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[fatuismooches]

cor meum, manus tuas.

synopsis: After your illness strikes again, Dottore decides to gift you a failed experi-, a new companion in order to soothe your injured heart.

includes: dottore w/ gn! reader

notes: A cute fluff fic where Dottie gives you Foxttore and the pufflings as a pet (the blue monster creature from Nahida's fairy tale.) He loves you a lot. Really just pure fluff and Foxttore getting on Dottore's nerves. Enjoy!

For as long as Il Dottore had known you, you had always been one to suggest things that he had no interest in. It was a habit of yours, and sometimes he’s not sure if you’re being genuine about it or if you simply want to rile him up, as you usually do.

One such example was back in the Akademiya when the two of you finally successfully reversed-engineered one of those machines after a painstaking amount of work. It was arduous and tiring, but immensely rewarding. Oh, he had so many ideas and things to do now, but you- you had other plans.

“So, now that we’ve got it under our control, I think we should program it to have some new tricks.” Zandik had paused at your words, as for once that was a good idea. He wondered what the limit of such a killing machine could possibly be.

“Go on.”

“Alright, imagine this, it’s about to swoop in and land the finishing blow, but instead, a whole bunch of confetti pops out and-”

“No.”

“You can’t even pick up a sword properly. You know nothing about fighting like I do! Just hear me out, it’ll be a great distraction because they’d never be expecting that, and boom, that’s where the real attack comes in.”

“No.” (Later on, he found out that you’d programmed the thing to have a single flower shoot out, just for him. He swiftly removed it after you were done laughing.) 

Or when you had begged and pleaded with him to let you teach him how to cook, just once. It was no secret you were always the one on cooking duty during the Akademiya, for he had a severe lack of skill for it. Furthermore, Zandik had no interest in it, not having the time or patience for something just meant as sustenance. You, however, were insistent on at least teaching him the basics, for it was no way for a student to live (according to you.)

The slicing and dicing went well enough, but the moment you turned your back for a few moments, he had somehow set the smoke detector off, and the Akademiya’s dorm director gave you two a good scolding. You learned your lesson after this particular incident, but from your giggles, he knew you didn’t feel an ounce of regret.

Your antics were truly something he wouldn’t get used to. And now, over four hundred years later, your teasing nature had remained the same, only that it became more verbal as you didn’t have the strength to pull off your elaborate plans anymore.

Which is why lately you had been clinging to him with pleading eyes and a jutted lip, vehemently asking for a pet despite his numerous rejections, going so far as to try and recruit other segments (who, unfortunately for you, did not join your cause.)

“Please honey, my darling, my beloved, my-”

“My answer is not going to change, [Name]. I will not tolerate anything running around and causing a mess.”

“Aww, but come on. I know you love cats. I know you secretly pet them when no one’s looking. I know that-”

“That’s enough from you. Now, will you sit or should I strap you down instead?”

That line of conversation persisted for a while until you mostly gave up, only throwing the idea in from time to time with a hmph. But now, he was uncharacteristically wondering if there could be a solution to this problem. 

Lately, you had been confined to your bed and room, too physically weak to move around much. He and the segments had done their best, as they always do, to take care of you, but one did not need to be a genius to know that you were feeling down. Not only because of the aches your body gave you, but also because you were lonely for most of the day, seeing as his other selves were usually too busy to spend an adequate amount of time with you. Once again, despite his lack of care for the emotions and feelings of others, he could see straight through your feigned expressions of nonchalance.

Dottore hated it when you pretended around him.

He could raise the topic but it would probably make matters worse. Instead, it was much more logical to work toward a solution for the issue - the solution being a companion to keep a smile on your face, and your mind at ease. Now, an actual pet probably would be a hassle to maintain in the lab, knowing the kind of activities that were… well, unsafe to say the least, so he put that possible solution to the side for now.

Initially, he sought to create something mechanical, having seen the mechanical animals from Fontaine. Of course, his creation would be far superior, and it would be quite helpful with your condition and all. But upon further thinking, knowing your tastes… you’d probably prefer something softer, considering how much you liked to cuddle him and your plushies. 

It was a conundrum the scholar found himself in, making his darling lover happy was not something that could be so easily scientifically concocted like the rest of the conclusions he reached. It required much more than simply following the lines of reason. Perhaps that’s why Dottore often struggled with it. 

Yet he did not have the luxury of time to continue pondering, for he did not want to leave you by yourself for much longer. And so he continued to sit at his desk, his hands automatically filling out paperwork while his mind was focused elsewhere, still thinking about what he could possibly gift you. Something warm and cuddly with the ability to communicate with you to some extent…

That was when he remembered something he created long, long ago.

The memories of that creation came back to him rather quickly once he remembered. Dottore remembered every experiment he’d done, but some were just not very special or successful and lingered very little in his mind. This was one of those unnoteworthy results. It was no secret that he was known to… play around with the concept of life, ignoring the rules that guarded it so strictly… and it was this idea that led to the birth of a creature, one that certainly did not belong to this world.

It was a monstrous, furry black thing that hid its true self with some kind of suit, its lone eye bright and red. It hadn’t been the first time his experiments led him to the unknown, but this… was just something he didn’t care about at all. After a few tests on the creature, he lost interest rather quickly. It was the farthest thing away from the life Dottore wanted to toy with. In fact, he had planned to dispose of the thing, but the creature seemed to understand his words more than he anticipated. It quickly scurried away, creating chaos and knocking down almost everything it could, skillfully making its escape.

Dottore had contemplated searching for his odd creation but decided that it wasn’t worth the time or energy. Judging from the distaste it held for him, it probably wouldn’t come around anyway. So, it could exist in the far depths of the lab for all he cared. It wasn’t like this was the first time he threw things into the back and forgot about them. Now, he was rather pleased that he didn’t get rid of his experiment. He had known you for long enough that he was sure you’d find such a thing cute, for some reason. It checked the fluffy and easily holdable boxes too. His only question was whether it could be alive after all these years… well, it was certainly worth a shot, seeing as his solutions were limited.

The answer to Dottore’s question was a yes. It had unfortunately taken much longer than he’d liked to search the dusty rooms (although admittedly, he had gotten a bit distracted with reviewing the old things he dumped) but at long last, he had found the round creature peacefully dozing without a care in… some kind of bed it had crafted with a bunch of papers and black fur. It looked perfectly content… in all honesty, Dottore was a bit interested in what it had been up to all this time. Maybe it held more scientific value than he thought… 

Regardless, in one swift motion, Dottore grabbed the creature by the scruff of its neck and it immediately awoke, attempting to scramble away. Once its single eye laid on the man who so rudely interrupted its sleep, it blinked, before multiplying its strength to escape, even trying to scratch him, but to no avail. The Harbinger’s grip was far too strong, of course. Meanwhile, Dottore had already lost a bit of patience from the creature’s incessant movements.

“Stop that,” he demanded sharply, and the critter instantly went still as its eye continued to stare at him completely widened. Dottore smiled, which felt rather eerie and frightening to the oversized creature.

“What, did you think I came all the way here to finish the job? Oh no, if I wanted to, I would have done so already a long time ago. Instead, I have another use for you. Something that will benefit both of us. I’m sure you’ll agree,” he hummed as he turned to leave the room. But as he took a single step, he found himself stepping on something soft. Curiously lifting his foot, he looked down to see a small, black, round ball of fluff staring at him with a red eye identical to the creature he held in his hand. And then another came into view.

… And another. Soon at least over a dozen had popped out of the shadows, all watching at him with anticipating eyes. He had forgotten these balls of black fur were also a byproduct of creating the creature. Now quite a few had surrounded his feet and were hopping up and down, attempting to climb his pants, which he quickly shook off with a scowl. Well, it looked like these things were going to follow him regardless of what he said…

“If you all are going to follow me, be prepared to make yourself useful,” he sighed in exasperation before finally leaving, stepping on a few more in the process. (The usefulness in question, was making sure you’d be left with a smile.) Based on the odd squeaking noises the smaller creatures made, they seemed to be on board with the idea. 

—

When your husband suddenly presented you with a gift contained in a rather large box, you were a bit surprised. Not because you were receiving a gift, but because of the size of it. Normally, he would give you small trinkets and such, things he’d thought you’d like (that had no real purpose to him, retrieved solely for you. Yes, he was very cute unintentionally. You had a little shelf for his stuff.) But you had no clue what he could have possibly gotten for you that warranted the need for such a big container…

You had long discarded your book in favor of new entertainment (you were reading the same sentences over and over anyway), your hands gliding over the rough material. Dottore was looking at you expectantly, having barely said anything besides shoving the thing on your bed, with a simple “for you.” You couldn’t help but chuckle, your chest getting a bit lighter from the previously stuffy atmosphere dissipating.

“Are you going to explain yourself or leave me guessing as to what I’ve done to receive such a thing?”

“You have been lonely and tired, and I seek to alleviate your pain. Yet there are certain things I cannot always do, which is why I found a solution,” he stated simply, pushing the box closer to you as if it was no big deal. Your eyes widened as your jaw hung, speechless, before you sent a small, teasing smile to your husband.

“I… well, who knew you could be such a considerate man? Keep that up and you’ll make me blush.” You couldn’t help but heat up a bit from his concern, although he didn’t say it outright. And you didn’t really have it in you to deny his words too, he was right after all, you have been lonely and tired from being cooped up in your room all day.

“Still, I want a hint! Ah, it’s too heavy for me to even lift up…” You couldn’t guess what could be in here. “Could it be the latest new novels from Inazuma?”

“No, but those are on the way. It’s something more-” At that moment, the box slightly shifted and you blinked in surprise.

“Oh, oh! Are these new models of Beta’s miniature Ruin Machines? Did he finally make the Ruin Sentinels series?” In truth, initially, the segment wasn’t interested in creating such pointless machines, but after you oh so innocently challenged him to make them movable and fit in the palm of your hand, he took the bait and presented them to you smugly. Needless to say, you very much liked your little collection of action figures, and you were hoping he had finally made ones that could fly.

“No, it’s-” Once again, he was interrupted by even more dramatic shuffling, thumping echoing loudly from inside the box which made you scoot back a bit.

“Dottore, you sure whatever’s in here isn’t going to attack me…?” Your voice was more lighthearted than worried, but now you were squinting at him a bit suspiciously. Dottore’s expression remained unaffected, but inside he was the slightest bit annoyed. He had told those damn things not to move around. Thankfully, a sharp slap to the cover of the box caused the movements to cease, and he only smiled at you once again.

“As I was saying, it’s something you have been asking about for a long time.” He watched as your face turned thoughtful, fingers drumming when suddenly it became very obvious as to what it was. 

“Is it… is it what I think it is?” He found your expression rather amusing as he witnessed your eyes becoming sparkly with joy.

“Go ahead,” Dottore motioned and you wasted no time pulling the cover off the box, your eyes meeting a furry, blue creature whose lone eye gazed up at you curiously. You blinked at it, and it blinked back at you, but you had no time to say anything before some other unknown creatures began pouring out the box and spilling onto your bed, some crawling on your lap. This was certainly not the average pet you had expected… but you were not complaining. These things were the cutest - not to mention the little strand of hair on the top.

“Dottore,” you giggled at the fluff tickling your skin, “what exactly are these- oh!” Your words were interrupted when the larger creature suddenly jumped out of the box and launched itself into you, pawing your chest. You reciprocated the attention in delight, giving it numerous head pats and taking a closer look at it. Most of its soft fur seemed to be blue, although its head was black, and its beak was harder than the rest of its body. Regardless, it was completely adorable, and it seemed to like you very much.

“It is something I created in my lab during one of my experiments. I figured it would be something you’d enjoy.” You lit up, and the scholar couldn’t help but appreciate how you seemed to glow.

