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daryltwdixon · 15 days ago

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Joel Miller x Reader Just Coffee

fluffy Joel drabble to help clear my head. I was a barista for 8+ years and loved my regulars, so this is like a little slice of my life when I worked for a family owned coffee shop in the downtown of a city. Hope you enjoy! lmk if you want a ptII cause im thinking hot car sex w these two after their first date.

Inspired by that tlou (game) scene where Ellie asks if Joel used to go to coffee shops, and he admits, ‘All the time.’ And when she asks what he would order, he says, ‘Coffee, just coffee’

Vanilla latte, iced—extra pump of vanilla, three pumps of caramel, swirl, whipped cream. Chai latte, soy milk—hot, extra hot. Cold brew with sweet cream, shot of peppermint. London Fog—extra foamy, not too hot.

"Coffee. Just coffee."

You could’ve kissed him right then and there. And he was handsome enough that you wouldn’t even have to close your eyes. He must’ve caught the way your shoulders relaxed, how the sigh left your body like a weight lifted.

“Comin’ right up,” you smiled, ringing him up as he slid a few ones into your very, very empty tip jar.

‘Just Coffee’ guy settled at the small bar, joining the usual morning stragglers—people who took their time with their warm mugs, occasionally ordering a bagel or a scone to go with it. He sat next to your crossword regular, an older gentleman who always had a puzzle in front of him, filling in the blanks with unwavering confidence. Always pen, never pencil.

You left them to it, but your eyes drifted toward ‘Just Coffee’ now and then, making sure his mug wasn’t too low, wasn’t getting too cold.

The morning flew by in a blur of orders and chatter, the shop filling and emptying in waves. By the time you checked back on ‘Just Coffee’ guy, he was gone.

A pang of disappointment sat low in your stomach. You wished you would’ve gotten him talking—he had that air about him, the kind of presence that carried stories. The people who sat at your bar top, the ones who weren’t rushing in and out for their nine-to-five caffeine fix, were always the most interesting.

You were surprised to see him the next day. A smile lifted at his lips as he stepped up in line, cash at the ready in his large, dirt-greased hands. A man who worked manual labor, clearly.

"Coffee," he said, his twang deep and velvety. "Just coffee, miss."

"You got it," you said with a smile, handing him a warm mug of your house roast as he took his new usual seat at the bar.

"Dammit—" the man next to him muttered, scratching his chin with the tip of his pen. Steve, your crossword regular. Under his nose, the day’s puzzle sat partially filled in, his brow furrowed in frustration. “What in the hell is the ‘process of leveling or smoothing wet concrete’? Seven letters?" He called your name, exasperated. "You got any idea?”

"Steve, if I knew anything about construction, I’d be way further along on my home improvement projects," you called over the hiss of the milk frother.

"Screedin’ is the word you’re lookin’ for, I think."

‘Just Coffee’ spoke casually, like it was second nature, his voice rolling low behind the lip of his mug. Steve blinked at him, like he hadn’t even realized the man was there, his wide eyes darting between him and the crossword.

"I think that might just work! How do ya spell that now? S-C-R-E—"

"S-C-R-E-E-D-I-N-G," ‘Just Coffee’ said slowly, the drawl thick and steady as the letters tumbled off his tongue.

You smiled to yourself, glancing his way. Knew he had to be manual labor. But before you could turn and ask him about it, he was already stepping off the stool, giving a quick nod of thanks, and heading for the door.

A couple of ones landed next to his empty mug—more than the cost of his coffee.

He didn’t come the next day.

Or the day after that.

By the fourth morning, you caught yourself lingering by the bar, staring at the empty stool where he sat. The coffee shop was just as busy, orders coming in waves, regulars dropping their change into the tip jar, Steve grumbling over his crossword. But something was missing.

You’d gotten used to those hazel eyes meeting yours across the counter, the quiet weight of his presence. The way his dark, unruly hair framed his face, always a little windswept, a little messy, like he’d rolled straight out of bed and into a long shift. His hands—rough, calloused, dirt still lingering in the creases—wrapped steady around a warm coffee mug.

It had only been a handful of mornings, but somehow, he’d settled into your routine like he belonged there.

And now, the absence of him gnawed at you in a way that surprised you.

You should’ve asked him his damn name.

By the sixth day, you convinced yourself it didn’t matter. He was just another customer, just a passing figure who needed a caffeine fix before moving on. Maybe he found a different coffee spot. Maybe he’d never been the type to stick around anyway.

But on the seventh morning, as you wiped down the counter, movement by the door caught your eye.

You turned, heart kicking up against your ribs.

There he was.

Another worn flannel, same dirt-streaked hands, same heavy-lidded gaze scanning the shop like he hadn’t been gone for a week. And when those hazel eyes finally landed on you, a flicker of something warm and familiar crossed his face.

You pushed off the counter before you could stop yourself.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” you said, trying to sound casual, but you knew he could hear the lilt of amusement in your voice.

“How are ya, miss?” he drawled, stepping up to the counter, cash already in hand. “Been busy.”

You nodded, trying not to stare too long at the way his fingers curled around the worn bills. “Let me guess—coffee, just coffee?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “You got it.”

As you poured, you finally asked the question that had been itching at you since the first day he walked in.

“You got a name, or am I just supposed to keep callin’ you ‘Just Coffee’ forever?”

He smirked, tilting his head slightly as he watched you.

“Joel,” he said.

You smiled, setting his mug down in front of him. “Well, Joel—hope you don’t disappear on me again.”

His fingers brushed the warm ceramic as he settled onto his usual stool. “Jobs come and go, just depends on the day, hunny.”

Hunny. It was damn near like honey dripping from his tongue in that slow drawl, thick and warm. The way it rolled off his lips curled low in your belly, heating your cheeks as you turned to the next customer, hoping to God he didn’t notice.

The middle of the week was always slow, which worked in your favor today. By the time the morning rush faded, you found yourself wiping down the counters, clearing dishes near the bar, and finally getting the chance to ask Joel about his life.

You rinsed out a mug, letting the warm water run over your fingers as you glanced toward him. He was nursing his coffee slow, one hand wrapped around the mug, the other resting loose on the bar. His posture was easy, relaxed, but you could tell there was something there, something deep in his bones that he carried.

"So, what kinda jobs come and go?" you asked, keeping your tone light.

Joel glanced up from his mug, considering you for a moment. “Construction, mostly," he said, rolling his shoulders like the very word made them ache. "Been a contractor for years—fixin' up places, layin’ concrete, buildin’ what needs buildin'.”

Figures. Those arms—strong, steady—the kind that looked like they knew the weight of real work. His hands were large, rough and calloused, the kind you’d feel long after they touched you. But, Joel was a customer. You weren’t thinking that, of course not.

"Guess that explains why you knew the crossword answer last week," you teased, tossing the rag over your shoulder. "Steve still talks about it like you pulled magic outta thin air."

Joel huffed, shaking his head. "Man’s usin’ a pen for a crossword, and I’m the one impressin’ him?"

You grinned, leaning against the bar. "Hey, knowledge is power around here, Joel."

He let out a quiet hmm and took another sip of his coffee.

Before you could press further, the bell above the door jingled, and you got up hastily to take the newcomer’s order.

“Don’t worry about him,” Joel called over, sitting up straighter, setting down his coffee mug as his gaze flicked toward the man.

He stepped inside, his dark hair long, face clean-shaven, dimples deepening as he took in the scene. Something unspoken passed between the two of them—something that made it hard to tell if they were coworkers, friends, or something else entirely.

Then the man clapped Joel on the shoulder, grinning wide, “So this is what you’ve been ditchin’ the mornin’ crew for, huh, big brother?”

Your brows lifted. Brother.

Joel exhaled hard through his nose, eyes narrowing with obvious irritation, but his posture remained loose—like he was used to this, used to him.

“What ya got for me, Tommy?” he asked.

You barely had a second to process before Tommy’s attention shifted to you. His gaze swept over you, warm and playful, before he leaned a little too comfortably against the bar, ignoring his brother.

“Well now,” he drawled, flashing you a grin that could probably talk its way out of a speeding ticket, “if I knew this was the kinda place Joel was sneakin’ off to, I would’ve tagged along a whole lot sooner.”

Joel muttered something under his breath and rubbed his forehead.

You crossed your arms, biting back a smile. “And here I thought he just liked my coffee.”

Tommy let out a low chuckle, tilting his head. “Can’t say I blame him, darlin’.”

Joel let out a long, long sigh, already done with whatever this was turning into. He stood, tugging his jacket over his broad shoulders before clapping a firm hand on Tommy’s back—firm like a warning.

“C’mon,” Joel muttered, steering him toward the door.

Tommy let himself be dragged, but not without a final wink in your direction. “I’ll be seein’ you around, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help the giggle that slipped past your lips as Joel shoved him out the door with far more force than necessary, the bell jingling wildly as they disappeared outside.

Joel glanced back once, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe the last two minutes of his life before heading off into the distance.

You just smiled, shrugging as you wiped down the counter.

But things changed after that morning.

Tommy only needed to step through the damn door before Joel was tensing at the bar, a muscle twitching in his jaw, his coffee suddenly the least interesting thing in the room. He continued to show up every morning, still ordered just coffee, still sat in his usual spot—but now, his eyes lingered on you more.

And now, he stayed just a little longer.

Not by much, not enough for anyone else to notice, but you did.

You noticed how his gaze flicked toward you between sips, how his fingers tapped idly against his mug whenever you laughed at something a customer said.

His brother joined him more too. You noticed the way he cut Tommy off real quick anytime his brother got a little too comfortable leaning against the counter, that exasperated “Tommy” carrying a warning underneath it.

And you noticed how his tips got just a little bigger after that morning, a couple extra bills tucked under his mug like an unspoken thank you.

So when a week passed—no sign of Tommy this time, no interruptions, just Joel sitting at your bar—you wondered if today might be different.

And it was.

Because today, as you cleared a dish from the counter, Joel cleared his throat. Not the casual kind, not the I’m just readjusting in my seat kind.

The nervous kind.

You glanced up, brows lifting. “What’s eatin’ ya, Joel?”

Joel exhaled sharply, shifting in his seat. “Yeah. Just—uh.” He scratched at the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes. “You, uh… ever eat anywhere that ain’t this place?”

Your lips twitched. “You askin’ if I leave my own coffee shop, Joel?”

His jaw tightened, clearly close to regretting whatever he was doing, but he powered through.

“I’m askin’ if you’d wanna get somethin’ to eat. When your shift is done.” He finally met your gaze, voice a little gruffer than usual, but there was something hesitant in his expression—like he was braced for you to shut him down, “With me.”

You leaned back against the counter, arms crossing as you took your time, letting him sit in it for a second. Watching the way his fingers curled around his coffee mug, how he resisted the urge to shift under your gaze.

Then you smiled. “Are you asking me out?”

His eyes flicked away, like he really hated how direct you were, but you could see the tips of his ears turning pink.

“Yeah,” he muttered. Then, after a pause—“That…a problem?”

You bit your lip, shaking your head. “Not at all.”

Joel’s fingers flexed against his mug. “Good.”

You grabbed a napkin and a pen, scribbling something before sliding it across the counter. “Then you’re gonna need my number.”

He eyed it, then you, something unreadable in his gaze before he finally, finally reached for it. His fingers brushed yours as he folded the napkin, tucking it into his pocket without another word.But you swore—swore—you saw the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he took another slow sip of his coffee.

Part II is here :)

#fluffy Joel miller #Joel miller #Joel miller x you #Joel miller x reader #Joel miller tlou #the last of us #the last of us fic #tlou one shot #Joel miller fluff #tlou joel #joel the last of us #joel x reader #the last of us hbo

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elyxir1zz · 24 days ago

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★ — Between the lines - part 6

CW : meanie sevika, artist reader, hockey player vi and sevika, modern au, highschool shenanigans, cheating, sex, dark themes, love triangle

A/N : sigh...

You sat at a small table in the bistro, the warm lighting and soft chatter of other patrons providing an oddly comforting atmosphere despite your growing impatience. You tapped your fingers against the edge of the table, glancing at the door for what felt like the hundredth time. Jinx was late—again. She was the one who insisted you drive across town, and yet, as usual, she was running on her own schedule.

Finally, the door swung open, and there she was, striding in with her signature energy. She spotted you immediately and stomped over to your table, plopping down into the seat across from you.

“Vander is dating someone,” Jinx announced dramatically, folding her arms across her chest.

You blinked at her, taken aback by the abrupt declaration. “...That’s—wait, that’s the reason you made me drive here at 7 p.m.?” you asked, tilting your head with a smirk. You weren’t actually mad—this was classic Jinx.

“I don’t know, man,” she shrugged, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You’re the only chick I know who comes from a broken home. Figured you’d have some wisdom or whatever.”

Before you could respond, the waitress approached the table with a warm smile, holding her notepad. “What can I get you two fine ladies this evening?”

“Can we get a basket of fries, and I’ll take a Sprite,” Jinx said, shooting the waitress her trademark smirk.

“Lemonade for me, please,” you added, returning the waitress’s smile. She nodded and walked off, leaving you alone with Jinx again.

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. “Yeah, I remember when my mom brought a guy home for the first time. It’s...weird,” you said, your gaze drifting off to the side as you recalled the memory.

Jinx leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “It’s a guy,” she said bluntly.

Your eyes widened, and you snapped your attention back to her. “I—wait, what?” you stammered, searching for the right words but coming up short.

