#this is how the cycle began and how it will continue on and on until the end of time

[kruegerspillow]

worth waiting for ; benjamin poindexter

creator's note: first time writing for deex woohooo let's see how it goes! (shoot me rn i hate loving this man...or maybe love hating this man. dunno)... thinking of making a continuation of this but huuuh idk

warnings: angst with comfort... kinda, mentions of mental health, reader takes pills (SSRIs), blood/injury, grief, psychological manipulation, implied PTSD, strong language, trauma, not proofread.

word count: 3.8k

It was a stormy night.

Nobody warned you of the rain that was yet to come. Not even the weather app on your phone. But inconveniences didn't really matter anymore—not when your life is one itself.

Droplets of water began to fall one by one. It slid down from the windows and slowly started falling in little groups of water. They formed an unsteady rhythm against roofs, concrete, and glass.

You had your hands inside of the pocket of your hoodie, seeking warmth from the humidity around you. You walked through the rain alone, boots splashing against puddles of water. Isolation has been a part of you for a while. Ever since the death of Foggy Nelson—a friend to you, a brother to Murdock—you never really had anyone to yourself.

Not even Dex. Benjamin Poindexter.

Because he wasn't yours.

He was Fisk's. To control. To order around like he was just a shell of a man. He wasn't loved by him, not even close. He was just another pawn. A worthy one, to say the least.

Fisk wanted him alone. He kept Dex all to himself. He isolated Dex from the rest of the world, because to him—they block his path—they become a liability and make Dex soft. Weak. Distracted.

So he stood alone, and so did you.

The rain had soaked your hoodie. It clung onto the skin beneath the soft cloth and made it feel like you were stripped from your clothes. Bare. One of your hands reached up to the hoodie and tugged it away from your side, but you didn't make a fuss out of it. Didn't complain or mumble under your breath. You just sighed and continued walking through the empty streets, where ghosts float around and flowers wither.

You took a turn, now walking through a small alleyway. It smelled of piss and garbage—but that didn't stop you—nothing did. You just held your breath and pray you don't taste bile in the back of your throat. After a few seconds of holding your breath, you escaped the stench. A small, weak noise squeaked from your throat as soon as you took a deep breath.

You stood in front of the building of your apartment.

The automatic door opened, and you entered the building. Your hands reached up and pull the hood down from over your head. You strolled to the elevator, pressed the button to your floor and entered the confined space as soon as the doors opened. The music hummed in the elevator, and you found yourself already thinking of all the things you'd do once you get back to your apartment.

Shower, eat, sleep.

The usual, boring schedule. This was a regular day of your life—where chaos was stripped away and boredom creeped up—you found yourself pulled into this… cycle. The door opened with a ding and you walked into your apartment. You took the keycard from the pocket of your jeans and opened the door.

Then, you continued with your routine.

Until you didn't.

You were drying your hair when the knocks from the door came. You mumbled “wait” under your breath, as if the person on the other side of the door could hear it.

You left your bedroom and stood behind the door, peeking through the peephole—expecting some kind of mail or a random kid ding-dong ditching on you.

But it was neither of them.

And your heart dropped. Quite literally. You felt yourself tense up at the sight before you. Dex. Eyes hollow, scar on his cheek and blood sliding down from his temple and dripping down from his chin. He was standing there, waiting patiently for you to open the door, as if he'd heard your footsteps and decided to wait, even if he was a little impatient inside.

“Fuck,” you mumbled underneath your breath.

You leaned away from the peephole, contemplating all of the choices. All of the things that you could do. Ignore him, open the door for him, punch him, call the police—how does one even prepare for a situation like this?

Before you could even decide, you found your hand sliding the chain off and twisting the knob without thinking.

There he was.

His eyes looked at you—truly looked at you—not staring through or staring ahead. He was soaking in the sight before him, and you were too. He was bulkier than the last time you'd seen him—his skin was paler and the pupils in his eyes lacked anything behind it.

“Hi,” he greeted, his voice rough from the lack of use.

You wanted to shut the door and punch yourself in the face for getting yourself into a situation like this. You wanted to shove him away and jump out from your window.

But he was here, and you had already opened the door for him.

“Hi, Dex.” You greeted back. Far too casual.

His mouth parted, as if he wanted to say something else. He wanted to say something—an apology or some kind of reunion speech—but he didn't. He stopped himself before he could, and you stepped aside so he could enter the room.

Dex stepped into the apartment, the scent of rain still clinging to his jacket, mixing with the damp, musty air of the hallway. He didn’t make a move to shake the water off, leaving tiny droplets trailing behind him as if he didn’t even care. You closed the door behind him, the sound of it echoing too loudly in the silence that filled the space between the two of you.

The apartment felt smaller now. A few feet from the door, and the tension was already suffocating. You didn’t say anything right away. You didn’t know what to say. A part of you wanted to yell at him, demand why the hell he was here, but another part, a much quieter part, feared that if you said anything too sharp, he might just snap.

He didn’t sit down, didn’t move around, just stayed there by the door like he didn’t know how to exist here, didn’t know where to place himself. His eyes were still on you, but there was no malice, no hatred in them—not anymore, at least. Just that endless blankness that you used to think was just a mask. But it wasn’t, was it? It was the real Dex.

His lips pressed together for a moment, and the quiet lingered until he finally spoke again. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

His voice was hoarse, almost like it had been a long time since he’d used it, a long time since he'd trusted anyone enough to speak. And that stung more than it should’ve. Because you knew what it meant—how alone he must’ve felt, how far gone he had to be to stand in front of you now, bloodied and broken.

“Do you want me to call someone?” You hated the words as soon as they left your mouth. It was a reflex, something you knew you were supposed to say, but it felt wrong, like you were pushing him away before you could even give him a chance.

He shook his head slowly. “No.”

Another silence. The hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen was louder than it had any right to be, the only sound in the room now besides your breathing. You wondered if you were making him uncomfortable. But you didn’t ask. You weren’t sure you were in a place to.

You glanced at the cut on his temple, the blood still fresh, darkened in streaks down his skin. “You need to clean up.”

He gave a brief nod, as though he was barely registering the injury at all, but didn’t move. He didn’t even seem to want to take his jacket off, like he was somehow attached to it. You caught yourself staring at the blood again, at the hollow look in his eyes, and you hated how you weren’t sure whether to help him or keep your distance.

“I’m not… I’m not staying,” he said, as if it mattered, as if it would somehow explain everything. He was already backing up a little, his eyes darting nervously around, unwilling to make himself too comfortable. “I just need… I just need a minute.”

The rain outside started up again, a soft patter against the windows. It reminded you of the way you used to be able to shut everything out with just the sound of falling rain. But now, the rhythm only highlighted the awkwardness of the moment, the desperation in the air, thick enough to make it hard to breathe.

You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to fix things between you. Between all of you. It wasn’t like you were friends anymore. It wasn’t like you ever really had been, not in the way people normally were. You had both just been caught up in the chaos—together, but never really together.

“I know,” you said finally, your voice quieter than you expected it to be. “Just… sit. I’ll get something for your head.”

He didn’t fight you as you moved past him, toward the kitchen, towards the only thing you could think to do. He slouched into the couch, all that weight pressing into the cushions as if his body couldn’t support itself anymore, his face turned away from you like he was ashamed to be seen. Or maybe like he didn’t even care. You grabbed a towel from the bathroom, wet it, and returned, standing in front of him with it.

He barely looked at you when you knelt down, and there was a moment where you thought he might push you away—where you thought he might resist your help—but he didn’t. He just sat there, eyes half-closed, letting you press the cloth to the gash on his temple.

The blood came off easily, but the bruising was already starting to form. The damage was done. Whatever had happened out there, it wasn’t just a physical wound. It wasn’t something a towel could clean.

“I’m not…” He tried again, his words breaking the silence between you. “I didn’t come here to make things harder.”

“I know.” You didn’t know if you did know, but you said it anyway, because it felt like the only thing you could offer him. It wasn’t the comfort he needed, but it was the closest thing you could give.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You finished cleaning the cut, your hands trembling ever so slightly as you pulled away. You stood up and took the towel back, suddenly unsure of what came next. Maybe you could kick him out. Maybe you should.

But you didn't.

“What happened?” You asked quietly, your voice a little softer this time.

Dex’s gaze flickered to you, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly, but he didn’t look away. For a moment, you thought he might say nothing, like usual. Like he always did.

But then he spoke.

“I killed—”

“No, I meant what happened. With you. What did they do to you?”

A beat.

“Fisk… he didn’t want me anymore. I—he…” His voice broke for a moment, and he quickly shut it down, running a hand through his hair, as if to regain some kind of composure. “I was a weapon. That’s all I’ve ever been to him. He doesn’t need me anymore.”

There it was. The truth, raw and unfiltered. You weren’t sure what to say, how to respond to something that heavy, especially from him.

“I’m not a weapon,” Dex continued, his voice suddenly filled with an emotion you hadn’t heard from him in a long time—regret. “I’m not supposed to be.”

And then, for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw it. A crack in the armor. A hint of vulnerability. It made you want to reach out to him, but you couldn’t move. You were both too far gone for that.

Instead, you huffed. It almost sounded like a scoff—almost.

“No one's supposed to be a weapon.” You paused, “but they become one anyway. Not by choice, not really. Y'know that?” He didn’t answer.

You placed the towel aside and sat down on the floor beside him, looking down at the floor for a moment. Then, you leaned your head back—resting it on the couch before staring up at him. Looking at him, not waiting—just letting the moment pass.

“You’re not a good person.” The words left your mouth before you could stop it. But your voice—it held no judgement, just stating it—as if you didn't need any other reassurance. Then, the corner of your mouth twitched. You weren't smiling, but you weren't frowning either. Your eyes drifted away from his face and onto the ceiling, contemplating for a moment.

“But so am I.” You added.

The silence engulfed the conversation, and you found yourself sitting through this moment of silence. For once, life didn't feel like it was rushing you—life was just… there. No quick turns or sudden changes of plan. . His eyes roamed all over you, from the curve of your mouth to your wandering eyes. The words caught in his throat as if he didn't know how to say it out loud. He swallowed his saliva before leaning back on the couch. The silence was heavy. Always too heavy for him. But there was nothing else to say, no, not really. Even if something in the back of his mind screamed still at him to say something

He didn't.

Your eyes went back to meet his hollow ones. He was still looking at you. A gaze between emptiness and something close to admiration, maybe? You didn't know. But you didn't want to press, didn't want to push this into something further than it already is.

So, you rubbed a hand over your face and stood up from the floor.

“I'm gonna go make tea,” you mumbled to him, loud enough for him to decipher.

Dex didn’t answer. He just nodded once—barely noticeable—and let his gaze fall to the floor, like he was ashamed of something, but he hid it behind rage. Anger.

You moved to the kitchen, not bothering to turn on the overhead light. The soft amber glow under the cabinets was enough. Familiar. Quiet. You filled the kettle with water, the metallic hum of the faucet and clink of steel echoing too sharply in the quiet. The kettle clicked onto the stovetop and you flicked the burner on, letting the gas catch with a muted whoomph.

Steam hadn’t started yet, but you leaned against the counter anyway, arms folded, staring at nothing in particular. Just the way the condensation gathered on the kettle’s side, the way the blue flame flickered underneath. Normalcy in small doses. It was all you could cling to tonight.

Behind you, Dex hadn’t moved much. You could feel it, the heaviness of him on the couch like gravity had a stronger hold on him than it did on anyone else. Like the earth itself wanted to drag him under. And maybe he was tired of resisting it.

“Chamomile or peppermint?” you asked, voice neutral, like he wasn’t some psychopathic killer—like he was still the Dex that you’ve known.

He blinked slowly. “Whatever you're having.”

You grabbed the chamomile. Something about it felt right—something calm in the middle of a storm. You didn’t rush anything. You didn’t speak much, either. There wasn’t a single word that could make this easier. There was no quick fix. You knew that. He did too.

The kettle let out a soft whistle—not a shriek, just a whisper of pressure releasing—and you poured the hot water into the two chipped mugs you kept in the cabinet above the sink. One had a faded logo from some forgotten diner. The other had no logo at all. You picked the plain one for him.

When you returned to the living room, you found he was still sitting in the same position, like moving would make this real. Like if he held perfectly still, he wouldn’t fall apart.

You handed him the mug without saying anything. He took it carefully—fingers trembling slightly as he wrapped his hands around the warmth. You sat beside him, the edge of your thigh brushing his. Not intentional. Not entirely avoidable, either.

Steam curled between you.

He took a sip. Winced slightly. Maybe it was too hot. Maybe he wasn’t used to warmth anymore.

You both stared ahead now. The television was off. The curtains drawn. It felt like a liminal space—like the outside world didn’t exist, and all that did was this tiny apartment filled with ghosts and steam and silence.

“I wasn't sure if you'd come back,” you sighed in between sips. “Wasn't even sure if you'd be—uh, alive.”

His gaze flickered over to you again. Assessing. Analyzing. You didn't look at him, you were looking down at your cup of tea—shifting your attention elsewhere—not to the man beside you. He didn't reply, nor acknowledged your statement. He just looked at you and took another sip from the cup.

You were tense, clearly tense. Maybe from the tension, or even from him. From the consciousness that you'd been sitting beside a murderer. A trained assassin. And that it was wrong. It felt wrong. He didn't let that observation slip away from him.

Then, you placed your cup onto the table. Took something from your pocket. Something orange and slightly translucent. Shifted slightly to angle it away from him. Trying to picture everything as casual and nothing out of the pocket. He felt the suspicion rise and the gears inside of his head slowly turning, but he didn't say anything. Not yet.

Lexapro.

You opened the bottle, wiggled a few pills out of it, and took them in your mouth. You swallowed them dry.. Even if it left a bitter taste from your mouth and down to your throat. You pressed the lid back on and shoved it back into your pocket.

He watched. Brows furrowed, gaze shifting from blank to intense. Way too intense. Like you had been hiding something from him this whole time. Well, you were—and he had a million questions running through his mind. Few sounded more like accusations.

He didn’t say anything right away—but you felt it. The way his posture shifted just slightly, like he was trying not to react, like he was holding something in. His jaw clenched and unclenched, his knuckles whitening where they gripped the mug. That blankness was gone from his expression now—replaced with something tight and unreadable.

“Since when?” he asked finally, voice low and even. Too even.

You didn’t look at him. You were still staring at the empty space where your cup used to be, suddenly wishing you hadn’t done that in front of him. You weren’t ashamed—just… tired. Too tired to explain anything.

“A while,” you replied flatly.

His eyes narrowed. “And you didn’t tell me.”

You blinked, then turned to him slowly. “You weren’t exactly reachable, Dex.”

His mouth parted like he wanted to argue—like he wanted to say something about how that wasn’t fair—but he couldn’t. He knew it was true. He’d vanished. He’d left. You weren’t the one hiding.

You exhaled through your nose. Sat back on the couch. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is,” he said sharply, a little too fast. “You’re on—what, SSRIs now? You’ve got a prescription? What, you’ve been seeing someone?”

You didn’t like the tone. Not angry, not concerned—just picking at it, like he was peeling scabs off skin that hadn’t finished healing. A small scoff escaped your lips as you leaned against the armrest.

“Yeah, I've been seeing someone. That doesn't change a thing.” You replied almost dismissively. “Everybody's got their own issues, if you didn't know that, Dex.”

His gaze searched for yours, eyes darting from your lips to your own eyes. He clenched his jaw, his grip tightening on the mug. He wasn’t angry. He was never angry at you—because the majority of the time—you were right. He was frustrated at himself for not catching on this. On the pills and on you.

“I should’ve caught on to that.” He muttered underneath his breath, his words were barely audible, but you heard it.

“No, you shouldn’t have.” You retorted rather softly. “You were busy with Fisk. Prison stuff, psych ward and shit. You couldn’t have caught on to that.”

And again, you were right.

He huffed at your words, not bothering to argue with you. Not now. Not ever. He took another sip before placing the mug down onto the glass table. He stood up from the couch, ignoring the ache in his muscles and the sting from his wounds.

“I’m go—”

“—No.”

Your hand caught onto his wrist, fingers wrapping around it. You felt his pulse beneath his sweaty skin. How it quickened by the second. How it stuttered the moment you touched him. As if he’d never had anyone touch him with tenderness in months.

“Where will you go?” You questioned. “Fisk is still out there. You’re—fuck.”

You laughed under your breath, the sound devoid of humor and rather filled with bitterness. Like you didn’t believe the words that just came out of your mouth. Like you wanted to hate him for what he’d done. To Foggy. To innocent civilians.

His head twisted, taken aback by the sudden touch. He looked at you, pupils blown and brow twitching. You weren’t looking up at him, you were just… staring past him. At the walls that seemed to be more interesting than him.

“You’re still… wounded. It’s late and—I don’t want to take any chances.” Your voice lowered into a whisper. “You can stay here for the night, really.”

He looked at you. Really looked at you. Like he was waiting for a catch or some kind of cruel joke behind your words. But he didn’t find any. He was just met with… care. Concern. Not some cheap performance of empathy, not some kind of fake sympathy. It was genuine.

The rawness of your words and the vulnerability of your voice almost made him feel like he was worth waiting for. Like he was truly someone to you. Like he wasn’t just a weapon. He felt special.

He nodded. Slow. Unblinking.

“Okay, ‘s that a yes?” You questioned.

His eyes stayed on you.

“For the night.”

And oh, how he wishes to stay here longer. Weeks. Maybe months. Or maybe forever.

Because you didn’t kick him out like he was a stray. You let him in, even after everything he’d done. He wondered, if you’d ever done this to anyone else. Accept them for who they are, like some loyal dog. It takes guts to be as kind as this.

But it didn’t matter, not anymore.

Not when it felt like he’d found his home. His North Star, if he was even worthy enough for them.

And maybe this was fate. Maybe he never needed to find them. Maybe he was supposed to stumble upon them. Like this.

And, honestly?

He wouldn’t want to find a North Star any other way.

Not when he’d found you this way.

kruegerspillow © 2025 ➵ do not feed my work into ai, repost or translate my work to post it around. reblogs are much appreciated ୨ৎ

[theefaustina]

Close to You

Part 1: here | Part 2: here

Thinking about confessing to Ni-ki felt awkward and embarrassing. You remember the times you would glance over to the dance studio he was in and stare a bit too long until he noticed you ogling at him. Often, you find yourself having butterflies in your stomach, and your heart bursting with emotions you couldn’t explain. 

You wish you could hold your heart close to his. Trying to get a feel for what he thought of you. However, your lack of action seemed to make it difficult for you to progress to anything near a confession. You would rather stare at the ceiling than to put your dreams of confessing to him into reality. 

You wouldn’t even know what to say or how to express your emotions.. Ni-ki found you to be a shy, introverted, and independent person. When you first played Animal Crossing together, it felt awkward whenever someone tried to break the silence between you two. Usually, Ni-ki would be the one to speak and then you would come up with a response. He was best at communication while you listened. 

Sometimes, you couldn’t help but to zone out and hear just his voice. It was deep and oddly relaxing to listen to; almost as if he put you under a trance of comfort. Due to this, you would forget what he said and instead began to enter a tirelessly long daydream.. 

You and Ni-ki cycling around his hometown in Okayama during the springtime. Both of you would pass by gardens, structures reflecting part of Japan’s history, and art museums. Whilst it tired the two of you, eventually the cycling came to a halt in Okayama Korakuen, a beautiful garden where there was a vast land of greenery and a path for people to walk through. 

You and Ni-ki put the bikes aside and would begin journeying throughout the garden, appreciating the views as you both held hands. You love the feeling of intertwining fingers with Ni-ki; the connection becoming whole. It was new and somewhat euphoric. 

It seemed almost too perfect and too difficult to let go of Ni-ki at this moment. The mere touch of his hands was enough to make you smile, reaching your cheeks. Ni-ki noticed this and giggled cheerfully. Then, he would lead you over to a bridge which overlooked the stream of water flowing by the garden. 

Here, time stayed at a standstill. 

You felt his strong gaze towards you. Adoring your features as you take in the scenery in front of you. He cupped your cheeks before placing a kiss on your lips; the ones he wanted desperately to touch and feel. The plumpness and softness of your lips was almost like a spell; put under Ni-ki to constantly and continuously be attracted to. 

Of course, you couldn’t control your emotions and replied with a kiss. You placed your arms around his neck to deepen the kiss. At this moment, you thought that you would never be capable of love after Ni-ki. Love seemed too perfect and too difficult to lose. Before the end of your daydream, you instinctively knew your love for him will direct himself close to you.

A/N: I apologize for inconsistent uploading as I am transitioning from high school to university. I still want to thank you for reading, especially if you've read parts one and two! Course enrolment for my university is coming soon so I am trying my best preparing for that than writing the next part for this series so stay patient. :)

[monstersholygrail]

Untouched Power

Demon x Witch!reader— praise, body worship, nipple play, fingering, penetrative sex, scratching, biting, squirting, creampie, multiple orgasms

When your coven members started getting sick, dark horrifying jagged marks blooming on their skin, they all looked to you for answers. You weren’t coven leader, not by far, you were only their humble head healer. This was the kind of stuff you specialized in yet even you had no idea what was going on.

