#HE NEVER HAD TO GO DAYS WITHOUT MEALS. HE NEVER HAD TO LIVE IN A HOME INFESTED WITH MICE AND HORNETS.

[nizhspo]

pairing: megumi fushiguro x f!reader

content: grief, ghost!reader, canon divergence, emotionally stunted teenage megumi

he hears you first in the dorm.

not with his ears, not quite, but in the way the kettle starts to hiss a second before he flips it on. in the light tap of the bathroom door just after he’s walked away from it. in the soft, low hum that flutters out of the kitchen when he’s on the couch, reading, pretending he’s not waiting for it.

it’s always the same song.

you always used to hum it without thinking, half-lost, half-tuned-out, like it lived in your bones. he doesn’t know the name.

maybe you never told him. maybe he never asked. maybe he should’ve.

your picture is still on his desk.

a polaroid, glossy edges curling a little where the tape doesn’t hold like it used to. you’d printed it yourself. stuck it there with a piece of washi tape covered in little cartoon cats. said his room was “too depressing for someone who’s technically been living here for three years.” said it needed “a girl’s touch.”

he didn’t fight you on it. just mumbled something about “don’t expect me to dust it.” and left it there.

he doesn’t keep it because he’s sentimental. megumi doesn’t really do sentimental—never did. not with the whole absent father, comatose sister, trained-to-kill-by-thirteen thing.

but because it doesn’t feel right to take it down.

you’re mid-laugh in the photo, eyes crinkled, hair blown out of frame, hand half-raised like you were reaching for him.

he remembers the exact moment. you’d forced him to drive you to the mall that weekend because your permit still had two weeks to go, and “you said you liked driving anyway, gumi, don’t be annoying.”

he ended up holding all your bags. stood outside the dressing room with three purses slung over one arm like some exhausted boyfriend from a teen drama.

you guys did a lot of things like he was your boyfriend, actually.

you called him baby when you wanted something. made him tie your shoes when you didn’t feel like bending down. fell asleep on his shoulder on the train back and muttered his name like a comfort.

but it was nothing. always nothing.

he remembers taking the picture. you stood outside the mall entrance, hands on your hips, demanded he capture you “having the time of your life” so you could send it to yuji and nobara, who’d slept in and missed the whole outing.

he’d said, “you still have churro sugar on your lip.” and you’d lunged at him, laughing, trying to swipe the camera.

he clicked the shutter anyway.

he told himself he’d put it away when it stopped hurting.

it’s been six months.

…

you guys weren’t dating.

not really.

but you were close. closer than anyone else ever got to him.

you shared meals when training ran late. swapped bites without asking. you borrowed each other’s notebooks and never gave them back—just let the pages blur between his handwriting and yours like none of it really needed to be sorted.

you shared beds more often than not. after missions, after movies, after long days when your legs ached and your voices were too quiet to say goodbye properly. you’d crawl under his covers and press your cold feet against his shins and he’d grunt, but he never made you leave. not once.

you stole his clothes constantly. not for the fit, not always, but because they smelled like him. like the detergent he used. like the fabric softener you always teased him for buying. he called you a weirdo when you said so out loud, but he still left hoodies at the foot of your bed without asking.

you guys never kissed. never said what you were. never even clarified what it meant when you grabbed his hand in public when you saw a curse in your peripheral or laid your head on his shoulder in the back of a cab or told the first years “we’re a package deal, obviously.”

you’d call him your partner sometimes, in passing. in half-jokes. in introductions.

he never corrected you.

he didn’t think he had to.

…

you died on a thursday.

the curse was supposed to be low-grade. a clean-up job, routine and boring. gojo had tossed the assignment at you both like it was nothing—just another late afternoon errand.

but the intel was wrong.

it always is.

and megumi had blinked and the building collapsed.

he remembered your voice calling out his name. remembered the burn of the rebar slicing across his shoulder. remembered trying to reach you, fingers digging through rubble, mouth bleeding from where he bit his tongue trying not to scream.

by the time he found you, your chest was caved in, and you were still breathing. barely.

you looked at him. eyes wide. unblinking.

you tried to say something, but it was all blood.

…

at the funeral, someone said, “i’m so sorry you lost your friend.”

and megumi just nodded. just clenched his jaw a little too hard and said thank you like it didn’t feel like a lie in his mouth.

because “friend” wasn’t wrong, not really. you weren’t dating. you never kissed. never held hands like a promise. never told him you loved him in a way anyone else would’ve understood.

but “friend” didn’t fit either.

“friend” didn’t explain the toothbrush you kept in his drawer. didn’t explain why his pillow smelled like your shampoo. why your handwriting was in the margins of his textbooks. why your voice was the one he heard when he was bleeding out in a ditch in sapporo, whispering “stay awake, ‘gumi, c’mon, don’t be an idiot.”

“friend” didn’t explain why he hadn’t slept properly in his bed since you died. or why he still caught himself reaching for his phone after long missions just to see if you’d texted made you leftovers. come home, loser.

“friend” didn’t explain the way it felt. this hollow, thudding, gasping-for-air kind of grief. the kind that lived in his ribs. the kind that made his hands shake when he was alone.

you weren’t his girlfriend.

but you were his home.

and now he sits in the second row of your funeral, because the first row’s for family, and he doesn’t know if he’s allowed—and listens to people say how bright you were. how funny. how loyal. how kind.

and not one of them says that you stole his socks. or fell asleep on his chest during horror movies. or kissed his cheek once, when you thought he was already asleep.

not one of them says you loved him, and he’s too afraid to say it himself.

because what if it wasn’t true?

because what if it was?

…

he should’ve protected you.

that’s the one thing he believes about himself, the one rule he learned before he even knew what love was: protect what’s yours. protect what’s close.

and you were so close. you were the closest.

and still, you died.

he’s protected so many people he barely knew.

he saved yuji the first time they met, dragged him out of a curse-ridden school without hesitation, threw himself between a boy and death like it was instinct. he saved nobara from a shikigami she never saw coming. shielded strangers on the street without thinking. saved an entire family during a cursed spirit outbreak in shibuya—faces he doesn’t remember. names he never got.

but he couldn’t save you.

couldn’t save the one thing he’d learned how to love. the one thing he wanted to love right.

and that’s the thing—he did love you.

quietly. selfishly. in the way megumi fushiguro always does, with half a step of distance, with eyes that never quite meet yours, with words that hover behind his teeth like maybe if he holds onto them long enough, they’ll say themselves.

he thought there’d be time.

thought there’d be one more walk home after training. one more shared umbrella. one more look across the classroom where you’d smirk and mouth pay attention, gumi. one more mission where he’d brush a cut on your cheek and pretend his hand didn’t linger.

he thought he’d get to kiss you when you finally cracked, when you finally said, “are we ever gonna make this official, or are you just gonna keep looking at me like that forever?”

he thought he’d get to say yes. thought he’d get to say mine. thought he’d get to say i love you.

but instead—

you bled out in his arms, your body limp, your face slack. your fingers curled loosely around his. he remembers how they twitched once. how he thought that meant something. how he begged the universe to let it mean something.

and still—

he let you go.

…

his dorm at jujutsu high still smells like you sometimes.

lavender and whatever brand of chapstick you used to steal from nobara. he wakes up with your name in his throat. stares at the ceiling like it might give him a reason.

he doesn’t talk about it.

not to yuji, not to nobara, especially not to gojo.

grief isn’t a word megumi uses. grief is what happens to other people. grief is slow and sobbing and needs comfort.

megumi just feels empty. like someone scooped his ribs out with a dull spoon and left him to walk around in the hollow.

he sharpens his blades instead. trains until his knuckles split open. stays behind after missions and scrubs his uniform like a surgeon scrubbing for a second chance—like if he can get all the blood off, maybe yours will go too.

he doesn’t go home on weekends anymore. doesn’t visit tsumiki.

she wouldn’t even know if he did, and somehow that makes it worse.

…

it leaks into everything.

yuji asks if he wants to hang out, and megumi shrugs without answering.

nobara punches his arm and tells him he looks like shit, and he tells her it’s none of her business.

gojo corners him after training with that too-light voice and eyes too bright, and megumi snaps—really snaps, hissing that he’s fine and doesn’t need gojo breathing down his neck every five minutes like he’s still a kid.

gojo backs off, and that almost makes megumi angrier.

…

and at night, you hum.

from the kitchen. from the bathroom. sometimes curled on the edge of his bed, humming that same goddamn song.

he doesn’t know what it’s called.

you used to hum it all the time, absently, cheerfully, with no rhythm. he used to tease you for it. you used to flick his forehead and tell him to loosen up.

and now he waits for it.

waits to hear you brush past the fridge, your voice echoing in the water pipes. waits to feel the weight at the bottom of his bed. waits to hear his own voice, low, raw, cracking open in the dark—

“i miss you.”

“you were right about that restaurant.”

“i wish you’d stayed.”

and some nights—most nights, he just says your name, softly, over and over.

like a spell. like a prayer. like if he says it enough, maybe he can rewind time by syllable. maybe he can drag you back.

and you never appear in front of him, never fully speak, either. but you’re there.

…

the night he breaks, he’s just come back from a mission.

one that went sideways fast. blood in his boots. cut on his lip. something still ringing in his ears. he drops his bag by the door and walks into the kitchen on autopilot, hands shaking, mind fuzzed over.

and he feels it, warm hands, gentle ones, curling around his shoulders. like someone behind him. like you.

and it undoes him.

he doesn’t mean to cry.

he never cries, not really. not when tsumiki slipped into the coma. not when gojo got sealed. not even when he lost you.

but he does now.

his breath catches in his throat and he chokes, and suddenly it’s just happening. hot, and fast, and ugly. his shoulders jerk once. his chest collapses inward like it’s folding under the weight.

and his hands are clumsy—he wipes at his face with the back of his wrist like maybe he can erase the evidence fast enough, maybe if he rubs hard enough it’ll stop.

but it doesn’t. the tears keep coming, and his mouth twists up like it’s trying not to sob, like holding his breath might hold everything in place. but it doesn’t, because it hits him all at once—

that if he somehow survives this life, this job, this curse: he’ll do it without you.

no graduation photos. no first real apartment together. no stupid argument about where to order takeout. no real hugs. no conversations that don’t start and end with silence. nothing.

just this.

just him, in a dark kitchen, crying like a boy again. crying like someone who finally realized what it means to be left behind.

…

you don’t appear fully until spring.

not during winter, when he kept his window shut and refused to let anyone into the suffocating heat of his room.

not during the funeral, where he stood stiff as stone, mouth a line, fists white.

not during the days he walked past your empty training mat and stared until his vision blurred.

but one warm night in march, when the window’s open, and the cicadas scream like they’re mourning too—when he’s fallen asleep on top of the sheets in just his hoodie—

you sit on the edge of the bed.

he doesn’t flinch, just opens his eyes slow, and lets the sight of you fill the room like breath.

you’re still in the uniform from that last day. your shirt is wrinkled. your hair is messy. your mouth is soft. there’s soot on your collar, dirt at your elbow, a shadow of bruising where the rebar cracked your ribs.

you look like you did when he held you as you died.

but your eyes are clearer now. sharper. real.

“you haven’t changed your sheets,” you murmur.

he swallows. “they still smell like you.”

your lips twitch. “that’s gross.”

he laughs, quiet. hoarse. “i didn’t think you’d come.”

you tilt your head. “why wouldn’t i?”

his hands tighten in the blanket. his eyes sting. “because i never said it,” he says. “not when it mattered.”

you watch him. not judging. just listening. and your head tilts, the way it always used to when you were trying not to smile—trying not to make it too easy for him.

your lips twitch.

“then say it,” you murmur, voice low, warm. teasing in that way only you could be with him. your fingers reach toward his face, not quite touching. “say it, gumi.”

his breath shudders, sharp and thin, like you telling him to broke something inside him. like he’s been waiting six months for permission, and now that you’ve said it, he doesn’t know how to hold it.

his throat tightens. his jaw clenches, like he’s fighting it even now—like saying it out loud might make it more real than grief, more permanent than death.

and when he speaks, his voice cracks.

“i loved you,” he says, quiet. “i still do.”

and there’s no thunder. no cursed wind through the room. no flickering lightbulb or veil between worlds tearing open.

just silence. like peace. like relief.

and you smile, like you’d been waiting too.

and then, finally—you reach out. barely. gently. just enough to brush his cheek with the back of your fingers, the way you used to when he came back to the dorm too quiet and too bloody.

you don’t say anything dramatic. just—

“i know.”

…

he wakes before the sun the next morning.

his hoodie is damp, his chest aches, and his window’s still open. the air smells like early summer and night-blooming jasmine.

and on the floor, half-tucked under the bed, is a note, folded, soft.

in your handwriting.

thank you for saying it.

i can rest now.

i love you too, gumi <3

…

that day, megumi showers for the first time in a week.

he stands under the water too long. lets it run scalding until his skin stings and the mirror fogs up completely. scrubs behind his ears. clips his nails. brushes his teeth twice. throws the old towel in the hamper like it wronged him.

he lets yuji drag him into a movie after training. they sit too close to the screen. eat popcorn that’s mostly salt. yuji whispers commentary at full volume and laughs too hard at things that aren’t funny.

megumi doesn’t tell him to shut up. he even laughs, once—during the scene where the main character forgets their keys, swears loudly, and tries to kick open their own front door, only for it to be unlocked the whole time.

yuji cackles like it’s high art. megumi snorts quietly.

but it’s something.

he doesn’t say anything about you. not on the walk home. not when yuji asks “you doing okay?” in that voice that means i’m trying not to make it a big deal.

megumi just nods.

but when he gets back to his dorm, he changes his sheets. pulls the old ones off, carefully, methodically, like ritual. tucks the note you left him, folded and soft from being reread—into the pocket of the hoodie he never stopped wearing. then he balls up the sheets and throws them in the corner.

doesn’t burn them. doesn’t hold them. just… lets them go.

not because he’s holding on. but because he’s finally, finally learning how to let go.

[222col]

— AM I MAKING YOU FEEL SICK?

fawn!reader x rafe cameron

summary: the camerons were new to town, but your father had sworn you away from rafe. only when your compulsions grow to hard to ignore during your father's service one sunday, do you finally meet the real rafe cameron

cw .ᐟ cannibalism, blood, gore, mentions of murder, religious themes, mentions of vomit

02. — AM I MAKING YOU FEEL SICK?

he scared you more than anything ever had. more than your own compulsions, more than your own terrible acts. you'd been scared your whole life, of being caught, being discovered as you lived. but nothing could have prepared you for the fear you felt of him.

from the day you fed on him, unaware of the terror you were putting yourself in. a quiet girl forced to teach him the ways of eating, a lonely girl put into a position of want. but despite his desperate kisses, you were still unsure of his true desires.

rafe wanted an escape, a reason to be the way he was. you were giving him that. you were giving him an excuse to kill. if he could become like you, an eater, he could live with his want. he could learn to feel no guilt, though it was rare he ever did.

your true compulsions weren't to be learnt, impossible to be taught. to you, they were a birthright. a behaviour you could not unlearn or go without. you were unable to go hungry, couldn't live without feeding. it was more than an addiction, more than life itself. your life was ran by god, and your compulsions. like food and water.

it became an almost partnership. rafe did the dirty work, and you ate. in some ways, it worked. you fed without guilt of murder, like a child being given it's meal without work. he provided for you in that way, and asked your teaching in return.

you tried, to teach him. but how do you teach something that comes so natural? how do you teach a bird without wings to fly?

rafe was more committed than you. he ate, and ate, until he made himself sick. sometimes he couldn't even watch you, sometimes instinct kicked in and he'd puke at just the sight of you feeding. those days were hardest on you.

he let you continue your rituals, lay your wildflowers, bathe in the lake. started driving you out of town of a night, when the need became too strong. found victims worth killing, by his standards.

rafe never cried when he killed. but he sobbed every time he ate.

like a child, he sobbed. into your blood stained clothes, inhaling the scent of you and the blood of whom you just ate. clutching at the fabric around your body like he'd die if you let go of him.

you grew to like rafe. in those moments. when he was vulnerable. you laid in bed at night, after praying for forgiveness, dreaming of a life with him. thinking how it would look, without your compulsions, without his perversions.

within a few months, rafe's kill count had jumped from three to seven. the amount you were eating was increasing, only forcing your hunger to grow stronger between meals.

he could tell somehow, when you were. always knew to pick you up that night and drive you out of town. he was learning not only your compulsions, but you. how to be you, how to know you, how to love you.

the metallic smell lingers on your clothes, the white dress stained from the chest down. the droplets sticking to his mouth, cigarette between his teeth as he continues the drive back to town. the radio on low, the tension louder than anything else.

"am i making you feel sick?"

his heartbeat races at your question. he wants to lie. wants to make you feel better. he doesn't want you to tell him that you have to stop. he can't tell you the truth, you'll leave.

"no." he whispers, hand draping out the window as he flicks the ash from the cigarette. the lie creeps in the air, bites at you more than the cold wind. the scar on his shoulder peaks out below his tank, the constant reminder of who you are. how this started. what you could do. "you're not."

© 222col. do not steal or repost my work without permission.

꒰ taglist ꒱ @khartalks @funkycoloured @bluestrd @appleaali @donteventry-itdude @gublerstylesobrien1238 @peachyparkerr @stanart4clearskin @lvve-talks @shahabaqsa0310 @imperishablereverie @pinkpantheressluver @sweetestfaiszts @cokewithcameron @h3nt41sarchive @dumbbandpoetic @pittsick ( to be added )

[sinsinsina]

Edward Cullen X Reader | Bones and Blood

⚠️ TW: Malnutrition.

Context: Your family's financial situation worsens to the point where you are unable to eat properly. Fortunately, Edward discovered your situation and decided to help you secretly.

Contém: Inappropriate language, misuse of English (not my first language, sorry 😞), sensitive topics (check trigger list above), SFW.

Notas: I tried to bring the situation to everyone in the most respectful way possible. I basically used personal experiences from my dark past to relate what happened to [reader]. I'm sorry if this offends anyone, it's not my intention, in fact, I understand that better than anyone 🫠

You never really cared much about food. You’ve always been pretty chill about your appearance, knowing you were perfectly healthy without bothering with diet rules or crazy restrictions. But things changed when your father lost his job.

You’ve been living with him and your stepmother ever since your mother passed away. Your stepmother isn’t a bad person, but she never liked having you in the house — like you were an intruder in the perfect life she built with her new husband. Your father gave her plenty of attention and loved you in his own twisted way, but he was never the kind of man who truly cared about your needs. You learned to deal with that, though.

After he got fired, as a last desperate attempt to survive, your father sold the house you had in Seattle, and you all moved to his hometown — Forks, a small, rainy place. He managed to get a job that paid just enough to cover the bills, but you still had to be very careful with money. In short, you were really broke — drowning in debt and struggling — but you could handle it.

Your new life in this tiny town with barely any people was… boring, to say the least. Most of the students were excited about the arrival of “fresh meat” in town, but over time, you just became another regular student like everyone else. You had a few friends but barely talked to anyone. Sometimes you exchanged a few words with a girl named Angela. Sometimes you said “good morning” to your lab partner. And that was it.

Things were going fine in good old Forks — until your stepmother got pregnant. You were genuinely happy for her, and that even improved your relationship with her a little. But clearly, it wasn’t exactly good news for your father, who was already working himself to death to keep the family afloat.

Things escalated quickly. One day, you were all thinking about names for your future little brother. The next day, your father started asking you to eat less. One day, your meals were just being slightly monitored. The next, you weren’t having lunch anymore. You couldn’t eat at school anymore since your father cut off your lunch money. You were barely having breakfast these days. Everything was left for your stepmother and her baby — and you didn’t complain. They needed it more than you did, anyway.

“Wow, [﹎﹎﹎], you look amazing,” Jessica commented on a random Wednesday while you practically drooled over her tuna sandwich. “Have you been dieting?”

The question caught you off guard. You hadn’t noticed you’d lost weight until that very moment — though, honestly, it shouldn’t have surprised you. You swallowed hard and smiled, keeping your eyes locked on her sandwich.

“Yeah… guess it’s working,” you answered whatever came to mind, practically salivating as she took the next bite.

The days became harder from that point on. You had no idea what kind of deluded image Jessica was seeing. You were anything but pretty. Your rib bones were starting to show in a terrifying way, your cheeks had sunk in, and your cheekbones looked painfully sharp. You cried in front of the mirror when you noticed it for the first time. But nothing compared to the pain of hunger. A black hole in your stomach, swallowing everything inside you — your bones, your flesh, your blood, your sanity.

Sometimes, you just couldn’t hold back the urge and would ask for a bite of whatever the people sitting next to you in the cafeteria were eating. You savored every bite like it was your last. Surprisingly, no one ever questioned your constant hunger — as if it was just something natural about you. Once, Angela brought an extra sandwich, as if she suspected something but wasn’t really sure. You denied every question about your so-called “diet” when she, clearly embarrassed, tried to bring it up. She was trying not to be invasive or imply anything… but deep down, all you wanted was for her to figure it out herself. That way, the shame of having to admit it would hurt less.

When the baby started showing signs, your food portions shrank even more. Breakfast was officially gone — nothing left on the counter. Whatever food there was, it was safely stored in your stepmother’s bedroom. You started to hate lunchtime at school. Your mind was foggy most of the time. Your teachers started asking questions about the drop in your grades. One day, your father was even called to the school because you kept falling asleep in every single literature class. Getting out of bed took everything you had. Thinking was even worse. You were sleepy all the time... except during lunch. That was the only time your body was on high alert — food nearby.

Being forced to watch your classmates eat, completely oblivious to your situation, was pure torture. Envy started screaming inside your head. You silently judged everyone who complained about the school’s food, everyone who dared to throw away even the tiniest slice of pizza. And that’s when your eyes landed on the Cullens.

God, how you hated them.

Every single day, they grabbed a full tray of food and didn’t eat a single bite. Not even one. They just dumped it all straight into the trash. Your entire body tensed just looking at their pale, perfect — sometimes terrifying — faces. When the shortest one, Alice Cullen (yeah, you remembered her name), threw her entire tray away, your blood boiled so badly that you had to lower your gaze or you were going to pass out from low blood pressure.

“Fucking spoiled rich kids,” you growled through gritted teeth.

Everyone at your table turned to look at you, surprised.

“Whoa… where did that come from?” Mike asked, glancing over at the Cullens’ table and laughing. You didn’t even need to say their names. Everyone already knew who you were talking about. Who else could be such spoiled brats if not the untouchable Cullens? You rolled your eyes just thinking about it.

“They're loaded, right? Stuck-up as hell,” Mike added.

“Oh, for sure. Bet they pay for plastic surgeries, gastric bypass, or whatever it takes to keep those cute fucking faces,” you snapped, your voice full of venom. Mike, Lauren, and Jessica laughed at your nasty comment, but Angela just stared at you — shocked.

You felt bad for her. Normally, neither of you took part in trash-talking others like this. And honestly… the Cullens weren’t really to blame for the fact that you were infinitely poorer than they could possibly imagine. They didn’t know your situation. Hell, they wouldn’t care anyway. Why would rich kids give a damn about someone starving? Pathetic.

You forced your mind to think about something else. Hating rich people wasn’t making you any healthier. But you nearly whimpered at the memory of that tiny girl tossing all that food away. Your darkest thoughts started whispering the idea of walking over to the trash can near their table... and grabbing the food Alice had just thrown out. Your stomach growled in agreement, but your pride still had a voice. This was degrading. Eating from the trash. Eating leftovers. Like a dog sneaking food from its owner.