Jinx watched you struggle for a moment before nodding in agreement with your bewilderment. “Yup, and that’s not even the worst part. His name is Silco,” she said, her voice laced with disdain.

You barely had time to process this revelation before the waitress returned with your drinks and the basket of fries. You gave her a polite smile as she set everything down, but as soon as she walked off, you turned back to Jinx with a look of disbelief.

“The fuck kind of name is Silco?” you asked, grabbing a fry and popping it into your mouth.

“Right?!” Jinx said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Sounds like a comic book villain or some shit. Like, ‘Oh no! Silco’s at it again, stealing candy from kids!’”

You snorted, nearly choking on your fry. “I mean, what does Vander even see in this guy?”

Jinx sighed dramatically, grabbing a handful of fries. “No idea. He wears this weird coat all the time, and his face looks like he hasn’t slept in decades. But apparently, Vander really likes him. They’ve gone on, like, three dates.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Three dates and he’s already introducing him to you? Bold move.”

“Tell me about it,” Jinx grumbled, sipping her Sprite. “I’m just saying, if this Silco guy starts hanging around more, I’m not gonna play nice.”

You smirked. “You? Playing nice? Yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Jinx rolled her eyes, though a small grin tugged at her lips despite her frustration. “It’s not the fact that he’s gay. It’s the fact that this dude just screams bad news,” she sighed, picking up another fry and twirling it between her fingers before popping it into her mouth.

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on the table. “Why am I hearing this from you and not Vi?” you asked, genuinely curious.

Jinx shrugged, chewing thoughtfully before responding. “Vi doesn’t care. Well... she cares, but not like me.” She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms and looking at you with furrowed brows. “This is a stranger just intruding on my life, y’know? What if he wants to, like, play dad or something?” She let out an exasperated sigh, pushing the fries toward you.

You grabbed one, munching on it as you nodded slowly. “Okay, but... is that really so bad? Vander deserves to be happy, Jinx.”

She glared at you, narrowing her eyes. “Yeah, well, what about my happiness? Why does nobody ever think about that?” Her voice was sharper than she intended, and she quickly looked away, muttering under her breath. “This guy just feels... off. Like, what does he even want with Vander anyway?”

You tilted your head, studying her expression. “You’re scared, aren’t you?”

Jinx froze for a moment, her fingers hovering over the rim of her drink. “Scared? Of what? Some guy with a creepy name?” she scoffed, but her tone lacked conviction.

“No, scared that things are changing,” you said gently, setting your lemonade down. “You’re used to it just being you, Vi, and Vander. And now someone else is stepping in, and it feels like they’re taking your spot.”

Her jaw tightened, and she didn’t say anything for a long moment. Finally, she sighed, slouching in her chair. “Maybe... yeah, maybe a little. But it’s more than that. This Silco guy—there’s just something about him that rubs me the wrong way. He’s too smooth, y’know? Like he’s hiding something.”

“Have you even talked to him?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” Jinx admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. She looked at you sheepishly before adding, “But I don’t need to. I’ve got instincts, okay? And they’re telling me he’s bad news.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “Jinx, your instincts also told you that a squirrel in the park was plotting against you.”

“Hey!” she pointed a fry at you, narrowing her eyes. “That squirrel was suspicious, and you know it.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you reached for another fry. “Look, all I’m saying is, maybe give the guy a chance. He might surprise you.”

Jinx didn’t respond right away, her gaze fixed on the basket of fries. Finally, she sighed again, grabbing a handful. “Fine. But if he does turn out to be some evil mastermind or whatever, I’m saying ‘I told you so.’”

“Deal,” you said with a grin, raising your lemonade again.

She clinked her Sprite against your glass for the second time that evening, muttering under her breath, “This better not blow up in my face.”

You leaned back in your chair, biting at your nail, your leg bouncing uncontrollably under the desk. Your mind wasn’t in the room—it was busy replaying a whirlwind of thoughts, insecurities, and worries. Next to you, Vi glanced over, noticing your fidgeting. Her hand quietly slid over yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. For a moment, you looked at her and smiled softly, the small gesture grounding you, even if only briefly.

But the moment shattered when the teacher called your name sharply, yanking you out of your spiraling thoughts. You straightened up, looking at the front of the room, startled. “Your writing in the essay was good,” the teacher said with a pointed edge to their tone, “but not perfect.”

The words weren’t inherently cruel, but the way they lingered in the air, accompanied by the muffled snickers of your classmates, made your stomach churn. The laughter grew louder, each chuckle piercing through your chest like daggers. Your brows furrowed in frustration and shame as you instinctively looked toward Vi, expecting her to say something—anything—to stand up for you.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she averted her eyes, avoiding your gaze altogether. Her hand slipped back to her side, and you were left sitting there alone, the heat of humiliation burning at the edges of your vision.

Your heart sank. You pushed your chair back abruptly, the scraping sound cutting through the laughter, and stood up. Without a word, you walked out of the classroom, the weight of everyone’s stares trailing behind you.

You didn’t stop walking until you were deep into the empty hallway, the sound of your own footsteps echoing faintly against the lockers. You leaned against one, your breath coming out in uneven gasps. The tightness in your chest was unbearable, and your fingers shook as you pressed them against your temple.

“Breathe,” you whispered to yourself, closing your eyes and trying to calm the storm inside you. But it didn’t work. Your breath only grew heavier, more strained, and your knees started to buckle. You slid down, crouching by the lockers, holding your chest as panic overtook you.

“Hey,” a familiar voice called softly, breaking through the noise in your head.

You looked up, startled, to see Sevika standing a few feet away. Her brow was furrowed, concern etched across her face. She didn’t move closer immediately, giving you space as her sharp eyes assessed you.

“I—” you stammered, trying to brush her off, trying to make it seem like you weren’t falling apart. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

But your breath hitched, and your hands gripped your chest tighter, betraying your words. You crouched lower, closing your eyes as you tried to regain control.

Sevika frowned, stepping closer despite your weak protests. “You don’t look fine,” she said firmly but softly, crouching down beside you. Her tone was calm, steady, like an anchor. “What happened?”

You shook your head, unable to find the words. “It’s nothing,” you managed weakly, your voice cracking.

“Doesn’t sound like nothing,” Sevika countered, her gaze unwavering. She glanced at your trembling hands and the way your breaths came in short, uneven gasps. “You’re having a panic attack.”

You nodded slightly, tears threatening to spill. “I—I just—” You choked on the words, pressing your forehead to your knees.

Sevika exhaled slowly, her expression softening. “Okay. Listen to me,” she said, her voice dropping to a gentle tone. “Focus on my voice, alright? In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

You peeked up at her, tears welling in your eyes, and hesitated before trying to follow her lead. You mimicked her slow, steady breathing, though yours were shaky at first.

“Good. Keep going,” she encouraged, her voice low and soothing. She reached out but paused, waiting for a sign of permission. When you didn’t pull away, she placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

Slowly, your breathing started to even out, the tightness in your chest loosening just a little. You wiped at your eyes, avoiding Sevika’s gaze as embarrassment washed over you.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Don’t,” Sevika said simply, shaking her head. “You don’t need to apologize for feeling like this.”

Her words caught you off guard, and you looked up at her. For someone who often seemed so guarded and tough, her expression held a surprising amount of understanding.

“Who did this to you?” she asked after a moment, her tone hardening slightly, though the softness in her gaze remained.

You hesitated, unsure of how much to tell her, but the warmth of her presence made it hard to keep everything bottled up. “It’s… complicated,” you admitted finally, your voice shaky.

“Yeah, well,” Sevika said, leaning back slightly but still keeping her eyes on you. “Whatever it is, you don’t have to deal with it alone.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with sincerity. For the first time in what felt like hours, you let out a shaky exhale, the faintest hint of relief breaking through the storm inside you.

You wiped at your eyes, your breathing still uneven but steadier now. “How did you know to do that?” you asked, your voice quiet and raw. Your hair fell over your shoulder as you leaned forward slightly, a small attempt to ground yourself.

Sevika’s gaze softened as she leaned back against the lockers, crossing her arms. “My mom used to get them,” she said after a moment, her voice low but steady. “Before she passed away.”

Her words hung heavy in the air, and you blinked, startled by the sudden vulnerability. “Oh…” you whispered, unsure of what to say. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

She shook her head, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugging at her lips. “It’s fine,” she said, though the weight of the memory lingered in her tone. “My dad… he used to sit with her when it happened. He’d talk her through it, get her to focus on breathing. I guess it just sorta stuck.”

There was a faraway look in her eyes as she spoke, like she wasn’t entirely in the present anymore, lost instead in fragments of a life she didn’t often share. The toughness that usually defined her seemed to peel away for just a moment, leaving something quieter, softer, beneath.

You tucked your knees up to your chest, watching her. “That’s… really kind of him,” you said gently, hoping she’d take the compliment without brushing it off.

She nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Yeah. He wasn’t perfect, but he had his moments.” She glanced at you, a spark of something unreadable flashing across her face. “Guess I got a few things right from him after all.”

For a moment, the silence between you wasn’t heavy or awkward—it was almost comforting. You both sat there, leaning against the lockers, and for the first time in a while, you didn’t feel entirely alone.

“Thanks,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sevika looked at you, her brow quirking slightly. “For what?”

“For… not walking away.” you said, gesturing vaguely to the space between you.

She shrugged, though her expression softened again. “What happened?” she asked a final time

“My teacher made fun of my writing in front of everyone… and Vi didn’t say anything,” you whispered, your voice cracking as you wrapped your arms around your knees, leaning your forehead against them.

Sevika’s eyebrows furrowed deeply, her usual stoic expression giving way to something more tender. She crouched down in front of you, resting her forearms on her knees as she tried to catch your gaze. “...I’m sorry,” she said after a moment, her voice soft but firm. “He shouldn’t have done that, and she should’ve said something.”

You lifted your head slightly, meeting her steady eyes. There was no trace of judgment or pity in her expression, only quiet understanding. That somehow made the tears you’d been holding back spill over, streaming silently down your face. “I just… I thought she’d have my back,” you admitted, your voice breaking. “But she didn’t even look at me.”

Sevika sighed, running a hand through her hair as she leaned back against the lockers. “That’s not okay,” she said simply, her voice low and even. “She’s supposed to have your back. That’s kind of the bare minimum.”

You swallowed hard, wiping at your cheeks with the sleeves of your hoodie. “Maybe I’m overreacting,” you muttered, trying to brush it off, though your voice betrayed how much it hurt.

“No, you’re not,” Sevika said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. She tilted her head slightly, watching you with that sharp, observant gaze of hers. “Don’t make excuses for people who let you down. You’re allowed to feel hurt when someone doesn’t show up for you, especially someone who’s supposed to care about you.”

Her words struck something deep inside you, and you found yourself nodding, though you still felt conflicted. “It just… it sucks,” you mumbled. “I feel like I can’t rely on her sometimes. Like I’m just supposed to handle everything on my own.”

Sevika’s jaw tightened slightly, and for a moment, she didn’t say anything. Then she shifted, sitting fully on the floor beside you. “You don’t have to handle everything alone,” she said quietly. “You’ve got people, even if it’s not who you expected. Even if it’s just me sitting here with you.”

The simplicity of her statement caught you off guard. It wasn’t some grand declaration, but it felt genuine—solid in a way that you hadn’t felt from anyone else in a while. You looked at her, really looked at her, and for the first time, you felt like maybe it was okay to let someone in, even just a little.

“Thanks,” you whispered, the word feeling too small for what you wanted to say but the best you could manage.

Sevika gave a small nod, a ghost of a smirk tugging at her lips. “Anytime,” she said, leaning back against the lockers with you. “Now, do you want me to deal with that teacher? I can be very persuasive.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, a quiet sound that broke through the weight in your chest. “I think you’d scare him into early retirement,” you said, the corner of your mouth twitching upward.

“That’s the idea,” she said with a wink, and for the first time all day, the knot in your stomach loosened just a little.

taglist:

@vyvvycg @drinkdawudda @jiungmcvv @half-of-a-gay @savedforlaterr

#arcane #arcane sevika #sevika #sevika x reader #lesbian #wlw #vi arcane #vi x reader #vi x you #vi x y/n #sevika x you #sevika x y/n #arcane league of legends #violet arcane #arcane s2

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mossy-paws · 7 months ago

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OH MY GOD DO I HAVE A STORY FOR THIS.

so, my name is Seandra, pronounced “SEE-AN-DRA”, as we know though, but bad news, my mother forgot the dash over the e (é) that would’ve made it have emphasis… Sean is also another way to say/spell “Shawn”. often, people tend to mispronounce my name and call me “SHAWN-dra,” like, always, to the point where almost no one gets my names pronunciation correct first try, my nickname (Sea) is to combat this and usually I just introduce myself as Sea to avoid that happening, I barley even use my real name unless it’s for legal documents and reasons and stuff 😭😭😭

#Cro chatter #so yeah fun fact about me #its never misspelled but MANNNNN no one ever gets it correct first time #I’ve had probably a total of 10 people get it right #I have no clue where people got SHAWN-dra from #That is not a nice name LOLLLLLL Sea-an-dra just sounds better like what????#yeah I will never forgive my mom for forgetting the dash I’m half considering getting it legally changed in the future so that it has it #I’ve also considered just whenever I have to write my name just putting it like that

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daeniradraconis · 19 days ago

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All the Lines We Crossed 2 - William Nylander and Auston Matthews

Summary: William and Nora care for Auston after his injury, ending up on the couch where things take a satisfying turn. Warning: +18 only, threesome, light BDSM play and power dynamics, overstimulation, spitting, breeding...well I think thats it Author’s Note: Here’s the second and final part! I’d love to write more headcanons for this couple in the future, but I feel their story is completed now. Have fun reading it!

