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velarisdusk · 2 months ago

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The Force That Binds

Azriel x Reader

Day 3: Fate / Choice @sjmxreaderweek summary: Under the glow of Starfall, fate calls—but you don't answer. Azriel reaches for it, the bond thrumming between you, waiting. But the night is long, and you don't reach back. word count: 4.9k content: [ explicit language, alcohol (drinking, intoxication), verbal conflict, physical conflict (grabbing, restraint, mentions of bruising), emotional distress, toxic relationship dynamics ] author's note: this doesnt have anything to do with the main point of this fic but like,, man i'd LOVE to go clubbing with the IC they'd be so fun bruh especially drunk like come on (oh also i know they dont have speakers and subwoofers in prythian but suspend your disbelief for a bit pls thank u)

The night hums with life, thick with the scent of spiced wine and citrus, undercut by the faint acrid bite of burning cedar. Laughter spills through the streets, and the sky glows with distant light, only hours away from the celestial dance of spirits streaking across the heavens. Feyre’s laughter is bright as she spins beneath the starlight, the fabric of her dress catching the glow, shimmering like mist scattered in the wind.

It’s the kind of night that’s meant for forgetting. And maybe, just maybe, for a little while, you can forget, too.

But the air around you isn’t only filled with laughter. There’s an unmistakable weight pressing at the edges of your awareness, thick and inescapable. A presence that lingers, that clings to your skin like an unseen touch.

Azriel.

His shadows shift with restless energy, moving with a mind of their own, as if mirroring the tension coiled within him. Even when your back is turned, even when you’re wrapped up in conversation with Feyre or Mor, you can feel the weight of his stare—unwavering, unrelenting.

The bond hums between you, a quiet, insistent thing. A tether neither of you asked for. It’s been like this for months, this fragile, volatile limbo between what you are and what you refuse to acknowledge. And you hate it. Hate the way it’s changed everything. Hate the way it’s changed him.

Azriel was your friend. Once. The one who would stand beside you in silence when words weren’t needed, the one who knew you better than you knew yourself. There were no expectations, no need to define what you had. He was your constant, your anchor in all the ways that mattered.

But now?

Now, he’s your mate.

And you never wanted a mate. Never wanted to be bound to anyone, least of all him—someone who deserves more than what you’re willing to give. You’ve tried to push it down, bury it, ignore the way it pulls at you in quiet moments, but it’s always there. A whisper in the back of your mind. A weight in your chest. A force neither of you knows how to handle.

Feyre’s fingers wrap around your wrist, tugging you into the crowd, into the music thrumming through the courtyard. “Come on,” she urges, her smile wide, breathless from laughter. “You’ve been in your head all night.”

The music vibrates beneath your skin, the press of bodies around you a blur of movement and heat. Mor twirls, golden hair catching in the glow of the lanterns strung high above, her eyes flashing with mischief as she winks at you.

You lift your drink to your lips, the golden burn curling through your veins, smoothing the jagged edges of your thoughts. You let it anchor you here, in this moment, where nothing exists beyond the steady pulse of the music and the warmth of your friends at your side.

For a little while, you let yourself believe it’s enough.

You dance. You laugh. You feel the weight of the night wrap around you like silk, thick with starlight and the taste of freedom. But even as you move, even as you lose yourself in the rhythm, you feel his gaze like a phantom touch against your spine.

Watching. Waiting.

You exhale, tilting your head back, willing the weight of him away.

Mor slides an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in close. “You’re thinking too much again,” she teases, voice loud over the music.

Feyre laughs, nudging you playfully. “Don’t tell me you’re getting all broody on us. That’s Az’s job.”

It’s meant as a joke—harmless, lighthearted—but something in your chest tightens anyway. You force a smirk, shaking your head. “Please,” you scoff, taking another sip of your drink. “I’d sooner let Cassian style my hair.”

Laughter rings out around you, bright and easy. Mor says something that gets lost in the music, but you catch the tail end of it before she walks away—something about finding someone to take home tonight.

And then—

“Did I hear my name?”

Cassian’s voice, warm and amused, cuts through the haze. He steps into the circle, the starlight catching on the sharp planes of his face. His shirt is undone at the collar, his hair mussed like he’s already spent hours reveling in the night’s festivities. He looks every bit the warrior at ease—grinning, easygoing, utterly in his element.

He arches a brow, smirking as he rakes a hand through his hair. “For the record, I’d do a fantastic job with your hair.”

Feyre snorts. “You’d have her looking like she flew through a storm.”

Cassian gasps, appalled. “I’ll have you know, my braiding skills are unmatched.”

“Oh, that’s true,” Feyre muses, tilting her head. “You did do a great job on that doll’s hair for Nyx.”

You blink. “Wait. You braid Nyx’s dolls’ hair?”

Cassian glares at Feyre like she’s betrayed him. “That was classified information.”

Laughter spills from your lips before you can stop it, warmth spreading through your chest, untangling something tight within you.

Cassian lifts his drink, swirling the deep amber liquid. “Wanna try?”

You nod and eagerly take the straw between your lips, pulling a slow sip. The smoky burn lingers on your tongue, and you hum in approval. But the moment it settles in your stomach, something shifts.

Not around you—within you.

A sharp tug in your chest. Low, insistent. A flare of heat threading through your veins.

Not yours.

You don’t have to look to know. You can feel it through the bond—the taut pull of something dark and possessive tightening like a vice.

But you don’t react. Don’t let it show.

Instead, you grin at Cassian, nudging him with your elbow. “Okay, that’s really good. You have to take me to the bar and order me one.”

Cassian throws an arm around your shoulders, steering you toward the glowing bar across the courtyard. “Let’s get you properly set up, then.”

You glance toward Feyre, to ask if she’s coming along, only to find herself wrapped in Rhys’ arms, moving in a way you’ve never seen her dance before. He stands behind her, hands splayed low on her hips, guiding her in slow, teasing movements that match the rhythm of the music. Feyre’s head tilts back against his shoulder, her parted lips curving in a breathless laugh—one Rhys claims in an instant, pressing his mouth to hers over her shoulder. It isn’t sweet. It isn’t chaste. It’s the kind of kiss that makes the world shrink to a single point, one that burns low and deep.

You smirk, shaking your head as you turn back to Cassian. “Never mind. I don’t think she’ll be joining us.”

Cassian follows your gaze and groans, exasperated. “Every damn year.” He gestures vaguely at the display. “Like clockwork. I swear they do this just to remind the rest of us that we’re single.”

You snort, letting him lead you through the crowd, where the air is thick with heat, laughter, and the heady haze of alcohol. The energy is electric, a pulse thrumming beneath the revelry. You should be caught up in it, thinking only of the next drink, the next joke, the next dance.

But that pull—that dark, furious thing—only tightens.

At the bar, Cassian leans an elbow against the counter, signaling the bartender with an easy flick of his fingers and ordering before turning to you. “I’m surprised Mor hasn’t dragged you onto the dancefloor yet,” he muses, swirling his drink. “Must be waiting for the right moment.”

You huff a laugh, pressing your back against the bar’s edge. “Oh, she’ll get her turn. I just needed reinforcements first.”

Cassian grins as the bartender slides a drink toward you. “One for the troublemaker,” he says, lifting his own glass in a mock toast.

You take a sip but hesitate as a better idea takes hold.

Glancing at the bartender, you nod toward the rows of bottles behind her. “Four shots, please. Dealer’s choice.”

Her brows rise. “You sure?”

Cassian chuckles, giving you a pointed look. “You sure?”

You scowl at both of them. “Absolutely.”

The bartender just shrugs and starts pouring. Four shots—each different, each unknown. One a deep amber, another crystal clear, the third an ominous shade of red, the last dark as ink. You slide two toward Cassian and keep the safer-looking ones for yourself.

He eyes the red one warily. “That looks like something that should be in a cauldron, not a glass.”

You smirk. “Only one way to find out.”

He shakes his head, laughing. “Well, at least Mor and I still have a reliable drinking partner.”

You raise your glass. “Cheers to that.”

You each tap your glass to the bar and knock the first shot back. It burns, coiling deep in your stomach before unfurling through your veins. Cassian curses as he slams his own back, shaking his head like a dog ridding itself of water.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “That one had a bite.”

You barely pause before reaching for your second. This one is smoother—almost sweet. You hardly have time to process it before Cassian downs his own, grunting at the taste.

You reach for your mixed drink to chase it down, but before you can take a sip, Cassian’s hand closes around your wrist.

“Whoa,” he laughs. “Take a second. Can’t have you dying on me yet.”

You scowl, but he only grins, nudging your shoulder as the warmth spreads through your limbs like honey.

And gods, you feel good.

Weightless. Buzzing with something electric and bright. The music shifts, fast and reckless, and suddenly—

“I gotta go,” you announce, setting your drink down with an unceremonious thunk.

Cassian raises a brow. “Uh, go where?”

You don’t answer, already turning away. “You can have my drink!”

It takes only seconds to find Mor and Feyre, arms raised, their laughter lost in the pounding bass. You launch yourself into the fray, draping yourself over Mor’s back and squeezing her shoulders.

She shrieks, spinning to face you. “There you are!”

“There I am!” you echo, throwing your hands up like you’ve just made a grand entrance.

Mor cheers, lifting her drink, while Feyre yanks you in and presses a loud, exaggerated kiss to your cheek.

The beat surges, and you move together, limbs loose, movements wild. Mor twirls you beneath her arm, and you take the opportunity to swat at her ass, grinning when she gasps in mock outrage. Feyre cackles, spinning around you both, her golden hair whipping in the night air.

Somewhere in the blur of laughter and bodies, Rhys appears, smirking as he steps into your space, catching your hands and pulling you into the rhythm. It’s effortless—playful, nothing but a game between friends, yet tinged with the same untamed energy coursing through the revelers. His grin is infectious as he twirls you like it’s some grand, gilded affair.

Behind him, Feyre and Cassian spin like fools, bumping into people, laughing like nothing exists beyond this moment.

And gods, you are so fucking drunk.

The world blurs, bright and dizzy, your body weightless, your limbs slow to follow your mind’s commands. The music isn’t just something you hear—it pulses through you, surging like it’s in your blood.

The ground tilts slightly as you throw your hands up, spinning beneath the lights. When you stumble, Mor is there, steadying you.

And then, somehow, you’re in Cassian’s arms.

Feyre twirls away, laughter ringing like a bell as she falls into her mate’s waiting hands. Rhys pulls her close, hands sweeping over her waist, guiding her in an intimate, languid sway.

Cassian’s hold on you is far steadier, his wide palms bracing you against him as you slump into his chest.

“Woah,” he chuckles, adjusting his grip. “I think you might be done, sweetheart.”

You laugh, the sound loose and uninhibited, tipping your head back to grin up at him. “No way. I can totally keep going.”

“Sure you can,” he drawls, guiding your movements with steady hands, keeping the momentum alive between you—more importantly keeping you upright. And you let yourself sink into the moment, losing track of time, losing yourself in the reckless abandon thrumming through your veins.

You are free.

You are untouchable.

And you don’t give a single damn about anything else.

Not the spirits that will streak across the sky at any moment.

Not the jealous, burning gaze you can feel searing into you from across the courtyard.

A warm hand slides around your waist, and suddenly, you’re moving.

Cassian is leading you out of the sea of bodies, his grip firm but careful as he steers you toward the courtyard’s edge, where the night air is cooler.

“Come on,” he says, steadying you. “Let’s get you some water before you end up passed out in some stranger’s lap.”

You roll your eyes but let him guide you, inhaling deeply as the cool air rushes over your skin. “I wasn’t that bad,” you argue, still grinning.

Cassian snorts. “You were a second away from needing me to carry you.”

The air shifts. Thickens.

It’s not a shadow that moves first—it’s silence. A weighted, oppressive thing slipping into the space between you and Cassian like a tide creeping in unnoticed.

Then, a familiar presence steps into your periphery.

Azriel.

He doesn’t speak at first. Doesn’t rip you away. Doesn’t bare his teeth in anger. He simply stands there, dark and unmoving, his expression unreadable.

And yet, there’s something in the way he looks at Cassian—at the arm still braced around your waist—that makes the moment stretch too long, too tense.

Cassian notices it, too. His body tenses, just slightly, though his face remains neutral. He doesn’t let go. Not yet.

Azriel’s gaze flickers to you, then back to Cassian. And when he finally speaks, his voice is calm. Deceptively so.

“I’ve got her.”

A simple statement. No heat, no open challenge. Yet it lands with weight.

Cassian’s hand lingers at your waist for a heartbeat longer than necessary, his eyes locking with Azriel’s. There’s no mistaking the silent exchange between them, an unspoken language of veterans. It’s brief, but it speaks volumes.

Then, with a small sigh, Cassian lets go, his hand sliding away and bracing you by the arm. But as soon as he steps back, Azriel’s hand is there, firm but not harsh—just…certain. Like he’d always known he would be the one to hold you up.

Cassian’s jaw tightens, his eyes softening only slightly with concern. “You good?” he murmurs, looking down at you with a mix of protective affection and something unreadable.

You blink, the fog of alcohol clouding your senses. “I—yeah, I’m fine,” you reply. It’s Azriel. He wouldn’t hurt you.

Cassian doesn’t look entirely convinced, but his lips curl into a tight, reassuring smile before he shifts his gaze to Azriel. A silent assessment takes place—measuring, weighing, understanding. Then, with a reluctant nod, he turns, walking back into the crowd.

For a long moment, it’s just the hum of music in the distance, the cool air against your skin, and the press of Azriel’s hand, still firmly around your waist. The sound of laughter fades as he leads you away from the revelry, his pace unhurried, but purposeful. No words. Just his presence, a steady force pulling you in the direction he chooses.

There’s no urgency in his movements—no dragging or forcing. He isn’t trying to control you. Azriel’s simply walking, taking you with him.

Whatever is simmering beneath that unreadable gaze of his, it’s not meant for anyone but you.

Azriel’s grip is unyielding as he walks you away from the lights, the laughter, the chaos of the celebration. The street grows quieter with each step, empty save for the occasional flicker of lanterns overhead. The cobblestones beneath your feet are silent, untouched by the madness of the party.

You stumble slightly, your world tilting in a way that has nothing to do with the ground beneath you. Azriel steadies you, the small action somehow grounding in its quiet steadiness. You want to say something—maybe apologize, maybe thank him—but the moment is too heavy, and the words never come.

That is, until you hear the sharp inhale through his nose.

“You think I don’t see it?” His words hang in the air, sharp with a simmering tension you can feel winding tighter by the second. The frustration—no, the fury—carries through the bond, evident in every syllable. You’ve felt it all night, a tension brewing, waiting to explode.

You blink, fighting to focus. “What?” you ask, your thoughts still muddled by the alcohol fogging your mind.

Azriel stops walking, the sudden stillness of the moment sending a jolt through you. His hand tightens ever so slightly at your waist before he releases you, stepping back. His wings flicker in the air behind him, a brief, irritated flare before they tuck back in.

“All night,” he says, his voice quieter now, but no less sharp. “You’ve been avoiding me. Running to Cassian. To Rhys. To Feyre. To Mor.” He clenches his jaw, a muscle jumping beneath his skin. “Anyone but me.”

You stare at him, disbelief flashing through you. The accusation is absurd—entirely misplaced. Before you can stop it, a laugh bubbles up from deep in your chest, not out of humor, but out of sheer confusion. “Azriel,” you start slowly, shaking your head as you try to make sense of it, “they’re my family just as much as they are yours.”

His eyes darken, anger flickering beneath something pleading. “And what am I?” His voice is dangerous now—low, thick with the weight of his question.

You falter, something in your chest tightening at the way he says it, at the way it makes everything inside you recoil. But you’re drunk, and you’re tired, and this is not the fight you’re willing to pick right now.

So you roll your eyes, dismissing the entire conversation with a flick of your hand as you step back. “You’re being ridiculous—”

Before you can move further, he’s in front of you, close—too close. The shadows at his feet flare, as if they, too, feel the surge of his frustration. “Am I?” The words are quiet, lethal, his gaze burning into yours. “Because it sure as hell looked like you’d rather be with anyone but me tonight.”

Your frustration flares up, finally breaking through the haze of alcohol. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Azriel,” you snap, the words coming out sharper than you expect. “I wasn’t with Cassian to avoid you. I was having fun.”

His nostrils flare as he takes a step closer. “You were draped over him.”

“I’m fucking drunk,” you retort, barely able to keep your balance. “And he was making sure I didn’t fall on my ass. And even if I wanted to drape myself over him, why do you care?”

That muscle in his jaw tightens, but this time, there’s a flicker of something dangerous deep within his eyes. He looks at you like he doesn’t know whether he wants to argue or shake you, whether he wants to step closer or disappear altogether.

“I care,” he grits out, “because you’re mine.”

The words land like a blow to the chest, hard and raw. Suddenly, you don’t feel so drunk anymore. The fog of alcohol clears, and the weight of his words presses down on you—crushing. You open your mouth to respond, but no sound comes.

Before you can gather your thoughts, Azriel is closing the distance between you, his presence looming. “You don’t get it, do you?” His voice is quieter now, but it burns with the intensity of something long buried. “You’ve been avoiding me all night, and for what? Because you don’t want to acknowledge that we’re meant to be together? Because you think this—” He gestures forcefully between the two of you, fingers twitching before curling into fists, “—this bond means nothing?”

You flinch, the sharp sting of his words cutting through you. But even in your intoxicated state, a part of you knows better. You weren’t avoiding him. But now, everything about his anger—the way it wraps around you, suffocates you—makes you want to shout back. So you do. You force the words through your lips, your voice shaking with a mix of confusion and indignation.

