#trying to grasp my sanity here

[rainrot4me]

A Little R & R (Rest and Relaxation, Raw and Rough)

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

───────────────────────────────────── leave - whirr

── .✦ do not copy, translate, or plagiarize any of my works. dividers by me.

CONTAINS NSFW, MINORS DNI

✦ . Summary: From breaking and entering, to scaring you half to death, the proxies have never been conventional lovers. So why would relaxing with you after a hard day at work be any different?

✦ . Characters: {Separate} Jeff the Killer x Female Reader, Ticci Toby x Female Reader, Masky x Female Reader, Hoodie x Female Reader

✦ . Warning: Teasing, vaginal fingering, choking, dirty talk, overstimulation

✦ . Words: 16.2k (~4k per section)

✦ . Note: Is this a little self indulgent? Absolutely. But work has been kicking my ass and a good fingering down from the proxies would set me straight, so I come bearing gifts. Thank you again to my lovely lovely friend @z0l0fft for her beautiful art!!!! Words cannot describe my love.

────────────────────────────────────────────

You’re tired. 

Not just tired—drained. The kind of tired that settles into the marrow of your bones and makes you feel like even blinking is too much effort.

You stand on the front steps of your house for a second longer than necessary, keys in hand, bag slung over your shoulder, and try to summon the energy to go inside. Your muscles ache. Your neck hurts. Every part of your body begs for the sweet mercy of a hot shower and soft clothes. It’s cold out here, the nighttime air unforgiving. It’s all you can do not to collapse on the stairs outside.

The keys rattle in your hand as you finally slide one into the lock, twisting it until the door unlatches with a muted click. You shove the door open with your shoulder, stepping into the dark. The familiar scent of home greets you—laundry detergent, the faint trace of that candle you lit last night, something faintly musky that’s just… you.

You sigh, shoulders slumping with relief as you kick your shoes off one at a time. Your bag hits the floor with a muted thud, but you could care less to remember if there was anything valuable inside. You shrug your jacket off, tossing it haphazardly onto the hook. It’s your sanctuary, your space to finally breathe, not having to perform for your dumbass coworkers any longer. 

Work sucks. Everyone knows that, especially you.

There’s just something about a 2pm to 12am job that makes you want to rip everyone’s throat out, including your own. The money is nice, but some days you wonder if it’s worth your sanity and the constant back pain.

You start walking toward the kitchen, already reaching to loosen the tension from your neck, mentally checking off what leftovers might be in the fridge. Are you even hungry? You round the corner,

And stop cold.

The back door is wide open.

The long glass pane stares back at you like an eye, wind pushing it gently so it sways on its hinges, creaking faintly. The night air curls around your ankles, carrying the sharp, damp scent of wet leaves and earth. It raises goosebumps on your arms.

You blink, stunned for a moment, almost unsure you’re really seeing what you’re seeing. You never forget to lock that door. Ever. It's a habit, muscle memory, you could lock that thing in your sleep. There’s one too many home invasion cases on the news for you to just be comfortable with an easily accessible back door.

“…No,” you whisper under your breath. “No, I didn’t leave that open.”

Your heart gives a small jolt in your chest.

Immediately your mind reaches for something rational, something safe. Him. Maybe he came by. Maybe he used his key. Maybe he forgot to shut the door all the way. But even as you grasp for the thought, it doesn’t settle. He doesn’t forget things like that. He’s careful��always has been, he has to be. 

“Hello?” you call out, voice already tense. “Anyone here?”

No answer. You mentally punch yourself, you’re no better than the stupid girls who you make fun of in horror movies. 

Your house is still. The silence feels unnatural, forced, like it’s trying to hide something from you.

A pinprick of unease worms its way into your spine. You move quickly to the opposite side of the kitchen, flipping on every light switch available and illuminating the entire dining/living area. It doesn’t ease the pit in your stomach, but at least nothing can sneak up on you. You rummage through your broom closet in the laundry room, grabbing the wooden broom leaning against the doorframe. It’s not much, but at least there’s something for you to protect yourself with. You will not be as dumb as those horror movie chicks.

Your voice rises, more firm this time. “Seriously, if this is a joke, it’s not funny.”

Still no reply.

Your breath catches in your throat. You start moving from room to room, switching on lights as you go. The living room? Empty. Bathroom? Empty. Guest room? Nothing. You scan every corner, every shadow, peek behind every door with broom gripped tightly in hand.

The tension grows with every room you clear. The open doors groan behind you, the breeze from outside trailing in like fingers sliding across your back. The feeling of being watched is as strong as ever, and now you feel like you could throw up.

Your bedroom is the last place left.

You step in and flick the light on. The room is empty. Neat. Undisturbed.

And yet… your heart won’t stop racing. The hairs on your arms are standing straight up, and there’s a pit forming in your gut again, deep and cold.

You take a step back into the hall, gripping the flashlight tighter, half-waiting for something, anything, to jump out.

“Okay,” you whisper, trying to convince yourself. “Okay, it’s fine. I’m just tired. I’m overthinking this. He probably—he probably just stopped by, right? Left in a hurry. Right?”

You want to believe it. God, you want to believe it.

But then, just as your breathing starts to slow, just as you start to think maybe it really is nothing—

Arms wrap around you from behind.

A strong grip, smooth and steady, sliding across your waist, locking tight before you can even scream. You freeze. Your body goes stiff, lungs seizing as hot breath ghosts over your neck, close, too close.

You can’t move. You can’t even think. The broomstick is rendered useless in your hands. 

Until you hear that all-too-familiar chuckle humming into your ear…

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ JEFF THE KILLER

“Miss me, baby?”

You shoved the blunt end of the broomstick back with everything you had. It didn’t land hard, but it startled him enough that he stepped back with a laugh.

You whipped around, heart pounding in your chest like a war drum, and there he was.

Jeffrey.

His grin was still spread wide across that pale face, lips too stretched, eyes too sharp, the darkness under them as deep as ever. His hoodie hung off his frame like always, smudged with god-knows-what, hair falling wild around his face. He looked like something from a nightmare.

But he was your nightmare. And right now, he was standing in your hallway with his hands up in mock surrender and a cocky smirk like he hadn’t just scared the absolute hell out of you.

“God—Jeff!” you snapped, pressing a hand to your chest. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Too much to list, babe,” he said smoothly, taking a step toward you. “You looked so serious. I had to mess with you a little.”

“You left the door wide open.”

“I left it ajar.”

“Wide. Open.” You glared at him, storming past him toward the back door to slam it shut. “I thought someone broke in. I was about to call the cops.”

Jeff snorted, following you lazily. “Yeah? That would’ve gone well.”

You stopped and looked at him. “What if it wasn’t you?”

“It was,” he shrugged. “I got here first.”

“That’s not the point!”

Your voice cracked under the weight of the day. Between exhaustion, stress, and now this emotional whiplash, your eyes burned with unshed tears. You turned away, biting down on the frustration. You didn’t want to cry, not in front of him, not now, not ever.

“…Hey,” Jeff said softly after a moment, voice losing that teasing edge. “C’mon. Don’t be mad.”

You didn’t respond, just walked toward the kitchen to start your evening routine, collecting your abandoned bag from the ground and dumping your keys and phone on the counter. You opened the fridge, stared inside, then closed it again.

Jeff padded in behind you, quieter now. The change in mood was subtle, but real. He watched you for a second, then leaned his weight against the counter beside you.

“Rough day?” he asked, voice quieter this time.

You shrugged. “Same shit. You know how it is.”

“I don’t,” he smirked. “My day involved a guy’s trachea and a folding knife.”

You rolled your eyes. “Of course it did.”

“I brought you something,” he offered.

You looked over at him warily. “Is it a severed finger again?”

“…No.”

“Because last time you said you brought me something, it was in a ziplock bag and I still have nightmares.”

Jeff chuckled. “Okay, this time, it’s better.” He reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a single gas station chocolate bar, a little squished. He offered it to you like a peace treaty.

Your lips twitched despite yourself. “You stole this, didn’t you?”

“Obviously.”

You took it from him with a sigh and opened it. “Fine. You’re lucky I’m too tired to stay mad.”

He grinned and leaned in, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “You always say that.” His lips were cold and he smelled like outside, meaning he had definitely walked here from the mansion. Also meaning he probably intended on staying the night. You didn’t mind, him being here made you feel safe.

You munched on the chocolate and walked toward the couch, flipping off all the lights you had turned on in your panic, and shedding your outer layer again as you sat with a deep exhale. “You’re not even supposed to be here tonight. You’re still on call, aren’t you?”

“I ditched early,” he said, dropping beside you like a cat, legs sprawled, arms resting behind his head. “Told Masky I had important business. And I do.”

“Oh yeah?” you asked, kicking your feet up. “What business is that?”

He tilted his head toward you, eyes hooded. “You.”

You shook your head with a soft, helpless laugh. “You’re such a pain in the ass.”

“And you love it.”

His hand found your thigh, fingers tracing patterns there while you chewed the last bite of chocolate. The warmth of his palm soothed more than it should have.

“…Missed you,” you admitted finally, softer now. “Even if you’re the worst.”

Jeff turned his face toward you, smile a little smaller now, but more real.

“Missed you too.”

You leaned your head back and closed your eyes, feeling the weight of the day finally start to lift. He didn’t leave your side. Just stayed there, content, his presence strange and comforting all at once.

Jeff’s hands were warm and steady, his touch deliberate as he pulled you closer onto his lap. The weight of your body against his felt grounding, like an anchor to the calm you hadn’t realized you’d been craving all day. His fingers curled lightly around your waist, easing the tension that had curled tight inside you since morning.

His breath brushed softly against your ear, low and rough in a way that sent a comforting shiver down your spine. 

“Hey,” he murmured, voice thick with something softer than you expected. “You don’t gotta be so tense.”

His lips traced a lazy path down your neck, featherlight kisses that felt like a balm on skin that had been cold and raw for hours. You could feel the slow unwinding beginning deep inside your chest, the tight coil of exhaustion loosening with each gentle touch.

One hand slipped beneath your shirt, fingertips ghosting along your ribs, memorizing the curves and the way your breath hitched when he found the tender spots. You closed your eyes, letting his touch carry you away from the harsh buzz of the day—the deadlines, the weight of responsibilities, the pressure that never seemed to ease.

Jeff’s other hand traveled lower, trailing along your thigh, fingertips tracing delicate circles that sent warmth blooming through your skin. 

“My girl is so stressed,” he whispered against your skin, voice a soft promise. “We gotta fix that, right?”

You leaned into him, back to chest, letting yourself breathe him in—the faint scent of smoke and earth and something darker, something utterly Jeff. His hands moved with slow certainty, sliding beneath the hem of your shirt, skin pressing against skin, grounding you in a way no words could. His fingertips were cold, but it wasn’t a terrible sensation.

His lips pressed firmly against yours, coaxing, teasing. The kiss was patient, undemanding, the kind that made your whole body still except for the slow burn growing inside your chest. His hands explored without hurry, mapping every line, every shiver, every breath you let slip.

They roamed down, fingers pushing past the waistband of your pants and slipping them down slowly, as if you wouldn’t be able to notice if he did it easy enough.

“Jeff,” you sighed, lying your head back onto his shoulder. 

The tightness in your jaw eased as he pressed his chin atop your shoulder, his eyes half-lidded with something raw and hungry. “Just relax,” Jeff breathed, his thumb tracing small, lazy patterns along your skin. “I’ve gotcha.”

You could feel tears prickling at the edges of your eyes—not from sadness, but relief. Relief that someone saw you, that someone wanted to take this burden away from you, even if only for a little while—even if that person used these same hands to end lives.

“You don’t have to fight it,” Jeff whispered, voice low and steady, coaxing you into surrender. “Let me help my baby out.”

He pushed the fabric of your pants down past your knees, the garment pooling onto your ankles as your thighs fell apart, kicking them off onto the carpet beneath.

The fabric of your panties was already damp, Jeff’s arm reaching around your hips to press his palm atop the fabric. He hummed in your ear, planting one wet kiss after another against the sensitive spot beneath your earlobe that he knew made chills run up your back.

You sighed, hands falling down beside you to grip the fabric of his jeans underneath, his arms wrapping around you tightly as you let your body relax into him.

“What so ever could they be doin’ to you at work to make you this tightly wound?”

“Jeffrey, do not talk to me about my job right now,” you huffed, gripping the side of his leg when he began to rub his thumb in tiny circles against your clothed clit. “You’re so mean.”

He chuckled, pressing his thumb down firmly. “That so?”

Jeff’s fingers were now rubbing against your folds through your panties, causing you to moan at the friction. He playfully nipped at your neck before looking at you with eyes that look like he wanted to eat you alive.

You were close to nagging at him for teasing so bad, until he’s moving both hands away from your cunt and up under the fabric of your shirt, sliding it up your stomach and over your bra, letting it bunch up on your chest under your chin.

“Jesus, I love you,” he groaned, palming your tits through your bra, squeezing them enough to make you whine, then letting them go. You could feel his bulge hardening against your back, the length pressing against your tailbone as Jeff slid his hands back down your stomach to the hem of your panties.

You reached your hands behind you, blindly searching for Jeff’s belt, before his hand snatched your arms forward.

“Nuh uh,” he warned, moving both of your hands back to your front and readjusting the two of you so you weren’t sitting directly on his bulge. “I’m takin’ care of you, baby.”

“You’re telling me the Jeffrey Woods doesn’t want to get off? Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?”

“Enough,” he groans, slipping his fingers under the hem of your panties and dragging them down your thighs. You lift your hips, helping him get them down your knees and off your ankles. He cups his left hand under your knee, pulling your thighs apart as you place your right foot on the couch next to his leg. You gasp when the cold air hits your damp folds, but Jeff’s hand quickly comes to remedy that.

“Now shut up,” he grumbles, licking lewd little circles on your neck, thumbing open your puffy folds to watch in amazement at the way you glisten and clamp around nothing.

You sigh, letting your head fall limp against his shoulder as you watch his face, his brows knotted and concentrated as he runs his fingers through your slick, easing you more.

He pressed the pads of his fingers against your clit, swiping slowly back and forth, sending the nerves in your legs and stomach jerking, legs nearly closing if it weren’t for his hand tugging them back apart.

You tilted your hips up, trying to get his fingers to push down further to where your cunt was weeping and clamping around, sadly, nothing. You’re soaked, pussy lips practically glistening in the glow of your table-side lamp. Your whines were enough to make Jeff chuckle, the vibration of it against your back. “So impatient.”

“I don’t like to be teased, you kno—oh…”

You can’t even finish your sentence before his two middle fingers are pushing against your entrance, the first inches of them slotting in and out, loosening you up. You huff a gasp, stomach clenching as your walls immediately clamp tight around the thick digits, sucking them in greedily. Jeff watches over your shoulder with hungry amusement.

“This all for me? Shit, baby, I’m gonna have to ruin you.”

Jeff never has and never will be a patient man, no matter how breathy your moans are when his two middle fingers begin to pump deeper and deeper into your cunt with each jerk of his wrist. He doesn’t stop until he gets knuckle-deep, letting your filthy hole clamp and flutter around him, before massaging his fingertips against your walls.

“Ah, yeah—right there-” you groan, letting your knees fall limp apart as you reach behind your head to grip into the back of Jeff’s hair. The veins running up his forearm are bulging, muscles tensing as he begins to pump his fingers in and out, dragging the hilt of his palm against your clit with every jerk.

There’s no room to catch your breath, no time to readjust your body as it slips down his chest and further into his lap, only relying on Jeff’s hold on you to keep yourself upright. You grab and tug at his hair, searching for anything grounding as his knuckles bulge in and out of the first tight ring of muscle, cunt stretching across his fingers when he begins to scissor into you slowly.

You didn’t get to dwell in the feeling for too long before his fingers were slipping out of you, fingers soaked all the way to the knuckles as he dragged them back up to your clit and began massaging, faster this time. Harder.

“Oh shit—okay-” you whine, thighs instinctively trying to close back together, but Jeff’s grip holding tight as always. You tried to sit back up, to give your body some relief, but Jeff just pressed his fingers down harder.

“You’ve got it, babe. Don’t go runnin’ from it.” He growled, plunging them back into your cunt and starting to fuck them inside of you quickly. He gave you no time to adjust, curling and crooking his fingers to snag against every sensitive spot he knew all-too-well, his thumb rubbing circles into your clit.

“Jeff—hah—hold on-”

“No can do. Gotta finish what we started, right?”

Pulling back to tease your folds with your own slick, he plunges into your swollen pussy once more, easily hitting that spot over and over. 

“Hngh- Jeff, more!” You grind your hips to meet his merciless rhythm, clenching around his fingers. 

You feel as if you’re losing your sanity when he adds in another finger, walls burning as your cunt stretches around his thick digits, rhythmically curling upward. The noises are so lewd, wet squelching and skin slapping filling up the quiet noises of your house.

It’s halted when he’s dragging his fingers out again, moving to swipe against your twitching clit as he had before, but this time with a faster pace. More focused on making your lips fall open and whines of sensitivity slip from you. “Ah—hah, Jeff, c’mon-”

“Now now…not yet,” he tuts mockingly.

“Please, Jeff. Please let me cum.”

“Begging? Really?” He chides, pushing three fingers back into your sloppy with no resistance anymore, your cunt open and weeping around the stretch. “You really must be tired, huh?”

You feel his cock twitch against your back, jeans stretching over the bulge that reminds you he’s enjoying this just as much as you are. Well, you’d be enjoying this a lot more if you could fucking cum. Every time you get that familiar feeling, his fingers are slipping back and forth between hole and clit, ruining any build-up you had.

It took you jerking his hair and turning your face into the side of his neck with pitiful whines before he finally nestled his fingers deep inside again, sheathing them to the knuckle. Increasing his pace, abusing your g-spot relentlessly, Jeff knew by your breathy moans of his name that you were getting close. 

His left hand moves from under your knee, letting it drop atop his leg and dangle with all the exhaustion you held. His now-free hand wanders the expanse of your body—groping your breasts, gripping your hips back, forcing your ass to grind back into his clothed length. All the while your soft mewls making him grin.

Jeff’s hand, blister riddled and fingers calloused from years of weaponry, finally rest on your face. He pushes your cheeks together, drool pooling at the corner of your mouth and forcing you to look at him. Your dazed eyes meet his darkened ones, a smug grin as he rubs his thumb hard against your clit.

“Look at me when you cum,” he murmurs raspily into your neck, teeth ghosting over your rapid pulse. You couldn’t look away if you tried, his lips ghosting up your jaw and across your cheek until they planted firm on your puffed ones.

He tugs his fingers out, before slamming them just right inside of you. All you know is you’re cumming all over Jeff’s fingers, hands clutching into his hair and eyes rolling just enough to make your head feel light. Jeff watches the entire time, wide eyes trained on the way your lips fall open.

“Fuck! Jeff- Jeffrey!” You whimper.

“Yeah, there you go. There you go.”

He keeps his palm pressed flat against your cunt, fingers clamped together by your constricting walls, letting you ride out every rippling wave of your orgasm. His hand is soaked, your juices dripping from your cunt and down the roundness of your ass, down onto his jeans. You’ve made a mess.

As your climax bates, he buries his face in your neck, kissing softly over your slowing pulse. “Did so good, baby. You did perfectly,” he breathes out, hugging you closer as if to hide this vulnerable moment. But you feel the heat of his cheeks on your skin. You also still feel his cock pressing into your ass.

Lifting your head, you admire Jeff’s hardened features. Face flushed, lips swollen, dark eyes half-lidded as he stares down at you in admiration.

“You’re merciless. Ruthless, even.” You huff out a low laugh.

“No doubt about it.” He finally slips his fingers from inside you, your teeth gritting as your walls try their best to hold him in place.

His fingers are soaked, tips nearly pruning from the wetness. More juices pool from your cunt, sending a shudder down your skin, goosebumps rising on your legs from the cold. But even with all the uncomfortableness of it, you can’t help but notice your head has quit hurting, body isn’t as sore, overall attitude less fogged from the day you’ve had.

“I need a shower. And food. And to sleep for the rest of my life.”

“I’m pretty good at making people sleep for the rest of their lives.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, Jeff’s arms wrapping under your back and twisting you sideways, his one arm scooping up your legs and lifting you up as he stands off the couch. He carries you towards your bedroom, holding you close to his chest.

“You take a shower, I’ll make you food.”

“Your cooking sucks.”

“You’ll get over it.”

He set you down on the bathroom counter, the cold tile making you hiss as he sauntered over to start the water in the shower.

You couldn’t help but notice the obvious stain on his thighs, dark wetness soaking into the thick fabric. You smiled, glancing up just enough to see that he was still very-much sporting a boner.

“Are you still hard?” You smile, teasing him as the water begins to warm, steam rolling over the glass. Jeff doesn’t answer, just rolls his eyes and walks over to help you off the counter, pushing you towards the shower.

You think for a moment before stepping in, turning to run a hand down his chest, heart thudding against his ribs.

“If you make me a grilled cheese, I’ll suck your dick before we go to bed.”

Jeff doesn’t need to be convinced any further. With a kiss against your cheek and a helping hand to get the rest of your clothes off, he’s disappearing back toward the kitchen with a jittery laugh.

“Deal. But don’t get mad if it’s burnt, alright?”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ MASKY

You froze.

A rush of cold spilled down your spine as two arms wrapped around your waist from behind, tight. But before panic could reach your throat or your hands could react with the broomstick, you heard a familiar breath—low, steady, a little tired.

“Hey,” came the voice, muffled against your shoulder. “It’s just me.”

Masky.

You let your tensed shoulders sag, releasing a sharp breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, and nearly dropping the broom on the ground.

He pulled you back a step, chest against your back, hands smoothing over your sides like he was trying to melt the stress out of your skin. “Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said quietly. “The door, I didn’t have time to close it before you were unlocking the front. My bad.”

You twisted in his arms enough to look up at him. Even with the mask still on, his body said everything—guilt in the way he ducked his head slightly, gentleness in the way he held you like something he didn’t want to break. Still, you glared with all the anger and fear burning in your body.

“You think?” you grit, voice shaky but slowly recovering. “I thought I was about to get murdered.”

“Evidently.” He eyed the broomstick squeezed in-between the two of you. You nudged him, and he gave a slow exhale, cupping your face like he was handling porcelain. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Really.”

And you believed him.

“I should have grabbed a knife. Maybe getting stabbed will teach you to not to sneak up on people.”

“I promise you, it wouldn’t.”

You leaned into his touch just a little. “You always sneak around like a damn ghost. You ever think of just knocking?”

He chuckled under his breath. “Wouldn’t be me if I did.”

You rolled your eyes, but the tension was already ebbing. You wanted to be upset with him, but the constant hardened look in Masky’s eyes always rolled unease off your shoulders. He kissed your forehead through the mask, then nodded toward the kitchen.

“Sit. You’re gonna tell me about your day, and I’m gonna make you something before you start melting into the floor. You look beat.”

You didn’t argue. You dragged your feet to the living room, switching off all the lights you had flipped in your panic, throwing the broom back into the closet, dropped into the couch, and watched him bustle around like someone who had done this a dozen times before. He made sure to shut the back door, too. Coffee brewed, a pastry from your cupboard was plated, and all the while, his eyes flicked back to you with that quiet protectiveness he wore like a second skin.

When he returned, he gently nudged your legs to drape over his lap as he sat next to you. You crossed your legs, calves lying atop his thighs, back pressed into the arm of the couch, as he handed over his gifts.

“Eat first,” he muttered. “Talk later.”

You sighed at the first touch of his hands kneading into your calves, thumbs pressing into the tight spots just right. It was maddening how good he was at this. The kind of man who knew the exact angle to dig into the muscle, the exact pressure to make it all unravel.

You ate what he had made you, sipping on the steaming coffee that Masky just always seemed to know how to brew just right no matter what brand you bought. When finished, you laid it on the table next to your couch.

“Long day?” he asked, his voice quieter now, slower. He ran a hand up to your knee, not asking for more than you were willing to give.

“The worst,” you murmured, letting your head fall back. “You ever feel like no matter how much you do, it’s never enough?”

“All the time,” he said simply.

He worked his way up your legs, then, shifting until your knees bent and he could pull you into his lap without resistance. You settled into him with a quiet sigh, your cheek against his shoulder, cradling you. He smelled like cold air and pine needles, something earthy that grounded you instantly.

He tilted your chin gently, mask still on, but his mouth pressed atop your head, chin resting there. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. But I’ll listen if you do.”

You hesitated. Then nodded.

And for a while, you just… talked. About the manager who wouldn’t leave you alone. About the customer who screamed over nothing. About how tired you were of pretending to be okay when really you just wanted the world to stop spinning for five minutes.

Masky didn’t say much—but his hands did. One arm around your waist, the other slowly brushing up and down your spine. Reassuring. Real. His mask shifted up his face while you spoke. First, above his mouth so you could see the dark facial hair across his jaw, then above his nose, then completely off, left on the table next to your dirty dishes. You tried not to make a show of seeing his face, but it always made you a little giddy when he removed his mask on his own.

And then—quietly, like he was asking permission—he lifted you just enough to shift you deeper into his lap. His other hand skimmed up your side, drawing idle circles as he began to press kisses to your shoulder, your neck, your jaw.

“Forget the rest of it,” he murmured. “Right now, it’s just me and you.”

The heat of him, the slow way his fingers ghosted over your ribs, the softness in his voice—it was everything you needed and nothing you deserved.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time,” he whispered. “Not with me.”

“Sam can be said about you, tough guy.”

He chuckled, but didn’t respond, so you continued.

“How was your day?”

He waited, thinking over his answer. “Had worse. But still not good. Left after everyone went to sleep ‘cause I decided I wanted to see you.” He paused for a second, glancing between you and the window outside. “I’ll be gone in the morning.”

“Don’t. Stay as long as you want. Anything to get you out of that mansion for a bit, yeah?”

“If you insist,” he chuckled.

You melted then, entirely, your fingers curling in the front of his shirt. Letting him kiss your worries away, one soft press at a time. Every nerve in your body quieted. Every fear, every sharp edge the day left behind, dulled under the warmth of his touch.

You didn’t need anything else.

Until his hand dipped in-between your thighs. 

It wasn’t rushing or assuming, but just a flat palm slid between the warmth of your legs and resting against the apex of your body. The touch was lightening, tired body shifting to life when the hilt of his hand pressed firm against your center.

”Masky…” you breathed between kisses, half a question and half a sigh of want. He didn’t make any movement, but he didn’t pull away either, just continued kissing.

“Tell me to stop if you wish. Just want to help you relax a lil’.” He hummed against your temple, his facial hair tickling against your cheek.

“No— Uh, no.” You hesitated, evaluating your own body and tiredness, then accepting the fact that now you would be too stirred to relax anymore after the move he had just made. “Want you. Need you.”

“Easy now, don’t get worked up.”

“Hypocrite,” you shoved his shoulder, twisting off of his lap and planting your feet on the ground. You stood in front of him, facing away, and began to unbutton your pants. Your cheeks burned, no doubt Masky being able to see the deep red on the tips of your ears as you shimmied your pants down your thighs and off your legs.

You heard the unstrapping of laces behind you, boots being kicked off of feet and jacket being thrown to the other side of the couch before hands were planting on your hips and turning you around.

You placed your hands on Masky’s shoulders, his fingertips tracing the stitching of your panties as he leaned forward to place slow, breathy kisses against your stomach through your shirt. He hooked your panties around his thumbs, then slowly slid them down your thighs and off with your pants behind you. 

Masky lifted the hem of your shirt, placing another kiss just below your belly button before he was sitting back to look up at you, eyes heavy-lidded and cheeks a dark shade of red. You ran your fingers through the short hairs at the back of his head, but before you could make a move to remove any more clothes—his or yours—Masky was grabbing your arms, turning you, and pulling you down onto his lap.

He shuffled you both back, laying long-ways on the couch with his back sitting up against the armrest. He laid your back against his chest, planting his feet into the cushion so your legs hard to spread around them, cold air hitting your center with a chill.

“Wha- You’re not even taking your shirt off?” You question, readjusting and making yourself comfortable on top of him, entire body laying against his. Masky just chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist and planting kiss after kiss against your neck.

“No need,” he hummed, running his hands down your waist and over the tops of your thighs, dipping under them to tug your legs back, pulling them apart. You planted your feet against each of his knees, socked feet slipping against the material of his jeans. “I scared you, so I have to make up for it somehow.”

“Ah, don’t say that,” you mumbled, hands tugging up the hem of your shirt as Masky’s rubbed further and further down. “I already forgave you.”

“Mhm. But I don’t see you stopping me.” You could feel his smirk against your jaw as he spoke, the deep baritone of his voice vibrating against your back. You would have given a retort back, but Masky was suddenly sitting up and hissing in pain.

“Wha-”

He reaches behind him, a click of something being unsnapped, and the rustling of metal. You’re jarred, until Masky pulls out his pistol that usually stays strapped to the holster on the back of his belt. He grimaced, setting the gun back on the nightstand next to the dishes.

“You’re kidding,” you deadpanned, rolling your eyes.

“Whoops,” he chuckled, lying back down and dragging you back with him.

It was a blur of hands and lips next—Masky’s arm came to wrap around your middle, while his free hand grabbed your jaw and turned your head to kiss him fully. You smiled into the kiss, but found yourself being cut of when two fingers pressed between you, fingertips pressing against your lips.

You happily obliged, parting your lips as Masky sunk his thick middle fingers into your mouth, your hand wrapping around his wrist when he tried to push back further, slightly coughing on the digits.

“Nice and wet. There we go…” he hummed, feeling your tongue slip around his fingers and groan at the salty taste of them. Only when your drool began to coat your own lips and shine on his knuckles did he draw them out, leaving you breathless and flushed.

One arm still gripped around your middle, he let his spit-glistened fingers trail down between your legs. He found your clit immediately, wasting no time in pushing his fingers through your folds and spreading you open, fingertips pressed firm against your sensitive nub and drawing small circles.

“Ah, hah- Masky-” you huffed, planting your hands on his forearms and digging your nails into his sun-kissed skin. Thick veins ran up his arms, strong muscles from countless missions toning his body in all the right ways. It was mouthwatering, really. The only downfall? Every part of him was thick, fingers especially.

“Let it out, there you go.”

If there was one thing about Masky you knew for certain, he knew what he wanted and he always knew how to get it. Whether that be your noises, a specific body reaction, or just your pleasure all over his fingers—he was going to have it, and it was going to be now.

Another circle on your clit before Masky was pressing downwards, scissoring his fingers to spread your pussy lips apart and hum at the glisten that shone in the lamp light. You were dripping, and he hadn’t even done anything yet.

Your nails dug into the skin of his forearm when he began to prod his middle finger against your entrance, swiping up and down the slit but never fully pressing in. You whined, shifting your hips with each movement and praying that he would just finger-fuck you already.

“C’mon-”

“Shhh, don’t be whining,” he smiled, planting an open-mouth kiss against your neck, sucking the skin lightly and sending shock after shock through your body. “Need’a just let me take care of you, sweetheart.”

He tightens his grip on your waist, and you release a spell of air, giving Masky the chance to slip the first knuckle of his middle finger into the warmth of your cunt. You mewl, head lying back on his shoulder, eyes blinking slowly as he works the digit slowly in and out. It’s thick, and Masky can’t help but groan to himself at the way your folds stretch around it.

His bulge pressed against your back, the subtle shift and grind of his hips against you making you reel.

“More…” You huff, pushing his arm down and angling your hips up, whining for the entirety of his finger, not just the first knuckle.

“Greedy, greedy girl…” He purrs, popping off of your neck and moving up to your jaw, continuing his abuse there. Your neck is shining with his spit, little flowering bruises slowly fading in with each minute.

Masky obliges, curling his middle finger and pressing it deeper, warming his finger in your wetness and feeling the fluttering of your walls just begging for more, more.

You grovel, tilting your hips back and forth in time with his wrist, his one finger pumping in and out of you quickly, stirring your stomach with shocks of pleasure. It’s still not enough, you decide, turning your face into the side of Masky’s neck and whining there.

“Oh, what? C’mon, tell me what you want,” he slows his finger, teasing it in and out, the digit soaked with your arousal. “Don’t get all shy.”

“Another…”

“Another what, sweet girl?”

You huff, digging your nails into his arm just to prove a point, “Your fucking finger, Masky. Please.”

