#his frame was suddenly changed and often his frame of mind as well | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

elikajinnie · 1 month ago

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Steal Your Way To My Heart - N.R (Part 1)

P: Bankrobber! Ni-ki X Fem!Reader

Requested by: @badtzsan (hope you like it <3)

Warnings: Teasing, Pursuing, Murder, Kidnapping, Violence, Obsession, Stalking, Flirting, Ni-ki just wanna cover you in jewels tbh.

Synopsis: Your life was boring—until a visit to the bank changes everything. Now you find yourself under the attention of one of the criminals. Now what do you do when the criminal's attention isn't just on the job but on you?

a/n: inspired by false alarm mv by the weeknd pr request :)

See request here

Your days were always underwhelming.

You’d wake up to the sound of your alarm, drag yourself out of bed, and go through the same motions: school, then work, then home. Over and over, like clockwork. And somewhere along the line, it became suffocating.

Each morning felt heavier than the last, your feet dragging like you were wading through wet cement. You found yourself staring out windows more often than not, watching the world pass you by. Same streets, same faces, same everything.

You craved something more. Something to set your blood pumping, your heart racing. You didn’t just want change—you needed it. The kind of adrenaline that would make you feel alive again, remind you that there was more out there than just this monotonous cycle you’d been stuck in.

But nothing ever happened.

You’d given up on expecting it. Change, excitement, anything—it wasn’t in the cards for you. At least, that’s what you thought.

Until one morning.

You were running late for work, your bag slung haphazardly over your shoulder as you weaved through the crowded streets. The morning rush wasn’t anything new, but you were moving too fast, too distracted, and you didn’t even notice the figure walking toward you until it was too late.

You crashed into him with enough force to make you stumble back a step. Your bag slipped from your shoulder, scattering its contents onto the sidewalk.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” you gasped, immediately crouching to gather your things.

“No, it’s my fault,” came the response, a smooth, low voice that made you pause mid-grab.

You glanced up, an automatic, polite apology ready on your lips—but it never made it out.

Your breath caught.

He was tall, towering over you even as he crouched to help pick up your things. Dark hair framed a sharp jawline, his skin smooth and flawless in the morning light. But it was his eyes that held you captive—piercing, intense, like they could see right through you. For a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

“You okay?” he asked, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You blinked, snapping out of your daze. “Y-Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry again, I wasn’t paying attention.”

He handed you your phone, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest moment. “Don’t worry about it. Happens to the best of us.”

You stood together, and now that you were face-to-face, the sheer presence of him was almost overwhelming. There was something about him that felt… off. Not in a bad way, but in a way that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Like he wasn’t supposed to be here, in this moment, colliding with you.

“Well, uh…” you began awkwardly, suddenly hyperaware of how plain your uniform looked compared to how effortlessly cool he was. “Thanks.”

Before he could respond, the distant chime of your phone’s clock reminded you that you were late—really late.

“I have to go,” you blurted, clutching your bag tightly.

He smiled again, softer this time, and nodded. “Of course. See you around…?”

You didn’t answer, too flustered as you turned and hurried off. But as you glanced back over your shoulder, he was still standing there, watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite place.

You didn’t know it then, but that moment would change everything.

You didn’t know it at first.

How could you? To you, it had just been a fleeting moment, an odd yet strangely thrilling encounter with a handsome stranger. Sure, his face had lingered in your mind longer than you’d like to admit, but life didn’t stop just because you ran into someone attractive.

Day after day, you returned to your routine: school, work, home. And yet… something felt different. Subtle, at first—like a faint whisper at the back of your mind. You’d catch yourself glancing over your shoulder as you walked down the street, or feeling your pulse quicken when a shadow flickered in your peripheral vision.

But you brushed it off. You were overthinking things, you told yourself. It was probably just your imagination playing tricks on you.

You didn’t know that it wasn’t.

Because he was watching you.

The same guy you’d crashed into that morning. Day after day, he followed you. He was careful, almost eerily so. He stayed just far enough away that you’d never notice. Blended into the crowd so seamlessly that you’d never think to look twice.

But he was there. Always.

He saw the way you rushed into work, cheeks flushed from the cold or the stress of running late. He saw the way you smiled politely at customers, even when they were rude to you. He saw the way your shoulders slumped when you thought no one was looking, the weariness of your routine weighing you down.

He saw you.

And every day, he learned more.

Your patterns, your habits. The exact time you’d leave your apartment in the morning. The small café you stopped by occasionally, ordering the same drink every time. The way you lingered outside the bookstore window after work, staring at the same display of novels you never seemed to have time to read.

You were fascinating to him.

But it wasn’t just fascination—it was something darker. Something possessive.

And it wasn’t long before the distance he kept began to shrink.

One night, as you left work later than usual, the streetlights barely illuminating the empty sidewalk ahead of you, you felt it again—that nagging feeling, like someone was watching you.

You glanced behind you, but there was nothing. Just the empty street stretching out behind you, silent except for the faint hum of distant traffic.

You shook your head, scolding yourself for being paranoid.

But as you turned back around, you didn’t see the figure slipping into the shadows, just a few steps behind where you’d been standing.

He was getting closer. And you still didn’t know.

He kept his distance, always careful, always calculated.

Day after day, he followed you, studying every detail of your life like it was a puzzle he needed to solve. But he never showed himself. Not yet.

He learned the way you brushed a strand of hair behind your ear when you were deep in thought, the way your lips pressed into a thin line when you were frustrated, and the soft laugh you let out when you read something funny on your phone. He memorized your patterns as if they were sacred—your favorite routes, the way you adjusted your pace when the streets were crowded, and the shortcuts you took when you were running late.

And still, you didn’t know.

But you began to feel it.

The unease settled in your chest like a stone, heavier each passing day. You couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was there—watching, waiting. When you walked home at night, the silence felt too loud, the shadows too alive. You found yourself glancing over your shoulder more often, your heart racing for reasons you couldn’t explain.

But no one was ever there.

You started locking your doors twice before bed, pulling the curtains closed even though you’d always liked the city lights spilling into your room. You told yourself you were just being paranoid. That nothing was wrong.

But he was getting bolder.

One night, as you walked home, your bag slung over your shoulder and your headphones in, you felt it again—that prickling sensation on the back of your neck. Your steps faltered, your hand tightening around the strap of your bag.

You paused and looked around, the dim streetlights casting long, eerie shadows on the empty road.

There was no one there.

You shook your head, muttering to yourself about how ridiculous you were being, and picked up your pace.

Behind you, in the shadows, he stood perfectly still, his head tilting ever so slightly as he watched you disappear down the street.

He could have reached out. Could have closed the distance between you. Could have made himself known.

But he didn’t. Not yet.

The bank was quiet, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning and the occasional shuffle of feet. You sat on a plastic chair near the wall, scrolling aimlessly through your phone, half-distracted by notifications you didn’t care enough to open.

It was late on a Friday, and the place was nearly empty—a few tellers behind the counter, a couple arguing softly over paperwork, a man in a suit sitting near the door, tapping his foot impatiently.

You weren’t expecting much. Just another mundane errand to tick off your never-ending list of obligations.

Then they walked in.

The doors burst open, slamming against the walls with a loud bang that echoed through the room. You looked up instinctively, your fingers freezing over your phone screen.

There were four of them, maybe five—it was hard to tell in the chaos that followed. They were dressed head to toe in black, their faces hidden behind masks: a snarling wolf, a grinning clown, a featureless white face, and a grotesque demon.

And they were armed.

“Everyone on the floor!” one of them barked, his voice distorted through the mask, the barrel of his gun sweeping across the room.

Your heart dropped, your body reacting before your brain could catch up. You slid off the chair and onto the floor, your phone slipping from your hands as you pressed yourself flat against the cold tiles. Around you, the other people in the bank were doing the same—some crying softly, others frozen in stunned silence.

“Hands where we can see them!” another one shouted, their voice sharper, more aggressive.

You obeyed, trembling as you stretched your arms out in front of you. Your breaths came in short, panicked gasps, the floor suddenly feeling too hard, too cold, too close.

One of the masked figures strode past you, their boots heavy against the floor. You flinched as they moved, your body instinctively shrinking in on itself.

You tried not to look up, to stay small and invisible, but your gaze flicked upward for just a second—and you saw the wolf-masked figure staring right at you.

The mask tilted slightly, as if they were studying you. You froze, your blood running cold as your eyes locked with the dark voids of the mask’s eye holes.

“Keep your head down,” the figure growled, their voice low and menacing.

You dropped your gaze immediately, your entire body trembling as you pressed your forehead against the floor.

Behind you, one of the robbers barked orders to the tellers, demanding cash. The sounds of drawers opening, paper rustling, and the muffled sobs of a teller filled the room.

“Move faster!” another one snapped, slamming their hand against the counter.

The tension in the air was suffocating, every second stretching into what felt like an eternity. Your mind raced, a whirlwind of panic and fear. What did they want? Would they hurt someone? Would they hurt you?

You didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe too loudly.

But amidst the chaos, a thought nagged at the back of your mind—this wasn’t random. The timing, the masks, the precision. Something about it felt deliberate.

And then, you felt it again—that same sensation that had been haunting you for days.

The feeling of being watched.

Slowly, carefully, you shifted your eyes to the side, just enough to see the wolf-masked figure standing a few feet away. Their head was turned toward you again, their stance unnervingly still compared to the chaos around them.

It was like they weren’t even focused on the heist anymore.

They were focused on you.

The chaos continued to unfold around you, the masked figures shouting commands and waving their guns as the tellers scrambled to fill duffel bags with cash. The sound of drawers slamming and the occasional muffled sob of a hostage filled the air, but all you could focus on was the crushing weight of fear in your chest.

Then the clown came closer.

You didn’t see him at first, too focused on staying still and small, but you felt the shadow looming over you. A pair of scuffed boots came into your view, stopping just inches from your head.

"Well, well, look at this," the clown mask sneered, his voice dripping with malice.

You barely had time to flinch before he noticed your phone lying on the floor, just by your head. He chuckled darkly, lifting his boot and slamming it down onto the device with enough force to shatter it into pieces. The crack of the screen echoed through the room, making you jump.

“No phones!” he shouted, crouching down just enough to get in your face. His mask’s grinning expression felt mocking, his gun now pointed directly at your temple.

Your blood turned ice-cold as you froze, your breath catching in your throat.

“What do we have here?” he taunted, leaning in closer. “You trying to be a hero? Huh? Recording us, maybe?”

“No!” you choked out, your voice barely above a whisper. “I wasn’t, I swear!”

The barrel of the gun pressed harder against your temple, and you clenched your eyes shut, shaking uncontrollably. “You better not be lying to me,” he hissed.

But before he could say anything else, a hand shoved him hard, knocking him off balance.

“Back off!” the wolf snapped, his voice sharp and commanding.

The clown stumbled but caught himself, turning to glare at the wolf. “What’s your problem?” he spat.

“The money’s the priority,” the wolf said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Not wasting time threatening some random girl.”

For a moment, the clown hesitated, his finger twitching near the trigger as he glanced between you and the wolf. You held your breath, terrified of what he might do.

Finally, with a frustrated growl, he stepped back, lowering his gun. “Fine. Whatever.” He shot you one last glare before storming off toward the counters, muttering under his breath.

The wolf lingered for a moment, his masked face still angled toward you. Even though you couldn’t see his expression, you felt his eyes boring into you, assessing you, as if silently telling you to stay put and stay quiet.

Then he turned and walked away, joining the others as they stuffed more cash into their bags.

Your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure everyone in the room could hear it. You stayed frozen on the floor, trembling, as the chaos continued around you.

Before you could even begin to process what had just happened, a gloved hand yanked you up by your arm.

“Get up!” a rough voice barked behind the grotesque demon mask.

Your legs wobbled as you were hauled to your feet, your body stiff with terror. “Wait—what are you doing? Let me go!” you stammered, trying to pull away, but the grip on your arm was like iron.

The wolf approached swiftly, his movements precise and deliberate. He didn’t say a word as he reached into his bag, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. You froze, your breath hitching as he grabbed your wrists, forcing them together in front of you.

The cold steel bit into your skin as the cuffs clicked shut.

“W-Why are you doing this?” you pleaded, panic rising in your voice.

The wolf didn’t answer. He only exchanged a glance with the demon, and before you knew it, they were dragging you toward the counter, your shoes scuffing against the tiled floor as you struggled.

“Stop! Please!” you cried, thrashing against their hold, but it was no use. They were too strong.

They pulled you around the counter, past the terrified tellers huddled on the floor, and toward a back door you hadn’t even noticed before. The demon shoved the door open, and that’s when it happened.

Gunfire erupted, the sound splitting the air like thunder. You screamed, instinctively ducking as chaos exploded around you.

The cops were here.

Bullets tore through the doorframe, shards of wood and plaster flying everywhere as the robbers scrambled for cover. The wolf yanked you to the side, his grip on your arm unrelenting as he pulled you out of the line of fire. The demon cursed loudly, returning fire with his assault rifle as the clown and the others shouted orders.

You were caught in the middle of it all, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it would break through your ribs.

“Move! Move!” the wolf barked, dragging you further back into the bank as the others laid down suppressive fire.

You stumbled over your own feet, the cuffs cutting into your wrists as you were manhandled left and right. The gunfire was deafening, each shot sending a jolt of terror through your body.

“Let me go!” you screamed, tears streaming down your face as you tried to resist.

But they didn’t listen. The demon shoved you forward, almost knocking you over, while the wolf kept a firm hold on your arm, steering you toward what looked like a service entrance.

“Take her through the alley!” one of the robbers shouted—maybe the clown, you couldn’t tell anymore.

“No time!” the demon snapped. “They’ve got the back covered too!”

More gunfire erupted, and you ducked again, your ears ringing from the sheer volume of the shots. The smell of gunpowder and fear was thick in the air, suffocating you as you were dragged further into the chaos.

The fire exit door slammed open, and chaos followed you into the cold night air.

Gunshots cracked like thunder around you as the masked robbers fired wildly at the police closing in from all sides. You stumbled as they dragged you forward, your wrists aching against the cuffs, your legs barely able to keep up.

“Cover me!” the demon barked, his assault rifle spraying bullets toward the flashing red-and-blue lights in the distance.

The wolf, still gripping your arm, yanked you harder, pulling you toward a white van that screeched to a halt just ahead. Its tires skidded on the asphalt, smoke billowing around it. The sliding door flung open, and you barely had time to register the driver—a figure in a grotesque zombie mask—before the robbers began throwing the bags of money into the back.

“Get in!” the clown yelled, his voice sharp and frantic.

You resisted, digging your heels into the ground as they tried to force you forward. “No! Let me go!” you screamed, thrashing wildly.

The demon growled in frustration and shoved you forward. “Quit fighting, or I’ll give you a reason to stop!”

Your body collided with the hard interior of the van as the wolf hoisted you up and shoved you inside. The smell of leather and gasoline filled your nose as you landed on your side, your hands still bound in front of you.

“Move!” the zombie driver shouted, his voice muffled but commanding.

The demon and the clown scrambled into the van, slamming the door shut as the wolf climbed in last, still holding his weapon.

The van roared to life, its engine growling as it sped off, tires screeching against the pavement.

You were thrown to the side as the van lurched forward, and you struggled to push yourself upright, your heart racing as panic set in. Outside the windows, flashes of blue and red danced in the dark, and the distant wail of sirens grew louder.

“They’re right on us!” the clown shouted, peering out the back window.

“Then lose them!” the demon snapped, slamming a fresh magazine into his gun.

The zombie swerved the van violently, narrowly avoiding a blockade of police cars as bullets ricocheted off the metal exterior. The robbers fired back through the open windows, their weapons deafening in the cramped space.

You pressed yourself against the corner of the van, your knees tucked to your chest as the chaos unfolded around you. Your ears rang from the gunfire, your body shaking uncontrollably as you watched the masked figures shout and fire, their movements chaotic yet disturbingly practiced.

One of the cops’ vehicles pulled up alongside the van, its siren blaring as an officer leaned out the window, aiming a weapon.

“Take them out!” the demon ordered.

The clown let out a sharp laugh, rolling down the window and leaning out with his rifle. “With pleasure.”

The van swerved again as he fired, the sound of bullets tearing through the air making you scream. The police car veered off course, skidding to a halt as its tires blew out, sending sparks flying.

“Hell yeah!” the clown shouted, slapping the side of the van as he ducked back inside.

The wolf, sitting closest to you, glanced your way. His mask tilted slightly, as if he were studying you again, his body unnervingly calm compared to the others.

You pressed yourself further into the corner, your breath coming in shallow gasps. “Please,” you whimpered, your voice trembling. “Why are you doing this? Just let me go!”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, the zombie yelled from the driver’s seat, “We’re clear for now, but they’ll be on us again soon! Where’s the next checkpoint?”

The demon pulled out a map, spreading it across the floor of the van. “Couple miles out. We ditch the van there and split up.”

“And her?” the clown asked, jerking his head in your direction. “What do we do with her?”

The air in the van grew heavier, the question hanging like a loaded gun.

“She stays,” the wolf said firmly, his voice low.

The others exchanged glances, but no one argued.

You stared at him, your mind racing. Why? Why did he insist on keeping you?

You pressed your back harder against the cold metal wall of the van, your knees drawn up to your chest. Every fiber of your being screamed to fight, to yell, to do something—anything—but you didn’t. You stayed quiet, hoping that silence would keep you alive.

The robbers kept moving, the van swerving sharply as the zombie masked driver navigated the dark streets. Every turn jostled you, the cuffs on your wrists digging into your skin.

“Are we clear?” the clown asked, his voice tense as he peered out the back window.

“Not yet,” the demon growled, his rifle resting on his lap as he reloaded. “They’ll catch up. We need to move faster.”

“They can’t keep up,” the zombie argued from the front. “I know these streets. We’ll lose them soon.”

The van fell into a tense silence, the occasional crackle of the police radio chatter outside filtering through the open window. You kept your head down, your breaths shallow, trying to make yourself as small and invisible as possible.

But the weight of the wolf’s gaze was still on you.

You could feel it without even looking up, the way he sat so still compared to the others. It was like he was watching you, studying your every move, even though you weren’t making any.

Finally, the clown broke the silence with a loud sigh. “This is getting boring,” he muttered, leaning back against the van wall. “We should’ve left her behind. Dead weight.”

You flinched at his words, your hands trembling as you clenched them tightly together.

“She’s insurance,” the wolf said coldly, his tone cutting through the air like a blade. “In case things go south.”

“Insurance, huh?” the clown sneered, tilting his head toward you. “She doesn’t look like much. What are you gonna do? Use her as a human shield?”

The wolf didn’t respond.

“Enough,” the demon snapped, silencing the clown with a glare. “She’s here. That’s the end of it.”

The clown grumbled under his breath but said nothing more, turning his attention back to the window.

You glanced up briefly, your eyes darting to the wolf. He was sitting across from you, his posture relaxed yet somehow alert. His mask tilted slightly, as if he knew you were looking at him.

You quickly looked away, your pulse quickening.

The van suddenly jerked to the side, making everyone lurch forward.

“Checkpoint’s up ahead,” the zombie announced, his voice calm but firm. “Get ready to move.”

The tension in the van grew heavier as the others prepared themselves, checking their weapons and adjusting their masks.

You stayed frozen, your mind racing. What would happen at the checkpoint? Would they let you go? Or was this just the beginning of something worse?

The wolf shifted in his seat, leaning closer to you. You tensed as his gloved hand reached out, grabbing the chain of the cuffs around your wrists.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he said quietly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you nodded shakily, unable to muster the strength to speak.

The van slowed to a stop, the sound of gravel crunching beneath the tires.

The demon opened the sliding door, his rifle at the ready. “Move,” he ordered, gesturing for everyone to get out.

The clown and the wolf exited first, guns drawn as they scanned the area. The zombie stayed in the driver’s seat, his hands gripping the wheel tightly, ready to bolt if things went sideways.

Then the demon turned to you.

“Let’s go,” he growled, grabbing your arm and yanking you out of the van.

The night air hit you like a slap, cold and sharp, as you stumbled onto the gravel.

The wolf was by your side in an instant, his hand on your arm again, steadying you. It wasn’t comforting. It was a reminder that you weren’t going anywhere.You were then half-dragged, half-pushed toward a row of hidden vehicles parked in the shadows of the industrial area. Engines roared to life as the robbers split up, each group climbing into separate cars.

The wolf steered you toward a sleek black car, opening the passenger door and shoving you inside with startling precision. Before you could even think of resisting, he leaned over, pulling the seat belt across your body and fastening it with a decisive click.

The movement was quick but strangely careful, as if ensuring you wouldn’t get hurt. You stared at him, breathless and wide-eyed, as he settled into the driver’s seat without a word.

The clown slid into the back seat, slamming the door shut behind him. “Let’s move!” he barked, his tone impatient.

The wolf didn’t reply. He simply started the engine, his gloved hands gripping the wheel as the car roared to life. Without hesitation, he pressed the gas, the tires screeching against the pavement as the car sped off into the night.

Through the rearview mirror, you could see the other vehicles peeling off in different directions, each taking a separate route to evade the cops.

The silence in the car was deafening, broken only by the hum of the engine and the faint sound of sirens fading into the distance.

You sat stiffly in the passenger seat, your hands clenched in your lap as you tried to steady your breathing. The wolf’s presence beside you was overwhelming, his calm demeanor in stark contrast to the chaos you had just witnessed.

From the back seat, the clown let out a sharp laugh. “Man, did you see the look on those cops’ faces? Like they didn’t even know what hit ‘em!”

The wolf didn’t respond, his focus entirely on the road ahead.

The clown leaned forward, resting his elbows on the back of your seat. “So, what’s the plan with her, huh?” he asked, jerking his thumb toward you.

You flinched, your shoulders tensing as his attention shifted to you.

The wolf’s grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly, but his voice remained steady. “She’s coming with us. That’s all you need to know.”

The clown scoffed, sitting back again. “You’re getting soft, Wolf. Letting her ride shotgun like she’s part of the team or something.”

The wolf glanced at you briefly, his mask hiding whatever expression might have crossed his face. Then he turned his attention back to the road.

“She’s leverage,” he said simply.

The clown muttered something under his breath, but he didn’t push the subject any further.

You turned your head toward the window, watching the dark streets blur past as the car sped through empty intersections and winding back roads. The reality of the situation was beginning to sink in, the adrenaline fading just enough to leave you with a sick, hollow feeling in your chest.

You were completely at their mercy, trapped with no way out.

And yet, there was something strange about the wolf.

He hadn’t hurt you—not like the others. He hadn’t yelled at you, threatened you, or treated you like a disposable hostage. His actions were calculated, almost protective, even if you didn’t understand why.

But that didn’t make him any less dangerous.

The clown’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “So where are we headed, anyway? Safehouse number two?”

“No,” the wolf said. “Too obvious. We’re heading to the fallback location.”

The clown groaned. “Great. Another night in the middle of nowhere.”

You didn’t dare ask what the fallback location was.

Instead, you kept quiet, your heart pounding as the car sped further and further away from anything familiar.

The engine roared as the wolf pressed the pedal harder, the car speeding down the dark, desolate roads. You gripped the edge of the seat with your cuffed hands, your body stiff as you stared out the windshield, too terrified to look anywhere else.

Behind you, the clown rummaged through the two duffel bags, his gloved hands pulling out wads of cash. The bills rustled as he counted, his voice loud and obnoxious in the tense silence.

“Ten grand, twenty, thirty,” he muttered, stacking the money in neat piles on his lap. “Damn, this haul’s better than the last one. Maybe we should hit banks more often.”

The wolf didn’t respond, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, his hands gripping the wheel with calm precision.

The clown snorted, shaking his head. “You’re no fun, you know that? All business, no celebration. You could at least crack a smile under that mask.”

“I’m driving,” the wolf said flatly. His voice was low, steady, and completely unbothered by the clown’s antics.

The clown scoffed, shoving another bundle of cash back into the bag. “Yeah, yeah, Mr. Professional. Always the same with you.”

You glanced at the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of the clown’s mask—a twisted, grinning face that sent a chill down your spine. He noticed you looking and leaned forward, his head tilting as if he were smirking beneath the mask.

“What about you, huh?” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “You enjoying the ride, sweetheart? This must be the most excitement you’ve had in your boring little life.”

You stiffened, refusing to answer.

The clown laughed, a sharp, grating sound. “Aw, come on, don’t be shy. You’re practically part of the crew now. Maybe we’ll even cut you a share.”

“That’s enough,” the wolf said sharply, his voice cutting through the air like a knife.

The clown raised his hands in mock surrender, leaning back in his seat. “Fine, fine. I’m just trying to lighten the mood. You’re such a buzzkill, Wolf.”

The wolf didn’t reply, his focus returning to the road.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry as your mind raced. The clown’s teasing was unnerving, but the wolf’s silence was worse. He was an enigma—calm, controlled, and impossible to read.

The car swerved slightly as the wolf took a sharp turn, the tires screeching against the pavement.

The car sped down the empty streets, the hum of the engine filling the tense silence. After a while, the clown’s fidgeting grew louder, and you could sense his boredom brewing. He leaned forward again, resting his arms on the back of your seat.

“So,” he drawled, his tone laced with mock curiosity. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

You hesitated, glancing toward the wolf, who showed no sign of responding. His grip on the steering wheel remained steady, his eyes locked on the road ahead.

“I asked you a question,” the clown pressed, tilting his head. The subtle way his fingers drummed against the gun in his hand sent a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed hard, deciding that staying silent wasn’t worth the risk. You answered him, your voice barely above a whisper.

He repeated your name, as if testing the way it sounded. “Nice. Bet you never thought you’d end up on an adventure like this, huh?”

You didn’t answer, staring straight ahead as your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your seatbelt.

The clown chuckled, the sound low and unnerving. “Not much of a talker, are you? That’s alright. Quiet’s good.” His tone shifted, becoming smoother, almost flirtatious. “But you don’t have to be shy with me. I’m not as scary as I look.”

Your stomach turned, and you instinctively leaned slightly closer to the door, putting as much distance as you could between you and his presence looming behind you.

Still, you managed to force out a stiff response, if only to keep him from getting more agitated. “I don’t really… feel like talking.”

The clown’s laugh was sharper this time. “Come on, don’t be like that. You’ve got a pretty face. Might as well use that pretty voice to keep me entertained.”

Your body tensed, the flirty edge in his tone setting your nerves on fire. Before you could react—or even glance at the wolf for help—the car lurched to an abrupt stop, the tires screeching loudly against the pavement.

The sudden motion threw you forward in your seat, your seatbelt catching you just in time, but the clown wasn’t as lucky. He pitched forward, hitting his head hard with a muffled thud.

“Goddammit!” he cursed, rubbing his forehead through his mask as he sat back. “What the hell, Wolf?!”

“The light’s red,” he said coldly, nodding toward the traffic light ahead.

The clown let out a disbelieving laugh, waving his hand dismissively. “You’ve never stopped at a red light before. What’s the deal?”

The wolf’s grip on the wheel didn’t loosen, but his tone dropped lower, sharper. “I stopped.”

The clown muttered something under his breath, leaning back in his seat with a groan. “Fine, whatever. You’re the boss.”

You stole a glance at the wolf, your heart racing. His mask obscured his face, but his posture told you everything. His shoulders were rigid, his breathing controlled but heavy, and the way his hands clenched the steering wheel made it clear—he was furious.

But why? Was it because of the clown’s behavior toward you?

The light turned green, and the wolf started driving again, the car moving smoothly as if nothing had happened.

The clown stayed quiet for a moment before letting out a huff. “Man, you’re wound up tight tonight. Need to relax.”

The wolf didn’t reply, his focus entirely on the road.

You could feel the weight of exhaustion dragging at you, your body craving rest, but your mind refused to let go. The tension in the car was thick, and every muscle in your body screamed for a break. But you knew better than to trust sleep around these men. The fear of what might happen if you closed your eyes was far too strong.

The road beneath the tires seemed to stretch on forever, and you blinked hard, doing your best to keep your focus. Every time you thought you might drift off, a sharp turn or the sound of the clown laughing from behind you pulled you back into reality.

Finally, the car slowed to a stop, the engine purring to a halt in the quiet night. You blinked rapidly, trying to clear the haze of exhaustion from your vision, but you were still too disoriented.

The clown’s voice broke through your foggy thoughts. “Alright, we’re here. Let’s go.”

The wolf opened his door without a word and stepped out, his heavy boots crunching against the pavement as the clown followed suit. Your door swung open, and before you could gather your bearings, the wolf’s cold hand gripped your arm, pulling you roughly out of the car.

You stumbled slightly, your legs unsteady from the long ride, but the wolf didn’t give you any room to regain your balance. “Move,” the wolf growled, and you had no choice but to follow, your body moving instinctively even as your mind screamed in protest.

The wolf continued leading you, his eyes sharp and watchful as he guided you toward a steel elevator.

You tried to keep your breathing steady, but the fear gnawed at you as the elevator doors closed with a dull thud, the sound of the mechanical gears grinding making you feel even more trapped.

The elevator descended with a slow, jarring motion, your stomach lurching as you were pulled deeper underground.