“Azriel, I don’t want to be fucking owned,” you say, your voice shaking with confusion and indignation. But your words are firm. “I’m not some possession to be paraded around just because we share a bond.”

Azriel’s eyes darken, and the shadows at his feet stir—then rise, twisting around him, around you, curling over his shoulders and slipping past your skin like a phantom touch. They coil in the air between you, restless, untamed, a mirror of the storm in his voice. “I would treat you well,” he says, voice rough with conviction. “We were family before the bond snapped into place. Just imagine what we could be now.”

Your heart aches at his words, at the rawness in his eyes, but something else rises in your chest—a knot of confusion and frustration too tangled to sort through.

“I’m not afraid,” you say, though even to your own ears, it sounds thin and uncertain.

Azriel doesn’t respond immediately. His gaze remains fixed on you, and for a long moment, the two of you simply stand in the quiet, the only sound between you the distant hum of music, the breeze stirring the air.

When he finally speaks, his voice is softer, but no less intense. “You’re afraid of what it means, what this bond means… what we mean.” His throat bobs with a hard swallow. “And that’s fine. But don’t think for a second that it doesn’t gut me.”

A slow breath shudders through you. “I know it hurts.” The admission barely carries past your lips. “I’m sorry, Azriel. I never wanted to hurt you. But I don’t—” A breath. Then, quieter—“I don’t see you the way you see me.”

His body goes rigid. The flickering shadows at his feet recoil, the lash out, mirroring the sudden storm in his expression. “You don’t see me the way I see you?” His voice is taut, fraying at the edges. “You think I wanted this? That I asked for it?” His wings shift, the tension coiling through him visible in every sharp line of his stance. “But you—you’re the one who can’t even acknowledge what we are. You’re the one who keeps pushing me away.”

He steps forward, his hands flexing at his sides. “You’re being selfish,” he spits, the words sharp like daggers. “Ungrateful.” The word lands heavily between you. “This bond—this mating—it was decided long before either of us had a say. It’s the Mother’s will. And you think you can just ignore it? You think you can treat me like this and I’ll just stand by?”

The air tightens as he takes another step, crowding the space you have left. His scent—leather, cold steel, and the sting of smoke—clings to the air, sharper now with the unmistakable bite of alcohol. The realization slithers through you too late.

“I’m the one who’s supposed to protect you,” he murmurs, his tone turning something bitter. “The one who’s meant to be at your side, to be with you. And you—” His gaze hardens. “You’ve been treating it like some kind of fucking joke.”

Your breath comes unsteadily. “Azriel—”

He doesn’t let you finish. “You think I’ll just let you walk away from this?” His voice is quiet, lethal in its certainty.

Your instinct flares—too much, too fast. You take a step back.

His hand closes around your wrist before you can move any further. Not gentle. Not cruel, either. Just—unrelenting.

“You’re not going to walk away,” he says, as if speaking it aloud will make it true. His fingers tighten when you try to pull free, his grip firm as iron. “Not when we both know what this is. What we could have.”

Your pulse jumps. “Az, stop.”

He doesn’t. “I care about you,” he says instead, his voice fraying. “I always have. And you—” He exhales sharply, his free hand catching your arm now, holding you in place. “You don’t get to pretend this doesn’t exist.”

Before you can react, you’re being yanked forward—too fast, too rough. His strength is undeniable, unrelenting, as he pulls you up against him with such force that the breath punches from your lungs. His shadows stir, restless and volatile. The sudden impact sends your already unsteady world reeling, your hands shoving at his chest again, but he doesn’t let up. One of his hands leaves your arm only to grab your jaw, his fingers pressing into your skin, forcing you to look up at him. His grip isn’t just firm—it’s bruising.

“You don’t get to stand there and pretend this means nothing,” he grits out, voice shaking with something too tangled to name—anger, desperation, something else. “Not after everything.” His fingers tighten, his thumb barely skimming your throat. “You think you can just ignore it? Ignore me?”

Your pulse thrums wildly beneath his touch, fear threading through your veins. “Azriel, stop,” you breathe, trying to jerk your head away, but he doesn’t let go.

“You have no fucking idea what this feels like,” he snarls. “To have something that’s supposed to be yours, something that the Mother herself decided—and to have it ripped away because you refuse to open your goddamn eyes.”

The pressure of his fingers against your jaw makes it hard to breathe, panic clawing up your throat as his body cages you in, his wings stretching wide, his presence all-consuming. This isn’t Azriel. Not the one you know.

With all the strength you can muster, you shove at him again, twisting in his hold. “You don’t own me, Azriel!” The words rip from your throat, sharp and furious. And for the first time, a crack forms in his expression, raw and wounded. His grip falters just slightly, and you take the chance—ripping your face from his grasp, twisting against the hold he still has on your arm as you pant through the fear gripping your chest. “You’re hurting me,” you whisper, your voice shaking. “Do you even realize that? Do you even care?”

Azriel stills. The shadows recoil.

It takes a second—one breath, then another—before his fingers loosen the slightest bit, before the haze in his expression clears enough for recognition to settle in. The realization of what he’s done, of the line he’s already crossed.

And then—

“Azriel. Let her go.”

Rhysand’s voice cuts through the night, even and quiet, but sharp as a blade.

Azriel doesn’t turn. His free hand flexes at his side, his breath unsteady.

Another voice follows—low, warning. “Az.” Cassian.

You see the moment it truly hits him. The realization. The horror. His grip loosens, his hands falling away from you completely, as if burned. His breath comes fast and uneven, his shadows trembling at his feet.

You stagger back the moment you can. Your arms sting where his fingers had pressed, but you resist the urge to cradle them, to rub away the lingering sting. Your breath comes in sharp, uneven gasps, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing you recoil. You hold his gaze instead—and Azriel stares at you like he doesn’t recognize himself. His chest rises and falls with each ragged breath, his shadows still writhing at his feet like they don’t know what to do without his command. His lips part, but no words come.

You take another step back. Then another.

“I can’t do this,” you whisper. The words are quiet, but they cut through the space between you like a final severing. “If rejecting the bond wasn’t enough, why would I ever choose to be with someone who thinks they own me? Someone who—who does this?”

Azriel flinches, the words striking deeper than any physical blow. “I don’t—”

“You don’t get to justify it.”

The silence that follows is suffocating.

You turn away.

Azriel moves.

It happens in an instant—his wings flaring, his body surging forward, a last desperate attempt to reach you.

But Cassian is there first. He shoves a firm hand against Azriel’s chest, halting him mid-step. The force of it is enough to make him stagger, his teeth bared, his breath coming hard and fast.

Rhys steps in beside them, fury carved into every sharp line of his face. But the authority in his voice is clear. “Enough.”

Something in Azriel’s posture locks. His hands curl into fists at his sides, his shadows writhing, twisting around his feet, but he doesn’t fight. Doesn’t move.

Rhys doesn’t look at him when he speaks again. His attention is on you. “Go find Feyre.”

He’s already reaching for her through the bond. You can tell.

You don’t hesitate. You don’t look back.

Each step away feels heavier than the last, the adrenaline fading, leaving only the bruising weight of everything that has just unraveled between you. Your pulse is still too fast, your skin still stinging where he touched you, but you keep moving.

And then—

You see her.

Feyre stands near the edge of the festivities, scanning the crowd. The moment her eyes find yours, something shifts in her expression. Concern, then something worse.

Pity.

Your throat tightens, and suddenly, the weight of everything crashes down on you all at once.

The last thing you see before the world blurs is Feyre moving toward you, reaching out.

And then, finally—

You let yourself fall.

#sjmxreaderweek #sjmxreaderweek2025 #acotar #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #acotar fic #acotar fanfic

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societyfolklore · 3 months ago

Text

Kuritsa

Title: Kuritsa

Pairing: Winter Solider! Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Female Reader

Summary: You life has been stolen from you now held captive by HYDRA for breeding purposes, paired with the Winter Soldier. You dreamed of freedom.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: ::Explicit Content:: 18+, Minors DNI, Dub-con/Sexual contact initiated under coercion, programming, and captivity, Sexual Assault/Breeding Context (themes of being used as a vessel), Depictions of Violence and Blood, Brainwashing chair, memory erasure, Imprisonment/Captivity, Psychological Trauma, Mind Control/Programming, Sedation/Physical Helplessness, Dehumanization, Dark Sexual Content, blurring trauma and craving, Smut, Unprotected Sex (DONT DO THIS) ...angst..

A/N: fic inspired by Bo Burnham's "The Chicken." – In honor of April fools day... well I had the idea I'd post it than.. BUT THIS ISN’T A JOKE FIC.. so to be safe its getting posted now (Yes, technically its April 1st where I am.. But yeah..just.. DONT JUDGE)

You always heard him first. It was the sound that woke you up. A jagged scream, animalistic and raw, that tore through the sterile silence of the compound.

The screams were muffled through the walls, but they still split through you like wire dragged over raw skin. Wet, strangled, inhuman. They had him in the chair again. You knew it by the rhythm- shouts cut off mid-breath, followed by silence. Then the electric hum. Then the screaming again. Over and over. Mechanical. Precise. Cruel.

You flinched every time. Not because it was him. Because you remembered.

The same chair. The same straps. The same cold leather biting into your spine. The sting of the restraints as they tightened around your wrists. The stench of melted wires. The taste of your own blood from where you bit your tongue just to keep from screaming like that.

The same blank faces leaning over you, muttering notes while they pulled you apart neuron by neuron. Probing. Recording. Smiling.

You used to fight it. Kick. Spit. Bite.

That was before.

Then, you began mumbling names into the dark; yours? Someone else’s? A place with sun? The owner of the voice that laughed? The notes of a song you couldn’t quite remember? They were shadows now. Fragments. Ash in your mouth.

Your cage was damp. The walls sweat in summer, froze in winter. Mold crept along the ceiling. You slept curled, knees to chest, like a bird with clipped wings. Sometimes, your shoulder blades ached like phantom wings were trying to burst free.

They called you that sometimes.

“Back in your cage, little bird.”

Sometimes, you thought if you stared long enough at the rusted metal grate in the ceiling, it might dissolve. That maybe you'd float right up through it like smoke, disappearing into some unreachable sky. You used to imagine what that would feel like weightless, free. As if your body would just melt away, and your soul could slip between the bars like vapor. But you never did.

There was no sky. No smoke. Just the walls. Just the dark. Just the screams.

And him.

You would’ve clawed their eyes out if you had the strength. Some days, you tried. Weak swipes, trembling fists. They laughed. Sometimes they hit back. Sometimes they didn’t need to. Just dragging you down the corridor was enough to remind you what you were.

Your life was hell: invasive tests, sterile rooms, long needles that never seemed to stop. You were monitored constantly. Recorded. Measured. Bled. Injected. Re-injected. Burned. Frozen. Made to run until your legs buckled. Made to scream until your throat bled. They treated your body like a blueprint and a battlefield all at once.

Then they’d toss you into his cell when it was time nothing was said. Just the click of the door. The shove between your shoulder blades. The sound of it locking behind you.

And him. Already there. Still. Watching. Waiting.

The Winter Soldier didn’t beat you. Didn’t growl or leer or curse. He didn’t speak unless instructed. He mounted you like they told him to, like it was a drill, like your body was just another mission to complete. Another task in the protocol. Like you were a sheath. A target. A breeding container.

And still you preferred him to them.

You had a warped affection for the Winter Soldier. Maybe it was the silence. Maybe it was that he didn’t make it worse. Maybe it was the way, just once, he touched your face after. Or the way he sometimes hesitated at the door.

You didn’t know what it was. You only knew it was the closest thing to gentleness left in your world.

You could still taste the metal in your mouth from the bit they used to hold your jaw still. It haunted you; cold and tangy, sharp as betrayal. The phantom pressure of it still made your teeth ache, your jaw clench in your sleep. You had bitten down on it so hard once, a molar cracked.

Your cell smelled of bleach and old blood, the kind of stench that lived in your skin even after they hosed you down. The floor was always damp, the kind of damp that seeped into your bones and never left. Mold crept in the corners like it knew no one would care to clean it. The walls whispered in the dark, a constant hum of pain soaked into the concrete, voices of other girls who didn’t last long enough to be named.

You dreamed of green places, warm hugs, kind smiles. Sometimes, a soft bed. A blanket that smelled like flowers. A kitchen table. Your fingers curled around a mug of tea. A dog barking in the distance. Sometimes, you thought those dreams were real, like they weren’t just fragments of a life someone else lived. Maybe a life you had once. Before.

HYDRA guards mocked you constantly. Their voices were oil-slick and cruel, rehearsed jokes to entertain themselves while you wilted behind bars.

“Back in your cage, little bird.” “Don’t break her- we’ll need her eggs soon.”

Sometimes they laughed when they said it. Sometimes they didn’t. Sometimes they said it softly, like they meant it as comfort. Like you were a thing, not a person. A vessel. A hen.

You were underfed. Frail. Your ribs showed when you breathed. But their mistake was thinking that made you weak. They saw hollow cheeks and shaky legs and thought you’d given up.

But inside you, something still burned.

Because one day, when they came for you, you fought.

~#~#~#~#~

When the moment came you didn’t think. You just moved.

The second the cell door creaked open, something ancient and wild ignited in your blood. You exploded forward, driven by instinct, by rage, by a raw, primal need to live. A scream- feral and guttural- ripped from your throat as you slammed your elbow into the nearest guard’s neck with a satisfying crack. He dropped like a stone, choking.

Another guard lunged, but you caught him mid-motion, grabbing a fistful of his uniform and smashing his face into the concrete wall so hard the sound echoed like a gunshot. A third grabbed your arm, but you twisted under it with a snarl, your fingernails gouging deep furrows into his cheek, hot blood spraying across your face.

There were shouts. Alarms. The buzz of static in radios. Boots thundered behind you, but you were already gone, barefoot, bloodied, sprinting down the corridor like a bullet let loose. The red emergency lights strobed across the walls as your shadow leapt and flickered with every step.

You Ran, You flew.

The thing they put in your veins, the one they’d whispered about while jabbing you full of needles and watching you writhe. It surged now. It made your muscles coil and spring, made you faster, harder to catch. Not like the others, maybe. But enough.

You hurled your body into a security door, shoulder-first, and it gave way with a scream of twisted hinges. It slammed against the far wall, denting metal. You stumbled, caught yourself, kept going.

Footsteps thundered behind you. Shouts growing louder.

You took the corner too fast and your bloodied feet slipped on the polished floor. You crashed into the wall, pain flaring down your spine. But you didn’t stop.

Another door. Locked. You threw yourself at it. Again. Again.

It buckled. You screamed, the sound inhuman, your throat raw.

You weren’t running anymore. You were escaping. You were breaking through.

And still, behind you, they came.

The world outside was warmer than you remembered- oppressively so, like it was pressing down on you, trying to smother the panic clawing through your ribs. Pine needles slashed at your legs, carving sharp little welts into your skin. Branches whipped across your face, drawing blood, blinding you in bursts of green.

The trees blurred past you, but your vision pulsed with black spots at the edges. The air seared down your throat, each breath like swallowing knives. Your lungs burned. Your knees screamed. Your bare, bloodied feet hit roots and rocks, tearing skin, but you didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

Somewhere behind you- closer than before- voices shouted. Dozens of them. Radio static barked out garbled commands. Dogs barked. Boots thundered. Gunfire cracked so close it popped your ears. Bark exploded from a tree to your left. The trunk shattered near your ribs. A bullet.

You pushed harder.

You were being hunted.

Your legs were shaking. You weren’t sure if it was pain or adrenaline keeping you upright. Something hot was dripping down your shin. Your vision swam.

But you didn’t stop.

Couldn’t stop.

And then

The trees broke.

A road.

Blacktop. Screeching tires. You stumbled forward, half-falling onto the guardrail. Horns blared. The scent of exhaust and heat and rubber filled your nose.

Across the road, you saw it.

A meadow. Vast and wild, stretching endlessly beneath a sky smeared with lavender and gold. The grass was green and thick, heavy with dew that sparkled like glass in the fading light. Wildflowers swayed- violets, daisies, yellow bursts of something unnamed. The breeze danced through them, carrying the soft hush of the earth breathing.

Above, birds wheeled through the sky, dipping and soaring, their wings catching the sun like flashes of silver. Everything here was alive. Unashamedly, impossibly alive.

You remembered green places, warm hugs, kind smiles. Fingers threaded through your hair while someone hummed a lullaby. The feel of warm earth between your toes. Laughter carried on the wind. Someone calling your name, not the one they gave you here, but the one that belonged to you before.

For a moment, the world tilted. Something inside you ached so sharply it stole the air from your lungs.

This meadow wasn't a fantasy. It was a memory.

You moved, climbing over the low barrier, the rough tarmac biting into your feet, still wet and blood-slick from the forest floor. Each breath in your chest came sharp and ragged, like your lungs were tearing with every inhale. The roar of engines filled your ears, deafening, and the scent of rubber and oil churned your stomach.

“Kuritsa.”

You froze.

His voice. Low. Steady. From behind you. From the tree line.

“Come back.”

You turned.

The Winter Soldier stood there, framed by shadows and pine. Expression unreadable. Gun lowered but not discarded. His eyes locked on you like he was tethered- like if you moved too far, something in him would snap.

“Don’t fly, little bird,” he said, quieter this time. Almost… pleading. Even at this distance you could hear him. “They’ll clip you again.”

A choice..

You looked back.

The meadow. The other side. Golden, glowing. Wind stirring the wildflowers like hands reaching out to welcome you home.