“You made these little guys for me? Oh, I always knew you could be such a romantic! I have my husband, my son, and now a cute pet. Isn’t it nice to see our family grow, Zandik?” He remained silent at your hastily made conclusion, deciding that the little white lie wouldn’t hurt, especially not when you looked this happy. After all, he imagined your response to him keeping this creature in the backrooms of his laboratory for ages wouldn’t be very well received, considering how attached you were to it already. Thankfully, you didn’t notice the glare the creature sent him either.

“Do they have names yet?” Dottore thought back to the string of numbers and letters attached to this experiment and opted not to disclose that, shaking his head. You hummed, trying to think of what name to bestow upon your new pets until you quickly came up with something good.

“Foxttore,” you stated firmly.

“Foxttore?” He repeated a few seconds after you, rather unimpressed.

“Yes! Because he looks like a fox, and he also kind of looks like you!” You playfully squished the creature’s cheeks.

“I bear no resemblance to that creature,” he frowned, immediately refuting your statement.

“Don’t look like that,” you teased. “It’s a compliment. You’re both cuties that are the same shade of blue,” you leaned in to kiss him gently, a simple way to silence him despite his vexation. “Now as for these little ones…” you thought once more as the black puff balls clung to your arm, Dottorelings… no, that’s too long… how about pufflings? Yes, that will do nicely!” Seemingly understanding your words, the pufflings began jumping up and down in glee. You then moved closer to the man and enveloped him in a hug.

“Thank you for this, Zandik. I am very happy,” you whispered quietly as you snuggled into his neck. It was the truth - you really were happy to have some company constantly around. Your husband returned the hug and you loved how his strong arms felt around you.

“Of course. But if they happen to cause you any… trouble,” he sent a look to the thing now called “Foxttore”, “be sure to tell me.”

“Aww, don’t say that. Foxttore is a good boy! Right?” You smiled brightly at your new pet, who was kneading the blanket, watching the two of you. The contrast between its creator’s less-than-pleasant face and your wide grin was stark and rather easy to choose from. It then hopped up and practically wedged itself in between the two of you, looking up to you with a pleading eye, desperate for attention. You squealed with delight and pressed the creature to your cheek, nuzzling against it.

When Dottore noticed the cheeky look his creation sent him, he wondered if this was actually a good idea.

—

Foxttore and the pufflings were the best and cutest companions you could ever ask for.

The pufflings were always scattered about your room, resting in different locations. You honestly had no clue how many there were, nor could you tell them apart, but you swore they squeezed through the bottom of your door somehow because sometimes they’d return with random items. They seemed pretty starved for attention… they even liked it when you squished them like a stress ball.

Foxttore was equally as cuddly, but also rather intelligent. He would fetch you items so you didn’t need to get up, and he could even turn a doorknob… you were fascinated. One of your favorite things to do was give him a note for him to deliver to a segment, and he would actually deliver it. (Said note usually contained you begging a segment to visit you, otherwise you’d die without their attention.)

After a lot of cuddling and rubbing, you found out that Foxttore was just a severely oversized puffling with four legs instead. That blue fur of his wasn’t even his, just a suit he wore. It was quite funny to see him without it on. It seemed rather shy without its fox fur, but with enough kisses, hugs, and reassurance, it had no problem lounging around without it.

You read them stories, showed them everything your room had to offer, placed some of Beta’s cute pink bows on them, bathed with them - you were starting to look forward to the day much more now that you could wake up to them.

—

While Dottore knew that you would get attached to the little monstrosities he gifted you, perhaps he didn’t anticipate it to reach this degree. Even after you had gotten well enough to stroll around the lab again, the blasted things were attached to your hip the whole time.

Visiting the segments? They would come up to you, caressing and teasing you with their deliciously infuriating small touches and kisses, and then all of a sudden a small crash would sound throughout the room, the culprit being Foxttore.

Visiting him? He’d have you on his lap, about to pin you to his desk, when he noticed the pufflings watching him from all corners of the room. It was maddening trying to chase them away, but then you’d get pouty about how the creatures didn’t like to be alone. (The only segment that the creature seemed to like was Zandy, although it had taken a while - a bit of scolding from you, and many offerings of food from the child to Foxttore had done the trick.)

As much as Dottore was glad your mood had improved greatly, admittedly, it would please him if he could just chuck his creations out into the Snezhnayan snow, just to finally get some alone time with you. But you loved them too much, so he resolved to resort to other means… eventually.

Over time, your pets gradually began to not hog your attention the whole time, but you were very insistent on helping Dottore and them become friends. It wasn’t very easy, however, they seemed to have some tension between them. You weren’t really sure why, but you still loved having them together.

—

“Dottore! Oh Dottore, you have to watch this,” you puffed out your chest proudly as Foxttore trotted behind you. Your husband looked at you questioningly before you spread your arms out, directing them toward the creature.

“I taught Foxttore tricks! Watch this! Foxttore, sit!” Your pet obediently sat down, his tail wagging (although you had no clue how that worked since it was just a suit…)

“Foxttore, spin around!”

“Foxttore, roll over!”

“Now high-five me!” Dottore watched in amusement as the blue creature followed your commands with ease. Perhaps it really was smarter than he thought. Regardless, all he cared about was that you were occupied with something, rather than being by yourself.

“Okay, now fetch Dottore’s secret stash of sweets!” At that, Foxttore began making its way over to one of the numerous bookshelves in Dottore’s office before the Harbinger quickly realized what you said, and stopped the creature in its tracks.

“I knew there were too many pieces missing,” he stared at you humorlessly, while you sweated nervously.

“W-What? You said I was allowed to take some!”

“I said you, not this… thing,” the man then picked up Foxttore by its strands of blue hair, which the creature fought at, and dropped it in your arms like it was some pest. “I’m moving it.” 

“Please don’t! I won’t do it again!”

—

The continued pampering of Foxttore had, unfortunately for your lovers, become a norm to see around the lab. He was a spoiled lil shit, in other words, who could do no wrong in your eyes… which is why every new thing you did had little to no effect on them anymore besides an eye twitch of annoyance and a promise to bully the creature later. The current situation was one such time. Dottore had come into your room only to see many abnormally small clothes scattered on your bed, with you in the center of it all.

“Oh Dottie, you’re just in time! Look at what I got!” You then held up Foxttore in all his glory, his new hoodie substantially thinner with different patterns, a great big smile on your face.

… It was only you who had the privilege of using his time like this.

“Now before you ask how I got these, I had them custom-made! See, I wanted to sew the clothes myself, but my hands have been too shaky lately and then you’d get all grumpy if I hurt myself with the needle, so I just asked Columbina to find someone for me and she did! She’s a great friend!” You continued to ramble on. 

“See, the poor thing gets too hot sometimes, especially when he starts running on our walks,” you said sadly, while he wondered how exactly you walked this monstrosity, “that’s why I got him different clothes! And they’re stylish too! Look, he’s even got pajamas! Don’t you think it’s cute?” You looked at him, your eyes sparkling and glittering with light that dazzled him.

In all honesty, Dottore didn’t really care about the little abomination of a creature. In fact, he probably leaned more into disdain for it. But what he did care about was you, and what made you happy, what put a smile on your face since he hated for it to be missing.

“I believe your definition of cute is rather unusual.”

“Huh? How could you not think Foxttore is the cutest thing ever? Oh… I see your game. You think I’m the cutest thing ever, don’t you?” You boldly teased him which didn’t phase him, only making a confident smirk grow on his face.

“I suppose that would be accurate, yes. Nothing else comes to mind that could be compared to your beauty,” he said smoothly, plucking the creature from your hands and dropping it elsewhere, which it clearly disliked, but he was more interested in your reaction. Your mouth slightly ajar, heat creeping up your face with a flustered expression, breathing speeding up a bit.

“A-As long as you’re aware,” you mumbled shyly, turning your face away, although your slight smile was apparent.

Needless to say, Zandik was always aware of his beloved.

—

You always loved it when you were able to leave the lab. Sometimes they were frequent outings, sometimes they were very rare. It all depended on how well you had been feeling lately. Today, you had finally been able to go out for a short walk with Dottore after so long. The cold air and snow had you shivering, but feeling the wind hit your cheeks was worth it. (And being able to cling to your husband was a definite plus in your books.) But you were still happy to come back home.

… Especially when you were greeted by your little friend.

As soon as you walked through the door, you noticed that Foxttore was impatiently waiting by the entrance. The moment he saw you, he sped toward you at light speed and pawed at your legs for pets, hopping up and down. You couldn’t help but laugh as you bent down to give him some attention which he happily reciprocated, but then he pulled away and started wildly running around the two of you.

“Aww, Foxttore is having zoomies!”

“… Pardon?”

“He’s having zoomies!” You smiled at your husband before crouching down, and your pet immediately ran into your arms and settled himself there as you picked him up. “Aww, you must have missed us so much, didn’t you?” You cooed as you rubbed his tummy, while Dottore merely stared at you blankly. The man then noticed the creature’s eye had narrowed into a half circle directed toward him as if to mock him. 

If there was a point system between the two of them as to who was able to steal your attention more, Dottore would sorely be losing.

—

It was one of the few nights where you were able to spend a night like most couples do at the end of the day - resting in the same bed with your lover. You weren’t even sure how you managed to do it this time. You thought it was probably due to your persistence but also that he was genuinely tired. (Well, he had been genuinely tired for ages now, but you were able to get him on a weak day, perhaps.)

You had always loved it when Dottore held you, even if it was slack or just one arm, you always felt safe. Protected. Warm. Happy. The feelings only amplified when both his arms caged you into his chest, which was the perfect place for you to snuggle. (Still, he’d never admit to being the little spoon from when he was a student.)

“Hey, Zandik?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you for everything you’ve done lately, by the way.”

“Of course,” his answer was as simple as could be. He stroked your hair languidly, always one to brush off your thank yous.

“I mean it,” you wiggled out of his grip to look him in the eye, lip jutting out slightly.

“I already know you do. You do not need to keep saying it every time.” You pouted at his response. How else were you supposed to show your appreciation? You then grabbed his arm, which was surprisingly pliable, and placed his hand over your heart.

“Then let me know if you need anything from me. Anything at all. I have to pay you back eventually, you know.” Dottore looked as if he was enjoying himself.

“What do you propose? I’ll listen to your suggestions.”

“Well… I have kisses and cuddles as my expertise. I can cook and bake for you sometimes too… oh, but I can also try doing some of your paperwork! …What? You’re not impressed? I guess I can try to do some more… unsavory tasks as well. The Fatui agents listen to what I have to say quite easily,” you continued to chatter as Dottore’s fingers made their way from your cheek to your neck and then your collarbone, making you stammer at the sensation. “Hey, you’re not even taking me seriously, are you?” Your husband only chuckled at your furrowed eyebrows and grumbling.

If anything, he would want you to repay him by letting him see the faces you’ll make once you’re finally free of your illness.

“Anyway…” you squeezed his hand with yours that still rested on your chest, “You probably know this already, with that ever-calculating mind of yours, but you hold my heart in your hands. I’ll always be here with you.” It was a funny thing to think about, giving your heart to someone like him, in both a physical and intangible sense. Trusting him with your frail body, trusting him with your love, knowing he could squeeze it to a pulp if he wanted to. But he wouldn’t.

He would treat your heart with the utmost care and precaution, not daring to risk even the slightest harm to it.

Dottore stared at you for a few moments while you held his gaze, resolute on making your point known. Wordlessly, he began to move closer to your soft lips, intent on making his response to your statement physical. He was so close, his nose brushing against yours, and your warm breath on his. He was about to finally satiate his desire when-

Something was scratching at the door. Loudly, too. The sudden noise made you jump back and turn your gaze to the door. The Harbinger had a bad feeling about this.

