Blade Trembled

You expected her to lash out. Maybe to raise her voice.

But she just stood there.

Still.

Too still.

“… Understood,” Clorinde said, voice tight. “Then I will respect your decision.”

You breathed out in relief. Until you saw her hand twitch near her rapier.

“…Clorinde?”

“I will not force you. That is dishonourable.” Her jaw clenched. “But I also cannot allow others to take what I’ve sworn to protect.”

Her eyes lifted to yours.

“If I remove the threats… if you are isolated, safe, mine… maybe then you’ll see reason.”

You didn’t see her move. You just heard the whisper of her blade leaving its sheath.

“You’ll fall for me once there’s no one left to fall for.”

Ningguang – The Empress Who Refuses to Lose

She didn’t raise her voice.

She didn’t flinch.

She just looked at you. And then, calmly, placed a sealed document on the table.

“I’ll be purchasing your home. Your family’s assets. The business you’re interning with. All of it.”

You stared.

“Ningguang—”

“You rejected me,” she said softly. “But rejection is a temporary state. Power is permanent.”

She stepped closer, manicured fingers brushing your cheek.

“I’ll rebuild the world until you live only in places I’ve touched. Speak only to people I approve. Breathe the air I give you.”

Her eyes were cold and final.

“You can’t escape me. Because I’ve already made you mine.”

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hummingbird24220 · 3 months ago

Note

Can I request Sanji and reader having a competition about who is more flexible but nobody (including Sanji) is normal about it at all? <3

(Also Neko reader was totally right about taking panties out of the equation lol)

Hello. Yes. Yes you can. I love Sanji bbyboi

I had a lot of fun writing this - don't worry if you cant understand the stretches completely, i cant either.

Enjoy!

Stretch Goals

One Piece x Reader (Technically more Sanji x Reader)

You were bored. Like, “make questionable life choices just to spice things up” bored.

Which is how you ended up perched on the rail of the Thousand Sunny’s deck doing a full split while eating an apple and trying to spark a reaction out of literally anyone walking by.

And it worked—because you made eye contact with Sanji, who froze mid-step, dropped his tray of freshly cut vegetables, and blinked like he just saw God herself do the splits on his kitchen counter.

“Mon dieu…”

You grinned. “You like that?”

His mouth opened. No words. Just vibes. Questionable, chaotic vibes.

“…Are you mocking me?” he finally blurted, flustered and weirdly competitive for someone blushing that hard.

You snorted. “No. Just showing off. Bet I’m more flexible than you.”

Oh. Oh no. That did it.

His eye twitched. A storm of sparkles exploded behind him. “You dare challenge the flexibility of me—Sanji, whose high kicks are more glorious than sunrise on All Blue?!”

“Okay but can you high-kick while in a backbend?”

His jaw dropped. You smirked harder. Around you, several crewmates were beginning to drift closer, drawn in like flies to extremely unhinged honey.

Zoro passed by, caught half a sentence, and immediately turned around. “Nope. I’m not getting pulled into whatever weird mating ritual this is.”

Usopp poked his head out of the workshop. “Did someone say mating ritual??”

“NO,” Sanji and you shouted in unison—before immediately going back to your Flex-Off.

“I’m serious,” you teased, rolling back into a bridge position. “I can out-bend you any day.”

Sanji’s eyes narrowed. He pulled off his jacket with a dramatic flick. “That’s it. Flexibility duel. Right here. Right now.”

You blinked. “…Is that a thing?”

“It is now.”

Chopper trotted up with an enthusiastic, “I’ll be the judge!!” Robin sipped her tea from a deck chair. “This should be... enlightening.” Nami folded her arms, watching like someone about to witness a live trainwreck. “You two are so weird.”

“Ready, mon chéri?” Sanji purred, one leg already lifting above his head at a frankly dangerous angle.

You grinned, not even pretending to hide the sparkle of mischief in your eye. “Let’s bend.”

And thus began the most uncomfortably sensual, overly dramatic, completely unnecessary contest the Thousand Sunny had ever seen.

Sanji was in his element. His leg was straight in the air, toes pointed, shirt open, collar popped like he thought this was a modeling gig, not a flexibility duel. The sea breeze dramatically tousled his hair. The sparkle effect? Unexplainable. Possibly supernatural.

“I’ll start us off,” he said suavely, flipping into a handstand with unholy grace. He bent one leg, extended the other, and winked at you from upside down.

There was clapping. From himself.

“Oooohhh~!” Brook whistled from the upper deck, adjusting his violin. “Ladies and gentlemen, I believe we are witnessing… ballet in battle form.”