“Atta girl.”

Masky free arm unwraps from your waist, hand snaking down to press finger pads against your clit, hard—enough to make you flinch. You feel a second finger begin to stretch against your entrance, the tight ring of muscle sucking in the thick digits like they belonged there.

“Yeah—yeah—yeah-” You chant against his neck, tilting your gaze down to watch as one knuckle after another dips inside of you, just to tug back out again. He begins to slowly pump his two middle fingers in, your hips jerking to meet every pass.

His other hand does wonders, swiping lewdly across your clit, sounds of wet skin and arousal overtaking the silence of your home. You brace your hands on his forearms still, fingers clenching in time with his.

“Tell me what you’re feelin’, sweetheart,” he mumbles against your ear, biting at the carriage and sending goosebumps shooting across your skin. It’s accompanied with the repetitive massaging of that sweet spot deep inside that only he can reach, fingers pumping and knocking against every sensitive nerve on their way out. Masky knows your body like the back of his hand, and it’s proven here and now. “Let me hear that sweet voice.”

“Good—hah-” You gasp, gritting your teeth when he curls his fingers upwards, scissoring your cunt wider. “Jus-hngh-Just keep going.”

He gives a heavy circle onto your clit, fingers tugging at the nub, before his hand is retreating. You nearly whine, exasperated that he did exactly what you told him not to do, until his hand is wrapping around your wrist.

He maneuvers your hand down, pressing his fingers atop yours directly onto your clit, showing you how to rub yourself. When you slowly start doing the motion on your own, he lets your hand go.

You want to question, but he’s wrapping his hand around your jaw and tilting your face up, pressing a firm but wet kiss against your swollen lips. Then his fingers are slipping down, until his fist is wrapping around your throat and—

Oh.

The lightheaded sensation is instant, brain growing fuzzy with the little oxygen that you’re not getting to your head. He places the pressure on either side of your neck, right under your jaw, and squeezes until your lips are parting and you’re gasping.

Your fingers stall their movements on your clit, his two still pumping mercilessly into your sopping cunt, and a low rumble erupts from his chest.

Then his fingers inside of you come to a dead stop.

You whine, sucking in a rattled breath against the pressure constricting you, and try rocking your hips. Masky stays still.

“Move them fingers, sweetheart.”

You immediately light up, your hand getting to work at rubbing your cunt until tears prick the corners of your eyes, thighs jerking to close with every circle. Masky catches up immediately, the palm of his hand hitting against your fingertips every time he fucks his fingers into your wilting hole, his digits glistening.

His grip on your throat tightens, your eyes rolling back as your mouth creates an ‘oh’ shape, gasping for air. The air swimming in your brain makes your vision hazy, but it also heightens the sensations of every nerve lighting up in your cunt, every curl and jerk of fingers against yourself.

“You’re gettin’ close, pretty girl,” Masky hums, pressing his lips directly against your ear, gritting his teeth when your free hand comes up to wrap around his wrist. “Let it all out. Come all over me, sweetheart.”

His fist tightens one final time, your airway completely shuts out, and that’s what does you in. Your orgasm hits you like a train, hard and fast, and with barely any warning. Your nails are tearing into his arm, fingers rubbing your clit so hard you see stars, and his fingers—they’re slamming into your g-spot, legs shaking so hard they slip off his knees and fall wide. 

You cum into his palm, your arousal soaking his fingers and dripping down his wrist, absolutely covering your inner thighs and plush lips. Masky growls, deep and low, nipping at the corner of your ear while your cunt convulses and grips his fingers impossibly tighter.

He lets his grip off your throat, a crying gasp for air that has your stomach tightening and eyes shooting wide. He shushes you, rubbing methodical circles against your cheek as your head falls back limp against his shoulder. You’re shaking all over, body absolutely wrecked.

It took more effort than you care to admit for Masky to slowly tug his fingers out of you, muscles clamping down against the digits like they were begging him to stay.

The couch creaked softly beneath you both as you lay draped over him, cheek pressed against the side of his neck, listening to the steady thud of his heartbeat in his pulse.

Masky’s arms slung lazily around you, one hand tracing slow circles onto your chest, the wiping against his pant-leg. His chest rose and fell beneath you, and you felt his lips brush your temple.

“You did so good, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice thick and gravel-warm, like it had melted under the weight of contentment. “So damn good for me.”

Your tired body softened further at the praise, sinking against him with a faint sigh. He could feel your heartbeat syncing with his, slower now, soothed. There was no residual work-related emotion left in your body, no room when now all you could think about was how good you felt, how full.

His fingers ghosted along your jaw again, dragging a quiet shiver from you despite the warmth still lingering between your bodies. “You’re so pretty,” he added, quieter this time, like it wasn’t meant to be said aloud—but he said it anyway. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

You nuzzled against him, and he chuckled — low and affectionate. Then, gently, he shifted beneath you.

“C’mon,” he whispered, sitting up with you still loosely wrapped in his arms. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You wanted to protest, say you were fine, but your legs felt like jelly and your brain wasn’t quite caught up to your body yet. He carried you effortlessly, strong arms cradling you to his chest, his jacket and your pants abandoned on the floor behind him.

He carried you to your bedroom, sitting you on the bed while he disappeared to the bathroom. You could’ve fallen asleep right there, if the chilly air was lighting your body with goosebumps.

The bathroom lights were low and the tub was already half-full, steam curling upward like fog in the amber light when he gathered you back up and guided you to the bathroom, helping you remove the rest of your clothes.

Masky sat on the edge of the tub with you still in his lap, his skin warm where it met yours, holding you like you were something fragile and precious. The water lapped gently at the porcelain.

He ran his hand along your arm, soothing, grounding. “I got you,” he said. “Always.”

Once he eased you into the water, you sank with a small moan, the heat cradling you like a second set of arms. You leaned back against the edge of the tub, head falling to the side where Masky sat on a folded towel beside it, one arm slung along the rim, fingers trailing in the water next to yours.

You blinked up at him through the haze. There was this softness in his eyes he never showed anyone else. Not even the others. Just you.

“You okay?” he asked gently.

“Yeah…” you breathed, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “Just… floaty.”

He smiled, barely there. “That’s the idea.”

Silence stretched comfortably between you, the kind that doesn’t need filling. Just the sound of the water sloshing quietly as he washed your legs, gentle and unhurried.

“I’ll be gone in the morning,” he said suddenly, not looking at you. “Long mission coming up, some out of town stuff.”

You opened your eyes at that, meeting his gaze.

He reached forward to brush wet strands of hair from your face, thumb trailing down your cheek. “I promise not to sneak up on you when I get back. Keep yourself safe until then.”

Your hand found his, fingers curling around his wrist, and you smiled—soft, tired, but real.

“Will you wake me up?” you whispered. “Just so I can kiss you bye.”

His lips quirked, and he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your damp forehead.

“Of course.”

You knew he wouldn’t, knew that he would get too sentimental about letting you sleep, but that was for tomorrow.

Tonight, you just couldn’t wait to kiss his face and tell him your every thought before slipping off to sleep.

And maybe repaying the favor, too.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ TICCI TOBY

You heard the fast cadence of feet moving behind you before you ever saw who it was, so obviously, you swung around broom-handle first. 

You felt the CRACK of wood against something hard, then turned the rest of your body around to see—

Toby?

His shoulder slumped against the wall, hands up in defense, and a sheepish grin on his now-red face. You knew he didn’t feel the pain of the hit, but he definitely felt the way it shook his brain for a second.

“Toby—!” you snapped, whirling towards him and swatting at his chest. “You scared the hell out of me.”

He was already grinning—goggles askew in his messy brown hair, hoodie half unzipped like he’d just walked in from a tornado. He ducked your halfhearted hits with an exaggerated lean, still giggling.

“You should’ve se-seen your face,” he said, wheezing through his grin. “I was gonna jump out from the closet but figured you might act-actually kill me.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t just now,” you muttered, heart still racing.

Toby tilted his head. “Yeah, but then you’d be stuck all alone again. Didn’t y-you miss me?” He stepped closer, hands slipping around your waist.

Your lips pressed into a line, still too wound-up from the fear to melt into his teasing right away. “Maybe. A little. But not enough to forgive you sneaking in through the back door like a horror movie villain.”

He leaned in, rubbing his nose gently against the side of your face. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Just… couldn’t help it. You’re so fun to surp-surprise.”

You sighed, the weight of the day still pressing down on your shoulders. He felt it too—because his smile dimmed, his hand reaching up to trace the curve of your spine over your shirt, slowly and carefully.

“Tough day?”

You nodded. “Always is.”

“Then let me fix that.”

Before you could argue, Toby grabbed your hand and gently tugged you toward the couch, taking the broom from your hands and throwing it back into the hall closet. “C’mon. Si-Sit down. You can yell at me later—right now you need to unwind.”

Toby’s hand was warm, his grip light as he tugged you toward the living room. You didn’t resist, not this time. After the day you’d had—and the scare he gave you—you didn’t have the energy to argue. Not when your bones ached with exhaustion and your thoughts were foggy from pushing too hard for too long.

The two of you flipped off every light you had anxiously flipped on on the way back, and made sure to shut the back door tight.

He plopped onto the couch first, legs spreading carelessly as he sank into the cushions with a groan that sounded far too satisfied, kicking his boots off. Then, without waiting, he grabbed your arm and pulled you down with him—until your body was tucked into his side, your head resting against his hoodie-covered chest, the rhythm of his breathing loud in your ear.

“That’s better,” he mumbled, shifting slightly so he could wrap both arms around you, folding you into his warmth like a blanket he’d been missing for days. “You always smell like… I dunno. Like so-soap. And work.”

You chuckled weakly, your body already starting to sink against him. “That’s probably accurate.”

He made a content little noise in the back of his throat, the sound vibrating in his chest under your cheek. Then one hand came up—calloused fingers brushing your hair back, again and again in soft, soothing strokes. He played with the strands absently, combing them through with care, sometimes curling a few around his finger and letting them slide loose.

You didn’t realize how much you needed this until you felt yourself beginning to melt.

No pressure. No noise. Just the low hum of his breathing, the sound of the wind against the house, and his fingertips skimming over your scalp like he was drawing patterns only he could see.

He didn’t speak right away. He didn’t need to.

Toby was always better at this than you expected. For someone who buzzed with chaos and laughter and unpredictable energy, he could be surprisingly… still. When it counted. And right now, he knew better than to fill the space with words.

You closed your eyes.

“Want me to get you anything?” he murmured after a while, quieter now. “Water? Snacks? I saw a bag of chi-chips in the pantry that looked lonely.”

You shook your head. “Just this.”

“That’s easy,” he whispered, a soft smile curling against your temple. “I can do this all night.”

He pulled the blanket off the back of the couch with one arm, dragging it around both of you with a lazy flourish, then curled tighter around you. His chin rested gently on top of your head, and his thumb traced a lazy, slow circle on your side. Over and over. Repeating the motion like it meant something. Like maybe he was grounding himself too.

You didn’t have to talk. You didn’t have to think. He made sure of that—kissing your forehead now and then, humming softly under his breath, keeping his arms steady and his presence warm and close and real.

“You’re good now,” he said, so quiet you barely heard him. “I’m here, okay? I’m here.”

And for the first time that day—hell, maybe the first time that week—you believed it.

And in the lull of your stress fading and his fingers gently massaging behind your ear, it finally clicked: no matter how weird or chaotic or infuriating Toby could be, he always came back to you like this—like home.

But every home has its cracks, and every crack is a breach at the foundation. And sure as hell, you both had your cracks.

You tried and tried to get comfortable, but after a little bit, your body was just too sore, mind too hazy with work. But, like the adult you were, gritted your teeth and scrunched your brow. Toby, however, wasn’t going to let you get off so easy.

“‘Just this’ my ass,” he laughed, pulling your hips back against his when you turn off of his body and onto your side, back flush against his front. “You’re still sw-swimmin’ in stress.”

Even though he can’t see you, you roll your eyes at his dramatics. It’s hardly the first time you’ve forced yourself to sleep through a muddy brain, and usually by yourself. If anything, Toby’s pestering is making it more of an impossible task.

And yet, here he is wrapping his arms around your middle and pressing his face into your hair. His body shifts closer, the two of you laid out against the other, trying your best to play sleepy, knowing full well the other was wide awake.

You can’t help it.

You peel yourself from his body, sitting up and planting your feet off the ground. Toby groans, hands trying to grip at your shirt, but you’re already moving to the kitchen by the time he’s up.

“Whe-Where’re you going?

The kettle’s old, a little too loud when it clicks onto the burner. You reach for the tea tin, fingers trembling slightly from the built-up static in your bones. You didn’t even realize how deep the tension ran until you peeled yourself away from the couch. Every joint ached like your body was still clocked in.

Toby isn’t far behind, of course.

You hear the soft pad pad pad of his mismatched gait, socks barely making a sound on the floor. He doesn’t say anything right away—just leans his shoulder against the doorway, watching. You feel his stare like a heat across your back.

“…You didn’t answer me,” he says after a beat, voice thick and scratchy, like it’s caught somewhere between sleep and screaming.

“I needed something warm,” you mumble. “Can’t settle.”

“Couldn’t se-settle with me,” he teases, pushing off the doorframe. “Ouch.”

“It’s not you,” you say with a soft huff, grabbing two mugs out of the cabinet. “It’s just work. Manager’s still refusing to hire more help.”

He hums, unconvinced, and steps closer. He doesn’t bother hiding the way his hands find your waist, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, just enough to touch skin. The contact makes you shiver. Not cold—never with him around.

“I said you were st-still swimmin’ in stress.” His voice is closer now, the warmth of his breath skimming the curve of your shoulder. “Bet your head’s still full’a ema-email chains and shit.”

“It is,” you admit, biting back a sigh, scooping loose tea leaves into the strainer with slow, practiced fingers. “And tomorrow’s gonna be worse. I should be in bed.”

“So let me help,” he murmurs, all faux-innocent as his hands start to travel. “Didn’t I alrea-already do such a good job loosening you up earlier?”

“Toby,” you say warningly, but there’s no bite in it.

He grins into your shoulder.

The kettle isn’t even halfway to boiling when you feel him really close the distance — chest to your back, hips pinning you lightly to the counter, the twitchy energy in him turning molten. His lips brush your neck, first a feather-light graze, then a drag, then a kiss, slow and open-mouthed, right at the base of your throat.

Your breath catches in your lungs.

“Tobes…”

“You smell like me now,” he says into your skin, nose nuzzling behind your ear. “You got no idea how hard it is not to wanna crawl here after every day, just to see you, touch you, feel you.”

His hands spread wide across your stomach, palms flattening to keep you close. The gentle motion of his thumbs stroking absent patterns is a stark contrast to the heat coiling behind his kisses.

You let your head tip slightly, involuntarily—the smallest invitation.

“Still stressed?” He murmurs, one hand skimming undernesth your shirt and up to your ribs, not quite groping—just holding, grounding. “Or do I fi-finally feel you easin’ up?”

Your body is softening against him despite yourself. “You’re cheating.”

“You’re too uptight,” he counters, tone half-mockery, half-concern. “I’m just multitasking. Bein’ g-good for you and selfish at the same time.”

The kettle starts to whisper with pressure.

You could push him off. You should, maybe—wait for the tea, try to rest like an adult. But he feels safe against your back, fingers warm, breath warmer. Your thoughts slow a little under his touch, each kiss tugging you further from the work-stained haze you’d been drowning in.

“You’re not gonna let me drink that tea in peace, are you?”

Toby chuckles, the sound dark and fond and unmistakably turned on. His lips graze lower, teeth barely grazing where your shoulder meets your neck.

“…Nope.”

And then he bites, hard—enough to make you groan.

You grip the counter harder, bracing yourself as he presses fully into you from behind. You can feel him—hard, twitching, needy, through the thin fabric of both your clothes, and it makes your breath hitch again.

“I thought this was about helping me relax,” you say shakily, lips tugging into a grin despite the heat pooling between your legs.

He laughs, husky and low. “Oh, I am helpin’,” he mutters, biting gently at your earlobe. “You’ll be too tire-tired to think by the time I’m done.”

Toby watches over your shoulder as he unbuttons your pants, tugging them open as he dips his hand in and under the front of your panties, barely giving you time to gasp before his fingers are pushing through the growing wetness at your center.

Your hips buck against the counter as he drags two fingers over your folds, slow, testing. You’re already out of breath.

“Well fuck, sweetheart,” he growls, voice suddenly wrecked with want. “I haven’t even gotten st-started yet.”

“Your fault,” you whisper back, trembling, eyes fluttering shut as he teases his fingers through your folds, swiping slick against your puffy lips. “You started it.”

“And I’m gonna finish it,” he promises darkly, licking up your neck again. “Right here.”

Your eyes almost roll into the back of your head as he crooks one evil finger through your folds, gathering your slick to aid the taunting circles he begins to draw over your clit. He doesn’t care to drag your pants down any further, perfectly content with shoving your front against the counter and pressing his bulge against the roundness of your ass.

“Aha—Toby-” You whine, his fingertips rubbing merciless circles against your clit, your knees resisting the urge to buckle and crash you into the floor. Toby, all the while, is littering your neck with bites and kisses, disregarding exactly how much whiplash this is giving you. “Slow, agh—slow down.”

He lets off your neck, his free hand coming up to grip your jaw with wincing force, twitchy fingers dragging your deeply flushed face to turn and look at him.

He bores wide eyes at you down the length of his nose. He looks gloriously smug as he eases his middle finger inside you, but his mouth curling upwards at the wanton moan that spills from your lips as you clench around him.

“Naughty girl,” he murmurs, as he curls it just so. You nod fervidly and capture his lips in a desperate kiss, as though eager to prove his point. You whimper against his mouth when he repeats the movement, and he swallows the sound of your pleasure; opening up to you and delving in with his tongue.

His finger is quick, edgy jerks of his wrist lighting your cunt up with shock after sensitive shock as your thighs shake under you. His tongue explores your mouth, spit coating each other’s lips with each hungry kiss Toby plants upon you.

Pressure builds against the kettle's spout, air growing louder. 

“Think I can make my sweet girl cum before your pre-precious tea is ready?” He grits, popping off of your mouth with a satisfied grin and spit-glistened lips. You go to shake your head, go to tell him to take it easy, but he’s already bullying another finger into your sopping cunt, panties soaked nearly through your work pants.

“Jesus, Toby—yeah, yeah okay-” you spread your legs a little wider, leaning just a little further against the counter as Toby’s palm nudges ruthlessly against your sensitive clit.

He smiles wide, pressing his hips harder against your ass, grinding himself in time with his curling fingers as his free hand snakes up the front of your shirt, groping your tits. He’s becoming frantic, and you can only hope to keep up.

You bite down on your tongue to cut short your whiny moan as Toby presses the pad of his fingers into your g-spot. The depths of his eyes glitter dark with malevolent glee as you writhe between him and the counter—your body caught in a battle between wanting to chase what his fingers are doing and needing him to stop for two damn seconds so you can focus on not buckling under both his and your weight.

“Let it all out, c’mon sw-sweet girl, let me hear you,” he growls against your jaw, nipping against the skin there. Your hips jerk in time with his hand, body following the rub of his palm on your clit, feeling the ever-closer tightness in your gut.

He pulls out of you and begins to circle your clit once more.

Your frustration materialises in a noise that’s partway between a whine and a growl, and you throw your head back against his shoulder—dishevelled breathing nearly overshadowing the faint whistle building on the kettle.

There’s no controlling the way your hips roll to compliment his movements, even though you’re trapped against the counter thoroughly enough that your own movements are limited by Toby’s arm.

“Please,” you beg.

“Please what?”

Your hips buck when he catches on a particularly sensitive spot, a desperate attempt to have his fingers press into your entrance again. But he moves with you, continuing only to draw stuttering patterns.

“Let me hear you, sweet girl,” he repeats.

Your breaths have increased to a heavy pant, broken only by the small gasps and mewls at each movement he makes—all at once too much and not nearly enough. 

Maybe it’s the stance, or the overstimulation, or the fact that you’re about the cry if Toby doesn’t put his fucking fingers in your fucking pussy. But you’re slipping one hand off the counter and reaching back to tangle into his hair, dragging his gaze to meet yours.

“Please, Toby,” you pant. “I don’t care how fast you go, I do—hah—don’t care what you do. I just need to cum, right now. I need you to make me cum, Toby.”

Each word from your rambling mouth makes Toby’s eyes widen, grin growing wider and wider. He doesn’t need to be convinced any longer.

You mewl as he curls his fingers inside you, dragging against your walls as he begins a rapid, tear-jerking rhythm. He kisses and sucks at your ear, tugging on the lobe with a sharpness that has your eyes clamping shut and moans shrieking from your lips.

His free hand slithers from under your shirt to snag a bruising grip on your hips, encouraging you to grind your hips down onto his hand, his own hips rutting against you like a dog.

“Yeah, Toby—Yeah.”

You moan as he scissors his fingers inside you. You’ve been so overwhelmed by sensations until now that you’re only just realising the kettle is nearly ready, faint whistle growing louder—as Toby’s fingers grew faster.

“C’mon, baby, almost there—al-almost there.”

He adds a third finger, and begins to pump into you with much more intention than before, the hilt of his palm purposefully rutting against your clit, cunt absolutely sloppy with your arousal in your panties.

“I’m close—Toby, ‘m so close, c’mon-”

“Let me feel it, sweetheart.”

His fingers hit a particularly sweet spot, and you gasp in approval as he begins to pick up speed, hitting that spot again and again, coaxing and curling and grinding his palm relentlessly against your clit.

Toby pays rapt attention to your face as he drives you closer and closer to the edge. His eyes dart between yours, and his lips curl upwards with every desperate sound that spills from you. He supports your weight while your legs tremble beneath you, and you cling to him for dear life as your stomach muscles shake, and coil ever tighter until everything inside you is pulled taut and—

The tension snaps. Your spine arches against him, his hips plowing against yours, and you cry out as the first relentless waves of your orgasm crash over you. Toby guides you through each pitiful swell with deep strokes that have you seeing stars. He doesn’t dare to let a single ripple of pleasure pass you by.

You’re still gasping for breath, knuckles white against the counter, thighs twitching where they press together, trying to regain some sense of control—but your body is spent, trembling, soaked through.

Toby’s palm is warm and steady where it rests between your legs, the heel of his hand applying just enough pressure to keep the mess contained while you come down from the high. His fingers slowly slip from you, careful not to overstimulate, though the ghost of them lingers, making you shudder in place.

Then—

The kettle screeches, high whistle filling the air.

Toby snorts through his nose, resting his forehead against your shoulder with a groan.

“Well, looks like I win,” he mutters, sounding slightly dazed himself.

You’re still catching your breath, legs barely cooperating. “I can’t move.”

He doesn’t hesitate—just guides you easily by the waist and back towards your bathroom, minding your still-sensitive body. He keeps one hand on your hip while grabbing a rag with the other, wetting it with warm tap water.

“Stay put,” he murmurs. “Lemme clean you up.”

You hum softly, dazed and grateful as he shimmies your pants and panties off of your hips and down your legs, this time not with lust, but with care. He eyes your soaked panties.

“Ruined ’em,” he comments, not unkindly. He gives you a cocky little smirk. “Might fra-frame ’em.”

“Gross,” you whisper, but there’s a sleepy smile on your face now.

His hands are gentle now—soft wipes between your thighs, slow dabs where the fabric is soaked. The wet heat of your panties clings uncomfortably, and without asking, he hooks his fingers into the waistband and peels them down.

Once he’s done wiping you clean, he presses a lingering kiss to your cheek—reverent this time—and tugs your shirt down to cover you back up before standing. He moves with less twitch now, more grounded, like something has calmed the buzzing in his own nerves.

He wipes you gently, but when he shifts to toss the rag into the sink behind him, the movement presses his hoodie up just enough for you to see.

A dark, unmistakable patch soaks through the front of his jeans.

Your brows lift slowly, a smile creeping across your face. “Toby.”

He freezes, mid-reach. “…Yeah?”

You lean forward, tapping a finger against the wet spot on his pants. “Did you seriously come in your pants?”

He jerks slightly at the touch, groaning as if you’d just caught him doing something far worse. “Fu-Fuck, don’t say it like that,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. His ears flush red through his messy hair. “You were… God, you were makin’ noises, s-squeezin’ my fingers, it felt so good grinding against you… I wasn’t exact-exactly in control.”

You snort, amused and charmed all at once. “Didn’t even get your dick touched, and you still—”

“Don’t,” he whines, squeezing his eyes shut. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You laugh again, light and warm, and slide to stand in front of him. His hands instinctively land on your hips to steady you, but he avoids your eyes, embarrassed even though he’s the one who just made you come undone with his fingers alone.

“Hey,” you say gently, hands smoothing up under his hoodie, resting at his waist. “Let me take care of you now.”

His eyes open at that—cautious, a little wide. “You d-don’t have to—”

“I know,” you cut in, smiling softly. “But I want to.”

He swallows hard as you pull him toward the sink where the rag lies, damp and forgotten. You grab a clean one instead and dampen it with warm water, testing the temperature before turning back to him. “Pants down, killer.”

He stares at you like you just said the most blasphemous thing imaginable. “I hate you.”

“You love me,” you counter.

Toby groans in defeat, tugging open his jeans and boxers with minimal ceremony, wincing at the sticky mess inside them. You don’t laugh—not this time. Instead, you step between his legs, towel in hand, and meet his gaze with soft, adoring mischief.

“You really did make a mess,” you murmur, crouching slightly as you press the towel gently against him. You wipe him down with care, the same way he did for you—slow, soothing, careful not to tease too much, though it’s hard when you hear the little breathy sounds he makes.

He grips the edge of the counter behind him, watching you like you’re some kind of religious experience. “Fuckin’ hell, watch your hands.”

“I just like seeing you flustered,” you tease, brushing the inside of his thigh lightly.

He hisses softly. “You’re mean.”

“I’m sweet,” you correct, finally finishing your gentle cleanup and tossing the towel into the sink behind you. “You’re just really easy to get riled.”

He grabs your waist again and pulls you up against him, nose brushing yours. “You keep talkin’ like that and I’m gonna make us both miss tea and bedtime.”

You press a kiss to his jaw, light as a feather. “Tempting. But I think I’ve earned my tea.”

You both fix your clothes, you slipping on a fresh pair of bottoms, and shuffling back to the kitchen.

The kettle is still whistling softly, having clicked off on its own. He moves to pour the water, and you slide to grab the mugs, still a little wobbly in the knees.

He steadies you with ease, eyes flicking down to check on you.

“You okay?”

You nod, curling into his side. “Yeah. Sleepy, now.”

“Good.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “My duty has been fulfi-fulfilled.”

He hands you your mug first—your favorite one, the one he always pretends not to use but definitely steals when you’re not home. He hands you a steaming cup of tea steeped to perfection, then takes his own and nudges you toward the couch.

You settle in against him, tucked under his arm, legs draped across his lap. He presses a palm to your thigh, rubbing slow, grounding circles as you sip.

There’s still tension in your muscles, yes—but it’s softer now. Quiet. Manageable.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” you say quietly.

He hums, resting his head against yours. “Yeah, I did. You weren’t gon-gonna stop. You never do.”

“Hypocrite,” you snide, but he looks down at you with that rare, unfiltered softness.

“I want you tak-taken care of,” he says simply. “I beat too many randos up everyday. Sometimes I just wanna take care of somebody.”

Your heart swells. The tea in your hand warms your palms, but it’s nothing compared to the heat that fills your chest.

You lean into him, nose tucked into his hoodie, your body finally able to melt against something solid. He holds you there in silence, kissing the top of your head every so often.

The night is quiet now—no stress, no thoughts of work.

Just tea, Toby, and the steady, rhythmic beat of a heart that’s completely and totally in sync with yours.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝ HOODIE

Arms wrap around you from behind. Firm. Familiar. Gloved hands press against your stomach, steadying you as you flinch and try to spin around, broom handle gripped tight.

“No need to scream,” his voice is low, calm, muffled slightly by the fabric of his mask. “It’s just me.”

You tense. “Jesus, Hoodie!”

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You turn in his arms to face him—not able to see his expression beneath the worn fabric of his hood, but it doesn’t matter. The tension bleeding from his shoulders says enough. He’s tired, like you. But he’s here.

“You left the door wide open,” you mutter, pushing against his chest with a huff, his hand leaving your waist to remove the broom from your hands. “You know I’ve had the worst week. I thought—I don’t know what I thought. I thought something happened.”

He nods, quiet, and doesn’t let you pull away too far. “I got the weekend off. I was going to surprise you. Thought I’d beat you home.”

You raise a brow. “So you decided to break in?”

“Technically, I have a key,” he mumbles under his breath.

You cross your arms, unimpressed.

“Okay,” he concedes with a sigh. “I messed up.”

Despite your irritation, a little huff of laughter escapes. He always does this—makes you want to stay mad just a little longer than you can actually hold it. Still, the adrenaline is slowly leaving your system now, and your body remembers how exhausted you are.

He watches you for a moment. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

He doesn’t press you. Instead, he steps out of your space and heads to the kitchen like he owns the place—and honestly, after all this time, maybe he kind of does. You hear the sounds of a mug being pulled down, the soft trickle of water filling the kettle. Cabinets opening. The scrape of a plate. It’s methodical. Gentle. Like he’s trying to undo the jolt he gave you.

You follow him, arms still crossed, trying not to let your annoyance outweigh your relief. On your way back, you flip off every light you had turned on in your frenzy, and make sure to shut the back door firmly.

Hoodie sets a steaming cup of tea in front of you a few minutes later and tugs the kitchen island chair back. “Sit.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re not the boss of me.”

“I’m the one who scared you half to death. Let me make it up to you.”

You blink at him. That’s as close to a romantic apology as you’re probably going to get. So… you sigh, scoop up the tea, and scoot into the stool. 

The mug’s warmth sinks into your palms. You lift it to your lips, take a slow sip—earthy, floral, a little sweet—and let out a sigh. The tension in your shoulders doesn’t disappear, but it dulls a bit, enough to make you realize how tightly you’ve been holding everything inside.

Across the island, Hoodie leans against the counter, his own mug cradled loosely in one gloved hand. His head is tilted slightly, watching you in that quiet, patient way of his — like he’s giving you time to unwind, wordlessly encouraging you to talk without pushing. 

You glance up at him through tired lashes. “Long week,” you murmur.

He nods. “Figured.”

“You?”

A grunt of acknowledgement. “We were out on rotation. Recon, mostly.” He shifts a bit, pulling his hood down with one hand and sliding the mask up above his nose just enough to drink. “Nothing exciting, but… exhausting.”

You frown a little. “You’re back early. That usually means something went wrong.”

He shrugs. “Not wrong. Just… tense.” A pause. “Tim’s been on edge.”

“More than usual?”

“Mhm.”

You blow softly on your tea, letting the heat curl against your lips. “Work’s been hell. My boss is a micromanaging narcissist and I’ve had two people quit in the last ten days. One of them cried in the break room before they left.”

Hoodie hums, like he’s picturing that too vividly. “You quit yet?”

You let out a dry little laugh. “I fantasize about it. Daily.”

“Do it,” he says simply. “I’ll hide the body.”

You roll your eyes, but the grin sneaks in anyway. “Not every problem can be solved by murder.”

“That’s where we differ.”

Another beat of silence passes, but it’s not awkward. Just shared weariness between two people who trust each other to hold the quiet without needing to fill it.

Then Hoodie lifts the front of his sweatshirt to his nose, sniffs himself, and grimaces.

You raise an eyebrow. “Charming.”

“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath. “We really are disgusting.”

You smirk into your cup. “I didn’t want to say anything, but you do smell like old sweat and outside.”

He glares at you over the rim of his mug. “You smell like stress and three-day-old coffee.”

“Fair.”

He finishes the last of his drink, sets it down with a soft clink, then pushes away from the counter. “Come on. Shower.”

You blink, surprised. “Together?”

He pauses. His body language doesn’t change, but you can feel the way his attention snaps to you—heavy and focused like a shift in air pressure.

You weren’t trying to sound suggestive, not really. But the way his eyes darken just slightly beneath the mask, the subtle way he squares his shoulders—it hits you low in your stomach.

“…That an invitation?” he asks, voice lower now. Rougher.

You stare at him for a long moment. Then nod. “Yeah. It is.”