“Did you hear that?”

“No.”

“You’re just lying now!” With a huff, you pushed the blankets off, much to his displeasure, and made your way to the door, opening it. There was Foxttore, making strange noises that he tried his best to mask as cries.

The bliss Dottore felt a few moments ago had turned to immense annoyance immediately.

“Oh, you poor baby! Did you have a nightmare or something?” You exclaimed before quickly scooping Foxttore into your arms and bringing him onto the bed. “It’s okay, you’re with us now…” You softly murmured, stroking it gently as you let it settle on your chest. Where Dottore’s hands should be right now, cupping your soft skin instead of that damned creature.

Dottore swore he was going to throw that thing out once you were asleep.

[suguru-getos]

Married to the Honored One — “Luteal phase?”

Satoru instantly knows every phase of your menstrual cycle. There is something behind that casual, easy self of his that hides his observant side which is so endearing. “I think you’re in your luteal phase.” He suggests himself one day, now, you know that. But how does he know that? Your heart strings tug at each other; the way your husband smiles softly at you, gently sliding his phone across of you. His Apple Health has your period data. You are almost astonished if not for his consistent efforts like these.

“No energy.” He hums, “Little grumpy.” He adds again, fingers tracing your chin, kissing your forehead. “Got ya something, Princess.”

Just like that, he gets up, bringing you an Iced coffee, adding some dark cocoa to balance your hormones, he brought your favorite peach tumbler for that. Little things, marriage with Satoru Gojo is the little things in which he shows his suffocating love to you.

“Since when did you start researching phases of my period, huh?” You raise a brow, hiding your flush behind a teasing remark.

“Since you became my girlfriend, duh?” He pouts softly, holding your hand. “I mean, I knew your period made ya cranky~ but then there’s gotta be something more than that so..” he croons.

“And you know, I’m good at everything, Princess. All it took was a single glance at a few scientific terms and your husband is ready to tackle you.” He removes his mask, just to exaggerate his showing off and wink an eye.

He makes you laugh, he makes you feel loved. You hummed, leaning your parched self against the straw and sucking in a delicious sip. Perfect. You think to yourself, eyes raking up to meet his. Before you could part your lips again to convey your thanks, Satoru interrupts. “Oh I know, my little thing. I know.”

A beaming, bright grin on his face. “I know how you like your coffee, that’s the least, I know”

[dottowos]

I'm blushing just sending this buttttt how about Dottore using every means necessary at his disposal to see how many times Reader can come for him 👉🏻 👈🏻

The combination of Dottore being a curious scholar and a curious lover meant that you were usually in for a ride (quite literally) as there were certain experiments he would only ever try on you - namely testing how much times a human could come within a set timespan.

Aphrodisiacs? Not only does Dottore have concotions for having your cunt immediately aching, but a variety of energy potions that combat tiredness. So even when you think you're too worn out to continue, your body is still raring to go, and you'll be more than ready to relish the feeling of his cock hitting your most sensitive parts. You'll call out for more, and more, all while Dottore teases you, asking if you haven't had enough yet - knowing full well all of the things he poured down your throat to have you helplessly gushing non-stop around him.

Toys? Though Dottore initially had no interest in them, they eventually piqued his attention for how useful they could be, especially when used properly - and even designed by him for maximum efficiency! Vibrators are nice to get you worked up, but sometimes he loves seeing you fuck yourself on a dildo, the toy stretching you past your limits. Perhaps he goads you with the reward of his cock if you can get yourself to come on the toy enough times to satisfy his curiosity. But many times he's content to sit back and enjoy the show, and by the time he's ready to even touch you, you're already so sensitive and fucked out, just as he's planned.

His segments? Well... while he would never let them join a private session with just the two of you, if Dottore just so happens to walk in on you getting fucked, he wouldn't just stand there and let it happen without him. Prime's not keen on sharing, but a part of him wants to see how his segment gets you to come just to do it better.

Blindfolds? Bondage? Praise? Degradation? You can trust he will try pretty much anything within your boundaries. And of course, at the end he will make sure you're safe in his arms and cleaned up, praising you for exceeding his expectations.

[hwanghyunjinenthusiast]

Cherry Boy. [l.c.]

Chapter One of "Losing it". Reminder that each chapter in this series is stand alone and can be read without reading any of the others!

A new relationship is always difficult to navigate, for Chan, it appears to be even more difficult. For you? You’re just left confused as to why your new boyfriend of a month and a half hasn’t made a move on you despite your very obvious attempts to invite him into your personal space.  You soon realize that your boyfriend is a virgin, and that’s why he’s always running away with his hands covering his bits, even through a simple goodnight kiss. 

ao3 | m.list | minors dni! | reblog for chan's happy trail

WORDCOUNT― 10k

PAIRING― lee chan x afab reader 

CONTENT― brief break up due to horrible communication skills, virginity loss, reader gets super insecure about her body and personality, fluff, smut obv

NOTE― This is the reason I gave chan the first chapter in the series. It's because of those pics...you know the ones. Anyway, shoutout to @ressonancee and @onlyhuis for proof reading this for me! love u guys with my entire being!

smut tags under cut:: 

SMUT TAGS― virginity loss, makeout session, neck kissing, tit fondling, unprotected sex, belly button kissing, mentions and focus on his happy trail, he’s ticklish oops, blowjob, premature ejaculation, pussy drunk chan forgets how to speak, desperate sex babbling, finger fucking, hand and cock guiding, cream pie 

~

Chan has a dilemma, and yes, it’s one that most men would scoff at. 

Trust him when he says that he is so very aware of what is happening around him but he simply cannot manage to muster up the courage, strength, or confidence to admit to you, his lovely and patient girlfriend, that he’s dodging your advances solely because he is the text-book definition of virgin. 

He is not only nervous about having sex for the first time, but there also comes the weight of him either not being good enough when he tries, or you laughing in his face and mocking him for it.

You, on the other hand, wouldn’t be so fucking in your head if he really could just muster up a tiny amount of confidence to say that to you. 

It has been almost two months now since he asked you to be his girlfriend, and throughout this time never once has he done more than a gentle kiss to your lips or lying a slight guiding hand to your waist. It feels so… juvenile, so… middle school for a boyfriend to treat you this way. 

Seeing as how the first three dates you went on with him seemed to suggest he was more than willing to be a fulfilling boyfriend who can, hopefully, fill all of the roles that comes with the title– you’re starting to second guess that he ever liked you at all.

Perhaps the twenty-four year old man asked you that night to be his girlfriend out of pity. Or maybe he’s simply changed his mind about you. Regardless of the reason for why he acts like this, it’s getting to you.

Deeply, actually, by this point. It only stung a bit at first, but now it’s starting to feel like he has to be with you as a joke. Why else would he be consistent in wanting to hang out? Why else would he always be inviting you out on well-priced dates and buying you pretty gifts? 

It’s a joke. 

It has to be a joke. 

Oh, but that’s so far from the truth. If you would simply open your eyes, perhaps you’d notice the struggle that your polite little boyfriend goes through each time you try to suggest he make an advance on you. 

Even the slight kisses, it makes him suffer from embarrassment at how quickly his body reacts to you. 

He likes you so, so fucking much.

~

“I don’t think I’m feeling it today.” You respond to the muffled voice of your “boyfriend” on the phone, asking if he can come over to see you. 

“What? Why not?” He asks back, his voice concerned. 

“Do you want me to be honest?” You finally say with a long and annoyed sigh, giving up on any hope that this relationship will ever go any further than it already has. 

You’re fed up with feeling unwanted, undesired, and possibly even uninteresting. He’s the one person in your life that you care about when it comes to who you are and what you look like. His reaction, or lack thereof, regarding you as both a person and his girlfriend feels astonishing and does nothing more than make you question what it is that you’re doing wrong. 

It has to be you, right? Perhaps your body isn’t as pretty as he wants it to be, is that it? Or maybe your voice annoys him? God, what if he cringes thinking of how you’d move if he were to actually have sex with you? What if he doesn’t think about it at all? 

You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying not to let the intense insecurity weigh on you. You always promised yourself that you’d never let a man make you rethink your worth. 

You need to live up to that promise. 

“Chan, it’s been nice and all, but I think we should break up.” 

The silence he offers to you is entirely too loud, and feels more like a confirmation in your head that this is the exact choice you should be making right now. 

He’s thrown for a loop though, standing at his kitchen table staring off at the wall as you say those words. 

What did he do wrong? 

“Wha–” He cuts himself off, trying to find words to say. “What’s wrong? Did I do something?” 

You let out another breathy sigh, annoyed at the way he plays dumb. 

“I’m shocked you’re asking me that. I’ve been wondering if you were ever going to break up with me yourself, y’know?” You let out a sad little chuckle before you feel that insecurity he instilled in you burn against your eyes. “I’m just making it easy for you, so that you can go and spend your time with someone that you’d rather be around.”

He pauses, still dumbfounded by what you’re saying. 

“Why are you saying that?” He bellows out in a deeper tone, making you feel as though he’s angry with you now. “I’d rather be around you.” 

“Oh? Is that right?” You roll your eyes now, annoyed. “Is that why you push me away when I try to kiss you? Or what about– what about when you left the party last week after I sat on your lap?” 

Ah. He knew it. He knew he should have admitted it. Despite his consistent apologies for his body acting on instinct to run away from you, he should have really tried to see from your point of view rather than his own. Even if he only ran to hide the fact that he is horribly aroused by you at all times, in every given moment. 

You can hear a pained groan fall from his lips, and a door opening on his end. 

“I’m coming over.” 

He doesn’t let you protest, and instead hangs up the phone. You sit there in silence at his rejection of your break up. As if it were his choice? As if he had any say in it? You want to break up, that’s final. 

Still, that doesn’t explain why you don’t call him back to tell him not to come. It also doesn’t explain why your heart is thumping against your chest in anticipation.

Or, maybe there is something to explain why you’re feeling butterflies over his blatant refusal. Perhaps, this is the first time you’ve felt wanted by him? 

That also makes it worse. Why should your boyfriend make you feel this way only when you’re breaking up with him? Why can you only see that he cares when he’s faced with the idea of losing you? By the way he’s acting, you can argue that he wouldn’t be losing anything precious to him if you were to walk out of his life right this moment. 

Still, you sit here in wait. More curious now to see if maybe you'll figure out why he refuses to look at or touch you in a way that would show you he wants you.

~

The first thing Chan does when he steps through the door of your apartment is slip his shoes off. The second thing he does is stand there awkwardly, as if every thought left his head upon seeing your face.

You look like you’ve been crying. 

“This is my fault.” He says with a slight crack in his voice. “Because I keep hiding from you….right?”

You nod silently, remaining on your couch that faces his timid and stiffened figure. 

He stares at you, examining the consequences of his own actions. 

“You want to break up because I haven’t tried to, like, do things with you.” He winces as he says it, struggling to not feel awkward talking about having sex. He’s embarrassed, but would be even more embarrassed if he lost a girlfriend over this. 

“That’s not the only reason.” You shake your head, looking away from him and to your hands as you pick at your nail beds. “I’d be okay with no sex if you’d simply tell me why. The fact that you haven’t told me anything–” Your voice cracks a little bit, feeling stupid for being so emotional over such a short lived relationship. “It kind of destroyed my confidence.”

He watches the way you refuse eye contact, which is something that stabs him directly in the stomach. He can feel it drop to the floor, adrenaline making its way into that empty space you’re creating for him. 

“Before we break up, I just want to know why it took this for you to act like you genuinely might have feelings for me.” 

He stumbles over his thoughts the same way he stumbles over his feet trying to approach you. 