When the doors finally opened, you were greeted by a dimly lit basement. Concrete floors stretched out before you, and the air felt musty and stale, like it hadn’t been disturbed in ages.

The clown’s voice echoed in the silence as he dropped the bags of money on a long wooden table. “First group here, huh?” He grinned, turning toward the wolf. “We need a bigger place if we’re going to keep up with the haul.”

The wolf didn’t answer him. His gaze never left you, and he moved toward a small door at the far end of the room.

“You’re staying here,” he said, his voice firm and low.

You didn’t have time to protest before he unlocked the door and shoved you inside. The room was sparse—bare concrete walls, a single bed in the corner, and a small desk against the wall. There was a single light bulb hanging overhead, casting an eerie glow over the room.

Before you could fully register what was happening, the wolf had locked the door behind you, his footsteps echoing as he walked away.

You stood frozen for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest.

You were alone.

Alone in a cold, unfamiliar room, trapped with no clear way out.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly in that cold, empty room. Hours passed—or maybe it was just minutes, you couldn’t be sure. You paced the small space, trying to think of some way out, but all your thoughts kept circling back to the same grim reality.

But just as the weight of your fear felt unbearable, the door to your cell creaked open. You didn’t move at first, too exhausted and emotionally drained to react. But then you saw him—the wolf.

He stood in the doorway, his presence towering and suffocating, his eyes dark and unreadable beneath his mask.

“Come on,” he said, his voice low and commanding.

You didn’t hesitate, feeling an instinctive pull to move despite the part of you that screamed to resist. There was nothing to gain from defiance—not here, not with him.

His gloved hand grabbed your arm firmly, pulling you out of the room with a force that left you no room to protest. As you were led down the dimly lit hallway, you passed the other robbers. They didn’t speak, their gaze on you. The clown sat lazily at the table, fiddling with a lighter, his gaze flicking up for a brief moment, but he didn’t say anything.

The wolf didn’t stop, dragging you forward with an unyielding grip. He grabbed a bag from the table without a word, his focus fixed ahead.

You were taken back to the elevator, its cold metal doors sliding open with a hiss. The same grinding sound as before filled the air as the elevator took you upward, the quiet hum of its mechanics deafening in the otherwise still atmosphere.

When the doors opened again, you were faced with the world outside, the harsh light of the morning sun streaming in. The wolf shoved you toward a sleek red car waiting at the curb, its engine idling, ready to take you away.

The sun had begun to rise, casting long shadows on the pavement, signaling the end of the night. The city was waking up, but you felt like you were in another world entirely. The red car’s door swung open, and the wolf pushed you into the passenger seat with a firm hand. He climbed into the driver’s side without a word, his movements swift and deliberate.

The car roared to life, pulling away from the curb as the wheels crunched over the gravel.

The wolf’s gaze flickered briefly toward you, but he didn’t say anything. He just drove, his hands steady on the wheel as the car hummed down the road.

The tension in your shoulders, the constant dread you’d been carrying, began to ease—ever so slightly. Your eyelids fluttered, heavy from the exhaustion you’d been pushing through, the lack of sleep catching up to you. You tried to stay alert, but it was harder and harder to keep your eyes open.

And before you realized it, your head dipped forward, your body relaxing into the seat. Your breathing slowed, soft and steady, as you drifted into sleep.

The wolf’s eyes flickered over to you, his gaze briefly softening as he saw your head resting against the window. The corner of his lips twitched into something resembling a smile, though it was hidden behind his mask. There was a deep sense of satisfaction that washed over him.

You slowly opened your eyes, the soft light from the window spilling across the plush linens. The warmth of the bed made you feel disoriented, almost too comfortable, and the moment you became fully aware of your surroundings, a cold wave of shock hit you.

You were in a luxurious hotel suite, the kind you’d only seen in movies or heard about from those who had money to spend. The room was large, with expensive-looking furniture scattered about, dark wood and gold accents giving it a rich, elegant feel. The bed you had woken up in was massive, the sheets pristine white and slightly crumpled.

You sighed, the weight of the confusion and fear coming back. Your body was sore, and you could still feel the faint remnants of exhaustion in your limbs. But somehow, it felt wrong to stay here. You didn’t know where here was, but it certainly didn’t feel like a place you should be.

With a deep breath, you slowly sat up, your feet touching the cold floor. After a moment’s pause, you decided you couldn’t just sit here, unsure of what was going on.

The hallway outside the room was silent, save for the muffled sound of distant chatter. You stepped out and walked toward the elevator, your mind racing with questions. You reached the lobby, the plush carpet soft underfoot, and approached the receptionist desk, where a young woman sat typing on her computer.

“Excuse me,” you said quietly, your voice still raw from the sleep. The receptionist looked up, offering a warm smile. “Can I help you?”

You hesitated for a moment, still trying to gather your thoughts. “I… I woke up here, and I’m not sure how I got here. Can you tell me what happened?”

The receptionist took a moment to study you, her gaze flicking to the key card in your hand. “Oh, I see. You were brought in this morning. A man dropped you off though he didn’t stay long. Just… dropped you off and left.”

You frowned, the confusion deepening. "Did you see his face?"

She shook her head, her expression apologetic. "No, he was wearing a hood. I couldn’t see anything and he didn’t say much.”

You sighed out a breath, feeling a strange mix of relief and frustration. Relief, because at least you weren’t in immediate danger, and frustration because you still had no answers.

“Thank you,” you said, forcing a smile as you handed back the key card.

The receptionist nodded sympathetically as you turned and walked out.

The days that followed felt like a blur of events, each one blending into the next. The shock of the robbery and the kidnapping seemed to hang over you like a cloud, the adrenaline of the event never fully disappearing.

The police had been persistent, asking you question after question, trying to get every detail you could remember. You recounted everything—what you saw, what you heard, how the robbers acted, how you ended up in the hotel.

But what unsettled you the most was the fact that the place they had taken you to—the hidden basement, the garage, everything—was now completely empty. The police had searched the location, but there was nothing. No traces and no leftover evidence. It was as if the robbers had vanished into thin air.

And when they tried to trace the hotel, it was the same story. The receptionist’s memory was all they had, and that wasn’t much to go on. A hooded man had dropped you off. No name. No face. Nothing.

The police had no leads, and you were left with nothing but your own confusion and growing fear.

You tried to keep going. You tried to move on, to get back to some semblance of normalcy, but the feeling that had surged through you—danger, uncertainty, that rush of adrenaline—was a hard thing to shake.

You’d always thought you wanted something more, something thrilling. But now that you had experienced it, now that you had tasted that kind of danger, it felt like an itch you couldn’t scratch. It wasn’t something you could walk away from. It was always there.

You went back to your work, your life, doing your best to keep your routine in place. But nothing felt quite the same. It was like you were constantly looking over your shoulder, waiting for something to happen, waiting for those men to reappear.

Some nights, the fear crept back in, and you’d find yourself unable to sleep, lying awake in bed, the images of the action flashing through your mind. And then there were those moments, when the rush, the thrill, would start to creep in too. You’d catch yourself staring out a window, lost in thought, wondering what it would be like to see one of them again.

It was dangerous, you knew. But it felt impossible to escape that feeling. Something about it was… addictive.

The morning sunlight filtered through your window, casting a warm glow over your apartment, but as you opened the door, the peaceful atmosphere quickly shifted. There, lying on the floor just outside your door, was a bag—an expensive-looking, high-end designer bag, its sleek material catching the light.

You tilted your head in confusion, wondering who could have left it there. Your heart skipped a beat as you crouched down and zipped it open. Your breath caught in your throat when you saw what was inside.

A piece of paper was folded neatly, the words scrawled in neat, precise handwriting: "Wear it for me."

The signature beneath the words read: Wolf.

A chill ran through you, but the bag was filled with more than just a note. Inside, you found an assortment of beautifully crafted jewelry—shiny necklaces, delicate bracelets, and a pair of earrings that sparkled like diamonds. There were also clothes—luxurious fabric, intricate stitching, and garments that screamed wealth.

You felt your stomach tighten, torn between the unease that bubbled up within you and the undeniable curiosity that had you looking over your shoulder. But there was no one in sight. No one watching.

You picked up the bag, feeling the weight of it in your hands. You glanced around the hallway, half-expecting someone to jump out at you. But nothing. No movement, nothing.

Stepping back into your apartment, you closed the door behind you, your mind racing. The room felt stuffy all of a sudden, and your hands trembled slightly as you quickly checked the news, hoping to find something—anything—that could explain this. But there was nothing. No new robberies. No incidents. The police reports hadn’t changed.

You looked at the open bag sitting on the floor in front of you. The glint of the jewelry, sparkling almost like it was teasing you. Each piece seemed to tempt you, daring you to pick it up, to try it on.

Your fingers hovered over the contents of the bag before you quickly pulled them back, shaking your head. This is ridiculous, you told yourself. It wasn’t safe, wasn’t normal. You didn’t know the Wolf’s intentions—what this gesture even meant.

You clenched your fists, forcing yourself to pull back. "No," you muttered under your breath. Whatever game the Wolf was playing, you weren’t going to be part of it.

Leaving the bag on the floor where it was, you grabbed your coat, slipped on your shoes, and headed for the door. You needed to get out, clear your head, put some distance between you and whatever this was.

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, as you decided to take a stroll, hoping the fresh air would clear your mind.

Walking, your steps slowed in front of a jewelry store. The display window sparkled under the bright lights, showcasing an array of necklaces, rings, and bracelets. The pieces were beautiful, elegant, and impossibly expensive.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear the faint sound of footsteps behind you until a low, familiar voice broke through the quiet.

“Do you like what you’re seeing?”

You froze for a moment before turning your head slightly, glancing over your shoulder. Your breath caught when you saw him—the handsome man you had crashed into days ago.

For a moment, your mind raced, trying to make sense of his sudden appearance. He was dressed casually, hands tucked into his pockets, an air of confidence around him.

“Yeah,” you said softly, turning back to the window. “They’re beautiful.”

“They’d suit you,” he replied, his tone smooth, yet sincere.

You felt heat rush to your cheeks at his words, your heart giving a traitorous flutter. “Thanks,” you mumbled, looking away from the display and at the ground, trying to compose yourself.

There was a pause before he spoke again, his voice calm but laced with something deeper, something unreadable. “Jewelry like that... it’s meant to make a statement. To say something about the person wearing it.”

You glanced up at him, his gaze fixed on the display for a moment before shifting to meet yours. His eyes held yours, and for a second, you could feel the intensity behind them.

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

A small, knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips, as though he understood something you didn’t. “You don’t think it’s for you?”

You hesitated, unsure how to answer. “I’m not sure it fits my life right now,” you admitted, thinking about the bag sitting untouched back in your apartment.

His smile grew, but it wasn’t mocking—it was... intrigued. “Maybe you just haven’t stepped into the right life yet.”

Before you could respond, he straightened, taking a step back.

“Think about it,” he said simply, giving you a slight nod before turning and disappearing into the flow of pedestrians on the sidewalk.

You stood there, rooted in place, staring after him as your heart thudded in your chest.

Who was he?

After returning home, you let out a heavy sigh as your eyes landed on the bag still sitting where you’d left it. You crouched down and peeked inside once again, taking in the glimmering jewelry and the luxurious clothes.

Scrunching your nose, you muttered to yourself, What the hell am I supposed to do with this?

You closed the bag with a resigned huff and headed to the bathroom, stripping off your clothes and stepping into the hot shower. You let your mind wander for a moment, trying to make sense of everything.

After drying off and wrapping yourself in a towel, you walked back into your room. Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, drawing your attention. Frowning, you picked it up and unlocked the screen to see a text from an unknown number.

The message made your stomach flip:

"You didn’t like the gift I left this morning?"

Your breath caught. For a moment, you just stared at the screen, your heart racing. You typed a quick reply:

"What do you mean?"

It didn’t take long for the reply to come.

"I didn’t see you wearing the jewels."

You froze, gripping the phone tighter in your hand. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who it was. Your suspicion solidified in your mind as you began typing furiously:

"Wolf?"

There was no denial.

"Out of all the names you could’ve chosen, that’s the one you stick with? I’m flattered."

You huffed in frustration, pacing your room as you typed back.

"Why are you watching me? And why would you even give me this stuff?"

A moment passed before his next reply.

"I bought it out of the goodness of my heart, just for you. Thought you’d appreciate the gesture."

You rolled your eyes, fingers flying over the keyboard.

"With stolen money."

This time, his response took a little longer, but when it came, it sent a chill down your spine.

"You didn’t seem to complain when I kept you safe, sweetheart. Or when I made sure you slept comfortably that night."

You swallowed hard, glaring at the screen as your mind flashed back to that night in the hotel. Despite your frustration, you couldn’t deny the truth in his words. You were alive, and he had been the one to ensure it.

Still, you typed back stubbornly:

"That doesn’t mean I owe you anything."

His reply came quickly, as if he had been waiting for you to say it.

"Oh, sweetheart, this isn’t about owing me. I just wanna spoil you."

You stared at the message, torn between anger, confusion, and an emotion you couldn’t quite place. Your hands trembled slightly as you locked your phone and tossed it onto the bed.

And before you could stop yourself, you grabbed the bag, placing it on the bed. Slowly, you unzipped it and pulled out the clothes first—a sleek designer outfit that felt as expensive as it looked. Next, you took out the jewelry, laying it out piece by piece. Rings, bracelets, earrings, and necklaces all glittered under the dim light of your room.

You swallowed hard as you picked up the outfit and the jewelry, staring at them for a moment. What harm could it do to just try them on?

The thought tugged at your resolve, and before long, you found yourself slipping into the outfit and clasping the jewelry around your neck and wrists. You turned toward the mirror, almost not recognizing yourself.

The person staring back at you looked expensive, untouchable, like someone who had walked out of a magazine.

You tilted your head, running your fingers through your hair. Without thinking, you grabbed your phone, adjusted your pose, and snapped a picture.

Your thumb hovered over the photo for a moment. Should I? The thought sent a thrill of uncertainty through you, but before you could overanalyze, you sent it.

The instant you hit send, regret settled in your stomach like a rock. You thought about deleting it or throwing your phone across the room, but the damage was done.

Not even a minute passed before he replied.

"Knew you’d look good in it."

Your cheeks burned as you stared at the screen. Before you could respond, another message came through.

"You wear it better than I imagined. Stunning."

The compliment sent your heart racing. You quickly typed a response:

"You’re a psycho, you know that?"

This time, the reply was almost instant.

"Maybe. But I know a good investment when I see one."

You frowned, typing quickly.

"I’m not an investment."

His response came slower this time, but it hit harder than you expected.

"You are to me. Whether you see it or not."

Your stomach churned, and before you could come up with a reply, another message came through.

"Enjoy the gifts, sweetheart. There’s more to come."

You tossed your phone onto the bed, staring at yourself in the mirror again. You felt beautiful, sure, but at what cost?

The days that followed after felt surreal, like stepping into a life that wasn’t your own. Every morning, you would find another bag or box outside your door. Each time, the gifts inside grew more extravagant—more jewelry, designer clothes, expensive shoes, even a high-end purse that you’d only ever dreamed of owning.

The Wolf never let you ignore his generosity. His messages always followed soon after, asking if you liked what he’d left and reminding you to send proof that you were wearing them.

At first, you resisted, replying with excuses about being too busy or not wanting to wear such obvious luxury items. But he was persistent, and there was always an underlying threat hidden behind his charming words. Not explicit, but enough to remind you that he was watching.

"Don’t keep me waiting, sweetheart." "I just want to see you shine." "Humor me, or should I drop by and see for myself?"

So, reluctantly, you complied. You’d slip into the outfits, put on the jewelry, and snap a picture. At first, you tried to make it obvious that you weren’t enjoying it—standing stiffly, giving half-hearted smiles. But over time, as you caught glimpses of yourself in the mirror, you couldn’t deny that the attention made you feel… special.

And when you were out, you started wearing some of the items—not all at once, but enough to feel their weight on you. The Wolf noticed immediately, always commenting when he saw you through his texts.

"Everyone’s staring at you, aren’t they? They should. You’re breathtaking." "You belong in things like this, not the life you’re trying to hold onto."

But the feeling didn’t come without guilt. Each time you put on something he sent, you couldn’t shake the thought of how he got the money to pay for it. You knew it was stolen, yet here you were, parading around in the spoils of his crimes.

As you sat on a bench in the park that evening, sipping a coffee and scrolling through your phone, a message from him lit up your screen:

"You’re starting to enjoy it, aren’t you?"

Your fingers flew across the screen as you typed out a response.

"Enjoy it? What, being spoiled by stolen money and manipulated into wearing it? No thanks."

The reply came almost instantly, like he’d been waiting for you to bite.

"Sweetheart, if you really hated it, you wouldn’t be wearing my gifts right now. Don’t lie to me."

You clenched your jaw, glaring at the screen. You could practically hear the smug tone in his voice.

"I wear them because you keep pushing, not because I like them."

It was a weak excuse, and you knew it. So did he.

"Sure you don’t," he replied, adding a winking emoji. "That’s why you’ve been strutting around town looking like you own the place. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the extra confidence."

You rolled your eyes, fingers moving quickly.

"Confidence? More like stress from worrying you’re watching me all the time. Maybe I should toss this stuff out and be done with it."

There was a pause this time, long enough that you thought you might’ve finally gotten under his skin. Then your phone buzzed again.

"You wouldn’t dare. And even if you tried, I’d just buy you more. You deserve to look like the Queen you are."

Your cheeks burned, and you hated the way your heart skipped at his words. "Stop calling me things like that."

"Why? You don’t like being called my Queen? Or would you prefer ‘baby’? ‘sweetheart? ‘angel’?"

You huffed aloud, typing furiously.

"I’d prefer if you left me alone, actually."

"Hmm, yeah, that’s not happening."

You groaned in frustration, leaning back against the bench as his next message appeared.

"C’mon, don’t be mad, sweetheart. You’re cute when you’re flustered."

"You’re insufferable."

"And yet, you keep replying. Admit it—you like our little chats."

You hesitated, glaring at the screen. Part of you wanted to ignore him, to block his number and try to move on with your life. But another part—the one that felt a flicker of excitement each time his name popped up—kept you typing.

"I reply because you won’t leave me alone," you shot back.

"Mmhmm, keep telling yourself that. You’ve got my number saved by now, don’t you?"

Your stomach flipped, and your face burned. You hadn’t saved his number, but the thought that he’d guessed something so ridiculous still made you squirm.

"In your dreams," you typed.

"Oh, sweetheart, you don’t want to know what I dream about."

Your jaw dropped, heat rushing to your cheeks as you stared at the text before locking your phone, you shoved it into your bag with an annoyed groan. He was impossible, and he knew exactly how to get under your skin.

The bell above the jewelry store door jingled softly as you stepped inside, greeted by the glimmer of diamonds and gold under bright display lights. The store wasn’t too crowded—just a few customers browsing quietly, the sound of soft music humming in the background.

You wandered toward the ring section, humming to yourself as you peered through the glass. Your fingers brushed over the edge of the counter as you admired the delicate pieces—sleek bands, intricate designs, and stones that sparkled.

One caught your eye: a simple silver ring with a small diamond. The kind of thing you’d never buy for yourself, but it didn’t stop you from slipping it onto your finger to admire it.

The moment felt normal.

But that didn`t seem to last.

The sound of a door slamming open behind you shattered the calm. A sharp, angry voice boomed through the store, cutting through the soft music.

"Everyone on the ground! Now!"

Your stomach twisted as you froze in place, the ring still halfway on your finger. Panic set in as the store erupted into chaos—gasps, screams, and the clatter of someone dropping their bag as people scrambled to the floor.

Your head turned slowly, heart hammering in your chest.

And there they were.

The same robbers from the bank. The masks. The guns. It was like a nightmare replaying itself, except this time you weren’t just a bystander.

Your gaze locked onto him.

The Wolf.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Behind the mask, his head tilted slightly, as if he were sizing you up, and even without seeing his face, you knew he recognized you.

You swallowed hard, your hands trembling as you raised them slowly, your mind screaming at you to do something, anything. But he wasn’t moving, and the longer he stared, the more you began to feel like his prey.

Then, finally, he spoke. His voice was low, distorted slightly by the mask but unmistakably calm.

"You really do have a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, don’t you?"

The familiarity in his tone sent a shiver down your spine. You took a shaky step back, but his gun followed the movement.

“Stay right there,” he ordered, and his voice wasn’t as calm this time. It was sharp and commanding.

You dropped back to the floor, your knees hitting the cold tiles as the others watched silently.

"Good girl," he muttered, almost to himself, and though the words weren’t loud, they hit you like a brick.

This wasn’t a coincidence. It couldn’t be.

The Clown let out a loud, exaggerated laugh as his gaze landed on you, his gun resting on his shoulder. "Well, well, look who it is! Isn’t this just too good to be true?" he teased, gesturing wildly toward you with his free hand.

You stiffened, keeping your eyes down as the other robbers turned their attention to you, their movements briefly faltering.

"Seriously?" the Clown continued, leaning against one of the display cases. "Out of all the jewelry stores in the city, you walk into this one? What are the odds?"

"Focus," the Wolf snapped, his voice sharp as he shoved a handful of necklaces into a bag. But his tone wasn’t as steady as it usually was—there was something strained about it.

A skeleton, standing by the door, glanced between you and the Clown. "What, you two know her?"

The Clown chuckled, his laughter high-pitched and mocking. "Oh, we know her, all right. She’s like our little good-luck charm. Wherever she goes, we hit the jackpot!"

You felt your stomach twist, the heat of their stares making your skin crawl. You tried to stay still, tried not to draw any more attention to yourself, but the Clown’s taunting made that impossible.

"You’ve got to admit," the Clown continued, his tone dripping with amusement as he gestured to the Wolf, "this is kind of funny."

The Wolf didn’t answer, his focus locked on the bags of jewelry as if ignoring the conversation altogether.

Then, before anyone could say another word, a loud pop shattered the air.

The glass window near the front of the store exploded inward, and a thick cloud of gas began pouring in. The cops had arrived.

Chaos erupted instantly.

"Gas!" the Demon shouted, covering his face with one arm.

The Clown cursed, dropping the rings he was counting and grabbing his gun. "We’ve got company!"

The gas spread quickly, making your eyes water and your throat burn. You coughed, trying to crawl toward the counter for some kind of cover, but you didn’t make it far.

Rough hands grabbed you by the arm, yanking you upright. You barely had time to scream before the Demon’s arm was around your neck, dragging you backward toward the exit.

"Shield!" he barked, his voice muffled.

"No!" you gasped, struggling against his grip, but he only tightened his hold, keeping your body in front of his as the store filled with smoke.

The Wolf turned sharply, his eyes—or rather, his mask—locking onto you. "Demon, leave her!"

"No time for this!" the Demon snapped back, holding you tighter as you kicked against him. "You want us to get out or not?"

The Clown was already firing shots through the gas, laughing like a maniac as the police closed in.

Your heart raced as you were dragged toward the back, your screams barely audible over the chaos. The Wolf hesitated for a moment, his gun raised, before letting out a growl of frustration and motioning for the others to move.

"Go! Go!" he barked, his voice laced with anger.

You were shoved through the back door and into an alley, the cold air hitting your face as the sounds of gunfire echoed behind you. The Demon didn’t loosen his grip, dragging you toward a waiting van parked at the end of the alley.

"Let me go!" you screamed, your voice hoarse, but your words fell on deaf ears.

The Clown opened the back doors of the van, waving the others inside. "C’mon, c’mon! Time to disappear again!"

The Demon shoved you forward, and you stumbled into the van, your wrists hitting the cold metal floor. The Clown climbed in behind you, pulling the doors shut as the Wolf took the driver’s seat.

The van roared to life, screeching away from the alley as the cops’ shouts faded into the distance.

You curled yourself further into the corner, trying to make yourself small, your heart pounding so hard it hurt. And then, out of the corner of your eye, you noticed something—or rather, someone.

Another woman.

She was sitting on the opposite side of the van, her face pale, her hair disheveled, and her body trembling. You recognized her from the store. She’d been near the necklace displays, standing by herself. You’d barely noticed her in the chaos, but now it was clear—she’d been taken, too.

Her eyes met yours, wide and terrified, and for a moment, neither of you said anything.

The Clown, seated on one of the metal benches along the wall, noticed the direction of your gaze and snickered. "Ah, don’t worry," he said, waving his hand lazily. "She’s just along for the ride, like you."

"Why?" you croaked, your voice barely above a whisper.

The Clown tilted his head as if you’d just asked the stupidest question in the world. "Because she was there, obviously."

The woman flinched at his casual tone, her hands clutching the fabric of her skirt as she looked between you and the Clown.

"Let us go," you said, the words stumbling out of your mouth before you could stop them. Your voice shook, but you forced yourself to continue. "You don’t need us. We—we’re just witnesses. You got what you wanted—"

"Shut it," the Demon snapped, cutting you off. He was leaning against the side of the van, his arms crossed, the mask over his face making him look even more menacing. "We’re not letting anyone go until we’re in the clear."

You clenched your fists, anger flickering beneath the fear. "This is insane—"

"Insane?" The Clown laughed, leaning forward slightly. "Sweetheart, you don’t even know the half of it."

The Wolf’s voice cut through the tension from the driver’s seat, calm but firm. "Enough."

The Clown rolled his eyes but leaned back, stretching his arms out like he didn’t have a care in the world.

The van hit a bump, and you winced, grabbing the wall to steady yourself. The woman across from you whimpered softly, her eyes darting toward the doors as if she were contemplating throwing herself out.

"Don’t even think about it," the Demon muttered, noticing her gaze.

The van fell into an uneasy silence, the only sounds the hum of the engine and the occasional squeal of the tires as the Wolf took another sharp turn.

You looked at the woman again, and this time you spoke softly, trying to keep your voice steady. "Are you okay?"

She blinked at you, her lips trembling. "I—I don’t know," she whispered.

You nodded, your throat tightening. You didn’t know what to say. What could you say? Both of you were trapped, at the mercy of masked criminals who seemed to thrive on chaos.

The Clown glanced between you and the woman, a grin audible in his voice even if you couldn’t see his face. "Don’t worry, ladies. We’re taking real good care of you."

You glared at him, your fear momentarily eclipsed by anger. "Care? You call this care?"

The Clown laughed again, but the Wolf interrupted sharply.

"Clown, I said enough."

The Clown huffed, leaning back in his seat. "Fine, fine. Killjoy."

As the van turned into what felt like another narrow alley, you clenched your fists tighter, your nails digging into your palms. The woman across from you mirrored your fear, her wide eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Shouts and sirens blared behind you, the chaos reaching a deafening crescendo.

“They’re right on us!” the Clown shouted, gripping the edge of his seat as he leaned toward the back doors, peering through the small window. “There’s three cars chasing—no, four!”

The Demon growled, raising his gun to return fire out the back. Bullets shattered the van’s rear window, glass flying everywhere. You ducked instinctively, covering your head, your ears ringing from the deafening blasts.

The woman next to you screamed, clutching the bench for dear life, her face pale as a ghost.

"Keep them off us!" the Wolf barked from the driver’s seat, his voice sharp and unyielding as he yanked the van into a hard drift around a corner. The tires screeched again, the force slamming you into the wall of the van.

The Skeleton, who’d been silent the entire ride, crouched near the back doors with a rifle in hand. "I’ve got it!" he shouted, leaning out of the broken window to aim at the pursuing cop cars. He fired several rounds, the recoil kicking against his shoulder.

A loud bang followed as one of the police cars spun out, crashing into a parked vehicle.

“That’s one down!” the Skeleton yelled, a hint of triumph in his voice.

But his victory was short-lived.

Another pop of gunfire came from behind, and before you could process what had happened, the Skeleton froze, his body jerking forward violently. Blood sprayed against the inside of the van as he dropped his rifle, clutching his chest.

“No!” the Clown shouted, scrambling toward him.

The Skeleton gasped for air, his body trembling as he collapsed onto the floor of the van.

"Dammit!" the Demon hissed, grabbing the fallen rifle and firing blindly out the back. "They got him!"

You couldn’t take your eyes off the Skeleton’s body. This wasn’t just some action movie or heist drama. Someone had just died right in front of you.

The Clown muttered a string of curses, shaking Skeleton’s shoulder as if trying to wake him up. "Come on, man. Not now. Not like this."

But it was no use. He was gone.

The woman beside you sobbed quietly, her face buried in her hands. You wanted to comfort her, to say something, but no words came.

The Wolf’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade. "Demon, take the rifle and keep them back. Clown, sit down. He’s gone. We can’t stop now."

The Clown hesitated, his body trembling with barely contained anger, but he finally obeyed, slamming his fist against the metal wall before sitting back.

The Demon took Skeleton’s place at the broken window, firing round after round at the remaining cop cars.

The van swerved again, throwing you against the side. Your head slammed into the metal with a dull thud, and your vision blurred for a moment.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the gunfire stopped altogether. The van jolted to a halt in what seemed like another underground garage, and for a moment, everything was silent except for the sound of your own ragged breathing.

The Wolf killed the engine, his hands still gripping the wheel tightly.