But… who the hell cares about pride when you’re starving?

Who cares about social norms when you’re literally fighting to survive?

Your eyes lifted back to the Cullens’ table. Edward Cullen — one of the few who actually looked young enough to belong in this school — was staring right at you. His brows were furrowed, his expression... pained, like he was hurting.

You wondered if he’d heard you bad-mouthing his family. And you wondered… would he be the kind of person who’d care? Care if someone was starving? Someone like you?

His pained expression grew even sharper, like a gentle stab. You quickly looked away again.

When the bell for the next class finally rang, you waited for your friends to get up and leave — like you always did. As you stood, your blood pressure dropped so fast you could barely hold yourself steady against the table. It’s getting worse, you thought bitterly.

Your feet carried you over to the Cullens’ table, now empty. Right next to it was the trash can — the same one where Alice had tossed all her food. Pepperoni pizza, fries... and an apple. You remembered the apple fondly. You needed to be quick. No one could know what you were about to do. If you were lucky, maybe you could save something for dinner later.

You waited until the cafeteria was as empty as possible. You didn’t care if you ended up late for class — you’d probably just fall asleep in it anyway, with hunger pounding through your body like a hammer.

As you got closer, you made your way toward the trash can… but then your eyes lit up when you spotted something even better. Sitting on Edward Cullen’s chair — yeah, you remembered his name — was his tray. He had forgotten to throw it away, and his untouched food was still sitting right there.

Your eyes had never shined so bright. A smile spread across your lips, full of pure emotion. Whatever part of you still hated the Cullens… vanished in that exact moment.

You devoured everything on that tray in seconds, with zero class or dignity. The pepperoni pizza was the best thing you’d eaten in years. The half-crushed juice box tasted like heaven. Edward had even poured ketchup over the fries — not that he’d eaten a single one. You shoved it all into your mouth, desperate, even as the pain in your stomach tripled from how sensitive it had become.

When it was over, you still wanted more... but that would be enough — for now.

The place was already pretty empty when you finally stood up to head to class. Five minute late — but so, so happy.

The next morning — Friday — twenty kilos under the recommended weight for your height and age, you arrived late for physics class. As usual. The teacher didn’t even care anymore about your lack of commitment. Maybe he knew what was going on… but he wasn’t going to do anything about it.

Exhausted, you sat down and were informed that you’d have to do a partner project with someone. But no one came over to ask you, and you didn’t have the strength to ask who was available. You rested your head on the cold desk, sleep creeping in slowly. You could hear the teacher sigh in frustration… but again, he didn’t do anything.

At that moment… a small part of you — a tiny, tired part — wanted to die. A few more tears fell when no one was watching. Everything felt so bad… Your period had been missing for months now, thanks to the lack of food. Your bony arms wrapped tightly around your stomach. You were wearing three hoodies to hide your extreme thinness. There was no hope for improvement.

Soon your brother would be born, and your father would prioritize him — like he always did. Your stepmother didn’t like you anyway… it would be easy for her to forget you existed.

You loved the baby growing inside her… but deep down, you knew you wouldn’t live long enough to see him grow up. It was just a matter of time before death found you. And you waited for it… patiently… with very little hope.

Suddenly, something cold poked your back.

Wiping your tears quickly, you lifted your head… and came face-to-face with Edward Cullen.

He’d sat down next to you. That startled you. He never sat next to anyone. Actually… you couldn’t even remember him being in your class before.

“Do you have a partner for the project?” he asked, an adorable smile playing on his full lips. It took your breath away. Up close… he was even more beautiful. No doubt about it.

“You… wanna partner with me?” your voice came out weak, but he understood anyway and nodded. You frowned in confusion.

“But… you never pair up with anyone. You always ask to work alone.”

Edward shrugged and rested his face in his hands, still smiling at you with that soft kindness. You liked his smile. It made him seem… more human, somehow. His face twitched suddenly, like he was holding back a laugh.

“I mean… can I partner with you or not?” he asked playfully. Your body made a serious effort to sit up straighter… to look at least somewhat decent near him.

“It’s fine if you don’t want to,” he added.

Of course you wanted to. Anyone would do, honestly — as long as it meant less effort for you. And Edward was smart… which was great, because your concentration was practically non-existent these days.

“You can partner with me,” you said, smiling this time, relieved. “Where do you wanna work? Library? My house?”

“We can do it at mine?”

“Sure… what time?” You’d still need to check with your dad, but the idea made you happy. No one had ever been inside the Cullens’ house before. People could probably write about you in the school records after this.

“Come over around ten. That way you could stay for lunch too… if you want,” Edward suggested carefully, almost like he was shy about it.

Your whole body lit up with joy. More than perfect. Your cheeks flushed crimson, thinking about how embarrassing it was… going to someone’s house mostly for the food. The imaginary collar still around your neck… with “man’s best friend” engraved on it.

“Don’t you think the library would be better? I don’t want to bother your family…”

“You won’t be a bother. My mom loves any excuse to cook,” he chuckled at his own comment. His laugh was contagious… and you found yourself laughing too.

The fact that every student in the room seemed to be staring at the two of you didn’t escape your notice. Nobody talked to the Cullens more than absolutely necessary. And here you were… breaking every social rule.

“My mom used to love cooking too… She made the best lemon pie in history!” Your memories dragged you back to your little house in Seattle. Your mom… so wonderful and alive… cooking for you. The smell of her food still lingered in your mind. Life had been so different back then…

“What was she like?” Edward asked, with a shadowed but still empathetic look on his face.

“Very beautiful… Very different from me,” you answered with a sad smile. Her death didn’t hurt like it used to. Somehow, you felt she was in a better place now. “She was kind… easily stressed… and full of life.”

“She’s… gone?”

“Yes… It’s been a while now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not really sad about it anymore… Sometimes I feel like I’ll see her again soon…” The sentence sounded darker out loud than it had in your head. Edward noticed too.

“I think I get it… My mom passed too… when I was… younger,” he said, frowning as he dug into some distant memory. “We were really close.”

“I can imagine what that feels like… But now you have your adoptive mom, right? You talked about her with so much affection…”

“Yeah… I love Esme,” he said, smiling again.

It was a good conversation. The untouchable image of the Cullens had a new meaning in your head now. In the end… you started to think of Edward as someone kind. Someone who… maybe… might care about a starving kid.

Your stomach growled. You hoped he hadn’t heard it.

“Wanna have lunch with me today?” he asked suddenly. His topaz eyes shining as they met yours.

The question caught you completely off guard. You… having lunch… with a Cullen? Someone who wasn’t a Cullen… having lunch… with a Cullen?

Yesterday, you hated them.

And now…?

Your cheeks flushed again.

“Uh… don’t you think I’d be a burden to your siblings?” you asked, embarrassed. But honestly… it sounded like a good idea. At least you wouldn’t have to sit there. Watching others eat. Again.

“We’ll make an exception,” Edward said gently, flashing that perfect, dazzling smile that made your legs feel weak. How was it possible for him to be this beautiful?

“I don’t know…”

“I’ll pay for you.”

Your eyes widened. Now… the offer was way more tempting.

“Okay, fine. But, I’m gonna order a lot,” you said, half joking. Half serious.

Edward smiled, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m counting on it.”

Final notes: There will be a part 2, I promise! For now I found it too long for a Tumblr fanfic, I write a lot, I apologize for the unnecessary details, I tried to control myself as much as I could 😭. My first time writing here, I'm still learning to put little things. Thank you for reading, if anyone read it at all 🧡.

(P.S.: Crediting here the beautiful divider I used.)

[i-can-sabotage-me-bi-myself]

Pennsylvania, I am super disappointed in you and disgusted by you. If this moldy peach wins that's it. I'm fucking leaving. My life is already a dumpster fire but I'd rather drown myself in a tub than live through another 4 years with that rapist as president

[aeyumicore]

captive bird - caleb 夏以昼

tension boils over during the thunderstorm in caleb’s living room—things get heated. what really happens in captive bird when caleb and mc are finally honest with how they feel about each other.

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: caleb x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ GENRE: smut, porn with plot, porn with feelings/angst, fluff, canon story continuation

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 13.4k

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, SPOILERS TO CAPTIVE BIRD (main story), more compliant with original chinese script, not incest (it’s very clear they are not related and do not feel related), unprotected sex, oral (male and female receiving), fingering, virginity loss (male and female), panty sniffing/licking (while on female mc), panty stealing, multiple orgasms, light choking, improper use of Evol, lots and lots of dirty talking (caleb is a vocal man), lots of pet names (princess, brat, baby, babygirl, and the occasional pip-squeak), cumming on stomach, cum…licking?, use of gege, size difference, use of Y/N, lots and lots of main story/lore/anecdote references, lots of feelings and angst, references to caleb’s right arm, bratty mc/brat tamer caleb

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: ao3 | captive bird video (also has entire ch2)

━ ✧.˖ A/N: vomits everywhere DON’T LOOK AT ME,,,,,idk how this got out of hand….i was hoping it would be MAX 9-10k…it’s 13k….anyways i hope you enjoy <3 first of many love letters to caleb, my babyyy. 

if you cannot tell yes caleb is my favorite….far far behind is sylus and then behind him is zayne. but i fear it is not even close. 

this is the first installment of my “””planned””” caleb series - essentially it’ll be smutty moments throughout the canon content: main story, five star mems, bonds, etc. no schedule, no promises. i will write when i feel inspired <3 

lore and plot build up is probably 4k words and the smut is like 9k. It goes lore → smut so you can skip the plot and go straight to the smut if youd like LOL

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖

part one | part two |

“Our reporters out in the field confirmed the lockdown will be lifted after being in effect for weeks. The Farspace Fleet assures everyone that the explosion in the Cascade District will not happen again–”

The newscaster is cut off when Caleb shuts off the television, coming up behind you. True to his word, three days had passed and it seemed the situation in Skyhaven was on the cusp of “resolving.” You’d finally be able to return home soon. 

Home–to Linkon. It used to be Caleb’s home too. 

On the other hand, your prickly relationship with Caleb had only tensed further in the past few days. You’d exchanged maybe a handful of words, not for lack of trying on his part. 

After he had clasped the monitoring bracelet onto your wrist, he may as well have locked away the last bit of hope you had that the Caleb you once knew was still under that prim and poised Colonel’s uniform. 

In your time at Skyhaven, he’d proven time and time again that the Caleb you grew up with, the gege you once loved, was gone. And what remained was someone you did not recognize, and didn’t know if you cared to. 

And yet, in the three days you locked yourself in the hollow room of his suffocating home, he’d still cook every meal for you, despite being gone much of the day. Three times a day, without fail, a tray of your favorite Caleb specials would show up at the foot of your door, accompanied by small and ridiculous sticky notes that pulled relentlessly at your heartstrings.

Caleb always loved notes. He used to say it was your guys’ thing.

But now, you weren’t so sure there was a you and him anymore. 

“After all this is over, the Fleet will return to the Deepspace Tunnel. You’ll be safe. For now,” Caleb’s words cut through your thoughts. You nearly jump at the sound of his voice, this being the most you’d allowed him to say to you lately. 

What’s more jarring is the idea that the Farspace Fleet is leaving Skyhaven. You’d forgotten that they hardly ever stationed here–spending most, if not all, their time patrolling the Deepspace Tunnel. 

“So you’re just going to leave again? Without saying anything?” you bite out, overwhelmed by a bitterness you hadn’t quite processed since reuniting with him. 

Caleb smiles, a ghostlike smirk that doesn’t meet his eyes. It’s riddled in self deprecation and pity, “You won’t have to see me anymore. Shouldn’t you be happy?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he chuckles and grabs your wrist, “I’m about to leave. Let’s have dinner together.”

Between the idea that Caleb is leaving you yet again, and him making yet another demand of you, you violently rip your arm away from him. Your words are venomous as you spit them out, “So I have to listen to the Colonel even when it comes to eating and drinking now?”

You storm away from him, sitting on the couch in the living room, hands clenched in your lap. Your gaze is fixed on your angrily quaking fists, and in the corners of your vision you see Caleb seating himself on the ottoman in front of you.

“You can be mad, but don’t let it affect your health,” he holds out an apple in front of you, a silent offering. It's perfectly red opulent skin only makes you bristle with more annoyance. 

“I’m not mad.”

Caleb chuckles knowingly, “Growing up, I knew you better than anyone.”

His voice doesn’t change but there’s an undercurrent of emptiness that makes you look up at him. He doesn’t meet your eyes, his cheek resting on his fist as he turns the apple in his fingers, the ruby skin glinting under the lights.

“I could see through your lies before you could blink. Bite your lip, and I could instantly tell you were upset.” 

He speaks as if remembering something precious he’d lost, violet eyes briefly flickering to yours before they cast downward again, focussing on the apple like it might solve your problems. 

“Then tell me, since you know me so well, what am I thinking right now?” 

Before he can respond, you continue, “I’m thinking…how did you turn into someone I can’t even recognize?” 

Part of you regrets the words as soon they come out. But the other part, the larger part, wants him to see what you see. To feel what you feel. You think that part of you wants to hurt him like he’s been hurting you.

Caleb chuckles darkly, putting the apple back into the fruit bowl on the coffee table with the other perfect and untouched apples, “I know. You’re thinking a chip got put into my brain and it changed who I am, right?”

His shadowed gaze  meets yours, unfathomable emotions shining through the eyes you once found immeasurable comfort in. He reaches out to hold your cheek, his fingers grazing your jaw. The look in his stormy eyes makes your skin crawl, and yet his touch is so unbearably familiar that you can’t help but lean into him. 

“What if I told you…I was always this person?” 

Your breath catches at the inexplicable hope that clashes with the sinister darkness shadowing his face. His deceptively simple words have you unconsciously inching away from him, your mind reeling as you struggle to accept them. Refuse to accept them.

Could he really always have been this person? 

Could you really have been so deluded that you’d fallen in love with a complete stranger? 

No, not a stranger–but someone who never even existed to begin with. 

You recoil, not from his touch–but from his words, your spine hitting the back of the couch. There’s a split second where Caleb’s face falls, a flash of the sweet innocent boy you were yearning for finding its way to the surface. But then his face hardens, his Colonel’s mask slipping back on. 

He stands before you, between your parted knees, his height looming over you like the impending storm that brews just outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of the glass cage that was his home. 

Caleb’s voice is so rough you almost don’t recognize it. His fist grasps the back of the couch beside your head, trapping you between it and him. You can’t bring yourself to push him away, your chest pounding at his proximity, eyes instinctively drawn into the curves of his lips as he speaks. 

“It’s you who’s still living in a fantasy, Y/N.”

Those hauntingly beautiful amethyst irises search yours for even a glimmer of understanding. You’re nearly consumed by the stark contrast of the frenzy and despair in them.

“The people who want your power–who’d hurt you. They should all just…disappear.” 

Caleb speaks with such a sinister conviction, as if he’s swearing a solemn oath to you. One that paints your skin with goosebumps at just how serious you can tell he is. How much of his humanity he’s willing to throw away–for you.

“You’re only safe when you’re by my side.”

He smiles at you, a deceptively warm smile that reminds you of the gege who always bandaged your knees and shielded you from the thunderstorms that reminded you of the roar of Wanderers. The Caleb your heart found itself inexplicably yearning for, no matter how much you told yourself you shouldn't. 

But the flickering darkness–the frantic despair in his deep purple eyes pulls you back into reality, like a blackhole swallowing all the light around it. 

“I’d rather be in danger than live like this, Caleb!” the sheer anger you’d held onto from the last three days boils over, tears of frustration pooling in the corner of your eyes. 

Your next words come tumbling out before you can stop them, knowing just how much they’ll hurt him. You’re not even sure they’re true–but once the floodgates open, you can’t shut them.

“I don’t need you!”

Caleb’s gentle smile transforms into one of disbelief as your palm rests on his chest, finally finding the strength to push him away. When he glances away from you, his eyes darting around frantically, he looks hopelessly lost. A plane adrift. 

“Don’t need me?”

His voice is incredulous as he grabs your wrist, holding it above your head. His grip is firm and unyielding, but not enough to hurt you in the slightest. Caleb always knew just how much you could take, after all. 

It doesn’t take much for him to pin you firmly against the couch, leaning in closer to cage you into the furniture. In the back of your mind, you know you should shove him off–slap him even. 

But all you could focus on is the way his long eyelashes are so close you could count them. How you can feel his heated breath fan across your parted lips, practically able to taste him on your tongue.

You can’t find it in yourself to put up a fight, unable to even tear your eyes away from him as the dark expanding universe in his irises searches yours. All you can do is weakly, pathetically, hit his arm. 

“Then tell me, what do you need? I can give you anything.” 

Did you want him to leave?

Your heart pounds at his words, the raw honesty and vulnerability dripping off of them, so serious it was nearly a threat. The desperate glint in his eyes was unlike anything you’d ever seen before. 

You didn’t recognize him in the slightest. 

“You want to return to Linkon? Then we can go back to Linkon.”

Could you return to Linkon with him? To the place where you’d held Caleb’s hand for the first time and inevitably fallen in love with the gege who’d protected you all your life? A man who was now no more than a ghost of who he once was.

“If you want to return to the past, then we can rebuild our old house and live together again.”

House. Not home. Because that’d been destroyed in the same explosion that’d killed your Caleb. 

“And if one house isn’t enough, I’ll build you an entire maze.”

A maze. Designed with the illusion of a way out, but in reality you knew it’d just be another way to keep you caged in like a little helpless bird all over again. Flying around aimlessly–lost.

“I’ll decorate it with everything you could ever want. It will be the most beautiful, stunning garden you’ve ever seen.”

Caleb holds your face possessively as he speaks, as if you might disappear at any moment. His thumb catches stray tears as they descend your cheek. The devotion in his yearning eyes is boundless, a void threatening to swallow you whole. 

A dream world just for the two of you. 

“No one will ever be able to find you ever again. I’ll protect you forever.”

The dream shatters into a million glass fragments, the shards embedding into your heart that had bled and scabbed over so many times these past few weeks in Skyhaven that it was unrecognizable. 

You press your free palm into his chest, pushing back gently. There’s no frustration or urgency this time, just a heartfelt plea that you can’t quite place. 

“Caleb…you shouldn’t do this.”

The words feel foreign as they leave the tip of your tongue. 

“You’re my…” the term feels like acid but you force it out, needing to get through to him. Your open hand on his chest closes into a tightly clenched fist. 

“My…brother. You mean more to me than anything.”

For a long time you hadn’t felt like Caleb was your brother. You don’t really know if you’d ever felt like he was. The only thing you were certain of was that Caleb had become the most precious person in your life. 

And you loved him. Was in love with him.

But it was too late to tell him that now. 

For now, you needed him to see reason. That the world he envisioned for the two of you was nothing more than a faraway dream, and dreams existed only in the whispers of the night. 

Caleb freezes, before biting out a bitter chuckle–halfway between a scoff and a sneer. The Colonel’s mask slips off, fluttering to the floor entirely. The wild look in his eyes is reminiscent of a caged beast that’d been whipped one too many times. 

“Hah–brother?” 

You struggle as Caleb pries your hand off his chest, not really knowing why you’re fighting him. It’s hard to think, with him so close to you, your resolve fading with each moment that passes. 

You vaguely hear the bowl of apples on the coffee table being knocked over, unceremoniously tumbling to the ground. Caleb hovers above you, his face darker than the torrent of storm clouds just outside the glass windows. 

“Y/N, your biggest mistake was believing that I could play the part of your perfect brother forever.”

You can’t tell if it’s the terrifying roar of thunder or his shocking confession that makes your heart pound so violently it hurts. Your fist quivers as you pull back, but Caleb only holds you tighter, unwilling to let you go.

The weight of his words crushes you–stealing your breath away, until there’s nothing left but the wreckage of your resolve. 

“Day after day, I’ve endured. I’ve held myself back. But now…”

His voice is so low that you can barely hear him over the clap of thunder, gravelly with a hungry desperation that makes your toes curl against the carpet.  

“I’m done playing pretend.”

The lightning outside flashes, illuminating his shadowed eyes revealing the depth of his turmoil. Without the carefully knit Farspace Colonel’s mask he always wore, Caleb was an open book, wearing his heart so openly on his sleeve that you could see every twisted thought.

Temptation, desperation, yearning, guilt, sin. All that he had shouldered and endured alone, donning the role of the supposed “older brother” like a shield, unwilling to risk losing the most precious thing in the world to him.

You.

And after weeks of seeing nothing but the cold, faraway, unforgiving Colonel of the Farspace Fleet, you were drawn to this Caleb like a moth to a flame.

Illogically, irrevocably, and so deeply that it hurts you. 

Caleb swears under his breath, shaking his head as if trying to snap out of a daze. His grip on your wrists loosens, but he doesn’t let go. His words come out in a forced choke, almost as pained as his anguished stare. 

“Don’t. Don’t look at me like that unless you’re willing to admit you’re done playing this game too.”

You can hear the blood pounding in your ears, your face no doubt as red as the apples that had tumbled to the ground. Your thoughts race a mile a minute, trying to reconcile what you’d always felt for him, telling yourself you shouldn’t, with what he was confessing to you now. 

What if you were never part of the game to begin with?

“Like what?! I’m not doing anything!” is all you can find yourself saying, almost petulantly, deflecting from what’s threatening to spill over. His skin felt impossibly hot against yours, his fingers nearly branding your wrists, reminding you just how much you’d come to feel for him. 

Reminding you of exactly who your heart was so violently pounding for in this exact moment.

Caleb shakes his head, a dark breathy chuckle escaping his lips as he releases your hands from above your head, instead gripping the couch behind you, boxing you in again. The storm outside fades away, until it’s only him, looking at you with an entire universe’s worth of longing reflected in those lavender halos.

His hand lifts to your cheek, hesitating before he uses the knuckles of his fingers to wipe your tears away, stroking along your jaw. It’s impossibly innocent, and yet you find your thighs clenching against him.

“Tell me I’m insane.”

You blink up at him trying to process what he was asking of you, the same exact things you had been telling yourself for…years. 

“Tell me…it’s all in my head.”

Caleb’s voice is nothing more than a desperate whisper, pleading with you to tell him what he needs to hear. Yes…or no. Whatever it is, he just can’t play this game anymore.

“Tell me you don’t feel…this.”

His long fingers slowly, tentatively, thread into your hair, his thumb stroking your jaw as he gently grasps your face, tilting you closer to him. Your eyes flicker to his parted lips that are so close you could just inch forward and taste them.

You definitely felt it.

“I-I don’t. Caleb…we can’t do this.”

You lie through your teeth, still holding onto the last fray of restraint you had left. The last, dying, part of you that wanted to keep the memory of you and Caleb exactly how it was. In a beautiful crystal box, that you could cherish and protect forever. 

Unchanging, undamaged, untouched.

Perhaps…that’s what Caleb thought he was doing when he kept you here in his glass home. Keeping you alive. 

“Didn’t I say I could always tell when you’re lying, pip-squeak?” 

His amethyst eyes are hooded with a deep swirling caution, warning you. That he can see right through you–he’s always been able to. And he’s never taken well to you keeping things from him. 

You try to bite back the visceral shiver at that sweet little pet name he so effortlessly called you, even when he was looking at you like a lion would a sheep. 

Caleb lowers himself so he’s kneeling before you, his knees pressing into the edge of the couch between your legs. 