Usopp was crouched beside Chopper, scribbling on a notepad like a sports commentator. “Sanji’s opening with the Scissor Swan Split—classic. Good form. 8.5 in showmanship.”

“He blew me a kiss,” Chopper said, blushing and confused. “I don’t think that was for me.”

You popped your knuckles. “Alright, Leg Boy. My turn.”

Your hands hit the deck and you swung into a no-hands bridge, then smoothly transitioned into a standing pose by lifting one leg completely vertical up beside your head like gravity meant nothing.

Sanji choked on his cigarette.

“Are you okay?” you asked sweetly, balancing like a human compass.

“I—YOU—THAT—!!!” He slapped a hand over his nose like a nosebleed was a legitimate threat. “You can’t just do that in front of a man! I am barely holding onto life here!”

“Bro. You challenged me.”

Robin tilted her head, smirking behind her book. “This may be the only duel Sanji has ever regretted starting.”

“You’re welcome!” you called, now in a full split on top of the railing, arms lazily dangling over the side like a cat sunbathing in the middle of a fencing match.

Sanji started pacing like a man on trial for war crimes. “Okay. Okay. Time to bring out the secret weapon.”

You blinked. “You have a secret weapon?”

“Oh, yes.” His voice dropped a full octave. “Prepare yourself.”

And that’s when he jumped. Like a pirouetting demon, he launched into the air, spun, and landed perfectly in a full split. Shirt flying open. Arms extended. Head tilted back with the sun directly behind him.

If he had landed on a plate of roses, it wouldn’t have been out of place.

There was silence.

Then:

“…IS HE CRYING?” Usopp screeched. “Why is HE crying?! I want to cry! That was beautiful!”

Chopper fainted. Brook began composing a ballad.

Even Franky, who’d walked out for one second to grab a wrench, paused and muttered, “That’s… SUPER illegal.”

You clapped slowly. “Okay. That was good. Real good. But I hope you're ready—because I'm about to pull out my final move.”

Sanji gasped. “There’s more?!”

You locked eyes. “Oh yeah. The move I swore I’d never do again.”

Behind you, Nami groaned. “You two are going to break something. Possibly each other.”

Zoro stomped past, eyes shut. “If anyone asks, I wasn’t here.”

You smiled like a demon summoned from the depths of Cirque du Soleil. “Ready?”

Sanji held onto the railing. “Never. But do it anyway.”

You moved.

And the world would never be the same.

The deck was quiet. The kind of quiet that settles before an earthquake.

Sanji stood, legs trembling—not from the stretch, but from anticipation. Sweat glistened on his temple. He gripped the railing like it was the only thing anchoring him to reality.

“Okay,” he whispered. “I’m ready. Hit me with it.”

You nodded solemnly, shook out your limbs, and cracked your neck like an elite gymnast about to destroy the competition and probably a vertebrae.

Everyone leaned in.

And then—

You jumped.

A full backflip. Into a handstand. Into a one-arm arched handstand split where you hooked your foot around the ship’s mast while casually sipping the juice box you had pulled from your shirt.

“WHAT IN THE HELL—” Sanji screamed, hands on his head, spiraling. “THAT SHOULDN’T BE HOT. THAT SHOULDN’T EVEN BE LEGAL.”

“I call it,” you sipped, “the Juice Box Dropkick.”

Brook’s jaw literally dropped off. “I—I think I’m in love.”

Usopp slammed his notepad shut. “Nope. No score. I’m not scoring this. I don’t even understand this anymore.”

Chopper wheezed into a paper bag. “Y/N has joints like a snake. Like a stylish, flirty, unholy snake.”

You dismounted with a flourish, landing perfectly upright and striking a pose like this was Chippendales: Sunny Edition.

Sanji fell to his knees.

“I have been bested,” he gasped, clutching his chest. “I am destroyed. I am... aroused and defeated.”

Zoro stood nearby, face hidden behind his hand. “I’m leaving. I can’t be part of this crew anymore.”

“You were never part of this crew,” Sanji snapped, dramatically draped over the railing like a Victorian widow.

“I was here, and that was my first mistake.”

And then—

“Ohhhh is this a stretchy game?!” Luffy landed with a thud between you and Sanji, arms flinging out to the sides like a noodle possessed.

You both froze. Sanji recovered first.

“No. No. Absolutely not.”

“I WANNA TRY!” Luffy yelled, immediately contorting into something that looked vaguely like a starfish having a breakdown.

You blinked. “...Did his shoulder just rotate the wrong direction?”