The tension that follows is thick—not awkward, but heavy with something slow-burning, simmering beneath the exhaustion. Craving contact and comfort in the most stripped-down way.

He doesn’t move quickly. Just steps around the island and stops in front of you, gloved fingers brushing yours where they rest against the mug. He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t have to.

Because when his hand slides into yours and you let him lead you down the hallway, it’s not about rushing or undoing the tension with heat—it’s about scrubbing off the week, the weight, the grime, together.

The bathroom is quiet, lit only by the small bulb over the mirror and the faint orange glow bleeding in from the hallway. You pad in behind him, feet soft against the tile, while Hoodie reaches for the knobs on the shower.

The pipes groan as hot water spills from the head, steam rising slowly. His gloves come off first, dropped beside the sink in a damp little thud. You reach out without a word, your hands brushing his as you move to help—first with his sweatshirt, tugging the hem up, his arms lifting in silent permission.

He watches you the entire time. You can’t see his eyes fully behind the fabric, but you feel them. Heavy. Focused. You pull the hoodie up over his head and it catches briefly on his mask—the cloth tight over his jaw—and you freeze. One hand lifts gently, thumb brushing the edge of the mask just above his cheekbone.

His body tenses.

“I don’t have to,” you whisper.

But he doesn’t stop you. Doesn’t speak. He just watches.

So slowly, carefully, you slide the mask up and off—exposing his mouth, his knotted brows, the quiet twitch of nerves along his throat as he swallows. His blond hair is messy, but you don’t care to fix it. You don’t stare. You just fold the fabric and set it aside, stepping close enough to press a kiss just beneath his chin. He exhales—long and low—and his hands settle on your hips, grounding himself.

Then it’s your turn.

You tug your own shirt over your head, his hands slipping around your back as soon as it’s gone. You feel him press a kiss to your collarbone, soft and unhurried, while you make quick work of the rest—pants, socks, underwear. He follows suit, until the only thing between you is warmth and anticipation.

The shower is fogged by the time you step in.

The hot spray hits your shoulders first, drawing a sigh from you both. You lean back against him as he closes the curtain behind you, his body flush against yours, his arms slowly wrapping around your waist. The water beads down your skin, over your back, between your bodies.

Neither of you speak.

His hands start slow—washing, soothing, mapping the lines of your body like he’s grounding himself in the shape of you. You do the same, fingers sliding across the plane of his chest, up to his shoulders. You trace the curve of his neck, the muscles tense beneath your fingertips, and he lets out a low hum that vibrates against your back.

His hands wander lower, over your stomach, hips, the inside of your thighs. Not demanding—just feeling. Exploring without pressure.

You tilt your head back against his shoulder. “Still feel gross?” you murmur.

His lips brush your ear. “Not even a little.”

You laugh, breathless, and twist in his arms so you’re facing him. The spray catches you both in the face, so he shifts slightly, shielding you with his body. One hand cups your jaw, the other smoothing over your lower back, pulling you closer.

Your chest presses to his, slick and warm under the water.

He doesn’t kiss you yet—just watches, eyes roaming your features like he’s trying to memorize every expression. One of your hands comes up to brush his damp hair back from his forehead. He’s so much more real like this. Human. Not the shadow you’ve grown used to meeting in alleyways or at your back door.

You lean in. Your lips touch his.

It’s slow. Not rushed or hungry—just hot, steady, present. He kisses you like he means it, like it matters. Like being here, with you, is the only thing that’s made his week feel real.

His hand slides down again, fingers brushing the swell of your ass, pulling you in. Your thighs meet his hips. Your body melts against him.

And it’s not just comfort anymore. It’s hunger in disguise.

The spray from the shower rolls heat around you, hot and soothing—but the real heat is pressed against you. He turns you, Hoodie’s chest flush to your back, his hands skimming up your sides, palms calloused but purposeful. Every touch is unhurried, deliberate, like he’s tracing your nerves from memory.

One hand finds your jaw, turning your face slightly so he can kiss you again—slow, deep, his lips dragging across yours like he’s trying to sink into you. The other dips lower, brushing your stomach, your hip, until he’s between your thighs.

You gasp, fingers gripping his wrist.

His palm flattens across your mound, his fingertips dipping between your thighs with featherlight pressure—teasing, exploring. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches your face tilt slightly toward his, breath quickening when his fingers stroke along your slit.

“Let me,” he murmurs, voice rough in your ear. “Just relax for me.”

Your body leans into his, already giving in.

You’re already wet. Not just from the water—him.

A low, satisfied hum escapes his throat. “You’re soaked.”

You whimper as he drags his middle finger up slowly, parting you, brushing right over your clit. His fingers are big, his entire palm covering your cunt and making you squirm.

“Sensitive?” he murmurs against your temple.

“God—yes…”

You feel his smirk more than you see it. His lips graze your ear, breath hot, teasing.

“I haven’t even started yet.”

His hand moves with a firmer purpose now. His middle finger dips between your folds, gliding down to your entrance, and slowly—so fucking slowly—he pushes the first knuckle in. Your back arches against him as his finger sinks deep, curling slightly, testing the way your walls squeeze around him.

“Fuck,” he hisses, the sound husky, almost reverent. “So tight…”

You whine, eyes fluttering shut. His other hand comes up to brace your chest, sliding across your ribs, then down again—holding you still as he starts to move his finger, curling it gently with each pump. The water pours down over both of you, but all you feel is him—every slow press, every filthy grind of his palm against your clit.

You’ve barely had time to adjust when he’s pushing another finger.

Your legs nearly give out.

“Easy,” he murmurs, shifting his body behind yours to support your weight. “I’ve got you.”

The stretch of his fingers—thick, deep, perfect—has your mouth falling open in a gasp. He keeps them pumping in a steady rhythm, thumb circling your clit now with increasing pressure, drawing tight little spirals that make your stomach flutter.

“You feel that?” His voice is in your ear again, ragged and dark. “How wet you are for me? How fucking hard you’re squeezing?”

You nod helplessly, body tensing with every thrust of his fingers.

“Say it,” he demands softly.

“I—fuck—I’m so wet for you,” you breathe, barely able to form the words. “Feels so good, Brian—”

“That’s it,” he growls, voice cracked with restraint. “Let me make you cum. Let me feel you lose it.”

His fingers drive deeper, faster now—fingers still curled, stroking that sweet spot inside you over and over, his thumb unrelenting on your clit. Your knees start to shake. One of your hands flies up to brace the slick tile while the other scrambles to grip his wrist, holding on for dear life.

Your body is falling apart under him.

Every drag of Hoodie’s fingers has you writhing—hips rocking, thighs twitching, your hands scrambling to grip the slick wall for leverage as your orgasm builds fast and hard. The water from the shower pelts your chest and stomach, but all you can feel is him—his broad chest flush to your back, his breath hot and steady in your ear, and those thick, relentless fingers stroking deeper inside you with every second.

But your body’s fighting it.

Too much pleasure. Too intense. Your hips twitch forward, your spine arches, your whole body bucks instinctively to escape the overwhelming stimulation—

He doesn’t let you go.

Suddenly his chest is pressing harder into your back, and both your wrists are yanked behind you, caught in his grip. His free hand locks around them tight, pulling your arms behind you in a rough, controlled hold that drags a breathless cry from your lips.

“Stay still,” he growls into your ear, voice low, commanding, not up for argument.

Your gasp is punched out of you as the new position throws your balance off—spine arched, chest pushed forward, legs shaking as you try not to collapse under the weight of your own pleasure. You’re pinned now. Arms locked behind your back, completely open to him, vulnerable, dripping wet, and aching.

The fingers inside you don’t slow down. If anything—they get rougher.

“Don’t stop—don’t stop—” you gasp, hips grinding into his hand, chasing the release that’s almost too much too fast.

“Not gonna,” he grits. “Wanna feel you break for me. Right here. Right now.”

He plunges deep with every stroke, knuckle-deep, curling his fingers in a punishing rhythm that makes your eyes roll back. His palm grinds against your clit now, adding even more pressure—building you to a fever pitch, pushing you over that edge harder than you were ready for.

“F-Fuck, Brian—!” you cry out, voice shaking.

“You wanted to cum so bad,” he hisses into your hair. “Then cum for me. Right here. Let me feel it.”

Your whole body goes tense—knees buckling, thighs squeezing shut around his hand as your orgasm hits like a lightning strike. Your scream tears from your throat, raw and high and completely involuntary. 

“That’s it… good girl… fuck, that’s so hot. You’re so good for me.”

Your walls clench around his fingers like a vice, pulsing so violently it almost hurts. He groans low against your ear, gripping your wrists tighter behind you, holding you steady while you thrash against him, shaking and twitching through it.

“Goddamn,” he breathes, voice reverent. “Look at you…”

You’re panting, trembling, your body sagging against him as your orgasm crests and crashes. Your knees start to give, and Hoodie finally releases your wrists, catching you before you can drop. His arms wrap around you, one hand slipping to your front again to gently cup between your thighs, rubbing softly as the aftershocks leave you whimpering.

“Shhh… easy now,” he whispers. “I got you. It’s over. You did so good.”

His nose nuzzles against your temple. His other hand lifts to brush the hair back from your face as you catch your breath.

You melt back into him, boneless and flushed and soaking wet—in more ways than one.

“You okay?” he asks again, quieter this time.

You nod weakly, voice hoarse. “Yeah. Jesus.”

He presses a soft kiss to your shoulder. “Let’s get you clean. Then I’ll carry you to bed.”

His fingers leave you slowly, the tight ring of muscle clamping as you gush around him, and you can feel your body flutter around the absence, still sensitive, still twitching. But now it’s gentle again—his touches soft, calming. And the steady weight of him holding you upright, even when you can’t stand.

The water runs warm over your skin, steam curling lazily around your shoulders as you lean your back into Hoodie’s chest, heart still hammering beneath your ribs. Your thighs twitch now and then with the aftershocks, but his arms are steady around you—one curled low around your waist, the other reaching for the washcloth.

You don’t even flinch when he starts cleaning you up.

He does it slowly, gently—as if he’s smoothing away every trembling breath you let out. Between your thighs, the soft cloth catches the slick remnants of your release, and he’s careful. Tender. Like it’s important to him you know you’re not just some frayed thing he unraveled for fun.

He tilts your chin up with two fingers and kisses you once, slow and warm, then returns to washing you, rinsing off the sweat and tension like he can scrub away everything that made your week hard.

“You good?” he asks quietly after a while.

You nod, leaning your head back on his shoulder. “Yeah. I think I just melted a little.”

He chuckles low. “That was the goal.”

You roll your eyes, smile soft. “You’re smug.”

“Only when I earn it.”

You hum in response, watching the water swirl around your feet. It’s quiet for a few seconds. The kind of silence that feels like the weight has been lifted from your chest. You take a long breath in—and for the first time in days, your muscles don’t resist.

Your voice comes softer now. “I don’t feel as tense anymore.”

“Because I fucked the stress out of you?” he deadpans against your ear, the smirk in his voice unmistakable.

You reach behind you and swat his hip.

“No,” you say, turning your head slightly. “Because you’re here.”

That gets him.

You can see his face, but Hoodie has always been more of a body language guy—the way his arms tighten around you, the way his chin dips slightly to rest on your shoulder—yeah, you got him.

“I missed you,” you add. “Even your dumb sarcasm.”

“I missed you more,” he says without hesitation. “And I hate everything, so that’s saying a lot.”

You huff out a laugh and press a kiss to the edge of his jaw. “Come on. Let’s rinse off so we don’t turn into raisins.”

He grumbles but helps you finish washing the rest of your body, then lets you return the favor—dragging the cloth over his chest, down his arms, across the curve of his hipbone. You take your time, watching the way his muscles twitch beneath your touch, the way he bites back little groans when your fingers wander too low for too long.

“Careful,” he warns under his breath as you rake your nails over his abdomen. “You’re gonna restart something you just recovered from.”

You give him a slow smirk. “I’m just learning the terrain, soldier.”

He stares at you for a long second, then turns off the water without a word—stepping out first, grabbing two towels and handing you one. You both dry off, sharing lazy touches and lingering glances in the soft bathroom light. 

You glance at him in the reflection.

Still bare, hair damp, mask long gone—Hoodie looks at you like he’s trying to memorize the curve of your spine, the way your expression softens when you catch him staring.

“What?” you ask, toweling off your arms.

He just shrugs, eyes warm. “You look like you again.”

Your hands slow. “Was I looking like someone else?”

“No,” he says, stepping closer, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Just… you look lighter.”

You smile, small and sincere.

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to pad into the bedroom, bodies warm and lazy from the shower. You throw on one of his old black shirts, oversized and soft, and he tosses on some sweatpants he left here last time, towel-drying his hair half-heartedly before flopping onto the mattress.

You climb in beside him, crawling over his chest until you’re straddling his hips.

He raises a brow. “Starting round two?”

You grin and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Not yet. Just getting in position for when I do.”

He groans, palm dragging over his face. “Jesus. You were just screaming five minutes ago.”

“And now I’m thriving.” You dip down and murmur against his ear, “Next time, I’m gonna make you squirm.”

His hands find your thighs, squeezing once. “Promises, promises.”

You settle in beside him, curling against his side, the both of you tangled under the covers, body to body and nothing between. It’s the kind of peace that only comes after wreckage—the kind that settles in your bones and refuses to let go.

And as you close your eyes, cheek pressed to his chest, you realize something.

You’re not thinking about work. You’re not thinking about deadlines. You’re not thinking about anything but the weight of his hand on your hip and the sound of his breathing. You’re not just less stressed.

You’re home, and falling asleep easily for the first time in days.

This was an anonymous request!

Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated!

๑ back to my masterlists

── .✦ rainrot4me2025, all rights reserved. ꩜ .ᐟ

[lmaowhatt]

"can we please go?" - jj m.

summary: jj, ever the hormonal young adult, cant wait long enough for the two of you to get home from a party at the boneyard.

set: a short time after the pogues return from south america, probably between the 18 month time jump of s3 and s4. however, for my sanity, and some of yours, s4 doesnt exist.

pairing: jj maybank x pogue!reader

warnings: jj begging(?), horny/clingy jj, foreshadowing to sex.

if theres any others feel free to comment them!

main masterlist

the party at the boneyard, which now seemed like an annual occurrence had been in full swing for a couple of hours. the sun had fallen well below the horizon, the moonlight providing just enough light for the inexperienced —now drunk— tourons and some tipsy locals to move around without bumping into one another.

the seven pogues had split up somewhat early into the party. jj was currently hanging around some of his surfer friends, laughing and joking about . pope and cleo relished in their time where the other pogues were distracted to walk along the shore together.

kiara was sat on a log, talking to a random touron girl who you and sarah had both urged her to go talk to, teasing her about always sulking at home, being the last single one of the group. after some reluctance and continuous badgering from you, she agreed.

john b had distanced himself slightly, still rightfully sulking over his fathers passing during their return from south america. sarah had regularly gone to check on him, making sure he was okay before going back to where you stood, continuing the previously halted conversation.

jj glanced around the party, moving to fix the clasp of the flimsy shark tooth necklace that has somehow survived through everything the young adult had been through during the past two-ish years as his eyes landed on you. the boy bit the inside of his cheek as he shamelessly let his eyes wander down your body.

a pink spaghetti strapped top, the hem of which stopped right above your diaphragm, overlayed with a white knitted halter top. a blue ankle length skirt hung low on your waist with a small silver belt serving as a contrast to your gold dangly earrings, a mix of dainty silver and gold necklaces of different lengths hanging around your neck.

jj bit the inside of his cheek, watching your boobs bounce slighty as you laugh along to a joke sarah said, taking a sip of the beer in your grasp. he cleared his throat as he looked down at his feet, dragging a hand through this messy blonde locks, before placing his signature red cap backwards on his head.

"yo jj," one of his friends, jace, slapped the back of his shoulder to grab his attention. "you good?" the boy asked, furrowing his eyebrows as jj looked up from the ground. jj cleared his throat once more, trying to will away the waver he knew would be there as soon as he spoke.

"yeah, uhm. im good man." the blonde nodded, dapping jace up and waving a lazy hand to the others near him, "im gonna go, hit me up this weekend." jj spoke, fixing his shorts and rolling his shoulders back, weaving through the crowd as he made his way towards you.

you stumbled forward slightly as jj wrapped his arms around your shoulders, cradling his head down and placing a soft kiss on your cheek. "hi mama," he mumbled below your ear, raising his eyebrows at sarah as a form of greeting.

you placed a hand on his forearm, holding it as you rolled your eyes playfully at sarah. "hi baby. you okay?" you asked, smiling at sarah as she excused herself to 'find john b.' you sighed, leaning back ever so slightly as jj began peppering soft kisses onto your neck and along your collarbone.

"can we go home?" he muttered in between kisses. you laughed softly, turning to face him as his lips detached from your soft skin. jjs eyes naturally wandered to your chest, which was more accentuated as it pressed against his.

you snapped your fingers near his face, "eyes up here, maybank." you smiled as his eyes eventually flickered up to yours, his arms loosely wrapping around your waist. he let out a soft whine, "please baby? this.." he huffed out a heavy breath, forcing his eyes to stay locked on yours. "this outfit.. definitely one of your best. can we please go?" he asked with pleading eyes.

you tilted your head with a smirk playing at your lips, "but the party only started a while ago, you dont have friends to catch up with?" you asked, wrapping your arms around his neck and watching as he bit the inside of his cheek softly in thought.

he eventually shook his head. the boy didnt have a valid reason whatsoever, he just wanted to spend some 'quality time' with you, away from the others of course. "they can wait. this cant baby." he said, motioning towards them, then towards you and him with his finger.

you sighed as you looked around at the party. sure, you were having fun after going through weeks, if not months of hell with the entire el dorado situation, and the entire 'being hunted for weeks' situation.

you looked back at jj, whos eyes hadn't moved from your features. with a soft sigh, you silently agreed, taking a hold of his hand and leading him to the twinkie which was parked on the side of the street. jj moved to wrap his arms around your shoulders as you walked the both of you to the twinkie. "i love you much, yknow that?" he whispered into your ear.

just as you went to talk, he interrupted once more. "not for this. trust me, its a perk alright, but i love you for you." he kissed your neck softly. "i love you for how you treat me," he sucked lightly. "i love you for how you treat our friends like family." he swiped his tongue over the small bruise.

"i just love you."

a/n: this is my first ever fic on tumblr so pls be nice. or dont 😭

[toji-bunny-girl]

subby panty sniffer loser!shigaraki i cant stop thinking abt 😖

Shigaraki has always hated you.

Ever since All For One brought you in, and your jaded eyes first met his—you’ve always goaded an odd, frustrating burn in him. At first, you both merely ignored each other’s presence. And he has always preferred that. Then things soon got annoying when you started cozying up to him and trying to be friends with him. It’s fucking irritating and the burn gets worst the closer you press yourself into his space.

All it took for you to switch it up was his unrequited demeanour to your friendliness. It’s a bit too easy, really. A harsh word or two and a sneer at your face already got him on your bitch-list—just like everyone else would.

Everybody’s the same.

And you’re nothing special. That’s what he tells himself, repeatedly, over the years. Even when the glow in his belly comes alive whenever you brush pass him, his eyes memorised the curves of your grown body behind the curtains of his shaggy hair and god—the sweet, head-spinning scent of your underwear that sends his nerves tingling.

Yes, you’re nothing but a pest. A pest who always leaves her clothes in the laundry room, and often finds her panties gone without a trace.

Stupid and forgetful and—

“What…the hell?”

The hair on his nape flew erect, prickly dots snaked beneath his skin in a shot the moment he heard your voice—laced in utter disbelief and disgust.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! You weren’t supposed to collect your laundry this early yet. Weren’t you supposed to be training with All for One?!

“So, you’re the panty thief?” you sneered at him, the same way he would at you. You would’ve never in a million years even think of the scene in front of you—Shigaraki Tomura, who openly despises you, rubbing his cock with your panty? “What a joke.”

His pale face grew crimson red from the blood that rushed through his pulsing veins, his pride ripped from his clutch with every blink of your eyes soaking the embarrassing sight of him. God, he wanted to die right then and there. He shouldn’t have initially neared your laundry before, he should’ve ignored the tugging burn that urged him to touch the remnants that enveloped your bare body, and you shouldn’t have came here in the first place!

His thoughts are chasing after his sanity, and his heart threatened to beat its hard last. You’re nearing him and his sweating form with every dreadful step, and his body had the guts to feel…excited—his cock throbbed and the familiar burn came roaring through his vessels again.

Just what are you doing to him?

You snatched the damp piece of underwear from his grasp, soaked with his sticky precum, and his cockhead twitched from the lost warmth that previously hugged his shaft.

He’s now bare, blood continued to pump his cock hard as you stared at the mere size of his—length and girth you’d never thought would be hiding behind his dirty clothes; tip flushed in a pretty shade of pale pink, and veins that stemmed from the bush of light blue. His heartbeat thumped loud in his ears as you looked, and he almost lost of your words from the beating.

“Is this some kind of perverted hobby you have? I always knew you’re weird, but not to this extent,” you threw your underwear aside before shoving him, his back roughly bumped into the wall behind. Fuck, he doesn’t know what to say—and what to do other than to watch how you’re reacting to this twisted mess.

You’re staring at his twitching cock when his gaze flickered to your face, his hot panting hazed the air and it scorched your cheeks in a burnt shade. What are you thinking?

“It’s only fair for me to touch you after you’ve been jerking off to my panty, right?” it’s almost a reassurance for your own self than to him. His eyes widened, pupils dilating as you wrapped your hand around his throbbing member.

“W-What are you doing?!” he bit his bottom lip to muffle a moan, fingers curling into fists against the wall, nails poking into his flesh.

“Entertaining myself with a freak like you,” you snickered, stroking his veiny shaft with your cold fingers. Shigaraki shuddered to your touch, the nerve-numbing burn soaring through his stomach as his chest rose and fell quicker by the second.

“Get your d-dirty hand off of me,” his breath hitched as he stretched his throat, pushing his head against the cool wall. His toes curled as you pumped his length, and his nerves tingled from the sight of you staring at his cock with that look in your eyes.

“You seem to enjoy it, hm? I thought you hated me, I can’t believe you’ve been busting over my fucking panty. Do you have a crush on me or what?”

“Y-You…hngh—bitch!”

“I didn’t know a mutt could talk…much less call me a bitch?” your grip tightened, unforgivingly so around his slippery cockhead, earning a pretentious grunt—which tumbled out of his chapped lips in the form of a pathetic moan. “What was that? You sound like a little girl,” his cheeks burned in embarrassment as you made fun of him, your snickers ringing in his hazy mind, taunting the pleasure that piled over his nerves. “I want an apology, you perverted loser.”

“N-No way—nngh!” Shigaraki’s sweat-glazed body jolted from every painful twist of your fingers, his thighs shaking from the way you’ve been abusing his cock; flashes of bloody ruby glinted from behind his greasy bangs. It’s funny, really. He thought he looks all fierce and intimidating when actually, he’s nothing but a slutty mess holding back his drool.

“It’s not a fucking request,” your hand wretched his face closer to yours, his eyes nearly melting under your flinty gaze.

“F-Fuwah—aanh!” his hips drew backwards in creeping sensitivity, and a loud slick sound bounced off of the lewd-seen walls as your nails flicked in contact with his twitching red tip.

“You know I’m impatient, hm? So hurry,” your thumb hastily rubbed over his leaking slit, splattering his pre-cum all over the both of your clothes. His body shook into your arms, jerking and whining as his hands scrambled to hold onto you for support.

“Mmmgh! Haa—” his weight slopped onto your body, and his heavy head rest against your shoulder as you continued to stoke his throbbing fat girth with your tightening grip. “So—aangh! S-Sorry, m’sorry!”

“Aww, who knew you’d sound cute when you all whiney,” your other hand rose to tilt his chin, his ruby eyes glistening with tears of desperation, drool slipping past his mouth as he clenched his teeth. “What a pathetic face.”

His hips pistoned into your hand, clumsily rocking forward and messing up the fine rhythm of strokes you had, his moans sounding more and more breathy—you could tell he was at the near edge. Drawing your face closer to him, your soft lips met his cracked ones just as a crooked cry leaped out of his dry throat, and you could feel his hot cum shooting onto your shirt, staining your top white with the smell of him.

Shigaraki stayed unmoving, merely gulped as you licked and wet his lips with your tender tongue, your saliva mixing and dripping down his chin. The burn in him wasn’t just a flame anymore, it had exploded into chains of reaction—his heart squeezed and insides bursted into a sloppy, chaotic mess.

Does he have a crush on you?

[rcvcgers]

Rotten Apples ❦.ׂ

chapter eleven: a world without you

masterlist , series masterlist , ao3 link

previous part | next part

oh yeah, i made a spotify playlist for this <3

18+ MINORS DNI

pairing: caleb x non!mc reader

synopsis: caleb desperately searches for you. what he finds leaves him unsettled.

word count: 10.5k words

warnings: please, please, PLEASE read the trigger warnings before proceeding. lightly proofread...it ain't perfect!

author's note: hi! thank you so much for being patient with me! the story is taking a slightly darker turn! it will still focus on their relationship but...this is going to put their relationship to the test

content warning: mentions of death/murder, bodily harm, manipulation, experimentation, exploitation, self loathing, angst, professor lucius is lowkey a sadist

my rotten apples <3 : @militaryapple , @kebarney , @pinkismyfavcolor , @romils , @erisnxxi , @rik0shii , @reni502 , @spacehopper27 , @llamabois , @likesvader , @pandoras-rabbit , @princessfruit , @lukassafespace , @jexireads , @etsuniiru , @tinnyrabbit , @orianakira , @xiaorixx , @beomluvrr , @sanzy4 , @vickykazuya , @blcknebula , @sleepydang , @flamedancer13 , @gojosbedwarmer , @silmeria-lafleur , @ikiru-wa , @animecrazy76 , @fealy , @i-messed-up-big-time , @motheraiya55 , @vvonunie , @1uv4jiya , @yuuuumii , @okumurarinsbabe , @mcdepressed290 , @luleck , @sanzy4 , @lucifers-silhouette , @crazygirl3001 , @april-likes-smut , @kazbrkker , @l1ttlebabyapple , @writersandroses , @kookie-my-little-sunshine , @curryexpress , @earthykitsunesrain , @raining4food , @chaoticbardlady99 , @lemonwithstupidity

want to be added to the taglist? click here!

Seven months and twenty eight days.

It has been seven months and twenty eight days since Caleb let the woman who haunts his every waking thoughts and nightmares slip through his fingers.

He allowed himself to fall from the sky that day, slipping through the clouds as Ever’s plane vanishes from behind, becoming a black speck amongst the birds in the blue sky. The image served as a reminder of his failure to keep you safe, to keep you out of the professor’s hands and away from Ever.

Now, you’re gone and all he is left to do is pick up the remaining pieces of his sanity while trying to find you.

The days pass him by. Days blur into weeks and weeks blur into months. Caleb has become a shell of himself in your absence. All of the color in his life has been drained and his once (somewhat) patient persona as Colonel has become known as an officer to avoid in the headquarters.

Caleb dedicates every single second of his day to finding you. He pokes around the Fleet’s security files, just barley able to grasp onto a lead before the General, most likely puppeted by the Professor, locks him out of the system.

Caleb has become a Colonel that holds no power within the Farspace Fleet. He holds no power in Ever, having been dropped from the Professor’s precious right hand man spot, and he has no power in whenever he goes home, forever forced to stare at the ceiling, trying to think of new ways to get you home.

It is like a ticking time bomb slowly eating away at the seconds of his days. Knowing that you are in the clutches of Ever and Professor Lucius scares him. He is terrified because he knows that the Professor has a sadistic side to him, an unstable hunger for power and evolution that will devour the entire world from around you. Professor Lucius will not stop until his final plan comes to fruition and you, my dear, just happen to be at the center of his plans.

Caleb sighs, closing his eyes. He lays in his bedroom, the weather destroying the outside world as he battles impulsive thoughts of storming into Ever as a one man army, ready to do anything to bring you back into his arms, to smell your perfume, to feel your warmth against his skin…

Your face crosses his thoughts. A small smile spreads across his face, the man instinctively reaching out for your. Your hands are just about to meet, his fingertips just barely grazing yours, before your body is enveloped in smoke, being dragged away into the depths of his mind. Your screams and cries for help twists his stomach, contorting it so all he can feel is nausea. 

A tear slips from Caleb’s eye. His mind is a battlefield and yet his heart remains steady, unable to betray the turmoil that crashed throughout his mind. From the first day they took you, Ever’s surveillance on him has increased. He has felt the whir of the chip inside his body, the person on the other side of the monitor closely looking at his vitals, his heartbeat. He can’t let Ever or the Professor think that he has become unstable with you away, a flight risk that will destroy everything that Professor Lucius has built. He cannot allow them to have a reason to bring him in to, to beat him into submission.

Maybe this has been Professor Lucius’ plan all along. Once Caleb has found someone to fill in the void of his heart and mind, the elderly man planned to rip them away from him, to use them as a pawn in their never ending game of cat and mouse.

Caleb has always been a good soldier when he believes in the orders he is given. Anything outside of what he deems to be right, well, let’s just say that the Professor made sure to erase any part of him that likes to disobey. The Professor has made sure to erase the morals Caleb once held. He has left Caleb with an obedience that a losing dog has towards its owner.

You helped him loosen the collar. Your prescience reminded him of what he is fighting for, his motivation to continue on with his days until he can finally rest. With you gone, his life has no more meaning. Maybe he should give in to the Professor, to allow the older man to consume his mind and body, to contort and twist his limbs into a person — no, a solider — that Caleb cannot recognize in the mirror.

His purple eyes feel heavy. His eyes flutter shut, his body almost succumbing to the disastrous desire of sleep.

Caleb’s body jolts awake. He sits up in bed, shaking away the drowsiness that lingers in his limbs, and slips away from the confines of the sheets. His feet carry him out of the bedroom and into the openness of his apartment. None of the lights are on, just the occasional flash of lightning through the large windows he hasn’t been bothered to shield with curtains.

The thunderstorm outside serves as a reminder for him letting you walk away. He should have never gone inside and left you alone. Caleb knows that you’re a runner, it is one of your fatal flaws that inevitably cut your time together short, and it is a flaw that he will try to bury with love and reassurance once you’re back into his arms. If you’ve fallen to a fate that he’s unable to bring you back from…

Caleb stops once he reaches the kitchen. He hasn’t cleaned since the night you left. Crumbs litter the countertop from his last meal. He sighs, knowing that you would have had some witty comment about him turning you into a housewife whenever you come over, always having to pick up after him. He knows you wouldn’t mean it. He desperately misses the toothy grin that would flash across your face as you swiped the crumbs into your hand and into the nearest trashcan.

A sigh leaves his lips. It hangs in the air, weighing down on his shoulders. The man cleans the crumbs and places his dishes into the sink, not wanting to clean them just yet with the hop that you’ll walk through the door at any moment, wanting to hear how you’d chastise him for being so messy during a time when he needed to be clean the most.

Every now and then, Caleb grabs the perfume you left behind and sprays it inside the rooms, on his pillow, and in all of the places you used to fill in whenever you were at his apartment. The last time he sprayed was a week ago when he could barely bring himself to leave his bed. The notes from your perfume kept him going and it helped him push through the monotonous days.

Should he spray it again? The bottle is almost empty so maybe he should salvage it instead of being selfish. He should spare the leftover drops of perfume, be merciful, and not take out his frustrations and depression on it.

Caleb finds himself on the couch. He sits in your spot, grabbing the pillow that you always hugged to your chest and mimicking your movements, resting his chin against the smooth material of the fabric. He slowly inhales, his body melting into the couch’s cushions, as your familiar and welcoming smell lulls him into sleep.

There’s a knock at the door. Caleb’s head perks up, his purple eyes landing on the dark brown door. A pair of footsteps run from behind, infectious giggles and laughs while Josephine tries to keep up. Caleb looks over his shoulder, watching as Josephine attempts to grab her as she jumps around with damp hair.

“Caleb? Would you be a dear and grab that for me?” Josephine’s voice is light and airy.

It’s everything that Caleb hates. She may not remember what Josephine and her colleagues have done to them, but Caleb does. The boy decides to not fight it, though, and stands from his spot on the brand new couch. He scratches around an old bandage that sits on the inside of his arm, a place where he was frequently poked with needles while in the clutches of Ever.