The Clown was the first to speak, his voice hollow. “We lost him.”

No one responded.

What the hell had you gotten yourself into?

The Demon barked orders as they moved quickly, unloading bags of cash and weapons from the van and transferring them to a sleek black SUV parked nearby. Every move they made was quick and calculated, their boots echoing loudly in the underground garage.

You and the woman stood there, side by side, both of you trembling for different reasons. Her fear was evident in the way she kept shaking, her eyes darting everywhere like she was looking for a way out. You, on the other hand, were frozen in silent fury, your body stiff as you glared daggers at the Clown, who stood a few feet away, his gun trained lazily in your direction.

“Man, this was a mess,” the Clown said casually, his tone far too relaxed given the situation. He tilted his head toward you, his painted mask cocked like he was grinning beneath it. "But hey, look on the bright side—at least you got to hang out with us again. Bet you missed us, huh?"

You didn’t respond, your glare sharp enough to cut glass.

He laughed, as if your silence only amused him. "Still giving me the silent treatment? You know, you’re gonna hurt my feelings if you keep this up."

Beside you, the woman whimpered softly, clearly unable to handle the Clown’s twisted sense of humor. He turned his attention to her next, his voice mockingly sweet.

“Aw, don’t cry, lady. We’re not all bad. Well...” He chuckled. “Most of us aren’t great, but at least I’m entertaining, right?”

The woman shook her head, her lips quivering as tears spilled down her cheeks.

“Leave her alone,” you snapped, unable to stay quiet any longer.

The Clown turned back to you, tilting his head again. “There she is! Knew you couldn’t keep quiet forever.”

“Shut up,” you bit out, your voice low and venomous.

He let out a mock gasp, pressing a hand to his chest. "So cold! You really do know how to break a guy’s heart."

The Demon’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Clown, enough.”

The Clown shrugged, stepping back slightly but still keeping the gun pointed at you and the woman. "Fine, fine. No fun allowed."

After a few more tense minutes, the Demon slammed the trunk of the SUV shut, signaling that they were done loading.

The Wolf glanced over at you as he walked toward the driver’s side door. His gaze lingered for a moment, and though his mask obscured his expression, there was something unreadable in his posture.

“Let’s go,” he said, his voice calm but firm.

The Clown smirked, giving you a two-fingered salute before backing toward the SUV. “Well, ladies, it’s been real. Don’t miss us too much, okay?”

The woman let out a quiet sob, and you clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms as you fought the urge to say something—anything—that might provoke them further.

The Clown climbed into the backseat, leaning out the window one last time as the SUV started up.

“Oh, and one more thing...” He leaned out of the window dramatically, throwing a mocking kiss in your direction. "Mwah!"

You glared at him, your jaw tightening, but you didn’t respond.

For a few moments, everything was silent except for the distant hum of the SUV’s engine fading into the distance.

The woman collapsed to her knees beside you, her body wracked with sobs. You stood there, your fists still clenched, your chest heaving as you tried to process what had just happened.

The flashing red and blue lights of the police cars reflected off the damp pavement as the cops swarmed the abandoned van where you and the woman had been left. You watched in silence as the officers questioned her, her voice trembling as she spilled everything she could recall about the robbery.

After hours of questioning and paperwork, they finally let you go. Exhausted, you dragged yourself home. The weight of the day pressed heavily on your shoulders, but even as you sank into your couch, staring blankly at the TV screen, the adrenaline from the encounter still buzzed faintly beneath your skin.

You tried distracting yourself with a movie, flipping through channels until you landed on something familiar.

Then, your phone buzzed.

The sound made you jump, when you reached for your phone and saw the notification, your breath caught in your throat.

It was him.

"Miss me yet?"

Your heart skipped a beat. You stared at the message, unsure how to respond—or if you even should. Your fingers hovered over the screen, torn between ignoring him and diving into a conversation you knew you shouldn’t be having.

Before you could think too hard, another message came through.

"You didn’t tell them about me, did you? Good."

You sat up straighter, your pulse quickening.

"How do you know I didn’t?"

The three little dots indicating he was typing appeared immediately.

"Let’s just say I have my ways."

You frowned, your fingers tightening around your phone.

"Why are you messaging me? What do you want?"

There was a pause before his next message.

"Thought I’d check in."

Your lips parted in disbelief. Was he serious?

"You can’t just ‘check in’ like this. You’re a criminal."

He answered right after.

"And yet, here you are, replying to me."

Curiosity finally got the better of you.

"I have a question."

The reply came faster than you expected.

"Ask away, doll."

"All the stuff you’ve given me… the jewelry, the clothes, everything. Did you really buy it? Or was it all stolen?"

You waited, biting your lip, half-expecting him to dodge the question. But then your phone buzzed again.

"Bought. Every single piece. You deserve the best, not leftovers from a heist."

His words made your stomach twist in a way you didn’t want to admit. But still, you weren’t convinced.

"I don’t trust you."

"I know. That’s fair. What would it take for you to trust me?"

You hesitated, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Part of you didn’t even want to respond, but the absurdity of it all made you type before you could think twice.

"A mirror picture."

You sent it jokingly.

"Like the ones I’ve been sending to you."

There was a long pause, and you were about to type again when your phone buzzed. A photo popped up in your chat, and you froze.

Wow...

He was sitting on the edge of a bed, facing a mirror. Black pants hugged his legs, and a simple white shirt clung to his broad shoulders. Silver jewelry adorned his wrists and fingers, glinting under the soft light of the room. A chunky chain rested around his neck.

But his face was hidden—his phone held up in front of it, the sleek black screen obscuring his features.

Your breath hitched as you stared at the image. It was strangely intimate, like you were seeing a side of him he didn’t show anyone else.

"Satisfied?"

You blinked, trying to collect yourself.

"That doesn’t prove anything. Your face is still hidden."

"I didn’t think you’d want to see me yet. You might get hooked."

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks burned as you typed back.

"You’re so full of yourself."

"And yet, you’re still talking to me."

He had a point, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of admitting it.

"Don’t you have something better to do than bother me?"

"Not really. You’re the most interesting thing in my life right now."

Your chest tightened at his words, and you quickly changed the subject.

"You didn’t answer my question, though. How do I know the jewels wasn’t stolen?"

"You don’t."

You frowned, unsure if that was meant to be reassuring or not.

"This doesn’t make me trust you."

"That’s fine. I have time to change your mind."

You sighed, leaning back against the couch as you stared at his picture again. There was something about him.. something.

The days after that conversation felt… different. You didn’t know why you kept responding, but something about his persistence kept pulling you in.

His messages started coming more frequently, each one bolder than the last.

"What are you wearing today?"

You rolled your eyes at that one but still replied.

"I’m wearing jeans and a hoodie."

"Disappointing. I was imagining something more exciting."

"Get your imagination in check."

And then there were the voice memos. The first one caught you completely off guard.

His voice was deep, smooth, with an almost teasing edge to it.

"You’re always so defensive, doll. Relax a little. I’m not trying to hurt you."

The moment you heard it, your cheeks burned. You told yourself it was just the surprise of hearing him—not because his voice sent a shiver down your spine. Absolutely not.

You didn’t reply to that one immediately, hoping he’d leave it at that. But then another one came the next day.

"You didn’t respond to me yesterday. Are you mad, or did I just leave you speechless? Either way, I don’t mind."

Your fingers hovered over your phone, debating whether to reply. You told yourself to ignore it. But curiosity got the better of you again.

"Speechless? Not likely. I just have better things to do."

His reply came quickly, this time another voice memo.

"Better things? Like what? Sitting at home in the hoodie and jeans you wouldn’t let me imagine?"

You groaned but couldn’t stop yourself from laughing under your breath. He was relentless.

And it only got worse—or better, depending on how you looked at it.

One night, as you were scrolling on your phone, a longer voice memo came through. You hesitated before pressing play.

"You know," he began, his tone softer but still carrying that teasing lilt, "you don’t have to keep playing hard to get. I like this game, sure, but I’m patient. I’ve got all the time in the world to win you over."

Your stomach flipped, and you hated how much his words affected you.

"Win me over? You’re delusional."

He sent a message almost immediately.

"Maybe. But I think you’re starting to like it. Admit it, doll."

You didn’t admit anything, of course. But the truth was, you hadn’t stopped thinking about him—not his words, not his voice, not the way he made you feel.

And that terrified you. Because even though you tried to ignore it, you were starting to enjoy the attention. Starting to crave it, even.

But how could you let yourself fall for someone like him? Someone dangerous, mysterious, and so clearly off-limits?

You didn’t know. But what scared you most was that part of you didn’t care anymore.

You were crouched in the back of the store, stocking shelves. It had been a quiet day, and you were lost in your routine, mindlessly organizing items when you heard it—a voice that froze you in place.

"You’re really good at this, you know. Stocking shelves. Very meticulous."

Your breath caught in your throat. That voice. That smooth, teasing voice you’d come to recognize through late-night messages and voice memos.

You turned slowly, heart hammering, and there he was. The guy you had crashed into on the street. The same guy who had flustered you outside the jewelry store. But now, seeing him up close, hearing his voice—his voice—everything came crashing down on you like a tidal wave.

It was the Wolf.

Your lips parted, your instinct to scream taking over, but before you could make a sound, his hand clamped over your mouth. His other arm snaked around your waist, pulling you in close.

"Shh, doll," he whispered, his voice low and calm, but there was a hint of steel beneath it. "Let’s not make a scene."

Your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could feel it against his chest. You struggled against his hold, your mind racing with panic, anger, and disbelief.

"I knew I’d run into you eventually," he continued, his voice soft but dripping with that familiar smugness. "Though I didn’t expect it to be while you were busy stacking shelves."

You glared at him, your muffled protests pushing against his palm.

"If I let go, are you going to scream?" he asked, tilting his head as if he were genuinely curious.

You nodded furiously, and he chuckled.

"Honest. I like that about you."

You squirmed harder, and finally, he sighed, leaning in closer. His lips were almost brushing your ear now, and his voice dropped to a whisper that sent shivers down your spine.

"Scream if you want, doll. But just know, if you do, I’ll have to leave. And we wouldn’t want that, would we?"

The way he said it wasn’t a threat—it was a promise, one that left you frozen in place. Slowly, he removed his hand from your mouth, watching you intently as if daring you to make a move.

You didn’t scream. You couldn’t.

"That’s my girl," he said with a smirk, his arm still loosely wrapped around your waist.

"What the hell are you doing here?" you hissed, your voice low but trembling.

"Shopping," he replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "And maybe visiting you. Call it multitasking."

You pushed against his chest, breaking free of his hold, and he let you go, though his smirk didn’t falter.

"You’re insane," you spat, taking a step back, your voice rising slightly.

"And yet, here we are," he said, leaning casually against the shelf as if this was all perfectly normal.

You wanted to yell, to shove him out of the store, but all you could do was stare, your mind still reeling. The man who had been sending you messages, giving you gifts, teasing you relentlessly—he wasn’t some untouchable figure. He was here. Right in front of you.

And he was everything you feared he would be. Charming. Dangerous. And completely unapologetic.

You turned away from him, your hands trembling as you grabbed the next item to stock. You focused on the task, willing your racing heart to calm down. Maybe if you ignored him, he’d get bored and leave.

"You’re just going to pretend I’m not here?" His voice was laced with amusement. You didn’t need to turn around to know he was still watching you, his gaze burning into the back of your head. "I didn’t take you for the silent treatment type, doll."

You clenched your jaw, refusing to rise to his bait.

He chuckled softly. "Come on. I get points for effort, don’t I? I’ve been nothing but generous. All those gifts, all those messages... and this is how you treat me?"

You slammed a box of items onto the shelf a little too hard, the sound echoing through the aisle.

"Careful," he said, his tone mocking concern. "You’re going to break something. And then what? Do I have to buy the whole shelf to make it up to you?"

You finally spun around, glaring at him. "What do you want?"

He grinned, clearly enjoying how easily you snapped. "What do I want? That’s a loaded question." He stepped closer, his movements unhurried and deliberate. "But right now? I just want you."

You stared at him, trying to figure out if he was serious—or just messing with you. The way he leaned casually against the shelf, arms crossed, he looked completely at ease, like this was just another day for him.

"You’re insane," you muttered, turning back to your work.

"You’ve said that already," he teased. "It’s starting to sound like a compliment."

You didn’t respond, focusing on stacking the last of the items in the box. He stayed quiet for a moment, and you thought—hoped—he might finally leave.

But of course, he didn’t.

"You know," he started again, "I’ve been picturing this for a while. You, working. Me watching you." His voice dropped slightly, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. "Roles reversed for once."

You threw him a sharp glare over your shoulder. "Do you ever stop talking?"

He smirked. "Only when there’s a good reason to."

You rolled your eyes and turned back to the shelf, but you could feel the heat of his gaze following your every movement.

"You’re cute when you’re mad, by the way," he added. "But you probably already knew that."

You ignored him, determined not to let him get under your skin any more than he already had.

But as much as you hated to admit it, you couldn’t help the way your heart skipped a beat every time he spoke.

You froze as his arm suddenly came up, caging you between the shelf and his body. His other hand rested casually on the edge of the shelf near your head, but there was nothing casual about the way he leaned in, his eyes locked onto yours.

"I’m talking to you, doll," he said, his voice low and teasing. "I don’t like being ignored."

You swallowed hard, glancing around the store, your mind racing. There was no one else in this section—just the two of you.

"What are you doing?" you hissed, trying to keep your voice steady, but your nerves betrayed you.

"Getting your attention," he said simply, tilting his head as his eyes roamed over your face. "Because you’re clearly trying to avoid me, and that’s no fun."

You tried to step back, but the shelf pressed against your spine. He was so close you could feel the heat radiating off him, and the faint scent of his cologne invaded your senses, disorienting you.

"You can’t just—just do this," you stammered, your hands hovering awkwardly at your sides, unsure whether to push him away or keep them where they were.

"Why not?" he asked, his tone infuriatingly calm. His eyes flicked down to your lips for the briefest moment before meeting your gaze again. "It’s not like you’ve told me to stop."

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. He smiled, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you.

"So, here’s the deal," he said, leaning in just a little closer. His voice dropped to a near whisper, sending a shiver down your spine. "I’m asking you out. Right here, right now."

Your eyes widened. "You’re what?"

"You heard me," he said, his smile widening. "Let me take you out. Dinner, drinks, whatever you want."

You blinked at him, your mind scrambling to process his words. Of all the things he could have said, this was the last thing you expected.

"You’re insane," you finally muttered, trying to look anywhere but at him.

"You’ve mentioned that," he replied with a chuckle. "But you didn’t say no."

"No," you said quickly, finally finding your voice.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unfazed. "Is that your final answer?"

"Yes," you snapped, though it came out weaker than you’d intended.

His smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it grew. "We’ll see about that," he murmured, leaning back slightly, though he didn’t move away entirely. "I’ve got time."

You glared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. "I don’t."

"Then I’ll just have to be quick, won’t I?" he said, his voice dripping with amusement.

Before stepping back entirely, his hand darted out, catching yours in his grip. You tensed, your instinct telling you to pull away, but his hold was firm yet strangely gentle. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, lingering on the ring you’d forgotten you were wearing—the one he had sent in a gift bag just a few days ago.

"Ah," he murmured, his voice low and teasing as he admired it. "You kept it. You do like my gifts, after all."

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could say anything, he bent down, his lips brushing the back of your hand in a kiss that sent a jolt through your body.

"Perfect fit," he murmured as he straightened, his smirk firmly in place. "Looks even better on you than I imagined."

Your face flushed, a mix of embarrassment and anger. "What is wrong with you?" you hissed, yanking your hand away and cradling it to your chest like it had been burned.

He just chuckled, his gaze never leaving yours as he took a slow step back. "You’ll come around, doll," he said, his confidence maddening.

"Not in a million years," you snapped.

"We’ll see," he said, winking before turning and walking away, his casual stride making it seem like he didn’t have a care in the world.

You stood there for a moment, staring after him, your hand still pressed against your chest.

After that it was relentless. Every time your phone buzzed, you knew it was him. The texts came like clockwork: teasing remarks, flirtatious comments, and, without fail, him asking you out. You rejected him every time, telling him no, reminding him this was never going to happen, but he never seemed fazed.

He started showing up. At first, it was just at your job. He’d stroll in like he owned the place, leaning casually against the counter, that smirk of his permanently etched on his face. He’d make small talk, tease you, and then, inevitably, ask, "Dinner tonight?"

"No," you’d reply sharply, barely sparing him a glance as you went about your work.

"One day, you’ll say yes," he’d say confidently before leaving, and it drove you insane.

Then he escalated.

The first time he showed up outside your school, you almost screamed. You had just stepped out of the building when you saw him leaning against a sleek black car, arms crossed, sunglasses perched on his nose.

"What are you doing here!?" you asked, narrowing your eyes as you stopped a few feet away from him.

"Figured I’d give you a ride home," he said nonchalantly, tilting his head toward the car.

"I don’t need a ride," you said, crossing your arms.

"Didn’t ask if you needed one," he replied smoothly, opening the passenger door with a casual flourish. "Get in."

"No."

He sighed dramatically, removing his sunglasses and looking at you with those piercing eyes of his. "Look, we can stand here all day, or you can get in the car. Your choice, doll."

You glared at him, your stubbornness clashing with his. But as the minutes ticked by and other students started to glance your way, you finally relented with a huff. "Fine."

"Knew you’d see reason," he said with a grin as you climbed into the car.

The bickering didn’t stop there. You told him repeatedly to leave you alone, to stop showing up, but he never listened.

"You’re persistent," you muttered one day as he drove, your arms crossed as you stared out the window.

"I prefer ‘determined,’" he replied with a smirk, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t deny the small, traitorous part of you that almost looked forward to his appearances. It was maddening, frustrating, and yet… you didn’t hate it.

The late evening air was crisp as you got ready, the faint sound of distant cars humming in the background. You glanced down at yourself, smoothing out the fabric of your outfit—a dress that hugged you just right.

You slipped on your heels, the soft click of them on the ground echoing as you locked the door behind you. Your purse hung over your shoulder, packed with just the essentials.

Your friends’ car was parked at the curb, the music already blaring as the passenger window rolled down. Yuna was in the front seat, leaning out slightly to wave at you with a grin. "Finally! We thought you’d take forever!"

"I’m here, aren’t I?" you teased, walking toward the car and opening the door.

Wonyoung and Chaewon were in the backseat, laughing over something on Wonyoung’s phone. Yuna turned down the music slightly as you climbed in and buckled your seatbelt.

"You look amazing," Chaewon said, eyeing your outfit with approval.

"Agreed!" Wonyoung added, nudging you playfully. "Who’s the lucky guy tonight?"

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. "It’s not like that. Let’s just have fun, okay?"

The car roared to life as Yuna stepped on the gas, the upbeat music filling the small space once again. The club was about twenty minutes away, and as you looked out the window, the city lights blurred past.

When the car pulled into the parking lot of the club, you stepped out, adjusting your dress and looking up at the bright neon sign that lit up the entrance.

What you didn’t notice was the black car that parked a few rows away. Inside, a familiar figure sat, watching you intently as you laughed with your friends and disappeared into the crowd at the entrance.

The dance floor was crowded, bodies moving to the beat, lights flashing in bursts of color that left you feeling free, untethered.

You swayed to the music, letting yourself get lost in it, your arms lifting as you spun slightly. Everything felt good—better than it had in a long time. Your friends were nearby, dancing and laughing, but at that moment, you were in your own little world.

Until you weren’t.

A hand brushed your waist, and a figure stepped up behind you. At first, you thought nothing of it—people were constantly bumping into each other on the crowded floor. But then you caught it: the sour, musky scent of sweat and stale cologne. It wasn’t pleasant, and it made your nose wrinkle instinctively.

The guy leaned in closer, his presence too heavy, his breath hot against your neck as he tried to match your movements. You froze for a second, then subtly shifted away, putting some distance between you and him without making a scene.

But he followed.

He pressed in again, his hand grazing your arm this time, and you turned to glance at him over your shoulder. He was taller, with an unsettling grin and eyes that were too confident. His intentions were clear, and the sight of him only made your unease grow.

You moved again, this time more deliberately, angling yourself toward your friends. But before you could take another step, the guy grabbed your wrist lightly, leaning down so you could hear him over the music. "Where you going, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice slurred, his grip tightening just enough to make your stomach churn.

Your heart sped up, and you tugged your wrist away, your voice firm but not loud. "I’m not interested."

He didn’t seem to care. "Don’t be like that. I just wanna talk."

You scanned the dance floor, hoping to spot one of your friends, but the crowd felt suffocating now, the lights too bright. Panic bubbled just beneath the surface as the guy moved closer again.

But then, out of nowhere, another presence loomed behind you—larger, steadier. A hand reached out and clasped the guy’s shoulder, pulling him back sharply.

"She said she’s not interested," a familiar voice said.

Your head whipped around, and your stomach dropped. It was him. Standing there in the middle of the club, his jaw tight, his eyes dark and burning with intensity.

The guy holding your wrist scowled, trying to shake his grip off. "What’s it to you, man?"

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. "Everything."

The guy hesitated, clearly weighing his options, but after a tense moment, the guy muttered something under his breath and released your wrist, disappearing into the crowd.

He turned to you, his hand brushing yours as if checking to make sure you were okay. "You alright?" he asked, his voice softer now.

You nodded, though your heart was still racing. "What are you doing here?"

His lips curved into a faint smirk. "What can I say? I like keeping an eye on what’s mine."

Your eyes narrowed, a mix of annoyance and confusion. "I’m not yours."

But he just chuckled, his hand falling away as he took a step back. "Not yet."

He turned to walk into the crowd, leaving you to stand there.

For a split second, everything felt like it was moving too fast, and then, without thinking, you grabbed his arm. The wolf—no, he—stopped in his tracks, his body going stiff for a moment, surprised.

You didn’t care. You were done letting things happen around you without doing something.

You tugged on his sleeve, pulling him back toward you, and he let you. His dark eyes flickered with surprise as he leaned down, close enough for you to feel his breath against your skin. His presence was intense, like a fire you couldn’t step away from, his hands instinctively falling to your waist, holding you steady as if you might fall.

"Where do you think you're going?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, though it was more demanding than you expected.

His grip on you tightened, his body language shifting from the casuality he’d always shown to something a bit more... intimate. "I could ask you the same thing," he replied, his voice low.

You swallowed, your pulse quickening. Something about this, about him being so close, felt like it was pulling you in deeper. You’d been fighting the connection for so long, but now, with his arms around you, the fight felt distant.

“I’m not some... object to control,” you said, but even you could hear the uncertainty in your voice.

His lips curled into a faint, teasing smile, and he leaned even closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating off him. "No, you're not," he murmured, his voice a gentle hum against your ear. "But you like when I take control, don’t you?"

Your breath hitched. It was a question, but he was already certain of the answer. Your hands instinctively moved to his chest, your fingers grazing the fabric of his shirt.

He looked at you for a long beat, his gaze softer now, as if he was studying you. "You really don`t want me to leave?"

You didn't answer right away, but when you did, your words were quiet, raw. "I don't know what I want anymore."

He didn’t let you go, his fingers brushing your hair back gently, his lips ghosting over your temple as he leaned down. "Maybe I can help you figure it out."

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden tenderness. His touch was so gentle...

“I don’t even know your name,” you murmured, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

He pulled back slightly, his dark eyes meeting yours with a gaze that made everything in the room seem a little less important. There was a flicker of amusement in his expression, “It’s Ni-ki,” he said simply, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to give you that piece of him.

Ni-ki.

You repeated it silently in your mind, the name feeling foreign but familiar, a puzzle piece that somehow fit.

Before you could even process it fully, his hand brushed against your cheek, his thumb gently tracing your skin. "Have fun," he added, his voice softer now.

Then, without another word, he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. Before Ni-ki turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.

You touched your forehead where his lips had been, feeling the trace of his kiss burn even though he was already gone.

What had just happened?

Part 2 here

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Taglist: @ilyunjina @nshmrarki @laylasbunbunny @kiripimaspillow

@wensurr @immelissaaa @simj4k3 @vegahrid @03sunoos

@hollxe1 @moonpri @cherriesfine

Wanna be in the perm taglist? Lmk <3

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cherryfyre · 1 month ago

Text

5 Ways Sarah Cameron Used Rafe To Change Your Mind

For the ladies in the back !! @lovinqbella 🥂🥂

1. Convincing You to Attend a Party

You stood in Sarah’s room, arms crossed, shaking your head. “No way. I’m not going to that party. It’s just going to be a mess of drunk people and bad music.”

Sarah groaned, flopping dramatically onto her bed. “You’re impossible. It’s one party, and everyone’s going to be there.”

“Exactly my point,” you replied, raising an eyebrow.

She glanced at her phone and suddenly smirked. “Fine, don’t go. But you know who is going?”

“I don’t care,” you said quickly, but the way she raised her brows in response made your stomach twist.

“Rafe’s going,” she said, casually scrolling. “And honestly, he doesn’t go to these things that often anymore. Kinda weird, actually.”

You hesitated, looking out her window like you could avoid the conversation altogether. “That’s… irrelevant.”

Sarah grinned. “Is it? Because last time I checked, you two had been getting along pretty well. I’m just saying, he asked if you were coming.”

Before you could respond, her bedroom door creaked open. Rafe leaned against the frame, one hand tucked into the pocket of his hoodie. “You coming or not?”

His blue eyes locked on yours, unreadable, though there was a flicker of something—expectation, maybe—that made your heart skip.

“I haven’t decided,” you said, standing straighter.

Rafe smirked, tilting his head slightly. “Sounds like a yes to me. I’ll see you there.” He turned and walked away, leaving you with a stunned expression and Sarah grinning like she’d won.

2. Persuading You to Go on a Group Hike

“Nope. Not happening,” you said, firmly tying your sneaker and standing up.

Sarah frowned. “Why not? It’ll be fun! Fresh air, great views, all that stuff.”

You gave her a pointed look. “It’s a hike. You know I don’t do bugs, dirt, or sweating unless absolutely necessary.”

Sarah sighed, tapping her phone against her palm thoughtfully. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to tell Rafe you bailed.”

You blinked. “Rafe?”

“Yeah, he’s coming. Said he wanted to get out of the house. Weird, right? Anyway, he’s probably going to make fun of you for being scared of a little exercise, but I’ll tell him you had a good excuse.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I’m not scared. I just don’t see the point.”

Sarah smirked. “Sure. Tell that to him when he asks where you are.”

An hour later, you were trailing behind the group, muttering under your breath about Sarah’s manipulation. Rafe slowed his pace until he was walking beside you, his tanned arm brushing yours.

“Not so bad, right?” he asked, glancing at you with a slight grin.

You huffed. “I wouldn’t call this fun.”

“Guess you just need better company,” he replied, his voice low and teasing.

You shot him a look, but the warmth of his smile made the dirt path seem a little less annoying.

3. Convincing You to Go Paddleboarding

“No, Sarah. I’m not getting on a paddleboard,” you said firmly, eyeing the glistening water of the cove.

Sarah grinned mischievously. “You say that like you’ve tried it before.”

“Because I don’t have to try it to know I’ll fall flat on my face,” you replied, crossing your arms.

“Not if someone’s there to help you balance,” she said casually, glancing behind you. Before you could ask what she meant, a low voice interrupted.

“Scared of water or just bad at sports?”

You turned to see Rafe leaning against the dock post, his hair tousled from the wind and a smirk tugging at his lips. He was shirtless, his tan skin catching the sun, and you suddenly found it difficult to form a response.

“I’m not scared,” you muttered, though your pulse betrayed you.

“Good,” Rafe said, stepping closer. “Because I’m not about to let you drown. Come on, I’ll even hold the board steady for you.”

Sarah nudged you with her elbow. “See? Easy solution.”

Fifteen minutes later, you were wobbling on the board, Rafe’s hands steady on your ankles. “Relax,” he said, his voice low and calm. “You’re overthinking it.”

His eyes met yours briefly, and for a moment, you forgot all about the water beneath you.

4. Persuading You to Go for a Late-Night Drive

“I’m not getting in a car with Rafe,” you said, glaring at Sarah.

“Why not? It’s just a drive,” she replied, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

“You mean with your brother who drives like a maniac?”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “He’s not that bad. Plus, he said he’s going to the lookout, and you love it there.”

You hesitated. The lookout was your favorite spot, but…

Before you could argue further, headlights illuminated the driveway, and Rafe’s truck pulled up. He leaned out the window, his arm resting casually on the doorframe. “You coming or what?”

You glanced at Sarah, who gave you a knowing look, and reluctantly got in.

The drive was surprisingly quiet, the hum of the engine filling the space. When you reached the lookout, the stars seemed impossibly bright.

“You always this stubborn?” Rafe asked, leaning back against the hood of the truck.

“Only when I have a reason to be,” you shot back, but your tone lacked its usual bite.

“Noted,” he said, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer than necessary.

5. Persuading You to Help Fix the Dock

“You’re kidding, right?” you said, staring at the pile of wooden planks and tools. “I don’t know the first thing about fixing a dock.”

