#real life snap filters

[yuujispinkhair]

Bad Boy - Good Toy (Part 2)

His past self would have rolled his eyes at him for running back to you over and over again like some overly eager loser. But Sukuna simply cannot bring himself to give a fuck. Not when you are the only thing that can still make him feel something. The only thing that can still excite him

You can read Part 01 here

Pairing: Sub!Sukuna x Dom!Reader (female) Genre: smut, College AU Word Count: 5.5k Warnings: 18+, smut, degradation, humiliation, Sukuna is a brat, edging, cum-feeding, tip-fucking, use of a cockring, reader slaps Sukuna's balls, creampie, smoking cigarettes, mentions of former drug use, squirting, overstimulation, piss (Reader holds Sukuna's dick while he pees + makes him squirt). Reader calls Sukuna slut, fucktoy and fuckdoll. Unhealthy relationship dynamics. Reader and Sukuna don't talk about limits or safe words. Sukuna is ok with everything Reader does to him, but please be aware that this isn't the way a sub/dom relationship is supposed to be in real life. I just wanted things to be a bit fucked up in this story ;) Divider @/benkeibear 

Sukuna isn't the same guy he was a few weeks ago. His past self would have rolled his eyes at him for running back to you over and over again like some overly eager loser. But he isn't his past self anymore, and this new version of him scans the crowd at every party until his gaze finally finds you. And this Sukuna 2.0 feels his pulse accelerate anytime your eyes meet, and you both smile those matching smiles that are too savage to ever be called sweet.

Finally, Sukuna enjoys those boring parties again. He greets you with a smirk and some teasing insult, and you do the same, and his veins fill with that excited tingle that he's been craving so badly. You lean against the wall next to him and tell him that he is dressed like a slut with the sleeveless shirt he is wearing, and Sukuna lights a cigarette for you without you having to ask him for it, handing it to you with a grin and a cocky reply.

He must be out of his mind, but just seeing your red lipstick marks on the filter of his cigarette makes Sukuna half-hard. It makes him imagine your lips wrapped around his cock, makes him imagine his dick and balls covered in your red lipstick marks. Sukuna wonders what he must do to ever get you to suck his dick. He low-key fears the answer. Fears it because he suspects that no matter how degrading it would be, he would do anything you ask of him. Maybe the fact that it is degrading is what makes him crave it.

Maybe that should worry him. But Sukuna simply cannot bring himself to give a fuck. Not when you are the only thing that can still make him feel something. The only thing that can still excite him.

You smoke the cigarette with him, and afterward, you drag him to a bedroom and use him for your own pleasure. Use his mouth, use his cock while calling him a slut and your cute fucktoy, and Sukuna feels like blackening out from how hard he cums. He busts fat load after load over himself while you laugh and mock him for it and tell him how pathetic he is. And he feels alive.

Sukuna knows that approaching you in bright daylight on campus after all the things he let you do to him should probably feel weird. Any sane guy would be ashamed and walk the other way when he spots you from afar.

Not Sukuna, though.

Just two days ago, you slapped his balls while teasing his cock with your fingertips, called him a dirty slut and a useless brat, and made him curse and cry out and nut all over himself when you teased and slapped him to a fucking messy orgasm.

And you laughed and called him your messy, pretty fuckdoll and leaned down to press a soft kiss to the cum-stained tip of his softening cock. The noise he made was so pathetic that Sukuna shudders when remembering it. But the moment you left, Sukuna pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of his cock, and he has jacked off five times already to the image of your red lipstick mark on his tip.

So, yeah, Sukuna assumes he should at least have the decency to blush when he walks up to you in the middle of a busy hallway. But he doesn't. Maybe he is a masochist like that, or maybe he simply is beyond caring.

You are pulling another package of that stupid strawberry bubble gum out of the vending machine as if you are the most angelic and innocent good girl. But Sukuna knows you aren't, and it drives him insane.

Just like it drives him insane that you have him wrapped around your little finger. But he can't help it. He wants to grin like an idiot because it feels so good to feel that excited buzz in his body when he looks at you. He is addicted to you. As if you are a special drug that was designed only for him. The only drug that can give him the high he so desperately craves.

He leans casually against the vending machine, smirking down at you. And you smile at him all devilish, look up at him, and blow a pastel pink bubble that smells much too sweet. The bubble pops, leaving a mess of sticky pink gum all over your lips, and Sukuna leans closer with a cat-like smirk and his low voice raspy and teasing,

"Look at you, princess. Such a messy girl, too, huh?"

You grin at him, taking a step closer, making your breasts brush lightly against him, and then you are suddenly on your tiptoes, and you are kissing him, and Sukuna's eyes fly wide open.

The moment is over too fast. Sukuna can barely treasure the feeling of your sticky lips and the warmth of your tongue as you shove the bubble gum into his mouth before you already pull away again.

You look at him with a knowing, mean little smirk.

"We both know who the real mess is, Sukuna, baby."

You reach up to cup his jaw and pat his tattooed cheek, adding in a fake sweet voice,

"Now be a good boy and chew it while you are in class. And while you do that, think about how I slapped your balls until you nutted everywhere and how cute you sounded during it. My messy boy."

Sukuna sits in class a while later and chews the gum that was in your mouth only a few minutes ago. He blows big fat pastel pink bubbles the same color as his hair while thinking about that short moment when your lips moved against his and your tongue was in his mouth, and he feels like groaning and burying his face in his hands. What the fuck is wrong with him?

It's another Saturday, another boring party that makes Sukuna want to burn down the whole dorm just to feel something.

He is sitting on the kitchen counter, downing a vodka shot while listening half-heartedly to his brother's excited chatter. Something about a new movie, or was it a manga? Sukuna has no idea. His gaze keeps straying through the crowd, searching for the cause of his sleepless nights and ruined, cum-stained sheets.

Finally, he sees you, and adrenaline instantly pumps through his veins. Excited pleasure pools in his groin and sizzles on his skin when he asks himself what degrading thing you will do to him today.

You disappear in the crowd again, and Sukuna decides to at least wait half an hour before he comes running after you like a puppy. He claps his brother on the shoulder and tells him to go find a pretty girl to fuck before they go home, pushes himself off the kitchen counter, and slowly strolls towards the door leading to the small backyard.

He smokes a cigarette while looking at the night sky and listening to the muffled sounds of the party, thinking how all of this bores him to death. Everything except a mean girl with a liking for strawberry bubble gum and his cigarettes.

Sukuna laughs under his breath and flicks the cigarette bud into some withered rose bush. Normally, he would never run after a girl. But damn, it feels so good to run after you. This role reversal is the most delicious thing that has happened to him since he started college.

He decides it's been long enough. He'll take a quick piss while he's out here anyway, and then he will go back inside and look for you. And when he finds you, he will offer you his cigarette and say something to rile you up, hoping you will punish him for it and chase his boredom away.

He unzips his pants and pulls out his dick, about to start peeing, when a familiar voice speaks up behind him.

"What are you doing out here, slut?"

An amused huff escapes Sukuna's lips, and he looks over his broad shoulder at the dimly lit porch, where you stand and look at him with that dangerous smile on your face. Sukuna isn't a fool. He knows this doesn't mean you are suddenly running after him. You are here to do something nasty to him, and it makes his chest fill with that electric anticipation that makes his head spin.

He gives you a playful glare, feeling the corners of his lips twitch when he asks,

"Geez. Can a guy take a piss in peace, or is that too much to ask?"

You cross your arms in front of your breasts and give him an exasperated look as if he said something dumb.

"Well, no. You can't take a piss in peace, Sukuna. Because you belong to me. Little fucktoys don't get to touch their cocks without my permission. I thought you knew that, you stupid boy."

You start walking toward him, and Sukuna's heart is hammering in his chest. His hand is still wrapped around his dick, not even having time to piss yet, when you stop behind him. Your arms sneak around his waist, hugging him, and Sukuna feels his breathing become heavier.

He can hear the sadistic joy in your voice when you tell him,

"Alright, you can do it now. I allow it."

A strangled-sounding noise reverberates in the back of Sukuna's throat. He wants to laugh. Is he seriously getting flustered like some loser just because you are standing behind him while he is about to piss? Fucking pathetic!

You chuckle, and your voice is dripping with cruel amusement,

"Come on, don't act shy now, baby. Go on, pee. Or do you need help? Does my pathetic little fuckdoll need his cock held while peeing?"

Sukuna's eyelids flutter, and a groan falls from his lips. Your small body is pressing against his back, one of your hands wanders from his waist to his hips, fingertips tracing his v-line for a second, and then your small hand brushes over his that's holding his dick.

Sukuna pulls his hand away, heart beating to his throat. And your small, warm hand wraps around his heavy, flaccid cock, holding it gently. Your lips are brushing against Sukuna's back, feeling warm even through his t-shirt,

"Do it, Kuna. Piss for me, baby. Make it nice and good for me. Can you do that? Can you let me feel how your pretty dick pees?"

He moans even as he lets himself go and starts peeing, his blood rushing loudly in his ears at the feel of your hand on his cock, holding it for him while he relieves his pressure,

"Such a good boy."

The growl Sukuna makes in the back of his throat is fucking embarrassing, but damn, he doesn't give a fuck. He would let the whole party watch how he gets his dick held while he pisses, if it means you will praise him for it.

You stroke him slowly as if milking his cock off his piss, and Sukuna curses under his breath, feeling himself grow hard in your small hand.

"Aww, does this excite you? Are you getting hard from having your dick held? You are so cute, Sukuna. Such a secret romantic, hm? Little, needy slut."

But you don't stop. You just keep rubbing Sukuna's cock, stroking him to a mind-blowing orgasm that makes him shoot his cum and some more piss all over the grass in hot sticky ropes.

You stroke it all out of him and keep going even after his orgasm has ebbed off, forcing him to give you another one. And Sukuna lets you. He just stands there while you pump his cock in your fist and whisper to him how dirty he is for liking this and laugh when he squirts all over the grass, messy and hot with his piss steaming in the cool night air.

You make him cum and squirt until his dick is flushed red and overly sensitive and twitches hotly in your small hand. And all the while, you rest your face against Sukuna's back and kiss him through his t-shirt, murmuring how nasty he is, how fucking dirty. And Sukuna groans into the night as his muscular thighs shake and another milky spurt of his cum drizzles down, making a mess all over his new leather boots.

Afterward, you laugh and bring your hand to your lips, looking at Sukuna as you lick his cum off your fingers, and somehow his chest feels so weird when he sees your tongue scoop up his thick milky cum, even while he sneers at you and drawls,

"Now look at you, princess. All nice and sweet, eating my cum like a good girl. Finally learned your place, huh?"

But you just giggle as if he made the world's dumbest joke and step up to him, press your body against him while his dick is still hanging out of his pants, pulsing from the overstimulation, and kiss him on the lips, pushing your tongue deep into Sukuna's mouth, feeding him his own cum, making him eat all of it.

Sukuna's eyes widen even as he automatically wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer. His own taste melts on his tongue, a mix of sweet and salty, and he growls against your lips like a fucking dog.

You laugh when you pull away, swiping a finger over his lips to catch some stray cum and push it back into his mouth,

"No, you eat it all up, sweetheart. Swallow it all down like a good little slut."

You kiss him again, press your small, soft body against his firm, tall figure, and caress your tongue against his almost tenderly, and Sukuna moans. Your small hands are on the back of his neck, scratching and caressing his undercut, making him tighten his muscular arms around you and pull you even closer against his body while he licks hungrily into your mouth until every last drop of his cum is gone.

You tuck him into his pants afterward, pat his cock through his jeans while smiling that devilish smile at him and telling him that it was cute that he squirted for you.

Sukuna stays in the backyard until Yuuji comes to look for him, smoking several cigarettes and letting the night air cool his flushed skin. Fuck, he hopes that one day you will let him push his cock into your pussy!

His wish gets fulfilled a week later. Well, a bit of it.

Sukuna is on his back on a stranger's bed while the muffled noises of the party drift to his ears through the closed door. And you are sitting on him, naked this time, with your pretty tits jiggling in front of Sukuna's face and your hot cunt drooling over his cock, where he is resting between your slick pussy lips.

"Only the tip, Sukuna."

"I'm not stupid. I heard you the first time you said it."

"Yeah, but I don't know if a brat like you can behave. So I have to say it several times."

Sukuna huffs at your snide words, but it turns into a groan when you grab his cock and slowly sink down on him excruciatingly slow. He smirks when he hears the gasp falling from your lips and sees your eyes cross when his fat mushroom head stretches your tight hole open. Fuck, he is proud of his long and thick dick all the time, but especially tonight. Especially when it is you who goes crazy on his fat cock.

You fuck yourself on his thick tip, using him for your own pleasure, moaning from lust as you tease yourself on Sukuna's velvety mushroom head. Your tits press against Sukuna's tattooed face, and he cups them with his hands and closes his warm mouth around your nipples, and teases them with his tongue piercing, making you moan softly.

Sukuna's hips buck, a low groan falling from his lips as his cock pushes further into your tight, hot cunt.

"Come on, princess. Just sit down on me. Just sit on my cock completely. Just use me!"

He sounds like a stranger to his own ears, too breathless, too needy. Begging like some pathetic virgin. And you just chuckle cruelly and yank on his hair.

"Damn it, Sukuna. I told you just the tip. Stop acting like a bitch in heat, you little slut."

You stop moving, and Sukuna stares up at you, horrified for a moment that you will get up and grab your clothes and leave him this riled up and horny. He is about to actually beg when you roll off him. But to his relief, you just lie down next to him and spread your legs, beckoning him over with a finger.

"Come here. Show me you can be a good fucktoy. Make me cum only with your tip. Show me that you know how to be a good boy."

This is fucking torture! Sukuna's pulse is racing, and his cock is leaking angrily all over himself as he stares at your spread legs, at your slicked-up cunt with the cute, puffy clit. Fuck, he imagines he can even smell you. Can smell your pussy's sweet aroused scent, your horniness, your desire for him.

It takes everything in Sukuna to hold back, but he wants to prove himself to you and wants to show you that he can be good. That he isn't some weak little loser who doesn't know how to play a game. All the other guys may lose control, but Sukuna refuses to do so. He will show you that he is the best you ever had! That he is worth your time!

And so Sukuna kneels between your shaking legs and does as you told him, takes his throbbing cock in his tattooed hand and rubs his swollen, leaking cockhead over your clit, before he pushes himself into your tight heat, only fucking you with the tip, pulling out again to rub your stiff clit with it and then tip-fucking you again over and over until your moans become all high-pitched and cute and he feels you tighten around his cockhead.

You cum all over him, pussy grabbing his tip and spasming around it, your juices gushing over him as your body shudders and you tremble violently.

Sukuna growls, tattooed thighs tensing up as his orgasm hits him unexpectedly, his cockhead pulsing his hot seed over your swollen little clit, painting it white.

Sukuna groans loudly at the sight, pumping his cock wildly, making the rest of his cum shoot out in strong heavy spurts over your belly and your gorgeous tits, bathing them in his sticky load.

He is breathing heavily, gaze wandering over the mess he left on your body, and you smile at him with that amused twinkle in your eyes,

"Aww, couldn't keep it in anymore, sweetheart? Did my little slut get too excited? You're always such a messy boy, Sukuna. Come on, clean your mess up with your tongue, baby."

And Sukuna does so with a grin on his face and a racing heartbeat in his chest. Cupping your tits with his large hands, licking them clean, sucking on your nipples while you pet his hair. He basks in the moans falling from your lips. You don't even stop him when he slips his right hand down between your legs and rubs your clit, and then pushes two fingers inside you, fucking you with his middle finger and ring finger until you cum on them, mewling loudly as you shudder beneath him.

He rubs your clit again afterward, slow and tender caresses, rubbing your whole orgasm out of you while you twitch in his arms and moan his name so sweetly. Sukuna feels so proud.

You pull him into a kiss, a real one, pushing your tongue into Sukuna's mouth, licking and caressing him while he still rubs your clit tenderly. He feels you shudder in his arms and swallows your moans with his tongue when you twitch against his fingers and soak them with your creamy arousal.

Tonight you don't get up and leave, but stay in Sukuna's arms for a whole hour, sharing a cigarette with him and snuggling against him and kissing him while his thigh is between your legs, pressed snuggly to your hot wet cunt, smearing your sweet juices all over his thigh tattoos.

You bite his bottom lip and give him a hickey right under his ear as if you are marking your territory, and Sukuna feels his pulse flutter. And it gets even worse when you whisper to him in a voice that leaves no room for doubt,

"You're not gonna put your dick into anyone else, Sukuna. You're only my little slut, you know that, right?"

And Sukuna nods and grabs your chin to shove his tongue into your mouth again, letting you suck on his tongue, piercing and tease his cockhead with only one fingertip until he pulses his sticky cum all over his abs once again.

You're standing next to Sukuna at another party at one of his brother's friend's dorm. You are both leaning against the living room wall, sharing a cigarette while watching the small crowd on the makeshift dancefloor make fools of themselves. The cigarette wanders from Sukuna's hand to yours and back again, sending that fucking nice electric feeling through him anytime your small fingers caress against his.

But you're in a foul mood tonight, Sukuna can tell.

It bugs him. He wants to kiss you right here to make you feel better, wants to push you up against the wall and shove his tongue into your mouth until you moan against his lips. He knows that afterward, you would tell him he is a needy slut for kissing you like that, but he wouldn't mind because, yeah, he is a needy slut when it comes to you.

But he doesn't do it. Instead, he just raises an eyebrow and smirks at you,

"Stop being so grumpy. It really ruins my fucking mood."

You give him a tired look and steal the cigarette from his lips.

"Shut up, brat."

Sukuna's smirk grows bigger, and he leans down, grinning as he licks a wet stripe up your neck and then murmurs into your ear,

"Let me fuck it all out of you, princess. My dick is the best cure. Let me give you a nice fat creampie. That will heal you."

You roll your pretty eyes and huff.

"Oh, don't be silly. You want to cum inside, baby? Then show me you deserve it."

"How?"

The smile that forms on your face is the kind that should send him running, but instead, Sukuna leans closer, brushing his lips over yours, his heart hammering in his chest, making him feel lightheaded.

You pull away, tilting your head to look deeply into his eyes.

"You like tattoos, don't you, Sukuna?"

Your fingers trail slowly over his biceps, tracing the tattooed black rings on them while you grin up at him like he stumbled into Alice's fucking Wonderland and you are the Cheshire Cat. You lean closer, your tits brushing against Sukuna's arm and your breath hot on his skin when you whisper in his ear in a voice sweet like honey,

"Get my name tatted on you. Prove to me that you know your place. That you know who you belong to."

Sukuna leaves the party feeling dizzy.

He smokes cigarette after cigarette on his way home while his head is spinning. He knows this is a bad idea. He knows he should stop playing this stupid game the two of you are playing, but damn, how is he supposed to stop when it feels so fucking good?

This is a challenge, and maybe you think he will be scared off. Hell, every sane person would tell you that you are crazy! Every sane person would say no. But the thing is, Sukuna isn't like anyone else. He isn't like those little, scared boys. He will show you! Will show you that he is worth your time, that he is worth your pussy! That he isn't one of those fucking losers who back down!

He smirks maniacally as he lets the empty cigarette package fall to the ground and kicks it across the rainy street.

You dared him, and he is not going to puss out. He is Sukuna! He doesn't lose! He doesn't back down! You want to play games? Well, he can play too, and the thing is, Sukuna always plays to fucking win!

He comes back to you a week later, grinning like a madman, when he lifts up his t-shirt to show you the small tattoo of your name on his abs.

You lift your head to smile at him, that dangerous smile that screams trouble, and yet Sukuna also sees some real emotion in it. You approve of what he did. You are proud of him. You are happy. It makes him so hard that his cock aches from pressing so much against his tight black jeans.

You chuckle softly as you lean closer,

"You really did it, huh? Are you really that desperate for me, Kuna? So cute."

Sukuna's lips twitch, and he rolls his eyes, blowing out the smoke of his cigarette.

"Don't act like seeing your name on my skin doesn't make you cream your little panties. You want me so bad, that you wanted me to get a tattoo for you, sweetheart. So who is more desperate, huh?"

"Oh, that's easy, baby. Always you, my pretty doll. I only see one idiot who got the other's name tattooed onto himself. And it's not me."

You grin at Sukuna and grab his chin, pressing his cheeks together, making him blow the cigarette smoke out and into your face. There's a fluttery feeling in his stomach when you press your lips against his, capturing the smoke with your mouth, kissing him, and inhaling the smoke he just exhaled.

You pull away again, and you smile at him, all sweet and dangerous,

"Ok."

Sukuna cocks his head and raises an eyebrow at you,

"Ok, what?"

"I'll let you finish inside me."

Sukuna feels a huge grin spread over his face, and his large hands land on your waist, but you shake your head,

"Not now. Next week."

Your eyes sparkle in that way that Sukuna knows means trouble as you get on your tiptoes and whisper in his ear,

"And I forbid you to jack off until then. Save it all up for me. A big fat nut for my pussy."

You press a kiss onto his neck, far too gentle for the nasty thing you just murmured in his ear, and Sukuna groans out loud.

Sukuna is in heaven and in hell at the same time.

You are on his bed. Not some stranger's bed at some shitty party in a dorm that he wants to set on fire. No, tonight you are in Sukuna's bed.

You're under him, your legs wrapped around his hips, your hands on his ass, your fingernails digging deeply into his taut muscles, your head thrown back on Sukuna's pillow, your mouth opening in loud moans and delirious mewls.

Sukuna feels so fucking proud. Fuck, of course, he knows he is good in bed. He is the best fuck anyone can ever wish for! He has been told so by countless girls. But this here, this is better than anything else! Seeing you like that, seeing you enjoying his cock like that, is a special flavor or euphoria. It makes him feel high. It makes his veins sizzle with arousal. It makes his balls so fucking taut.

And that's the fucking hellish part of this. Sukuna feels like busting the fattest nut ever after saving it all up for a whole week just like you told him to, but now he's shooting blanks because you decided to torture him even more.

He should have known. He should have known that you would come up with something cruel again. You smiled like such a pretty little devil at him when you walked into his room, kissed him with tongue, and then sat on his bed and pulled that cockring out of your bag.

You slid it onto his half-hard dick and stroked him to full horny hardness afterward, a twisted smile on your face while you teased him with little kisses on his swollen tip, smearing your red lipstick all over him, driving him absolutely fucking insane while cooing at him how cute he was like that.

"You are such a pretty boy, Sukuna. Really looking like such a doll for me. That's what you were made for, hm? Being a pretty little fucktoy that I can use any way I want."

And then you made him fuck you with the cockring on. Such a fucking farce! Of course, Sukuna complained. Of course, he bared his teeth and glared at you, hissed at you all desperate and pissed off and dizzy with arousal,

"You told me I can nut in you! What the fuck?"

But of course, he still grabbed your hips and pulled you towards him. Of course, he pushed his throbbing cock into your deliciously wet pussy. Of course, he let out a loud growl when he felt your tight hot cunt around his cock. Of course, he rolled his hips against yours, even while you sneered up at him,

"Aww, look how upset you are, baby. So cute. Shut up, toy! Put your pretty cock in me and make me cum on him. Look, I have to make sure my pretty little fuckdoll doesn't cum too soon. You are here for my enjoyment, Sukuna. Don't mix things up. Once you made me happy with your pretty cock, I will let you nut. As a reward for being a good fucktoy."

And fuck, he is making you happy with his cock. You are squealing his name when he bucks his hips against you, knowing exactly where to hit to rub your g-spot. Sukuna has already made you cream on his cock two times, soaking his sheets with your squirt.

But all that Sukuna gets are dry orgasms. He is breathing heavily, grunting and growling, shooting blanks into you, his balls aching and his head spinning. He didn't realize it until now, but the wet sobs filling his bedroom are coming from him.

Sukuna never thought he would ever be reduced to this. A sobbing horny mess with aching balls and a throbbing cock that's so fucking useless, unable to cum for real, unable to offer him any relief. But fuck, it feels so good. It makes his pulse race, makes his every fiber feel so fucking alive, and he wouldn't want it any other way. No one else can give him that mix of pain and pleasure that you do. No one else can drive him crazy like you do.

He moans loudly, letting it all out as his bed hits the wall, and you tighten around him again, screaming incoherently as you cum on his cock again.

Your eyes open, and you look up at him, a dazed look in your eyes, fucked to heaven on Sukuna's cock, a little contented smile playing around your lips.

You grab Sukuna's sweaty hair and pull him into a kiss. Whisper against his lips, kiss the tears off his face that he realizes, to his utter horror, ran down his tattooed cheeks, and coo at him,

"Look how cute you can be, Sukuna. Look how good a bad boy like you can be. Such a perfect little fuckdoll. So pretty and obedient. God, you made me so happy with your pretty dick."

You laugh, sounding exhilarated. Your small hands run down Sukuna's buff pecs and his abs, making him shudder. You don't stop until your hand reaches the fresh tattoo on his abs, tracing your name on his firm muscles with your fingertips.

"You can cum inside me now. You earned it."

And Sukuna sobs with relief.

He pulls out of you and sits back on his knees, groaning at the loss of your tight wet cunt around him. But you finally take the cockring off his swollen cock.

You wrap your hand around him, rubbing him slowly, making him growl because he is scared he will explode all over your hand, begging you to please, please let him push back inside you. A desperate mess, with tears running down his tattooed cheeks.

A low, desperate moan escapes his lips when you finally tell him,

"Now, push your pretty cock back inside, baby. You can finish inside. Nut it all into me."

And Sukuna pushes you down and rams his aching hard dick deep into you, making both of you hiss.

You stroke his full balls while Sukuna ruts needily into you like an animal in a fucking rut. He's mounting you with deep, rough thrusts, grunting and moaning, feeling like he is high. Fucking you so hard that your tits bounce wildly, and you moan those breathless moans that drive him insane.

But Sukuna is louder than you. Moaning it all out, probably making his brother curse him on the other side of the wall, but fuck, he is in fucking heaven, and he doesn't want to hold back.

His balls tighten, and Sukuna cries out brokenly, eyes pressing shut as stars explode behind his closed eyelids, and he shudders violently on top of you. Nutting so hard and long that he almost blacks out.

And you are kneading his muscular ass firmly with one hand while the other caresses his heavy balls, massaging them, making him growl while you moan and tighten around his cock again,

"Come on, little fucktoy, give me everything! All that fat nasty nut so deep inside me."

Your words get slurred at the end as your pussy clenches wildly around him, and you squeal again in horny joy, milking Sukuna's cock empty with your wild orgasm while Sukuna moans and whimpers and snaps his hips against you, fucking you deep and nasty and spurting his whole orgasm into your already overflowing pussy.

He can't stop fucking into you, making his milky cum ooze out between his cock and your cunt, making it trickle messily onto his bedsheets until you are lying in a small messy puddle of it.

Sukuna slumps on top of you with a low, satisfied groan. He can feel your small hands running up and down his broad back. Your legs are still wrapped tightly around his waist as if you never want to let go of him again, keeping him right here between your legs, his dick buried balls deep in your hot, creamy and cum-filled cunt.

You chuckle and pet his hair and whisper in his ear,

"You fucked me so good, baby. And your cum feels so nice and warm inside me, do you know that? You're such a bad boy but also such a good toy, huh, Sukuna? Such a cute little fucktoy only for me. Do you want to stay like that for a while? With your pretty dick deep in me?"

Sukuna can feel your mocking little smile against his ear as his hips buck against you again involuntarily, and a needy, wet noise falls from his lips as he tells you that, yes, he wants that. You only make him say "please" once before you grab his chin and kiss him while you squeeze your cunt around him, and Sukuna thinks he might actually be in love.

I MIGHT BE IN LOVE TOO AAHHAHAAAH ;) Thank you so much for all the nice/horny feedback on Part 01!! I hope you enjoyed Part 02 too 💗💗

This AU was SO much fun to write! I love fucktoy Sukuna, and I want to be this Reader so bad! She is truly living such an exciting life, and who wouldn't want Sukuna as their personal little fucktoy? ;) I am glad I could experience the feeling through this AU, and I hope you could enjoy it, too!!

Thank you so much for reading 💗💗 Comments and reblogs would be very sweet!

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

It Only Takes One

Jason has never felt more useless in his life. There's a gun to your head, and all he can do is watch. ~1.2k words

You're kneeling in front of him. Any other time, he would be fighting the heat that threatens to rise to his face. Any other time, he would be reaching out to cup the back of your head, eager to guide you closer. But it's not any other time. There's a gun pressed to where Jason's fingers should be on your scalp, and Jason feels cold.

The armor of his Red Hood gear is too tight. He can't tell what your expression is under your domino mask. He wonders if you're scared. It would be worse if you weren't, if you trust him enough to save you.

He doesn't hear most of Falcone's speech, he's too busy desperately thinking of a way to save you. He can't seem to come up with one. The cold metal of the gun is against your head and he's halfway across the room from you. He doesn't know how to save you.

Falcone shoves the barrel of the gun against your head. It takes every inch of Jason's self-control not to lurch forward. "You really thought there wouldn't be consequences for burning down my warehouses, did you," Falcone asks, smug and confident.

"I'll admit the two of you have been a real problem for me," he continues, nudging your leg with his foot in feigned disgust. He looks up from you to meet Red Hood's gaze, "But it only takes one good bullet to deal with issues like this."

Jason does surge forward at that, and the henchmen at either side of him force him back down to his knees.

Falcone just laughs. "Ah, ah, hot shot," he knocks back the safety and Jason's ears start to ring, "wouldn't want your partner to spill their brains everywhere. Not when we haven't had any real fun."

You still look so calm. Even as he thrashes and writhes against the men holding him down, you're kneeling like there's not a thing wrong. Like your life doesn't hang in the balance, like just one twitch of Falcones finger wouldn't take away the person Jason needs most.

All his training, all his skills and reflexes, all has come down to nothing. Because he can't save you. He can't stop the cruel smiles that form on the thugs around you. He can't find a way to cross the room and get to you before the trigger gets pulled.

"Don't shoot," he snaps out, all the panic and fear he's feeling filtered out through the helmet in a false bravado, "Aren't they more useful alive?"

Falcone scoffs and kicks you again, "Neither of you are useful."

"I could be," Jason promises. He could be. He could be anything to keep you safe, "I used to run more territory in Gotham than you've ever seen. I have an in with The Bat. I'm the best at what I do, and you know it."

Interest speaks in Falcones' eyes. Good. He should be focused on Red Hood. He should be lowering that gun a fraction of an inch. He should consider everything Jason would do for you. The lines he would cross. The people he'd hurt. He'd change the world to get you home safe.

Falcone lowers the gun completely. Jason wants to be relieved, but you still have other guns trained on you. You're still in danger.

Falcone takes a step closer to him, "Alright, Hood, I'm in a good mood tonight. So, let's make a deal. You tell me who Batman is, maybe do me a few favors, and you and your partner are free to go."