Your head jerked back and forth, heart pounding so hard it hurt. Left. Right. Left. Right. The cars flew past like metal beasts, one after another, their horns screaming. Your ears rang. Your knees shook.

There- a gap. A breath. A beat of silence in the thunder.

You lunged.

Rubber screeched behind you. A side mirror clipped your arm and spun you halfway around, but you caught yourself, pushed forward, legs burning.

You ran.

You ran like you never had before.

Like your soul depended on it.

You barely heard the gunfire anymore.

You dodged between honking cars, the wind of a speeding van nearly toppling you sideways. Someone screamed from a vehicle, a horn blared, a voice cursed- but none of it registered. Your focus tunnelled to the other side.

You leapt the last guardrail and your feet hit the soft earth of the field- mud, grass, roots all giving beneath your weight. The ground didn’t hurt. It welcomed you. Your knees buckled, but you caught yourself, palms scraping the soil, fingers sinking into it like you'd been starved of its touch your whole life.

The sun hit your face.

Warm.

Golden.

It wrapped around you like a second skin. You stumbled forward, breathless, and the sharp roar of the road fell behind you like a door slamming shut. The farther you went, the quieter it all became. The birds circled overhead. The sky opened up above you. Wind moved through your hair.

The grass brushed your legs like fingers. Wildflowers bent toward you. Every step you took felt lighter, like gravity had loosened its grip. Your chest still burned, your legs still trembled- but it didn’t matter.

You were free.

For a moment, you were free.

~#~#~#~#~

You woke up.

Your body hurt. Aches radiated deep in your joints, muscles stiff and sluggish as the sedative wore off. Your skin prickled like it had been dipped in ice water, and there was a heavy, smothering pressure in your chest that made it hard to breathe. It was always like this- the return. The slow drag back into a body that felt more like a cage than a home. The familiar fog of waking, like surfacing from a nightmare only to realize the nightmare is where you live.

Your cell. Concrete. Cold. The old mattress on the floor, the spring dug into your spine like punishment, its stuffing long since thinned to nothing. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead like insects chewing through your skull.

The contrast made it worse.

You had just been in the sun. You had felt the warmth on your face, tasted freedom, heard birdsong. And now- this. Gray. Sterile. The walls loomed like tombstones. The air was sour with bleach and mold. Your blanket was gone. The cot felt harder than usual, like it was punishing you for dreaming.

You started to cry.

It hadn’t been real.

You bit your knuckles to keep from sobbing loud enough for the cameras. But it was no use. The pressure in your chest cracked open like a fault line, and the whimpers slipped free, shaking, hopeless. Your body curled tighter, trying to fold in on itself, to disappear into the cold concrete floor.

You pressed your forehead to the ground. Tears smeared across the filth. Your shoulders heaved.

You had felt it. The wind. The sun. The way the earth gave under your feet instead of fighting you. You’d tasted freedom- and now it was gone. Ripped from your ribs like something delicate torn apart by teeth.

You were breaking.

Just the soft scuff of a boot on concrete. A shift in the silence.

You froze.

Your breath hitched.

Slowly, you lifted your head.

He was already inside the cell, standing just feet away, still and silent. Watching.

The Winter Soldier. Motionless. Built like a monolith. Cold light caught on the metal of his arm.

His eyes found you- and they were blue. Flat. Empty. As emotionless as frost.

He said nothing.

He just looked.

He stepped forward slowly, like you were a wounded animal, like he was afraid you’d break. His boots barely made a sound against the floor, each one placed with deliberate care- as if you might vanish if he moved too quickly.

"You had to be good, Kuritsa," he murmured, his voice softer than you'd ever heard it. "They wouldn’t tell me to hurt you if you were good."

There was something in the way he said it- like he wanted it to be true. Like he needed to believe it more than you did.

He reached for you. Not like a soldier following orders, but like someone trying not to scare the ghost in front of him. His hand hesitated in the air between you. Waiting. Wanting.

And you let him.

Because no one else reached for you. Because even this broken, programmed shell of a man was gentler than the rest. Because his touch- hesitant, calloused, human- was the only thing anchoring you to the world in that moment.

He stripped you gently. Despite the cold, he was warm. You both were. His body radiated heat, and when your skin touched, it felt like something real- something grounding in a world where everything else had become unrecognizable. Your body, your mind, your freedom- all had been twisted, burned, broken. But this? This was contact. Connection. A fragile thread back to something human.

He murmured "umnitsa" when you trembled instead of fought. The word fell like a feather against your cheek- foreign, yet almost soft, almost kind. You hadn’t heard kindness in so long that it carved through you like a blade.

His hands were rough, but careful. The callouses rasped across your hips as he steadied you. He traced the bones of your ribs, your stomach, like he was trying to memorize something forbidden. Like you were fragile and holy. His touch made you shiver, not from fear, but from the aching ache of being touched at all.

He waited for your nod. And when you gave it, small and tear-soaked, something in him relaxed. Like permission mattered. Like you mattered.

You were still weeping. You didn’t know why you needed this so badly. Maybe to kill the aching weight in your chest. Maybe to drown in sensation, to burn out the cold that lived in your marrow. Maybe to feel like anything other than a thing in a cage.

You gripped him- not out of lust, but because you needed something. Something alive. Something solid. A warmth to hold onto while the world around you blurred and cracked. But the longer you held him, the more that need twisted, deepened, darkened into something else. Something desperate.

His body pressed closer, the weight of him grounding you, overwhelming you. And when he aligned himself against your entrance, his thick, hard cock nudging at your core, you gasped. The heat of him seared through the cold in your bones, and for a moment, all you could do was hold your breath.

Then he pushed in.

Slow, steady, unrelenting.

The stretch burned- sharp and aching- as he filled you inch by inch, your walls fluttering around the thick length of him, your breath shattering with every heartbeat. You whimpered as he bottomed out, hips flush against yours, buried to the hilt. The sting of the invasion was real, raw, but it wasn’t unwelcome.

It was the only invasion you ever craved.

He stayed there a beat, chest heaving against yours, his breath ragged. You felt the tension trembling in his muscles as he tried to hold back, as if even now he was waiting for you to break. But you didn’t. You pulled him closer.

Because the ache of being filled by him was the only thing that ever made you feel whole.

You both needed this, even if neither of you fully understood why. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was programming. Or maybe it was the only act left that made you feel like you had a body at all.

He moved inside you with no rush, no violence.

At first.

Just heat. Flesh. Friction. But you felt him grow bolder with every thrust, felt the rhythm change from tentative to possessive, like your body was something he was rediscovering and claiming in the same breath. You whimpered as his hips snapped forward, rougher now, grinding against the deepest parts of you. You gasped- your head thrown back, legs trembling from the effort of taking him, from the pleasure spearing up your spine.

"Soldate..." you whispered, shocked at the sound of your own voice, he only grunted in reply.

The slap of skin against skin filled the room. Your nails dug into his back, clawing for purchase. He braced himself over you with his metal arm, the cold of it ghosting across your ribcage while his other hand gripped your thigh and hitched it higher. He fucked you like he was trying to bury himself inside you, deeper, deeper, until you didn’t know where he ended and you began.

You moaned for him and that seemed to break something open in him. His teeth grazed your neck, just a scrape, just a warning. You shuddered. His hand slipped between your legs, and when his thumb circled your clit, it was almost too much. You bucked against him, your orgasm cresting like a wave you couldn't stop.

"Cum." he growled, and you did. Your whole body arched, eyes squeezing shut, mouth open on a sob. You clenched around him, and he followed, rutting into you with a strangled groan before freezing, twitching inside you, his release hot and thick and undeniable.

For a moment, all you could do was pant beneath him, your body boneless and trembling. His forehead rested against yours, and his breath warmed your face. His fingers still moved against your thigh, slow now, almost reverent.

He didn’t speak. Just held you. Just stayed.

And for one terrible, perfect moment, you could pretend you weren’t in a cell at all.

He stayed inside you after. Heavy. Warm. You didn’t move, neither did he. Instead keeping himself pressed deep within you, like he could hold back the world by just staying there. Like if he stayed inside, the moment might stretch, safe and untouched.

You felt every twitch of him, the slow pulse of his cock still buried in your heat. He didn’t pull out, didn’t shift away. He just stayed. Ensuring nothing would spill. A painful reminder of your true purpose here.

The weight of him inside you was grounding and cruel all at once- comfort and control, tenderness and protocol.

His hand cupped your cheek. The same hand that had killed without pause.

“Good, little bird,” he whispered. “They won’t hurt you now.”

For a moment you believed him.

~#~#~#~#~

You were still sore. Still warm from him when they came after removing him from your cell.

You didn’t fight. He had made you promise. Whispered it against your skin while he was still inside you

“Be good Kuritsa. Be good for them like you were for me.”

So you didn’t fight. You just stared at the ceiling, empty and aching, when the guards returned.

“Not supposed to cross roads, little bird,” one of them sneered, voice dripping with smug cruelty. You barely blinked before the needle slid into your arm, sharp and fast. The sedative burned as it entered your vein, and within seconds, your limbs began to go heavy.

Still, you felt it all.

Their rough hands grabbed you by the arms and legs. One of them lifted you by the underarms while another gripped your thighs, dragging your limp body out of the cell like a broken doll. Your toes scraped along the concrete floor, leaving faint streaks as you tried- and failed- to move against them.

The corridor was a blur of fluorescent light and iron stench. You tried to twist away, but your limbs wouldn’t obey. Sluggish. Leaden. You whimpered, barely audible.

You recognized the hallway. The turns. The shape of the door at the end.

No. Not again.

When the door opened, you sobbed. That awful room. That awful chair. Waiting.

They hauled you inside like trash, flipping your body onto the leather seat. Cold restraints snapped over your wrists and ankles. Your head lolled to the side as you tried to resist, tried to pull your arms back, but they might as well have been made of stone.

You didn’t want this. You wanted the sun. The flowers. The breath of wind across your face.

But you weren’t in the meadow anymore.

You were back in the chair.

You wanted to plead. To beg. You were sorry, you wouldn’t do it again. You just wanted to hold on to something, to keep even a shred of that warmth inside you. But your lips were too heavy to form the words.

But he had said they wouldn’t do this. Not if you were good.

And you’d been good.

One tech hesitated, glancing down at you with something almost like pity. You tried to lock eyes with him, to will him to stop, to see you. But it was too late.

Another tech snapped, “Erase it. She’s dangerous now.”

Rough hands held you down tighter as you struggled weakly. A guard’s fingers pinched your jaw open. You whimpered. The bit forced into your mouth was hard and rubbery, pressing down against your tongue and teeth. The pressure made your cracked molar throb.

Then the seat began to tilt.

Slow. Mechanical. Inevitable.

You felt the world shift with it, the room pitching as gravity settled you deeper into the chair. The jaws of the machine descended- cold metal bracing your skull, clamping over your head like a vice. Your heart thundered. One side of your vision darkened as the rig covered your left eye.

Your panic rose, sharp and feral, tearing through the fog of sedation. You tried to twist, tried to scream around the bit, but your limbs barely moved. You could only writhe in slow, pathetic motions as the restraints cut into your skin.

You weren’t in a meadow. You weren’t running. You were here.

This time, it was your memory they erased.

Your escape.

They couldn’t let you know you could fly.

You screamed the words in your head, over and over, desperate and wild:

Birds fly. Meadow. Other side.

And then it came.

The pain.

White hot. Blinding.

Your back arched.

All you could hear was your own screams now, louder than the hum of the machine, louder than your racing heart. There was no world outside of that sound. Just your pain, ripped from your throat and thrown into the void.

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thegnomelord · 1 year ago

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Thinking of flying as a dragon with dragon Price

Price knows that after the loss of his wing he's never flying again, not on his own. But the sky still calls for him like a mother for her lost child, for a grounded dragon is a dead dragon, regardless of if he still breathes or not.

His body still craves the freedom of flight despite what he says of being over it, every flight in the helicopter or plane feeling twice as wrong as it did before, deadened nerves gnawing on his brain until they force the atrophied remnants of wing muscles to twitch every time he jumps out of the plane. He resigns himself to just watch the other fliers from the ground, you often finding him on the roof of the base watching the birds whenever the phantom ache of his lost wing returns.

And an idea comes to you.

Price just grunts when you wrap your arms around his pudgy belly, forcing his remaining wing to spread out so you can press your chest against his back.

"Need somethin'?" He grumbles, stuck between wanting to lean in to feel your warmth and pull away, what dragon would even want a flightless wyrm like him?, never noticing your arms lock in place.

"Yeah," Your breath fans his ear, lips kissing the skin. "Want you to fly." He can feel you grin.

"What nonsense are you-" Your wings spread out before he can finish and with a strong gust of wind and a beat of your wings you're shooting up into the sky with him in your arms. "- oh you bloody wanker!" He screams, the cigar slipping from his claws as he scrambled to hold onto you, wind blowing in his face.

You laugh as you soar through the air, "Relax!" You yell over the screeching wind, holding him tight.

And Price doesn't know when it happens, but his body calms down, adrenaline settling to sleep like a worn out beast. The wind fluttering his wing membrane feels nice, the sensation of the sky yielding beneath his flapping wing forcing a shiver down his spine, doesn't even notice when he starts purring.

You grin when you feel his chest rumble beneath your hands, dipping and diving through the sky and Price recognizes your movements — he spent decades practicing the same arial moves to woo future mates. And he can't help but smile, eyes closing and allowing his body to remember what it's like to fly.

----

Idl this came to me suddenly and I word vomited all over the page :/,

#gnome's tea break #cod mw2 #x reader #captain john price #male reader #gn reader #captain john price x male reader #captain john price x reader #monster 141 au #monster cod au

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lanalace · 2 months ago

Text

Our Last Hunt - Part 3

Yandere Caleb x Reader

[Chapter - 2] [Chapter - 4]

Summary: Y/n made a mistake that changed her life forever. Once a fearless hunter of blood-sucking fiends, she is now becoming the very thing she once swore to kill. How can she live with herself? And how will her immortal brother—the one who raised her, trained her, and protected her react when he discovers she’s turning into a creature of the night?

Warnings: Manipulation, Murder, Dubious Consent, NSFW, Psedo-incest, Smut, Dead Dove Do Not Eat 🔞

Word Count: 7.6k🍏🍎

Caleb had been watching her for hours.

She lay curled in bed, softly breathing, the soft rise and fall of her chest the only sign she hadn’t already slipped from his world. Moonlight painted her in silver-blue through the window, and in that light, she looked like something too fragile for war, too soft for the stains she bore.

A phantom vibration still resonated in Caleb's bones from the lie he’d woven into her phone, a fabricated distress call that had tugged at her eager hunter’s spirit. He’d known she was itching for a solitary kill, desperate to prove her mettle. His enhanced hearing had tracked her silent descent from the window, the almost imperceptible rustle of fabric against brick, the soft thud of her landing. He followed soundlessly, keeping to the rooftops, a phantom in the dark. She never once looked back. Never sensed him.

The coordinates led to a desolate abandoned warehouse lot. Though visibly on guard, her small form radiating a fierce determination he both admired and resented, she’d drawn a polished wooden stake and a glinting silver knife, the moonlight catching the sharp edges as she prepared to face a phantom threat. She was ready for anything.

Except him

She moved in slow circles, scanning shadows, muscles taut with anticipation. Finding nothing, she scoped out the surrounding area, eventually entering an alleyway, the air thick with the cloying stench of damp refuse and something else, a metallic tang that hinted at past violence.

She moved with a cautious grace he’d personally instilled, her senses scanning the shadowed corners, the overflowing dumpsters. The alley remained stubbornly empty. He felt a pang of guilt, quickly suppressed. Sheathed her weapons with a soft click of leather against metal, she retrieved her phone, the screen’s pale light illuminating her focused brow as she re-checked the nonexistent coordinates.

That’s when he moved, descending for the building above her as the rough asphalt barely whispered beneath his weight. Her instincts were sharp. He relished the almost imperceptible stiffening of her spine, the sudden stillness that broadcasted her awareness of a presence behind her.

A delicious chill, born of instinctual fear, prickled the air around her. She whirled with a speed he’d trained into her, a roundhouse kick aimed with lethal precision at where she sensed the threat.

To her utter surprise, not only was her swift leg caught mid-air, the delicate bones surprisingly fragile in his grasp, but it was caught by him.

“Gege…?” The shock in her voice was a raw, wounded sound, quickly bleeding into shame as his cold, unwavering gaze settled upon her. Her violet eyes, usually so bright with life, now clouded with confusion and a dawning horror.

“What exactly are you doing out here, meimei?” His voice was low, dangerously controlled with a sharp edge of disapproval.

He held her leg in a grip that could easily crush bone, a silent reminder of the power she so carelessly disregarded. Caleb released her abruptly, the sudden freedom making her stumble. She hung her head, the moonlight catching the strands of her dark hair, unable to meet his piercing gaze.

“I… uh…” Her words caught in her throat, a pathetic stammer as she tried to find a believable lie. Instead, she sighed in defeat and told the truth. “I was hunting a nest…”

“By yourself?” The question was a low, furious hiss.

“Do you have any idea how incredibly dangerous that is? How recklessly foolish it is for a single human to take on a nest, alone?!” He forced his voice down, the quiet fury more terrifying than any shout. She flinched visibly at his harsh tone, her small shoulders hunching. Rarely did he raise his voice, and never at her.

“I’ve taught you better than that, y/n. You don’t charge into a nest solo. Why are you being so willfully ignorant?” His brows furrowed, his gaze scrutinizing her small, vulnerable figure. She trembled visibly, tears pricking the corners of her eyes, blurring the harsh edges of the alley.