Sarah shrugged. “Neither do I, but Rafe does. And he said he could use an extra set of hands.”

“Why don’t you help him then?” you shot back.

“I have other plans,” she said, already backing away. “But you? You’d be perfect for the job.”

Before you could argue, Rafe appeared, carrying a toolbox. He glanced between you and Sarah, his expression unreadable. “You staying to help?”

You sighed. “Apparently.”

He smirked. “Didn’t think you’d be the type to get your hands dirty.”

“I’m full of surprises,” you replied, grabbing a hammer.

As the afternoon wore on, you found yourself laughing more than you expected. Rafe’s sleeves were rolled up, sawdust clinging to his skin, and the way he occasionally glanced at you—like he was trying to figure you out—left you feeling strangely flustered.

When the dock was finally finished, he leaned against a post, watching the sunset. “Not bad for a rookie,” he said, his tone teasing but soft.

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in his gaze made it hard to argue.

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faerievampling · 1 year ago

Text

Tender

Summary: After the tadpole is gone, Spawn!Astarion's newfound vampiric strength must be tempered when making love to Tav.

Ao3 Link Here!

pairing: Astarion x Female Tav

word count: 1.3k

Warnings: 18+. Cunnilingus. PiV. Vaginal Fingering. Blood drinking. Spoilers for end game content.

Astarion brushes his lips against yours; his touch is so tender, as if he fears he may break you. You sigh into him as his strong hand trails up your neck to cup your jaw. He cradles you to him as he deepens the kiss, swirling his practiced tongue around yours.

When Astarion’s full vampiric strength came back to him after the defeat of the Netherbrain, he had hurt you - by accident, of course.

His lovemaking had left bruises on your delicate skin. Astarion was torn up over this, that he had hurt his lover, the one person he truly cares for. But Astarion had been used to using you as he pleased. You never told him what to do, and he was in control of the bedroom.

He hadn’t realized his own strength. He was always starved and weak before the tadpole; but now, he is a very well fed vampire, and he found that he was inhumanly strong nowadays.

But now, Astarion realizes just how fragile you are, and how careful he must be.

Astarion places a hand on your waist as he delicately leads you to lie on your bed. When you meet Astarion’s gaze as he climbs on top of you, his eyes are rounded, his soul open and inviting as he bears his heart to you.

Every time the two of you made love since you defeated Cazador, it was like this. Astarion would often get emotional in one way or another, but you worked through it together. You were to follow his lead, let him explore, and intervene only when absolutely necessary. Astarion trusted you to know when the ‘absolutely necessary’ clause of this agreement should be applied.

Letting Astarion explore sometimes lead him to be rough with you: not that you minded, of course, quite the contrary. But with the tadpole gone, things had changed.

The two of you take each other in for a moment: his curls, which tendril down wildly as he hovers above you, frame his cute pointy ears. His full lips are parted, showing you the tip of his fangs as he often does when he’s feeling lustful.

Astarion puts his hand on your neck before he moves up to thumb the plump of your lower lip. He then gives you a little smile before using a knee to spread your legs, fully putting your wet cunt on display.

A low growl escapes Astarion’s throat at the sight of you. Your pale lover hooks one of your legs on his shoulder as he lies beside you, his eyes glued to your sex.

“So pretty…” Astarion murmurs as he swipes a finger from your entrance to your clit, causing you to tremble with need.

Your cunt is already so wet, your folds swollen and muscles relaxed, ready and desperate for Astarion’s touch. He gently slides a finger into your entrance with little resistance. You clench around him as you search for his lips, which find yours instinctively.

Astarion slides his finger out of you slowly. Your beloved was still mastering your body, but he always seemed to know when you were ready for more. As he slides a second finger into your entrance, he breaks your kisses, watching you as you take more of him. He pushes his long fingers into you until he is knuckles deep, which evolves your little whimpers into breathless moans.

Astarion watches as he unravels you with the curl of his fingers deep inside your cunt. Your eyes roll at the intense sensation, and you’re already seeing stars.

“Such a good girl, my sweet darling.” His deep, silky voice gives away how much he was enjoying this. He loved the smell of your desire, your reactions to his touch, and your full trust in him.

As Astarion is hitting that sweet spot deep within you, his thumb begins to circle your clit, causing your eyes to go wide as carnal pleasure possesses you.

Suddenly, Astarion pulls out his fingers from you slowly, watching your needy expression with a smirk. He lowers himself before he takes your swollen clit into his mouth, wrapping his lips around your sex and gently sucking.

A moan escapes your lips, which Astarion thinks is rather cute, and he smiles against your sex before returning to tasting your folds.

Astarion loves the way you taste, and can’t help but ease his tongue into your entrance. His fingers move to your labia, spreading your lips so that he may devour his lover properly.

Once Astarion is done teasing you and building you up, his tongue moves to your clit, making soft circular motions that make you writhe beneath him.

You try to tell Astarion you’re about to come, but you’re breathless, and all you can do is tangle your fingers in his lovely curls and brace yourself for your impending orgasm.

Luckily, your body is able to speak for you, and your lover is very attentive.

Astarion brings a hand up to squeeze your nipple as you come on his tongue, and your scent nearly drives him mad. He desperately wants to take you, to fuck you, to sup of your blood just as he had your delicious cunt.

His lips stay on your core until you squirm away from him from overstimulation. He grabs you by the hips and pulls you back to him before placing a kiss on the inside of your thigh.

“May I?” Astarion asks through his lashes. You nod, and you see the excitement flicker across his face.

Astarion kisses you once more before he slides his fangs into you, slowly drinking you in. He savors it, because he needn’t take too much; he didn’t like you feeling bloodless, and anything more than a few sips was a treat enough for him.

He moans against your skin after releasing you, lapping up the spilled blood as he undoes his trousers, freeing his cock from its constraints.

Astarion is already primed and ready to take you. He feels so connected to you after drinking in your essence, and he wants more. Sitting up on his knees between your legs, his hands harshly grip your splayed thighs as he pulls you to him, ready to fuck your brains out until you’re a drooling, sobbing mess.

But he remembers himself; remembers the bruises he left on you. In these moments, he deeply misses the tadpole, and how alive it made him. Now, he has to be vigilant. But it is worth it for you. To love you properly, the way you deserve, whichever way Astarion can show you how.

The one thing he knows he can do is protect you, even if it is from a part of himself.

As Astarion lines his cock up with your entrance, he leans over and presses a tender, almost chaste, kiss on your lips. He meets your gaze as he pushes himself into you, a moan escaping your lips as he fills you.

Astarion hooks both of your legs on his shoulders as he strokes you. His motions are slow, consistent, and he is so incredibly deep, the tip of his cock kisses your cervix.

He is cradling you, holding you so close and fucking you slowly: it had never been like this for him before, but he loves it. He loves you.

Astarion doesn’t last long like this - you feel so perfect in his arms, and your cunt so warm, so tight, it feels like heaven once he finally comes deep inside of you.

Astarion rolls off of you before pulling you into his chest, not wanting to end your skin to skin contact so soon. He could get use to this, Astarion thinks.

Masterlist

#astarion smut #astarion x you #astarion bg3 #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x female tav #astarion x f!tav #astarion x female reader #spawn astarion #spawn!astarion

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fratttymatty · 2 months ago

Text

A New Type Of Art

(All characters are 18+)

Luke had always been the kind of guy who didn’t fit into a mold, and he liked it that way. He was an artsy, liberal college sophomore who spent more time with his paintbrush than his textbooks, more time discussing philosophy than politics. His long, blonde hair was usually in a messy shoulder-length style, a reflection of his creative, laid-back personality. People often joked that he looked like he’d stepped out of a 90s indie film, and he was fine with that.

He was proud of who he was—gay, unapologetic, and fiercely liberal. His friends in the dorm loved him for his passion, his endless debates on everything from climate change to gender fluidity. He wore the brightest colors he could find, mismatched patterns, and unashamedly displayed his individuality through his clothes. He didn’t care if people stared—he wanted them to. Being different was his art.

Luke was someone who lived openly. He was out, loud, and proud. He believed in change, in equality, in breaking barriers. But then something strange happened that would turn his world upside down.

It started when he wandered into the obscure little gallery downtown. The art was... different. No, it wasn’t just different—it was weird, unsettling even. All the paintings were of men—clean-cut, athletic, stoic figures that seemed too perfect, too polished, as if they were all carved out of the same mold. They stared down from their frames with proud, almost smug expressions.

Luke felt a tug of unease, but his curiosity got the better of him. He walked deeper into the exhibit, looking for something new, something that would spark his imagination. But what he found was something far more unsettling.

The curator, a sharply dressed man with cold eyes, suddenly appeared at his side.

"You’re not from around here, are you?" the man asked, his voice smooth, almost hypnotic.

Luke didn’t know how to answer. “I just came to see the art,” he said, glancing at the paintings again, the faces of the men still haunting him.

The curator smiled faintly. “Art is not just for seeing, my friend. It’s for becoming.”

Before Luke could ask what he meant, the curator’s hand landed on his shoulder. And everything changed.

Luke awoke with a start, his heart racing. The room was unfamiliar. The air smelled different—stale, almost like rubber or plastic. He rubbed his temples, trying to shake off the sudden dizziness that had overtaken him. His mind was foggy, his thoughts spinning like a broken record.

He glanced around. The walls were bare except for a few sports posters—one of a football team, another of a group of athletes holding up trophies. A large computer sat on a desk, the screen blank but sleek, high-tech. The bed he was lying on was too small, too clean.

Then, something caught his eye—a full-length mirror on the wall. He stumbled over to it, his feet feeling heavier than usual.

The reflection staring back at him was... not Luke.

It was a completely different person. His face—his features—were different. His once soft jawline was now square, his cheekbones high and pronounced. His blonde hair was gone, replaced by a rich, dark brown mane that was tousled perfectly, messy but in a way that looked effortlessly stylish. It was a little wavy, but in a way that made him look... well, hot.

The messiness of his hair gave him a rugged appeal, like he’d just rolled out of bed after a late-night party or a spontaneous game of pick-up basketball. His chest was broad, and his body had more definition—muscles that didn’t exist before now rippled under the tight-fitting T-shirt he wore, and his skin had a deep tan that made his features pop even more.

He reached up to touch his hair, the strands feeling thicker, softer than he remembered. There was a strange sense of satisfaction in how it fell around his face, like he was born to have it that way. As his fingers ran through the tousled locks, he caught the faintest whiff of cologne—something strong, athletic, and masculine.

Something inside him—a feeling that had been buried before—shifted. This was right. He was... supposed to look like this.

And then, as if to confirm it, a sudden wave of memories flashed before his eyes—high school memories. Football games. High fives with his teammates. Laughter with his jock friends. A pretty girl’s smile as she flirted with him in the halls. The vague recollection of endless hours spent playing Call of Duty in his friend’s basement, of sports cars and parties. The memories were his now, and they felt... good.

He glanced back at the mirror again. The face staring back at him was someone completely new—someone named Ethan Clark.

Ethan.

It sounded... right. It felt like the right name for the guy he had become.

Ethan’s first full day in this strange new life was a blur of sensations, conflicting memories, and awkward realizations.

He stood in front of his high school locker, the red-and-black track jacket feeling tight against his shoulders. The hallway buzzed with activity around him—students laughing, chatting, rushing to classes—but his attention kept wandering.

He couldn’t help but notice the girls.

They were all looking at him—some giving him shy smiles, others openly admiring him, especially the ones who whispered to each other and then giggled. Ethan had no idea how to handle it, but something inside him surged at the attention. It was like he wanted it. He liked the way they were looking at him. The way his tousled brown hair framed his face just right, the way it somehow made him look cooler, more attractive.

He caught a glimpse of himself in a locker mirror, and his heart skipped a beat. He looked good—like a guy who played varsity football, who could crush a bench press, who wore his hair just so in a way that drove girls wild. It was different, but it felt natural. Comfortable.

“Hey, Ethan,” one of the girls said as she walked by, her gaze lingering on him for a second too long. “You’re looking extra hot today. What’s the secret?”

Ethan blinked, confused at first. Was she talking to him? She smiled, and he suddenly felt this unfamiliar surge of confidence flood his chest. Without thinking, he ran a hand through his dark hair, giving her a slight smirk.

“Just, uh... woke up this way, I guess,” he said, his voice rougher, deeper than it used to be.

The girl giggled, clearly charmed, and kept walking, throwing him one last glance over her shoulder. Ethan watched her go, a mix of pride and something else stirring inside him. He couldn’t quite place it, but he didn’t need to.

This was who he was now. The guy with the dark, messy hair who turned heads, who was adored by girls, who fit right in with the team, the jocks, and the “normal” crowd. He was straight, athletic, confident—and he had no idea who he was before. The memories of his old life were slipping away, like sand through his fingers.

He walked down the hallway, his steps firm and sure. The world was different now. And for the first time in a long time, he was okay with it. In fact, it felt pretty damn good.

As Ethan settled further into his new identity, he quickly realized he was getting a lot more attention than he ever had before. It wasn’t just the girls; the guys on the football team were treating him like one of their own, giving him high-fives, calling him “bro,” and acting like he was the man.

He loved it. And he made sure everyone around him knew it.

One day, during lunch, he walked into the cafeteria with his new crew—a group of jocks who clearly saw him as the alpha in their little pack. The guys were laughing and slapping each other on the back. Ethan’s loud voice cut through the chatter as he cracked a joke about how the girls were practically throwing themselves at him now that he’d "finally started dressing like a real man." His comment earned a chorus of laughs from the table.

“I swear, bro, these chicks don’t know what to do with themselves,” Ethan said, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his now perfectly tousled hair. “Like, calm down. I’m just a normal guy.”

He smirked as the guys around him laughed, but the joke was all too familiar to him now—this was how they all talked. How the guys had to talk to be part of the crew. The alpha energy. The mocking of others. The jokes about the ‘liberal snowflakes’ and the ‘woke culture.’

“So, bro, what do you think of that chick in your history class? The one with the, like, big eyes?” one of his teammates asked, nudging him.

Ethan’s lip curled. “Pfft, she’s cute, but, like... I’m not really into the whole ‘intellectual’ thing,” he said with a scoff. “Girls should be, you know, fun. And pretty. That’s the only thing that matters. Politics are for losers anyway.”

The guys around him laughed, and a few clapped him on the back.

Ethan’s transformation was complete, or so he thought. Each day that passed, the remnants of his old life—the life of Luke—faded into oblivion. The whispers of art, of activism, of painting vibrant canvases of rebellion and love, all became distant echoes, drowned out by the thumping bass of his new life. The image of his blonde, shaggy hair, the colorful shirts, and the feeling of freedom in being himself—they were all gone now. Ethan Clark, the confident, athletic, and straight high school senior, was who he was meant to be.

And honestly? He couldn’t be happier.

The guy who once hated the idea of conformity, who argued endlessly with anyone who didn’t share his beliefs, had morphed into a version of himself that didn’t question anything.

Girls flocked to him. He flirted effortlessly, his tousled brown hair always falling just right, his posture always leaning casually against the locker with a smug smile that made their knees weak. He could tell that they adored him—hell, everyone adored him. The jocks respected him, and he’d even made it to captain of the track team. He was the star athlete, the alpha in his group, and nothing felt more exhilarating.

The few times when a flash of Luke’s old world would flicker—like when he’d overhear a conversation about climate change or a new art exhibit downtown—he’d feel a weird, nagging sense of discomfort, but it never lasted long. He’d push it aside with a loud joke or by tossing a football to one of his buddies, and the feeling would evaporate.

The most recent instance had come during a heated debate in his government class. A kid who sat in the back—one of those annoying guys with a patchy beard and a mind full of "woke" ideas—had dared to challenge Ethan's casual dismissal of LGBTQ+ issues. Ethan had shrugged it off with the kind of condescension that only someone truly at ease in his masculinity could muster.

“Dude,” Ethan had said, his voice dripping with arrogance, “I don’t know what kind of crazy world you’re living in, but we’re not doing that whole ‘gender-fluid’ thing here. I’m straight, I’m proud, and I’m not going to sit here and listen to some liberal lecture about equality. It’s simple: be a man, get a girl, and stop with all this nonsense.”

The guy had opened his mouth to argue, but Ethan had silenced him with a mock chuckle. “Honestly, I don’t have time for this bullshit,” he’d said, and with that, the room had gone quiet.

The looks of approval from his teammates and the laughter from his group had only fuelled Ethan’s growing sense of power. He was right, and everyone else was just wrong.

It was after that incident that the strangest thing happened—one night, alone in his room, Ethan stood in front of his mirror, adjusting his hair for the hundredth time, as he always did. His tousled, perfectly messy brown locks had become his trademark, and he ran his fingers through them with the kind of pride only a high school jock could have. He looked good. He knew he looked good. And for the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to enjoy the full force of that knowledge.

But then... it hit him.

The reflection wasn’t the problem—it was what was missing.

For a brief, disorienting moment, he could almost see it—the flash of blonde hair, the open, unapologetic expression, the vivid colors in his clothes. The warmth of a smile that wasn’t just for the girls or the boys who wanted to be his friend. It wasn’t just for the applause or the attention—it was a smile that came from being who he was, not from performing for everyone around him.

But the moment passed quickly, replaced by the face in the mirror that he now recognized so well—the face of Ethan Clark, the confident jock, the proud guy who didn’t care about the world of art or politics anymore.

For a second, though, Ethan’s gaze faltered. There was a slight hesitation—a small, uncomfortable ripple in the stream of his new identity.

“What the hell are you doing?” he muttered to himself, shaking his head. The thought felt foreign, even stupid. He smirked at his reflection, his confidence quickly returning.

“Get over it, man,” he told himself, his hand running through his messy hair again, his grip tight as he styled it just right. “This is who you are now. This is who you were meant to be.”

The unsettling sensation lingered, but only for a moment. Ethan stood tall, shoulders squared, and he smiled—genuinely, arrogantly—at the guy in the mirror. He had everything now. He was popular. He was strong. He had girls after him and the guys at his back. And most of all, he didn’t care about anything that didn’t fit into this new version of himself.

The weeks passed, and the echoes of Luke’s old life grew quieter. Ethan’s friendships with the other guys on the football team deepened, and his bond with the girls only grew more intense as they swooned over his rugged good looks and cocky charm. He spent less time reflecting on his past—less time worrying about the strange feeling in his gut that tugged at him when he thought about what he had lost.

One night, at a house party thrown by one of his teammates, Ethan stood with a group of his closest friends, a drink in his hand, and the girls around him laughing at his latest joke. Everything felt perfect. It was what he’d always wanted—what he’d deserved.

One of the girls, a blonde who’d been flirting with him for weeks, pulled him aside, her voice low and sultry. “Ethan, you’re like... so different from other guys,” she whispered, brushing a lock of his messy hair out of his face. “You’re just... amazing.”

He grinned, the compliment going straight to his head. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the familiar rush of confidence flood him. “Well, babe,” he said, his voice smooth, “I’m just a man’s man.”

The girl laughed, leaning in closer, and Ethan kissed her on the lips. He’d become so used to this attention, this life of being the center of everything. It was a feeling he didn’t just enjoy—it was the only feeling that made sense anymore.

But as the night went on, as the alcohol and the party noise blared around him, a thought flickered again in the back of his mind. It was small, almost imperceptible, like a whisper from a distant past he couldn’t quite grasp. A memory of a world where being himself didn’t mean fitting in. A world where being free meant embracing everything that made him who he truly was.

The thought came and went, but this time it was different. It didn’t make him feel scared—it didn’t make him feel sad. It just... faded.

Ethan Clark was who he was. The boy who had been Luke was gone now. Completely gone.

And as Ethan kissed the blonde girl again, he couldn’t help but smile. He was everything he was meant to be.

There was no going back. There was no reason to.

Ethan’s transformation was complete. Every morning, he woke up in his new life, slipping effortlessly into the role of the popular, athletic jock—his tousled brown hair falling perfectly into place as if it had always been this way. His body was strong, chiseled from hours of training, and he was the star of the track team. More than that, he was a leader among the jocks, a natural at commanding attention without trying. He had the kind of quiet confidence that came from knowing he had it all, and he knew the girls were obsessed with him.

The girls couldn’t get enough of his athletic frame, his perfectly styled hair, and the cocky, yet irresistible smirk he threw their way. He had a certain swagger now—one that came from both his physique and the newfound belief that he deserved to be admired. Ethan was a magnet for attention, and it felt so good.

But there was something else—something he didn’t always let the jocks see.

Ethan had always been a gamer. Sure, he was now the track team captain, the guy everyone turned to for advice on their bench press, but late at night, after practice, when the house parties were over and everyone had gone home, Ethan logged into his gaming setup.

The gaming chair, the massive monitor, the LED-lit keyboard—it was all tucked away in his bedroom, hidden behind a door that only his closest friends knew about. But even now, as captain of the team, as the guy who’d casually broken the 400-pound squat record and was getting invited to college recruiters' camps, Ethan was still that guy—the gamer who lived for the thrill of the digital battlefield.

He had always been good at it. No, scratch that—he’d always been great at it.

Every night, he dominated the leaderboards in Call of Duty and Fortnite, racking up kills with ease. He had his own Twitch account, but it wasn’t for the fame. It was just for the adrenaline, the rush of hearing the ping of a headshot, the satisfaction of topping the scoreboard with his friends.

There were nights when he played until 3 a.m., still wearing his track hoodie, drinking a monster energy drink, the glow of the screen lighting up his face as he obliterated opponents. He'd be wearing his headset, yelling at his buddies—laughing, trash-talking, keeping it light. No one knew about his online identity, but to Ethan, it was just as important as any track medal or touchdown. It was where he could be himself without the weight of the jock persona, without the expectation of being perfect all the time.

The football field was where Ethan thrived. The air was thick with the sound of cleats pounding the turf, the shouts of coaches pushing their players harder, and the constant rhythmic thumping of the ball hitting the ground. Ethan, naturally, was right at the center of it all, a strong, imposing figure in his football gear, his dark hair peeking out from under his helmet, his chest heaving with every breath.

As the captain of the football team, Ethan had earned the respect of every player on the field. They respected his strength, his unrelenting drive, and his ability to motivate others. He was ruthless in practice, always pushing the team harder, making sure no one slacked off. But despite his hard-nosed approach, he kept a certain arrogance that kept the guys in line. He wasn’t just the captain—he was the guy who set the tone for the team, the one who was feared and admired in equal measure.

Today’s practice was intense—punishing drills designed to improve agility and reaction time. Ethan’s muscles burned with the effort, but he wasn’t about to let up. He was determined to lead his team to victory this season. They had a big game coming up, one that could secure them a championship spot. And Ethan was more than ready.

He finished his sprints with ease, his lungs pushing through the burn, his legs feeling stronger with each stride. The guys were panting behind him, but Ethan didn’t even break a sweat.

“That’s how you run,” he said, smirking as he jogged back to the sidelines, his teammates panting behind him.

“Jesus, Ethan, you never slow down,” one of the defensive linemen, Jake, said between breaths.

Ethan threw him a lazy grin. “That’s because I’m built different, bro. You’re just not on my level yet.”

The guys chuckled, and Ethan felt the familiar swell of pride. He loved it. This was his world now. It felt right. The jocks who had once laughed at him in high school now admired him. The girls who had once ignored him now threw themselves at him. Ethan was the epitome of what every high school athlete dreamed of becoming—the guy who was good at everything, effortlessly cool and untouchable.

But then something caught his eye—a flicker of doubt. It was subtle. One of the guys on the team, Alex, had been showing Ethan something on his phone earlier in the locker room. He’d been talking about the new Star Wars Battlefront game and how he was crushing it with some of his online buddies. Ethan barely registered it at the time.

Now, as he caught his breath, he couldn’t help but think about it. Alex had mentioned a team—a clan that all played together late at night. The more Ethan thought about it, the more he realized that even though he was crushing it on the field, there was something oddly thrilling about those nights alone in his room, the camaraderie of his gaming friends, and the rush of winning in a world that didn’t care about how many touchdowns he scored or how big his biceps were.

His thoughts were interrupted when Coach shouted across the field.

“Clark! Get your head in the game! We’ve got a season to win!”

Ethan snapped back into focus, mentally shaking off the random thought. He was Ethan Clark, football captain, jock, the guy everyone looked up to. That was who he was.

Later that night, after the last of his teammates had left, Ethan headed back to his room, dropping his gear on the bed and collapsing into his gaming chair with a deep sigh. His muscles ached, but the comfort of his familiar setup—the glowing RGB lights, the cool click of his mouse, and the hum of the PC booting up—was like an old friend welcoming him back.

He was back where he belonged.

Ethan fired up Call of Duty, glancing over at his phone to see if any of his friends were online. Sure enough, a notification popped up: “Your Squad is waiting.”

He grinned.

Sliding on his headset, Ethan clicked “Join” and immediately heard the familiar voices of his gaming buddies flood through the speakers.

“Yo, Ethan, we’re about to wreck some noobs. You ready?”

Ethan’s grin widened. “Always, bro.”

As they dove into the game, Ethan’s body relaxed, his muscles still sore from practice, but his mind fully focused on the game ahead. This was where he felt free. This was where he could shut out the expectations of being the perfect athlete, the perfect teammate, the perfect son. Here, on the battlefield of the game, there were no rules about how to act or what to be. It was just him, his friends, and the rush of winning.

The hours slipped by in a blur of headshots and jokes. The adrenaline was just as real as it was on the football field, maybe even more so. Ethan was still the dominant force here. His reflexes were sharp, his aim precise. He dominated every match, and when they won, the rush was the same as it was when they hit the game-winning touchdown.

"Man, you're on fire tonight," one of his buddies, Tyler, said, laughing.

Ethan leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smirk curling his lips. "Just like always, bro. Who else can carry the squad like I do?"

The guys laughed, and Ethan reveled in the sound of their praise. It felt good. It felt right.

For a moment, as the squad geared up for the next round, he thought back to earlier that day on the football field—the sweat, the cheers, the hard work that had earned him his place as the team captain. Then, without even realizing it, his mind drifted back to his gaming chair, to his gaming world, where everything was just as real.

He wasn’t just Ethan Clark, the football player, the alpha jock. He was Ethan, the gamer, the guy who could lead a team to victory in both worlds—whether on the field or behind a screen. And for the first time in a long while, Ethan felt a sense of balance between these two sides of him. He had it all.

In this life, no one could touch him.

And that was exactly how he liked it.

Ethan's life seemed to revolve around two worlds: the football field and his gaming chair. But then there was Sophia—his girlfriend—who lived somewhere right between them, a perfect accessory to his newfound high school popularity.

Sophia was the blonde girl everyone noticed—the type of girl who was the center of attention at every party, with a laugh that made guys turn their heads and an effortless grace that made other girls a little jealous. She was the kind of girl who belonged on the arm of a guy like Ethan—athletic, handsome, and undeniably cool. And now she was, and she knew it.

The two had started dating a few weeks ago, and it had been a perfect fit. She was beautiful, outgoing, and obsessed with the idea of being with someone like Ethan—someone who could give her all the status and attention she craved.

Ethan wasn’t the kind of guy who spent a lot of time on his emotions, but when Sophia smiled at him, he couldn’t help but feel a certain rush of pride. He'd caught her eye first, but now she was his, and it felt good. There were whispers in the hallways, and every girl who tried to get his attention was met with the same smug, “I’ve got my girl” attitude. It was the kind of confidence that only someone who knew he had everything could pull off.

Sophia didn’t mind the attention. She was used to it, and she loved the way Ethan’s popularity amplified hers. It was a match made in high school heaven.

Later that day, after practice, Ethan found Sophia waiting by his truck, her arms crossed, a playful smirk on her face. He had been walking out with a couple of the guys from the team, talking about the upcoming game, but when he spotted her leaning against the tailgate, all conversation stopped. His friends shot each other knowing looks, and one of them, Alex, made an exaggerated “Ooooh” noise.

Ethan didn’t even acknowledge them. He made his way over to Sophia with that familiar swagger, not caring if anyone was watching.

“What’s up, babe?” he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

Sophia grinned, her eyes gleaming. “Not much. I was just thinking about how awesome you looked out there today. You were like, on fire.”

Ethan couldn’t help but smirk. “Of course I was. It’s what I do.”

She laughed, the sound high and melodic, and stood up straight. “Well, I’m glad you’re on fire... because I was thinking you could use some company tonight,” she said, teasing him a little as she walked toward the passenger side of his truck.

Ethan raised an eyebrow as he followed her. “What kind of company?”

She shot him a wink as she slid into the seat, settling in with a practiced ease. “Let’s just say I have plans for us—and they don’t involve any football or video games tonight. Just you and me, Ethan.”

Ethan grinned, his chest puffing up with pride. This was the life—the kind of life he’d always imagined. Popularity. Strength. A beautiful girl who loved him.

It was almost too perfect.

As he drove off, his mind wandered briefly, but it wasn’t to his old self—the person he used to be. There was no trace of Luke anymore, no reminder of the boy who’d been scared to even talk to a girl like Sophia. No, this was his world now. He was Ethan, and Sophia was his, and that was all that mattered.

At least, that's what he told himself.