“It’s fine! I’m rubber!” Luffy cackled, suddenly balancing on one toe while his other leg bent behind his head and slapped Zoro in the face.

Zoro punched him in the shin. “Get me out of this crew.”

“Wait, wait,” you said, cracking up. “I’ve got an idea.”

Sanji looked at you like you’d just suggested marriage and public execution at the same time. “You have another idea?”

“Team flexibility competition. Me and you… versus Luffy and Brook.”

There was a pause.

Brook raised his hand. “May I remind everyone that I have no muscles?”

“You also have no shame,” Sanji gritted out.

“Exactly,” Brook said cheerfully. “Let’s make this indecent!”

Nami facepalmed so hard she might’ve concussed herself. “I hate all of you.”

Robin didn’t even look up. “I’m just waiting for someone to pull something. Probably a groin.”

There was a crowd.

An audience.

At least six crewmates had snacks. Brook had his violin. Robin had summoned extra arms specifically to hold up numbered scorecards. Chopper stood off to the side, holding medical supplies and muttering, “Someone’s gonna tear a hamstring. Someone’s gonna cry.”

And in the middle of the chaos stood you and Sanji. Team "Unholy Tension."

Opposite you: Luffy and Brook. Team “What The Hell Is Going On.”

You cracked your knuckles. “Alright, Sanji. First move is the Double Pretzel Bind.”

Sanji blinked. “I—what?”

Too late.

You grabbed his arms and spun him like a dance partner, locking your legs around his waist and pulling him backward until your torsos were pressed flush, both of you bent at 90-degree angles, looking like a yin-yang symbol designed by horny gymnasts.

“OH SWEET MOTHER OF—”

Sanji’s soul physically left his body. You were 99% sure you saw it float upward.

“Relax,” you said innocently, shifting slightly. “You’re too stiff.”

Sanji made a strangled noise. “I AM TRYING.”

“Not hard enough,” you teased, your breath ghosting over his ear.

Behind you, Usopp was openly screaming. “THIS IS NOT A FAMILY-FRIENDLY SHOW. I REPEAT. ABANDON SHIP.”

Nami shoved popcorn in her mouth with a vengeance. “You could leave, Usopp.”

“I can’t. It’s like a train wreck. With abs.”

Meanwhile, Luffy had twisted his entire torso into a loop and was hula-hooping Brook. Like. Using Brook as a prop.

“I call this move the Skeleton Spiral!” he cheered.

“I feel ALIVE!” Brook wailed.

“No, you don’t!” Chopper sobbed.

Robin, ever the supportive chaos enabler, casually raised a "9" and smiled.

“Okay, new round,” you gasped, having dismounted from Sanji only for him to collapse on the deck, face flushed and steam practically whistling out his ears.

“Sanji, are you okay?” you asked sweetly.

“I am...not okay,” he mumbled into the floorboards. “I am... experiencing every emotion known to man. And several that shouldn't be legal.”

You nudged him with your toe. “C’mon, Casanova. Final pose.”

He looked up. “What kind of pose?”

You grinned like the devil.

“Couple’s yoga.”

Sanji stopped breathing.

Brook immediately played a romantic waltz. Luffy yelled, “I WANNA DO A KISS POSE WITH BROOK!” Brook screamed, “I DON’T EVEN HAVE LIPS!!”

And then you sat on Sanji’s lap. Back to chest. Legs tangled. Arms up and curved into a heart-shape above your heads.

The deck exploded.

“THAT’S NOT EVEN A STRETCH,” Zoro bellowed from somewhere very far away.

“It is if you do this,” you whispered, twisting slightly and stretching your spine—your head lolling back against Sanji’s shoulder.

Sanji died. Just flatlined.

Brook kept playing. Chopper cried harder. Luffy attempted to mimic you both and fell off the deck.

“Sanji?” you murmured, glancing back.

He was just lying there. A gentle smile on his lips. Nosebleed imminent. “I saw heaven. She’s very flexible.”

The Sunny’s deck was wrecked.

Not physically—yet—but spiritually? Emotionally? The vibes? Ruined.

Chopper was sobbing quietly into a first aid kit. Usopp had duct-taped two planks together and was pretending they were “emergency blinkers.” Nami had stopped watching entirely and was just muttering, “I don’t get paid enough for this,” even though no one on this ship actually gets paid.

Brook was still playing violin. You were not sure when he learned the Titanic theme.

And Zoro… Zoro had made a critical mistake.

He came too close.

And Luffy grabbed him. “YOU’RE MY NEW PARTNER!”