“You’re trying to preserve a fantasy–a dream. But I’m right here, in front of you,” he urges, his voice broken and raw. Taking your hand, he presses your palm to his chest–his heart. Even through his shirt, you can feel the ridges of his muscles heaving with the weight of his heavy heart beats.

“Caleb…” you murmur, halfway between a warning and a plea. The feeling of his heart beneath your palm blurs the line between reason and desire. 

Caleb shuts his eyes, drawing a deep and shaky breath.

“Don’t say my name like that,” he growls, his fingers digging into the expensive leather of the couch, so forcefully that it threatens to rip.

“Don’t say my name like I’m already gone. I’m right here.” 

The vulnerable plea in his voice is so thick that you choke, tears welling in your eyes as you stare up at him, his eyes reflecting the same Caleb who used to point out planes as they flew by in the sky, promising you the world. 

Maybe you were the one who’d imprisoned him.

Trying desperately to hold onto the Caleb you knew. Blind to the fact that he was right in front of you, even if he’d shed the feathers you once knew. Forcing him into the tiny suffocating cage of what you wanted. 

He was right here. The Caleb who wore your hair ties on his wrist, the same one who dried your wet hair, who always looked for your face in every crowd.

The same Caleb who always did anything and everything to protect you, ever since he held your hand for the first time. 

And you’d punished him for it.

Your hands come up to hold his face in your palms, holding his gaze with unyielding regret. Caleb’s breath audibly catches at your touch, his face instinctively nuzzling into your palms, eyes shutting in a brief second of respite. 

“I…” you start, trying to find the words. But they escape you, stuck in your throat, where your heart clenches with repentance. Caleb is incredibly patient, stroking circles into the back of your head, not pushing you. 

You try again, “I’m…” You curse yourself inwardly, eyes prickling. 

Why couldn’t you just fucking say it? 

You were the coward, after all. 

Caleb’s thumb brushes against the corner of your mouth, careful not to stroke your bottom lip like he so desperately wanted to. His other hand clenches into a tight fist that trembles with the weight of his restraint. 

He gives you that half smile that’s so effortlessly Caleb that what’s left of your resolve snaps. 

“You don’t have to say it,” he reassures, almost dejectedly, his beautiful bright violet eyes falling, dimming like a burnt out bulb, “It’s okay.”

Even when he’s falling apart at the seams, his first instinct is to protect you. 

His breathing is heavy, lips parted, as his eyes flicker to your lips. The longing is so evident in those amethyst irises, but the light fades with every second that passes. Fighting with every instinct in his body, his thumb brushes along your jaw one last time before he releases your face, getting onto his feet.

“Just…have dinner with me before I go–please.”

Your eyes widen, heart pounding painfully as you watch him back away from you. 

No. 

You were done living in this fantasy you’d built. The dreamland you’d woven for Caleb and yourself. It was just as much of a prison as the one he’d put you in. 

Before you know what you’re doing, you reach out to grab his wrist and yank him back. Taken utterly by surprise, Caleb falls back toward you with little resistance. Almost falling into your lap, his hands shoot out to the couch behind your head to steady himself, his forehead nearly pressed into yours.

“What are you–”

Before your courage fades, you thread your fingers on either side of his face into his soft hair. You lean in the rest of the way, resting your forehead on his, his bangs prickling your skin. Your breaths mingle, his lips so close you could almost feel them–how soft they’d feel against your own.

Do. Don’t think.

You push your lips to his, swallowing his subtle gasp of surprise, pulling him as close as he can possibly get with his knees pressed up against the seat of the couch.

Caleb hesitates, his hands remaining respectfully by your head, his lips still.

But that lasts for less than a fraction of a second before his hands are gripping the back of your head, fingers tangled aggressively in your hair, teeth nipping at your bottom lip, groaning unabashedly into you.

Caleb’s lips are soft, slotting perfectly against yours like two broken pieces of glass. His teeth gently graze against your lip, begging for more. He’s the perfect balance of hungry and tender, demanding and delicate. 

You can tell he’s holding back, adorably so–not wanting to cross any boundaries unless you haul him over those lines. Despite that, he can’t help but cup the back of your head possessively, pulling you impossibly closer against his torrid lips.

Finally giving into what you’ve dreamt of for years possesses you with a boldness you’ve never experienced. It isn’t long before you’re teasing the seam of his lips with the tip of your tongue, wanting in.  

Caleb groans, one hand cautiously shifting to your hips. He hesitates, and you use your own palm to press him into your waist, begging him to hold you tighter. 

In one swift motion, he has your legs swung over his thighs, not going so far as to seat you on his lap. You sit on the cushion beside him, his arm cupped behind your back, the other holding your jaw. Your own hands are looped around his neck, inhaling his breath as your own, your tongue desperately tangled with his. 

To your dismay, Caleb pulls away, his fingers gently holding your chin. He pants, broad chest heaving with desire, tilting your face so that your eyes level with his.

“Tell me you want this.”

He fights with every instinct in his body that tells him to take your lips in his again. The way your beautiful eyes flutter at him, your lips perfectly parted so that he can feel your warmTH fan against him.

He’d spent his entire life forcing himself to look the other way–convincing himself that he should be the brother figure he thought you needed. Resolved his heart to still every time he saw those very fluttering eyes and intoxicating lips.

But now you were unraveling that very carefully crafted resolve, imploding it like a collapsing star. 

“I need to hear you say it, Y/N.”

You were a coward, but Caleb always made you brave.

Swinging your thigh over his lap, you straddle him, pressing him deeper into the couch. Caleb swears under his breath, his hands instinctively resting on your waist, locking your body against his. Holding his face in your hands, you bring him in so close his long eyelashes tickle your cheek. 

“I want this. I want you.” 

Caleb’s swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the intensity of his need, “God, you have no idea how many times I’ve imagined you saying that.”

He weaves his hand into the back of your head, pulling you to him, consuming your moans once more. His tongue claims every inch of you, causing your mind to go blank, throwing all prior restraint and reason out the window. 

Your body rolls instinctively against his lap, gasping when you feel something solid and thick right where your undoubtedly soaked panties press against Caleb’s lap.

His fingers tighten against your hips, threatening to leave fingertip shaped bruises, ripping his lips away with every ounce of self-control he has left.

“Y/N…this is your last chance to tell me to stop,” he rasps, eyes clouded over with a dark animalistic gleam. A desire that could only be born from years of pent up yearning and restraint.

“Once we start…I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop,” he murmurs, holding your cheek so adoringly. It’s clear that, while he’s giving you an out, he prays to the Gods that you won’t tell him to stop. 

With a pointed roll of your hips, earning you a delicious breathy moan from him, you grip the back of Caleb’s head, tugging on his hair. You pull his head against your chest, cradling him affectionately.

Caleb inhales a sharp breath at the sound of your pounding heart against his ear. How many times he’d stayed up, fraught with haunting nightmares, listening to this very sound, to your steady breathing, grounding him to this reality.

“I’m done playing pretend, Caleb.”

You can feel his entire body go rigid beneath you, his thick muscles tensing with heated desire. He lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours, his thumb swiping against your bottom lip with reverence. 

“Then…let me show you what’s real.”

With very little effort, Caleb picks you up, gripping your thighs and wrapping your legs around his waist. You squeal, looping your arms around his neck, hanging on for dear life.

“A little warning next time would be nice,” you grumble as he walks you, presumably, to the bedroom he had given you. His bedroom.

Caleb chuckles, his frustratingly infectious laugh, pressing a wet kiss into your jaw, “You used to beg me to carry you like this all the time. Suddenly you don’t like it?”

Your cheeks heat up at the memories of all the times he’d carried you around when you feigned being too exhausted to move, “It’s different now.”

You find your back being pushed against the cold and hard surface of the bedroom door.

“You’re definitely right about that. Back then…I couldn’t do this.”

He presses his lips into the curve of your neck, biting down with just enough force to make you clench against his solid body, crying out in surprise. Your reaction elicits a deep and warm chuckle from him. He kicks open the room of the bedroom and sets you down gently on the plush of the mattress.

He keeps his fingers pressed firmly into your thigh, keeping it hooked against his waist. Your chest heaves with desire, looking up at him expectantly. He hovers just an inch above you, kneeling between your legs, elbow pressed into the bed beside your face, caging you in.

“You’re…” he rasps, fingers digging into the plush of your thigh. He trails off, at a loss for words as his eyes rake down your lips, to your wonderfully exposed neck, to the defined curves of your collar. He clenches his fist, trying to calm down and stop himself from absolutely devouring you.

Breathtakingly beautiful.

“I’m what?” you tease, biting your lip at the way his eyes travel down your body, like it was his first time seeing the sky. Your hand travels from his jaw to trickle down his pulse, fingers teasing the bare skin where his silver necklace normally sat, the dogtag forgotten somewhere on the living room couch.

He groans, knees buckling under your touch. You gasp when you feel his excitement against you, your body instinctively arching up to grind against him. The sensation feels so mind numbingly intense that you can’t help but let out a soft moan, your eyes squeezing shut in embarrassment. 

Caleb hisses, his fingers digging in, almost painfully, to your thigh. His hips chase the feeling, bucking against you again, making both of you groan. He holds your jaw tenderly in one hand, forcing you to look at him, his voice rough with lust. 

“You’re a brat,” he murmurs, sinking down to your neck, “Gonna be the death of me.”

He trails a kiss of heated kisses down your pulse point, using his tongue to draw the most beautiful moans from your kiss-bitten lips. When he reaches your collar, he laughs into your burning skin.

“Nothing else to say, princess?”

You whine at his condescending tone, never a fan of losing to him. Mustering up your courage, you trail your hand lower until they tease the waistband of his pants. You don’t give him a chance to protest before you slip your fingers in, gasping when they meet the hot leaking tip of his cock. It’d hardened to the point that it could practically sit at his belly button, so you didn’t have to reach very deep for what you wanted. 

You revel in Caleb’s string of choked expletives, biting back the moan that threatens to escape your own lips when he sinks his teeth into your shoulder, desperately trying to stave off the orgasm you’re already building in him. 

Years of yearning, restraint, and being completely and utterly uninterested in anyone that wasn’t you had truly eaten his stamina.

It only encourages you to wrap your fingers snugly around him, giving him just one single languid stroke. 

Caleb’s fingers find your wrist, closing tightly enough to stop your ministrations, a dangerous warning reflected in his eyes. You can see his pulse pound in his neck, his breath coming out heavy and forced.

“Let’s not forget who’s in charge here, hm?” he grits hoarsely, deceptively calm, trying his best to hide how completely unraveled you have him with your pretty little fingers wrapped around him. When he has you panting so divinely beneath him, like he’d dreamt of for years.

With your hand caught in his, your eyebrows furrow in challenge. Your free hand weaves into the back of his head, pulling him back down so you can press a teasing kiss into his neck. When he stiffens above you, you sink your teeth in, marking him as yours, which he’d always been. At his hiss of ecstasy, your hips buck up to drag against his bare erection, nearly able to feel how wet you’d gotten through your panties and through your jeans.

“Such a tease,” he grounds out, his purple eyes burning with a dangerous desire, “Who taught you to be such a brat? Cause I know it wasn’t me.”

Your eyes flare with indignation, despite how badly your body literally quivers for him

“Not a brat. You’ve just always been a sore loser,” you taunt, pressing another heated kiss into his pounding jugular, this time letting your tongue tease him.

With a feral growl, you find both of your hands pinned above your head with just one of Caleb’s bigger hands, his grip punishing and addicting. He pushes his cock right into your inner thighs, giving you a taste of what’s to come. 

“You’re going to regret that, baby.”

With his free hand, he undoes the buttons on your blouse, yanking it open. Your coat had long been forgotten, probably somewhere on the couch, leaving you completely naked before him. You hadn’t worn a bra since you’d been stuck inside for the last three days, and with Caleb being at the base most of the time, you didn’t see the point. 

You yelp as the cool air-conditioned breeze hits your bare nipples, not noticing the way Caleb’s eyes widen, his pupils dilating like he’d been concussed. 

“Why aren’t you…” he trails off, his eyes doing their damn best to stare into your eyes and not at the soft plush of your breasts. The way your beautiful skin leads up to your hardened nipples that are just begging to be tasted. He doesn’t finish his thought, swearing like a sailor. 

Caleb’s violet eyes search yours, pleading with you. 

“Tell me one more time.”

You trace his jaw with your fingertips, trying to ignore how painfully exposed you feel. His eyes flutter shut, his cheek nuzzling into your hand. Like a puppy.

But when his eyes open again, there’s a ravenous fire that reminds you more of a rabid wolf than a sweet little house pet. 

“Tell me you want this. Because...” he pauses, his fingers tracing down your collar, stopping right before the swell of your chest.

“I can’t go back to playing house. I can’t go back to pretending to be your big brother. Not when I’ve tasted you.”

Your heart flutters, core tightening, at his simultaneously sweet and filthy words. Gently wriggling one hand free, you grab his finger that rests on your collar, guiding his hand down. Caleb’s breathing grows incredibly heavy and off-beat as he watches you lead his hand to cup your breast.

You bring his face to yours, whispering, “Caleb…”

“Please. I can’t wait anymore.”

Caleb’s eyes widen noticeably, cursing, “God you–you’re so fucking beautiful. Especially when you say my name like that. You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

With one hand still pinned above you, the other holding his hand to your chest, you crane your neck up, pressing your forehead to his.

“Show me, Caleb.”

At the sound of his name rolling off your perfect tongue yet again, Caleb snaps. Gone was the chivalrous restraint he’d been hell bent on exhibiting. 

He brushes his thumb across your bottom lip before pulling your chin to his, consuming you in a mind numbing kiss. You’re so distracted by his tongue against yours that you don’t notice when his fingers close around your nipple, rolling it torturously. 

You tear your lips away with a moan, your back arching into him. 

Caleb chuckles, between trailing kisses down to your chest, “Needy little thing, huh?”

You’re about to snark back at him until he takes one of your nipples into his lips, letting his tongue circle it tenderly. You bite your lip to stop the embarrassing sounds that threaten to escape, the warmth of his mouth driving you to insanity.

Caleb snakes one hand to your lip, gently unfurling it from your teeth. He’s still attentively devouring you when he forces himself to tear away for one second.

“Don’t you dare hide those pretty sounds from me,” his voice is commanding, every bit of the Farspace Colonel you’d come to know. Except this time, the Colonel makes you shiver with desire and not fear.

His thumb presses deeper, teasing your tongue. Growing impatient with how you hold back your cries, he sinks his teeth into your hardened nipple.

“Nngh–Caleb!” you all but scream. You can feel him smiling against your chest before he alternates to the other, drunk on the noises you cry for him. The taste of your skin on his tongue.

“You always were so good for me.”

With his lips latched onto you, he uses his free hand to unbutton your pants, tugging them down until you’re in nothing but your soaked panties. His fingers trickle down, teasing the waistband. Before he goes further, he grips your chin, bringing your hazy eyes to his.

“More?” he murmurs tenderly, trying to get a temperature check on how you feel. He’d be damned if he ever made you unhappy again.

You sit up on your elbows, peering down at him. He’s flushed from his cheeks to the tip of his ears, his lips shiny with saliva. You let yourself revel in how devastatingly handsome he is, a sinful thought you’d denied yourself many times before.

God, you needed him so fucking badly.

Desperate to make up for years of lost kisses, you pull him in for another. When you finally pull away, you press his forehead against yours, your breath uneven, noses touching.

“More. Please.”

Caleb grins, “That’s my girl.”

Pushing you back against the bed, he sucks a trail of hickeys from your neck, to your breasts, down to your stomach. 

In between his kisses, he murmurs, “Let me worship you like I’ve always wanted to.” You whine when he gets to your legs, sucking a bruise into your inner thigh. Your instinct is to pull away, acutely aware of how close he was to your soaking panties.

But Caleb’s fingers dig into the plush of your hips, effectively locking you against his desperate breath and wild eyes. He continues his relentless attack on your quivering thighs, purposely letting his nose brush against your panties, using his fingers to tease them to the side, letting his warm breath caress your most sensitive parts.

“You’re fucking soaked,” Caleb growls, almost in awe, “God, you spoil me.” He’s so close that he can smell you, his mouth literally watering in anticipation.  

You whine, at your wit’s end, “Caleb, don’t tease.” 

“Always so impatient,” he chuckles with a crooked grin, “I didn’t hold myself back for nearly a decade just to rush this.”

You groan in frustration, tears nearly forming in your eyes from the pure desperation, “You’re such a–hnngh!”

You cut yourself off with a breathy cry, more of a screech, when Caleb presses his tongue into the soaked fabric of your panties, nearly wedging himself into your leaking lips. 

He groans as he tastes you. Even through the fabric you taste like a fucking drug. If heaven had a taste…this would be it. 

“I’m such a what, princess?” Caleb chuckles breathlessly into your pussy, using your same teasing taunt from earlier. 

You’re about to reach over to smack him when Caleb finds your clit, even through the underwear, his lips sucking obsessively. Your hips buck up into his mouth, back arching off the bed, only to have Caleb press his big hand into your stomach, pushing you back down. 

“Dreamt about this, you know?” he grunts into you, practically taking a deep inhale of your intoxicating pheromones, his nose pressed into your underwear, as his tongue works you into a frenzy. He renders you unable to speak, even though you want to beg him to move your panties to the side.

He licks another stripe, this time between your lips and all the way until the tip of his tongue strokes your clit, making you squeal.

“Dreamt of how you’d smell.” He can’t help but breathe in a shaky breath, intoxicated by you, drunk off your scent. 

“Dreamt of how you’d taste.” He finally tugs your panties down your thighs, nearly cumming right then and there at the sight of your naked core, glistening for him. Like a hormonal teenage boy. 

“Hah–Caleb!” you’re cut off when his lips latch onto your bare clit, suckling gently as his fingers start to tease your folds, gathering up your copious slick with his fingertips and smearing it around.

“Dreamt of how you’d call my name. Just like that, babygirl.” He continues to devour you like a five course meal, better than any recipe he’d ever perfected. You tasted so divine on his tongue, he feared he’d never come back from this. Never be able to be without you. Always wanting to dive in between your legs, devour you until the only thing that dared leave your lips was his name. 

“God you taste…” he can’t even complete his thought before his tongue is wedged between your slit again, lapping you up greedily. You’re too lost in your own pleasure to tease him, your eyes fluttering backwards.

“Can you take a finger, princess?” he groans shakily, practically begging. His breath is hot on your sensitive core, making you tremble. 

“Y-Yes–mmf–please,” you huff, fingers carding through his hair as he nuzzles happily between your thighs. Like a bear with a honeypot. 

“That’s my girl,” he breathes against you before slipping one finger into you. You gasp, the sting from just one digit taking you by surprise–thicker and longer than your own. But it doesn’t necessarily hurt. 

Caleb bites the inside of his cheek, trying to focus on licking up the honey between your legs and not how unbelievably tight you are around just one finger. His cock leaks with the urgent need to feel you, and with how beautifully you’re unraveling for him, he has to fight from cumming untouched.

“You’re so…tight,” Caleb groans, almost in awe. He only had one finger in you. And you felt like that. You can only respond in a string of strangled moans, completely lost in the sensations that ripple through every nerve ending.

“Sh-shit,” he mutters, imagining what you’d feel like wrapped around his length as you clenched against his one finger. You were dangerous.

“Gonna need to stretch you out. Can you take another, sweet girl?”

You nod, not really knowing what he’s saying–too lost in this whole new world of ecstasy Caleb is introducing to you. But you trusted him with your entire life. 

Gently, Caleb adds another one of his lengthy fingers. You wince at the stretch, the pain ebbing over the pleasure, causing tears to spring to your eyes. Caleb instantly stills, suddenly hovering above you, his fingers still deep inside you. His purple eyes are crinkled in concern, his free hand brushing the stray strands of hair off your cheek. 

“Hey,” he murmurs tenderly, his thumb catching stray tears, “You with me?”

You writhe, still adjusting to the stretch of his second finger, the pain dulling slowly. His still fingers start to feel unnatural, the need for friction growing with every passing second. 

“I’m–angh–I’m good,” you pant, “C-Caleb–please. Move.”

Caleb nearly chokes, his cock lurching at your tearful and needy plea. He slowly starts to move his fingers in and out of you again with the utmost gentleness.

“You’re doing so good for me, Y/N,” he pants, trying to keep his own orgasm at bay, “So wet and–hah fuck–warm.”

You whine at his praises, your gut knotting in excitement, the sensation returning back to a tingling pleasure. 

Caleb gently scissors his two fingers, pressing his tongue against your core once more, desperate for another taste. 

“I can feel you squeezing my fingers,” he rasps in between sucking at your sensitive bud, “Feel good, princess? You like it when I praise you?”

You whine, nodding as best as you can, too far gone to feel ashamed. Your heart squeezes when you suddenly wonder just how Caleb had become so skilled with his fingers, with his tongue. 

But you’re pulled out of those thoughts when the man in question starts flicking his tongue with renewed vigor and passion. An overwhelming pressure builds in your gut that makes you writhe with a mix of anticipation and anxiety.

Caleb presses you back down, flat against the bed, “Tell me, baby. Let me hear you.” He jerks his fingers, simultaneously flicking his tongue against your clit. His hips buck repeatedly, groaning into your core as he fucks into the mattress.

The lewd sounds of his fingers inside you makes your cheeks burn with want. The vibrations that roll off his tongue and straight into you send you reeling.

“C-Caleb, it feels–I-I can’t..take much more,” you squeal, feeling like your abdomen is going to burst. You almost want to shove him off, overwhelmed by your impending orgasm. Yet you can’t get enough of his hand, his mouth, on you.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against you, fingers still inside you, “Cum for me, Y/N.”

Your breathing grows erratic, reduced to nothing but cries and moans, as he quickens his pace, curling his fingers to a hypersensitive part inside you. Your eyes go wide as the tension in your belly combusts, pleasure searing through your entire body like a wildfire.

Your fingers dig into the comforter, your back arching off the mattress. Caleb groans as he listens to your unabashed cries, his name on your tongue like a prayer. 

“Angh–Caleb! Oh God,” you whimper as he continues to devour you, even when you’re gushing. If it didn’t feel so mind blowing you’d be embarrassed that you were dripping quite literally on his face. 

“Fuck–dreamt of how you’d fall apart for me, just like this. But you’re…so much fucking better than my silly little fantasies.”

His fingers start to slow as your body trembles with overstimulation. You watch as he withdraws them, entranced by how they glisten and drip with you. With how exquisite you taste, intensified by just how many times he’d fantasized about this very scenario, he can’t help but lick his fingers absolutely clean. 

You shakily sit up on your elbows, a mix of mortified and turned on watching him drunk off your slick. Your chest and gut both flutter, your teeth clamping down on your lip.

You wanted to taste him too. 

Standing on your knees with him, you wrap your arms around his neck, taking him by surprise as you press your lips to his. His grunt is swallowed by your eager tongue, the taste of yourself confusingly arousing as you kiss him fervently. 

His hands hold your waist tight against him as he kisses you passionately, reverently. You can feel his massive erection against your stomach, his skin soft and burning against yours. It leaks profusely, smearing against your naval. 

Eagerly, breaking away for only seconds, you lift Caleb’s shirt up, scrambling to get it off of him, wanting him to be as exposed as you. 