#male tf #male tf story #nerd to jock #smart to dumb #gay to straight #conservative tf #lib to con #gamer tf

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ilylovelyz · 1 year ago

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housewife! reader w traditional! manly! ushijima makes my knees weak omg. the thought of this man training all day to come home to his little housewife and a home cooked meal!! he doesn’t care that you aren’t done setting the table he’s gonna bend you over it anyways. he’s just so in love w you!

sjdjjwje

this is kinda dark but the thought of him hiding ur birth control pills or replacing them with the sugar pills so he can knock you up oh my daysss like what’s the point of letting him fill your womb if he can’t put a baby in there :(

⍣ ೋ Million Dollar Man

˚ · . dilf!ushijima x afab!reader

: ̗̀➛ dubious consent of impreg (?), birth control sabotage, traditional!husband ushijima, stay at home/housewife!reader, kitchen sex (yummy), misogyny (?), breeding, degradation + humiliation, size comparison, size kink, big dick toshi, dacryphilia, cervix fucking, just a whole lotta breeding <3, mentions of pregnancy dur

࣪𓏲ּ i was originally gonna work on an angsty fic for hinata but this was calling me </3 ushijima is so lana del rey

you're screwed up and brilliant you look like a million dollar man

"i'm home." he calmly says, careful to not close the door so noisy.

he takes off his shoes like normal, changing into his house slippers shortly after. he's inhaling eagerly, the scent of well-cooked rice filling his senses.

he walks to the kitchen, his slipper clad feet softly pattering against the natural wood that is his traditional house's flooring. he passes by the doorway that connects to the living room, glancing in and stealing a look that is his first born daughter napping on the floor next to his also sleeping second daughter.

he makes a mental note to not be so loud as they are napping, he knows better than to disturb them.

"welcome home, wakatoshi." you say with that warm smile of yours, eyes crinkling up at the sight of your husband. he softly smiles at you in return, grunting softly in response.

his eyes look over to the stove, a large pot with a cover surely boiling, and then to the rice cooker; which is what he assumes is full of already well-done rice.

he looks back at you curiously, he can only guess what you're making, he doesn't cook often, thats your job as a housewife.

"i'm makin' hayashi rice, you're favorite."

his cheeks can only tingle with shyness, to anyone he might just look ungrateful or monotonous, but it's far from that.

he adores you.

"thank you," he says, taking a few steps towards you until his chest is a few inches away from your face.

he towers over you, you have a tiny frame compared to his almost gigantic one. some have even questioned the two of you about it, stealing a couple of snide jokes here and there.

he can't lie and say that he doesn't find it "interesting." he brings a hand suddenly up to your head, patting your hair lightly. you blush lightly at his affection, leaning into his gentle touches.

he doesn't understand why you still get so shy around him, but he doesn't mind it. he likes that you're so humble and polite, even when it comes to your own husband that you've known since the young age of 17. you're 33 now.

"hm," he hums lightly, leaning down to press a kiss onto your forehead. he places a few kisses on your forehead, temple and nose before he's taking your chin in-between his fingers and tilting your head upwards so he can kiss you on your lips.

it still surprises you, how he can take your breath away from one kiss. as his hands wrap around your upper back to bring you closer to him, you can only think back to the time when the two of you were younger and less experienced, him having less experience than you, so you had to lead him with the expertise you had.

it was cute then, the way he was the one who trembled under your touch, looking at you curiously for the courtesy to touch you.

oh, how time flies. now the two of you own a home together, and have two children together, two beautiful girls, the youngest still a little less than a year old.

while ushijima has always been so stoic and known for it, he, over the many years that have passed, has become twice the man he was those years ago.

it almost flusters you, and you can't help but look back on those younger days with a bittersweet smile, remembering the little boy who would ask to hold your hand.

you fluster at the way his strong hands are tearing your clothes off boldly in the middle of the kitchen, his mouth breathing in your sweet gasps for air as he kisses you passionately.

he cups the side of your face, holding your face still as he all but explores your mouth with his own tongue. you tremble within his hold, your ankles almost giving in weakly just because of a simple kiss.

he notices, and with a squeal, he's lifting you up easily into his arms, walking over to the dinner table, using one of his arms to move aside the dishes you precariously chose for that night. dinner can wait, you guess.

he lays you over the cold wooden table, his hands caressing and rubbing your bare skin. you look beautiful underneath him, eyes already glazed over with tears, mouth red and plush. your neck has fading love bruises and bites, he takes note of it to make sure to go over them once more later.

his hand comes up to fondle your breast, his other running down your torso and down to your back thigh. you mindlessly softly moan at his touches, it always feels good to be touched by him.

but he shushes you, leaning downwards to rest his forehead against yours. "you'll have to be quiet, you don't wanna wake up the kids, don't you?" he whispers softly, in contrast, his fingers are already gliding themselves over your folds, dipping a finger into your already dripping cunt.

you gasp at his lewd actions, an eyebrow raising at his words. "d-don't you think i-it's a bit unfair to say that and then.." you meekly say, trailing off when he adds in another finger, curling them inside and pressing against your sensitive walls.

"..and then what?" he teases, punctuating his sentence by pressing his finger-pads against that sweet spot. your body jolts with pleasure, a hand of yours coming up to clamp over your mouth to muffle your pathetic moans.

"y-you're mean," you mumble out, eyes stinging with shy tears. it has your eyes widening when he's visibly smirking at your words, pupils dilated and dark with pure lust.

"you're so naughty, don't you feel ashamed, as a mother, to be so wet like this on the diner table of all places? isn't this where your kids eat?" he boldly says, adding in a third finger as to worsen his seeming punishment. bastard.

"t-this isn't—it's not–you're such a bastard..!" you stutter out, your free hand coming up to punch lightly against his chest. he lightly chuckles at your words before he returns to his menacing actions.

"why don't you cum on my fingers like this, mama? don't be so loud, you'll wake your dear kids." he says, standing up straight to watch the way your body trembles and jolts with pleasure at his words. like command, despite your own pleas and mewls of disapproval, you're cumming on his fingers like a whore, on his word.

thats how it should be.

you're panting on against the dinner table, hiding your face into the crook of your elbow. you're quickly setting your attention back on him when he calls out your name, opening your mouth submissively when he presses his the same fingers that are covered in your own cum against your lips, feverly sucking up your own juices from his fingers.

you blush once more when he's lightly scoffing at your actions, his free hand coming up to rush his pants and boxers off, freeing his cock and lining himself up to your cunt. "don't be loud, mama," you gasp at his words, his fat tip popping into the tight confines of your pussy walls.

his pace is already ruthless, almost taunting you as he lifts your leg over his shoulder, his cock snugly fitting against your cervix with every thrust. you try your best not to be so loud, but it's a hard task to do, especially when he's purposely abusing all of your weak spots.

his eyes narrow at your state underneath him, grunting against the skin of your calf when he sees a tear run down your cheek. "crying? does it feel good?" he asks menacingly, his free hand coming up to squish your cheeks together degradingly, forcing you to pout within his grip.

it only makes you cry harder at his mean gestures, he never fails to make you feel so little, so small. all count of restrain is lost as you shamelessly moan and cry out at his unrelentingly pounding, cheeks burning greatly as you give into his clear humiliation.

he's almost uncharacteristically grinning at your defeat, bending your leg inwards to your chest, almost bending you in half. you grip onto his forearm for purchase when you're unexpectedly cumming once more, vision going white when he doesn't even slow down.

his right hand comes down to squeeze at your doughy breast, noticing that it's lacking the milk you used to have a few months ago. no, that won't do.

"'gonna cum inside." he declares, his other hand coming down to lift the leg that is dangling off the table so as you get you into the perfect mating press. your eyes are widening bewilderedly at his words, a little shocked.

"b-but i'm not on birth control," you mutter out, but from the way he doesn't falter in his thrusts, it seems he already knows. yeah, of course he knows, he threw them away awhile ago. you don't need those silly pills anymore, you're his wife, your duty is to stay at home, raise his kids, and have as many kids as he pleases.

"t-toshi, utako is not even a year old–ah," you cry out, only to be silenced when ushijima is shoving his tongue back down your throat.

"you're my wife, don't you want my babies?" he asks, stilling his hips, his cock pulled out to the tip. he stares at you expectantly.

you're thinking for a few seconds, he doesn't assume anything in particular except of his cock. you're braindead like that, having nothing but a mommy brain after the last few times he's fucked you so well and good that he got you knocked up.

"..want toshi's babies.." you sob, throwing your head back when you're once again coming around his cock once he continued his thrusts at your words once more, your pussy sloshing lewdly with every movement.

yes, of course you want his babies. that's what you're made for. that's what your lovely existence is for, to cook him a good dinner and then spread your legs for him as dessert. whats a good woman if she doesn't submit to her husband?

he's grateful that you're a good woman, one that is so intelligent yet submissive to him. one that is letting him stuff you fill of his thick seed, letting her hard-working husband fill her yet again full with their third child.

it's just this that you're expected to give, you don't have to do much aside from look after the house and the children you produce, you can do whatever you want with the free time you have left, whether it's the beautiful paintings you create, or the horrendous amount of shopping you do with his credit card.

"i love you," he whispers softly against your ear, noting from the way your chest is rising slowly means that you passed out. dinner still hasn't been served, but thats okay. you've probably had a long day too.

౨ৎ please leave a like and repost with tags

#haikyuu smut #haikyuu!! smut #haikyuu #haikyuu fluff #haikyū!!#haikyu smut #haikyuu breeding #haikyuu pregnant #ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi #haikyuu ushijima #ushijima smut #ushijima x reader smut #⨳ family dream #⨳ breeding #⨳ big dick

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sexydoffyman · 1 year ago

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day 27 - OBSESSIVE

König

navigation

genre: smut, yandere

mdni

a/n: I often forget that there are a few people who wait for me to post and I wanna apologise to these people. I don't know what got into me, but I hope that I'll be able to post everyday soon.

p.2

Everyone respects him, including you. He is a great fighter and his frame builds up fear in anyone who doesn't know him. He's a great soldier, but even the greatest soldiers have secrets. He has been trying his best to make sure his secret is never exposed.

What was his secret? It wasn't as much of a secret as a "weak spot". It sounds reasonable that a soldier would want to hide that, but his weak spot wasn't a part of the body or a fear.

It was you.

He would do anything to get you to himself. Of course, he was very aware that this might cause him problems later on. The soldier side of him was thinking about how unethical would it be to date a fellow team member. The human side of him was thinking that enemies could use you to get intel out of him. But he was thinking about how he wouldn't be able to get his eyes off you.

He was like a little boy watching his favourite dinosaur toy in the box, knowing he'd get punished if he played with it. He couldn't get his feelings into his work life. But holy shit, how hard was it for him to resist.

He knew he needed to fulfil some of his desires, or else he'd just be distracted all the time. He found a way to get you out of his mind. And even tho he knew it was rather unethical, he proceeded with his plan anyway.

You were in the canteen of the base, where you were ordered to stay until the next mission. Suddenly, you felt like someone was watching you. It would be pretty normal in such a crowded place. But you started to get that feeling everywhere.

Weirdly König started to look more focused during the missions. What a weird coincidence.

At this point, he has jerked off to you just doing some paperwork multiple times. Despite his size, he managed to hide very well. Then, a problem occurred. Just stalking you wasn't enough. He wanted and needed more.

He started watching you sleep. He started giving you little secret messages. He'd bring you snacks, still making sure you never figured out it was him.

He even managed to sneak into your closet. He watched you change. He watched you do your normal routine.

He watched you please yourself.

He was crazy for you. He still wanted more. He knew he needed to man up and tell you himself. Unfortunately, he was afraid of rejection. He just stuck to watching your every move. He wanted to make you his one day.

He was sweaty in your small wardrobe. He barely fit. His dick was in his hands. He was thinking about you on his dick instead of his hand. He wanted you to please yourself for him.

He wanted to touch you, but he made sure he stayed still. One wrong move, and he'd be exposed. He felt high with your body out for him to see like that. He wanted to please you himself once.

He wanted to see a ring on your finger in the future.

He needed to kiss you. He was holding himself back from getting out of the wardrobe. He wanted to get out and kiss you. He wanted to help you with his hands. He wanted to lick you up.

He wanted to touch your smooth skin. He wanted to pin you down to the bed. He wanted you laying tired in his arms after he fucked the absolute shit out of you. He was annoyed that he wasn't allowed to yet. He was impatient.

Sight wasn't enough anymore.

It didn't matter if you'd like him back or if he'd have to use force. He'd make sure you're his.

a/n: Honestly, I feel like this needs p2. Let me know if you're interested.

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astayinwonderland · 1 year ago

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Do you think we are about to make a terrible mistake? | Zhong Chenle

pairing: chenle x f.reader

genre: besties to lovers | smut +18 MDNI

summary: chenle has been away for a while and you miss your best friend-- however, everything changes when you realise you might actually love him more than a friend

wc: 2.2k

warnings: mentions and use of alcohol, anxiety, consensual sex, unprotected sex (pls no), oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms-- lmk if I forgot anything

It’s 15 minutes past 11, where the fuck is he?

You already texted him twice. You called. The party had already started and your friends wondered if you would make it. Hell, you were wondering if you should just go on your own. But no– you promised you would get there together for old-time’s sake. It’s been a little over a year since Chenle moved out of the country, your days of embracing nothingness together are gone, movie nights are just nostalgic memories, and maybe some words left unspoken. You missed your best friend dearly and even though you often called each other, it was not the same. Not at all. You missed more than his company. You missed his essence, aura, sparkly eyes, smile, and touch…

Your heart suddenly ached. Were you truly in love or is it just the fact that this is the first time you will see him since he left? The thoughts that rudely invade your brain get interrupted by three loud knocks. Running to the door, you can feel the thundering beating of your heart ringing in your ears.

“I know I’m late, I’m sorry…. Please don’t be upset–”

You open the door abruptly and there he is.

Zhong Chenle.

Blue 3-piece suit. His hair graciously falls over his forehead, framing his beautiful face. He gives you the brightest of smiles, your heart skips a bit.

“Don’t hate me. Come here!” he opens his arms to embrace you.

“Shut up,” you throw your arms around him, and suddenly everything is fine. Time has not passed.

His nose lowers to your head and he inhales your scent. This is home to him, he can’t believe he’s been away from you for so long. All he yearns is to keep you close, but doing so means having to accept the fact that he is irremediably in love with you.

Smoke and bright lights danced around the place and the crowd made way for you and the man of the hour apparently. Everyone reaches out to Chenle. Hugs, high fives, praises, and kisses shower him. You can’t help but feel a tad bit jealous. This was supposed to be a fun night for you and your best friend… and your other friends as well. But Chenle is loved, popular, and missed, of course, people would be all over him. You feel silly for suggesting going to the party in the first place.

You’re snapped back to reality when your body crashes into Chenle’s. His hand is possessively placed around your waist. Your audible gasp makes him laugh.

“Where did your mind go, silly?”

“Nowhere, I just wish we were somewhere else. This is not how I envisioned tonight, you know… after spending so much time apart,” you force a smile and feel his thumb caressing you softly. There was something up with him, but to your surprise, you couldn’t read him.

Chenle closes the distance between you too. He's a little too close, his breath fanning on your face. Is he going to–

“Chenle!”

Shiny hair, plump lips, white smile. Her manicured hand was already snaking its way to Chenle’s arm. She looks at you, scanning up and down as if she were trying to figure out who you are.

“Oh, hey! Wh- what are you doing here?” Chenle replies. A kiss on her cheek makes your heart sink.

Chenle’s eyes go from you to the girl and again to you. He is about to introduce you but you suddenly feel like your heart is going to burst out your chest, your palms are sweaty, your eyes getting watery and your ability to breathe fades as you try to fight the feeling.

“I really need to go. Sorry– Nice to meet you,” you say politely. You try not to cry as you make your way out. Chenle watches as you leave, but he feels how his chest tightens more and more with each step you take away from him.

After his third call, you get into the shower hoping that the pain would fade away with the hot water hitting your vulnerable skin. With tears streaming down your face and sobs that echo around your bathroom you finish your shower. You are too exhausted to do anything else but sleep, and your phone has long been forgotten in your purse.

You think you just blinked but in reality, it is a little past 3 a.m. and the faintest sound coming from your door seems to wake you up. In a panic, you rush and open the door to find a sobering Chenle by your door.

“...it was about fucking time you opened that door, silly, I’ve been knocking for hours I thought–”

You cut him off, pulling him in.

“Chenle what the fuck?”

He smiles at your puzzled expression. His hair is a bit messy now, blue suit is wrinkled. You can’t help but wonder if anything happened with the girl in the club.

“I’ve been waiting for hours… I followed you back here but you locked the door. I called you so many times… ” he frowns.

You go to the kitchen and fetch him a water bottle. As he starts drinking it, you find his eyes searching yours… Sparks. No. No. This is your best friend Chenle. Nothing can ever happen between you and your best friend. The one who taught you how to ride a bike, tie your shoelaces, and give the best hugs ever.

“You look so pretty,” he finally says.

“Drink your water, Chenle,” you sigh.

“You do!” he insists.

“Who has she?” and you can’t believe the words that leave your mouth. You weren’t supposed to ask.

“We did a semester together abroad. She is a good classmate that’s all. I never meant to upset you– you are too important…”

You weren’t sure where the conversation was going, but Chenle assumed he talked too much. He puts the water bottle down and makes his way to you. Now you find yourself between your best friend and your bedroom door. The hard wooden surface against your back reminds you that once you cross that threshold with him, your relationship will change forever.

His hands touch your waist, not sure if he has permission to do so, but you welcome him as the drug you need. His lips inches from yours and you pray he will kiss you, but time stops. It’s really only you and him at last like you dreamt of so many restless nights.

“I’ve been wanting to ask you something since the moment I came back…”

“Yes?” your voice comes out as a breathless whisper.

“Can I kiss you?”

You can’t even wait to answer him when your lips are already on his. His tongue teases yours and your lips part. He tastes of expensive wine, lust, and love. Chenle moans into your mouth and that is it for you. You want every single inch of you to be consumed by him. You reach out to open the door to your room.

“Please,” you ask.

“How can I say no to you?” he smiles and kisses you once again.

Each second you spend kissing him you feel your skin getting hotter, desire coursing through your veins making you dizzy, and then you feel him carry you. Bride style, his lips never leaving yours. He carefully lowers you onto the bed, his hands now exploring your clothed body, the feeling of sparks under his fingertips making the moment intense, and urgent. Little moans and cries escape you both as Chenle helps you to straddle him. Your delicate fingers move his hair away from his face. The most beautiful man is underneath you, eyes on yours, lips parted. His chest rises and falls, you contemplate him for a moment. He takes your hands into his, everything seems surreal, you have spent countless times in this bedroom but not like this—a new territory.

“Do you think we are about to make a terrible mistake?” your voice is small, you may not want to know what he has to say.

He shakes his head. His hand reaches your cheek.

“Do you?”

Now you shake your head.

“Good. Then kiss me, silly, and don’t stop unless you don’t want to do this–” but you don’t let him finish his thought and your lips already found his.

It is then that you finally understand that he needs you as much as you need him. The pieces of clothing now are forgotten somewhere on your bedroom floor. Every part of you reacting to Chenle’s heavenly but sinful touch. His fingers finally take the only item of clothing left, your panties. He lowers himself, eye level with your wet cunt.

“So pretty,” he murmurs.

His tongue licks your entrance, ending in your clit which he sucks and your soul seems to leave your body as your back arches for him. Your hands immediately reach your breasts increasing the sinful pleasure coursing through you. You feel one of his fingers slide in you with almost no resistance. That’s how aroused you are for him. You gasp and your hips move, making the feeling of his hot mouth on your cunt even better. With his tongue flat on your slit, Chenle’s hands squeeze your thighs, encouraging you to use his face as you please. Only stopping to spit on your throbbing core, he eats you out so deliciously your soft moans turning louder. Legs over his shoulders now, he adds two curling fingers in you.

Again and again, he kicks your clit, his fingers working magic inside you, fogging your brain and heightening the urge to cum for him.

“Fuck! I– I’m–” you can’t think, you can’t speak… and so your orgasm hits you with such intensity you are shaking under him. Your legs turn to jelly. The heavy breathing that follows your cries echo in your ears. Chenle plants one last kiss on your clit and your legs close from the overstimulation.

He lets out a low-pitched chuckle and the vibration travels straight to your clit again.

“You okay?”

You look at him in between your legs. Did this just happen? Your head falls back once more to the pillow. An involuntary laugh escapes your lips. But Chenle knows you, sometimes better than he knows himself he thinks and to him, this moment is making his heart go a million miles an hour. What an honour to have you like this, all fucked out, and all for him.

Little kisses are planted on your thighs, on your lower stomach, your hands, your breasts, until he reaches your face. You giggle in response. His eyes meet yours, and different from what you thought, you are not embarrassed. You want him more than ever, so you kiss him.

“More than okay,” you finally replied.

Reaching south of his body you find his erection already leaking for you. You stroke it slowly, the faintest of moans leaving Chenle’s lips. This is the greatest reward you can get. His breath hitches as your pace gets faster.

“Aaahhh…” a long, whiny moan.

“You like that?”

He nods reassuring you.

You bring his hips lower, aligning his tip with your entrance. In anticipation, your eyes shut but immediately your jaw falls open when Chenle’s cock begins to stretch your needy cunt. Inch after inch, pleasure builds on pleasure and you silently pray the moment never ends when he starts moving in but not completely out of you. Your nails digging into his biceps, loving the way he stretches you out.

“Ch-chenle,”

“I know, I got you,” and he wraps one of your legs around his waist, making his thrusts deeper, his cock dragging against your walls that clench tightly around him.

“Feels so so good,” your hand goes to his head, grabbing a handful of hair and pulling slightly.

“Say. That. Again,” he moans.

“It feels so good”.

Chenle buries his face in the crook of your neck. Mild sharp pain fades into pleasure when he bites your skin, licking the now sensitive spot to ease the harsh sensation. You pull his hair once more, this time to make him kiss you. And he does, so lost in passion, so lost in you. The kiss is sloppy, messy, perfect. His thumb presses circles on your clit acting as the perfect trigger for your orgasm. You feel climbing higher and higher, his cock twitching inside you, his hot breath fanning on your face, his lips curving into a smile. Fuck, he is everything.

“Chenle! Fuck… ah!” you cum for him.

“Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes,” he repeats as a broken record as he pulls out and cums letting out a high-pitched moan that you will remember for the rest of your life.

Chenle kisses your face, your hands, and helps you clean up. However, you didn’t exchange a word then. Now, you find yourselves back in bed, still naked. His arm around your waist, your head on his chest. His heartbeat is a love poem itself.

“You know,” he breaks the silence. “I don’t ever want to say hello or leave without kissing you… I guess what I’m trying to say is–”

You kiss him. It’s a long kiss, your lips pressed against his. Everything feels just right like it’s meant to be.

“I really like you, Chenle,” you whisper, somewhat scared of what he will say back.

“I really really like you too, silly,” he smiles.

————————————————————-

a/n: this is pure ✨fiction✨

I hope enjoyed this :3 ~ masterlist

#kpop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fics #zhong chenle #zhong chenle x reader #zhong chenle smut #chenle x reader #chenle smut #nct dream smut #nct dream x reader #nct scenarios #nct smut #nct dream imagines #nct dream scenarios #chenle imagines #nct dream fanfic #nct dream fanfiction #astayinwonderland

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bluecollarmcandtf · 1 year ago

Text

Too Old to Trick-or-Treat

When the doorbell rang, I did not expect to be seeing an 18 year-old standing on the doorstep. Nevertheless, I grabbed my bowl of candy and greeted him with my best Transylvanian accent. The handsome young man flashed me a winning smile and stuck out his chest.

"Trick or treat!" he charmed, "It's Brandon from down the street. By the way, that vampire costume is sick!"

I rolled my eyes, "Brandon, aren't you a bit old for trick-or-treating?"

"What's it to you, dude? Aren't you a bit old to be dressing up?" Brandon laughed, "I'm just killing time 'till my friends pick me up."

A small sigh escaped my throat. Brandon's friends were as careless as he was. Countless mailboxes had been smashed over the last few months, and I had a sneaking suspicion of who was responsible. Brandon may put on a good performance during the day, but he was quite the rebellious vandal at night.

"Wait here, Brandon. I have something special for you..."

"Hope it's a king-sized candy bar!" he called as I slipped back into my house.

With quiet steps, I retreated back to my study, where I kept all my ancient texts and spell books. My family has practiced witchcraft for centuries, and I knew just the thing to help Brandon grow up.

"Here you are, Clark Kent," I said, handing the young man an enticing little pastry.

"Damn, that looks good," he gasped before scarfing the baked good down, "That was the best cookie I've ever had!"

I smiled inwardly and leaned against the doorpost to watch. Brandon looked confused when he suddenly noticed a stinging sensation in his stomach. He groaned in shock as his stomach rumbled louder and louder. He held his belly nervously and looked at me with panic.

"Woah, what was in that thing?"

A loud belch bubbled up his throat and sounded out of his mouth. All his thoughts and worries seemed to leave with the air from his stomach because his face slackened immediately after the burp. He kind of slumped back into a relaxed standing position, and a physical transformation began happening all over his young body.

His gut gurgled and bubbled outward as his spine stretched taller. Mass seemed to spawn all over his frame as his metabolism rapidly aged. The skin on his face seemed to sag and age as wiry hairs burst out of his cheeks.

"Wow, you've aged quite well," I noted, suddenly stunned by manly body wearing a tight costume in front of me.

Brandon seemed to snap out of his stupor, and glanced at his surroundings. Something seemed off to him. He was unaccustomed to his sudden change in height.

"What just happened?" a much deeper tone surprised the young man.

"You needed to grow up, Brandon."

"What?" he began to notice his new body with panic, "Why am I fat and hairy all over?"

"This is just your body in 20 years. I just made it come a lot faster."

"Woah! Dude, change me back," he begged, "This is gross! God, I look just like my dad."

I chuckled at the guy. It's not so often you see a grown man like this in a tight Superman costume, whining like a child. I decided I might have him stick around for a little bit.

"I'm not changing you back," I explained deviously, "But I will change your thoughts..."

"What?" he scoffed.

"... It'll be easier for you to accept your new body if you have a new mind to go with it. It's not like you can go back home or hang out with your friends looking ike this. Can you?"

"You can't change my thoughts-"

"Babe, get back inside!" I suddenly chastized him.

He looks confused for a moment. A whole minute passed where his brain seemed to be loading the new information, and then said, "Ok, babe."

"I love the costume on you, babe," I add, patting his round gut, "Even though you've packed on a few pounds since our wedding."

Brandon blushed beneath his hairy face and felt his chest self-consciously. He looked embarrassed about his heavy frame.

"You know I like a little pudge though," I added, "Hey, while I'm on candy duty, do you mind cleaning out the gutters in the back? The fall leaves clogged them up again, and I know how you love taking care of things around the house."

"Sure thing, babe," he gave me a peck on the cheek and steps down the hallway.

"You really are my superhero!" I called, watching his big ass move in those tight superhero pants.

"And you're my evil villain," he heartily laughed before stepping outside to do what I asked.

It was going to be nice having Brandon around for awhile. I was determined to teach him the pleasures of a mature and stable lifestyle. Sure, he' was taking care of all my yardwork and house chores for the next few weeks, but I really just did this for his own good.

I was ready to train him to be the perfect little husband, and part of that involved enjoying that tight superhero costume he's squeezed into at the moment.

#gay mind control #male transformation #gay transformation #gay tf #halloween #hypno story

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a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all · 3 months ago

Text

Sweeter Than Revenge Part 10

AI-Less Whumptober 2024: Day 14. Concussion

Fandom: Twisters, Tyler Owens, f!reader, Scott's Sister!reader

Summary: Just as you begin to think your life is perfect, a traumatic event occurs that changes everything.

Word Count: 7147

TW: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Storm Danger, Panic Attack, Concussion, Blood, Dissociating, Heartbreak, Tears, Tyler carries Reader, Language

Notes: A massive thank you to @blue-aconite and @green-socks for reading this over for me and for all the constant support! And to @mayhem24-7forever for always answering my late-night panicked messages

Divider created by me (please ask/credit before using)

Series Masterlist

Time didn’t seem to matter anymore. Looking at your phone one morning, you realized it was exactly three weeks since you started this whirlwind trip. Yet, it was sometimes hard to believe. Part of you felt as if you had just arrived, while another part felt like this had always been your life.

The Wranglers—which you were happy to include yourself in now that you bore their tattoo—led such crazy, chaotic lives that every day was some new adventure where you were never quite sure what would happen. Yet you were always having the time of your life! And your nights were just as exciting and heavenly with Tyler in your bed. He was everything you had ever dreamed of in a partner and more. The perfect blend of taking charge and always making sure you were comfortable. Sexy as hell, but caring and sweet as well.

Your life was truly turning into something magical.

However, it’s often when we are floating on cloud nine that the world decides to bring us crashing back down to Earth.

“Sweetheart, you gotta get up.”

You opened your eyes as Tyler continued to shake you. Rolling to look over your shoulder at him, you muttered, “What’s going on?” It was only then that you noticed the loud siren blaring outside. “What’s that sound?”