Caleb navigates the house, weaving through a plethora of opened cardboard boxes. Inside sit brand new items. Clothes, kitchen utensils, shoes, decorations, picture frames…all of which were bought to give off the image that Josephine is a gracious grandmother to her adoptive children.

He cautiously approaches the door, hesitating to grab the doorknob. He hopes that he can get away with the excuse that the people left or that it was some prank, like the ones he saw on the screens when he first left the facility. The boy thinks that the coast is clear when another knock sounds off from the door. He sucks in a breath and opens it up, expecting it to be soldiers from Ever when in actuality it’s…

You.

You stand in front of him, just slightly shorter, with a bright smile on your face and a plate of cookies in hand. Your mother stands behind you, a proud smile on her face as you extend the cookies towards him. Your dress is a navy blue and you have an white ribbon laced into your hair, formed into the perfect bow any girl has. Caleb is unable to breathe, his eyes flickering between the plate of baked goods and your pretty eyes.

“Hi…” your voice is quiet and your demeanor is shy. You take a step forward, the rim of the plate pushing into his personal space. He isn’t complaining, though, and holds out his hands to take the plate from you. “Um...” you turn around and look at your mother, who gives you a thumbs up and a smile. You turn back around and meet his eyes again, making Caleb’s tiny boy heart skip a beat. “Welcome to the neighborhood! My mom and I baked these for you and your family.”

Caleb is unable to say a word. All he can do is nod and smile, warmth spreading through his chest at the kind gesture. He has never experienced this before, to have someone gift him something with no ulterior motives or expectations to receive something back. Just as he’s about to say something, Josephine and her come walking down the hall.

Her laughter grows as she gets closer and Caleb instinctively steps to the side so she and Josephine can come out. The two of them smile down at you, thanking you for the cookies and king gesture all while Caleb just stares. Your eyes move to him every now and then, sharing a small smile with him. Eventually, he returns it, sheepishly looking away as his cheeks warm up.

“It looks like you have a lot on your hands,” your mom speaks up from behind, approaching the door, “would you like me to take them for a bit so you can have some time for yourself?”

“That would be wonderful,” Josephine smiles, a sigh of relief washing over her body.

Caleb looks up at her, his mind already fighting against the idea of leaving the safety of their home, but his gut tells him that it’s okay, that he doesn’t need to forever live in a state of fight or flight. He watches as you, your mother, and her leave the close proximity of the door. He turns his face away, looking back up to Josephine who leans down, placing her hands on his shoulders.

“It’s okay, Caleb,” her voice is tired, weary. She holds the weight of his and her’s worlds on her shoulders, carrying the weight of responsibility and accountability for her previous actions. “You deserve to go be a kid. Go and try to have some fun, okay?”

Josephine gently nudges him towards the trio. Her laughs fill the air, the young boy listening as she lists off her favorite types of sweets and favorite things she has seen since moving here. He sighs, nodding, and turning around. He keeps his eyes on the ground, unable to look away from the dark gray gravel. When he looks up, though, he notices you waiting at the gate for him.

“You’re Caleb, right?” you quietly ask. He nods as he approaches you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. You tell him your name and he instantly memorizes it, loving how sweet the sound of your name is against his ears.

A butterfly flutters overhead. You look up, your smile growing brighter at the sight. You reach a hand out and the insect immediately lands on your tiny hand. Its wings are a bright orange color. It’s reminiscent of a sunset, one that he desperately wishes to see sometime soon.

“Do you…like butterflies?” he asks, finally breaking his silence. The two of you begin to walk in the direction of your house, which sits right next door to his. You ecstatically nod, a quiet laugh leaving your lips.

“My dad likes to say that we’re all caterpillars ready to become butterflies,” your voice is like music to his ears, your words as sweet as you are. The orange butterfly leaps from your hand and takes flight, its orange wings quickly flapping under the afternoon sunlight. You turn to look at him, smiling as the two of you approach the open door of your home. “Everyone deserves a second chance to become something better, don’t you think?”

Caleb nods, wholeheartedly agreeing with you. His heart swells and feels so full with a newfound purpose blossoming inside his body. He’ll become a butterfly, one that is as pretty as the wings that you already wear. He will not let his past define who he is, even if he is just a young kid who has no idea how the world works.

No longer does he love the colors white and gray. Instead, he much prefers blue and orange, the color of your dress and the butterfly that brought you two together.

“Come on,” you take his hand, tugging him towards the door, “let’s play!”

As soon as the two of you step through the door, your appearance changes. The two of you are older now. Eleven years old, to be exact. He finds himself in your backyard, surrounded by thriving greenery of your parents’ garden. A swing set sits in the middle of the lawn and she swings back and forth with the help of another kid, one whose hair is as black as night and his eyes sharing similar shades of the green grass and yellow flowers.

He sits beside you on the red and white blanket, popping an apple slice inside your mouth while you watch Zayne push her on the swing. There’s a small smile on her face, one that he has always found comfort in whenever he needed it the most. He rests his chin on his hand, melting into his own touch at the sight of you. Your eyes move to him, a small blush creeping up onto your cheeks. You look away, pushing your hair behind your ear.

“What are you looking at?” you ask, unable to meet his gaze. He found it so cute, how you always avoided his eyes whenever you caught him staring.

In just a few years, you’ll be boldly challenging him instead of being so shy. He loves the fact that you were able to undergo a third rebirth, shedding your cocoon of shyness and coming into a confident persona that he loves even more.

“Nothing,” he chuckles, leaning in to make your blush deepen even more.

“You’re such a jerk,” you mumble under your breath, earning a hearty laugh from him.

He wishes he can respond to you, to come up with some quirky quip about how cute your blush is or that he wishes that you would sit with him like this for longer. But all good things must come to an end. It’s just a fact of life.

She comes running over and places herself between the two of you, a proud smile on her face while Zayne takes his place at your side. You greet him with a smile and he nods in return, the man never having really changed throughout the years, which makes Caleb feel a tinge of jealousy. 

“Let’s play a game!” She proclaims with a fist in the air. Caleb’s eyes move between you and Zayne, his attention not on her as she begins to list off games that the four of you can play.

“Is there something you would like to play?” Zayne leans in to ask you. Caleb clears his throat, standing from the blanket. Everyone turns to look up at him but his purple eyes remain focused on yours.

“I propose that we play hide and seek,” Caleb smirks, knowing that it is the perfect opportunity to get you away from Zayne. “I can be the first one to find you guys! How does that sound?”

“Hide and seek?” Zayne stands from his spot, arms crossed over his chest while Caleb’s remain on his hips. “We aren’t—”

“It sounds like fun, Caleb,” you comment with a smile, standing and helping her up once you’re done. Zayne quickly shuts up and diverts his gaze, a hint of embarrassment flashing across his face. “Give us a minute to hide?” Caleb immediately nods, one that you return with a confident smile.

Not even a second later, the three of you bolt away and out of the backyard, knowing the set boundaries that your parents set so none of you go too far. Caleb turns around and closes his eyes, beginning to loudly count down from 60.

The closer and closer he gets to the last number, he can feel the summer air turn chilly. The once warm and inviting wind turns cold, slapping across his chapped skin like how one of Josephine’s colleagues would slap him whenever he cried about not wanting to crush metal objects with his mind or didn’t want to drink the bad tasting juice they made him drink before another experiment.

Caleb stops counting. He opens his eyes, seeing that he still remains in your childhood backyard. Everything is dead, though. Decomposed, overtaken by complete and utter decay. Rotten.

He looks down and spots his Colonel uniform on his body. He can’t move, feet cemented into the ground. No matter how hard he tries to fight against it, even trying to use his Evol to move but it doesn’t work. Tears fill his eyes as the familiar feeling of helplessness from his childhood seeps into his body. He cries out for help and looks around to see if someone — anyone — is there to help him.

A pair of hands cover his eyes from behind. He shudders under the touch. The pair of hands become wet from his tears. He closes his eyes, unable to bring himself to stare at the person who graces him with their touch.

He feels like a child all over again. Hopeless, unable to do a god damn thing to fight back against those who have hurt him so much. Caleb lets out a loud sob, his body trembling. The touch over his eyes turns warm, the feeling inviting and familiar. He keeps his eyes closed as a tingling sensation spreads across his face as their small fingers begin to wipe away his tears.

Caleb opens his eyes. Suddenly, he’s eight years old again. You stand in front of him, wearing the same navy blue dress you did when you first met him. You gently caress his face, wiping away his tears. A small, reassuring yet bittersweet smile spreads across your lips. A single tear rolls down your chubby cheek, eyes red from irritation.

“Find me,” you breathe the words out.

“What?” his voice cracks from under the pressure. He closes his eyes and shakes his head, trying to fight away the image of your strained eyes.

When he opens them, he’s seventeen years old. You wear the outfit on the day you told him to leave you alone, a command that he should never have obeyed.

It’s his downfall…being a good soldier.

“Find me,” your voice that was one strong begins to deteriorate. Caleb feels like he’s being suffocated as his body racks over from helpless sobs.

“I can’t!” he cries out, “I’ve done everything I can!” Caleb reaches up to rub his eyes.

You stand before him in the same dress you wore on the night of the Peace Summit’s Gala. The black dress is a sight for sore eyes, something that he wished so many times that you would wear again during the happy and peaceful hours of your newfound relationship. He reaches out for the silk fabric, wishing to feel the material. His white sleeve of his Colonel uniform catches him off guard, unable to bring himself to close the distance.

“Find me, Caleb!” you raise your voice as the rain picks up, drenching your hair and outfit.

From around the corner of the house, Farspace Fleet soldiers appear. Their dark uniforms remain ominous, faces covered with pitch black goggles and the black fabric of their uniform covering the lower half of their face. Their footsteps are loud, the Colonel able to feel each and every vibration from their steps as they grow near. Caleb reaches out for you, desperate to hold on, but your arms are taken by the soldiers.

“Find me, Caleb! I’m going to die here!” you scream over the thunderous wind. Lightning strikes from a distance, the thunder rattling the bones inside of his body. “I don’t want to die! Please!”

The soldiers begin to drag you away from him. You kick and push them way, trying to fight against their forceful grasps. You gasp for air, making Caleb feel even more breathless, the Professor’s hand around his throat slowly tightening, making it impossible to breathe.

“I’m coming!” Caleb cries out, trying to force his feet to move.

He gasps, feeling as the vines from the garden curl around his ankles. The thorns push through the smoothed leather, piercing into his skin. Caleb hisses and reaches down to fight the earth as it begins to swallow him whole. He gasps, looking up as your bloodcurdling screams echo inside his ears, the sounds haunting him as his body is forced beneath the earth. Dirt and mud cover his body. A strike of lighting hits his body, forcing him deeper into the ground.

Caleb’s body jolts awake. He screams out your name. He loses control of his Evol, the living room becoming destroyed within seconds. The picture frames that once hung on the wall have fallen, the glass shattering and scattering across the floor of his living room. The television screen cracks and the ottoman that sits beside his couch flies across the room, landing near the kitchen. Pillows disperse, a few of them shredding from the sheer force and power of his Evol.

His chest rapidly rises and falls, his heart pounding on the inside of his chest, his breathing ragged, unable to fully catch it. He looks around, desperate for something that reminds him of you, to trick himself into thinking that you’re here or that you’ll be back in his arms sometime soon.

He can still hear your screams. Your pleas and cries for help.

Tears run down his face. Caleb doesn’t wipe them away and looks to the side as he tries to get his breathing back under his control.

With once glance to the side, he notices that the sun is out. The storm has passed. The sky is a remarkable shade of blue, one that he would comment on to you to try and get a smile out of you so early in the morning. His heart aches. He stands from the couch, his bare feet avoiding the remnants of shattered glass that lay across the floor.

His Colonel uniform feels heavier than usual. The corners of the metal pins on his chest are unusually sharp when he drags his finger along the edge, the metal cutting into the pad of his thumb. He doesn’t mind the pain. If anything, he deserves it.

Caleb steps through the door, slamming it behind him, leaving behind a wake of destruction that bloomed from his grief over you.

Today, things are going to change. Today, Colonel Caleb Xia is going to find you.

The day has dragged on for longer than it needed to. Caleb remains behind his glass desk, shuffling through random forms and mission reports that he quickly stamps his signature onto. The stack slowly shortens, just like the leash that the Professor has him on.

Whenever he leaves his office, he can feel the eyes of lower ranking soldiers and Adjutants on him. He pays them no mind, simply making the mental note to keep an eye on them just in case they decide to follow him and test his patience.

He wants them to follow him. He wants them to give him a reason to put them in their place, to declare them to be treasonous, to give him a reason to crush them beneath the weight of his Evol. Caleb would do anything to unleash the anger that he feels towards the Professor and Ever. He wants to avenge you for the harm that they have undoubtedly caused you. He wants them to pay with their blood, to break their bones until they are begging for mercy, for him to go easy on them.

Is that something you would want too? Will you also wish for them to pay with their bodies for all of the sins that they have committed?

Caleb’s mind wanders to you whenever he’s alone. He tries to put himself in the mindset of Professor Lucius, wondering where in the world he would tuck you away, where he’d hide you as a punishment against him.

Ever’s main base would be too risky. Caleb has been there one too many times for the Professor’s comfort, having been one of his many soldiers in the army he is slowly building. Holding you hostage in the Farspace Fleet’s administrative building is too risky as well seeing how Caleb knows the place like the back of his hand. There are other Ever bases that you could be held at, places that Caleb has visited as a child. What Caleb neglected to look at, though, are the bases that the Fleet has. A few of which that are placed conveniently close to one of Ever’s laboratories.

Caleb faintly remembers something that Josephine once told him. It was on one of the many nights in her later years, a time in which she was beginning to slowly lose her mind due to constant migraines and trips to the hospital. She was lucid one night, sitting alone in her chair as she slowly knitted a new scary for him to take back to the DAA.

Josephine stared out the window, the metal knitting needles frozen in her hands. It was a particularly cold day in Linkon. Caleb came back to help Josephine out, to shovel the snow in the driveway while she stayed inside on her day off from the Association. Caleb came back inside, hands frozen and his heart chilled by not having seen you at home.

“Caleb,” she called out to him. She barely looked in his direction, her eyes forever trained on the snow that falls from the window. Caleb approached her side, sitting in the old chair that he used to fight with her over who gets to sit in it. She usually won.

“Yes, grandma?” he spoke through gritted teeth, hating the affectionate family name. He only said it for her sake.

“Do you remember that snowy day?” Josephine’s voice is quiet, tired. She finally turns to look at him. “The Professor let the two of you go out and play in the snow as a treat for completing the job.”

The job meaning Ever killing her and forcing him to lift retired fighter jets and rusted train cars. Caleb fractured both arms from the sheer force of his Evol, the weight of the objects shattering his body. He remembers how the Professor called him broken but that it’ll be okay, that he’ll give the poor boy a second chance for her sanity.

“Yes,” he follows her gaze outside the window. Each snowflake is different, that’s a fact you told him when you partnered up for a class project.

“That place…nobody can leave it once they’re inside. You should consider yourself to be lucky.”

An ugly silence falls between them. Josephine reaches out and places her hand on his knee. It doesn’t bring him comfort.

From just outside the window, you cross by with a red scary covering the lower half of your face. You scurry across the frozen sidewalk, laughing after you almost slipped and fell. That brought him the comfort he needed.

What was Josephine trying to tell him? Was there a hint within her words or was she just spewing out crazy talk like she usually did before the house blew up?

Caleb sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

He should consider himself lucky to have escaped from that place? Did Josephine not realize that she was the one who brought them there? That she is the reason for their pain and suffering as innocent children caught in a mad man’s crossfire and fucked up plans for the world?

Caleb turns to his computer. The Farspace Fleet’s logo stares back at him, the dark blue hues reminding him of the place he works at, the circumstances that he lives within. The confines of the cage are closing in on him. All he needs is a key to get out and escape so he can break you free too.

He stands from the desk, glancing at the family picture of him, her, and Josephine. His heart twists inside his chest. He should have placed a picture of you on here instead.

Caleb grabs his work laptop, one that he rarely ever uses, and places it inside his bag. He quietly exits his office, feeling no eyes or stares on him, as he begins to formulate a plan. If there is any chance that the place Josephine was speaking about still exists, then he is going to find it. He will do whatever it takes, spend however much money it will require, just so he can bring you back into his arms.

“Where are you going?” a voice says from behind him in the parking garage. Caleb places his bag into the backseat and turns around, shrugging his Colonel’s jacket off of his body. 

“Home,” Caleb’s response is short, cold. His Colonel persona quickly takes over his body, any warmth that was once stowed away and tucked beneath the confines of his skin disappeared. He stares at his Adjutant, Liam’s eyes cold and unresponsive yet there is a hint of desire behind them…a desire to help out his superior officer in his time of need.

“The General will be back today,” Liam’s voice remains monotone, dead. Caleb raises an eyebrow and rolls up his dress shirt’s sleeves. “He’ll want to see you.”

“More like me with him,” the angry comment leaves his lips before he can even think about it. Caleb sucks in a breath. Liam steps forward, a slow nod moving his head.

“Lunch made you sick,” Liam slowly speaks the words. Caleb straightens his posture, narrowing his eyes at the slightly shorter man. “You had to go home to recuperate. To be the best that you can possibly be for the Farspace Fleet.”

“The General will understand,” Caleb nods, confirming Liam’s cover story.

Caleb gets inside his car and closes the door behind him. Without looking at Liam, he drives away, speeding back to his destroyed apartment.

He sits himself down at the desk inside his bedroom. He pushes aside anything that will get in his way and opens up the laptop. He quickly logs in and moves to the Ever security database. It is something he has had access to seven months ago, but was kicked out. Since then, Caleb has been unable to get back inside the database to try and find the corporation’s files on you.

He stares at the log in page. The cursor blinks at him, slowly ticking away with every passing second. It beckons to him, your screams and cries filling his mind. Caleb swears he can hear you from down the hall but pays no attention to it, believing that it is just his mind playing stupid tricks on him. He wouldn’t even be surprised if it was a new aspect of the Toring chip inside his body, a way for the Professor to taunt him while he tirelessly searches for you.

Caleb types in his username and information. He is immediately kicked from the server, the login page staring at him once again. He sighs, leaning back in his chair, and cracks his knuckles. He loosens his tie, tossing it to the side. He glances away from the screen.

If only Josephine were alive to help him find the arctic base. Maybe then would this search finally come to an end, his pain and agony being able to rest with you back in his arms, your skin pressed against his as he protects you from the world, vowing to never let you go ever again.

Wait…Josephine. 

Caleb turns back to the computer. Although it was a little under twenty years ago that Josephine left Ever with her and Caleb tucked away in the back of a car, she still may have access to the company’s mainframe. Holding onto that small sliver of hope that flashes across Caleb’s heart, he slowly types in Josephine’s username, guessing what her password could possibly while trying to remember if she had told him about it in the past.

The damn Toring chip just had to do a number on his memories, didn’t it?

He stares at the small asterisks of the password. It’s long, yes, but everything that he has learned since living with Josephine as her perfect grandson, the spitting image of what a role model should look like before his untimely death. He sucks in a slow and deliberate breath.

The air around him turns stale. Your scent no longer lingers in the air. The rays of the sun leak into the room through hastily closed curtains, the golden light of the decaying day spread across his bedroom floor.

Caleb knows he will only have a few minutes inside the database before they recognize Josephine’s user inside the mainframe. In and out, that’s what needs to be done.

His finger hovers over the keyboard, ready to press the enter button when he hesitates again. He draws his hand back, gnawing at his bottom lip, his teeth digging in harsh enough to pull blood from his body. Caleb looks to the side, his Evol opening up a drawer. Inside sits a USB drive. He quickly inserts it into the computer, opening it up so he can download any and all files that revolve around you before he is kicked out.

His hands tremble, his breathing unsteady. Is he ready for what he’s about to see? How badly has the Professor treated you? Or have you been sitting pretty this whole time ready to be saved at any given moment?

He slowly breathes in, mentally preparing himself for the absolute worst. How will he react to the news that your body is stuffed inside some bag ready to be incinerated at any given moment?

No! He can’t think like that. He can’t afford to.

The man grabs his phone, his wallpaper lighting up. It is a photo of the two of you at your friend’s wedding. You look gorgeous in the bridesmaid dress, while he smugly smiles at your side, your purse strung over his shoulder. He sighs, focusing on the smile you wear. Your hand lays on his chest, head resting against his shoulder.

Caleb wishes he could go back into that moment and steal you away, to lock you away in the tallest building he can find so nobody can ever hurt you ever again. Only he will have the key to the door that you are hidden behind. Only he can move in and out. The rest of the world can politely ask him to see you. He’ll consider it.

He slowly exhales. He clicks the enter key and waits, watching as the database processes the login information. His heart races. His palms are clammy. He rapidly taps his foot against the bedroom floor. The small circle stares at him, his heart hoping that for the love of god it lets him in, getting him one step closer to you.

The screen goes blank. Caleb’s heart stops. The computer screen refreshes and it displays Ever’s database but from Josephine’s security clearance, one of the highest an employee can have. He gasps, fingers attaching to the laptop, and he quickly begins to navigate his way through the security system.

Caleb disregards any files about Viper or any of the other people he works with through Ever. He shifts through newer files, isolating it from the past seven months to narrow his search. Many of the reports are filled with nonsense about new diets for the team that lives on the base while others talk about upcoming research on Evols that Caleb doesn’t pay attention to. That is, until he sees a familiar number.

V-03

Caleb’s body goes numb, his blood cold. He blinks at the numbers, moving closer and closer to the main file source involving the mysterious V-03. He knows his place as X-02, and she is A-01, so who is V-03?

The deeper and deeper he moves inside the project file, the heavier his shoulders become. They begin to slouch, his eyes unable to blink or move away from the screen. Caleb quickly clicks through the folder, downloading anything and everything that he can find. The USB drive keeps up and swallows the files, making untraceable copies that will not be led back to him. He looks at the clock that blinks on the glass panel by his bed.

Three minutes have passed by. He guesses that he has about two or three left before they realize that Josephine, a phantom they killed a year ago, is haunting their security system. 

One folder in particular catches his attention. He doesn’t open it just yet, staring at the label.

Programming

He swallows the lump in his throat and downloads copies of it. His purple eyes move to another folder, quickly repeating the process as it dawns on him that he has finally found you. The file containing documents for V-03 were hidden away, only being accessible through back routes and hyperlinks imbedded into other documents. Professor Lucius is safe, Caleb knows this, and he knows just how precious you are to him. He’s going to keep you as hidden as possible yet keep you in plain sight so that it can torture Caleb with the idea that he could have found you sooner.

Two minutes quickly goes by and Caleb has downloaded everything involving V-03. It’s a long shot thinking that he has found you but with all of the clues and hidden messages with the way many of V-03’s comments have been blacked out only makes him believe that it is you, his heart aching at the thought that the Professor has made you endure the same process he did as a boy.

Caleb quickly logs out of the mainframe once he is done with little under a minute to spare. He removes the USB drive from the laptop and places it on his desk beside his personal computer. He takes the other laptop and uses his Evol to make it float the air. He inserts the USB drive into his computer while the Fleet’s laptop is slowly crushed into a small metal ball, the force of the surrounding gravity replicating the anger that simmers inside Caleb’s chest. The metal ball falls to the ground just as Caleb opens up the files about V-03, staring at the folder’s names.

Programming. Experiments. Evol. Purpose.

Caleb’s mouth goes dry. His mouse hovers over the names, sliding back and forth, unsure which one he should take a look inside first. He sighs and clicks on the folder labeled Purpose, hoping that this is the least worrying of them all.

Inside the folder sits a single document alongside a video. The video’s thumbnail is of Professor Lucius. Caleb sighs, his heart racing inside of his chest, as he clicks the video. It begins to play.

Professor Lucius enters the frame. He sits down and Caleb recognizes the office he is in. He leans closer to the screen as if it is going to transport him inside.

“The purpose of Project V is simple. The Farspace Fleet has given Ever the task of enhancing its soldiers and worker so that every single one of them will be able to fight with whatever threat it is that comes their way. The General has personally requested me to do this,” the Professor sighs, a slight smirk tugging the corner of his lips, “and he even has a participant in mind for the trial period.”

Caleb shudders. He pauses the video as a wave of nausea crashes throughout his body. Caleb suddenly becomes aware of his surroundings. The smell of decay that comes from the kitchen, the way the curtains flow back and forth from the ceiling fan, and the way his leg bounces up and down as anxiety courses throughout his body. He closes his eyes, unable to stare at Professor Lucius, and presses play.

“She’s a spitfire and yet she is one of the most obedient Fleet employees I have ever met. She is strong minded and gets the job done no matter what. I have only met her a handful of times but she has proven to be the perfect mound of clay for me to mold.”

Caleb stands from the desk and rushes away. To hear Professor Lucius talk about you so casually, talking about you as if you are a toy to be played with, makes his skin crawl.

“She will be our lucky V-03, a continuation of the…failed experiments from twenty years ago,” the Professor emphasizes the word ‘failed’ with such disgust and contempt that Caleb knows it was directed at him.

Caleb is the man the Professor hasn’t been able to tame. Caleb is the soldier that disobeys orders. Caleb is the weapon that got away, that fights back against the Toring chip every chance he gets. Caleb is the man who has evaded many of the Professor’s traps. Caleb is the person that Professor Lucius wishes to tame and he is using you as his leverage.

“Experiments will begin shortly. Additionally, she will be the first test subject to receive an all new Toring Chip, one that hands full bodily autonomy to Ever and the Fleet for controlling. It will be controlled through a small tablet. We’ll be able to control her breathing, consciousness, and emotional regulation while the chip is inside her body. Whoever holds her leash is in control.”

Caleb exits the video. His fingers move at a light speed pace, moving into the folder labeled Programming.

The inside of the folder is filled with hours of footage. You sit in the center of the screen. In some thumbnails, you look tired, in other ones tears run down your cheeks, frozen in time as you cry. The last video, though? Your face is completely still and is void of all emotion.

Caleb presses the first video, a sharp pain already striking through his heart.

“Day one of programming,” the Professor’s voice is heard from behind the camera. “V-03 is uncooperative and is unwilling to accept the Toring Chip implant. We will give her one last chance to accept before we turn to…more severe consequences.”

He can hear the amusement in Professor Lucius’ voice. You sit in the center of the frame, strapped down onto a chair. Your eyes dart around the room, hands trembling from beneath the straps. Your eyes well with tears. You begin to shake your head, arms tugging against the restraints that hold you down.

“Please…” you speak out, voice quiet, fear laced throughout your tone, “I-I don’t know what I did or why I’m here but please…don’t hurt me.”

Caleb knows what your plan is. He knows exactly what it is you’re thinking int his moment. He knows that you’re trying to appeal to Professor Lucius’ humanity. The irony here is that while you think the Professor holds humanity, Caleb knows he has none. If you think that he only experiments on adults — as if that makes it humane and acceptable in the first place — what would you think when you inevitably find out that Caleb was just a baby when he was passed off to Ever?

“Will you accept the Toring Chip? Yes or no?”

“What? Why would I?” you audibly laugh, leaning back as much as you can into the metal chair, the same chair that Caleb once at in when he was just four years old. “I’ve seen what it does to people! Why would I want to do something to myself like?”

You were always so opinionated, weren’t you?

“One more chance…because I’m in a good mood.”

“No!” your voice lowers, shaking. One of the scientists in the room nears you. You try your best to wiggle away from him, fighting against the restraints. “NO! Stop! Get off of me! You can’t make me do this!”

Your screams and yells are animalistic. Your appearance is covered by the scientist’s back. Caleb’s breath gets caught in his throat.

“Please stop! Ca—” the video’s audio cuts out. All Caleb can do is watch as your body thrashes around from under the scientist’s grip, a long syringe hangs in their hand, the metal catching the light. The video abruptly ends when you kick the scientist, causing him to topple into the camera. He exits the video and opens up a document, one that has been meticulously blacked out.

Your name is blacked out of the document, erasing any trace of your true identity. To Ever, you are V-03. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Caleb scrolls through the document. His eyes widen at the horror they put you through the first day. He connects the clues through the redactions, his stomach twisting and churning.

Subject will be known as V-03. Her psychological evaluation (REDACTED). V-03 refuses to answer questions about (REDACTED). Professor Lucius stepped in. He informed her of previous experiments. When (REDACTED) is mentioned, (REDACTED) and she (REDACTED). V-03 mostly speaks of the Colonel after this.

Caleb’s breath gets caught in his throat. The Colonel… Why are you trying to save him before you save yourself?

Subject was told that she will have Toring Chip V.3.9 implanted in the base of her neck. Subject refused and became aggressive. Once sedated, subject was told that if she does not cooperate, we will  (REDACTED) and make sure he (REDACTED). Subject agrees.

He moves out of the document, brows furrows at the computer screen. Caleb glances to the side and catches a brief glance of a document that acts as an overview for the new Toring Chip.

Toring Chip V.3.9 will be implanted as the base of the subject’s neck. Toring Chip V.3.9 will not be (REDACTED).  Unlike Toring Chip V.1.3, V.3.9 will not be taken out (REDACTED). Professor Lucius says that this makes the Toring Chip permanent instead of temporary.

An unsettling feeling ferments in the bottom of Caleb’s stomach. He closes his eyes, swallowing the bitter taste that forms across his tongue. It only worsens, though, leaving him trembling. He scrolls to the next video.

You sit in the same chair with dark eye bags under your eyes. Caleb blinks away his tears. He reaches for the screen, the tips of his fingers grazing against the image of your face.

Silent tears flow down your cheeks, eyes completely dissociated as the world moves around you. A man and woman in white lab coats move about the room like they live in it. They laugh and talk about their days, their plans for the night. The man’s wife made a pot roast. The woman plans on watching a movie. You stare into the nothingness of the room, allowing them to move your body and insert various needles into your arms in the same exact spot Caleb’s were located as a kid.

He looks down at his arm, the light and faint scar mocking him. He can’t help but wonder if you’ll have the same scar once he gets you out of there.

Professor Lucius enters the room. You don’t meet his gaze. He sits in his usual chair that is placed across from you. Caleb can see his reflection in the two way mirror that is right behind you. The two scientists shut up and move behind the camera. Caleb memorizes their faces as they pass the camera, making a note to make them pay for their sins as well.

“Good morning, V-03.”

“My name is—” the audio cuts out again.

Caleb is unable to look away, unable to bring himself to breathe as he reads your lips, the way you make for sure the Professor knows your name. Through the reflection, Professor Lucius leans forward. The side of his arm slips into frame. He can’t read the Professor’s lips, but he can continue to read yours.

Caleb? You said you wouldn’t hurt him. You promised!

You jolt forward in the restraints. The Professor’s body shakes, probably laughing at your plight. Tears well in your eyes.

Don’t hurt him…please. He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve any of this!

Caleb leans forward, his nose almost touching the screen. Oh, how he wishes that he would have been there to wipe away your tears of agony, to rip you out of the chair and away from the people who are subjecting you to such torturous methods. He clears his throat, pushing away the urge to throw up, and moves to the next document.

It is a scanned copy of Professor Lucius’ notes. His handwriting is barely legible to anyone outside of Ever but Caleb knows the special characteristics of the way he writes, having deciphered many notes from meetings and hidden messages that hid orders behind veiled threats. Caleb scrolls through the file, unable to tears his gaze off of the screen.

V-03 remains uncooperative. The chip has been implanted into her neck but she shows signs of defiance. Threats towards (REDACTED) do not work anymore. Will calling her by her name work? Or do I need to beat her into submission?

V-03 is too much like X-02. If only she were more like A-01, then we would have made more progress.

Caleb closes his eyes. He knows how much you hate being compared to her. He can’t even imagine how you would have reacted if the Professor said these words to your face. Caleb can’t help but wonder if you fought back or accepted his words as the final truth to put you in your coffin.

Moving to the next page, there are pictures of you while you’re asleep. The back of your head has been shaved, just enough space for them to insert the Toring Chip. Caleb memorized the way the stitches were sewn into your skin, the way that the Ever doctors treated you with little care seeing how the stitches were jagged and messy.

Were they taking care of you? Have the stitches been properly taken care of or did you get an infection due to lack of care?

“Good morning, V-03.”