While you have him off guard, you weave one of your hands with his, clasping your palms together. Resonance always came effortlessly to Caleb and you–as natural as breathing. Using your Evol, you manipulate Caleb’s gravity Evol, flipping him beneath you and onto the bed. Your tongue is still tangled with his as you lay atop him, swallowing his chuckles. Your cheeks warm as you try and summon your most alluring self, pressing soft and heated kissing down his jaw, into his thrumming pulse, his thick shoulders.

“You’re so damn cheeky,” he groans, voice gravelly with pent up need, inexplicably turned on by the way you can control his Evol like second nature. His cock twitches as your lips make their way down his body, needing to be buried inside you more than ever. 

As you descend further, lips at his abdomen, your intent becomes clear to Caleb. And while the thought of your lips around his dick makes him twitch like a virgin, which he unabashedly was, his impatience to be inside you grows to a painful peak.

He sits up, his hands finding your chin and tilting you to look at him. His voice is ragged, barely holding back the animalistic desire he feels for you. 

“Hey, no. You don’t have to. Let me worship you today.”

He doesn’t mention that the feeling of your lips on his burning skin, nearing his painfully hard erection has him just about ready to come undone. Untouched.

You roll your eyes, shoving him back down. You don’t push very hard but he lets himself fall back, weak to your every want and whim. 

“Haven’t you always wanted this, gege?” you grin teasingly, unsure where your confidence comes from. Your lips brush against the veins on his pelvis that lead to his very excited member. He jerks involuntarily, cursing under his breath–the familiar pet name now carrying an entirely new meaning.

“Sweethe–fuck,” Caleb chokes as your lips find their way around his thick leaking tip, deliberating shutting him up. 

You do your best to pull your teeth back, not having much experience doing this, especially not with one so…big. 

But big was an understatement. Caleb was…massive. He had girth as well as length, two prominent veins painted across the pink skin, standing incredibly tall against his abdomen. 

Maybe you should be scared–terrified, of how that would fit inside you later. But it only makes you want to please him more.   

Caleb’s fingers unconsciously find their way into your hair, tugging ever so gently. He does his best to stop himself from thrusting up into your impossibly tight throat.

“Hah–s’fucking…” he groans, voice haggard and forced as if he can’t breathe, “God, always knew that pretty little mouth would be perfect.”

His words encourage you to dare further, your tongue flicking against his leaking head, lapping up the leaking beads of his arousal. It’s surprisingly sweet, tinged with saltiness, no doubt from his addiction to apples, which makes it easier for you to take him deeper.

Caleb’s hips thrust up gently, his inexperienced excitement nearly controlling him completely. You relish in the way he almost uses your throat for his pleasure, slightly ashamed to think about how many times you’d imagined Caleb using you roughly.

Your thighs clench at the thought, a throaty moan escaping. Caleb’s hips stutter as the deep vibrations of your cry push him closer to painting your mouth milky white.

His voice comes out hoarse, almost harsh, “That’s enough, sweetheart. Come here.” He gently lifts your chin, his impossibly thick cock still buried down your tight throat. 

You whine, not stopping, wanting him to come as undone as he had rendered you. Your whine only sends Caleb closer to the edge with a strangled hiss.

You feel the familiar feeling of his Evol wrapping around you, lifting you off, and throwing you under him. You roll your eyes as he hovers above you, his eyes level with yours. 

“Always throwing me around with your Evol,” you grumble as if you hadn’t done the same thing moments ago. 

Caleb grins, the entire room nearly lighting up with his handsome smile. His fingers trace down your lip to your throat, his hand wrapping around it gently. 

“Would you rather I throw you around myself? That can be arranged.”

Your breath hitches as he pulls his pants the rest of the way down, giving you a brief reprieve to really admire his naked body. Caleb had always been well built, even in high school. But now, as he hovered above you, you were painfully reminded of just how much Caleb had grown up.

There was a reason Caleb attracted women left and right all throughout your lives. It literally got so excessive to the point he’d ask you to show up to campus and pretend to be his girlfriend to stop the countless advances. But now, after the explosion, after assuming the position of Colonel of the Farspace Fleet…

He was unreal.

Caleb chuckles, a teasing glint in his violet eyes as he grazes his thumb against the corner of your mouth, “Careful pip-squeak, any longer and you might start drooling.”

When you only respond with a silent glare and a gentle punch to his chest, his very muscled chest, Caleb grins and presses a tender kiss to your pouting lips.

“Later, we will discuss why you’re so good at that. For now…” he trails off hoarsely, entirely serious, despite his teasing tone. 

“For now let me show you what you’ve done to me, hm? How utterly you have destroyed me for anyone else.”

Your heart flutters at his words, throat prickly with emotions. Was it really possible that the two of you had felt the same way about each other for nearly your entire lives, both unwilling to speak up?

“How many times I told myself I was crazy, that I was just supposed to be your gege.”

He takes the base of his thick erection into his hand.

“How I had to physically remove myself from the house when you’d wear those god-forsaken shorts.”

He drags himself up and down your leaking core, gathering up your arousal and lathering it against his burning cock. God you were so unbearably wet he had to fight from diving back face first in between your legs.

“How painfully I’d ache when you curled up next to me, claiming to be scared of the thunder.”

He intentionally presses his tip harshly into your clit, making your eyes roll and your hips buck, a strangled moan of his name escaping your lips.

His voice grows strained as he lines himself up with your entrance. While you were anxious of what you knew was coming, your body craves him like no other, your hips instinctively grinding, as if to impale yourself on him. 

“How completely you own my heart.”

Caleb captures your lips in a searing kiss, eagerly consuming your cries of satisfaction as he gently rubs his engorged head against your unbearably tight heat. The anticipation eats at you, but you find yourself pulling your lips away. 

“I-I’ve never…” you murmur shyly, trailing off, hoping he gets the message without needing you to spell it out. You grip the sheets nervously, your knuckles white.

Caleb’s eyes snap to yours, so quickly his neck nearly cricks. There’s an unprecedented swirling fire in his irises. He hisses, a string of curses that you can’t quite make out, the hand holding the base of his cock shaking.

“You can’t just…You’re trying to kill me aren’t you, pip-squeak?” he growls, restraint hanging on by the thinnest of threads. He buries his face into your neck, taking deep breaths of your intoxicating scent.

“Is that bad?”

He lifts his head from your shoulder, holding your face in his hands, letting his erection rub freely against your slicked pussy.

“No. No. But you’re making it impossible not to…” he groans, slamming his palm down onto the bed.

He sits up, taking your jaw into his hands, cupping your face with all the adoration in this world and the next. 

“I haven't either. I’ve only ever wanted you. In high school, at the Academy…In this life, and every life after.”

“Ever since you held my hand for the first time, I’ve been yours.”

His words are so utterly devastating–sincere and painfully raw. It makes your chest constrict, your breath choked off. You find yourself rendered speechless again, despite how many confessions of your own were swirling in your mind, threatening to burst. 

Instead, you pull him towards your lips, only able to convey the depth of your own devotion with your actions. Caleb grunts into you, relenting as you demand entrance to his mouth. You lose yourself in him, guiding him to reposition himself at your entrance. 

Caleb nips at your bottom lip, his painfully hard dick in his hands once more, pressing gently into you.

You rip your mouth away in a pained squeal as he enters you, stretching you in ways you’d never fathomed. You’re so lost in the sting you don’t even notice the way Caleb’s knees buckle, his palm shooting out to catch himself before he falls on top of you, a string of hoarse expletives escapes him.

Caleb’s fingers gently brush away the hair that's fallen onto your face, the graze of his soft skin momentarily distracting you from the burning ache. His touch is so unbearably tender, it completely masks the way he’s falling apart at the seams, fighting his body’s instinct to explode white and hot inside of you.

“I’ve got you, princess,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting from your jaw into your neck, “You’re so perfect for me. Can you take a little bit more?”

The muscles of your thighs quiver violently at the strain of your body trying to accommodate his stupidly large dick. And while it burns like nothing you’ve ever felt before, you can’t bring yourself to tell him to stop. 

In the mush that he’s rendered your brain, you can vaguely hear yourself babbling, “C-Caleb–nngh–I-I can take more. Always wanted you–ngah–s’bad.”

Caleb’s amethyst eyes blacken, his jaw tightening sharply. 

“Y/N…you can’t just say things like that–say my name like that and expect me to–hah–keep it together,” he rasps, the thin thread of restraint, on the verge of snapping.

Your eyes squeeze shut, the tears spilling from the corner of your eyes. Your fingernails dig into the thick ropes of muscles in his shoulders, pulling him closer. The sting makes his teeth clench, inadvertently sinking another inch into you. 

“Mnngh–need you Caleb, I’ve always n-needed you,” you whimper, lips against his ear. Caleb stiffens.

“Fuck–okay baby. I’ll give it to you. I’ll give you everything.”

You look down as he sinks yet another inch into you, his vein throbbing as it tries to nestle into you. Even through the searing stretch, you’re mesmerized by just how big he is, and how he’s fitting himself so perfectly inside you. The muscles of Caleb’s abdomen tremble with restraint, doing his best to keep from pounding into you.

Caleb kisses your cheek, softly licking up your stray tears.

“G-God the real thing is so much better than anything I could’ve ever dreamt up,” he grunts, squeezing your hips tenderly as he tries to bottom out, “Wanted this–wanted you for so damn long.”

The initial pain had ebbed into a dull ache that was quickly bleeding into the same ecstasy he’d just given you with his tongue. 

“Ngah–wanted you since I can remember Caleb,” you confess brokenly, thick with the release of imprisoned emotions. You do your best to reach your shaky hand up to his perfect face, moving his sweat-dampened hair out of his eyes. He leans into your touch on instinct, that boyish charm returning to his face as his eyes shut in pure adoration.

“A-always…hah–have. So badly.”

Caleb groans at the genuinity in your confession, his normally purple eyes blackened almost entirely.

“So–nngh–you feel so incredible. I shouldn’t have wasted so much fucking time,” he groans, thrusting the rest of the way, bottoming out in your perfect little cunt.

Your cries are half way between a squeal and a moan as you feel him hit your cervix, pain blending overwhelmingly with the vast sea of pleasure.

“Caleb, s’too big–it’s too much,” you wail, feeling nearly split in half as his cock throbs inside of you, pulsing with the primal need to mark you. You look down and nearly yelp when you see his massive erection buried between your thighs–it was far too massive.

“You can, baby. You can take it,” he groans, bucking his hips ever so slightly, desperate for the feeling of your heavenly walls wringing him.

“Be a good girl, yeah? For me?” Caleb murmurs, his teeth nipping at your pulse, which earns him a beautiful moan from you. Your stomach flutters at his deceptively innocent pleas, your deep-rooted desire to please him, your perfect gege, taking over. 

Your eyelids feel unbearably heavy as you stare into his heated irises, nodding eagerly.

Caleb exhales a shaky breath, bending down to press a burning kiss to your lips. You return it with equal fervor, whining when he pulls away, too quick for your liking.

He chuckles breathlessly, wiping the drool from your lip tenderly, “Say it, sweetheart. Need to hear you say it.” He punctuates his demand with the slightest shift of his hips, causing the thick head of his cock to brush against a particularly sensitive spot in you. 

“Oh god Caleb–! I can take it, I can take it, please!”

Caleb hisses as his hips start to move. He hikes your thigh up, and you instinctively wrap your legs around him, caging him against you. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your rear, holding you impossibly closer to him as his pelvis snaps into your skin. The sound of wet skin colliding against each other rings loudly in your ear, lewd and filthy. 

His thrusts are erratic, trying to find a suitable rhythm without losing his mind and taking you like a rabid beast. His other hand kneads at your breast, fingers toying with your perfectly pebbled nipples. 

“Hah–taking me so well, always–nngh–knew you’d be absolutely perfect wrapped around me. Thought about it so many damn times.”

You bite your lip so hard you think you might draw blood, squeezing your eyes shut as his movements quickly blur the line between pleasure and pain. Your eyes flutter open when you feel Caleb’s thumb against your lip, prying your teeth away.

“Look at me Y/N. Let me see those beautiful eyes.”

Despite his rough movements, his eyes are jarringly tender, looking at you so adoringly–as if he wasn’t rutting into you like a madman.

You force your eyes open, blinking rapidly with the weight of the ecstasy raining down on your body. You briefly look down at where he’s connected to you, too fucked out to even notice the reddish-pink sheen coating Caleb’s member.

When your eyes flutter shut again, Caleb tsks, pressing his palm against the hypnotizing bulge against your stomach. Physically being able to see where he was buried so perfectly inside you drove him just to the edge of cumming, unable to stop himself from touching it. 

Your eyes widen, squealing as you feel your walls harshly clamping down on his cock, nestled right at your g-spot. Caleb himself falters at the sensation, growling as he twitches uncontrollably inside you. 

That was a mistake. You were already impossibly tight as it was, making you bare down on him only served to push him headfirst into the climax he’d been staving off.

“Baby,” he pants raggedly, “Nngh–shit–!” His hips stutter, knees buckling, burying himself into the curve of your neck. He bites down on your pulsing skin, forcing himself to pull out of your warm embrace, as he releases seemingly endless ropes of thick milky cum onto your beautiful stomach. 

You whine at the loss of him buried inside of you, your core fluttering around nothing. You prop your chin up, getting lost in the way he paints your stomach, fisting himself furiously through his climax. 

“Can’t control myself around you,” he grits through his orgasm, jaw slacking, “Not anymore.” Every defined muscle of his toned body quivers with the power of his orgasm.

Shivering at the sensation of his burning release splattering on your abdomen, you reach up to cup his face as he cums. Of course, he leans into your touch on instinct, the onslaught of emotions intensifying his climax.

Your body aches at the hollowness, but it quickly dissipates as you watch Caleb’s face, beads of sweat pebbling his skin, contorted in a pleasure so intense, a pleasure you’d given him. Squirming at the sight of him, still spurting cum, your fingers find your clit desperately.

Your eyes squeeze shut as you touch yourself to the image of him writhing above you. Not even a split second later, you feel the pull of gravity, your wrist being yanked away and pinned above your head. 

“What do you think you’re doing?”

You whine as Caleb presses back against you, his cock replacing where your fingers had just been, “Y-You already–You don’t have to force yourself Caleb. I can–”

Your words are caught in your throat when Caleb lines himself back up with you, smearing the combined arousal messily around, teasing you relentlessly. 

“You’re crazy if you think I’m done with you,” he grins widely, using his clean hand to realign himself. You glance down and realize Caleb is still unbearably hard, even after the absurd amount he’d painted your stomach with.

He slips back into you, your eyes rolling back at the familiar stretch. Except it’s so much more intense this time, your body knowing just what Caleb could do to you, and craving it like nothing else. 

“Oh God just like that, Caleb–please!” you cry, pride gone with the wind, as he starts an earth-shattering rhythm, hips rolling into you with precision and purpose. 

Caleb curses, the oversensitivity heightening every sensation, every desperate thrust into your perfect angel cunt, “Tell me, princess. How do I make you feel?”

You try to force your mind to cooperate and find the words that you want to say, “Feels…feels so–mnngh–Caleb!”

You can vaguely hear him laughing warmly as your mind goes blank, the thick head of his leaking cock pounding into you ruthlessly. He’d practically mapped out every sensitive nook of your pussy and he fully intended on taking advantage.

He gently grabs your throat with his free hand, applying pressure with only his fingertips and not his palm. 

“Hm? Feels like what, sweetheart?” His thrusts slow to a tortuous pace, enough to have you squirming for more but not enough to push you over the edge of release. And he knows it.

“Caleb, don’t fucking tease me,” you whine breathlessly, “Hah–Pleease.” Your hips move against his pelvis, trying to chase the pleasure yourself. 

“Needy little brat,” he murmurs affectionately, “You know I can’t say no to you.”

With those words Caleb starts pounding into you with renewed vigor, hell-bent on making you cum just as hard as he just did. His fingers wedge between your joined bodies, easily finding your clit and rubbing just how he knows you like. The familiar tension in your gut builds at an alarming speed, your body desperate to release after being even slightly edged.

“In return, you can show me how much you’ve wanted this, hm?”

His knowing words, the underlying authority in them, make you whimper with a mix of arousal and embarrassment. The combination of his relentless touch, his filthy whisperings, 

Fuck, the Colonel of the Farspace Feet was your absolute undoing. 

Caleb’s own muscles tense as his sensitive cock, hardened beyond belief again, starts to twitch inside you once more. You’d literally just milked him dry and he still couldn’t get enough. He probably never would.

“Oh god, so c-close Caleb!”

“Yeah? Show me how much you’ve wanted me to fuck you senseless, baby.”

He punctuates his demand with a twitch of his fingers against your clit,  driving so deeply into you that you nearly choke. Your back arches so deeply it hurts, the cold feeling of his cum still painted across your stomach, a long forgotten sensation in the back of your mind. 

“How much you want to cum on your gege’s cock.”

Your body shudders as you come undone explosively against his violent thrusts. Your fingers dig into his biceps, making Caleb hiss with satisfaction, his eyes unable to tear away from your gorgeous face as you cum on him. 

“Oh god–please! Mnngh Caleb, c-cumming. Wan’ to cum for you s’bad! Don’t stop–please!” 

Caleb groans at your filthy words, his own hips stuttering as he fucks you through the endless waves of pleasure, feeling every contraction of your perfect little cunt. 

“Juuust like that, give it to me sweetheart.”

Your thighs tremble violently as he rocks you through the unprecedented pleasure. With your eyes rolled back, your tongue slightly lolled out, crying out for him repeatedly. Caleb can’t stop himself.

In your fucked out state, you can vaguely feel the caress of his gravity Evol, his hands still busy working at your clit and your breasts. It maneuvers your thighs so that they’re pressed firmly into your chest, nearly folding you in half. He uses his Evol to grab a pillow, throwing it under your lower back, completely changing the angle at which he ruts into you.

“C-Caleb–” you gasp, eyes wide as the pleasure turns sharp, “S’too much. Feels…”

Despite feeling unbearably sensitive, your eyes still flutter in bliss. You want to tell him to stop, but your body physically refuses, still curling up to meet his thrusts. At this new angle, your knees nearly on either side of your head, his cock practically buries itself into your throat. 

“I’m sorry,” he rambles, “I’m sorry.” But he doesn’t stop. “A little more, yeah? You can take a little bit more for me, right baby?” Just by his voice alone, you can tell he’s on the verge of another powerful orgasm. 

Something about the way his violet eyes bleed with desperation, with devotion. Your body finds its way inexplicably bending to his every will, readying itself to take more of him. Even through the sting of overstimulation, even through the ache of how deeply he has your body folded into a mating press.

Ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of his cum smearing messily across your stomach, you sit up to press your forehead against his, your hips screaming in protest as your body is bent even further. 

“Cum–mnngh–Cum inside me Caleb, want to feel you. Need you s’bad.”

Caleb’s eyes widen, his rough movements nearly stuttering to a complete stop.

“What? Don’t play with me right now, Y/N,” he seethes through grit teeth, willing his hips to stay still, “You can’t just–hah fuck–say that.”

Your eyes roll at Caleb’s slow and controlled thrusts, each one deeper and more punctuated than the last. You force your mind to cooperate, fingers weaving into his hair, “M’serious. Please Caleb, for me?”

Caleb swears, picking up his pace again, each thrust deliberately bruising past your g-spot, stretching you to your breaking point. 

“God, you know I can’t say no to you,” he growls, “You know how many times I’ve thought about filling you up?”

“You can say—nngh—no, you just don’t want to,” you playfully quip through your tear-blurred vision. Caleb’s jaw ticks at your blatant teasing. 

“The mouth on you…” he nearly murmurs, voice gruff and controlled, “Let’s give that filthy little tongue something else to do.” 

You let out a high pitched whine when Caleb thrusts harder. You feel him trail two fingers along your stomach, the moist sensation of him catching some of his cum making you convulse as you near another orgasm. 

When Caleb brings his right hand up to you, slick fingers brushing against your lips, you can’t even protest. Because you want it. But he absolutely did not need to know that. 

“Open,” he murmurs, clean thumb stroking your chin, two dripping fingers so close they almost graze your lips.

You want to curse your traitorously submissive body because your mouth parts on instinct, allowing Caleb to put two fingers into your mouth, pressing gently onto your tongue. 

The taste of his salty-sweet pearly essence renders you a submissive desperate mess, your hands coming to grasp his forearm as you clean his digits, peering at him through your eyelashes. 

He groans, a strangled curse on the tip of his tongue, as he watches you suck on his fingers. His pupils are blown, drinking in the sight of you, hips faltering, overwhelmed by how fucking beautifully you fall apart for him. How effortlessly you unravel him.

“Just like that, princess,” he coos, “God, it’s like you were–hah–created in a lab to drive me insane.”

You whine against his fingers, feeling an orgasm more violent than a hurricane brewing in your core. Your pelvis aches with the weight at which he fucks you into the mattress but all you can feel is him. And the otherworldly sensations he rains down upon you, your body’s pleasure already second nature to him. 

“Now be a good girl and cum again.” 

His skilled thrusts, his animalistic demand, his smoldering purple eyes that watch you with a terrifying blend of obsession and devotion–it’s all enough to send you plummeting towards your third climax of the night. 

In your nearly blacked out state, you don’t even remember that Caleb’s fingers are still toying with your tongue when you bite down to stay conscious amidst your explosive finish. He chokes, knees buckling, but doesn’t flinch–nor does he withdraw his hand. In fact, he only seems to fall deeper into the abyss that is you.

“Shit–shit, Y/N!” Caleb’s moans wash across your lips, his damp forehead against yours, letting you bite down on the fingers of his right hand. Reveling in the sensation of your teeth digging into his digits, your perfect gummy walls fluttering around him.

“Gonna fill you up,” he rasps, the pain pushing him over the edge, “Take it all for me, yeah? You can do that for me right, baby?”

His words make your entire body tighten up even further, biting harder, squeezing tighter. The wet sounds of your arousal against his pelvis, pounding into your thighs, mixed with your screams of his name have him all but combusting, exploding white, hot, and plenty inside of you. 

“I can–I can!” you practically beg, drunk off the feeling of him exploding inside you, “W-Want it–want more.” His fingers fall from your lips as you speak–much to his dismay.

Caleb groans, unable to stop rutting inside of you at your heated pleas, using the frictionless thrusts to push his cum as deeply inside of you as he can. 

“There’s my perfect girl–nngh–take it all. Look at you, taking every last drop for me.”

Your hips ache in protest, but in your fucked out bliss you can’t find yourself saying anything but his name, repeatedly, tenderly, reverently. The feeling of him inside of you, the bulge of his cock visible on your naval, the warmth of his cum almost ebbing to even your fingers, his unbearably sweet and filthy words.

“Caa–leb,” you moan brokenly, the intense overstimulation clearing your hazy mind.

Caleb presses his lips to yours, still gently thrusting into you. You whine into his mouth as he pushes your thighs deeper into your chest.  

He kisses you absolutely breathless, a line of spit trailing from your lips to his as he pulls away.

“Yeah, princess?”

You desperately tap his broad chest, “Heaavy.”

Caleb chuckles, shifting his weight off of you, leaving his dick inside you still. You moan when you can finally put your legs down, every muscle in your body aching and trembling.

“Sorry pip-squeak, got carried away,” he murmurs tenderly, shifting all his weight onto his elbows, still hovering above you, cock still nestled inside you. 

You squeak when he twitches inside you, feeling incredibly sore.

“Caleb, if you don’t pull out of me right now…” you grumble with a playful glare, “Say goodbye to your penis.”