“Tornado siren,” Tyler said as he grabbed his boxer briefs off the floor and quickly pulled them on. “One just touched down at the end of the street and we gotta get somewhere safe. Now!”

There was an edge in Tyler’s voice you had never heard before, especially not when discussing storms. If he was concerned about it, it must be bad.

Quickly, you slipped off the bed. Luckily you had slipped your panties back on last night when you went to the bathroom and your bra was dangling on the lamp next to the bed but you couldn’t remember where the rest of your clothes had been tossed while Tyler undressed you. Seeing a box of his merch t-shirt in the chair next to you, you grabbed one and pulled it on. It was long enough that it skimmed the middle of your thighs but you really wished you had found your shorts.

Tyler grabbed his keys then your hand, pulling you towards the door. But just as he reached for the handle, the wall-length window beside it exploded inward, sending both you and Tyler flying backwards. The air was knocked out of your lungs as you slammed into the thinly carpeted floor and your head cracked against the corner of the bed frame. Gasping and dazed, you struggled to catch your breath as the air seemed to be sucked out of the room. Hundreds of places on your body stung, and you could just make out various-sized shards of glass sticking out of your arm and chest, causing tiny pinpricks of blood to blossom across your shirt, dyeing the cartoon of Tyler. Based on how the rest of you were feeling, you figured you also had glass lodged in your face, neck, and thighs.

But it was nothing compared to the pain in the back of your head. With every beat of your racing heart, a fresh throb of pain stabbed through your mind. The world around you looked fuzzy and out of focus. When you tried to move, it felt as though you were swimming through molasses, your movements sluggish and heavy, and all you wanted to do was lay there and fall asleep.

Suddenly, Tyler’s face was looming over yours. He too had glass jutting out of his skin, but since he had been slightly protected by the door, it was mostly clustered on the right side of his body. He was screaming something at you but the sound was torn away with the wind. You tried to sit up, but you barely managed to lift your head before collapsing back. Realizing something was wrong, Tyler brushed his fingers against the back of your head—you flinched slightly at the stinging pain it caused—and his eyes grew wide as he pulled them back, the tips stained red.

You flinched as more glass was sucked up from the floor and hurled back at the two of you. More shards buried themselves in your legs, but Tyler’s body crouched over yours blocked most of the glass from hitting you. His face twitched slightly and his jaw clenched as he was pelted by glass and other debris, but all of his focus was on you. Sliding one of his arms carefully under yours while the other supported your head, he managed to lift you to your feet. Then he half-dragged, half-carried you deeper into the room until you reached the closet. Prying the door open against the wind, he eased you gently to the floor before stepping inside himself and letting the door slam shut.

It was dark inside, and with the power off, the faint moonlight that managed to pierce through the storm was nearly non-existent as it drifted in from the slats in the wooden closet door. You felt Tyler reach for you in the darkness and when his hand grasped your arm, he pulled you into his lap. He curled his body around yours, shielding as much of you as he could in case the worst happened. One of his hands hovered protectively over the back of your head where you had hit it earlier, not quite touching your wound but covering it from any debris that might sneak into your hideout.

You buried your face into his bare chest, ignoring the glass sticking out of both of you, and you suddenly realized you were screaming at the top of your lungs. You had no idea how long you had been producing the sobbing shriek—the sound ripped away by the wind—but your throat burned and felt raw even as you continued to wail. Vibrations in Tyler’s chest and throat told you he was trying to say something to you, but over the wind and your screams, you couldn’t hear him.

Just outside the closest, the wind howled and rattled the door, nearly ripping it off its hinges. It felt as if an intruder were trying to force themself in to steal you away and you clung tighter to Tyler even as it drove the glass shards deeper into you. You felt raindrops against your skin as they were hurled through the wooden slats and they mixed with the tears streaming down your face.

For almost three weeks now, you had braved storm after storm tucked safely in Tyler’s truck. Every time felt like going on a roller coaster. Your stomach would float up into your throat, your toes would curl, and you would grab onto Tyler, screaming with joy. You had counted those storms among some of the most exhilarating moments of your life. But now, curled in Tyler’s lap, your stomach still floated into your throat, your bare toes were curled against the thin carpet, and you held onto Tyler for dear life—yet your screams were anything but joyful.

Finally, as he rubbed soothing circles across your back, you heard Tyler whisper, “Shhh… sweetheart, it’s over now. We’re okay, we’re okay. We made it.”

You could hear the wind dying down outside and felt the building settle as it no longer fought against the storm so you knew he was right. Slowly, your screams faded until you were just making a wet gurgling sound deep in your throat. Still, you couldn’t stop shaking.

Tyler tried to get you to look at him, but you couldn’t. All you could do was cling to him and shake, neither of which seemed in your control at the moment. Nothing else in the world mattered but Tyler and you needed him as close to you as possible.

When it became clear you weren’t going to let go, he stood up with you still in his arms. Then he carried you out of the destroyed room, wincing with every step as more glass was driven into his feet. A small part of you in the back of your mind felt horrible seeing him in pain but the rest of your brain was still in shut-down mode.

Once he made it across the room, Tyler carried you down the stairs, avoiding debris and broken concrete along the way. And as he reached the parking lot, you heard a familiar voice call out.

“T!” You could just see Boone rushing towards you out of the corner of your eye. “You guys alright?”

“For the most part.” Boone stumbled to a stop when he saw you shivering in Tyler’s arms but Tyler just kept walking. As Boone fell back into step with him, Tyler asked, “Everyone else okay?”

“Y-Yeah. We crammed into your truck and put the augers down just in case, but it barely touched the parking lot. When you didn’t show up…” Boone’s voice was thick as he trailed off.

Tyler nodded. “We tried getting outta the room but the window shattered. We’ve got glass stuck in us everywhere and she hit her head when we were thrown back. It’s bleeding but I don’t think it’s too bad, slight concussion at worst. But I think she’s gone into shock. Dani, can you get some blankets? I’m gonna put her in your van so I can take a better look at her.”

“On it.”

You hadn’t even realized the rest of the Wranglers had gathered around you until you heard Dani’s voice beside you. Lily placed a gentle hand on your trembling shin but you did not acknowledge it. It was too hard. Everything was too hard. Your head still hurt like crazy, but more than that, you felt like your battery had been completely drained. Even just keeping your eyes open felt like a Herculean task and you could barely grasp what was happening around you for more than a moment before everything drifted away again like smoke on the breeze. The only thing that felt real was Tyler’s heart beating against you.

A moment later, he set you down gently inside Dani and Dexter’s van, positioned so your legs still hung out the door. Kneeling in front of you, he ran his hands carefully over your still-quivering body to see if there were any other injuries he might have missed. When he didn’t find any, he sat back on his heels to look at you.

But you were only vaguely aware of any of this. Your head was hung, staring down at the pavement, looking at Tyler’s bare feet. You felt everything happening, but at the same time, you didn’t, your mind still floating in this strange dissociative space. You saw Tyler kneeling before you out of the corner of your eye, watched his thumb rub circles on your bare knee, yet there was no connection between him and you. It was as if you were watching him tend to someone else while you stood by and watched.

Someone handed him a blanket and he carefully wrapped it around you, pulling it snugly and tucking it in around you so you were cocooned with only your hands free.

Then, in a voice tinted with concern and care, he murmured, “Hey, sweetheart. Can you look at me?”

You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to do anything. You just wanted to slip back into the hazy fog building in your mind and forget everything that was happening. But it was Tyler who was asking you to do this, and you didn’t want to let him down. So, fighting every urge screaming at you, you focused all your willpower and slowly lifted your eyes to meet his.

It was such a small accomplishment, yet Tyler let out a shaky sigh of relief and cupped your face. Voice trembling as a smile stretched across his face, he whispered, “There you are. There’s my brave, beautiful girl. You had me scared there for a minute. But it’s gonna be okay now. You’re safe and we’re gonna take care of you.”

Someone muttered something behind him and he cocked his head to listen. Tyler scrubbed his hand across his face, but it did little to ease the deep lines carved there in the last half hour or so. But he shook his head.

Turning his attention back to you, he signed. “I have to go check on a few things then I’ll be right back. I’ll try to find us some fresh clothes too. That might make you feel a little better.” It was only then that you realized you were still just in your panties and Tyler’s blood-stained merch shirt while he was in nothing but his boxer briefs. Neither one of you had shoes on, a fact that was highlighted by the bloody puddle Tyler was standing in from all the glass cuts on his feet. But he didn’t seem to notice as he stepped closer to you. “Boone and Dex are coming with me, but Lily and Dani are going to stay with you the whole time and help patch you up, okay? And if you really need me before I get back, one of them will get me. Do you think you’ll be alright?”

You nodded, or at least tried to. You still felt disconnected from your body and honestly weren’t sure if your head moved or not. But Tyler must have seen some sign of acknowledgment because he leaned forward and kissed you on the forehead. Then he started to go but only made it a single step before turning back.

Placing his hand on your knee, he said, “Sweetheart, you’ve gotta let go of my hand.” Looking down, you saw your hand still desperately squeezing Tyler’s. With a concentrated effort, you managed to open your fist and Tyler pulled his hand away, massaging it with his other one to get the blood flowing again. Then he gave you a small smile. “I’ll just be a couple of minutes then I’ll be back. I promise.” He shot Dani and Lily a quick look, then disappeared into the crowd that had formed in the parking lot.

Lily sat down on the edge of the van next to you. Gently, she said, "Dani and I want to try to get some of that glass out of you. Would that be okay? It’ll probably sting a little.”

You gave another faint nod, even as you continued to stare at the ground. A moment later, you felt a small pinprick of pain just below your collarbone. Then another on your forehead. And another over your ribs. They didn’t hurt too badly—they felt similar to a mosquito bite—and actually, these slight pinches of pain were helping you come back to yourself. They were grounding you to your body once more. And when Dani pulled a particularly deep piece of glass out of your cheek, you flinched with a slight hiss. She muttered a soft, “I’m sorry” before continuing.

After they had covered about half your body, carefully removing what glass they could with just their fingers, you finally felt a little more yourself. Your trembling had stopped and your body no longer felt as heavy. Running your tongue across your lips to wet them, you thickly mumbled, “It wasn’t like it was in the truck.”

It was the first time you had spoken since the storm broke, the words hoarse and scratchy from all of your screaming. Dani and Lily exchanged looks, before Lily asked, “I’m sorry?”

Slowly, you raised your head to look at her. “This storm. Being in it. It wasn’t like it was when we were in the truck.”

“No, I guess it probably wasn’t. But it’s over now and you’re okay. And Tyler should be back any minute.” Lily glanced over her shoulder, probably hoping to see Tyler walking back towards the van. But then she turned back to you. “Can we get you anything? Some water or something to eat?”

You shook your head. There was something you needed—the deep gnawing ache in your chest that had been there since Tyler left was the constant reminder of that—but you couldn’t find the words to explain what it was. Maybe it would ease when he returned. When he could hold you again and make all of this go away. Yet, you knew it wasn’t as simple as that. Even once Tyler came back, he couldn’t undo what had happened tonight.

Off in the distance, you heard a voice frantically screaming for someone but you couldn’t make out what they were saying. However, as it got closer, you sat up straight and jerked your head around, coming to life as you recognized the voice calling your name. Both Lily and Dani jumped slightly at your sudden movement, and Dani stuck her head out the side of the van. “Scott! She’s over here!”

A moment later, your brother appeared in the doorway, chest heaving, eyes wide, and dark, damp hair—for once not hidden beneath a cap—plastered to his face.

With a sob, you threw the blanket to the side and dove at him. “Scotty!”

You plowed into him, immediately wrapping him in the tightest hug you could manage as the numbness that had consumed you evaporated, leaving you a tearful sobbing mess. Scott stumbled back under the force of your tackle, his body rigid in your embrace. But a moment later, you felt his arms hesitantly wrap around you—lightly at first but soon clinging to you just as tightly as you were to him. You had never hugged your brother like this but as that ache in your chest began to lift, you realized it was what you had needed all along. After everything the two of you had been through and how rocky your relationship had gotten, in the end, what you needed most was your big brother to make things all better.

The two of you remained in your embrace for a long time, both of you relying on the other to keep you on your feet. Then Scott finally pulled away and placed his hands on your shoulders as he looked you over. “When I heard you were here…that there had been casualties…I thought…” He pulled you into another tight hug.

Hugging him back, you sniffed, “Tyler saved me. I didn’t even hear the sirens until he woke me up. Then the window blew when we tried to leave and I hit my head and I…I couldn’t move. I was so scared, Scotty. But then Tyler was there and he got me into the closest and protected me until it was over and he brought me here...and…and…”

You buried your face into his shoulder and began to sob again. Scott rubbed his hand across your back before helping you sit back down in the open back of the van. He gently tried to touch the back of your head but you flinched away. “Sorry,” he muttered as he continued to look you over. “Besides your head, are you okay? I see a lot of blood here.”

“It’s from the glass when their window broke,” Dani interjected. “Both her and Tyler were covered in it. We’ve tried to get as much out as we can but she should probably go somewhere to have a professional make sure it’s all gone.”

“Thank you…both of you.” For once, there was no snark or sarcasm in his tone as Scott addressed the two Wranglers. Placing his hand on top of your head, he asked, “Can I have a minute alone with my sister?”

Dani and Lily exchanged another look, then looked at you. You knew they had promised Tyler not to leave your side, so you nodded to let them know it was okay. They said they’d wait by Tyler’s truck which was farther down in the parking lot while still in view if you needed anything, then they left.

Once he waited long enough for them to get out of earshot, Scott crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow. “‘The glass from their broken window’, huh? So…you were with Owens.”

For the first time, you realized you were still only wearing Tyler’s merch t-shirt—now filthy with dust and blood—which only just covered your panties. Self-consciously, you grabbed the blanket again and wrapped it around you, trying to cover as much of your bare skin as possible.

“Scotty, I..I—”

But he cut you off by crouching down and placing his hands on your knees. “No, it’s okay. It doesn’t matter. I had no right to tell you you shouldn’t be with him in the first place. And now I’m glad you were together, otherwise I might have lost you.”

Tears filling your eyes once more, you placed your hand on his cheek. “I didn’t know you cared so much.”

“Is it terrible to say neither did I until I thought I was too late?” He dropped his head but you saw a few tears slip out as he squeezed his eyes shut. “I treated you so horribly since you arrived and I thought I didn’t want to have anything to do with you anymore. I was ready to cut you out of my life completely. But the second Javi told me the storm was heading straight for the motel the Wranglers had stopped at for the night, the motel you were only at because you were trying to give me my space…I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my life. And I realized at that moment that it’s not that I don’t care, it’s that I was afraid of giving you another chance and finding out you hadn’t changed, that you were that same person you were when we were growing up. And nothing hurts more than being rejected or betrayed by those you love, especially family. But that’s exactly what I did to you. And I’m so sorry.”

Sure, this might all be the situation talking and Scott might not feel the same way tomorrow or a month from now, but as he pulled you into another hug, you didn’t care. You finally felt like you had your brother back.

As you hugged Scott, you saw over his shoulder that Tyler, Boone, and Dexter had joined the two girls by Tyler’s truck. Tyler must have either scavenged some of his clothes from your room or had spares in the truck because he was now wearing a pair of jeans—riding low on his hips due to the lack of his favorite belt and buckle—and tennis shoes, still no shirt. It was the first time you had ever seen him in something other than boots and it felt strange. At least his cowboy hat was settled on his head.

You couldn’t hear what they were talking about. Based on the anxious way Lily had her arms wrapped around herself and Tyler was standing with his hands on his hips as he stared at the ground shaking his head, a deep frown carved into his handsome face, whatever it was it wasn’t a pleasant conversation. Then Tyler lifted his head and looked towards the camper van. His eyes met yours and his frown lifted into a small smile—one that didn’t reach the rest of his face. His green eyes, usually sparkling with life, were now murky and troubled.

He walked over to you just as Scott pulled away, probably hearing someone approaching. Tyler nodded at him and said, “Scott. Do you think I can talk to her for a minute alone? We need to sort some stuff out after…” He gestured to the damaged motel behind him.

Scott nodded. “Yeah. But I’m not leaving my sister. I’ll wait by the front of the van until you’re done.” He started to walk away then paused. “And Ow–Tyler…thank you for protecting her.”

Tyler nodded. “I’m just sorry I couldn’t do a better job.”

Scott nodded again and disappeared in front of the van.

Tyler sighed and turned back to you, just as you sat back down on the edge of the van. “I, uh, I managed to rescue some of our things from the room.” He placed your backpack by your feet. “I wasn’t sure what you might want to change into so I brought it all.”

“Thanks, Ty.”

His face brightened slightly. “Hey, I missed your voice. Though it does sound a little rough around the edges. Does it hurt?”

“Yeah, but it’s not too bad. I can’t remember how long I was screaming. By the time I realized I was even doing it, my throat was already sore. I ca-can’t remember a lot of what happened, honestly. Just the wind a-and hitting my head a-a-and…”

You started hyperventilating as you were suddenly back in the room, Tyler’s face looming over yours as the world crumbled around you.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Tyler cooed as he took your face in his hands.

It took a moment, but with him grounding you, you were able to pull yourself back under control. “I’m sorry,” you said, leaning into his touch. “It’s just a lot.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured.” Sitting down next to you, Tyler hung his head with a sigh. After a moment, lifting his eyes to yours, he said, “Sweetheart, I need you to go home. Tonight.”

“What?” The panic you had felt before when the storm raged through your room gripped your heart once again as you tried to grasp what he was saying.

“You need to leave Oklahoma. Leave all of this.”

No. It didn’t make sense. Tyler was the one who had asked you to stay longer in the first place. Did your breakdown tonight change how he felt about you? “But Tyler, I thought we—”

“I know. And we were. But tonight just proved I can’t keep you safe. We got lucky this time, but I won’t be able to forgive myself if something happens to you because you’re out here with me. So I need you to go.”

For the hundredth time tonight, tears filled your eyes. In a voice barely more than a breath, you whispered, “I thought you cared about me.”

Tyler’s face shattered and he gathered you up into his arms. “Oh, sweetheart, if I didn’t care so much, I wouldn’t be asking you to do this. I haven’t felt like this about someone for a really long time and I don’t want it to end. But—”

You placed your fingers over his lips, refusing to let him finish that sentence. “Then don’t let it end. Let me stay.”

“And tomorrow when another storm passes through, are you gonna be okay with that? Even knowing that if you don’t go on a chase, a storm may still hit where you are and you’ll end up in the middle of it again?” You opened your mouth to answer but the thought of another experience like tonight made the words stick in your throat. Tyler noticed and nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

You hadn’t given thought to tomorrow or the next day or the next. You knew what happened tonight wouldn’t stop Tyler from chasing the next storm the moment one formed, but you also knew that you never wanted to see another tornado as long as you lived. This meant the two of you were now at odds, neither willing nor able to give in for the other—which meant Tyler was right. You needed to go.

Yet knowing that and accepting what that meant were not the same thing. Lip quivering, you asked, “So, what? This is just it? I leave and we never see each other again?”

“We both knew that it had to end at some point. Even if you stayed until the last day of your break, you have to go back to school. And I'm heading back to Arkansas when the season’s over. We're just…we're just saying goodbye a little sooner than expected.”

“I don’t want to say goodbye at all,” you said, your fingers digging into his bare shoulders. “Ty, I need you.”

“You might not feel that way in a day or two,” he said sadly. “This was a traumatic experience for you—don’t say it wasn’t because I won’t ever forget that feeling of you trembling in my arms in that closet or the sounds of your screams knowing there was nothing I could do to help you—and I don’t want you to have to relive it every time you look at me.”

“Tyler Owens, you’re the only reason I’m still alive to do anything. I could never look at you like that.”

“You don’t know that. It kills me to say this, but I’m pretty sure that this isn’t over for you. Not by a long shot. I’ve helped enough survivors of these kinds of things to know the signs. And this is going to stick with you for a very long time. Different people deal with things in different ways, but one way you might deal with it may be separating yourself from any reminders of tonight—including me. And I don’t want to be the reason you’re still in pain.”

“But what if you’re wrong?” you cried. “What if you’re making me leave and I still want you in my life?”

“I’m not making you do anything. If you decide to stay, I won’t stop you. But I think if you really consider what that means, you’ll see leaving is the right choice.” As you nodded with a small sob, he sighed. “Listen, I’m only out here for a few more weeks. If by then you’ve processed everything that’s happened and still want to see me, I’ll be on the first plane to you. But if it’s all too much and you’d rather just move on…” His thumb gently circled a spot on your arm where they had removed one of the larger pieces of glass. “...then I’ll respect it.”

Snuggling your face into the crook of his neck, you mumbled, “I won’t want to move on. I just want you.”

“Then you’ll have me, sweetheart. I promise.” He pressed his lips to your forehead. “But you need to go home until then. Please…for me.”

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself, then nodded. Tyler squeezed you tightly then lifted you off his lap and placed you back onto the van floor. Standing up, he gazed down at you, his eyes damp with tears.

“Scott,” he called out, his eyes never wavering from yours. “Why don’t you take your sister to the hospital to get checked out? Then see about getting her on a flight home tomorrow.”

Scott stepped up to the side of the van. He looked from Tyler to you and asked, “Is that what you want?”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face. “No…but it’s what’s best for everyone.”

Tyler gave you an encouraging smile, putting his hand on your shoulder and squeezing it, and you leaned your head against his hip, savoring his touch while you still could. Scott’s eyes followed every movement. Nodding softly, he said, “Okay. Let me check in with Javi and fill him in on what’s going on. I’ll meet you by Scarecrow in a few minutes.”

As Scott walked away, Tyler pulled you into him as he folded himself over you. Pressing his lips to your temple, he whispered, “Thank you.” Then he stepped back. “Why don’t you go get changed and I’ll walk you over to Scott when you’re done.”

“Or you could help me,” you whispered, peering up at him from under your eyelashes. “For old time’s sake.”

Tyler glanced over his shoulder and then asked, “Are you sure? I don’t know if you’re up for—”

“Nothing like that,” you said, shaking your head. “I just want to be with you as much as possible. Please, Ty.”

He nodded and helped you stand before you both climbed into the camper van. As he slid the door closed, you rummaged through your backpack and pulled out a pair of shorts and a halter top. With a start, you realized it was the same outfit you had been wearing the day you arrived in Oklahoma. The one you had been wearing when you first met Tyler. It felt strangely perfect so you closed the backpack and turned to show them to Tyler.

Based on the way his eyes softened as they landed on the outfit, he remembered it too. He walked over to you and gathered the bottom of the merch shirt you were wearing in his hands. When you nodded, he carefully lifted it over your head and tossed it to the floor. He inhaled as he saw the cuts that now littered your body from the glass. Gently, he trailed his fingers over a few of them on your arms, then he dropped to his knees in front of you.

As you stood there in nothing but your bra and panties, he grabbed your hips and pulled you close to him. Then he began kissing the cuts across your stomach, starting with the ones just above your panty line. Then he moved up your body, placing a long, lingering kiss on each and every cut. Your eyes fluttered as he reached your breasts—he placed an extra-long kiss on the cut at the top of your cleavage. Then he continues up onto your neck, finally reaching your face.

But as he started to kiss the cuts on your cheeks, you had waited long enough. You grabbed his head and turned it so his lips pressed against yours. Less than three weeks together, and you had been so sure you never wanted to kiss anyone else after Tyler. Yet, here you were about to walk out of his life, possibly forever. How much had changed in a single night.

Tyler finally pulled away, resting his head against yours. Panting slightly, he muttered, “You should get dressed. We better not keep your brother waiting.”

After you were ready, Tyler walked you back to his truck to say goodbye to the rest of the Wranglers. Until that moment, you hadn’t realized that not only might you never see Tyler again, but you might never see the rest of your new friends again either. That fact brought a fresh wave of tears to your eyes.

As Tyler grabbed a shirt out of his backseat, you tried to hold it together as you bid farewell to each Wrangler. You thanked Dani and Lily for everything they had done for you that night. Individually, you thanked Dani for all of her advice and how she always had your back when you were first starting out with Tyler. You gave Lily a huge hug and thank you for your tattoo. Even after what happened, you had no regrets and would treasure it for the rest of your life. You thanked Dexter for taking you on as his food prep helper and for everything he had taken the time to teach you about food, tornados, and just life in general. Boone was the hardest to say goodbye to since you both looked like you were about to burst into tears. But when you pulled him into a hug, you whispered, “Please look out for him for me” to which Boone nodded and hugged you tighter.

Taking one last look at everyone, you waved and promised to keep in touch. Then Tyler—now wearing one of his plaid shirts—placed his hand on your back and led you to Scarecrow. As heartbroken as you already felt, you didn’t know how you would survive what came next.

Scott and Javi were standing next to the passenger’s door when you arrived. You held open your arms and Javi stepped forward into them. You thanked him for running interference this trip and apologized again for any uncomfortable situations you put him in. He said he was glad to have helped and to see that you were okay after tonight’s storm. You saw Tyler shift out of the corner of your eye and you remembered what he said earlier. Hopefully, you really were okay.

When you turned to grab your backpack from Tyler, Javi let out a snort of laughter while Scott made a strangled internal scream. Turning back in confusion, you felt heat rush to your face as you realized your halter top clearly showed off your tattoo. You gave them both a sheepish smile. Javi just nodded, a wide grin spread across his face, while Scott put one hand on his hip while he pinched the bridge of his nose with the other.

Tyler chuckled as he steered you over to your brother. “Sorry we forgot to mention that, Scotty. But since she became a Wrangler, we let her decide if she wanted to make it official.” His eyes met yours. “And once a Wrangler, always a Wrangler. No matter what.”

“No matter what,” you whispered back, staring deep into his eyes.

Scott groaned as he rubbed his temples. “Could you please just get in the fucking truck? I don’t think I can handle any more surprises tonight.”

“Sorry,” both you and Tyler muttered at the same time.

As Tyler helped you climb into Scarecrow, you said one last goodbye to Javi before he walked away and Scott hurried over to the driver’s side. He got in and started the truck, but as your door slammed shut, you motioned for him to put down the window. With a sigh, he did what he was asked.

Reaching out the window, your fingers curled into Tyler’s shirt, afraid if you let go, he would disappear. Holding back your tears, you choked out, “Don’t you fucking dare forget to call.”

Tyler nodded, a soft smile on his lips even as you saw tears glistening in his green eyes. Dipping his head slightly, he murmured, “Yes, ma’am.”

He leaned in the window and pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment. Then he started to pull back, but you wrapped your hand around the back of his neck to stop him as you leaned out the window, your lips crashing into his. If this might be the last time you even saw Tyler Owens, you were going to make it a moment to remember the rest of your life. The kiss wasn’t as passionate or frenzied as some of the ones you shared once you had retreated to your room for the night, but there was a deep desperation there that you felt in your soul. You needed him to know that you didn’t want to leave him. To leave no doubt that you still wanted him despite his fears the trauma of the night would change your mind.

And most of all, you wanted him to feel the sincerity in your next words.

Pulling away slightly, you whispered, “I still don’t regret a second of our time together. Because I love you, Ty.”

Without hesitation, Tyler whispered, “I love you too, sweetheart. And that’s why I need you to do what’s best for you. Even if that means I’m not a part of that life. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“Thank you.” Taking your hand, he pressed one final kiss to the back of it. “Goodbye, my brave, beautiful girl.”

A tear rolled down your cheek as you said, “Goodbye, my big, bad Tornado Wrangler.”

With a smile and tears in his eyes, Tyler let your hand go and he stepped away from the truck. Before you could change your mind, Scott put the truck in gear and pulled out of the parking lot.

For several miles, you stared out the passenger’s window, silently crying. Scott glanced at you out of the corner of his eye before turning back to look at the road. “You really like him, don’t you?” You nodded. “Damn. I thought it was just your way of messing with me.”

You sighed. “It was…at first. I remembered you had mentioned him and how much you hated his crew so after what you said to me when I first got here, I thought it would be nice to see you squirm watching us together. But as soon as I started getting to know him, everything changed. I’ve never met a man like Tyler Owens before, and I doubt I ever will again.”

“Yeah, well, despite how he saved you tonight, I’m still not happy to find out he’s been shacking up with my little sister,” he mumbled under his breath.

Turning to face him with a chuckle, you asked, “Do you really think Tyler’s the first guy I’ve slept with?”

Scott’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. “It’s not something I like to think about. But no…I remember those times Mom caught you in high school.”

“Oh my god!” you burst out laughing. “I still can’t believe she never once tried to stop us or ban the guys from the house. She would just turn bright red and hurry back out the room then pretend she never saw anything.” The smile that had bloomed across your damp face suddenly deflated. “Yet the one time they found you with that topless cheerleader, they almost kicked you out of the house.” You closed your eyes. “Scotty, I’m so sorry for how they treated you. Or for how they treated me. Or both. It wasn’t fair and you deserved better than that. I’m sorry I didn’t realize that sooner.”

Scott shifted in his seat. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t fair for me to be mad at you for what they did. You didn’t ask to be treated differently and I shouldn’t have blamed you for something you had no control over. Yeah, you didn’t have to be such a spoiled brat all the time, but I probably would have done the same if I were in your position.”