“I’m sorry… gege.” Her voice was a choked whisper, punctuated by a pathetic sniffle. “I just—sniffle— I just wanted you to be proud of me.” She fought back the tears, her lower lip trembling.

“I just wanted to show you that I can handle myself.” A fleeting warmth touched his cold features at her vulnerability. “That I don’t need you to protect me anymore.”

The warmth vanished as quickly as it came, his body hardening, becoming rigid with a chilling resolve. The fleeting tenderness in his eyes melted away, replaced by a cold, unfeeling look of disdain that pierced her fragile hope.

“You don’t need me anymore? Is that what you truly believe, little one?” His voice, once familiar and comforting, now dripped with a sweet, venomous undertone that made her skin crawl. He grabbed her arms, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, a possessive grip that stole her breath.

Y/n gasped, her glassy eyes widening in alarm as she looked up at his suddenly alien gaze, her mouth opening in a silent plea, ready to explain her foolish desire.

“Alright then, what exactly do you think you need?” He said through clenched teeth, the subtle tremor in his hands betraying the storm raging within him. “Go on then, little hunter. You can tell me everything.”

Her bottom lip trembled violently as she stared into his unfamiliar, glacial gaze. The words she’d so desperately wanted to speak now withered on her tongue, leaving her mute with a growing dread. Caleb leaned down, his face inches from hers, close enough that she could feel the ghost of his cool breath on her cheek, carrying the scent of ancient power and something darker, something possessive.

“You see, meimei, you’ve allowed yourself to believe you don’t need me because I’ve been… lenient. You thought you could leave me behind—outgrow me. But you belong to me, Y/n. I shouldn’t have allowed you to become so strong— so independent.”

One hand, its grip tightening almost imperceptibly, trailed up her arm, across her shoulder, the back of his knuckles brushing along the delicate curve of her neck until he was cradling her face, his thumb pressing against the frantic pulse point beneath her ear.

“But that ends tonight.” His fingers squeezed her jaw, hard enough to bruise the delicate bone, and she whimpered, a small, terrified sound. “After tonight, you’ll never be able to not need me. I’ll be your only solace, your only anchor. You’ll depend on me for your very sanity.” He promised.

“Wh-what do you—“ she gasped, a strangled sound as he pulled her body flush against his, the hard muscles of his chest pressing against her softer own, his arm wrapping around her waist in a possessive embrace that stole her breath.

Using the hand that cradled her jaw, he tilted her head to the side, his gaze dropping hungrily to the smooth, vulnerable column of her neck, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled her scent, a heady mix of fear and innocent sweetness. Before she could utter a coherent word, Caleb’s head snapped back, his mouth opening, his elongated fangs glistening in the dim moonlight, sharp as he sunk them deep into the delicate skin of her neck.

Y/n’s eyes widened in absolute horror, a muffled scream trapped behind his suffocating palm that clamped over her mouth. All she could feel was the searing, agonizing pain, the shocking betrayal that ripped through her, and the horrifying sensation of something sharp and alien piercing her flesh. She writhed in his arms, her nails digging into his pecs, her tears soaking into his palm.

Caleb, on the other hand, let out a low, guttural moan of pure pleasure, a sound that vibrated against her muffled cries. He was intoxicated by the taste—by the claim. Her life’s blood surged into his mouth, a taste that ignited a primal fire within him.

He hoisted her up effortlessly, wrapping her legs around his waist, pressing her intimately against his hardening member, the immediate arousal was a brutal testament to the potent power of her blood had on him. Her life force flooded his senses, filling his veins with an electrifying energy, claiming every part of him. His arousal throbbed painfully against his pants, the scent of her body—fear, shame, arousal—an elixir he could never replicate. He was so utterly captivated by the taste of her, the intoxicating rush, that he almost missed the soft, whimpering sound that escaped her lips.

Almost.

Y/n’s body went limp for a horrifying few seconds after his teeth sank into her neck, then a strange heat bloomed within her, a sensation so intensely pleasurable it momentarily eclipsed the pain. Her mind swam in a hazy fog, all coherent thought dissolving into pure sensation. All she could feel was him – the hard press of his body against hers, the low moans that vibrated through her, and the insistent pull at her neck that made her legs involuntarily tighten around his waist.

A high-pitched whine escaped her lips, a sound of mingled pain and a terrifying, unwanted pleasure. Soft pants followed, and more quiet whimpers, sounds of pleasure meant only for Caleb’s ears. It made him so incredibly hard, a painful throb that demanded release. He wanted to claim her fully, right there in the grimy alley, to brand her as his in every way.

With a monumental effort, he restrained the primal urge. He had a goal in mind and he would not be dissuaded by the alluring call of her body. His only focus now was draining her completely, ensuring her dependence. His free hand slipped possessively around the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair, the other pressed against her lower back, arching her closer as he felt her body grow more and more lax, her struggles fading.

“Ge…ge…please. Don’t— don’t do this.”

He heard her call out to him weakly, her voice barely a whisper. So small. So broken and in that moment, a sharp pang of something akin to remorse pierced through the intoxicating haze. He almost let her go, the tragic sound tearing at something deep within him. He couldn’t bear to hear her so weak, so vulnerable. It caused him a fleeting moment of distress, enough to make him stop drinking for a split second.

His hand on her back began to move in slow, circular motions, a pathetic attempt to soothe her as he continued to take from her. It was his twisted way of saying sorry. He couldn’t stop. Not when she was finally going to be his. Not when he was this close.

“I’m sorry.” he whispered against her pulse, circling his hand along her back as she slackened in his arms. “I have to. This is the only way you’ll stay.”

When she was almost completely drained, her body sagging against his, her skin pale and clammy, her heartbeat a faint flutter against his chest, he finally pulled away. His eyes were completely blown, the violet irises swallowed by the black of his pupils, his breath coming in ragged gasps as her limp form rested heavily in his arms.

Caleb lowered himself to the dirty alley floor, his movements surprisingly gentle as he placed her down, cradling her head as if she were a fragile doll. He looked at her still form with troubled eyes, a sheen of unshed tears blurring his vision at her near-death appearance. She looked like a fallen angel— ruined by his love.

Y/n lay there with her eyelids half-closed, her breathing shallow and barely perceptible. She looked as if she wanted to speak, her lips twitching slightly, but she lacked the strength to utter a single word. Caleb offered her a sad, almost regretful smile, leaning down to press his forehead against hers, a silent apology, before nuzzling her hair slightly. When he pulled back, he made sure her unfocused gaze was on him.

“You fought well, little hunter. You took down eight vampires by yourself. But due to your human limitations, you failed to protect yourself from the last one. You were exhausted, the battle was long. As you went in for the final kill, you were blindsided, knocked down, and bitten. Just before you passed out, you managed to stake it. Now, you are going to drift off, and you will forget that I was ever here tonight.”

His pupils constricted and dilated rapidly as he compelled her, his voice a soft, hypnotic murmur. A single tear escaped her eye, tracing a lonely path down her pale cheek before her eyelids slipped shut, her breathing evening out into a semblance of peaceful sleep.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips, his hand caressing her cooling cheek with a possessive tenderness. He took a shaky breath, the scent of her blood still clinging to him, before using his fingers to gently pry open her slack jaw. Caleb raised his wrist, just above her parted lips, and with a sharp flick of his wrist, slit his own skin, letting his dark, potent blood rush into her mouth.

He used his other hand to gently massage her throat, ensuring she swallowed the life-giving liquid. Once he was satisfied, he licked the wound on his arm, the skin knitting back together instantly, then used the back of his hand to wipe his own blood from her mouth, a final, possessive touch.

Just as he was about to stand, a new scent drifted into the alleyway, acrid and hungry. A vampire. Its eyes glistened with predatory hunger in the dim light. ‘He must have smelled her blood.’ A strange, dark satisfaction bloomed within Caleb. He welcomed the intrusion, a desperate need to unleash the turmoil within him, a violence he couldn’t direct at himself. The vampire lunged, a blur of unnatural speed, but Caleb was faster, his reflexes honed over centuries.

He caught the skinny vampire by its throat, the fragile bones cracking audibly beneath his grip, and glared down at the struggling creature with cold, incandescent fury.

“As much as I would relish the opportunity to torture you, to take out my… frustrations… on your pathetic existence, I need your blood more.”

His voice was deceptively calm, a stark contrast to the rage simmering beneath. The vampire cursed and clawed at his hand, its eyes wide with terror, but Caleb paid it no mind. Raising its emaciated body over his unconscious sister, he bared its throat with a swift, brutal movement, allowing its dark, tainted blood to spill onto her pale clothing and skin, a grotesque baptism.

Once he was satisfied, a dark ritual completed, he plunged his other hand into the vampire’s chest, ripping out its still-beating heart, the black liquid staining his fingers. He held the grotesque organ before its horrified eyes before crushing it mercilessly. The vampire arched in a silent scream of agony before bursting into violent flames, its desiccated body crumbling into ashes against the brick wall.

Caleb wiped his hands clean of the vampire’s filthy blood on its burning remains before crouching down, his gaze softening as he observed his peacefully sleeping sister. He would stand guard, a silent sentinel, until she woke, ensuring no other predators dared approach his claim.

It took a mere ten minutes, an eternity in his heightened perception, before he saw the first signs of life. Her fingers twitched, small, involuntary movements, and then her eyelids fluttered, delicate as butterfly wings, though they did not yet open. Caleb released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, the tension slowly easing from his rigid frame.

Satisfied that his claim had taken hold, he leaped to the rooftop with a silent grace, melting into the shadows, and watched her as she finally woke, her eyes widening with confusion and a lingering sense of unease. When he saw her stand on shaky legs, her movements disoriented, and head in the direction of their home, he moved with supernatural speed. Traveling by rooftop, a blur of motion against the dark sky, he made it to their house in a mere two minutes.

Slipping silently into the bathroom, he meticulously fixed his disheveled appearance, the wind having tousled his dark hair. He changed his clothes and washed his hands, cleansing himself of the remaining traces of vampire blood.

As if nothing happened, he Walked into the kitchen and began to cook. He needed his alibi to be perfectly prepared, a comforting normalcy to greet her when she inevitably stumbled through the front door, her memories carefully rewritten. Pulling out the ingredients for one of her favorite meals, the familiar scents filling the quiet house as waited for her to come crashing back into his carefully controlled world.

🍎🍏

Y/n bolted upright in bed, a strangled gasp tearing from her throat, her heart hammering against her ribs with a frantic, terrified rhythm that echoed the phantom pain in her thigh. The dream... no, the memory... clung to her like a suffocating shroud, the metallic tang of blood and the sickeningly sweet scent of his arousal still vivid in her senses. It was a visceral imprint, a violation that refused to fade.

Y/n's consciousness returned in a slow, syrupy haze, her body alight with a pleasure so thick it bordered on pain. The first thing she registered was the wet heat between her thighs-the slow, deliberate suck of lips against her inner thigh, the sharp sting of fangs buried deep in her flesh.

Her back arched forward, a ragged moan tearing from her throat before she could stop it.

“Mmmm… ah!~”

A chilling silence, broken only by a wet, disturbingly intimate sound – the slick suction of lips on flesh.

It wasn’t a nightmare conjured by a fevered mind. It was real, etched into her very being with agonizing clarity.

Her thigh screamed in protest, a deep, pulsing throb that bloomed with sickening intensity with every slow, deliberate draw of Caleb’s possessive mouth. He was a dark, predatory shadow wrapped around her hip, one hand a brutal brand on her lower stomach, holding her captive while the other cradled her thigh open with a horrifying tenderness, as though she were a delicate offering, a chalice to be reverently defiled.

Her hands flew to Caleb's hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands, caught between yanking him away and pulling him closer. The bond between them thrummed like a live wire, amplifying every sensation-the searing pleasure of his mouth on her skin, the icy horror clawing up her spine as the memories flooded back.

His fangs, sharp and cruelly efficient, were still buried deep within her flesh, a living tether binding them together.

The heat of his mouth was unbearable, a silken inferno against her skin, each insistent pull coaxing her traitorous body to betray her further, igniting a terrifying pleasure amidst the horror. A low, guttural purr, a sound of pure, animalistic satisfaction, trembled from his chest, vibrating against her skin like a dark promise.

Her blood, her very life force, ran slick and warm down his jaw, glistening crimson along the strong, possessive line of his throat. He was savoring her, claiming her with every agonizingly slow movement.

And her body—weak, languid, utterly compromised—trembled beneath him, a horrifying symphony of unwanted sensation.

“C… Caleb… stop…” she whispered, her voice a broken, breathless rasp.

He didn’t stop, lost in the intoxicating act of claiming her.

Didn’t hear her desperate plea, his senses overwhelmed by the taste and feel of her altered blood.

His tongue swept lazily across the raw punctures, sealing nothing, teasing everything, igniting a fresh wave of unwanted sensation. Her blood—no longer purely hers, now tainted and bonded—was like wildfire to him, a potent elixir that fueled his possessive hunger. The irreversible change had completed, and she could feel the insidious tendrils of their connection, no longer trembling with potential but singing with a terrifying, absolute ownership.

He moaned, a soft, broken sound that bordered on pain, as if she were the one devouring him, stealing his very essence.

“Caleb,” she tried again, her voice cracking with rising hysteria, louder this time, forcing her shaking hand to press against the slick, blood-warmed skin of his shoulder. “Please!”

He lifted his head slowly, his breath coming in shallow, ragged pants, his chest heaving against hers. Her blood, thick and viscous, dripped down his chin, painting his lips a horrifying crimson. His pupils were blown wide, the violet of his irises swallowed by the encroaching black, his eyes gleaming with an unholy light as he stared at her, his expression bordering on religious fervor.

Worship. Possession.

“You taste different today— like fire,” he murmured, his voice thick with a possessive awe. Richer. Darker. A taste so perfect it bordered on sacrilege.

“So sweet. Wild. No one compares. Every note, every drop, it’s like you were tailored to sate the deepest craving I never even knew how to name. You were always meant for me, my precious meimei.” He murmured against her skin before diving back into her open wound. Every swallow sent liquid fire through his veins, his cock aching against the confines of his pants, desperate to claim her all over again.

She slapped at his shoulders, nails raking down his back. "Get off! You’re disgusting!"

A growl rumbled in his chest as he narrowed his eyes in annoyance. Caleb looked up through his lashes, pinning her with his glare, mouth still latched to her skin. He sucked once more, slowly as he watched her flushed face. His free hand slid between her trembling thighs, finger slipping through her slick folds with ease.

"Liar." he shot back, pushing another finger inside her to the knuckle in one brutal thrust, pulling a sweet sound from her lips. "You're already so wet for me." he murmured against her skin, voice rough with hunger.

"You don’t want me to stop, I can feel it." And he could. He could feel the ache through the sire bond. Her resistance was being consumed by her desperate need for him.

His fingers pushed inside, curling just right, just the way she liked and she arched off the bed with a broken moan, her blood still spilling into his mouth.

“Gege… Don’t!” Her voice broke, her hips bucking against his hand as the pleasure built, unrelenting, unforgiving.

Caleb growled, the vibration against her skin sending another shock of heat through her. “Don’t do what, y/n? Don’t taste you or don’t fuck you like I did last night?” He said as he scissored her insides, stretching, preparing her for the possibility.

She whimpered, her drooling pussy swallowing his fingers so easily as he pumped his digits into her at a hurried pace. He could feel the way she squeezed him, her gummy walls tightening around him like a pulse, signaling her approaching orgasm.

‘Gonna cum, already?’ He smirked at her.

"You didn't mean that, right?" His thumb circled her clit, relentless and he swore she came a little. Her pussy was soaked, the lewd sounds of her drenched core enveloped the room, along with her shameless moans.

She didn’t mean it. Not really. How could she with all the evidence of her body’s betrayal stacked against her.

The bond between them was wide open now, her shame, her anger, her desire— all laid bare for him as he continued to fuck her cunt on his fingers brutally.

Y/n came with a broken cry, her body clenching around his fingers, her blood spilling into his mouth as he drank her down like a man starved. Caleb released her, opting to watch her pretty contort with pleasure as his finger piston into her, helping her ride out her orgasm. She squealed, shaking violently as her little hole milked his fingers as if it were his cock.

“Fuck… so beautiful.” He whispered praises, licking his lips in carnal hunger, catching the last beads of blood that escaped his lips. He wanted to taste her honey this time, test it against her blood to see if it had also changed.

Y/n came down from her high quickly, her strength surged, adrenaline-fueled burst, just long enough to deliver a firm slap, hard across the face, the sound echoing in the blood-soaked silence.

He didn’t react to the blow. The sharp crack of her hand against his cheek reverberated through the room, but he only blinked slowly, his head tilting slightly, as if the pain didn’t register, as if the only sensation that mattered was her touch, however violent it was.

"The alley." she choked out, tears welling in her eyes, blurring his concerned expression. "The warehouse... the bite... y-you lied to me.” she choked, her voice raw with betrayal, trying to scramble away, to put distance between them. “You compelled me to forget… the entire mission, all of it was a lie.”

But her legs wouldn’t obey, her limbs heavy and unresponsive. He’d taken a significant amount of blood from her and she finds that she feels weaker than she ever did when she was human. Understanding dawned in his violet eyes, a chilling realization that left no room for doubt.

"You finally remembered." he sounded almost happy. The small quirk of his lips stood as a confession. “I guess when I sealed the sire bond last night, it broke the compulsion.”

Her body sagged, trembling uncontrollably, breath catching in a ragged sob. “I remember everything! You— it was you who turned me into this… you turned me into a monster!” His smile was slow, a soft, possessive curve of his bloodied lips.