By now, he doesn’t think he can ever feel more embarrassed than he does at this moment. He crouches down in front of you, sad that you didn’t laugh at the way he nearly knocked himself out on your living room floor. Then he looks at you, chasing your line of sight as if to reassure you through nothing but the air in the room.

“I was afraid you’d laugh at me.” He starts, and after seeing that your expression doesn’t change even a little bit, he continues. “You seemed so into me that I–” He takes a deep breath, willing himself to be as honest as he can be. “I just didn’t know how to act.” 

You look at him with irritation at those words. 

“Of course I was fucking into you. Why else would I have agreed to be your girlfriend?” You roll your eyes, pushing yourself back into the couch cushions and away from his crouched body. “Think about how I feel. The fact that you just watch me throw myself at you time and time again? The fact that you rejected me every single time? How is that not giving you the answers you need as to why I’m breaking up with you?”

He takes note of that heightened voice of yours, defensive and likely more hurt than you’re letting on. 

“Listen–” He breathes in, trying to internally hype himself up to bite the bullet. 

You were listening, but he’s keeping whatever it is he’s thinking about in his head for just a second too long. 

“No, I think we’re done h-” 

“I’m a virgin.” He interrupts you, lowering his gaze to the floor and refusing eye contact with you. 

Your eyes shoot to him though. The last thing you would have expected was for him to be a–

“You’re–” You try to repeat his words for confirmation, but he interrupts you again. 

“I can promise you it’s not because I don’t want to do these things with you.” He says, still staring at the floor. “It’s because I was afraid that you’d lose interest over it.” 

Your mouth falls open as you look at him, every feeling of frustration in your body disappearing almost immediately. 

“It’s because I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to, like, be any good at it.” He continues to admit. “I was trying to work up the courage to tell you, or to just like, do it.” He rambles, now scooting back and standing up to his feet. “And if you still want to break up, I understand. I just thought I at least owed you an explanation.” 

You watch as he nods to himself in an unsure way, turns on his heel, and heads back to the door to slip his shoes back on. 

You sit in stunned silence as your brain erases every single insecurity you gained over this month and a half relationship before jumping to your feet. If anyone could have been more insecure about this than you were, it was him. And now that you can see that, the guilt hits you twice as hard as the presumed break up would have. 

“You’re a virgin?” You ask, though that wasn’t at all the words you intended to say. “I mean, you kept pushing me away because you didn’t want to disappoint me?”

He nods timidly, halting his body and still refusing to look at you. 

He has one shoe on, and his other foot half in the other when you make your way over to him, closing the distance quickly and confidently.

“Don’t leave.” You say first, before physically moving his body for him to remove that foot from his half-on shoe. “Chan, I’m your girlfriend. We can wait for as long as you need, I just...”

You pause, now feeling annoyed with yourself for making it about you. Then again, it’s not like you could read his mind. Though, thinking back to all of those instances where he pulled away from you before, perhaps you could have read context clues a little better. 

“I didn’t know–” You trail off, now determined to save the relationship that both of you accidentally started to sink. “Did I make you feel like you couldn’t tell me?”

He feels…relieved by your words. Saying you could wait, asking what it is that made him so afraid to admit it. 

Finally, he presses one foot against his other, pulling his foot out of his shoe and stepping back, looking at you with eyes fonder than you’ve ever seen them.

“It’s not that I felt I couldn’t tell you. I was just embarrassed.”

You very nearly coo out at him, but you keep your distance with both your words and your body now. 

“It’s not that I’m not ready to lose it. Especially with you.” He admits, glancing at you for a reaction before sighing. “I think I’ve been ready for a long time, again, I was just embarrassed and also knew that I should probably tell you at some point…”

“You want to give your virginity to me?”

You watch as he blows his hair up through puckered lips, rolling his eyes before smiling at you.

“It’s not that I view virginity as sacred or anything either. There’s just a lot of weight that people tend to put on it, and I wasn’t sure how you’d react.” He tries to explain as his body relaxes by the minute. “I wanted you to be my first time, yeah. When I asked you to be my girlfriend, I knew I wanted you to be the one to show me what all the hype is about.”

You’d laugh if it weren’t for the fact that this is still kind of a touchy subject. You’re not entirely sure how you feel about being someone’s first time, but you know you have feelings for him and to deny him of sex after you blatantly wanted it so bad from him…Okay, maybe you’re just in your head. Of course you’d be happy to be his first time. 

Ecstatic even. 

“So….” You sway on your feet, looking up at the ceiling before landing your eyes on him playfully. “It’s not because you think I’m disgusting or like, not living up to the standards you want for a girlfriend?”

“Jesus, no.” He says. 

You watch him scratch the back of his head, still probably embarrassed by how low this relationship had fallen due to the awful communication skills. 

“And you’re also kind of admitting that you have thought about it?” You continue, prying out the words you’ve wanted to hear so badly since you met him. 

He pulls back only a little bit, his cheeks warming at the words and the way his brain automatically thrusts him into the thoughts of all of those nights where he absolutely fucking thought about it. 

“Y-yeah. Yes. I have thought about it.” He nods in a self-reassuring way as his eyes land on everything in the room but you. 

You’re quick to give him your own reassurance though, trying to learn his boundary now that the secret is out and the relationship appears to have a second chance at succeeding. 

He can feel you close in on him, wrapping your arms around his middle and nuzzling your face against his neck. There, he holds you back, breathing in deep and feeling the scent of you wash through his body. 

Quite literally actually. As he would normally avoid, his lower half reacts far too quickly to even the simplest of touches from you. 

He pulls back on instinct, but you don’t release your grip this time. 

“You seem as ready as ever, I’ll admit.” You laugh upon feeling him stiffen against you, but you really do try not to shame him for it. “Still, we can wait until you feel ready enough to give it a shot, okay?”

He nods, entirely reassured by the way you don’t press up against it or comment any further about the happenings in his pants right now. Then he sighs out. 

“I can imagine I must look like an idiot right now, getting hard over a fucking hug.” He finally says as he pulls from the hug and makes his way back to your living room. “But we’re okay, right? You’re not breaking up with me?”

You follow after him, keeping your sexual distance, but absolutely indulging in the loving, sweet, and careful cuddling you’ve wanted to do with him for so long now. 

He appears comfortable when you tuck yourself under his arm and rest your head on his chest before answering him.

“I’m not breaking up with you,” You say, feeling his chest heave with each breath and intentionally ignoring the blatant tent in his pants slowly fall back into its flaccid position as he calms down. “It’s kinda cute, you know? That you were so worried about it.” 

His cheeks are still on fire, willing his body to calm itself through this sweet session of cuddling. He doesn’t want to ruin the moment with you, and still, it is embarrassing in the way he knows you’re ignoring it for his sake too.

But goddamn, how heavenly it would be for you to like, touch it right now…..or something. 

“Never thought of it as cute, if I’m being honest.” He tries to joke. “If anything, maybe it's a little pathetic on my part.”

You shake your head against him, feeling more confident of your place in his life. 

“Pathetic? Don’t be mean to yourself. Besides, it’s kind of hot knowing that you got so turned on over a simple hug.” You laugh, hoping you’re not crossing a boundary. “No wonder you ran so fast when I sat on your lap, I definitely would have felt that on me.”

“Alright, alright–” He tries to hush you of your playful remarks, but ultimately, if you really think it’s an attractive aspect of whatever sexual dynamic the two of you will come to have, he’s going to make damn sure you see just how fucking turned on you make him. 

~

Things are good. Great even, now that you can pin point each moment your boyfriend gets a little too overwhelmed with you. He does still push you away, probably out of instinct but he doesn’t shy away nearly as much from intimate moments with you. Especially if the two of you are alone together. 

You’re a bit more careful in public or with friends though, because the last thing you want to do is make him feel insecure about it. Still, there are playful moments where you indulge in the act of touching him or kissing him just to get him excited, just to watch him stutter his way through ordering something. 

The point is, you almost ended a relationship with someone who, arguably, makes you feel more wanted than you ever knew you could. It’s nice, and it feels good. 

Even now, this is only your second full on make-out session with him, you feel absolutely adored. It’s cute in the way he’s trying to train himself to not get hard at even the simplest of touches, it’s even cuter when his efforts fail miserably and he’s arching his body away from you as if he could even hide what he’s packing. 

You don’t push for more, despite wanting it badly. He also doesn’t push…despite also wanting it just as much as you do, if not more. He still seems to need a push of confidence to actually go any further than a nice, non-body touching makeout session. 

This is fine though, and you indulge far more than you ever knew you would when it comes to this kind of thing. As if simply licking into his mouth is foreplay enough to counter a fucking blowjob for him. 

Never in your life did you think you’d be this into the fact that your boyfriend is a virgin. And it’s not even that he’s never had sex, it’s that he seems to want it so bad, and there’s just something about a man who is desperate that gets you going these days. 

Still, kissing him is something that fulfills you, especially with the way he’s avoiding his lower half and keeping it away from you. 

He kisses you back in a telling way though, more telling than that tent in his sweatpants that you can visualize even while your eyes are closed. He radiates the arousal through the way he moves his lips against yours, and the way he lets out little suffering sounds when you kiss him harder and harder. 

His hands stay against your face, neck, and sometimes your waist, but god. His kissing is genuinely just so good with the way it tells on him every few seconds. 

And when he pulls back, he’s out of breath, flushed, and looking as if he would want nothing more than for you to hint, to lay down some sort of implication that he can cling to for relief from the heaviness that’s been in his pants since the fucking relationship started.

You wonder if tonight is the night, because he doesn’t appear to want to stop making out like he did last time. If anything, as he looks at you with those heaving breaths, you can tell he’s thinking harder than he ever has about it. 

“Chan,” You whisper out to him, just inches from his face. “Do you think of me?”

When he keeps his eyes on you, seemingly stunned by your question, you continue. 

“Do you think of me after you leave? When you’re all by yourself in your room–” You turn your head so that your eyes can trail to the space he is attempting to keep from you. “When you’re touching yourself?” 

He feels the words run straight through him, causing an utterly pathetic twitch in his pants. The way your voice comes out soft and sensual as you ask him, as you look at him. He doesn’t even remember words at this moment, not even a simple “yes”. 

He tries to answer by losing a little bit of his self control, turning your head back to him with his palm just so he can chase against your lips out of the sheer arousal, but you pull away. 

“Do you?” You continue, encouraging him to answer you. 

“So much,” He wills himself to whisper confidently, ignoring the fact that his body just forced him to rut up and against nothing, all for you to see. “Every time I leave,” He puts emphasis on his words. “Sometimes I can’t even make it home first.” 

You smile at the image of him rubbing against himself in his car, so desperate to relieve himself of what you do to him each time he comes to see you. Not even making it out of the seatbelt before releasing all over himself, all in his pants. Shaking, panting, all alone and without you. 

“Cute,” You chuckle, finally turning your head slightly and landing a pop kiss on him. “I think of you when I do it too, every time you leave.” 

He looks at you, willing his hips to stay put as he thinks about the image of you doing that in this very room, to images and thoughts of him. 

“You do?” He asks for reassurance easily.

“Mhm,” You look away from him as you sit straight up and then scoot down the bed. There, you lay yourself down against your pillows and look at him. “Come here.” 

He’s reluctant to take your hand. But even he can admit that this side by side makeout session is starting to hurt his neck, and you’re clearly asking him to get on top of you right now. 

“You don’t have to but, Chan–” You say, looking down, “I don’t want you to leave this time.” 

Well, shit, all you had to do was say that. Honestly, the way you look at him with pure acceptance is enough to push him past the wall in his head that keeps him from finally trying to take the next step. You accept him as he is now, surely you’d accept him if he…. doesn’t last, right? What about if he isn’t good at it? 