You look tired. You’ve lost all of the extra weight in your face, your cheeks sinking into your skull. You remain dissociated as the Professor sits beside you. He wears a big puffer jacket, his breath prominent in the air, while you’re stuck in a thin hospital gown with wires and tubes connected into your arms. Caleb watches as he takes your hand, brushing the hair out of your face. There are bruises on your arms with one particularly nasty bruise across your cheekbone.

“Are you ready to cooperate?”

You don’t respond. You slowly blink, staring into nothing, eyes glazed over as the Professor straps you down into the chair. He sighs, shaking his head at you. The audio cuts out. Caleb sucks in a breath and reads the Professor’s lips.

X-02 isn’t coming to save you, V-03. He’s a broken weapon. You…you will be our saving grace.

The audio comes back to the video just as the Professor sits back in his chair beside the camera.

“V-03, it was recommended to us by psychologists to undergo the Interlinked Program so we can have your full cooperation before we begin our experimentation,” the Professor sighs. You look away, tears rolling down your eyes.

Caleb’s heart aches. Exhaustion has taken over your body. At this point in the process, which Caleb estimates to be about a month or two in, Ever makes sure that the test subject is mentally hazy, to take advantage of their weaknesses and offer a way out, a saving grace that feels like an oasis in the middle of a never ending desert.

“V-03, if you do this for us, we will make sure that you get a blanket tonight. It’s so cold out, don’t you think? Wouldn’t a blanket be nice to sleep with before your big day?”

“Please don’t hurt me,” your voice trembles through the speakers of the computer. It is just loud enough for the camera’s microphone to pick up. It sends icy daggers through Caleb’s chest.

He should have worked harder to find you. He should have flown after the plane and done what the Professor has taught him to do best: destroy things.

“Look at the screen, V-03. We are going to show you a series of images. I’ll guide you through them. The camera is going to read your body temperature and language. We have full control over your reactions. We know everything. Whenever I say interlinked, you must say it as well. Understand?”

You weakly nod.

A screen illuminates from behind the camera. A man steps into frame, moving behind you with a tool that Caleb knows. It is to adjust the Toring Chip’s functions, to tweak it to fit the soldier they have put inside of. He presses it up against your neck and you shudder, more and more tears rolling down your cheeks as you tug against the restraints.

“Let’s begin,” Professor Lucius states. He clicks a button and your face is covered in various different lights. “I’m going to tell you your baseline. Memorize it. If you don’t, you know the consequences.”

You weakly nod again.

“Your baseline is: Weeping willows decay under the scorching sun with no water to flourish. Repeat it.”

You remain quiet. The Professor sighs and snaps his fingers. A soldier walks into frame with a baton in hand. He slams it into your stomach. You cry out in pain, head rolling back. The soldier grabs your hair and movies it so you look at the screen once again.

“Say it, V-03.”

“Weeping willow decay under the scorching sun with no water to flourish.”

“Good,” Professor Lucius scribbles something into his notebook. “Have you ever been in an institution? Interlinked.”

“Interlinked.”

“A man and woman hold hands. Interlinked.”

“Interlinked.” You gulp. With a wave of the Professor’s hand, the soldier hits you again. You let out a cry, jolting around in your chair to try and get away.

“Whenever an animal is trapped, V-03, it will chew of its own leg to escape. Are you the same? Are you an animal? Interlinked.”

“Interlinked,” you breathe through word out, fear already running through your body.

Caleb closes the video, unable to watch anymore. He is in a trance, his clammy hands slipping along the keypad as he moves over to am untouched folder.

Experimentation.

Caleb sucks in a sharp breath, the chilled air of the room making his lungs tingle, feeling so dead yet so alive. It is the bulkiest folder with thousands of documents as well as hundreds of videos.

You lay on a table completely naked with tubes moving in and out of your body. The camera is set to the side, your appearance hidden behind doctors in lab coats and scrubs. You look to the side, the terror and pain flickering across your eyes as they begin to tear into you.

Caleb remembers this feeling. He remembers being awake for every experiment and modification they made on his body. They numbed him so he wouldn’t be able to move or feel agonizing pain. He could still feel the drag of the scalpel into his skin, the way his flesh was sliced into with such ease as Ever modified his arm.

You look as if you want to scream out, to cry for help. You can’t do any of it. Caleb wishes he were in your place instead. He would undergo hundreds of more experiments if it meant that you wouldn’t have been touched by the Professor’s plans.

He opens up a new video. Professor Lucius sits in the center of the video, sitting inside his office with a look of determination and sadistic satisfaction written on his face. He clears his throat as he settles into his seat, shrugging off his jacket before tossing it away.

“Our mission here at Ever is to push the human race to its fullest potential. We want to make life easier for mankind, wanting it to thrive and flourish with no obstacles in our way. The way I see it, despite all of the technological advances that we have seen in the world, we are still in a Stone Age. With the growing population of Evolvers, I can’t help but think to myself if there is a way to gift the same abilities to normal people. V-03’s DNA sequence is unique. She, like many other people, possess the DNA sequence needed to become and Evolver. It just…needs to wake up.”

To wake up? What is he talking about? Caleb thinks to himself. Chills run down his spine. The place where his Toring Chip sits tingles. His arms vibrate, his Evol having a mind of its own, his bones rattling underneath the flesh and muscles of his arm.

“What happens when we push he human body to brink of death? To stress it out so much that the body is forced to ignite the DNA needed to evolve in real time. V-03 will be the first of her kind if this hypothesis proves to be true.”

Images of you on the medical table flashes through his head. Caleb winces, closing his eyes as he tries to fight off the images of Professor Lucius digging into your chest, grabbing your beating heart into his hand, squeezing it to get you to squeal. Caleb can see the smile on the man’s face, the sadism of his actions giving him immeasurable pleasure as you wither beneath his touch.

The next video begins to play.

“V-03 will undergo beatings and lacerations as the first step of her Evolver process. The Toring Chip will send shocks throughout her body when she is about to pass out to keep her awake to prolong the process.”

The video ends and the next one begins.

You lay on the ground, your sobs curdling Caleb’s blood as soldiers beat you with their batons, kicking you with their metal toed boots. He watches as you tremble, crying out for them to stop — to have mercy on you — but they don’t let up. They continue their kicks before Professor Lucius calls them away like dogs. You shiver. You’re curled up into a ball, protecting your stomach as you cough up blood, face beaten beyond recognition.

“Your baseline, V-03,” the Professor calls out.

“Weeping willow decay under the scorching sun with no water to flourish,” you speak between coughs.

“An animal needs to be beaten into submission. Interlinked.”

“Interlinked.”

The video ends.

“V-03 shows signs of Evolving. Her Evol is special. Health regeneration. We’re going to push further to see just how far we can take it.”

Caleb opens up a file filled with countless photos. He thanks whatever higher power there is for sparing him from hearing your pained cries and begs for them to stop hurting you. Seeing them, though? He wishes he could go blind.

He shuffles through images of you with various wounds. A knife dragging along your arm. A torch being held against the flesh of your stomach, burning you. In another photo, you’re laying on the ground with multiple bloodied spots on your body, presumably where you’ve been shot multiple times.

Caleb can feel the phantom pains of the small metal bullets digging into his skin. His skin burns. His breathing grows heavy as he continues to see what they have done to you.

“V-03 cannot die. We can slice her neck and she will go unconscious, her heart still beats, but her brain activity shows that she is still alive and is…asleep. We cannot figure out where her consciousness goes if it is a dreamlike state or if she is truly just asleep. Her heart is her weak spot. If that stops beating, then she will die. V-03 also shows signs of being able to heal others with her touch. She has Evolved far beyond our expectations.”

Professor Lucius hesitates when he speaks. He rubs his eyes and turns back to the camera. A small smile graces his face. He’s finally reached his victory.

“We plan on showing the General this in a month. A showcase of our progress of the toy he has gifted to us. He deserves to see how we have molded his soldier into something…remarkable. With her DNA, we can figure out how to change the sequences of others. We will help make unstoppable soldiers for the Farspace Fleet and for the world.”

A phone rings from the other room.

Caleb slams the laptop shut. He shudders, body uncontrollably shaking. He pushes away from the desk, tears freely flowing from his eyes while his heart remains still. He exits his bedroom. His motions are calculated and careful. He enters an office that sits just at the end of the hall, a space where the two of you decided to have Fleet business happen whenever either of you brought work home.

Caleb sits in one of the chairs, grabbing the ringing phone, and brings it to his ear.

“Colonel Xia,” Liam’s voice is low from the other end of the call. “Professor Lucius has invited you to an Ever Group meeting as the General’s temporary Adjutant.”

please drop a like, reblog, & comment!! i love see what you all have to say <3

i <3 commenters

[echantedtoon]

DON'T LEAVE

She know he wasn't willing to let her go. Not after all they've been through.

(Warnings for yandere themes, kidnapping, obsessive themes, manipulation, etc.)

The light now seeped across the surface and pooling over everything like molten gold. Letting warmth spread upon the winds that rustled through tree leaves and creaking branches. Waving across soft blades of grass and coating the ground in flower pollen. Carrying the lovely scent on the breeze and helping to calm one's worries and sorrows.

A flower was plucked. A simple tiny dandelion but it felt like a treasure against the skin as fingers took care to caress its soft stem and dainty yellow petals. F/c eyes staring at it like it was good. No. More valuable than gold. Gold was nothing compared to finally having the freedom to hold a flower within the light.

It had been a year since you had escaped the prison which caged you within their grasp. A year since the man who had claimed you to be his queen had been burned to dust by the Sun's gold and an entire year since your escape from Beast Yeast as well. 

The wind blew kicking up strands of your hair and making the shadows dance from the shady place under the tree you sat against. The rough bark digging into your back but you didn't mind. That just meant you were truly free and not a prisoner trapped within a maze like a caged bird. The last time you were able to hold a flower was ages ago and when you were still held prisoner by the man who had cloaked himself in deceit and darkness.

Shadow Milk Cookie.

The very last time you had been allowed to hold such a flower like this, you hadn't even been allowed to pick it from the soft ground yourself. Instead it was brought to you as a twisted gift by hands stained with the jam of thousands of innocent lives. A smile upon his visage as he presented them to you like a Cheshire cat bringing it's master a dead rat expecting to please you.

"Oh, Darling, I brought you these begonias. Aren't I a great husband?~"

"I think they'd be lovelier if you were to allow me to go outside of this hellscape and just once let me pick my own flowers."

"Ugh. This again? Ok listen, Poppet. You may not understand but the dangers of venturing into the unknown is too risky. There's plenty of entertainment here!~"

"Dangers? Even if I were to be in the presence of the most powerful cookie in the world? You seem to be running out of excuses for keeping me held up within your cursed castle."

"Hehehe! Perhaps but I would never forgive myself if anything were to happen to you. My most beloved wife. Prioritizing your safety above anything else is most crucial."

For your own good. For the better care of yourself. You hated the way his comforting words made it sound like he was truly determined to do anything and everything in his power to ensure the safety of his twisted fantasy when in reality it was just him keeping you a prisoner trapped within those walls. Perhaps in his own twisted brain, he truly convinced himself that he was just doing everything to protect you.

Sometimes you were starting to doubt your own sanity, question your own thoughts and morals. You knew now that was just what he wanted you to do but now you were free of it all. The second guessing, the manipulation, and the imprisonment. Surrounded by the calmness of nature. Just you and no one else.

"You hear that? You have no power over me."

The war was beginning. The beginning of the end was here at last. You stood upon the edge of death and watched as bodies hung from strings danced around on threads, their screams forever echoing in your mind and your eyes never unseeing the horrors of cookies trying to reach out to the ever shifting rooms and ledges to stop their decent into the abyss of rooms and stairs. The only thing definite within the loud screaming was the one standing within the middle of it all.

Openings from the sky above revealed the stars that were just out of reach, had forever been forced out of reach for you the past eight years. Your hands twitched as the faint fleeting freedom past the horror was once again made impossible to you as they were enveloped by the hands of your captor. 

The resigned feeling in your steps only obeyed their lead as you had many times before after so many failed escape attempts to escape or find a none existent exit in this prison. Leading you away from the incoming slaughter and fight that would inevitably start and reign discord everywhere. The feeling of being lead to the enclosed designated 'safe room' was not unlike a prisoner being walked to their cell with the ultimate wardens to ensure the travel there was met.

You probably would have still remained a prisoner to this day if you had allowed yourself to remain within the confined space and do nothing but entertain the mad jester's fantasies.

The thundering of footsteps and crashing of the door giving away from the outside was alarm enough to allow the dangerous echoing to break the mold and stop the routine. The stoppers being a band of heroes and an ancient panting heavily from the battles of war and drenched in sweat and jam. Whether it was their own, fallen comrades, slain enemies, or any mixture of the above was anyone's guess. What was evident in their eyes was the determination and horror at suddenly running into more presumed enemies on their way through. In a blink of an eye drawling weapons so quickly it surprised you. 

"Great! Another minion of his! Just what we need right now!," one cried out.

The second one shared the same sentiment with the first cookie however the realization in his eyes was unmistakable. "Hold on, Gingerbrave! She doesn't look like one of his minions. Look! She's in some kind of giant.." His pink head tilted confused at the sight. "Luxurious..birdcage?"

"Huh?! Most likely one of his favorite puppets or something!"

"Stay still!" The second one assured you. "We'll get you out!"

"Ugh! Who CARES!? That's not our problem right now!! We need to get to Pure Vanilla Cookie before it's too late!"

"Do you need help?!" Blue eyes desperately looked at you. "Just tell us now and we'll help you. I promise!"

Help? Get out? That seemed like a far away distant wish that had already been crushed like a snowflake under someone's foot. How many times did you just fall into this routine? Lost count. How many times had you scaled stairways leading to no where, jumped from floating ledge to floating ledge, opened up door after door in search of an escape? Some form of hidden exit? Only to find nothing but more emptiness and demons. Sometimes even running into Candy Apple Cookie or Black Sapphire Cookie who would only make you go back to the awaiting grasps of your 'lover'. Always clinging to your sides, always watching, and always guiding you back to your place in the middle of them all. Like how a lover should be. That's what he always said when you to be scolded in his presence.

Isn't that what you wanted? To be a good wife?

"Come, Dear. Follow me into the Spire.~"

Follow us. Follow us deeper into the dungeon and farther away from the light. ..The light. The beautiful gorgeous light that warmed your skin and washed away all the fears of night. Wild. Without a care..

F R E E

The thudding of steps with sorrow as it tumbled from shaking hands filled with renewed embers of hope long since lost. Desperate to the cookies before her through the bars. 

"Please..help me."

It was a blur. Not remembering what happened between the time you pleaded for help and when you were pulled along behind the cookie with the pink hood being yanked along by your wrist and towards the unknown. Heart pounding and lungs burnt from years of being trapped within the darkness.

"What are you doing?! Where is my song bird!?"

Rage rattled the very foundation of the wood you ran across, splintering and shattering to pieces with each step your feet ran against the hardwood surface. Fleeing from the jaws of the monster that roared with uncanny fury at the loss of his world built up for eons. Crumbling and slipping through his fingers like paper after being soaked by water. The adrenaline of fear you hadn't felt in years flooding back stronger than even the first day you saw him take a life. The fight between the Beast and the Ancient intensifying greatly now that he realized truly how much was at stake to be lost.

"Keep running! Don't look back!!"

Don't look back. Don't go back. Don't think about the back then! Just run! Go! You weren't going to let the thing behind you hold you prisoner again. Don't let him catch you.

"She belongs to me!  B R I N G   H E R   B A C K!!"

"Keep running!" The hold around your wrist pulled you before him, shoving your back to run faster. "Don't stop until you reach the open air!!"

"NO!"

Claws dug into the fabric of your soul clawing violently. Desperation. Formed between panic and frivolous want knowing upon your bones from the thing behind you.

"Don't leave me!"

Worlds collided and evaporated. Taking all rational thoughts with it. Run! Just run! Don't look back! Don't stop!

"Youcantleavemeyoucantleavemeyoucantleaveme!! Please I beg of you do not leave me! I can't lose you!"

Lungs burnt in panic beyond comprehension. You couldn't think clearly. You felt like you was burning in a fire while also frozen so numb in ice. Loosing all feeling but fear, panic, and the burning in your lungs as slingers of wood splattered forever behind you. Bouncing off disappearing walls and threatening to cave in on you. The Spire crumbling under the battle waged behind you. Ancient forcing the upper hand.

"I have nothing else. I don't want to lose this. I can't lose you! PLEASE! You're the only good thing I've ever felt!"

She was the only thing he could love. He didn't want to lose the light that had finally shined into his heart.

Run. Don't stop. Run!!

"I only wanted you safe! I swear...I'm sorry. Imsorryimsorryimsorryimsorry! Forgive me! Please don't leave me!"

Planks and flooring fell. Your hands desperately clutching up the hem of the too showy, frilly gold and blue ball gown dress he always forced you to wear. Bit and pieces, splinters wedging themselves into the folds of your fabrics as you kept your head tilted down and continued running.

"I LOVE YOU! I love you, I love you, I love you so much you don't understand!"

Your feet continued onwards. The sounds of shrieks, dying, cursing, and war around you persisted on. A bare foot slammed hard against the ground. You might've lost a shoe but you didn't hold back. Run. Don't look back.

"I want you. ONLY YOU! Please. Anything...Just don't leave me alone!! I WON'T ALLOW YOU TO LEAVE ME!! YOU'RE MINE!!"

A scream tore from burning lungs as wild blue strings whipped around you this way and that, breaking through the wooden world and just missing your own legs entangled in their grasp. Tears stung your orbs, burning as they continued to trail down the cheeks as you just kept going, and going and going. Body numb to the chaos around yourself as you had kept going and going. The ringing in your ears present as sounds buzzed together and your vision blurred as the world tilted, tilted, tilted-

And then you were falling.

A silent scream tearing down your throat and air pushing down your feather light body as the chaos collided alongside the fear in an ever blurring tornado of horrors. Continuing to fight with the darkness until it enveloped your very being.

When you had eventually come too from passing out, it was to a bright light being shined everywhere. A softness caressing your battered and pained body. A terrible throbbing came from your leg making you choke on a sob as you forced yourself to push yourself up onto your elbows. What your eyes beheld stunned you into silence.

The first thing that you even saw was green. A beautiful vibrant light green that rivaled your imagination. Your eyes stared at it in disbelief of the shapes it took. Grass. Soft green growing alive grass that bunched up in your palms and tickled your fingers as they squished within your grip. The feeling softer than any silks Kagaya brought to you as gifts.

You were tempted to just lie there forever and never leave. Grip tightening as if afraid this was just another dream you'd awaken from only to find yourself once again in the prison of rooms and stairs. Forcing yourself to look up around you, lead you to realize that you had wound up in some kind of forested area. Trees waved above you overhead casting dancing shadows along your body as it struggled against the ground in pain. The sun shining on you like a beacon of hope assuring you that everything was alright now. However your eyes weren't done with being shocked as they landed upon a door just lying on the ground above you.

A door? From the Spire? Is that what you fell through?

The pain worsened in every way as you dragged your heavy form across the grass and splinter littered ground towards the door. You HAD to know! You had to be certain that this wasn't just a dream. Your arms stung dragging yourself inch until you shakily made it to the doorway. The pain worsening to a hundred degrees as you willed your strength to pull at the bottom of the door. Pulling, pulling, pulling until the door cracked enough for your bloodied and bruised fingers to wedge themselves between the cracked doorframe and sliding door so you could painfully pull it open. The loud creaking gave way not to a dark tunnel underneath like they always lead to ...but more grass and pieces of broken wood hidden underneath. Like if the door just fell here.

The only thing you could do in that moment was cry. Becoming a sobbing, screaming, crying mess as your body once again slumped down upon the remains of the door and grass and continued to cry until you lost consciousness.

The second time you had awoken it was inside some building covered in bandages and wrapped up in white sheets. For a few panicking moments you were sure they had dragged you back into this prison or worse it had all been nothing but a vivid dream. However the people who had restrained your panicked limbs were VERY much not Shadow Milk Cookie or his minions. Instead the figure was blonde, heavenly and the two cookies who freed you alongside some other comrades of theirs. 

"Please, don't struggle," the blonde tried to calm you slowly loosening his grip on your arms but not removing them in case he had to stop you again. "You'll hurt yourself again."

Panicked eyes looked at him and then to the others in the room one by one. "W-Who are you?!"

This time he finally let go of your hands to gesture to himself. "My name is Pure Vanilla Cookie. After the battle, we found you unconscious outside of the Spire...I remember seeing glimpses of you when Shadow Milk Cookie temporary corrupted me but I was never allowed to get too close to you. He never allowed it. Would you explain who you are?"

Oh..The Ancients apparently. Someone had found your body slumped down over the door and carried you back to this place for treatment alongside anyone else who needed it. 

It was then that your most desired good had been confirmed by the people surrounding you.

The Ancient had won and while he didn't destroy or reseal Shadow Milk Cookie, he certainly wouldn't show himself again as long as Pure Vanilla Cookie was around. The blonde cookie was very concerned about your safety after you explained everything to him making him frown and him. 

"I'm really sorry you've had to endure that for so long, Miss Y/n. Rest assured you're safe now but maybe it'll be safer for you to leave Beast Yeast entirely until Shadow Milk Cookie is stopped forever. I know some cookies who can help you. It'll be a few days but they're trustworthy and if Shadow Milk Cookie believes you're still with us he won't go very far...But I wouldn't risk your safety just to defeat him once and for all. I hope you don't get air sick."

A sigh left your lips as you stood up once more. Allowing the petals of the flower to scatter at your feet or be blown away by the wind. Your body scarred from the ordeal. Sometimes you still had nightmares of being trapped again. But scars would fade. Nightmares were nothing but bad dreams and eventually they took will fade away from you in time. Because now you were freed off the monsters that once lurked in the shadows.

"I hope you're as miserable in your own hell as you had made me in life."

[igorluvr]

‘SOLACE | choi su-bong x reader

PAIRING: thanos x reader

SYNOPSIS: trapped in a deadly game to pay off your debt, you meet a man who seems perfect— maybe a little too perfect. as time goes on, his true self starts to show. while thanos grows more obsessive, you can’t tell if it’s pulling you in or pushing you away. can you handle the pressure, or will you break before the game ends?

CONTENT: yandere 🙈, manipulation, mentions of suicide, stalking, toxic relationships, murder/death, gaslighting, physical violence, coercive romantic dynamics, possessive behavior, trauma bonding

AUTHORS NOTE: could u tell what show i was binge watching while writing this?? cough cough joe goldberg, anywayssss this is based off a request, i’ve been trying to expand my writing genres, so thank u for requesting this @i-might-be-vanny, hope u enjoy !!!

word count: [5.7k]

SOLACE is defined as comfort or consolation in a time of distress or sadness. That’s what you were when Thanos first laid his eyes on you. He knew by first glance that you’d be his peace, his sanity. Better than any drug he’d ever take.

Of course, he couldn’t just go up to you like a lunatic. He had to make it seem effortless— ease his way into your heart.

So he started to do anything he could to get into your space. Whether it was intentionally bumping through people before being escorted to games so he’d walk by you, or skipping the meal line just to stand close, too close— he needed to make his presence known. He craved proximity to you, like being near you was the only thing keeping him sane.

Nam-gyu said it was stalking; “you’re always watching them, it’s creepy” But in the end, Thanos just wanted to get to know you. There was no harm in that, right? And besides, he’d always be able to keep you safe— he never had a problem with getting his hands dirty. After about 2 days of keeping watch and observing, Thanos decided to go up to you.

Nam-gyu called it stalking; “you’re always watching them, it’s creepy.” But to Thanos, it wasn’t stalking, it was understanding. He just wanted to know you. There was no harm in that, right? And besides, he was the only one who could ever truly keep you safe. He never had a problem getting his hands dirty for someone he cared about. After two days of watching you from a distance, memorizing your patterns like a ritual, he finally decided it was time to approach you.

“Excuse me, beautiful.” You heard him speak up. It was almost bed time, and you’d been exhausted from the last game. All you wanted was a good nights rest. Unfortunately for you, some man just had to ruin it.

Looking up to face the person who involuntarily ruined your night, you were met with a familiar head of purple hair. You recognized him from almost everywhere—he was always just there. Of course, you didn’t think anything bad about it. Maybe he just coincidentally went to the same places you did. Puzzled as to why he suddenly decided to come by your bed and spark a conversation, you responded to him.

“Hi, can I help you?” you spoke up calmly. Everyone always complained about his personality— said he was crazy, too much, but you saw right past that. Maybe it was just his way of coping with the situation. You couldn’t blame him. If you had a way of escaping this place, you’d use it too.

He took your hands into his grasp, cupping them gently with his ringed fingers. “You should come sit with me and my boy over there,” he offered, eyes never leaving yours. “People in here are messed up, wouldn’t want you getting involved with them, princess.” The nickname made your heart flutter, looking up at him in adoration.

He seemed nice, so why not? Maybe everyone had just been too quick to judge him. Accepting his offer, he guided you over to where his friend was waiting. Waiting was a longer-haired man, he introduced himself as Nam-gyu.

The boys seemed sweet. After all, you were in this by yourself. Any ally was a good one, especially if they were cute. You didn’t say it out loud, but you found yourself drawn to Thanos. Maybe it was his overprotectiveness combined with his looks, but something about him was alluring.

Everything was going perfectly. Thanos protected you throughout the games, always keeping you close. He did everything in his power to keep you safe— sometimes even dragging his friend into it without a second thought. It felt like things were finally taking a turn for the better, until it was time to vote.

As you approached the illuminating panel of buttons, a chill ran down your spine. You could feel it— a pair of eyes piercing into the back of your skull. It was a feeling you’d gotten used to ever since forming an alliance with Thanos, but it felt stronger, more threatening.

Turning back, you were met with Thanos’ stone cold face. He looked as if he were anticipating something just moments away— whether it was good or bad, though, was a complete mystery to you. The uncertainty hung between you like a held breath. Trusting your gut feeling, you hit the red “X” button, causing half the room to burst out in celebration.

Thanos’ mood, though, completely contrasted the atmosphere around you. He looked hurt— betrayed almost. You were supposed to want to stay with him, so why did you choose to leave so soon? His entire demeanor shifted instantly to one of hostility. His jaw clenched tightly, and his fists curled with such strength that blood almost broke through his skin.

Returning to the bunks, you laid down on the cardboard-like bed in an attempt to get comfortable. However, your efforts proved futile as after about thirty minutes, the lights went out, leaving the room illuminated by only the glowing red and blue lights from the floor. The silence swallowed everything and a heavy uncomfortability settled over you, making it impossible to find any peace.

Suddenly, the bed dipped behind you and you flinched in fear, body instinctively jerking away. Before you could turn around, a ringed hand shot over your mouth, silencing you. “Be quiet,” he whispered, “Don’t want anyone thinking I’m killing you.” His emphasis on the last word put a sick feeling in your stomach.

Something told you to run, to break free from his grip and bolt to somebody else’s bed. But you were frozen— as if Thanos had hypnotized you and kept you stuck in the same position. Realizing you weren’t going anywhere, he let go of your face and turned you around to face him.

“Why’d you vote to leave, baby? It’s supposed to be you and me forever, can’t do that if we’re in different places.” Thanos’ words puzzled you. Forever? He practically just confessed his feelings to you, but something didn't sit right about it. As much as you’d love to be with him for the rest of your life, you didn’t want to stay in this place. Your feelings for Thanos were growing by the day, but so was your desire to leave.

Realizing you were stuck in your mind as he waited for an answer, you quickly spoke up. “I do want it to be us forever, but I can’t stay here anymore. People are dying, Thanos” Your voice cracked with the last sentence as your emotions peaked through. Being surrounded by carnage wasn’t worth it— not for money. You’d do anything to get out of this place.

His eyes were filled with a dark, unsettling intensity as he studied your face. Silence hung heavily between you for a moment, thick with unspoken fears and twisted promises. “You think leaving will save you?” he whispered, voice low and menacing. “I'm the only one that cares about you in this shithole. Even if we leave, the money won't fix anything, you'll still be mines. No matter where you go, I’ll find you. And when I do, there won’t be any more running, baby.” His eyes shimmered with certainty as he leaned in, the heavy weight of his presence engulfing you. His words were threatening— demanding. They were laced with a dangerous tone that screamed not to engage, so why were you more attracted to him than ever?

It seemed as if he sensed your interest, because a small, dangerous smile spread across his face. Standing tall, he reached out and gently caressed your cheek with his thumb, tilting his head slightly to reveal a thick black line running from behind his ear—a tattoo, thick and prominent. Suddenly, he whipped around and vanished into the darkness, leaving you replaying the conversation in your head for hours.

The next morning was a daze. You'd barely gotten any sleep, staying up all night thinking about interactions from the previous day. The sound of the door opening cut off your train of thought as a group of guard walked in with containers in their hand. Announcing at everyone to line up for food, people piled up to the front of the room

Everybody felt the sting of hunger whether they wanted to accept it or not, and their actions showed it. After being yelled at to stand in a proper line, people angrily obliged, causing attitudes from some, but nothing too bad. As you gathered in line with the rest of the players, you heard commotion coming from behind you.

"Hey man, what the fuck?" A voice shouted, followed by another complaining, "Get in the back and wait like the rest of us"

A pair of hands wrapped around your body as you felt a head rest on your shoulder. You didn't even have to look back to know who it was; Thanos. He was always touchy with you, but it seemed like he'd been all over you the past day.

"G'morning pretty, you ready for todays game?" He mumbled into your sweatshirt with a sweet tone. It was like his mood did a whole 180 from last night, going from threatening to nurturing. It confused you, but your feelings for his didn't falter.

As much as you wanted it to, your face couldn’t hide your allure. The smile that spread across your lips was small, yet unmistakable. While your heart pounded at a hundred miles an hour, your mind raced with anxiety about the upcoming game. Letting your thoughts take over, you absentmindedly drifted into a daze, lost in your own worries.

You were snapped out of your clouded state by Thanos brushing up and down your arms with his hands. "You okay?" He asked, showing genuine concern. You answered him with a simple nod, not being in the mood to talk. As he went on to talk about God knows what, you found yourself drifting back into your own thoughts, trapped in your mind once again. Getting to the front of the line and picking up the tray of food, you started to walk away before getting stopped by, of course, Thanos.

"You should eat with us for today, hm? It'd be perfect, me and my lady eating lunch together, like a proper date." he spoke. You stood and contemplated for a moment. If that was his idea of a proper date you didn't even want to think about where he'd take you after getting out of this place.

Pushing your thoughts aside, you followed him to the area, curiosity getting the best of you. Before you sat 4 others. You'd learned their names against your will, hearing Thanos shout them out at least five times a day. Approaching the steps, you were met with warm smiles— mostly.

Nam-gyu stared at you like you owed him money. His gaze was sharp and relentless, never breaking contact with yours. You waved to everyone sweetly, sneaking glances at Nam-gyu to see if he was still staring (unfortunately he was.) The other three were friendly, making sure you were okay while Nam-gyu and Thanos whispered off to eachother. Attempting to brush off the uncomfortability of being watched, you engaged in conversation with everybody. The group was nice, they opened up quickly and even shared detailed about their lives before the games.

After finishing your food, you threw the remains away and walked to your bunk, satisfied with the interactions you'd just had. Before you could make it all the way, a familiar purple head of hair popped up beside you. He didn't say anything, though, just followed you quietly. Laying down in your bed, he still remained silent. Eventually, you'd had enough and finally spoke up.

"What?" you asked simply— neither rude or overbearing, but straightforward enough for him to know what you were referring to. His head lowered slowly, as if something had been weighing on his mind. The dark purple hair dropped over his face, hiding his expression from the world.

"Y'know," he spoke lowly, "If we left this place right now, I'd probably try to do it again."

He spoke with such a tone that sent shivers down your spine. So sinister and firm, it made you tense up. Looking at his covered face, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean? Do what again?"

He sniffed once, then twice, before roughly brushing his hand through his hair in frustration. "When that man found me, I was on that bridge ready to jump. Everything I worked for just came crashing down in days!" His voice cracking as if the words physically hurt to say. "I just wanted to make my mother proud. But now all she has is a good-for-nothing son who's almost 2 billion won in debt."

His words tugged at your heart strings, evoking every bit of sympathy from your body. The way he stuttered with every word and struggled to continue his story could bring tears to your eyes. After a huge sigh, he continued speaking.