The smell of sizzling onions and roasted peppers filled the air, and the kitchen buzzed with a chaotic mix of half-chopped vegetables, open spice jars, and William’s unceasing chatter. He stood at the stove with a wooden spoon in one hand, a confident grin on his face, expertly stirring a bubbling pot of sauce.

“Okay, so Auston’s mom gave me the recipe,” William said, his eyes scanning the scribbled notes on a scrap of paper. “But, like, I think we should kick it up a notch with more chili powder. You know he loves it spicy.”

Nora glanced up from where she was chopping cilantro. “William, if you keep messing with the recipe, it’s not even his mom’s dish anymore. It’s your weird little experiment.”

“Experiment?!” William gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “I’ll have you know, I’m an amazing cook. Auston’s gonna shed happy tears when he tastes this. You’ll see.”

Nora laughed, shaking her head as she reached for the lime wedges. “If he cries, it’ll be because of the chili powder. I can’t believe you actually called his mom for the recipe.”

William turned, tossing his hair in mock offense. “Of course I called her. He’s been all grumpy and distant since the injury, and you know what makes everything better? Food. Especially his mom’s food.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Nora teased, stepping closer and handing him the chopped cilantro. “But, honestly? It’s sweet. You’re sweet.”

He paused, his smile softening as he looked down at her. “Only for him,” he said quietly. Then, after a beat, he added, “And maybe for you. Sometimes. When you’re nice to me.”

She rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips. “Don’t get used to it.”

Their hands brushed as she passed him the cilantro, and he took it, his fingers lingering on hers just a moment too long. The teasing grin returned, but there was something warmer in his gaze now.

“You know,” William said, leaning closer, “if we kiss now, it’ll make the food taste better. It’s science.”

“Science, huh?” Nora raised an eyebrow, trying to stay cool as her pulse quickened.

“Yep,” William said, closing the distance between them with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Totally proven. Kiss the chef, improve the dish.”

“Fine,” she said with a smirk, leaning in. “For the sake of the recipe.”

The kiss began playful, just a soft brush of lips, but it deepened quickly. William slid his hands around her waist, pulling her closer, and the warmth of his body, the faint scent of spices, made her head spin.

“William,” she murmured between kisses, “the sauce is gonna burn.”

He pulled back just enough to glance at the stove. “It’s fine. I’m a multitasking genius.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, laughing as she nudged him back toward the stove. “Stir, genius.”

William groaned but obeyed, turning his attention back to the pot, though his free hand remained resting on her waist. “You’re bossy. Auston’s gonna love that.”

Just then, the sound of the front door opening echoed through the apartment. Nora turned toward the doorway as Auston walked in, his broad shoulders slumped, a bag dangling from his good arm. He looked tired, but his eyes softened when he saw them.

“Something smells good,” he said, his voice rough from the long day. His gaze flicked between the two of them, landing on William’s hand still resting on Nora’s waist. A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“We made your mom’s recipe,” William announced, practically beaming as he set the spoon down. “Well, I made it. Nora just supervised.”

“Supervised?” Nora repeated, crossing her arms. “I’m the reason this kitchen isn’t a disaster.”

Auston chuckled, stepping into the room. “I’m just impressed you didn’t call takeout.”

“Rude,” William said, pointing a finger at him. “You’ll be eating your words when you taste this.”

Auston laughed, his eyes flicking between them. “I’m sure I will.”

Auston’s smile softened as his gaze lingered on both of them. He took a slow step toward Nora, his eyes locking with hers as he reached out to cup her face in his hand. Without another word, he leaned in, pressing his lips gently to hers. It was a tender kiss, a welcome release from the stresses of the day.

When he pulled back, his breath ghosted against her lips, and he whispered, “Good evening, beautiful,” in a low, sweet tone that made her heart flutter.

Nora couldn’t help but smile against him, her fingers grazing his chest as he pulled back just enough for their eyes to meet. There was something in his gaze that made her feel like the luckiest person in the world.

Auston then turned his attention to William, who was leaning against the counter with a sly grin. Auston sauntered over to him, a playful glint in his eyes, and reached out, ruffling William’s hair with exaggerated affection. Then he leaned in close enough for their noses to brush.

“Thanks,” Auston murmured, his voice steady but full of tenderness. “I know what you’re both doing for me. And I’m… really grateful for it.”

William’s teasing expression softened, and he met Auston’s gaze for a long moment before responding with a quiet nod. “Anything for you, love.”

Nora watched them both, her heart swelling with a quiet happiness. The way they looked at each other, the unspoken understanding and deep bond between them, was undeniable. She felt so grateful to be a part of it—to witness the love they shared, and now, the love they extended to her.

—

Dinner had been a hit—thanks to Nora, of course. William had focused on making Auston feel comfortable, his hands always close, a playful smirk never far from his lips. For the first time in days, Auston had relaxed. The comfort food worked its magic, and the quiet affection around him lifted his spirits.

Now, the three of them were sprawled on the couch, cozy and intimate. Auston’s injured arm stretched out, still aching, but the tension in his body had disappeared. His eyes flickered between William and Nora, both radiating love. For the first time in a long while, he felt at ease.

Tonight, Nora was in control. She was determined to make Auston feel cherished, like the center of everything. She’d picked his favorite whiskey, the amber liquid gleaming in their glasses as the soft room light wrapped around them. “I’m taking care of you tonight,” she murmured, her voice low, eyes locking with his in a way that made his breath catch.

William had already played his part—throughout dinner, he’d kept Auston relaxed, distracting him with gentle touches and quiet conversation, easing his mind from the pain. Now, it was Nora’s turn to guide the evening.

Auston took the glass from her, their fingers brushing. He exhaled, a soft sound of relief escaping him. “You’re both unbelievable,” he said, gratitude thick in his voice as he sipped the whiskey.

William leaned in close, his lips grazing Auston’s neck as he whispered, “You deserve this, babe,” his fingers trailing over his shoulders, coaxing him into deeper relaxation.

Nora moved closer, her hand resting on his thigh as she traced slow circles on his skin. “Let me take care of you,” she murmured, her voice warm. She could see how drained he was from the injury, how it had taken so much out of him. Tonight, she wouldn’t let him think about anything but the comfort they offered.

Her hand slid higher, reminding him he wasn’t alone—that he was loved. Auston’s breath hitched, his body responding before his mind could catch up. Nora was taking charge tonight, offering him the care he needed. She saw the exhaustion in his eyes, but also the quiet desire.

“You’re so good to me,” Auston murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He leaned in to kiss her, pulling her closer. His lips were soft, filled with unspoken gratitude.

Nora kissed him back, hands threading through his hair, deepening the kiss to make him forget everything else. When she pulled back, their breaths mingling, she whispered, “You’re ours to take care of,” before kissing him again with more purpose. She wasn’t just soothing him—she was showing him how much he meant to her, how much they both cared.

William’s hand slid around Auston’s back, fingers tracing his spine as he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his ear. “You’ve got both of us tonight,” he murmured, his voice low but sincere. “Just relax and let us give you what you need.”

Auston exhaled slowly, the weight of their words and touch settling in. It wasn’t just about the injury—it was the love, the devotion. They were making him feel like he mattered more than anything.

Nora’s lips drifted from his mouth to his jaw, trailing soft, lingering kisses as her fingers slipped beneath his shirt. She took her time, savoring each moment. She let him feel every second, reminding him how desired he was, gently removing his clothes, piece by piece.

“You’re doing so well, Auston,” she whispered, her voice warm as she kissed his neck.

William smiled quietly, running his hand through Auston’s hair. He was content to let Nora lead, watching as she showered Auston with the affection he needed. His eyes never left Auston’s face, filled with love, before pressing another soft kiss to his neck.

This wasn’t the first time they’d been together, but tonight felt different. It was the first time Nora had fully taken control. In the beginning, when they first started dating, Auston and William had showered Nora with affection as she adjusted. Now, it was her turn to give back.

Nora trailed soft kisses down Auston’s chest before slowly sinking to her knees, a playful smile tugging at her lips. Auston exchanged a knowing glance with William—both intrigued by this bolder side of her. With deliberate care, Nora removed his jeans, breath catching as she took in the sight of him, anticipation building "Come on," William said with a playful but gentle smile, his eyes filled with a knowing glint. "Use your hand, but don’t make him come yet."

Auston let out a frustrated sigh. He was used to William’s teasing, especially in moments like this. But Nora just let out a soft laug. She leaned in, spitting lightly onto Auston’s cock, and then slowly, deliberately, began to stroke him, her hand moving up and down in rhythm.

“Oh no, Willy,” Nora purred, her voice dripping with desire. “You just sit back and watch. You can only touch me or give instructions if Auston allows it.” She shot him a playful wink before lowering her mouth onto him, taking him in fully, her throat tightening as she swallowed around him.

William’s breath hitched, his eyes wide with a mix of surprise and lust. He knew Nora was open to trying new things, but this—this was unexpected. Auston grinned, their gazes locked, silent communication passing between them. They didn’t need words. They were already in sync.

“She’s incredible,” Auston thought, feeling a rush of love and admiration for Nora.

“We’re lucky to have her,” William silently agreed, his pulse quickening as he watched them.

William leaned back, his hands quickly shedding his clothes. He moved to sit next to Auston, eyes never leaving the sight of Nora as she worked. The sound of her sucking, the quiet moans slipping from Auston’s lips, made William’s chest tighten with need. It was like everything else in the world disappeared when he focused on them.

“Would it be okay if I sat behind you, babe?” William’s voice was low, soft, as he kissed the tender spot just behind Auston’s ear.

"Yes, please..."Auston’s voice cracked, his words barely escaping through his panting breath. “… just like that… Fuck, right there…”

William’s heart thundered as he heard Auston’s need, his deep voice thick with pleasure. There was something about hearing Auston beg, about the rawness in his tone, that always drove him wild. But seeing him like this—head thrown back, eyes fluttering closed as Nora’s mouth worked on him—was almost too much to bear. Nora looked so beautiful, flushed, her lips and eyes full of desire, each movement purposefully slow, making Auston feel every second of it.

“Feels good, doesn’t it, baby?” William whispered, his lips grazing Auston’s neck, tasting the salt of his skin. He kissed down the side of his neck, moving slowly, savoring each inch.

Auston’s chest heaved, his body trembling as he moaned, fingers digging into William’s neck as he reached back, pulling him closer. “Yeah… Just like that Nora baby…” His voice was rough, needy.

William smiled against his skin, his hands roaming across Auston’s chest, feeling the hard, taut muscles beneath his fingertips. He pinched a nipple, the sharp tug making Auston groan louder, his back arching slightly in response.

“What’s the matter, baby?” William teased, his voice rich with power. “You gonna come for Nora? She’s practically begging for it.”

“Nope,” Nora murmured, pulling back with a soft, wet pop, her lips lingering for just a moment before she slowly lifted her head. Her gaze swept over the two men, now tangled together, their bodies intertwined in a mix of tension and need. A playful smile curved her lips, her breath shallow with desire.

“I want you inside me, Auston,” she whispered, her voice dripping with seduction as she climbed onto his lap. She moved with deliberate grace, each kiss along his chest leaving a trail of heat. Her teeth grazed his skin, just enough to send a shiver down his spine. “Please,” she begged, her voice low, trembling with anticipation, “fill me up.”

Auston’s breath caught in his throat, his voice rough as he met her gaze. “I’ll give you whatever you want, baby,” he murmured, but his eyes darkened with a deeper hunger. “But first, lose the clothes.” He sank back against William, the strength of his friend’s arms holding him steady as he watched Nora with anticipation.

Nora didn’t hesitate. She rose, her fingers trembling just slightly as she peeled her clothes off, tossing them aside carelessly. Her bare skin glowed under the dim light, her movements fluid, hungry. She returned to Auston’s lap, her bare body brushing against his in a slow, purposeful movement. The heat between them flared as their skin met.

Auston groaned, his eyes never leaving her. “William,” he rasped, “would you mind checking if she’s ready for me?”

William’s lips curled into a knowing smirk as he pressed a kiss to Auston’s cheek. “Anything for you,” he whispered, his voice thick with promise. His hand slipped forward, between Nora’s thighs, and she gasped—a soft, breathy sound as she parted her legs instinctively to welcome him.

William’s fingers found her easily, sliding through the wetness of her skin, a slow, deliberate stroke that made her hips instinctively rise to meet him. A soft moan escaped her, the sound deep and throaty as her hands roamed up to cup her breasts. Her fingers teased a nipple, rolling it between her fingers as William continued to work her open with careful, measured movements.

“God, you’re so wet,” William muttered, his voice full of raw lust as he watched her—each movement, each sound she made heightening the intensity of the moment. He glanced at Auston, his tone shifting with desire. “She’s perfect, but she’ll need more.”

With a final, slow thrust of his fingers, William stretched her further, making her hips twitch and grind in response. His touch was firm, methodical—preparing her for what was to come. Nora whimpered, her body already so responsive, her head tipped back in pure pleasure. Every part of her was on fire, an overwhelming mix of sensation.