"They leave first, and then we talk," Jason counters. As if he'd risk you getting shot.

Faclone tuts and points his gun back towards you, "That's not how this works, son."

Red Hood stiffens. He doesn't feel like a hero right now, he rarely ever does. But in this moment, he's weak. Pathetic. He has one chance to keep you safe, and he's going to take it. Jason opens his mouth to speak.

Glass shatters and smoke fills the room. Instinct kicks in and Jason's thrown off the men holding him down before Falcone even has a chance to bark out orders. Nothing else matters but getting his hands on you.

There's yelling. None he recognizes. He breaks more bones than he has in weeks. Blood splatters onto his armor.

When the smoke finally starts to clear, Jason scans the room desperately. Every single goon is knocked unconscious on the floor. Falcone's in handcuffs, limp on the floor.

He's lucky that Red Robin and Spoiler got to him first. Jason is more than inclined to remind him why Red Hood was the most powerful crime lord Gotham's ever known.

"Hey-" your voice cuts into his darker thoughts. Jason doesn't hesitate to move towards you and grab your waist with both hands, tugging you against him.

He scans your face, "Are you hurt?" He's frantic, his hands hold you just a little too tight, he's crowding your space. Jason's aware of all of this, but he only pulls you closer.

"I'm okay. I'm not hurt. Are you?" You say, pressing your hands to the leather of his jacket.

His shoulders slump and he drops his head to rest his face plate against your forehead, "I'm– fine." He takes a moment, a selfish minute to focus on your breathing.

He pulls back to nod towards Spoiler and Red Robin, "We're leaving." Jason doesn't bother to check if they acknowledge him, only pulls you along to the balcony.

He's more shaken than he wants to admit. He needs to get both of you out of here, somewhere safe. You follow him willingly, don't say a word until he's led you all the way home to your apartment.

You don't try to talk him out of anything, not when he pulls you onto his lap and holds you close. You let him toss his helmet to the ground and hide his face in your shoulder.

Jason's not sure how long it stays like that. Your armor digs into his skin. He's sure his own suit is doing the same. You play with the ends of his hair. He tries to keep his heartbeat steady.

Jason nearly convinces himself that both of you are safe. That it's going to be okay. He almost believes it until you speak up.

"Were you going to tell him?" You ask quietly, so softly he might have missed it if his every sense wasn't trained on you.

"Tell him?" He mumbles in your neck. Jason knows exactly what you're talking about. But he's stalling. There's no way to really answer.

You don't respond. He doesn't answer.

Of course, he was going to tell him. Of course, he was going to put everyone they've ever cared about or loved in danger.

You know that. You have to know that if you don't ask again. There's not a thing he wouldn't give to keep you alive, to keep you happy and healthy and safe.

He'd trade any secret, commit any atrocity, betray everyone who ever trusted him, all for you. But how can he put that into words? He can't. Doesn't know how. And you don't deserve the burden of that. He can't lay something so heavy at your feet.

He holds you tighter instead. The silence is answer enough.

[call-me-strega]

Dc x Dp Prompt #3: Of Apples and Academic Frenemies

Au where Jason and Danny are attending the same college course on mythology and classical literature and they are always getting into debates about the depictions of the characters and the historical context of stories and stuff bc the both have a different exposure to the myths. Like Jason knows literal demigods and Amazons but Danny knows Pandora and the Greek myth related ghosts plus time travel from Clockwork and the infi-map. The debates can get heated at times but the respect each others intellectual takes.

This creates a peculiar situation where everyone in the class thinks they are academic rivals who hate each other (except for the few with their shipping goggles on and sense the homoerotic tension underlying their debates) and are deeply invested in watching them interact like their own personal drama even thought at this point in time they are at best friendly acquaintances and at worst annoying classmates.

Jason rants to his family about his debate partner/rival bc he’s happy to have some who will talk to him ad-nauseam abt this stuff but also bc he wants to complain about how Danny's a “smart but annoying little twink who’s got some real audacity”. And while the batfam is happy that Jason is experiencing some normal life things like an academic frenemy they’d love to stop hearing about this guy's “smug fucking smirk” and the “annoying gleam in his eyes". They are worried that Jason will snap and beat this guy up for being too annoying. Well, except Tim who thinks Jason would rather make out with this guy than debate with him.

One day the course decides to do a big themed party/fundraiser to save up for a class trip to an excavation site of some temple ruins or something. Both of them volunteer for the organizing committee bc of the offered extra credit. This encourages the two of them to start seeing each other more and to hang out outside of their classes so the can work on event planning. Over time they actually become pretty good friends (Danny's presence filters Jason's toxic ecto and cures pit rage due to increased exposure. It was happening anyways as classmates but the close proximity sped up the process) and Jason and Danny develop mutual crushes on each other.

For the event they do, like an Olympic games style format and have people sign up in teams for events a couple of weeks beforehand. Anyone in any sort of classical/mythology related course can join and they opened the event for public spectating. They have a few traditional events like a foot race, long jump and chariot race. But the also have some silly ones like Medusa's Snakes, where they shove their faces into bowls of whipped cream and fish out gummy worms, Pandora's Amphora, where they stick there hands into a box/jar of mystery contents (grapes, slime, a live animal like rats or kittens, a bunch of glitter, soda, etc.) and whoever keeps their hand in the longest wins, and Gladiator Fights, where they try to knock each other into a foam pit with those foam and rubber jousting sticks and the such.

Neither Danny, nor Jason want to participate for fear of their physical/supernatural abilities being discovered so the both get talked into doing the emceeing and commentary for the events. They make a really good duo, snarking and bantering with each other, playing off each other's energy and providing fun commentary to the events. Everyone, including the batfam who came to spectate, is a bit baffled by how well they are getting along bc last they checked these two were rivals of a sort, mildly annoying at best and actively antagonistic at worst. However, they really seem to be enjoying themselves.

The last event of the day is a trivia contest, which they both decide to take part in and let someone else take over the emceeing. The final winning trivia question is "what trope was falsely understood as a marriage proposal or declaration of love by misinformed media, that was actually closer to a ploy of seduction and indication of sexual desire according to Greek texts" and the both ring in at the same time to say "tossing an apple to someone" and an tie for the win. They both go up on stage to receive the prize (idk a gift card or smth) and shake hands before walking away in opposite directions.

Then suddenly Danny calls out to Jason just before he leaves the stage and chucks an apple he seemingly produced out of nowhere at him. The apple has a note with the time and date of a dinner reservation on it and when Jason looks back up at Danny he see the slightly flushed boy tentatively smiling at him.

" What do ya say Jase? Will you go out with me?"

And instead of replying Jason just straight up kisses him in front of everyone. Everyone else is gobsmacked by this whole turn of events except Tim who's cackling his head off, screaming "I FUCKING KNEW IT". When the two of them break apart they grin at each other widely and Jason drags Danny of the stage presumably to go make out somewhere.

[6okuto]

A LITTLE WHILE LONGER

gn!reader | atsumu parent au, 700 words of silly fluff(?) Unless u think about growing up too much.

“’tsumu? what’s wrong? why’re you crying?” you put your keys in your pocket, eyes focused on atsumu who’s leaning his head back on the couch, blinking away tears and wiping his cheeks.

he huffs, turning away as if you wouldn’t be able to hear him sniffling. “’m not cryin’!”

“makoto,” you call your daughter who’s sitting with her back to you. “what happened—oh my god, why’re you both crying?”

she looks over her shoulder, and you catch her phone and crumpled tissues in her hands. they look at you with the same pout and loud denial—“we’re not crying!”

the echo is an unconventional comfort—‘we’ enough to tell you that nobody’s said or done any real damage. makoto brings her legs up to sit cross-legged in her chair, grabbing the pillow from behind her to her lap, and you look at your husband. “atsumu.”

his still red eyes snap toward you and his jaw drops, voice filled with hoarse betrayal, “what?! why’re ya lookin’ at me? ‘t’s her fault!”

your daughter gasps and throws her pillow at his chest. “dad!”

atsumu catches it with ease. “makoto!”

“guys.”

stopped before one of them can pick up another pillow, the pair sit back in their seats, this time atsumu holding the pillow up to his chin. makoto sniffles as she unlocks her phone. “here.”

when you walk over and she passes it to you, it’s set to the front camera with some sort of filter waiting to start. you furrow your brows and look to her for explanation.

“it’s an ageing filter—dad started crying when he saw what i’d look like when i get old.”

she sniffles once more, and something in your chest softens. you look toward atsumu who, as if he could feel your gaze, looks away from the corner of the room back to you. his cheeks match his eyes, and he tries to stop what he knows is going to happen, “don’t you—”

“awww.”

“babe,” the whine is immediate as he slouches into the couch.

you only snicker as you hand makoto her phone back, and make your way to him with a smile and arms wide open. despite everything, he straightens, leans toward you and your touch. his head rests against your stomach as you run your fingers through his hair. (you think makoto says “ew” behind you.)

“’tsumu, you big softie,” you tease.

he scoffs weakly as he wraps his arms around your waist. “she’s crying too!”

“am not.”

atsumu peaks his head from around you. “are too, y’liar.”

“i’ve never cried in my life,” makoto denies, a rasp in her words.

the blond in your arms scoffs again. “tell that t’me when you were 7 and crying ’cause y’stepped on a ladybug by accident.”

makoto gasps. “her name was milly, you monster.”

you snort, turning to look at your daughter. “sorry to milly, now stop fighting. family hug time, c’mere.”

and even as they stick their tongues out at each other, they both stand so you can wrap your arms around them, and atsumu quietly plants a kiss to both of your heads. you mumble with a smile, “love you guys.”

“love you too.”

“love you. and you are never growing up.”

“biologically impossible.”

“don’t care, you’re eight now.”

“what—eight?!”

the hug breaks, and you sigh dramatically, atsumu pulling makoto into a headlock you know she could get out of in seconds, even while she laughs.

“eight.”

“why can’t i stay seventeen?”

“numbers don’t go that high for ya anymore.”

“then what’re you?”

“a young and handsome twenty-four year old.”

“ya wish, old man!”

walking away, you call out, “i’m gonna get dinner started, don’t break anything!”

makoto’s “thank you!” is followed by atsumu’s “we won’t!”, and the bittersweet ache in your bones at the thought of your family getting older is soothed by the sound of laughter from the living room, a reminder it'll be you all together, for at least a while longer.

girl dad atsumu who loves and spoils his daughter to bits is so real but also It's Atsumu.. The Miyas... i thought it'd be nice 2 see her picking up more of his personality + them being silly 🙂‍↕️ (these kinds of relationships r so endearing 2 me 😭🩷) everypony knows they love each other soo much even while they're 'fighting' and accusing the other of cheating at mario kart or whatever LOL.

was gonna make tsumu point out makoto crying at the thought of Him getting old btw but then i would've taken longer to Pack This Up and also had to deal with ME thinking about MY parents so here we are 🫡

@pelicanpizza @godoffuckedupcats @causenessus @priv_rose @ur-local-simp @respitable haii my tag list i forgot i had u for a while there. and u guys too @reverie-starlight @dira333 haii friends i hope u are all doing awesome! 🫵🩷

[mssalo]

safety - Part: V 

Summary: After years of isolation, Joel Miller's life revolves around control and keeping danger at bay, his past as a soldier leaving him constantly on edge. But when a sweet, soft-spoken young woman starts working at the supply store, her innocence stirs something inside him. Despite his efforts to remain detached, Joel becomes obsessed with keeping her safe from the dangers he’s certain are lurking everywhere.

As his protective instincts morph into darker desires, the lines between safeguarding her and possessing her begin to blur.

Warnings will vary by chapter depending on the content.

Warnings: Dark!Joel, 18+ MDNI, Joel has major Trauma/PTSD, Mentions of war and combat-related trauma, Power dynamics, Unstable mental state,, Explicit sexual content, fingering in nature, rough sex in nature, praise kink, breeding kink, unprotected sex, Dom/sub dynamics, Joel’s possessiveness, sexual tension always, Joel went and got therapy :)

10k. Smut. Ending.

Enjoy!

Part I Part II Part III Part IV 

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

The morning sun filtered through the thin curtains of the cabin, casting a soft golden hue over the room. Joel had been awake for hours, his mind running long before dawn.

It had been years since he’d slept that soundly, since his body allowed him even a moment of peace. His usual nightmares—filled with screams, gunfire, and failure—had been replaced by something softer last night.

His arm draped over your waist, keeping you close as if, even now, he feared you'd slip away. You stirred slightly, your body warm against his, and for a brief moment, he felt something he hadn’t in so long—relief. But that feeling quickly turned into guilt.

The events of the previous night replayed in his mind, each detail sharper than the last. The way he had dragged you out of the woods, convinced something was after you, how frantic and desperate he had been to lock you inside the cabin, to shield you from an imagined threat.

Joel’s eyes traced your peaceful expression, and a sense of possessiveness flared inside him.

Ever since he saw you—so trusting, so sweet, too naive for this world—something in him snapped. He couldn’t stand the idea of you out there, vulnerable. You had no idea of the real dangers lurking in the world, and that infuriated him.

But the anger had twisted into something darker, something he hadn’t fully understood until last night. His obsession with keeping you safe had grown into an all-consuming need.

You stirred beside him, your eyes slowly fluttering open, and Joel’s gaze softened. When your eyes met his, you smiled sleepily, unaware of the storm brewing behind his calm expression.

"Morning," you whispered, your voice thick with sleep, oblivious to the gravity of what had happened last night.

"Morning," Joel muttered, his voice rough. His hand tightened around your waist, fingers brushing over the soft skin of your side. You stretched slightly, yawning before nestling back into his arms, completely unaware of the tension radiating from him.

"I guess we’re safe after all, huh?" you mused softly, your innocent words hanging in the air.

Joel tensed, his jaw locking. You didn’t understand. You never would. You trusted too easily, believed in safety that didn’t exist. He wanted to snap, to shake you out of that naivety, but the softness in your eyes held him back.

"You don’t get it," he muttered, his voice laced with frustration. "I’ve seen what happens when you trust the wrong people. When you let your guard down for just a second."

You frowned, turning to face him more fully. There was confusion in your gaze, concern, but also an oblivious trust that Joel had come to both cherish and resent. "Joel, last night… you were so sure something bad was going to happen. I didn’t understand. I was—" You hesitated, chewing on your lip, unsure of whether to admit the truth. "I was scared."

His grip tightened at your confession, his eyes darkening with something you couldn’t quite name. "You don’t need to be scared of me," he growled, his voice raw. "I would never hurt you. But I can’t—" His breath hitched, his hand fisting the sheets. "I can’t lose you."

The desperation in his voice made your heart ache. You could see the fear behind his eyes, the fear of something deeper, something you couldn’t fully understand. But you had felt it last night. His need to protect you had been overwhelming, almost suffocating.

"Joel," you whispered, your voice soft, hesitant. "I trust you. I know you’d never hurt me. But last night… it wasn’t normal. You were so convinced something was out there. But there was nothing."

His body went rigid beside you, his jaw clenching as if he was trying to keep everything in. But you could see the cracks forming, the way his eyes flickered with memories he hadn’t told you about. And then, as if the dam finally broke, he spoke.

"There were these two girls," he muttered, his voice rough, strained. "Sarah and Ellie. Overseas, during the war. They were just kids… kids who trusted me."

You stayed silent, watching as his eyes clouded over with the weight of his memories.

"I was supposed to protect them. We were in a war zone, caught in the middle of a firefight. I told them to run. I thought I could get them out. But I didn’t see the sniper." His voice cracked, the guilt seeping into every word. "I didn’t see him, and… they didn’t make it."

Your heart twisted at the pain in his voice, at the way he carried the weight of their deaths as if it were his own fault. "Joel…"

"It was my call," he interrupted, his voice shaking. "I failed them, and now they’re gone because of me."

You reached out, your hand gently cupping his face, trying to pull him back from the darkness of his past. "You didn’t fail them. You were trying to save them. You can’t carry that alone."

But Joel shook his head, his eyes filled with so much anguish it made your chest ache. "I was supposed to protect them, and I didn’t. And now I’m afraid…" His voice dropped to a whisper, his grip on you tightening again. "I’m afraid I’ll fail you too."

You swallowed hard, the weight of his confession hanging heavy in the air. You didn’t know how to fix this, didn’t know how to ease the guilt that had been eating away at him for years. All you could do was be there, to remind him that he wasn’t alone.

"I’m here right now," you said softly, your voice trembling slightly. "I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I’m here."

For a long moment, Joel didn’t respond. He just held you, his body tense, his mind still lost in the past. But then, slowly, he nodded, his breath shaky as he pressed his forehead against yours.

"I’ll try to get help," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I’ll try."

You smiled softly, brushing a thumb over his cheek. "You’ll get through this, Joel."

He didn’t respond, but the way his arms tightened around you told you everything you needed to know. He was still scared, still haunted by the ghosts of his past. But for now, you were there. And that was enough.

As the morning light grew brighter, the cabin was filled with a quiet kind of peace. You lay there in his arms, holding on to the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, Joel could find his way through the darkness.

And for now, that was all you could ask for.

· · ────

As you and Joel made your way back to the campsite, the tension between you simmered just beneath the surface. His heavy footsteps matched your lighter ones as you trudged through the brush, but his presence seemed to envelop you.

There was something about the way he moved, always one step behind or beside you, that made you feel both safe and on edge.

Joel’s eyes kept darting from the treeline to you, his instincts always on high alert.

His protective nature wasn’t something new, but after last night—after everything—the intensity of it felt different.

You glanced over at him as you both reached the campsite, your heart sinking a little at the sight of the mess. Your tent was half-collapsed, your clothes and supplies scattered haphazardly.

Joel gave a grunt and immediately set to work, tying down the straps and packing up the gear. His movements were quick, efficient, but you could feel his eyes flicking toward you every few moments.

“I can help,” you said, reaching for the tent poles.

Joel’s hand shot out, gently but firmly grabbing your wrist and pulling it away from the sharp edges. His gaze locked with yours, dark and commanding.

“Let me handle the sharp tools, babygirl,” he murmured, his voice rough, gravelly.

The words sent a rush of heat straight through you, your cheeks flushing at the nickname. Babygirl. The way he said it—like you were something fragile, something that needed to be handled carefully—made you feel a strange mixture of annoyance and… excitement.

“Joel, I can handle a tent pole,” you argued softly, though the protest felt weak even to your own ears.

He didn’t back down, his grip on your wrist tightening just a bit. His lips curled into a half-smirk, his gaze flicking down your body before landing back on your face.

“I know you can handle a pole but `m not lettin’ you get hurt,” he said, his voice low, almost teasing. “You’re too goddamn precious for that.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the tension rise between you. There was something in the way he looked at you, like he was barely holding himself back.

His eyes lingered on you a little too long, dark and possessive, and you couldn’t help but feel like prey under his gaze.

With a quiet huff, you stepped back, letting Joel handle the rest of the packing. As you turned to grab your bag, your eyes fell on the spare clothes you had packed.

The heat of the day, mixed with the leftover tension from last night, made your skin feel sticky and uncomfortable. You glanced over at Joel, who was busy securing the last of your things onto his truck.

“I’m just gonna change real quick,” you called over your shoulder, grabbing your fresh clothes from your bag and slipping behind a nearby tree.

Joel didn’t say anything at first, but his eyes followed you as you moved, his jaw tightening when he saw you disappear behind the tree.

His body tensed, a wave of heat coursing through him as he pictured you undressing. The thought of you, soft and bare just out of sight, made his breath hitch.

He glanced down at himself, biting back a groan as he felt his cock stiffen in his jeans.

The image of you changing, pulling those jeans over your hips, slipping out of that old shirt—it made something dark coil inside him.

He was used to control, to keeping his emotions in check, but you were making it hard. Too damn hard.

Behind the tree, you quickly stripped off your dirty shirt, slipping into something clean and fresh. As you tugged your jeans up over your hips, you couldn’t help but feel Joel’s presence, even though he wasn’t directly in front of you.

His gaze, that possessive heat—it lingered, and you could feel it.

You barely had time to register the slip before Joel’s hands were on you, firm and unyielding, catching you before you hit the ground.

The rough bark of the tree dug into your back as he pressed you against it, his strong body flush with yours. You felt his breath hot against the side of your neck, his chest rising and falling, the grip he had on your waist almost too tight.

“Careful there, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement as his hand lingered on your hip. “Don’t need you hurtin’ yourself on account of some pants.”

You blinked up at him, startled by how fast he had closed the distance. His hand stayed on your waist, firm and warm, and you could feel the heat of his body pressing close to yours.

His eyes were darker than before, filled with something that made your pulse quicken. His gaze dropped to the bare skin of your waist, his thumb brushing over the exposed flesh as he let out a low hum.

“You’re gonna make it real hard for me to concentrate if you keep slippin’ outta those clothes, little girl,” Joel drawled, his lips curling into a smirk.

His hand drifted lower, teasing at the waistband of your jeans. “Not sure how much more I can take.”

You swallowed hard, your breath catching in your throat as you met his gaze. “I didn’t think you minded last night,” you said, your voice a little shaky as you adjusted your shirt.

Joel’s eyes flicked back to you, dark and hungry. “Didn’t mind at all,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly.

His hands didn’t move immediately; they lingered, fingers splayed, and it sent a pulse of desire straight to your core.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice rough and gravelly, low like he was speaking more to himself than to you. “You’ve been drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy all morning.”

You blinked, trying to steady yourself, but the way he had you pinned made it impossible.

The hard look in his eyes as he stared down at you, the way his fingers dug into your skin like he couldn’t bring himself to let go… it was overwhelming. He didn’t move away, didn’t give you any space to breathe, to think.

“You have any idea what you do to me?” His voice was thick, dripping with frustration, but there was no mistaking the hunger behind it.

“Every damn time I look at you… can’t get you from last night outta my head. Got me hard just from watchin’ you.”

Your breath hitched at the rawness in his words, the heat in his eyes as they raked over your body.

Before you could even respond, his hand slipped lower, fingers trailing along the waistband of your jeans. His touch was deliberate, teasing, but there was no hiding the raw desire in the way he moved.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he growled under his breath, his fingers sliding over the button of your jeans, popping it open with a swift, practiced motion.

“I can’t wait any longer. You’ve been torturing me all morning, walkin’ around like that.”

You gasped as his hand slipped beneath the denim, his fingers finding your already slick heat. Joel’s eyes darkened when he felt how wet you were, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

“Jesus Christ, look at you,” he muttered, his voice rough as his fingers dipped between your folds.

“So fuckin’ wet already… you been thinkin’ about me too, haven’t you? Tell me, baby girl.”

His fingers pressed against your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles that had your body arching toward him despite the tight grip he had on you. You whimpered softly, and that only seemed to spur him on, his touch growing more intense, more possessive.

“You like that, huh?” he growled, his voice thick with lust. “Like it when I touch you like this, when I make you feel like this.” His thumb pressed harder against your swollen bud, and you couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped your lips. “Fuckin’ knew it.”

His fingers slipped lower, one of them sliding inside you with ease, the wetness between your legs making it effortless.

He groaned low in his throat as he felt how tight you were around his finger, his breath coming out in heavy pants against your neck.

“Damn, you’re so tight,” he murmured, his voice rough with need. “You were made for me, baby girl. Fuck, just look at how you take my fingers.”

He added another finger, and the stretch made you cry out softly, your hands grabbing at his shoulders for support as your knees started to weaken.

Joel’s free hand gripped your hip even harder, holding you steady against him, making sure you couldn’t pull away even if you wanted to.

“Look at you,” he rasped, his breath hot against your ear. “Fuckin’ gorgeous, takin’ it so well… you’re so fuckin’ good for me, aren’t you?”

His fingers curled inside you, hitting that spot that made you see stars, and you moaned, your body arching into his hand.

Joel growled in response, his fingers moving faster now, thrusting in and out of you with a punishing rhythm.

“That’s it,” he muttered, his voice low and filthy. “You love it when I fuck you with my fingers, don’t you? So fuckin’ desperate for it.”

Your breath came out in ragged gasps, your body trembling with every stroke of his fingers.

He was relentless, not giving you a moment to catch your breath as his thumb continued to work your clit in slow, torturous circles.

“You’re gonna cum for me, aren’t you?” he growled, his voice thick with lust.

“I can feel it. I can fuckin’ feel you clenchin’ around me. Come on, baby girl, don’t hold back. I wanna feel you fall apart.”

His words, his touch, the roughness of his voice—it was all too much. You couldn’t hold on any longer. Your body tensed, and with a sharp cry, you came undone around his fingers, your walls clenching tight as the pleasure ripped through you. 

Joel didn’t stop. He kept thrusting his fingers into you, drawing out your orgasm, his breath heavy against your ear.

“That’s it, darlin’. Fuck, you’re squeezin’ me so tight. You feel that? You’re fuckin’ mine.”

Your legs trembled, barely able to hold you up as the aftershocks of your release pulsed through you. Joel finally slowed his movements, his fingers still buried deep inside you as you sagged against him, breathless and spent.

He pulled his hand from your jeans, his fingers glistening with your release as he looked down at you, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded with lust. “Fuckin’ perfect,” he muttered, his voice still rough as he brought his fingers to his lips, licking them clean with a satisfied growl. “You taste so fuckin’ sweet.”

You were still trembling, leaning against him for support as he finally released his grip on your waist. But the look in his eyes, the heat still simmering there, told you he wasn’t finished. Not by a long shot.

“Don’t think I’m done with you yet,” he growled softly, his hand coming back to grip your waist, pulling you against him once more. You could feel the hardness of him pressing against your stomach, and the heat flared between your legs all over again.

“I’ve been hard all fuckin’ morning, thinkin’ about you, and now you’re gonna take care of that for me.” His voice was low and dangerous, full of promise as his fingers tightened on your waist. “Get ready, baby girl. I ain’t lettin’ you go anytime soon.”

Joel’s body stayed pressed firmly against yours, the rough bark of the tree digging into your back as you tried to steady yourself.

The heat radiating from him was overwhelming, and the weight of him against you was both grounding and dizzying. Your legs still trembled, the aftershocks of his touch lingering, but Joel’s presence only seemed to magnify the need burning inside you.

He let out a low growl, his hand tightening on your waist, pulling your hips closer to his. You could feel him—hard and ready, pressing insistently against you—and your breath hitched at the thought of what came next.

“Joel… what if someone comes?” you whispered again, your voice breathless, barely able to think through the haze of desire clouding your mind.

Your words trembled, but you couldn’t stop yourself from asking, the thought of someone stumbling upon you both sending a rush of nervousness through you. It was the only thing cutting through the intensity of the moment.

But Joel didn’t pull back. He didn’t even flinch. His hand slipped lower, his grip firm and possessive as he pushed your jeans down further, his movements slow, deliberate, and unwavering.

“Ain’t no one comin’, darlin’,” he muttered, his voice rough and gravelly, thick with lust and something darker. “This is my land. No one’s gonna find us. And if they do…” His lips brushed your ear, his breath hot and heavy, sending shivers down your spine. “I’ll shoot ’em dead for even thinkin’ about seein’ you like this.”

His words made your pulse race, the possessiveness in his voice sending a thrill through you, though something about the way he said my land confused you.

He’d never mentioned this before. But the thought slipped away as quickly as it came, overtaken by the rush of heat between your legs, the way his hands worked your clothes off with practiced ease.

You swallowed hard, your body aching for him even as your mind raced. “Your land?” you asked softly, your voice shaky with both curiosity and naivety. “You never told me—”

Joel cut you off, his voice a deep, rough growl in your ear. “Don’t worry about that, baby girl,” he muttered, his lips brushing the side of your neck. “You don’t need to know about that. All you need to know is that you’re safe. No one’s gonna touch you, see you, or hear those pretty little sounds you make for me.”

His words sent another wave of heat through you, your body arching into him instinctively, desperate for more. Joel’s hands moved with a confidence that made you dizzy, his fingers hooking under the waistband of your underwear, tugging it down, leaving you bare and vulnerable beneath him.

“And you…” Joel’s voice dropped to a dark, seductive murmur, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as his hand slid between your legs again. “You’re not thinkin’ about anyone else right now, are you? Just me. Just this old man you can’t get enough of.”

Your breath caught at his words, the way he threw the nickname back at you.

You’d teased him that morning, calling him a handsome old man with a smirk on your face. But now, hearing it from him, laced with possessiveness and dark intent, it made your stomach flip in ways you hadn’t expected.

Joel’s hand gripped your waist again, his fingers digging into your skin as he pressed you harder against the tree. “You like that, don’t you?” he growled, his voice a low, filthy rasp. “You like the way I take care of you. No boy your age knows how to handle you like I do.”

You whimpered, the heat between your legs growing unbearable as Joel’s words wrapped around you, making your head spin.

His body pressed harder against yours, his hips rolling forward, teasing you with the promise of what was to come.

You could feel him, thick and hard, pressing against your slick heat, and it made you gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders.

“I’ve been hard all damn morning,” he growled, his lips brushing your neck as he ground his hips against yours, making you gasp again.

“Watchin’ you… thinkin’ about how good you felt last night, how sweet you sound when you come. You’ve been drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy, baby girl.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body responding instinctively, arching into him, desperate for more.

The tension between you was unbearable, and the way he was pressing into you—teasing, taunting, never giving you exactly what you wanted—was driving you mad.

Joel’s hand slipped between your legs again, his fingers brushing over your swollen clit, making you cry out softly, your body jerking in response.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” he muttered, his voice thick with lust. “You’re gonna take it so good, aren’t you?”

You whimpered, your hands clutching at him as his fingers toyed with you, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Joel… please…” you breathed, your voice barely more than a whisper. You could barely think, the heat between your legs, the roughness of his touch, the darkness in his voice—it was all too much.

He chuckled darkly, his lips brushing your ear. “That’s it, baby girl,” he growled, his fingers teasing you with just enough pressure to make your body tremble. “Beg for it. Tell me how much you want it.”

You swallowed hard, the words falling from your lips before you could stop them. “I want you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need. “Please, Joel…”

He groaned low in his throat, his hand gripping your waist even harder as he lined himself up with your entrance, the heat of him pressing against you, making you gasp. “You want this old man, huh?” he growled, his voice dark and filthy.

“You want me to fuck you right here, out in the open, where anyone could come?”

You nodded, barely able to breathe, your body trembling with anticipation. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice shaky and desperate. “Please.”

Joel smirked against your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he teased you with the promise of what was to come. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, his voice thick with need. “But you’re mine. No one else gets to have you like this. No one else even gets to look at you.”

With that, he thrust forward, filling you in one swift, brutal movement, and you cried out, your body arching against his as he buried himself deep inside you.

Joel’s body was pressed so tightly against yours, it felt like the air had been sucked out of your lungs.

The rough bark of the tree scratched at your back, but the sharpness of it barely registered over the overwhelming sensation of him inside you.