But witch after witch was appearing on your doorstep, their faces scared, desperately begging you for help. Of course you did what you could but the illness was such a peculiar thing, you could barely make sense of it.

With each new blot that formed the witch’s magic grew more powerful but also more unstable. The marks consumed them until they could no longer control their magic and it became a liability to allow them to continue their practice. Which was another issue as the illness also raised their aggression levels tenfold. Even the slightest uptick in their heartbeat could unleash a raging current of magic.

Most cases, no matter how much you tried to stop it, ended in the death of a witch and fewer answers than you started with.

For some it came on quicker and for others it was like a slow crawl. Yet it always reached its end and you could never catch up with it. That is until it finally caught up with you.

Haunting tendrils that began to form on your hands as if the illness was mocking you. You had failed to heal your coven members and now you’d fail to save yourself before it was too late and it’d claim another witch.

You only allow yourself a few minutes to panic. There isn’t time to linger on it any longer. Not when you’re unsure how much you have left. But even as you move, scouring through countless old texts and forbidden spells, that frenzied fear is what drives you forward.

Days go by running through the same cycle. Reading the books, testing incantations and potions, refusing to collapse as another fails, and forcing yourself to start all over again. Each failed attempt threatens to destroy what little hope you have left. There has to be something— anything— you haven’t thought of.

That’s when it hits you. As much as the rationale side of you immediately rejects the idea, the other tells you it’s your last chance. For your coven, summoning a demon is quite possibly the greatest offense a witch can commit. You remind yourself of this over and over as you draw the circle in the dead of night.

Bright purple flames shoot straight to the ceiling as the Demon appears before you, in clothes from a time long ago and a piercing gaze that acts like he already knows what you’re about to ask. Yet when you show him the marks making their way up your arms a flicker of surprises passes over his expression.

He breaks through your summoning circle with ease, clawed hands grasp at your arms with a surprising tenderness. It still manages to send a fierce shiver down your spine. Under his inspection you try and remain normal, ignoring the way your body warms and hums under his touch. A growing throb echoing straight to your core.

“A witch forming marks? What is the meaning of this?” He asks in awe, and his own demonic marks shimmer under the candlelight.

A soft gasp leaves you at the familiar patterns you’ve seen so many times before on your fellow witches. How had you never realized this? The connection between a demons blots and the illness taking control of these witches. Suddenly it was all making sense, the deathly power surges that they couldn’t contain on their own.

“I was hoping you could help me figure that out,” you whisper and his gaze snaps up to meet yours, the hum in your body buzzing harder by the second.

Then it’s weeks that pass in the blink of an eye. You rarely leave your home and refuse to let anyone inside. It’s clear your coven members worry for you but that’s the last thing on your mind. With your days now full of this alluring demon who you can’t get enough of leaves space for little else.

He moves around your home like he owns it, having grown more comfortable there than you ever would’ve expected. The two of you have come to work in tandem, your hand reaching and his is already there waiting as you trade old books, passing each other ingredients without a thought while making potions you’ve never even heard of, and your bodies moving as one as you work.

Every interaction between you is charged with something deeper, something you don’t dare to speak of. Yet it speaks through every brush of your hand against his, how neither of you move away whenever you bump into the other, the smiles and glances you send each other that linger a few beats too long, and that both your marks shimmer in each others vicinity.

And just like the others, as your marks move up your arms and down your body, your power grows stronger. But something about this demon helps calm the magic swelling inside you. His presence soothes the storm, his touch calms the spikes of your emotions. Ones that are starting to happen far too often for comfort.

Leaning against the table you clench your fists as another wave of anger urges you to lash out, to unleash the emotion swirling inside you. Your body shakes with the force of trying to resist but you hold on as long as you can.

Just as fear it’ll overcome you, the demon’s chest molds against your back, his arms curl around you and tug you close. That soothing sensation courses through you and you sigh in relief, melting into his arms like you’ve been doing it your entire life.

“I hate these marks,” you murmur, voice filled with pain.

The demon freezes against you and for a long moment he doesn’t respond. Neither do you. Then a moment later he leans down, nuzzling into the streaks that have bloomed on your neck. His own shimmer and yours respond immediately.

“I don’t. I adore them. You just need to learn how to control them,” he rasps.

His breath on your skin makes that constant buzz return to your body as if calling out for him. Warm arousal bubbles up in your belly and looks in your panties. You know he can sense it all yet he doesn’t rush a thing.

“Your coven’s tapped into a power it wasn’t prepared to handle but you have me now. Let me help you.”

All you can feel anymore is him as his fingers skim across your skin, tilting your chin up just in time to claim your lips in a kiss that’s been a long time coming. A soft moan leaves you, your body turning to face him before he picks up your plush frame with ease and plops you down on top of the table.

Low demonic growls vibrate from his throat as he pushes at your clothes like they’re a nuisance, his lips curl in a sneer as his mouth dances with yours like he’s trying not to just tear them to shreds.

Only when the lack of oxygen pinches at your lungs does he break from the kiss and immediately make his way down your skin. Pressing feverish kisses along every inch of bare skin he exposes.

“Your marks… they’re gorgeous. Just like the rest of you. If only you’d embrace them, embrace me,” he pants against your chest and you gasp as he takes one of your perky buds into his mouth, sucking till they’re swollen, then moving onto the next.

You writhe against the table, small whimpers leaving you as you get hotter and hotter, the mess between your thighs dripping down your legs and onto the table.

As if he can sense just how needy you are he leans back and forces your thick thighs apart, groaning at the slick that gushes out of your weeping pussy.

“You even have them here. How beautiful,” he purrs.

His long clawed fingers slide through your folds, tracing the streaks till you’re crying out and rocking your hips into the movement. You get so lost in the rhythm and the constant stimulation that you don’t notice him replacing his fingers with his cock until he’s sliding in and stretching your sensitive walls to their very limits.

You start to scream only to have them silenced by his mouth as he kisses you again. Your magic pulses in time with your throbbing cunt as he starts thrusting his cock deep inside you, slipping deeper and deeper with each rock of his hips.

Meanwhile he fucks your mouth as hard as he fucks your pussy, swirling his tongue against yours in time with every brutal thrust. You feel his tip smash against your cervix just as his tongue pushes into your throat and suddenly he’s everywhere.

Consuming you from the inside out. For a second you panic, your nails scratching down his back and he hisses, picking up pace and rutting into you even harder. You feel unsteady, body moving in time with his only to realize it’s not your body moving but the magic inside you. As you let him in the overpowering magic settles into your bones like it’s always meant to be there and it increases your pleasure to a point you’ve never known.

The demon grunts as he slams his cock along your walls, molding you to the shape of him. He’s breathless but he’s never felt more alive than he does now and he can’t stop staring at the streaks that resemble his one. Like you’re his, all his now. It makes his cock swell within you.

“Tell me you love your marks as much as I do. I want to hear you,” he growls, ducking his head to worship every inch of marked skin he can reach.

You cry out, the pressure in your belly building, so close to bursting.

“I love my marks,” you whine, trying to sound convincing.

“Louder,” he snarls and nips at your throat.

Every thrust he makes you scream those words till you shatter around his cock, your vision flashing white and your release spraying out of you in a brilliant stream of arousal. Your demon roars as he buries himself to the hilt and sends spurt after spurt of his thick cum to splash against your cervix till you’re coming again for him.

He helps work you through the intense pleasure, rocking into you steadily and holding you close. When the fog starts to clear from your mind a burst of clarity booms and you realize you’ve been going about this all wrong. Trying to be rid of the streaks is impossible. It’s only through accepting them can you manage the power that comes with.

And all along it was your demon helping you to see that. To accept it. Now you think you finally are and if you can convince your coven members to do the same you think everything may just be ok.

Your marks glow in a silent heartfelt thank you. Warmth flows through you as his own shine in return. Both your body and souls now connected as one.

[aleksatia]

Imagine the six days scenario with the boys, but it turns out the mission was supposed to be done in one day, and the reader went through he'll to get out and is met with this reaction? Imagine when she finally tells the reason she was away, would they regret their actions? How would they react? Don't know if if you take requests, if you do, consider this one.

If not, I am glad I got to read this masterpiece, thank you ❤️

Thank you so much for the request — I absolutely do take them, and I really appreciate this one! ❤️

I tried so hard to keep it short, since the “Six Days” theme has already been thoroughly explored... but, well, I failed spectacularly 😅 So here’s another deep-dive into a what-if/imagine scenario — one that can be read as either an alternate branch of the original storyline or... something else entirely. I’ll let you decide 😉

I’d love to hear your thoughts if you read it — truly means the world to me!

I’ve received so many requests for continuations — especially for Xavier — and yes, his already has a full-length, dramatic follow-up (because how could I not?). This one here is more of a request-based scenario, but it can absolutely be read as its own kind of continuation. Think of it as an alternate path the story could have taken. (One day I’ll write full versions for all the boys… but for now, consider this a little taste.) Hope you enjoy — and as always, I’d love to hear what you think! 💬💔 Here are the links to the previous parts in the series, in case you want to revisit or catch up:

Original Post | Xavier's Story

CW/TW: Psychological trauma, PTSD themes, Forced isolation, Violence / combat injuries, Mentions of starvation, Emotional manipulation, Past emotional abuse, Mental breakdowns, Intense guilt / self-blame, Brief implications of suicidal ideation (in self-sacrificing context), Adult intimacy (emotionally driven, not graphic)

The Truth — What Really Happened

It was supposed to be one day.

A clean, strategic infiltration. In and out. No complications. No room for error.

But no one accounted for the Wanderer.

No one predicted that the target—some nameless, faceless shade masquerading as a rogue—would be more than just dangerous. That he'd found a way to twist Protocore into something ancient and volatile. That he would trigger a fracture in time itself.

In a single blink, the world split. You fell into it. And the loop began.

Six days for them. Six weeks for you.

You lived, died, and bled your way through the same endless day.

Again. And again. And again.

Locked in a cycle of violence, decay, and despair—while everyone else moved on without you.

You clawed your way back—half-starved, half-mad, barely remembering your name. And when you finally escaped the loop, stepped back into their world, broken and still breathing—

They were waiting.

Angry. Unforgiving. And utterly, terrifyingly unaware.

Until now. Until you tell them.

💛 Xavier

It only felt right to write Xavier’s piece after the continuation I posted earlier. The original scene stood strong on its own, but this one—this is what came next. The moment after the storm. The truth laid bare. A quiet, alternate branch of the story, or perhaps a natural consequence of the one that already unfolded. Either way—I’m glad it found its voice.

You don’t ease into it. You sit across from him in the quiet of the morning, sunlight creeping up the walls like it’s unsure of its welcome, and you tell him.

Not six days.

Six weeks.

A loop. A fracture in time. An engineered nightmare that left you bleeding against the same hours, over and over, clawing through shadow just to return to him. Alone. Lost. Dying.

Xavier doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even blink.

But something in him breaks.

Not loudly. Not violently. It’s quieter than breath. Slower than thought. His fingers slip from the edge of the cup in his hand, and it falls. Shatters against the floor with a sound so sharp it startles the silence—ceramic shards skittering like teeth across stone.

Still, he doesn’t look at you.

He stands, but not with purpose. With instinct. His body moves before his mind can catch it. He turns, walks toward the far wall like he’s searching for air, like the room is suddenly too small to hold what’s happening inside his chest.

You rise—hesitant, aching—but he lifts a hand to stop you. Not cruelly. Gently. Like he’s afraid that if you touch him, he’ll fall apart in a way he can’t recover from.

He presses his palm to the wall. Just one. The other curls into a fist at his side.

“I thought you abandoned me,” he says at last, voice raw in a way you’ve never heard from him. “And I punished you for it.”

He turns back.

And there’s nothing left of the man who told you to ask again in six days. Nothing of the controlled strategist, the ever-collected ghost of war. His jaw is clenched too tight. His eyes are glassed over with fury—but not at you.

At himself.

“I accused you. I mocked you. I dismissed what little strength you had left and threw my pain in your face like it was the only thing that mattered.”

He crosses the room again, slower now. Purposeful. His hands don’t tremble, but his voice does.

“I let you stand there, in front of me, broken... and I thought I was the one who’d suffered.”

He kneels.

Not dramatically. Not for effect.

He lowers himself before you like a man who no longer believes he has the right to stand. His gaze stays down. One hand reaches inside his coat, and when it returns, you see it:

A blade.

Polished. Ritual-cut. Ceremonial. One of the old ones—etched with language you don’t recognize. But you understand that these words mean oath, atonement, belonging.

He offers it to you in silence. Flat in his palm.

“Where I’m from,” he says, quietly, “a wound like this is paid in blood. A betrayal like mine is not survived—it is surrendered to.”

Your hands don’t move. Your breath barely does.

“If you want justice,” he whispers, “take it.”

You stare at him. The weight of the blade between you. The weight of everything.

And then—slowly, gently—you take it from his hand.

Only to let it fall.

The sound is soft this time. Barely a whisper of steel on floorboards.

Then you fall with it.

You drop to your knees in front of him, wrap your arms around his shoulders, and let your tears fall freely.

“I don’t want justice,” you breathe into the curve of his neck. “I want you.”

He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t speak. Just holds you, arms banding around your waist, face pressed into your shoulder like he’s trying to memorize what survival feels like.

When he finally speaks, it’s not confession. It’s surrender.

“After what you endured… after what I made you endure alone… I don’t know what anything means anymore. Not the mission. Not the cause. Not the point.”

You pull back, just enough to see him.

His eyes are hollow with grief. But deeper still—something flickers.

“I thought I understood devotion,” he says, voice barely above a breath. “But I was wrong. What I gave you wasn’t loyalty. It wasn’t love. It was pride. Control. Fear, dressed in logic. And I used it to wound you when you were already bleeding.”

His jaw tightens. His gaze falls.

“I was cruel.”

It’s not said for effect. There’s no tremble in his voice, no self-indulgent break.

It’s simply true.

“And I’m sorry.”

The silence that follows is soft. Dense. Not empty.

You brush your fingers across his cheek, tilt his face toward yours.

“I forgive you,” you say. Steady. Clear. “Because not everything in this world is black and white. And I understand why you did what you did. I know the shape of your fear.”

Your thumb brushes beneath his eye. His breath catches.

“I didn’t tell you to hurt you. Or to punish you. I told you because…” You pause. Your voice thickens with truth. “Because you’re the only one I trust with all of it. The only one who would understand. Who wouldn’t fall apart under the weight of what I’ve lived through.”

You lean forward.

Kiss him. Gently. Not desperate. Not demanding.

Just there. Warm. Real. Home.

Your hands slide up to his temples, fingers massaging slow circles at his hairline, coaxing the tightness from his brow. You feel it—inch by inch—how he softens beneath your touch.

“Let it go,” you whisper. “Don’t carry this weight. Not for me.”

He exhales, shaky. Silent.

You hold him tighter.

“You are my light, Xavier. You illuminate the path. You anchor me when everything else turns to ash. And in that place—those six weeks—do you know what kept me alive?”

Your voice breaks, but you keep going.

“I couldn’t bear the thought of you mourning me. That’s what kept me breathing.”

He says nothing for a moment.

Just rests his forehead against yours. One hand moves to your chest, flattening over your heart like he’s grounding himself with your pulse.

Then—softly, firmly, as if carving the words into stone:

“You will never carry pain alone again. Not while I draw breath.”

No grand vow. No poetry.

Just fact.

And somehow—that’s what makes it a promise.

💗 Rafayel

The morning sun slips in like melted gold, tracing the edge of the sheets, catching the soft arch of your cheekbone. You lie half-curled beneath the covers, his T-shirt clinging to your body like second skin.

And in that sacred hush before the world stirs—you speak.

Not because he demands it. Not because you owe it.

But because somewhere between the echo of his heartbeat and the way his arms wrapped around you like the only anchor you had left—you remembered how to breathe.

You tell him.

About the mission. The Wanderer. The fracture in time.

About the loop.

How six days for him were six weeks for you.

How you woke up every day inside the same nightmare. How you died. How you clawed your way back. Alone. Over and over.

And when you fall silent, your voice scraped raw from remembering—he still doesn’t speak.

He just looks at you.

Like the sun never rose until he saw your face again.

His hand brushes your cheek, feather-light. His voice—when it comes—is almost a whisper.

“Are you ready to share the rest?”

You blink. “The rest?”

“The weight of it,” he says. “Not the facts. Not the fight. The dark. The ache. The part that still won’t let you sleep.”

His voice is gentle. Too gentle for a man like him. It trembles with caution, as if even asking is a violation.

You hesitate. The memories flicker like shadows across your mind—distorted, aching, sharp.

“No,” you answer truthfully. “Maybe not ever.”

His gaze doesn’t falter.

He nods once. No protest. No press.

Then his voice, lighter this time—almost a whisper:

“Then I’ll just have to help you forget.”

And he does.

He lifts you carefully, as if your body might shatter beneath his hands. You expect the weight of a blanket, but instead—he wraps you in something else entirely.

A covering like seafoam. It feels like nothing you’ve ever touched—gossamer, weightless, but cool and smooth against your skin. A whisper of silk and tide.

“It's from home,” he murmurs, adjusting it carefully over your shoulders. “Woven from the ocean’s first breath. They say it keeps sorrow out.”

Then—he scoops you up like you weigh nothing. Carries you to the kitchen with quiet reverence, as if this moment is sacred.

He sets you down on the marble countertop and kisses your knee.

Then he starts making coffee.

He hums as he moves—something aimless and tuneless and purely him. You close your eyes for a moment, letting the scent of roasted beans and vanilla settle around you.

And then—

“So,” he says casually, not looking up, “a cat broke into the studio last night.”

You blink. “A cat?”

He nods solemnly. “Orange. Loud. Looked like he owned the place. Knocked over three canvases and nearly drank my turpentine.”

You raise a brow. “And naturally, you assumed this was my doing.”

“Who else would weaponize cuteness to such chaotic effect?”

You laugh—quiet but real. “I’m not that cruel.”

“No,” he agrees, turning to face you with a soft smile. “But I do suspect you’re still hoping I’ll change my mind about cats.”

You sip your coffee. “I might be.”

Later, the bath is warm, the water laced with something lavender and soft. He sits behind you, your back pressed to his chest, his arms a steady weight around your ribs.

His fingers move slowly—massaging your shoulders, your forearms, your palms, like he’s trying to erase every echo of pain from your body with touch alone.

You both talk, but nothing heavy. Just stories. Old memories. Little things. The shape of the moon that night. The smell of burnt sugar in his favorite gallery. How he once mistook a mannequin for a person and apologized to it for five minutes.

You laugh again, softer this time. And it makes something in him melt.

He wraps you in the softest robe he can find. Carries you again—this time to the bedroom. The ocean glows outside, waves catching the last of the sun like pearls tossed across the horizon.

But he doesn’t stop there.

“Come,” he says, offering a hand. “Tea. Sunset. Company far superior to mine.”

You smile. Follow.

And when you step onto the veranda—there it is.

A small white basket. A red ribbon.

And inside—

A snow-colored kitten, curled like a pearl in a nest, blinking up at you with impossibly blue eyes.

You freeze.

Turn to him, wide-eyed.

He shrugs, just slightly. Nervous. Like he’s bracing himself for mockery. For rejection.

You blink again. “You—Raf, you hate cats.”

He exhales through his nose. “I fear them. Different thing.”

Your eyes shimmer.

He moves toward you slowly, hands lifted in surrender.

“I wanted to make you smile,” he says simply. “That’s all. Just—smile. Like you used to. Before I—” He swallows.

He crouches down before you. One hand comes up to gently stroke the kitten. The other finds your knee.

His eyes lift to yours—and there’s no performance left in him now. Just Rafayel. Just the man beneath the glitter.

“I was so awful to you.”

You open your mouth, but he shakes his head.

“Don’t say it wasn’t that bad. I know what I am when I’m scared. I threw wine over grief and laughter over longing because I didn’t know what else to do. I ruined canvases with your name on my tongue and strangers in my house, and the whole time—I just wanted you to walk through that door.”

His fingers tighten on your leg.

“And when you did—when you came back—I was so full of rage at the idea you’d left me, that I didn’t even ask if you were okay.”

He breathes. One hand comes up, presses lightly to your ankle.

“I don’t know if I deserve this. Any of it. You. The right to hold your hand. To be the one who touches you when you’re tired. Who makes you laugh. Who paints your name into the ocean.”

You slide your fingers into his curls, threading gently through the soft waves.

And he stills. Like he’s afraid to move.

You whisper, “I never wanted perfect. I wanted you.”

He exhales.