Meanwhile, Auston dipped his head to her chest, his lips grazing her sensitive skin. He took one nipple into his mouth, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate circles, before gently sucking, sending jolts of pleasure through her body. Nora’s hands clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders as her body moved instinctively with their touches. William’s free hand pressed against Auston’s back, his own arousal evident as the three of them moved together, synchronized in their need.

Nora felt the tension inside her coil tighter and tighter, each stroke, each touch unraveling her further. She was so close. William’s fingers, Auston’s tongue, and the occasional press of Auston’s cock against her thigh—all of it combined to push her to the brink. Her breath hitched, her body trembled, and then it hit her—like a wave crashing over her, her body shaking as her orgasm tore through her, lighting up her every nerve.

“Willy… Aus…” she moaned, her voice trembling, hands gripping their firm, muscular bodies for support, her body now completely undone.

William leaned in, his lips brushing against Auston’s ear. “Look at her,” he murmured, his voice low with admiration. “How beautiful is she while she’s coming from my fingers?”

Auston pulled his mouth away from her breast, his lips brushing softly over her flushed skin. Her face was a portrait of bliss—eyes heavy with pleasure, lips swollen and parted, undone by the passion they’d shared. She looked ethereal, as though she had completely surrendered to the moment. Auston’s breath hitched in his chest as he cupped her cheek, his thumb gently caressing the warmth of her skin.

God, he thought, his heart pounding in his chest. How could he love anyone this much?

"Come here, baby," Auston murmured, his voice low and warm, vibrating with promise. His hands wrapped around her waist, gently lifting her from William’s touch, holding her steady as her body trembled beneath him. She was still floating, her limbs weak and her pulse racing from her last release.

A soft whimper escaped Nora’s lips as Auston guided her down, inch by slow inch, onto his cock. Her breath hitched, her chest rising and falling with the effort to adjust, exhaustion and overstimulation mixing with the raw need she couldn’t quite suppress.

"No… I can't…" she whispered, her voice fragile as her head fell against his shoulder. Her words cracked, the tremor of her exhaustion betraying her. "I can't take more… I—"

"Yes, you can, baby," Auston whispered, his lips grazing her ear, his hands firm but patient on her hips. He guided her into a slow, steady rhythm, coaxing her into the movement with a tenderness that contrasted the hunger in his voice. "You were made for this, Nora. You were made for us."

Behind her, William’s voice joined in, a soft growl of approval laced with heat. "You're perfect, sweetheart," he murmured, eyes drinking in the sight of her body as she moved against Auston’s. His fingers brushed down her back, sending a shiver through her. "We’ve got you. You’ll take it, and you’ll love it."

Auston’s grip tightened, a deep groan escaping his lips as Nora’s walls clenched around him, her body responding with growing confidence. Her hips rolled in time with the rhythm, and she reached up, gripping William’s shoulders for balance, her nails pressing into his skin.

Auston’s hand drifted down, his fingers finding her clit, moving in slow, deliberate circles that made her moan into William’s neck. Each stroke was calculated, building her up higher as her breath hitched with every pulse of pleasure.

William leaned in closer, his chest pressing against Auston back, lips ghosting over her temple as the room filled with the sounds of their bodies—soft gasps, wet skin, the rhythmic creak of the couch beneath them. It was intoxicating, overwhelming, and William couldn’t hold back. The sight of Nora riding Auston, her body trembling with every movement, sent heat flooding through him. His breath faltered, and with a low, guttural groan, he came—hot and heavy—spilling across Auston’s back.

Auston chuckled, his voice husky as he turned his head toward William, mischief flickering in his eyes. "Couldn’t help yourself, huh?" he teased, swiping a finger through the mess on his skin and bringing it to his lips. He licked it clean with a quiet moan, savoring the taste.

Nora, now fully lost in the rhythm, leaned forward, her breath shallow as her eyes locked onto William’s. Her gaze was dark with desire, lips swollen, the heat between them palpable. Her hand rose to cup his cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over the corner of his lips before she slowly parted her mouth.

Without hesitation, William leaned in, steady and deliberate. His gaze never left hers as he let the saliva pool in his mouth before spitting it into hers. His hand cradled her throat, his thumb pressing lightly against her pulse point as she swallowed, eyes fluttering closed in submission.

Auston groaned deeply at the sight, his hips bucking up instinctively, unable to keep still as the scene unfolded before him. "God, baby," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, his hands tightening on her hips. "You're incredible. Come for me, Nora. Let me feel you."

The words shattered any restraint left inside her. A tremor ran through her, and with a cry of his name, Nora threw her head back, her body tensing as her orgasm overtook her. Her walls clamped down around Auston, and that was all it took for him to follow. With a deep, guttural moan, he spilled inside her, filling her completely.

"Auston," William murmured, his lips pressing a kiss to the curve of Auston’s shoulder. His voice dropped lower, dripping with heat. "Give her everything. I want to see it." His gaze darkened with desire. "I want to see your cum dripping down her thighs."

The words sent a shiver through both Auston and Nora, their bodies wracked with aftershocks. For a long moment, Auston stayed buried inside her, holding her close as their breath mingled. William’s hands drifted over them, stroking gently as they recovered, offering comfort and connection in the aftermath.

Finally, Auston pulled back, carefully lifting Nora off him. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, her body still trembling from the intensity of their shared release. He laid her down beside him on the couch, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. Then, he turned to William, leaning in to kiss him—a kiss that was tender, unhurried, full of quiet affection after the storm they’d just weathered together.

“I’m gonna clean up,” Auston murmured against his lips, his voice warm.

“Go ahead,” William replied, his fingers brushing over Auston’s jaw. “I’ll take care of her.”

As Auston disappeared down the hallway, William knelt between Nora’s legs.

“Willy… please,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I don’t think I can take any more.”

“Relax, baby,” William murmured, his lips brushing over the soft skin of her inner thigh. “I’m just cleaning you up.”

His movements were slow and deliberate as he licked along the inside of her thighs, his tongue soft and warm against her skin. There was no urgency, no demand—just quiet affection. As his blue eyes flicked up to meet hers, they were filled with nothing but love.

Nora’s hands found their way into his blonde curls, her fingers tangling there as soft moans escaped her lips. William moved carefully, his tongue sweeping over her sensitive skin, tasting both her and Auston as he cleaned every trace of them away. When he was done, he leaned up, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her lips.

The moment was intimate and quiet, filled with warmth. Nora sighed against his mouth, tasting the blend of all three of them.

They broke apart at the sound of Auston’s soft laugh. Nora and William turned to find him leaning casually against the wall, his Maple Leafs shirt hanging loose over his frame, his arms holding Nora’s pajamas and a pair of boxers for William.

“I thought you two might need these,” he said, his smile wide as he looked at the two people he loved most in the world.

Auston crossed the room, tossing the clothes gently onto the couch beside Nora and William. He crouched down beside her, his large hand brushing softly over her cheek. Nora’s flushed face was still dazed, her body heavy with exhaustion, her lips slightly swollen from everything they’d done. She was breathtaking like this, undone and glowing. It made Auston’s chest ache.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice tender as he leaned in to kiss her forehead. “You okay, baby? Anything you need?”

Nora let out a shaky laugh, her fingers finding his wrist and giving it a small squeeze. “I’m okay,” she said, her voice hoarse, her body trembling faintly as she sank back into the couch cushions. “Just… exhausted.”

William shifted beside her, already tucking one of the blankets over her bare body with careful hands. “You should be,” he teased lightly, his lips brushing her hairline. “You didn’t make it easy on yourself, baby girl.”

“I didn’t think he’d actually do it,” Nora muttered, her cheeks darkening as she buried her face against Auston’s chest.

Auston froze for a moment, exchanging a glance with William over her shoulder. “Didn’t think I’d do what?” he asked softly, though his voice held a hint of nervousness.

Nora peeked up at him, her lips pressing together before she let out a quiet huff. “When I told you to fill me up,” she admitted, her tone sheepish. “I was just… in the moment. I didn’t think you’d actually…we never did without a condom—”

Auston let out a deep laugh, cutting her off. “Oh, come on, baby,” he said, cupping her cheek so she couldn’t hide her face. “You begged for it. You think I could resist that?”

Nora groaned, covering her face with both hands. “I wasn’t thinking,” she mumbled, her voice muffled. “I’m not on anything. I stopped taking the pill months ago. It was making me miserable—my hormones, my mood, everything. I had to stop.”

Auston’s laughter faded, his face softening. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

��I didn’t think it mattered,because we were always careful…” she said, lowering her hands to meet his gaze. “Not until… well, now.”

William leaned in closer, his hand resting gently on her hip. “Nora,” he said softly, his voice low and reassuring. “You don’t ever have to keep stuff like that to yourself. We’re your partners. We’re in this together.”

“I know,” she whispered, guilt flickering in her voice. “I just didn’t want to complicate things. And it’s not like I expected tonight to…”

“To be this intense?” Auston finished for her, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

She nodded, her cheeks flushing.

Auston tilted her chin up, his dark eyes searching hers. “Baby, listen to me. I don’t care that you’re not on anything. I mean it. Actually…” He trailed off, his ears tinged pink as he glanced at William.

“What?” Nora asked nervously.

William grinned, leaning forward to press a kiss to her temple. “We think it’s hot,” he said bluntly.

“What?” Nora repeated, blinking at him.

Auston laughed, shaking his head. “I’m serious, Nora. The idea of you carrying something that’s ours? That’s… incredible. It’s not just hot, it’s… I don’t know how to explain it. It’s everything.”

Nora stared at them, her heart pounding in her chest. “You’re serious?”

“Of course we are,” William said, his hand moving to rest on her stomach. His thumb traced lazy circles there, as if imagining something just beneath the surface. “The thought of starting a family with you? That’s a dream, baby. One we’d be lucky to share with you.”

Tears welled in her eyes as she looked between them. “I love you both so much,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

Auston leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “We love you too, Nora,” he murmured against her mouth.

“More than anything,” William added, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer.

They sat like that for a while, the three of them tangled together on the couch, their bodies pressed close under the blanket. Auston’s hand rested on her thigh, while William’s fingers lazily stroked her back.

Eventually, Auston helped her into the pajamas he’d brought over, his movements careful and precise. William slipped into his boxers, and Auston stayed in his Maple Leafs shirt and sweatpants. By the time they settled back onto the couch, Nora was nestled between them, her head resting on Auston’s chest and her legs draped over William’s lap.

The quiet hum of their breathing filled the room, a soft, steady rhythm that pulled her closer to sleep.

“You really think we’d make a good family?” she asked after a while, her voice barely above a whisper.

Auston smiled, his fingers threading through her hair. “The best,” he said softly.

“We already are one,” William added, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “It’s just a matter of time.”

And with that, the three of them drifted off together, wrapped in the warmth of each other’s love and the promise of everything their future could hold.

#auston matthews smut #auston matthews #auston matthews fic #auston matthews imagine #am34 #william nylander fic #william nylander fanfic #william nylander imagine #william nylander #william nylander smut #nhl smut #hockey smut #hockey imagine

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mintyys-blog · 22 days ago

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dark! peter parker x fem! reader: caught in his web

WARNINGS: stalking, swearing, murder, kidnapping, smut, DUB-CON (kinda), mention of death, isolation.

The streets of New York were eerily quiet tonight, the kind of quiet that carried a weight. No bustling chatter, no honking horns, not even the faint echo of distant sirens. The city felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for something—or someone. The sensation crept up your spine, subtle at first, then undeniable. It wasn’t the usual paranoia of a city dweller walking home late at night. You quickly walked, boarder line running at this point. Something was making goosebumps raise on your arms and you weren’t planning to find out what was the cause.

Rounding a corner into an alley—a mistake you’d regret later—you froze as a figure descended from above. The faint hiss of webbing broke the silence, and there he was. Spider-Man.

But this wasn’t the hero you’d grown up hearing about. His suit was darker, the once-bright red now muted like dried blood. His mask was torn just enough to reveal the edge of his jaw, clenched tight, and his eyes—those lenses glowed faintly in the dim light, casting a cold, predatory aura.

Behind him, a man hung suspended in webbing, struggling and begging for mercy. His voice cracked, desperate. “Please! I swear I’ll stop—I won’t do it again!” He tried to move but the webs had him stuck in place.

Spider-Man didn’t answer right away. He tilted his head, his body unnervingly still, as if considering the man’s fate. His steps were delicate, silent as he crept closer.

“No,” he finally said, his voice low, almost a growl. “You won’t.”

You didn’t think; you just acted. “Stop!” you shouted, stepping forward before fear could take hold. Your body froze, what did you just do? You should have just walked away. You gulped.

Both the criminal and Spider-Man turned their attention to you. The man in the web looked hopeful. Spider-Man, however, looked… curious. He cocked his head to the side, “Who are you to tell me what to do?” His voice was sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade. He took a step closer, and though his movements were slow, deliberate, they carried an undeniable sense of danger. Based on the stories you heard, he was friendly right? So why didn’t it feel that way?

You swallowed hard, heart pounding, but you didn’t back down. “You’re supposed to be better than this.” You looked around with your eyes, slowly backing away.

For a moment, he said nothing, simply staring at you. Then, to your surprise, he laughed—a low, humorless sound that sent a chill through you. The sudden sound made you jump.

“Better?” he echoed, taking another step forward. “Better doesn’t keep this city safe. Better doesn’t stop people like him.”