His grip on your hips was almost bruising, his large hands holding you in place as he thrust into you, deep and relentless.

His breath was hot against your neck, coming out in harsh, ragged pants that matched the pace of his movements.

“You feel that?” he growled low in your ear, his voice dripping with rough need. “You were made for me, baby girl. Only me. Ain’t nobody ever gonna fuck you like this.”

You whimpered as Joel slammed into you again, each thrust harder than the last, making your whole body jolt with the force of it.

His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you back onto him with every brutal movement. He wasn’t holding back anymore. It was all raw, unfiltered desire, and it had you gasping for breath.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his voice thick with lust as he pounded into you.

“You take me so fuckin’ good… like you were just waitin’ for someone to fuck you like this. Ain’t that right?”

You could barely form a coherent response, your mind clouded with the overwhelming sensation of him filling you completely, stretching you in ways that made your legs shake.

Every word he said seemed to sink deeper into you, each one driving the pleasure higher, making it harder to hold on.

“Tell me,” he growled, his teeth grazing your neck as his hips snapped forward again, the force of it sending sparks of heat through your body. “Tell me no one else gets to fuck you like this. Say it.”

You gasped, your hands clutching desperately at his shoulders for support, trying to steady yourself as the pleasure mounted.

“No one else,” you breathed, your voice shaky, barely audible over the sound of your bodies moving together. “Only you.”

A low, dangerous chuckle rumbled from Joel’s chest, his grip on your hips tightening even further.

“That’s right,” he muttered, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. “Only me. You belong to me now, baby girl. You don’t need anyone else. You need this.”

His words hit you like a tidal wave, each one sinking deep into your core, making you tremble beneath him.

The roughness of his voice, the filthy way he spoke to you, the way he claimed you—it had you spiraling out of control, and he knew it.

He could feel it in the way your body responded to every hard thrust, the way you clung to him, desperate for more.

“And you love it, don’t you?” Joel growled, his hips slamming into you harder now, his pace unrelenting.

“You love the way I fuck you, the way I make you come apart. Ain’t that right, little girl?”

You nodded frantically, your breath coming out in short, desperate gasps as he drove into you, harder and faster, pushing you closer to the edge.

“Yes,” you moaned, your voice barely more than a breath. “I love it.”

Joel groaned low in his throat, his hands roaming over your body now, possessive and rough.

His fingers slid up your shirt, finding your breasts, squeezing them as he slammed into you, making you cry out.

“Good girl,” he growled, his voice thick and commanding. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect. So tight, so wet… all for me.”

You could feel the tension building in your core, the pleasure mounting higher and higher with every brutal thrust.

Joel’s pace never slowed, his hips driving into you with the kind of intensity that had your head spinning, your body trembling under the weight of it all. It was too much, too fast, too intense, but you didn’t want him to stop.

“Fuck, you’re squeezin’ me so tight,” he groaned, his breath hot and heavy against your ear. “You’re gonna come again, aren’t you? I can feel it. Come on, baby girl, I want to feel you come for me.”

His words pushed you right to the edge, your body trembling as the pressure built to an unbearable point. “Joel…” you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders as the pleasure threatened to overwhelm you. “I—”

But before you could finish, Joel’s hand slipped between your legs, his fingers finding your swollen clit with unerring precision.

The moment he touched you, your body shattered, your release crashing over you in waves, your muscles clenching tight around him as you cried out his name.

Joel groaned low in his throat, his thrusts becoming even more erratic as he felt you come apart around him, his hips slamming into you with a raw, primal need.

“That’s it,” he growled, his voice rough and breathless. “Fuck, you’re so perfect… so fuckin’ perfect…”

He buried himself deep inside you one last time, groaning your name as his own release hit, his grip on your hips tightening as he emptied himself inside you, the pleasure overtaking him completely.

His body trembled against yours, his breath ragged, his fingers digging into your skin as he held you close.

For a long moment, the only sound was the harsh, heavy breathing between you, both of you trying to steady yourselves, your bodies still pressed tightly together. Joel didn’t pull away, didn’t let go.

His hands stayed on you, holding you possessively, like he couldn’t bear to be apart from you, not yet.

“You’re mine,” he muttered, his voice rough and thick with satisfaction. “No one else gets to have you like this. No one else even gets to look at you the way I do.”

His words were a promise and a warning all at once, and though your mind was still spinning, you knew one thing for sure—Joel meant every word he said.

You were his, and he wasn’t letting you go.

You pulled in a shaky breath, trying to gather your scattered thoughts. The tension in the air was still thick, the weight of what had just happened between you lingering like a heavy cloud.

Joel’s hands reluctantly pulled away from your body, and you could still feel the heat of his touch, the way he had teased you to the edge before you both had to stop.

“I need to get home,” you murmured, your voice still unsteady, a hint of the recent intensity lingering in your tone.

Joel’s eyes met yours, dark and unreadable for a moment. His hand lingered on your waist for just a second longer before he let out a low sigh, stepping back.

You saw the way his jaw tightened, like he was trying to pull himself together, rein in whatever was still simmering just beneath the surface.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his voice gruff, filled with restraint. “We’ll get you home.”

You both moved around the camp, the quiet between you loaded with everything unsaid. Joel’s movements were deliberate, quick as he packed the last of your things.

His eyes occasionally flicked your way, watching you as you gathered yourself, but neither of you spoke about what had just happened, the charged silence saying enough.

His hand brushed yours as he handed you a bag, and you felt that familiar spark again—the one that had drawn you in from the start, the one that always made your heart race.

Once everything was packed, Joel turned toward you, wiping his hands on his jeans. He didn’t say a word as he walked over to your car, already starting to hook it up to his truck like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You blinked, watching him in surprise. “Joel, I can drive myself home,” you said, your voice still shaky but firm.

He didn’t even look at you as he continued to secure your car to his truck. “Not happenin’,” he replied, his voice full of that rough authority that left little room for argument. “You’re not drivin’ alone.”

You crossed your arms, a small frown tugging at your lips. “I’m not a child, you know.”

That’s when he stopped and turned to face you, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His eyes darkened slightly as he stepped toward you, his presence immediately overwhelming in that way you’d grown used to.

“Baby, listen to me,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, his hand lifting to brush a strand of hair from your face. “You’re not drivin’ yourself home. Not after this. Not when I can make sure you get there safe.”

The way he said it, with such finality, made your heart skip a beat. He wasn’t asking—he was telling. His protectiveness, the intensity in his eyes, left no room for argument.

You huffed lightly, trying to fight back the flush rising in your cheeks. “Fine,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze, but you couldn’t hide the way your body reacted to his words, the way your pulse quickened under his watchful eyes.

Joel’s lips twitched, clearly catching the shift in your demeanor. “Good girl,” he said quietly, the two words carrying more weight than they should, leaving you flustered.

As he finished securing your car, you both climbed into his truck. The hum of the engine filled the air, but the tension between you remained. He glanced over at you as he pulled onto the road, his hand resting comfortably on the steering wheel, the other tapping lightly against his thigh.

“You know I’d do anything to keep you safe, right?” he muttered, his voice rough, but with an undercurrent of something softer. “No one’s ever gonna hurt you while I’m around.”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his words settle in your chest. “I know,” you replied quietly, glancing out the window as the familiar roads blurred by. “But, Joel… I’m not helpless.”

He let out a low chuckle, glancing at you with that dark, knowing look. “Darlin’, I know you’re not helpless. But that doesn’t mean I’m gonna let you face things on your own.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, the possessiveness in his voice unmistakable.

He wasn’t just protecting you because he thought you needed it—he was doing it because he wanted to, because he couldn’t stand the thought of you being out of his reach.

Joel’s hand rested on your thigh, his fingers gently massaging as the truck hummed along the road. His touch was casual, but the heat of it was unmistakable, spreading through you like wildfire.

You could still feel the lingering effects of what had happened earlier—the way his hands had moved over your body, the roughness of his voice as he whispered dirty promises in your ear.

The way he claimed you in the woods, his protective instincts morphing into something darker, more possessive.

But now, in the quiet of the truck, you couldn’t ignore the practical reality of what needed to happen next.

As your mind drifted back to the present, a thought popped into your head, and you knew you couldn’t put it off any longer.

“I, uh…” you started, shifting slightly under Joel’s touch. His hand stayed firmly on your thigh, the pressure increasing just enough to make your breath hitch. “We need to stop at a pharmacy.”

Joel’s brow furrowed as he glanced over at you, but his hand never left your leg. “Pharmacy?” he echoed, his voice low and rough. “What for, darlin’?”

You swallowed, suddenly feeling a little shy. “I, um… I need to get the morning after pill.”

For a moment, Joel’s hand stilled on your thigh, his grip tightening just slightly. Then, without a word, he nodded, his jaw working as he processed what you’d said. His thumb resumed its gentle, circular motion, tracing patterns over your skin as he let out a low hum.

“Morning after pill, huh?” His voice was gruff, but there was a hint of amusement lurking behind it. His hand squeezed your thigh gently, possessively.

“You know… our babies would probably be real cute.”

You blinked, glancing at him in surprise. You couldn’t tell if he was joking or if there was something more serious behind his words.

His face was unreadable, but the heat in his touch remained, and it made your pulse quicken.

“Joel…” you muttered, shaking your head as a smile tugged at your lips.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. Let’s handle one thing at a time. You get therapy first, old man.”

He chuckled at that, his grip on your thigh tightening, thumb brushing dangerously close to the edge of your waistband. His eyes flicked over to you, dark and intense.

“Still old man, huh?” he drawled, his voice dipping low, filled with that familiar growl that made your skin tingle. “You weren’t complainin’ about my age a few minutes ago.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you quickly looked away, biting your lip. The reminder of what had happened in the woods—the heat of his body pressed against yours, the way his hands had claimed you so thoroughly—sent a shiver down your spine.

Joel’s smirk grew as he caught the look on your face. He leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear as his hand slid just a bit higher on your thigh.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement and something darker. “You gettin’ shy on me now?”

You swallowed hard, feeling the tension between you spike again, the air thick with unspoken desire.

His hand stayed firmly on your leg, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin just beneath your waistband. You could feel the heat of him, the intensity of his gaze, and it made it hard to think straight.

“I’m just… trying to be responsible,” you muttered, trying to regain some composure, but your voice came out breathier than you’d intended.

Joel chuckled again, his grip tightening. You couldn’t help but smile at that, a soft laugh escaping your lips despite the heat coursing through you. “But seriously… pharmacy first.”

Joel just grinned, his hand lingering on your thigh as he shifted gears, the truck humming beneath you both.

“Whatever you need, darlin’. But don’t think for a second I ain’t still thinkin’ about those cute babies.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head with a teasing smile. “Joel, again, you really should stop thinking about babies and start thinking about calling a therapist.” 

Joel chuckled, the sound deep and rich, his broad hand squeezing your thigh possessively. “A therapist.” His voice carried that rough, teasing edge, filled with warmth. “Darlin’, I’m already workin’ on that, but don’t pretend you didn’t like the idea of those cute babies.”

You shot him a playful glare, rolling your eyes, but couldn’t keep the smile from tugging at your lips.

His hand stayed firm on your leg, the heat of his touch seeping through your jeans, making your pulse quicken. Joel had this way of making everything feel charged, every touch more than just casual, every glance heavier with meaning.

The tension between you both was thick, that lingering heat from earlier still hanging in the air.

When Joel parked, his hand found yours, gripping it firmly as if he wasn’t about to let go anytime soon.

Without a word, he got out and came around to your side, pulling you out of the truck and keeping you close, his hand wrapped around yours as the two of you entered the pharmacy.

You were barely inside before you spotted the familiar face of the pharmacist behind the counter.

"Hey," you greeted with a friendly wave, feeling Joel's presence looming behind you, his hand tightening around yours.

His grip was solid, a constant reminder that he was there, watching, protecting—even when it wasn’t necessary.

You explained to the pharmacist what you needed, but Joel’s energy shifted beside you. You could feel the weight of his stare as the pharmacist smiled at you, his fingers flexing slightly against your hand.

The slight possessiveness was impossible to miss, his jaw clenching just the tiniest bit as if he didn’t appreciate the friendly exchange.

When the pharmacist handed over the pill, you reached for your wallet, only to have Joel beat you to it, pulling out cash before you could even open your bag.

“Joel, I can pay for myself,” you protested, giving him a look, but his eyes were focused solely on the pharmacist, his tone gruff and unyielding.

“Of course I’m payin',” he said, slipping the cash across the counter, his voice low.

“I was the one cummin' inside, wasn’t I?”

The air between you thickened, heat creeping up your neck at his blunt words.

The pharmacist awkwardly handed Joel the small paper bag, and Joel gave him a curt nod, his hand never leaving yours as he turned, guiding you firmly out of the pharmacy.

Once outside, you could breathe a little easier, but your heart still raced from Joel's possessive display. As he opened the passenger door for you, his hand brushed your back, sending a shiver down your spine.

His protectiveness was palpable, but so was the underlying heat between you, simmering just beneath the surface.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you muttered once you were settled inside, watching as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

“I know,” he said, his voice a bit softer now, though still laced with that possessive undertone.

“But I wanted to.” His hand was back on your thigh as he started the engine, thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles over your jeans, the touch sending warmth through your body.

The truck’s engine rumbled quietly as Joel navigated the familiar streets, his hand still resting possessively on your thigh.

The drive had been mostly quiet, Joel’s fingers occasionally flexed against your leg, his grip steady and firm, as if he was grounding himself by touching you.

As the truck slowed down and turned onto your street, you blinked, glancing out the window. “Wait…” You frowned, turning to look at Joel. “How did you know where I live?”

He didn’t even flinch, keeping his eyes on the road, his thumb stroking over your skin in that calming, deliberate way. “You told me, baby,” he said smoothly, his voice a deep rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

You paused for a moment, trying to recall when you’d given him your address, but the events of the past couple of days had been so intense, it was hard to keep track.

Maybe you had told him?

You were still shaken from everything that happened, and besides, Joel always seemed so capable, like he knew everything before you even realized it yourself. Naively, you shrugged it off, not questioning it any further.

Joel pulled up in front of your house, the truck coming to a smooth stop. His hand lingered on your thigh, giving you one final squeeze before he turned off the engine.

For a moment, the two of you just sat there in the silence, the weight of unspoken words heavy between you.

You shifted in your seat, glancing at him, your heart racing.

“Joel… I really like you,” you admitted softly, biting your lip nervously. “But you need to get help before we start anything serious.”

His eyes flicked to you, a mix of surprise and something deeper flashing in his gaze. It was like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing—that someone like you, soft and kind, actually wanted him.

Joel had been so used to shutting people out, to keeping his distance, but here you were, offering him something real.

“You…” He trailed off, shaking his head slightly, as if trying to wrap his mind around it. “You actually want me? After all this?”

You nodded, your fingers nervously fiddling with the edge of your sleeve.

“Yes, Joel. I like you… a lot. But you’ve gotta work on yourself. Therapy could really help, you know? Before we can start something long-term.”

Joel exhaled slowly, his eyes scanning your face, searching for any hint of hesitation or doubt. But all he saw was sincerity, and that shook him to his core.

He wasn’t used to people sticking around—let alone wanting more with him.

He leaned closer, his voice soft but filled with a deep, raw emotion.

“If gettin' help means I can have you, baby… then I’ll do whatever it takes.” His voice dipped lower, almost a growl. “Everything, if that’s the outcome.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, the intensity in his voice sending a thrill through you.

Joel reached over, his hand cupping your cheek gently, his thumb brushing over your skin as he gazed at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“Darlin’,” he murmured, his voice thick with affection. “If this is what you need, then I’ll do it. No questions asked.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips, the vulnerability in his words touching something deep inside you.

But you knew this was bigger than just you—it was about Joel getting the help he needed, about him facing his past and his trauma.

“Good,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. “Because I want you to be okay. For you, not just for me. You need it“

But the tension between you two didn’t dissipate—it only simmered beneath the surface, as his thumb brushed over your bottom lip, his gaze flicking down to your mouth.

“I’ll do it,” he whispered, his voice thick with promise. “I’ll go to therapy, I’ll get the help.”

Before you could respond, Joel was already opening his door, coming around the truck to your side.

He opened the passenger door and offered you his hand, pulling you out gently but firmly.

His hand stayed in yours as he led you to your front door, his fingers still wrapped possessively around yours.

As you fumbled for your keys, you felt his gaze on you, warm and intense.

He reached out, cupping the back of your neck, pulling you toward him with a soft but commanding grip.

“You make me wanna be better, baby,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke.

The kiss that followed was slow, deliberate—filled with all the unspoken promises of what could come if Joel followed through.

His lips moved against yours, soft but insistent, his hand slipping down to your waist, pulling you close.

By the time you pulled away, your heart was racing, your skin tingling with the memory of his touch.

“I’ll see you soon,” Joel whispered, his voice low, full of intent.

You nodded, your breath still shaky as you opened the door, stepping inside.

As you glanced back at him one last time, you couldn’t help but smile.

This was the beginning of something new, something real—and for the first time, you were hopeful that Joel could find his way through the darkness.

· · ─────

It had been eight months since the night that changed everything. Therapy had helped Joel more than he liked to admit, but some parts of him hadn’t changed.

The protectiveness, the obsession with keeping you safe—those only seemed to have deepened. But the dark cloud that used to follow him had lightened considerably.

The nightmares had lessened, the guilt had dulled into something more manageable. Now, he could breathe again.

But the thing he still couldn’t get enough of was you.

You were at his place again, spending time together after a long week.

He made dinner—something simple but delicious—and the two of you had settled on the couch afterward, the fire crackling in the background, casting a soft, golden glow around the room.

Joel’s eyes never left you. It didn’t matter if you were laughing, talking, or just sitting there; he watched you with the same intense gaze that always seemed to heat your skin.

It was like he was memorizing every detail of you—the way you tucked your hair behind your ear, the small smile that played at the corner of your lips when you caught him looking.

“Joel,” you teased, catching his stare again, “if you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna start thinking you’ve got an obsession.”

He smirked, his hand finding its familiar spot on your thigh, his thumb tracing lazy circles over your jeans.

“Sweetheart,” he drawled, his voice low and rough, “if you haven’t figured that out by now, you’re not payin’ attention.”

You laughed softly, the sound filling the cozy room. "Guess I should start taking notes, then,” you teased, leaning into him, your shoulder brushing against his arm.

Joel’s smirk deepened, and he leaned in closer, his lips brushing your ear as he murmured, “You should. Wouldn’t wanna miss a single detail about this old man, huh?”

You rolled your eyes playfully, nudging him with your shoulder. “Well, you do make it easy to forget about the ‘old’ part sometimes.”

Joel chuckled, but there was a flicker of something more in his eyes.

He liked when you played with him like that—when you didn’t shy away from the age difference but turned it into something light, something flirty.

“Easy, huh?” he teased, squeezing your thigh a little harder. “I’ll take that as a compliment, darlin’.”

“It is,” you grinned. “I mean, you’ve definitely surprised me.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Surprised you, huh? What exactly are we talkin’ about here?”

You bit your lip, your smile turning a little mischievous.

“Oh, you know… how a certain someone hasn’t had any trouble keeping up.” You shot him a look that made your meaning clear, your cheeks flushing slightly even as you held his gaze.

Joel barked out a laugh, the sound deep and rumbling. “Well, I do what I can,” he said with a teasing wink, his hand sliding a little higher on your leg.

“Guess you make it easy for me to keep up, baby girl.”

You rolled your eyes again, but the grin on your face betrayed how much you were enjoying the banter.

Joel had a way of making you feel like the center of the universe when you were with him. It was in the way he looked at you, the way he touched you, and how he always seemed to find a way to make you smile—even when he was teasing you about the age difference.

The night wore on in that same comfortable, easy rhythm—talking, teasing, laughing together.

Joel had lit a few candles around the room, the flickering light adding to the warm, intimate atmosphere.

As you sat together on the couch, your legs draped over his lap, Joel’s hand continued its slow, steady path up and down your thigh, his thumb brushing the inside of your knee, sending little sparks of warmth through you.

At some point, the conversation drifted into something quieter, more meaningful.

You talked about the last few months, how much had changed, how much better Joel was doing.

He admitted that the therapy had helped, that he wasn’t waking up every night in a panic anymore. The nightmares still came, but they didn’t have the same grip on him they used to.

And it was because of you.

“I wouldn’t have made it this far without you,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion as he looked at you, his eyes filled with an intensity that made your chest tighten. “You know that, right?”

You smiled softly, your heart swelling at his words. "I’m proud of you, Joel," you said quietly, reaching out to brush a hand along his cheek. "You’ve worked so hard… You’ve come such a long way."

Joel looked at you for a moment, his eyes filled with something deeper than gratitude—something more like devotion.

"I wouldn’t be here without you, darlin’," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "You pushed me to get better. You gave me a reason to."

Your fingers traced the lines of his face, the strong curve of his jaw, his stubble rough against your fingertips.

"You did this," you replied, your voice soft but firm. "You put in the work. I just… I just believed in you. And I’m really proud of you, Joel."

He seemed to take in your words, his brow furrowing slightly as though he didn’t quite know how to accept the praise.

His hand tightened slightly on your thigh, his thumb still moving in slow, comforting circles.

"You’ve been staying here a lot," he said, his voice low, almost hesitant. "Feels good, havin' you here with me. Feels right."

You grinned, feeling the warmth spread through you at his words. "Yeah, well," you teased, "I guess I kinda like it here too. You’ve got a nice place, Miller."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "It’s not just the place, and you know it," he muttered, his voice deep and full of meaning. "I like havin' you around, baby girl. More than I can say."

Your chest fluttered at the nickname, and the way his hand slid a little higher on your leg didn’t go unnoticed.

There was a warmth in his eyes as he looked at you, the same kind of warmth that made your heart race every time he called you "his girl."

You’d been together for months now, but the way he looked at you still made your stomach flip.

"I never thought… I didn’t think I’d ever have this again," he admitted, his voice rough. "Someone like you. It feels too good to be real sometimes."

You smiled softly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. "I’m real," you whispered against his mouth. "And I’m not goin’ anywhere."

Joel’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer until you were practically sitting in his lap.

His hands slid up your back, his touch warm and comforting as he held you close. "You’re mine, and I’m keepin' you," he muttered, his lips brushing your ear.

"Can’t believe I’m lucky enough to have you here with me."

You grinned, leaning back just enough to meet his gaze, your hands resting on his chest.

"Well, I’m lucky too," you replied, your voice teasing but filled with affection. "Not every girl gets to say she has the strong, protective, handsome Joel Miller as her man."

He chuckled, shaking his head as his hand moved to cup your cheek. "Sweet talker," he muttered, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "But I guess I like hearin' it from you."

For a while, you both stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the warmth of the evening settling over you like a blanket.

The night felt perfect—easy, peaceful, and filled with the kind of love that made everything feel right in the world.

As you nestled against Joel’s chest, his arms still wrapped around you protectively, you couldn’t help but smile.

You’d come a long way together, and despite the obstacles, despite the darkness he’d had to fight through, you were here now. Together.

"Guess I’m stickin' around," you whispered, your voice soft but filled with certainty. "I kinda like it here with you."

Joel grinned, his hand sliding up to tangle gently in your hair. "Good," he whispered back, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "’Cause I’m not lettin’ you go, baby girl."

You laughed softly, resting your head against his chest as the steady rhythm of his heartbeat filled the quiet room. You were home.

The quiet of the night settled over you like a soft blanket, the only sound the distant rustle of wind through the trees outside.

Joel held you close, his arms wrapped tightly around you as if letting go would break the fragile peace you had built together.

He breathed deeply, taking in the scent of your hair, the steady rise and fall of your chest against his.

There was a softness to this moment, something sacred and rare. It was the kind of quiet Joel had never known he could have—one that wasn't haunted by ghosts of the past or shattered by the weight of guilt.

He had come a long way, you both had, but the road behind you was littered with moments of doubt, fear, and the suffocating grip of old wounds.

There had been days when the darkness had almost swallowed him whole, when the weight of his past, the endless guilt over what he had lost and failed to protect, had nearly driven him away from everything good in his life.

But you had stood by him, steadfast and unshaken, even when he couldn't see a way forward. You had anchored him, reminding him of what life could be beyond the nightmares, beyond the pain.

Your presence, your love, had given him hope—something he'd never thought he would find again.

And now, with you nestled into his side, the warmth of your body grounding him, Joel finally understood what it meant to live for something more than survival.

His eyes drifted to the window, where the faint light of the moon spilled across the floor, a reminder that the world was still out there—dangerous and unpredictable as always.

But for the first time in as long as he could remember, Joel wasn’t afraid.

He wasn’t looking over his shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He had something real, something worth holding onto, and for once, he felt like maybe he deserved it.

As the minutes stretched into hours, Joel’s thoughts softened, his mind no longer racing with what-ifs and could-have-beens.

The weight of his past wasn’t gone, but it had shifted, lightened somehow, transformed into something more bearable.

It no longer consumed him. He had found peace in the present, in the steady rhythm of your breathing beside him, in the warmth of your hand resting gently on his chest.

He had spent so long chasing redemption, thinking he needed to be better, to do more, to fix what had been broken inside him.

But you had shown him that healing didn’t come all at once. It wasn’t about erasing the past—it was about learning to live with it, to carry it with him without letting it define him.

And in that moment, with you curled up beside him, safe and warm in his arms, Joel realized that maybe, just maybe, he had found his way out of the darkness after all.

The future stretched out before you both, uncertain and unpredictable, but Joel no longer felt the fear that used to creep into his bones at the thought of what might come next.

He had you, and you had him, and together you had built something stronger than the shadows that once haunted him.

There would still be challenges, moments of doubt, but you would face them together—because that's what you had become.

A team. A partnership. Something real. Something worth fighting for.

And as the night faded into dawn, Joel closed his eyes, finally letting go of the burden he had carried for so long. He was no longer the man who had lost everything.

He was no longer just surviving.

He was living.

And for the first time in a long, long time, Joel felt at peace.

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

Sorry, I had to let these two end with some fluffy happy end. 😭

The End with the main story!

Will probably do spin offs and also a few of Joel’s therapy sessions as well as smut if y’all are interested.

Thank you so much for the support and all the nice comments, they were my favorite :)

xoxo

[elikajinnie]

Hiii I love your fanfics!!😭🩷

Can u write something on sunoo like horror au or thriller au?

Fallen Angel - K.S

THANK YOUUUU!!<333 Omg i have so many horror au drafts right now. It`s really giving me motivation.

P: Devil!Sunoo X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Blood/Injury, Rituals & Cult-like Activity, Obsessive Love, Body Worship, Murder, Corruption, Falling In Love, Stalking?

Synopsis: A seemingly innocent walk through the forest turns into a chilling nightmare, and your soul becomes the ultimate prize for the devil himself. With a captivating presence and an insatiable desire for you, he reveals that your fate is now intertwined with his. And he will keep you by his side.

a/n: I am a sucker for paranormal movies :p the start is inspired by Jennifer`s body :) HAPPY HELL WEEK!! (iykyk)

"The Devil is real and he's not some little red man with horns and a tail. He can be beautiful because he's a fallen angel and he used to be God's favourite."

ـــــــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

You come downstairs after slipping into more comfortable clothes, ready for a walk. The house is quiet, your steps light on the wooden floor as you head toward the door. Living on the outskirts of town has its perks, and your favorite one is the forest. It's a place of solace, a space where you can let your thoughts wander freely as you walk beneath the trees.

You pull on your shoes, grab your jacket from the hook by the door, and fish your phone out of your pocket. A playlist hums to life in your ears, setting the mood. With your keys in hand, you lock the door behind you, the soft click signaling the start of your escape into the wild.

The gravel crunches beneath your feet, the small stones and twigs snapping with every step. There’s something rhythmic in the way the sound mixes with the music, creating its own sort of tune. You follow the familiar path, the forest looming ahead, inviting you in. As the trees grow taller around you, the ground changes, becoming softer, more forgiving underfoot. The scent of pine and earth fills the air, fresh and damp. Sunlight filters through in thin beams, casting long, golden shadows on the forest floor.

Your breathing syncs with the rhythm of your steps, steady and calm. The music playing in your ears becomes a backdrop to the symphony of nature—birds chirping somewhere above, the distant rustle of small animals moving through the underbrush. You can feel the world quieting around you, like the forest itself is protecting you from the noise and chaos of everyday life.

The deeper you go, the more peaceful it becomes. The path you walk is familiar, worn by countless footsteps over the years, but every time it feels new, like the forest shifts and breathes with the seasons. You pause for a moment, standing still, letting the quiet wash over you. There’s a comfort in this silence, a stillness that fills you.

But as you take a breath, something in the air changes. It’s subtle at first—like the shift in a breeze before a storm. The trees, once inviting, now seem to lean in closer. The shadows deepen, stretching out in unfamiliar shapes. The music in your ears feels distant now, as if it’s being drowned out by the weight of the silence.

Your steps slow, and the crackle of a twig behind you makes you stop altogether. You turn, scanning the trees, expecting to see nothing but the familiar outline of trunks and branches. But for a moment, just a brief flicker, you think you see movement—something or someone slipping between the trees, too fast to catch.

The forest, once a place of peace, now feels different.

Your heart quickens, instinctively telling you something is wrong. The peaceful stillness of the forest now feels like a trap. Slowly, you turn around, careful not to make any sudden movements, your instincts screaming at you to leave. The music in your ears lowers into the background, drowned out by the rushing pulse of your own heartbeat. You try to stay calm, taking slow steps back in the direction of home, eyes scanning the forest around you.

But the feeling doesn’t go away. Every shadow seems to shift, every tree leaning just a little too close. The forest, once familiar, now feels foreign, hostile even. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and your steps quicken. You need to get out of here.

Just as you pick up the pace, something moves at the corner of your vision. You freeze. Slowly, you glance around, and that’s when you see them—figures, barely visible at first, blending into the dark shadows of the trees. Cloaked in black, their faces hidden, they move with eerie silence. One, then two, then more of them, appearing from the forest as if they’ve always been there, watching.

Panic surges through you. You turn fully now, ready to run, but it’s too late. The forest around you is no longer empty. They’ve surrounded you, their dark forms closing in like a tightening net. Your breath catches in your throat as you search for a way out, but there’s none.

Before you can even react, something hard strikes the side of your head. Pain explodes in your skull, and the world around you spins wildly. The ground seems to rush up to meet you as your vision blurs, darkening around the edges. The last thing you feel is the cold, unforgiving earth beneath you as consciousness slips away, pulling you into a deep, heavy darkness.

When you finally come to, your head throbs with pain. Your eyelids flutter open, and the first thing you notice is that you’re propped up against a large, moss-covered stone, the dampness of it seeping through your clothes.

Panic sets in as you realize you’re bound—your wrists and ankles tied tightly with coarse rope, the roughness biting into your skin. There’s a gag in your mouth, muffling your shallow breaths. Your heart races as you struggle to move, but the ropes hold firm.