"I can't just go home with that much" he pointed to the giant screen displaying how much each player would get. '24 million won', not nearly enough to pay off his debt. "This game is my last try at life, honestly. If I get out and still have to struggle, I'm gonna end up at that same bridge, and I'm jumping this time"

His final words shocked you. Of course anyone would fall into depression if they risked their lived just to still be in debt, but going as far as jumping off a bridge? The thought of it made you nauseous. "So darling please, vote O next time. For me?" he finished off, cupping his hands in yours as he ended his sentence. Begging— pleading you to change your vote.

As much as you resented being here, you couldn't help but feel bad for Thanos. His situation made you think of everyone else that voted O, how they could be going through similar things. You didn't want him to fight this far only to end his life. Ultimately, you gave in— promising his that you'd change your vote next time round.

Thanos, on the other hand, didn't care that much. Sure, everything he said was true, but he had to dramatize it to be sure you changed your mind. He would end up killing himself if the game ended too early, just not for the reason he told you. He didn't care for his life that much, hence his reckless behavior, but he wouldn't be able to live knowing you chose to leave him so soon. You were the shining light in his darkness, the spark that ignited his hope. A tiny lie meant nothing if it assured your presence in his life.

As time passed, the topic weighed on your mind. It stuck around like a shadow— relentless, refusing to leave you. The next few hours were a blur, time passing by as if it were flowing in a lake; slow and endless. Suddenly, the guards lined people up once more, but this time was different. It looked as if the color had been drained out their faces, leaving this dull and hopeless. This could only mean one thing; the next game was abut to start.

Following the crowd through the labyrinth of shapes and colors, you were met by Thanos yet again. "Tryna leave me, babydoll?" he asked, smile evident in his voice. He always spoke with such a cocky tone—like he had the entire world wrapped around his painted finger. At this point, you feared you had fallen victim to it.

"It's okay, you'll be safe all game, I'll make sure of it" he muttered. Usually, you'd assume that meant he would protect you from any threats, but at this point, you were worried he was the threat.

The crowd slowed down as they entered the room, causing your anxiety to grow even more. When you finally made your way in, your breath felt like it was caught in your throat. In front of you stood a circular room with doors lining the entire wall and a giant carousel-like figure in the middle. As your mind raced with possibilities for what the upcoming game could be, you saw people grouping up with their peers hesitantly. Not wanting to be the odd one out, you did the same.

After rejoining with Thanos and his teammates that you had met earlier, you looked around in confusion. Even while being surrounded by your closest acquaintances and possible lover, you still couldn't calm yourself down. A robotic woman's voice reverberated around the room, giving the details for the game.

"Welcome to your third game. The game you will be playing is Mingle. Let me repeat, the game you will be playing is Mingle." Your heart almost skipped a beat as you heard her words come from the speakers. Mingle was a game from your childhood, one you always found yourself losing. Now, it seemed, that old familiar sense of dread was creeping back.

"Hey, we’ll be mingling together, doesn’t that sound like so much fun?" Thanos spoke as he nudged his friend beside him.

"All players, please step onto the center platform." The lady instructed. With that, the rest of the people slowly started gathering on the circular foundation. "When the game starts, the platform will begin to rotate, and you will hear a number. You must form groups of that size, go into the rooms, and close the door within 30 seconds"

You heard groups around you start to strategize their plans to win, and that's when it hit you that this was really about to happen. You felt the familiar pit in your stomach come back as your hands instinctively started shaking.

Before your anxiety took over, you felt Thanos grab your wrist and pull you closer to him. It was a little more aggressive than you would've wanted, but at least you know now that you have someone by your side. 'Forever' as he would've said. As he led you to the platform alongside him, your racing thoughts seemed to finally slow down.

Suddenly the ground shifted under you in a hurry, and you stumbled to catch your balance. You heard children on the speakers singing a song you knew all-too-well from your childhood.

You cursed under your breath, not wanting to have to pick people o group with but also not wanting to lose your life. The song echoed around the room like a haunting melody before coming to a complete stop as did the platform.

"10 players"

While the entire group ran to find 4 others, Thanos hurriedly pulled you and rushed to find an open room. Both of you dodged and weaved through players to get to a door nobody claimed yet. Luckily, you found one right in time as the rest of the group came running back with enough people to complete the room.

Panting and heaving as you collapsed onto the wall behind you, the timer in the room outside hit zero. Before you could catch your breath, gunshots sounded through the small space loud enough to rupture your eardrums. As your hands flew to your ears in desperation, Thanos flew onto you, enveloping you into his arms. He needed to keep you safe, no matter what.

As the door clicked open, the room slowly emptied while the smell of iron engulfed your senses. Looking around, there were splatters of blood scattered on the platform, ground, and even the walls. A haunting image formed in your mind— your body falling, leaving nothing but a puddle of crimson flooding on that very floor.

Dragging yourself back to the platform, the music started up again as did the movement of the floor below you. The music ringing through your ears quickly transitioned from lighthearted to dreadful. Every time you heard the eerie singing, it reminded you of what was to come.

"5 players"

Your heart dropped as the spinning came to a halt. There were 6 of you, who would have to get left behind? You quickly turned to Thanos in refuge and found him scanning the group franticly. Suddenly, his eyes locked on Gyeong-su— cold and belligerent.

"Gyeong-su, you're out!" Thanos shouted, kicking Gyeong-su down forcefully. Before you could react, Thanos snatched your wrist and guided you to one of the unclaimed doors. You whipped your head back, hoping to see Gyeong-su finding safety with another group. Instead, you were met with his empty eyes. It was like he'd accepted his death already, laying in the same position he'd landed in as the timer ran out.

You called for him, hoping to give him enough strength to get up and run into a room. Rather, he just stared at you, gaze dull and far away. Your stomach turned knowing that was the last time you'd see him alive.

A rough push guided you in a room, the rest of the group following behind you. As soon as the door closed, you heard the timer go off. The rest of the group shared rushed questions with eachother, but you were in too much of a daze to pay attention to them. You'd just watched Thanos basically kill his friend— your friend, and he had no remorse.

He abruptly pushed you up to the door, forcing you to watch the murder outside. "You see that?" He said as he pointed to a specific direction. Your eyes followed his accessorized finger to find him pointing at Gyeong-su, with a pink guard walking up to him menacingly.

"That would've been you if it weren't for me. I saved you." He spat, not sparing a flinch as you both watched your friend get shot dead. "Oh my God, Gyeong-su..." you muttered in disbelief. Staring at his frigid body, you felt tears threatening to spill from your eyes. "Why would you kill him?"

"I did it for you, baby!" He exclaimed, spinning you around to face him. "I'd let any of these people go to save you. They're just pawns but you, you're my queen." Shivers went down your spine with his words, this wasn't healthy love, and you knew that.

"Don't be scared. I mean, you're the reason I did this. If you would've just voted to stay, maybe poor little Gyeong-su could've lived." He fake pouted as the last sentence came ou of his mouth, showing how he truly doesn't care for his killing. If you weren't scared into changing your vote before, you definitely were now. The lock on the door clicked once again and the rooms flowed out with less people.

The next few rounds went by like a blur, each one more harrowing than the last. It wasn't until the final round that you truly started fearing Thanos.

"2 players"

Not even hesitating, Thanos yanked your arm so tight you were sure it would leave a grotesque purple-orange bruise in a few hours, then sprinted towards a room. You nearly slipped on blood from how fast you were moving, but that didn’t seem to matter to him. All he cared about was finding a room, whether it was occupied or not. He knew his plan.

As you were dragged up to a door, Thanos shoved it open with a force that sent the metal hatch swinging wide. Without hesitation, he stared at two men inside, bloodlust heavy in his eyes. "Get the fuck out." he demanded.

The men panted heavily, backing into the far wall. "We were here first" one of them spoke, more as a plea than a statement. Without warning, Thanos lifted his fist and slammed it down onto the man's nose. Blood spilled as the man cried out in pain, cupping his face. The two players ran out, oblivious to the countdown that had only four seconds remaining.

You slipped inside just before the door shut and collapsed onto the floor. The guilt you felt for causing those men to lose their lives was immense, but survival was all that mattered now. Moments later, banging echoed on the other side of the door from the men— desperate to live on. Unfortunately, when the lock clicked, it was too late. Two heavy shots rang right outside the door, close enough to hear them choking on their blood.

Your eyes darted to Thanos in disbelief. Part of you wanted to thank him for saving your life, to cling to some bit of gratitude. But the other felt the urge to cry and scream at him for kicking those poor innocent men out. Your mind spun in chaos, a whirlwind of emotions you couldn’t find the strength to express. Instead, you settled on keeping a poker face— dissociating and tuning out the world around you in a numb haze.

You wished it could stay like this; dull and quiet, but this was only the calm before the storm. Everywhere around you, a burdening sense of horror and helplessness refused to fade. The weight of what just happened suddenly pressed down on you, heavy and unrelenting, leaving you feeling more lost than ever. All you could do was stare ahead praying that somehow, this nightmare would end before it consumed you whole.

As if on cue, the door opened with a 'click!' and you heard other players exiting in a solemn silence. Not you, though. You remained in the same spot, replaying the last few seconds in your mind. An arm around yours quickly snapped you out of your daze, being caught off guard by the abrupt touch.

"It's okay, pretty, they would've died before the next game anyways" Thanos reassured before giving you a soft kiss on the forehead and leading you to the hallway. As much as his behavior had been creeping you out lately, a part of you loved it. You admired how someone would go that far to protect you; it made you feel warm— safe.

He made sure to keep at least a finger on you at all times. Whether it was an arm around your shoulder, holding your hand, hugging you from behind, or simply resting his head on yours. He needed everyone to see that you were his. To remind you, and himself, that you belonged to him. And when it came time to vote, that extra layer of security was enough to sway your decision, pushing you to change your answer just to keep him close— and sane.

Thanos’ behavior shifted almost immediately after you voted to stay. That little blue patch on your chest seemed to draw him in like a magnet, and he couldn’t get enough of it. He got even closer to you, going as far as insisting to sleep in the same bed. You knew his obsession was spiraling out of control, but you felt powerless to stop it. Enabling his attachment felt like the only way to keep him from acting out— at least, that’s what you thought.

During the next meal, Thanos let you go by yourself, claiming he had something to talk to Nam-gyu about. As you stood in the line ready for whatever meal they had planed of you, an unfamiliar body appeared beside you. "Excuse me, miss." he called out to you

Turning your head to the mysterious voice, you were met by an innocent-looking man with shorter hair, number 333. You were confused why he suddenly wanted to talk to you, especially since you'd never seen him a day in your life. "Sorry, have we met before?" you asked

He let out an awkward chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "No, but I have met your friend" the man laughed, putting air quotes around friend. You knew then that he was referring to Thanos. "My name's Myung-gi, or you might know me as MG Coin"

In that second you immediately put a face to his name. So this was the man that Thanos had been shit-talking the past few days. The insults were non-stop, claiming he was a scammer, fraud, even a fugitive. You were confused, because this man seemed nothing like Thanos described him.

"Could you just ask him to back off? He keeps harassing me and honestly, it's kind of weird. I ju—" Suddenly, Myung-gi's voice was cut off by a booming yell.

"What the fuck are you doing talking to my girl?" Thanos shouted, stomping towards you with Nam-gyu close behind. You cursed under your breath, not wanting this to escalate into anything serious. Standing beside you, he snatched you closer, practically cutting off your breathing with how hard he was gripping your waist.

"She doesn't want you, bro. Go, before we have a problem" Thanos spat, shooing Myung-gi off with his free hand. Nam-gyu nudged Thanos on the arm and chuckled "Nah, man. He's tryna get her knocked up just like he did that chick." He laughed, pointing over to a girl staring at you all, stomach protruding through the baggy jumpsuit.

Thanos turned back to Myung-gi in disbelief, falling for Nam-gyu's words.

"You already took my money, you tryna fuck my girl too?" He accused, shoving the other man so hard he almost fell down. Even while getting pushed around, Myung-gi remained calm and took a deep breath.

"Just leave me alone dude" He muttered under his breath, brushing his jacket off. "I was telling her to control you, you're doing way too much" the man sighed. This seemed to light a fire in Thanos' eyes, fueling his anger even more.

Thanos clenched his fists, his eyes blazing with fury as he took a step closer to Myung-gi. “You think you can come here and talk shit about me? To her?” he growled, voice low and threatening.

The other man opened his mouth to rebuttal, but Thanos was already lunging forward, fist clenched, slamming down on Myung-gi’s jaw. The punch caused him to hunch over in refuge, attempting to block his face. Thanos reached up his fist once again to land another blow, but Nam-gyu was faster— stepping infront of Thanos and throwing a punch of his own.

Thanos and Nam-gyu used their advantages, jumping Myung-gi from both sides. Thanos’s fists pounded into his ribs while Nam-gyu threw a vicious punch at his jaw. Myung-gi tried to dodge, but with the both of them attacking simultaneously, he was quickly overwhelmed, collapsing under their assault.

Just as Thanos was about to land another blow, a sudden surge of movement halted the fight. Bright pink jumpsuits and black masks with squares on them burst into view, rushing between the three. The guards moved swiftly, their voices muffled as they pushed Thanos and Nam-gyu back.

“Break it up.” one of the guards commanded, guns gripped in their hands ominously as they blocked the attack. “If you continue, all three of you will be eliminated.”

Thanos scowled, glaring at the guards with his fists still clenched. Nam-gyu, breathing heavily, took a step back, muttering curses under his breath as the guards inched closer. Their masks hid any possible expression, but their stances made it clear they weren’t going to tolerate any more violence.

Thanos and Nam-gyu exchanged tense looks, muscles still tense and ready for a fight, but ultimately, they backed off. The guards kept a close eye on them, watching as Myung-gi regained function and lifted himself from the floor. The chaos had been stopped for now, but tension still lied beneath the surface.

Around them, the others in the dormitory paused, watching the chaos with a mixture of shock and curiosity. While the guards might have stopped the fight, it was clear this wasn’t going to end anytime soon. The three had crossed a line with eachother, and none of them seemed willing to back down.

As the men were escorted back to their bunks, each whispered threats under their breath. You tried to tune it out, feeling embarrassed that this situation even happened, but no amount of distance could help you ignore that.

Returning to your now shared bed, you thought intensely about everything that transpired in the last few days. Was it really worth it? You kept telling yourself that you were almost there, just a few more games and you could love him normally. No killing, no fights, just two adults living happily together— but was this really true?

As if on cue, Thanos' hands crept around your waist, cuddling you in the compacted bed. His nose nuzzled into the crook of your neck, bringing you comfortability in the dire situation. "I love you" he spoke in english, voice silky and soft, like velvet. “I love you so much it hurts.”

"I'd never let anyone, or anything hurt you. You know that right?" he asked, giving you a slight nudge with his question. "I know" you answered, unsure of how far he would actually go for you.

"I wanted to kill him." Thanos admitted, "He was too close. The way he looked at you, like he thought he could take you from me. When I saw him talking to you like that, all i could think of were ways to get rid of him." Hearing his words conflicted you. You didn't know if you should run away at the thought of him fantasizing about killing for you, or find refuge in it.

"I could've choked him to death, or maybe bashed his head in. Not fast though— he needed to feel every second of it. Every snap, every break." You felt his smile growing as he went on about Myung-gi's death like it was something intimate, beautiful. As his grip around you tightened, his words got more concerning.

"Isn't it good to know you have someone willing to protect you like that?" Thanos spoke up, "There's people out there, sick people, just waiting to get their hands on something as rare and perfect as you."

"No matter where you go, I'll always be there." He whispered softly, brushing your hair with an unsettling tenderness. You weren't sure if his words were meant as a threat or a promise— but you weren't exactly in the mood to find out. "Even if you tried to leave me, if you begged me to let you go, I wouldnt— I couldn't." It was in this moment you realized how serious this was. Thanos had no intention of leaving you, ever. You'd just signed up for something you weren't sure if you could ever escape.

taglist: @i-might-be-vanny @thanosspills

[occamstfs]

Spanish Shortcuts

Heyo, Here’s a Latino cultural/racial change, also my first foray into a possession transformation! Lessons to be learned about clicking dodgy links and letting spirits walk all over you!

¡Espero que lo disfrutes Atajos en Espanol! -Occam

The foreign language requirements of any American high school are guaranteed to be lackluster. It is no wonder that a nation so fixed on instilling American and English supremacy was so wont to neglect the study of foreign languages and culture. For his part Claude had just about forgotten all the Spanish that he learned not too many years ago. At the present moment he is browsing the web looking for some way to reclaim and improve on his meager knowledge. Despite his desire however, he is shockingly unwilling to do much at all to pursue this end.

Rather than the tried and true method of studying each day Claude is instead looking for not only the easy way, but an instantaneous way to regain his lost knowledge. This is obviously a beyond foolish endeavor, though having long heard tales of people waking up speaking in languages they hadn’t learned he was deep in rabbit holes online scouring for a ticket to bilingualism. Unwilling to admit that they were just old wives’ tales or shitposts he clicks link after link sure the next one will lead to some fruition.

Deep in websites he certainly should not be visiting without a firewall he actually stumbles on a thread in Spanish. Hastily translating the page through Google it promises the fluency of a native speaker through a single click. Claude scratches his cheek wondering whether or not to go through with it, could be malware, probably just a link to a meme or the like. He looks at the link in blue text, it’s just a name: Carlos Herrero. With little further ado Claude decides fuck it what’s the worst that could happen and clicks the name in blue.

The lights in his room flicker as his hand holding his mouse is promptly shocked. He pushes away from his desk shaking his hand in pain as suddenly there is a chill in the air. He shivers as he hears a voice, deep and unknown, whispering in his ear. “Hola hola hola mi perrito.” Claude shakes his head feeling the tickle of a beard on his cheek and swats at the air. “Ay! Lo siento, ah- ¿cuál es su nombre? Claude ¿Verdad? ¿Me entiendes?” (Ah! Sorry, uh- What is your name? Claude, is it? Can you understand me?) 

Claude looks around his room in shock at this mysterious voice, immediately assuming he’s lost his mind. He shakes his head trying to wake up or come to his senses, after a few shakes he feels a cold powerful hand grasp his jaw. He hears the voice continue to speak in words he couldn’t understand and did his best not to process lest it worsen the state of his mind. His eyes widen in shock as he stares into the space, feeling the skin on his face contort in response to a hand that is not there. He feels the grip tighten and his breathing  accelerates as he starts to hyperventilate.

As if in response to his fear the hand disappears from his face and he feels a heavy arm around his shoulder. “¿No querías saber español?” (Do you not want to know Spanish?) Claude’s ears pick up as he hears Spanish he can just about recall. In doing so his brain immediately reprocessed the preceding events in order to maintain any semblance of sanity. The link must have worked! This is just a dream or something that will end with him knowing Spanish, just like a video game. He just needs to play along until he wakes up. Neglecting how real everything clearly is he addresses the voice, willing himself to believe whatever it is that it’s not malevolent. “Okay, uh I’m down for whatever, thanks for your help, uh, ghost?”

“De Nada, Claudio.” With this Claude’s visions flicker as the chill in the air fills him. He gasps and sees his breath condensate as every inch of his body is ice cold. Claude falls out of his chair and scratches at himself, instinctively trying to claw something out of his body. He rolls onto his hands and convulses, retching as if trying to throw something up. As the seconds pass he feels his body rapidly warm from the bitter freeze, unsure if this is a mirage of heat like the comfort one feels in the throes of hypothermia he paws at his chest.

Before finding confirmation in any way Claude hears the alluring whispers once more, though this time not tickling his ear. Rather it is now a voice within his own head. “Testing testing, ah would you look at that. Now I’m speaking a language you can understand huh? Hahah!” Claude’s brow furrows as he wipes spit from his mouth. This was not the easy nap and wake up anew process that he was promised. As if it had access to his thoughts the voice responds to this. “Ah sorry if I misled you little guy, this is going to be a bit of work. Trust though! It will certainly be easier and quicker than wasting your time studying!” Claude rolls his eyes before remembering since this is probably a dream that at the very least in reality this will be over briefly. 

Claude then tilts his head and asks out loud to the voice in his head, “Why are you speaking in English now?” It sounds just like the one he heard earlier, if not a little more playful as it responds, “Ahh language processors, something or other- Don’t worry your little head about it, in time we both will be thinking in Espanol ya? In the meantime why not jumpstart it!” Claude purses his lips trying to find the inscrutable voice’s intentions as he does so the heat in his body begins to convert to energy.

He suddenly feels as if he’s had enough caffeine to power a body three times his size. He feels every muscle in his body demand attention and exercise as his hands start to shake. “Oh would you look at that! If it’s any help any time I used to get excited or stressed I’d always hit the gym, ya dig?” Already motioning to get changed for the gym to blow off some of this energy Claude pauses to once more try and understand the implications of the voice’s statement. “Sorry, what do you mean you used to?” 

There is then a jarring silence in his mind. Claude stands, gym clothes in hand, without a thought in his mind before the voice replies trying its best to disarm him despite its deep gruff tone, “Ah well, you know how these things go, it’s just dream logic right? This is all lucid dream, the quicker you stop questioning the sooner you’ll be a pro.” He feels a vein of chill air dash through his mind once more and he nods in agreement. His eyes lose their sharpness as he decides to just listen, throwing on some clothes and heading out.

Heeding the voice he endeavors not to question his circumstances. He gets in his car and does not wonder why, if he is truly dreaming, that he did not just poof over. Feeling his heart start to beat quickly in his chest, in response to anxiety in his chest or to the energy only continuing to course through his veins he is not sure. He looks in his rearview mirror to calm himself and sees the same reflection he always has. Claude smiles at himself seeing at least his appearance is static in this dreadful dream and heads in to get this over with, the voice in his cheering him on as he makes his way in. Increasing in fervor and volume with each step towards the door.

Once inside he Claude is shocked as the voice suddenly drops out of his head leaving him once more with the harsh silence of but his own thoughts. After having such a loud visitor in his mind he is almost uncomfortable with the feeling. Stepping up to the counter to check in he greets the receptionist, “Heyo! It’s Claudio hermano!” The receptionist tilts his head as for a second it’s almost like two voices came from the man in front of him. Claude looks down at himself and clears his throat before trying again, “Lo, Urgh, Sorry about that, Um It’s Claude Smith.”

The receptionist checks him in and Claude goes off to stretch. He doesn’t usually spend much time at the gym, just enough to stay thin. But something inside him tells him that today will be different. Something inside him. His head twitches to the side as the idea washes across his mind. Looking around the room to ensure he’s alone he tries talking to the voice, doing so he does not notice that his pitch has lowered, “Hey uh, I know you told me not to ask questions. But did you make me call myself Claudio earlier?” Having paused his stretches he feels a burning in his arms and legs demanding they keep moving. Obeying the pain, his lips quiver as if he’s about to speak and the voice responds, “Ay ¿Crees? (You think so?)Es just a slip of the tongue ya?”

Claude continues stretching carefully, taking deep breaths to assuage the anxiety building in his chest. He is facing away from the wall of mirrors, unintentionally or through some subtle manipulation. Otherwise he may notice as his hair slowly begins to darken to a deep shade of brown. The blonde locks he has always been proud of maintain their length as they darken unnaturally. The thought pops into his head that he would look good with brown hair si? He shakes it away as soon as it appears though, biting his lip to avoid voicing his concern at how much power this “voice” has over him.

Trying to center himself he closes his eyes as he continues to stretch. The companion in his mind is thankfully quiet as he pushes away the discomfort at the silence and instead appreciates the freedom. Little does he know the presence is simply acting on him in other avenues as he stretches. Claude smiles as he feels the burning relief of his stretches, grunting quietly enough that he notices not how his voice has continued to deepen, inching closer to the voice that is not his own. 

The pleasant burn of his legs as he stretches them becomes almost intoxicating as he leans against the mirrored wall. Were his eyes open he would see his calves begin to grow beyond those that he wakes up to every morning. They begin to bulge larger and longer as he extends them. Muscle the size of a baseball forces its way onto them as he stands smiling dumbly. His thighs then stain larger to match pace as they expand to hold the weight of someone a foot taller than he. The soothing burn of stretching hides the soreness that should be apparent and Claude begins to sweat as if he has been heartily working out for some time now.

Not to be outdone there is a whisper in his head that he should stretch his arms as well. Without a further thought, almost without his mind even sending the order to do so, his arms are out in front of him. Each second his arms lie extended they stretch further out from his torso. Claude motions to stretch his shoulders, wrapping one arm around the other, his biceps rub against each other as he squeezes his arm tight to his chest. His arms begin to show a bulge of muscle as he stands there biting his lip at the pleasure being wrought upon him through simple stretching.

Finally he raises his arms above his head to stretch his meager chest, struggling to do so as his larger muscles have begun to impede his dexterity. With his arms in the air and his pits exposed he notices that something has begun to stink up the locker room he’s been stretching in. Claude opens his eyes looking for the assailant, to no avail. He turns his head to the side thoughtlessly putting his nose in his pit, finding the scent closer he takes a deep breath before finding himself starting to chub at the scent. The voice in his head laughs, “¡Jajaja! ¡Nice brazos (arms) perrito! ¿A ti también te gusta mi olor, eh?” (You like my smell as well huh?)

Despite his best efforts at centering himself during his stretches, he is once more consumed with anxiety. He looks down at his body that he knows should be petite but instead finds one that does not go two days without hitting el gimnasio. He flinches as his mind automatically went for the word in Spanish. Wait, did the voice in his head just say his smell!? He sniffs the air and a thought forces itself to the front of his mind, Well this is what I wanted wasn’t it? His ears ring as he is not sure if those are his thoughts or ones implanted by whatever monster is doing this to him.

Claude feels an itch on his hand and he looks down to see the hand that clicked that link some time ago as it begins to darken. He sees a rich tan begin to spread up his suddenly muscular arm as veins throb down it aiming to increase the mass. “Q- What es, happening!?” Claude turns to look in the mirror and finds the tan racing across his body. He sees the patches of his unmistakably white skin tone become naturally sunkissed as his eyes widen in shock. He freezes up and the voice in his head takes advantage and tries to seize control outright, flexing his arm and revealing the thin patch of blonde hair in his pit as it grows dark as the hair on his head and thickens beyond the pale. The voice speaks in his mind deeper and stronger than ever as he begins to outright vie for control, “Tranquilo Claudio. (Chill out Claudio.) Let us see what I can do jaja!”

It takes a bit of concerted effort but the voice, who outs himself unsurprisingly as Carlos himself, step by step forces Claude’s body across the room in his catatonia. Claude feels a smirk on his face as Carlos positions him at the bench press. He clumsily lays back on the bench before checking the weights. Looks like some cabrón left his weights on the bar, though actually it's fortunate as Carlos doubts he has the ability to do such complex motor functions as he feels Claude start to wake from his stupor.

Carlos feels an itch on Claude’s face and he begins to smirk as he feels facial hair begin to grow, “Ay he might have cojones yet jaja!” Claude feels his mouth move of its own accord and finally notices that his voice has lowered considerably and he feels his body struggle as he tries to gasp as hears it develop a deep accent.

Before Claude can wrestle control back Carlos grabs for the bar and starts to do a rep. He grunts as he realizes this body is simply not strong enough at the moment to manage the weight that was left on the rack. As the pole is just about to pin him however Claude senses the peril and both minds in the body force the bar up. “¡Bien Claudio! Let’s see what we can do juntamente si?” (together yes?) Claude tries to grunt out a protestation but is suddenly racked with pain as his body must grow larger to force the bar up.

Both men feel as weight begins to pile onto the twink’s only recently muscled body. Claude feels as pecs develop on his chest, totally ripping the tank top that had grown tight while stretching. Carlos feels as his biceps surge larger than the thighs this weak body had not two hours ago. The expression on his face flickers between ecstasy and concern as he lies on the bench doing repetitions as his core strengthens and puts on mass.

After his chest and arms grow large enough to send existential fear into Claude’s mind and a hungry lust for more into Carlos’ balls, Claude stumbles off the bench and falls to the floor, letting the weights crash next to him. He feels pin pricks as tattoos begin to stain his tanned skin and he cries out in his changed voice, “No! Este es- This isn’t right!” with each word his voice cracks deeper and the English words become a tad more difficult to maneuver his mouth around. Without a beat, Carlos immediately takes control of his mouth and responds as his voice finishes changing to match the one in his head. “Ah, ahí estás equivocado amigo. Esto es perfección.” (Ah, there you are wrong friend. This is perfection)

Claude stands to stare in the mirror watching sweat trail down his body and ink rise in his skin. He looks at his chin as a beard begins to shadow his face. He sees his eyes as they flicker and begin to darken to a deep cacao brown. His lip quivers as if he is about to cry before without any input from him it turns to a sneer as he feels Carlos chastise him without words. Claude feels a pit in his chest as not only does he not need to hear them, he begins to feel the disdain himself. As if the will of Carlos was starting to become his own.

This causes a surge in his crotch as he feels in that regard Carlos has already wrestled full control. He feels his balls that are not his begin to grow and demand attention. They feel full and needy as pre begins to leak out of his growing erection. That happens anytime he goes to the gym si? As his eyes shift down to see his bulge make itself known his facial hair expands and his pubes begin to crest above his waistline. The small bush of pit hair begins to grow into a jungle as his balls work overtime to produce testosterone to power his poderoso body.

Feeling the hormones from Carlos’ balls pump through his veins Claude realizes what a losing battle he faces. He feels his thoughts begin to mingle with the man he foolishly allowed into his body as he begins to feel himself overwhelmed with the pressure and lust issuing forth from his crotch. He feels his fluency in English begin to wane as Carlos begins to overpower every aspect of his personality. Claude continues to stare at his reflection in the mirror and the anxiety and fear rapidly dissipate as he enjoys the power that he wields. “¡Dios estoy tan chacondo!” (God I’m so Horny) The two men voice as one, his voice reverberating through his chest as he feels power continue to surge through him.

Claude watches as his body flexes itself in the mirror without a single thought or any input from him. Not that he minds, it’s doing exactly what he would be doing anyway si? He smirks seeing his cock bob up and down as he struts across the gym floor. Every thought in his head is in fluent Spanish as he feels his identity fully mingle with Carlos’ as they truly become one. Despite this originally being Claude’s body he feels himself shrink and mold as he becomes an aspect of Carlos’ personality. Every action, every word, every movement will be crafted by the two of them. Though altogether Claude will just about always find himself thinking just as Carlos does, and both minds will more often than not be ruled by the powerful hormones coming from below.

“Debería haber preguntado sobre los términos y condiciones, Hermano.” (Should’ve asked for the terms and conditions bro.) He thinks to himself as he makes his way to the gym’s showers to pump one out. Over time even Carlos would forget that this has not always been his body. Each day he would continue to make it his own, increasing his mass and power. Outgrowing a wardrobe of clothes he would never be caught dead wearing. It did not take long at all to establish his supremacy as Carlos Herrero. Though there was some inherent difficulty navigating this land only knowing Spanish, Carlos managed well enough, confident that if needed he could perhaps let his passenger breathe enough to regain some English. At this point however it’s hard to say if any remnants of Claude remain, and moreover if he would even desire to emerge back into his own mind, it is of course much easier to simply indulge in the ceaseless pleasure he has found for himself within Carlos’ mind.

[tadc-harlequin-au]

Touch-Starved (canon)

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otherwise known as; the part where The Puppetmaster finds out he has THE FEELINGS(™, patent pending) for the Combat Harlequin. lmfao

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"Almost..." His hand trembled at the last piece required. He carefully slotted the optics in place, and twisted the eye multiple times to stick it in place. Within moments, he steps back, and Bubble flared up alive again, checking out his new, updated vision. “Wow! I can see more colors now!” The Blimp spun in place.

“Those new eyes should allow you to broadcast anything you see to me, if I so wished.” He explains, pulling out a small, thin black screen from one of the the desk’s many compartment. He switches it on, and Bubble’s eyes suddenly have a tiny red dot blinking in the middle of it.

So far, so good. The device was working as intended and he could see the top of his dentures from Bubble’s perspective, making Caine grin proudly.

“You may proceed to do your chores once more, the upgrades are done.” He sends the blimp to his merry way, and Bubble only nods before turning away to make his way out of the office. He leans back with a content sigh and closed eyes, satisfied with the work done for the day.

At that very moment, Pomni also opens the door.