“You think you became a monster the night I bit you?” he asked gently, his voice almost tender, laced with a disturbing affection.

“No, meimei. You became mine.”

“You used me. You manipulated me…”

“No.” His voice deepened, a low, resonant rumble of velvet and smoke that seemed to coil around her. “I loved you. I love you. This was the only way.”

“Only way to what?! You murdered me!”

“I gave you eternity. It was the only way to keep you by my side.”

He rose from the bed with a fluid, unnatural grace, the sheets rustling with the movement, licking her slick from his fingers slowly with a satisfied moan. She shrank away instinctively, clutching the bloodied sheets to her chest as her body throbbed with a hollow weakness.

“I hate you…” she said so low that a normal person would have struggled to hear. But he was anything but normal and despite his unbrothered appearance, those words stabbed at his heart.

"You don’t. You want to know the worst part, meimei?" His thumb brushed her lower lip, smearing her own blood across it. "You could've fought the bond... if you'd truly hated me."

“A sire bond doesn’t create feelings, it amplifies it. It wouldn’t have affected you if there were no feelings there to begin with, little one.” he said quietly, his gaze intense. “If you didn’t find me attractive, on some deep, primal level… if you didn’t love me, more than you should have ever loved a brother… this would never have worked. Our connection is too strong.”

She scoffed, knowing his words to be true but disbelief clouded her mind.

“A part of you craved me, Y/n.” Caleb continued, his voice a hypnotic murmur.

“I made sure of it. All these years, I stayed close, a constant presence. Loved and protected you. Coveted you with every fiber of my being. Because I needed you to need me, truly need me. To love me, beyond the bounds of sibling affection. Human minds are so fragile, so easily swayed. And sometimes love gets… confusing. Hard to differentiate. But I only needed you to think of me as more than just a brother. Just once. And then I’d have you, forever.”

“But I never did!” Y/n shouted, her voice raw and hoarse with disbelief and rising panic. “You’re delusional! You’ve twisted everything!”

“But you did, sweet girl.” He spoke with confidence as knelt at the edge of the bloodied bed, his eyes level with hers, his gaze unwavering. “I knew exactly when it happened, too. The first time you acknowledged it.”

She glared at him, eyes narrowed as she waited for his silly revelation.

“It was when we were teenagers.” he said, a faint, knowing smile playing on his lips. “You were so used to my undivided attention, my constant presence, that when other girls started to notice me, to flirt… you nearly beat them senseless. Remember that? You dragged me away the second they got too close, your small hand a surprisingly fierce grip on my arm. You wouldn’t speak to me for days, a furious silence that only I could break.”

Her face twisted in horror, the memory surfacing, finally dawning on her yet still, she denied it. “I was a child! I didn’t want to share my favorite person. It doesn’t mean I had… feelings. I was just a spoiled brat!”

“And who do you think spoiled you, little one?” he asked softly, his gaze intense.

“Who isolated you, subtly steering you away from others? Who gave you more attention than any sibling should, whispering reassurances until my presence was the only constant you could truly rely on?”

Her breath hitched, the realization dawning with chilling clarity.

“Should I tell you more? Before you even knew the depths of my powers, when gran left us home alone. You thought I was asleep...”

Y/n face scrunched in confusion, wondering where this story was going.

“I heard you that night— touching yourself to the thought of me. You even whispered my name so sweetly into your pillow that I almost broke down your bedroom door and took you right there.”

Her jaw dropped, hands flying to cover her mouth as she recalled that moment. How disgusted she was with herself back then when she came to the thought of her brother touching her inappropriately. She’d buried that memory. Locking it away to the point that she didn’t even remember until he brought it up.

“No… no…” she whispered, shaking her head vehemently, tears streaming down her pale cheeks.

Her face flared up, blushing furiously with embarrassment and she looked away from Caleb’s all too amused eyes.

“Sweet meimei…” He leaned forward, his touch feather-light as he brushed a stray strand of blood-soaked hair from her face, turning her back to face him. “Don’t be embarrassed. Its ok. I was so happy you liked me that much.”

“That’s the moment I knew you were mine. You were so easy to guide after that. So desperate for my affection even when you tried to keep your distance. But I… I was even more desperate for you. Your human love had limits, boundaries you tied yourself to that I couldn’t abide by. I needed to shatter them, to make you mine in every way.”

“So you turned me…” she whispered, her voice cracking, raw with grief and betrayal. “You took my life from me. You took everything. You turned me into a freak… like you. You even killed Dalton… just to prove a point. He had a family!” The weight of Dalton’s death, made meaningless, pressed down on her. ‘All of this just because he wanted me?’

“So perceptive. Of course, I did. I heard him coming a mile away. I wanted him to see you. Knew your body would reject his unworthy blood but…” He leaned in, his lips mere inches from the shell of her ear. “You needed to learn that you can only drink from me.”

Her eyes widened, betrayal and heartbreak etched into her face. She shoved him weakly, her small fists striking his chest, the impact barely registering against his supernatural strength. He didn’t flinch, his gaze unwavering.

“How could you…? He was our friend. You’re supposed to be my brother! How could you be so selfish?! I thought you loved me! You’re the worst!”

“I did this because I love you, Y/n. But you’re right, I am selfish. I want you all to myself.” he replied, his voice a low, possessive murmur. ‘If I hadn’t drained him while she slept, I wouldn’t be able to feed her.’

“Was any of it real? Did you ever see me as your sister? As your family?” She hadn’t meant to ask such a pointless question but it slipped from her mouth regardless. Something like this didn’t matter now that things have gotten this far.

“Of course, I did. I am your brother, meimei. But I am so much more than that now. And so are you.” He said so tenderly, it was like he was her Caleb again but his words were so foreign. His hand caressed her cheek, a touch both gentle and so possessive.

“I’m the same brother who loved you from the moment I first saw your tiny face. The one who spoiled you rotten, who indulged your every whim. The one who took your first kiss. The brother who fingered your dripping pussy. The same brother who ate you out until you came on my tongue last night. The brother who took your virginity and fucked you full of my seed.”

“You’re disgusting!” she screamed, lurching away from his touch, her body wracked with sobs. “You took advantage of me! You made me feel guilty for- for… but this entire time, it was all you!”

He moved in an instant, a blur of predatory grace, pinning her back against the bloodied sheets with a terrifying gentleness, his eyes burning with an obsessive fire. He slotted his hips between her still wet thighs as he lowered himself onto her. His body pressed firmly against hers.

“I know, sweet girl. I know. But you are my best friend.” he whispered, his lips brushing against her temple, his breath hot against her skin. “My precious, meimei. My cherished lover. You are everything to me. How could you think I’d let something as simple as mortality keep you from me?”

His planted a kiss on either side of her cheeks. “I wanted you so bad, it hurts. I couldn’t watch you grow old, sick and die. Couldn’t let you leave me. I need you. All of you. I won’t accept anything less.” He spoke into her neck, kissing and nipping her between words. She could feel the sincerity of his words through the bond. It flooded her body with the warmth and love that he had for her.

Y/n shook with rage despite that. His confession was worse than anything she had ever felt. “I will never be your friend! Or your lover! Or anything!” Her voice cracked, raw with hatred and despair. “I hate you, Caleb! I hate you so much!”

He exhaled slowly, his lips brushing the delicate curve of her ear, his voice a low, possessive murmur that sent a shiver down her spine. “No you don’t, Y/n.” he said as his grip tightened almost imperceptibly.

“You can’t. Even if you wanted to with every fiber of your being… you couldn’t. Our bond cemented the moment I drank from you. You can dislike me. Though, it would never last so I can live with that. But you can never hate me while the sire bond is in place.” His teeth grazed her sternum, making her jolt away. Caleb chuckled, his breath tickling her.

“The bond goes both ways. I can never hate you either. You are mine now, whether you like it or not. And I am yours. My heart, my soul, my blood— it’s all for you.” He tongue dragged over the length of her neck, earning him a gasp.

“This body of mine— mmm~” he grinded his half hard dick against her wet slit, dampening the thin fabric of his cotton pants. “It’s all yours.” Y/n Hips bucked against his, involuntarily. She pushed against his chest but it was like trying to move a stone wall.

“Caleb… don’t.” she gasped.

Caleb's fangs grazed her pounding artery as he pinned her thrashing body beneath him. "Shhh, meimei," he crooned, the vibrations of his voice traveling through her skin. "just relax for me, yeah?" He pecked her lips softly, his hips rolling against hers in a slow, maddening rhythm. The thin fabric of his pants did nothing to hide the thick length of him, already painfully hard and eager, the heat of him branding her.

Y/n arched beneath him, a broken whimper escaping her lips as her traitorous core clenched around nothing, still throbbing from her earlier release. The sire bond pulsed between them, amplifying every shameful spark of pleasure, until her anger blurred into something far more dangerous.

"You feel it too, don't you?" His lips curved against her damp skin. "That delicious heat coiling low in your belly? The way your nipples harden when I breathe against your neck?" To emphasize his point, he blew a cool stream of air across the sensitive flesh he'd just licked.

Her body responded instantly. A whimper escaped before she could choke it back. She could feel his need for her through the bond. It was suffocating her mind to the point that she couldn’t tell where her want began or his need for her ended.

Caleb chuckled darkly, the sound reverberating through her bones. "Your blood sings for me, little one. It’s begging me to fill your pretty cunt." His hips rolled forward, the thick ridge of his erection grinding against her damp core through the thin barrier of his pants.

"See? Even now, soaked and ready for me."

‘I hate him I hate him I- oh god—‘ Another lie she told herself.

Her nails dug into his shoulders, drawing thin lines of blood that only made him groan louder. Caleb grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her face to the marks she had just made. “Drink, meimei. I took so much from you earlier.”

“I won’t.” She meant it. But once her face pressed against his collarbone, the scent of his blood hit her. The scent coiled through the air before she even process it. Iron, spiced with something indefinably Caleb.

Y/n's nostrils flared as the aroma wrapped around her starving senses, thick as smoke from a sacred fire. She salivated, her fangs descending almost painfully. She hesitated for only a moment. Her strong will to resist him making it’s final stand before she gave in, lashing her mouth to his shoulder, feeding from him the way she needed.

The first taste was ruin.

Heat exploded across her tongue, scorching and sweet, like swallowing a dying star.

But instead of burning, it bloomed inside her-euphoria so sharp it bordered on agony. She moaned against his skin, fingers clawing at his shoulders hard enough to draw blood as her body arched toward him like a flower starving for sunlight.

Caleb shuddered below her, his arms locking around her waist as he hauled them both upright. His skin burned against hers, fever-hot, his cock pressing insistently against her stomach.

"Fuck—" His voice was wrecked already, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "That's it, take it-"

She drank greedily, the flavors unfolding across her tongue in waves. Like honey drizzled over black cherries, a richness that coated her tongue and slid down her throat like silk. Beneath that, something musky, something that was purely him. The essence of him, of power and hunger that made her keen against his skin.

Whining and clawing at him, trying to meld her body with his as she rocked her naked form down onto his hard length with such fervor as she locked her legs around his sculpted waist.

Caleb's head lolled to the side, letting her indulge in her want for him. His free hand fisted in her hair, tilting her head back just enough to watch her drink. Completely captivated by the sight of her, his pupils had swallowed all color, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Gods…" he choked out, transfixed by the sight of her lips moving against his skin. "You ruin me." She was ruining him, he was falling deeper and deeper under a spell she hadn’t even known she crafted.

She was rough with the way she touched him, scoring his chest with her marks, turned him on so much that his cock weeped with excitement. Just the feel of her greedily drinking from him made him a complete mess.

‘It feels so good. I need to be inside her or I’ll fucking die!’

He lifted them carefully, not wanting to disrupt her as he hastily dragged his pants down his thighs. He sat back down, hands on her hips as he stilling her frantic hips to his, earning him a whine in protest. So desperate for friction that he would never deny her.

In an instant, his hips snapped upwards, simultaneously slamming her down onto his cock, burying his impressive length to the hilt. Y/n cried out from the brutal intrusion, barely missing the deep, satisfied groan from the brunettes as her body stretched to accommodate him.

The stretch burned as she tried to adjust, bordering on too much. But the pain was already melting into pleasure, her walls fluttering around him as if trying to pull him deeper. She arched into him as he set a terrifying pace that she couldn’t hope to keep up with.

“Still so tight~” He groaned, staring down at her small frame while fucking her on his cock. He set a punishing pace from the start, his hips snapping forward with enough force to shake the bed. Each thrust punched the air from her lungs, his pelvis grinding against her clit with bruising precision. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, mingling with their ragged breathing and her broken whimpers.

"Look at you," Caleb growled. "Taking me so perfectly." His hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, fingertips pressing into the fresh bite marks on her thighs as he held her impaled on his cock. "Every inch. Just like you were made for me."

Y/n could feel him everywhere, the thick veins along his length pulsing inside her, the way his hips pressed flush against her, the hot spill of his precum coating her walls.

The bond between them sang with shared sensation, amplifying every twitch of his cock inside her, every flutter of her cunt around him.

It was a claiming. Each thrust punched the air from her lungs, his pelvis grinding against her clit with bruising force on every inward stroke. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, mingling with their ragged breathing and her broken whimpers.

"Feel that?" Caleb panted, his fangs grazing her collarbone. "How your body sucks me back in every time I pull out?" To demonstrate, he withdrew almost completely, leaving just the tip inside before slamming home again. "Like you're afraid I'll leave you empty."

Y/n's nails raked down his back, drawing blood that only seemed to drive him wilder.

The metallic scent filled the air, mixing with the musk of their joining. Caleb groaned deep in his chest, the vibration traveling through where their bodies were connected.

"Fuck, you're perfect," he snarled, increasing his pace until the bedframe creaked in protest. "So tight and wet and mine." His hand slid between them, thumb finding her clit and rubbing rough circles that had her seeing stars. "Cum for me, meimei. Let me feel you fall apart on my cock."

As if his words had power over her body, her orgasm hit like a tidal wave, tearing through her with brutal intensity. Her walls clenched around him in rhythmic pulses, her scream muffled against his shoulder as she bit down hard enough to draw blood. The taste of him, rich, dark and addictive, flooded her mouth as her vision whited out.

Caleb groaned, his body shuddering. His thrusts became shorter, more frantic, his grip on her hips bruising. "Y/n..." he gasped, his breath ragged. Caleb stiffened above her, a guttural cry tearing from his throat as he spilled his seed deep within her, a final, brutal act of possession. The bond between them flared white hot, magnifying the sensation until she came again, her body spasming uncontrollably around his still-pulsing cock.

For long moments, the only sounds were their ragged breathing and the wet drip of their mingled fluids onto the sheets. Caleb remained inside her, his forehead pressed to hers as they both came down from the high. Using his weight, he pushed their bodies back, dropping them onto the bed.

When he finally spoke, his voice was rough with satisfaction and something darker.

"Now you understand, don't you?" Caleb's fingers traced the fresh bite marks on her neck with possessive reverence, his voice a velvet-wrapped blade in the darkness.

"This is what eternity feels like, meimei." His hips rolled lazily, still buried to the hilt inside her, drawing a broken whimper from her swollen lips. "Every heartbeat. Every breath. Every drop of blood in your veins—all mine to savor."

Y/n's body trembled beneath him, caught between the aftershocks of pleasure and the rising tide of shame. The bond between them pulsed like a living thing, amplifying every sensation until she could barely distinguish where his pleasure ended and hers began. His cock twitched inside her, still half-hard, still claiming.

He shifted his weight, lifting himself slightly, just enough to withdraw with a slick, wet sound that made her stomach churn. The brief emptiness was quickly filled as he positioned himself again, his gaze never leaving hers, a predatory anticipation tightening his features.

"Round two, little one?" he murmured, his voice a low growl of possessive hunger. "Now that you're properly warmed up."

#love & deepspace #caleb x mc #love and deepspace #lads caleb #caleb x reader #caleb x you #lnds caleb #yandere caleb #dark caleb #caleb smut #love and deepspace caleb

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vulpisnocturna · 2 years ago

Text

Binding Vow

This is purely self-indulgent because I was consumed with the idea of Chrollo and specifically, Yandere!Chrollo. So here it goes. This is filthy and Chrollo is unhinged. Nothing new.

Read on AO3

Part II

Part III

I do not condone this behaviour in real life. This is purely fictional. Please read warnings and avoid if any of them are triggering to you.

Warnings: Yandere Chrollo, dom Chrollo, coercion, dub con (I mean it), psychological manipulation, kidnapping, captivity, possessiveness, obsession, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), vaginal sex, creampie, praise, slight humiliation kink

Summary: Abducted because Chrollo could not steal your Nen ability, you are ready to give in and trade your power for your freedom. But the choices Chrollo decides to lay in front of you are wholly different. One would say, the illusion of choice. You make him swear a vow to let you go as you make your choice. But one should pay close attention to the words used in a binding vow...

Word count: 7k

One would think so many candles would be a fire hazard, to be frank. They were everywhere, on every wooden surface, on every shelf that wasn’t overcome with books of all sizes with leather spines, on the nightstands and even on the ground. It was as though the leader of the Phantom Troupe had an obsession with a certain type of aesthetic, and would not refrain from littering his surroundings with candles every time he found a new place where his gang could crash. Perhaps, he had a candle for every person he had ever killed.

Though you supposed one would lose count after a while.

If you were to ingratiate him, you knew what he would appreciate having as a gift; although who needed gifts when your profession was stealing whatever you wanted, whatever thing you had a passing whim for?