“So…what does this mean? For us?” you asked hesitantly.

“I don’t know.” His eyes shifted over to look at you once more. “But I’m willing to try if you are.”

“I always was.”

The two of you continued to chat on the way to the hospital, reminiscing about your childhoods and, surprisingly, recalling more happy moments together than either of you thought there were. You guessed they had just been blocked by all the pain and resentment that had built up over the years.

And as Scott pulled into the hospital parking lot, you couldn’t help but smile at this parting gift Tyler had given you. He could have easily taken you to the hospital and then to the airport—in fact, you were sure it went against every chivalrous bone in his body not to. But instead, he let Scott take you which had given the two of you the time you needed to finally mend that rift between you.

He had given you your brother back.

Epilogue coming 10/21!!!

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cherryrikis · 2 months ago

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BETTER LUCK TOMORROW - three ! breaking principles

pairing : nishimura riki x reader

synopsis : after being in the wrong place at the wrong time, you (as well as your friends), were framed for the death of your brother and disappearance of your boyfriend. you all had no hope. no job, no money, none of you were even allowed to graduate. at least, until a stubborn kid on a dance scholarship suddenly acts as your savior, riki helps clear your name all for the sake of a school project.

this episode contains the following : 0.5k wc, swearing, mentions of death, court dates, house arrest, violating parole, and juvie + jail

authors note - these last few days were so busy cz halloween, school, (and the dodgers winning the ws!!) all that stuff😭

previous | masterlist | next

the two stood in front of your house.

despite jungwon telling riki not to do so, he knew there was no point in trying to change his mind.

you weren’t hard to find, because they knew you still lived with your family (aka heeseungs old house). so riki didn’t hesitate to drive straight to your place.

but he did hesitate to ring the doorbell.

jungwon watched as riki reached out, before drawing his hand back every few seconds. he grew so tired of standing in the hot sun, until eventually pressing the button himself.

they expected your mom or your other older brother to answer, literally anyone but you.

“oh, jungwon? i was wondering who was at the door. well, wow. this is.. this is really awkward. you haven’t come by since the funeral.” you coughed.

“hi yn.” he smiled. “i know, it’s been a while.”

“whos this?” you ask, pointing your head in riki’s direction.

“what? seriously? i was one of heeseungs friends. i came around just as often as jungwon!” he exclaimed.

“im sorry, i don’t remember all of my brothers- i mean, heeseung. i don’t remember all of heeseungs friends. but, look. i get that it’s been a while since we’ve all met, but i think you guys should go.”

“wait yn!” jungwon called out right before you closed the door.

“don’t you wanna know why we’re here?” he asked.

you frowned slightly as you thought on the matter, before nodding your head.

“fine, go ahead.” you sighed.

“senior project. you remember, don’t you? for college apps-” “i never got to apply. i wasn’t even allowed to graduate.” you said sternly, cutting riki off. “you remember, don’t you?”

riki turned with wide eyes to face jungwon for an idea on what to say next, but jungwon only mouthed the words ‘hurry before she tells us to leave again’.

“we want to reinvestigate that issue before your next court date because-”. he cleared his throat aggressively as he carefully chose the next few words. “because we heard you violated your parole.” riki swallowed, but it wasn’t enough. his face fell as he watched your expression change.

“you’re saying you think you can solve my case for your final project? nice fucking try you two, but not even my lawyer could help me out as you can see here.” you scoffed, before sticking your leg out from behind the door, to point out the ankle monitor you wore.

“house arrest. huh.” riki muttered.

“it’s worth a shot. we might be able to prevent you from being incarcerated again. and clear any charges from your record if we can prove it wasn’t you.” jungwon stepped in, beginning to ramble.

“yeah. jungwons mom is an attorney! and his sister is studying law.” riki smiled. but, he paused when you raised your hand in a way that screamed the words ‘stop talking’.

“listen, as much as i appreciate the gesture, i think im the last person you want to free. everyone’s seen me as the person who killed her brother and boyfriend, for the last 3 years. nothing else. if you want answers, go interview one of the others who were framed. aeri got out around the same time as me.”

“but yn- you were lucky you only got juvie! even after you turned 18. if this next court session doesn’t go well, you could go into like, a real jail!” riki exclaimed with wide eyes.

“goodbye riki. nice seeing you jungwon.” you nod, before slamming the door in their faces.

“well that couldn’t have gone any worse.” he sighed.

“you know what, im going home. i still have that french exam to study for. but uh- i have some theories. i’ll see you around man.” jungwon huffed, patting riki on the shoulder before he walked off your front porch.

riki followed without a second thought, before they both eventually split ways.

taglist ! @jiiyen @prettiestgirlontheplanet @hannicorpse @wonsboo @murazbae @stilesks @soobinbunnie5 @blvengene @r1kification @gyuvision @goldenmellow @ariluvssssss100 @who-tf-soddhi @mmurazz @jaemified @strawberrieswithchocolateo3o @heartheejake @hoonsdrnkdzd @wonkixo @yangjungwonnie @tya0

#k-films #en-diaries #enhypen x reader #enhypen #niki smau #niki x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen smau #enhypen scenarios #enhypen niki #nishimura riki #riki x reader

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penelope-potter · 8 months ago

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Falling Forever ~

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing: Alastor x Fem! Owl Hybrid! Reader

Summary: After the rebuild of the hotel, the group and you decided to build an entertaining room for entertainment of future sinners. Alastor and you got picked out by Charlie to be the main entertainer so when the first show came up, you had to improvise...

Warnings: No one just fluff Part 2

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

Exited you hopped through the Lobby, running around to pick the right color for the tablecloths and to practice your act once more to perfect it. The rebuild of the hotel brought not only new guests like Lucifer and Cherry, it also brought more ideas to lure new sinners inside. One idea you and Alastor came up with was a room for entertainment. Alastor talked about how often he visited a theater in his lifetime and how much he enjoyed it being there and hearing the performers sing. You had a similar idea, because you also loved theater acts and cinema. So Charlie was fast to combine you two ideas and to mold it into one: an entertainment room with a huge stage. Lucifer helped with the technical stuff- his magic was quite helpful- and Alastor and you were about to decorate the room. Since you two were getting along well, it didn't caused this much trouble to pick something. You knew that he liked his old fashion more than anything modern, and you don't really minded. The vintage atmosphere seemed to connect you to him in some way. You started to pull threads everywhere to combine it with him. The old microphone which was standing on the stage, seemed to connect with the radio demon itself and his little songs he always played on his cane or hummed along with it. The red curtains which framed the demon as he was standing on the stage fixing some of the lights - left him like an old photograph from an old time you never got to experiment. Well not really- he always made sure to teach you his dances and to show you Jazz music- his favorites. He took you right into his time, showed you every detail and now you’re left with a bunch of objects from this time and although you would have never made such a big deal of it- you suddenly started to like everything about it. Because of him. Because even though everyone knew it secretly, you never told anyone about your love for the radio demon. He was mysterious and dark, and everyone warned you about him when you first met, but how could he be the same demon who killed several people and also be the men who talks with you so sweetly? How can he hate touch so much when it's only your space he invades the most? How can he be so heartless when he laughed so full out of heart when you tell him funny stories from your life. How can it be so easy to talk with him till late night and how can you feel so safe around him when he's so so brutal and bad? How can it be hard to love his being when it feels so easy? Husk told you to keep an eye on him, he doesn't wanted you to be manipulated by him. Angel told you that he was just playing with you eventually and you should stop being so close with him. You tried your best to keep the distance but you just couldn't shake the feeling off. Your feelings for him would never change, and this was a fact. No matter what anyone would say. But you were also afraid. Afraid of him really just toying with you. So you tried to ignore the feeling. Every time when you were near with him. Every time he brushes your hand, your elbow, your shoulder. Every feeling passes doesn't it?

"(Y/N)!" Ripped away from your thoughts you turned around only to see Charlie coming over to you. "Oh my gosh , oh my gosh you don't know what is going to happen tonight!" She was so excited that she raised both her fists in front of her chest. "What is it?" You smiled, trying to don’t make it obvious you started thinking about him again. "I managed to invite some actual sinners tonight! You and Alastor will be acting and singing - oh it will be so perfect!" Your smile dropped in an instant. You and Alastor? No. No no no no this was not like it was planned. The original plan was you dancing on stage, while Alastor would be playing the piano, not you two acting and singing! "What- what do you mean with sing? Charlie I can't sing and I don't think Alastor would..." "Oh don't worry he already agreed with it!" She smiled so wide it must hurt her. You dropped your shoulders as her smile changed into a worried expression. "Oh (Y/N), You can do this! I believe in you really. Also, you are not alone, you have Alastor! I just thought that you two could maybe spice the thing up a bit? Just adding something special to it?" Shelooked at you and as you didn't answered she turned away slightly. "But if you don't want to-" "No it's alright." You smiled. "I already have an idea to bring more life into the act." Her mood instantly improved as a few seconds later Alastor came in. "I see that you told (Y/N) our new plan Charlie." He said and you heart began to flutter in your chest. "Yes! We can do this I'm sure." You said smiling. His smile grew even wider.No nothing would be good, absolutely not... "Oh of course sweetheart I have no worry for that." You felt your face heating up by the sound of his nickname for you. He only called you this way since a little while and even though you liked it, it didn't helped you with ‘pushing your feelings away’ plan at all. And it was kind of unusual to hear it since he called everyone dear. "Shit guys, we're so fucked!" All head turned towards the door where Angel were standing. "What has happened?" You asked. "Uhh the sinners are already here because shit knows why. Your Dad tried to change their mind coming back later but they start to lose interest already..." "Oh no!"

Charlie looked back to you. "What are we doing now? You two barely had time to talk about your act and-" "It's alright, we are ready for this." You said all of the sudden. All eyes now on you, you could see how Alastor titled his head curious to the side. "But you are not prepared!" "We were already not prepared for this sudden change, so we might just come up with something out of our minds dear." Alastor quickly said, as she just looked at you for several seconds before nodding and heading out of the door with Angel, only for him to throw a warning glance to you both. Well more to you. He’s not angry with you, just protective. But it made your stomach turning around.

"Now tell me dearest, what do you think the two of us should be acting tonight?" The demon gazed down at you, suddenly more close than before. So close your shoulder touching his. "Well we just improvise. Because flying and dancing is all that I practiced, I guess we will just work with that. It’s one of the dances you taught me.” You smiled. “Are you afraid of heights?" He raised an eyebrow. "No. What are-" Loud voices ringing through the hallway making you turn to him, suddenly so close that even he flinched back slightly. "Do you trust me?" His smile grew wide. "Of course! I'm sure you will-" "No. I mean do you really trust me?" He remained silent before his eyes grew curious and somewhat warm. His smile changed into a warm mouth closed smile. "I trust you." The sinners were already about to enter the room as you nodded and waved for him to follow you. "Just do as it was originally planned." You said, standing on the stage and waited for the sinners to enter the room completely. You inhaled and exhaled as you saw Lucifer's apologizing look as Alastor sat down on the bench before the piano, his fingers floating above the keys. You nodded at him and he started playing. You started to sing along with the song you heard a million times by now- so it was easy to remember the lines. You just hoped that your singing skills don’t fear everyone out of the room while you tried desperately to not look in the crowd who's already about to bragging and muttering. How long, how long? The crowd stopped for a second and a few eyes looked back at you, while you're about to step to the piano to sit on it. You had to come up with something don’t you? Are you good at holding on? I know the mind is quick to throw away the moment...

You looked at Alastor who's gaze was locked with you the whole time. You felt your heart racing. How often did you watched old movies from his time only to understand his mannerism better. The way he was such a respecting gentleman you could never find in the human world and even not in this time period. You saw him in every line the actors spoke or in every oldy you listened. He was everywhere, and sometimes it felt like you were there by yourself. Singing with him, dancing... where this takes us, maybe I don't wanna know yet... 'cause for now you're all I want. his ears twitched for a second, while he continued to play, as you hopped from the piano and walked to him placed yourself awfully close to him on the very small bench. You're shoulders touched and you could feel the heat rising from him. they say you got it, then it's gone I don't believe that every flame has to get colder... You stood up and hesitated for a second before you grabbed his chin with your hand turning it in your way anyways. What a bold decision for a shy girl like you- he must have thought. He suddenly stopped playing but the keys kept playing on their own. I hope the feelings that you give me carry over till tomorrow and beyond? For a moment it could be seen as a question for him, not a line from a song you heard so often and never really thought about the meaning behind it. Now it made everything clear for you. A confession. You grabbed his hand and pulled him with you as you two ran to an invisible spot where you created stairs which were going far up. How long, how long? Can it just keep getting better? Can we keep falling forever? You kept running higher and higher, Alastor behind you followed you quickly, but had to cling on the railing a few times, his other hand in yours, your heart pounding. You hoped he's not going to hate you after that... How long, how long Can we stay like this forever? Can we keep falling forever? Finally stopping on the small platform you created, you turned to him, starting a dance he once showed you. Luckily he adapted your movements quickly and swung you around. You could wake up all alone

So tonight I'll give you something to remember and eternity's impossible to measure But it feels right Where we are He joined you in your sudden change of dance, spun you around and pulled you back even closer than before. Right before his face you came to stop, staring into his crimson eyes which were now filled with something like curiosity and desire. You almost forgot the line and slapped yourself mentally. Your hands were shaking and maybe you only imagined it but you could have sworn he was shaking too- slightly. His look of absolute adrenalin would have been fitting at least. I'm falling deep Deep in your arms baby baby I'm yours to keep Keep me close Till tomorrow and beyond? You took his hands and started to placed your weight towards the edge of the platform for you to fall. Suddenly his eyes grew wide as he tried to pull you back but you're just pulling him harder with you until he tripped and fell. Fell with you. How long, how long You held his hands outstretched before you quickly pulled him closer to you, holding his torso. Your bodies pressed against each other as you could feel him took in every breath and his face incredible close to yours. You could hear the crowd gasping as you suddenly remembered to actually save you both so you spread your wings open and saved you two from hitting the ground. Can it just keep getting better? He's looking at you surprisingly, his eyes wide awake for once and his smile a bit shaky but after some time impossible wider. He titled his head back to take a look on the new view of his before looking back at you. His ears were ruffled up of the wind, just like his hair which looked now so much more messy. You liked it. You liked it to hold him, to be the upper hand for once and he seemed to don’t really mind it. Because it’s you he allowed to be the dominating one, just you. He grabbed your shoulder with his right hand and with the other the spot between your wings but not in a desperate way to hold on- no. Like you two would be lying in bed and he's holding you in a tight embrace. He genuinely looked so happy it made your heart skip a beat. Can we keep falling forever? How long, how long? Can we stay like this forever Can we keep falling forever? You flew back to the stage and placed him on the ground again, still on the high platform as you swung around, he grabbing your hand, taking the lead.

I wanna know Can you ride through any storm? Can you ride from night till dawn? Till tomorrow and beyond? He lead you to the edge while he let go of your hand turning around to you and titled his head, smiling at you sweetly as he slowly fell backwards. His gaze locked with yours and his arms spread wide to his sides. He really trusted you. How long, how long You ran and jumped off the edge, his eyes closed as he heard you coming closer and reached out for you to catch him. Right before he could smash the ground you catched him and flew sharply above the sinners heads, hearing loud 'wow's and gasps. Can it just keep getting better? Can we keep falling forever? How long, how long Can we stay like this forever Can we keep falling forever? How long? You flew a few rounds around the room, walking on the railing which was pulling around the wall with him. It felt like one of this movies where two souls came closer because of a silly dance choreography. You always thought the idea of such things were quite cringe, too unrealistic. And for the human world it might really be. But not in hell. Not with him at your side. He jumped with grace above the little obstacles you could only hope to keep on it. Finally the railing ended, so you took him close again, as you felt him already pressed you impossible close to him. You steadily flew back on the lower stage, lifted you two straight up rotating around like you would slow dance. Can it just keep getting better? Can we keep falling forever? How long How long? Your feeds finally touched the ground again as you looked up at him. His heart was racing as fast as yours and he was panting. How long? “I hope you don’t hate me now.” You whispered smile crooked. He let out a chuckle, leaning his forehead against yours. “Never sweetheart. I must say, this was quite the experience. A wonderful one.” You almost lost it all because of his sudden action towards you.

The crowd cheered loudly and you slightly jumped, already forgotten about the several sinners who just watched this moment between you both from beginning to end. “Well dearest, look at that. They are all cheering for you.” You shook your head. “No for us both. You did great too.” He took your hand and pressed a kiss on your knuckles, his eyes darting to yours again, his lips warm as his breath as he whispered: “Not as wonderful as you. I just happened to have a breathtaking view…” His gaze trailed over your flushed face, chuckling quietly. He straightened up and turned around the crowd, still holding your hand as you copied him and took a bow. “After this…” He started, his head still lowered, as you two came up again. “...don’t mind finding me in the library.” Your whole body heated up as Charlie jumped on the stage pulling you two apart and already started to scream how amazing you were. “Oh my gosh you did it! You were so amazing!” She jumped excitedly. In the library...he wanted to meet you at the library. Oh Angel would not like this. Husk either. But you? Oh how terrified you were. Terrified about your feelings. What could he possible want from you now? You couldn’t bear one more close moment with him, or you would lose every control and lost it all. What does he want from you?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

IT’S FINALLY UPLOADED!

I got so motivated right now so I just finished it right away. Let me know if you like this to be continued, because I already have the idea in my mind what Alastor wanted from you ~

And let me know your thoughts about this one shot as well of course! Have an amazing day/evening lovely sinner ♥

Here is the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O6s8mY0P5xA

Also tagging the most beautiful soul on this platform: @fraugwinska

#hazbin hotel #fanfiction #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #alastor #penelope write's #hazbin x reader #hazbin x you #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor the radio demon

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sorcerer-felix · 2 months ago

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I wanted to grant his wish, albeit with a twist

@chevy-gold asked:

Hey bruh, dis iz Chevy, of da golden army. After itz azz wuz filled by Sxodnir, it feels a strong desire 2 becum lik him! Plz, may it join him?

The warm afternoon sun bathed Felix's luxurious estate in a golden glow, highlighting the meticulously manicured gardens and the grand mansion's elegant architecture. As Felix tended to the roses, his delicate hands carefully pruning the vibrant blooms, a familiar figure approached the garden fence. "Hey, bruh! It's me, Chevy, from da Golden Army!" The voice boomed, filled with enthusiasm and a hint of arrogance.

Felix straightened up, his blue eyes narrowing slightly at the sight of Chevy, the muscular right-winger of the local soccer team. Chevy's dark brown hair was slicked back, and his golden clothes hugged his athletic frame, showcasing his well-defined physique. "Chevy, what brings you here?" Felix asked, his tone polite yet guarded. He knew all too well that Chevy's charm and good looks often masked a shallow mind. Chevy’s eyes, though bright, held a vacant expression as he answered Felix. "After itz azz wuz filled by Sxodnir, I feels a strong desire 2 becum lik him! Plz, may I join him?" Chevy's request was bold, driven by his envy of Sxodnir's newfound charm and success. "And what makes you think you can be like Sxodnir?" Felix's voice dripped with disdain, his lips curling in disgust at the mere thought.

"Well, I mean, we're both good-looking, right? And I wanna be more like him, ya know, charm everyone ..." Chevy's vacant eyes lit up with excitement, his confidence bordering on arrogance. Felix suppressed a shudder, the idea of this chav in his home, even as a servant, was appalling. But an idea sparked in his mischievous mind, a way to rid himself of this nuisance and have some entertainment in the process. "You do know that Sxodnir’s purpose is to serve my fun, don't you?" Felix asked, his tone light and playful. "Yeah, Felix, I understand, fun huhuhu!" Chevy's laughter was crude, his misunderstanding of Felix's words apparent. "So, Chevy, are you willing to be more than just a common jock? Are you ready to serve my entertainment with a bit of sophistication?" Felix's voice was laced with false encouragement, his eyes sparkling with amusement. Chevy's face split into a wide grin, his dimples deepening. "Yeah, I'm in! Let's do this!" Felix snapped his fingers, and a sphere of blue light materialized, hovering between them. "This will transform you, but it might be a bit... uncomfortable." Chevy's eyes widened slightly, but he nodded eagerly. "Bring it on! I can handle it." The blue light enveloped Chevy, and he let out a muffled scream as the transformation began. His body contorted, muscles shifting and reshaping. Despite the pain the transformation process let Chevy get a boner in anticipation of becoming like Sxodnir. But suddenly his skin took on a metallic sheen, turning a deep golden hue. He sank to his knees, his cries of pain echoing through the garden. Felix watched with a mix of fascination and amusement as Chevy's form changed. His limbs elongated, becoming sleek and smooth. His facial features morphed, the strong jawline softening, and his eyes transforming into sleek headlights while his joints grinding as they transformed into gears. The pain was excruciating, but as the transformation reached its climax, Chevy's boner became a gear shifter and his cries turned into the deep, masculine roar of an engine. Within moments, where Chevy had knelt, a classic golden Porsche now sat, its engine purring softly.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Felix said, addressing the car as if it were still Chevy. "You're now a symbol of sophistication and power. A true work of art." Chevy, or rather, what was once Chevy, felt an overwhelming sense of frustration as he realized his new form. He had envisioned himself as a powerful himbo demon, a transformation that would elevate his status and grant him the respect he craved. But now, he knew something had gone terribly wrong. With a deep, rumbling growl, he revved his engine, the sound echoing through the air like a primal scream. "Ah, Chevy, my dear friend," Felix's voice was laced with amusement as he approached the car. "I must say, you've never sounded more delightful and your vocabulary has certainly improved." Chevy's tires squealed in protest, the rubber screeching on the pavement. He wanted to scream, to shout at Felix for this cruel twist of fate. But all that escaped was a frustrated engine roar. "Don't be so glum," Felix continued, running his fingers along the Porsche's smooth hood. "I assure you, this new body of yours is far more sophisticated than your previous state. And you'll be the ultimate entertainment for me, my dear car." The young sorcerer's eyes sparkled with mischief, and he couldn't resist the urge to tease his creation when Jaxor strolled onto the pavement. "Now, let's see how you handle a real driver."

Jaxor, the tall, striking demon with golden wings and an aura of raw power, stepped forward, his eyes widening at the sight of the Porsche. "Master, this car is a work of art. May I?" He gestured towards the car, his voice laced with excitement. "Be my guest, Jaxor," Felix replied with a wave of his hand. "I believe you'll find it quite an experience." Jaxor's eyes lit up, and he slid into the driver's seat of the Porsche, now Chevy's prison.

As he started the engine, a deep, throaty purr reverberated, sending a shiver through Chevy's metallic frame. Jaxor's hands, skilled and confident, grasped the gear shift, and Chevy felt an unexpected sensation—a tingling pleasure as if his cock were caressed. "This baby's got some power," Jaxor murmured, his voice low and sensual. He ran his hand along the gear shift, his touch lingering, and Chevy's engine purred in response, the growls turning into a low, satisfied hum. Chevy felt his consciousness shift. The constant caresses from Jaxor's hands, unknowingly stroking his former manhood, were driving him wild. The more Jaxor drove, the more Chevy's thoughts blurred, his human desires giving way to the primal instincts of a machine. Jaxor took the Porsche for a spin, the wind whipping through his hair as he navigated the streets with ease.

With each shift of the gears, Chevy felt a jolt of horny pleasure, his engine roaring in response. The sensation was overwhelming, and by the time Jaxor returned, Chevy's longing for his human form had faded. He was now a car, a mere object, and he craved the touch of his owner, Felix. Jaxor stepped out of the Porsche, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "That was incredible, Felix. The car handles like a dream. I've never driven anything quite like it." Felix cackled, "I'm glad you enjoyed it, Jaxor. And to think, this car was once that dim-witted soccer player, Chevy. I've given him a new purpose, one that suits his limited intellect." Jaxor's eyes widened in surprise. "Chevy? The right-winger? But how...?" Felix waved his hand dismissively. "It's a simple matter of wish-granting, my dear Jaxor. I merely gave him what he desired, with a little twist of my own. And now, he's the perfect blend of form and function." The demon shook his head, a mix of awe and disbelief on his face. "Master, you never cease to amaze me. To think, I once played against Chevy on the field, and now he's this elegant car. It's quite the upgrade, I must say." Felix's laughter filled the air, and Chevy, now fully accepting his new existence, longed to be driven again. The car's engine purred softly, a silent testament to its new-found loyalty to its owner.

As the two conversed, the car seemed to shimmer, its paint shifting and transforming before their eyes. Jaxor, his amber eyes widening in amazement, whispered, "Master, the car... it's changing." Felix, his lips curling into a mischievous smile, nodded. "Indeed, Jaxor. My magic is at work." As they observed, the golden hue faded, replaced by a pristine white that seemed to reflect the clouds above. The transformation was swift and silent, leaving no trace of its previous golden glory.

Jaxor, his expression shifting from wonder to confusion, asked, "But why the change, Master? The gold was... unique." Felix's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Chevy, as he was known, was the epitome of a chav, and I couldn't bear the thought of his essence lingering. Now, the last trace of his chav nature is erased," Felix declared, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "White is the epitome of class, a sophisticated understatement. I must admit, I expected more resistance from him."Jaxor watched, captivated by the sorcerer's power. “But... is Chevy... truly content as a car?" Felix's smirk grew wider, "Oh, he doesn't even remember his human life. He's fully embraced his new identity, he is now an object, a possession, and nothing more." The Porsche purred, its engine humming softly, as if in agreement. "Hah! I knew it!" Jaxor's laughter filled the air, "Who would've thought Chevy would find his true calling as a Porsche! This is priceless!" Felix's laughter joined Jaxor's, echoing across the driveway, a sinister melody that hinted at the power and cruelty hidden beneath their light-hearted conversation.

#sorcerer felix #male tf #male transformation #golden army #jaxor #car tf #object tf #inanimate tf

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autisticlancemcclain · 1 year ago

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Cool fingers press lightly into his skin, yanking him from sleep. A hand shakes his shoulder. He clings stubbornly to the last dredges of unconsciousness, desperately trying to ignore the disturbance.

“Keith. Keith. Keith, baby. Get up.”

Unfortunately, this disturbance cannot be ignored.

G-d, Keith fucking hates Halloween.

“What, Lance,” he groans, flailing around blindly for a pillow and smacking it over his head. Lance waits a second, allowing naive hope to bloom in Keith’s unmoving chest, before wrenching the pillow away. Keith opens his eyes just to glare at him. “It’s one in the afternoon!”

Lance’s smile is bright and beautiful. It’s too early for that kind of shit. Keith can’t tear his eyes away.

“I changed my mind about tonight.”

Keith blinks. “…Really?”

That’s…unusual. Lance loves Halloween. Keith has been grumbling about it for decades, but his husband has never swayed, dragging Keith gleefully to pumpkin patches and Target and various thrift stores to prepare for a night of handing out candy to demanding children and teenagers alike. Keith carves a stupid pumpkin every single year. He flies up to the roof to overdecorate and Lance’s fathoming. He dumps overpriced and overpackaged candy into a stupid novelty bucket. He refrains from tearing the doorbell off the doorframe in flinging it into space. He caves, essentially, to every single one of Lance’s whims.

He used to make entire nations cower by baring his teeth. What has become of him, truly.

“I don’t. Actually. Detest this stupid holiday down to my bones,” Keith admits hesitantly, dragging himself so he’s sitting upright. “I mean, well. I do. It’s dumb and cheesy and stupid. But. You love it, so.” He is suddenly sick to his stomach, realizing that all his grumbling might have actually dimmed Lance’s adoration for Halloween, his love for all the silly traditions. As much as he’d rather not have Twilight wannabes and plucky princesses stomping all around his house all night, he will endure it for the way Lance bounces with excitement every ring of the doorbell. He has for over half a century. He thought Lance knew that.

But thankfully there is no heaviness Keith can find in Lance’s expression, no sadness dropping his shoulders. His brown eyes sparkle with the same flash of mischief they usually do; if anything they glow a little brighter, shine a little more golden in the late afternoon sun.

“Oh, please,” he says warmly, flicking the bridge of Keith’s nose. Keith’s affection, however masked, is noted. Keith lets out a sigh of relief. “If the entirety of the western world up and forgot Halloween had any meaning then you would be smug for the next two centuries, you scrooge.”

Keith inclines his head. This is true. “Then why don’t you want to hand out candy this year?”

Too energetic to be still any longer, Lance brushes his knuckles against Keith’s cheek and gets to his feet, spinning towards the window and resting dramatically upon the frame.

“Well,” he says, hand brandished theatrically on his hip, “you know how Pidge can change her appearance for tricks?”

Understanding dawns on Keith. He groans, loudly, falling back onto the mattress and throwing the duvet over his face.

“No, Lance.”

His husband isn’t deterred in the slightest. “Yes!”

“I refuse. Pidge will refuse!”

“Think of Hana! You know Shiro has her dressed as a fat baby pumpkin. You know it, Keith. Think of how cute that will be.”