“But you’re a hero…” it sounded like a whisper coming from you. A mere prayer, hopelessly uttered. You felt trapped, but not by the alley walls. It was the way his glowing lenses locked onto you, the way his presence seemed to fill the space, leaving no room for escape. He flicked his wrist and his webs dropped the man from the great height. His body hit the ground hard and you could hear his bones crack upon impact. Blood was seeping from the man’s head. Your eyes widen, like a deer in headlights you stood still. Did that just happen? Did Spider-Man… kill someone? Even if they were a criminal- that wasn’t what he was known for.

“What’s your name?” he asked suddenly, the question catching you off guard.

“Why does it matter?” you shot back, trying to keep your voice steady. Your hands were shaking, you needed to make a run for it, but even if you did he would catch you.

“It matters,” he said simply. “Because now, I want to remember you.”

And that was how it began. You didn’t know it then, but from the moment you spoke, Spider-Man had spun his web around you—and he had no intention of letting go.

You tried to forget that night. You told yourself Spider-Man had bigger things to worry about than some stranger who crossed his path. But the unease lingered, creeping into your thoughts every time you were alone.

At first, you dismissed the signs: the shadow that seemed to flicker in your peripheral vision or the faint, almost imperceptible sound of movement outside your window. But then, it became impossible to ignore.

One morning, you found a package waiting on your doorstep. A sleek black box with no name or return address, just a small red spider emblem pressed into the lid. Inside was a pair of gloves—luxurious and perfectly fitted.

You froze. You’d mentioned needing gloves weeks ago, but only to a coworker during a passing conversation. There was no way anyone else could’ve known.

You tried to shrug it off. Maybe it was a coincidence. But the next day, a bouquet of lilies appeared in your apartment. Your stomach twisted. You hadn’t bought them. And you never told anyone lilies were your favorite.

That night, you couldn’t sleep. Every light in your apartment was on, and you sat on your couch, your phone clutched in your hands, debating whether to call the police. But what would you even say? Spider-Man was stalking you? They’d laugh you off—or worse, accuse you of making it up. He was the city’s hero, after all. The savior. You saw posts and news articles praising him, everyone loved him. How could they not? They don’t know him.. and in a way you don’t either. The friendly neighbour hood Spider-Man saves a family in distress.

Still, you couldn’t shake the memory of him in the alley. The way he looked at you—it wasn’t just anger or menace. It was something else, something darker and more complicated. And when he killed that man without so much as a hesitation.

You tried to move on, tried to act like everything was normal. But deep down, you knew he hadn’t forgotten you. And then, one cold night as you walked home, he proved you right.

It was late, the streets eerily quiet, when you heard the familiar thwip of webbing. Your heart jumped into your throat, and before you could react, he was there—dropping from above with a grace that was both mesmerizing and terrifying.

“Are you following me?” you demanded, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to sound firm.

He tilted his head, the glowing lenses of his mask narrowing slightly. “Following? That sounds… malicious,” he said, his voice smooth but laced with something that made your skin crawl. “I prefer to think of it as watching over you.”

“That’s not comforting,” you shot back, taking a step back. “You’re Spider-Man. Aren’t you supposed to be saving people, not stalking them?”

“Saving people,” he repeated, his voice tinged with bitterness. He crossed his arms, the motion fluid yet deliberate, like he was trying to keep himself calm. “Do you know how many people I’ve saved? How many of them I’ve pulled back from the edge, only to watch them destroy themselves—or someone else? I save them, and they still fail.”

You froze, his words catching you off guard. There was anger in his voice, but beneath it, you heard something else. Pain. “In the end people are really… disappointing.”

“But you…” His voice softened as he stepped closer. “You’re different. You don’t look at me like the others do. You don’t look away.”

“I’m not different,” you said carefully, forcing yourself to stand your ground. “I’m just a person trying to live their life.”

He studied you for a long moment, his head tilted, his lenses reflecting the faint streetlights. Then he took another step forward, his tone quieter now. “You remind me of something. Someone I lost.”

Your heart pounded as you stared at him, trying to make sense of his words. “Who.. are you? Really?” He stays silent, “Peter.” He removed his mask.

“Peter,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He stepped closer, his figure towering over you now, and you felt the cold brick wall press against your back. He was too close, his presence suffocating.

The face beneath was younger than you expected, but worn with exhaustion. His dark eyes bored into yours, scanning your expression as if searching for something. He looked so human, so vulnerable—and yet so dangerous.

“You should be afraid of me,” he said softly, his tone almost gentle. “Why aren’t you?”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. “Because I don’t think you’re a monster. Not yet.”

Something flickered in his eyes at your words—something that might have been regret. But then it was gone, replaced by a grim smile. “Yet..” he scoffs, “you should go home, it’s dangerous around at this time.” He took a few steps back, putting back on his mask. “I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

And with that, he was gone just as fast as he came.

When you got home, you had to tell someone, a someone you could trust.

“Come on, come on, pick up!” You grew frustrated, finally right when you were about to give up, your friend, Levy answered. “Bitch what do you want? I was just in the middle of some hot se-“

“Levy! I need to talk to you, it’s important okay?”

She paused, “y/n? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” You took a breath, you could tell Levy anything, even if it was as crazy as this. “Spider man is stalking me.”

Levy went silent, then she bursted out laughing. “I’m sorry I’m sorry, I- I think the main character syndrome is getting to you, girl” you groan, “no, listen! Please okay! His name is Peter and I think he.. I saw him kill someone okay!”

Levy stopped laughing, “what? Are you sure?” You knew how it sounded, it sounded insane, YOU sounded insane. But it was the truth.

“Yes! Look I think he is after me..!” You replied, your voice was uneven and shaky, thinking back to everything you’ve been experiencing the past few weeks. The gifts, the feeling of being watched, everything. “I’m coming over right now,” there was some noise on her end, “I’ll be there in like 15 minutes? Also lock your doors and windows. I’ll be there soon”

True to her word, she came as soon as possible. Levy locked the door behind her, hugging you. “I would ask how you’re doing but..” she trailed off, letting go. “Also, here” she hands you a mini can of pepper spray. “Now, please explain everything.”

Levy ended up staying for a few more nights and the gifts and feeling of being watched went away. It was sad to see her leave but she convinced you to go down to the police station and write a report. They may not do much but at least it will on file.

Unsurprisingly, they didn’t do much, you left out the part of him being Spider-Man obviously, but without the evidence of actually being stalked they couldn’t do much. This was disappointing but they didn’t have much to go off.

The house felt off tonight. You couldn’t explain why, but there was a heaviness in the air, a subtle shift that had you glancing over your shoulder with every step. The faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the floorboards sounded louder than usual, amplifying the silence that surrounded you.

You tightened the grip on the kitchen knife in your hand as you moved from room to room. It was ridiculous, you told yourself. Paranoid. But the feeling of being watched clung to you like a second skin.

“Calm down,” you muttered under your breath, trying to reason with yourself. “No one’s here. You checked the locks.” You attempted to reassure yourself.

And you had. Twice. But the pit in your stomach wouldn’t settle.

Your bare feet padded softly against the hardwood floor as you made your way back to the living room. The shadows seemed to stretch unnaturally, pooling in the corners where the dim light from the lamp didn’t reach. You froze mid-step when you thought you heard something—a faint rustling, like fabric brushing against wood.

“Hello?” you called out, your voice trembling.

No response. It would be worse if you actually got a response.

The knife felt small and useless in your hand, but you clutched it tighter, moving cautiously toward the noise. Your heart raced, pounding in your ears as you peeked around the corner into the hallway.

Empty.

You let out a shaky breath and turned back—only to come face-to-face with Peter.

He was there, impossibly close, his dark eyes glinting with something unsettling. You gasped and stumbled backward, raising the knife instinctively.

“Whoa,” he said, raising his hands as if to placate you, but the smirk on his lips betrayed him. “Easy there. You might hurt yourself.”

“Get out of my house!” you yelled, your voice stronger than you felt.

Peter tilted his head, his smirk widening. “I don’t think you’re in a position to make demands, sweetheart.”

You didn’t hesitate. You lunged, aiming the knife at him, but he was faster—so much faster. He caught your wrist with ease, twisting it until the blade clattered to the floor.

“Feisty,” he muttered, almost to himself. “I like that.”

You screamed and lashed out with your free hand, landing a solid hit on his cheek. The impact surprised him, and for a moment, you thought you might have a chance. But then his expression darkened.

“Bad move,” his eyes narrowed and the pitch perfect ‘boy next store’ look cracked, revealing the sinister look underneath.

Before you could react, he spun you around, pinning your arms behind your back. The feel of his breath against your neck sent a shiver down your spine as he leaned in close.

“I was going to take it easy on you,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “But if you want to make this difficult…”

You thrashed in his grip, but it was like fighting against steel. He was too strong, too quick. You kicked back, your heel connecting with his shin, but it barely phased him.

“Stop!” you screamed, your voice cracking.

“Stop fighting me,” Peter snapped, his tone losing its calm edge. “I don’t want to hurt you, but you’re making it really hard not to.”

You felt the sticky sensation of webbing wrapping around your wrists, binding them together. Panic set in as you realized he wasn’t just stronger than you—he was something else entirely.

“Let me go!” you cried, struggling against the restraints.

Peter sighed, almost sounding disappointed. He turned you to face him, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “I’ve been watching you for weeks,” he admitted, his tone softening. “Keeping you safe, protecting you from all the dangers you don’t even see. And this is how you repay me?”

“Watching me?” Your voice wavered. “That’s not protecting me—that’s stalking!”

He tilted his head, studying you like you were the one who didn’t understand. “You don’t get it,” he said quietly. “You’re everything to me. I couldn’t just sit back and let someone else take you away.”

Tears pricked your eyes as you realized how hopeless the situation was. “You’re insane,” you whispered.

Peter’s expression hardened for a moment, but then he smiled—a chilling, empty smile. “Maybe. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re mine now.”

He scooped you up effortlessly, your struggles meaningless against his strength. The webbing held your wrists tightly as he carried you toward the window, his grip firm and unyielding.

“Peter, please,” you begged, desperation seeping into your voice.

“Shhh,” he murmured, stepping out onto the roof. The cool night air hit your face as he glanced back at you, his smirk returning. “You’ll see. This is for the best.”

As he leaped into the darkness, the last thing you saw was the world below fading into shadow.

The first thing you noticed when you woke was the cold. The room was dim, lit only by the faint, flickering glow of a lamp in the corner. Your wrists ached, still bound by the unyielding webbing, and your head throbbed from where you must have hit it during the struggle.

Panic surged as the events of the night came rushing back. Peter. The fight. The way he carried you off into the night like a predator dragging its prey.

You were lying on a mattress—not your bed, not even a proper bed. Just a thin, worn piece of padding in the middle of a room that looked abandoned. The walls were cracked, the paint peeling, and the windows were boarded up, leaving no way to see outside.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway, and your breath caught in your throat.

The door creaked open, and there he was, standing in the doorway with a tray in his hands. Peter Parker looked almost normal—if you ignored the darkness in his eyes and the faint bruise on his cheek from where you’d hit him.

“You’re awake,” he said, his voice calm and almost… pleased.

“Where am I?” you demanded, your voice shaky but edged with anger.

Peter stepped inside, setting the tray down on a rickety table. He didn’t answer right away, instead pulling up a chair and sitting across from you. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he studied you.

“You’re safe,” he finally said.

“This isn’t safe,” you shot back, tugging at the webbing on your wrists. “This is kidnapping!”

Peter frowned, as if the word offended him. “Kidnapping is such an ugly term. I prefer to think of it as… keeping you out of harm’s way.”

“Harm’s way?” You let out a bitter laugh. “The only person putting me in danger is you!”

His expression darkened for a moment, and you braced yourself for the worst. But then he took a deep breath, his lips curling into a small, unsettling smile.

“You don’t understand yet,” he said softly. “But you will. The world out there is cruel, full of people who would hurt you, use you. I’ve seen it. I’ve lived it. But I’m different. I’m the one person who will never let anything happen to you.”

“You’re hurting me right now,” you said through gritted teeth, yanking at the restraints again.

Peter sighed, standing up and walking over to you. You flinched as he crouched down beside you, his gloved hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured, his voice almost tender. “But you keep fighting me, and that’s not going to work. You need to trust me, even if it’s hard right now.”

“Trust you?” you spat. “You’re insane!”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something dangerous in his eyes. But he didn’t lash out. Instead, he stood and began pacing the room, his hands flexing at his sides.

“I didn’t want it to be like this,” he said, more to himself than to you. “I thought you’d understand, that you’d see I’m doing this for you. But I guess I need to show you.”

“Show me what?” you asked, your voice dripping with defiance.

Peter stopped pacing and turned to face you, his expression unreadable. “That you belong to me,” he said simply. “And that no one else can have you. Trust me, compared to the others I’m your Prince Charming!” He laughed a little.

A chill ran down your spine at the weight of his words.

“Please,” you said, trying a different approach. “You don’t have to do this. Just let me go, and I won’t tell anyone—”

“No,” he interrupted, his voice firm. “I can’t do that. I’ve seen what happens when I let people go. They forget. They leave. And I can’t… I won’t let that happen with you.”

His voice cracked slightly, and for a brief moment, you saw the person he used to be, the one that saved people. But that hero was gone, consumed by whatever darkness had taken root in him.

Peter knelt down in front of you again, his face inches from yours. “You’ll understand,” he whispered. “Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But you will. And when you do, you’ll see that this is where you’re meant to be.”