As far as you were aware, you were the last passing whim Chrollo Lucilfer had stolen. You had known of his power to steal abilities, and even though you had tried to escape when the Troupe had come to abduct you, it seemed he hadn’t been successful in stealing your power. Yet.

Your Nen power wasn’t meant to fight, really, so the possibility of forcing your way through the Troupe had been preposterous. Your ability was that of having regenerative power, to the point where you could heal fatal wounds to yourself and others. He obviously must have wanted it for himself, and you hadn’t exactly had any way of escaping his wishes.

After a month of captivity, though, you weren’t sure you could bear it for much longer. If all he wanted was your power, why not let him “borrow” it, as he so nonchalantly put it? So you could go back to your own life, so you didn’t have to be locked up in that house, so that he would let you go? Would he even let you go, if you gave him the ability? Or would he want to tie loose ends and get rid of you? You shuddered in the cold air of the bedroom you had been confined to in his absence.

He had left you to your own devices that day for the entirety of the morning, whilst he had spent all his time with you previously. Studying you, asking you questions, letting you know between the lines that he knew who you were, who your loved ones were, where they lived. He had called you a “treasured guest” in the same sentence, with such audacity that you had been left stunned at the complete lack of morals that man had.

But then again, he also seemed to have some twisted attraction to you. They did say the forbidden fruit was always the sweetest, and because you knew of his power, he couldn’t get to your Nen ability if you did not reveal how it worked and fulfilled his conditions. In the last two weeks, he had taken to something you could only define as an attempt at seduction.

He would sit with you in the living room, inviting you to get closer to him, reassuring you he had no intentions of harming you. He would stare at you with those stormy eyes of his that seemed to burn through you like electricity, and his gaze would rake over your body like he was appraising some kind of rare, expensive object he planned to take for himself. Which he probably was.

Despite knowing who he was, despite knowing how sticky with blood his hands were, you were only a fallible human. And he was... a murderer, a manipulator, a thief; and he was also cunning, intuitive, soft-spoken, caring with you in a sick way, and the most handsome man you had ever met. Despite all of your efforts, it was not possible to deny the effect he had on you. And it was not possible to hide it from him. Observant as he was, obsessed as he was with watching your every reaction, every little twitch of your body, every time your breath faltered when he was too close, every time he commented casually how your pupils were dilating, every time his long, willowy fingers grazed your skin, he could see all of it. And all of it was a twisted game of cat and mouse to him.

Another heist, another plot to strategise and accomplish. He was always composed, always neutral, if not for his sly looks, wily smirks and piercing eyes. He always seemed to have the upper hand. It did not matter that he did not have your power, he seemed to be a patient man.

Until that day.

You had assumed he was waiting for you to break by keeping you captive, although treated with enough civility and never physically harmed, because he had not mentioned wanting your Nen power since the one time he had told you he wished to borrow it. In your mind, he was simply determined to stir the pot and then leave you to stew in it for a while, knowing at some point, your desire for freedom would overcome your attachment to your ability. Letting you run your mind wild with suppositions and conjectures that led nowhere as you tried to analyse his reasons and predict his behaviour. And it was working. You were almost done with it. If he asked you to choose between your power and your freedom, you knew what you would pick.

When he came back from whatever the hell he’d been doing that morning, his appearance was pristine. He was wearing his hair down, no headband in sight, a white shirt with the first two buttons undone and smart black trousers. All in all, he was the picture of what you could only define as sex appeal and sophistication mixed together in a heady blur of sharp eyes, chiselled, angular features and a mellow voice that still managed to sting.

He unlocked your door using a Nen ability he’d probably also stolen and closed it behind him, smiling softly at you as he appraised you.

‘Hello, darling. I hope you did not feel too lonely without my company’ he said easily, conversationally. You disliked the pet names he had started to throw at you in the last two weeks. They made it seem like there was more to this relationship than a prisoner and their warden. More he wanted. But not your ability. No. You. And it made your stomach churn every time.

You decided to ignore him, because what else could you do? You were locked in a room with him, with no escape, and you had been held captive for a month now. What could possibly make it worse than it already was?

But you were so very naïve. You should have paid heed to his shrewd grey eyes, to the way his lips twitched as though he delighted in knowing something you didn’t, in watching you rack your brains in trying to figure him out.

You had been so naïve in thinking that he had kidnapped you and held you captive to steal your ability. After all, he could torture it out of you.

Did he just enjoy the game? What did he want? Was there another condition that needed you to be willing to share it with him? That must have been it. He needed you to give it to him willingly, that was why he was going after your mental sanity instead of torturing it out of you.

‘You seem quite tense. Sit with me. I have a proposition for you’ he said, gracefully stepping to your side, brushing his fingers on your lower back, sending shivers down your spine just as your nose caught a whiff of his expensive cologne. His scent was just as intoxicating as he was, something masculine yet refined, a blend that made your lower stomach hot. You fought to keep eye contact as he sat on the plush loveseat by the fireplace, tapping the empty space right next to him, his eyes boring into you with curious amusement.

You grimaced, feeling weak and dizzy as you sat down on the armchair, the only other surface available to you aside from the bed and the loveseat, which was out of the question. Chrollo’s lips twitched in amusement, his eyes glinting with interest as he rested his cheek against his fist.

‘I have a few choices for you. I assume you are quite unsatisfied with your current predicament, therefore, I am giving you the chance to escape all the doubt that must be swarming your mind by now’ he said calmly, that little smirk still on his lips. You did not give way to hope. You did not lower your guard. Thieves did not return goods. If they got rid of them, it was after getting something else in return. So what was he playing at? What was his angle?

‘Your distrust is quite strong, dearest. You should learn to hide your emotions more, if you plan to attempt to play me. Though I must admit the thought of it is quite thrilling. So feel free to try it. Your first choice is to give me your Nen ability in exchange for the end of this predicament. Your second choice is to give yourself to me now. I trust you understand the meaning behind my words. If that is your choice, you can start by getting up and walking over here’ he said, smoothly, easily, seductively, his eyes mischievous.

You blinked, swallowing heavily, your lips parting. He… was making you choose between your Nen ability or having sex with him in exchange for your freedom? The choice was not really that. It was an illusion of it. Perhaps he merely sought to humiliate you, because of course, the reasonable choice would be to get it over and done with, have sex with him just that once and walk away with your life and your ability intact. Who in their right mind would pick the first choice?

He was hot, charming, attractive. So long as you could separate the part of you that knew what he was, what he did, and the shame that came with prostituting yourself to your captor, it would not be that bad. It would be over quickly, you only had to focus on his physical attributes, shut out his horrid persona.

‘You want me to prostitute myself to you’ you said, your cheeks burning with humiliation. He let out a wilful sigh.

‘That is an uncouth appraisal of it. It is quite clear from your reactions to me that you desire me, too. Is that prostitution? More of a mutual desire, I’d wager. Rather a small price to pay to retain your power, is it not?’ he asked, smiling sweetly, smugly. You ground your jaw, your whole face feeling hot, your eyes stinging with the embarrassment of your current predicament, as he loved to call your captivity.

‘Why would I want to... have sex with someone like you? A... murderer- a thief, a kidnapper?’ you spat, repulsed, sitting rigidly in the armchair, quite the opposite picture to his nonchalant lounging. He let out a soft laugh.

‘Oh, darling. Are you pretending to have steadfast morals now?’ he crooned, voice soft and mellow. Completely unbothered by your accusations.

‘What are you trying to imply?’ you chewed on the corner of your bottom lip, a movement he followed with a hint of ravenousness in his silvery eyes.

‘Your morals seem somewhat flexible to me. You have been eating food paid with stolen money for a month, sleeping in a stolen mansion, wearing stolen clothes. I trust you were clever enough to know this from the beginning of your sojourn here’ he said casually, seeming almost enthusiastic about debunking every argument you could bring to the table. It was as though he found pleasure in discrediting your beliefs and making you vacillate. Perhaps it stroked his ego.

‘I had no choice about sleeping here. Should I have starved? Should I have wandered around naked for a month?’ you snapped, regretting your words immediately when you saw him look at you so intensely. As though he was undressing you himself with his eyes.

‘Well, you certainly could have tried to starve yourself. I would have admired your efforts to cling to your pride and ethical dilemma, and you would not be in this moral conundrum now if you had. You would be able to blame me for it. As to your last point, that would have certainly been a sight. Again, the choice was there. I would not have stopped you’ he said slyly, his voice getting lower and more seductive, like a caress on your spine. You bristled.

‘Those are not choices. Like these aren’t’ you pressed, and he sighed, still smiling like nothing could make him waver.

‘Are they not? You have two paths before you. Every human being is offered choices. Now, be a darling and make one. What will you choose?’ he mused. You closed your eyes, your fingers curling on the fabric of your skirt.

‘You will not steal my power if I- give my body to you now. Right?’ you asked slowly, trying to find a loophole in his words.

‘I will not. If you choose to indulge me now, I will not steal your power’ he said. You gulped. You did not want him to lose his patience and take away your opportunity. You also wanted his word that you would be let out alive and unharmed.

‘And this- this predicament will be done once I do that too. You will not kill me- nor harm me after that. I will be allowed to leave this place alive’ you said cautiously, weighing your words. He smiled.

‘Of course. In order to ease your worries, why don’t I make a vow with you? A condition, if you will. And if I break it, I will die. If this is your choice, and you want reassurance before you continue with it, I will of course be willing to ease your worries. Stand up and come closer’ he said, and you tried not to show your relief. If he was promising, there was nothing to worry about. You could do this, keep your life and your well-being, leave with your power. It was not a bad deal. Not a bad deal at all. You should be happy that he seemed to be attracted to you. That he was even giving you a choice in the matter.

You slowly got up, and your legs felt weak as you stepped closer to him, feeling like his gaze was burning through you. You stopped in front of him, tense like a violin string as a grimoire appeared in his hand.

‘Sit on my lap, darling’ he murmured, and you found yourself feeling all kinds of things in your body, from nerve-wracking anxiety to butterflies in your stomach to warmth in your gut and weakness in your legs. You inched closer to him, gingerly sitting sideways on his lap.

You were immediately engulfed by his enthralling cologne, and his arm wrapped around you, fingers curling on your waist to keep you in place. You squirmed, gulping when he dipped his head to breathe against your neck, making goosebumps appear on your exposed skin.

‘Your scent is intoxicating, dearest’ he breathed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear to expose the side of your face to him. You could not deny how seductive he could be, how tantalising his touch felt. But you would not be swayed from the promise he’d made.

‘The vow first’ you said somewhat nervously, and he smiled, nodding and keeping an arm around your torso as he picked up his book of stolen abilities and flicked through it, stopping in front of a binding vow.

‘Now, I vow that I will not make your Nen ability mine and steal it from you. It will remain yours. I vow I will not kill you, nor will I ask anyone else to do so for me. Should you respect the terms I have presented to you, you will leave this place unscathed within a day, with your power still in your hands. Should I fail to respect these terms, I will die on the spot. Do you accept?’ he said, and you tried to find any loophole that would allow him to kill you or steal your ability in his words, even though his fingers stroking your ribcage were distracting, but you could not find anything. You nodded.

‘I accept’ you said, and he picked up a small dagger from his pocket, shushing you when you gasped and tried to get away. He pricked his thumb, showing you the small droplet of blood that was forming on the surface of his skin.

‘I won’t hurt you. I just need a drop of your blood. Your hand, if you will, darling. Or the vow won’t work’ he said, and you gingerly let him lift one of your hands and prick your thumb. He pressed yours against his, and you could see the aura surrounding your fingers working. You relaxed a little when he threw the dagger away, supposedly letting it pierce the wood of the highest bookshelf so you could not reach it in an attempt to attack him.

He wiped your thumb and his with a handkerchief, tossing it on the table and letting the grimoire disappear.

‘I hope I was successful in easing your worries. Now, where were we?’ he murmured, round, pretty eyes heavy-lidded, lust-laden as they scanned your face. You felt as though you were in the lion’s den for the first time, or more fittingly, a small butterfly trapped in a spider web. Just waiting to be devoured.

He cupped your jaw, stroking your cheek with the pad of his thumb, leisurely taking his time in savouring you. Part of you wished he would just get it over and done with, another part of you, a shameful one, burnt at every action he took, at his stifling seduction. You might as well enjoy it and hope he was good at the very least, right? No one could blame you for it. Your survival was at stake, after all.

You stopped thinking altogether when his lips grazed your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your lips. He was slow and sensual in all of his movements, but there was something that slipped through the façade, something possessive about the way his fingers curled around your throat, trapping you in place as his lips pressed against yours.

They were soft. Soft and smooth, warm and demanding. You could not deny the pull they had. You were coaxed into seeking them out whenever he pulled away slightly, pressing them against you again, more and more passionately each time, almost manipulating you into wanting him to get rougher.

And he did. His teeth sank into the pliant flesh of your bottom lip, pulling lightly, and his tongue was quick to soothe the sting, taking advantage of your little gasp to slip in your mouth and lay siege on your tongue. It was all akin to a game of pull and push with him. He wheedled you into letting go more and more with each time he gave you something only to take it away and revel in how you sought it again. Just as he had presented the illusion of you wanting this from him, he was now making you act on it as though you had always desired nothing more.

Until your fingers were tangled in his soft raven hair, pulling lightly at it, and you were seeking his soft lips and their taste reminiscent of rich red wine to suck on his bottom lip languidly. Until his teeth nipping at your bottom lip had you mewl in his mouth.

‘Eager, are we? How sweet’ he breathed, and you felt the trap snap, the mechanism trapping you like a helpless doe caught by pincers. All of his teasing had led to this, to making you see that you wanted him, wanted this to happen. And as much as you could deny it, your actions spoke loudly, and your body’s reaction did too. The knowledge that you were already turned on and that if he decided to reach between your thighs he would see just how responsive you were to him made the mortification burn in your chest.

You had wanted to keep your dignity and show your distaste for what was happening, but he had managed to reduce you to a docile doll just by kissing your lips. And his sardonic smile and eyes told you that you were right in that assumption.

And before you could hope to collect yourself, his mouth was on your throat, hungry but still slow, leaving you wanting more. He licked a long stripe along your pulse, making it shoot up as his fingers curled around the roots of your hair and pulled, exposing your vulnerable neck to him. You could not restrain the whimper that escaped you as he kissed and started sucking a sensitive spot between your neck and your shoulder, sure to leave a mark to remind you of what you had done, of your flexible morals, as he’d called them.

His fingers clutched your side, wandered down to your hip and the swell of your ass, grazed your thigh and snaked under your skirt to grope at the plump flesh of your backside. You were too lost in the pleasure of his mouth and tongue on your throat to truly consider your situation and who it was that was touching you so possessively, so greedily. If anything, it only stoked the fire within you.

‘Good girl’ he crooned, sending a jolt to your clit with the dirty praise. You squirmed on his lap, eliciting a soft chuckle from him and a graze of his thumb over your stiff nipple. You were wearing a simple satin shirt with a flimsy bralette, and the friction of the material was torturous against your nipples.

Chrollo pulled the shirt out of your skirt, making quick work of the buttons with one hand whilst the other was still kneading your ass and his mouth was still on your throat. He slipped the garment off you, pulling away to observe you. You gulped, averting your eyes at the sight of his hungry stare, quivering as his fingers ghosted your sternum, your ribcage, the swell of your breasts.

‘You are so beautiful, darling’ he murmured, his lips softly pressing against your collarbone, his fingers deftly lowering the straps of your bralette and unhooking it. He tossed it aside, groaning softly as his hand cupped your breast, kneading it in his fingers, pinching your nipple and rolling it between thumb and index finger.

You tried to stifle a moan, to which he seemed to take offense, because he stopped and bit down hard on your shoulder, making you whine in the process.

‘I want to hear you. The more you stifle your voice, the longer I will tease you. Understood?’ he said, and you meekly nodded, only to speak up when he gave you a meaningful glance.

‘Yes’ you hissed, and he seemed pleased, because he hummed and made you arch your back so that his tongue could lick your stiff nipple and flick it. You were careful not to stifle the small whine that left your lips, and he rewarded you by sucking your nipple in his mouth, scraping it with his teeth and making you cling onto his shoulders.

He bunched up your skirt up to your waist, leaving you exposed as he trailed his fingers to your inner thighs, in a silent request to spread your legs. You were not wholly aware of how swiftly you complied, you only knew that when he first cupped you through your panties, your eyelids fluttered and a soft moan poured out of you.

‘You are soaked for me, pet. Your morals do not seem to extend to your body. Try as you might, you want this, and you cannot lie to me’ he purred, dragging his fingers and pressing against your clit, holding you still when you squirmed away from his touch. You let out a loud moan, your hips jerking. He pulled your panties to the side, rubbing your clit and dipping two fingers inside you, curling them, making your head drop on his shoulder as you moaned against his neck, enveloped by the scent of his cologne.

‘That’s it. That’s my good girl. If I knew how much you liked being fingered on my lap, I would have done this much sooner. No matter. I’ll make it up to you, darling’ he breathed, voice slightly strained as though he was holding back something much more primal from taking over, but you were too dazed to take much notice of all the filth he was spewing and how he sought to humiliate you further, because his touch admittedly felt like heaven. His willowy fingers inside you kept pressing against all the right places, and you could not help but clench around them, your hips twitching into his hand every time his palm rubbed against your sensitive clit.

You were lost in the motion of his fingers as you rutted against his hand, shamelessly chasing your own high as he continued to praise you and kiss you, rewarding every sound you made with a curl of his fingers that had you melting in his arms. Until you could not take it anymore.