“I swear,” he says, softly now, firmly, “on every color I’ve ever touched—never again. I’ll never put my pride above your heart. I’ll never leave you alone in the dark I made.”

Then—he leans forward. Presses his forehead to your knee.

The kitten meows softly, curling into the basket.

And finally—you smile.

Because this?

This is home.

💙 Zayne

You expected something.

A tremor. A breath. A word. Anything.

Instead, Zayne listened. Like a doctor reviewing a chart. Like a man auditing loss.

He didn’t speak when you finished. He simply nodded—once—and turned away, reaching for the drawer by the bedside as though the moment hadn’t cracked the very floor beneath his feet.

His hands, always precise, always godlike in their stillness, carried a faint tremble now. Just at the edges. So minor you might’ve doubted your own eyes, if you didn’t know how obsessively exact they always were.

“I asked,” he said, adjusting a monitor. His voice was quiet. Neutral. Not for you—for himself. “I asked if you’d caught a cold.”

He finished adjusting the drip, typed something into the tablet. Still no eye contact. Still no softness in his voice. But the line of his shoulders was off. A degree too low. A breath too far from centered.

Then—he turned back to you.

His gaze met yours at last. And though his voice didn’t change, the words did.

“I would like to conduct a full diagnostic. Neurological, cellular, metabolic.” A pause. Then softer, with exquisite restraint: “Please allow me.”

You hesitated—not because you doubted him, but because you recognized the plea underneath the logic. He wasn’t doing this for the data. Not really.

You nodded.

And he breathed again.

He worked in silence. Gentle. Thorough. Every sensor placed with hands that barely touched your skin. Each test executed with a reverence that spoke more than words ever could. He treated you like something sacred—something already broken that could not, must not, fracture further.

When sleep finally came, it swallowed you whole.

And when you opened your eyes again—the world was still. Dim. The sterile light of early morning filtered through the blinds.

Zayne sat in the chair beside your bed. Unmoved.

He hadn’t changed clothes.

The same shirt. The same faint stain near the cuff from yesterday’s blood draw. One elbow rested on the arm of the chair, his fingers curved over his mouth, gaze lost in some calculation too heavy for paper.

When he noticed you stir, his posture didn’t shift. But his eyes warmed—just barely. Just enough.

“I cancelled my procedures for the week,” he said simply. “Transferred patients to colleagues. For now, my only case is you.”

You blinked, silent. Then your gaze drifted down, to the low table by the bedside.

There, lined with the kind of hesitant care that comes from someone unused to gifts, sat a modest row of familiar things. A bouquet of white jasmine, fresh and fragrant. Two of your favorite candies in delicate wrappers. And—absurdly, heartbreakingly—three new plush toys, small and soft and so clearly chosen by someone who’d spent an agonizing amount of time in the gift shop second-guessing every decision.

Your heart folded inward.

“Am I dying?” you asked, quieter than you meant to.

He didn’t smile.

But his voice, when it came, was soft and absolute.

“I won’t allow that.”

A long silence passed.

Then you shifted—carefully, your muscles aching—and reached for him.

“Come here,” you murmured.

For a moment, he hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to, but because some part of him still didn’t believe he deserved the invitation. But he came. And when he lay beside you on the narrow couch, his body held a tension that didn’t ease until your head rested on his shoulder.

He stayed still. Let you move first. Let you curl against him the way you needed. His hand hovered over your back, uncertain, until you nudged it gently into place.

Only then did he hold you.

Not tightly.

Not desperately.

But with the kind of quiet conviction that said he would stay as long as it took.

You felt his breath in your hair before you heard his voice.

“I don’t pray,” he said, low, clinical as ever. “I believe in medicine. In numbers. In protocols.”

A pause. His fingers brushed your spine, feather-light.

“But if you hadn’t come back... I would’ve made an exception.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

Because some things, even with Zayne, are understood in silence.

And in that silence, held against the rhythm of his heartbeat, you felt it clearly: you were no longer his patient.

You were his entire world.

❤️ Sylus

For a moment after you speak, the room holds its breath. So does he.

Sylus doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t demand proof or press for detail. He simply stands there, stone-still, with your words unraveling him from the inside out. The way you say it—quiet, unshaking, without accusation—is somehow worse than if you’d screamed.

His gaze drifts over you then, and you feel the moment the veil lifts.

It’s in his eyes first—how they widen, flicker, and fixate. He takes in the shadows beneath yours, the pallor of your skin, the hollowness in your cheeks. His breath catches when he sees how your clothes hang looser than before. How your hands tremble faintly, barely perceptible unless one knows you too well.

And Sylus knows you.

His chest rises once, sharp and shallow. Then he moves.

Not fast. Not sudden.

But with purpose.

The next second, he’s in front of you, reaching—his fingers brush your jaw, feather-light, as if afraid that even the weight of his touch might bruise. He doesn’t speak as he leads you gently—gently, from a man whose hands have broken bones—into the nearest chair. One knee hits the ground beside you. He opens your jacket with slow precision, not to expose, but to check. To see. To know.

“You’ve lost weight,” he murmurs, voice rough and uneven, like gravel sliding beneath steel. His fingers glide down your arm, finding the sharp edges of bone where softness used to be. “Why didn’t I see it sooner?”

You try to speak, but he shakes his head, already rising.

He moves through the room like a storm with no wind—silent, but charged. Opens drawers. Pulls out clean clothes, a blanket, a glass of water. Then he’s back at your side, crouching again, one arm draped over your lap like a bridge between his fury and your exhaustion.

His hand wraps gently around your ankle, thumb pressing lightly against the bone there as he stares at it like it personally accuses him.

“I told them to take you.” His voice is lower now. Hoarse. “Told them to scare you. Make a point.”

He looks up at you. And for once, his face is completely unguarded.

“I hit you.”

It wasn’t hard. It wasn’t brutal. Not for someone like him.

But it was enough.

His voice falters, only slightly.

“And then I said I wouldn’t look for you.”

He exhales, and it’s not a breath—it’s a confession.

“That was the worst one, wasn’t it?” he asks. “Out of all of it. That’s the one that stayed.”

Your silence says enough.

And something in him breaks again—quietly, like a structure folding inward with no one left to hold it up. His forehead presses lightly to your knee, his arm tightening around your thigh. You feel him breathe you in, like scent alone might bring you back from the half-place you escaped.

“I should’ve known the second I touched you that something was wrong. I should’ve seen it on your face.” His voice cracks, just once. “But I was so angry. So fucking angry I couldn’t feel anything but the space where you weren’t.”

He pulls back. Looks at you again—slowly, steadily. And something inside him hardens, not with rage, but resolution.

“You’re not lifting a hand again. Not for food. Not for water. Not for anything. I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care what it costs. You’re going to rest, and I’m going to fix this—you—with my own hands, piece by piece.”

And when he stands, it’s not the usual slow menace or calculated power.

It’s reverent.

He lifts you—not like someone injured. Like something sacred. And when he carries you out of the room, wrapped in warmth and silence, there is no doubt in your mind:

Sylus will not let go again.

Not even if time itself tries to take you.

💜 Caleb

You aren’t even halfway through when it hits him.

Not like a punch. Not like a wound.

Like an organ failing.

He blinks once. Twice. And then nothing. No movement. No breath. Just silence.

Then, quietly—almost absently—he mutters, “I’ll resign.”

You look up, startled, and the absurdity punches out of you in a short, cracked laugh.

It’s the wrong moment. Too sharp, too bitter. But it slices through the tension like a scalpel.

And still—he doesn't move.

His hands press against the table, white-knuckled. Not to steady himself—he isn’t swaying. He’s rigid. Locked. Like something in him has calcified to hold him upright.

“I’m not fit to lead,” he says, voice flat, low, scorched. “Not when I see betrayal in the only person I’ve ever trusted.”

Whatever breath of amusement you had left dissolves instantly.

“I didn’t just fail as someone who was supposed to protect you,” he adds. “I failed as your—” He stops. Chokes it down. His jaw clenches so hard you can hear the sound of his teeth grinding. “As your Caleb.”

And then—he moves.

Quick, purposeful. Gone in a flash. You hear the kettle filling, the sharp click of a drawer, the dull thud of something fragile hitting the counter too hard. The way he clutches at control would be laughable if it weren’t so violent.

Then the bathwater starts.

Hot. Too hot. He’s not measuring anything. Just pouring. He throws open the cabinet, snatches towels, drops one, curses.

When he returns—his phone is in hand. “I’ll call Dr. Navik. I want a full neurocardiac scan, and we need to rule out—”

He stops. Mid-sentence. Thumb poised over the screen.

You don’t say a word. You just watch as something slows in him. As if time, for once, is merciful.

He lowers the phone. Turns toward you.

His voice—when it comes—isn't clipped or cold or distant. It's frighteningly gentle.

“Pip-squeak.”

He kneels before you, as if he’s afraid standing over you might shatter what little is left between you.

When he reaches out, it’s so slow. So reverent. The back of his fingers graze your cheekbone, barely there. Not because he doubts you—but because he doubts himself.

“How do you actually feel?” he whispers. “Not what I can fix. Not what the scans will say. Just you.”

You breathe. Only once. It shakes.

“Like roadkill,” you murmur. Then softer, almost smiling: “A hot bath wouldn’t hurt. And sleep. Maybe a week of it.”

Your faint attempt at a smile breaks him.

Not loudly. Not outwardly. He doesn’t cry. But something in his face folds in on itself, like it’s suddenly too heavy to wear. He draws a slow, trembling breath.

“I accused you,” he says, and now his voice is wrong. Hoarse. Quiet. Dismantled. “I accused you of being with someone else. After you went through six weeks of hell.”

You try to speak. He doesn’t let you.

“I thought you left me,” he says, and this time his voice cracks—just barely, but it’s there. A faultline in steel. His eyes are on the floor now, unfocused, as if he’s speaking to ghosts.

“I believed you would.”

His breath falters, like the truth is costing him oxygen.

“That it made sense. That I wasn’t enough.”

A pause. His throat works hard around the next words.

“Or worse—too much.”

His hand curls into a fist against his thigh, knuckles white. Not from anger. From restraint. From the effort not to collapse under the weight of everything he’s never said.

“That you’d finally find someone who doesn’t smother you with love that borders on obsession.”

He shifts, like his own skin is too tight. His jaw clenches. His eyes squeeze shut for half a second before he forces them open again, forces himself to keep looking at you—even if it kills him.

“Someone who wouldn’t try to chain you close,” he whispers, “just because he’s too selfish to breathe without you.”

He looks at you now—really looks—and the devastation in his gaze is endless.

His voice breaks on the last word.

“Someone who wasn’t… me.”

And for a moment, he’s not a soldier. Not a leader. Not even a man.

He’s just Caleb. That boy who loved you before he had language for it. And who never stopped. Even when it ruined him.

His hands curl into fists against his knees.

“I interrogated you. Like a stranger. Like a traitor. And all the while you were trapped—alone, dying, fighting—and I was worried about your silence in my bed.”

A breath. And another. Like he’s drowning in air.

“I loved you before I even knew what that word meant,” he whispers. “I carried it for years, swallowed it, starved it. I told myself it was wrong. Forbidden. And the moment I finally had you—really had you—I destroyed it with my own hands.”

He doesn’t look at you. Not until your fingers find his.

Then he shudders. And looks up.

“You always forgave me,” he says, voice breaking now. “Even when I didn’t deserve it. But this time… if you don’t. If you can’t…”

His hand trembles in yours.

“…I’ll understand.”

You shake your head. Just once.

And in that second—he folds into you, arms curling around your waist, forehead pressed to your stomach like a prayer he doesn’t believe he deserves to say out loud.

When he finally carries you to the bath, it’s not in silence. He keeps murmuring things—small things, promises, broken confessions, names only he calls you. He doesn’t try to be strong. He only tries to be there.

And when you’re finally in bed again, drowsy and warm, you find him already beside you. Fully clothed, facing the ceiling, his hand resting on the sheets between you like a lifeline.

You whisper his name.

He turns his head, eyes dim in the dark.

You reach for him, and he comes to you instantly, without hesitation. He lies down beside you, and when you press your head to his chest, he exhales like it’s the first real breath he’s taken in years.

His hand strokes your hair once.

And then, quiet—so quiet it almost isn’t real—

“I’ll never be the same.”

You don’t respond.

Because you both know it’s true.

And because you both know he doesn’t want to be.

[thirteenheavens]

Can you do like its dripping and seungcheol puts it back and getting turned on again and the cycle repeats until they're tired lol HAHAHAHA S6RST8DOHCOHD7RS8T

Notes: stop this was such a good request thank you for requesting it hehe

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.

Seungcheol had a particular kink, and it involved seeing his cum dripping out of you. He loved watching it slowly trickle down your thighs, a physical reminder of the pleasure he had given you. He had you pinned against the wall, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he thrust into you slowly and sensually. He was taking his time, savoring the feeling of your body against his.

"You're so tight," he whispered in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "I love how you feel around me." He could feel his orgasm building, but he held back, wanting to make this last as long as possible. He pulled out slightly, watching as his cum began to drip out of you.

"Look at that," he said, his voice filled with a mix of possessiveness and awe. "It's dripping out of you." He pushed back in, burying himself to the hilt once more. The feeling of his cum being forced back inside you was almost too much for him to handle. Seungcheol groaned, his grip on your hips tightening as he began to move again. He couldn't get enough of the sight of his cum dripping out of you, and he knew he wouldn't be able to hold back for much longer.

"You're such a mess," he growled, his voice rough with desire. "But you're my mess." He increased the pace of his thrusts, his eyes locked on the sight of his cock disappearing inside you over and over again. The sound of your moans and the wet, sloppy sounds of their bodies moving together filled the room. He could feel himself getting closer to the edge again, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he chased his release. He knew that this time, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from cumming.

"Seungcheol," you moaned, your voice barely above a whisper. "I can feel you getting close again." He grunted in response, his face buried in your neck as he continued to thrust into you.

"I'm trying to hold back," he panted, his breath hot against your skin. "But it feels so good. I can't help it." He pulled back slightly, looking down at you with a mixture of lust and desperation. "I'm going to cum again," he warned, his voice strained. "And this time, I'm going to make sure every drop stays inside you." Seungcheol's pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more frantic as he chased his orgasm. He was so close now, his body tense with anticipation.

"You're going to take it all, aren't you?" he growled, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave bruises. "You're going to let me fill you up again and again." You nodded, your eyes rolling back in your head as the pleasure overwhelmed you. You were beyond words now, lost in the sensation of Seungcheol's cock pumping in and out of you.

He gritted his teeth, his muscles tensing as he finally reached his peak. With a loud groan, he came, his hot seed spilling deep inside you once more. Seungcheol held you tightly against the wall, his body trembling with the force of his orgasm. He buried his face in your neck, panting heavily as he tried to catch his breath.

"Fuck," he muttered, his voice muffled against your skin. "You're amazing. You take me so well." He slowly pulled out of you, watching as his cum dripped down your thighs again. He couldn't help but feel a sense of pride at the sight of it, knowing that he had marked you as his in such a primal way.

"I could do this all night," he said, his eyes dark with desire. "But I think you need a break." Seungcheol tried to resist the urge, but his cock was still hard and slick with his own cum. He couldn't help but slide it back into you, groaning at the feeling of your tight, wet heat enveloping him once more.

"I said I'd give you a break," he said, his voice strained. "But I can't help it. You feel too good." He began to move slowly again, his hands roaming over your body as he thrust into you. He knew that he should stop, that he was pushing both of you to your limits, but he was too lost in the moment to care.

"Just a little longer," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. "Just a little longer and then we'll stop." Seungcheol's thrusts became more erratic, his whimpers growing louder as he continued to overstimulate himself. He was so sensitive now, his cock aching with pleasure and pain.

"I can't...I can't stop," he panted, his face contorted in a mixture of ecstasy and agony. "It's too much...but it feels so good." He buried his face in your neck again, his body trembling against yours as he chased his third orgasm of the night. His movements were desperate now, his hips snapping forward with a frenzied intensity.

"Please," he begged, his voice cracking. "Please, I need to cum again." You could feel Seungcheol's desperation in the way he moved, his body a taut wire ready to snap at any moment. He was beyond words now, reduced to incoherent moans and whimpers as he rutted against you like a wild animal. Finally, with a strangled cry, he came for the third time, his body going limp against yours as he spilled himself inside you once more. He was spent, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.

"I can't...no more," he panted, his forehead pressed against your shoulder. "I'm done. I can't keep going." Seungcheol gently lowered you to the ground, his legs shaking as well from the exertion. He leaned against the wall, still trying to catch his breath as he looked down at you.

"Are you okay?" he asked, concern etched on his face. "I think I might have pushed you too far." He knelt down beside you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. He could feel your body trembling against his, and he knew that you were exhausted.

"You were incredible," he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone take so much before." Seungcheol scooped you up in his arms and carried you to the bed, laying you down gently before collapsing beside you. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close as you both giggled and caught your breath.

"That was intense," he said, still a little out of breath. "But I don't regret a thing." You glanced down and saw that Seungcheol was still hard, despite the fact that he had just cum three times. You couldn't help but be impressed by his stamina.

"How are you still going?" you asked, a hint of awe in your voice. Seungcheol's whimper was a mixture of desire and exhaustion, and he buried his face in your hair.

"I know I said I'm not done with you yet," he mumbled, "but I think I might need a break. My body is begging for mercy." He rolled onto his back, pulling you with him so that you were lying on top of him. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, holding you close as he tried to catch his breath.

[bunnis-monsters]

A bunny hybrid reader that notices a male fox hybrid following them and watching from a far. Naturally you get nervous cause foxes prey on bunnies! But it turns out he’s very shy and wants to court a cute chubby bunny but doesn’t know how to. Maybe he’s also a soft dom with praise kink? 🤭

NSFW

warning: chasing(slight predator/prey?), breeding, praise kink

You had felt eyes on you since the moment you entered the forest you usually collected herbs from. It wasn’t exactly unusual to feel watched considering many other hybrids called the forest home… but today it felt… different.

You spotted a fleck or red, the shade making your fight or flight kick in.

Instantly you began sprinting, dropping your basket and booking it back to your cabin. You didn’t dare turn around, your poor heart racing as your fluffy bunny ears picked up the sound of running behind you.

“W-wait!”

You cried out in fear at the sound of your pursuer calling for you to stop, shaking your head. “N-no, go away!”

You reached your home, quickly locking your door and peering out the peep hole as your fluffy cotton tail twitched nervously.

There was a fox hybrid outside on your porch, sniffing the air and rubbing his face against every surface he could… was he leaving his scent there for later?

“Please come out… I’m not going to hurt you, I just want to talk.”

This happened nearly every day for a month. The fox chased you, nearly running you over before you got into your cottage at the end of the day.

That was until you weren’t fast enough.

The fox had been studying the way you move, when you took the shortest of breaks to catch your breath, and when you quickened your pace again to get away. Bunnies were masters at escaping… but foxes were very smart.

You knew something was different this time. Call it instinct, call it just coincidence, but you noticed that he wasn’t running after you as fast as usual… and his eyes were following your every movement the entire time.

Like he already knew he was going to catch you… it was just a matter of time.

You were too slow as you turned a corner, slipping on some pine straw and crashing to the ground. In seconds he was on top of you, and all you could do was close your eyes and hoped he killed you quickly…

But his jaws never closed around your neck. After a few moments of silence, you opened your eyes to see him butting his head against you affectionately, his tail swaying behind him.

His eyes were half lidded, staring down at you with infatuation and adoration.

“I’ve finally got you, little bunny.”

He was absolutely glued to your side now, clinging tightly to you as you hesitantly made your way home. The fox seemed absolutely smitten, sometimes softly nipping at your fluffy ears or neck, startling you.

“So pretty… you smell so, so good…”

After dinner he curled up with you, his fluffy tail swaying as he kept rubbing his scent on your neck. Could he tell that you were close to your heat? Is that why he had become interested in you?

“I’ve wanted you for so long… you’re cute and just the softest thing I’ve ever seen… but it’s hard approaching a bunny when you’re a fox.”

Your cheeks heated up as he pressed against you, your cotton tail wagging furiously when his bulge rubbed against your clothed cunt.

It wasn’t long until your next heat cycle, and it was clear that he knew it too. He continued to purr as he grabbed hold of your hips, guiding your bunny cunt over his bulge slowly.

When you let out a stifled whine, he smiled, giving your soft bunny ear a nibble. “Mmm, that’s a good girl. You’re so soft and pretty, let me take care of you, sweetheart…”

Within seconds he had your panties off, his fingers stretching your whole. As they pumped in and out of you, his lips met yours in a needy kiss.

His tongue explores your mouth, entangling with yours. It was hard to think with all these new sensations…

“Come on, bunny… lemme see that pretty pussy of yours, hmm?”

You shyly opened your legs, and he moved to position his cock at your entrance. At this point you were whining and bucking your hips, ready to be mated.