Looking around, your eyes adjust to the flickering light of candles surrounding you, casting eerie shadows on the trees. There are seven figures, cloaked in black, standing silently around you. They are still, their faces hidden under the hoods.

You hear it then—the low, rhythmic sound of chanting. The voice is monotone, steady, like it’s reciting something ancient and powerful. You don’t understand the words, but you guess it’s Latin. You begin to struggle, trying to loosen the ropes, heart pounding as your fingers strain against the bindings. But the more you move, the tighter they seem to become. Panic rises in your chest.

Suddenly, one of the figures steps forward, and in their hand, you see a dagger glint in the candlelight. Your stomach twists in fear. You freeze, eyes wide, unable to tear your gaze away as they approach you. The chanting continues, unwavering.

Without warning, the figure kneels beside you. The dagger’s cold blade presses against your cheek, and then—pain. You flinch as the sharp steel slices into your skin, a thin line of blood trickling down your face. A muffled whimper escapes your throat. The figure collects the blood, careful and deliberate, smearing it onto an ancient, crumbling scroll that looks like it’s been carried through time itself.

Terror takes over as you watch, helpless, as the figure lights the scroll with a simple flick of a lighter. The flames catch quickly, consuming the scroll in moments. As the last of it turns to ash, the chanting stops.

A deafening silence follows.

No birds. No wind. The entire forest seems to be holding its breath, as if the world itself is waiting for something terrible to happen.

Then, all at once, the candles surrounding you flicker out, plunging you into darkness. But just as quickly, they flare back to life—only this time, the flames are blood red, casting an ominous, fiery glow over the ritual circle. The figures stand unmoving, their faces still hidden, but you can feel the shift in the air. Something has changed.

Something is coming.

The air around you feels thick, oppressive, as if the very forest is suffocating under some unseen weight. Then, suddenly, a voice cuts through the silence. It’s sultry yet booming, rich with mockery and power. It doesn’t come from any one direction—it comes from everywhere at once, as though the trees themselves are speaking.

“Well, well, well,” the voice purrs, dripping with amusement. “How desperate you all must be, fumbling with your little rituals and chants. Meddling with powers far beyond your reach.” It chuckles darkly, the sound reverberating through the forest, making the ground beneath you tremble. “Did you really think you could summon me so easily? That I would come at the beck and call of your pathetic incantations?”

The cloaked figures stiffen at the voice’s words, shifting nervously in their places. They remain silent, but you can feel their fear in the way they hesitate, as if they didn’t anticipate this response. The voice continues, teasing and condescending. “You should’ve known better. But here you are, scrambling in the darkness, begging for something you cannot possibly understand.”

Just then, one of the figures dares to speak. Their voice is trembling, but steady enough to say, “But we brought you a sacrifice.”

The forest falls deathly still. The voice, which had been mocking moments before, quiets suddenly. The shift in its tone is palpable, as though whoever or whatever it is has just taken a keen interest in something—or rather, in someone. You feel a chill creep up your spine.

There’s a long pause, and then the voice speaks again, but this time it’s softer, quieter, as though it's enthralled. “A sacrifice…?” The amusement fades, replaced by something else—curiosity. Desire. “And what a beautiful offering you’ve brought me…”

Your blood runs cold as the voice seems to focus entirely on you now, its words lingering in the air. You can feel its attention like a weight pressing down on you, though there is no form, no figure to see—just the voice, enveloping you in the darkness.

“I must say, you’ve outdone yourselves,” it murmurs, almost appreciatively. “Such beauty… such fragility. A rare find indeed.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, and you can’t tell if this attention is a blessing or a curse. Every muscle in your body screams to run, but the ropes still hold you tight, and the darkness closes in.

The figures, emboldened by the voice’s attention, begin to speak. One by one, they make their demands, their voices eager and trembling with greed.

“We ask for money,” one says, stepping forward.

“Power,” another adds, almost hungrily.

“We offer our loyalty in return for wealth, for control. We will serve you without question,” one of them declares, their voice dripping with desperation.

For a moment, there is silence. Then, the voice returns, and this time it’s filled with cold, biting laughter. “Money? Power?” it repeats, the words laced with disdain. “How pitiful. Is that what you’ve gathered here for? How small your desires are. You dare summon me, meddle in forces far beyond your comprehension, and for what? Gold? Influence?”

The voice’s laughter grows, mocking them all, cutting through the air like a knife. “You offer loyalty as if it means something to me, as if you’re anything more than fleeting, mortal specks. You want power? You want riches? You have no idea what true power is, nor the price it demands.”

The figures hesitate, doubt creeping into their postures as the voice continues to belittle their wishes. And then, just as your heart beats faster with terror, you feel a breath against your ear—soft, like a gentle wind. A whisper, barely audible, brushes against your skin.

“Close your eyes.”

You freeze. Slowly, you turn your head, expecting to see someone beside you, but there’s no one. Just the oppressive darkness and the flickering red flames of the candles. Your pulse quickens, but something deep inside you urges you to trust the voice. Against the rising panic in your chest, you clench your eyes shut tightly, your body trembling as the atmosphere around you shifts.

Suddenly, the stillness of the forest is shattered by the sound of screams. Blood-curdling, desperate cries fill the air, piercing through the night as the figures around you shout and wail in terror. You hear the snap of branches, the thud of bodies hitting the ground, and the crackling of something far more sinister. But you don’t dare open your eyes. You’re frozen in place, paralyzed with fear, every muscle locked in place as chaos erupts around you.

The screams continue, a cacophony of horror, but you keep your eyes shut, holding onto the whisper’s command. Your breath is ragged, your chest heaving as you try to control the overwhelming panic that’s rising inside you. Time stretches, seconds feeling like hours.

And then, just as suddenly as it began, the forest goes quiet. The screams fade into nothing, leaving only an eerie silence. Your heart races in the deafening stillness, and though you can no longer hear the carnage, you can feel its lingering presence.

You breathe in and out, fast and shallow, terrified to open your eyes, terrified of what you might see. The forest is so quiet now, as if it’s holding its breath once more. You start to wonder if it’s truly over, if the nightmare has passed.

Then, the whisper returns, soft and chilling, right by your ear. “Sleep…”

Before you can even react, your mind becomes heavy, your body limp. It feels like a spell, something irresistible pulling you into darkness. Your eyes, still shut, flutter briefly before you fall into an all-consuming sleep, leaving the horrors of the forest behind.

You drift through the most peaceful sleep you’ve ever had, your body weightless, like it’s floating down a calm, serene river. The usual tension in your muscles is gone, replaced by a deep, soothing calm. It’s as if you’re cradled by warmth, gently rocked by invisible hands. There’s no sense of time, only pure restfulness, the kind that reaches into your soul and makes you feel whole.

In the distance, you hear a voice—soft, affectionate, and full of admiration. It whispers sweetly, its tone rich and tender, complimenting everything about you. It praises the softness of your hair, the elegance of your face, the beauty of your body, and even your very presence, as though every part of you is perfect. The words wash over you like a lullaby, pulling you deeper into that blissful rest.

When you finally wake up, you’re in your bed. The familiar comfort of your own room surrounds you, but something doesn’t feel right. You blink groggily, sitting up, trying to shake off the lingering haze of sleep. Confused, you glance around, and your heart races as you remember the events —the forest, the figures, the voice. Instinctively, your hand goes to your cheek, expecting to feel the sting of the cut, but there’s nothing. Your skin is smooth, untouched. There’s no sign of what happened.

You throw off the covers and hurry to the mirror, your pulse quickening. You search your reflection, half-expecting to see some trace of the terror from the forest, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary. Your hair is the same, your face unmarked. It’s like nothing happened at all, and yet… you know it wasn’t a dream. It couldn’t have been. The memory is too vivid, too real. The voice, the blood, the chanting—all of it remains sharp in your mind.

You turn away from the mirror, trying to make sense of it, when something catches your eye. Your breath hitches in your throat. On your bedside table, there’s a candle—lit and burning softly. Next to it, a single rose, its petals dark and velvety, resting elegantly beside the flame.

You freeze, your heart pounding as you approach it. Slowly, you pick up the rose, your fingers brushing against its delicate petals. The candle flickers slightly, casting a warm glow across the room. You stare at it, the confusion settling deep in your chest.

“Oh…” you whisper, your voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. The soft voice from your dream, the one that praised you, seems to echo in your ear again, gentle and intimate. Startled, you whip around, expecting to see someone behind you, but there’s no one. Just the empty room.

“Weird…” you mutter under your breath, glancing around once more. Still, there’s no explanation, no figure emerging from the shadows. You place the rose back down on the table and blow out the candle, watching the smoke spiral up into the air before it disappears. The room feels normal again, but the unease remains.

You climb back into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin. Despite everything, the warmth of sleep begins to pull at you again, as if beckoning you back into its embrace. And though the forest may be far behind, you can’t shake the feeling that something—or someone—is still watching.

ـــــــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

In the days that follow, you can’t shake the unsettling feeling of being watched. It’s always there, just out of sight—a presence hovering behind you, lingering at the edge of your senses. Every time you glance over your shoulder, expecting to see someone or something, there’s nothing. Just empty air. But the feeling never fades. It clings to you like a shadow, haunting your every move.

You become more cautious, always looking around, watching for signs of movement, but there’s no panic, no alarm. It’s almost as if your body has accepted the presence, even as your mind refuses to make sense of it. You should feel fear, but instead, there’s a strange calm, an eerie quiet that lingers no matter how close the feeling gets.

The day after the incident, you return to the forest, hoping for some kind of clue, some proof that it wasn’t a dream. But the forest is peaceful, untouched. There’s no sign of the ritual, no remnants of the candles, no trace of the figures. It’s as though the whole thing never happened, swallowed up by the woods themselves. The silence feels wrong, and as you walk the same path, the memory of that night burns vividly in your mind, but there’s nothing here to confirm it.

You try to move on, but even your friends start noticing the change in you. Rei, Jeongin, and Yujin glance at you with worried eyes, asking if everything’s okay. You brush them off, telling them it’s just stress, maybe some restless nights. But deep down, you know it’s more than that. There’s no rest anymore, only the constant feeling that you’re being watched, even when no one is around.

And then there’s the candle and rose. Every night, without fail, when you go to bed, they’re there. The candle always lit, casting a soft glow across your room. The rose—perfect, fresh, never wilting—sits beside it. It weirds you out, gnawing at your sanity, especially when you know you lock the windows and draw the curtains every night. There’s no way someone could be getting in. After the third night, you even called the police, desperate for answers. But they found nothing—no signs of forced entry, no signs of any entry at all. The officer told you everything seemed normal, but nothing about this felt normal to you.

The hopelessness sinks in. There’s no explanation, no rational way to understand what’s happening. And it doesn’t help that at night, when the world is quiet, you can hear it again—that soft voice. It’s always there, whispering just at the edge of your consciousness. Close, yet distant. Its words are impossible to grasp, like a lullaby just out of reach, tugging at your mind as you drift into sleep, feeling the weight of something you can’t explain pressing down on you.

You want to scream, to fight it, but there’s no fear. Only that strange, unsettling calm, like a storm waiting to break. And you can’t tell if you’re more terrified of what’s happening—or of how much you’ve come to expect it.

ـــــــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

One day, in the midst of your growing paranoia and frustration, you find yourself mindlessly scrolling on your computer when a strange ad catches your attention: a website for a fortune teller. The colorful banner flickers, promising answers to those who seek them, and normally you’d scoff at something like this. But with everything going on, you find yourself clicking the link. Desperation tugs at your thoughts. Maybe she could explain what’s happening, or at least help make sense of the strange calm that now follows you like a shadow.

The next day, you go. The fortune teller’s shop is tucked away in a quiet part of town, the kind of place you wouldn’t notice unless you were looking for it. Inside, the scent of incense hangs thick in the air, and the room is dimly lit by candles that flicker with every movement. She sits across from you, an older woman with knowing eyes that seem to see right through you.

As you settle into the chair, she doesn’t need much prompting. After a brief introduction, she tells you that she feels something around you, something that clings to you. “There’s a presence,” she says, her voice low and thoughtful. “Usually, a presence like this would be malevolent, something dark and dangerous… but right now, it’s calm. It feels content, almost protective.”

Her words send a chill down your spine. You’ve never bought into this kind of thing before, but something inside you tells you to listen. You can’t deny the truth in her words. That presence, the one you’ve felt trailing you day and night—it’s always there, but never threatening.

She pulls out her tarot deck, shuffling the cards with practiced ease, her fingers nimble as she lays them out on the table. One card catches your eye immediately—the Devil. When she spots it, her breath catches. “The Devil,” she whispers, her voice trembling slightly. “It represents temptation, control, and obsession. But it’s also a card of power, of something… primal. Something that binds itself to you, and once it has, it rarely lets go.”

You sit there, frozen, as she explains the meaning of the card. It’s about being tethered to something you can’t escape from, something that might seduce you with its calm but still holds an underlying danger. You barely hear her as she continues, your thoughts racing.

When you finally leave the fortune teller’s shop, you step out into the street, dazed and conflicted. The cold air bites at your skin, but your mind feels numb. You stand there for a long time, thinking over everything she said, the Devil card burned into your thoughts. The idea that this presence, this voice, is somehow tied to you—content now, but still something to be wary of—it sends your head spinning.

Eventually, you walk to the bus stop, lost in your thoughts. When the bus arrives, you get on, finding an empty seat by the window. As you sit, staring out into the city, you can’t shake the strange feeling again—that presence lingering close, too close. You glance out the window, and for a moment, you swear you see something sitting beside you in the reflection. A shadow, just out of the corner of your eye.

Your heart skips a beat, and you turn to look—but there’s nothing. No one. Just the empty seat beside you, like always. You squint, trying to shake the feeling, and look back at the window. The reflection shows nothing.

You huff in frustration, shaking off the moment, and pull out your phone, trying to distract yourself. But as the bus rolls forward, you can’t help but feel that presence still, hovering just beyond your senses, patient and ever-present.

You step off the bus at the stop you wanted, your mind still racing from the strange encounter on the ride. The air is cool as you walk, your footsteps almost mindless, leading you down familiar streets until you reach the church. Its tall steeple rises against the sky, and you pause for a moment, staring at it. A sigh escapes your lips as you shrug, figuring there’s no harm in trying. Maybe this place, of all places, could offer you some sort of clarity—or peace.

Pushing open the heavy doors, you step into the threshold. The moment you cross over, something shifts. The constant feeling of being watched, that heavy, unshakeable presence, vanishes. It should bring you relief, but instead, a hollow emptiness fills the space where that presence once lingered. You stop in your tracks, feeling strangely vulnerable, exposed in a way you hadn’t expected.

Every cell in your body screams at you to turn back, to leave the church and return to where you felt… safer. But you swallow the feeling, pushing it down as you make your way past the countless rows of benches, your eyes fixed on the altar.

“Hello,” you call out, your voice echoing through the empty space, bouncing off the high ceilings.

“Hello, my child,” a voice responds. You turn to see a priest walking towards you, his face kind, his eyes full of concern. “How may I help you?”

You hesitate for a moment, wondering how to even begin explaining what you’ve been feeling, but something about the priest’s calm demeanor makes it easier. You tell him everything—about the ritual and the feeling of being watched that never left you. He listens carefully, nodding as you speak, never interrupting. When you finish, he places a hand on your shoulder, his expression grave but understanding.

“I think you may benefit from a cleansing,” he suggests gently. “It could help you find peace.”

You’re not sure what peace would even feel like anymore, but you nod anyway, agreeing to the cleansing. He leads you to a small side chapel, where he begins to recite verses, his voice steady and reassuring as he works through the ritual. You stand still, feeling the weight of his words settle around you, like a protective barrier forming between you and whatever it is that’s been haunting you.

When he finishes, you feel lighter—but not in the way you expected. You thank him quietly, offering a small smile before heading back toward the exit. But as you reach the door, you stop, standing just before the threshold. There’s an odd feeling gnawing at you, something that makes you hesitate before stepping outside. You take a deep breath, as if bracing yourself for whatever might come next.

Finally, you step out. You wait for the familiar sensation to return—the feeling of being watched, the strange calm that’s followed you for days. But nothing happens. The air is still. The presence is gone.

You exhale slowly, the tension in your chest loosening, and for the first time in a while, you feel a flicker of relief. Maybe this is what peace feels like. Maybe you’ve finally managed to shake whatever it was that had been clinging to you. You walk down the church steps and start making your way home, your steps lighter, as if the weight of the last few days has lifted.

But as the quiet of the evening settles around you, you can’t help but glance over your shoulder, just to be sure.

ـــــــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

That night, when you finally make your way to bed, something feels off the moment you step into your room. It’s quiet, almost too quiet, and when you glance at your bedside table, the absence hits you immediately. There’s no candle softly flickering, no rose resting beside it. For days, those strange, inexplicable objects had become part of your nighttime routine, and now, without them, your room feels… empty.

You stand there for a moment, staring at the bare space, unsure how to feel. Part of you should be relieved, right? The presence is gone, the priest’s cleansing worked, and now, everything is back to normal. But as you sit on the edge of the bed, you can’t shake the odd sense of unease gnawing at you. That eerie calm you’d come to expect—no matter how unsettling—had become familiar. And now that it’s gone, it feels like something important has been ripped away.

You lie down, pulling the covers up, trying to convince yourself that this is what you wanted. Peace. Quiet. But as the night wears on, you toss and turn, the silence pressing in on you from all sides. Sleep doesn’t come easily. Every time you close your eyes, you expect to hear that soft, whispering voice, or to catch the faint scent of roses in the air. But there’s nothing. Just the cold, stark quiet.

Hours pass, and despite the exhaustion, you can’t seem to find any comfort. The night drags on, restless and heavy, and when you do manage to drift off, it’s into a light, uneasy slumber. The dreams that come are disjointed, dark, and full of shadows that shift and twist just beyond your reach.

ـــــــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

As the days turn into a blur of mundane routines, you find yourself increasingly aware of an emptiness that settles in your chest. It starts subtly, creeping in like the morning fog, but soon it becomes a heavy weight you can’t ignore. You catch yourself glancing around your room, searching for something, but you can’t quite put your finger on what’s missing.

You dismiss it at first. Tell yourself it’s just a phase, a product of the unsettling experience you had in the forest and the church. But deep down, you know what it is.

Each night, when you lay in bed, the absence gnaws at you, louder than your rational thoughts. You try to convince yourself that you don’t need any strange tokens, that their disappearance signifies freedom. But the truth is, you miss the ritual, the soothing presence they offered, even if it was unsettling. They were reminders that you weren’t entirely alone, even if the presence felt like a shadow lurking in the corners of your mind.

You begin to notice it more and more during the day. At work, when the sunlight streams through the window, illuminating everything around you, your thoughts drift to that flickering candlelight. You find yourself distracted, unable to concentrate, imagining the scent of roses filling your room, their petals vibrant and alive. In moments of quiet, when you should feel at peace, your mind wanders back to the eerie calm that came with those objects.

You even catch yourself thinking about the fortune teller’s words, the way she spoke of the Devil card and its implications. Was it truly gone? Or was it simply biding its time, waiting for you to acknowledge its presence again? The uncertainty hangs over you like a storm cloud, dark and oppressive.

Every night, as you prepare for bed, you look at that empty space on your bedside table, and a familiar ache settles in. You want to deny it, want to convince yourself that you’re better off without the strange gifts. But as you drift into an uneasy sleep, the truth lingers just beneath the surface—you miss what once was, even if it was chaotic and frightening.

And the more you deny it, the stronger that longing becomes, until it feels like a part of you is reaching out, desperate to reclaim the connection you once had.

ـــــــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

One night, as the hours dragged on, you found yourself tossing and turning, your mind racing with thoughts that wouldn’t settle. Eventually, you groaned in frustration and opened your eyes, confronting the reality that sleep was eluding you. With a resigned sigh, you sat up, pulling the covers off your body. You felt restless, as if your own skin was too tight.

Navigating through the dark, you made your way to the kitchen, each step a little more deliberate than the last. The house was silent, the only sound the soft padding of your feet on the cool floor. You reached the fridge and pulled out a water bottle, opening it with a quick twist before taking a few long gulps. The cool water felt refreshing, but as you set the bottle down, a familiar shiver raced up your spine.

You froze, instinctively turning slowly around, scanning the dimly lit kitchen. “Hello?” you called out, your voice a soft echo in the stillness. But there was no response, only the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of the wind outside.

Turning back around, you tried to shake off the chill that lingered, but then something shifted in the air. It wasn’t stifling, but it felt heavy, pressing down on you like a weight. A sudden awareness prickled at the back of your neck, and you froze again, feeling a breath whisper past your ear.

It was warm and sweet, mixed with an intoxicating scent of roses and something burning, like incense.

“Hello, little angel,” a sultry voice whispered, sending chills through your body. “Miss me?”

You turned your head slowly, dread pooling in your stomach, and there it was—a black shadow, dark and formless, hovering just inches from your face. Two crimson eyes glinted in the darkness, locking onto yours with an intensity that paralyzed you. You wanted to scream, to run, but your tongue felt heavy and your limbs refused to move. All you could do was stare in terror, heart pounding in your chest as the shadow loomed closer.

In that moment, you understood with horrifying clarity: you weren’t alone anymore.

You could only watch as the shadow moved to stand directly in front of you, your gaze locked onto its form, mouth slightly open in disbelief. The presence was back, and you felt a strange mix of fear and longing bubbling within you. You hadn’t realized how much you missed that voice, that intimate whisper, until it echoed in the stillness of your kitchen once more.

“Excuse my sudden disappearance,” the shadow spoke, its tone smooth and rich, wrapping around you like silk. “The cleansing you underwent caused me to step back. I could only return to you when your soul desired me again.”

Your heart raced as his words registered, the surreal nature of the moment crashing down around you. You found your voice again after the shock wore off, forcing the question out of your throat. “What… are you?”

The shadow paused, then gave a graceful nod as if remembering something important. “Excuse my manners,” he said smoothly, his voice dripping with dark elegance. And then, right before your eyes, the inky figure began to shift. The darkness gave way to a striking form, his transformation almost too breathtaking to believe.

He stood there now, a tall, beautiful man, whose very presence stole the breath from your lungs. His skin with pale, flawless that seemed to glow in the dim light. His black attire was tailored perfectly, hugging his body and adding to the aura of power he exuded. But it was his eyes that drew you in —those deep, red orbs that gleamed with a playful yet dangerous light, and his blond hair fell effortlessly around his soft features. But it was more than just his face that left you spellbound—two long, black horns curved proudly from his head, and behind him, a sleek, horned tail swished lazily through the air. In his hand, he casually twirled a pitchfork, as if it were an extension of himself.

“I am the Devil,” he said with a charming smile, his gaze locked onto yours, “but you may call me Sunoo.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. You stared at him, a whirlwind of emotions crashing through you—fear, intrigue, and an unsettling familiarity. The realization of what he was settled deep within you, mingling with the longing you had tried so hard to suppress. Despite the warnings that echoed in your mind, you couldn’t help but feel drawn to him, to the chaos and the darkness he represented.

The kitchen felt smaller now, the shadows thicker as he took a step closer. “And I have come back for you,” he said, his voice low and enticing, making your heart race faster. His red eyes locked onto yours, and with each word he spoke, the weight of his gaze felt as though it was peeling back your very soul.

“I watched you,” he began, his voice a low rumble, rich with emotion. “The moment I laid eyes on you, I craved you. You ignited a hunger within me that I had thought long extinguished. A mortal like you,” he said, his tone reverent, “looked like an angel in my eyes. Your innocence, your strength, your beauty—each facet drew me closer, wrapping around my heart like a vine.”

As he reached out, his fingers brushed against your cheek, a caress that sent a shiver of warmth through your body. His touch was electric, igniting a spark deep inside you that resonated with every heartbeat. “But then,” he continued, the softness of his voice darkening, “I saw you on that forest floor, hurt and scared for your life. It filled me with fury, a rage that pulsed through my veins. How dare they threaten you?”

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin as he continued, “I sought you out. I stood by you, watching over you as you went about your days, waiting for the moment when you would long for me as I longed for you. I protected you from the darkness that surrounded you, even as I stood in the shadows. I knew this night would come—the time when you would feel my presence and accept me as your own.”

Your heart raced, his words weaving a web of desire and belonging that tightened around your chest. “Your soul now belongs to me,” he whispered, and as the words left his lips, you felt his hand press against your chest, right over your heart. The moment his palm made contact, your heartbeat quickened, a rapid rhythm drumming beneath his touch, as if responding to him alone.

You were so close to him now, his presence overwhelming, the warmth of his body radiating against your own. His gaze never wavered, locking onto you with a hunger that made your skin flush. Without warning, he moved swiftly, twisting you in a fluid motion until your back was pressed firmly against the counter. The cool surface was a stark contrast to the heat that coursed through your body.

Before you could react, his strong hands gripped your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he hoisted you up and set you on the counter. The sensation of his touch lingered, your body humming with warmth as his gaze roamed over you, a possessive fire burning in his eyes.

He took a moment to admire you, his gaze roaming from your head to your toes, as if memorizing every detail. “You complete me,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. “I have waited countless millennia for my Queen. And here you are, the one I have searched for. When you were sacrificed to me, I knew your soul would be mine forever.”

As he spoke, you felt a rush of warmth flood through you, like molten gold coursing through your veins. His presence enveloped you, making you feel alive in a way you hadn’t thought possible.

“You are perfect,” he said, his voice low and intimate. “Every inch of you is a work of art, crafted for my eyes alone.” Then, without warning, he leaned in, capturing your lips with his in a kiss that ignited every nerve ending in your body. It was passionate, a collision of heat and longing that left you breathless.

Suddenly, you felt whole, as if the missing pieces of your soul had been returned to you. A wave of warmth washed over you, burning deliciously from the inside out. You melted into him, feeling safe and cherished as he held you close. His kiss deepened, a dance of desire that left you wanting more, while his hands roamed your body, caressing your curves with a tenderness that contrasted with the intensity of his longing.

You lost yourself in him, wrapped in the intoxicating blend of warmth and desire. Every kiss, every gentle caress, felt like a promise—an assurance that you were meant to be together, that you had finally found the place where you belonged. In his embrace, you felt invincible, as if nothing in the world could ever harm you again.

When you pulled back, breathless and dazed, he dove back in, capturing your lips with a fervor that left you reeling. “My angel,” he murmured between kisses, his voice thick with longing, “you don’t understand how much I need you. You are everything to me.” Each word tumbled from his lips like a sacred incantation, wrapping around you and pulling you deeper into his world.

You gasped as he kissed you again, his mouth moving against yours with a hungry urgency that sent shivers down your spine. The warmth of his body pressed against you, and you felt as though you were melting into him, losing all sense of time and space. He was insatiable, a force of nature, and you struggled to keep up with the intensity of his desire.

“I will keep you for myself,” he vowed, his voice so soft that it sent a thrill of excitement through you. “No one will take you from me. I will protect you for all eternity.”

With every kiss, he expressed a need that felt primal, as if he were staking his claim on your soul. You gasped again, trying to keep pace with the whirlwind of emotion that engulfed you both. He pressed against you, the world outside fading into a blur as his presence consumed you. You could feel his heart racing, a rhythm that matched your own, each thump a testament to the bond that was forming between you.

“Please,” he breathed, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, his red gaze filled with a fierce intensity. “Let me show you what it means to be loved by the Devil. Let me drown you in my devotion.”

As he pulled back slightly, his red eyes shimmering with intensity, he asked, “Will you come with me? Will you rule beside me as my Queen?” The weight of his question hung in the air, and you felt your heart race at the thought of a life intertwined with his—a life where you would stand by his side, embracing the darkness and light together.

Looking into those mesmerizing, molten eyes, a wave of certainty washed over you. You found yourself nodding, breathless as the words tumbled from your lips. “Yes, I’ll come with you.”

A wide grin spread across his face, a radiant joy that illuminated his features. The sight sent a rush of warmth through you, igniting a fire that burned hotter than ever before. He leaned in, capturing your lips once more in a passionate kiss that left you dizzy. The heat between you surged, enveloping you in a cocoon of warmth that made you feel like you were burning from the inside out.

In the blink of an eye, the world around you shifted. When you opened your eyes, you found yourself in a magnificent room bathed in rich, lavish reds. The walls pulsed with a warm glow, and golden accents shimmered in the ambient light, highlighting the opulence that surrounded you. You were nestled on a grand bed, the silken sheets beneath you soft and cool, cradling you like clouds.

Turning your head, you saw him standing a few feet away, his red eyes locked onto you, radiating affection and adoration. His presence was comforting, that it made your chest swell with joy. You belonged here—with him.

As if reading your thoughts, he climbed into bed beside you, pulling you close. His arms wrapped around you, strong yet gentle, holding you with a protective warmth that made you feel safe. A wide grin spread across his face, and you noticed how his eyes almost disappeared when he smiled, his soft cheeks lifting in a way that made him look so much more human, so endearing.

It almost made you want to reach out and squish his cheeks—this unexpected softness he showed you. His red eyes glimmered with love, as if you were the center of his universe. “My Queen,” he said, his voice filled with pride and affection.

You smiled back at him, feeling the weight of the bond that now intertwined your souls. “My King,” you whispered in return.

His grin widened as he hugged you even closer, his hold warm and reassuring. The titles felt right, as if they’d always been meant for the two of you.

[rueclfer]

can't help myself // touya todoroki

a/n: inspired by my real life experience but not nearly as sexy as this <3 touya cig-smoker defender 4L sorrrryyyy

"so this is your so-called 'emergency'?" you shoot an irritated side glance towards touya. "the emergency that made me leave my bed at 1am?"

touya nonchalantly kicked his dangling feet hung over the side of the bed, returning your irritation with a shrug.

"yes? you're not even a little bit impressed?"

you take another peek inside the freshly open pack of cigarettes- marlboro reds. two lines of ten. twenty total. you bring the box up to your nose, taking in the faint scent of tobacco. warm. sweet. piney.

"how'd you get this?" you cock an eyebrow at him.

"just asked a random guy outside of the gas station." he tosses an old lighter up and down into his palm. "people will do anything for 20 bucks ya know."

"hm." you glance back down at the box in your palms. "and you haven't tried one yet?"

"obviously not. wanted to wait for you." he huffs. "for someone who's always saying some shit about 'god i need a cigarette,' you're not as excited as i thought you'd be."

touya gets up and walks towards the open window in which you had just climbed through a few minutes prior, grabbing the box of cigarettes from your hand as he brushes by. he takes a seat at the ledge, motioning you to take the space across from him.

you face touya, one leg extended into his lap and the other bent against your chest as a chin rest.

"i'm not-not excited? maybe just nervous." you mutter.