“No—”

Too late.

Zoro was in a headlock, Luffy’s legs wrapped around him like some hellish rubber vine, and now both of them were rolling across the deck in what looked like a very violent—and extremely bendy—game of Twister.

“I DIDN’T SIGN UP FOR THIS—” Zoro barked as he went airborne.

Chopper screamed. Nami cackled. Robin politely gave them a “7.”

Meanwhile, Sanji had recovered.

Barely.

And was now leaning casually against the mast, one hand dramatically ruffling his hair. “Alright, mon amour. One final pose. Let’s end this right.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You got a move in mind?”

“Oh yes,” he said, eyes smoldering. “I call it... La Fin de Moi.”

“…That sounds like a dramatic way to die.”

“It is.”

You didn’t have time to process before he scooped you up bridal-style, spun you once like he was dancing through a storm of flower petals (there were no petals—only stunned silence), then dipped you into a perfect backbend, his hand at your lower back, your faces inches apart.

You blinked. “This isn’t a stretch.”

“It could be,” he purred. “If you lean a little closer.”

“…You mean like—”

And then he did it. He bent backward too, supporting you with one hand while you both formed a perfect mirrored arch, noses brushing, breath tangled.

“NOW THAT’S FLEXIBILITY,” Sanji grinned, eyes locked with yours, every fiber of his being screaming "kiss me, you absolute menace."

Everyone lost it.

“OH MY GOD—” Usopp threw his hat. Brook fainted. Just straight-up keeled over. Nami stood and started clapping like it was Broadway. Chopper yelled, “SOMEONE’S GONNA BREAK THEIR SPINE—BUT IT’S BEAUTIFUL.”

You laughed breathlessly, still arched in Sanji’s arms. “So… who wins?”

He leaned closer, eyes fluttering half-lidded, voice husky. “Who cares?” His breath ghosted over your lips. “We both got… flexible.”

And with that, he passed out.

Just full body limp, collapsed like a starfish with a romantic death wish. You ended up awkwardly cradling his head, laughing so hard your ribs hurt.

Zoro, bruised and tangled in Luffy’s arms like a cartoon pretzel, snarled from the side. “Next time I’m throwing both of you overboard.”

You wiped a tear from your eye and grinned.

“Only if you can reach us, Stretchy.”

#x reader #one piece #luffy #reader insert #sanji #nami #nico robin #tony tony chopper #usopp #request

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beckyninja · 3 months ago

Text

So Close

Pairing: Roboute Guilliman x FemReader

Warnings: Setting typical violence

Description: The Avenging Son wreaks havoc, and the Reader learns her cousin has even darker secrets to reveal.

You guys are gonna hate me for this one. 😈

Remember to read the previous parts of this series on my Masterlist. And feel free to ask to be added to/removed from the Taglist!

Ping! Ping! Ping!

Each pulse of the receiver felt like the prodding of an electro-baton.

Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!

Hiis eyes remained fixed on the battleship looming large through the Command Deck’s viewports,but his mind tracked the movements of every single individual scurrying around him. Techpriests interfacing with the great cogitators, TerraNovan technicians typing furiously on their slim little dataslates, vox operators relaying order. Only his genesons remained still, though his practiced gaze saw the tiny flexes that marked them ready for action.

The deck was alive with motion. Yet every living soul seemed trapped in viscous fluid compared with the speed of his thoughts.

Theoretical: You are alive and held captive aboard that voidship.

Practical: I will rescue her.

Theoretical: You are dead and the transmission is false.

Practical: I will avenge her.

He clenched his gauntlets, careful not to crush the little machine holding all his fragile hopes.

“My Lord?”

He turned his head a fraction of an inch to one side.

Captain Takahashi looked worse for wear. Dark bruises bloomed beneath bloodshot eyes. He’d watched her guide his Navigator through the Wards, an experience even those without eidetic memories were unlikely to forget.

The Macragge’s Honor had groaned and shuddered like a wounded beast as the TerraNovan delivered rapid-fire instructions to psyker and helmsman alike. Every instant it seemed the mighty voidship would rattle apart at the seams. The command crew had clung to their stations in silent terror. Reports had come from other departments of those unable to maintain such composure, breaking down into whimpering balls or running through the corridors, shrieking prayers to the Emperor.

Even his gene-sons had felt the strain. He remembered the stifled groans coming from within Sicarius’s helm.

Any other circumstances and he might have felt compassion. As it was, he’d stood like a monolith, legs splayed, willing his struggling flagship through the maelstrom with every ounce of his being.