It was reassuring when he held onto your hand as his cock sunk into your fat bunny cunt, his face burying itself into your neck.

“F-fuck, so good… god…”

His grip on your hips tightened, the soft flesh warm against his hand. He’d never had something so soft and cute underneath him… you were amazing…

It felt too good, his cock was rubbing and touching all of the best spots, making your clit throb. As soon as he noticed, he moved his hand to rub circles around your clit while he picked up speed.

As he fucked into you, whining into your neck, he said the cutest things.

“I love you… love you so much, so fucking pretty…” he blubbered, his teeth grazing against your neck before he bit you.

“G-gonna… gonna knock you up, okay? Gonna be my cute little mate…”

Those words had your walls fluttering around him, your toes curling as the two of you came together.

After coming down from your respective highs, he became a bit shy again, giving your cheek a tentative lick. “You did well, pretty girl…”

You simply butted your head against him affectionately, returning his soft purrs.

Now, you had a mate, a sweet one at that. You didn’t have to worry about other bunnies bothering you when a fox called your cottage home.

———————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @midromiell @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog

[haziells]

my way

until it reaches the void state

(this will be a long post)

1. the end, the beginning.

I knew about the law of attraction years ago thanks to social media, so there it was, like every day trying to manifest my desires.

I was fed up, every day was the same.

My heart healing and breaking everyday, the same cycle of hope and hopelessness continues.

was it always going to be like this?

would I always have to let fears take over me?

I couldn't trust, I didn't believe that just by believing I could get what I wanted but at the same time I had no other option.

I couldn't go on like this, I didn't want to go on like this, I just wanted to end my life, I gave up and cried, cried, cried thinking that this would be the end, that I wouldn't be able to be happy and that was it.

I gave up and thought I was resigned to living a shitty life.

But I cried so much that all the sadness that was in me came out, all the fears that were clinging to me came out.

That's when I felt peace, when I realized that no, I wasn't going to give up that easily, that I first have to do it and do it well, not keep trying.

So I persisted for only 2 days, as I already had my desire for that moment and yes, after 2 days my 3D had already reflected it, it was exciting.

did i reallt do that? was it just a coincidence?

No, it was really me.

I was happy for a few days until the fears returned but this time I was afraid of losing my desire, that's when I realized that fears have no meaning.

I already have it, why would I lose it?

2. I discovered Tumblr and the void state.

I didn't know what void state was, but as soon as I read about it, it caught my attention.

By then my self-concept had improved, I was still dealing with my fears but not as much as before.

So, I made a friend who explained to me more about the void state and she told me that she manifested her house through the void state.

I got excited and hopeful, I read some methods on how to get in and tried to do it, but I couldn't.

I couldn't do it, the simple idea of getting everything so easily sounded easy and fantastical to me.

But one day I realized who I really am, that I am everything, that nothing and no one has power outside of me.

I was filled with satisfaction, joy, peace, I felt like laughing knowing who I am and how easy everything is.

How did I first enter the void state?

so I had a subliminal audio playing in the background while I was meditating.

I thought...I am so powerful, I am capable of anything, I can have whatever I want whenever I want.

At that time I was very sleepy because I had taken some exams, so I just thought "my physical body is going to sleep and rest and I'm going to the void state"

After all, the void state is me and there is nothing easier than being me.

And so it happened, I entered the void state and knew that I already had everything just as I wanted, then I came out and continued sleeping while I didn't stop smiling and feeling a sensation of peace and extreme happiness.

I woke up and stood calmly until I realized what had happened...

I was scared shitless when I realized that I had entered the void state for real and that at that moment I should have everything I wanted and that was when 3d reality disappeared before my eyes.

Everything began to collapse and I felt a huge current of energy running through my entire body, as if it were a waterfall flowing inside me.

I was very scared, I won't deny it, but after all I did it.

(I swear that just as you see in the gif, that's how I felt at that moment)

The following days I couldn't stop shaking and feeling scared because I didn't understand how it was possible that 3D could disappear just like that.

Then I read someone here talking about non-dualism. @lotusmi

Then I understood my experience.

Since that day everything is much easier for me.

I have entered the void state 3 times.

that manifests?

.cure my depression.

.cure my anxiety.

.trust myself.

.longer eyelashes.

.money.

.be able to manifest easily.

.prettiest voice.

.I am spoiled.

The rest of the things I manifest are more private.

But basically for me this is the best thing that could have happened to me.

I will mention who were the bloggers that I read to understand more about the void state and about who I really am.

@gorgeouslypink

@lotusmi

@beesfairlyland

I will also mention a blogger whose information I also like and I find it cute.

@sugarplumfairy777

If you want to know more, you can send me a direct message, no problem.

[pomegranate-eater]

cw: yandere, forced relationship, reader is pressured into kissing Phainon’s cheek to erase another person’s lips from his skin.

“I demand one more,” Phainon says with his hand on your hip, tapping his foot with agitation. You squirm as he readjusts you on his lap so the side of his head rests against yours, before his reverent yet shaky hands move to trace circles on your lower back.

“… One more?” You don’t want to have your echo confirmed if the bits of exhaustion are tearing their way into your voice.

The late evening is begging you to rest and yet this is still not the moment for the end of your torment. You’ve given him a bountiful of affectionate cheek smothering by now — if you can call the lip jabs you forced yourself to muster as such — and now he wants one more kiss… predicted by you to not be the actual postlude yet.

Your predicament is because of one, more vivacious woman that kissed his right cheek in the gratitude for his help with something in the earlier hour. The gesture had no romantic affiliations, only conveyed a polite affection for his kindness.

However, when Phainon has returned home after managing his duties in the unreachable for you outside, his agitated state painted the illusion of the event being much more tragic. You were subjected to watching him wipe his face with the sleeve to the point it was red from from the friction, next washing his face, until he dragged you to the chair to sit down with him and began urging you to smooch his face over and over, self-aware you wouldn’t want to watch him lose his mind whole night.

When he hastily explained the situation to you and asked for your forgiveness as if he cheated, sprinkled with some anger at the woman, you understood just one thing really — he believes you to be the only one who could kiss him, as only you are his devotion’s beloved. You’ve been finding him quite irrational, if he is panicking over something out of his control, and definitely not something you’re mad about.

Now in the present, he remains being clearly more offended and worried than you, the unwilling (and currently annoyed) participant in this relationship, are. “Yes. I can still feel her lips on my skin, and I don’t want you to think that I—” he self-deprecates to the point his arms over you squeeze.

You immediately cut off his frantic train of thought. “Phainon, her mouth has been eradicated at this point, I’m sure. All you can do is wait for your skin to begin a new cycle if you think she sunk deeper,” you say dryly, accidentally mocking him a little. Since you're sitting sideways on his lap, you peel your head away from his and straighten your left side, swallowed by his chest, so you can properly peer at him while continuing to talk. “Not to mention, that kiss wasn’t to steal your heart.”

You don’t care about this one stupid event, thinking he’s overreacting — that’s the singular reason why you could say you’re disappointed. Not only you’d gladly give him away to that woman, you also are sure he’s only going to hype himself with even more paranoia if you let it roll.

He seemingly doesn’t appreciate your lack of sympathy or understanding, not with the way his brows scrunch together and his lips purse, almost hurt by your frigid insight. He wanted you to be more possessive too so you could prove you recognize him as your lover; however, your apparent lack of being shaken by this ‘disloyalty’ is soothing in itself.

“I understand how counterproductive this is, and I’m glad you’re not feeling threatened by her, yet… could you please grant me this last one erasure? I promise, no more kisses after, and if I lie, you can slap me,” he pleads with desperation, gliding his hands over from your hips level to your waist. You click your tongue when you feel his leg impatiently jump from below your bottom.

You huff at his rather maniacal theatrics and look at his face that’s red from both blush and irritation. “I don’t believe you. I don’t think a slap would have stopped you.” He’d take more kisses even if he’d have to be slapped each time, you’re pretty sure about that — he would take anything from the person who refuses to touch him willingly.

“Oh, I beseech you to not be so pessimistic. I promise, I swear, I’ll let you be afterwards,” he smiles and speaks softly, but with his anxiety, the smile is crooked into an uncanny illusion. His face inches closer to yours and you shiver with disgust at his hot breath and clear excitement.

You foresee you won’t be getting any sleep if you won’t choose to cooperate — he’ll just keep nagging you until he wears you down into submission completely. Begrudgingly, you finally land your lips on his right cheek, and he doesn’t break his promise, as it’s really only one more…

…Except, his palms crush your side and head against him, forcing your plushiness to linger in the awful action of it marking him on his stained skin, as he soaks in your lips’ size, warmth, and texture. The labored exhale of contentment lands on your neck and grazes it unpleasantly.

Naturally, you struggle; you try to push him away with muffled screams against his cheek, your legs dangling off of his left side kicking. Yet, the man dazed by your closeness, only uses his mind to paint the image of some nasty and oozing scar slowly disappearing under your kiss.

This unfortunate incident lasts good fifteen seconds and ends only when he realizes he might have overdone his fixing, based upon the wetness on his face manifesting the beginning of your tears. He lets his arms leave you and wipes the moistness staining the softness of his precious birdie.

“Please, forgive me. I went ahead of myself,” while gentle, he doesn’t sound apologetic much. He senses his mind is cleared now, and it is his turn to kiss your cheek in poor attempt of soothing you, shushing and rocking you at that. The flinch you give him when you feel the intrusive lips is something he’s used by now, so once he’s done, he doesn’t question it.

“Fine,” you acquiesce. As his chest shrinks from the relieved breath and he looks pretty again with a happy smile, he helps you up on your feet and guides you to your shared room for rest.

Phainon simply couldn’t have helped himself. The idea of someone else touching him so intimately feels forbidden, because even if you didn’t ask for it, he is inclined to be yours only.

That’s just devotion, isn’t it?

It’s only a matter of time and opening your eyes until he gains your approval, even if the latter has to come forcefully.

[bunny-jpeg]

and once i am home, all will be right. simon came home from deployment. usually that meant heading to the nearest pub and having a celebration with the rest of the 141, but not this time. not when he got to the airport and found you standing there at the arrival gate.

you tried your best to look for him, you knew that would be an easy task. the man would like a mountain. simon saw how you clutched onto the small bouquet of flowers you got for him as you nervously looked around. the flight had landed and the other soldiers had already found their families or taxis back home.

simon usually didn't move without thinking, everything had to be calculated for his job. that was what made him good, that was what kept him alive this long.

"lamb!" he said, in a tone a little louder than normal.

you whipped your head around and saw him. oh his sweet lamb.

the tears came quickly, your face shoved into your lover's chest. the rough parts of his jacket itched against your skin. but the tears fell. you were a quivering little mess in your husband's arms. you held on tightly like this was a strange dream.

"simon." you whimpered.

he tilted your head up to look at him and he smiled under the black medical mask he wore. then kissed the top of your head before he pulled the mask down to give you a kiss on the lips. he replied, "hello, my lamb."

"you're home." you squeaked.

"i am." he said lightly, "had to come home to you." then kissed you on the cheek. he could feel the warmth from the tears and kept a strong arm around out, "let's go home."

you were inclined to agree.

home was the same as he left months prior, he had been gone for over a year with two visits during that time. they were six weeks in total, so for over a year you only saw simon for a little over a month. everything was done through text, grainy video calls and short phone calls. days of no contact left your stomach in knots, any knock at your door left you anxious. if he wasn't coming home.

but as you held his hand while you drove away from heathrow airport and towards the flat you both shared. you held on tightly, like this was a dream. you even looked at the newspaper stand on the way to the parking garage because you couldn't read words in your dreams. but the headline of the day was loud and clear, this wasn't a dream. simon was finally home.

"did you miss me?" you asked, your eyes were still rimmed red. you still felt the knot in your chest.

"every moment. drove price mad when i kept asking when i could go home." simon kissed your hand that was wrapped in his eyes, "i'm sorry, i wasn't able to talk as much."

"you were working." you replied - this was a job. even if the presence of it felt all encompassing at times.

"don't matter." he replied gruffly, "don't wanna leave you hung up to dry. not my wife." he kissed your hand once more. and you smiled a little, the knot in your chest seemed to loosen.

reunions were always hard, even though they were moments of pure happiness. the build up of so much time apart left the first few days sour. there was crying, there was a mix up of anger, sadness, happiness and the dread that this was only a brief moment before the cycle began once more.

this was simon's life, and thus it was your life too.

but as you pulled into your parking spot and leaned over to kiss him once more, it felt right. even if you'd curse the british army until you lost your voice, being close to simon silenced that anger. he was home, he was home.

his things were left by the door, shoes kicked off and jackets over the couch. the kisses continued, the spark between you two was still there. the electric feeling that connected your souls, like an active wire. he took you and picked you up. you wrapped your legs around him and held his shoulders.

he looked into your eyes, those dark depths of his eyes. he smiled at you, the medical mask was long discarded and you could see every inch of his face. the freckles, the scars, the small dimple in his cheek, and the intense love in his smile at you.

"don't drop me." you said. simon was the only man who could ever lift you and lift you with such grace. you leaned in to kiss him on the lips once more before he carried you to your bedroom.

husband and wife, reunited. it felt good, it felt right. this was how every night should be, not you using his old sas hoodie as a pillowcase, using his old spice body wash just so you could catch that familiar scent when you went about your day.

you both ended up in bed, clothes were stripped with haste. there was little time to waste despite both of you being so tired. you needed each other, in a way that couldn't be fully described with words.

you could cry, but you urge to cling to your lover was more overpowering. you needed simon, he was gone for so long. so much time had past. both of your birthdays were missed, your anniversary, small events, even christmas - as he couldn't come home for it. time ticked away, the year went by. but he was home, he was finally home.

when he was naked on top of you. he helped you out of your bra and finally your panties before you laid under him, fully nude. his rough hands touched your sides, his eyes gazed into yours.

if heaven had a scent it would be your perfume, if it had a touch it would be your skin, and if it had a taste it would be your lips.

"i missed you everyday." he said with total honesty, "never had time feel this long." he swallowed, "thank you for staying by me. i could never repay you for what you've done. you've been my anchor, lamb. my home even when i was shiverin' my ass off somewhere. i love you."

"and i love you, si. no need to thank me."

he took you by the hips and grabbed one of the pillows from your spot on the bed. he tucked it under your hips and admired you closely, "i still will. only right." he rubbed your hip with his thumb as he held you, "you don't get a medal for bein' a good wife. so i gotta make sure you're appreciated it."

you smiled softly, "no need."

he shook his head, "don't matter if it's needed or not. i'll still do it." then leaned in to kiss you once more as he shifted your body closer to him. his cock nudged against your entrance and he soon sank himself into you.

"perfect." he said with love in his tone.

his cock fit well and you held onto the pillow udner your head. he moved against you slowly, deliberate strokes as he made love to you. this was love expressed in the most physical form.

he missed your body, he missed how soft your skin felt. how sweet your moans were. photos were nice, videos even nicer, but to have you in his grasp was unlike anything else he could ask for. this was the body of his wife, the one he pledged himself too. the one he married and knew he was going to after the first date. you completed him in every sense of the word - you took his ragged dog, this barking mutt and made him find home. comfort in the flat you shared.

his living space was not cold and bare. it was lived in. even in his absence, you still kept the home warm. and thus kept his soul warm on the coldest nights of his deployment. he kissed you as he felt the well up of emotion. the thump in his chest as he made love to you.

"i love you."

"i love you more, si." you replied softly.

after everything, heaven gave him an angel. he pressed his forehead against yours and continued to thrust up against you. he held onto the covers under you for support as he worked his hips against you.

he'd always come home to you, this was where he needed to be. this was where he wanted to be. he panted heavily as he continued to move. you held onto his strong shoulders and felt his cock hit up against all the right areas.

"never leave again." you said in a moment of heated passion.

"i can't promise that, lamb." he said softly, trying to make it not sting as much.

you held on tightly and swallowed, "i know." it was a fool's dream to ever think that. you kissed him once more as the thrusts continued. you wrapped your legs around him as he kept his pace steady.

he wanted to memorize every inch of skin, the weight of your under his palms, the heat that radiated off your flushed skin. memories to keep when he was shipped off somewhere else again.

"my lamb." he said.

you chuckled lightly before you moaned a little louder, "fuck, simon. baby."

he kissed at your neck as he continued to rut against you. the pleasure washed over you nicely. the pleasure coiled in your core as he made love to you. it felt amazing, it felt good in a way that made you pulse skip. his allure, his love for you was undeniable. he made you run hot, even with the time apart. you still yearned for him, you still desired him more than you could ever put into words.

he had that kind of effect on you, the kind of intense rush of emotions that made you only hold onto him tighter. he rocked against you, made sure that you felt as amazing as you could. the kiss you shared was heated. the love you shared was passionate yet familiar. this was your home, this was your nest. this was your everything.

"i spent every day thinkin' about ya, lamb." he said softly, "only time i wasn't was when i was in a fire fight, but when i got back to my roost. my thought were on you, always you. no other lamb could ever hold my attention the way you do."

"simon." you looked at him, the lines in your forehead were prominent with your brows knitted together, "every day?"

he nodded as he quickened his pace, "of course, lamb. always you. what was i gonna do, think about johnny?"

you pouted and before you could make a joking comment in return, he went in for another heated kiss. the love you shared was deep, it seeped into all the cracks of your soul. you held on tightly and shifted your hips to give your lover better access to your sweet sex.

"i love you, si."

"i love ya too, lamb. for all my days and all my nights." another kiss was shared as he got you closer to climax. his pace remained as you held on tighter, your nails dug into the strength of his shoulders and the kisses only grew more heated.

i didn't take much longer for you finish around his cock. you tensed up, your head up against him as you partially curled into yourself. you swore under your breath and another light i love you left your lips as you came. the feeling crashed into you like a hit and run and soon after you relaxed onto the bed and laid your arms onto the sheets.

simon hiked your hips to give him the best angle to fuck you with. he watched your blissed out expression and he licked his lips. you were so beautiful, the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on.

he yearned for no one else the way he yearned for you. this was home for him, and he'd fight the gods and the devils to make sure that you remained his home. always and forever.

he felt the sweat on his body, he fucked you with a fever. still not too rough to harm your sweet form. he had done enough violence, he would never do it on his lover, his wife, his lamb.

"forever mine. even when we're apart." he said like prayer.

homecoming was a complicated affair, an emotional one too. but as simon held you close and finished inside of you, sealed with a kiss, all that mattered was that you were near. you were close to him, the months away concluded with you in his arms once more.

he kissed you once more as he rode out his orgasm. then as he relaxed from the post-climax bliss. he looked into your eyes once more. he admired your with flushed cheeks.

"si." you said softly.

"lamb." he kissed you once more before he pulled out and dropped down on the bed. both of you were spent from the experience, but it filled the small gaps in your heart that had only grown over deployment.

you laid next to him, you held his face. your thumb traced a scar across his pale skin. he looked tired, the photos he sent on deployment he looked like he was wearing thin with every image sent.

"what do you want for dinner?" he asked, his eyes still closed.

"let's worry about that later. for now, si. just rest." you leaned in to kiss him on the lips. he got an arm around you and pulled you to his chest. he held you the way someone would hold a teddy bear for comfort.

"alright, lamb. alright."

the reunion wouldn't last forever. you two would settle back into a comfortable cycle of life - but as always, simon would put on the balaclava once more and head off to another part of the globe.

another mission, another fight, another war. but tucked into the comfort of your shared flat, there was no war. only peace as you traced imaginary lines across simon's chest. you'd curse the armed forces till all the fight left you, but tonight, you'd simply love simon. <3

a/n: i miss my boyfriend - it's another eleven months....

[gurugirl]

Use Me Up | boyfriend's best friend!h

Originally posted on Patreon!

Summary: Harry's your boyfriend's best friend and he's very hard to resist.

Word Count: 7,072

Warning: smut, cheating, lying, alcohol consumption

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Look at him. Dark curls, soft green eyes, broad shoulders. All fit and tattooed with that dirty smirk aimed in your direction. It’d been like that all night. When no one was looking his eyes were on you.

Harry Styles. The object of desire for so many women. But the problem for you was that he was your boyfriend’s best friend. You should have been off-limits. He shouldn’t have even been taking part in your daydreams.

You rolled your eyes at him as Colin knocked his beer over.

Everyone had a couple too many drinks at that point. Your boyfriend, the worst off.

“Here,” you leaned down and righted the spilled can to halt the beer from pouring out.

Colin fell back into the couch and laughed as you got up to take the nearly empty can to the trash.

“Hey! I wasn’t done with that!”

“I actually think it’s time for a little water,” you countered.

Walking into the kitchen you took a breath and grabbed two cups for water. You needed some as well. You’d been hitting the strawberry lime seltzers kind of hard since you arrived at Ivy’s and you were feeling the alcohol.

“Need help?”

You turned to look over your shoulder as you shut off the faucet.

“I’m pretty sure I can handle this,” you laughed as you raised your hands, a cup of water in each.