Still, he finds himself planting one hand on the other side of your head to balance himself on top of you. Still just hovering, not yet wanting or willing to, you know, put it against you. 

You smile. 

“It’s okay, I can tell you’re nervous. We don’t have to do anything else, I’m happy with just this.”

And then you both fall back into another, much more comfortable and natural feeling, makeout session. 

As much as you’d love for him to try and take control, his reluctance allows you to contain yourself. It allows you to respect him and his decision of whether or not he wants to do anything more than this. Still, this satisfies you. And if he really does stay, maybe he wouldn’t be entirely against watching you take care of your own arousal for him. Maybe he’d feel better watching even, taking notes on what you like, learning where to touch you. 

And you know, that really would have been okay but you can’t help but feel like he’s definitely wanting more. With the way his lips grow hungrier rather than more tired, with the way he’s starting to moan shamelessly into your mouth, with the way his hands are trying to travel to more intimate places on your body before stopping himself. 

You might be pushing it with the assumption, but it doesn’t hurt to try and help him, right?

When you feel his hands moving to your waist, up, up, and up until they’re just barely brushing against the underside of your breast, he pulls back again and pulls your shirt down to cover the exposed skin, all while kissing you harder.

You place your hand over his, wasting not even a second as you guide him back under your shirt, right up to where you know he wants to touch. 

And holy fuck does he. He doesn’t even pull back when you lay it against the warm and exposed flesh from under your shirt. His hand immediately starts groping. His lips immediately stutter against you in a relieved sigh from him, and all you can do is kiss him now with the same energy he seems to have in that one single hand. 

“You’re allowed to touch me, but if you need help doing it, just tell me–” You pull back to whisper, trying to take it another step further in the act of kissing against his jaw and down his neck. “I want to touch you too, but I’ll keep my hands to myself unless you tell me otherwise.”

It’s like he really forgets how to talk or give proper consent when his entire body is acting like a fucking greenlight for you right now. He feels so pathetic, on the verge of orgasm with nothing more than the soft fabric of his sweatpants to relieve him, and yet your breast in his hand, nipple hardening under his palm before he musters the courage to put it between his fingers, it’s a lot to take in, okay?

Still, he tries to say something, and he’s even more embarrassed by the way his voice sounds like it isn’t even his own. He sounds broken when the sound reaches his ears. 

“Don’t–” He starts, cutting himself off at the feeling of your lips kissing against the pulse point of his neck. 

“Hm?” You ask, pulling back and away, hoping you didn’t press too much. 

“Don’t stop.” He mutters out again, a little less embarrassed now that he feels you sigh against that same pulse point with the way his fingers fondle your nipple mindlessly. “Don’t keep your hands to yourself.”

Your brain falls into a stunned silence at his words, bringing a type of nervousness to bubble up in your own body. Is this really it? Is this when it’s going to happen? On a saturday night, against your pillows, muffled cartoons playing in the background…..past ten in the evening? 

You can’t help it as you kiss against his neck. You really can’t, with the way he opens himself up to be vulnerable with you while actively being on top of you, while playing with your breasts, while containing himself.

He seems to need you to do the pushing, but you really cannot shake the nervousness of being his first. You’re almost certain he is nervous about so many things, but still he appears to be eager to try. He’s eager to be with you, and, ultimately, to know what it feels like to be with another person that matters to him in that way. 

“Is there–” You stop, breath caught in your throat, only to fall out against his throat when he finally seems to have the confidence to make his first move. One that would seem so small to anyone else, but he– he raises a hand and holds the back of your neck, trying to press your lips and guide them to the area of his neck that he wants you to kiss. 

And you do, with blatant encouragement to him for doing that, all while trying to finish your previous thought. 

“Is there anything you want me to do for you?” You ask, kissing and now, licking against the spot on his neck that makes him shiver. 

He sighs in a shudder, craning his neck to expose more skin for you before his hand stills against your nipple and he pulls his hand from your shirt. 

“All of it?” He starts, a bit unsure of himself. “Everything?” He adds, pulling himself back from your lips and watching you fall back to your pillows. He leans his body up, relieving his legs from his weight and sitting on his heels in front of you, only slightly between your legs now. 

You can see that he has a bit more confidence with the way he’s looking at you. 

“I want to try all of it.” He continues, placing two hands on your knees, pushing your legs together and using his palms to make them sway left and right. It’s as if he’s thinking hard. “I mean, if you want to.”

You smile. 

You want nothing more than to do this with him, for him, and for yourself. 

“Yeah?” You ask for confirmation, now lifting yourself and re-positioning yourself onto your knees to mimic his own stance. 

He nods in a blatant and shy way, knowing that you can physically see how badly he wants this, and how badly he wants you to be the one to do this with him. He’s achingly hard, and he isn’t sure if he’s ever managed to get this fucking hard in his entire life.

It really is painfully arousing, with the way his pants stretch against the head when he’s sitting like this. The way the fabric offers little to no sensation but while looking at you, he feels all fucked up and warm. He tries to forget that there’s precum all over him, seeping through the pants that are presented before you, and god, the way you look right at it. 

He doesn’t shy away despite being as shy as he could possibly be right now. In fact, when your eyes trail back up to him, licking your lips before smiling, he a fucking goner. He knew he wanted you bad, but never did he know he needed you this badly. 

He’s so fucking lucky. 

“It looks… big.” You comment, leaning forward only slightly and sizing your boyfriend up. “But for your sake, I’ll try to control myself from moving too fast. I’ll go slow, okay?”

He doesn’t even nod, he’s too entranced with you in front of him, fully clothed, lifting his own shirt off of him as if he is incapable of doing it himself. Then again, he kind of is incapable at this moment. He swears his IQ must’ve dropped to a single digit by this point. 

And when that shirt comes up and over his head, you note that he doesn’t even blink. That small moment where his face was obscured as you pulled it off of him? His eyes stayed on you both before and after, only now– his hair is a total fucking mess and all you can do is feel endeared by it. 

“God, you’re so fucking attractive,” You groan in sexual frustration with an eyeroll. “I can’t believe someone hasn’t jumped your bones yet.”

Now he breaks eye contact at the praise, glancing away from you and trying his hardest not to smile like an idiot at those words. 

“To be fair, I’ve fucked up my fair share of relationships being embarrassed.” He laughs. “Kinda glad I did though.”

You land your eyes back on him, staring blankly at his naked chest and trying your damnedest not to look at him like he’s some piece of meat. But goddamn, the body of this man. 

“Come here, switch places with me.” You smile, reaching forward and trying not to think too hard about the way his arms flex when you grip them to move him. “Here, lay back.” 

And within seconds, you’re between his legs and looking down at his half-lidded, arousal driven eyes. 

“Fuck, really?” You groan again, glancing away. “It’s really taking everything in me, Chan, it really is.”

His heart is doing flips as he stares up at you. He feels doted on, adored, attractive. So he encourages more of those annoyed praises from you. 

“Taking everything in you to…?” 

You chuckle, because the audacity of this drunk and in love fool. 

“Do you have any idea how badly I’ve wanted to be in this exact position?” You smile, reaching down to run your fingers down his chest and straight to that happy trail that he so readily hid from you. “It’s taking everything in me to slow down–”

“Then don’t.” He says proudly, albeit still a bit shy at your words. 

You can see how red his ears are, only partially hidden by that head of messy ass hair. His stupid pretty eyes and gentle smile are directed straight at you without any type of reluctance. 

“There’s my confident boyfriend.” You chuckle, toying with the hair beneath his belly button and trying to not comment on the way his body jumps a bit at the feeling. “Was wondering where he went after he asked me to be his girlfriend.”

And he remains silent after that, watching the way you take the reins and lean down to kiss against that same spot of his neck. Warm breath fanning over the skin before attaching yourself there. 

Surely you can feel the way his hips react, humping up at each flutter of your lips. If you couldn’t, he knows for a fact that you’ll be able to now. With the way you trail down, across his own sensitive nipples, and then down, down, down. 

He glances down at you at the same time when you glance up at him and right then and there he thinks he melts. He’s never seen a woman look at him from this angle, and it’s only a little bit detrimental to his heavy and pathetic cock. The twitching never stops, he feels so fucking sticky in his pants and it really just doesn’t stop. Continuous leaking, and he really had no idea that there could even be this much pre-cum. 

Then, he’s pulled out of his thoughts with….a tickle?

“Oh?” You smile, leaning down to repeat that lick up his happy trail before landing a kiss straight on his belly button. 

His body jumps again, and he lets out a moaned chucked unintentionally. 

“Oh.” You smile wider, gripping both of his hips with your hands and holding him down in a playful way. Repeating the act once again. 

Your suspicions are confirmed with a third jump of his body, and another chuckled, frustrated moan. 

“So, he’s ticklish too?” You say with another kiss against his belly button before fluttering your fingers at the side of his hips. 

His entire body goes rigid before melting against the bed in an attempt to not react to the way you take advantage of a hidden weakness he had. God, he should have known that…like, sex stuff could be ticklish. 

“No– I’m not.” He lies, jolting again when you continue to test the resilience he thinks he has against your lips and fingers. “Hey–!”

And, well, you would’ve stopped if it weren’t for the fact that his hips raise with each tickled sensation, and you can genuinely feel how damp and heavy he is in his pants. It’s entirely arousing in the way its weight is obvious through his attempts to wiggle from your ticklish touches. 

“Alright,” You finally relent, landing one final kiss to his belly before licking down that same line of hair he offers his body. “Chan, I want to–”

His hips immediately raise to your words, the wetness from your tongue feels like ice against his skin when the air hits it and at this point, he thinks he knows what you’re suggesting. 

“Please–” He nearly cries out in a stutter. “Touch it.”

You smile as you nuzzle your nose against his abdomen before giving him a short nod that you know he doesn’t see. Considering, well, he just threw his arm over his face and keeps his hips tensed, and his ass only slightly lifted off of the bed. 

Desperate. Willing. 

You prepare yourself for seeing it for the first time by not seeing it at all just yet. Instead, you kiss down until your lips are met with warm, damp fabric. Immediately you can feel his length twitch under your lips when you reach it, and all you can manage to do is flatten your tongue out and against it to feel it pulse again. 

And again, until that same arm thrown over his face reaches down in a desperate attempt to take the pants off for you. He’s the one losing his self control now, no embarrassment or nervousness in sight from him, and it’s so fucking attractive to see him do it.

His shaking fingers fumbling with the waistband, shoving the pants down just an inch or so more to reveal more of that trimmed hair.

You don’t comment on the way he’s acting out of fear that it’ll make him feel shamed or even mocked, despite you truly believing it might just be the hottest thing you’ve ever seen a man do in front of you. 

Instead, you help him. Sinking your own fingers beneath his pants and tugging them down all in one go before allowing your eyes to land on it. 

“Jesus fucking christ.” He moans out, the air alone offering an overwhelming amount of sensation due to the temperature change he now feels between his legs. 

You finally look at it, so dark in color. As if all of the blood in his body resides only here. You gently move your hand just over it, feeling the heat radiate from him, seeing the precum continuously dribble from the head, and then, finally– 

“You’re so….” You trail off, in awe of the way his body just….keeps reacting. So much pre-cum. “Hard.” 

He releases a broken little sound at the feeling of your fingers finally touch him, and it feels insanely different from when he touches it himself. As if he’s not in control of his pleasure, and it’s all just you. You are the one who feels good against him. 

You’re shocked briefly when his hand makes it’s way back down to yours, grabbing it and essentially trying to get you to stimulate him more. He puts so much pressure against your hand, sandwiching it between his own palm and stiffened cock. 

You’re tuly in awe. This man has essentially edged himself to a world record, surely. 

“Slow down,” You try to soothe him, moving your hand against him and watching him retract his hand. “Relax, It must feel good, right?”