‘Can’t- ‘m close’ you huffed out, breathing erratic, chest heaving as his fingers pumped inside you, and he hummed, licking your neck and sucking on it again.

‘Cum for me, pet’ he urged, and your eyes scrunched up, a lewd moan ripping through you as you tensed up on his thigh, sound fading away as you came undone.

You slumped on him, breathing heavily, your cunt throbbing around his fingers as he lazily fucked you through your aftershocks, your hair clinging to the back of your neck from the light sheen of sweat that had formed there.

‘Suck’ you heard, and dazed as you were, you obediently opened your mouth when he presented his fingers, sucking and licking the pads of his fingers, tasting yourself. You had to cling to him as he stood up and walked over to the bed, lowering you on it and observing you as he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off.

There was no denying it, he was attractive. Lean but toned, with graceful abs adorning his flat stomach, jutting collarbones and well-defined biceps; with the way the candlelight danced on his pale skin, making it glow with soft orange hues, he truly looked like he might be a fantasy of sorts.

You supposed he looked like a fallen angel, as his name suggested. Like the Alexandre Cabanel painting of the fallen angel, dangerous but so tempting. It was unfair that he should also be able to make you come undone so easily, when you had vowed to not give him the satisfaction.

He smirked at you, undoing his belt, slipping it through the hooks, catching you staring first at the clear dampness on his thigh, then at the evident bulge of his erection.

You supposed he would fuck you now. If you were being honest, you had thought he wouldn’t have taken such interest in your pleasure, but now, it seemed only fitting: it was all to aid his game, to stroke his ego in humiliating you by showing you how you could not abide by your morals, how you’d moaned and whined to be touched by those blood-stained hands.

Instead, he kept his trousers on, only going so far as to unbutton them to give himself more space. He seemed... quite gifted in that area too, you thought with a grimace. Was there anything that did not favour him? It seemed that fortune graced the wicked in that nonsensical world, because he had it all.

He caged you underneath him, his hair tickling your face as he drew you into a heated kiss, his hands roving down your body, fingertips digging into your hips, tongue pressing against yours.

He was quick to unzip your skirt and slide it off you along with your panties, leaving you completely exposed whilst he still retained his power by not undressing completely.

‘You were so precious squirming on my lap, so good for me. You deserve a reward’ he crooned against your ear in that soft, melodious voice of his, making you swallow heavily as you wondered what he might do to you now.

He did not leave you guessing for long. His mouth traced your collarbone, his head lowering as he licked your sternum and left a dark lovebite above your nipple, another reminder that would bring you back to this room, to what he was doing to you for the following week. He seemed intent on marking you whenever he could, and until he had littered your chest with purple brushstrokes, until you were but a moaning mess, he refused to move on, no matter how much you tried to squirm away and whimper at some of the harshest ones on your ribcage.

He continued to kiss down your stomach, massaging your thighs, cupping your ass and lowering his head to kiss your thighs. You were rendered breathless and unable to stop thrashing and moaning as he sucked another lovebite on your inner thigh, keeping you pinned down and at his mercy. You just wanted him to bury his head between your thighs, you were close, close to begging for it, were it not for your pride. Were it not for who he was.

Fortunately, you did not need to stoop that low. His tongue flattened and dragged up your cunt, tensing and flicking your clit from underneath as he got to the top, tearing a breathless moan from you.

‘You taste so sweet’ he huffed out against your skin, blowing cold air on your clit and making you whine and scoot away. He dragged you back, a wicked light in his stormy eyes as he glanced at you and licked your clit, rolling it on his tongue.

‘F-fuck’ you breathed, your hands shooting to his hair, pulling lightly, trying to ground yourself as he continued to toy with your clit, sucking it and licking it fervently. You could not hold yourself. If he was amazing with his fingers, he was incredible with his tongue. Judging by how he seemed to have a way with words, you should not have been surprised that he was so maddeningly good at pleasuring with his tongue. It was making you lose your mind.

Even if you had tried, you would not have been able to restrain the need to keen, whine and moan every time he sucked your clit, dipped his tongue inside you or drew figures around your clit.

He was insatiable as he flung your thighs on his shoulders, seemingly unbothered with the way you trapped his head and rutted against his face. In fact, he seemed thrilled to follow the movement of your hips, giving you more and more until you were babbling and keening incoherently, unable to even speak.

‘Fuck- Ch- Chrollo...’ you whined longingly, unable to realise your slip of moaning his name in the throes of pleasure. But he heard you loud and clear, because he groaned, and his name on your lips only seemed to spur him on. In a few seconds, he was sucking on your clit, giving you more pleasure than you’d ever thought was even possible, until the torturous knot in your stomach snapped and released and you came with a cry, tears prickling the corners of your eyes, your hair tousled and messy on the pillow, your muscles tensing, toes curling and fingers clawing at the sheets.

You kept your eyes closed for a while, easing into your breathing, feeling as though your body had completely melted, feeling as though you couldn’t even move.

‘You can still take my cock, can’t you, darling? After all, I have made you feel so good. It’s only fair. Do not worry, you will not mind. You seem to love being fucked by the one you spoke of with such revulsion. It’s quite endearing, watching you struggle with your morals’ he crooned, and you opened your eyes, watching him stroke his cock a few times. It was quite long and fairly thick, slightly tilted upwards.

You were too fucked out to consider his taunting, but you knew he was right. Both mindsets could not peacefully coexist in your mind: how could you be so willing and find so much pleasure in someone like him? How could you hate him and love what he was doing to you? It might have been an involuntary physical reaction, but you should have had more resolve, more restraint. Otherwise, what did that say about you?

Chrollo lined himself between your legs, rubbing his cock along your labia, on your clit, instantly making those thoughts fade in the haze of pleasure as you let out a soft sigh and automatically tried to hook your legs around his slender hips.

He gripped your thigh, pushing the tip of his cock inside you, easily slipping inside inch by inch with how shamefully wet you were, and yet, you already felt so full, like he was stretching you to the limit. You clawed at his back, raking your nails across his shoulder blades, gasping and whimpering along with his soft moan.

‘Fuck. So tight... so wet. Such a perfect little cunt’ he huffed out, his lips parting in pleasure, dark eyebrows furrowing. You tried to steady your breathing, tried to relax your muscles to accommodate his size, clung to his shoulders for support.

He wiped a tear from the corner of your eye, continuing to push inside you, albeit slowly, until he was buried to the hilt. You clenched around him, and the soft groan he let out made your stomach drop with a surge of pleasure. He bottomed out and slammed back in, tearing a broken moan from you as he set a ruthless pace, his eyes darkening with lust and the slip of his mask, hunger palpable in his every movement and the way he sought to fully claim you.

He lifted your legs higher up around his waist, his fingers tightening around your throat, not pressing on the front, leaving you room to breathe but making you even more dizzy than you already were.

His pelvis kept slapping against your clit, drawing out whines and pants from you, and with every thrust, he seemed to grow more accustomed to where you liked to be touched, because as soon as his cock pressed against your g-spot, your back arched and your head thrashed from side to side, a lewd moan echoing in the room as you clamped around him.

‘There, huh? Let me do it again, darling’ he breathed, one hand lifting both your legs and bending them at the knees, letting you rest them against his chest as he rammed into you, hitting the same spot again and again, relentlessly building the pressure inside you, making you see stars.

‘Mhh- too much... Chrollo’ you whined, trapped underneath him, feeling as though you might implode if he didn’t stop- or if he stopped, for what it was worth.

‘Moan my name again, pet. Let me hear how filthy it sounds on your lips’ he grunted, the sound of skin slapping against skin both enticing and dirty as he continued to fuck you into the mattress.

When you didn’t reply, suddenly aware of how you were moaning his name, reinforcing how you knew- wanted it to be him to fuck you at that moment, he let out a breathless laugh.

‘Looks as though you might need some convincing’ he said, slowing down and eventually slipping out of you, letting your legs down. You whimpered, desire clawing at your gut, your cunt clenching around nothing as you opened your bleary eyes and set them on him. He gave you a smirk, flipping you on your stomach and lifting your hips, spreading your knees with his and pushing on your lower back to make you arch into him. You lifted yourself on your elbows and heard his tongue click against his teeth condescendingly before he pushed your head against the mattress and smacked your ass with a resounding slap.

You yelped, biting down on your lower lip, mortification once again mingling with pleasure as he pushed his cock back inside you, letting out a soft groan.

‘Use your hands one more time and I will tie them up behind your back. It will feel better like this. For me- and for you’ he said, fisting your hair and gripping your hip, starting to pound into you from behind once again.

It did feel better like this. Deeper. Unbearable. He stimulated your clit with every thrust, the tip of his cock kept pressing against your cervix, and you did not know if you could bear it much longer.

You found the bridge of your nose damp with tears, and struggled to recognise your own voice in the filthy moans you were letting out. It was humiliating and it was impossibly pleasurable, and the mix was somewhat addicting, tainting. It was ruining every shred of sanity left in your brain.

Until he got what he wanted. Because it seemed as though he always did. He could steal anything, including his name from your lips said with such want and bliss that had you not been fucked stupid, you would have wanted to die.

‘Ahh- Chr- Chrollo! Fuck. Gonna cum’ you screamed, sobbing, clenching around him, getting even closer to a mind-shattering orgasm with every moan and groan he graced you with.

‘Good girl. My girl. Mine. You love this, mh? Tell me how much you love this. Tell me how badly you want to cum all over my cock’ he urged, voice possessive and low, and you could not stop yourself, could not do anything but acquiesce, because you needed- needed to cum.

‘Yes! Please. Please let me cum. Please. Need it so bad’ you whined, sobbed even, desperate for reprieve, hoping he would have mercy on you, hoping he would let you finish. His fingers reached under you to rub at your clit, and you could hardly contain a sob of wild pleasure and the jolt of your hips.

‘Since you asked so nicely. Go on, pet, cum for me’ he huffed out, still thrusting inside you at that unrelenting pace, and as though he had power over your own body, you felt the release hit you like a wave of overwhelming pleasure that made your vision white and your ears fill with static.

He was quick to cum with a breathy moan as you squeezed his cock through your orgasm, holding you tightly as he spilled inside you. He continued to push in and out slowly, until you stopped throbbing and squeezing around him.

‘Fuck’ he breathed, letting you collapse on the bed and doing the same next to you. You both stayed silent for a minute or two, catching your breath, feeling the cool air on your feverish skin.

‘Let me clean you up, darling’ he said, and you didn’t have the strength to object as he got up and walked away, the sound of his footsteps quiet as you kept your eyes closed until he came back with a glass of water and a wet towel, his trousers back on, but still shirtless. He wiped your inner thighs gently, with more care than you wanted to admit someone like him could be capable of, and carefully lifted you up so you could drink the water he’d brought you.

You took small gulps, finding it felt amazing trickling down your dry, raw throat after all that crying and screaming. He only put the glass on the nightstand when you had finished it all.

‘Thanks’ you said absent-mindedly, your mind slowly coming back to you in coherent thoughts as you attempted to cover yourself with the duvet. He gave you a languid smile, tucking your hair away from your face and lying next to you.

But it was finally over now. You could leave. Your deal had revealed itself to be better than you wanted to admit, but now, you were finally free. You could put this all behind you.

You tried to get up and gather your clothes, but your body felt like a ragdoll. He had really done a number on you.

‘Careful, dearest. You should wait a little’ he said, smiling at you, his eyes soft, his expression unreadable. You let out a shuddering breath.

‘Want to get... my clothes, and leave’ you said, getting up and hastily putting on your clothes, feeling a little dizzy. You walked back towards the bed, retrieving your underwear and your skirt, putting them on, almost falling were it not for his arms catching you and holding you still.

You felt weird. It had surely been intense, but so intense that your vision was slowly darkening around the edges and your arms and legs felt as heavy as lead?

He pulled you on his lap, and you protested weakly when he started to stroke your hair and kissed your forehead.

‘No- you said I would be free after this. Let me leave’ you slurred, and he shushed you, tenderly stroking your back in soothing gestures.

‘Oh, darling, I never said you would be free’ he said softly, still holding you. You blinked, confused, his face blurry as you stared at him.

‘You said- I’d be leaving this place- with my power... un...scathed within... a day. What d’you do to me?’ your words were garbled together, slurred like you were drunk. And you felt so heavy and tired.

‘I put a few sleeping pills in the water I gave you. Nothing that will harm you, so don’t worry your pretty little head. I don’t need to steal your power if I keep you. You will leave unscathed, but I never said you would leave alone. You should really pay more attention to the words of a vow, my love’ he said, stroking your hair, his soft voice lulling you into sleep despite how horrified you were in your mind. He had tricked you. Had no plans of freeing you. You hadn’t considered he might keep you. Hadn’t considered the depth of his obsession with you. Hadn’t considered there was more than one reason why he had kept you captive.

‘I cannot be parted from you, my love. Your place is by my side. Now close your eyes. Sleep. We have a long journey ahead of us’ he said gently, soothingly. And you could not help but do as he said, your eyelids growing heavier and heavier, your thoughts muddying and fading away along with your consciousness.

Part II here

Part III here

#hunter x hunter #hxh #hxh x reader #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo smut #yandere chrollo #hxh chrollo #chrollo x reader #chrollo hunter x hunter #chrollo x you #chrollo x y/n #chrollo lucilfer x reader #yandere chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere hxh #yandere x reader #chrollo lucilfer smut

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koiiiji · 4 months ago

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fantasy AU x lookism

previous parts 1 2 3

starring ; Ma Taesoo, Vasco (separately)

author's note ; this supposed to be part of halloween special, but i fucked up with deadlines... just a little...🥹 also i planned to add ji gongseop, and i got an idea which fantasy creature he can be, but i haven't any ideas for scenario and wanted to post this one too badly....

tw ; kinda possessive in Taesoo part 🤔

Ma Taesoo — gladiator

the roar of the coliseum was deafening, but Taesoo heard none of it.

he stood in the center of the bloodstained sands, the glint of his sword dulled by crimson, his chest heaving with exertion. another victory. another step closer to his so-called freedom.

but the only thing that mattered was you.

seated high above, in the imperial box, you sat like a vision, untouched by the filth of this brutal world. draped in the finest white silks, fabric so sheer it seemed woven from moonlight, empire’s finest import from the farthest reaches of the world. you were a ghost among men — a creature of purity in a pit of savagery.

you sat close to your brother, the general. delicate fingers holding a single stalk of lavender to your nose, warding off the stench of the arena.

Taesoo had seen it before — the way nobles recoiled from the stench of sweat and death that clung to the air like a curse. the scent of the underground pits where fighters lived, where the wet, rotting musk of decay mixed with iron and blood, the stale breath of men who had long forgotten what it meant to be clean. he understood it. the gap between you.

you lived in a world of polished marble, of silken sheets and golden goblets. he was nothing more than a beast in a cage, a spectacle of violence for the amusement of empire. a wild dog meant to kill and bleed and die on command.

and yet, you always were there. watching.

always dressed in white — the sheer silk clung to your when the summer heat rose, the golden cuffs on ypur wrists glinting in the sunlight, your hair pinned with delicate ornaments befitting your status.

at night the pits were quiet and the only sound was the distant echoes of dying torches. the air was thick with the heavy breath of exhausted men, the metallic tang of rusting chains, the faint murmur of prayers whispered in the dark. Taesoo lay on his cot, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, the cold light of the moon spilling through iron grates. his body ached, fresh wounds burning against his bruised skin, but the pain didn’t matter. pain had never mattered.

not when his mind was filled with you.

you was always there, just out of reach — an untouchable phantom, wrapped in white silk that clung to your delicate frame in the city heat. you sat above him, behind veils of power and privilege, your scent of lavender and something sweeter lingering in the air, something he had never been close enough to truly breathe in.

and yet, he wanted.

at first, his thoughts of you were gentle. Taesoo imagined the softness of your voice, whispering his name in quiet reverence. he imagined your small hand reaching for him, offering something impossible — tenderness, understanding, mercy.

but the deeper he sank into his thoughts, the more it rotted.

he saw himself standing before you, unshackled, unchained. no guards, no nobles, no rules. just the two of you in a room of flickering candlelight and heady silence.

would you tremble if he stepped closer? would you try to run?

would you cry?

he imagined your wrists in his hands, fragile things, pulse racing under his fingers as he held you still. would you gasp, fight, plead? or would you whisper his name, breathless, overwhelmed, yielding?

a low, guttural sound escaped his throat, and he turned onto his side, eyes squeezing shut. it was madness. a sickness he had no cure for.

but the worst part?

he liked it...

the sun was relentless, beating down upon the arena, turning the sand into fire beneath Taesoo’s feet. blood soaked into the ground, staining it darker with each passing drop.

swords clashed, bodies fell, and now only two remained.

Taesoo stood tall, his chest rising and falling with slow, measured breaths. his grip on his sword was firm, unwavering. he was stronger. bigger. deadlier. the fight was already over. and the warrior before him knew it too.

boy before him was young, barely a man, panting through split lips, barely able to keep his sword raised.

Taesoo had fought a hundred like him.

this one was not meant to survive.

the crowd roared for blood, some voices breaking through the chaos, screaming for death. others begged for mercy, pleading for the young warrior’s life.

you sat in your usual place — left of your brother, close to the high officials, where power resided.

you sat with your back impossibly straight, your hand was raised to your face, fingers curled around that same stalk of lavender, shielding yourself from the stench of death. and yet, despite it all, you looked at him. not the way the others did, not with amusement or sadistic pleasure or boredom, but with something else. something he didn’t dare name.