Harry reached into the fridge to grab himself another beer, “All right. Was just being nice. You done drinking for the night?”

“Probably. Colin is for sure done. Gonna have to carry him home I think.”

“I’ll help you. I can tell he’s well past his limit. There’s no way you’re going to have an easy go of it with him. He’s like Gumby when he gets drunk.”

You laughed and Harry licked his lips as he watched you. You hated (but you loved it) when he licked his lips while he was looking at you. It elicited memories of the not-so-long-ago past.

. .

You arrived at Colin’s a little early but you knew Harry’d be there and he’d let you in until Colin showed up.

He got you a soda from the fridge and you both went into the living room where he showed you their new record player.

“It’s got great sound and check this out,” he pulled out an album and placed it over the turntable showing you how the tone arm lowered automatically and cycled the vinyl around to the perfect spot to begin at the first song.

“Oh, that’s cool!” You watched as he clicked a button and sound started playing through the speakers. It was an old popular 70s rock song, “The sound quality really is good.”

He snapped his fingers and began to move his hips as he grinned at you so you placed your soda down and mimicked him, swaying and laughing as you snapped your fingers.

Behind Harry’s grin, you saw something else. The way he licked his lips, his eyes traveled over your curves, and he slunk in closer as he moved to the music- it held some kind of intensity that you weren’t sure how to work out. One thing was for sure; Harry was a flirt and your boyfriend was not home.

“You’re cute,” Harry said it so flippantly as he jutted his chin up and kept his eyes on yours.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, “Yeah right…”

But he did this thing that had you feeling a slurry of scorching lava under your fingertips as he bit into his bottom lip with his eyelids drooped gently, pupils winding over your hips while you continued to move and he pulled your hand into his, redirecting your flow until you were practically dancing in his arms.

“You know you’re cute. What are you doing dating Colin anyway?”

His hand wound over your hip as he kept his eyes on yours.

“I…” you laughed and shook your head. You weren’t sure what he was doing but it had you reeling. His heavy presence and deep voice, the music lulling you into surrender, his pretty bright eyes, that evil grin… It definitely wasn’t the first time he’d flirted with you in private.

“You’re too good for him, Y/n,” he spoke smoothly, his face nearing yours and his voice dripping with lusty deception.

“I doubt that, Harry,” you spoke just above a whisper as he slithered around you until his hands were holding your hips and your back was against his chest. You knew it was wrong. You knew you should have stopped but you didn’t want to.

And when you felt his breath on the back of your ear and he pressed his hips against your bum you softly gasped but made no move to stop him. He was too close and his lips were practically brushing against the shell of your ear as he kept swaying you in step with his movements, hips glued to your backside, and then he moaned. The sound vibrating off your neck and making goosebumps rise up on your skin.

You closed your eyes and settled your hands over his when he let out another graveled moan into your ear, “You like this don’t you? Need more attention from Colin than he can give you…”

It was true. You were a bit needy while Colin was a bit cold, aloof. But it’d always been that way with you two and you’d settled and gotten used to the way he was. However, that didn’t mean you didn’t miss attention. And Harry was suddenly filling in the small gaps left behind from Colin’s apathy.

But the moment you heard the keys in the door, Harry moved away from you just as deftly as he’d pulled you against his chest and acted like nothing had happened. 

. .

You forced Colin to drink his whole cup of water and by the time he’d finished he was already half asleep. It was time to go and Harry accompanied you.

“You don’t have to help,” you said as the three of you climbed into the back of a taxi together.

“Look at him, Y/n. What makes you think he’s gonna be able to walk to the door on his own? You certainly can’t carry him. Besides, I live at the same house and it was time for me to go as well. Saves us money anyway, yeah?”

You nodded. He had a point you supposed.

You were smushed between Harry and Colin in the backseat. Colin was like a limp noodle against you while Harry was warm and solid and somehow he took up so much more space than you imagined he would.

“You’re gonna stay over, right?” Harry looked down at you.

“I figured I would, yeah. It’s not a problem?”

Harry chuckled and looked out his window before putting his big palm over his thigh, knocking against your knee, “Of course it’s not a problem. I love it when you’re over.”

You couldn’t take your eyes off his pinky finger which was nudged against your jeans. You weren’t sure if he was doing it on purpose or if it was just because the space was so tight but you certainly didn’t mind it. Looking over at your boyfriend his mouth was dropped open and his eyes were closed. Out cold.

“He’s not waking up for the rest of the night,” Harry spoke quietly, his lips aimed toward your ear.

You gulped when Harry shifted the slightest, pressing his side into yours, and began moving his hand over his jeans-clad thigh, his pinky brushing over your own jeans-clad thigh.

When you arrived at the house, Harry pulled Colin out of the backseat and lifted him into his arms bridal style. You laughed at the sight and followed the men toward the door.

“Keys are in my front left pocket,” Harry said as he jutted his hips out and looked at you with a smirk.

You sighed and slid your fingers into his pocket, which was a bit tight, but you pushed in until you felt the metal and looped your finger into one of the key rings to pull at it.

Harry sucked in a breath through his teeth, “There you go, Y/n. Just like that.” Harry said it as if you were doing something naughty to him.

Unlocking the door you stepped in and held it open for Harry, who walked past you and took his best friend to his bed, laying his head on the pillow and then removed his boots. You watched from the doorway of Colin’s room as Harry took care of him, light shining into his room from the hallway.

Harry grunted when he pulled the last boot off and then got up to leave the room, closing the door behind himself.

You pointed toward the doorknob, “I’m probably just gonna call it a night actually.”

Harry pressed his lips together, hiding the grin that was trying to take over his features, “Nahh… stay up a little longer with me. Don’t go to bed yet.”

It was a terrible idea. You weren’t being forced to follow him away from Colin’s room. You weren’t being manipulated or deceived. You were curious, though. Wondered what might happen if given the chance.

You both had a bottle of water as you sat on the stool near the record player and Harry sat on the couch across from you, his legs spread apart.

“Why you all the way over there?” He licked his goddamn lips again as he looked at you with what could only be described as bedroom eyes; that half-lidded, sultry gaze.

 “I don’t know. I just sat here is all,” you shrugged and capped your water bottle before placing it on the floor by your feet.

“You got work tomorrow?” He asked as he crossed an ankle over his knee before his ring-clad fingers ran up and down his thick thighs.

“No. I don’t work Sundays. What about you?” You already knew the answer.

“Nope. Means we can stay up as late as we want. Colin won’t wake up til afternoon anyway. When he gets like this he’s a log.”

You laughed and nodded, “Yeah. I’ve seen him like this a few times. You’re right.”

“Why don’t you put a record on,” he gestured toward the turn table next to you.

You squatted down to go through the records, tracing your fingers over the dust jackets until you found one that had a mix of popular 70s songs, “You guys have a lot of 70s music.”

Harry crouched down next to you to see which album you were looking at, “S’cause these are all used and plus 70s music is pretty good, yeah?” He grinned at you, taking the record from your hands and stood up, “Want this one?”

You nodded and watched him put the vinyl on the record player and then hit the button for the music to begin. The song that started to play sounded like something instrumental at first but then you heard the first line Got a black magic woman…

Harry turned to look down at you and began bobbing his head and rolling his shoulders, moving to the music. You laughed at him. He was being a little goofy with his movements but the dimpled grin on his face was evidence that he was trying to make you laugh. You swung your arms then raised them over your head and spun around with your hips swaying.

You and Harry kept moving to the song and then he was behind you, singing the words to the song when you felt him moving in step with you, “She’s tryin’ to make a devil out of me… Don’t turn your back on me baby…”

You laughed as he sang just loud enough for you to hear his raspy voice in your ear.

“Is my singing funny to you,” you felt his hand on your arm, nudging you back toward him.

You turned to look back at him over your shoulder, “You’re just funny, Harry. You’re being goofy.”

“Oh yeah? You think I’m goofy?” He held your arm as he pressed his chest into your back and continued singing, “Stop messin’ ‘round with your tricks…Don’t turn your back on me, baby… You just might pick up my magic sticks…”

You moved with the music and couldn’t help the cheesy grin on your face as he brought a hand down to your hip while his other stayed wrapped around your upper arm.

He sang his breathy words into your ear and it made your skin to heat but the way he was holding you against his body had your resolve crumbling. Not that you had much resolve to begin with.

“Yes, you got your spell on me, baby… Turnin’ my heart into stone… I need you so bad magic woman, I can’t leave you alone…”

You moaned, the top row of your teeth jammed into your bottom lips and he squeezed at your hip as his lips grazed against your ear.

You knew this would happen. When you were looking through the albums you wondered if he’d get up and dance with you. If he’d pull you into his arms and seduce you like he nearly did that time before. Or any of the other times he flirted with you or touched your skin, or whispered compliments into your ear when Colin wasn’t paying attention. There was only so much a girl could take when a man like Harry was coming on to her.

And who would ever know?

You raised your arms and drew your hands to the back of his neck as he continued swaying you in his arms, his crotch glued to your bum and you felt every bit of him pressed into you. His hot exhale on your neck was damp on your skin just before his pink lips found your flesh.

It sent a crackle of electricity through your spine as he began to kiss your soft skin slowly and when the song changed you found yourself being turned in his arms, all blurry and hot and thirsting when you felt his mouth smeared against yours.

He cradled the back of your head as his lips pressed plush kisses to your mouth and then his tongue slid over yours.

You’d stopped moving altogether and instead just stood next to the record player as the music played and you made out with Harry. If Colin walked in you didn’t know if you’d be able to even stop then. Harry’s lips and his tongue and his hands were rewiring your brain chemistry and all you wanted was him.

A cracked moan fell from your chest as Harry pulled away, his eyes locked on yours as he tugged at you, moving you toward his bedroom.

The Bill Withers song was still playing in the background as you were led to his room.

I want to spread the news… That if it feels this good getting used… Oh, you just keep on using me… Until you use me up…

He shut his door and the sound of the song was muffled but when he put his hands on your hips and his soft lips found yours you grabbed his t-shirt and pulled at him until you were both on his bed, limbs tangled and mouths wound together.

He rolled to his back and pulled you over his legs so you were straddling his thighs on top of him as you kept kissing and groaning into his mouth.

You could feel how hard he was in his jeans as you rolled your pelvis gently down and he hissed, “Keep doing that and I’m not gonna be able to stop, Y/n.”

You laughed into his mouth and pulled away to look down at him, “What are we doing, Harry?”

He let out a breathy chuckle as he kept a hold of your hips, “We’re doing something very bad is what we’re doing.”

Biting your lip you looked at his kiss-swollen mouth and back into his eyes, “We shouldn’t though, right? This is bad.”

He licked his lips, “We shouldn’t. But who’s gonna stop us?” His big hands moved down to your thighs. “What if it’s just our little secret? No one has to know.”

You dropped your lips back down over his in an unspoken agreement. No one ever had to know. It’d be your dirty little secret. A naughty indulgence to never be spoken of again.

When you felt his fingers smooth up to the bottom hem of your shirt you felt him tugging it upward. Halting the movement of your mouth against his you sat up and shucked it from your torso. His hands immediately found your tits as you unhooked the back of your bra and the moment your nipples were bare to him he sat up, one arm winding around your low back as his hand cupped your fleshy breast and he ducked to pull it into his mouth.

Wet saliva coated each of your tits as Harry wove his mouth back and forth on your skin and your nipples. You slid your fingers into his hair and moaned as he leaned you back further until your back was on his mattress and he was hovering over you, undoing your jeans button.

You looked up at him and pulled at his t-shirt. You wanted to see more of him. You’d seen his bare chest before. You’d seen him in just running shorts a few times. The man was ungodly. Tattoos, chiseled pecs, and soft abs with masculine hair scattered over his chest. Strong arms that could crush and thighs that allowed him the sort of endurance you were sure would come in handy that very night. He was broad and dense, heavy and sexy as fuck.

When his skin was on view you ran your hands over his shoulders and down to his pecs as he began to undo his own jeans. You quickly pushed your fingers into your waistband and yanked your jeans down your legs until you were just left in stretchy red boyshorts.

Harry groaned and kicked his jeans off and then crawled back over you, carefully fitting himself between your thighs and laying his hips against yours, his hard cock, hidden by the thin layer of his boxers, rested over your pussy as he slowly rocked himself down. You lifted your hips upward to feel his girth and the heat of him between your legs.

Dry humping. You hadn’t done it since your first year of college. Guys tended to go right for getting naked and getting something wet as soon as possible.

Though, technically Harry was getting something wet. Between his tongue on your lips and your pussy secreting arousal with every nudge of his dick against your clit there was nothing dry about dry humping in that moment. Even his boxers were getting wet the longer you two went at it.

He began to move himself down your body, taking more time to lavish your breasts with his tongue and his lips before he licked into your belly button triggering a giggle to bubble out of your mouth. He placed his hands on your hips and dug his fingers under the elastic band at the top of your underwear and began to pull at them, to which you lifted your hips so he could tug them off.

Smoothing his big palms up the outside of your thighs to your hips he kept his eyes on the glistening space between your legs and puffed out a breath, “This is all mine tonight?” He looked up at you and it was dripping hedonistic lust as his thumbs slid down over the soft flesh of your pelvis.

You nodded and breathed out a yes before he slowly poked his tongue out to lick his lips and lowered his mouth to the space next to his thumb, a warm kiss smushed into your skin before it sliced a damp path inward to your mons. You were spinning and blubbering under him as he gripped onto the underside of your thigh and held you apart.

Your body was trembling before he even laid his tongue over your pussy but when he finally pressed a soft, barely-there kiss to your clit you could have just perished right then. You balled up the blanket under you in your fists as he began to run his tongue up and down your wet pussy.

You sputtered out a string of curses and rolled your hips up when he slid his fingers over your entrance and prodded in.

“Mmm…” he lifted his face to look up at you, “Y/n… you’re so wet for me. Gonna need to sneak tastes of your pussy anytime Colin isn’t around.”

You couldn’t respond other than to moan his name and thread your fingers into his hair when he reattached his lips.

There was something about the way Harry did it, the way he licked at your pussy and kissed your clit, the way he drove his fingers into your cunt and moaned over you that was so sultry and hungry… it was like he needed it, like he was desperate for it. For you.

The house was quiet. It was lucky Colin slept like the dead when he got drunk like that or you’d have to worry about him hearing. But as it was, Harry’s bedroom was filled with the sound of something lewd and wet and achy. Moans coming from you and from him, your pussy getting worked by his fingers and his mouth, the shift of bodies over blankets and the subtle creaking of his bed as he dug into your pussy with more fervor.

 And you really tried not thinking about the way Colin did it versus how Harry was doing it but you were amazed at what a little enthusiasm could feel like. Colin ate you out, sure, but it wasn’t like this. It wasn’t a man with a primal need to make you feel good and stake some kind of claim on you. Colin’s method was more like a means to an end. A way to get you nice and wet so he could stick his dick inside of you.

Harry’s method was an animalistic craving. He wasn’t eating you out nicely with a soft tongue and a few slurps. No. This was something else. He was devouring you. Sloppy and sopping. He dragged his tongue over you like it was his fucking job. The one arm he had wrapped around you, was anchoring you to his mouth. You couldn’t escape him if you wanted. This man wasn’t taking it easy. When he lifted you slightly, he scooted in closer and removed his fingers from your pussy and licked up the wet spots on your inner thighs and down your bum before he spread you back open with two of his fingers again and got back to ravaging your clit.

You had to release his hair and go back to gripping the blankets as you felt your body wash away into the atmosphere, floating and buzzing and melting as you lay helpless under his weight and his tongue.

You were certain it was going to be a mess when he was done with you. There wasn’t anything dry between your legs nor on his face. The heat and the moisture rose until there was nothing left for you to do but come. And come and come…

He had his fingers pressed into your front wall massaging your g-spot as he sucked and drew your clit into his mouth. You couldn’t stop shaking or crying for what felt like minutes upon minutes.

But then it was too much and you squeaked a laugh as you tried lifting and pulling away but when you pushed at his forehead he swatted you away and grunted, not letting up on the doggish way he was eating you.

“Oh my god! Fuck, Harry!” You bellowed into his room and tried closing your legs and moving to roll to your side but he had you pinned down and it seemed only to egg him on. His eyes flitted up to yours and in warning to keep still, not that you had much choice. He wasn’t budging nor letting you pull away from his mouth as he continued fucking you with those long fingers and lapping all around your hot, pulsing clit.

But then you saw the slight smirk as he lifted for air before he dove down again and slid his tongue quickly over your clit and the sensitive, too-much feeling turned into a liquid ache and then desire as you felt you second orgasm begin to prick and burst until it was forced out of you like a torture method. Come or else…

So you came again. Not against your will but not by your own accord. It was automatic. You couldn’t stop it from happening.

You were drifting into the ether when he finally, fucking finally, pulled his mouth and his fingers away. When you opened your eyes he was smirking down at you, like he was proud of the state he’d left you in.

“What?” You croaked out as your chest heaved violently.

“I’m serious. Gonna need to do that to you as often as possible. Whenever Colin’s not looking. Damn you’re hot, Y/n. Fuck…” he ran his hands over your sides and up your torso to your nipples where he circled over them with his thumbs, “Wish I’d gotten to you first.”

You pushed yourself to sit up, “You… he’s your best friend, though. I mean… I just think…” you huffed, not fully having your wits about you after what he’d just done to you, “God… I wouldn’t be able to say no, but this is bad, Harry. Don’t you think this should be a one-time thing? Like, we should never do this again, right?”

You watched him lick his lips and swallow and that’s when you noticed he had your arousal down his neck. The guy had gone in so intensely on your pussy that you dripped down his neck. You supposed he had reason to be proud.

“We’ll see, won’t we? I’m not a great friend, I’ll admit. But you’re not a great girlfriend either are you? Doing this behind his back the way we are… it’s bad, but fuck if I don’t want to steal you away from him.”

You puffed a laugh through your nose and ran a hand over your face. You couldn’t believe you were cheating in the first place. It was insane. You weren’t a cheater.

But actually… you were a cheater. You were lying in your boyfriend’s best friend’s bed completely naked and freshly zonked from two orgasms. You were absolutely a cheater.

Harry pulled at your thigh, dragging you closer to him and he cradled the back of your head with his hand and kissed you so deeply you nearly forgot Colin’s name for a moment. You could feel his erection, stiff and hot against your inner thigh and you were compelled to run your hand over his boxers to grip him and feel it in your hand.

You gasped into his mouth and parted from the kiss to look down at the monster you were holding in your palm. Looking back up at Harry with your lips parted in lust you were suddenly hyper-aware that the man you were in bed with was going to fuck you with that thing and if he was as good with his cock as he was with his mouth… you were surely doomed.

“What is it?” He asked you with hooded eyes and a syrupy, deep, lusty voice. He knew what it was. The man was more than aware of the kind of advantage he had in that area.

You squeezed around him let your palm travel up the length of it over his boxers and pressed over his tip, “Let me see it.”

He grinned at you silently as he pulled at his boxers and brought them down, his thick shaft lobbing out, heavy and stiff. You let out a moan and moved back, getting to your knees and holding him at the root against his pubic hair before tonguing over him and drawing your saliva down the length of him.

Harry hissed as he leaned back, palms flat against his mattress as he watched you suck on him for a moment, lips working over his tip and wetting him with your spit. You moaned again and pulled off of him, “God, Harry. Fuck…”

He held the back of your head as you dipped down again and took him in your mouth, wrapping your lips around him and gorging on the taste and feel of him. It was smooth and hot against your tongue. He was wide, bulbous. But you couldn’t help the way just the look and feel of his cock had your already weeping pussy flutter and clench at the thought of him driving into you with it.

“You like that, don’t you? God, you’re supposed to mine, Y/n. Oh fuck that feels good…”

Your insides were feeling too hollow, your walls straining together to feel something that would take up the empty space. You popped off of his tip, saliva dripping down your chin, “Fuck me. Please.”

Harry tilted his head to the side, “Already? You don’t need a minute to recover? You that greedy, baby?”

“I am right now,” you pulled at his boxers to get rid of them. Harry put his hands into the band of his underwear and took them off completely.

“Just right now? So tomorrow we’ll go back to normal then,” he crawled over you, making your back hit the mattress as his hand found your tit, “Pretend this never happened and never do it again, yeah?”

You panted and reached around his back to pull him down, “I don’t know…” you whined and bucked your hips up, “Just… right now is all I can think about. Please…”

“A bit cockdumb huh? You’re not thinking straight, are you?”

You scrunched your face and pouted, “What? Just fuck me, Harry!”

He grinned at you and shook his head in disbelief, “No condom then?”

You’d forgotten. You were always so good about using condoms and being the one on top of that decision with Colin. Only a few times did you ever let him fuck you without one and it was only when you were 100% sure it was not during your fertile window and he wasn’t allowed to come inside you anyway.