She looked… disheveled, to say the least.

“Oh hey Pomni!” The butler blimp greeted with his usual reply. The Harlequin only sent him a look of acknowledgement, knowing that it’s useless to try to spark up a conversation, as Bubble was already making his way out.

Caine blinked once, and then he blinked twice just to make sure he’s seeing things right.

Was she always this… dazzling? Literally? He could see sparkles forming everywhere.

She flipped her hair in a messy attempt to get rid of the strands currently stuck to the skin of her nape. Her trademark golden ponytail missing, most likely a B.O.S.S.’s doing. She made her way to Caine’s desk and he swears he could feel his heart beat faster and faster with each step she took. The Harlequin’s trademark squinted brows with half-lidded eyes meeting his own wide stare, a gaze that would typically make any person with a still-functioning sanity cower in fear.

She took a seat on his desk with her legs crossed and her back turned against him and leaning on her right arm, as she usually did.

“Here’s the die you asked for. Took me a bit, but still got the job done.” She checked her left arm for damages after she placed the multi-colored puppet heart in front of him, while she flashed her teeth with a victorious, smug smile. His words are caught in his throat and her entirety shines too brightly for him. He couldn’t understand it.

Why… did she seem like a flame, and he felt like an unsuspecting moth, drawn to her light?

He shook his head clear and forced his stare away from her direction, clearing his throat while clutching the die. “I-I see, thank you, Pomni. You-you’ve done… a… wonderful…” Her hand grasped his own and his heart leapt at his own throat. Her synthetic, calloused fingers felt so rough, yet so gentle against his own gloved ones that he considered taking them off.

“...j-job.” His breath hitched as he struggled to finish the end of his sentence, unable to tear his attention away from her eyes. He found himself gawking at her intense, golden eye matched with blue and red pinwheel ones.

“Aren't you forgetting something, Puppetmaster?” Her expression questioning, yet with a slight and subtle undertone of mischief glinted at her optics. 

He couldn’t speak. He struggled to form coherent words. It felt like he was being strangled by an unknown force clutching at his neck, yet there was clearly no malice behind it. 

“Wh… What am I forgetting…?” He asked in such a feeble tone that made her chuckle in such a low rumbling tone, snaring his full attention.

“Well, I think that I deserve a reward for my services. Don’t you think?” She stands up. Warm hands suddenly felt so cold and empty, and already he missed the warmth present just about a second ago. The Harlequin made her way towards him as he spun his chair to meet her halfway. Hand at her hips as she towered over his sitting form. He’s all of a sudden clutching at the armrest so intensely.

“Y-yes, of course! H-how could I forget!” He nervously chuckles, he would pull on his collar right about now. “What is it you wish to be rewarded with?”

He offers her his best smile, and she giggles as she shakes her head. Without any warning, she took a seat on his lap, and he went frozen. As if making one single move would shatter the very fabric of the universe. She leaned her head to his shoulder, fiddling with the collar of his shirt then her fingers trailed onto the underside of his chin to make him look at her. He shivered from the contact.

“You.”

He trembled as his face warmed up to uncontrollable degrees, and produced visible heat waves. Not even his self-installed coolants were helping him tone down the sudden rise in his body temperature in the slightest. He couldn’t control his shakes, making the Harlequin smirk, knowing that she had the Puppetmaster all wrapped around her finger.

He didn’t know what came over him, because now his own hands were making their way onto her thighs to pull her closer to him entirely, the other shakingly placing itself onto her shoulders and he could feel the way she sighs contentedly against his touch. He exhales a shaky breath himself, attempting to steel himself.

“M-my dear, a-are you positive that… that is what you’d like?”

It was better to be safe than sorry. She sits up straight, and for the first time, he regrets ever asking that question in the first place.

“Actually…” Her voice trails off playfully, while she stands up. “... Maybe I’d like something more.”

It only took her a finger underneath his chin to pull him as she leads him to a nearby wall. As if his own body had a mind of it’s own, he pins her in place with both arms adjacent to her head. His face leans in closer and closer to her with eyes closed, and she’s leaning up close to him, fully ready to accept his advances.

Pomni’s soft lips met his teeth, and Caine could smell the faint traces of grass and sweat rolling down from her synthetic skin, evident of her hardships from the recent battle. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and his loops around her waist to pull her closer, while the other cups at her face intensely. He savored her mouth as their breathing became heavy and fast-paced, only breaking apart for a mere second, gasping for air before delving back in to their desires.

Desire…

Quite the accurate depiction of how Caine truly felt for the Harlequin at this moment. He couldn’t quite decipher when this had started, though.

As if her intentions were to pry him away from his overbearing and unnecessary thoughts, Pomni pushed him away to pin him to the wall this time, continuing the liplock. He grunts from the impact, but gladly returns her enthusiasm with fervor as he loops his arm around her back, pulling her flush to him once more. Her hands made their way to the lower sides of his jaw to caress so gently, and he finds himself melting at every contact their touches made.

Without breaking the teeth-on-lip-lock, he steered their bodies onto the direction of his desk, leaving the Harlequin laying on it as he loomed over her, ravaging her mouth once more like the touch-starved man he was. He adjusted her thighs just enough to make room for him without making the position uncomfortable for the both of them, their heated make out session felt like it could go on forever as he gripped her waist tightly.

It felt like if he let her go, she would disappear all of a sudden. And he didn’t want that.

He made sure to not lean too much of his body weight onto her by propping himself up with his elbows, both hands find themselves cupping her face to keep her in place as her hands trailed all the way up from the lower arms to his shoulders to do the same to him. He broke the kiss to gasp for air, a string of saliva being the clear proof of their heated action, but quickly delved back into the riveting sensations of their activity. 

Her touch against him were like magic; every contact sent shivers and jolts down his spine as she switched from holding his shoulders to holding his chest just above where a collarbone would traditionally be, pushing him away to let herself up. For a nanosecond he thought that maybe he went a little too far with his advances, until she disproved his theory by shoving him to one of the nearby long couches, only a pillow to cushion and soften his landing onto the furniture.

Quickly making up for lost time and contact, she quickly crawls to straddle his waist, clutching the back of his head to make him look at her, and her only. His hand found itself gripping at the back of her waist tightly once more, the other clutching her own head just to make sure she’s still there with him. Both were panting heavily, the room temperature very much heated as a result of their affairs.

His eyes looked at her longingly as he breathed heavily. “Pomni… I… I don’t think I want this to end.”

She flashed him a consoling smile.

The alarm rings, deafening the surroundings as he jolts awake, falling from his chair comically with a loud, slightly high-pitched scream emitting from his throat. He groans from the headache he had received from the impact to the ground, clutching at the top sides of his jaw, as he leans his head onto the desk for support.

His false heart was beating faster than when one would run; His face was flushed and he frustratingly ignores the heat from the rest of his body with a grumble.

He shifts his eyes to look around. Nothing’s changed. Everything was the same since Bubble left to do his daily chores.

He shakes his head and slams his face down onto the elegant desk, groaning depressingly and half-sobbing.

What the fuck? Was… WAS IT ALL JUST A DAMN DREAM!?

Oh, he could scream and cry into a pillow right about now. But the panicked angry screaming of a certain someone being bothered by the recent addition; the Ragdoll Mannequin that was “Ragatha”, suddenly grabs his attention. Now, he’s looking outside into the manor grounds from his office’s windows with a tired and questioning gaze.

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!”

“But Mistress! You still haven’t tried out my trademark cookie recipe!! It’s GUARANTEED to be your instant favorite!”

“STOP CALLING ME MISTRESS! FOR THE LAST TIME, I DON’T CARE, GET THE FUCK AWAY-”

Caine sighed disappointingly to himself, dragging his hand across his eyes.

God fucking dammit. He actually feels something for her.

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I would say I'm sorry, but we all know I'm not. :)

[lovingjingyuan]

Hi!! I've been reading your first for awhile and I think you're such a great writer and I was wondering if I could request a yandere Sunday/welt/jingyuan/blade where the reader has depression and how they'd handle it? You could add anything you like :) thank you!

Thank you sm for the compliment. I'm so glad someone enjoys my works <333 Tbh I don't find my writing good cuz my English isn't so good for writing ;-; also when i writing this on google docs it was like 7 pages long.

Warning: 2.7K words, A bit affectionate in Jing Yuan and Aventurines part, manipulation, abuse of power, gaslighting, emotional abuse,

Info at bottom

Pairing: (Yandere) Sunday, Welt, Jing Yuan, Blade, Aventurine x Reader

Sunday Sunday wouldn't be able to handle it well, but instead, he would unintentionally cause further damage to your mental state. It’s elusive getting you to cooperate with his subjectives. He couldn’t quite bring himself to understand why you aimlessly slumber like this, showing little to no affection and he deluges you with this subjective perfect life. You were in a gilded cage ornate into a display of artwork, but to Sunday you’ll always be that vulnerable bird, needing guidance and protection. He couldn’t grasp the idea of why you still yearn for freedom when he can provide you with everything you desire.

You reminded Sunday of the time when he and his sister Robin once took a weak bird under their wing. The bird is like you; too weak and vulnerable for this cruel reality. Yet, his subjective never appealed to your line of reasoning. To you, people are meant to make their own choices and yearn for the touch of freedom. But to him the weak must be helped and preserved by the strong and by that you’re weak. 

Instead of offering you normal support and seeking treatment for you he would isolate you further, making watch of your every movement and ensuring you’re always in his presence every second. 

To Sunday he couldn’t just let you go now, not after all his sacrifices and efforts to hold you captive in his presence. He started to lie and twisted his thoughts into believing that this is the only path to achieve mutual happiness and to ensure your safety. Yet, it further broke him even though you refuse to make and remain apathetic with him. Your constant depression and lack of motivation left him feeling adrift. You rarely are able to take care of yourself anymore leaving him completely lost.

All he can hope is for you to develop Stockholm syndrome. He prays that your depression and lack of happiness will lead you to believe he’s the only one who can mend the wounds on your heart, filling any empty void. 

“Please stop lying on the bed. You’ve been there all day. You know that’s far from healthy and will only worsen your state,” he silently pleaded with you hoping by any miracle you would follow through. This constant isolation he put you through has been driving both you and him mad. But in the end, you lost all light in you. No longer able to plead with him any further for salvation.  

You can just simply close your eyes falling further back into nihility. 

“Please, my dear, you can't keep doing this to me… to yourself-”

‘I’m fine, ' you snapped. How his heart ached at your indifference.

“No, you’re not okay. Your behavior is absolutely absurd!” he remained unfalter on the edge of the bed next to you. Sunday’s mind ran blink on ways to save you from deluging any further in depression. He could release you, but he’s scared the moment he does. You would leave him forever like the bird he and his sister raised.

He leaned in, brushing your hair aside to plant a gentle kiss on your forehead. He will continue to keep you here with him indefinitely, trying to keep his own sanity intact as well as yours. He only remains resolute to keep you here with him, refusing to open his eyes and acknowledge his wrongdoings.

“It’s not a sin. I’m doing this for the greater good.”

I believe Yandere Sunday is just manipulative in wanting to keep you, he’s no sadist but I also believe he cares a whole lot about his public image which is now RUINED! Sunday would be a good lover if you comply or not obsessed over you. Sunday would be the type to say, "Oh my days." :)

Welt During his lifetime Welt had witnessed a lot and many tragedies. Despite his knowledge and understanding of the consequences of his actions, he couldn’t suppress his urges when it came to you. Welt always made sure to keep a watchful eye over you, safeguarding you from any troubles. He would usually spend a lot of his time watching over you and observing any anomalous behavior from you. 

One sudden day he started noticing you developing odd behaviors and your daily schedule becoming a trouble. You also started to develop a habit of dissociating away from your peers, he was no exception. This unusual behavior disturbs him because it meant he can’t keep a close eye on you. 

Now I feel how he’ll handle this can go two ways: He seeks immediate professional help for you OR tries to handle this situation himself. The reason why Welt would try to handle this situation himself is to prevent you from becoming self-aware. To Welt, becoming self-aware poses a challenge to him as you’re more aware and knowledgeable of your surroundings and who is around you. He would do everything in his power to leave you clueless and thoughtless towards your surroundings so you don’t become aware of any manipulation he inflicted on you in the past.

Manipulation such as convincing you to stay with the Astral Express by his side 24/7. Welt truly cares about you and needs to see you heal. To him you’re the light in the room full of darkness in his heart. Every time you smile, laugh even when you’re clumsy or mess up he can’t help but smile, feeling relaxed near your presence. Even if you're not the brightest person you still light and warm up his heart. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, raising a brow as the bottom of his cane taps the floor behind you. Deep down he knows the answer and urges you to tell him the truth, finding comfort in his presence like he does in yours. 

“I’m alright,” you intensity waiver him away.

Unfazed by your response, he persisted, “You really don’t need to pretend, around me.”

If you do manage to admit and confess your feelings he would categorize it as depression. Welt will immediately try and cheer you up, letting March, Dang Heng and Stelle; his trusted companions around you. He will try every day to lift your spirits even letting you choose where to go for the next trailblazing expeditions. 

Welt attempts to educate himself more on the topic of depression, so he can create a safe environment for you. Although he might not exactly provide professional help he will solve it ethically.

Lol I can't see Welt keeping you captive. He would probably pressure you or convince you to join the Astral Express so he can keep a close eye on you. He's very careful when being possessive over you. Himeko and Dan Heng can catch on quickly so he would try to make you fall in love with him.

Jing Yuan Jing Yuan, a high achieving General, a man who no one can hate personally, aged over 600 years and has experience of yearning over the dead and betrayals. As he watched you drift into the endless abyss of sadness he could not help but share in your sorrow. All he truly wanted for you was your happiness and safety, including your undying love and attention. 

Yet this draining illness simply wouldn’t allow that for you. Jing Yuan is a man who is willing to go to extreme lengths in pursuit of your happiness which only he should be the one serving. Yet under one condition, he’s willing to do things that go against your happiness just so he can satisfy his impulsive desires. 

“I love you so so much. Please don’t be sad,” he murmured softly into your eyes, biting down gently on the top of your ears, which sent shivers down your body in a sensual way. He twirls the end of your hair with his fingers holding you against his embrace.

You continue to stare out into the distance, while his fingers play with the ends of your hair.

“If there’s anything you must need…. Please,” he implored in your ears from behind. The warm breath on your neck, “Tell me. I care about you and you know that.” his arms wrap around your waist telling you you’re all for him alone, all while he nuzzles his head against your shoulders. His white fluffy strands of hair tickle up against your cheekbone. 

If you ever found yourself in his custody and requested freedom, he would by all means exploit rapid, white little lies. 

"Recently, there have been reports of numerous mara-struck soldiers on the loose. 36 tragedies have resulted from these mara strikes," he warns, emphasizing the fake danger outside. "Luofu might need to go into lockdown, so it's safest for you to stay here with me."

He soon begins to take into account your condition growing rapidly worse. Your depression started to overtake your everyday life. That’s when he knew this was severe. Although sometimes delusional, he does take into account his mistakes. 

“I arranged us a date, a vacation even! It’s been many years since I left Luofu for anything other than urgent matters.”

You smiled and nodded profusely in agreement. This smile and small action deluges his heart with warm sweet love <3 How his heart jumps and flutters like a butterfly because of you. If you don’t get any better he will hire and get you an appointment with the best psychologist. 

Jing Yuan just wants the best for you wholeheartedly and truly. If he does kidnap and detain you, it’s because of his impulsive actions to keep you for himself. There will be no other 4th betrayal or the 4th person to pay the price. 

Blade Blade’s cold demeanor and sharp eyes were enough to sway anyone away; he never believed himself capable of love or being a good partner in general. Some people in this cosmos were simply not cut out to be in a relationship, or so he believed since his journey began with the thought of death lingering in his mind. 

Yingxing would have been a more suitable man in a relationship, but Blade? He doubts on the idea of love and interest. Yet, when he laid eyes on you he couldn’t ignore the strange stinging of an electric sensation in his heart. He wanted to delve deeper into this unusual sensation he was feeling. Although he knew he could never truly reveal himself.

Who wouldn’t recognize a man whose bounty is worth 8.13 billion credits? At least he has a good credit score unlike me (╥﹏╥) Blade slowly started by stalking you, falling deeper into the spiral of love and obsession. He knew with his records you could never reciprocate his feelings.

He restored to drastic measures, keeping you in his custody. It’s difficult to say he’ll treat you top-notch. Being under his care seemed more like a physiological experiment. Providing you with basic needs while expecting obedience, as if conducting an experiment. 

Blade never once will lay a hand on you, raise his voice at you, only expressing annoyance through small grunts and groans. However, the isolation drove you quickly to the brink of insanity. Every day, waking up to a meal, lack of interaction; he would simply stare down at you as you chew on the food he provided. You even lack social interaction with your kidnapper. The daily routine went on, like a trap in an asylum. 

His cold gaze lingered on you, studying your every move, all while silently making mental notes of your behavior. If you did fall into depression he wouldn’t recognize it immediately, attributing it to your natural state or how you express disappointment.

Every tear shed or harsh remark towards him is met with silent observation, perceiving it as a natural reaction. Only when severe signs startsd occurring; refusing to eat or neglecting basic hygiene, did Blade acknowledge something was amiss.

He attempts to coax you with better-tasting meals, even dessert. If you die from starvation how else will he get the same sensation he feels when around you? This strange sensation in his heart is much more desirable than death.

“Eat it, you mustn’t starve yourself,” he says nonchalantly, placing a bowl of Mapo Tofu and a small portion of rice before you.

“Just leave me alone.”

“Eat it.”

“No.”

Blade shot you a deadly glare, his intimidation palpable, urging you to reluctantly pick up the chopstick. Blade’s method or strange way of love worsens your condition. I think with Blade you probably wouldn’t relieve yourself from the chains of depression. Yet I also do believe Blade will try to understand your mental state yet fail.

If Blade were to love; he would start by, placing a hand on your shoulders and gently massaging your shoulder blade as you ate. The thought of Blade saying “I love You,” seems inconceivable, but he’d probably say it underneath his breath.

“Do now dwell in longingness for too long,” he muttered against your ears, perhaps the most motivational phrase he said to you since the decline in your mental state began. Although he won’t admit upfront he loves and feels affection toward you, his demeanor is more relaxed around you and his sharp intense eyes soften at your presence. 

How to help a depressed person 101: The reader is Blade trying to figure out what’s causing you this and how to help you. 

Aventurine From the moment Aventurine first laid eyes on you, he knew exactly what he wanted for the rest of his life. He had always felt most alive when gambling at high stakes, but being near you brought a sensation even more profound; a mix of obsession and love washed over him. 

When you begin to struggle with depression, Aventurine tries everything to lift up your spirits by lavishing you with extravagant gifts, hoping they would bring you happiness. Yet the joy was only ephemeral and wasn’t what he truly desired. What he craved was not only your happiness but also your love and affection.

He couldn’t bring it into words but, your presence was like an addictive drug he constantly craved for. His dopamine goes crazy near you, almost exploding his brain. There was something about you that he yearned to possess and preserve for himself.

“Sweetheart, I brought you this exclusive necklace,” he announced from behind, presenting the box to you.

Your face lights up only momentarily at each lavish gift presented to you, but as gifts keep coming, their extravagance holds little value. Aventurine could only find himself lost. What could he do now since he can’t seem to please you any further with his riches?

To him, his identity revolves around his wealth and luck, without the appeal towards money, he feared that he held no more value in your life. He wished you found solace in him as he did towards you.

“Is something the matter?” he asked anxiously, feeling you slip away further despite all his efforts. You’re his safe haven but he can’t fathom why he’s not your after all of his efforts. 

“I’m fine,” a transparent white lie escapes your lips.

“That’s a blatant lie,” he frowned, wrapping his right arm around your waist and pulling you in closer to him while on the bed. “Please, tell me the truth. I’ll buy you anything you want,” he continues coaxing you with the power of money.

“I’m okay,” you continue to refuse despite his effort.

Aventurine hesitates to pressure you any further, fearing that you’ll start to withdraw from him completely. He would insist, forcing you into therapy, though each session came with a price because nothing in this universe is free.

With Aventurine’s dirty money he coaxes the therapist to make every session involve him in some way while actually helping you. With the power of money, the therapist starts to manipulate you into seeking comfort, and attention from Aventurine. Every session ended with something about Aventurine, so he can linger in your thoughts.

Slowly, you began to heal, finding yourself drawn to Aventurine's presence. He welcomed this, craving pleasure since he- himself is constantly drawn to you every second.

"How are you feeling?" he asked gently, his arm draped around you as you both lounged on plush casino's cushion.

"Better," you replied softly.

He smiled at your response, knowing it was what he wanted to hear. Finally, he was becoming your safe place, just as he had always hoped.

His hand gently massaged your back, drawing you closer until your lips were almost touching.

"Is that so?" he grinned, closing the gap with a tender kiss, savoring the sweetness of the moment. As he pulled back, staring at your bashfulness, he brushed your hair behind your ear and whispered, "If I win this, I'll buy you everything you desire."

P.S: I'm going to sleep after this but idk much about Welt despite playing hi3 since near release date. I also like keep character in character but Yandere or any NSFW +18 works are probably gonna be ooc.

Sorry this took so long I'm Trying to get my life back together :(

Mental Health

I take mental health seriously since I’m studying to become an expert in the medical field for mental health! If you’re ever in need of help please ask a trusted adult or seek help right away before it becomes worse! Just know mental health doesn’t make you a bad person but rather you’re suffering and depression is also an illness. Everyone is allowed treatment no matter what.

[littlelovelunette]

hey so can you do like shizcophrenic FEM! reader x sevika or vi head cannons?

i really love how you do your head cannons and writing so keep up the good work! (you don't have to do it, it just kinda popped up in my head)

Headcanons (Ft. Sevika & Violet)

This feels personal.

Contains intense schizophrenia, hallucinations, suicidal behaviour, violence

Schizophrenic!Reader

Sevika

Although it's frustrating for Sevika to not know what to do or how to help, she never leaves despite her anger at the circumstance

Would hold a Piltie therapist at gunpoint to help you cope with schizophrenia

Has done it

Often reassures you the people you see, the hallucinations, they're not really there with a flesh arm wrapped around you

Heart breaks seeing you suffer the way you do but she never lets it show she has to be strong for you or you'll fall apart

Learns to distinguish whenever you're spiralling and most of the times she waits and sees whether you can handle yourself or not— if it gets too bad, she intervenes

Tries to understand Jinx better because of the similarities

"They're not here, just me." She pulls you closer and rests her sleep clouded head on top of yours

Handcuffs are always in her drawers. If you act suicidal because of the voices in your head, she cuffs you to the headboard of the bed.

You scream and flail, pull at the cuffs and sob but Sevika knows she has to endure it if she wants you safe. She's scared of losing you to you

Mutters silent apologies as she watches you struggle, smoking in a corner of the room

When you're asleep she says, "I wish there was more I could do for you. I really do. Because whenever I see you having an episode it seems like you die inside, little by little."

Someone tries a jab at you, calls you insane and she's already breathing down his neck, choking him until she can hear his neck crack. "Say that again." Her mechanical fingers dig deep and blood seeps down his now dead, motionless body.

"What if you're also a hallucination?" Sevika's heartbreaks when you say that but she doesn't cry. She doesn't try to convince you otherwise. She just grabs you and hugs you— some nights you struggle against it, slap her, scratch her but she doesn't care. She's desperate to hold onto the last strands of your sanity.

Some nights you wake and try to flee from Sevika because the voices in your head convince you, she's gonna hurt you.

But the cuffs jingle against your wrist and you see Sevika has you cuffed to her own flesh wrist

Violet

Doesn't baby you around during your episode she gives you a grounding hug and reminds you that you're alright with her

It hits her like PTSD because she's witnessed her sister have the same thing

Mad at the situation because she can't punch her way out of it

"Are you real?" You ask and Vi swore she felt her heart stop for a second. With a shaky hand, she take yours and presses it onto her chest as if trying to convince herself that you can still feel the steady beat of her heart. "Still here." She whispers

You get overwhelmed and you hit her, she dodges them and hugs you tightly

Vi never hits back, she loves you way too much and she wont even be mad at you for it

Keeps you distracted most of the times even if it's the most tedious things to do like fetching her a glass of water, passing a screwdriver, counting the tiles— anything that keeps your mind off of what the voices in your head tell you to do

Your first attempt was enough of a message for Vi to grasp. After that, she's stuck to you like superglue

Eyes soften when it's you and it's noticeable too

You tell her you're a burden and Vi's already pulling you in for a movie night, self care/spa day, taking you out for dinner. She tells you, "I love you too much for that to ever happen."

"Please. Stay. If you lose it, I'll die." She whispers when you're asleep.

Never tells you all those when you're awake because she's scared you'll feel like she's guilt tripping you with the amount of overthinking you do

"You ain't fighting this shit alone, got it?"

[11queensupreme11]

I need to know how people are gonna react to finding out about Percy’s mortal spot 🫠

im ngl, i genuinely believed putting the mortal spot on THE BACK is probably THEEEEE DUMBEST fucking thing ever 😭 ur back is literally your most vulnerable spot and now she just made it 100000x more vulnerable 😭 i'm almost certain rick wrote it that way for poetic reasons cuz percy's fatal flaw is loyalty, mortal spot on the back, hence "the only way you can kill percy jackson is to stab her in the back" 💀 yes yes, very poetic, but i don't think the ror characters will appreciate it 😭

(gonna try and fit as many reactions here as i can, excluding beel and loki since they already know)

cú chulainn: this dude is a trained warrior. he knows everything about weaknesses and blindspots. and the back????? IS PROBABLY THE BIGGEST BLIND SPOT THERE IS. he'll be screaming and ripping out his own hair in pure horror and disbelief when he finds out his dumbass lover put HER ONE MORTAL SPOT on her fucking BACK of all the goddamn places 😭

apollo: he's gonna throw up when he finds out and then he's gonna throw up even more when he learns that the LAST PERSON to have the curse of achilles was killed by HIS COUNTERPART. he prays to every deity and the fates that they won't be cruel enough to repeat that with them because he CANNOT lose percy 😭😭😭😭

poseidon: his jaw drops. he looks like a complete idiot all gobsmacked like this, but nobody even blames him because they're also just as shocked. he has half a mind to spank his daughter for her terrible idea, not just for the placement of the mortal spot, but for getting that damn curse in the first place. at first, he liked it because it made her 99.99% invulnerable but that fucking mortal spot just ruined it 💀💀💀

hades: buries his face in his hands and lets out the heaviest sigh ever. he loves his niece, he really does, but he has to admit... she's not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. he loves her so much though so he won't be TOO disappointed 💖

anubis: "BABY WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" he's screeching in horror when he witnesses the scene. welp, now he knows how she got the curse, but holy SHIT this is probably the worst curse ever (it's really not). he's literally gonna be begging her to stop when it comes up on the screen, but it's already too late

ra: USUALLY he would be busy restraining anubis from doing something stupid, but he's too busy gawking. percy was literally told that her fatal flaw was LOYALTY.... and then she goes and picks HER BACK as her one mortal spot???? "omfg the poseidon in that universe taught that child NOTHING"

rhea: "WE 👹 MUST 👹 GET 👹 HER 👹 OUT 👹 OF 👹 THAT 👹 UNIVERSE 👹 BEFORE SHE GETS HERSELF KILLED" no seriously, grandma rhea is WORRIED. if she were a human, she'd have 1000 heart attacks and her hair would've turned grey already. this baby is stressing her the FUCK out 😭

prometheus: would literally cry 😭😭😭 like "percy... my dear baby cousin, your back??????? WHY?????" 😭😭😭😭 he's usually very supportive of her ideas, even the most craziest ones, but..... the back???????????

izanagi: "oh bless her heart, she's trying her best 🥺💔"

sun wukong: does a very slow facepalm as he sinks into his throne because oh my gods this girl is FUCKED. he has never seen a more doomed person before in all his years of living 😭

aphrodite: "wait does this make sex harder??? should i have her try other positions instead? 🤔" (she's asking the real questions here)

lugh: gently grasps cú chulainn's shoulders and say solemnly, "son, i think the universe really hates you 😔💔" because this is the SECOND PERSON that cú chulainn cares about to have some sort of near-invulnerability. the first died thx to him, and now percy might follow 😭

odin: a little concerned at how similar she is to his baldur. pure-hearted and kind, a genuinely good person, with a near invulnerability. he hopes, for loki's sanity, that percy doesn't die too because the crashout would be catastrophic fr 💀

adam: absolutely HORRIFIED because she picked literally the worst spot on her body to be her mortal spot 😭

leonidas: "how tf is this kid alive right now 💀"

tesla: so it turns out it's not just math and science that he needs to teach her, but basic self-preservation as well! alrighty then, he's already getting the lesson plans ready as well as a VERY long lecture about poor decision-making skills 😭

basically, every ror character's reaction to percy getting the curse of achilles and choosing her back as her one mortal spot:

EVERYONE is horrified 💀

percy literally has so much stacked against her. everyone and everything in that universe is out to get her. she's the product of a broken vow. she's a demigod, so naturally monsters hunt her down on the daily. she has a cursed fucking sword that's cursed to fail her when she needs it most. her fatal flaw is loyalty. and then she goes and puts her mortal spot on her BACK 💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀 not only that, but the fates of that universe love love LOVE greek tragedy and percy is a walking greek tragedy waiting to for the curtain call 😭

[g1rlken]

obsessed/possessive felix catton 🫣

Oh. Oh absolutely.

Anon you’re so real for this one🤞

-

Obsessive felix

word count: 1.3k (one shot)

Warnings: the req +sorry if he gets a bit toxic

-

For someone who grew up with a second pair of everything irreplaceable items were rare for felix. Or people, most relations superficial, nothing money can’t buy. That’s why she was different. He had to work for her, to be noticed to gain her affection. As unusual as it was for him he didn’t mind it.

Before they even started dating, it was difficult for felix to try and get her attention. They had different majors and one friend group in common most of whose gatherings she rarely joined. Occasional weekends here and there. He asked about her around, causality came naturally to him so most didn’t suspect a thing. Her lectures, her schedule, library visits, he memorised it all within a time span of a few days.

Felix would pick up the book she’d be returning at library, at first it was only to get an insight to what she’s interested in. What she reads in order to strike a conversational of coincidentally having same interests. However her long kept book smelt like her fragrance. It made him question his sanity halfway through a book on fluid mechanics if he was trapped by the contents of the book or the scent of her from it, it was the latter.

Much pinning, much accident meetings later they’d finally hit off. From his own past patterns and experiences in romance felix knew he would feel less and less intensely for her once he’d have her. She surprised him. As did himself, his feelings grew much more intensely than decreasing.

He felt wholly consumed by the being of her and it still felt not enough. He wanted to be drenched like the sand by the sea during a storm, he wanted her to be the rays that open his life like the petals of a morning glory flower. Because in one sense she was the answer to his glory, the glory he’s had to work for. One he wanted to announce to the whole world that she was his and the one he wanted to shield from the whole world because she was his. And his only.

She brought a sense of grounded serenity with her, in the morning with her locks softly spilled over his chest as she’d sleep through her first alarm which would evidently wake him up before her but he’d be glad. Because it would result to let him have his most cherished moment, the softest of mornings with her in his arms. The second alarm would only make him hold her tighter, not wanting to let go off her so soon.

One would forgo and turn a blind eye to a lot of things for love, his tender love came at the expense of his intense one as well. Though he was the softest of lovers, with her behind closed doors. It could most certainly be felt being with him however at certain instances it could be accounted for just how fiercely he loved. Aggressive make out sessions at the party, if someone stared at her a bit too long. It got awkward at times, in his lap or against the wall in a crowded dimly lit room. Not for him of course, it could get overbearing at times though. “You always pull something like that!” She complained as they returned from this one party, felix thought his possessive traits were subtle.

“Like what? Like kissing you? My girlfriend?” He questioned with a scoff as he removed his jacket and hanged it on the door hanger inside her dorm room.

“No-but a whole make out session? There were people around!” She complained trying to reason with him, had she felt uncomfortable with it she could’ve told him during it but it wasn’t that. Yet there was something she couldn’t pinpoint or maybe chose not to.

“It was a party” he scoffed as he walked over to her and pulled her closer to him by her waist to pause her whining, “it’s common to make out with your girlfriend at a party.”