Caleb chuckles, forcing himself to pull out of you despite how his body aches to stay inside you. He groans as he slips out, a moan of your own escaping as you flutter emptily. 

“Always resorting to violence.”

You briefly peek at him, still kneeling between your legs. He’s still hard, faint streaks of pink mixed with both your essences. With his Evol, he catches a box of tissues in his hand, tenderly cleaning the mess between your legs, and then himself. You wince at the sight of blood on the tissues and look away.

You shut your eyes, enjoying the afterglow of each other’s last night together. You don’t see when Caleb grabs your used panties, wet with your arousal and his saliva, stuffing them into the side of the mattress. To retrieve later. 

Caleb flops down beside you. You’re about to lay your head on his chest when you feel him lifting you, with his arms this time and not his Evol.

“Hey!” you yelp, but he only gently places you on top of him, pressing your cheek into his chest, right where his heart thrums. Your previous resistance dissipates, as you hum happily, nuzzling into his embrace.

He laughs breathlessly, running his fingers through your hair gently.

“You’re like the stray cat that would show up at our door every morning. Hissing and swatting when we tried to pet her, purring and mewling when we gave her our breakfast scraps.”

You smack his chest lightly.

“Ow,” he chuckles lightheartedly, “Nevermind, at least that cat was nice sometimes.”

The silence washes over the pair of you. It’s comfortable and warm, but a heavy tension hangs in the air, both of you knowing the bubble will pop once the unspoken words are uttered.

“Caleb…” you start gently, but he squeezes you tighter against him.

“Don’t,” he says firmly, almost a plea, “Just…don’t say it. Not yet.”

Your heart clenches at his vulnerability, not knowing how to console him. You both know what’s coming. 

Pressing a tender kiss into his chest, you prop yourself up to look at him, his amethyst eyes bright under the soft ambient lighting. 

“I can’t stay in Skyhaven.”

You choose your words carefully, but Caleb and you both know what you’ve left unsaid. 

I can’t stay with you.

Caleb is silent, though his grip on you tightens imperceptibly, his heartbeat quickening alarmingly. 

“I know.”

His voice is small, arms holding you tighter. As if you might disappear right then and there. To him, you might as well be. 

“I know I can’t keep you here, even if it’s for your safety. No matter…how much I want to.” 

He strokes your naked back, trying to commit every ridge, every goosebump to memory, “I…I don’t know how to take care of you anymore.”

Your chest throbs inexplicably at his words. That’s what you’d wanted him to see all this time, isn’t it? That he’d stuffed you into a cage, plucking your feathers until you could no longer fly. 

“You could come back with me,” you say, “Linkon is your home too.” You're only half serious; you knew he couldn’t just leave the Fleet. 

Caleb smiles up at you, but it’s a haunted, bittersweet smile that doesn’t meet his eyes. In fact, his eyes are as hollow as you’ve ever seen them, almost staring right past you, into a blackhole behind you. 

“I can’t leave.” 

Those three simple words, raw and unfiltered–his soft and broken face, remind you of the Caleb you thought you had lost. The Caleb you were so desperately trying to get back. 

He really was right in front of you.

Like the sun finally coming out after a day of rain, it dawns on you that maybe Caleb had never been your captor–the one who locked you in a gilded prison and watched from outside as your wings fluttered into the golden bars. 

You realize that Caleb was a captive bird in that same cage, preening your ruffled, fraying feathers as you struggled, bound by the same fate that chained you.

Except Caleb’s wings were also clipped by the weight of your expectations, imprisoned by the image of him that you’d so desperately clung to. That you forced on him–punishing him when he didn’t fit the mold.

And while you were being set free, he’d stay locked inside that glass cage, watching you fly through the clouds.   

Watching the thunderstorm outside, you reminisce, “Do you remember that nest of baby birds in the big tree in front of the house?” 

Caleb is taken aback, but he nods, laughing softly, “Yeah. I remember we’d always worry when it rained if the fledglings would be okay.”

The rain patters against the massive windows, just like the days after the birds had hatched. 

“You’d always wonder…if the baby birds would fly off once the rainy season ended–going their separate ways. It always made you so sad.”

Caleb stops breathing for a second, unsure why you remember those musings from your childhood. He’d intended them to be inconsequential; he’d never expected you to hold onto them. He keeps his eyes on the unending crystal raindrops streaming down the windows. 

“Yeah. I’d always wonder if the birds would come back–after leaving the nest.” 

He briefly ponders if you were awake those nights–when he was awakened by nightmares and the only way he could breathe again was to sit by your head as you slept, weaving his fingers with yours. Watching those same baby birds from your window.

You look at him, your chin propped on his chest, leaning into his palm when it comes up to tuck your hair behind your ear. Your voice is tender and melancholic when you finally find the words, pressing a soft kiss to where his heart beats under yours. 

“Sometimes, they come back.”

© aeyumicore 2025.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

[rafesangelita]

…DILF!RAFE X HOUSEBUNNY!READER AU

⋆𐙚₊˚🐇⊹♡

DILF!RAFE X HOUSEBUNNY!READER who spend their days fucking like rabbits. whether rafe had her clinging onto his bed sheets for dear life, or muffling her screams while he drilled into her poor cunt, he knew he had hit the jackpot when she was deemed useful in more ways than one. housebunny!reader who worked as a cart girl at the country club for only two days before rafe whisked her away and turned her into his pretty maid. with his kid out of the house for school, rafe enforced a strict dress code that kept her catering to him in mini skirts, thigh high stockings, heels, and maybeee a lacey bra (he preferred her to be topless most of the time). dilf!rafe who took care of absolutely everything; hair appointments, lash appointments, nail appointments, wax appointments, he made sure to always have his bunny in tip top shape, according to his liking.

DILF!RAFE X HOUSEBUNNY!READER who always get concerning glares whenever they’re out in public. here you have rafe always dressed in business casual, his clothes ironed flat without a single wrinkle in sight, courtesy of housebunny of course, and then you have the girl at his side that’s all glitz and glamour, her outfit drawing the attention of every single person in the same room. dilf!rafe who has an intense housewife + breeding kink, always telling bunny that he’s gonna keep her in the house forever while he’s balls deep inside of her. she never opposed the idea, the vision only making her warm, velvety walls clench around him even tighter. housebunny!reader who made rafe’s favorite meals, loving the way he nodded approvingly while he chewed. “you’re just too good to be true.” her heart is fluttering in her chest at his words, the praise not going unnoticed. dinner was always delicious, but dessert was even better.

DILF!RAFE X HOUSEBUNNY!READER who are sooo playful behind closed doors, rafe finds himself full on giggling before he’s masking his laughter with a serious expression so bunny doesn’t think he’s too soft. dilf!rafe who has the music taste of a frat boy in college, cursing under his breath as bunny sings along to the explicit lyrics booming throughout the house. “pretty girls don’t have filthy mouths.” he’s reminding her, smirking to himself when he see’s her sparkly lips come to a stop. housebunny!reader who does literally everything rafe asks her to do. “..sooo you want me to walk around with bunny ears, and that thing?” rafe is living for the hesitation on her face, and the fact that he knows she won’t tell him no. the following night, he manages to get the cute little bunny tail right where he wants it, housebunny!reader loving it more than she thought she would..

DILF!RAFE X HOUSEBUNNY!READER who plan bunny’s outfits for the week (it’s just an excuse for her to give him an unsolicited fashion show). “i would rather you wear nothing at all..” rafe grumbles when she comes out of his closet in an assortment of clothing. housebunny!reader who slips pink sticky notes into rafe’s pocket before going to work so he could find them throughout the day. ‘can’t wait to be your slutty lil’ bunny later ♡’ rafe is excusing himself from his meeting, sending her a text message that easily gets her needy. ‘just read your note. you‘re gonna be so fucked out by the time i’m done with you.’ she shoots him a quick ‘promiseee? ૮꒰◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა’ before squealing in excitement when he reacts to her message with a thumbs up. it’s not long before rafe gets home and has her legs on top of his shoulders, her knees knocking against her chest while he’s wiping away her tears of pure unadulterated pleasure with his thumb.

DILF!RAFE X HOUSEBUNNY!READER who are equally as nervous to have rafe’s son back home, unsure of what the small boy might think. housebunny!reader who nearly cries when she overhears little ray say she looks like a princess with her ‘pink puffy dresses’. dilf!rafe who is relieved and overjoyed that his boy adores her so much, since that was all he was waiting for in order to make her his, officially at least, since he already thought of her as such. housebunny!reader who wakes up to the smell of breakfast wafting up from downstairs, her eyebrows knitting in confusion as she wraps her fluffy robe around her body. “what are you doing?” she’s taking in the view of a shirtless rafe drinking out of a coffee mug, taking her bottom lip between her teeth. “making you breakfast since you’re not just my house bunny anymore..” at his words, you smiled. “just bunny then?” he hummed, “just bunny.”

୨୧ telling rafe you didn't use his credit card ୨୧ when dilf!rafe and bunny!reader first met ୨୧ dilf!rafe loves to make his pretty bunny squirm.. ୨୧ bunny comes home from all of her beauty appointments!

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

warning: but of angst, hybrid life is hard, handjob, mating

Whines leave your cat!hybrid bfs throat as you kiss his cheeks and nibble on them lightly. "You're so cute today, my sweet kitty..."

"Not cute..." Ashe murmured, his tongue sticking out contentedly as you nuzzled into him. He smelled like sunshine, and you wanted to bury yourself in his soft fluff.

"And you're being overly affectionate, it's annoying."

He shook out his black fur, huffing as you pulled him back when he tried to squirm away.

The scars littering his back and arms made you pause. When asked, he always clammed up, but you put together he hadn't been treated well before you took him in.

"Hush, you know you love it."

A yelp left his throat when you straddled him, your hips settling over his and rubbing against his hardening bulge. "You're already getting hard."

His fluffy tail began to wag as his cheeks burned. Though Ashe would never admit it, he secretly enjoyed your teasing. “Being mean…”

You kissed his neck as you jerked him off, smiling when he bucked his hips into your hand. His cock twitched in your hand, and with just a few pumps he was already cumming.

You poor kitty was a sensitive thing, and immediately buried his face into your chest after his orgasm. Now that the hybrid lived with you, he didn’t have to worry about fighting to survive. He could be himself and relax while you pampered him.

“Less grumpy now, hmm?”

He looked up at you, his tongue still poking out slightly before he leaned forward to begin grooming you. “Maybe… can I…”

He clutched your shirt, purring a little as he began to knead the soft fabric. “Can I stay right here?”

You smiled fondly, nuzzling your head against his as he purred and bumped his head against yours affectionately. “Yeah, of course.”

Could life truly remain so peaceful?

Some days he struggled with touch. It was almost painful for him, and it hurt your heart when he’d pull away from you in fear.

You never held that against him, though. You knew it wasn’t you he was afraid of, it was people in general.

A world that treats hybrids like objects is a world that isn’t safe for them. He was considered a pest, a stray cat hybrid without an owner, just one of many such cases.

If you hadn’t been able to save him, you were sure he’d still be on that street corner, about ready to offer his body so he’d get to eat a fresh meal for once. It was pure luck you were able to help him before he resorted to that.

Would he have chosen to come with you given an actual choice? Not between starving and life, that wasn’t a real choice.

If you two bumped into each other in a cafe, would he still want to be your lover?

“Are you happy here?”

He glanced up at you, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist and chin resting on your chest. Today, he was clingy again, constantly scent marking you and refusing to leave your side.

“Yes… I’m happy, and I’m safe. It’s all I could really ask for, in a world like this.”

You scratched behind his cat ears, sighing softly. “You don’t have to be with me, you know. If… you decided you wanted to live on your own and never speak to me again, I’d support you.”

You traced the scars on his back, wincing as you counted each one in your head. “I know you can’t stand humans, Ashe. You don’t have to put up with-“

His ears pinned back, and he left your lap, storming off to his room before slamming the door. You were left confused and hurt, cheeks hot from embarrassment.

Ashe had never gotten this angry with you before. Sure, he had been short with you while scared or stressed, but you saw true anger and hurt in his eyes.

“A-Ashe, wait!”

You knocked on his door, hands trembling when he opened it up.

Tears were running down his cheeks, his cat ears flat against his head. “You lied to me! You said I could stay here forever, but now you’re saying these weird things! You’re going to get rid of me, just like everyone else has!”

He wiped away his tears angrily, sniffling. “I thought you loved me… but you’re going to toss me away…”

You pulled him into your arms, hugging him tightly. You felt him stiffen, and you began to cry too. “I’m so sorry, Ashe. I promise… that’s not what I meant at all!”

He began to tremble and struggle against you, his tail lashing back and forth. “Don’t do this, don’t lie to me!”

“It isn’t a lie, I do love you! I just…”

You looked up at him, barely able to see his face through the tears clouding your vision. “I didn’t know if you truly loved me too… I wanted you to know you had options, that you are important to me regardless if it’s romantic or not…”

He started to calm down slowly, and reached out to brush away your tears. “Really? You really promise?”

Ashe pulled you into his room, his legs and arms wrapped tightly around you as he groomed your head. “You love me, and I can’t stay forever?”

His tail wrapped around one of your legs, and he scented you frantically.

“Y-yes,” you said, giggling through your tears. “I love you, and you can stay with me forever, I promise.”

His purrs rumbled through his chest, and he began softly moving his hips against yours. After such a tense moment, Ashe wanted to relieve it all with some soft sex.

Ashe moved your panties to the side, biting down on your neck as he positioned himself between your legs. It was moments like this he had to remind himself that you were his mate, that he loved and trusted you.

You hummed softly, letting him thrust into you lazily as the two of you cuddled. He stayed inside of you for a while even after he came, and the next week you could barely get any time to yourself.

Through this, your bond has grown stronger, and Ashe knew that you would never abandon him.

———————

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko @soapybabyboop @anonymouskiwi @flamefoxx @sandramalikstyles-blog @breathingstarlight

[bi-writes]

how would arguments go between simon and MOB? i imagine he would never dare raise his voice at her.

simon does not argue with his wife. if you are in danger or something is wrong, i could see him using a little bit of his lieutenant's voice just to get you to listen to him. to "get behind me" or "i'll take care of this, you go." otherwise, there's no resistance. none at all.

"you know, simon, i..." you stop at the door, swallowing. you rub a hand over your forehead, shaking your head. "i...i-i really don't want to go."

he shuffles in his boots, staring at you carefully. you're all dressed up; you've got a new dress on (that he bought you, eagerly), and you've done your makeup. you clutch your purse with clammy hands, and he narrows his eyes when he sees the tremble in your bottom lip. he clears his throat, taking his jacket off. he removes his boots quietly, scratching the back of his neck as he comes close to you to take your bag and hang it up by the door again.

"okay," simon murmurs. "then we won't go."

he doesn't tell you about the cancellation fee.

"'ello?"

"simon!"

he startles awake this time, holding the phone closer to his ear. the sheer anxiety in your voice cuts his gut sharp.

"wot? wot is it? wot happened?"

"i--i totally...i screwed up, simon--oh, god, i'm so sorry--"

"oi!" simon says firmly. "wot happened?"

"i...i'm at the shop, someone was going to back into me, so i swerved, and--"

"fuck," simon breathes. "are ya olright?"

"the car, it's--"

"not wot i asked," simon interrupts you. "are ya hurt?"

"w-what? i..." you sniffle. "no. i'm okay. just a little sore, i guess..."

simon lets out a deep breath, shaking his head.

"i'm coming," simon says lowly. "you stay there, baby. don't move."

"but, simon, the walk is--"

"i'll see ya in twenty."

"oh, no, no, no, no!" you gasp. the orange tabby's head perks up at the sound of your voice at the door. she's got one of simon's masks in her mouth, and even from this distance and without the lights turned on, you can tell the fabric is shredded to bits. it's all over the floor, scattered across the couch, flecks of lint in her fur.

"oh, god, how could you?!" you panic a little. she must have gotten into some kind of drawer or basket or the laundry, because as you start towards her, she darts away, leading you across the house where you can see shreds of more masks and simon's socks strewn about the house. "oh, no!"

the front door closes heavy. when you come into the living room, simon is there, dropping his gear onto the floor. he looks tired--his shoulders sag, and you can see his eyes half-lidded and barely opening.

"simon, i'm...i'm s-sorry, she--"

you're holding his tattered clothes, but before you can say anything more, he grabs you by the shoulders and hugs you so tight. you nearly lose your breath from how he crushes you to his chest, and you let out a quiet whimper when his knees buckle and he falls to the floor with you, cradling your head to his chest and kissing your forehead through the mask over and over.

you're here. you're real. you're alive.

you drop the shredded fabric and hug him back, closing your eyes as you breathe him in. he tips your head back finally, ripping his mask off and kissing you hard.

he doesn't care when he sees the orange cat take a bite of his thrown mask and run away with it.

he can buy a million masks. but his girls--he pulls back from your kiss to stare down at you, intense. he hasn't slept in days, and he hasn't had a decent meal in weeks, camping on different rooftops just to track a shipment, and when that bullet whizzed past his head, all he could think about was you. the cat-bitten plants. the warm food. the cherry dress. some things cannot be replaced.

some brides cannot be ordered again. they don't make them like you.

you are one of a kind.

[eufezco]

NEW OLD JOEL 𓂃 𓈒 ❀

old man!joel x younger!fem!reader

synopsis – after years on the road, you and joel finally settle in jackson and there's nothing you love more than coming back from work to your old man wearing those glasses.

smut. fluff

the last of us masterlist

after traveling what felt like the entire world following joel, you both finally decided to settle down in jackson. it was peaceful, a not so small community anymore where you could breathe again, where you could do more than just survive. eat three meals a day. sleep through the night without one eye open. and with all that peace came space, to feel, to think, to finally let yourself consider what had been quietly building between you and joel all this time.

he was reluctant at first. the age gap weighed on him more than it ever did on you. you’d never brought it up, never even seemed to notice it in the ways he did. but you two had lived too much together since you first started traveling with ellie. that kind of bond didn’t come easily. yet joel didn’t think he had the right to want something as soft, as tender, as the love you showed him. and jackson helped him with that. the town gave him the kind of peace he never thought he’d earn. and slowly, as the years passed, joel softened and started to accept the life he deserved and appreciate the little things.

the way you massaged his shoulders after a long day of work, the way he always made sure you were warm in the mornings when he had to leave early, how you'd wake up tucked beneath an extra blanket. you built a life together made up of shared breakfasts and quiet evenings walking through the snow-covered streets of jackson, of fixing things around the house side by side, of laughter in the kitchen when something burned, and the way he'd kiss your temple like it didn’t matter.

—hi, —you said coming into the house. joel looked up from where he was sitting at the table, glasses low on his nose, hands busy with something that needed to be fixed. his eyes softened the second he saw you.

—hey, darlin’, —he said, —you’re back early.

—yeah, the snow is getting worst, there wasn't much we could do in the garden, —you replied, shrugging off your coat and hanging it up by the door.

joel gave a small nod, eyes following your every move, —i figured, —he said, —how’s the ground looking? any chance we can save anything before the winter really sets in?

you sighed, taking a moment to pull off your gloves and slide them into your pocket. —a few plants are holding up, but it’s mostly the cold that’s making it tough. i’m thinking of giving it another shot in the spring, once everything starts to warm up.

joel hummed. you approached him and hugged him from behind, resting your chin on his shoulder. his hand, still holding the small tool, paused for a second before he gently placed it down, he took one of your hands in his, bringing it up to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

—how was your day? —you asked.

—good, busy. dina told me the cracked main lines are full of roots. should've checked them but i forgot, —he rubbed his hands over his face, clearly annoyed with himself. you could see how much he cared about getting things right, about showing that he was still capable, still useful. he picked the piece again and fidgeted with it.

—it's okay, you can get it done tomorrow. the main lines aren't going to move, —you reassured him, your voice gentle, as you smoothed your hand over his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath your palm.

—yeah, you’re right. tomorrow’s another day, —the therapy sessions were working, somehow, because never in your life would you have imagined the joel you first met would learn to take things slow.

you kissed his cheek, his beard tickling your lips, as your hand slid slowly over his chest. you couldn't help but smile at how lost he was in the task, not even seeming to notice the way you were touching him. you pressed a gentle kiss to the side of his neck, letting your lips pressed there for just a second before pulling back.

—joel, —you murmured. your fingers brushed against his before you gently took the small tool from him and set it on the table. you moved closer, slipping one knee over his lap, easing yourself down until you were straddling him. —are you planning on working all night?

joel's hands instinctively found your hips, steadying you, surprised but not willing to stop you. —was just about done here, —he said, —then i was gonna give you every bit of my attention. but i see you've got other plans for me.

you loved how he looked with the glasses low on his nose, made him look more domestic, but you gently slid them off, folding them and setting them on the table. his eyes followed the movement, then back up to yours, darker now but entirely focused.

—thought you liked those, —he murmured.

—i do, —you whispered, —but i'm afraid they might get in the way.

he hummed, his eyes fixed on your lips.

you unbuttoned the flannel he wore beneath his jacket. he watched you, barely breathing, his hands still resting on your hips but his thumbs began to trace soft circles through the fabric of your jeans. you sighed softly as the last button came undone, revealing his body. your hand moved over his chest, tracing the old, pale scars that marked his skin. your eyes moved lower, taking in the softness of his belly, the way he relaxed under your gaze instead of tensing. you bit your lower lip, what if you said this was the sexiest he has ever looked?

—i couldn't wait to get back home to you, —you brushed your nose against his, you hips started rolling against his own. joel swallowed, his hands flexed where they held you, fingers tightening just a little.

—yeah? —he asked, his voice low, a little gruff.

you nodded, and your lips finally met his in a kiss that felt like it had been waiting to happen all day. it was desperate, needy, but slow and passionate. your fingers sank into the soft, graying hair at the back of joel’s head, tugging gently, needing him closer. he groaned low in his throat, his hands working hungrily on the zipper of your jeans.

you lifted your hips from his so he could slid your jeans down your legs and immediately after, you straddled him again. as your fingers worked on the buckle of his belt and then unzipped his pants, joel's big hands cupped your ass, pushing you forward and encouraging you to grind against his crotch.

you whined, feeling the rough fabric of his jeans through the thin one of your panties. you pulled down his underwear, just enough for his cock to sprung free. you connected your lips with his again, his hands now on your cheeks as you lowered yourself just enough for his tip to go in. he let out a deep grunt straight from his chest, you let out all the air you had in your lungs in a moan.

you took all of him. joel let his head rest on your shoulder as his hands traveled down your body to your hips. he helped you move, at first just rocking your body back and forth against his. your lips, half parted pressed together, made it easier for your breaths to mingle. then, you lifted your body and then dropped back onto him. you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed his lips while you repeated that same move again and again.

—fuck, yeah, just like that, —joel groaned in your ear.

you tried not to be so loud, you didn't want to attract anyone's attention or cause a scandal. but your cries and his moans eventually echoed on the walls of your living room every time you lifted yourself a bit more and then sucked his cock completely inside you again.

joel rose from the chair in one fluid motion, his strong hands holding your weight. with a sweep of his arm, tools and scraps went to the floor, forgotten. he laid you down on the now-cleared table, the wood cool against your back, contrast to the heat building between you as his cock never left your body.