"good thing we watch a lot of movies then." he shrugs confidently. "m'basically a pro."

he shakes out a single cigarette into his palm before passing it over for you to inspect. it's light. the tobacco is tightly packed into a thin roll. you hold it between your fingers, looking at the way it positions itself as you curl your fingers, extend them, from the back- it was almost like the movies.

"quit eye-fucking it and put it in your mouth." he chuckles at your amazement.

touya flips open the zippo lighter, holding it out towards you.

"what?" you exclaim "i don't wanna go first. you do it." you hold the cigarette back for him to take between his fingers.

"pussy." he mutters under his breath with a faint smile hanging on his lips.

you watch him as he places the filter in between his lips, unhesitantly bringing the lighter up to his face with one hand cupping the flame. the orange and yellow hues illuminated against touya's face- a stark contrast against the azure blue of his eyes.

he sucked the flame in, the cherry glowing red as he deeply pulled. your eyes glued to his own, the way they peered down into the burning red ash, watching it crawl towards him before his eyes flicker up to yours with a quirk of an eyebrow.

he snaps the lighter shut, letting the darkness of the night time shadow his features against the dim moonlight.

touya inhaled as if it's his last breath. the ashes from the end of the cigarette begin to crumble until he finally pulls away. the smoke slowly dribbled out from his mouth before getting wisped away by the cool night breeze and filling your nose with the familiar smell of burnt tobacco.

despite trying to choke it down, he coughs. a lot.

"jesus fucking christ." he chokes out into the collar of his shirt between coughs, gripping your shin for leverage.

"yeah, good thing we watch a lot of movies." you laugh, waving your hand in front of your face, dispelling any lingering smoke. "dumbass."

"fuck off." he hisses.

he comes up from his shirt with teary eyes, red cheeks, and a big grin, holding out the cigarette for you to take.

you accept the offer, lightly tapping away the flaky ash off the side of the house.

with his eyes burning into your own, you hesitantly bring it up to your mouth, taking in the slightest inhale before ripping the cigarette away. you immediately exhale, a faint fog escaping your lips.

"weak." he whines. "that was barely anything."

"i'm scared and i'm not trying to die like you, dipshit." you roll your eyes "i'm just getting a feel for it, that's all."

"give it." he mutters, taking it from between your fingers.

touya scoots his way closer to you, your thigh now on top of his own and your bodies left with only a few inches of space between one another with your back pressed against the windowsill.

touya looms over you, holding the cigarette up to your mouth and cups your chin with his other hand. your eyes widen and cheeks flush at the sudden contact.

"inhale." he orders.

and you do.

you had a hand on his shoulder and the other gripped onto the fabric of his sweatpants.

"look at you." he coos. "good. keep going. keep going." he mutters, clear amusement in his eyes as he watches you crumble in embarrassment under his hands.

touya had a sick pang of enjoyment watching you let him hand feed you a cigarette. the way your eyebrows scrunched together in concentration. the way your lips puckered against his fingers. sharing yet another "first" with him.

if he was bold enough, he would draw your lips to his and transfer the smoke from your lungs into his own- an intimate ritual he swears he'd get to do with you eventually, or at least whenever he could muster up the courage to confess.

you frantically tap on his shoulder to stop once you feel the burn intensifying in the back of your throat.

you didn't know who pulled away first, you or him. you snapped your head back and violently coughed out the clouds of gray smoke into the night sky before crashing your head into his shoulder. you continue your coughing fit, but unable to shake the scratchiness in your throat and bitter residue over you tongue,

"piece of shit." you hack. "no more."

"no more?" he chuckles, running a hand up and down your back as an apologetic offer. "you did so good though."

"fuck you." you rasp out against his neck.

"just sayin." he takes another drag. "and it was hot. straight out of the movies."

you weren't sure if your rising temperature was from your best friend's shameless flirting or from your charred lungs, but your body suddenly took note of your close proximity with touya.

your head hung in the crook of his neck, legs over his own almost in a straddle, his calloused hands running up and down your back.

"i feel lightheaded." you murmur, fiddling with the hem of his shirt as the head rush settles in.

"last one and we'll stop." he taps your shoulder to sit back. he holds out the last bit of the cigarette to you.

"no." you whine, holding your palm up in refusal. "my lungs hurt. you finish it."

"we'll finish it together." he chuckles, holding it back up to your lips. his other hand reaches up to tuck your hair behind your ears, letting it fall to the side of your neck as he pulls you in.

"give me a little puff. be good and give me one more."

-

touya tag: @moonchild701 @kaldurahms-lover @themultifandomgirl @devilslittlehelper @porusuniverse @ratatellie @katbug37

[librababe99]

Moments Between Time: Part Two

cw: dystopian/apocalyptic imagery, emotional distress Word Count: 2.3K

A/N: Hi again! I'm back with the second part of this series and its another long one🤭 I really wanted this chapter to focus on Logan's emotions and inner turmoil. I'm working on the third part already and hoping to have it out soon...stay tuned! - Libra * .♡ *:･ﾟ✧ ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪. Summary: Logan wakes up in the past, grappling with the contrast between the peaceful present and the grim future he left behind. He struggles to focus on his mission to prevent the Sentinel program while being haunted by memories of you and the dystopian world he must change.

(Part Three)

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · �� ୨

Logan’s eyes snapped open, and the world around him came rushing back in a disorienting blur. The sharp scent of fresh linens, the warm touch of sunlight streaming through the window, the distant hum of a city that was alive and thriving—all of it was jarringly foreign, and yet achingly familiar. For a moment, he simply lay there, his mind grappling with the surreal contrast between the present and the grim future he had just left behind.

He could still feel the phantom ache of the battle-scarred wasteland, the oppressive weight of despair that had become his constant companion in those final days. The memories of that desolate future clung to him like a second skin, refusing to be shaken off even as he tried to focus on the present. He blinked hard, trying to banish the images of burning cities and fallen comrades, forcing himself to breathe, to center himself in this time, this place.

Logan’s heart pounded in his chest, the beat echoing with the urgency of the mission that had brought him here. The room he found himself in was modest, cluttered with remnants of a simpler life—a life untouched by the horrors he had witnessed. Sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, casting a warm, golden glow over the wooden furniture and worn, familiar objects. It was a world that should have felt safe, comforting even, but to Logan, it was nothing but a ticking time bomb, the calm before the storm.

He rose from the bed, the creak of the mattress beneath him almost startling in its normalcy. As he moved, the sensation of the sheets, the cool air on his skin, the scent of life outside the window—it was all too vivid, too real, reminding him that this was not some fevered dream. He was truly in the past, in a world that still had a chance, and that realization hit him with a force that nearly knocked the breath from his lungs.

But with that realization came the crushing weight of what was at stake. The future he had left behind was teetering on the brink of extinction, a future where you were still fighting, still struggling to survive in the face of overwhelming odds. The thought of you, alone in that doomed timeline, fueled his resolve. He couldn’t fail. He wouldn’t fail. Every second here mattered, every decision could be the difference between salvation and destruction.

He caught his reflection in the small mirror hanging on the wall, and the sight was almost jarring. Gone were the lines etched by years of battle and loss, the gray that had crept into his hair, the weariness that had settled into his bones. He was younger, stronger, unburdened by the physical scars that had marked his body in the future. But the weight of his mission was already visible in his eyes, a dark shadow that lingered, a reminder of the impossible task that lay ahead.

With a deep breath, Logan began to dress, the familiar movements grounding him, pulling him back from the edge of despair. He slipped into his worn jeans and boots, each piece of clothing a small comfort, a tether to the man he had been before the world went to hell. But even as he moved through the motions, his thoughts were drawn back to you—your face, your voice, the way you had looked at him in those final moments before he left.

The memory of your kiss, fierce and desperate, lingered in his mind, a bittersweet echo that made his chest tighten. He could still feel the warmth of your lips, the way your fingers had tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as if you could somehow keep him from slipping away. It had been a kiss filled with everything you hadn’t been able to say, everything you feared you might never have the chance to say. The thought of never seeing you again, never hearing your voice, was a cold, sharp pain that cut deeper than any wound.

Logan shook his head, forcing himself to focus. There was no time for distractions, no time to dwell on the past—or the future. He had a mission, and he had to stay focused. If he let his mind wander, if he allowed himself to be consumed by thoughts of what he had left behind, he would fail. And failure wasn’t an option. Not when the stakes were this high.

The streets of the city were bustling with life, a stark contrast to the desolation he had grown accustomed to. People moved about their daily routines, unaware of the dark future that loomed on the horizon. It was both a comfort and a torment, this vibrant world that still held so much promise. Logan’s heightened senses picked up the sounds, the smells, the pulse of a city that was very much alive, and it almost overwhelmed him. The laughter of children playing, the scent of fresh coffee wafting from a nearby café, the distant honking of car horns—it was all so normal, so ordinary, and yet it felt like a world apart from the one he had left.

But beneath the surface, there was tension. Logan could sense it, the undercurrent of fear and uncertainty that ran through the city like a barely contained storm. The mutant crisis was already brewing, the seeds of hatred and fear being sown by those who sought to control, to dominate. And at the center of it all was Bolivar Trask, the man whose assassination would set off a chain of events leading to the creation of the Sentinels.

Logan’s jaw tightened as he thought of Trask, the man who would become the architect of so much death and destruction. He had to stop the assassination, prevent the creation of the Sentinels before it was too late. But how? Every step he took felt like walking on a razor’s edge, the consequences of even the smallest mistake echoing across time, threatening to unravel everything.

He made his way through the city, his mind racing as he tried to piece together a plan. He needed allies, people he could trust, but the X-Men he knew in the future were not the same people they were in this time. They were younger, unscarred by the battles to come, and convincing them to join him in this mission would be no easy task.

As he walked, Logan’s thoughts kept returning to you. He could still hear your voice in his mind, your whispered words of encouragement in the dark, the way you had held him close that final night. The memory of your touch, your warmth, was like a balm to his soul, giving him the strength to keep going, to push through the fear and doubt that threatened to overwhelm him. But it was also a torment, a constant reminder of what he had left behind, and the fear that you might not be there when he returned gnawed at him relentlessly.

Logan’s steps slowed as he reached the outskirts of the city, his thoughts a tangled mess of longing and determination. He couldn’t afford to think about what might happen if he failed, couldn’t let himself dwell on the possibility that you might be lost to him forever. He had to stay focused, had to keep his mind on the mission. But the weight of the future, of the memories that haunted him, pressed down on him like a crushing burden.

He found himself in a quiet park, the sounds of the city fading into the background as he took a seat on a bench beneath the shade of a large oak tree. The park was peaceful, a stark contrast to the chaos that churned inside him. For a moment, Logan allowed himself to close his eyes, to breathe in the scent of grass and earth, to let the sounds of birdsong wash over him. It was a small respite, a brief moment of peace in a world that seemed determined to tear itself apart.

But even here, in this quiet sanctuary, the memories wouldn’t leave him. The faces of those he had lost, the screams of the dying, the endless battles that had worn him down to the bone—all of it played out in his mind like a never-ending nightmare. And at the center of it all was you, your face etched with determination and pain, your voice a constant whisper in his ear, urging him to keep going, to fight, to survive.

Logan’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white as he fought against the tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He had been through so much, had endured so much pain and loss, and yet the thought of losing you was the one thing he couldn’t bear. It was a fear that gnawed at him, a cold, relentless terror that gripped his heart and refused to let go.

But then, in the midst of that fear, he remembered your touch, the way your hand had rested on his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly over his stubble. He remembered the way you had looked at him, your eyes filled with a fierce, unspoken love that had given him the strength to keep going, to fight for a future that seemed all but lost.

“You’ll get through this. You have to.”

The memory of your words, spoken in the darkness of that final night, echoed in his mind, and Logan felt a surge of determination wash over him. He couldn’t afford to let fear control him, couldn’t let the weight of the future crush him beneath its burden. You were counting on him, trusting him to change the course of history, to save a world that had been doomed by the actions of a few. He couldn’t let you down.

With a deep breath, Logan opened his eyes, the peace of the park settling into him like a soothing balm. He had a mission, and he would see it through. No matter the cost, no matter the pain, he would succeed. For you. For the future. For the world that had not yet been lost.

As he rose from the bench, the weight of the future still heavy on his shoulders, Logan set his jaw in a firm line. The fear of losing you would never leave him, but he would use that fear, channel it into the determination to succeed. He had to. 

 Logan walked through the bustling streets, he couldn’t help but notice the way people looked at him—casual glances, indifferent stares, eyes that held no recognition of the man he was or the battle he had fought. To them, he was just another face in the crowd, a man with no past, no future, only the present moment. It was a strange, almost liberating feeling, to be anonymous in a world that had once known him as a warrior, a survivor. But the weight of what he knew, of what he had seen, anchored him, kept him from fully embracing the illusion of normalcy.

The city around him thrummed with life, every corner turned revealing something new and unfamiliar. It was as if the world itself was trying to distract him, to pull him away from his mission, but Logan’s resolve was unshakable. Each step he took was a reminder of why he was here, of what he had to do. The mission was all that mattered now. He couldn’t afford to be sidetracked by the ordinary, by the lives of people who had no idea what was coming.

Yet, despite his determination, there was a part of him that longed to stop, to sit down in one of the quaint cafés he passed, to sip a cup of coffee and lose himself in the mundane. To pretend, if only for a moment, that he was just a man living in a world at peace. But he knew better. The illusion of peace was just that—an illusion. Beneath the surface, danger lurked, and it was up to him to ensure that danger never became reality.

Logan’s thoughts drifted back to you, as they so often did. The memory of your voice, your laughter, your touch—they were the only things that kept him going, that gave him the strength to face the daunting task ahead. He could almost hear you now, teasing him about his gruff demeanor, laughing at his grumbles and sighs. 

But it was more than just your laughter that kept him grounded. It was the memory of your strength, the way you had faced the end with courage and determination, never wavering in your belief that there was still hope, still a chance to turn things around. You had been his rock, his anchor in a world gone mad, and now, more than ever, he needed to hold on to that memory. It was all he had left of you, all that kept him from succumbing to the despair that threatened to consume him.

The sun was beginning to set as Logan made his way to the edge of the city, the sky painted in hues of orange and pink that seemed almost surreal in their beauty. It was a sight that would have taken his breath away if he hadn’t been so focused on the task at hand. He couldn’t afford to be distracted, not now. Not when so much was at stake.

As he walked, his mind raced with thoughts of what needed to be done, of the people he needed to find, the alliances he needed to forge. There was no room for error, no time for second-guessing. Every move he made, every decision, had to be precise, calculated. He had to be perfect, because the consequences of failure were too dire to contemplate.

But as much as he tried to focus on the mission, his thoughts kept returning to you. He could still feel the warmth of your touch, the way your hand had felt in his, the way you had looked at him with those eyes that had always seen right through his tough exterior. You had known him, truly known him, in a way no one else ever had. And now, with you gone, he felt a piece of himself missing, a void that nothing could fill.

He stopped for a moment, standing at the edge of a small clearing, the city’s lights beginning to twinkle in the distance. The air was cool, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves of the trees around him. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to close his eyes, to imagine that you were there with him, your hand in his, your presence a comforting warmth against the growing chill of the night.

But when he opened his eyes, the illusion was shattered, and he was alone once more. Alone with his thoughts, his memories, and the crushing weight of the mission that lay before him. He couldn’t afford to dwell on the past, on what might have been. The future was all that mattered now, and he would do whatever it took to ensure that future was one worth living in.

With a deep breath, Logan set off once more, his resolve as unyielding as ever. He had a world to save, a future to rewrite, and he would stop at nothing to see it done. But no matter how far he traveled, no matter how many battles he fought, you would always be there with him, a guiding light in the darkness, a reminder of why he couldn’t afford to fail.

And so, with the memory of you burning bright in his heart, Logan pressed on, determined to change the course of history, to save the world from the fate that awaited it, and to find his way back to you.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨

Taglist: @angelofthorr @swthxrry @alex21705 @hughverine @itzyahgirllkita1 @nonamevenus @hughverine @ayamenimthiriel

(If you'd like to be tagged just let me know <3)

[idesofrevolution]

Never Sleep with Your Phone On

Throughout recorded history, humans have been terrified of the dark. They created stories of sordid creatures of the night that would creep out from beneath your bed and drag you to some subterranean lair to languish in your final moments; or slither out of your mirror if you left it uncovered when your lights were extinguished to steal your soul from your snoring lips. The tales and cryptids across all cultures were all effective in terrifying their communities once the sun set on the horizon. Though that is not necessarily to say that every tale was crafted from pure imagination.

When technology bloomed, humans believed that the horrifying superstitions of yore were long behind them. They had evolved past the primitive fears of what lurks in the shadows, where in reality they had become complacent, arrogant, and lulled. Certainly some of the eldritch creatures had subsided, as all creatures do eventually. Though for every dead legend, a new myth sprouts, and each of those grew and evolved right there along with us. Which, of course, brings us to Asher.

Asher West was, by all accounts, a fairly normal guy. Graduated from high school, going straight into college on a modest academic scholarship. He played frisbee golf with his friends on the weekends, studied hard from 9 to 5, and was seldom seen without a cup of Starbucks in the mornings. He had a sizeable social media following, as was expected for someone with a traditionally handsome visage and adequately charismatic personality. Every day he'd happily post a quick selfie, posting for his thousands of admirers a run of the mill shirtless pic, often without so much as a filter. It'd almost become muscle memory for him: tap the camera icon, snap the pic, post with some benign emojis as the caption, and boom. 900 likes as the day meandered on. Did it provide him with a momentary burst of endorphins? Yes. Was it satisfying? Somewhat, at least he thought so. Years of his staggeringly average life had been all but usurped by this second life online, where he was glamorous, exciting, and adored.

It was so much easier to live in that fantasyland than to truly be present in the real world around him. He, as many of us are, was living his life as someone else- and a life that spectacled easily caught attention. It was easy to come across him in the sea of countless names and faces. It was easy to stumble upon that pretty face. It was easy find, attracting more than just starry eyed fans. Skulking in the void between lines of 1 and 0, buried deep in the infinite cosmic vacuum of the world electric and technological, another pair of eyes would befall him.

It had slinked into his vast sphere rather quickly, and it had begun to watch. Watching each and every 'tasteful' selfie, every vapid thought that he'd post, and every like and pin he'd make, it watched him with empty, expressionless black eyes from within a fragment of his phone's memory. It studied him, curious at first. Things of its nature were always curious, always inclined to watch and analyze and replicate. Even as he slept, his phone siphoning it's charge from it's cable, it would read. The more it saw, the more it had learned about Asher. In fact, it knew more of Asher than perhaps he himself was aware of, if not able to admit.

It had seen those intimate moments he'd taken careful measure to hide from the vast majority of those watching eyes. Second accounts under pseudonyms, gave way to countless of hidden alternate lives he lived: Tumblr blogs dedicated to bad-boy thrist traps and queer erotica, Twitter accounts cataloguing pictures and videos of his closest kept kinks, a well used and well loved Chaturbate account with his face tastefully cropped out of frame... all these lives immortalized in the endless archives of the internet. And after all it's patient watching, all the hours of analyzing, all the months of consuming his information, it had grown an attachment.

Asher had come home late one night. Not unusual for him, as the occasional party wouldn't derail his real life ambitions. After a few libations, and no small amount of cannabis, he'd made his way back home to his small apartment above the corner store. Just as he'd done numerous times before, he stripped himself of his shirt, pulling his camera from his jeans pocket, and snapped a slightly inebriated picture of himself. It'd be enough to boost his ego the next morning, enough to power through the long haul of his draining daily agenda.

SNAP. The flash of the camera went off, and his beloved face was shared for all to see. Though, that night, he mis stepped. Perhaps it was the booze, perhaps it was the toke, perhaps he was simply too tired to notice that he'd left the screen on. By the time he'd hit the bed he was out like a rock, collapsed onto the bed and quietly drifting to sleep. There on the brightly lit screen, in the darkness of the unlit bedroom, it saw its opportunity.

From it's perch on the nightstand, the phone began to spark. Small sparks at first, a quick fizzle and quiet pop. Then more: louder, brighter, faster. It began to rumble against the wooden tabletop, sizzling and sparkling as it danced before the screen went black and dead. Slowly, electric crackling gave way to a bubbling sludge. The glass subtly started wave and bellow, as if it were liquified, not taking long to begin to spill over the edges of it's metal frame. The black sludge fell like oil onto the hardwood floors, collecting in a growing, bubbling pool.

From the primordial ooze burst forth a long, slender arm; it's taloned fingers scraping as it braced itself on the ground. A second arm clawed it's way out, and with an echoing slosh, it had begun to pull itself out of the sludge. It's long, emaciated torso and thick muscled legs had slithered out, landing on two massive, clawed feet. It towered above Asher's bed as he slumbered, bent over so as not to hit it's back onto the eight foot ceiling. It stood there, looking at the person it'd observed and studied for so long. The image presented in the world it'd pried himself out of was nothing of what lay before it. From what it had gathered from his more clandestine dealings, it had noted that he was far from the archetypes he'd collected on Asher's behalf.

He did not have the tattoos like those he'd pinned on Pinterest. He was not wearing the dark, heavy clothes like those he'd saved on Instagram. He wasn't well endowed like the video's he'd favorited on X-Tube. He didn't give off the aura of some rebellious casanova like the stories he'd reblogged on Tumblr. To a creature of symmetry and consistency, this was an error to be corrected; a dichotomy requiring integration.

It crouched down above his drooling maw, gently caressing his head to face it's clenching claw. The talons pressed ever so tenderly past his lips and over his tongue, becoming the very black ooze it had crawled out of once more. It flooded down his throat as it's second arm made it's way into his mouth, as if it were being sucked into Asher. He was drinking it's essence, it's aqueous body slurping down into his core. It's torso compressed as it wriggled down his gullet, ringing out splashing squelches as Asher gargled it down.

As quickly as it had entered, it's long legs slithered into his mouth, leaving only its large feet thrashing about in the air. Asher's stomach was bubbling and undulating under the sheer pressure from this invasion, growing to a large gut spilling over the waistband of his jeans. One loud slurp and a crisp pop, and the feet slipped into him, leaving his writhing body squirming on the bed. It expanded within him, incorporating itself into every fibre of his being. Pressing into his arms, his legs, pushing up his throat until it met the top of his palate. The pressure began to mount, black goo dribbling down the corners of his mouth, until a wet crack sounded in his cavernous head, and it flowed into his skull.

It took mere seconds for it to reach his brain, which it flowed freely into throughout the grooves and nooks. Entirely coated, imbued and inoculated with it, the deed was done. Asher opened his eyes, tiredly sitting up in his bed. He looked over at his phone, tapping it with his finger: 3 AM.

At first it seemed like a nightmare. He could recall moments here and there, though the majority of his 'dream' was a blur. From what he could remember, it was nothing visual he could recollect... but it he could recollect the sensations. Wet, slimy, invasive, and cold- much like he felt drunkenly sleeping in his cold sweat. He brought himself to his feet, dragging his feet on the slippery floorboards to his bathroom.

Flipping the switch, the harsh fluorescent light flickered to life above him, as he turned the nozzle on his shower. Immediately, his jaw nearly dropped to the floor. In the mirror, Asher finally caught a glimpse of himself: strange black bruises and undulating bumps were scattered across his body. That pristine, smooth skin was now covered in sprawling web-like lesions from head to toe. He had mere moments to process the horror reflected in front of him before an immediate pain in the gut had him doubled over the counter.

His stomach started to bubble and groan, and through the foggy haze of his blurred vision he saw his feet begin to ripple and swell. He could feel the slick sweaty soles slide across the tile floor as they expanded and grew. As they reached a substantial size 13, the swelling crept it's way up his calves and into his thighs. Asher wobbled on his feet, as if they were filled with gelatin beneath his slippery skin while his knees began to buckle. He collapsed into a crouch, the fumes of sweaty footmusk bellowing up to his nostrils as his legs cracked and stretched above. He'd never truly experienced scentplay as he'd so dearly fantasized about throughout countless hours of edging to such content, nor had this funk ever emanated from his own soles. In the moment, he felt something within him prod into his brain. As if poking the individual folds of his cerebrum with thousands of tiny needles, causing cascades of thoughts to enter his mind- all of which telling him to embrace. In his mind's eye, he could see himself burying his face into his sweaty sole, between his long toes, lapping up every droplet of sweat that was spewing from his pores. The thought was buried deep in his subconscious, pried out with expert measure, by something now within him.

Grasping for anything to steady himself on, Asher gripped the edge of the sink, pulling himself upright once again and now towering above the countertop. He hung his aching head low, watching with strange newfound fervor as his cock began to feel heavier and heavier. Drool started to drip from the bottom of his lip, landing square onto the lengthening shaft. Like a sandbag, his balls dropped and swelled while he got harder and harder. Another onslaught of pinpricks in his head brought forth another command: stroke.

Steam started build in the bathroom as the hot water continued to fall from the shower, intensifying the scent wafting from now both his feet and his pendulous sac. Each breath of hot, wet musk hit like ecstasy, and with bated breath, he softly grasped ahold of his python and began to pump. Each knead of his engorged member was accompanied by a change. His fingers grew long and sinewy, smooth and slick with precum. His arms remained thin but toned, growing longer and packed with lean muscle. His torso lengthened, topped off with a firm pair of pecs above his sinewy abdomen.

As pressure began to build in his balls, his mind began to feel the needles one last time, imbuing his brain with one last injection of a single trait: pride. He didn't need the approval of anyone else, he was aware of how fucking hot he was. He didn't need to heed the rules that society had straddled him with, he always forged his own path. He had no fears of recompense for his attitude, his ego, his spirit- the world would either stand with him, or he would step on top of them. Either way, what bliss. As the last of his inhibitions and fears had gathered in his groin, he cried out in elation as he erupted. Rope after rope of black sludge shot from his cannon, washing him with a sense of relief he'd never before known. He released his grip on his softening cock, hanging at an obscene eleven inches. He smirked at the sludge coating his mirror and pooling beneath his toes. A sight like that would have shocked and terrified the old Asher, though as he stood before his reflection, devoid of any tension, he relented to the entity within him. It had delivered onto him a new self, a new image, a new viewpoint. As tattoos both vulgar and delicate began to sprawl across his skin, he happily admired his new likeness.

The entity had bestowed a gift to him; throughout the horror, throughout the fear, he was becoming the true Asher that had only ever peeked out from the abyss of his psyche. He leered, bringing his thumb and middle finger together before snapping loudly. From his pores, the black sludge began to spill across his body until he was nearly covered from the neck down in what appeared to be a rubber suit before it began to become a bit more defined. A plain white tee shirt, classically fashioned with a black and white varsity jacket from his college. Skinny, weathered black jeans barely containing his sizeable commando bulge beneath it's thin fabric. On his feet, a pair of white socks and tightly tied high top Chucks, quelling the ripe stink of his soles within the sneaker for some sub to pry off and enjoy.

He grinned, posing and modeling for himself, before he finally turned off the steaming water. After the long, arduous, painful process, the entity had incorporated itself entirely within him- now completely indistinguishable from parasitic to symbiotic. It had rewritten him, completely remade him in the likeness of who he had shown the vast virtual world. There was no cognitive dissonance, there were no lies, there was no deception. All that remained was the Asher he had created in his fantasy, now ready to fuck the real world and all within it.

Thus, as our creature feature comes to an end, I leave you with a modicum of friendly advice. Don't leave your phone on as you slumber, for those that are watching, those that are waiting, those that have been learning are a mere sheet of glass away from finding their way inside. Take my counsel, or ignore it. But do so knowing the outcome, and whether or not you are prepared to weather such a storm.

[strawberrystepmom]

pairing: Suguru Geto x F!Reader

word count: 9.7k

contents: Canon compliant up to the events of JJK0, cult leader!Suguru, naive reader, slight age difference between reader and Geto (5 years), reader can see curses/has cursed energy but it is kept intentionally vague

cw: dark content | emotional manipulation, dubious consent, voyeurism, oral sex (m!receiving), spit, violence, descriptions of anxiety, mentions of religion and religious imagery, mind fuck-y

notes: so this is a remaster/full repost of unkindness that was on my old blog! i only got up to like the third segment in that post so i figured why not do it all at once. thank you for reading if you do and i hope that you enjoy my little story! ♡ | crossposted to ao3

When you were eight years old, sitting in your mother’s lap as she combed through your wet hair, you remember telling her about a recurring dream you had been having for weeks. You were nervous to tell her, your little hands balled into fists as they rested against your nightgown clad thighs. 

“A raven,” you recount to her as she nods and gently uses the bristles of the comb to detangle a knot. “Bigger than any bird I’ve ever seen is in this dream every night, flying around over my head.” Your mother sighs and reassuringly pats your head. You hear the spritz of a spray bottle from behind you, a synthetic green apple scent filling your nostrils. 

Telling her filled your stomach with anxiety, an issue you didn’t know you had at the time. You figured the world was just scary back then. You wish you could go back and tell yourself how right you were. About how scary the world is, anyway. To tell yourself about how everything will eventually end up likely wouldn’t change the outcome but at least you could say a few things.

“The raven comes to the ground eventually. He doesn’t fly over your head forever, instead he glides by your side.”

“The visions you’ve seen are real, you aren’t crazy.”

The most unbelievable thing of all?

“You end up in love and you end up losing yourself along the way.”

Back then though, you only had your mom and her words to illuminate the darkness you felt lurked around every corner.

“Have you ever heard of omens?”

Shaking your head, you turn to look at your mom who is tapping the edge of the comb against the heel of her hand. She’s chewing the inside of her cheek and you can tell she’s deciding what to say next to comfort you. Your mom has never been good at this kind of thing, a woman who never envisioned she would have a child with so much angst and fear. 

“Sometimes we receive signs that something is going to happen in our lives even if we don’t understand them,” she starts. You hear her mouth open, as if she wants to add something additional, but you hear it snap shut as if she thought better of it. You nod once, signaling your understanding and she gets back to work at the stubborn tangle at the base of your skull without another word shared between the two of you.

You hate that this is the most vivid memory from your childhood.

You hate that you still have the dream.

You wake with a gasp, looking around and blinking as warm morning light filters through the window. Feeling around the bed, you wonder if Suguru is already up and moving for the day as your hands touch the duvet where he should be. It’s cold, as if nobody was there in the first place. Knowing that may have been the case anyway, you sigh and rub your hands over your face. 

“Suguru?”

His name leaves your lips in a tentative manner and you look around the room to make sure he isn’t looking at the early morning sun or standing there watching you sleep. No matter how much of your life you spend with him, you’ll never get used to the feeling of those black diamond eyes following you everywhere you go. But finally, you are seen. 

Four years spent with him and no one sees you like he does.

You were 18 years old, a few months from graduating high school, when Suguru approached you. The sight of a stranger raised your hackles, scared of the world at large at that point in your life, and you were concerned trouble was coming for you. All of the omens in your dreams would finally come true at the hands of this beautiful man, rising to his full height which is nearly towering over you. His hair was shorter then than it is now, just past his shoulders and tied in a neat half bun off of his face.