He stood and walked to the door, glancing back at you one last time before leaving. “Rest,” he said. “You’ll feel better once you’ve had some time to think.”

The door closed with a heavy thud, and you were left alone in the suffocating silence.

You stared at the boarded-up windows, at the walls that felt like they were closing in around you. Peter might think he had control, but you weren’t going to give up. Not yet.

Your eyes scanned the room, searching for anything—anything—you could use to escape. The reality of what was happening- what happened set in. You were kidnapped by a hero, and no one could save you. Would he kill you? He isn’t above killing.. you’ve seen that first hand. Your breathing quickened, and you felt like you were dying. Sobs and battered breaths came from you, you rolled over on your side curling up and closing your eyes. Hoping that when you wake up this will be a bad dream.

Peter sat in the small, decrepit room across from yours, staring at the door separating you from him. His head was in his hands, his fingers tugging at his hair, as if trying to quiet the voices that whispered relentlessly in his mind.

He wasn’t crazy. He knew he wasn’t. Everything he’d done—everything he was doing—was for you. But that didn’t stop the guilt gnawing at the edges of his resolve.

He stood abruptly, pacing the room. He’d spent so many nights like this, torn between doing what he thought was right and the weight of what it cost him. You didn’t understand yet, and maybe you never would. But how could he explain to you what it felt like to lose everything and still keep going? How could he explain that you were the only light left in his dark, crumbling world?

Peter closed his eyes, his mind drifting back to the night he lost May.

Her frail, bloodied hand had trembled in his grip as she whispered her final words. “You’re a good boy, Peter,” she’d said, her voice barely audible. “Always trying to do the right thing.”

But the right thing hadn’t saved her. The right thing hadn’t stopped the people he loved from being ripped away from him over and over again.

He had tried to move on, tried to let the pain drive him to do better, to be better. But when he saw you for the first time, it was as if the world shifted. The way you stood up to him, most people would have run the other way or ignored it. But you, your sense of morality and kind heart. Your smile was soft, kind. It reminded him of the way May used to look at him—like he mattered, like he wasn’t just a burden carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He hadn’t meant to fall for you. At first, it was just a glance here, a quiet admiration from afar. He was curious after all. You have interested him the night you met. But then you smiled and he felt like maybe—just maybe—he could breathe again.

But the world wasn’t kind. It never had been. He saw the way others looked at you, the way they surrounded you like vultures circling something pure and good. They didn’t love you the way he did. They couldn’t.

Peter’s hands clenched into fists as he thought of them—the coworker who “accidentally” brushed against you too often, the friend who lingered too long when they hugged you. They didn’t care about your safety. They didn’t lie awake at night worrying if you got home okay.

He did.

Peter reached for his phone, scrolling through the photos he’d taken of you over the weeks. They were his lifeline. Proof that you were real, that you existed outside the constant storm in his mind.

“You don’t get it yet,” he muttered under his breath. “But you will. You’ll see that they don’t deserve you. None of them do.”

He stopped on a photo of you laughing, your head tilted back, pure joy radiating from your face. His hand trembled as he stared at it.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

But it wasn’t just your beauty that drew him to you. It was the way you treated people, the way you never hesitated to stand up for others, even when it wasn’t easy. You reminded him of who he used to be, of the boy who once believed he could save everyone.

And maybe, in a way, saving you was saving himself.

Peter exhaled shakily, his thoughts returning to earlier that night. When he had watched you walking through your house, the knife in your hand trembling as you tried to appear brave. He had almost stepped out then, almost revealed himself just to comfort you. But he knew you wouldn’t understand yet.

And then there was the call.

His jaw tightened as he thought of the man from your work. He had already warned him once—made it clear that he needed to stay away from you. But the man hadn’t listened. None of them ever did.

Peter remembered the fear in the man’s eyes when he cornered him in the parking lot after work. “She’s not yours,” Peter had said, his voice cold and steady. “She never will be. Stay away from her.”

He hadn’t killed him. He wasn’t a monster. He was innocent after all. The only crime being he tried to charm his way into your life. But the broken hand and the bruises had sent the message clearly enough. And if it hadn’t, the man waking up in the middle of the night to find Peter crouched over him had sealed the deal.

“Stay away,” Peter had whispered, his webbing silencing the man’s panicked cries.

They always stayed away after that.

Peter shook his head, clearing the memory. He didn’t want to think about them anymore. They didn’t matter. Only you mattered.

He glanced at the door to your room again, his heart aching with the desire to be near you. He hated himself for the way he’d scared you, for the way he’d taken you from your home. But what choice did he have?

Peter walked to the door, resting his hand against it.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said softly, knowing you couldn’t hear him. “I just want to keep you safe.”

He pressed his forehead against the door, closing his eyes. “You’re all I have left.”

For a moment, he thought of walking away—of letting you go. But then he thought of the world outside, of all the dangers that could tear you away from him. And he knew he couldn’t risk it.

He couldn’t lose you too.

The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the old lamp in the corner. You sat on the edge of the thin mattress, your wrists raw from pulling against the webbing that bound them. Sleep was impossible, your mind racing with thoughts of escape and the memory of Peter’s dark, unwavering gaze.

You’d called him insane. A monster. And yet, in the briefest moments, you had seen something else in his eyes—something that didn’t fit the terrifying image of the man who had ripped you from your life.

Fear.

It had been there, lingering beneath the surface of his control. You didn’t understand it, but it had made him feel almost… human.

The door creaked open, and you tensed, your breath catching in your throat as Peter stepped inside. He was holding a tray with what looked like soup, a bottle of water, and a folded napkin.

You expected him to smirk, to taunt you with the power he held over you. Instead, he looked… hesitant. His shoulders were tense, and his lips pressed into a thin line as if he was bracing himself for rejection.

“I brought you something to eat,” he said quietly, his voice devoid of the edge you’d heard before.

You didn’t respond, your eyes narrowing as you watched his every move. He stepped closer, carefully placing the tray on the table near you.

“I know you’re angry,” he said, his voice softening. “You have every right to be. But you need to take care of yourself.”

“Take care of myself?” you snapped, your voice sharp. “You tied me up, dragged me to some—some prison, and now you’re acting like you care about my well-being?”

Peter flinched, and for a moment.

“I do care,” he said, his voice breaking slightly.

You stared at him, searching his face for a hint of the cold, calculated predator who had brought you here. But he wasn’t meeting your gaze. Instead, he was staring at the ground, his jaw tight, his hands fidgeting at his sides.

“You don’t understand what it’s like,” he said after a long pause. “Losing everyone. Watching the people you care about disappear because you couldn’t protect them.”

His words hung heavy in the air.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you said quietly, though your voice lacked the venom it had before. “I didn’t ask to be part of whatever… twisted thing this is.”

Peter’s head snapped up, and for the first time, you saw his humanity glistening in his eyes.

“I know,” he said, his voice uneven. “I know you didn’t ask for any of this. But I—” He stopped, taking a shaky breath. “I couldn’t just stand by and watch something happen to you.”

“Nothing was happening to me,” you said, though your voice wavered. “I was fine.”

“No, you weren’t,” Peter said, his tone firm but not harsh. “You just don’t see it. The way people look at you, the way they use you. They don’t care about you the way I do.”

He stepped closer, and instinctively, you leaned back. He stopped, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said softly. “I would never hurt you. You have to believe that.”

You didn’t respond, your chest tight with a mix of fear and confusion.

Peter hesitated, then sank to the floor, sitting cross-legged a few feet away from you. He rested his elbows on his knees, his hands threading through his messy hair.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he said quietly. “I just… I didn’t know what else to do.”

You watched him, unsure what to say. His shoulders were slumped, his head bowed as if the weight of his own choices was crushing him.

“You don’t have to do this,” you said after a moment. “You don’t have to keep me here.”

Peter laughed bitterly, though there was no humor in it. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t hate myself for scaring you, for—” He stopped, shaking his head. “But if I let you go, I lose you. And I can’t—” His voice cracked, and he buried his face in his hands.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispered.

The raw vulnerability in his voice made your chest ache despite yourself. This wasn’t the confident, terrifying figure who had tied you up and dragged you here. This was someone broken, someone desperate.

For a moment, you didn’t see a kidnapper. You saw a boy who had lost too much, who was clinging to the only thing he thought he could still save.

“Peter,” you said, your voice softer now.

He looked up at you, his eyes red, his expression open and raw.

“I don’t hate you,” you said carefully, though the words felt heavy on your tongue. “But this isn’t the way to keep me safe. This isn’t how you help someone.”

Peter stared at you, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said again, his voice barely audible.

“Then let me go,” you said, meeting his gaze. “Please.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Peter’s hands trembled as he pushed himself to his feet, his face a mask of conflict. He tilted your chin up to look at him, he brushed some hair out of your face.

“I can’t,” he said finally, his voice thick with emotion. “Not yet.”

He turned and walked out, the door clicking shut behind him.

You sat in the quiet, your mind reeling. For the first time, you felt the cracks in Peter’s armor, the pain that drove his obsession. And while it didn’t make you forgive him, it made you wonder just how far he had fallen—and whether he could ever be pulled back.

A month had passed.

You counted the days by the faint rays of sunlight that seeped through the cracks in the boarded-up windows. At first, time had blurred into one long nightmare, but slowly, things began to change.

Peter began to trust you—or at least, he wanted you to think he did. The tight confines of your room had become less suffocating; the webbing on your wrists was no longer a constant restraint. He started letting you use the bathroom on your own, though he would always wait just outside the door, his shadow visible beneath the gap.

Then came the short walks around the house, his presence always hovering close. The house wasn’t much to look at—an abandoned wreck that seemed more like a tomb than a home—but the moments of freedom, as small as they were, felt monumental.

You knew he was watching your every move, analyzing your every expression. You couldn’t make a wrong step, couldn’t let him see the flicker of defiance that still burned within you.

And yet, something else had shifted too.

Peter had grown… softer, in his own way. The mask of control and certainty he wore when he first took you had begun to crack, revealing something raw and vulnerable beneath.

He wanted you to talk to him. He craved it. And while you hated yourself for it, there were moments when you gave in—because in those moments, you saw the boy behind the monster.

It was one of those days when the silence between you felt heavier than usual. Peter had let you sit in the small living room, the faded couch creaking beneath you as you stared out at the boarded-up windows. He sat on the floor a few feet away, his knees drawn up, watching you like a hawk.

“You don’t hate me as much anymore,” he said suddenly, his voice quiet but steady.

You stiffened, your gaze still fixed on the sliver of light peeking through the wood. “What makes you think that?”

Peter tilted his head, his lips twitching into a faint, almost shy smile. “You don’t flinch as much when I get close. You don’t fight me when I touch your shoulder or—” He paused, his smile faltering. “You don’t look at me like I’m a monster all the time.”

You didn’t know how to respond. He wasn’t entirely wrong. Fear still coursed through your veins every time he got too close, but there was something else too—a strange understanding of his brokenness.

“I still want to leave,” you said, your voice measured.

Peter’s expression darkened, but he nodded slowly, as if he expected the answer. “I know.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

“Why are you like this, Peter?” you asked suddenly, your voice softer than you intended.

He looked up at you, his brown eyes wide, vulnerable. “Like what?”

“Like… this.” You gestured vaguely around the room. “Why couldn’t you just talk to me? Why did you think this was the only way?”

Peter’s hands fidgeted in his lap, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Because talking wouldn’t have been enough,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “You would’ve smiled at me, been polite, and then walked away. Just like everyone else.”

“That’s not true,” you said, though even you weren’t sure if you believed it.

Peter let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. “You say that now, but I know how it works. People like me… we’re invisible until we’re not. Until we do something that makes people notice.”

You watched him, the weight of his words settling uncomfortably in your chest. He wasn’t just talking about you—he was talking about his whole life, about the isolation and pain that had shaped him.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” you said quietly.

Peter looked up at you, his eyes shining with something raw, something desperate. “Doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know how to be anything else,” he whispered.

The vulnerability in his voice, in his expression, was almost too much to bear. You wanted to hate him, to scream at him for everything he had taken from you. But in that moment, he looked more like a scared, broken boy than the man who had torn your life apart.

“You’re not a bad person, Peter,” you said carefully. “You just… you’ve lost your way.”

He reached out, his fingers brushing against yours where they rested on your lap. You flinched instinctively, but you didn’t pull away.

Peter’s breath hitched, and he looked up at you with an expression that was equal parts of stoicism and shame. “You really think that?”

“I think you need help,” you said honestly. “Real help. Not this.”

Peter swallowed hard, his grip tightening on your hand as if you might disappear if he let go. “You’re the only help I need,” he said, his voice stern.

His words sent a chill through you, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you let him hold your hand, let him believe for just a moment that this was enough. What surprised you was the kiss that came afterward, you let him, fearing that if you broke his fantasy he would get angry.

Because maybe, just maybe, if you could reach the boy inside the monster, you might find a way out.

The air between you and Peter had changed.

Over the past weeks, the walls that had once kept you both separated—physically and emotionally��had started to thin. It wasn’t that you had forgiven him; you weren’t sure you ever could. But the boy who sat across from you now wasn’t the same as the shadowy figure who had stolen you away.

Peter was still obsessive, still relentless in his belief that he was doing the right thing. But he was also… human. And that humanity, as flawed and broken as it was, had begun to show in small, quiet moments.

Like now.