Taesoo lifted his sword, pressing the blade’s edge against the boy’s throat.

he should have finished it. it would have taken no effort at all.

and yet, Taesoo hesitated.

not out of pity. not out of weakness. but because he wanted permission.

your permission.

his eyes locked onto yours, unwavering, unreadable. his blade didn't waver, nor did his stance, but the question hung heavy in the air between you.

'what is your decision, my lady?'

he watched as you turned sharply, grabbing your brother’s hand, nails digging into his forearm.

“Dagyeom, i beg you…”

your voice didn't reach Taesoo, but he read your lips with precision. begging. pleading. not for yourself — but for the boy.

your fingers tightened around brother's wrist, your wide, desperate eyes darting between him and the Emperor. Taesoo knew you were risking your position. you were not meant to question. you were not meant to interfere. and yet, here you were, openly choosing mercy over the spectacle of death.

your brother let out a heavy sigh. mischievous grin.

he turned his head, exchanged a glance with the Emperor. another bored chuckle. a condescending imperial glance in your direction. it's just another life. Dagyeom knew perfectly well that the Emperor had a soft spot for his sister.

then, a single, bored motion.

a finger raised.

mercy.

Taesoo’s grip loosened, his blade lowering, the tension bleeding from his shoulders.

and above, in the imperial balcony, your lips parted in silent relief.

he had won countless battles. had bathed in blood, had broken men, had earned the title of a champion.

but this was the first time a victory felt real.

Vasco — shark hybrid

the ocean was vast, a never-ending expanse of blue that stretched beyond sight. schools of fish darted between coral formations, their shimmering scales catching the dappled sunlight that filtered through the waves. among the reefs, Vasco and his pack moved through the water with effortless power and grace. their bodies were built for the ocean — powerful, streamlined, and fast. gray fins jutted from their backs, sharp-edged and sleek, cutting through the water like blades. smaller, more flexible fins adorned their elbows and sides, aiding in swift, precise movements, for both speed and control their sleek forms slicing through the currents.

as shark hybrids, other sea creatures avoided them, and for good reason. most hybrids had a reputation for being territorial, picking fights, and asserting dominance wherever they swam.

but many of his breed, and Vasco himself were different. he know a lot of good guys!

Vasco wasn’t driven by senseless violence or the need to strike fear. he was curious, filled with an unstoppable determination to understand the world around him. and at that moment, his world narrowed to a single figure among the reef.

it started with color, something bright flickering near the coral, weaving through the coral in soft, fluid movements. at first, he thought it was just fish, maybe some rare ones he hadn't seen before. but when he looked closer, really looked, his chest tightened in quiet wonder.

your tail shimmered in the dappled sunlight, gliding effortlessly through the water. it was long, delicate, with few additional fins, it stretched along your body and tail like the finest silk... nothing like the strong, sharp fins of his kind. mermaids weren’t built for chasing or hunting — you were something else entirely, something mesmerizing.

Vasco had never seen someone so effortlessly beautiful, so serene in the water, and he found himself slowing down to watch.

he had heard of your kind before, stories whispered among his tribesman. mermaids were elusive, soft creatures that stayed near the shallows, away from the deep waters, where predators roamed.

he watched, fascinated, as you and your friends floated near the coral, your voices carrying like soft ripples under the water. you were talking, laughing, completely unaware of him and his pack at first. Vasco tilted his head, eyes wide, taking in how different you all were — your tails flicking gently in the water, your delicate fingers brushing against the reef, when you were looking at something in corals.

yours was the first he noticed. your tail shimmered like liquid silk, soft and smooth, its scales catching the sunlight that filtered through the waves. each shift of your body sent ripples of color cascading through it — hints of pearlescent blues and soft iridescent pinks blending seamlessly with the water around you. it was nothing like his own rough, battle-worn form.

he wanted to come closer.

his tail moved without thinking, just a little, just enough to shorten the distance between you. he wasn’t sure what to do — maybe he should say hi? maybe mermaids liked to be nudged like sharks hybrids usually did? he didn’t know, but he wanted to find out.

but then, you saw him.

and everything shifted in an instant.

your eyes went wide, your whole body tensing as if you had seen something dangerous. your friends gasped, gripping your wrist, their tails flicking wildly as all of you darted away, disappearing behind the reef with a flurry of bubbles.

Vasco stopped, confused.

why were you swimming away? he hadn’t done anything. he had barely even moved.

he watched helplessly as you disappeared into the blue, your colors fading like a dream slipping away.

Vasco blinked, his broad shoulders slumped down and eyes filled with sadness. he turned to Bumjae, one of his packmates, his best friend, who swam up beside him with a knowing smirk.

“guess we scared them off,” Bumjae chuckled, flicking his tail idly.

“but… we didn’t even do anything.” Vasco furrowed his brows, his sharp teeth pressing together in frustration. “why did they swim away?”

Bumjae shrugged. “mermaids don’t usually stick around when they see other hybrids. it’s kinda normal.”

Vasco frowned, his gaze dropping to his hands, to his broad chest, to the dark fins cutting through the water.

“but we weren’t attacking them.” Vasco’s tail flicked behind him, his mind racing. he replayed the look of fear on your face, the way you fled so quickly — like you thought he was a threat.

he had never thought of himself as scary before. strong, sure. big, yeah. but scary?

maybe mermaids were just… shy?

Bumjae was already leading the pack away, their figures blending back into the depths of the ocean, but Vasco hesitated for a moment longer. his gaze lingered on the reef where you had vanished.

he had never seen anything like you before.

with one last glance, Vasco turned and swam away, but you never left his mind.

you will meet once again, right?...

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hazelira · 20 days ago

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part 2 of butterfly blue

The last thing Jake remembered about loving you wasn't your laugh—though he missed that too. It wasn’t how your head tilted when you were trying not to cry or how you hummed when you cooked barefoot and off-key.

It was the silence.

Not the angry kind. Not the screaming, shattering kind you see in movies. No.

It was the silence after you hung up. The clean, surgical slice of a call ended too easily.

He stared at the screen long after it went black. Long after, your voice stopped echoing in his head. The silence bled into his chest and stayed there. It wasn’t loud. It was just… final.

He told you he didn’t love you anymore.

And maybe, for a moment, he believed it.

Not because it was true—but because he wanted it to be. Because it was easier than admitting he didn’t know how to hold something so bright without dimming it. Without breaking it.

He said the words like they were simple. Measured. Precise.

But when you didn’t cry, didn’t beg—when you just went quiet and ended the call—something inside him cracked so quietly, he didn’t hear it until much later, until it was too late.

You looked happy.

That day on the street with jasmine in the air and your shoulders straighter than he’d ever seen them. You were wearing your laugh again like armour, like defiance. Like freedom.

He almost didn’t recognize you.

Until he did.

He saw the butterfly necklace and felt something sharp twist beneath his ribs.

“You look happy,” he’d said because it was the only thing he could say without unravelling.

"I have to be," you replied. And just like that, you became a mirror of everything he wasn’t brave enough to be.

He never told you that he waited after that. He stayed on that street for another hour, breathing in ghosts and watching the sky bruise into the evening. He never told you that he whispered your name into the wind and hated how it no longer belonged to him.

He dated. He smiled. He fucked. But everything felt like drinking water when you’re drowning—useless. cold. desperate.

They didn’t laugh like you. They didn’t challenge him. They didn’t see him like you did—the good, the cruel, the boy still trying to be a man.

You had loved every piece of him. Even the ones he tried to hide. Especially those.

And he repaid you by making you smaller.

You stopped calling. I never reached out. He thought maybe you’d text on his birthday, the way you always used to—sending some dumb inside joke or a picture of a sky you said looked like a painting.

But the silence held.

And he learned that silence is a kind of answer, too.

It was a Tuesday, three months later, when he saw the butterflies.

Monarchs. Bold, unapologetic. They filled the sky above a field near your favourite bookstore, the one you’d once dragged him to on your birthday because you liked the smell of pages more than cake.

He stood in the middle of the street, watching orange wings slice the sky—and he remembered.

How you used to chase beauty like it was a religion.

How he’d forgotten to worship with you.

He dreams of you sometimes.

In those dreams, you sit across from him at a kitchen table that doesn’t belong to anyone. The air is warm. You're older. Wiser. Your eyes still carry that sad kind of kindness that forgives but never forgets.

“I never stopped loving you,” he tells you in those dreams.

And every time, you say the same thing:

“Maybe in another life.”

Then you smile.

And he wakes up gasping.

He doesn’t miss you like a song.

He misses you like a phantom limb.

Like the sound of his name spoken with reverence. Like the version of himself who could have stayed. Who could’ve loved you without needing to dim you down to keep you close?

He thinks maybe that version of him only existed in your eyes.

And when you looked away—when you left—so did he.

Some nights, he writes you letters he never sends. He keeps them in a box with a photo of you laughing, mid-spin, hair wild and unbothered.

You used to say you didn’t occupy space—you became it.

He remembers that now.

God, he remembers everything now.

He saw a girl in a bookstore once wearing a butterfly necklace.

He almost called your name.

But he didn’t.

Because some things aren’t meant to be chased.

Some things are meant to be mourned.

And some loves—the loudest, the brightest, the most alive—are only meant to break you open so you can finally begin again.

In another life, maybe he would’ve stayed.

But in this one?

He watches the sky bleed, butterfly blue, alone.

And he whispers to the wind:

“Maybe in another life, I was the kind of man who knew how to love her right. But this is the one where I learned too late.”

And maybe… that’s his punishment.

To remember.

To ache.

To grieve the sun, he made set.

Alone. Always.

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spiced-apple · 5 days ago

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Lost Signal — Redhaired Pirates

Strawhats

Things had gotten quiet. Too quiet. The familiar boisterous laughter that usually filled the Red Force was eerily subdued. Each hearty guffaw from Lucky Roux felt a little hollow, each clinking of Tank's tankards sounded less celebratory. Even Rockstar's usual swagger seemed to carry a subtle limp, a phantom weight dragging him down. And Benn Beckman, ever the calm observer, found his gaze drifting, not across the vast, welcoming sea, but into an empty space on the deck, a space that felt profoundly, unnervingly vacant.

"Something's missing," Yasopp finally voiced, his keen sniper's eyes narrowed, not at a distant target, but at the indefinable. His words hung in the air, a bell tolling the truth they'd all been subconsciously avoiding.

Shanks, usually the embodiment of carefree joy, sat on the railing. His eyes, usually sparkling with mirth, were clouded with a quiet, aching longing. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice softer than usual. "It's like… like a piece of the world just got ripped out."

The feeling was a persistent hum beneath their skin, a low-level static in their minds. It was the absence of a particular laugh that used to mingle with their own, a unique cadence that now only echoed in the silence. It was the lack of a specific comfort during their moments of sorrow, a gentle hand, a quiet understanding that was now just… gone. They felt the phantom ache of shared adventures, of battles won and stories told, that now felt incomplete, like a song missing its crucial melody.

What was worse, infinitely worse, was the impossible truth that gnawed at them: they couldn't remember. No matter how hard they strained, no matter how desperately they tried to grasp the fleeting wisp, they couldn't recall a face. No name surfaced, no specific memory clicked into place. It was like trying to discern the features of a shadow, a presence so intimately known yet utterly unidentifiable. They knew, deep in their bones, that someone vital was gone—the one who had laughed with them, cried with them, understood them perhaps better than anyone else. But they were gone as if they had never even been there to begin with.

The Red Force, once a beacon of freedom and adventure, now felt like a ship adrift, searching for a star that had vanished from the sky. Every shared glance among the crew spoke volumes: a silent, desperate question.

What could they do to find someone they couldn't even remember? How do you call out to a ghost of a memory that nonetheless left such an undeniable void?

The unsettling hum in the Red Force intensified, morphing from a low static into a constant, nagging throb. It wasn't just a missing person; it was a missing truth. The more they tried to pinpoint the source of their pervasive unease, the more they realized the horrifying nature of the void.

"It's like... like they were never even here," Lucky Roux finally articulated, his usual jovial tone replaced by a rare, troubled frown. He took a bite of meat, but the usual pleasure seemed to elude him. "But... they were here, weren't they?" He looked around, a silent plea in his eyes for someone to confirm what he couldn't remember.

Benn Beckman looked towards them, his gaze piercing, not just at the crew, but through the very fabric of their reality. "It's a paradox," he stated, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "We feel their absence profoundly, yet we can't define their presence. It's as if their very existence was erased, rewritten from our memories, but the space they occupied remains an open wound."

Shanks slammed his fist on the railing, the wood groaning under the impact. His usual easygoing demeanor was gone, replaced by a fierce, almost desperate intensity. "No!" he roared, startling even the seasoned crew. "They were here! I know it! And I can feel it, they’re gone now." He clawed at his chest, as if trying to hold onto a fleeting phantom. "The laughter... the conversations... the understanding... it's all still here, in my heart, but I can't see their face! I can't say their name!"

Yasopp lowered his rifle, his sharpshooter's instincts failing him in this intangible hunt. "It's like trying to hit a target you can't see, but you know is there," he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. "Our memories... they're like a scratched logbook. The stories are there, but the main character's page is blank."

This wasn't just about finding a lost crewmate; it was about reclaiming their own reality. The shared history they cherished felt fundamentally compromised, a grand adventure missing its most crucial witness. The Red Force, once a vessel of pure, unadulterated freedom, now felt like a prison of forgotten truths. Their laughter, their tears, their triumphs—they were all tainted by this impossible void, this phantom limb of their collective consciousness. They were searching for someone no one remembered, but simultaneously, everyone did. It was a maddening, soul-crushing paradox.

The only thing clear was the unwavering conviction that they had to bring back what was lost, even if they couldn't remember what it was. Their very sanity, their very existence, depended on it.

Your TV broke about a week ago. Not just a simple malfunction, but something truly bizarre. Trying to explain it to the repair people—hell, even trying to get ahold of a person instead of a robot was a nightmare. It kept freezing whenever you tried to watch anything besides One Piece. How do you even begin to explain that to some dude on the customer service end? "Yeah, so my TV only works for one specific anime, and then it freaks out for everything else." It was even more embarrassing when he called over his supervisor, who sounded even more confused than he was.

The old TV finally went black when you managed to force it onto another title. You figured it was toast and bought a new one that weekend. The new TV was smaller, thankfully, like the size of a computer monitor. Hopefully the reduced size would make it less prone to… whatever the last one had. But when you plugged it in, all the things that had previously been swept under the rug became stranger. The only icon available on it was for One Piece. None of the other streaming services, no settings, no other apps. Just a giant One Piece logo. The skull with the Strawhat stared back almost mockingly.

"How is that even possible?" You muttered, reaching for the power cord. You unplugged it, but the screen didn't change. It was still on—still bright and on actually changed to the show's title screen, like it hadn't just lost power. In fact, it started to get brighter, and hotter. Lighting up the dim room with the faint smell of ozone filling the air. Then smoke began to rise off the top of it.

"What…" You stumbled back, eyes wide. The light intensified, filling the small room with an almost blinding glow. You squeezed your eyes shut, but the brightness still shone behind your eyelids, a searing white flash that seemed to almost burn into the retinas. It got brighter, and brighter, until finally, overwhelmed, everything simply shut off.

The sky was beginning to turn to dusk, a soft, light purple with no cloud in sight. You felt a cool breeze on your skin, and the scent of salt and something vaguely woody filled your senses. When did you get outside? Your eyes snapped open, and you jolted upwards, your already racing heart seizing at the sight in front of you.

They were there. All of them. And they looked… real.

Benn Beckman stood closest, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips, his gaze unwavering. "Good to have you back," he said, his voice a low rumble that somehow cut through the roaring in your ears. He reached out a hand, surprisingly gentle, and placed it on your shoulder. His fingers were solid, warm through your shirt. This wasn't a dream.

Shanks, his eyes shone with an emotion you couldn't quite place, strode forward, a wide, relieved smile spreading across his face. "Took you long enough, partner!" he laughed, his voice boisterous, yet edged with a profound earnestness. Before you could react, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a surprisingly firm hug. The smell of sake and the faint musk of the sea clung to him, undeniably real. "We were worried you weren't coming back."

"Coming back?" You managed to croak, voice hoarse. Your mind was a whirlwind of confusion. Was this a hallucination? Some elaborate dream? "W-where am I?"

Yasopp, his long rifle casually slung over his back, stepped forward, his eyes, usually so sharp, now held a deep, knowing warmth. "You're home," he said, his voice soft. He reached out and gently ruffled your hair, the sensation startlingly real and strangely... nostalgic. "You always were, you just... stepped out for a bit."

Lucky Roux chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate through the deck beneath your feet. "We knew you'd find your way. We just had to... make the path a little clearer." He offered you a piece of what looked like freshly cooked meat, the aroma making your stomach growl despite the surreal situation.

"But... I don't..." You tried to protest, to explain the impossible reality of your television, the static, the blackouts. How could you possibly be here? None of this was supposed to be real. None of this was supposed to be familiar…

Shanks pulled back from the hug, but kept a hand firmly on your arm. His expression, usually so carefree, was now serious, his gaze piercing. "You're more real than you think," he stated, his voice quiet but firm. "We remembered you, even when you were somewhere none of us could reach. And now you’re here, you’re back where you belong."

The feeling was overwhelming: the cool air, the scent of the sea, the undeniable warmth of Shanks's hand on your arm, the solid deck beneath your feet, the distinct scent of Lucky Roux's cooking, Yasopp's touch, and Benn Beckman's steady presence. They weren't just images on a screen. They were here. And you were here too. Something told you that wouldn’t change.

#yandere one piece #yandere one piece x reader #Yandere Redhaired pirates #yandere shanks #isekai

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