“Fuck…” you breathed out and whined as you raised your hips upward, pressing your wet pussy against his cock, “Just fuck me. I don’t even care right now. I’m gonna lose my mind…”

Harry grabbed your chin and his eyes pierced into you as he spoke, “Are you on birth control?”

You shook your head, “No. But… god…” you writhed under him.

Harry let out a burst of a laugh, still shaking his head, “Damn. Did I do this to you? Baby you’re gonna regret it if you let me fuck you raw. That’s asking for trouble.”

“Just… goddamnit…” you closed your eyes and groaned. You wanted him right then. You were sure you’d never acted like such a slut before but Harry’s body and his deep voice, his eyes, the way the front of his thighs were pressed into the back of yours… He could just slip right in and pound away and you’d feel all of him. Every ridge and wrinkle, hot velvet gliding through your gummy channel, drinking him in…

When you raised your hips again, your eyes on his he nudged himself down toward you, his cock sliding through your pussylips, slicking up and down and jabbing at your clit you clung to his back tight.

“You want it? Like this?” He placed his forearm down on the bed alongside your shoulder as he rocked down over you, his tip traveling over your pussy and getting drenched in your juice.

“Mmm… Harry… yes…”

He softly kissed your lips as he rutted up and slid back, “You’re gonna let me fuck you bare? In this bedroom right here, next to your boyfriend’s? You sure?”

You nodded, your nose bumping against his as you breathed out the word please.

He parted from the kiss and set his eyes on yours as he flexed his thighs and poked at your hole gently with his tip. He teased you for a bit, only gently pressing just the very tip of himself into you until suddenly and all once he forced his crown through your tight, pulsing muscle, opening you up and burying himself in until his balls were tucked against your ass.

You both let out a loud and pathetic mewl at the sensation and you could feel him shaking already. It was decadent and rude and sumptuous and unbearable. It was so wrong. So bad but so fucking delightful.

He began to slowly thrust as he kept his gaze pinned to yours, “Okay? Feel good?”

You moaned as you nodded and kept a tight grasp on his back, wrapping your legs around him so you could keep yourself grounded. So that you knew it was real. That Harry was actually fucking you with his big cock and you weren’t just dreaming it.

“Yeah? Feel all of me like this, don’t you? Needed me so bad and now you’ve got me, baby. Gonna give you my cock whenever you want it. Sneak around behind Colin’s back and keep it secret. He’ll never know. Could fuck you all night and all morning and he’ll wake up tomorrow with no idea of the filthy kind of girl you are.”

“Mmmm… fuck!” You whined as he plunged deep inside your guts. You’d never had anyone so thick and long before. And it was just a bonus that it was attached to a man like Harry. It shouldn’t have surprised you that someone with the kind of confidence he had would be so hung.

“Mmmm… fuck is right… that feels so fucking good. I had a feeling your pussy would be made for me,” he panted his words as he worked into you, thighs flexing against yours.

Your noises were uncontrollable. You had no ability to restrain yourself. You truly were intoxicated, incapacitated, obtunded. Delirious. Which Harry seemed to get a kick out of.

“You’ve never had it like this before, have you? I know what you had to deal with,” he gasped when you gripped tight around and dug your nails into his back, “Colin’s a lazy boyfriend. You need more attention and I can see that. Gonna give you all the attention you can handle if you want it, Y/n…”

Harry pulled back, making your legs fall from his back as he lowered his lips to your tits, curling himself over you as he continued fucking into you, sucking your nipples into his mouth and running his tongue over your sensitive nubs one at a time.

It was debauched gluttony. Harry was so much better in bed than Colin and it almost wasn’t fair. But you couldn’t even feel an ounce of guilt because it was the best thing you’d ever felt. Harry sucked your nipples hard as his cock wrecked your insides, running his hand along the outside of your soft breast and then to the other side, continuing the pace at which he rocked into you. His bed only creaked in time with his thrusts, slow and steady, but the sound of your sodden pussy taking his big cock was salacious and lewd.

Every stroke of his long dick through your pussy walls felt like damnation and salvation all at once. You weren’t sure you’d be the same after. Weren’t sure you wouldn’t be begging him for more every time Colin wasn’t watching. Harry had ruined you.

Harry’s gasps and pants against your tits grew more desperate and you could feel him throbbing inside of you, nudging deep into your tummy and slowly rearing back, his cock coated and sticky with you before plunging it all back inside of you again.

He steadied himself, lifting up to look down at you as he began to fuck into you a little harder, his bed bouncing a little more with the sound of skin slapping together and your punched moans filled the room.

Every time he buried himself in he ground his pelvis against your clit and it sent fireworks through your nervous system. You grabbed onto his thighs as he rutted into you, deep and desperate strokes that split you wide open and made you drool it felt so good. Harry’s chest was sweating as he held your hips down and circled his groin against you, his moans growing louder and whinier as he watched you slowly come undone.

“Give me another one, baby. Show me how good it feels when I fuck you. Better than it’s ever felt with anyone else…”

Harry had something to prove.

You could hardly think straight. The man was fucking out any logic or sense in your brain but you didn’t want to have rational thoughts that interrupted what was happening. You wanted Harry and his cock. You wanted to be fucked by him just like he was for all time. To hell with Colin and his sorry excuse for lovemaking. Harry was a real man with pleasure to give.

The breath was kicked from your lungs when the tight coil in your tummy began to unravel and the yummiest, most transcendent orgasm you’d ever experienced began to take over. The only thing you registered was Harry’s cock pounding into you and words of encouragement egging you on as the mattress squeaked violently under you. His words were unclear but you could hear the starved and whimpery moans falling from his mouth between words.

You trembled and quaked as you spasmed over him, the glide of his heavy cock through your guts squelched and ached as you gasped for air and finally began to discern what was happening when Harry frantically pulled his cock from your pussy and climbed over you, taking your face in his hand and dipped his pussy flavored dick into your lips where you felt him pumping warm, creamy come down your throat and onto your tongue. You grabbed onto his ass with both hands and pulled at him, beckoning him to stuff his whole fat cock into your esophagus.

The grunts and moans he let fall from his chest were the sexiest thing you’d ever heard from any man. Colin wasn’t vocal at all. When Colin came he’d pinch his face up like he was in pain or disgusted by the flavor of something and silently sigh with his mouth open.

But Harry… Harry wasn’t holding back. He was moaning as he thrust his cock into your mouth and slapped his hand on the headboard to steady himself, “Fuck…”

When you’d siphoned every drop from him, he gently pulled his meaty cock from your mouth and you coughed, gasping for air. Harry laid himself on the bed next to you and cupped your cheek, “You all right,” he panted.

You moaned and wiped the back of your hand over your mouth and rolled to face him, “Yeah I’m all right. Better than all right I’d say.”

Harry laughed, moving his hand from your face and fondled your breast in his palm, smushing at it and thumbing over your nipple, “You down to keep doing this with me?”

You sighed and ran your tongue along the inside of your cheek as you placed your palm on his chest, “I’m pretty sure I’ll be craving that from now on.”

He grinned, “Be craving what?”

“You. The way you do it. I…” you laughed, “I’ve never come three times in a row like that for any man.”

“So you want me to give you lots of cummies?” He snorted a laugh, “Need me to take care of you when Colin can’t.”

“When you say it like that… god it sounds so bad doesn’t it?”

“It is bad, Y/n. We are two very bad people who just did something very awful to someone. But I certainly don’t want to stop.”

“I mean… I don’t know if I can stop now. That was…”

“The best.”

You nodded. It was the best. And you knew you’d have regrets and the guilt would come at some point. But in that moment after being expertly fucked and properly taken care of you could think of nothing better than to do it again and again and again. As often as you could get away with it.

“How long do you think we can keep doing this? Like we’ll have to be lying all the time and sneaking around.”

“If we’re quiet and sneaky enough, as long as we want.”

You bit into your bottom lip and giggled, “That was a smart move. Not coming inside of me. Was gonna let you, ya know.”

Harry sat up with a smirk, “I know you were gonna. But I think fucking my best friend’s girl raw is quite enough mistakes for one night. As much as I wanted to fill you up we’ll have to save that one for a rainy day.”

You sat up with him, clothes all strewn about on the floor and at the foot of his bed, “A rainy day, huh? I’ll keep that in mind.”

Harry pinched your thigh before hopping off the bed out of your reach with a laugh, “And I think it’s only fair that you sleep in here with me tonight,” he slid his boxers up his legs, “Colin’s not gonna wake up until late so we’ll have plenty of time before he’s conscious.”

Harry tossed you his t-shirt and you pulled it over your head, “Why’s that only fair?”

Harry shrugged, “Cause I like to cuddle and Colin’s passed out so might as well let me have some since I probably won’t get to do it very often.”

You slid off his bed and pulled your arms over his shoulders, “That’s kind of sweet, Harry.”

“So you’ll stay in here with me tonight?”

“Without a doubt.”

You were both so fucked.

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[ruesol]

catalyst - chapter 1

Life has many twists and turns- yours included getting rejected from med school and ending up as a manager for your burnt-out pro boxer ex-boyfriend. (sukuna x fem!reader)

fanfic masterlist

Gravel crunched underneath your sneakers as you dragged them along the pavement. You had been running around the city with tired limbs and a resume in hand, trying to get a job after getting your last rejection letter from one of the medical schools you applied to.

Thank you for expressing interest in our medical program. Upon evaluating your transcripts, credentials, and extracurriculars, we regret to inform you that you are not eligible to join this year’s class. We will gladly consider your application for next year’s class if you wish to reapply. You may contact the admissions department for questions regarding the next application cycle.

Tears threatened to fall from your eyes again. You had been crying about your future for the past week. With all the hard work that went into all those volunteering hours, internships, and research assistantships, you were sure to get in.

But no, not in the system set up in this day and age. There will always be someone more qualified and well-connected than you. And even if they aren’t, they will always benefit from nepotism. 

Your feet dragged themselves till you couldn’t take it anymore. You broke down, ass landing on the curb in front of a random convenience store in the middle of some no-name neighborhood. Tears spilled down the apples of your cheeks as they drenched your chin and neck. The sky roared, and rain began to pour down. 

You wailed harder and tried to drown out the noise by yelling curses at the sky. You thought of all the tests you studied for, all the diagrams taped up on your walls, and all the money you spent on your applications. You had spent so much time and effort preparing for medical school that you couldn’t invest in a plan B. You needed a job to fund yourself, at least until you could get back up on your feet and figure out what you wanted to do, but to your misfortune, no one was hiring.

There was nothing more agonizing than being led astray from your original path. You began to question your abilities. Maybe if you had just paid attention in that class, you’d have an A instead of an A minus, or if you had just volunteered more, you’d seem more competitive. 

But it was all useless. What’s done is done. You groaned into your pruned hands. 

Then, all of a sudden, you could hear the muffled sounds of raindrops hitting canvas. “Funny, you seem different from how he described you.” You looked up to see a white-haired figure holding an umbrella over your head. “Uraume. No last name. Please come with me.”

You looked behind the figure and saw a sleek black Range Rover with tinted windows. It looked like it didn’t belong in this neck of the woods. Great, you were rejected from almost all the vacant positions in the city, and you were about to be trafficked for the benefit of wealthy people.

“I have a mace, so get away from me,” you said while walking away, not putting away much of a fight.

“Sukuna Ryomen. I’m sure you know him,” Uraume continued. “He needs you.”

Since when did traffickers start doing background checks on their victims? Your stomach churned as you began to walk faster, trying to outrun the chalky white-haired person who was now hot on your heels. However, having not eaten all day, you barely had the energy to pick up your speed, so you pulled your phone out to call the police, which, to your misfortune, was dead. You began to sob as you slowed down, and you noticed that the Range Rover was trying to catch up with you. 

It began to slow down beside you when its window rolled down. “Hey, it’s me, Yuuji!” 

You stopped, and so did the vehicle. Yuuji, your ex-best friend’s little brother, was smiling at you. “Just hear us out.” The boy (well, now a man) said with the most sincere eyes you had ever seen. Uraume walked towards you, covering your now-drenched body with their umbrella. 

-

You couldn’t believe your eyes- the once scrawny little kid you knew was now a tall man. Yuuji’s facial features had changed significantly. His round face was replaced by sharp angles (much like his older brother’s), and he also sported a few new scars (the ones beneath both his eyes being the most noticeable as they looked identical). He walked you through everything that had happened in Sukuna’s life since you both lost touch, while Uarume guided you both through the VIP area of the city’s most prominent hospital. They also casually added that they had a private investigator look into whatever you were up to in the past month, which freaked you out. No one wonder they knew way too much about you. 

It turns out that after you two lost touch, Sukuna became a famous boxing champion. He didn’t bother getting into the details of how it happened, but as far as you know, Sukuna never really expressed any interest in it whenever you were around. Yuuji pulled his phone out to show you his latest fight- the reason why he’s so battered up. 

You winced as you watched the clip, having a hard time trusting your eyes. There were many things you didn’t know about the martial arts world, but it was still shocking that you had no idea your ex was a famous and skilled fighter. It was apparent he had a knack for getting into fights with how he’d defend you whenever a bully charged towards you or a creep so much as to even looked your way. It never occurred to you that his punches were just that precise and had less recoil because he was training to be a professional fighter.

Now, here he was, on Yuuji’s phone screen, being beaten and battered like a piece of rice cake being pounded by a human mallet. “I thought you said he was good.” You mumbled. “He is, but he’s been burnt out and has refused any kind of treatment for it.

You raised your brow as the three of you stopped in front of a large wooden door. “And I’m here because?” 

“We have tried everything. Yuuji has to return to his classes soon, and I have never been able to connect with that man emotionally enough to support him through such a tough time. Even his therapist says he’s a lost cause because he refuses to cooperate.” Uraume says as they open the wooden door to reveal a large, dark hospital room. 

It takes you a while to register what’s going on, with the only source of light being the skyscrapers visible through the floor-to-ceiling panoramic windows on the opposite end of the room. In the middle of the room, against the wall, was a large hospital bed with a few monitors surrounding it. In it, you could see a mop of pink hair. 

Sukuna Ryomen- professional boxer and ex-boyfriend in the flesh. The steady rise and fall of his chest told you that he was asleep. The sight led to an invisible lump forming in your throat. The last time you’d seen him in person was when you both had your biggest fight together. A shiver went down your spine as you remembered all the hurtful words you had spat at each other. In that moment, neither of you could believe you could’ve been that hostile.

You’d only ever seen him sick with a fever, and he was horrible enough to deal with during that time. You couldn’t imagine how he was feeling right now. 

“As his manager, I’d like to hire you as his… well, I’m not sure what I’d call this position, but you’ll be making sure he gets better and is up to date with all his treatments and training,” Uraume said as they took you and Yuuji out the room. 

You sighed. “You want me to be his nanny?” 

“More like a personally involved manager, but we can have Sukuna’s doctor come up with a better name. Something to do with your field of interest. Her name is Dr. Shoko Ieri, and she’ll also be sure to refer you to all the good schools in the country so you can enroll in the next session.”

You didn’t know what to focus on first- the fact that you were offered a job (albeit a nanny for an adult) or that your idol, Shoko Ieri, was ready to refer you for your next applications. You had only ever seen her present at research conferences, all while you both had a common link this entire time. You felt lightheaded- the feeling of hope finally returning after a week of non-stop anxiety fits.

“So, do we have a deal?” Uraume extended their hand. 

But then again, things aren’t so good between you and Sukuna. At least from how you see things. Your relationship with him ended on a sour note, and even if you didn’t want to admit it, you did resent him a little for simply abandoning you and never making an effort to reach out again as you did. What if you failed? What if this whole thing ends up being one giant dumpster fire? 

You hesitantly looked at the pale hand in front of you. But then again, there was no way to go from here. What would you do anyway? Your paid internships never led to any full-time positions, and you barely had any money to get by after paying your rent for the next month. You also needed to pay for all the new applications and supplementary courses for your resume. 

“You should do it. They don’t like shaking hands with people, so this is major.” Yuuji whispered in your ears.

You gulped as your heart raced. In different circumstances, you would’ve said no, but you have nothing to look forward to besides getting a part-time job, which you knew wasn’t worth it with an offer like this to compete with it. You placed your hand in Uraume’s cold ones. They quickly shook your hand and pulled away like you had the plague (“They have a small case of germophobia,” Yuuji said later).

“When do I start?” you ask.

“Immediately. Since this job requires a lot of monitoring, I’ll have a few movers get your things and take them to Sukuna’s apartment. You’ll be living with him until he gets better” 

You didn’t know how to feel at that moment, chest still tight with the uneasiness from before. What you did know for sure was that Sukuna probably wouldn't be happy seeing you so at home in his personal space. 

[pyxxiestyxx]

H*ndh*lding

I found her hiding deep in the belly of the Radiant Wing, pressed up against a bulkhead and trying not to move a single muscle. She was a slight little thing, as the cycles of malnutrition and overwork has reduced her down to skin and bone. My antennae chirped in distress at the bags under her eyes, at the way her body shook with stress, at the quivering of her lip.

I knelt down low, until I was a mere foot or two higher than her eye level. "Hello, Abigail. Are you hurt?"

She didn't answer me with vocalizations, which was worrying. Was some part of her still attempting to hide? The furry lines above her eyes scrunched together, and she kept her gaze pointedly fixed on the floor a few feet in front of me.

"Abbi- may I call you Abbi?" Her eyes flickered slightly, and she gave the smallest and most hesitant of head movements up and down. I continued, "Abbi, my name is Cherry Berry, Third Bloom, pronouns of She and Her."

The girl's diaphragm twitched spasmodically as she exhaled, a strange and involuntary reaction to my name I've found many Terrans do. It is admittedly very adorable how they are unable to control themselves, similar to how they cannot control their heartbeat.

I kept my body perfectly still as I continued, "Now as you may be aware, my presence here means that this ship has been boarded. As of this moment, all but eight of your fellow crewmates have been sedated, and are being escorted off of this ship, and onto the Illastria. You are to join them. Do you understand?"

The girl shook her head wildly, her ocular organs wide as her heartbeat sharply increased. Many creatures had a fear response, of course; evolution's clumsy attempts at protecting them. I would be much more thorough, once my implant rested within her.

I carefully extended one of the four groupings of vines I had shaped into arms, holding the 'hand' palm-up towards her. Culturally, she would recognize it as an offering.

"Come here, petal. Take my hand."

She need not know the topical xenodrugs I excreted through my vines until later, of course.

The girl pulled her bottom lip into her mouth and nibbled on it as she thought things through. I waited, calmly. She was smart, I knew. Smart enough to have recieved an education at the collegiate level for nearly free, before it was shut down and she was shunted into this accursed coffin of a ship.

Finally...slowly...and ever so shakily, the girl's limb extended out towards mine. I resisted my instinct to close the gap in less than a single of her eye blinks, to slip my injectors under her dermis and make her mine.

That would come later.

Instead, I began to slowly sway my body back and forth. Not enough to be noticeable on its own, but enough that the natural rhythm of my flora to more prominently draw her attention. Like many species, it was difficult for her kind to focus on multiple tasks at once. All I had to do was utilize this trait to my advantage.

Her fingertips touched first, like soft wingbeats of an Al'yssrian upon the surface. They hovered over my own facsimile of her phalanges, and finally came to a rest in the center of my palm, with my own fingertips nestled on her radius and ulna. I allowed myself a full 0.3 seconds to enjoy the feeling of her body. All those complicated systems, each working so inefficiently to maintain that spark called life. The soft tiny hairs on her arm had raised, hundreds of little bumps coating her arm. Another automatic system, most likely. She reacted to me.

...But even so, she was far from ready for me to move, just yet. The sternocleidomastoid muscle was tensed to near-taut, and her ocular organs refused to stay fixed for long. Now that I was touching her directly, I was able to get a much more accurate pulse reading. It was far above resting, and the speed only hastened the effects of the adrenaline coursing through her systems.

I pulled a single vine from the 'back' of my hand, curling it slowly around the side until it hovered over her own. She watched it nervously, and I felt her limb tense in case she needed to pull it back.

"Have you ever seen one of my kind before, Abi?"

The girl paused, then another up-and-down bob of her head.

"...I mean like this. Not on a digital broadcast."

A left-to-right this time. Negative.

"I'm sure you have heard quite a bit about my kind, though. I will say that in turn, I have learned much about you." I was rather disappointed in the meager intelligence gathered for her, a mere twelve Petabytes of shopping habits, familial history, hobbies, disinterests, relationships, and every message sent from a device she has ever so much as looked at. Still, it was enough for me to develop an interest in the Sophont.

The corners of the girl's lips sank down, and the hair strips above her ocular organs scrunched up again. It would be adorable, if it wasn't meant to signal negative emotions.

"The point I am attempting to make is this: that information is useful, but ultimately direct knowledge is the highest priority. As an example..."