That will be cute. This is true. But, as Lance so often likes to point out, they live in the age of technology. Keith is sure he will get a slew of pictures of his niece in a pumpkin costume in the next few hours.

“I’m going back to sleep. Good night.”

“Sun’s high in the sky, Count von Count.” Lance yanks the blanket from Keith grip. His smile is wide and victorious when Keith looks at him, because he knows damn well the only reason he could pull back that blanket was because Keith let him.

He knows he’s won. Keith hisses at him.

“Come on,” Lance coaxes, leaning down to kiss Keith gently. “Don’t think of it as us trick or treating. Think of it as…stealing candy from babies! We’re taking the opportunity from some kid, no? Making less to go around?”

“That’s a horrible way to put it,” Keith grumps, even though it isn’t and it’s actually really funny and Keith is furious at himself for the laugh he chokes down. “This is so stupid. We can buy our own candy, Lance.”

“But trick or treat candy has —”

“Do not say there’s magic in it.”

“—magic in it,” Lance finishes, snickering. “And lots of it.”

He shrieks as Keith lunges forward, jabbing him in the ribs until he’s breathless with laughter and protest and pinning his wrists to the mattress. He struggles against Keith’s hold, uselessly, because Keith’s grip is stronger than iron shackles and he’s too weak from giggles to put up a fight. Keith rolls his eyes at his own smile at the sound.

“That is such a dumbass reason,” he says, exasperated.

“It’s real, though,” Lance insists. “The act of freely giving a possession —”

“—imbues it with the power of good will, yeah, yeah, I know.” He leans down and bites the tongue Lance has stuck out on him, smiling slightly at how quickly the witch relents, how quickly he melts into him. Affection bleeds from him in full, Keith finds. Sometimes so potently it changes the weight of the air.

“We can gather everyone up and look like a whole crew,” Lance mumbles against his lips. “Hana in her little pumpkin. Pidge can probably pull off a ten year old without even shifting. Allura and Hunk technically haven’t aged past their teens.”

“Allura is five thousand years old,” Keith grumbles. “At least. She’s an empress. She’s too dignified for this bullshit. She houses Ra.”

“She’ll think this whole thing is funny and you know it.”

Keith sighs. “Yeah, I know.” He kisses Lance one last time before sitting up, letting his husband wiggle out of his hold and buzz around their bedroom to get ready. He draws a line through the air, pulling back the fabric of space with sparks of electric grin, and digs around the little pocket for a moment. It becomes quickly apparent as he extracts two intricately made, exaggerated costumes of a cartoon witch and vampire, that this has been the plan for a while and his husband had no doubts about Keith’s begrudging acceptance.

“I have more costumes for everyone else,” Lance says excitedly. “They’re stereotypical and gaudy and horrible. They took me hours. I can’t wait.”

“You’re a goober,” Keith says fondly. Lance beams back at him. “Let’s go get some stupid candy.”

———

the halloween verse

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leilani-lily · 10 months ago

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~Oh Deer~ (Chapter 6)

Weeee we made it to 6~! ✧｡٩(ˊᗜˋ )✧*｡ I'm deciding to take more time to edit and review each chapter before I upload it. I don't want the excitement to take over and I post it in a happy rush and then look back on it and wish I could change things too late (≡ ε ≡;) This chapter was delightful to write. I had too much fun. I have no regrets (< w <) SYNOPSIS: AroAce! Alastor x Chef!Singer! Reader. Reader isn't satisfied with not perfecting the jambalaya recipe, and is determined to try again. Alastor is lured to the kitchen, and of course, chaos ensues~ Word count: 5.7 k

Chapter under the cut!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

As happy as you were that you had nearly recreated his mother’s jambalaya, a small part of you itched to make it perfect. The joy you felt when you watched Alastor taste your cooking, it was something you wanted to experience again. It had kept you up that night as you lay in bed, thinking about the things you could adjust and remembering what Alastor had said was missing.

Charlie was kind enough to order food in for the guests on the weekend so it allowed you weekends off. However, that Saturday morning you were too inspired (and probably stubborn) and found yourself back in the kitchen during your free time, preparing to try and correct the rice dish. After making a quick pot of coffee and pouring yourself a cup, you turn on your trusty radio and let the music begin to pump you up. The fast paced jazz made you begin to bounce on your toes as you took a sip of java, feeling your body begin to loosen up and mind buzzing with determination. As the first song came to an end, you set your mug down and begin collecting all the cooking supplies, a sly smile curling up your lips.

Alastor’s weekends were usually filled with various tasks that needed to be attended to. Meeting’s with the other Overlords, get-togethers with Rosie, or running personal errands. However, the Radio Demon was shocked to find this morning was open, which was a rather pleasant surprise. Alastor was walking down the hallway, debating on either reading or taking a stroll through the city, when the sound of music floated to his ears. The lanky demon paused, his ears unbeknownst to him perking up at the sound as he deciphered where it was coming from. Determining it was coming from the kitchen, it made his eyebrows furrow in confusion.

He knew very well that you had weekends off. And nobody else used the kitchen that often, especially with jazz blaring in the background. Curiosity was getting the best of the Radio Demon, and before he knew it, his long legs had guided him towards the kitchen.

(link to song here)

As he got closer and the songs changed over, he was surprised to hear your voice suddenly gasp out in delight before joining along in the next song. It was a slow rhythm as you crooned along, your vibrato trilling as you held certain notes. Remembering how enchanting your voice was from when you had first met, his smile slowly widened, heeled boots unknowingly picking up the pace.

Turning the corner and seeing the entrance, Alastor slowed his stride and crept up to the door frame. The waft of simmering sausages and spices filled his nostrils, and he had a jolt of memories back to when he was a small child. The song’s beat had picked up slightly, the lyrics became faster. And surprisingly, you were keeping up like a pro. This must’ve been a song you were very familiar with, explaining the excited gasp he heard earlier. Beyond intrigued, he dared to peek around into the kitchen to a sight that he honestly wasn’t prepared for.

You bounced from foot to foot, your hips swinging to the beat, your shoulders shimmying as your head nodded side to side. You were poking a couple sausages on the stovetop, the fat sizzling and popping from the heat. You turned on a heel and approached the island, grabbing a kitchen knife nearby and quickly mincing some onion like a natural. You continued to sing quick and on the beat, completely lost in the music and singing your heart out.

There was a mess of other ingredients and cooking utensils scattered around you, and you were sweating from the heat of the stove. Usually this would bother the Radio Demon, liking to keep things tidy; both in space and appearance. But oddly enough, that wasn’t what he focused on. His eyes remained on the beaming smile on your face; your eyes shining in pure delight and cheeks flush. You were completely in your element, and he a mere observer.

At a certain point you even stopped chopping the onion and began to dance on the spot, eyes closed as you completely rocked out. You twisted your feet in and out, swayed your arms side to side (your dominant hand still holding a very sharp knife), and bopped your head, feeling the beat in your veins and taking a hold of you.

You knew a super fast part in the song, so you were preparing yourself to really nail the fast lyrics. So when you felt two long arms slide down your own and a warm body press up from behind you, your soul almost left your body.

“No need to stop on my account darling~” Alastor crooned behind you, speaking before you could turn around and stab him with the knife in your hand. But then his long fingers wrapped around your hands and pulled you away from the island.

Without a second though, you quickly dropped the knife as he twirled you in place, the music still playing in the background. Feeling yourself bubbling with excitement, you began to sing faster than lightning, the joy in your heart from this rare opportunity and secretly wanting to show off a moment. Alastors eyebrows raised impressively, and seemingly wanting to take it up a notch, as if this was a competition of talents.

The suave demon twirled you out and let go of one hand but still firmly holding onto your other. You both break out into full swing dance as the horns blared and violins sang in the background. Alastor was quick on his feet, pulling you in close then spinning you out as both of your feet tapped and twirled. You managed to sneak glances at the Radio Demon, thoroughly surprised at his skill in dancing. The tall demon flashed you a smile and even dared a wink as you shimmied together, his grip on your one hand tight and secure. You continued to sing, although found it much more difficult to do while dancing to such a fast paced song.

The melody slowed for a moment, indicating an instrumental and Alastor was quick to act. He pulled you in gently and immediately grabbed onto your hip, his other hand still tightly holding yours. You could feel your heart thrum in your chest from the proximity of the Radio Demon. You had never been so close to him before, your chest was pressed to his and the hold he had of you was captivating. Like even if you tried to push away he wouldn’t allow it. Not that you even wanted to. Not ever. This was a rare occasion; and definitely something that you didn’t want to pass up.

Finally finding the courage, you glance up at him, feeling very shy but your heart racing with exhilaration. You can see his crimson eyes are shining with delight as hooded lids focus on you. His grin was wide with amusement as he guided you around the room. You had to stop yourself from laughing out loud at the obscurity of it all, never imagining this is how your morning would end up.

Dancing in the kitchen with a serial killer; your mother would be so proud.

You knew the music would pick up again soon, and you knew Alastor could feel it the way he lightly squeezed your hand. You both shared a look, equally looking smug and ready for the next round. Giving him a nod of encouragement, Alastor twirled you out once more as you burst into song again. You belted out the lyrics, so full of glee you couldn’t contain your voice.

You both continued to dance together, feet kicking up to the beat and arms swaying to and fro. He swapped you from hand to hand, guiding you around the room and switching from left to right, but never letting you go. At one point you both were hand in hand, looking at each other and dancing on the spot. From the giddy expression on his face, you could tell he was enjoying himself as much as you were, both of you feeling the drums thump in your chests. With all the fast dancing and excitement, you found your singing was occasionally interrupted by a tired laugh, especially when Alastor suddenly flung you around. But you knew the last note was coming, and you wanted to finish off strong.

When the instruments stopped and the final sentence played out, Alastor spun you out and let you have your moment; you belted that last note with pure joy. The song came to an end, and was promptly met with a commercial break as a muffled voice droned on in the background. The adrenaline coursing through you finally dropped and you let go of the demon's hand, bending over to catch your breath. Hands on knees, you couldn’t help the weary giggles escaping your throat as you panted, your brain still not sure if you had just imagined all of that. Feeling Alastor’s burning eyes still on you, you finally rise up and give him a tired, but beaming smile. You look him up and down and can't help but let out a single guffaw as you notice something.

“Are you freaking kidding me?” you laugh, “How are you not even sweating right now?? After all of that?!”

The tall demon stood before you, hands behind his back and completely composed as if he wasn’t just dancing up a storm with you. His expression was calm and amused as he watched you wipe your brow. His smile creaked up further onto his face.

“Practice my dear y/n,” he hummed. He began to walk towards the sink with his head held high, clearly thrilled to gloat in front of you. “I was known to be quite the jitterbug back in the day~” He grabbed a clean cup and began to fill it up with cold water. You watched him in pure amazement; who would’ve known Alastor liked to dance? His gaze eventually slid back to you.

“Nevertheless, I must say,” he continued, turning the water off and striding back to you, “I was not the individual dancing and singing along to the melody. That’s an admirable skill set.” He offered the cup of water to you with a cocked eyebrow and you laughed out a tired ‘thanks’, happily taking the drink. You chugged it back instantly and sighed in relief, the Radio Demon watching you amusingly.

“Well,” you chuckled, setting the empty cup down and looking to the floor sheepishly, “I can’t really say I’m the best of dancers. I’m sure I looked like a ragdoll compared to you.” Your mind wandered back to the dance and could only imagine how you looked compared to your graceful and experienced partner. You couldn’t help the amused smile spread across your face.

“Hmmm… Perhaps…” Alastor mused, looking off to the distance and only confirming your thoughts. He was too much of a gentleman to admit a lady’s faults. It only made you laugh silently to yourself.

“However, I will argue,” he continued, his gaze falling back to you, “your entrancing voice was enough to carry you through. And what more, you still chose to dance with pride, even if it was out of your comfort level. So for that, I applaud you~” Alastor bent slightly at his waist in a small bow as an applause track fizzed in the air. You giggled at the theatrics, feeling your cheeks redden at the compliment.

“Well, thank you,” you tittered, giving a small awkward curtsy in response, “It was nice having such an amazing dance partner; I haven’t had that much fun in a long time.” You beamed up at him, genuinely grateful for the impromptu dance session. Alastor watched you for a moment, taking in your expression before standing up straight again, looking down at you mirthfully.

“Well then my dear, we’ll just have to-”

The Radio Demon stopped suddenly, his mouth still open and grinning. But his eyes had flicked up and away from your face. You watched his eyebrows shoot up in surprise as his pupils shrank in what appeared to be shock. You were just about to ask if he was alright when the distinct smell of burning meat entered your nostrils. You whipped your head around and watched in horror as flames were licking up the side of the pan and smoke began to bellow.

“Awh FUCK!”

You sprint towards the stove at lightning speed and turned the flames off. Without even thinking you grabbed onto the handle of the pan to pull it away from the hot element. It immediately fell from your grasp however as the searing heat had burned your hand and you immediately gasped in pain. The pan and now crispy sausages clattered to the ground as you gripped your tender hand to your chest, eyes shutting tight against the pain and falling to your knees.

You heard a rush of static and felt a draft of wind tickle your skin. Eyes still scrunched in pain, you felt yourself jump when large hands suddenly gripped on your wrists and began pulling them away from your chest.

“Show me your hand y/n.”

You felt a wave of embarrassment pour over you. Here you were trying to master his favourite dish, but got too caught up in your silly little fantasy. And now you had ruined it. And in front of him nonetheless. Shame settled in your stomach, making you clutch your burnt hand tighter to your chest.

“I’m fine Alastor really, I-!”

“That was not a request.” The sternness in his voice caught you off guard. You had never heard him speak to you in such a tone. Your eyes finally opened to see his red claws grasping your wrists. His grip on you tightened.

“Look at me y/n.”

You felt your stomach lurch. You felt so stupid, like a child being scolded by their parent. You couldn’t bare to face him. But you heard your radio in the background fizz and crackle dangerously, and you knew Alastor was losing his patience. Humiliated beyond belief, you finally tilt your head up and dared to peek up.

Alastor’s eyes immediately locked with yours, as if he was watching your face this entire time. His demeanor was surprisingly calm; still wearing his classic smile, but the corners weren’t as high on his face as usual. His gaze on you was strong; unmoving. It almost burned into you more than the burn on your hand. You had to catch your breath.

“I wont say this again.” he warned, his tone still very stern but now quieter as he looked at you. “Show me your hand.”

The last time you had felt so small was when you had accidentally touched his antlers without permission. You weren't scared of him this time, but his eyes still managed to make you quiver on the spot. Finally, you felt your muscles relax and you allowed him to pull your hands away from your chest. In an instant he held your dominant hand in both hands and gingerly turned it over, inspecting the flushed skin that was already beginning to swell. His eyebrows narrowed a moment before he immediately rose to his feet, dragging you up with him. Without a word, he led you to the sink, his grip on your wrist gentle but firm. You stumbled after him and before you knew it, the Radio Demon had turned the water on and dunked your hand under.

You hissed out in pain as the cold seemed to burn you even more. Alastors eyelid twitched at the sound, but you were in too much pain to notice. You both stood there a moment in silence as he gently guided your hand under the water, turning it over and twisting your wrist to insure every burnt part was rinsed. It wouldn’t be until later that you noticed how attentive he was to all of it.

Turning off the water, the Radio Demon snapped his fingers and a roll of gauze blinked out of thin air. The other hand still holding yours, he began to carefully wrap your palm in the fabric. You flinched ever so often as the gauze grazed over your tender skin, but you couldn’t help but sneak a peek up at your nurse. His face had remained surprisingly calm, his attention focused on the task at hand and unwavering. But you did notice his ears seemed to be pressed to his head, and a single bead of sweat rolling down his forehead.

Eventually, Alastor delicately tucked the end of the gauze into the wrapping, giving it one last look over before letting you go. His gaze slid up to you, his small smile slowly growing into more of his signature look.

“Fortunately, the damage is minimal given the circumstances. Give it a few days rest with lots of ointment and you’ll recover.”

You lifted it up to eye level and gave it an inspection, surprised to find how neat it was. As if he had done this before. The idea of that both fascinated and worried you.

“Now tell me my dear, why is it that you were cooking today? Or do you just enjoy setting my kitchen on fire?” His cocky grin spread across his face, already enjoying the opportunity to tease you. You let out a groan of embarrassment, your wrapped hand flapping to your side like a wet noodle.

“Lord have mercy. You’re never going to let me live this down are you?” you whined, already hating yourself for giving him more material to work off of. He cocked his head to the side, absolutely tickled pink by your reactions.

“Oh, you know I’ll be roasting you about this for weeks~”

Another pained groan escaped your lips. Oh great. Here come the puns. Your uninjured hand rose to pinch the bridge between your eyebrows, trying to calm the rage in your heart, but also to stop you from actually laughing at it all. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. He leaned in even closer so he was face to face with you, his shit-eating grin threatening to crack his face.

“What’s the matter my dear? Can’t handle the heat~?”

Your grip on your arm and bridge tightens. His face inches closer.

“Unfortunately for you, I’m just getting warmed up~”

You could feel your shoulders start to shake. He leaned close enough that his lips were right beside your ear.

“Come now y/n, don't be flame,”

“ALASTOR!” you finally caved and burst into angry laughter, turning away from him in shame and hiding your face as you crack up over his god awful puns. Damnit, you hated how he could make you laugh at your own misery. In a way you were grateful; it was a good distraction from the pain. He always knew how to make you smile, especially if you were upset. Unmoving, Alastor watched you in pure delight as he drank up your laughter, his own chuckle of amusement slipping from his mouth. Finally satisfied, he leaned back up and took in the mess on the ground and other various ingredients in the kitchen island.

“You never answered my previous question dearest.” Alastor spoke up from behind you, “Why are you cooking jambalaya so early in the day?”

You felt yourself freeze on the spot. Man, nothing got past this man; he was as sharp as ever.

You felt your shoulders start to tense as heeled boots clicked closer to you.

“Don’t get me wrong, it is an exquisite meal, but even I would never consider it before 10am.”

You could feel his tall figure looming from behind you, body almost pressed to your back as he closed the distance between you both. You sighed in defeat, knowing you couldn’t talk your way out of this. You shamefully turn around to face him, but refuse to look him in the eye.

“I was trying to perfect the recipe,” you mumbled quietly, feeling yourself fidgeting under his gaze, “It’s just… you’ve done so much for me, and I feel like I haven’t been able to return the favor. I don’t have magic or power or endless resources. So…” your cheeks were starting to turn red, feeling your tongue swell in your mouth, “S-so I figured… if I can cook your favourite meal exactly like your mother… If I could help you to recreate that moment in time… th-then maybe…”

You trailed off, unsure what to say, and feeling smaller than a speck of dust. He must think you’re pathetic. And who could blame him? He was an Overloard; he could eat demons like you for breakfast. You still didn’t understand why he seemingly wanted to spend time with a nobody like you. You knew he was going to laugh at you now. Make fun of you like he always did and tease you about this for weeks to come. You shut your eyes tight with frustration, feeling them begin to burn with tears and preparing to hear his laughter track drone on any minute now.

… But there was silence.

You paused a moment longer, suddenly uncomfortable in the silence. It was odd, even his usual static that hissed whenever he was around had gone missing. You were just about to dare a peek up at him when you felt a warm, heavy hand on your shoulder. Your head immediately lifted to him, eyes shimmering and maybe a bit hopeful.

He looked at you and didn’t say anything. His grin was still ever present, but it felt loose, wavering. His eyes flicked over yours as his brows furrowed, signaling the look of… Deep thought? Confusion? … Worry?

Alastor watched you, eyes wet with unshed tears and lip threatening to quiver. Something stirred within him. No one had ever… done something so thoughtful for him. So used to demons making deals with him, only giving so they could take. A soul for power. Or for riches. Or fame. Greed and selfishness was a sickness Alastor was very used to when dealing with others. It was one of the things he despised the most about sinners. And he was no saint either. He knew himself he would take what he wanted, but only if he deemed it necessary to his ascension. His greed was different, as least in his own twisted mind.

… But you…

After what felt like an eternity, Alastor finally lifted his hand on your shoulder and cupped your face, his other hand reaching to do on the other side. Startled as to what was happening, you gasped softly, feeling your heart begin to hammer against your chest. His smile was warm and genuine, which was honestly a stark difference to his usually sharp features. Eyes hooded and looking down at you in wonder. He even dared to squish your cheeks a couple times, surprisingly making the Radio Demon chuckle in amusement at their suppleness. His warm hands pinched for a moment longer, taking a moment to drink in how soft your cheeks were. How could a previous murderer and cannibal somehow be so innocent? Finally, he opened his mouth to speak, his voice soft as static crackled in the air.

“You never cease to surprise me my dear. What a peculiar little thing you are...”

And without another word, he removed his hands from your face and rose to full attention, striding past you and towards the sink. You blinked back your surprise and dumbly turned to watch as he rolled up his sleeves and turned the faucet on. All you could do was stare numbly as Alastor began to wash his hands, and even began humming softly to himself. As he finished up, he quickly dried his hands and flicked his wrist up, his fingers snapping sharply. An apron suddenly poofed onto his figure; a basic white with ‘Kiss the Cannibal Cook” printed on it.

Turning on his heel, he continued to hum to himself, the radio filter over his voice making it seem sharper than the average hum. But that wasn’t the thing making you tilt your head. It was when he opened the fridge and looked about, as if looking for something in particular. After shuffling a few items around, he finally turned his head to you, eyes still on the fridge and smile absolutely giddy.

“Tell me y/n, if we had any okra, where would it be~?”

You felt your eyelids blink one at a time as you watched him stupidly, mouth partially open. When you didn’t respond, his pupils finally slid to you and caught your expression. He cocked an eyebrow as his eyelids fell flat.

“Close your mouth dear, it’s not very lady like.”

You click your jaw shut and blink back to reality. He looked at you expectantly, and finally cluing into his question, you responded.

“Oh. Ah. Bottom left hand drawer. Sh-should be in a little plastic bag…”

Alastors smile brightened as he turned back to the fridge and followed your instruction, a satisfied ‘Ah!’ coming from his mouth before pulling the bag out and closing the refrigerator. As he approached the island, you finally were able to utter the biggest question on your mind.

“Alastor… What are you doing?”

The Radio Demon stopped humming, turning his head to you as he grabbed a spare knife and cutting board from below. He tilted his head and raised an eyebrow as if you just asked the stupidest question in the world.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he remarked, turning back to the okra and began to slice the green plant into thin segments. “If you really thought you could master the recipe without my help, then you are sorely mistaken. Besides,” he lifted his knife to point it at your wrapped hand, eyeing you a moment, “Now that one of your hands is out of commission for the day, it would be against my mother’s teachings to force a woman to cook something for me alone and with only one arm.”

He turned back to his chopping board and continued to slice.

You watched him a moment longer, processing his words until you felt your heart bloom in your chest. He didn’t laugh. Didn’t tease. Didn’t make you feel small or inadequate. He saw your genuine pain and surprisingly, chose kindness. And even more, chose to help you personally rather than summoning his minions to do the work. You felt a lump in your throat, a different kind of tears threatening to fall down your face. But Alastor didn’t notice, thank goodness, too absorbed in his work.

“My dear,” he began, swiping the sliced okra into a bowl, “Would you pass me the peppers next?”

“O-oh!” you stuttered, quickly wiping your misty eyes with your sleeve, your smile going ear to ear as you rush to the requested veggie, “Of course.”

Between the two of you, you were quite the team in the kitchen. Who would’ve known that Alastor was actually quite the chef himself? He admitted that he loved to cook, of course inspired by his mother, but simply didn’t have the time nowadays with the hotel and Overlord work. You could tell he was being genuine; his dicing skills were remarkable. The speed and precision he had with a knife was impressive (and maybe a little terrifying if you thought about it too hard). But the fond look on his face while he was doing it, that's how you could tell he wasn’t lying about enjoying it.

While he chopped and diced, you were on saute duty. Alastor was hesitant to give you this task, given how the last batch of sausages ended up… But after lightly smacking his arm with a wooden spoon, the Radio Demon laughed and allowed you near the stove.

... With close supervision that is.

You collaborated with each other, Alastor explaining his method and you explaining how you made yours. And you were sure somewhere in the middle was the true recipe. The radio continued to play in the background, and out of habit you’d sing along to the songs you knew and Alastor would hum. For one particular song he pulled you in for another quick dance in which you laughed the entire time. But he made sure to deposit you back to the stove quickly, not wanting to recreate the disaster from earlier. While you stirred with your unscathed hand, Alastor would pop up behind you on occasion for a taste test. You’d offer him the spoon and he’d give it a try, comparing the flavor from what he remembered. And if needed, would add more spices or scour the cupboards for something new.

Finally, after letting it simmer and adding the last remaining garnishes, the jambalaya was ready.

The smell alone was absolutely divine, spices and oils melding together to create a rich aromatic scent. You wiped your sweaty brow in satisfaction as you watched Alastor divvy up two plates and bring them to the island. The dish was a beautiful vermillion colour with fiery red veggies and soft green herbs snuggly tucked away with the sausage, shrimp and rice. You felt your stomach rumble, not realizing how hungry you were having skipped breakfast. You felt the strong urge to just dive in, but you pulled back. You couldn’t eat. Not just yet.

Your eyes slid carefully over to Alastor as he looked at the plate below him, inspecting it with a calculated gaze. He seemed almost… hesitant. But before you could think on it further, the Radio Demon scooped a mouthful up, paused a moment, then took a bite.

He chewed.

Stopped.

Chewed again.

Swallowed.

His head hung over his plate, his bangs covering his face and making it impossible to read his face. There was a heavy pause, the air feeling thick as you waited for his final thoughts. The static around him buzzed louder for a moment then went completely silent. Finally, he raised his head, and his expression almost made you want to weep. His eyebrows were tight and sorrowful, his smile pinched and threatening to tremble. Pupils dilated and never moving from the plate below him. Eventually, his mouth creaked open.

“This is it.”

The radio filter over his voice was gone, and that almost floored you. You had never heard his natural voice before, and honestly it was one of the most beautiful sounds you had ever heard. He scooped another spoonful and tasted it again, closing his eyes and sighing to himself with a sense of longing. You had never seen him so at peace.

Swallowing his previous bite, he looked down at his plate again, eyes drifting over the dish as a low chuckle suddenly began to rumble from his chest. He closed his eyes and shook his head, smiling and eyebrows furled as he hummed about something. And then, he spoke, his radio-like quality returning to his voice.

“You remind me of her.”

It felt like your heart had lurched into your guts at his words. You knew how much she had meant to him. The impact she had on his life, in living and in death. And for him to admit that to you? It made your hands tremble in your lap. Alastor opened his eyes again and looked down, deep in thought.

“There was always music drifting in the air when my mother cooked,” he reminisced, “Jazz music of course; it was in our bloodline. I remember as a boy watching her from the dinner table. She would sing along to the music, and would even pull me in for a dance if a certain song compelled her to.” He chuckled a moment before sighing, tilting his head up with eyes lost in memories gone by.

“Oh, she was a beacon of light and life itself. Always looking out for others, never asking for anything in return. A strong, selfless woman with a heart of gold. The only woman I ever, truly…”

He didn’t finish his sentence, but he didn’t have to for you to understand. Your hand reached for his without a second thought. He flinched at the sudden touch, his eyes shooting open, but eventually you felt his hand relax under your warmth and eyelids soften again. You held his hand tenderly as he continued to stare up at the ceiling, head swimming with fond reminders of the past. Gentle minutes trickled by before you felt the Radio Demon’s hand twist up so it could hold yours tightly. And soon after, he lowered his head and looked straight at you.

“You have given me a gift no one has ever been able to give.” He smiled, his eyes remaining gentle as his scarlet orbs never wavered. You could feel yourself melting under his gaze. He began to lift your hand towards his face, stopping mere inches from his mouth. You could feel your heartbeat quicken.

“Thank you, mon passereau~” he purred, pupils falling to your hand and pausing for a moment. You could feel his breath on your skin and your heart raced.

He wasn’t going to do what you thought he was… right?

Finally he lifted your hand up and gently pressed it up to his forehead, like he had done weeks before. You felt a breath escape your noise, from relief or disappointment, you weren’t sure yet. But honestly, what were you expecting? This was Alastor. He wasn’t one for romance or being overly touchy.

Please, like he would ever kiss your hand. Get it together y/n.

Still, when you focused on him again, a warm smile spread from your lips as you felt the warmth of his forehead and the pinpoint that would be the ‘x’ on his head. This gesture was intimate for him, and that was more than enough for you. And thinking back on the joy and gratitude he showed you earlier… it made you sigh blissfully. You had done it. You achieved your goal of somehow paying him back. And you felt that your relationship with him had only grown stronger with the morning you’d had. With a content smile, you breathed a reply.

“You’re welcome Alastor.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Fun fact: 'Passereau' in French roughly translates to "songbird" ( ⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝) Thank you for reading thus far! As always, comments and reblogs are much appreciated; the more encouragement, the more fueled I get to write more (•̀ᴗ•́ )و I eat your delicious words and poop out a story that's hopefully to satisfaction LMAO okok I'm done, gnight folks ꨄ

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#hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #alastor #leilani-lily #oh deer

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