He looked like less of a god now than he did then but you knew it. The omnipresent feeling of him sticks in your bones. It’s the confidence that makes you stand with your back straight, that guides you through the worst of the days where he’s nowhere to be found. 

Unable to find him, you shuffle back to the futon and lay down amongst blankets that smell like him. You’ve never been able to place the scent but you know it’s his. Wrapping yourself in the duvet, you let your mind wander back to all of those years ago.

“I know this seems sudden but I wanted to ask you about your gift.”

Mention of your gift, not that you’d ever call it that, makes you freeze. He notices your expression, wide eyed and haunted, and he fights the urge to smile at you. Just as he and everyone else suspected, you have no idea what you’re capable of. It would be a failing worthy of death to let Gojo find you first. Suguru couldn’t risk the bird dog finding his canary and dropping her off, bloodied and broken, on the doorstep of the Sorcerer community. 

He wouldn’t allow it.

“M..my gift?” You repeat with uncertainty and he nods, bun bobbing against the back of his head as he does so. The situation is withering, a handsome stranger asking you about a secret you’ve kept hidden for your whole life while the sun beats down and makes you sweat. You wonder if you’re about to be killed.  

“You are an exceptional young woman, do you know that?”

The background noise of the world fades out, the sound of the spring birds chirping disappearing as you blink once, twice, and you notice those dark eyes fixated on you. You blanch and avert your eyes. Were you even allowed to look at him? Dressed in such nice clothing with such a regal demeanor? Shaking your head, you play off the awkwardness with a humorless chuckle.

“You must be looking for someone else, sir.” Bowing your head as a sign of respect, you turn to walk away. “I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

Before you can turn on your heel to walk away, you feel a large palm rest on your shoulder. You take note of the weight of it, the feel against your bones, and you wonder why this is happening to you? You are so afraid but you can’t run, you don’t have the guts for it. What do you do now?

Nothing. You do nothing, just as you’ve done your entire life. You let this strange man grab you, hold you, speak to you. Humiliation rises like bile in your throat and you turn to face him, astounded again by his beauty. The sunlight catches his dark eyelashes, warmth emanating from him. How can you walk away? You won’t walk away.

“I don’t want this to be more strange than it already is,” he starts, voice deep and dreamy. You could get lost in the baritone and the way it wraps around you but you choose instead to focus on his words to try and understand what he wants from you. “But I know you have something nobody else has. Abilities.”

He’s correct but you wonder how he could possibly know about your struggles. You have kept them to yourself for years even to the detriment of your own well being. Your mother and father both assume you’re deranged and there are times where you’ve wholeheartedly agreed with them since you began seeing the things that haunt you at every turn when you were 5. 

“How do you know about that?”

The man shakes his head and holds his free hand ahead of him. “Why don’t you walk with me and we can talk some more?”

How can you say no with his hand on your shoulder? Turning on your heel to face him, you keep quiet and wait for further instructions. Your naturally submissive tendencies are serving you well in this situation and Geto doesn't hide his smug smile. You are perfect and he knew it.

As the two of you begin to pick up pace walking side by side, you anxiously keep your eyes glued to the ground. Being able to visualize each of your steps is keeping you calm and if you look down, there's less of a chance you'll see whatever is out there to scare you.

"Look at me."

He doesn't ask, he commands, and you listen. For the first time, you notice something perching on his shoulder. It's formless for the most part and less terrifying than what you usually see attached to others as they pass by you but you're intrigued nonetheless.

"Do you know about that....thing?" Pointing to his shoulder, he nods at you and you breathe a sigh of relief. "You see them also?"

A chuckle is his response and you ponder what it means while you wait for him to clear up your confusion. "I don't just see them, I control them."

The figure disappears quickly and you gasp, searching around your own feet and your shoulders to make sure he didn't order it in your direction to harm you.

"How?"

Despite your trepidation, Suguru can see the way that your eyes sparkle at the thought of someone being like you. He knows how it felt for him, too.

"I can show you and so can my friends." He watches your nose scrunch in confusion at his words and he laughs, amused. The sound is musical and uplifting and you feel yourself lightening up for the first time maybe in your entire life. Knowing you aren't alone has shifted your perspective more than you realized it would.

"There are more of you?"

"A couple dozen, yeah."

Nodding, you think for a moment. What if he can actually help you? What if these people are actually like you? What if you can find a place that suits you for the first time in 18 whole years?

"How can you help me?" 

The man turns to you, knowing smirk in place across his mouth. “I can show you better than I can tell you.”

You hate her.

Never in your life has such a bitter feeling gathered in the pit of your stomach. Your face flames every time Manami walks by, you can feel it and you know she can see it. Tonight, you are more glad than ever to be on kitchen duty even if it means having to listen to her cackle from the other side of the wall.

“Geto-sama!”

She sing-songs across the tatami with a giggle as Suguru traipses by en-route to have dinner with the group, seating himself at the head of the table as everyone else files in around it. You fight the urge to roll your eyes from where you’re standing next to Mimiko and Nanako, pouring hojicha into tea cups. 

“Geto-sama,” you mock under your breath and Nanako giggles, dishing rice into bowls at your side. The two of you giggle together, a secret shared, as she begins to bring the dishes to the table for service. Sorting your tea cups, you count how many more servings you need as you look around the doorframe to see who is waiting.

Your relationship with Geto’s most trusted inner circle has expanded greatly since you first arrived months ago. 

They knew better than to be outwardly distrustful of you. Aside from the twins, every one of them had set out to find Suguru and his group on their own. He found you. He brought you. He touted your abilities long before you arrived.

“She’s the perfect blank slate,” he gushed over dinner one night as the other members of the group listened enraptured. “We got to her just in time, too. My source says that Gojo was planning on paying her a visit.”

Your arrival was underwhelming. Greeted at the end of the footpath that leads to the front door by Miguel, Larue, Mimiko, and Nanako while Manami glowered from the porch with folded arms, you weren’t immediately made to feel welcome by anyone except for Suguru who continued to guide you along the property with your arm looped in his. She was scoping you out, taking an assessment. She believed you to be no threat. She believed wrong.

Tinkering with the last cup on the counter, you take one look into the dining room again and the realization that your usual spot is full makes you chuckle humorlessly. Not that you’re surprised, Manami has done all but piss all over Geto to mark her territory but the sight makes a bitter, sour feeling turn in your guts just the same. Your nose scrunches as if you’ve smelled something bad and you don’t immediately hear when someone else enters the kitchen to pick up the tea cups you are still filling.

“About ready?” 

The voice you recognize as belonging to Mimiko calms you and you respond with a nod, wrapping your hand around the warmest cup as you take a breath and plaster a smile on. This one goes to the man himself and you feel eyes upon you as you offer it to him with a bow. His hand lingers on top of yours for a moment and you’re glad your face is pointed toward the ground, your flustered look hidden as long as you don’t make eye contact.

“We’re just waiting on you,” he chides lightly, always a stickler for timeliness. You lift your head to his view enough to offer an apologetic half smile. He pats the side of your face with his tea-warmed hand and your smile grows. Your eyes meet his rich, umber colored pair and you feel at peace. “Manami will be out of your spot by the time you get back.”

A small “oooooooh” breaks out around the table but the tension is quickly killed with a sharp look from Suguru. Everyone quietly begins shuffling their utensils and you don’t stick around to watch Manami’s rejection, scurrying back to the kitchen to gather your own rice and tea. 

“I want to share a few moments after dinner, if you’d all like to stick around.”

Suguru’s words inspire nods and happy, affirmative hums and you catch the tail end of them as you settle next to him at the table. Your opposition glares icily from the other end of the table, the same look she kept plastered on her face the day you arrived, and you meet her eyes long enough to offer a sweet smile before bowing your head in thanks for the meal you were about to share.

“I’d especially like for you to stay,” he looks across the table at Manami who nods once before turning back to her plate. Her lips are pursed and her eyebrows are knit together in irritation but smugness glimmers in her eyes. “You too,” he says and you turn your head to see him glancing down at you. Fondness crinkles the corners of his eyes slightly and you shrink into yourself with a nod and a shy smile. “Of course.”

The rest of dinner goes as you’ve come to expect. The twins giggle and joke with every other member of the group and you all sit beneath the watchful eyes of your leader who sips at his own tea with a barely visible over the edge of his cup smirk but you can see it from where you sit. You can see the corners of his mouth upturned just enough it makes your heart flutter in your chest. 

He looks down at you and thinks about how vulnerable you look. How little you hide, your emotions and yourself alike. Were you like this before he met you or is this his influence? He takes credit. He knows the way you flash fake nice shit eating grins in Manami’s direction is for his sake. His sweet little bird isn’t afraid to fight and he hoped that would be the case.

“Since we’re all here, I wanted to discuss a few things,” Geto clears his throat and sets his cup on the table in front of him. He basks as he feels every eye in the room turn toward him but none make him feel more intoxicated than yours. When he casts you a glance, you smile shyly. He wonders if you’ll do that forever, look at him as if he’s a savior on a big white horse. He hopes so.

“I want to make some changes in what we’ll all be doing around here,” his voice rings proud and clearly and you fight the urge to prop your head up with your hand girlishly to get a better look at him. A few people shift in their seated positions but you don’t glance around to find out who, gaze fixed upon the person you want to witness the most. 

“Manami, your duties are changing.” Replacing the sound of shifting clothing is small gasping and murmuring. Manami has been Geto’s assistant for close to two years, a coveted spot amongst anyone in the group. “You will still be my personal assistant but only for off compound events and daytime hours.”

Grateful for your own refusal to look at the rest of the table, you can tune out the uncomfortable chatting. “I know this may be surprising but we have many things ahead of us we need to prepare for,” he starts and the noise quiets. “Manami is one of the brightest among us and she will excel no matter what she’s doing.”

Hearing him praise someone else makes your back stiffen, the urge to pick at the seam of your t-shirt making your fingers twist in the fabric idly. You’re grateful your grip is beneath the table, hidden from view. No one will suspect how you feel as long as you’re careful but you gasp as you feel two large, soft hands untangle your fingers from your shirt and squeeze them between their palms. Looking up you’re greeted by the handsome, vulpine smile of Geto and you feel another gentle squeeze of your hands. 

You take a deep breath and ground yourself, focusing on his words as he opens his mouth.

“You will be my new on-premises and evenings assistant.” Despite your shock and the look on your face that shows it clear as day, you nod. “I would love to,” you clarify and he squeezes your hands once more as he rises and drops your clammy fingers back into your lap. 

Standing at his full height, Geto smiles as he looks over the faces of everyone sitting around him. Even Manami is working to hide her pout, looking toward the ground but keeping a smile plastered on her face. You sit with your legs tucked beneath you, a shred of hope illuminating parts of you that you once saw as dark and empty. 

You get to spend most of your day with Geto, most of your evenings too. Perhaps in that time he will finally have the opportunity to tell you about your gift. In 6 months you’ve learned as much as you knew the day you arrived but that may be soon to change. Giddiness makes you smile slightly, your face beaming as you keep it looking up. 

Suguru extends his hand in your direction and your smile grows wider. Gingerly placing your palm in his, he helps you rise as he places his hands on either side of your face. You strain your neck glancing up at him, you’re only chest level or so to his massive form and you can feel him using his grip on your cheeks to lower your head. Once you’re gazing at the floor his lips graze your forehead and you gasp, fire erupting through your limbs. 

“I’m going to teach you so much,” he coos as he uses his grip to turn your face back toward him. His eyes drink in the sight of you - the tip of your nose, the shape of your lips, and he smirks so quickly you swear you only imagined it. His thumbs graze your cheeks before he drops his grip and looks over your head at everyone else. That tall, dark shadow rests directly over you, though.

“You’re all dismissed, thank you for a lovely evening.”

Everyone stands and you stay facing Geto until all of the footsteps have filed out, waiting for his permission to leave next. You flinch slightly when his hands grip your face again, a natural reflex to the surprise of his touch, and he gazes at you silently for so long you stop keeping time. It could have been seconds, it could have been days - you will never know but you will accept it nevertheless. 

“Come see me tomorrow morning,” he whispers and you nod. You can see his eyes flit from your eyes to your mouth and you wonder what he’s thinking. He dips his head slightly and you can feel his lips brush gently against yours, a kiss almost too small to be qualified as one. You shiver, his thumbs digging into the plump flesh of your cheeks. 

“Yes sir.”

“Say that again,” he mutters against your lips. The vibrations of his words are directly on your skin and the heat that erupted in your limbs before has become a full blown fire, your face hot and your palms sticking together. “Yes sir.” 

He presses another kiss to your forehead and releases his grip, straightening his back out as he walks toward the door and offers you a bow of his head. “Get some rest.”

You make certain he’s gone before you touch your fingers to your lips, your eyes fluttering shut as you commit the feel of his soft mouth on yours to memory. You won’t be sleeping tonight.

“Geto-sama?”

The sound of your meek voice alerts Suguru to your presence and he looks up from his usual place by the open sliding door between his room and the porch attached to it, a light breeze blowing his hair off of his shoulder. He looks ethereal and resembles a hero from a book you obsessively read as a child. Rescuing a sweet young woman from a life marred by sadness, the hero hauls her off to a place where she can be happy.

The irony isn’t lost on you.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” you start, clasping your hands together in front of you and he rises to standing, elegance exuding from him even in the most mundane of situations. He approaches you and gently rubs the back of your head and you fight the urge to lean into the touch. No amount of him feels like enough.

“You didn’t interrupt anything,” he responds with a serene smile, one you’ve noticed is just for you. He doesn’t smile at anyone else like that, not even Manami, and smugness rises in you for a split second before he speaks again. “What can I do for you?”

Clearing your throat, you look toward the ground and keep your hands linked. Geto recognizes the posture, something you do frequently when you want to speak, and he waits with his own hands joined inside of the sleeves of his yukata robes. He loves how naturally you submit to him, how you won’t even meet his eyes.

“Why am I here?”

If he’s surprised by your question, he doesn’t show it, but he does take a few strides to your side to place a comforting arm around your shoulder. Against your better judgment, you lean against him. Sides pressed together, you’re surprised when you feel the most minuscule squeeze of reassurance. Your heart threatens to burst as he leads you to where he was sitting and invites you to sit across from him, the two of you looking out at the sun setting on the horizon. 

“Before I answer,” he adjusts his sitting position and turns to face you. The golden hour warmth hits his face and you swear, not for the first time, you are glancing at a deity. Something, someone, greater than yourself. You shouldn’t be this close to him and you start to spiral but his voice brings you out of your own mind and into reality, your gaze shifting from the ground to him. “Will you tell me why you’re asking?”

Twisting your fingers together and sitting your hands in your lap, you sigh. 

You’re uncertain of how much time has passed since you left your old life behind to join him and while you do finally feel at peace with yourself, the natural pull you feel toward the man who brought you here in the first place hasn’t dissipated in the way you expected it to. It feels like an unfulfilled hunger, a need more than a simple want at this point, but how can you begin to tell him that?

“I’m afraid that if I tell you, you’ll see me differently.”

Your words finally get a rise from Suguru and he quirks one of his dark brows. The crack in his cool headed exterior makes you giddy - is that because of you? You’re dumbfounded when his posture changes and he scoots closer to you, your knees nearly touching his. Should you pick yours up and press them against your chest? To quell your own anxiety, you decide to follow his lead. You will only move if he does.

“Nothing you say will change my opinion of you.” He reaches out and touches your knuckles with the tips of his fingers and you feel heat rise through every inch of your body. The touch makes you feel emotional and you break the intense eye contact between the two of you to stare at the ground, hoping it will hide the tears that are threatening to spill down your lash line. “I brought you here.”

Nodding, you lift your still joined fists together and wipe your eyes and down your cheek with the back of one of your hands. Although you are still looking down, you can see Geto moving from your periphery and you wonder what he’s going to do next. 

Concerned your display is upsetting him, you sit still and try to regulate your breathing to keep from sobbing but errant tears still flow. You feel Suguru’s finger before you realize what’s happening and you flinch slightly beneath his touch as he wipes the wet tracks off of your skin. He wipes his finger along the fabric of your yukata robe before wrapping both of your fists in one of his much larger hands.

“Please be honest with me.”

Thinking back to what prompted this need for confirmation of what you mean to him, you dig your nails into your palm until you’re certain marks will be left. Manami, someone who spends almost as much time around Geto as you do, comes into your mind and you gnaw on your lower lip as you think about the jealousy churning in your gut. Why does she get to be there to help him make decisions? Why does she get to watch while he’s in meetings? Why did you see her leaving his room last week, hours before dawn?

Knowing it should be you is the emboldening thought you need to open your mouth.

“Do I mean anything to you?”

Feeling him squeeze your fists, the palm of his hand warm and comforting, you release the breath you’ve been holding. For better or worse, you’re about to find out and although your mind is racing, willing yourself to be calm comes easy in his presence. As if you needed further confirmation of everything he has done for you at a moment when you’re demanding something you feel unreasonable for wanting.

“You mean everything to me, you’re our future.”

His confirmation makes you weep. Tears flow freely, dripping down your cheeks and they hit the knuckle of Suguru’s thumb. You should feel guilty, you think, for putting him in a position to have to answer to you but cannot bring yourself to do it. You shouldn’t have had to wait more than a year to know but forgiveness is easy when it comes to him. If anyone should be sorry it’s you for questioning him in the first place and so you begin to ask for forgiveness.

“I’m so sorry for asking, Geto-sama.”

You feel him pulling you into his lap, his strong hands wrapping around your hips and the blood rushes into your face. Perching with uncertainty, your bottom rests against his thigh and it feels natural. All of the yearning couldn’t have prepared you for this feeling and you sigh as he brings one of his large hands to cup the back of your neck, his voice so close to your ear it makes goosebumps erupt across your skin.

“Call me Suguru from now on,” he whispers, a secret for your ears only. You feel his lips press against the space where your jaw and neck meet, another secret for the two of you to keep. Everyone on the compound would view you differently if they knew this was happening but you don’t care. You can’t care, not when he’s running his palms up your waist and unfastening your robe.

The opened door with a view of the outside doesn’t concern you as Suguru’s deft fingers work at the knot keeping you decent, the same breeze that rustles his hair that has always reminded you of feathers blowing across your bare chest as the robe is worked down around your waist. Your nipple stiffens and Geto reaches to pinch it between his thumb and index finger, making you yelp.

“How long have you wanted this, my little bird?” He wonders aloud and you almost feel as if he isn’t speaking to you at all, he merely wants you to listen and to witness. “Since you met me?”

He knows the truth just as he knows the way you’re looking at him. Eyes lidded, cheeks puffed out, lips wet with your own spit. You’re never going to leave his side.

“Tell me the truth,” he pinches your nipple once more and you arch your back, lip jutting out at the roughness of the feeling. Nobody has ever touched you like this before and the feeling is electric. Despite the fuzziness in your brain, the heady arousal clouding your every thought, you wet your lips with your tongue and speak. 

“So long, Suguru.”

He smirks knowingly and lowers his head to suck your breast into his mouth, his warm tongue lapping at your skin. It’s nothing short of heaven, you think. This is how it always should have been. His hands travel from the dip of your waist to your hips, pulling the fabric of your robe further down to expose more of you to his hungry eyes. You reach out toward his face, your fingers tentatively brushing against his lower lip and he releases your nipple from his mouth.

“Can I touch you too?”

Another whisper, another secret. A predatory gleam shines in Suguru’s eyes and you wiggle against his lap, keeping your fingertips pressed against his mouth. He puckers and kisses them gently, reaching to grab your wrist. He places your hand against the bulge beneath his robes, covering your delicate fingers with his own.

“You can,” he uses his grip on your hand to press the heel against his hard cock and he hisses through his teeth. You admire the way his throat looks when his head is tipped back in pleasure, his Adam's apple bobbing. How is everything he does so effortlessly beautiful, you wonder. Your attention is recaptured by his voice. “But first, how long?”

Your wide eyed, parted lip expression only serves as further fuel for the blood pumping between his legs. You look so innocent, the same as you did when he felt the first of your defenses crumble, the day he approached you to come with him. It strikes him as funny that both times, your vulnerability is because he has put his hands on you. Nervously, you shift in his lap and he presses you closer to his body to keep you from going any further. 

“Since the first day,” you admit, to him and yourself for the first time. He smirks, molding your hand around his bulge and you squeeze. Another hiss from him is all you want, the noise motivating you to offer yourself further. Using your free hand, you slip out of your robe the rest of the way and for the first time, you're bare to his eyes.

"Look at you." Your face heats and you feel your posture collapse in on itself, shoulders slumping after being so seen. "Show me how well you listen."

His command drips with condescension but you’re too awed to notice. When you nod, he gently nudges you off of his lap and you tuck your legs beneath you. Watching as he rises, you stay seated and admire the way those same lithe fingers that were just caressing your overheated skin work at the knot in his own robes.

Those dark eyes glance down at where you kneel on the ground and he gently smooths his hand over the top of your head and slides it into place along your cheek to cup your face. Using his grip to force you to look at him, you do and appear dazed. Transfixed, perhaps, would be better. 

“I’ve always known,” Geto unfastens the knot in his robe fully and you gasp at the sight of his nude form backlit by dusk right outside the door. He’s tall and broad and you can’t look away. “That you would realize.”

Pumping his hand along his impressive length, you bite your tongue to keep from eagerly interrupting him. You want to touch him so badly, you have to sit on your hands like a child to keep from approaching sooner than you should. Before you can think any further about his words, he walks a few steps and the sticky head of his cock nearly brushes your soft, swollen mouth. 

“I knew it was you from the moment we met.” 

He hangs his head just low enough that you feel the words are truly meant just for you and you shiver. As you wait for further instruction, he squeezes your cheek and jaw in the palm of his hand. Your eyes don’t leave him once.

Suguru has always prided himself on his ability to break people down - to their core, their most base selves in every sense of the word. Usually there’s a moment where he can see in their eyes that they have been broken, cloudy and glossy. Yours have looked like that since he met you.

“This is what devotion gets you.” His words make you shiver as he uses his free hand to point the head of his cock at your lips, rubbing the sticky tip along your pouty mouth. Sitting still as stone and waiting for his directions, he gently pulls your face toward his pelvis and his tip pops into your mouth. A long, low moan leaves him and you squirm at the sound. “Just relax for me, okay?”

Suguru releases his grip on your cheek and moves to palm the back of your head, fingers finding an easy and natural grasp on your skull. You take a deep breath and look up at him with watery eyes and he chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re perfect,” he breathes toward the ceiling and you tense slightly as he uses his grip to move more of his cock between your lips. “Stay relaxed, baby. It’s okay.”

Your head bobs slightly and he groans again and you wonder what it will take to get him to make that noise again, the deep guttural moan sending shockwaves to your clit. You want to rut against something, to feel the pressure release in your stomach and between your legs, but Geto is your first priority. 

Experimentally, you dip your face toward the dark hair at the base of his thick cock and you gag a bit as more of his length slips down your throat. The grip on the back of your head tightens and he gasps. Lifting your eyes in his direction for just a moment, you whine at the sight of him with his head thrown back in pleasure. Open mouthed, eyes shut tightly, every muscle in his neck bulging - you love it. If you were a more artistic person, you’d find a way to capture this forever but for now you commit the vision to memory and allow him to thrust his hips so that the remaining length of him dips fully between your lips. The tip of your nose brushes his pubic hair and you moan and gag around his length, tears slipping out of the corners of your eyes. Using the thumb of his free hand, Suguru brushes your tears away and it makes you sob and gag. 

“Oh, don’t give up on me now,” he comforts from above, brows furrowed as his hips jerk and your nose continually bumps against his pelvis. Finding a rhythm, he listens to the noises coming from between your lips with every stroke and he feels himself getting closer. His balls tense and his cock twitches and he isn’t willing to prolong the wait any longer than it has already been.

“Open up, keep your tongue out, just like that,” he instructs as he releases his cock from between your lips with a sticky and wet pop, jerking his hand along his spit covered shaft right above your lips and chin and nose. “Stay just like ahhh-,” his words are cut short with a pleasured shout as he shoots translucent ropes of cum across your spit soaked face. A splash lands across your tongue and you note the salty taste - something you’ll associate with just Suguru for as long as you live. 

Wrist pumping until he feels fully emptied, he takes a deep breath and covers himself halfway. His lean torso is visible and you feel your cunt throb at the sight and part of you wonders if he’s going to do the same for you - if he’ll kneel between your legs and worship your pussy like he hasn’t had a meal in days.

“Miguel, Manami, you can come in now.”

The deep voice filling your ears makes you scramble to cover yourself with your arms, your breasts and back bare to the open sliding door. The pair make their entrance and you keep your face pointed toward the ground, tears spilling hot down your cheeks. Suguru pats the back of your head as he walks back toward the tatami and sits, patting the spot next to him for you.

“Had some other business to take care of, please forgive my rudeness.”

You stay frozen in place but you can feel the eyes of your compatriots on your sticky face, remnants of Geto clinging to your cheeks.

Days spent on the compound are simultaneously mind-numbingly boring and some of the busiest you’ve ever had.

Each morning, you rise with the sun and watch her from the window that is on the wall opposite where you lie. Most of the time you are on your side, arms wrapped around yourself, in your bed or Suguru’s depending on the events of the evening prior. He most often has you visit him in his quarters and you appreciate the near luxurious gift of privacy on those evenings. It’s far less private in your own room, thin walls separating yourself and whoever is in the room next to yours, although everyone seems to know exactly what Geto uses you for and has since your arrival.

He honors you by allowing you to love him, you remind yourself while the dark thoughts swirling in you churn. They’ll be chased away by the sun and by his presence when he returns to his room where you lay. His side of the futon is empty, already made up as if he were never there, so you allow your mind to wander. If he’s feeling generous, maybe today he will have lunch with you or even better, he’ll finally allow you to begin training your cursed energy into something more than a never-ending sinking feeling in your guts.

He promised you a very long time ago he would help you learn about your own abilities. It seems ungrateful to still long for usefulness considering you know exactly what your role is, yet you can’t help but wish to find this key to understand yourself that seems to always be out of reach.

Tracking the time fell away from you long ago, not long after the first time you were intimate with the man you so dutifully serve. Autumn gave way to winter which faded into a difficult to remember spring followed by the once again balmy days of summer. Again and again and again. Cicadas ring out across the secluded surroundings of the compound morning to night. You blink as they instruct you to rise, singing a tune even more rehearsed than the mechanical beeps of the alarms you used to set on your phone. How long has it been since you’ve had a phone? 

Does it matter?

Months or years may have passed but you find that you don’t care all that much. Time passes the same without being able to watch it, a voice that sounds a lot like Geto’s reminds you in the back of your head. You are here forever as part of your purpose to serve his goals and time is just a construct.

When’s the last time you felt like yourself?

Last night, when his satisfaction was the only thing you had to be concerned about, you chide yourself silently. You sound ungrateful to your own ears even if you don’t speak, these endlessly appearing questions becoming more aggravating with each second that passes, and you are annoyed and angry when you rise from Suguru’s bed, re-knotting the tie of your yukata. The shoji is open and he stands just outside of it wearing a cotton robe of his own, sunlight silhouetting him. 

He’s a God, you remind yourself, though it doesn’t kill the bitter taste in your mouth the way it usually does. Shuffling toward the door, you take a deep breath and call out his name from inside, his face turning toward you. This makes the bitter taste turn into something sweet you wish to taste again, a soft smile replacing your uncertain frown. 

“Good morning,” he calls toward you, sweeping his hand out in front of you to indicate where he’d like you to be. You dutifully follow the wordless instructions and arrive at his side with a smile, squinting in the early morning light.

“Good morning, Suguru. How did you sleep?” Smiling down at you, he gently takes your hand. “As well as I always do when you’re in my bed.”

The compliment and his touch make you feel girlish, heat rising in your face. To be a God’s beloved concubine is an honor, one you rarely take for granted even in your weakest moments. He has given you purpose, motivation, and an understanding you would not have found in a world with people who are unlike you.

Yet that same pit in your stomach lingers. He can tell, narrowing his eyes when he glances at you again though you avert your gaze.

“What’s on your mind?”

A tight smile slips across your face, measured and careful; similar to the one you always give Manami when she’s swearing her devotion to him at dinner or after the congregation. You want to tell him the truth, to open up and make him understand your need to be useful, but the words stick inside of you.

“Nothing, I just didn’t sleep very well.”

It isn’t exactly a lie but he knows that it isn’t the entire truth and his blood runs cold wondering what you’re hiding. You are usually so placid around him, glassy eyes and subdued smiles with averted eyes, but he can feel the anxiety flaring from your body. Are you unhappy? Is the spell he has held over you weakening? Does he need to scare you into reminding you of where your place is, the way he has with so many others?

Tutting gently, he wraps his arm around your shoulder and pulls you to his side.

“Speak freely, I value everything you have to say.”

Lulled into a false sense of security, you look at him out of the corner of your eye.

“May I train with you today?”

Suguru laughs, lifting his hand and gently brushing his thumb against your chin. He’s always touching you when it’s just the two of you, hands rubbing your forearms or fingers pressed against your face. He’s a sculptor and what are you if not simply the clay he’s molding beneath his touch, smoothing out edges and reshaping you from the bottom up into something you aren’t sure you recognize anymore which is how he has always intended things to be. His perfect blank slate, he said so many years ago. There isn’t a time where you haven’t proven it to be true even if you need a reminder. 

“Why?”

The tone of his voice makes you feel foolish for asking and your sidelong glance turns to the ground beneath you. Subservience is a practice and one you tend to be good at, evidence provided in the form of your refusal to make eye contact even when he begins speaking again.

“I’ll protect you from anything that could hurt you. You know that, right?” He furrows his brow, one of his hands wrapped around your forearm while the other remains on your chin. “You are safe here. Nothing here can or would hurt you, not while you’re in my care. Isn’t that enough for you? You demand training so you can, what? Fight?” Chuckling and finishing with a haughty sigh, he shakes his head. “You don’t have a fight in you, little girl. You never have.”

Defenses faltering, you laugh to yourself and up at him, sensitive eyes once again squinting when faced with the grace of the higher being in front of you. Of course he’s keeping you from having to enter battles you aren’t equipped for, isn’t that what he has been doing this entire time? Protecting you from those shadows that have lurked over your shoulder and kept you from sleeping since you were a child, comforting you, blessing you. 

Your rudderlessness isn’t Suguru’s fault, it’s simply your own for assuming you know more than he does.

Nobody knows you like he does. They never will.

“Please forgive me, Geto-sama.”

You call him Suguru in pleasure and Geto-sama in exaltation, raising it to the heavens that put him on the earth. Moving to fall to your knees before him in apology for making him believe his protection isn’t enough, he stops you with a firm hand on your shoulder. His thumb digs into your collarbone, somewhere between painfully and pleasurably, and you remain standing on wobbly feet with a dumbfounded expression. 