She pulled away from his grasp, not wanting to have the firmness of the conversation she was trying to have be dismayed “No it’s always like this, especially at parties. You basically manhandle me the entire time-“

“Manhandle you?” He stopped her midway, scoffing at the sound of her baseless proponent “Really? So dancing with you, kissing you is now manhandling you?”

“It’s not, but your arms around me, kissing my neck, trying to kiss me while I’m in the middle of a conversation with someone that’s so unideal.” She advocated for what she was trying to say, she knew he was always big on physical touch and she never once minded it. However it wasn’t the first time it had happened where she’d try to have a normal conversation with anyone and felix would kiss the nape of her neck as she’d talk, pull her into his lap if she was sitting next to him. Completely disregarding whoever she was conversing with.

“So having a conversation is much more important than being close to me?” He asked, his tone was mild and composure relaxed but he felt border line offended.

“That’s not what I’m saying…” she sighed rubbing her eyes for a second, “you know that’s not how I’m saying it-“

“—Oh no please enlighten me how much of an inconvenience it is if I kiss you in front of other people!” Felix interrupted her.

“We just seem like that obnoxious PDA couple everywhere we go! And it’s not just this party or parties in general-everywhere you just…” she trailed off looking for the right word.

“Suffocate you.” He filled in for her with a scoff and looked away from her crossing his arms.

“No.” She replied firmly “No you just get overbearing. Where does that come from, talk to me.”

“Do you seriously want me to justify myself for wanting to be close to my girlfriend? Do you hear yourself?”

“Do you hear yourself felix!” Exclaiming she sighed regaining her composure, “Its like you can’t stomach the fact that I exist outside of this relationship, why can’t you just commute and tell me what’s your issue?”

“You don’t get it do you?” He let out a dejected scoff and approached closer to her, “it is fucking infuriating to see you paint me out like I’m irrational-I’m not impulsive because I’m madly in love, y/n, I am madly in love with you and I know exactly what I’m doing. To safeguard what we have, after you the most precious thing that’s happened to me is our relationship. We come off as an obnoxious couple? I come off as possessive? Fuck it.” He stated confidently as he took her hands in his, “I care about you, your sense of self and individuality is very dear to me and I’m sorry if you feel otherwise. I’ve never been in this place before where losing someone would worry me but losing you terrifies me to my core. I’m not irrational, I'm maybe rational to the point of obsession. But I am just a man who loves you more than anything in this world.” His gaze never lifted off of her eyes the entire time and he felt a bit surreal having confessed his all-consuming, all-encompassing love for her. There was a sense of vulnerability in being freed of the truth.

“Felix…” she breathed as her gaze softened, his flaws were the same as hers in a different dynamic and he was rough around the edges but now after what he confessed? She saw his love in a different much serious and committed light. Devoted. She looked down at her hands in his and back up at him with a soft smile adorning her face, she didn’t know how else to reply to him so she just leaned forward brushing her lips against his in a passionate kiss. He held held her in his arms lengthening the kiss.

“You’re mine. Mine to protect, mine to love, mine to cherish.”

“—Yours.”

[riovidalupdates]

LAST GIRL STANDING - i.

part ii.

“I’m not asking you to stay. I’m asking if this was ever real?” - Wanda Maximoff

“The issue with time is that it’s endless, yet, there’s never enough. How does it fit with us?” - Rio Vidal

“You were never a priority, but you became one that I can’t lose now.” - Agatha Harkness

pairings: wanda maximoff x fem!reader, agatha harkness x fem!reader, and rio vidal x fem!reader

summary: you’ve come to learn that you can love more than one person—because you love them in different ways. the problem: they love you in one way. so, who are you in love with and who gets hurt?

warnings: cursing, angst, intimate moments but not sex, and other stuff that i'll add as time goes on.

notes: this one has been in my drafts for a long time. i did a little bit of revision and editing, but i am busy and i do want to get this story going. as it goes on I will be more efficient with the editing. it is also a college au so there is no witches or anything like that, but other works will be! enjoy! chapters will be longer and the writing will get better. It’s been awhile since I’ve actually written a story, but I’ve been working on so many other projects and I had this all planned out before I got my new job.

word count: 1.4k

・❥・

There was never a time where you ever thought you’d be losing your sanity. Months ago, you only ever known the beauty of peace, having full control over your thoughts and emotions with no consequences. Where does the chaos abruptly begin, how does it begin, and why does it begin?

Because fuck all that, why do you have to be involved in a mess that you didn’t ask for?

You stared out of your dorm window, tracing the movement of students below as they hurried between classes. The campus was alive with energy—laughter, chatter, and the constant shuffle of feet on the worn pathways—but it all felt distant to you, like watching life happen through a glass pane. From the outside, you seemed well-adjusted. A few close friends, decent grades, a knack for blending in at social events. But lately, you had begun to feel a quiet, persistent void growing inside, one that friendship, academic success, and even casual flings couldn’t quite fill.

It wasn't that you were lonely in the traditional sense. In fact, you had friends—great friends who provided the utmost support in all that you do. Natasha Romanoff from work, Kate Bishop from short-film club, Steve Rogers from gym (he was also Natasha’s boyfriend), Tony Stark who crashed into your car the first day of move-in (he paid for all damages after you punched him), and Wanda Maximoff, your best friend. Wanda had been by your side for years, a constant source of home. There was so much to your overall relationship with her that it couldn’t be replicated with the others or anyone. Even if you were to try.

But no matter how much you spent time with Wanda, she found her footing in rather quick. And while you don’t want to assume things are going well for her, you could at least tell she was happiest when she was in the arms of her obnoxious, academically skilled boyfriend, Vision. Vision who is ahead of the IT program, the captain of the golf team, and somehow Tony’s coworker at Stark’s Industries (who cares about some intellectual freak? Not you).

Anyway, it felt like there was something missing, some deeper connection you couldn’t quite grasp. Sometimes, you’d feel yourself pulling back in conversations, faking a smile here and there when noticing yourself drifting out of sync.

You sigh as you turned away from the window, grabbing your backpack, and slinging it over your shoulder. Another day of classes to get to, papers to turn in, and your typical routine to follow. It all felt so automatic, like living on autopilot.

Perhaps there was something you weren’t doing. Maybe you were actively doing something to avoid fulfilling that aspect of void?

Your phone buzzed on the desk—Wanda.

“Dinner tonight?” She asks once you pick up. “And I swear if you say no, I am going to drive to your class and drag you out myself.”

 You considered telling her no for a moment but it’s Wanda and because of that you say, “Sure. Just don’t barge in like last time. Felt like I got in trouble with my mother…”  Despite your growing sense of detachment, you couldn’t bring herself to decline. You’ve been avoiding her like the plague. She’s your best friend and has asked to hang out for the last month or so only for you to be nowhere. Questions were beginning to rise, and you weren’t ready to answer any of them.

Her laughter echoed through and you kind of forget that you were falling into a hole of emptiness. “Look, I gotta go,  I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”

“Yeah. See you, dekta.”

Dekta. It was always that.

As you made your way across campus, weaving through the throngs of students, you felt a heaviness settle in your chest. Classes, work, clubs, and repeat. How was it that you could be surrounded by people, involved in their lives, and still feel like an outsider looking in?

You loved your friends, or at least you thought you did, but lately, even that felt like a lie you told yourself. You enjoyed your courses. So what if you have to stay up until 2am for shoots and editing, you wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t enjoy it. Actually, you were late to register, and this was kind of a last minute decision.  And you were president for the short film club, but you kind of are guessing why you’re doing this all because you hate people.

The reality is, it’s to avoid facing the deeper truth: that connection, the real kind, the kind that made you feel alive and seen. Not just from relationships, courses, and social life.

Was this what your life was going to be? Always on the fringes, never fully connecting? You wanted more but didn’t know how to get it. Maybe you didn’t even know what “more” really was.

You were good at pretending everything was fine, good at putting on a show of contentment. But deep down, you knew you were waiting for something—or someone—to break through that glass pane that kept you at arm’s length from everyone around.

But until then, you’d keep going, navigating your college life as best as you could, feeling more like an observer than a participant.

・❥・

You sat across from Wanda at your usual spot in the campus dining hall, picking at her salad as Wanda animatedly recounted the latest drama involving her boyfriend, Vision. You nodded along, making the appropriate sounds of sympathy and surprise, but part of you couldn't help but tune out the problem.

“I swear, sometimes he just doesn’t listen,” Wanda continued, exasperation creeping into her voice. “Last night I..." She sighed, looking down at her food. "I told him I needed space and time to collect my thoughts about where this is going, but he kept calling and texting, so we could talk it out..."

You forced yourself back into the conversation. “Sounds like he’s not respecting your boundaries,” you offered, glancing up at Wanda. You couldn’t help the slight resentment that crept in whenever Vision came up. There was always an unspoken tension in your friendship, one that emerged whenever Wanda talked about her boyfriend.

You didn’t know exactly why you disliked him—maybe it was his arrogant demeanor, or the way he always seemed to treat Wanda as an accessory rather than an equal. She would often vent about the small ways in which he let her down, like forgetting their date plans or brushing off her opinions, but then she would always follow it up with some form of an excuse that he cares. You would just nod along, hiding the skepticism behind a supportive smile.

"Tell me about it,” Wanda huffed, shaking her head. “It's a flaw of his and when the time is right, we'll discuss it and how we can better ourselves. Enough about me though, how about you? Anything exciting that requires you to get out of that hermit crab shell of yours? Maybe with...that TA? Angus, right?"

You snickered but also couldn’t help but notice how Wanda seemed to skirt around anything serious about her relationship with Vision (what a prick). There was a glint of something—maybe uncertainty, maybe resignation—in her eyes when she spoke about him. You wondered if Wanda was just as skilled at pretending everything was fine as you were. It made you feel a little less alone, knowing you weren’t the only one hiding something.

Yet, despite your doubts about the boyfriend, you never voiced your concerns outright. The last thing you wanted was to come across as jealous or possessive. Deep down, you wondered if there was a part of you that simply didn’t want to share Wanda—a feeling you quickly buried before it could grow into something more troubling.

Your face flushed at the mention of Agatha, and you quickly took a sip of water to hide the embarrassment. “Her name is Agnes,” you mumbled, rolling your eyes for effect. So, maybe you kind of lied. Only because you didn't want Wanda to track and stalk the girl. "And she's just intriguing..."

"Intriguing, huh?” Wanda teased. “You should talk to her more. Or, you know, talk to her at all.”

“Very funny,” You shot back. “It’s not that simple.”

But maybe it was. Maybe if you could muster up the courage to actually talk to Agatha, you’d feel less like you were floating aimlessly and more like you were taking control of your own life. You could already hear Wanda’s voice in your head, encouraging you to just go for it, to not overthink it, to take a chance.

[ooooo-mcyt]

I've been saving my Mean Gills thoughts for when I get around to doing a full rewatch of all Martyn's life series pov's, but like, I can't stop thinking about how inevitable the ending of Limited Life. Because Scott and Martyn's stories had been intertwined for a long time, hadn't they?

Martyn and Ren came to Scott's door that day, back in Third Life, smashing flowers under their feet as they stepped. They brought the call of war with them, and while it was never a call Scott would have answered of his own volition, he did, ever faithful, follow his husband toward it when Jimmy was drawn into Martyn and Ren's war like moth to flame. Even knowing what would await them if they went, Scott followed, his heart anchored to his love so deeply he had no other choice. And when Jimmy died in the war Martyn and his allies lured him into, Scott's mind was undone, shattered into too many pieces to put together again. He kept following the call of war, blindly, following the direction his husband would have lead, but this time without his anchor. Until it brought him into a forest clearing under the starlight. Martyn chased him through those woods, calling again, taunting. "I wanna cuddle before you die," Martyn called, a twisted parody of the affection Scott was so hollow without after losing- "I didn't mean for Jimmy to die", Martyn says, as if he has any right to say that name to Scott. He doesn't even sound sorry, like he brought it up to taunt Scott more. Martyn hunted Scott like prey, and then held Scott there for Ren to slaughter, a sacrificial deer on the altar, and Scott had no fight left to give.

Then came Last Life. And the world sought to break Scott again, the same way it did once before. To call him into the violence and war- Scott could try to escape it, refuse to walk toward the call, but this world is a winding maze that could lead to only one point, no matter how hard you try to escape it- that would fracture him, and then consume him again once he'd been drained of vitality. Just like it had done before. And once again, Martyn was the instrument, and this time, the world whispered its will into his ears directly. Of course, Scott was hardly the only target here, but he was the one who slipped out of the grasp of those countless eyes this time. To refuse the call of violence, the bloody red haze, the curse that supersedes all bonds, and then to win despite his defiance, was a great insult. Of course, Martyn's will is not inherently the same as Theirs, but Scott's defiance, Scott's survival, was a grave failure of Martyn's. In that final moment, before his death, Martyn had, by his own admission, sought to at least take Scott with him. Martyn had hunted Scott brutally at the end of the previous season, held his life and heart and sanity in his hands, and so I can see, especially with the ceaseless gaze on Them on Martyn, pushing him forward as a champion, he must have thought to do it all again. Scott shone bright enough, then, when Martyn was burned away in a flash of light, to blind those countless eyes even if only for a second, and that was an unforgivable sin, to them, and perhaps to Martyn in some way.

Double Life was no better. And once again, Scott defies the will of the very world crafted to contain and feed on him. Scott chooses agency, and Scott chooses love, as he always will, and worse is that Martyn's own soulmate does the same, turning Martyn away in the process, something Martyn, at some points, blames on Scott as well. This is the most directly at odds Martyn has been placed with Scott's immense blinding love up to this point. In the first season, Martyn had a hand in breaking it, and in the second, Martyn was outshone by it, but now, Martyn came into contact with it directly. It's no surprise, really, that Martyn was the first to turn. As soon as there was no need to be on the same side, Martyn fires on Scott without hesitation, within a second. And just like the first time he felt Martyn's gaze pierce him like a hunter to a deer, Scott ran, through the trees, once again. This time, Martyn doesn't pursue him far enough to feel Scott's blood on his hands. Ironically, Martyn's fireworks- bright yellow blinding lights- failed to work, just as his explosion of light had burned Martyn away when he tried to use them in the last season. As if any light Martyn tries to hold would sooner blind him than be turned on the star. Though I'm certain that, had it not been for that setback, Martyn would have taken enough pleasure in performing the slaughter himself this time.

Finally, Limited Life comes. And Limited Life is different. Because this time Scott loves Martyn. Brings Martyn's sword to his chest, fish swimming into the net of the hunter all too willingly, giving his heart to Martyn even if that entails a blade through it. Scott never pretends to be oblivious to Martyn's treachery. Scott knows who Martyn is. But this time Scott's light was for Martyn, to warm and to guide. This time, when Martyn was done with Scott and poured the lava at his feet, molten heat, bright blinding light, it ignited, a supernova, the explosive death of a star at Martyn's hands. It never could have ended any other way, really, and I'm sure they both knew it.

[daphwritesworld]

Here's a lil sneak peal of a Ona X Reader x Salma story I'm almost done with while you guys wait for the schdueled fics!

“¡Hola niña bonita!” The blush can’t help but creep up to your cheeks under her gaze, rosy enough to blame on the heat if you needed to. (Hey pretty girl!)

Ona stands before you, wet hair slung to one side of her neck as a towel loosely hangs from her hips. Your eyes can’t help but follow the water droplets falling down her muscular form, toned stomach so perfect it looks like the gods chiseled it straight from Tuscan Marble. 

“¿Cómo lo dices? Ehh my eyes are up here,” the smirk on her lips doesn’t go unnoticed. (How do you say?)

“I know,” you finally meet her gaze. “Can’t a girl enjoy the view?” 

She laughs at that, a hand coming up to grab your own as she drags you into the house. “Only if I get to return the favor.” 

The teasing tone behind her words lights a fire underneath you, a need to have her hands back on you growing by the minute. You should probably be using this time to get acquainted with different players— you’re familiar with Ona, comfortable even. Within a week of your arrival you found yourself falling into her bed, but I mean who could blame you? Too much Tequila after your Barca debt was maybe a bad idea in hindsight, but the hangover was so worth the orgasms. Ona had made a perfect pass to you not even 5 minutes out on the pitch, and you took full advantage. Not only did you make the winning goal, but secured the player of the match title as well. It was only fitting that your partner in crime celebrated the night with you. 

You pull out of her grasp and your hands go to the hem of your tank top, a smile gracing your lips as you slowly pull the piece of fabric off. Ona lets her lip fall between her teeth as she watches your little show, your shirt being thrown at her before you move to the shorts covering your bottom half. Goosebumps cover your skin as the air conditioned breeze glosses over your body as you expose it. Heavy eyes following your every move with ease, her hands quick to catch the discarded clothes thrown towards her chest. 

“Eres un problema,” she breathes out with a sigh. (You are trouble.)

“Yeah but you like it,” you start to lean into her body.  She mirrors your movements, eyes trained on your lips as your face grows closer. You can feel her breath hitting your lips, breathing in the same air as you pause less than an inch away from her. “Come on,” it’s whispered so light Ona barely catches it. “¡Vamos a mojarnos!” And with that you pull away from her intoxicating presence, leaving her to collect her thoughts and sanity alone in Alexia’s living room. The tile beneath her feet is quick to become her new place of solace, a few breaths to steady her heartbeat and then she's out the door after you. Trying to play it cool like she isn’t losing her ever loving horny mind in front of her teammates. (Let’s go get wet!)

— lil skip in the story bc I don't wanna give away too much yet hehehehe —

“Are you gonna keep smack talking or actually hit the ball?” You call out to the otherside of the net. “Losers pay for our next team dinner!”

“Tráelo, Y/L/N!” Patri finally gets in on the action. (Bring it)

Cata goes to serve it  for their side, your eyes anticipating where she’ll try and go. Just as the ball starts to come down in the air you call out to Clàudia, giving her a heads up to block on her side. The water splashes as she jumps up, hands making perfect contact with the ball as it bounces back down towards the other side of the net. Vicky tries to dive to save it, but she slips at the last second. She slips under the water as the ball smacks in the ripples she left behind. 

More cheers sound out as your side celebrates its early 2-0 lead. You turn to congratulate Salma, but she’s already behind you. You bump into her frame and she lets her hands find your waist again to help steady you. “Qué suerte tengo de tenerte en mi equipo, Star Girl,” it's whispered against your ear. Her lips ghosting along your neck as she pulls away. (How lucky I am to have you on my team)

You take a deep breath as you try and steady your heartbeat, body and mind betraying you in ways you wish they wouldn’t right now. You’re supposed to be acting discreet, keeping your flings underwraps– especially from each other. But at this rate you’re gonna be found out before you can even make it to beer number 2. Lord help you. 

“Stop flirting already and get your head in the game!” Pina lands a slap to the back of your head. 

“OW! I-I’m not flirting! It’s called sportsmanship!” You pout at the Spaniard, hand coming up to rub the spot she’d just whacked. 

“¡Pina!¡Sé amable con la novata!” Alexia calls out from across the pool, a motherly finger wagging in her direction. (Be nice to the newbie!)

“Yeah, be nice Clàudia!” You squint your eyes as you say it. 

“And you,” Alexia’s finger now turns towards your direction, “¡Deja de pensar con el coño!” (Stop thinking with your pussy!)

Your mouth falls open at the accusation…really on observation if we’re being honest (which we aren’t). “Ale!” 

“Close your mouth, chica,” Ona’s voice is closer than you remember. “No quiero que atrapes ninguna mosca.” (I don’t want you to catch any flies.)

You feel her touch before you see her, toned abs meeting your back as one of her hands comes up to close your mouth. She lets her fingers linger under your chin, her touch sending jolts of electricity through your nervous system. “Can Kika and I join?” 

“Of course!” You answer a little too fast and a little too eager. “The more the merrier right!” 

You make quick work of separating yourself from the sex on legs behind you, needing the space to get your head back on right. FUCK. Ona and Salma less than 5 feet away from you? This is actually your worst nightmare and ultimate fantasy all wrapped into one. Okay game time. No more accidental strip teases or too friendly of touches for the rest of the night….let's hope. 

[meizimao]

Nightmare

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

*Inspired by/action references: TV series Stranger Things / film The Conjuring

You can also read this on my ao3🌹

Warning: Contains gore, violence, supernatural horror, and angst involving Y/N

“Wake up, Lt. Let's play a game.”

Ghost’s eyes burned under the harsh, pallid light. He winced, turning his face away from the glare, but an unseen force seized his jaw, yanking him back.

“Look at me, Lt.”

The man before him crouched, bringing the light even closer, forcing Ghost to meet his gaze. Yet, in the sea of blinding white, his face remained a void—featureless, unreadable.

Ghost blinked hard, forcing his eyes to adjust to the single, blinding source of light in the surrounding darkness. His instincts kicked in—his first thought was to swing at the figure before him. But as he tried to move, he found himself utterly paralyzed.

The man standing before him crossed his arms, watching his struggle with an almost amused detachment. And in that desperate moment, Ghost finally saw his face.

Or rather, the absence of one.

Where there should have been eyes, a nose, a mouth—there was nothing but smooth, unbroken flesh, as if someone had taken an eraser and wiped his features away. Yet somehow, the voice still came from where his mouth should have been.

A voice Ghost knew.

A voice that gnawed at the edges of his mind, familiar yet maddeningly out of reach. He should know it. The answer circled just beyond his grasp, taunting him, refusing to take shape.

Ghost forced himself to ignore the faceless man, shoving aside the growing unease clawing at his chest. He needed to figure out a way to move. Now that his eyes had fully adjusted to the harsh light, he could finally take in his surroundings.

A tattered old couch. His arms hanging loosely at his sides. No restraints on his legs. By all accounts, he should have been able to move. But no matter how hard he tried—no matter how much he strained—his body refused to obey him.

His first thought was poison. Had he been drugged? He wracked his brain, trying to recall anything from before this moment—his last mission, his last steps, anything that could explain how he’d ended up here. But there was nothing.

Nothing but a void.

The realization sent an icy tendril of fear curling through his spine.

Then, the faceless man spoke again.

He held up Ghost’s personal phone, the one that never left his possession. With a casual flick of his fingers, he unlocked the screen with disturbing ease and scrolled until he reached the call interface.

“Lt., take a guess—who do you think I’m about to call?”

Ghost’s breath hitched. His body remained motionless, but his eyes burned with fury as he glared at the faceless man.

That phone contained only a few numbers. His closest teammates. His most trusted friends. And…

And your number.

A fleeting thought of the worst possible outcome crossed Ghost’s mind. He clenched his teeth, forcing himself to remain composed. He knew better than to act on impulse now; the more anger he let slip, the further into this man’s trap he would fall.

“I won’t guess,” Ghost replied, locking away his worry, his gaze settling into the cold, decisive calm of a lieutenant. Only he knew the seething fire that burned within him, roaring to tear this man apart.

“Wow, you’re no fun,” the faceless man muttered, absentmindedly typing on the keyboard before holding up a long string of phone numbers to Ghost’s face. “So, what do you think? Will she pick up?”

The screen before him displayed your number, and Ghost’s gaze hardened. He bit down on the inside of his cheek, the bitter taste of blood grounding him, keeping his sanity in check.

“She won’t pick up. She’s smart. She’ll recognize my voice.” Ghost was certain of it. He trusted the connection between you, knowing you would never fall for this trick.

But then, the faceless man retrieved something small from his pocket, bringing it close to Ghost’s ear. “You mean… this voice?” he asked, his laughter ringing through the air. “Hahaha… ha… hahahaha…”

Ghost’s own voice echoed in his ears, a chilling, mocking imitation. The audacity of this creature! How could he have copied his voice?

Ghost watched helplessly as the faceless man dialed the number. The beeping sound of the phone rang louder with each passing second, his heart racing in time with it. This was the first time he ever wished for you to not be so obedient, to not pick up the phone the moment it rang…

“Hello? Darling, where are you? Why haven’t you come back so late?” Your soft voice echoed through the phone, and in an instant, Ghost remembered that he wasn’t on a mission today; he was supposed to be on leave, having promised you to go shopping together.

You were waiting for him at home, alone. Ghost’s heart clenched painfully. He wanted to shout, to interrupt the phone call, but as his mouth opened, no sound came out. It was as though a silent curse had been cast on him.

Y/N! Y/N! That’s not me! He screamed in his mind, but no words escaped his lips. Beneath his mask, his mouth contorted in a grotesque grimace, like a bad silent film performance.

Meanwhile, the faceless man used a voice changer to respond, “Y/N, come quickly. I need your help.” He then hung up the phone, sent you an address, and carelessly tossed the device aside, its screen dimming in the silence that followed.

“Let's just wait, hahaha, Lt. Do you think she'll come?” The faceless man rushed over to the glowering Ghost and grabbed him by the neck, “Do you think she'll be an obedient and good girl?”

Ghost still couldn’t utter a word. He gasped beneath his mask, his skeletal face stretching with the motion, making him look even more terrifying.

“The game has just begun, Lt.,” the faceless man said, patting Ghost’s cheek. In a mocking gesture, he flashed Ghost the middle finger, and his twisted, sharp laughter pierced through every nerve in Ghost’s body.

It was unclear how much time had passed when the doorbell suddenly rang, interrupting the standoff between Ghost and the faceless man. Upon hearing the sound, the faceless man became even more excited, clapping his hands and laughing loudly.

“Hahaha… Hahahahaha… Ha… Looks like our girl is a good little one,” the faceless man emphasized the words “Good girl,” thick with a suggestive tone, pressing them against Ghost’s forehead as he glared at him in fury.

“You tell me, how should I play the game with her?” The faceless man spoke coldly, like a psychologist observing a patient. “Lt., the real show has just begun.”

As Ghost struggled violently, The faceless man didn’t approach the entrance but casually pointed his hand, and the door opened by itself.

Your figure appeared in front of Ghost. He continued to shout, surprised to find that his voice had finally returned. “Y/N! Run! Don’t stay here!” Ghost used all his strength to warn you of the danger, but it seemed like you couldn’t hear him at all, as you stood there motionless, observing your surroundings.

Ghost looked at you in disbelief as you paced around the room. The faceless man had vanished at some point, and now only Ghost and you remained in the room.

Your gaze swept over every piece of furniture. Ghost didn’t realize that what you saw was completely different from what he saw—through your eyes, the room was bathed in a warm yellow light, with some worn furniture covered in a thin layer of dust. But through Ghost’s eyes, the room was dark, moldy, like a filthy, disgusting rat hole in the sewers.

Ghost saw you stop, facing his direction. Your gaze turned toward where he stood, and for a brief moment, hope sparked in his heart, only to be quickly extinguished—you shifted your eyes away. You couldn’t see him at all.

Despair spread through Ghost’s heart, and he felt like a forced spectator to this film, watching the horror movie titled Y/N unfold before him.

He watched as a mysterious force gripped your throat. You had no time to react before the force lifted you into the air.

You struggled desperately in midair, but how could a person strike at the air? Your punches were useless, and the pressure around your neck only grew stronger. The suffocating sensation made your vision blur. Just as you were about to lose consciousness, you suddenly dropped to the ground, the dust from the carpet choking you painfully. You coughed violently, trying to relieve the discomfort, but in the next moment, the force grabbed your legs, throwing you straight into the wall.

“Y/N!” Ghost roared, filled with rage, wanting to kill the faceless man. He watched as you collided with the mirror on the wall, the shards cutting into your back. Blood stained your shoulder, and it felt as though each drop tore at Ghost’s heart.

You struggled to rise from the floor, only to have your hair yanked and your head slammed back into the ground. The red mark on your forehead looked terrifying. The force still didn’t let go, lifting you into the air again, and throwing you into the glass coffee table.

You lay amidst the shards of glass, groaning in pain. As your consciousness began to fade, you saw a man appear before you. He grabbed your collar and turned you toward the broken sofa. Ghost was sitting there, but you still couldn’t see him.

Ghost stood face to face with you, your bloodied face a painful sight. Your pupils were dilated, unable to focus, and he couldn’t speak a word. He could only roar in frustration, unable to understand why he couldn’t protect you, hating himself for being a weak, useless fool who could only watch as you suffered.

At that moment, a blinding light appeared at the center of the faceless man’s face. When it faded, Ghost was struck by the sight of a face he knew too well—a face that was too familiar to be real.

Simon Riley. This bastard had the same damn face as his!

“Simon” snapped his fingers, and the surrounding environment shifted like a slideshow, finally revealing the room you had seen.

It was Riley’s living room. Ghost recognized it as the place where he had grown up. On the floor lay a broken family photo frame, the rare smile of Mrs. Riley captured in the picture.

This was Ghost’s old home in Manchester, the “home” filled with painful teenage memories—the “home” that had been reduced to ashes in the fire.

The place he never wanted to step foot in again.

“Admit it, Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, no matter what you call yourself, you can’t escape your fate,” Simon sneered, his face twisted like that of a sadistic clown. He screamed at Ghost, his voice wild with madness. “Anyone who gets close to you will end up cursed—look at what happened to your family, look at your lover. Admit it, you’re a grim reaper!”

“No!—No!” Ghost could no longer hold back the tears. His eyes blurred with the mist of sorrow, and your image slowly faded behind the veil of his tears.

“Ghost…” You called out his name in your struggle, unaware that “he” was the one hurting you. Over and over, you called for Ghost, hoping he would save you from this hell…

“—Ha!” The nightmare suddenly stopped. Ghost shot up from the bed, his black T-shirt soaked with sweat, clinging uncomfortably to his body. The sheets, now wrinkled, were clenched tightly in his hands.

He sat on the edge of the pillow, gasping for air. The nightmare had felt so real that he questioned whether he was still dreaming now.

Beneath his mask, his brown eyes were bloodshot. He glanced at the clock—it was barely 4:00 AM. He must have watched too many horror movies with you, that’s why he’d had such a vicious dream.

Y/N. Ghost’s mind suddenly flashed with your name. He felt an overwhelming urge to see you, despite it being the middle of the night, despite your dorm being on the other side of the base. He wanted to see you right now, instantly.

He rushed out the door, nearly sprinting down the hallway, stopping at your door. He stared at the number on your door for a long while before cautiously raising his hand to knock.

What is he doing? Stupid, you’re probably asleep. Why would he disturb you over a stupid dream? As soon as the knock was made, Ghost regretted it. His hand lingered on the door, leaving a clear handprint on the wood.

To his surprise, the sound of a lock turning broke the silence in the air. The wooden door slowly creaked open, and a small figure emerged from the shadows to peek outside.

“Ghost?” You recognized the tall man behind the door, confusion written on your face as you fully opened it. “What are you doing here so late… no, so early?”

Before you could finish speaking, Ghost pulled you into his arms, wrapping his body around yours. There was barely any space between you, his grip firm as he held you close.

The damp, heated sensation from his body pressed through your pajamas, and as your hand made contact with his sweat-soaked back, you didn’t need him to say a word to understand what was going on.

“Did you have a nightmare?” you whispered softly in his ear. “Don’t be scared, it’s all fake.”

“But this time, it felt so real,” Ghost closed his eyes, lowering his head to rest against the side of your face. Through the mask, he inhaled the scent that was uniquely yours—the gentle mint shampoo and the faint, unknown floral fragrance that gradually soothed the wounds in his heart.

“That’s just your imagination. I don’t know what you just went through, but, Ghost…” You gently pulled away from his embrace, cupping his face in your hands. He lowered his gaze, looking like a pitiful large dog in your palms.

“No matter what, I’m alive, and you’re alive too.” You stood on your tiptoes and softly kissed the skull mask. The soft fabric left a barely noticeable mark on your lips. “You won’t hurt me, and you won’t let anyone hurt me, right?”

“I would never hurt you!” Ghost quickly grabbed your wrist, then leaned his forehead against yours. His eyes were tightly shut as he calmed his racing heartbeat, syncing with your steady breath.

“Ghost, I trust you. You’ll never do anything to hurt me, and you’ll protect me from anyone who tries. No one can take me away from you, no one,” you kissed Ghost again, feeling his warmth through the mask.

“No one.” Ghost slowly opened his eyes at your words, his gaze traveling from your head to your feet as he repeated your words, then lowered his head, deepening the kiss. “No one, no one…”

No one could hurt you. No one could separate you both. No one.

The end.

Hello everyone, this is a translation of my own work. The original was written in Chinese, and since I am not a native English speaker, I hope the translation isn’t too difficult to understand. I hope you enjoy my work ❤️