That little sob he lets out shows you his frustration. So needy, so ready. And even with you moving your fingers to circle his pulsing length, his hips continuously fuck up, not allowing him to have even a moment without a forceful amount of stimulation. 

“So good,” He moans, entire brain focused on what your hand is doing and unable to open his eyes. “I want it so bad.”

You don’t think he hears you chuckle and you’re thankful he doesn’t. You can imagine he would genuinely be embarrassed to know you’re witnessing his pure blissed-out and aroused-state of mind right now. 

And it’s not shocking that he’s entirely focused on himself at this moment, because he’s the one experiencing this for the first time. Even if you find it hard to believe that another woman has never touched his dick, you’re entirely flattered that it very well may be the case and that he wanted you to be the one to make him feel this good. 

“I’ll give it to you, just relax. I’m not going to stop.” You reassure his needy movements, and the way his body squirms at the slightest of touches. “What feels good?”

God, he’s so frustrated. 

“All of it.” He groans shortly, trying to take in a deep breath and just relax like you asked him too. 

You nod to his closed eyes and slacked mouth, fighting against his hips to be the one to pleasure him rather than himself and only when you blow a gentle breath against the head of his cock do his hips still and he shoots his hands up to your pillows, gripping them as if he’s preparing for something. 

You watch intently at the way he’s actively fighting to move now, waiting impatiently for you to do something now. Licking his lips, chewing on his bottom lip– god, he’s so pretty up there. 

Then, you grant him a new sensation. Only because by this point you’re the one who is about to lose control. 

You stick out your tongue and lick all the way from his balls to the head of his cock, making sure to keep pressure against it so that you can taste all of the arousal he’s spilled up until now. And while you were going to pull back to examine his reaction, this is the part where you release your self control.

The taste alone was enough to have you moaning, vibrating your voice against the vein of his length and then circling your lips around the head. 

Instantly, you suck at the feeling of pre-cum still pouring out of him. This time, there seems to be more. Coating your tongue with an almost sweetened salty taste. 

You feel briefly the way his hips chase the new warmth, clearly wanting to tuck itself into your mouth and quite possibly, down your throat, but you pull back and blow once again against the head. 

His entire body shivers as you glance up at him. 

You can barely comprehend just how into you he looks right now before rolling your own eyes in arousal at the image before immediately giving him everything your mouth has to offer.

Who cares if he comes too fast? Fucking look at him. You’d be stupid not to suck the absolute life out of him! That’s your boyfriend up there, chewing on his bottom lip, eyes sparkling through hooded lids, chest heaving–

And god, you almost wish he wasn’t as big as he is because it’s difficult to keep your eyes open when you take it in. You have to focus on sliding it through your lips, against your tongue, and right up to the back of your throat where the head of his cock bumps.

He can feel the way your fingers grip his legs through it, and by this point he has gone entirely non-verbal at the feeling. 

The only sound he can make comes from deep within his chest, and he can only release those sounds with heaved out and rigid breaths. His heart is pumping faster and faster the deeper you managed to take him, and–

“Ah! W-wait!” He panics, sitting straight up and becoming fucking floored at the way you stay on him. Moving your hands to his stomach and trying to shove him back. “Fuck,” He seethes as he takes in a sharp inhale, legs shaking as he flops back against the pillows. “Fuck, i’m sorry.” He continues to murmur, feeling himself hit the wall of orgasm and practically pulverize it. 

And you, oh, you. You taste it. You feel the twitching and the way his muscles stiffen under your fingers. You can hear him muttering apologies as it spills into your mouth, down your throat, and even out of the corners of your lips. 

You try to take all of it, up until you can’t fucking breathe, and only then do you pull up and replace your mouth with your hand, watching in awe at the way he just……

It doesn’t fucking stop. 

He went from rigid to stammering his words, to now blatantly and full-on moaning through both the pleasure and frustration of losing the warmth of your mouth. 

“God, Chan….” You whisper in a raspy voice, slowing your hands and intentionally pumping it out of him by now. 

“I’m sorry–” He stammers, body still shaking as you pull the rest of it out of him. “I tried to,” He winces with another unintentional moan. “I didn’t think it would feel that good.”

You smile both proudly and fondly, watching him stumble through his words and whatever excuse he tries to come up with. 

“I don’t think you know how hot you look right now.” You finally say, in a more stern voice. “You couldn’t have stopped me if you wanted to.” 

Only now, when he’s absolutely drenched himself in his release does he open his eyes in a drowsy way. He looks at you and that little smile on your lips and decides that, yeah, he can believe you. He trusts you, and he’s entirely obsessed with you. 

“But we still haven’t–”

You cut him off quickly.

“We have all night. All day tomorrow. All week, month, year. I don’t care.” You dead-pan, reaching for his, somehow, still hard length. “Chan.” You add, gripping it and testing the actual hardness of it. “You’re still hard, which is fucking amazing by the way, and you have no idea how wet I am right now.”

Oh, my god. He forgot. 

“You– you’re turned on?” He asks, looking away from you. 

“So fucking turned on.” You confirm for him, now releasing his length to give him a bit of a rest, considering he must not realize he’s still shaking. “Look, feel.” 

You say it as you crawl up and on top of him, seating yourself right up against his abdomen and grabbing his hand. 

He just stares, watching you guide his hand straight to the seat of your shorts. 

“Oh.” He sighs out. 

“Even through my shorts. See? Feel it.” You continue to move his hand against you, trying not to rut your own hips up much like he was doing before. 

Brain malfunction. He doesn’t even have a fucking IQ at this point as his cock immediately reacts in all of it’s sensitive, pathetic glory. 

“Do you want me to, um,” He swallows around a breath he didn’t know he needed. “touch you? Can I try?”

You sigh, relieved that he’s willing and immediately push yourself off of him and take care of all of the busy-work as quickly as possible. ie: taking off your clothes.

Unfortunately, you somehow briefly forgot that the man is still a fucking virgin. You can very nearly see his mouth fall open at your nude body being revealed to him. Even more so, you can see the dribble of saliva that he doesn’t quite catch fast enough, and his cock reacts. 

“You’re so cute, god.” You praise with the same compliment you’ve been giving him all night. 

And when you seat yourself next to him, hugging one of his arms and tucking it between your legs before closing your thighs around it, you smile at him and the way he literally cannot stop staring with his mouth agape. 

“Babe, you’re drooling.” You chuckle, shifting your hips a bit to rub yourself against his knuckles, where you’re still hugging his arm. 

Only then does he slurp up his embarrassment and try to remain calm. His fogged brain comes back to him quickly upon your comments as he wills himself to sit up beside you. 

He gets to….touch you. 

And boy does he. 

Eagerly, messily, and quite frankly, kind of embarrassingly. 

You make it easier for him though, laughing as you flop back and spread your legs for him. He’s quick to simply…explore. He’s not aiming for any singular area of your pussy because to be quite honest, he’s still struggling to stop staring at the entirety of you. 

You watch his eyes, the way they stare at your tits, then your thighs, your pussy being petted by his fingertips, and then– eye contact. 

He seems so sure of himself despite still managing to barely touch the clit. It doesn’t bother you one bit, because his eager fingers still find ways to touch you beautifully. There’s so much intent behind the messy movements. 

Slipping and sliding two fingers between your lips, up your folds, and then stopping just short of your clit before sliding back down and feeling where his cock would go if he manages to make it this far. 

I mean, surely he will, right? He’s losing his virginity as he does this right now, even. Foreplay still counts, right? 

And then, after several minutes of him exploring, learning, and practically teasing you half to death, you reach down to guide him. 

“Right here,” You soothe out in a soft voice, pressing his fingers against your clit and seeing him take note of it. “And here.” You trail his fingers down until they reach your clenched hole, and you very slightly press against his fingers so that the tips just barely enter you. 

He tilts his head at you, concentrating on where you lead him before releasing his hand and essentially leaving him to his own devices now. 

And you know, he did tell you he was a quick learner, because almost immediately he’s experimenting with putting a finger into you, and using his other hand to find a rhythm to rub against your clit. 

The whole time, he checks for your reaction, noting when your breathing hitches and when your body tenses. He continues, trying to only do things that make your body react and soon, you’re already turning to mush beneath him.

His fingers circle and tap your clit at a quick pace, with the other twisted inside of you. When he slides his finger out, and then back in, he rubs your clit harder, and god, yeah. Okay. You see his effort, and it’s such a good fucking effort too.

“Feels good,” You finally moan out for him, allowing yourself to give in to the pure arousal of the entire situation taking place. Thinking hard about what it would feel like to have such a desperate cock inside of you. “Use two fingers?” 

He listens instantly, moaning along with you when he slides the other in with the next thrust. His fingers against your clit trail down shortly after, curiosity getting the best of him when he spreads your lips open to see you stretch around his fingers. 

“It’s so warm–” He comments more to himself than to you, watching the way you pulse around him, watching the way your slick seeps out of you. It’s so hot for him to see it up close like this, and his pace slows at the image before him. “Can you take more than two?”

You lift your head in amazement at how he could ask such a thing. 

“Chan.” You smile at the way he jumps in surprise at your sudden, louder voice. Fingers nearly slipping out of you. “I can take way more than just two fingers.” You glance down between his legs. “Way, way more.”

He glances down to what you’re looking at before letting out an embarrassed sob.

“You’re really going to let me?” He nearly whines in excitement. 

You nod, reaching for him and pulling him to you by his shoulders. You land a kiss against his lips, trying not to shake at the way his fingers angle different inside of you as he moves to chase your lips.

“Mhm,” You soothe against his lips, intentionally scooting your hips down to your best ability to sink his fingers into you more. “Move your fingers– it feels good like this.”

He listens, feeling you throw your arms around his neck and cling to him through it, all while moaning and groaning right up against his lips. You’re not even kissing him, you’re just….acting like this and it’s fucking great.

He thought he would be the only one to be desperate in this situation, yet here you are, clinging to him as he works his fingers in you. 

“When?” He finally asks upon noting the way you start to move your hips against his fingers. 

You peek your eyes open and pull back to look at him. 

“Now? Do you want to do it now?” 

He nods, slipping his fingers out of you and inspecting how wet they’ve become. 

“Can I?” 

You finally fall back, leaning against your elbows and spreading your legs wide in front of him. Lending him a nod, you watch the way he just freezes after the fact. 

All you can do is laugh at this moment with the way he loses any ability to remember how sex works. 

Then again, you wonder if he ever even watched porn, considering how he’s acting and couldn’t manage to find the clit. 

“Do you want me to be on top?” You question, blinking up at him and his blank expression.

He shakes his head at you, still frozen in his spot before his eyes slowly make their way down to the glistening sheen against your pussy. 

“Don’t we like, need a condom or something? I can’t promise I’ll be able to pull out.” He asks, finally glancing away. “I don’t know if I can last as long as you want me to….”

And with that, all you do is lunge forward, grab your boyfriend by the cock, and pull him to you. 

He laughs, you laugh, and then it’s silent when he leans over you, feeling his length lay against your core, already feeling spent but so, so ready to give himself to you. 

“I’m on birth control. You don’t need to pull out.” You smile evilly, wiggling your hips and watching the way he closes his eyes tightly as if to regain his composure of those words. 

“I’m seriously in love with you.” He mutters, pushing his hips forward and letting his length slide through the mess he made of you. 

You smile, feeling that by this point, your face may actually be stuck like this permanently, and lift your head to kiss against his lips once more. 

“You’re ready?” You ask quietly, against his lips. “I can help you adjust to where it needs to be. After that, I want you to do what feels best for you, okay?”

He nods timidly, taking in a deep and nervous breath before feeling your hand guide his length to the opening. 