The vine dipped down and began to stroke along her metacarpals, a careful pleasing rhythm modeled after my own. The effects, though minor, were immediate: her heart rate shifted down and her eyes locked into the movement, and the scent of her perspiration indicated a reduction in chemicals released from stress. I continued to gently pet her, noting with mild amusement how she used the muscles in her throat she could control to contain any vocalizations. That would have to change, of course. The easiest way would be to remove her ability to notice them via hypnosis, but I enjoyed the way the hue of her face dyed red as she grew more embarassed.

I adopted a softer and quieter tone, causing the girl to lean forward slightly to hear me better. "You see? Nothing to be afraid of, is there? All I offer is comfort and pleasure, petal."

She continued to think while I directed more vines to join the first, carefully running them down and up the length of my grip on her. The topical xenodrugs began to take hold by then, causing her pupils to dilate by thirty...thirty-two percent. I checked my tablet from its place next to my core, and noted that I was one of only three affini left. Still, this could not be rushed.

"Abbi, I am very pleased with you. You are responding wonderfully to me, and I wish to reward you. May I do so?" Needing to ask was ridiculous, of course, but I wasn't quite ready to take...yet. The trap was laid. Now, all that was left was to see if she took the bait. The curiosity. Her kind had to know things. Especially if it is a mysterious 'reward'.

Abbi thought for a full five seconds, then her head bobbed up-and-down.

"Thank you, dear." The vines of my hand wrapped around hers fully while I began to tug, pulling her into the air as I prepared my other arms to cradle her now-prone body. The girl couldn't help but vocalize a squeal, but otherwise she did not struggle. Oh yes, she was absolutely mine in all but name.

I began to drag the clawed tips of my upper right arm across her radius, while the hand holding hers began to massage and squeeze in earnest. Hundreds of different points of contact, varying in intensity, texture, movement.

The girl's nervous system could scarely keep up with the combined input, and I couldn't help but shift the hue of my eyes to a higher frequency as a result. The dazed and unfocused ocular organs...the desperate panting as her chest rose and fell...the way her vocalizations continued to build....

Exquisite.

"Why don't we continue this somewhere more...palatable, little one? I would love to show you my garden."

No response. The drugs had likely reduced her to a mewling mess, and her auditory processing was a consequence. No matter.

I began to walk back towards the Capture vine I came from, continuing to caress and play with her soft skin. "You know, I think you would be much happier with a different name. Specifically, your familial one..."

[inkyquillstories]

From Homework to Home/Work (A Body Swap Story)

(Dave) 

Dave let out a weary sigh as he collapsed onto the worn-out couch in his modest living room. The fluorescent glow of his laptop screen cast a dim light on his exhausted face, highlighting the deep lines of fatigue that had settled over the years. He was only forty, but the weight of responsibility made him feel much older. Being an accountant paid the bills, but the job was monotonous, draining, and unrelenting. Worse still, when he clocked out from work, his real shift began—the role of a single father to his three-year-old twins, Emma and Ethan.

His wife, Laura, had passed away three years ago, leaving him with both the blessing and the burden of raising their children alone. She had died giving birth, and while Dave cherished his kids more than anything in the world, he couldn’t ignore how exhausting it was to do everything on his own. His neighbor, Charlie, often saw him struggling—whether it was carrying groceries with two toddlers clinging to his legs or desperately trying to calm their tantrums in the front yard. Despite his age, Dave felt like he had lived a hundred lifetimes, and he longed for a brief escape from the endless cycle of work and parenting.

(Charlie) 

Charlie, on the other hand, was a college student, stuck in a life he found equally unsatisfying. He trudged through his university days with growing resentment, suffocated by coursework that felt meaningless. College, he was told, would lead to a stable future, but all he wanted was to fast-forward to that future already. He envied people with secure jobs, with steady incomes, with lives that weren’t dictated by midterms and last-minute essays. Charlie often saw Dave, exhausted but settled in his life, and wished he could trade places—even if just for a little while.

One afternoon, as Dave absentmindedly pushed his kids on their backyard swings, he glanced over the fence and saw Charlie lounging on a deck chair, scrolling aimlessly on his phone. An idea sparked in his tired mind. Later that evening, he knocked on Charlie’s door, offering him a proposal unlike any other.

“Would you be willing to babysit my kids during spring break?” Dave asked, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll pay you—a lot.”

Charlie perked up at the mention of money, but before he could agree, Dave continued. “There’s more to it. I want to swap bodies with you. I’ll be you for a while, and you’ll be me.”

Charlie blinked, sure he had misheard. But when Dave explained further—his exhaustion, his need for a break, his willingness to compensate handsomely—Charlie’s interest grew. The idea was insane, but the payoff? Too tempting to resist. He had always wanted to skip past the struggles of university, to experience a stable, structured life. This was his chance.

The next day, they walked together into the local Body Swap Clinic, a sleek, futuristic facility nestled between a bank and a coffee shop. The receptionist, unfazed by their request, handed them a set of forms. “Standard procedure,” she said. “You’ll experience full consciousness transfer, retaining your own thoughts but fully inhabiting each other’s bodies. The swap will last until your scheduled reversal unless you both agree to an extension.”

Minutes later, they were ushered into separate chambers, and as the machine whirred to life, their vision blurred. A jolt of electricity surged through them, and in an instant, everything shifted.

For Charlie, the transition was surreal. He stood up, stretching Dave’s older, slightly stiffer body. He looked in the mirror and saw Dave’s face staring back at him. He didn’t notice how fit Dave really was until he swapped with him.

Charlie also discovered a newfound appreciation for fitness. Dave’s body was more muscular and well-built compared to his own, and he found himself enjoying his time at the gym like never before. Lifting heavier weights, feeling the strength in his arms, and seeing the respect from others at the gym boosted his confidence in a way he had never experienced. He relished the power and endurance that came with the older man’s physique, making his daily workouts something he looked forward to.

There was a comfort in being Dave, in being needed, in having a purpose beyond just passing exams. As the days passed, a thought gnawed at him—he wasn’t sure he wanted this to end.

Meanwhile, Dave reveled in Charlie’s youth. He’s surprised how much smaller he feels but for some reason, he preferred this than being bigger. Not only that, he was also considerably less hairy. He looked closely at his torso

Then took a selfie in front of the mirror.

He met up with Charlie’s friends, stayed out late, and did things he hadn’t done in years. The world felt new again—full of excitement and possibilities. He could even sleep in and just be in bed for hours scrolling on his phone. 

But even as he enjoyed the carefree existence, a whisper of guilt crept in. His kids, his job, his life—everything was waiting for him to return. And yet, the thought of going back so soon felt almost unbearable.

Before spring break ended, they met again. Charlie was the first to speak. “I… I had fun. More than I thought I would.”

Dave nodded slowly, hesitation evident in his eyes. “Yeah… It was nice. Being young again.”

Charlie studied Dave carefully before making his offer. “What if we extended this? Until Christmas, maybe?”

Dave’s heart pounded. He should say no. He should go back. But the temptation was too strong. After a long pause, he whispered, “Alright.”

And just like that, the deal was made. For now, at least, they weren’t ready to return to their old lives.

(Charlie enjoying being Dave until Christmas) 

(Dave enjoying being Charlie until Christmas) [PS: Should they swap back or just swap permanently?]

[halfadiamond]

When They Know You’re Not Coming Back

Price x Reader, Ghost x Reader (Separate Scenarios)

Here’s the Soap & Gaz Scenarios

CW: angst, infidelity, toxic relationship/ situationship?, small mention of masturbation, toxic dependency

Price

Price knows he’s a bad man. He’s killed lots of people, and he probably will continue this way until he’s either put in a grave or retired.

But he also knows that he’s a bad man because of the fact that he’s cheated on you, numerous times with different ladies. Some were ladies that were also serving, some were civilians that caught his eye.

Each time, he comes home, it’s like you’re adding a tally mark of the women that he confesses to having slept with, taken on a date, or even gave gifts to. Each time, you forgave him because at the end of the day, he comes home to you, and only you.

Maybe it’s because you don’t trust the other woman to take care of the shattered person Price shows behind closed doors. The man who’ll drink himself to death if you didn’t stop it. The man who’ll cry and tell you that he’s a monster, through and through that he can’t ever redeem himself.

Maybe it’s just because at the end of the day, he thanks you for staying with him, for not leaving his side despite his infidelities. Thanks you for seeing the monster that he is but choosing to stay with him regardless.

This time was different, he called you while he was off on deployment and confessed to another mistake. That he couldn’t help himself, and slept once again with another woman. This time, however, he swore that this would be the last time that he’d make it up to you but it was funny this wasn’t the first time he had said this.

It wasn’t the first time he apologized and swore to never do it again. It wasn’t the first time that he would treat you like a princess for a couple of days then return back to normal just for the cycle to repeat. It wasn’t the first time and maybe this time it was the last time.

You didn’t deserve this, you deserved someone who loved you and respected you. Price was a good man, but it was clear that he would most likely continue his affairs because he’ll know that you’ll stay. You did deserve better, and maybe it meant leaving the home you and Price had built.

It meant saying goodbye to the norm for you and venturing out into the unknown. Maybe you would struggle especially adapting to returning back to the workforce but it would be okay. It would be okay because it would be for the best that maybe you’d find someone who didn’t treat you like Price did. As someone who didn’t expect you to fix them or forgive them every time they cheated.

He knows he lost you, the day he came back from his deployment, carrying a bouquet of flowers and some gifts he bought during his trip. The gifts that reminded him of you, taking the steps towards the house, he swore that he couldn’t keep doing this that you didn’t deserve it especially when you were always there for him.

He knows he lost you when coming through the front door, only to be greeted by nothing. When calling out for you was meant with no response, heading up to the bedroom to see it barren with your stuff.

He knows he lost you when the home he was used to seeing was gone and was never ever going to be the same and it was his fault.

—

Ghost

You were just to be something casual. That’s what he tells you every time, you guys meet up, every time you end up on his bed letting him release his pent up energy on you, and every time you head back home.

For you, it was casual until you fell in love with him. You weren’t sure when it began, but maybe it was because you got used to the company Ghost brought. Where he’d sometimes would come by your work place with your favorite fast food or how he accompanied you to your mother’s funeral and offered a shoulder for you to cry on.

It was casual until it wasn’t. You were sure he felt the same way. You didn’t hound him with your presence, something he mentioned hating, he always asked you to join him for the military galas. He reached a level of comfort with you that he hadn’t had since he joined the military. He opened up to you and talked about losing his comrade, Soap was his name and according to Ghost he was his best friend, and that he felt this overwhelming feeling of guilt that he couldn’t save him.



It was during another one of those meet ups that you finally confessed your feelings. You waited till after you guys caught your breaths for you to admit it. You didn’t add a sweet paragraph of love for him, you were blunt telling him that you loved him through and through.

Instead of receiving a similar statement, Ghost looked at you as if you had admitted something disgusting. All he could do was hand you your clothes, and tell you not to come back. You were only something casual was all he could say before slamming the door in your face.

Perhaps it was desperation, wanting to know that your feelings weren’t one sided that led to you returning to his place after some time apart. It was you heading to his door when you saw it, more specifically her, watching as you see another girl leave his place and you knew exactly what they were doing as you watch her fix her clothes. It was there that you knew that it was purely casual for him and that if he didn’t love you then you had no right to intrude in his life.

Ghost doesn’t realize that he lost you at first. He’s merely moving through life without worrying much. The times he spent with you, he’s spending doing things he used to do in spare time. Those times that he has you come to his house was spent finding women at bars and using them in replacement of you.

It wasn’t long before Ghost knew something was wrong. The women he brought would leave his place the moment that they heard him moan out your name. Those times were now spent with him fisting his cock, imagining that instead of his hand it was your pussy and if he tried hard enough he could hear your moans. Ghost knew something was wrong when his finger would linger around your name on his phone, wanting to see how you were and if you were ready to come back and be casual.

Ghost didn’t know what to call these feelings, he was feeling at first. Maybe it was desperation, he had gotten so used to you that maybe he wasn’t used to not spending time with you. That’s gotta be it. With that conclusion in mind, Ghost headed out of his apartment following the all too familiar path to your place.

Maybe he’d apologize, swear he didn’t mean to hurt your feelings but you knew that it was casual, that he’d wait for you to get rid of those feelings then you two could meet up again. It would hurt for a bit, not having you around him for awhile, but it was okay because he could wait. Unlike the other ladies, he’s had similar situations with, he could wait for you and he didn’t know why.

What he didn’t expect was to see you at your doorstep, and he ignored those butterflies in his stomach the ones that made his heart flutter slightly. You were beautiful, more beautiful than all the ladies he’s ever seen. But what he didn’t expect was to see you smiling at another man as you hold a bouquet of flowers as the man gives you a small peck on the lips as he walked away.

As quickly as he seen it, he turned around and walked back home and let out a breath that he hadn’t realized he was holding. Now Ghost knew three things.

1. Those butterflies he had was love

2. Love was what he felt when he was with you

3. What was supposed to be something casual turned into love, and he realized it all too late

[kimberly-spirits13]

Back From Hell

Pairing: Dean Winchester x witch!reader

Warnings: Details of hell, the silver knife test, shower together but nothing NSFW, angst, fluff with hint of angst at the end

Summary: After you sacrafice yourself to save humanity from demons trying to harness your powers, you die and go to hell, only to be ressurected. In the aftermath, the first thing you do is find Dean.

Word Count: 3156

 Heat, blistering heat hit your face and suffocated your lungs. The hair on your face singed off and you felt your skin peel in flakes off your body and the sounds of screams deafen your ears. Something pierced your body, feeling like thousands of needles scratching blood from your flesh the moment it returned, and the singeing of your body started over once more. The squeal of a heavy iron door shrieked through wherever you were, and a tall, dark figure entered. 

                  In a low guttural tone it spoke, “Had enough yet, witch?” 

                  You didn’t answer, closing your eyes and ignoring the figure.

                  “Speak!” He raised his hand and a large blade thrust through your stomach and back out again.

                  You screamed in agony, spitting blood onto what seemed to be the floor, “I thought�� you gasped for air, “I thought you hadn’t even started with me yet.” 

                  The creature smiled and pulled out a large iron, lit flaming orange from heat. With slow, long strides, it approached you, running a long-clawed finger over the heated metal. 

                  “Well, in that case, I’d like to see how you feel about your spells now, witch.”

                  In a swift movement, he pressed the burning iron into your skin and began writing in ancient script. You wailed curses in pain as the scorching end of the metal carved into you. 

                  In a matter-of-fact tone, you heard his voice start again and the singe of the metal into your skin pause, “You could join us and make all this stop. Indeed, your magic would be of great value to us.” “Think about it, witch. You’d never endure this again. All for a simple commitment.”

                  “Fuck you.” You spat blood at the form.

                  A low chuckle emitted from the being, “It’s a shame really.” 

                  He pierced your side again, “You’d do so well.” 

                  The torture continued for what could have been hours, days, or weeks longer before you were left alone once again to suffer the same eternal cycle of struggle. You knew time was passing because the routine would stop and start over. It played on and on in the same loop as a broken record, bound to never be shut off. After every 1000 cycles of time, the figure would come in again, usually with a different introduction, but always with the same request. You had died sacrificing yourself to kill a line of demons rampaging through the human world. Using the last of your strength and the legendary magic you possessed, you died after destroying them. Now you were stuck here, in an endless loop of dread. 

                  The day you got out was no different. You awoke with the same terror drowning your senses and making breathing almost impossible. Volcanic heat violently erupted against your skin and began to suffocate you again. The heat was unbearable and boiling tears swept down your face and into your ears. You cried and screamed against the pain and began counting down the cycle repeats until you endured whatever form of torture hell created today. Around the 200th sequence you started hearing unfamiliar noises in the distance. Your stomach churned thinking it was some new creative device to instill pain on a new level. The shrill scream of the metal chamber door opening came early this time and you looked up to see what it was. A tall bright figure stood at the doorway and confidently walked towards you. In the flash of an eye, you felt yourself being picked up and carried away.

                  “Whatever this is,” you mumbled, “I won’t join you.” 

                  A strong, calm voice answered you, “Be calm, this is your deliverance.”

                  “What are you on about?” You looked towards what you thought would be the face, dazed and confused. The landscape around you seemed hazy and you didn’t understand what was going on.

                  “You maintained proper loyalties. This is your reward.” The voice came again, “Now sleep.” 

                  When you awoke again, you awoke in a dark airtight room. You gasped for air but found little. Feeling around, your finger was pricked by the splinter of wood, and you began to understand where you were. 

                  “That’s right.” You thought, “I died. Am I alive? How do I get out?” 

                  With little air left to breathe, you muttered your spell in Latin, “let me out”

                  Violently, with sudden force, the ground around you began to shake and become disrupted. All around you, the wood disintegrated into ash and the ground piled into heaps around the grave. A gust of spinning wind lifted you and released you with a thud onto the grass next to your burial site. You gasped for air, clawing at the ground and squinting to see from the sudden change in light. Your head pounded as you laid there reeling from what had just occurred. 

                  When some of your strength had returned, you sat up and looked around. There was a headstone with your name carved roughly into the stone and the remains of old flower stems strewn about. You wanted to scream for someone, but you knew no one would answer. You wanted Dean, but you knew he wasn’t here. There was no telling how much time had passed since you died and now, but you knew you had to get to civilization. Out in the distance, you heard cattle and followed the sound. Your legs were shaky and uneasy on the ground for the first time since who knows when. Feeling came back to your feet, and you started towards what you thought was life. 

                  After some time, walking through thick woods, you came out into a clearing with a gravel road running around the edge of the tree line. You walked down the road and past the cattle, listening for any sort of engine or signs of humanity. Once you had walked about twenty minutes or so, you came upon a small gas station on the outskirts of a little town, complete with a few run-down cars in the front lawn piled together as some sort of decoration. 

                  A bell dinged when you opened the door and a kind looking man looked up from his newspaper at the counter. You looked at the date and nearly doubled over. It had been exactly a year since you died. For a year, you had been enduring the torture of hell. There was no telling where Sam and Dean were at this point. 

                  “Everything alright dear?” He asked, a concerned look glazing over his face.

                  “Oh, I’m alright.” You answered with a small smile, “Where are we? My car was stolen from me while I was camping.”

                  The man gave you your location as some small town in South Dakota that you didn’t really catch and then started asking questions about the assailment and if you needed medical attention or the police.

                  “I’m fine, thank you. It was a beat-up thing, nothing special. How far are we from Sioux Falls?” 

                  “I’d say we’re about an hour’s drive. A bus comes through here heading towards there in about fifteen minutes if you want to catch it. The next one comes in the morning.”

                  “That’s great. Thank you.” “Do you have a bathroom?”

                  The man happily pointed towards it, “Of course. Down that little hall and to the left.”

                  Once you were in the bathroom you locked the door and threw up. There was nothing being spit out but for the feeling of adrenaline you had knowing how long it’s been and not knowing where anyone was. A few moments passed and you pulled yourself together and collected your thoughts.

                  You scoffed at yourself silently, “I don’t need a bus to take me to Dean. I just need a simple spell.”

                  With the same confidence you held so many times before, you recited your incantation and watched on as you were pinpointed to his direct location. The small bathroom you were in became Bobby’s study room. Sitting at the wooden table, you saw Dean hunched over an old leather-bound book with stacks of others piled high around him. Heavy purple bags hung under his eyes as he read. You couldn’t tell what he was reading about, but you had your guesses. Suddenly, Dean looked up, and turned to face your general direction. He huffed and returned to his book. This hadn’t happened before. 

                  You heard him mumble, “Nothing’s watching you stupid, you’re just tired.”

                  Silently, you headed outside of the bathroom and began for the door.

                  “I’ll just wait outside for the bus, thank you!” You waved.

                  “That’s alright. Have a good one.” 

                  Bus or no bus, you weren’t waiting. You ran behind the building where you were sure no one could see you and began another spell, this one to take you to Bobby’s house. A strong gust of wind blew around you and dust kicked up causing you to close your eyes. Your feet lifted off the ground and the next thing you knew, you were being knocked back onto the ground with force. You groaned, rolling over on the ground and slowly picked yourself back up. You hadn’t been this tired in a long time and you didn’t think the sudden use of so much magic was helping either. 

                  Wordlessly, you walked towards the front door. No one would believe that it was you, especially not Bobby. On the porch you questioned how you’d enter. “Surprise, I’m alive” didn’t seem like the best option, but there didn’t seem to be a better route. You put your hand on the knob of the door and beckoned it to unlock. The click under your fingers signified the effectiveness of your deed and you silently walked inside. Closing the door behind you, you listened for noise. You heard the familiar creaking of the kitchen floor and silently crept through.

                  You peered into the room, not seeing anyone, but sensing that someone must be there.

                  Almost whispering, you said aloud, “Dean?” “Bobby?” “Sammy?” 

                  The moment you stepped inside, a strong arm wrapped around your body and the cool touch of a blade’s edge rested on your neck.

                  Dean’s voice, laced with fury and hate filled the room, “What the fuck are you?” 