The two of you sat on the worn couch in the living room, a blanket draped over your legs. Peter had insisted on it when he noticed you shivering earlier. He was close, closer than he used to be, but you hadn’t moved away.

“I used to come here with May,” Peter said suddenly, breaking the silence.

You glanced at him, surprised. He rarely spoke about his past unless prompted.

“She used to say this place was a waste of time,” he continued, a small, wistful smile tugging at his lips. “But it was ours. We’d come here to escape everything. The world, the city… everything that felt too heavy.”

His voice softened, and he glanced down at his hands. “After she died, I didn’t come back for a long time. It felt… wrong. Like I didn’t deserve it anymore.”

You stayed quiet, letting his words hang in the air. He was opening up to you, and for reasons you couldn’t fully explain, you felt compelled to listen.

“What made you come back?” you asked, your voice gentle.

Peter hesitated, his gaze flickering to yours before quickly looking away. “You.”

Your breath caught, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say.

“I didn’t have anything else,” he admitted. “I kept telling myself I was doing fine, that I didn’t need anyone. But when I saw you…” He shook his head, his voice trailing off. “You made me feel like maybe I wasn’t completely alone anymore.”

“Peter,” you began, your tone cautious, but he cut you off.

“I know what I did was wrong,” he said quickly, his words tumbling out in a rush. “I know that. But you have to understand—I didn’t know how else to keep you safe. You’re the only thing in my life that makes sense.”

He reached out tentatively, his hand hovering near yours. You stared at it for a moment before slowly, cautiously, letting him take your hand.

His grip was warm, trembling slightly, as if he couldn’t believe you were letting him touch you.

“You’re not alone, Peter,” you said, your voice steady despite the turmoil in your chest. “But this isn’t the way to hold on to someone. It’s not fair to me, and it’s not fair to you.”

Peter’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away. But instead, he shifted closer, his eyes searching yours with a mix of desperation and hope.

“I don’t know how to let go,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Every time I try, it feels like the world is falling apart all over again.”

The creak of the old front door echoed in the house as Peter pulled his hood over his head. He was dressed in his suit, though the mask dangled from his hand as he glanced back at you.

“You’ll be okay here,” he said softly, his voice laced with hesitation.

You nodded, feigning a calmness that didn’t match the pounding of your heart. “I’ll be fine.”

Peter studied you for a moment longer, his brown eyes searching for something—maybe reassurance, maybe doubt. Then he stepped closer, his gloved hand brushing against yours.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promised. “Don’t worry.”

Before you could respond, he slipped the mask over his face and disappeared into the night.

As the sound of his footsteps faded, you sat still, waiting. Your heart raced, and you fought to keep your breathing steady. This was your chance—your first real opportunity in weeks.

Peter trusted you now. He’d grown comfortable, letting you walk freely around the house, leaving the door unlocked when he left. He thought you were resigned to your new life, thought you were beginning to understand him.

He was wrong.

You moved quickly, but quietly, scanning the small house for anything useful. Most of the windows were boarded up, but one in the kitchen had been left partially uncovered. It was high, but with some effort, you could squeeze through.

You grabbed a chair, dragging it toward the counter beneath the window. Your hands shook as you climbed up, your pulse hammering in your ears. The window was old, the glass smudged and streaked with dirt, but you could see the faint glow of streetlights in the distance. Freedom.

The latch was stiff, and you gritted your teeth as you pushed and pulled, trying to pry it open without making too much noise. After what felt like an eternity, it gave way with a soft click.

You pushed the window open, the cool night air rushing in, and pulled yourself up, your legs dangling awkwardly as you tried to maneuver through the small space.

The cool night air kissed your skin as you pulled yourself halfway through the window, the thrill of freedom igniting a spark in your chest. The streetlights in the distance seemed so close, so tangible, as if you could reach out and grasp the life you’d been ripped from.

Then his voice cut through the silence like a blade.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Your entire body froze.

Slowly, you turned your head, dread pooling in your stomach as Peter stepped into the room, his silhouette framed by the faint glow from the hallway. He’d pulled off his mask, his face pale, his expression unreadable.

“You weren’t supposed to do this,” he said, his voice low and eerily calm.

“Peter—” you began, your voice trembling, but he moved faster than you could react.

In an instant, he was at the window, his hand wrapping around your ankle like a steel vice. He yanked you back inside with one sharp pull, and you landed hard on the floor, the breath knocked out of your lungs.

You scrambled backward, trying to put distance between you and him, but he didn’t give you the chance. He loomed over you, his gaze dark and unreadable as he stared down at you.

“I trusted you,” he said, his voice chillingly calm, but his hands were trembling at his sides.

“Peter, I had to try—”

“Had to try what?” he snapped, his tone rising as he cut you off. “To leave me? To run away like I’m some kind of monster?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the fury in his eyes silenced you.

“I gave you freedom,” he continued, his voice shaking with barely-contained anger. “I let you walk around the house. I let you breathe, and this is how you repay me?”

“Peter, please,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “You don’t understand—”

“No, you don’t understand,” he interrupted, his tone sharper now. “I’ve been patient. I’ve been kind. And you’ve taken advantage of that.”

He crouched down in front of you, his face inches from yours. His dark eyes burned with an intensity that made you shiver. “I thought we were making progress,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost a whisper. “I thought you were starting to see things my way. I-I really thought that you were starting to love me too.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “I can’t stay here, Peter. I can’t live like this.”

His jaw tightened, and his hand shot out, gripping your chin and forcing you to look at him. “You don’t have a choice,” he said coldly.

Tears stung your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “You can’t keep me here forever,” you said, your voice trembling but defiant.

Peter’s lips curled into a bitter smile. “Can’t I?”

He stood abruptly, towering over you as you stayed on the floor, too afraid to move. He paced the room, his hands raking through his hair as he muttered to himself.

“You think you can just leave me?” he said, his voice growing darker with each word. “You think I’d just let you go after everything I’ve done for you?”

He stopped suddenly, turning to face you. The anger on his face was matched only by the cold determination in his eyes.

“No more privileges,” he said firmly. “No more freedom. You’re going back to your room, and you’re staying there until I decide you’ve earned my trust again.”

“Peter, please—”

“Quiet!” he snapped, his voice echoing through the room. “You lost the right to argue when you tried to betray me.”

You flinched at the venom in his tone, your chest tightening with a mix of fear and anger.

Without another word, he grabbed your arm and hauled you to your feet. His grip was firm but not painful, though you could feel the tension radiating from him.

He dragged you back toward your room, ignoring your protests and pleas. When he pushed you inside, he stepped back, his expression hard as stone.

“You think I’m the bad guy,” he said, his voice low and cold. “But you’ll see. You’ll see that I’m the only one who cares enough to do this.”

With that, he slammed the door shut, the sound reverberating through the walls.

You sank to the floor, tears streaming down your face as the weight of what had just happened settled over you.

On the other side of the door, Peter leaned against the wall, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His breathing was ragged, his chest heaving as he fought to control the storm of emotions inside him.

He wasn’t angry because you tried to leave.

He was angry because the thought of losing you terrified him more than anything else.

The silence in the house was deafening.

Days blended together as you sat in your room, staring at the same four walls, the same peeling wallpaper that had grown all too familiar. You couldn’t even remember the last time Peter had spoken to you—he just brought food, delivered it silently, then left again without a word.

He’d cut you off completely, like you were nothing more than an inconvenience. The door to your room was locked at all times, the once-muted sounds of him moving around the house now replaced by an unnerving stillness.

And then, there was the bathroom.

Once a freedom you were allowed, it had become a rare gift, granted only when Peter thought you needed it. He stood just outside the door, always too close, but never speaking, his presence a silent reminder of your captivity.

At first, you raged against the isolation. You screamed at the walls, demanded that he speak to you, ask you questions, anything to break the suffocating silence. But as the days stretched into weeks, you stopped.

Now, there was only quiet.

You sat by the window, watching the shadows of the night grow long, thinking about nothing and everything at once. The house had grown colder, both literally and emotionally. Peter had stopped being a presence in your life, and in turn, you had stopped fighting against it.

Except you hadn’t stopped needing him.

It was a quiet hunger, this longing for connection. The loneliness gnawed at you like an empty pit in your stomach. You tried to tell yourself that it didn’t matter—that he was a monster, a kidnapper, someone you could never trust again. But the more time passed, the more you found yourself craving any bit of human interaction, even if it was from him.

Even if it was him coming into your room and just standing there, doing nothing but existing in the same space as you.

You hated yourself for it.

At night, when the house was silent, you would lay on the cold, hard floor and cry. You cried for the life you had lost, for the days that seemed to stretch on forever. But mostly, you cried because you felt as if your very soul was withering away in that room, and there was no one to see it.

There were no more demands. No more pleas. You knew better than to ask for anything now.

But that didn’t stop you from trying.

The door to your room creaked open one morning, and there he was. Peter.

He didn’t look at you as he stepped inside, his eyes fixed firmly on the tray of food he was carrying. He set it down on the small table by the bed and didn’t say a word. His face was unreadable, and for a moment, you thought he might leave again without a glance in your direction.

But then, without looking up, he spoke in a low, almost hushed voice.

“You can eat, then go to the bathroom if you need to.”

You nodded, your heart hammering in your chest as you picked up the spoon, your hands trembling slightly. You wanted to speak to him, to ask why he was even saying anything at all, but you stayed silent. He wasn’t ready to talk, not yet.

As you ate, Peter stood at the door, his arms crossed over his chest. He didn’t leave, but he didn’t move closer either. He just… watched.

You finished your meal in silence, the tension hanging thick in the air. When you were done, you glanced up at him, your mouth dry.

“Peter,” you whispered. The word felt strange on your tongue after weeks of silence.

His eyes flicked to yours, but he didn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice cracking. “I’m sorry I tried to leave. I… I just wanted to be free.”

Peter’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he would turn and walk away. But instead, he stepped forward, his gaze flickering briefly to the door.

“I know,” he said softly. “But freedom is a lie. No one is ever truly free.”

Your heart sank, but you nodded, feeling the weight of his words.

Then, just as quickly as he had spoken, he left, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

The days passed, and little by little, something started to change. It was subtle at first—a slight shift in his demeanor when he brought you food, the way he lingered just a little longer by the door. His silence, though still heavy, seemed to be less hostile, less like a punishment and more like… waiting.

You didn’t push him. Instead, you focused on earning back what little trust you had lost.

One evening, when Peter brought you dinner, you didn’t just eat in silence.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

Peter didn’t respond right away, but you could feel the hesitation in his posture. Then, after a long pause, he said, “You’re welcome.”

You nodded, even though the words barely felt like a breakthrough. But they were something—something that made your chest tighten with cautious hope.

The days went by, and your interactions, though brief, grew a little more frequent. He allowed you to sit in the living room sometimes, his presence always looming but never quite stifling. When he took you to the bathroom, he didn’t look at you with the same cold detachment he once had. There was something softer in his gaze, something that made you think, just for a moment, that maybe, just maybe, he wanted you to be okay.

And slowly, you found yourself longing for those small moments of interaction more than anything.

You knew better than to hope for more—knew better than to believe this could ever be anything resembling a normal life. But even in the silence, you couldn’t ignore the subtle change.

Peter wasn’t saying much. He wasn’t apologizing for what he’d done.

But he was present.

And sometimes, that was enough.

You hadn’t realized how touch-deprived you were until the moment Peter’s hand brushed against yours as he handed you your food. It was a brief moment, almost imperceptible, but it sent a shiver through you, something deep inside you stirring with a longing you hadn’t acknowledged before.

The silence had worn down your defenses, eroded your ability to fight the emptiness that gnawed at you. You didn’t want to admit it, but the isolation had begun to twist you, making even the smallest contact feel like a lifeline. And Peter, despite everything, was still the only person in this prison you called a life.

The evening was colder than usual when Peter came into your room with the bathwater prepared. It had been a long time since he’d bathed you himself, though you could tell by the careful way he avoided meeting your eyes that he was still hesitant, unsure of how much to give or take.

He hadn’t offered any explanation for his strange acts of care. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe he thought that tending to your most basic needs might somehow balance out the pain he had caused you. Or maybe, deep down, he craved something more than just control. Something human.

He helped you undress with a gentleness that almost startled you. His hands trembled slightly as he touched your skin, but it wasn’t the nervousness of a man who feared you. It was a quiet vulnerability, a tenderness that you hadn’t expected from him.

When you were seated in the tub, the warm water washing over your body, Peter knelt beside it, his gaze lingering on you for a moment too long. The intensity in his eyes made your heart race, and for the first time in weeks, you found yourself feeling something other than fear or sadness.

You hadn’t even realized how badly you’d needed this—the simple act of another person caring for you. Of someone seeing you as more than just an object.

“Lean back,” Peter said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You obeyed, letting your head rest against the side of the tub as he began to gently scrub your back. His touch was careful, almost reverent, and every stroke of his hand against your skin felt like it was melting some of the tension that had built up in you. The loneliness, the ache inside you—slowly, it started to ebb away.

As he reached your shoulders, his fingers brushing against your neck, your breath hitched. There was a brief moment when your gazes met, his eyes locked on yours, and for the first time, you didn’t see the cold, calculating man who had taken you from everything you knew. You saw Peter—the boy who had been shattered, just like you.

You didn’t know what made you do it. Maybe it was the isolation, or the years of keeping yourself locked away inside your own mind. But when Peter’s gaze softened, when the silence between you felt like the calm before a storm, you leaned forward, your lips barely grazing his.