The stillness when they’d made it through had been what nearly bowled him over. The Navigator had collapsed into a twitching pile of elongated limbs and been carried to the Apothecarion. Captain Takahashi had stood, leaning against a nearby cogitator with her single trembling arm.

Only then had the vox operator reported that none of the rest of the fleet had made it. The Macragge’s Honor stood alone.

“In all likelihood they were spat back out into Imperial space once the connection was broken.” The Captain murmured.

He nodded. Eyes still fixed on the approaching battleship.

“They’ve seen us by now.”

Another nod.

“My Lord,” Sicarius spoke from his place, everpresent, just behind and to the side, “shall I give the order?”

Guilliman spoke for the first time. “Yes.”

Everyone on the bridge heard the Commander’s bellow. “Open fire!”

Guilliman felt the near imperceptible shudder and watched trails of light rocket toward the TerraNovan battleship.

“The officer’s quarters are nowhere near the engines or shield generators.” He heard Captain Takahashi mutter, half to herself. “She’ll be safe.”

Horrifying theoreticals raced through his mind with renewed rapidity. He gritted his teeth.

Be alive. Please.

***

“What the fuck?!”

Frenzy’s metallic squawk came just as the walls and floor around them shook violently. Distant booms rolled down the corridor, lumens flickered and went out, soon replaced by the glowing red of emergency lighting. Klaxons screamed.

Tarchus braced himself. “Missile strike.”

“Gee, y’think?” The torso of his companion’s mech pivoted toward him, enough for him to see her disgruntled expression. “Who’s shooting at us?”

Tarchus was grateful for the restoration of his armor and helmet. He’d been told the grin of an Astartes was a fearsome thing to behold.

“I recognize the sound. Imperial ordinance.”

“You sure?”

Her ability to read his body language astounded him as she glanced at him and backed up a step, metal hands raised. “Never mind! Jeez. Touchy, aren’t you?”

He’d grown used to her rhetorical questions. “They will have targeted the engines.”

“And the shield generator, if they’re smart. Not that I’m saying they’re not smart! Fuck. And I thought you were scary without your armor.” A snort. “Do you ever not radiate menace?”

“No.” Her eyes narrowed, and he huffed in annoyance. “I jest.”

“Sure you do.” She muttered. “Well, enlighten me, Big Guy. What’s standard Imperial protocol here?”

“The next strike will be against your cloaking device, as it poses the greatest-”

Another boom. Another shake, this one more violent and prolonged.

“Fuck.” The TerraNovan snarled. “How in the Void did they make it through the Wards, anyway?”

He swiveled his helmet toward her in silent question.

She waved a metal appendage dismissively. “I’ll explain later. Safe to say at least someone from the Princess’s ship must’ve survived. Especially since they seem to know exactly where to hit!”

“Will this crew return fire?”

Through her mech’s viewport, her face grew grim. “In case you haven’t noticed, buddy, the Predator’s not exactly fully crewed at the moment.”

“We have encountered a significant lack of resistance since the armory.”

“She’s been in orbital docking at HQ since the Bugs busted her up good.” The two of them continued their march through the trembling corridors. “Ol’ Vicky was in such a rush to get out here he barely had time to gather a skeleton crew. That means most of the systems are being run by computers that had the shit kicked out of them not six months ago.”

Tarchus remained silent, running theoreticals and practicals. “If an attacker wished to board, how would they do so?”

A huff. “I’d pop straight through the main hangar doors. Armor’s thinnest there. Problem is, that’s where most of the fighting crew’s likely to be. Well, there, and wherever the void Vicky’s got himself to.”

“How far is the hangar?”

“A few klicks, if we took this elevator.”

He stopped. She took several steps past him before turning back.

“The Void are you doing?”

“My brothers will arrive soon, if they have not already.”

“Your- fuck.” She glared at him. “You’re just gonna abandon her?”

“Never.” He growled, and she flinched. “We will have a greater chance of success if we link up with the boarding party.”

“Yeah? Well I say that’s just gonna waste time. We have to get to the Princess now!”

“Theoretical: we go on alone. Practical: whatever forces the traitor has at his personal command slow us down long enough for him to re-capture the Lady.”

Uncertainty passed over her face.

“Alternative theoretical: we join my brothers in the hangar. Alternative practical: as a combined force, we deliver the Emperor’s wrath to whoever stands in our way and cut through to the Lady at a significantly increased rate of speed. The Codex states that-”

She rolled her eyes and cut him off. “I swear, you’ve brought that void-damned Codex up at least a dozen times since we left the armory. Fuck! Do you always talk like this?”