—did so good for me, now let me take care of you, hm?

he grabbed your thighs with firm hands and guided your legs around his waist so he could go deeper. your heels pressed into his lower back as he leaned in closer, his forehead resting against yours. the table cracked with each one of his thrusts and you feared it might break, it wouldn't be the first time joel would need to ask his brother for help in repairing a piece of furniture that you had broken since your arrival in jackson.

one of his hands sneaked in between your bodies and found your clit, his fingers moving fast and with urgency as he felt how you were getting tighter and tighter. you closed your eyes shut, feeling a little dizzy from all the panting as your body jerked and squeezed his own between your legs as you came. after that, he didn't last much longer and released himself inside you.

you both stayed there for a few minute. joel rested on top of you and with your legs still around him, you welcomed the weight of his body pressing you down onto the table. you played with his hair as he finally looked at you. you showed him a little smile and he gave a quick kiss to your lips.

—my body's gonna hurt so much tomorrow from this.

you giggled, —i'll make sure to give you the best massage ever.

you showed him a little smile, and he gave you a quick kiss to your lips. but as you pulled away, both of you noticed the mess of tools and pieces scattered across the floor, the work joel had been focused on before everything had shifted between you.

—i'm afraid you're gonna have to start all over again.

—with that or with you?

[yuutryingtowrite]

Yandere!Maid x Vampire!Reader

A/N: If you wanna know more about the levels, check this post :)

Warning: Not nsfw, but suggestive. MDNI. Butler (side character) calls reader “Mistress”

Danger level: ★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Submissive level: ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎ ♡ ♡

Yandere!Maid who looks at the castle in front of him, then the flier in his hands, then the castle again. Unless there was a typo in the address, the job interview should be here. He hesitantly uses the bat shaped door knocker and waits...This place looks so creepy and ominous, was this a prank ? Was it to scare him? Seriously? Sigh…He has had enough of being treated like a fool. As he continues his descent into frustration, bitterness and self-pity, he doesn’t hear the door opening. Nor does he see the butler standing at the entrance until he hears a: “Sorry for the wait, my kind sir. Are you here for the housekeeper position?”.

Yandere!Maid who thinks the butler is telling him a load of bullshit. According to him, the owner of this place is a vampire in search of additional staff members. He resists the urge to scoff. Whatever, if the “mistress” wants to take part in some weird role-play, then so be it as long as he would get paid. The same guy tells him to “please take a seat” in the living room and that “mistress will come and attend to you in a moment”. Soon after his departure, the air shifts. Black particles float around until it materializes something, or rather someone. The poor boy's shock and confusion quickly turn into enchantment. Fuck, you are totally his type. This is bad, he can feel his face burning. “Shall we go to my office?”, you ask with a smile.

Yandere!Maid who hates you. Who hates the fact that your personality matches your looks. Who hates how much control you have over him. The other day, your...pet sneezed on him, so he needed another uniform. “It seems that I only have a female one left ”, you told him. “There is no way in hell I am wearing that”, he sneered. “But wouldn’t you look cute in it? Besides, it is either that or cleaning with your normal clothes on until your new uniform arrives here-” “Alright, shut up, just give me that”, he abruptly took the offending dress from your hands and went to change. Since that conversation, his work attire has fully transitioned to said maid outfit. Maybe he becomes a bit too proud of himself whenever he catches you staring at him. And maybe, just maybe he wants to give you a nice view by bending down and taking his time “to clean the table” whenever he knows you are behind him. He will never admit that though.

Yandere!Maid who, one day, demands asks you about your eating habits. As soon as you answer, something regarding animal blood, he turns oddly quiet. You are about to ask what is wrong, but then he surprises you by climbing into your lap. You watch him get comfortable and, with trembling hands, undo the first buttons of his dress. The cherry on top is him pulling on its collar a bit to show a silver of his chest. He now avoids eye contact as he waits for you to take the lead…You are still just looking at him, so, with a blush becoming darker, he snaps at you: “A-are you stupid or something ? Do you want me to spell it out-” “I am just enjoying the view”, you respond with a teasing smile. Before he can sputter more insults, you grip his chin and tilt his head to the side, exposing his neck to your hungry gaze. “But if you insist…Thank you for the meal <3”

Yandere!Maid who has his face buried deep in his pillow while he tries to calm his flustered self down. After you finished drinking from him, he hurriedly got up and scurried to his room without so much as a word. The more he recalls the embarrassing noises he made in front of you, the more mortified he becomes. It was not his fault, it just felt really good and you even pulled him closer and tugged on his hair and-He whines and squirms in his bed as he feels his body turning hot again like that time. The action causes him to feel a sharp sting on his neck. He freezes. That is right. You marked him. You marked him. You marked him.

...

Don't drink from anyone else, ok?

[spencersmopbucket]

Au Revoir | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader Summary: Going to prison changes relationships, but you were determined to withstand it until Spencer broke up with you in a letter. His return changes things. Themes & Warnings: Prison!Reid, i am addicted to writing angst with happy ending

You were happy. You were so, so incredibly happy.

You met Spencer at the university where you taught forensic psychology. He was consulting on a case involving a former student, and his presence was magnetic. His voice -- soft, precise, laced with more knowledge than most tenured professors -- filled the lecture hall with calm authority. He quoted studies off the top of his head, spoke of human behavior like it was poetry, and didn’t so much walk as glide through conversation.

You’d never met anyone smarter. Honestly, you doubted anyone smarter existed. His genius IQ, his eidetic memory, and his multiple phD's made it evident.

He was awkward and sweet and a little too fast with his facts, but he never talked down to you. In fact, he always looked awed by you -- by your wit, your lectures, your stubbornness. He remembered your favorite tea after one conversation and quoted your syllabus back to you a week later.

It didn’t take long to fall for him. It was easy.

Within months, you practically lived at Spencer’s apartment. You had a routine, a quiet rhythm that made the chaos of the outside world feel far away. He came home from work, jacket half-shrugged off, his tie loosened. And you’d be there waiting. You always sat and talked first. Not because you had to. Because he needed to. His head was always full -- of cases, of trauma, of things he didn’t know how to say -- and you were the only person who ever made it all quiet enough to sort through.

While he showered, you made dinner. Simple meals he always claimed were better than anything in Quantico. You'd plate it for him just the way he liked -- never too much, everything not touching. You knew his quirks. You loved his quirks.

Afterward, you'd curl up on the couch, some old noir or classic foreign film playing, and he’d play with your hair absentmindedly while reciting the film’s trivia under his breath.

Then, you'd crawl into bed. Sometimes you'd talk until 2am, whispering nonsense between kisses and laughter. Sometimes you'd fall asleep immediately, tangled in each other, warm and safe and whole.

It didn't matter if he was on the brink of sleep or wide awake. Before you drifted off, Spencer always said, "I love you, darling." Never failed. Like clockwork.

You went to bed happy. Giggling. Overjoyed at yet another day of loving each other.

Sometimes, it was hard. Sometimes, Spencer was gone for a long time. And now, he'd been gone a while. But you stayed at his apartment, keeping it clean and tidy and warm with your presence for when he came back. He needed your presence right now. His mother was getting sicker by the day, cases were getting more brutal, and the only thing that made it better was that you were always there waiting for him.

You didn’t believe it at first.

The call came early in the morning -- a colleague, hushed and panicked, asking if you’d seen the news. You turned on the TV, bleary-eyed, your heart already tightening with dread before you even found the right channel.

Dr. Spencer Reid. FBI profiler. Arrested for drug possession and murder in Mexico.

You stared at the screen like it was playing a joke. Like any moment, Spencer himself would walk through the door, rambling about how the media misrepresents facts and how probability makes false accusations more likely in cross-border cases.

But he didn’t come home.

And it wasn’t a joke.

Spencer had been arrested in Mexico, alone, without authorization, without backup, trying to obtain medication for his mother. It didn’t matter that it was compassionate. It didn’t matter that it was Spencer. He was caught with narcotics and implicated in the death of a doctor who had tried to help him. A setup. Clearly. But it didn’t stop the trial. It didn’t stop the sentence.

And it didn’t stop him from being sent to prison.

The man who recited Baudelaire in the kitchen and alphabetized your spice rack for fun was now behind bars -- bruised, cornered, alone. The letters started coming then, short at first. Then longer. Then emotional. You read each one a hundred times, your fingers brushing over the creases like you could smooth away his pain.

You cried for him. His friends and colleagues comforted you. Penelope had been by with one too many casseroles and cupcakes decorated in pink glitter. JJ tried getting you out of the apartment, even just to sit on a park bench and talk in the fresh air.

Finally, you were taken by David Rossi to visit him. They said you wouldn't want to see him. Said he looked rough. But you never stopped asking until they gave in.

You remembered every step through that prison like a dream you couldn't wake from. The clink of doors. The sterile, suffocating scent of bleach and old paper. The fluorescent lights that made everything feel too sharp.

Rossi kept a steady hand on your back, guiding you gently. He didn’t say much. Just, “Brace yourself.”

And you did. Until the moment Spencer walked in.

He looked nothing like the man you knew. His curls were wild, uneven, untamed. There was a cut on his cheek, a bruise blooming beneath one eye. His frame -- already lean -- seemed thinner. Clothes hung awkwardly on his bones. But it was his eyes that gutted you. Still the brown eyes you loved. But cold. Wounded.

They didn't light up when he saw you, like usual. But they did soften.

They softened until he got angry.

A fiery glare was directed at Rossi, one you'd never seen Spencer wield.

“I told you not to bring her here,” Spencer snapped, his voice low and ragged but edged in fury. “It's not safe for her here, these men are like animals, and I didn't want her to--”

Rossi didn’t flinch. “She asked. Repeatedly. You think I enjoy watching the two of you suffer?”

Spencer shoved back from the table slightly, the chair legs scraping loudly against the concrete. “That doesn’t mean you shouldn't have listened. I needed her to be safe, away from this. Away from me.”

You stepped forward before Rossi could respond, your voice softer than either of theirs -- but stronger, too. “You don’t get to make that choice for me, Spencer.”

His gaze snapped to you. Raw. Defensive. Cracked open. You glanced at Rossi, a look that told him it was finally okay to step out.

Spencer’s jaw tensed as he looked at you. “You don’t understand,” he said, voice low and gravelly. “You shouldn’t be here. You don’t want to be here.”

You moved closer anyway, heart aching. “I do. And I am. And I’m not leaving.”

His mouth opened like he wanted to argue -- like he had a hundred reasons why you should walk away and never look back, but nothing came out. His eyes dropped to the table between you, his hands curled into fists.

“You don’t know what this place does to people,” he finally whispered. “I'm not the same.”

You sat across from him, hands folding in front of you. “Then let me get to know this version of you, too. All of them. I’m not here because I want the perfect version of you, Spencer. I’m here because I love you.”

His breath hitched.

“You think I haven’t imagined this?” you asked. “What it would look like? Seeing you like this? I have. And it still doesn’t scare me off.”

Spencer’s eyes were red-rimmed now, and his voice cracked when he finally said, “I don’t deserve you.”

You exhaled, eyes softening at the tears developing in his.

“Spence..”

You thought the visit had gone well. You thought he was finally letting you in.

He'd squeezed your hands in his before you left, his eyelids squeezed shut as a tear dropped from his eye. Like he'd forgotten what it felt like to touch you. To talk to you and have you close to him.

When you went home, a few days passed before you received a letter from Spencer. You opened it eagerly, expecting to see how he'd changed his mind and he was happy you came. How he'd missed you and wanted to see you again. How he "loved you, darling," as he'd said to you for years.

But that wasn’t what the letter said. Not even close.

I need you to understand something very clearly: I’m not the man you think I am anymore. This place changes people and not for the better. I don’t want you anywhere near it, or me. You deserve better than the husk I’ve become. What we had was a mistake, a foolish hope in a situation that’s already lost. Holding on to me will only drag you down into a life of misery and pain. You’re stronger than that, and you don’t need me poisoning your future. Don’t come looking for me. Don’t send letters. Don’t wait. Forget me, because I’m gone. The man you loved died the day I walked through those gates. This is the last time you’ll hear from me. -- Spencer

You read it once. Then again. And again.

Each word like a hammer blow to your ribs.

Tears blurred your vision, and your fingers curled around the paper, threatening to crush it -- but you didn’t. You couldn’t. It was still his.

This wasn’t a breakup. It was a severing. A mercy killing of the most sacred thing you’d ever had.

He hadn’t signed it love, Spencer. Just Spencer.

And that alone shattered you.

You let the letter fall from your trembling hands, your knees buckling beneath you. The world blurred as tears spilled freely, raw and endless. Your chest heaved with sobs that clawed at your throat until your voice was stripped away, until your body convulsed with silent agony.

You curled in on yourself, the sharp sting of heartbreak twisting deep inside, and when your body could take no more, your pain spilled over, leaving you empty and broken on the cold floor.

You went through phases.

Awful depression was the first. All you did was sleep -- sometimes sleeping days away without eating. You'd lost a considerable amount of weight, but the sleep didn't help. All you did was dream of Spencer.

Your friends were concerned. Your mom was concerned. She began staying over at your apartment, forcing meals down your throat and waking you up every morning. She even held you while you cried, wiping your eyes and the snot from your face.

Next, you were angry.

Not just irritated -- furious. Blindingly, bitterly angry. At Spencer, at yourself, at the system that swallowed him whole and spit him back out as someone you barely recognized. You smashed a coffee mug when you re-read the letter. You ripped one of his old shirts out of the laundry basket and tore it in half with shaking hands. The quiet, aching grief hardened into something sharper, something that boiled behind your ribs like acid.

How dare he? How dare he shut you out, cut you off like you were nothing? Like what you had meant less than the pain of keeping you?

You’d stood by him. You’d waited. You’d believed in him when the world didn’t.

And he still left you bleeding with nothing but a letter. Just Spencer.

You didn’t cry that week. You paced. You snapped at people. You dug your nails into your palms just to feel something other than the sting of abandonment. Anger, at least, gave you control -- and control was the only thing you had left.

The anger stayed with you, burying the anguish. Until Spencer got out.

You saw it on the news first -- a quiet headline, a fleeting mention: Dr. Spencer Reid released after wrongful imprisonment. No fanfare. No apologies. Just a footnote in a week of chaos.

You stared at the screen, heart pounding, coffee forgotten in your hand.

He was free.

And he didn’t tell you.

Of course he didn’t.

That night, your rage came back in full force, but it was quieter now. Sharper. More refined. It didn’t explode -- it simmered. You cleaned your apartment top to bottom, tossing the last remnants of him into a trash bag. That scarf he always wore when you visited bookstores. The annotated copy of Lolita he left on your nightstand. A pair of mismatched socks. The tea he used to brew just right.

You didn’t cry. Not this time.

You just whispered to the empty room, “Don’t come back.”

And he didn't.

For weeks, you didn't see him. You didn't hear his name when you went shopping with Penelope, as if she knew you wouldn't want to. It was like your life before this evaporated into smoke. No mention, no sign of Spencer at all.

A month later, it was Luke's birthday. There was a party for him coming up, a little get together at his house. He begged you to come, and Penelope, and JJ, and Prentiss, until you finally caved. You could do it, right? You could withstand it, whether Spencer was there or not. You didn't care. It was in the past.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. That it was just a gathering. Just old friends. That you’d walk in, make polite conversation, maybe even laugh once or twice. You’d wear something nice, something that made you feel like you — not like the hollow ghost you’d been when Spencer vanished from your life.

Luke greeted you with a hug that lasted a beat too long, like he was bracing you. JJ’s smile faltered for just a second before she pulled you into her arms. Penelope beamed at you, glittery and brave, but her eyes scanned the room anxiously -- almost like she was trying to prepare you for something she couldn't say out loud.

"I'm so glad you're here." Luke smiled, trying to disarm the tension. "Wouldn't be a birthday without you."

“Yeah, well. I owed you a drink and an awkward hug, so here I am.”

Luke laughed softly, squeezing your shoulder. “You’re stronger than you think, you know.”

You rolled your eyes, giving him the first genuine grin you'd had in months.

"Don't bullshit me."

It was almost familiar. Almost comfortable and warm. A party with old friends who loved you.

And then you saw him.

Spencer.

Standing in the kitchen, hair trimmed now but still wild, wearing a soft gray sweater you hadn’t seen before. He was thinner still, but no longer fragile. He was composed. Collected. Familiar in all the worst ways.

And when his eyes met yours, they didn’t just soften -- they broke.

He looked like he’d stopped breathing. Like seeing you had hit him harder than any prison wall ever had.

You stood frozen in the doorway, one hand curled tightly around the strap of your purse.

You hadn’t prepared for this. Not for the way your stomach twisted. Not for the way your heart stuttered at the sight of him. Not for the way every inch of you remembered -- vividly -- how it felt to be loved by him. And left by him.

You blinked once. Slowly.

Then, you turned away and headed straight for the liquor table.

Prentiss followed.

Shakily, you poured yourself a glass of whiskey, lifting it to your lips in a hurry. You hoped the liquor burning down your throat would arm you, hardening around you like a shell and making you impossible to break.

Prentiss didn’t say anything at first. Just stood beside you, watching you pour and drink like it was survival -- like this party was a battlefield and the whiskey was armor.

“You okay?” she finally asked, voice low.

You gave a humorless smile. “Peachy.”

Prentiss leaned a hip against the table. “You don’t have to talk to him.”

“I know.” You stared down into your glass.

“Ease into being around him. There's no rush.”

You nodded slowly, swallowing the next sip with a wince. “Yeah..”

Prentiss was quiet for a moment. Then, “Do you want me to stick around? Watch your six?”

You smirked faintly, heart pounding. “I think I can handle one skinny genius.”

She gave a soft snort. “Alright. But if you need backup…”

“I know,” you said, finally meeting her eyes. “Thanks, Emily.”

She squeezed your arm gently, then stepped away, giving you space.

You drank there silently for a while. It wasn't helping like you thought it would.

The burn in your throat faded too fast. The warmth in your chest settled into nothingness. You were still too aware of the room -- the quiet laughter, the conversation, the way people kept glancing toward the hallway like they were tracking someone.

Like they were tracking him.

You gripped the edge of the table until your knuckles ached, breathing slow through your nose. It wasn’t working. The whiskey wasn’t a shield. It wasn’t dulling the pain or the memory of his letter. Just Spencer. The cruelty of it. The cowardice.

And yet… you still felt him. Like gravity. Pulling at you even across the room.

You turned your head just slightly, and that’s when you saw him.

He was standing half-hidden near the archway to the kitchen, hands in his pockets, looking smaller than you remembered. His eyes were already on you. Not moving. Not blinking.

Like he’d been watching the entire time.

You almost looked away.

Almost.

But you didn’t.

You needed some air. You quickly walked towards the door, muttering apologies and promising to come back, before you reached the front porch. You sat on the porch chair, threading your hands through your hair and inhaling deeply.

You thought you could do this. Hell, you even thought it would be easy. But you just couldn't.

The dreaded tears came to your eyes before you noticed them, dripping down. You sniffled, looking up at the stars.

The stars blurred above you, gentle pinpricks of light in a sky that didn’t care how much your chest ached. You wiped at your face roughly, as if that could erase the entire last year: the prison, the silence, the letter. Him.

You’d told yourself you were over it. Over him.

But here you were, falling apart on someone else’s porch like the wound had never closed. Maybe it never had. Maybe it never would.

The screen door creaked behind you.

You didn’t turn. You didn’t have to.

You knew it was him.

There was a long pause. Then footsteps, soft and hesitant, and the subtle rustle of fabric as Spencer slowly sat on the step beside your chair, not too close, not touching. Just there.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence wasn’t comfortable. It was sharp, cutting, full of all the things that should have been said months ago.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he said finally, his voice low, almost broken.

You laughed bitterly through your tears. “I shouldn't have.”

Another silence.

“I'm glad you did. I didn't even know if I'd talk to you.. I just wanted to look at you again.”

Spencer’s voice cracked on the last word, and when you glanced sideways at him, his profile was haloed in porchlight. Soft, tired, and somehow still beautiful in the way that only he ever was to you. His hands were folded tightly in his lap like he was afraid they’d shake if he let them move.

“I used to dream about this,” he admitted quietly. “Just… being near you again. Seeing your face. Hearing your voice.”

Another wave of tears washed over you. You just listened to his voice. Part of you hated him. Part of you missed his voice.

“I counted the minutes I was in there. One-hundred and thirty-nine thousand and six-hundred eighty minutes," He continued, looking across the lawn at the cars that occasionally passed on the street. “With every minute that passed, it got more probable that I wouldn't leave. After all, the statistics for false imprisonment are..”

He stopped himself with a tight, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Sorry. I’m doing it again -- hiding behind numbers.”

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. Your throat was too tight with grief and memory and the ache of loving someone who had broken you in the name of protection.

Spencer glanced over at you, his expression open and fragile. “But I did count the minutes. I counted them because I was scared that you'd waste a good life waiting for me.”

“It wasn't your choice.” You hissed quietly, refusing to look at him. “But you made it your choice with that damn letter. Cruel.”

Spencer didn’t respond right away. You could feel him flinch beside you, like your words had physically hit him, maybe harder than anything he’d taken inside those prison walls.

“I know,” he said eventually, the words barely more than breath. “I read it back a thousand times after I sent it. And every time, I thought: I hope she hates me enough to forget me. I kept a copy. To remind myself not to reach out. Not to pull you back to me.”

You laughed, bitter and wet. “I didn’t. I couldn’t. I hated you, but I couldn’t forget you. You don’t just forget the person you built a life around, Spencer.”

Finally, you looked at him. He was already staring at you, devastated, like he was watching something crumble that he could never put back together.

“I wrote that letter like I was dying,” he admitted. “Because I thought I was. Not physically. Just… everything that made me who I was, it was getting chipped away. I thought if I died to you then, at least I wouldn’t take you down with me.”

“It wasn't fair. What happened to you wasn't. But it wasn't fair of you to shove me away,” your voice began to wobble, tears coming down your face again. “I loved you, Spencer. Wasn't it enough?”

Spencer’s face crumpled -- not all at once, but in small, controlled fractures, like he was trying desperately to hold himself together for your sake, even now. Even after everything.

“It was,” he whispered. “God, it was more than enough. It was everything. That’s why I let it go.”

You shook your head, the ache blooming sharp again. “That’s not how love works. You don’t just… take someone’s heart and decide for them what’s best. You don’t destroy them to save them.”

“I know,” he choked out. “I know that now.”

You let out a trembling breath, wiping your face with the sleeve of your jacket. “I would’ve waited. I was waiting.”

“I know, baby,” he said softly, his voice watery with tears he was trying to force back. The pet name slipped -- he hadn't even noticed he'd used it. It was too natural for him. “But I didn't know if I was coming back. And I didn't know who I'd come back as.”

You exhaled, but your lungs felt punctured.

“God, I hate you, Spencer. I hate that I still..”

Spencer froze, his eyes wide and glistening. He didn’t speak, he couldn’t. Your confession seemed to punch the air from his lungs the same way it had yours.

You shook your head quickly, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand, ashamed of how raw you sounded. “I hate that even after everything, the silence, the letter, the fucking goodbye, I still see you and my chest hurts in a way that feels like home.”

Spencer’s lips parted, but nothing came. Just another tear trailing down.

“I used to think if you ever came back, I’d slam the door in your face,” you said, laughing bitterly through your tears. “But I didn’t. I let you sit here. I let you look at me.”

“I don’t deserve it,” he murmured. “I don’t deserve you. But I love you more than anything in the world. All I did was pray to a God I don't believe in for you to heal.”