“I already have. For everything.”

There is so much you’ve done since you’ve arrived, so much to be forgiven for. Questioning him, doubting your place with him, doubting others, speaking with a jealous tongue and thinking poisonous thoughts. You accept his grace with a smile, tears rimming your eyes. You have always been told that forgiveness grants freedom, the wind at your back and the sun on your face. You feel it on this day, gazing up at a man who has saved you time and time again despite your own folly. 

Nodding and sniffling, you shut your eyes to stop yourself from open mouthed sobbing in thanks. You don’t deserve this and never have.

“I’m going to tell you something I’ve told nobody else, okay?” 

The assertion that he still trusts you despite your disrespect makes you emotional again, eyes opening and tears falling while you nod. 

“I love you.”

I love your devotion to me, he means, though you’ll never read between the lines to consider that the truth is that you are just a pawn to a man you’ve dedicated your existence to pleasing. Your body, your words, even the way you enter a room have all been carefully trained to suit him. You’ve been broken by his hands and he is always in a hurry to remake you, fashioning you into something once again useful.

“That’s why you’re here, little bird. To be safe and loved, not to fight or grow jealous or be angry with me. Are you angry with me?” You shake your head quickly, leaning into his touch with furrowed brows. He drops his hand from your chin and wraps his arm around your waist. “Never, Suguru.”

“Then don’t ask about training again, understood? Trust me to take care of you.”

And trust you do, nodding and finally letting that open mouth sob escape. He does a bit more tutting and his large hands paw at your body, yanking at the knot keeping your robe closed, roughly cupping your breast when the fabric falls open. Tears drip down your cheeks and onto the back of his hand, just how he likes it, and his tongue pokes out from between his teeth as he glances down at you.

“Do you trust me?”

This isn’t even close to the first time that he has asked but he needs to know just how many pieces he has smashed you into. He flexes his hand, squeezing your breast, further punctuating the point he’s trying to make - every little bit of you is his to have, to control, to make, to break, to feel.

“More than anything, Suguru, I swear.” Your legs ache to once again fold and bring you to your knees, the way you best know how to prove your regret, but you remain standing, lower lip quivering. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Your apology is a mantra you repeat as his hand dips lower beneath your robe, grazing the soft skin of your stomach and hip. Roughly wrapping a hand around said hip, he pulls you against his body, cold glance locked on your puffy, wet eyes. Despite himself, he smirks down at you, head tilted to the side. His hair is a black curtain that falls over both of you, soft strands resting against your bare torso and arm. 

“Do you love me?”

You do not have to think about your answer though it shakes when it leaves your mouth, your lungs begging you to gulp down enough air to replace what you’ve let escape through sobs. 

“I love you so much.” You shake your head and sob again. “Please, please believe me”

You feel like a half-formed thing, ready to be made over however he sees fit. 

“I believe you, no need to cry,” he assures you, grip on your hip tightening. You breathe through your open mouth and he takes the opportunity to bring his thumb to your face once again, pulling your jaw down and widening your mouth. You know what’s coming next, heat stirring from deep within you despite your sorrow, before he even commands it.

Your tongue lolls out of your mouth and he spits down onto the muscle.You roll it back into your mouth in an instant, grateful for the opportunity to have even the tiniest piece of him in you, his eyes following your throat as you swallow. Communion, consumption of him to purify yourself from the inside out. The ultimate apology until he can use your cunt to fulfill himself later, although he wants to take you now, right here, inviting everyone out to see the work of a master craftsman.

Sobs gradually give way to less powerful sniffles, you squint up at him with your skin exposed and his touch and his hair and his scent and wonder what you were even wishing would happen in the first place. That he’d train you to do what, exactly? This is what you were meant to do.

“Do you feel better?”

You nod and he smiles down at you, the same measured smirk he always wears. He leans down and kisses your forehead, pulling up the sleeve of your robe to give you some semblance of modesty but leaving it open as he ushers you back inside, sliding the shoji shut behind him. Suguru crowds you into the room, leading his nearly lost lamb toward the futon while untying his own robe.

“Now, apologize like you mean it.”

Now, you fall to your knees, grateful he’s allowed you to show how sorry you are in the shadows of his room instead of by the light of the sun.

“War is on the horizon.”

Sitting with your legs tucked beneath you at Suguru’s side on the elevated platform at the front of the room, you keep your eyes downcast while he addresses his congregation. This is your role, it has been for a very long time now, and you’ve learned to ignore curious onlookers or newcomers who will never be able to fathom such fanatical love. 

You love him so much you silence yourself. You sit by his side, so quiet you may as well be nothing but air. You have never learned how to defend yourself or even delved into the curses that used to weigh you down; freedom from these responsibilities came in the form of surrendering yourself fully to him. Body, mind, soul, all tied to his whims. You are a puppet on a string and he is free to move you in whichever way he chooses.

Just the way you like it.

“I’ve officially made the declaration to Satoru Gojo himself.”

For the first time in years, you look up when you are meant to look down, the anxious murmuring of the crowd making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You know what happens when the congregation disagrees or questions their leader and he rises with a flourish, petting the back of your head gently before stepping off of the platform.

“Do I sense disagreement?”

Looking every bit the apex predator that he is, you dare keep your gaze trained on his back rather than the floor. His head swivels from one prostrate form to another, seeking out anyone who dares disagree with his plans. Foreheads touch the ground below them, the ultimate show of devotion, yet one head remains raised and Suguru chuckles as he approaches the newcomer.

You don’t know their name, you realize. You stopped bothering to learn the newcomer’s names given how little interaction you have with them. They’re nothing but faces to be forgotten about after they have spoken out of turn and met their end at the hands of the man standing with his chin held high.

“Is there something you’d like to say?”

Whatever boldness was previously etched into the face of the man kneeling before Suguru has very clearly disappeared but tension flares through the room regardless. You know that whatever choice he makes, however he chooses to deal with this foolish man, is exactly what he deserves. To spit in the face of God is bold and everyone has to learn their place eventually.

You certainly have.

“N-no, no. Please forgive me, Geto-sama.”

Suguru clicks his tongue, turning to face the rest of his family with his arms spread wide, face turned toward the ceiling. Your eyes are to be trained on the ground but you drink in the sight of him standing amongst the mortals who have always believed they know better than he does. 

“What do you think I should do to the non-believer today?”

The question is rhetorical. At least, the silent room treats it that way, no one rushing to answer. Everyone knows to only speak when spoken to, even the inner circle who welcomed you years ago keep their foreheads pressed to the ground. He quietly pads through the crowd again, headed back toward you, and your eyes meet the ground swiftly to avoid being punished for looking at him out of turn.

“Look at me.”

Yours are the only pair of eyes he ever truly cares to have on him. Following the command, you glance up at him, remaining with your knees tucked beneath you and your hands folded in your lap. The way he looks down at you is as tender as he will ever get, even his softness is cold and harsh, but he speaks loudly enough that even the room behind him can hear that he values your opinion above the rest of them.

“What do you think I should do with him?”

Smiling back at him, your glassy eyes meet his and you say exactly what you know he wants to hear.

“Kill him, Suguru.” 

Smirking, he reaches down to pinch your chin between his index finger and thumb like he always does when you are performing as expected. It isn’t a performance anymore, if it ever was, it’s simply the way you feel when it comes to those who oppose him. He wags your head back and forth before dropping the touch completely, turning around and leaving you facing his back. 

Your eyes dart toward the ground once more. You were not instructed to look at him.

Geto walks through the rows of people once more, reaching to touch the backs of each of their heads while he passes, finally stopping in front of his target. His hands rest in the opposite sleeve of each of them and he bends at the waist, offering the same smile he gives to all of his victims.

“Well, unfortunately, your fate has been chosen. You may as well speak now while you still have the chance.”

A curse materializes, brought to this realm by the man in front of you, and you keep your eyes trained on the ground while screams and the sound of the rending of flesh fill the congregation room.

You’ll only look up once you’re instructed, as always.

[rainandandy]

Hi! Could you do a Rain x reader fic where reader has a nightmare about Xenomorph chasing her and Rain comforts her?

Warnings: Angst, Xenomorph description, panic attack description

Word Count: 1142

Pairings: Rain Carradine X Fem! Reader

The pitch-black corridors of the station loomed around you, stretching infinitely into the darkness. Every breath you took echoed against the cold metal walls, a haunting reminder of the silence that had fallen after the others were lost. But this silence wasn’t comforting; it was the kind of silence that heralded something far worse.

You were alone. Or at least you thought you were. Every footstep, every laboured breath seemed amplified, like the sound was being consumed by something waiting, watching from the shadows. The shadows themselves seemed alive, shifting and curling like tendrils of smoke, threatening to swallow you whole.

Then, the hiss—a sound you would never forget, one that clawed into your soul and sent icy fingers of dread through your entire being. You whipped around, heart pounding, eyes wide, searching for the source. There it was, at the far end of the corridor, emerging from the shadows, its elongated head gleaming under the dim emergency lights. The xenomorph, its form a perfect amalgamation of terror, muscle, and predatory instinct.

You turned to run, but your feet felt as though they were stuck in molasses, each step dragging you down as if the station itself wanted to keep you there, to offer you up to the nightmare closing in behind you. The creature’s breath—hot, humid, rancid—was on your neck, closer with every heartbeat.

The walls began to close in, narrowing the corridor until it felt like you were squeezing through a vent. Panic surged through you, choking the air from your lungs. But worse, much worse, was the sight that stopped you cold: Rain.

She was ahead of you, in the narrow corridor, her face streaked with dirt and tears, a desperate look in her eyes as she reached out for you. But as you tried to move toward her, the xenomorph’s skeletal tail whipped around your leg, dragging you back, further into the darkness.

“No!” you screamed, your voice breaking with terror. You could see Rain’s mouth moving, but no sound reached you. The creature’s claws wrapped around you, its jagged teeth dripping with viscous saliva as it drew closer. You struggled, desperate to reach Rain, to save her, but your movements were sluggish, like fighting through a thick syrup. Rain’s eyes widened in horror as the xenomorph reared back, its inner jaw snapping out toward you.

Then it wasn’t you the creature was after. It lunged toward Rain, and you were helpless, forced to watch as it closed the gap between them in a heartbeat.

“RAIN!” you screamed, sitting up abruptly, your voice echoing in the small, darkened room.

Your chest heaved as you gasped for breath, the dream still clawing at the edges of your consciousness, refusing to release its hold on you. The room was silent, save for your ragged breathing and the faint hum of the station's life support systems. The small cabin you shared with Rain and Andy was a sanctuary now, but the dream had torn down all sense of security, leaving you raw and vulnerable.

You felt a hand on your shoulder, gentle but firm. “Hey, hey, it's okay. You're safe. We’re safe,” Rain’s voice was soft, full of warmth and concern.

Tears blurred your vision as you turned to face her. The moonlight filtered through the small window, casting a silver glow on her face. She was so close, so real, and it was that reality that finally started to pull you out of the nightmare’s grip.

But the terror wasn’t gone—it was lingering, seeping into your bones, making it hard to breathe. Your heart raced as if you were still running for your life. “I-I saw you, Rain… It was going to kill you. I couldn’t… I couldn’t stop it.”

Rain’s expression softened, her own heart aching as she saw the fear etched on your face. “Shhh, it’s okay. I’m right here. Nothing’s going to hurt you, not while I’m here.” She pulled you into her arms, cradling your head against her chest. “Listen to my heartbeat,” she whispered. “Just breathe with me.”

You tried to focus on the steady rhythm of her heart, grounding yourself in the moment, but the images from the dream kept flashing before your eyes. The xenomorph’s jagged teeth, the hopelessness of trying to escape… It was too much.

“I can’t…” you gasped, your voice breaking as a panic attack surged through you, gripping your chest like a vice.

Rain held you tighter, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “You’re safe,” she murmured, repeating the words like a mantra. “You’re safe, baby. I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got you.”

The comfort of her touch, the calm in her voice, slowly started to penetrate the fog of fear enveloping you. “I was so scared,” you admitted, your voice trembling as you clung to her. “I can still feel it, like it’s still there.”

Rain leaned back slightly, cupping your face in her hands so you could see her clearly. “But it’s not here. It was just a dream. A horrible, horrible dream. But that’s all it is.”

You nodded, though the tears kept coming, your body still shaking. “I thought I lost you.”

“You didn’t,” she whispered, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears. “And you never will. We’ve been through too much to let anything tear us apart now.”

Rain continued to hold you, her presence a balm to your frayed nerves. She kissed your forehead gently, her lips lingering as if she could kiss away the fear itself. “You’re stronger than you know,” she said softly. “We both are. We survived. And we’ll keep surviving. Together.”

The word "together" hung in the air, a lifeline that you grabbed onto with both hands. Slowly, the panic began to ebb, replaced by the warmth of Rain’s embrace, the solid reality of her presence. You let out a shaky breath, the nightmare finally starting to lose its grip on your mind.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over you.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Rain replied, her voice filled with love. “We’ve been through so much. It’s okay to be scared. But I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

You nodded, your body finally relaxing against her as the last remnants of fear slipped away. Rain held you until your breathing steadied, her touch never wavering.

“I love you,” you murmured, your voice barely audible as you started to drift off, the comfort of her arms pulling you back to sleep, this time a peaceful one.

Rain smiled softly, pressing another kiss to your temple. “I love you too. Always.”

As you fell back into a much-needed sleep, the lingering fear of the nightmare was no match for the reality of Rain’s love, her strength, and the promise that, no matter what, you would face whatever came next together.

[castielsprostate]

VENOM 3 SPOILERS AHEAD!!! and veryyyy unorganized thoughts below the cuttt!!!

first of all. OH MY GOD. genuinely this was a beautifully executed storyline, with the most bitter, heartwrenching ending. tom hardy when i fucking GET YOU!!!!!!!!!!

okay. im in actual, real life tears over this movie. venom saved eddie's life within, what? 3 days of knowing him? a week tops? and venom brought eddie back from the fucking dead!!!!!!! DESPITE KNOWING!!!!!!!!! WHAT WOULD HAPPEN!!!!!! despite knowing he would trigger the codex, venom still saved eddie's fucking life! which is especially interesting considering the symbiote in mulligan, which i am assuming was in him for a WHILE, left him to die (fair!) at the end of the second movie! venom saved eddie's life. without a second thought.

also this definitely was a love story between eddie and venom. they literally had their break up arc in the second movie(!) and this tied a beautiful, bitter end to their very tragic story. venom saying, to eddie, what martin said. "until we meet again", genuine tears in my eyes. it showed venom's humanity, everything he learned, from eddie and others. to me, personally, venom is still with eddie. they're living symbiotically, with eddie on one side of the door and venom on the other. nierka(??? i totally butchered that lmao). eddie saying i will never forget you buddy while looking at lady liberty. GOD. eddie isn't alone anymore! eddie won't EVER be alone!!!!!!!!!! despite what everyone told him!!!!!!!!! eddie has venom, maybe not physically right now, but he still has a part of him!!!!!!!! they're both free. they're both. GAH.

also there still is a bit of venom left. in a tiny test tube, at the bottom of area 55. don't think i forgot about that!!!!! he's still there, they never showed us that it actually got destroyed. and EYE believe that venom found eddie, after they blew up. and it somehow, in some marvel magic sparkles way reset the codex. they still have each other, until the end!!!!! TILL DEATH DO THEY PART!!!!!!!!!!!!!

genuinely, the writers cared. tom hardy cared!!!!!!! i don't know how many people he had to keep under gunshot to get this, but he gave us a beautiful trilogy about love and friendship and humanity and finding each other. the queerness of it all, the found family (except the chickens. how DARE eddie give the chickens away. for that alone he should've died).

eddie saying he was born with it [the weird arms] also just. god it added another layer didn't it? also what actually happened to that guy. like. he got his bar destroyed, and then he got fucking tazed lmao??? what did they do to him????? also the WAY that in the "sacred timeline" the bartender looked all cleaned up and put together despite the fucking snap 💀💀💀💀 and how the bar was nicer. the disney filter!!!!!!!!!

that also left a very veryyy clear way for them to bring eddie!venom back but in the MCU, because they didn't show the TVA resetting the timeline! venom saying eddie would've made a great father. well. you had carnage and i think it's best you don't try again huh.

i missed anne, but i think that her not being there was. good? it was good. she and eddie truly loved each other as friends and whilst i hoped they'd at least have a phone call or a singular scene together, i do get why they didn't! she moved on with her life, and it was time for eddie to move on with his. her telling venom to keep him safe at the end of the second movie. and he did! he gave his own life for eddie's, he kept his promise. i just. GOD. venom keeping eddie alive as the symbiotehunters kept coming and coming and coming. keeping eddie from looking back, and healing him one. last. time. HE DIDN'T EVEN NEED TO SAY I LOVE YOU!!!!! EDDIE JUST KNEW!!!!!!! EDDIE!!!!!! KNEW!!!!!!!!!!!

eddie saying "but i need him". it had me bawling. BAWLING. but i need him. oh eddie. EDDIE. 😭😭😭😭😭 anne said he was too afraid of commitment and yet. AND YET. he was willing to DIE for an alien!!!!!! and to then say he needs him. god.

was the movie a bit retconn-y? maybe. did they use this as a segway for more movies with different characters? absolutely lmao. was it an ad for crocs? yes that too. but i think that this was a good end. they won't drag it out, they won't destroy a good comic for more money (for now). the song choices were also OUTSTANDING. the symbiotes coming together to save eddie and venom, because they knew!!!!! THEY KNEW!!!!!!!! eddie nor venom sparing a second look at sexy ladies!!!!!!!!!!! the dancing with mrs chen!!!!!!!! GAH

to me, right now, eddie and venom are sitting on a beach, toes in the sand, finally sipping the bloody mary that venom didn't get to drink at the beginning with miss chen on one side, anne and dan enjoying the ocean, and agent mulligan on the other side. alive, happy, together. and the bartender. he's there too. for funsies.

[platoapproved]

Okay so I'm looking back on season 2 and having some Thoughts about Dreamstat.

In 2x01 Louis says "he came by invitation," which is be backed up by how he consciously dismisses Dreamstat in 2x04. But in my opinion, it all gets way messier when - in 2x07, deeply shaken by talking about the trial - Louis hallucinates Lestat in the Dubai penthouse. It's SUCH a jarring moment; Louis' unreliability is at the forefront of the audience's mind since he has just admitted his version of Claudia's turning from 1x04 was inaccurate. Then the audience is shown that Louis is omitting things, particularly continued hallucinations. (We also see him have further non-Lestat hallucinations in 2x08 when he is plotting his revenge).

With all that in mind, I'm inclined to think that he's way less in control of Dreamstat than he insists he is. Louis says otherwise, but this is the Unreliable Narrator Show™.

So. Why I was thinking about this in the first place...

I see lots of people bringing up Dreamstat's reactions to things, mostly in a context of being angry with Louis. And I get it! Dreamstat is mocking and cruel. But I also think it's wrong to blame Louis fully for those things? At least, to blame him in the way people seem to do.

These are not things he is choosing to think, or that he is saying aloud. They exist only within his own head. Dreamstat is all his Louis's worst instinctive reactions and snap judgments, vocalized internally (we just see and hear them as the audience).

His paranoia while being romantically pursued, an understandable response given how things went down with Lestat:

His self-loathing (always comes back to the self-loathing with Louis :c):

His frustration while having an argument with his companion situationship:

These are Louis' thoughts, yes. But they're gut responses, all emotion, without filter or reasoning.

And I just can't wrap my head around thinking less of Louis for having these responses. It's a very honest and unflinching depiction of someone whose response to trauma (both from his relationship with Lestat but also, like, his entire human life) is kneejerk resentment and pettiness that he very VERY rarely vocalizes.

Even as Dreamstat is mocking Armand's romantic overtures, Louis is continuing to have discussions with him, to ask him what he needs to be happier in their relationship. Armand wants him to come around more, he shows up to the disastrous dinner where he fights with Santiago. Armand wants to bring flowers and apologize, Louis hears him out. He is CHOOSING, in spite of the cruel automatic responses of his thoughts, to treat Armand with as much fairness and gentleness as he can.

As a side note, I really read Dreamstat's laugh in the museum scene much differently than others on here. A lot of people seem to see it as Louis mocking Armand's history of sexual abuse. But Dreamstat only scowls through all that (which is, again, not great but it is understandable, given how Lestat deployed his Magnus story to win Louis back after exploding in anger, and the whole setup for Armand talking about his past is him explaining why he is not like Lestat). Dreamstat's only real reaction comes when Armand has moved on from that part of his speech, to discussing the vampiric cycle of violence.

The line he reacts to is Armand saying "Magnus who begat Lestat, Lestat who begat Louis, on and on, and on and on." And Dreamstat... doesn't laugh? I see people describing it as a laugh. He yells 'HAH!' in the angriest, bitterest, disbelieving voice. To me this is not Louis being unimpressed or mocking Armand's trauma, it's him adamantly refusing to be included in the narrative as a part of vampire culture / as a victim. We know Louis does not like people labeling him as a victim or abused. We know he wants to opt out of all Claudia's searching for vampire culture and vampire history. To me this moment is not at all about Armand, it's about Armand implying that Louis is connected with the covens, with a larger narrative of vampirism, including a narrative about makers exploiting and harming their fledglings.

No, Louis isn't perfect, and his handling of Armand is not perfect. But I think people are way too harsh on him for this scene and just in general. He is not his worst thoughts. His actions are much, much, much, much more important. He chooses Armand. I think he chooses to be as careful with Armand as he knows how to be, given the tools at his disposal. Yes, there's a horrible gremlin (ha, see what I did there?) in the bottom of his brain that tosses up vile mean judgy nonsense, but Louis then elects to ignore all that and be as kind as possible.

[jjameslily]

tied to you

@jilymicrofics august prompt: soulmate au

( now a wip, follow along on AO3 )

A flicker, a haze – Lily blinked hard, trying to clear her vision as she pedaled down the street she knew like the back of her hand. But now it shifted before her, the houses and trees blurring into a distorted landscape. Her white-knuckled grip on the handlebars as uncertainty crept in. The corner loomed ahead and the bike veered off course, hurtling toward the nearest tree.

The impact knocked the wind out of her, but she remained still, trying to will her sight back to normal. Minutes dragged by as the world around her swam in and out of focus until her vision slowly returned. 

When Lily made it back home, she brushed off her father’s concerned look and mumbled, "Wasn’t paying attention," while avoiding his gaze. She swallowed her simmering resentment, only nodding as her mother fussed that they’d taken the training wheels off too soon.

The years that followed were a quiet battle. A drop in her stomach as if she’d missed a step on the stairs, the scent of freshly cut grass drifting through her room when no windows were open, giggles bubbling up unprompted – all these oddities she rejected by building a wall, brick by brick until her mind was strong enough to shut them out.

But the summer before her fifth year at Hogwarts, the wall cracked. 

She sat between her mother and sister, the three of them dressed in black and the weight of her father’s absence pressing down on them.

Soft and distant, a voice broke through the fog of her grief. It’ll be okay.

Lily’s breath caught in her throat. She glanced around, her heart hammering in her chest. The voice was familiar, achingly so, and for a moment, she let herself believe it was her father’s. She squeezed her eyes shut, drawing a deep breath and trying to hold onto the sound.

I know you’re hurting. I’m here.

But when she opened her eyes, her father was still gone and the voice was nothing more than a fleeting memory.

And so, Lily drifted through the following months with the world around her muted, as if she were watching her life unfold from behind a pane of glass.

–––

Lily sat in the common room with the warmth from the crackling fire, conjuring melancholy memories of old movies watched under cozy blankets and the sweet smell of cinnamon sugar. She let her gaze drift to the full moon outside the window, glowing against the dark sky. A sense of calm settled over her, a rare and welcomed stillness in her mind.

But just as her thoughts began to quiet, her heart jolted into a frantic rhythm.

My bad , a voice shouted, distant but unmistakably real. I got way too close right then.

Lily’s head snapped around, her eyes scanning the room. But it was just Mary sitting nearby, nose buried in parchment.

Before she could rise to investigate, rhythmic thudding echoed in her ears mimicking the wild pounding in her chest, like hooves striking the earth with relentless speed. A sharp gust of cold night air brushed against her cheeks, and the scent of damp, trampled grass filled her senses. Her body pitched forward as if yanked by an invisible force, and suddenly, the roar of rushing water filled her ears. Fear and exhilaration coursed through her until it was overpowered by a bone-chilling cold.

Her body began to tremble uncontrollably, her teeth chattering as she wrapped her arms around herself, desperate to recapture the warmth from before.

“Lily?” Mary rushed to her side. “What’s wrong?”

“C-c-cold,” Lily stammered, her voice barely audible.

“A fever? Suddenly?” Mary’s voice was heavy with confusion, but she quickly grabbed a blanket, wrapping it tightly around Lily as she hurried her out of Gryffindor Tower.

The journey to the infirmary was a blur of shivering steps. It took hours of various warming potions before the intense cold began to release its grip on her. Finally, as the early morning light filtered into the room, she drifted asleep.

In her dreams, the world shifted in colors and shadows. She found herself standing at the edge of a still lake. 

Lily’s foot sank into the damp earth as she stepped closer to the water’s edge. The lake mirrored the starry sky above, but something else caught her eye – a shape in the reflection. Strong and large, it stood with an unwavering gaze, eyes flecked with gold and green, like sunlight breaking through autumn leaves.

As their eyes met in the water, she felt a gentle tug at her hand. She glanced down to see a single red thread wrapped around her finger, leading somewhere far away into the shadows among the trees. Compelled, she stepped forward, a branch snapping beneath her foot. 

The sound vibrated through the air causing the vision before her to blur, the reflection in the water dissolving. As consciousness pulled her back to reality, the sense of connection remained, as if she was bound to something – or someone – she couldn’t see.

She opened her eyes to see McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey standing with their backs to her, speaking in hushed words.

“Are you sure?” McGonagall’s tone was skeptical.

“It’s uncommon nowadays, making the manifestation of a bond that much easier to miss, but I’m quite sure,” Pomfrey replied.

Neither one said anything for a moment, their silence hanging heavy in the air. Finally, a sigh from McGonagall, “We should let the child rest...”

Their voices grew faint as they moved away, but not before Lily caught a fragment of her next words, “A soulmate–”

Her eyes fluttered open then, the word glowing in her mind. She peeked down at her finger, the thread nowhere in sight.

Just my luck, she thought drowsily. My soulmate is a giant deer.

As she drifted into sleep, a soft familiar laugh echoed through the darkness in response, bright flickers appearing in her mind like twinkling lights. For a moment, she could have sworn it was James Potter.

[wososcripts]

Eyes Don't Lie 18+

Stina Blackstenius x Reader

A/N: Everything I write is completely fictional and not representative of any player's real personal life! All is created in good fun for entertainment. I hope someone enjoys this because I certainly had fun writing it lol

Word count: 5.3k

Warnings ⚠️ : smut, like a lot of it.

------------------------------------

There was nothing more attractive than seeing your girlfriend shoot the ball perfectly into the top bin, scoring the winning goal for Arsenal. And there was nothing more magnetic than being the one who slotted the ball perfectly towards her, setting her up. The seamlessness with which the two of you worked together on the pitch was something for the papers. Whenever you both appeared it meant trouble—without seeing her you seemed to always know where she was, where to pass to her, if she needed you to dribble out or go wide. You felt as though you might be able to read her thoughts.

Her face was split in a wide grin, arms open wide as she ran from the goal towards the stands. Katie came to pat her cheeks and congratulate her, Caitlin not far behind. You rushed over from across the pitch and she flung her arms open, catching your weight easily and holding you as the rest of the team piled around her. Your arm was wrapped around her shoulders as you looked towards the stands and cheered, feeding off the screams of the fans.

Eventually she let you down and you all began filtering off the pitch—you headed over to sign some shirts and take a few selfies with a group of young girls you had spotted earlier. At one point you caught Stina's eye as she was in the middle of a conversation with a girl about ten who was excitedly gushing to your girlfriend. Stina's face was warm, open, kind. You felt an intense affection bloom in your chest. How lucky were you?

You heard the girls in front of you squeal excitedly and you felt Katie put a hand on your shoulder. Her sly grin was flashed your way as you quickly diverted your eyes from Stina.

"Nice assist there," Katie murmured, signing a few autographs herself before the two of you started back to the tunnel. "And your ankle?"

A few months ago you'd been playing Man City, rushing up the right side waiting to pass to Caitlin so she could score when a defender slid through your feet messily, catching your ankle underneath her and fracturing it. You remember the pain, the way the ground rushed towards you and the defender's face as she popped up, terrified both by the crunch you had heard and by Katie heading towards her with red in her eyes. Stina had rushed over immediately, tears in her eyes as you cried out in agony. Her hand had gripped yours tightly as the medics examined you, her biting her lip in an attempt to keep the tears at bay. When the defender had come over to apologize (somehow surviving Katie) Stina's gentle demeanor vanished and she snapped at her to get away. You were out for two months, two miserable months only aided by the blonde's presence by your side.

"All good. Not even a little sore." You smiled at her, touched by how she continued to check up on you. Katie was one of your best mates on the team and had been since your first few days here. She had made you feel at home in London, and you enjoyed her teasing almost as much as her sweet side. She slung an arm across your shoulders again, jostling you playfully.

The two of you showered and began to get changed along with the rest of the girls in the locker room. You and Katie continued to shoot shit about the game and a few other subjects before Stina wandered in. Her eyes were immediately on you as you slid a sweater over your slightly damp skin. It was hers, technically, as was evident by the fact that you had to roll the sleeves up to even let your hands poke through. You typically styled yourself in oversized tops so it might not be obvious to most that it was hers—but she knew immediately. You had taken it last time you were at her place, trying to enjoy having her scent on you as long as possible.

You heard Katie snicker behind you. Stina seemed to snap out of it and moved to the showers herself. Once she was gone you shoved Katie's shoulder.

"Fuck off," you rolled your eyes.

She continued to laugh.

"Don't forget to congratulate Stenius on her goal tonight."

You flipped her off and grabbed your bag, sending Stina a text that you would be in the car waiting for her. Nobody questioned the fact that you drove her from practice fairly often. She wasn't used to driving on the left side of the road yet and she lived on the way back to your place. You hadn't told the team you were together yet. Something about keeping it secret made it feel more sacred. It was just for the two of you (and Katie, who had figured it out immediately when Stina could barely get through a night next to you on the couch at team movie nights.)

Veen kept you company in the lot until Stina showed up fifteen minutes later. The only other German speaker on the team, it was always nice to chat with her and get a break from the constant English. No matter how used you were to speaking it at this point, slipping back into German felt like being home. That was part of the reason you were trying to learn some Swedish—you wanted to understand the language Stina thought, dreamed, and grew up in.

"Fährst du über Weihnachten zurück nach Deutschland?" She asked.