                  “Dean it’s me. It’s me! I don’t know why, but it’s me!” Your hands clawed at his arm, trying to get him off you. 

                  “I don’t believe you.” “It was you watching earlier, wasn’t it?” 

                  Before you could answer, you heard running coming from some other part of the house, into the kitchen where you were, “Dean what’s wrong?” 

                  Bobby came in wielding his gun and aimed it at you, “Who the hell are you?” He roared.

                  “Don’t shoot!” You yelled, “I’m Y/N, I’m telling you! Do the tests! Do it!” 

                  Dean’s grip loosened just enough at the offer so that you could disarm and throw him over you. You knew Bobby was trained on you now and you had to be quick. From in front of you, Dean came swinging with the knife he had just picked up, making you duck and jump out of the way. 

                  “I’m telling you the truth!” You swore loudly, “I’m not some demon, Dean.” “Bobby, put that down!”

                  “Like hell you are.” Bobby spat at you.

                  From where he was, Bobby threw a pitcher of holy water at you, waiting for you to ignite somehow. 

                  You spat the water out of your mouth and blinked hard, moving from Dean’s aim as you did. With a shriek, you slipped across the wet floor and into the counter with a thud. Your hip would be bruised after that. 

                  “Dean, hold the fort, I’m getting the flames!” Bobby ran out of the room and left you and Dean alone.             

                  Seeing you vulnerable, Dean jumped onto you, trying to slash at whatever he could before you threw him off you again, cringing a bit when he hit the ground and got right back up to swing once more. 

                  “Dean-” You were exasperated, “That’s enough!” 

                  You threw your arms out and light pulsated from your fingertips. Everything froze in the room where it was, unable to move. Bobby came running back in and before he could make it inside, you sealed off the entrances to the kitchen with a clear wall. His screams for Dean could be heard from the barrier you made. He could see everything happening but couldn’t do anything. 

                  “Give me this!” You took the silver knife from Dean’s hand and stood in front of him, your eyes welling up after getting your first good look at him in months.

                  He looked worse in person. His eyes were red and heavy bags sagged his skin. His undereye was stained purple and a small stubble had grown out. It looked like he’d been wearing the same clothes for more than a day now, and sleep was nowhere to be seen from him.

                  You sighed and dragged the knife across your forearm, “If I were some monster, I couldn’t do this.” 

                  Blood spilled from the spot you dragged the blade over and you softly gasped in pain, squeezing the area once you knew Dean had seen it. 

                  With desperation, you looked at Dean, “Good enough?” 

                  While he was still frozen in place, tears streamed down his cheeks and you released him from the hold, still maintaining the walls to keep Bobby out. You wanted to see him, but you needed Dean first. 

                  Dean released from his frozen state, throwing himself forward at you and pulling you to your knees. He wept as his body shook, arms wrapping in a death grip around you. You cried too, not minding the blood that was now dripping onto the floor. Dean pulled back after a few moments and looked you over. His hands went from being tangled in your hair to wiping the tears off your face and dragging his fingers along your jawline.

                  “It’s really me Dean.” You cried, “I told you I’d always come back to you.”

                  “I tried to find you.” He sobbed, “I promise, I tried to find you.”

                  You raked your fingers through his hair, “You’re okay Dean. You did a good job.” 

                  “Sammy. He left a little while ago to get food.” Dean started rattling things off out of pure shock, telling you about things you hadn’t asked him for, gauging your every reaction to see if you were real. 

                  “Y/N!” You heard Bobby call from the other room, “Let me in damn it!” 

                  The boarder dropped between the kitchen and hall, and he came barreling in, scooping you up into a bear hug and wiping away his tears.

                  “We haven’t stopped looking for a way to get you back since you died.” He said, “It’s not been the same.” 

                  You talked for a second before turning back to Dean who grabbed you once again, not letting you go this time. The two of you stood there forever, basking in each other’s presence. There was little to say but for the occasional “I love you” and “I missed you”. Sam had come back and fondly dropped all the dinner he had just picked up in shock. 

                  Hours came and passed, and the day turned into night. You were disgusting from being in a casket from a year and smelled like dirt and grime. Dean hadn’t left your side all day and wasn’t planning on it anytime soon.

                  You mumbled against his chest “I need a shower.” The two of you were laying on the sofa in silence. 

                  Dean sighed and pulled the two of you off the couch, wordlessly walking you upstairs into the room he was staying in and shutting the door behind him. He kept constant watch over you to make sure you were still there. No matter what you were doing, he was there. It was impossible to do anything alone, even use the bathroom. Dean was convinced you’d slip away, and he’d never see you again. The sound of the shower’s running water pulled you out of your thoughts. Sincere green eyes looked in yours as he hooked his fingers around the hem of your shirt.

                  “You’re fine.” You said softly.

                  With permission to proceed, Dean pulled your remaining clothes off and did the same for himself, guiding the two of you under the hot stream of water. You flinched feeling the water for the first time in what felt like 100 years, startling Dean.

                  He searched for an obvious indicator of what was wrong, “Are you okay?” 

                  “I’m fine.” You answered, “Just not used to this.” 

                  Dean nodded, “tell me if you get uncomfortable.” 

                  From the corner of the shower, Dean grabbed a bottle of your shampoo and lathered it in his hands after you had washed the dirt off your body.

                  “You kept that?” You asked astonished, tears welling up again.

                  “Smells like you. I couldn’t get rid of it.” “The day I got rid of it was the day I accepted that you were gone.” 

                  Dean held you close to him and washed your hair as warm tears streamed down your face. You sniffled and Dean looked at you again, wrapping you in a warm embrace and letting his own tears flow.

                  “I didn’t know what to do without you.” He said honestly, “I can’t function without you.”

                  “I’m sorry Dean.” You said into his shoulder, “I never wanted to leave you.” “I had to.”

                  “I know. It’s our job.” He sniffled, “You did a good thing.” “Let’s just not do it again.”

                  “Agreed.” You chuckled, feeling the last of the conditioner he had run through your hair rinse out.

                  The two of you dried off and changed. He gave you a set of sweatpants and one of his t shirts you always liked to wear. Wordlessly, the two of you fell onto the bed and held each other closely. His breath fanned against your skin in a warm sweep.

                  “Hey. Look at me.” He said, his fingers resting under your chin and pulling you to look at him, “Are you okay?”

                  You hadn’t thought about this yet, only being concerned that you were breathing and with Dean. The flashes of what you currently remembered from hell blipped against your memory and the spaced look you gave Dean told him what he needed to know before you said it.

                  “No.” you answered calmly, “But I know I will be.” 

                  Dean looked at you and spoke sternly but softly, “Don’t hide anything from me. If you have a nightmare, wake me up. If you start feeling all weird about it tell me. I love you Y/N. I don’t want you to hurt.” 

                  “I promise.” You answered, “I love you two.”                  It was a little while before you felt yourself drifting to sleep, but after a while you managed to. You’d deal with the nightmares and daydreams about hell later. For now, all that mattered was that you were back where you belonged. You were back with Dean.

[heartyluv]

Note: I was completely inspired by @stargirlygirl and her werewolf!caleb story, so please go check it out! I adored it. I bounced some ideas back and forth with her, too—like she’s just amazing. This is something new, something that kinda makes me delve a little more into the writer in me, so I hope you guys like it! Enjoy!

Creds to @/strangergraphics for the dividers!

Warning: SonOfSatan!Caleb/Reader (if that offends you, just don’t read), demons are prevalent and a problem, you get attacked, killing, blood, guns, swords, knives—literally just a lot LOLLL, Caleb’s nickname for you in this series—if we continue—is Phoenix

Word Count: 3K

Summary: A night that was supposed to be normal—routine—is flipped upside down when you’re attacked by a demon.

Devilish Expectations - Part One

You look at Mr. Arthur Winfred with boredom and slight amusement as he tries to explain to you why he’s making his fifth return of the week—and it’s only Wednesday. The older man had a habit of buying items, using them for whatever he needed, and bringing them back when they’ve fulfilled their purpose.

You understood a hustle—hell, you appreciated it. It didn’t hurt a multi-billion dollar cooperation if customers did things like this every now and again. But where you worked wasn’t that.

It’s a small tool and home improvement shop owned by an older couple who actually went to high school with the bald man in front of you. They told you all about how he used to do sly things like this back then and at first, it wasn’t a big deal to them.

Until he kept doing it.

The cycle began with one item every other month that then became at least three. Once he started making it an almost weekly occurrence, they had to put a pin in it—as they were losing profit and materials.

None of the workers and cashiers are allowed to let it slide after boss man made it explicitly clear to turn him away or threaten to call him if he didn’t heed the warning. It was a funny factoid to learn that despite the borderline scamming, Arthur was scared to death of Richard Leland.

The rule was clear: He’s still allowed to shop, but he is to keep his purchases. No returns.

“Mr, Winfred, you know I can’t accept this.” You look down at the torn box that contained a clearly used power drill. The least he could do was return the item in pristine condition to give himself a little credit, but his level of not-giving-a-damn was kind of admirable.

“I don’t know why! You accepted the last few items this week!” The wrinkles in his forehead shift as he tries to make his case, seemingly having this idea that he isn’t wrong.

“I accepted one item and that was only because Mr. Leland said I could,” you quirk a brown and push the box back to him. He was costing the Leland’s money with his scheming, no matter how funny you thought it was.

“So you’re not gonna take it?”

“I won’t. But I can call Richard—”

“Nope, nope,” he waves his hand in the air, sliding the box off the counter and under his arm. “You got it. I’ll just go somewhere where customers are heard and appreciated!”

“I’ll see you next week, Mr. Winfred!” you call out as he pushes the door open, causing the bell above it to jingle.

You huff out a breath as you look at the time. 8:17 PM. You need to get home soon. Like clockwork, your phone pings with a text message from your uncle.

Uncle G: You on your way home?

You: Not yet. I clock out at 8:30 today.

Uncle G: You know the rules. In the house before 9 and lock every door and window til I get back.

You: And don’t open the door for anyone, I know.

Uncle G: Good. I’ll see you in the morning.

Uncle Gabriel is the coolest and most secretive man you know. After your mother died for reasons he refuses to share until he believes you’re ready, he took his sister’s only daughter under his wing. He’s told you the story before—how he uplifted everything to move to this small city to give you a better life away from the town that harbored too many bad memories.

He’s been successful thus far and you couldn’t be more grateful for him.

There was a time where you once tried to figure out what happened to your mother, to all the family that you didn’t have besides Uncle G, but he was very serious in his words when he told you to stick to what you’re “supposed” to.

“The time will come where you will wish you didn’t know. Enjoy the bliss of ignorance while you have it.”

He’s dramatic like that, but you’re not some rebel who needs to go against his words so blatantly that it could put you at risk. You trust your uncle and he’s never steered you wrong. If he tells you not yet, then there was reason for it—but that didn’t mean you needed to conclude your own search entirely.

He didn’t know that you would pick the lock to his office to rummage through his notes and old material that unfortunately always led to a dead end. Every journal, note, map—it surprisingly did absolutely nothing for you when you tried to utilize the contents to seek answers.

Even if you wished there was another way, you’ve decided to settle for the reality: When the time comes for you to know—whatever it is—you can only hope that the damage it may cause you isn’t irreparable.

It’s your uncle being the protective man he is that you respect his choices. He used to believe he could keep such a crucial part of himself from you. One could only go so long with having pristine blades, fully loaded guns and ammunition, and new scars that showed up on the daily before the five year old they had stumbling around wanted to know what it was all for.

Demon Hunter, he told you with the straightest face. And you believed him. You had no reason not to.

But he decided to show you how serious he was when he took little you to witness him kill a demon for the first time in a controlled environment. You never forgot the way it screeched, hissed—how it taunted and teased with mirth in its eyes. It was a small thing, but it reeked and looked like something that came straight from Hell. Uncle G cut it down with precision, but he gave you his keynotes as he moved with grace.

They’ve always been among us.

They do not have fear.

They do not have mercy.

They will kill. And they will laugh as they do it.

Of course it stuck with you. Uncle G used to call himself a naive idiot for thinking it was better to keep you in the dark than it was to prepare you. He just wanted to let you grow up normal. You respected that. But you didn’t want to be like the rest of humanity who would fall victim to the unknown.

It was unfortunate that you couldn’t shout from the rooftops that demons were real, but Uncle made sense when he said, “Human beings are not reasonable creatures. They will target the ones trying to warn them rather than the things they are being warned about. It’s not selfish to keep it a secret. It is for our protection.”

They were starting to learn their existence though, as attacks started becoming more and more frequent around the country. Of course people tried to come up with “realistic” explanations for what the creatures were. While the damage being caused and the conversations sparked worried the both of you, there was only so much you could do as an experienced hunter and one who only knew how to take down a few small ones at a time.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Mr. and Mrs. Leland!” you call out shortly after 8:30 hits to the couple that are briefly organizing some things before they close up.

“Get home safe, hon!” Mrs. Leland’s pitchy voice bids you.

When you step outside, you’re greeted by the heady smell of rain and the discomfort it brings in humid temperatures. You hated summer, but you adored the rain it brought.

You look down at your phone on your way to the bus stop, concluding that seeing it being further away than you’d like, it made more sense to do the  twenty minute walk over waiting.

With your headphones popped in your ear, you make quick work to text your best friend for whenever she gets off work tonight, too.

Me: Heading home. Call me later?

You expected to have to wait at least an hour, but she texted you surprisingly fast.

Viola: You got it, babe.

Smiling to yourself, you pick a playlist to begin your short journey. You admire how the quiet city passes you by, all the cars with individuals inside living and experiencing their own lives without a thought in the world that there is in fact something bigger than them out there.

You turn down the alleyway that gets you home quicker, thankful for the warm light the store owners keep lit when the sun goes down. It’s not long until you’re walking down the sidewalk that leads to the small home that’s big enough for you and Uncle G. Nothing is out of the ordinary as you hum to yourself.

Until you get closer to see the blood on the porch and the door that’s wide open.

“What the hell…” you mumble to yourself. You quickly look around to see no neighbors disturbed or any sense of urgency. And you don’t hear anything, but you know there’s a problem. Besides the blood, Uncle G was thorough and he’s never done anything reckless like leaving your door wide fucking open.

You reach in your bag for the small pocket knife you keep with you, switching the blade to be revealed as you carefully make your way to your residence. When you’re greeted by the stench that you’ve become too familiar with, worry consumes your heart with each foot that goes up the wooden steps.

“Uncle G?” you whisper, passing the blood trail that leads into your home and onto the floors you just mopped two day ago. The reality of how things can change so fast settles disturbingly in your gut.

There’s no light on besides the dim one on the porch behind you and it doesn’t illuminate up your path well enough the deeper you go. Finding the switch on the wall to your left, you gasp when you see the house in complete disarray. The coffee table was flipped and broken, the TV was destroyed, and the doors to all the rooms were broken off the hinges.

If you didn’t know any better, you would think this was a home invasion. Because of the smell that never fails to make you gag, you know this wasn’t a human being’s doing.

You frantically reach into your pocket to grab your phone to see if you could reach your uncle at all. As you get ready to select his contact, you hear the loudest footsteps making their way up the back steps, then ramming into the door that leads to the backyard over and over as the sheer force makes the contents around you shake.

In shock, you freeze when the weak wood is breached, a slimy gray hand with absurd fingers trying to grab at anything it can. The putrid smell grows and the reality that there is a big fucking demon right outside confirms everything you were thinking.

Your home was found and invaded.

This is what Uncle G has prepared you for. You put your knife in your pocket, run to your bedroom and grab the gun he gifted you a few years ago, making sure it’s loaded before you come back out to lay every bullet you have into this thing.

The acrid smell of gunpowder stings your nose with every pull of trigger.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you exclaim. It doesn’t even seem to be phased.

The demon laughs as if to mock you in your attempts to kill it, not disturbed at all by the hot metal that should’ve at least slowed it down. The slide of the gun locks to reveal that you’re empty after you release your last few, but you have no time to try and reload when the horrid beast pushes into the space it now makes tight, growling with teeth so sharp it makes your skin crawl.

It comes at you full speed with as much of it that its heavy weight allows, knocking down any and everything around and in its path. You dodge its gnarly grasp, running toward the kitchen to retrieve the katana like blade your Uncle hid for situations like this that had the potential to arise.

You used to think it was ridiculous to hide weapons in the house—that demons would never find where you rested your head. It’s working out for you now.

Well, you thought it would.

As you charge to get your first swing at the tall demon’s ugly face, it grins with pride when it stops your attack with its bare hand. Black blood pools down the weapon as you look up at it in shock. You‘re stunned by it’s lack of reaction to the pain, how it accepts the deep cut in its palm.

You’re not ready. Not for whatever the hell this is.

You try to make a run for it, remembering Uncle G’a words.

“There is no shame in fleeing. If it means you will live to defeat another, then flee.”

But it’s fast, grabbing you by the back of your shirt with its other bloated hand. Lifting you into the air, you screech when it slams you back down, completely knocking the wind out of you. You cough heavily, struggling to bring your breath back.

You can’t even move because of the sharp pain from being thrown into the hardwood floor without care.

“No,” you mumble when it moves closer, the mighty hand coming down to lift you up by the throat. You try to beat on its arm as your feet dangle, but you’re so weak and it’s stronger than anything you’ve ever known.

Your legs can’t reach far enough to kick and your fists are just as useless as the katana. With loud bangs, you’re hit against the wall three times.

Pain blooms all along your body.

Was this it? Dying before you even had the chance to try?

Just as you start to accept this unfortunate fate because you’re not really in the position to do anything else, a fist surrounded by a mix of blue and orange fire tears through the skin and muscle of the monster. You never thought that today would be the day you’d learn that the smell of a demon’s sizzling flesh is even worse than what it is on its own.

For the first time, it yells in pain, its grip loosing to drop you entirely.

Dry heaving on the floor, the sounds of struggle mingle and become a blur in the background.

“Master…Caleb?” the demon questions as if betrayed before roaring in determination.

Master? A person sent this?

You don’t bother watching, already hearing that whatever is happening is something you need to get away from. You need to find your Uncle now.

As they fight, the person who you assume to be Caleb is speaking, but you’re in so much pain that it’s incoherent. With all the strength you can muster, you start to drag yourself toward your phone that fell from you during the struggle.

But you freeze when the noise around you does the same.

You turn your head as best you can, seeing the demon of that magnitude slain in record time. Its blood soils and blackens your floor, inching closer to you the more it pools beneath the gross body.

The outline of the man beside the dead demon is blurry due to the throbbing in your skull. He starts to approach you and panic fuels in your already damaged body as you wonder if you would’ve rather tried to take on the creature or this Caleb with flames in his hands that seems to have delivered it to your front door in the first place.

You weren’t hallucinating, you were sure. You felt the flames near your face when he punched through it.

He had to be a demon, too. Being so unperturbed about everything as he didn’t even utter a sign of struggle. Being called its damn master. Flames.

You’ve seen demons fight each other. But why over you? Why in your house?

His presence becomes overwhelming behind you. With your arm that rests on the floor, you struggle to use your fingers to dig your knife out of your pocket. Boots thud on the hardwood floor and the smell of something sweet battles with the smell of the dead demon when he gets closer.

With the brief second that passes, you believe he’s crouched. It’s like you can feel him studying you closely. So with your last bit of fight, you thrust your knife out and into him. Weakly, you grunt as your hand drops when you push out your final shot of effort. The man doesn’t even react before he flips you on your back, forcing you look up at him.

Even past your disorientation, you can tell he’s handsome. Damn prick.

You smile to yourself to see that your blade did in fact make contact, lodged right in his shoulder. You’re proud of yourself even if it doesn’t seem to have bothered the brute.

“That’s no way to thank the man who just saved your life, now is it?” he teases, making you clench your jaw. Similar to that demon, he doesn’t bat an eye when he pulls out the blade. You want to be relieved that his blood is red rather than black, but a strong demon can deceive. You’ve heard of the shapeshifter ones. Maybe it’s making you see things.

“Can you move? Well, anymore?” he tilts his head with a smirk. “Seems like you’ve exhausted yourself in that final attempt.”

You don’t offer him any response, simply scowling at with all you can. Trying to to seem intimidating despite your state is all you’ve got going for your right now.

“You want me to leave, don’t you?” he chuckles breathlessly when you barely nod.

“It’s too bad that we need to talk. Us and your uncle. I’ll take care of you until he gets back.”

You want to fight, to stand and handle him until it kills you—demand how he knows about your uncle. But the nauseating ache in your bones won’t even let you try.

“Rest, Phoenix. I got it.”

The gentleness of his tone is the last thing you hear before your eyes involuntarily shut.

A/N: Be COMPLETELY honest with me. KEEP GOING OR NAHHH!?!? I know stories like this isn’t everyone cup of tea either, so if you don’t want to be tagged, please don’t hesitate to let me know! I completely understand.

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