“Then how could you walk away? Like I was nothing?”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles whitened.

“Because I was nothing in there,” he said hoarsely. “I was a number. A threat. A punching bag. Every day, I woke up wondering who I’d have to fight to stay alive. What part of myself I’d have to let die just to make it to the next hour. And the one thing that kept me going was you. The memory of you.”

You whimpered like the words had stabbed you.

“The only things I had in my cell were photos of you. That's all I wanted,” he said, his voice cracking with a fresh wave of tears. “When I felt human enough to read, I only read your favorite literature and poems.”

“Spencer--”

“I started with Jane Eyre. Because you said it was the first book that made you cry. I wanted to cry with you, even if you weren’t there.”

Your breath caught.

His voice was shaking, but steady enough to recite what he’d clearly read over and over, committing it to memory like a prayer.

“I have for the first time found what I can truly love -- I have found you. You are my sympathy -- my better self -- my good angel; I am bound to you with a strong attachment.”

He looked at you, his voice barely above a whisper now.

“I think you good, gifted, lovely: a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my centre and spring of life, wraps my existence about you.”

Tears streamed down your face freely now. You remembered reading that line to him once, years ago, curled together in bed.

“I used to repeat that in my head just to fall asleep,” he admitted. “I read the book hundreds of times. It was your voice.”

You covered your mouth, shoulders trembling.

“I thought I could bury it. Bury you. But I couldn’t. I can’t. And if I never get to hold you again,” he said, crying entirely, “I needed you to know… you were never nothing. You were the only thing that made me anything at all.”

“Spencer, I'm begging you not--”

“Let me finish,” he pleaded, hands reaching out for you but not quite touching you. “If there's any chance at all, any chance you'd let me come home, I'd make it my mission to love you for the rest of our days on this doomed Earth.” He said, his words rushing out as if he couldn't control them.

You were silent. Shocked. Your jaw dropped, but lips still quivered.

“I'll go right now and buy a ring if that's what you want. I'll recite your favorite poetry every single night. I'll scratch your back without asking for it in return. I'll listen to your favorite song in the car on a loop every damn time we go anywhere even though I hate it.”

He was breaking open in front of you, pouring himself out in fragments: hopeful, desperate, all the pieces you never thought you'd get back.

“I’ll memorize every meal you’ve ever loved and learn how to cook it perfectly. I’ll fix the leaky sink. I’ll reorganize your bookshelf a hundred times until it makes sense to you again.” His voice wavered desperately, rising into something raw and aching. “Just -- please. Please give me the chance to make it right.”

You stared at him, stunned. That flood of emotion -- grief, fury, heartbreak, love -- came crashing down at once. Your body shook from it. You had waited for this moment for so long. You had dreamed of it. But now that it was here, you didn’t know if you could move.

Spencer inched forward on the porch step, slowly, as if afraid to scare you off. His hands trembled between you, still waiting for yours.

“I don’t want anyone else. I can’t want anyone else. You were it for me before prison. You were it every day in there. And you're it now. No matter what you say.”

You squeezed your eyes shut.

“What if you leave again if things get difficult?”

His breath hitched.

“I won’t,” he said, instantly but then gentler, more broken, “I can’t.”

You opened your eyes. He was looking at you like the question had gutted him, like he’d been waiting for it.

“I left because I thought it was the only way to protect you,” he continued, voice low and shaking. “But I see now -- God, I know now -- that hurting you to keep you safe wasn’t protection. It was fear. And I let it win.”

He leaned forward just enough for you to see how wrecked he was, eyes glassy and wide. “But I’ve lived through the worst thing imaginable. And it wasn’t prison. It wasn't Tobias Hankel. It wasn't Dilaudid, it wasn't those damn headaches, and it wasn't losing Maeve. It was the thought of you moving on, thinking I didn’t love you. It was living with the idea that I’d made you feel abandoned.”

His hand finally touched yours, featherlight. “So no. I won’t leave again. Not when things get difficult. Not when I’m scared. Not when I’m hurting. Because I’d rather face every nightmare in the world than ever look into your eyes again and see pain that I've caused.”

A pause.

“Please,” he whispered, “let me stay this time.”

You didn’t say anything at first. The silence was heavy, aching, filled with all the memories of the man he used to be and the one breaking before you now. His fingers were still barely touching yours, like he didn’t believe he deserved to hold your hand, only to beg for the chance.

Your chest rose and fell in uneven breaths. You had imagined this moment a hundred times. In the best versions, he came home with flowers, apologies, promises. In the worst, he never came at all.

But this raw, desperate truth from him was something else entirely.

“I don’t know if I can,” you whispered. “I want to. But I don’t know how to stop being afraid.”

Spencer closed his eyes, nodding like the words bruised but didn’t surprise him. “Then I’ll stay outside your door every day if I have to. I’ll write you letters I sign with love this time. I’ll sign my soul away to you if that's what it takes. It's yours now anyways.”

You looked at him, really looked, and saw him again. Not the hollow shell who’d walked out. Not the angry, scared man from prison. But the Spencer you’d loved. A little more broken. A little more changed. But still him. Still yours.

Your hand turned, slowly, fingers curling around his. He gasped quietly at the touch, like it shocked him.

“Don’t make me regret this,” you said softly.

His eyes met yours, glassy with hope. “Never again.”

And suddenly, you were yanked forward. A watery giggle, half laughing and half crying, escaped you as you were pulled into Spencer's chest, your cheek coming into contact with the gray threads of his sweater.

His arms wrapped around you like they were made for it: tight, trembling, like he couldn’t believe you were real. His face tucked into your neck, breath shuddering against your skin, and for a long moment, neither of you said a word.

You just held each other.

The night around you was quiet, broken only by the occasional hum of a passing car, the soft rustle of leaves, and the ragged breathing of two people who had survived too much.

“I missed you so much,” Spencer whispered into your shoulder, voice cracking. “More than I knew a person could miss someone.”

He smelled like memories. Like all the nights you'd spent cuddling on the couch watching old Russian romances that you didn't understand, but he translated for you in his soft, lovely voice. Like kissing in the rain, but being scolded for “common cold inducing behavior.” Like a long hug after an especially drawn out and difficult case.

He smelled like home. Your home.

You were so happy to be home.

[mic-qw]

Yandere Femboy x Reader

Warnings: emotional manipulation, bullying, obsessive possessive behavior, emotional dependency, toxic relationships.

Aiden was always perfect.

You knew it from the first day he sat next to you in class, deliberately dropped his pencil case, and said with a bright smile, “Oh, can you grab that for me? I’m so clumsy!”

From that moment on, you were stuck to him like you had no choice. But the truth is, you didn’t want one.

Aiden was addictive.

You never realized when he stopped being just a friend and became a light that followed you everywhere. He’d wake you up with voice messages at 7 a.m.:

“Good morning! Time to wake up! You look tired today… did you dream about me, or did you cry because I wasn’t by your side?”

And even though he said it jokingly, there was always something more. A pause. A “laugh” that didn’t sound amused.

He bought you things you never asked for. He took photos of you without you noticing. He introduced you as “his favorite person” to others—but if you so much as talked to someone else, he’d go silent and serious for hours.

Once, you told him you liked someone. Just as a joke, to see how he’d react. And he smiled. Not a nice smile.

A small, tight-lipped smile with a clenched jaw. You could feel his gaze drilling into you. He slung his arm around your shoulders and said,

“Glad you have some hope. But no one’s ever going to love you like I do, right?”

Then he kissed your cheek, hard. You could still feel the smear of his lipstick afterwards.

After that day, something changed.

Aiden wouldn’t let you walk home alone, even if you lived close by. He always had a reason. That he was just passing by. That he wanted to talk. That you looked sad.

“Don’t lie to me. I know you better than I know myself.”

He’d send you pictures of his meals, his outfits, even his bed.

“I miss when you used to sleep over… you haven’t come by in forever” He’d say it with cute emojis. But it never felt cute.

And when you started talking to that other person—the one you only shared classwork with—Aiden’s gestures became even softer. Sweeter. More perfect.

But the messages didn’t.

One night, you found one that said:

“So that’s what you’re into now? God, how basic. Did you seriously lower yourself like that? I wonder how long he’ll be interested once he realizes it takes you HOURS to reply.”

You didn’t answer. And the next day, that person never looked you in the eyes again.

You didn’t get it at first.

You thought it was a coincidence. That people were just busy. That the weird comments were misunderstandings. That canceled plans were just bad timing.

Until you noticed how people looked at you— With a mix of pity, discomfort… and distance.

Aiden, on the other hand, was shining more than ever. Surrounded by people. Smiling radiantly. Speaking in that sweet, angelic way that made everything sound like poetry.

“Don’t tell her I said anything, okay? I’m just… worried. She’s been acting so strange lately.”

A soft laugh. A touch on someone’s arm. A downcast look, like he was really hurting.

And that was all it took. A sad little smile and a concerned tone. Everyone believed him.

He was so beautiful. So perfect it felt unreal. But without a doubt—he was the best at playing the victim.

And you, without even realizing it, started to lose everything.

One by one, people drifted away. They stopped texting back. They avoided you in the hallways.

But Aiden was always there to comfort you.

“Poor thing… Nobody wants to talk to you anymore? That’s so cruel. But it’s okay, you don’t need them. You’ve got me, and I’m not going anywhere. Ever.”

He’d say that while brushing a tear from your cheek with his soft palm, that delicate smile of his making him look like an angel who had just fallen from heaven.

And even if you tried to connect with others, to get away from him… You knew deep down— You would always end up back in your best friend’s arms.

[bunny-jpeg]

house sitter au

while they serve their country, you serve them! *salute*

task force 141 are good at what they do. their ranks and medals are impressive, but it's hard coming home. home for them for a long time was a mediocre flat in central london that was vacant most of the year. it didn't help with the loneliness and disconnect the men felt after time abroad.

that's where you came in. an impressive resume and a bit of confidence that if you could handle toddlers, then you could handle four grown men!

when they were home, you helped clean and made meals. when they were away, you got free reign of the entire house. it didn't help that the paycheck every month was impressive.

the one thing they didn't tell you about the job was the lingering gazes of the men who you lived with. they never did anything, they wouldn't do anything without your consent. but when you were in the garden pulling out weeds (when was the last time the lawn was taken care of) you saw price by the doorway with a cup of tea in hand, watching you grumble to yourself. then when you were cooking lunch for yourself, you felt the hot gaze of johnny against your backside as you reached to the top shelf to grab some salt (who put this so high?). then it was simon's eyes on your lips as you enjoyed some ice cream after a long day dusting (how were these guys not sneezing from all the dust!). finally it was gaz who made a comment about how you looked nice when you were scrubbing the floors. he laughed it off as a joke, but the way he looked at you was a little more heated.

four pairs of eyes lingered on every part of your body, even the parts that you were insecure about. to end up in bed with them wasn't hard. it first started with the captain, then you made your way through the ranks.

price was burly and strong, he had you pinned under him on his large bed. his hands on your hips as he buried his cock into you. your ass in the air but your upper half was flat against the mattress, price soon interwove his fingers with yours as he thrusted into your sweet cunt. you realized soon after that he really liked when you called him captain. or better yet, daddy. you didn't know that you reeked of daddy issues, but price could smell it from a mile away. but don't worry, daddy's got ya. when he was finished fucking you, he'd play with your overstimulated clit while he smoked. he made sure to exhale away from you. he was the first however to punish you when you were being a 'bad' girl. sometimes it was shining his boots, other times you were the one getting his boots dirty. (hope you like rough laces against your soaked clit!)

johnny was a wild card. he liked to bite. and it wasn't like his teeth were too blunt to cause any damage. after the first time you were with him, you made him go to the drug store to buy you concealer to cover the jackson pollock-esque hickeys on your neck! he offered to buy you a collar to wear inside and you narrowed your eyes at him. "if anyone here needs a collar it's you, mactavish." but he could also be so sweet. while he liked it fast and rough, he always made sure his number one girl got to finish as well. usually before him. his kisses were sloppy, he was like a dog sometimes. his favourite place to fuck you however was in the yard outside. he usually have to shove his thick fingers in your mouth to keep you quiet. no one needed to know just how NEEDY you were for his cock. the number of times the other men caught him just pounding your sweet cock, using that strength of his to his advantage was something else. and of course, when they caught you, they hung around. three other men watching you face down in the grass with johnny having you by the hips. his praise his filthy, almost degrading. you were his special girl, but you were also a massive whore. but don't worry, bonnie, johnny will happily fuck any hole you have open.

simon was difficult. he only found out that your legs were open for business after he heard you and johnny going at it. the sound of the bed creaking and the scottsman's filthy tongue. but unlike johnny, simon was a little too big for you. while your sexual encounters started with oral and fingering. he managed to get just the tip in. but it wasn't enough, he eventually sank every last inch. the feeling took the wind out of you and you couldn't sit right for days after. his pace was slow, methodical. he watched you with a keen eye. the rise and fall of your chest, the noises you made. he knew he was selfish for taking so much of you, but you were unlike anyone else. after that, he started to take his mask off more. if you saw (and felt) his cock, you might as well see what was under the mask. cue a lot of worship from you, kissing at his heavily scarred body. he'd just hold you in his arms while you were in his lap.

kyle was the sweetest which compared to the other hulking men you were living with. it wasn't a hard bar to clear. all of them complimented you, but kyle was the one who'd bring you flowers when he returned from a mission. he mostly liked to keep his intimate time with you in his bedroom. his favourite position was to take you on your side. him spooning you as he thrusted his cock into your tight pussy. his nose in your hair as he moved against you. he knew the other men were taking your pussy for a joy ride, so he wanted to make love to you. flowers, candles, sweet nothings. the only problem was, instead him wanting to jump your bones. you wanted to jump HIS bones. you got loads of body worship from him, lots of praise to. he also liked when you called him by his rank, while not AS impressive as captain or lieutenant, it was still something he was proud of. he'd take you missionary style but a lot of the time, loved having you on top. with the afternoon light bathing your body in golden rays. he rarely left marks or bruises. no one needed to see what you two did in your off time. it was a secret for him and him alone. regardless of how you two fucked, he was the king of after care, letting you rest as he would read to you. either the book he had picked up while away or an article on his phone. he chuckled when he heard you snoring.

but sometimes, it was hard to choose between two of them at a time. so you ended up with both johnny and simon's cock pushed inside of you. your mouth hung open and your mind drawing a blank. but don't worry, they're worshiping your cunt. cooing about how sweet it is that you can take BOTH of them. of course you could! you were made for them. your stomach feels dense after they cum inside you about three times. the feeling of their cum in your gut makes your lethargic and just curl up after they get their fill.

other times its kyle and price. while they aren't pushing your pussy to its absolute limit. it still takes a lot out of you. you were on the floor of price's bedroom, riding the captain while facing kyle who had his cock in your face. as you moved your hips against the older man, your mouth and hand were on the sergeant's cock. you found out that both men liked it when you were covered in their cum, not push it inside of you as deep as they could.

when those who hired you asked how the job was going after a few months. you meekly asked what the health insurance policy was and did it cover birth control *hides face*

(you'd find out within a year that no amount of pills, iuds, rings or implants could stop one of those boys from giving you a baby)

<3

[levisjinchuriki]

always will be - toji fushiguro

summary: you know the key to a man's heart is through his stomach. toji is no exception

warning: fluff!!!!!!, kisses

written separately, but can be read as pt. 2 of more to love!

toji had always been intimidatingly fit. his sharp abs, toned arms, and broad chest reflected years of discipline and a lifestyle that demanded he stay in peak condition. it wasn’t something he flaunted—walking around shirtless in his own home was just how he lived. he didn’t think much of it, and neither did you.

after deciding to move in together, subtle changes crept into his life, ones he hadn’t anticipated. every night, he came home to a hot and ready meal. you always made sure it was his favorites, learning his preferences without him needing to say much. and the snacks—that was his biggest weakness. you were thoughtful enough to have something sweet or savory on hand, excusing it by saying “just in case you get hungry later.”

now, as toji pads around your shared home, shirtless as always, you can’t help but notice the differences in his physique. his abs are softer now, the faintest hint of a tummy forming where there used to be none. his arms, still strong, have lost some of their definition.

the late-night snacks you share, the hearty dinners you insist he eats after long days, and the lazy mornings spent curled up in bed instead of at the gym— all of it has added up.

at first, toji doesn’t think much of it. he’s always had a big appetite—one you happily indulge. but over the weeks, the changes become harder to ignore. his pants fit a little snug, and the shirts that once fit comfortably now cling to his chest and stomach.

toji glances down at his stomach, giving it an experimental poke. his finger sinks into a soft layer that wasn’t there before. he grunts in realization, muttering to himself “guess i’ve been slacking.”

but it’s not slacking—it’s comfort. love. the ease of sharing a life with someone who makes him feel whole.

“babe” your voice calls sweetly from the kitchen. “breakfast is ready!”. the smell of sugar and cinnamon hits him as he makes his way to the kitchen. and then he sees it– the biggest, gooiest cinnamon roll he’s ever laid eyes on, sitting proudly on a plate you’re setting on the table.

“you’re trying to fatten me up, aren’t you?” he accuses with a smirk.

you glance up, genuinely confused. “what are you talking about?”. cooking for him has always brought you joy.  watching him devour every meal you set in front of him, finishing with a satisfied hum and going up for another serving makes you feel like you’re doing something right. he’s never complained once, and the empty plates he leaves behind are all the validation you’ve ever needed.

toji gestures at his waist, where the elastic band of his sweatpants sits noticeably tighter than it used to. “these don’t fit anymore”.

your cheeks flush. you know full well you’re the reason for the changes, but it’s not something you feel guilty about. if anything, it makes you proud.

“not my fault” you protest, crossing your arms with a playful pout. “you’re the one who goes back for thirds”. your eyes wander over him, noticing how his facial features have softened in the time since you moved in together. his jawline isn’t quite as sharp as it used to be, and there’s a slight fullness in his cheeks now—a small change, one you can’t help but adore.

it’s not just his body that’s softened. there’s a new ease to him, a sense of comfort and peace that wasn’t there before. it shows in the way his shoulders relax when he walks through the door, in the way his laughter comes more freely these days, and in the warmth of his teasing smirk now.

“i think it’s cute” you add softly, your lips curving into a warm smile. you mean it, too. toji might not have the razor-sharp physique he once did, but he’s still the man you fell in love with—strong, handsome, and completely yours.

“cute?” toji raises an eyebrow. “i’m supposed to be intimidating, not cute” he retorts, his deep voice tinged with mock offense. but even as he says it, he knows the truth—he’s gone soft being with you, in more ways than one.

“yeah” you tease, stepping within reach. you stroke his cheek with your thumb. “but you look happy”. 

you’re not wrong. for the first time in his life, toji feels truly content. he doesn’t have to keep his guard up or keep himself for the next battle. instead, he has you, a warm home, and a life that no longer feels like a constant fight for survival.

if it costs him a few extra pounds, he can live with it—because for the first time, it feels like he’s really living.

he smiles, the sincerity in his expression reaching his eyes. “i am happy” he says quietly.

your heart swells at his admission, warmth spreading through your chest. your own smile mirrors his as you lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. 

“you better be. or i’ll stop feeding you” you tease after pulling away.

toji’s eyes narrow, his brows drawing together in a warning. “don’t you dare”. 

before you can react, he pulls you into his lap, guiding your back against his chest with ease. his grip tightens around your waist, and you settle into him, feeling the heat of his body pressing against yours. you both share a few playful, soft and lingering kisses before toji reaches for his breakfast. 

he breaks off a piece and offers you the first bite, feeding it to you with such tenderness. his lips hover near yours as he leans in to steal a quick kiss, humming in appreciation of the sweet frosting that sticks to you. 

if you’re being honest– you’ve noticed the changes in him. the extra pounds that have slowly added up, the snug fit of his shirts, the softness in his once-defined features. but it’s not something that bothers you. in fact, it only makes you love him more. the softening of his body is a symbol of the comfort, the safety, and the ease he’s found with you.

you rest your head against him, loving that he’s comfortable with you, comfortable in this space you’ve created together. toji doesn’t have to be the intimidating, hardened man he was before. he’s allowed to relax, to soften in all the best ways.

“i think you look perfect” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

the edge of toji's smirk falters. perfect. it's not a word he’s used to associating with himself. toji knows his scars, his flaws, the rough edges he’s tried to smooth out over the years. perfect was for things he never thought he could have, for people he never thought he deserved.

but here you are, saying it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

toji tightens his grip around your waist, pulling you closer until there’s not an inch of space between you. he doesn’t speak right away. instead, he lowers his head, his nose brushing softly against your temple, as he repeats the sentence in his head.

“you really think so?” he asks, his voice hesitant.

you tilt your head to meet his gaze, your smile warm and unwavering. “of course. you’ve always been perfect to me. always will be".

the sincerity in your voice is enough to ease his worries. he believes you, knowing you'd never lie to him. he doesn’t know how to respond—how to put into words what your belief in him does to his heart.

so instead, he leans in, brushing his lips against yours. he's gentle, even as he deepens it. it’s not just a kiss; it’s a thank you, a promise, and a confession all rolled into one.

“guess i can live with that” he murmurs against your lips, his smirk returning, softer now. there’s a warmth in his eyes, an acceptance of something he’s still trying to believe.

---

a/n: thank you for reading. happy new year!! <3 what are your resolutions this year?

[page-isa]

𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐔𝐏 - 𝐣𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤

summary: you and Jungkook are no where near being the 'perfect couple', your relationship constantly being on and off. Each time you break up, you always run back to him. Not this time. That is until someone shows up on your doorstep...

pairing: reader x jungkook

word count: 5.2k

content warning: adult characters, fluff, smut (mdni), nipple play, eating out, fingering, arguments, let me know if i missed anything!

authors note: hihi this fanfic is inspired by the song kiss and make up, I really enjoyed writing this one, writing y/n and Jungkook to be really frustrating was so fun (so much that I had to tone it down lol). It's a short one but I hope you enjoy<3

masterlist : taglist : moodboard

Jungkook and you were nowhere near ‘the perfect couple’. You were miles away from being anywhere near the textbook definition. Tension would drip around you like a faulty tap, always playing in the background of your lives. Which never really bothered either of you until it became too much to bear.

When you and Jungkook broke up for the first time, you cried for days on end, devastated at the fact that you had lost the one you had hoped to be with for the rest of your life. Over time, you both decided that you weren't going to last. That didn't stop either of you from making the most of each other, from trips and couple dates to spending all your spare time together. 

Of course, the day had gone as usual. Movies played lowly in the living room as you cooked lunch for both of you. The food finished, and you were exhausted, letting your body slump as you both sat down at the table. The crisp bread being cut up filled the room.

Maybe it was the fact that he wore his boots into your apartment, putting dirt on the freshly cleaned floors. Although he was carrying stuff for you, you couldn't help but be irritated.

Or maybe it was the fact that he abandoned you to meet his co-worker. It was halfway through your movie date to meet the girl you never liked – the one you had confronted him about meeting, Lia. The way she kept her hands on his clothes, insisting it was just her “wiping off some dust”. After all this, you still haven't received a thank you for the meal you cooked.

You scrubbed dishes in silence, each squeak of the dishes playing over your anger. The tension was bound to bubble over sooner or later. Like every other time.

“Annoyed again?” he asks. It always feels like he was the one who created the problem, but he never knew what he did. You stop cleaning the dishes and turned to face him. Your eyes worked their way up from the sink. Fixating on his face, clueless and annoyed – annoyed at you, annoyed at you for not saying anything, not knowing what he did. What was there to say? Every single time you did, nothing changed.