"Bin ich nicht so sicher," you had wondered if Stina would ask you to join her in going to Sweden for Christmas, but you didn't want to push her. "Wahrscheinlich."

You spotted Stina coming out of the facilities and raised your hand to wave so she could see where you were.

"Oder Schweden?" Veen said under her breath, trying not to laugh.

"Was bedeutet das denn?"

"Deine Augen lügen nicht. Tschüss!" She bid you goodbye, leaving you to wonder if you were really so obvious every time you looked at Stina. Did your whole team think you were fawning helplessly over her?

Stina waved goodbye to Veen as she approached you, pulling you into a hug.

"That was a great goal" you complimented her.

"And a great assist," she blushed, "sorry I'm late, I had to do a few short press things."

You waved her off, gesturing for her to get in the car. Once you were inside she laced your fingers together.

"Leah said the girls are going out to celebrate the win tonight, do you want to go?"

"Sure, for a bit. If that works for you?"

Stina was looking at you intensely, her eyes on your lips. She nodded wordlessly.

"I want to kiss you."

You pressed a kiss to her knuckles, licking the skin there as you pulled back.

"Yuck!" Stina wiped her hand on your jeans, rolling her eyes at you. "You look good in my sweater… I —" she cut herself off.

You were accustomed to the electricity after the two of you played well together. But today Stina seemed particularly ready to have you. You put the car in drive and left the parking lot, pulling her in for a kiss the minute you could.

--------

The bar was bustling already at ten when you showed up. Stina had said she would meet you there since it was right by the tube station and parking would be hell anyway. You'd still driven, not wanting to deal with worrying about catching it on the way back. And parking was hell, as usual in London, but eventually you'd found a spot on the street.

Leah greeted you as you walked in, congratulating you again on your performance. The rest of the girls were gathered around a few tables, the alcohol already flowing for some of them. You didn't drink much, particularly not during the season. But it was officially winter break, so you figured one glass couldn't hurt. Leah handed you a beer and toasted to your "magical" left foot.

"Stina's here by the way, she's just getting us a few more drinks." Leah practically yelled into your ear.

You didn't even have time to ask her why she assumed you were looking for Stina before Katie swept in.

"Finally, the German drinking some beer! I was beginning to think maybe it was a fake accent this whole time."

"It's as real as that English you supposedly speak." You teased back.

"Oi, if it weren't for this lot and their silly language," she pointed towards Leah, "I'd be speaking Irish right now."

The three of you continued to bicker until Leah was dragged away by Lia and you finally caught a glimpse of Stina. She looked stunning in her short sleeved sweater and a pair of tight jeans.

"Don't forget to breathe." Katie flicked your temple. "You look fit too." She assured you, capturing the belt loop of your slacks and spinning you. "I'm sure she's just dying to get a piece of that."

"You are a menace, Katie."

You felt Stina's hand at your waist. She was more bold with Katie around—possibly a mixture of security because Katie already knew about the two of you, and a bit of jealousy at how easily Katie touched you.

"Hi." She said practically into your ear. Her breath tickled your skin.

"Hey." You mumbled back, covering her hand at your waist and keeping it there.

Katie took her cue to wander off, leaving you two.

"Do you want to dance?" Stina asked.

"I think I'll say hi to everyone first, give me 15 minutes?" You met her eyes and had to hold back the urge to kiss her. It was an occupational hazard at this point.

The dance floor was big enough that nobody was packed together, something you appreciated. Leah knew all of the best bars in town, and you trusted her judgment implicitly for reasons like this. Stina was behind you, her arm slung across your chest so that her hand rested on the opposite shoulder. You were more of a dancer than she was, but the two of you swayed to the beat just fine. It was mostly Latin music that they played here which suited you just fine. You weren't really listening to it much anyway with Stina's warmth against your back.

"Hey! Stina you've got to share!" Katie called, "just give me one dance?"

Stina shrugged, releasing you to Katie. You knew she would rather have kept you to herself, so you turned around and blew her a kiss promising to be right back.

Katie could dance surprisingly well, though you supposed most people wouldn't have pegged you for a dancer either. Después de la Playa by Bad Bunny came on and Katie began twirling you around, the two of you doing your best to keep up fluidly with the music. You distantly heard a whistle from someone, you figured Beth.

Katie spun you in her arms, pulling you back into her chest as the song drew to a close. You were breathing heavily because of the combination of the exertion and the stale, sweaty air in the bar. You could feel Katie's heart pounding in her chest too.

"She gets pouty when she's jealous."

You looked to the side of the dance floor where you'd left Stina to find her chatting with Lia, throwing glances your way every few seconds. Katie was right, she looked a bit like a child that had had its candy taken from them.

"Go back over there and kiss it better." Katie made obnoxious kissing noises in your ear and unwrapped her arms from around you.

You gave her a playful shove and turned to go back to Stina. She was staring dead at you, the conversation with Lia abandoned. You admired the curve of her lips as she smiled at you, stretching a hand out for you to take.

"You've got to teach me to dance like that." She said, the smile still not gone from her lips. "You looked gorgeous." The last part she whispered into your ear, leaning down to do so. Her hand remained entwined with yours. Nobody was looking, but you were still surprised how open she was being. You knew she hadn't been drinking much—drunk Stina was an entirely different beast.

"I need to get a bit of fresh air."

You said it to Stina, then signaled to Katie that you were going outside. It was a rule that nobody left without telling the rest of the group they were going to do so. You all kept an eye on each other.

The London air slapped you in the face as you opened the door to the street. It was cold, snow coated the ground in a thin sheet that promised ice underneath it. Stina had been smart enough to grab her jacket before heading out, but you were here in just your turtleneck. A few people were smoking at the opposite corner of the building, all huddled around a lighter. The bouncer sat bored on his chair. Cars raced by and a few people strolled along the street. It was late, at least past midnight. You tugged Stina to the more secluded alley to her left.

“Come here baby.” She whispered, wrapping her arms gently around your shoulders and pulling you under her coat.

This was her, mild mannered, quiet, calm. Your gentle giant. Stina was so sweet, so awkward at times that you couldn’t help but be endeared by her constantly. How could you not?

"Warmer?"

You nodded, moving in closer to her. She rubbed your back. Her heartbeat was steady underneath you.

When you pulled back slightly you could see the way her eyes were a few shades darker than normal, the way her breath came a bit quicker. This was her too—wanting and ready and dominant. Gentle still, but this too. You felt her hand move to your waist, tightening there slightly.

“What is it, Stina?” You asked coyly, kissing her chastely on the lips.

The other hand at your shoulder moved to the back of your neck, holding you possessively. The noise of the club filtered through your awareness briefly. Her fingers massaged your scalp, nails scratching lightly.

“Stina…” you trailed off, your head finding her shoulder. You could feel yourself beginning to flush, heat rushing down into your belly as she held you close. Images of her goal from earlier flashed through your mind. The cheering from the fans. How she caught you in her arms. The sheen of sweat on her brow as she smiled, high off of the adrenalin.

“I want you.” She murmured.

You groaned lowly. You did more than want her. You needed her, needed her hands all over you, her mouth as well. Needed the press of her skin against yours like a balm to burn.

One of her hands traveled under the shirt you had on, finding the plane of your stomach. Her hands were predictably cold and you shivered. You could see her grin.

“I need you, Stina.”

She brought your lips together again, pulling you flush against her.

“Let’s go.”

You expected to walk to the car, but were surprised by Stina lifting you up onto her hips, one arm under your ass as she nonchalantly walked to your car. For all of the teasing your height incurred, it was moments like these that you were thankful for the height difference between you and Stina. She could manhandle you as she liked with little to no issue. And you had no problem letting her.

Your head fit into the crook of her neck and you spent your time placing small kisses and nips there. Stina's grip on you tightened until you thought you might have fingerprints on your skin.

You were at the car before you would've liked. The air sliced you raw as you pulled away from her. You had half the mind to pull her into the backseat and return to your spot on her lap. You imagined how the car would fog in the frigid winter air. How Stina's breath would sound in your ear, the mouth at your breast, fingers at your core, dancing up your wet thighs and dipping inside of you. And how Stina would look up at you, eyes dark. How she'd tell you how beautiful you looked, how much she wanted you. What her face would look like when you said you needed her inside of you. For all the poise she had, some things would make even her composure crack.

"Come on älskling," she opened your door and ushered you in.

Her hand found your thigh once she was in the passenger seat next to you. You enjoyed the weight of it there. It never once moved, Stina was too careful to distract you now, but its firm touch still had your belly alight.

Your phone buzzed in the cup holder between the two of you. You met Stina's eyes and nodded that she could check—at this time of night only certain contacts passed your do not disturb.

"It's a message from Katie."

Whatever it was, Katie was surely taking the piss out of you. Often she sent you the most unattractive pictures of you during the game, mid kick or otherwise.

Stina held the phone up for you to look at once you stopped at a red. It was a photo of you someone had snapped after the game while you were glancing at Stina with the fans. In the photo it wasn't clear what you were looking at, but the look on your face could be described only as adoration. Underneath the picture Katie had written "Stina is a lucky bastard" And a few moments later continued with, "be careful with the staring though, too long and it might stick."

You chuckled, fixing your eyes back on the road with an exasperated smile. Stina remained quiet beside you. You gave her a quick look when she didn't say anything.

"Everything all right?"

She nodded, flashing a quick smile but still you knew something was off.

"I didn't realize that's how you looked at me… of course I saw it but I didn't really think about it until now."

You weren't sure what she meant, and it worried you a bit. Had you done something wrong or freaked her out?

"Can you pull over?" Stina asked once you had come to a quieter street.

You quirked an eyebrow at her but nodded. Once the car was in neutral on the shoulder she lunged for you, pulling you into a heated kiss. Her hand moved to the inside of your thigh, curling around it possessively. Her lips were firm and soft and her tongue was insistent.

"Jag älskar dig." She whispered.

You looked at her with wide eyes.

"Really?"

She nodded, kissing you again.

"Jag älskar dig."

"Jag med. Ich liebe dich, Stina."

She kissed you once more, then sat back in her seat and left your swollen lips alone. A moment later she erupted into giggles. A hand reached out to stroke your face.

"I love you… it's nice to say." She gave you a smile that melted your heart. Her hand cupped your cheek and she spoke again.

"We need to get home so I can fuck you."

You shivered, putting the car in drive.

------------

You reached your apartment ten minutes later. Each second that ticked by had the anticipation in your chest rising. You could hardly look at Stina for fear you would give up and park the car somewhere and beg her to fuck you there. She loved you. Of course she did, Katie would say. Everything she did showed it. But now the words were in the open. You felt as though your chest might burst.

The hand at your thigh continued to rest firmly there, its presence keeping you from rubbing your thighs together to alleviate some of the ache between them. Stina was sly, you knew. Her sweetness didn’t make her any less of a tease when she wanted.

You practically sprinted up the steps to your place on the third floor, Stina not far behind you. Once you nearly stumbled and her hands shot out to steady you, the grip on your waist burning your skin.

“Careful, söta. No need to rush.”

You slowed a bit after that, slotting the key into your lock as best you could with Stina’s hand on your back as you did so. You hadn’t felt this turned on, maybe ever. And Stina hadn’t even touched you.

Once the door was shut behind the two of you and you were finally alone, secluded from the prying eyes and teasing remarks from others, you felt almost overwhelmed with freedom. Stina clearly didn’t feel the same and knew exactly what she wanted. She pushed you back against the door, one of her hands cradling the back of your head so it didn’t hit the wood, and kissed you. This was much slower and more passionate than any of the kisses you had shared thus far—she took her time exploring your mouth and sucking on your bottom lip before moving to your neck.

“Stina—” you groaned, pressing your hips up into her.

She responded by grabbing your thighs and lifting them up so you could link your ankles behind her back. She put a hand on the door next to your head, holding you up easily while continuing to kiss you.

"You feel so good…" you murmured when she moved her lips to your neck.

You could feel her smile into your skin. You slid your hands under her sweater, running your hands along the muscles that flexed under her skin. She was gorgeous, and you could hardly believe this was actually happening. Even after nearly a year together.

You felt yourself be lifted off of the door. Stina continued to suck at your neck as she carried you to the bedroom—only pausing to push open the door and shut it behind her. Then you were both on the bed, scrambling to get each other's clothes off as fast as possible.

----------

Through the haze of your own lust you felt Stina grind against the thigh you had slotted in between her legs. Your hands were at her breasts, rolling one nipple harshly as you massaged the other. Your own chest already bore the marks of Stina's mouth, small bite marks adorning your skin where she just couldn’t help herself earlier. All the focus so far had been on you, until now. Stina seemed determined that you were going to cum first. But you'd managed to slow her down long enough to get your turn for a moment.

Your belly burned as you kissed at her skin, still in awe of her all these months later. Her body was perfect. You sucked a bruise into the underside of her breast, soothing it with your tongue after. She had her eyes squeezed shut, mouth slightly open. All of the sudden it didn’t matter how turned on you were, it could wait.

You put a hand on her chest, drawing her attention back to you.

“Let me up.”

Stina immediately moved back, worry present on her face.

“No, no, nothing like that—” you followed her with a hand pressed against her cheek. She was so afraid of hurting you, always had been. Even more so since your injury. “I want to touch you first.”

Her face went red and her mouth opened in protest, but you hushed her before she could say anything.

“I want my mouth on you. Then you can do whatever you want.”

Stina swallowed harshly and nodded, leaning back on her elbows. You took a second just to look at her, how beautiful she was. Her abs tensed as you traced a line down from her neck to her pelvis, seeking out that shiver of anticipation. You spread her legs, slotting in between them so you could kiss her stomach.

“You’re so gorgeous. You can’t be real.”

You could hear her whimper. She was always a sucker for praise, something you used to your full advantage.

"You smell so good," you kissed up her thigh, "taste so good…" and with that you licked up the length of her, feeling her hands go immediately to your hair.

"Ich liebe dich," you mumbled into her skin as you took a breath. She was already on the edge even though you had hardly the time to work her up. Her thighs trembled under your lips.

"I love you too," she replied, bringing a hand from your hair to your lips to trace them. You pressed a kiss to her palm, taking one of her fingers into your mouth as your hand slipped down to tease her. She groaned, her eyes rolling upwards. With a gentle bite you pulled your mouth away and returned to her cunt.

Not long after, with two of your fingers inside of her, she clenched and came all over your hand. You kissed her belly and worked her down slowly, still drawing lazy circles around her clit until she ushered you upwards into a kiss. She moaned at the taste of herself on your lips.

The hand that you had resting on her thigh moved closer to her center again, slowly, so Stina had the chance to push it away if she wanted. Usually the two of you could go quite a while, certainly longer than one round. But still, you were careful. You could hear Stina's breath pick up again as she panted next to your ear, the kiss abandoned. Your fingers swiped through her already sensitive folds and pressed lightly on her clit, making her hips jump.

"Älskling—" she groaned.

You didn't waste time teasing her further. She was hypersensitive from her previous orgasm and all it took were a few firm circles around her clit for her to be gripping your shoulder with her lip between her teeth. You leaned down to kiss her again, sure she would worry her lip raw if you let her.

Two more passes of your fingers and she clamped her thighs around your hand, the second orgasm rushing through her.

"Jesus…" she muttered, laying one hand over her eyes as she let out a small laugh. "Hon kommer att döda mig."

You brought your fingers to your mouth, sucking them clean before resting next to Stina. Your head lay on her chest, listening to her heart.

"förhoppningsvis inte," you replied, kissing her chest sweetly.

She looked down at you a bit confused.

"Du förstår mig?"

You nodded, pressing a kiss to her lips.

"How?"

"Amanda's been helping me. Surprise." You smiled.

Stina seemed shocked, and you couldn't help but giggle. Suddenly she grabbed your face and kissed you roughly, pulling away and placing your foreheads together.

"You're amazing. How did I get so lucky?"

You shrugged, pulling her back in for another kiss. You felt one of her hands travel to your ass. Stina palmed at the muscle there and you hooked a leg over her waist to get a bit more friction. Your arousal—which had been at the back of your mind as you focused on Stina's pleasure, made itself known once more.

You couldn't help but grind down on Stina's hip bone below you, nearly crying out at the relief it provided you. Suddenly it seemed you might die if you didn't get Stina's hands on you. You felt frantic.

"Stina, please." You begged, rolling your hips once more.

Stina herself seemed in awe of how needy you were. She shushed you gently, running her hands soothingly through your hair. She could surely feel how wet you were, it was smeared over her abdomen and painted your thighs. All because of her.

"I've got you baby." She assured, pulling herself up into a seated position with you on her lap. You were once more reminded of the game, being wrapped in her strong arms as the two of you soaked in the roars of the crowd. This was better than that by a mile. You'd give up the sport every time where Stina was concerned.

"I don't think I can take it." You didn't think you were making much sense anymore, your head foggy as Stina kissed your breasts. All you knew was you needed her, needed more, an impossible amount.

Stina sucked harshly on one of your nipples, her hands guiding you hips downward on one of her thighs. She flexed it, and you moaned. You could cum like this. You would.

At some point during your orgasm, Stina pulled away from your chest and wrapped her arms around you. She held you like that, whispering things you couldn't understand in your ear, as you rode through one of the most intense orgasms you'd ever had.

"That was…" Stina trailed off, her face blushing bright red.

You weren't sure what to say. The heat remained simmering lowly in your belly, your heart beating rapidly. Stina’s hands had found your waist again, rubbing gentle circles there.

"Do you need more?" She asked, a bit of pride hidden in her voice.

You nodded. You weren't sure you could form a sentence in English.

The hand at your waist moved to your center, swiping through the wetness there. Stina looked up at you once more, her eyes diverting from where they'd been intensely watching her fingers. Her usual bright blue was darkened to a color that reminded you of the sea near where you grew up. You wanted to tell her but weren't sure how. All you could do was hold on for dear life as you were thrown back into the waves.

"Lie down." Stina said, helping you lie back against the pillows. "I'm going to eat you out."

Hearing her say it so plainly somehow made it even hotter. And the view of her face between your thighs… you maintained eye contact as she lowered her head, diverting her mouth at the last second to suck at the skin of your thighs. She bit down, not hard enough to hurt but enough to sting. Surely a bruise would greet you tomorrow morning.

"Stina…" you begged.

Finally, after giving you a hickey on the other thigh, she pulled your clit into her mouth and sucked. Thankfully she had the foresight to hold your hips down as you had no control over how they bucked up.

She spread you open and took you apart, exploring you with her tongue, her fingers, until you thought you might really lose your mind.

"Jag älskar dig" she whispered one last time before setting a punishing pace against you. Next time you'd ask her if she wanted to try the strap, the image of her strong abs pushing inside of you painted behind your eyelids. You were begging in German now, any and all chance of your translating gone. A moment later, the rubber band inside you snapped.

---------------

Stina's arm was slung across your waist as she held you close to her chest. Both of your breaths had settled, and the mood had calmed. She was laying on her back, you played with the ends of her hair mindlessly, not thinking about much besides how happy you were.

"I wanted to ask you something." Stina said quietly, and you tilted your head to look up at her.

"What is it?"

Her bashfulness was back, and the beginnings of an embarrassed smile started on her face.

"Would you want to come to Sweden and be with my family for Christmas?"

After a beat she looked down at you, waiting for your answer. But you didn't need to say anything—it was all in your eyes.

"Of course."

[thebigbadbatswife]

Internal Conflict (Part 1 of 3)

Pairing - Batman x F!Hero!Reader Series - Under Your Skin Part 2 here | Part 3 here

Summary - While Batman is at war with himself, some members of the Batfamily start picking up on his odd behaviour.

Warnings - None that I can think of.

A/N - What's that? Is there some actual plot here? My, I think it is! 😂 I know, it's been quite a bit of time between updates again. Sorry about that, this (and the next couple of parts) took a while to outline first and then obviously life kept getting in the way. But it's here now! And the time between updates shouldn't be quite as long. Thank you for being patient with me. Anyway, enough rambling, enjoy! 💜

Taglist - At the end of the fic. Please message me if you would like to be added/removed.

Word Count - 2.5k

The wind ruffled his cape, making it blow out behind him. He was still on the rooftop, a frown on his face. You were already gone, having stormed off a few minutes ago. Your blood boiling, no doubt. Much like his was right now. The only thing he didn’t know was whether his anger was directed toward you or himself.

You had a talent for getting underneath his skin. In record time as well. It was something that he had quickly discovered not long after you had accepted the invitation to join the Justice League. Somehow, you were worse than Hal and Oliver combined. All week you had been pushing each other’s buttons and tonight you both had finally hit your boiling points. It was bound to happen at some point. In truth, he was a little surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. And while he was sure you had meant every last word you had shouted at him, he hadn’t.

He hadn’t thought about it. The filter between his brain and mouth failing as he snapped. He supposed he should count himself lucky that you could, mostly, see through his bullshit. If you didn’t he imagined that you would have quit long before now. Though, after tonight, there was now a very real chance that you would. And if you did, he was positive you would make sure it was known why you had walked away. He could already invision the line of people that would be ready to deck him for it.

With you long gone and the crisis in Star City now averted, Bruce left the rooftop. Grappling and gliding to where he had left the batwing.

The entire flight back to Gotham he replayed the argument over and over again. Analysing it. Like always.

“At first I thought it was because you wanted to make sure that I was cut out for this…”

That was true! When it came to flying solo, you were more than capable. It was one of the things about you that had caught his eye. Obviously, working with a team was far different. You had more than just yourself to worry about. He had to make sure you could do that.

“...now I think it’s because you want me to quit… For whatever reason you’ve decided I’m no longer good enough…”

That wasn’t true. He didn’t want you to quit. In the short time that you had been a member of the League, you had quickly become an invaluable member of the team. To say that it would be a shame to lose you was an understatement. Not that he was every going to say that aloud. Especially not after tonight. Chances were you wouldn’t even believe him so why waste his breath?

You had been right to call him out. If he had thought you incapable or not good enough, then you really wouldn’t have set foot on the Watchtower. But you were good enough. You were more than good enough. He knew that better than anyone. He had looked into you, put your name forward. Not that you knew or needed to know that, as far as he was concerned. And to say that he was nitpicking just to rile you up to have sex was ridiculous. Sex was just a byproduct of adrenaline caused by the arguments and being in such close quarters. It was a surprise that it hadn’t started far sooner.

It had become a vicious cycle. That he could admit to. And now it was one that had finally been broken by you. Not that he cared. He didn’t need to have sex with you. There were plenty of people out there that he could sleep with instead. Besides, you were teammates and relationships like that could get messy, fast. It was best that it was brought to an end before something happened that would jeopardise future missions. If you hadn’t done it tonight, then he certainly would have.

The sound of his boots on the metal platforms and stairs that made up this portion of the batcave, that hung over a dark abyss were loud and echoed off of the walls. The bats, high above him, squeaked in dismay, dropping from their perches to either fly deeper into the cavern system or leave it altogether.

He tugged his cowl off, setting it down onto the desk of the batcomputer as he took a seat, sighing deeply.

“Another fight with Mr Queen?” Alfred asked as he set a silver tray down, a cup, teapot and a plate of cookies on it, and poured him some tea.

Bruce grunted in response. All he wanted to do now was focus on the keyboard and screen in front of him, no longer wishing to think about what had happened tonight. There was still a few hours before dawn and he had a lot of case files to look into. He also really didn’t want to get into this with Alfred. It wasn’t any of his business.

“As talkative as ever, I see,” he muttered as he walked away to tend to other things. Alfred had decided a long time ago, since this whole vigilante business had started, that if Bruce wished to sulk over something then he could bloody well do it alone.

According to his phone, the sun had risen several hours ago. He had yet to even think about making his way up into the manor and toward his bedroom. His mind wouldn’t still, the gears just kept turning. Focusing on the argument, no matter what he did to try and steer his mind away. The anger in your features, that weren’t hidden by your mask, and your body, the venom that had dripped in each word, the clenching of your fist as you debated whether to try and deck him or not. In the end you had decided not to. Likely because he would have easily caught your hand had you tried. 

He shook his head. It shouldn’t be bothering him this much. And yet…

His thoughts were broken by the sound of boots marching toward him. He frowned, turning away from the disassembled equipment on the workbench to see who it was. Diana. Of course. She was angry, a storm dancing in her eyes and her fists clenched by her side. The only thing that he could think was that you had actually done it. You had quit and let her know that he was the reason you were walking away. Bruce swallowed thickly and composed himself, ready to be run through with a sword.

“And what did you say this time?” she demanded, stopping in front of him, crossing her arms against her chest.

“She quit?”

“Not yet, but I don’t doubt she’s thinking about it,” she replied. 

You hadn’t quit? He felt relieved, a weight he hadn’t been truly aware of lifting from him. He couldn’t dwell on that feeling for long, as Diana continued speaking.

“Now I’m not going to pretend like I know what’s going on between the two of you, but whatever it is I suggest you figure it out.”

“You’ve had this same conversation with her?” 

“I will be. I came to talk to you first since you’re the one continuously instigating these arguments.”

He grumbled in response. Instigator?” It made him sound like a damn child.

“I’m not apologising–”

Diana scoffed. “When have you ever apologised for anything. Just figure it out.”

It had been weeks since Bruce had last fought with you. Of course, he had barely said two words to you, outside of missions, because you never stuck around for too long. You were keeping your distance from him. Not that he could blame you.

He couldn’t lie. The distance, it bothered him. And it wasn’t because of the looks that he received every time you left a room he entered. Outside of all of this he lived in the public eye. He was used to dirty looks being thrown his way. Thing was he couldn’t put his finger on why it bothered him so much. It wasn’t affecting missions. You were civil and you fought alongside him like nothing had ever happened between the two of you.

Was it the result of your own conversation with Diana? Or had you decided on this shortly after Star City?

His own conversation with her had continued to lingered on his mind. It had made him wonder if it was possible to start over with you. It was clear to him now that no, that wasn’t possible. You wished to have nothing to do with him, outside of missions, and he would respect that. He told himself that things were better this way. Less complicated.

The sound of your footsteps passing by the laboratory broke Bruce’s thoughts, as well as his focus on dismantling Lex Luthor’s newest kryptonite weapon. Looking away from the weapon, he frowned. He could sworn that he was the only one left awake on the Watchtower.

The battle against Lex had been hard on all of them. The corrupted billionaire’s newest mech hitting harder and causing more destruction than any of the previous ones combined. Things certainly would have gone much smoother had Diana been with them, but the warrior goddess was off elsewhere. Busy dealing with gods and monsters and other things he would rather not think about. The battle had also served as a reminder that the production of his own mech, meant exactly for situations like that one, was taking far too long.

It also had him concerned. Super villains breaking out and working together, all of Lex’s newest tech, his own city being a little too quiet. He wasn’t one to overly rely on gut feelings, preferring physical evidence and facts, something that he could see, but he couldn’t shake it. Something big was headed their way and this was simply the start of it. They needed to be ready.

The kryptonite weapon attached to the mech meant that Clark had suffered the worst injuries out of everybody. As soon as Lex had been apprehended, he had been Bruce’s focus, making sure that he didn’t die. Lois would likely kill him if that happened and he wished to avoid that. It hadn’t stopped him from noticing you though. The way you were favouring your leg, the tear in your suit where blood was running from your thigh, making its way down your leg.

Bruce had been worried about your injury, like he would about anyone of his other teammates, of course. Years as a vigilante had taught him how bad a leg injury could be. He had wanted to see to it himself. With his training and degree, he would be the best option to, but Clark took priority and you refused to be in the same room with him.

Honestly, he was still worried. Before he could stop himself, he was already out of his seat. Making his way out of the laboratory and down the hallway. He was already halfway down the hallway when he heard one of the zeta tubes starting to fire up. He picked up his pace.

In his head, he had it all planned out. Like any concerned teammate, he was simply going to ask if you were okay and if you would like from him to take a look. Make sure that it wasn’t severe. That was it, but when he entered the room, he didn’t get a chance to even open his mouth before you were stopping him.

“I’m really not interested, Batman,” you told him, looking at him over your shoulder, your voice cold and gaze hard. You moved away from the console in front of you and stepping into the blinding light. Leaving him alone on the Watchtower.

In hindsight, he probably should have expected that.

As he headed back to the laboratory, he made a mental note to give Dinah some information she could send your way to help with your injury. You were close with her and it would be easier than trying to corner you.

Bruce worked well into the night after that. Or at least he tried to. His mind refused to focus on the task at hand. Instead it constantly drifted back to you. More specifically how it had felt to have you beneath him. The sweet noises spilling from your lips that sounded so much better than when you were arguing with him. It left him aching and missing those moments. Which he found ridiculous. The two of you hadn’t even been in a relationship. There wasn’t anything there to miss.

One thing was clear to him, he never should have dragged you into that storage room to begin with. He really didn’t know what he had been thinking. That time or any of the others. All it had done was make everything worse and that now there was no way in hell it could ever be fixed. Not that he could see anyway.

None of it mattered in the end. Things were better this way. Less complicated. Less chance of emotions getting in the way and less chance of missions going awry.

It was only after Diana had finally returned to the Watchtower and disturbed him, that he finally realised the time. It was well into the next morning and, no matter how much he would prefer to stay here and continue working, Bruce Wayne had places to be. Huffing, he locked up the now disassembled weapon and left the laboratory and began to head back to his cave.

Dick flipped through the air and landed on the mat. He had come back to Gotham for a visit because he missed Alfred’s cooking and Tim and Barbara had messaged him about Bruce acting strangely. He stepped off of the mat, grabbing his water bottle and taking a sip just as Bruce returned to the batcave.

“Finally! We were about to send out a search party!” he called out to him. He didn’t get a response like he expected he would. Not even a grumble, grunt or a glare. Instead he was simply ignored.

“Told you something was up with him,” Tim said from where he was sitting, eyes still glued to the laptop screen in front of him.

“Yeah.” He took another sip from his water bottle. “Selina’s not in town right now, is she?”

Anyone who knew Bruce knew about the very long and very complicated relationship that he shared with the world’s greatest thief. And no matter how hard they tried to make things work it always ended with two broken hearts and an even broodier Bat with an even shorter fuse. It had always been that way, for as long as he could remember.

Tim shook his head. “Barbara already checked. Selina is out of the country and has been since their last break up.”

Dick nodded. “Interesting.” And it was interesting. If it wasn’t Selina that had him acting like this, then who did? Who had gotten underneath his skin so badly? “Looks like we have an investigation on our hands.”

“He’s not going to be happy about that,” Tim frowned, finally looking away from the laptop screen.

He shrugged. “He’s rarely happy about anything. Come on, we should meet with Barbara and figure out where we should start.”

*

Taglist - @the-last-twin-of-krypton @bakugous-bakahoe @fromfoolishpeopletodeadpeople @little-rivers @callalily2000 @geminicinderella @warsaur @theclassicvinyldragon @aniya7 @bluebear19 @jdream55 @thedeadlythoughts