“Go on, slide in it.” You encourage him. 

And he does. 

Slowly at first, gently, until he feels your wet hot walls envelop the head of his cock in full, clenching, pulling him in. 

His arms shake from either side of your head as he balances himself there, and it doesn’t take long for him to drop his head against your shoulder in deeper breaths than he was taking before.

The sensation is so much, it’s no wonder people like to have sex. It’s so good, you feel so, so good around him. He can’t help it when he slides in deeper, not stopping until he’s releasing a wet moan against your shoulder and holding onto you as if his life depends on it. 

He thought that once he got it all the way in, it would get easier. But it doesn’t. Even as the two of you are unmoving, with your hands in his hair and soothing him through it, you still clench him. Your pussy still stimulates it without either of you doing a damn thing.

You on the other hand, won’t admit to struggling through that one, long and languid thrust inside of you. It felt as if he was splitting you open despite how wet you already were, and still are. The heaviness, the consistent twitching, all of it stretches you out more than you even knew you’d need and god, it feels so good to have him just hold onto you like, to have him adjust to the feeling. 

He’s no longer a virgin, and that’s not even what matters right now. 

What matters is the way he continuously nuzzles his nose against you, snaking his head to your neck and moaning consistently against your ear when he manages to finally move. 

He pulls out only a little bit before his hips stutter at the sensitivity, then he pushes back in. 

In and out, in and out, until–

“Fuck.” He moans, lifting suddenly from your neck, sitting up, staring directly  at where his cock sits inside of you, and he just… lets go.

Knuckles white against the grip of your waist, he powers through the sensitivity, he fucks through it. Fast, with no real rhythm or ability to realize just how deep he’s pushing himself into you, and then….

He’s done for. 

“That’s it,” You encourage him through half moans at the feeling, your swollen clit begging for a little bit of attention too. “Shit, Chan, that’s it.” You continue, losing yourself in his reaction to you. 

He only moves faster, his hips only stutter more, and thank fuck he already came once because he wouldn’t have made it a solid inch into you before coming undone if he hadn’t. Now though? He’s pleasantly surprised to be lasting even this long. 

Until he’s not, of course. 

And there, between your legs, he presses in as far as he can reach and loses his breath. 

Eyes rolling back, eyebrows furrowing, mouth agape, a deep moan rumbles from his chest as his shiver flows through his body at the first release inside of you.

You immediately shoot your hands to your clit, feeling it pump inside of you much like it did in your mouth. Already so much, you feel entirely full, and entirely ready if he can manage to keep coming for as long as he did before. 

You fingers assault the swollen nub so fast, working yourself up much like you would during a quick session of masturbation, not wanting him to miss out on what it feels like to have a girl come on him– 

It hits you faster than you can realize. 

Even when he buckles and falls back to your chest out of breath, you can’t even tell him that it’s happening. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t move just yet. Well, until he feels your pussy clench him tigher than before. In a rhythmic way, almost. 

Only barely can he lift his head to watch you, and that’s when he notes that you’re holding your breath. 

You pussy is pulsing, and then–

“Are you?” He questions, experimenting with the idea of trying to thrust into you as he asks. 

There’s the breath you’d been holding. 

“Yes!” You call out, both to answer his question and to appreciate that little thrust he gave you.

Even if his cock is slowly becoming flaccid, you’re still full, and he can still feel the orgasm wash over you. 

He’s silent through it, wincing at his hyper-sensitive cock and very nearly cursing it out for not having waited just a minute longer to release– then, you’re hugging him. 

Tightly. So tightly, you’re holding onto him and breathing into his hair. He can barely breathe himself with this hold you have on him. Still, he doesn’t fight it, he simply lets you. 

Letting you cling, letting the last jolting pulses of your core push the rest of him out of you. There, he manages to lift from your weakening grasp and throw himself beside you. 

Out of breath, sweating, a total mess, he looks at you like he truly will never be able to love another person the way he does right now. 

And it falls silent for a long while before you roll over, throwing both an arm and leg over him. 

“Man,” You sigh out. “How does it feel?” You ask this time, opening your eyes to playfully look at him.

“Huh? What?” He asks, quirking a brow. 

“You know, now that you’re not a virgin anymore. How does it feel?” 

He thinks hard for like two seconds before taking in a deep breath and smothering himself against the top of your head. 

“Like I’m in love with you, maybe.”

And you know, given that this relationship is barely even considered one in the eyes of most people. You don’t think you care. 

“Because I made you feel good, or because you want to let me make you feel good for like…” You pause, lifting your head to look him in the eye. “the rest of your life?”

He doesn’t even have to think twice. 

“The second reason.” 

“You’re such a simp, Chan, really.” You joke, skewing your head fondly to look at him. “But I think it’s worth a shot.”

~

Chapter two: LOSER. [wonwoo] ― coming soon!

series m.list

[iamactuallysocute]

SAJA BOYS x HUNTR/X’S ASSISTANT!READER 2

Pasta. Small talk. The period topic because it had to come too. Super senses. But you’re not exactly out of there yet. Less misfortune for you now, at least. Part 3 here

cw: menstrual cycle and talking about it, still implied fem reader, use of Y/N, another ton of cursing, Stockholm Syndrome, Romance’s idea of flirting in general, could be a hard read there and there but it’s on purpose!! awkward conversations make the best relationships or whatever they say

AN: guys I promise this is not Romance and Abby centered, it’s just their nature to be always on your dick—y’all will get more of the others too, but they need time to come around!!

Honestly? They’re kind of dumb.

Not in a tripping over their own feet way. Not that dumb, but still not the sharpest knives in the drawer.

They’re good at this—the keeping you here part. The manhandling. The mind fuck that keep you pacing your room at night, jumping at the way Baby sometimes just… appears. They’re good at being demons. Good at playing with you like a cat does with a bird.

But smart?

That’s a generous word.

Abby, bless him, is basically the muscle brain ever. His biceps arrive before his thoughts do. And sure, he can lift you like a dumbbell and still smile, but when he talks? It’s like being dropped headfirst into a gym locker room.

Romance is smarter, in that street level, scammer way. He’s slick, talks fast, moves faster. But his brain is wired for one thing and one thing only: women. You. Them. Himself in the mirror. If it’s got a curve, he’s distracted. If it doesn’t, he’s bored. He can strategize, technically. He just doesn’t unless the reward is worth it.

Baby’s different. Not loud. Not muscular. Not flashy. But the thing is—he’s mean. Not necessarily with words, because Baby rarely speaks unless it’s worth it. But you feel it. The kind of low-level, ambient danger that simmers under that baby-faced grin. He’s not dumb. He’s just petty and doesn’t care to try harder than necessary.

He doesn’t need to know what the capital of Switzerland is when he knows how to make you panic with just a glance.

Mystery… Mystery is a different species altogether. Half-feral, part-theatre kid. You don’t know if he’s smart or not because he doesn’t talk. Just growls. Attacks. Watches you.

Never attacks you, though. Only the boys. Respect for that.

Once you saw him reading a book upside down. For twenty minutes.

And then there’s Jinu.

Your only real threat.

Because Jinu listens. He thinks. And unlike the others, he doesn’t laugh when you try to outsmart them. He watches you. Quietly.

He knew you were hiding a pin under your tongue before you even tried to pick a lock. He knew you were faking sleep before your breathing even slowed. He knew not to touch you when you were crashing out, not because he was scared of you—none of them are—but because he understood.

Understood the human part. The fragile, messy, emotional mess they’ve taken in and turned into their favorite little chew toy.

He might be the warmest.

The others mess with you because it’s fun.

Jinu’s the one who might actually understand what he’s doing to you.

You’re not even sure which is worse.

For an example, once you were walking past the kitchen, and you heard Abby in there, trying to explain to Romance why you can’t toast eggs.

“It’s not the same, bro.” he was saying, voice full of conviction. “Like, they’re both breakfast but one’s, like, a solid and one’s like… an egg.”

Romance, clearly entertained, just nodded. “Okay, but what if you did toast it, though? Like, what happens?”

You froze behind the doorway, staring into the middle distance.

You heard a wet splat. A hiss. A beep that did not sound like it should be coming from a toaster.

Baby walked past behind you, muttering, “Told them not to microwave the shell.” before disappearing.

You didn’t even have the strength to ask.

Smartest captors in history? Absolutely not.

Most dangerous because they’re unpredictable dumbasses? Tragically, yes.

And you’re stuck right in the middle.

Send help. Or maybe a better toaster.

Now though, the kitchen is quiet.

No distant grunting from Abby bench-pressing the living room coffee table. No bone-deep growls of Mystery body-slamming someone for breathing too loud. No Romance humming some song into your ear just to see if it’ll get you to slap him again (he lives for it).

Just you. And a pan. And some half-decent pasta.

The water hisses gently on the stove. You stir the noodles with a slow rhythm. It’s almost domestic. The life you once had before being stolen away.

You’d found the pasta by accident, digging through their absurdly stocked pantry—who even bought this stuff? You doubted any of them cooked. Or even knew what half the ingredients were.

So pasta it was.

Then, the sound of a door slamming open.

Laughter.

Footsteps.

“Angel?”

You don’t even have to turn. That voice is unmistakable. Smooth, way too close, Romance.

Then he’s right there, chin hovering just over your shoulder, arms caging you between him and the stove.

“Is that for me?” he breathes, voice dropping into a murmur that’s clearly meant to make your skin crawl—in a good way. “You shouldn’t have, sweetheart.”

“I didn’t.”

Then, “Y/N?”

This one’s louder. Dumber. Friendlier.

Abby.

He leans on the counter like he’s helping, but mostly just manages to look huge and tragically eager.

Romance sighs dramatically beside you, stealing the spoon right out of your hand. “This isn’t how you stir it.” he mutters, absolutely lying. “Let me show you. Elbows in, baby.”

You snatch it back. “I will strangle you with linguine.”

“Threaten me again.”

They’re unbearable.

Abby grabs a piece of uncooked pasta from the counter and crunches it loudly, nodding. “Mmm. Chef’s kiss.”

“I hate all of you.”

Romance presses in closer, whispering so only you can hear, “Say that again but slower.”

You elbow him in the ribs.

Then behind them, near the arch that leads into this part of the house, you catch movement.

Mystery.

You look at him. He doesn’t say a word—does he ever?—but he nods. He nods a little.

He wants pasta.

You blink. That… was actually really cute.

You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t. They’re evil. Not just morally—they’re emotionally evil. Sadists with pretty faces. They’ve kidnapped you, tortured you, kept you trapped.

They shouldn’t get pasta.

But then your mind does that thing again—betrays you with kindness. You think of all of them, hundreds of years old and utterly brainless, probably never having had someone make them dinner just because.

When was the last time someone fed them with genuine love? When was the last time anyone saw them hungry and gave instead of demanded?

You don’t have to ask to know the answer.

So you sigh. Loud. Dramatic. But you reach for another pot anyway.

“Fine.” you mutter, already boiling more water. “But I swear to god, if one of you breathes on me while I cook, I will throw this spoon.”

Romance grins, settling back like he orchestrated the entire thing. Abby lets out a victorious whoop, clapping Mystery on the back, who merely blinks at him, probably wondering why humans—and their hybrids—are so goddamn loud.

They linger.

Abby tries to help by opening the jar of sauce like you’re weak. Romance throws a towel over his shoulder and starts calling himself “Chef Daddy.” Mystery does nothing, which is somehow the most helpful of all.

You keep cooking. Because fuck your empathy. And maybe fuck all of them too.

But also… maybe not yet.

Because Romance had this look on his face like he just caught scent of a very interesting meal.

It was you.

He leaned against the counter, spoon still hot from the pasta pot in your hand gently tapping at his shoulder, which he absolutely refused to take as a rejection.