“At least try to think about what you’ve done wrong before asking me, or try to apologise for not knowing.” You turn to face him, brows furrowing at his ignorance.

“Is this about Lia again? Come on, love. You're acting like a child. I've told you so many times before that she's just a co-worker I'm close with. Besides, can't there be female and male relationships without anything involved? I never question you and your friends.” 

Your mouth automatically gapes. You can't believe him. The ignorance and audacity he has to, for one, not apologise, but two, defend her behaviour. “Are you serious right now? Tell me you're not, and don't call me love.” 

“You never had a problem with it before.” Even amid the argument, he still couldn't hide his smirk, playfully resting on his lips.

“Well, now I do.” You have to stick to your argument and not get caught in his trap by teasing you.

“Regardless, I'm not cheating. She's never even done anything wrong, especially to you!” He brushes his hair back, forehead wrinkling in frustration.

“Are you saying you’ve never seen the way she takes any opportunity to brush against you, take you out for meals, and chat you up? God, you must be oblivious to every girl that flirts with you.” You’re sure of it now, he doesn’t care about you. He was a charmer for all those other women. Purely using you as a toy when he was bored.

You notice how he hesitates to respond. The wavering look in his eye and the pause before he speaks. It is clear. 

“I can't believe you, of all people, can't even open your mind to platonic relationships. I haven't done anything with her and never will.” He finds no reason to refute your arguments; unable to keep arguing, he stopped everything to focus on you, inconveniencing himself.

“Let's break up. I don't need to deal with you – deal with this anymore.” Your breath jagged as you sigh, accepting this as your undeniable fate. You and Jungkook were just not meant to be. Despite all the times you came to this conclusion, you have always been drawn back to him. No more tears swell in your eyes compared to the past. The number of times Jungkook had shown how little you mean to him, never upset or trying to make amends during arguments, merely accepting you and him breaking up.

“Fine. Don't expect me to take you back when you show up on my doorstep next week.” Scowling at you, like he wasn't the one causing you to break up. Mearley was making time to grab his necessities, which were scattered around the apartment.

“Just get your stuff and leave.” He knew how to get on your nerves, successfully leaving you with a lingering headache for the rest of the day.

The pads of his feet leaving the door replay through your mind, he will never drag you down again, lingers in your brain, and through memories of you.

You make a deal.

No more going back to Jeon jungkook.

________________

The following Monday, when you entered your office, you arrived early and left your handbag at your desk before heading to the canteen. A familiar figure catches your eye at the coffee machine – Supervisor Kim Namjoon.

“Hello, sir,” you mumble, matching the volume in the room, displaying respect before slipping beside him. He gives a slight nod to you, greeting his recent acquaintance. Considering that the two of you lived near the company, both of you were usually the first here. You spark a conversation about his wife and daughter, allowing him to share as many pictures as he could. Fond of his family, he met his wife early after leaving company dinners to spend time with his family. It was truly admirable, and his wife was as beautiful as a lily blooming in spring. 

“How have you been ___?” You begin the conversation as usual, small talk evolving to friendly laughter. Even though he knew about your now ex-boyfriend, you don't shy away from telling him about your most recent breakup with him.

“Jungkook and I broke up again, but that's not new or surprising news.” A small chuckle slips from your lips, echoing in the room only filled by a whirring coffee machine.

“Well, I can’t say I’m not surprised, but aren't you just going to get back together in a week or two? Not to be rude, but I don’t know if you have lasted two weeks before getting back together.” You can’t even be offended by what Namjoon said, because it is true. This time is different. You are ready to forget about him. Jungkook was no longer bothering you; he was no longer a part of your life. 

“No, I'm not going back to him anymore. It's best if I move on to someone else.”

You should feel happy. Right?

 If that is true, why are you feeling so irritated by the silence of having no one to annoy and infuriate you? Perhaps you did miss him, but that would vanish soon.

Your conversation comes to a close as some co-workers enter the room, creating an awkward silence filled with the occasional chatter.

You and Namjoon head to your respective offices, leaving each other with a small wave before starting the long work day. The day felt longer than usual, and after lunch, you were drained. No energy left, maybe it was the silence you sat in at lunch with no messages to respond to, nothing but scrolling on your phone, and drinking an excessive amount of coffee. Which would end up weighing you down, but you didn't care. You needed the energy. 

________________

The following weekend, you can't help but think about Jungkook as you browse through the department stores, full of clothes, accessories, and food.

His grin beams at you, helping you change the bedding. It would shape into a friendly wrestling match. It was infectious, and it left your cheeks sore from smiling with him.

You slip your hand through the railings, through the oversized shirts, clothing sets he would've loved when you first met – the camo pattern hurts your eyes, wondering how you have ever fallen for a guy like this. ‘Jungkook would like this.’ or the occasional ‘Maybe I should buy this for him’, almost forgetting you had broken up. This must be the hard part of breaking up, before you move on from him.

It’s insufferable. You never realise how much you miss someone until they're gone, even if they caused you pain. Jungkook was never truly gone, but you were moving on from him. In the quiet moments, watching couples on dates, you couldn't help but miss his presence. 

Each simple beat that plays on the radio would remind you of the first time you dated, the simple romantics, letting him sway you around as you made dinner, evolving into full, extravagant concerts he would give you while screaming into the TV remote. His theatrics had successfully charmed you, falling into his trap.  Now it's obvious to you that his behaviour was infinitely ingrained in you. Scarring deep into your heart. You were going to be in a lot of pain getting rid of him. It will be worth ridding oneself of any torment. Anything related to him will be gone. 

Unlike before, you sit on the sofa, alone. Your carbonara in hand, the one that became your favourite after Jungkook taught you how to make it.

You slip into your pyjamas, remembering every time you wore this with him, putting on facemasks, and sleeping in his arms. You can't help but wonder why you have memories of everything related to him, big or small. Unable to understand why you miss him so much. It's confusing.

________________

When you sit in the quiet cafe that you visit often, editing a presentation that a rookie has slipped up on. You can’t blame them – you still remember when you too were a rookie, slipping up when given work to do, too scared to decline when work was thrown at you by corrupt workers. 

You can't help but baby all the rookies, putting yourself in their position. You are left with no choice but to fix the mistakes in numbers, grammar, and design. The coffee cups take over the table, leaving you little space to work. You hadn't planned to spend your evening like this.

Nearing the end of your workload, a hand places another cup of coffee steaming up in the air, the smell enticing you away from your work. 

“Hey there.”

A young man with wavy dark brown hair stood looming over you, placing the cup of coffee right beneath your nose. Unable to resist, you ponder his features. 

‘He’s pretty handsome.’ You catch yourself off guard thinking absurd thoughts of a stranger, despite your indecency, every time you looked at him, he was grinning at you, eagerly awaiting to talk to you.

“You're gorgeous. I was wondering if you want to go out for dinner sometime?” You are taken aback, considering you have never met this man.

“Sorry, but I have-” The words almost slipped from your tongue; it had become a common phrase if a guy ever asked you out. It seemed so normal to have Jungkook around, but now you have no one to restrain you.

“I would love to, uh, what is your name? Sorry? Do you have a date in mind?” 

His face displays everything, clearly preparing to be rejected. His eyes almost bulged out of his head, and you can't help but smile. His face softens into a small laugh. He is cute, you can't help ogling over him, like a fangirl meeting her favourite celebrity.

“Oh. Yeah, it's Hoseok. How does the 15th sound?” He smiles gently at you as you take a sip of the coffee given to you. He is sweet.

“Sure, that suits me. Could I get your number so we can arrange more later?”

For the first time in a long time, you’re excited to try something new, maybe you have stuck with your comfort zone for far too long. The nerves and excitement were indistinguishable. All blurred together into one jittering mess.

Hoseok leaves with a quick exchange of numbers and a warm cup of coffee to enjoy as you finished your work. A smile is on your face as you finish your presentation, walk home, eat dinner, and go to sleep. 

A quick notification catches your attention — It is the Hoseok from today.

“I hope you got home safe., I can't wait to see you next week.” A short message, but it stayed with you for the rest of the night.

“I can't wait for it.” A soft reply, giving you butterflies. Over and over again, you can't help but think about how long it's been since you went on a first date with someone new. Hoseok's brown eyes linger in your brain, lighting around his iris. Eyes fluttering closed as you turn over, listening to the rustling of your duvet.

________________

May 15th.

It is finally Friday and the time of your date. In the mirror was your reflection, dressed in a silk black dress and high heels. In your hand was your bag, filled with lip gloss and other random items. 

Ping.

A notification from your phone.

Hoseok: “Hey, I'll be outside in 5 minutes. Can't wait to see you.”

Every time a message was exchanged, it felt different. Hoseok was not what you were used to. He was always the one contacting you before you even got the chance. 

It felt weird, probably because you haven't stepped outside your comfort zone in a while. He was ready for you at your building, clutching a beautifully arranged bouquet of lilies and baby breath. They were beautiful.

He guides you to his car, like a gentleman opening the door for you. Holding your hand as he drove, sleeves rolled up to his elbow, as he focused. He is dressed head to toe perfectly, in a nice shirt and pants. His watch decorated his wrist well.

The dinner was beautiful, a gorgeous restaurant that left you in awe as you witnessed the display of paintings. The chandeliers captured light perfectly from every angle, illuminating the room with a welcoming warmth. Unsurprised by your reaction, he playfully nudges you with his shoulder. Offering his hand to you. 

You both finished your food swiftly. Good to know he was as much of a food fan as you were. Taking a walk along the pier and buying ice cream from a stand, coincidentally open this late. The lights illuminated the water, and the boats moved silently, swaying from side to side slowly. 

Was this what you wanted? 

You were so happy, He seemed to agree.

You were still unsure. 

Why did a guy like him appear in your life now?

You couldn't help but point out the similarities between him and Jungkook. 

Both had the same enchanting charms, drawing you in. Time spent joking together, teasingly. 

Everything you liked about Jeon Jungkook, you liked about him. It might just be your type, but it was undeniable that they were extremely similar.

You ended the night taking photos, in secret, you both did the same, capturing each other in perfect light near the water. His warm hand leading you back to his car in the same gentle manner as before, holding you tight so you couldn't let go.

The drive back to your apartment was comfortable, your karaoke playing through the streets as you let down the window. Filling the car with a cold breeze, giving you goosebumps, but it felt good. Helping to drown the thoughts.

“Thank you for taking me out tonight. I had a lot of fun.” You weren't lying, the night was so much fun, magical even. He was such a sweetheart, and you found yourself cherishing every moment.

“Goodnight,___, Sleep well,” Hoseok says, watching you enter your apartment, giving him a last wave before closing the door behind you. All that has happened feels surreal. 

________________

It's been a week since your date with Hoseok, you have reached out to each other casually, but no plans yet. It’s already the end of the month, and all you can think of is what to have for dinner. Recently, the company has been loading you and your co-workers with projects. Giving you no time to think. Every day you have been working nonstop, now that it is finally the weekend. Fingers bruised from how much they had been abused in the recent weeks.

The soft hum of the TV removes all thoughts from your head, giving you time to sit mindlessly. Not thinking of anything, a peaceful rest. Since your mind had been dragged through the mud in the past month, you had learned to take care of yourself.

Learning new boundaries, making more time for yourself, and even forming new connections with people, you finally felt at peace. Sure, life was still hard, but you were surviving, living, and you enjoyed it. 

The cup of coffee, lifelessly placed on the table, had gone cold, making your nose crunch from displeasure as you took a sip.

The steam, no longer pouring into the air of the apartment. 

You had taken it upon yourself to refresh your apartment. The incense you placed throughout the rooms pressed into the fabric of your clothes, overpowering everything with a new, refreshing scent. 

Your hands pull away from the mug's handle, jaw clenching in annoyance since it feels like you only brewed this cup. The mindless thinking lingered for long enough for your drink to go cold, and for the TV to have changed. 

Hands twitch against the cold mug as you enclose it in your palm, silently making your way to the sink, still dripping. 

‘I need to call a plumber soon.’ You had taken notice over the past couple of weeks that the dripping water had become more vigorous, sending you into a frenzy every time you heard it. Each drop drives you deeper and deeper. You try to play music over it, yet it seems to linger in your head over and over again. 

Each step on the wood floors seemed quiet compared to the dripping of the tap. Somehow, it played over everything. Surely it was your mind. Your mind was destroyed, letting go and losing everything. 

You were vulnerable, but surviving. Over the past couple of months, you’ve transformed. 

You couldn't help but think about how you haven't talked or seen –

A soft thump against the door of your apartment, knocking you out of your trance. 

Then there was another. The silence was eerie; you hadn't arranged any plans with anyone to come over tonight. The dishes were left in their state as you made your way to the door, cautious of who could potentially be out there.

The figure you never expected to see.

Jeon Jungkook.

Standing on your front doorstep.

Not once during your relationship have you seen him like this; it was almost like he was vulnerable? 

“What are you doing here?” Maintaining your stern tone, but a piece of you is still attached to the presence of him lingering in your house.  A ghost now, but still missed. 

“Can we work this whole thing out? Please.” The plea came out quiet, a restrained whine. It was working. He was pulling on your heart, like every other time. He lifted the bouquet to your face, a peace offering.

His face lights up as you shift to the side, allowing him in again.

Yet another mistake.

You take the flowers from his palm, and the drooping petals move with every step. They are truly beautiful, though, each colour perfecting the overall look of the arrangement. You were captivated by them. Never had you seen such flowers curated into a bouquet like this. It was truly unique.

“I appreciate the gift, but I don’t see what we have to work out?” The snipping of the flower stems broke the uncomfortable silence. Laying out each one to put into a vase. 

“We haven't talked in a month ___” You knew. You had counted the weeks, days, and hours until the end of the month. 

“Oh really? I hadn’t even noticed.” A blatant lie. The stale tone of your voice, targeted at him for everything he did. Though he knew you too well. You couldn’t play him and, from the moment you let him into your life. You had been enchanted. Some might say trapped, others will say safe. You had more good memories than bad ones, but you haven't decided which outweighs the other yet.

“Don't lie to me,___. I'm sorry for showing up now of all times, but this can't wait-”

“Do you have any idea of what you're saying? You should be aware that you were the one who broke up with me all this time, playing me like a toy. Now that I have broken up with you, you come running back? We shouldn’t even be talking right now.” 

“I know, but I needed to see you., I was a complete and utter idiot to think that I could ever live without you in my life. Your absence in the past few weeks made me realise that, and I'm so sorry I didn't say anything sooner. I love you so much, ___. Please, I love you truly, and I hope you believe that because it's true. I know I really shouldn't have intruded, but I miss you so much, I swear that no matter what, I will always work to resolve our arguments, and I want to start over. I won't pressure you right now, but I'm glad I got to say it.” He stalls, wishing for a reply.

He was truly desperate, but you had just seen so much good in him right now, so much willingness for you to be his, letting him look after you.

Your eyes stay on the flowers, stems thrown to the side, while the flowers lie scenic in the dim light of the apartment. The squeak of his shoes draws you back. You see his back turning to leave, and in this moment, there's no other thought in your brain than you can't let Jungkook leave. 

If he is willing to work on himself this much, you are going to give it a shot. Regardless of how much you have shadowed your feelings away with events in your life, He remained in your heart. Caught on his wire, pulling you closer.

Your heart pulses stronger than ever before, urging you to run after him. 

You did.

Your steps chase after him, hitting the floor in unison with his. Finally, you understood that by doing this, you were giving yourself to Jungkook, and he was doing the same with you.

He turned to you for one last time, not expecting you to be so close he couldn't help but flinch. Your arms snake their way to the back of his neck, fingers feeling the tufts of hair on his neck.  Twirling them between your thumb and index as your lips navigate their way to Jungkook's, smiling into the kiss. Starting slowly, working into the rhythm you set up. 

You pull him closer, and the grip he has on your waist ignites butterflies. The way he spends his time working your lips with his. Creating undeniable friction. Making out with Jungkook was everything you needed; he had the perfect amount of soft but leading demeanor. He was a pro, teaching you everything you needed or even taking charge so you could feel good without moving a finger. This time, you were desperate for more and decided to take initiative to get it.

You needed more. Pushing against him and deepening the kiss, whining as he rubs his hand on your clit, Making you fold into the kiss. Your mouth widening to moan, letting him take advantage of you. He slips his tongue into your mouth, ravishing everything he's missed. Desperately placing more pressure onto your clit, while trailing his lips down every inch of your body. Down your neck and past the sweater he loved. Working his lips down to your pants, slipping them down your legs. Giving him full access to everything. 

Working his tongue up and down your already wet pussy, slipping into you from time to time. Your knees buckled at every flick of his tongue; he was savouring every bit of your reactions, your sounds, and even the taste of you.

The sucking and muffled groans as you tug on his hair, fill your mind. His arms wrap around your thighs, caging you as you whimper and writhe at his every touch.

“Please. Please, Jungkook, I'm going to” 

Your hand digging into his soft hair, trying to move his head away from throwing you over the edge. His stubbornness exceeds your strength at the moment, quickly followed by your legs trembling. Leaving your juices dripping onto his tongue. 

You stood there breathless, shaking under every touch, but to Jungkook, you looked like a Renaissance painting. Every angle of you was perfect. You attracted him with every movement and in everything you did.

The way your hips bucked, eager for more, while you whined how it was too much. He loved it. 

Lifting you and placing your legs to rest on his hips as he walks you to the bedroom, the mattress creaking as both of your weights slump against it. His lips tracing over yours, winding their way to your nipple, surrounded by goosebumps that prickled your skin. 

Every touch has you shuddering, your every movement feeling weaker than it should be. Despite the warmth of your room, you got chills from every touch. Slowly diving deeper into every touch, losing control.

His fingers run along your lip, gathering slick before pushing you even further. Slipping two digits into you, stretching you out even more. He knew exactly what to do; every flick in a direction was intentional, and the way he controlled you made it seem like he knew your body better than you did. 

The sound of his zipper coming undone dragged you back to life; you couldn't help but stare in awe. Lost in his touch, blissfully unaware of how long the night would be. His calloused hands work their way over every part of your body. 

Tracing your nipples, the ones he bruised and teased earlier, torturing you under his grasp. 

You could feel him slipping the tip of his cock into you as he pinched your nipples, overstimulating you every way as he pushes his length into you starting to move. Tears spill from the creases of your eye,s littering your face. Jungkook takes notice of this, palms running through your hair, littering kisses from cheek to cheek.

“Are you alright? I didn't mean to hurt you, baby, I'm so sorry.” Squeezing you into a hug, pulling you in as close as he could for comfort. 

“I’m okay, I just need a second.” Your head falling into place on his shoulder, breathing with him. Your chest, which had been rapidly rising and falling, has slowed. Hands moving to your bare back, running his fingers around your shoulder blades. 

“Take all the time you need, baby. You know, all the time we were separate, did I miss you? I even cried.” He chuckled since he was exposing himself. 

“I felt lost without you. I needed to make it up with you, and still do. Thank you for letting me attempt to work it out. I'm glad we made up.” You were overwhelmed with emotion, feeling so appreciated with his words, which painted you as some humble deity, but you were thankful.

The soft smile on his face. The small smile lines on his cheeks. He was irresistible. Bru, all yours. 

“I love you, Jungkook.” Working your nails over his cheeks before making out, you wanted nothing more than each other on each other. Enjoying each other's presence like it was the last time. 

His lips were soft, slower this time. Leading your back with his hand on the bed. His arm slipped around your lower back.

“I'm ready to continue now, if that's okay with you.” Locking eyes, from how long you kept eye contact with him, it seemed like he was unwilling to break any kind of contact with you. 

“I’ll move now if that's okay.” Pressing his lips to your forehead. He was truly making the most of you as if it were his last, wanting nothing else in the world right now. It would seem like everything he wanted to do was complete; he made up with you, and everything was perfect. 

His cock slowly pushes into you, sending you to heaven and back. Making you grasp onto the bed sheets under you, knuckles turning white from the pressure in your hand. 

“Are you alright? I can stop if you want -” You could hear the worry in his voice, afraid he would hurt you. 

“No, I'm alright. Please, continue.” He pushes deeper into you, starting slow but picking up the pace as me moves. Your whines and whimpers drive him even further, leaving him wanting more at the sound of you.

“God, please, I need more, it's so-so good.” 

Stumbling over your words and the moans pour out of your mouth. Desperate for more, your hips move, attempting to get more friction against you. He was moving at a painfully slow pace, teasing you all over. Placing his hand on your lower stomach, pushing, making you feel everything. 

“You're all mine now, okay, love?” As Jungkook lets the last words of that sentence slip off his tongue, he speeds up to an unimaginable pace. Blissfully piercing you, making you feel better than you thought you ever could.

You could feel both you and Jungkook's highs coming, as he began to rut more desperately into you. His thrusts become more syncopated and irregular. Your stomach fills with a sense that you are close, along with your legs shaking.

“Fuck, I need to cum baby.” Begging for you to hold out until he cums, as his thrusts become more desperate and fast. Driving into you.

Toes curl as you come to your climax, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you feel waves of pleasure drown you.

“I love you so much.” Whispering in his ear as he slumps against you. Arms bringing you to the bathroom to clean every bit of your body. Jungkook is taking care of everything as he repeats songs of praise about how much he loves you.

________________

1 month later

“Jungkook? Did you fix the sink?” Looking up at him, eyes flicking from his lips to his eyes.

“Yeah, I fixed it after we got back together, love.” Placing a kiss on your temple as you resume the peaceful rest on the couch.

No wonder life has been so calm the past month.

[girllblogging777]

thinking about living with spencer reid

spencer, who’d never in his life been able to spend too much time with someone without feeling trapped or uncomfortable.

spencer, who, as much as he loved his job, needed silence and alone time at the end of the day, to “recharge his social battery” as he liked to call it.

spencer, whose entire life had shifted when he started dating you. because you saw him, and never made him feel different or weird. because you loved him.

spencer, who discovered what it felt like to share his space with someone. his books neatly placed next to yours on the shelf. his purple toothbrush next to your pink one above the bathroom sink. it all fit together perfectly.

spencer, who needed a bit of time to adjust. you respected when he needed to be alone, and you understood the moments when he didn’t feel like talking. after all, you knew him better than anyone.

spencer, who did everything to make you understand that despite his behaviour, he loved being the one to see you like this. with tangled hair in the morning and wearing his clothes while chilling around.

spencer, whose questionable diet you tried to fix. instead of his usual granola bars as dinner, you welcomed him with a warm meal every night. and he would eat anything you’d bake or cook, never without thanking you.

spencer, who would force you to stay in my bed “five more minutes” in the morning because now that he got to sleep with you every night, he was going to make the most of it. and his coworkers definitely noticed when he started showing up late at work.

spencer, who would cherish the moments he got to spend with you while he was off. he’d let you sleep in and attempt making pancakes, preparing your coffee just the way you like it.

spencer, who would also show his love for you in the smallest things. he’d stick post-its with cute “this made me think of you” quotes on the mirror before heading to work, and leave you messages on the fridge with the poetry magnets he’d bought when you moved in.

spencer, who did everything to be the best partner for you. doing the dishes, cleaning around and making the bed to relieve you because as comfortable as living with you was, he still felt like a burden sometimes.

spencer, who found himself looking forward to coming back to your shared apartment after a rough case. or anytime, really. because it was more that that. it was home.