He felt his facial muscles twitching at her disrespect. “Yes.”

“Another example of Astartes’ humor?”

He tightened his grip on his bolter. “Lieutenant-”

“I know, I know. Fine. We’ll do it your way. You’ve got, what, a century or so more of experience than me anyway, right?”

“Over two centuries.”

“Damn. Ok, old man.” She hefted the cannon she appropriated from the armory and grinned. “At least that means I’ll get to use this baby sooner. Let’s go bring some, what did you call it? Emperor’s wrath!”

Tarchus followed her into the elevator, annoyance at being called “old” overshadowing a lingering sense of doubt.

***

“What-?! HOW?!”

You hid your smile as Victor throttled the mercenary who’d delivered the news of the Imperials’ arrival. Pressing a hand over the ring tucked into your bodice, you thanked the Light for its provision.

I’m here, Roboute.

“Lord Heir,” the giant sergeant who never seemed far from your cousin’s side drawled, “what are your orders?”

Victor released the messenger, who fell back against a wall, gasping. Spittle coated your cousin’s lips and chin. His eyes darted from side to side like a trapped animal.

“I… I don’t….” Then, suddenly, he cocked his head as if listening to something. “I… yes. Yes!”

He rounded on the messenger once more. “Go. Have my personal yacht made ready. NOW!”

The man bobbed his head and ran.

The sergeant smirked. “We’re abandoning the Predator, then?”

“We are, Alroy. She’s served me well, but the old hulk’s on her last legs anyway.” He jerked his chin back toward the blood-spattered communication station. “Relay orders to the crew that the invaders are to be resisted at all costs. Tell them… oh, I don’t care. That reinforcements are on the way, or something. Whatever you need to keep them fighting.”

A slow, cruel smile crept across Sgt. Alroy’s face. “Just like Pangea, eh?”

Both men seemed almost to have forgotten you, crouched against the wall. But you couldn’t hold back a gasp at the name. Your cousin’s eyes snapped back to you.

“Ah, so you haven’t been kept entirely sheltered, have you? Granny told you of my great victory?”

Your mind raced. Pangea. A planetoid on the very edge of TerraNovan space, hailed as a triumph of the new terraforming technology. The videos broadcasted throughout the homeworld showed starry-eyed colonists, giddy with the thrill only a brand new colony can bring. A bright spot in your Grandmother’s otherwise dark reign.

One of the only times I ever saw her genuinely smile.

You wondered if the colonists were ever told how thin the Wards were in that corner of space. You doubted it. Maybe no one knew.

Until the Tyranids attacked.

“Pangea. Such a pretty little morsel.” Victor’s eyes took on a feverish gleam. “I was so confident, you know? So sure in my battleship and fleet. We’d put down rebellions, slaughtered orks in their thousands. We were invincible!”

His laugh sent chills down your spine.

“Grandmother told me the colony was lost.” You whispered.

“We fought hard. We hurt them badly. But it wasn’t enough. They were unrelenting. And they knew so much. Not the animals we thought.” His voice dropped to a rasp. “I had to make a sacrifice.”

Your blood ran cold. “Pangea. Oh, Light.”

“You should have seen the little colonists.” He giggled. “So brave, so proud. Embodying the TerraNovan ideal. They believed me when I said I’d be back with help.”

Horror mingled with rage and you stood to your full height. “You told us they blew the planetary reactor. We built memorials, called them heroes!” You stabbed a finger into his chest. “Did you even try to save any of them before you destroyed the colony, Victor?”

His gaze finally held yours. What you saw sent an electric shock through every nerve in your body.

“You didn’t destroy the colony.”

“Clever little cousin,” he purred, “I’ll never underestimate your intelligence again. No, no. I didn’t destroy Pangea.” He leaned in until you felt his rancid breath on the side of your face. “I made a deal.”

“Does… Grandmother know?”

His incredulous laugh answered you.

“Lord Heir.” Sergeant Alroy stepped away from the computer. “The order is given.”

“Good.”

“The Imperials have breached the hangar bay. From what I could make out before the transmission cut off, Guilliman is leading them.”

Your cousin gave a shocked chuckle. “He’s proven more tenacious than I thought. And for what? A little bastard bitch?” He snorted. “Still, time to leave, quickly.”

“We’ll make for HQ?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“He will follow.”

“Yes, I suspect he will. The timetable will have to be accelerated, but our… new allies… should be recovered enough by the time they arrive.” Victor cackled. “Oh, to see the smug superiority wiped off your fiance’s face when he realizes, sweet cousin!”