The kiss was soft—tentative, almost fragile—but the spark it ignited inside you was overwhelming. You didn’t pull away. Neither of you did.

Peter’s hand rested on your cheek, his fingers trembling as he deepened the kiss. The warmth of his touch, the way his lips molded against yours, was the closest thing you’d felt to comfort in a long time. But as much as you craved it, as much as you wanted to lose yourself in that moment, you knew it wasn’t the solution to everything.

Peter pulled away just slightly, his breath ragged, his eyes searching your face for something he hadn’t found in a long time—understanding, acceptance, maybe even trust.

“Do you want to stay?” he asked quietly, his voice rough, almost unsure.

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. You knew what he was asking, and you felt the weight of his hesitation pressing down on you.

You didn’t know what to say.

But you nodded.

For the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel like you were trapped in a cage of your own making. Even if Peter hadn’t fully earned your trust back, even if he still held you in his grip, there was something in his actions, in the quiet moments between you, that felt different.

“Okay,” Peter whispered, his hand gently cupping your face. “I’ll let you stay.”

That night, when he led you to his bedroom, you didn’t question it. The room was bigger, more comfortable, more inviting than the small, sterile space you had grown accustomed to. The bed was huge, with soft, dark sheets, and there was a warmth to it that you hadn’t felt in weeks.

Peter didn’t say anything as he gestured for you to lie down. Instead, he climbed in beside you, the weight of his presence pressing against you in a way that was both comforting and suffocating. But you couldn’t pull away.

He didn’t touch you after that. He simply lay there, his back to you as you stared at the ceiling, your thoughts racing. The bed felt too big for just the two of you, but it also felt like the first step toward something you hadn’t allowed yourself to think about—something resembling normalcy, intimacy, even tenderness.

The room was silent except for the sound of your breathing, slow and steady, and Peter’s, a little heavier, a little more erratic.

You wanted to say something. You wanted to fill the silence with words that would break the barrier between you, but you didn’t know how.

You wanted to tell him that you didn’t know how much longer you could live like this, that you didn’t want to be kept, that you needed something real, something more than this twisted version of intimacy. But you stayed quiet.

Because, despite everything, you craved his presence. You craved him.

And for that one night, you let yourself forget everything else. You let yourself rest in his presence, even if it was only temporary, even if it was just for the night.

You closed your eyes, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to sleep without the constant fear gnawing at your bones.

The days passed in a quiet blur, each one blurring into the next, but the soft rhythm of Peter’s presence in your life was starting to take hold. Though the isolation of the house was still oppressive, something had shifted between the two of you. It wasn’t trust—not yet—but it was an understanding.

Peter still wasn’t fully open with you. He still kept his distance emotionally, often retreating into himself after the rare moments of intimacy you shared. But there were more of those moments now—small, fleeting acts that spoke louder than anything he’d said. The way he let you sit by his side on the couch, or how he’d give you a small, almost unnoticeable smile when he brought you your meals. There was a vulnerability in him that you hadn’t seen before.

And still, you felt yourself growing dependent on him in ways that both terrified and comforted you. The loneliness that had once consumed you had begun to lessen, replaced by a new kind of ache—a desire for the attention, the care, the touch that he had begun to give you.

That evening, Peter arrived at your door to bring you your dinner, his usual stoic expression in place. He stepped into the room, setting the tray down on the bed, and then paused, his eyes lingering on you. You could see the conflict in his gaze—he wanted to say something, you could feel it—but he remained silent, as he often did.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” you ventured, your voice soft, careful. “I haven’t seen you much.”

Peter stiffened slightly, his hand resting against the doorframe as he avoided looking at you directly. “I’ve been busy.”

It was a vague answer, but you didn’t push. You never pushed anymore.

He turned to leave, but before he could reach the door, you spoke again. “Can I… can I sit with you tonight? Just for a little while?”

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, Peter didn’t respond. He stood there, unmoving, as if weighing the request in his mind. Finally, he let out a slow exhale and nodded, his voice barely a whisper.

“Alright.”

The small word seemed to reverberate in your chest. It was a permission, an invitation, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to feel something that wasn’t fear.

That night, you joined him in the living room, sitting quietly beside him on the couch. The tension between you two was palpable, but there was a comfort in the silence. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a lamp casting gentle shadows against the walls.

Peter didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. His proximity was enough. You could feel the warmth of his body, the way his knee brushed against yours, a subtle connection that made your pulse quicken despite the calmness of the moment.

You didn’t look at him directly, afraid that the vulnerability you were beginning to feel would show too much. Instead, you stared at the floor, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve.

“Do you ever… regret it?” you asked, almost against your will. “Taking me? Keeping me here?”

Peter’s gaze flicked to you, and for a moment, you saw the weight of his past in his eyes—the pain, the remorse, the lingering darkness. He hesitated before speaking.

“I didn’t… mean for it to be like this.” His voice was low, almost regretful, but there was something else there too—a quiet resignation. “But I’ve made my choices, and I’m not going to back out now.”

You nodded, your heart sinking as his words landed. He didn’t regret it. Not enough to let you go. Not enough to change.

But you could feel the cracks in his walls, the way they were slowly starting to form. His actions had changed, even if his words hadn’t.

And that was enough for now.

The next few days were different. Peter still didn’t speak to you much, but when he did, his voice wasn’t cold or dismissive. He seemed to be watching you more closely, his gaze following your movements with an intensity that was both unsettling and… comforting.

One evening, after you’d eaten and he’d allowed you to have a bath, he surprised you. As you dried off, he appeared in the doorway, his presence suddenly more intense than usual.

“You’re… you’re being good,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant.

Your stomach fluttered at the compliment, though you tried to keep your expression neutral.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

Peter stepped into the room, his eyes locked on yours. “You haven’t been… difficult. You’ve accepted things. I can see you’re trying.”

“I am,” you said quietly. “I don’t want to fight anymore.”

Peter nodded, a strange, almost unreadable expression passing over his face. He was standing closer now, and for a moment, you could almost feel the tension between you building to a breaking point.

“Good,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. He seemed to hesitate for just a moment before he reached out, his hand hovering just in front of your shoulder.

You didn’t pull away. You allowed him the space, even as your heart raced at the proximity. Slowly, his hand landed gently on your arm, his fingers brushing against your skin with the faintest touch. It wasn’t the rough grip you had grown used to—no, it was soft, almost tender.

His thumb brushed over your skin, sending a shock of warmth through you.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

The words felt like a promise, one that you were slowly starting to believe, even though you knew the truth. Peter was still unpredictable, still dangerous in his own way. But in that moment, his touch felt like the only thing holding you together.

He stayed there, his hand resting lightly on your arm, the silence stretching between you both. Neither of you spoke. Neither of you needed to.

And for the first time in a long while, you felt like you weren’t alone.

The house had grown quieter in the last few days, the tension between you and Peter almost palpable. There were moments when you would catch him watching you from across the room, his gaze lingering on you with an intensity that left you feeling exposed. It wasn’t just the silence—it was the weight of everything unspoken, the way the air seemed to thrum with things neither of you could say.

Still, something had shifted in the way Peter looked at you. The coldness had faded, replaced by something softer, more uncertain. You couldn’t explain it, but you could feel it—the way he lingered longer when he gave you food, how he would sometimes stand near you and just… be there.

There had been no words. No explanations. But in the silence, you understood.

It was late one evening when you found yourself sitting on the edge of the couch, absentmindedly playing with the edge of the blanket, lost in your thoughts. You hadn’t seen Peter for a while, and though you told yourself you didn’t care, you couldn’t shake the strange feeling that gnawed at you when he wasn’t around.

It wasn’t just loneliness, you realized. It was something else, something you weren’t ready to name.

The door to the living room creaked open, and you glanced up to see Peter standing there. His eyes flicked to you, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, with a quiet sigh, he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. He didn’t sit down immediately; instead, he lingered by the wall, his posture tense, as though he were unsure of what to do next.

“Peter,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He turned his head, his eyes meeting yours. “Yeah?”

There was something about his gaze—something that made your heart race. He was watching you closely, as if waiting for you to make the first move, but you didn’t know what you were supposed to say, what you were supposed to do.

“I—” you started, your words faltering. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Peter’s eyes softened, just slightly, and for a moment, you thought you saw something in him that mirrored your own need for connection, something that made him hesitate before taking a step toward you.

You couldn’t stop it—couldn’t stop the way your chest tightened, the way you longed for him to cross that distance, to close the gap between the two of you.

Before you could stop yourself, you stood up, your heart pounding in your chest. You moved closer, your body instinctively drawn toward him, and as you reached him, your hand brushed against his arm. The contact was electric, and you both froze.

He looked down at you, his eyes wide, as if waiting for you to pull away. But you didn’t.

You didn’t want to pull away.

Slowly, tentatively, you reached up, your hand cupping his cheek. His breath hitched, and you could feel the way his muscles tensed under your touch. But still, he didn’t pull away.

“You’re not going to push me away?” you whispered, your voice barely audible, your words trembling as you spoke.

He swallowed, his eyes locked onto yours. “I don’t want to.”

It was all the permission you needed.

You moved in closer, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that was slow and tentative, as though you were both testing the waters, unsure of where this might lead. Peter’s lips were soft against yours, hesitant, as if he were afraid to go too far, too fast.

But you couldn’t stop yourself.

The kiss deepened slightly, and Peter’s hand came up to rest gently on your waist. His touch was light, careful, as if he were afraid that even the smallest movement might break something between you. His fingers brushed against your skin, sending a shiver through your body, but there was no harshness, no urgency—only a quiet, desperate tenderness.

You could feel the way his body tensed, holding himself back, as if he were afraid to give in to the desire that was building between you. He pulled away just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and uncertain.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispered, his voice low, however his eyes held a different story.

Your heart fluttered at his words, and for the first time in a long while, you believed him.

You nodded, your hand resting gently on his chest. “I know.”

There was a brief moment of silence between you, both of you standing there, as if the world outside the walls of the house didn’t exist anymore. Neither of you moved—just stood, your hearts racing in sync with each other.

Finally, Peter leaned in again, his lips brushing against yours with more confidence this time. It was gentle, soft, but there was an undercurrent of something more—something raw and desperate that neither of you could deny. The kiss was electrifying, full of passion and warmth. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and he picked you up, holding your legs around his hips as he lead you to the bedroom.

You feel on your back, gasping for air, “Peter” he kisses your neck, leaving love bites. “That’s right, baby, say my name” the cockiness in his tone; followed by him undressing you. You shivered, not because of the cold— because his gaze on your body. He looked like he was drinking you in, like how one would stare at a huge feast. He looked starved.

“You’re so beautiful..” he removes his own clothes, dipping his fingers in your warmth. You were wet, embarrassing so. He was slow and delicate, it was apparent that he was holding back— almost scared of hurting you. Almost. Your moans egged him on, adding a third finger while his other hand rubbed circles on your clit. You closed your eyes throwing your head back. “Keep your eyes on me, sweetheart” when you look at him his dark eyes were clouded with lust and admiration.

The way he made you feel was heavenly, you tried to shallow your moans but failed to do so. He leaned down to kiss your neck, breast, anywhere that he could reach. Soon you came undone, your body shaking after. Peter removed his hands, sucking his fingers clean. “You taste so addicting” he muttered, it was quiet you almost didn’t hear it.

He pushed back some of your hair, “are you ready?” He asked, his eyes filled with nothing but love. “Yes” you whispered back. You wanted this, craved this. As messed up as it was, you wanted him. You shouldn’t have, you should have hated him, cursed him out, hit him to your hearts content. But you didn’t want to. Your feels for Peter were confusing but you knew that you weren’t opposed to his actions.

He trusted in, slowly, and you felt the burn and stretch instantly. You tried to close your legs but with Peter in between them it was pointless. Noticing your pain he kissed your tears away, pumping slowly. After a while it started to feel good. “Harder..” you panted out. He obliged, quickening his pace and boarder line slamming into your warmth. “Peter! Oh— right there” he angled his hips, touching your g spot. He panted, groaning at how hard you were gripping him. Your nails were raking down his back, leaving red marks on his pale skin.

He picked you up, resting on his knees and you wrapped your arms around his neck while you rode him. He was still trusting to meet your pace. You sunk further onto him due to the new position. You cried out, body shaking as you cum for the second time. “Please— I can’t—“

“You can, and you will” Peter thrusts at an unforgiving pace, overstimulated, tears ran down your face. It was too much, you tried to tell him but all that came out where moans and whimpers. “You can take it, I know you can”

He throws you back on the bed, in missionary, then he threw your legs on his shoulders and thrusted into your warmth. The wet sounds followed by the skin slapping was going to tip you over, again. “Just a little more, baby” he whispered in your ear, kissing your neck. “Mhm,” one of his hands comes to play with your clit, rubbing in small circles. With a loud moan you cum for the third time. Peter follows soon after, throwing his head back, as he finishes inside you. He pants, staying inside your pussy just a little longer than pulling his cock out. He lays down beside you, panting for a minute then rolling over and kissing you gently. “You did so good, I knew you could take it.” You smile, sleepily. He gets up, going to the washroom to grab a warm cloth, cleaning up the inside of your legs. He continues to praise you, and you feel like you’re about to fall asleep.

Peter notices your closed eyes and lack of response. He smiles to himself. He kisses your head, throwing the cloth somewhere in the room and pulling the covers over you. He climbs in beside you, holding you close.

No one was going to take this from him. No one.

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