All this you heard in a frozen haze. The scope of Victor’s lies… the depths of his betrayal… of his delusion….

And no one knows but me. No one knows!

The Sergeant stepped out of the communications room. Victor turned to speak to him.

They thought you a scared little rabbit. But rabbits were quick.

With a bound, you were back inside the room. Your hand hit the door controls, shutting it in Victor’s shocked face. Grabbing the bloodied knife from the floor, you thrust it hard into the locking mechanism. Circuits sparked as the door jammed.

Dead eyes stared up at you from the floor. The mercenary you’d killed. The brave Ensign who’d died for you. Blood, so much blood.

Only a merest prelude of the oceans to be spilled if you didn’t act.

“Time to be what they all think I am.” You murmured as you took a seat before the transmitter.

***

The burning blade swung in arcs of flame and blood. Dozens died with each swing. Like insects.

For insects they were, in the eyes of The Avenging Son.

“My Lord!” Sicarius’s voice reached him as if from a great distance. “Wait!”

He did not. He would not. Doors not meant for the breadth of his armored shoulders burst asunder before him. Bodies crunched beneath his feet, alongside discarded weaponry. The enemy fled.

The growl that came from his throat would have sounded more at home in the maw of a Space Wolf.

Where are you, my love?

“My Lord!” A restraining hand on his arm. “Forgive me, but-”

He shook off Sicarius’s gauntlet with a snarl.

To his credit, the Commander held his ground. “We’ve located Brother Tarchus, my Lord.”

The red haze faded long enough for his analytical mind to function once more.

Julian Tarchus, the Ultramarine I sent to guard her. He lives!

“Take me to him.”

He followed Sicarius through corridors his gene-son navigated with difficulty. The Primarch had to bend nearly double, pauldrons and halo scraping along the walls and ceiling with every step. He noticed grooves already carved into the metal.

How far ahead did I charge?

His rational mind berated him for his foolishness in outdistancing his guard. His hearts screamed at him to continue.

It had taken all of three minutes and fifteen seconds for the TerraNovan mercenaries to break formation when he leapt from the still hovering Thunderhawk. He remembered pursuing, not even bothering to fire his heavy bolter. Just slashing without thought.

It had been… cathartic.

A helm he’d never thought to see again appeared before him. Guilliman felt a pang of guilt. So focused had he been on you, that he hadn’t spared your bodyguard a single thought.

“My son.”

Tarchus knelt. “My Lord!”

Beside him, a machine the likes of which he’d never seen before also dropped to one metallic knee. “What is this?”

A hiss of air, and a hatch opened to reveal a disheveled young woman seated at the machine’s controls. She stared at the center of his chest, mouth agape.

Tarchus spoke. “This is Fren- Lt. Calderon, my Lord. A fellow prisoner aboard this voidship. She is loyal to the Lady.” He hesitated a moment. “She saved my life.”

Guilliman nodded to the woman. “My thanks, Lieutenant.”

“Holy fuck,” was the only response.

Sicarius huffed. “Of all the disrespectful-”

Guilliman’s raised hand silenced him. “Enough. Tarchus, is the Lady still….” the word caught in his throat.

Tarchus met his eyes. “She is, my Lord. She has commandeered a communications hub in the upper decks. The Lieutenant and I made contact and were approaching when we heard of your arrival.”

Relief almost weakened his knees.

Alive.

And so… very… close!

A thought struck him. “You deviated from your path to come here, Tarchus.”

The Ultramarine’s face tightened. “The Codex dictates-”

Guilliman kept his tone calm and measured. “Damn the Codex to the Warp.”

Every Ultramarine in his retinue stiffened. Something that might have been a hysterical snicker came from the TerraNovan lieutenant.

Tarchus bowed his head. “Forgive me, my Lord.”

“If she remains safe, I shall.” He glanced at the Lieutenant, wiping the smile from her face. “You know the way?”

“Y-yeah?”

His glare was enough to have her pushing buttons and raising her mech to its feet, hatch closing once more. Just before it locked into place, he heard her mutter.

“Holy fucking fuck!”

Sicarius spoke again. “We should send scouts ahead, my Lord.”

Tarchus shook his head. “Unnecessary.” He looked at the carnage throughout the hangar. “This ship is operating with minimal crew, as difficult as that is to believe. The majority of its defensive forces seem to have been in this hangar. What remains will pose little threat.”

Guilliman felt his anger toward his son ease slightly. “Then we move as one, en force.”

“Let me lead the way, my Lord.” Tarchus stood, face eager. “Let me-”

“No.” Guilliman turned to the woman and her strange machine. “Go. I will follow.”

“Sir! Yes, sir!”

The Primarch and Ultramarines made their way through the all but empty ship. Guilliman gritted his teeth at the glacial pace. Already his fingers ached to draw his blade. The walls and ceiling seemed to close in around him, as if holding him back, the whole ship an obstacle to overcome.

Where are you? Where are you?

He fought the urge to demand how far they were like an impatient child.

He fought the urge to tear through the confining metal with blade and gauntlet alone.

He fought the urge to chase down and slaughter each fleeing baseline they encountered.

He fought a losing battle.

Just as he felt he must charge ahead or burst, a message came through his vox receiver.

“Lord Guilliman.”

“Captain Takahashi.”

“We’re receiving an all-frequency transmission from the Predator. It is the Lady Heir!”

Both hearts leapt into his throat. “Patch it through.”

And then, your voice.

Oh… Throne….

It flowed over him like cool water. It burned like fire. Soothing and stimulating. Everything… and not nearly enough. If you knew how you could break him with a word…. When this was over, he’d make sure you knew.

Only slowly did the actual words register.

“...call to arms! People of TerraNova, you have been deceived. My cousin is no war hero, but a traitor. And not only of our people, but of all humanity.”

The terrified determination in your words filled him with equal parts pride and horror. Theoreticals and practicals began their unstoppable cascade once more as you brought the sordid truth to light.

“No longer as the Lady Heir do I call upon you, no longer as your Princess in the Tower, but as your Matron Uncrowned. Military, merchant, and civilian alike. In every voidship that can bear soldiers or arms. Come to these coordinates and ally with the Lord Guilliman, your Patron To Be. We must eradicate this evil before it can take root and spread among us.”

Guilliman had heard speeches beyond count. Speeches full of evocative language designed to manipulate. But the sweet sincerity in your words roused something in him he’d thought long dead.

“We are TerraNova, we are the heirs of Humanity That Was. United with our stalwart brothers and sisters of the Imperium, we will prevail. Light guide us all.”

A long pause, and then….

“Roboute, if you can hear me, I love-”

The transmission died.

He didn’t think. He whirled upon the TerraNovan lieutenant and she understood.

“Not far now!”

Her machine burst into a thunderous sprint all but drowned out by the pounding of his own sabatons.

A sobbing groan tore from his chest as they reached the broken door of the communications room. The sight of blood almost deprived him of his sanity, until he realized neither body resembled you. Then,in the brief moment of stillness, a soft scuffle from far up the corridor.

He pursued, cursing the ever tightening corridors that clutched at him, cursing his unwieldy armor, cursing everything and everyone….

…but you.

The air he dragged into his lungs bore the faintest trace of your scent now.

So close.

Fleeing footsteps around the next bend.

So close!

The hiss of a door closing.

SO CLOSE!

Ripping through metal he burst into the smaller hangar just in time to see…

You.

Bruised, bloodied, clothing torn. Your cousin’s arm wrapped around your throat as he dragged you up the ramp of a hovering voidship.

“Roboute!”

Before Guilliman’s very eyes your cousin dragged your head back and covered your mouth in a savage mockery of a kiss. Then the ramp closed and the ship’s engines flared, sending it soaring out into the black.

So close….

Guilliman activated his vox.

“Hear me, you motherless bastard. I will find you. I will drown everything you send against me in blood to take her from you. And then I will crush you… with my bare hands.”

@remembrancer-of-heresy @solspina @sleepyfan-blog @moodymisty @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@bispecsual @kit-williams @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @adhd-fandom-hyperfocus @lemon-russ

@justeverythingnothingelse @scriberye @bleedingichorhearts @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @mooniequeen

@passionofthesith @noncon-photobomb @sinistermojo @b-rabbitboss @vyzz-undercover

@missmannequin @rivalriotrenegade @iloveoutlinesiswear @jaghatai-khock @hatsubara-8chan

@justanothermemestrider @meervalv0 @grimdark-raccoon @garlickedbreads @riokunova

@ailujsenutna @emiemiemiii @astrohymn @synfiction @soul-of-leya

@n0cturn4 @mgrm99 @seirensou @zamzmak @elita1

@ilovewolvezz @primordialsneeze @summersong2262 @nereidof40k @ahrianee

@sunsetlobster @nekotaetae @toto-the-cactus @thevoidscreams

#warhammer 40k #primarch #primarch x reader #roboute gulliman #roboute guilliman x reader #ultramarines #i'm nowhere near done tormenting this man

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