You didn’t budge. Instead, you reached up with the spoon and nudged his forehead with it.

“Back. Off.”

He stepped back obediently—exactly one step. Then came right back in again, eyes dark and dancing. “Why? You’re so fun when you’re bossy.”

You shoved the spoon at his chest again. “I will put this boiling water in your pants.”

“I’d consider that pleasuring.”

“Out.”

“Make me.”

So you started to. Not seriously—more of a push than a shove, the spoon becoming your makeshift weapon as he kept leaning in, melting into your space. Every time you pressed him back, he’d disappear for half a second, then return, closer.

You shoved.

He smiled.

You swatted.

He leaned.

This went on for an embarrassingly long time.

It became a game. Not one you agreed to, of course, but it was entertaining. You pushed with the spoon, he came back with a wink. You stepped on his foot, he gasped, but it didn’t hurt him.

Abby didn’t help.

He stood by the fridge, watching with unreal levels of enthusiasm. Loved the show, really. Eating handfuls of raw pasta while at it.

Meanwhile, across the room, Mystery was sitting on one of the stools, elbows on the counter, watching the chaos with unsettling patience. Every now and then, he tilted his head slightly.

When you glanced at him, he blinked. Nodded.

“Don’t worry.” you said to him, half-exhausted, half-warmed by the tiny approval. “You’re getting your pasta. You’ve been good.”

Romance sighed, letting his head drop back. “God, I love it here.”

“Yeah,” you muttered, “I can tell.”

Then Jinu came into the kitchen too. After a shower, you’d guess, he looked fresh. Yeah, def a shower.

He was unbothered by the heat in the kitchen, or the chaos of Abby biting dried pasta again like a literal caveman. His eyes immediately went to the pot, then you, then Romance standing far too close with the grin of a man who had never been told no as many times as he had today.

“Everything fine?” He checked.

“I got harassed.” you replied dryly. “Repeatedly.”

Romance waved. “Hi.”

Jinu didn’t ask further. He never needed to.

Meanwhile, Baby finally showed up too—he was probably in his room—plopping down on the sofa with the smugness of someone who knew the pasta would appear eventually and refused to waste energy until then.

He didn’t say anything, of course. Just snorted at you as you turned back to the stove, one hand keeping Romance at bay, the other stirring the pot.

You were feeding demons now.

And they loved it.

“You know,” Romance purrs, voice smooth. “if you ever get tired of stirring that pot, I could give you something else to—”

You press the wooden spoon flat against his chest without even looking. “Do not finish that sentence.”

“Baby, I was just gonna say knead. For dough. You really think so low of me?”

You press the spoon to Romance’s forehead.

He lets it rest there, unbothered.

“I’d make it good, you know. I’m not all talk.”

He wants that cookie.

You shove the spoon against his mouth. “Back. Up.”

“Feed me and maybe I’ll consider it.”

Abby’s laugh booms in the background. He’s practically vibrating from how funny this all is to him.

Romance leans his chin on your shoulder. “We could have a normal evening too, you know. You and me. Candles. Lighting. Towels.”

You elbow him in the ribs, again.

But he doesn’t move. He just stays there, chin balanced lightly on your shoulder, humming quietly and beautifully to himself, spoon still resting against his lips where you’ve frozen mid-shove.

It’s ridiculous.

Romance drapes himself halfway across the counter now, cheek in one hand, the other idly tracing little circles in the air as he watches you with a look that says he thinks this is foreplay. Slow blinks. Loose lips. That permanently lazy, sinful smirk.

You jab the spoon into his chest and shove.

“Back.”

Romance stumbles half a step but returns instantly.

You do it again.

Push. He retreats.

Returns. You push.

Retreats. Back again.

“Oh, angel, so rough.”

Push.

“Is this what you’re into?”

Push.

“You and me, we could have rounds, baby.”

You pause at that one.

He grins. Real smug.

Yeah. He said it. Or no—offered it. Boldly.

He wants that cookie BAD.

(He absolutely needs that pussy I’m not even kidding.)

You jab the spoon harder this time, jamming it right between his ribs with a grunt. “You’re disgusting.”

“Hm.”

Abby’s behind him, absolutely wheezing, not even trying to hide how much he’s enjoying this little routine. He’s got one hand braced on the fridge, shoulders bouncing.

So that’s two pasta bowls. Well, three, if you count Romance, though he seems far more interested in eating you than anything with carbs.

You roll your eyes and keep stirring. This used to be your job, after all—feeding hunters. You were the background person. The gear girl.

Jinu moves past Romance and Abby—giving neither of them more than a glance—and reaches for a glass of water.

“I could help.” Romance says, leaning in like it’s a secret. “I’m good with my hands.”

You swing the spoon up so fast he flinches.

Abby cackles.

You turn your back to him just to focus on plating, but you’re smiling. Just a little. Because for all the bullshit, the teasing, the chaos—they’re… oddly easy to fall into.

Then, instinct. Like muscle memory, like the part of you that used to trail behind the girls and silently hand them this and that. The part of you that feeds people because that’s just what you do.

So even as you’re fighting off Romance with a spoon, your mouth betrays you.

“Do you guys want some too?”

Silence. Immediate. Unforgiving.

Even Romance pauses. That grin still carved across his face, but for a fraction of a second, he blinks—once—like he’s recalibrating something.

Your face burns.

Too late to take it back.

Jinu, standing near the sink now, glances up from his glass of water. His eyes find yours. Level. Patient. You brace for some kind of comment. Anything. A joke. A smirk. A deflection.

Instead, he just tilts his head slightly, and nods once.

“Yeah. If you don’t mind.”

That’s it.

Of course, the moment Jinu answers, Baby perks up from the couch. You don’t even have to look. You can feel it.

You glance over, and sure enough, he’s got that same unbothered look on his face. One knee pulled up on the couch, head resting against the back like he was born lounging. His chin lifts just slightly, that lazy sort of nod. Like he’s saying, “Yeah. Me too. I’m not about to say ‘please’ though.”

You sigh. “Okay. Pasta for five it is.”

Romance reaches out to touch your skin.

The spoon swings.

He dodges. Barely.

The garlic sizzles, sauce heating up in the pan. Mystery is still lurking by the counter, calm but observant. You wonder, sometimes, if he even eats human food. Or if he just likes the idea of it.

Meanwhile Romance is watching you with his chin propped in his hand and that usual look—smug, flirty, lazy. Except it’s not just lazy anymore.

It’s lingering.

The way you move, the little sounds you make when you stir the sauce, the way your nose wrinkles when you pout. You look like every girl he’s ever wanted to seduce and none of them at all.

He watches the way your shoulders roll when you lean over the counter, the way you slap Abby’s hand away when he wants to eat dry pasta again.

He could be in love with you.

Could be in love with you for a whole night in a king-sized bed for sure.

But also?

He’s starting to think he could be in love with you a little longer than that. A little slower.

His chest actually aches a little when you hum while plating the food.

He likes you in a way that makes him feel… young. Human. Almost stupid.

Abby, despite the meathead bravado and the shit-eating grins, watches you like someone who’s never really been taken care of.

He sees you move with purpose. The way you mutter numbers under your breath, checking the water levels, making sure everyone has a plate, a fork, a goddamn napkin. You’re on autopilot, maybe, but it actually means something to him.

You’re a little addictive.

He flexes near you sometimes. On purpose. Sure. He enjoys the way you roll your eyes and tell him his ego’s bigger than his chest. But deep down? There’s something grounding in you.

You’re tiny. Mortal. Fragile. But you got this way of swinging that spoon and facing five demons like you’re not even scared.

He likes that.

He doesn’t think about love. Not really. But if someone asked him to pick a girl to guard for the rest of his immortal life? Yeah. You’d be on the list.

He wonders if you’ll ever cook like this for someone who loves you. Really loves you.

And he kind of hates the idea that it won’t be him.

Mystery doesn’t understand half the shit you do. Not in a language sense—he gets the words. But the meaning, the little things, those human rituals, are harder.

Still, he watches.

You interest him. He’s never had anyone that close before, not without claws drawn, not without blood on the floor.

He watches how your chest rises when you sigh, how your fingers flinch when oil spits, how your neck tenses when the others crowd too close. He likes when you fight them off. That fire. That bite. You’re small, sure. Delicate, in that mortal way. That makes him feel better about himself.

He’s just watching. Not creepy. Not really.

Curious.

Your towel moment earlier still replays in his brain. The way your legs moved. How soft your thigh looked when you kicked Abby. He remembers softness. Barely.

You made him not want to snarl and want to snarl at the same time. Though the second one might be just because of all the new feelings.

Baby hasn’t said a word. Not a real one. He’s sprawled sideways on the couch with his knees up.

But he’s watching.

You don’t see it, not really. He’s good at being lazy. Detached. But every time you move, his gaze tracks you. He doesn’t flirt like Romance. Doesn’t joke like Abby. Doesn’t hover like Mystery.

He just watches.

And when you bend forward to grab the plates, the tip of your shirt riding up just an inch

Yeah. He’s looking.

You’re so… human. In the exact way he’s forgotten people could be. You breathe like someone who expects to wake up tomorrow. You speak like someone who knows how the world works. You make pasta.

He doesn’t even remember the last time he was fed without being manipulated.

Maybe he never was.

So yeah, he’s watching. And the look he wears isn’t just perverse. It’s intrigued. Interested.

You’re growing on him, whether he’ll ever say it or not.

And then there’s Jinu.

Still by the sink. Still sipping water, though the glass has been empty for a while now. He’s not thirsty. He’s thinking.

You’re an anomaly.

When he first saw you—struggling, kicking, furious in Romance’s arms—he figured you’d scream yourself hoarse and eventually give up. People collapse under pressure.

But you sulked. You bit. You kept making breakfast.

He sees it in your eyes—quiet intelligence, ruthless practicality, and something else he can’t quite pin. Compassion, maybe. That doomed, bleeding-heart sort of strength. It’s frustrating. Admirable.

And he feels something pull when you scrape sauce into the pan. Something small. Maybe stupid.

He’s glad it was you.

Out of all the humans. Out of all the possible options.

He’s glad you’re the one here.

He wonders, briefly, what your life might’ve looked like if none of this had happened.

And then he hates that he cares.

You click off the heat, twist your wrist, and scoop that steaming, creamy, cheesy pasta into mismatched bowls.

“Alright. Eat. Before I dump it all in the trash.” you say, loud and so fucking clear.

They’re moving.

You don’t even turn around to look anymore—you can feel them converging. Sharks to blood. Hyenas to bone. Fuckass demon boys to pasta.

Romance sighs loudly, arms up like he’s just come home from war. “Ugh, I knew I was in love.” he says to no one in particular, grabbing his bowl and practically moaning after the first bite. His idea of a thank-you. You roll your eyes so hard your neck cricks.

Abby ruffles your hair on the way to the counter—big hand, too warm. “You’re the best, short stack.” he grins, teeth gleaming, before lifting two bowls (his and Romance’s, obviously) with one hand and strutting off, Romance right behind him.

Mystery just slides up, grabs his bowl, and nods once—slow and respectful. A knight’s gesture. His way of saying, I won’t growl at you for the rest of the night.

High praise, honestly.

Jinu is last. He doesn’t rush, ever. But when he takes his plate, he meets your eyes again, gives a small smile—a real one, soft and rare like a whisper—and murmurs, “Thanks.” Just like that. Quiet. Real.

And then there’s Baby.

You glare at him already as you pass him his food, just because.

He doesn’t say thank you. Doesn’t even nod. Just takes the bowl like it was owed to him, curls his pretty lips into that tiny, smug smile and stabs his fork into the noodles like he’s trying to kill it.

You mutter, “You’re welcome, Your Highness.” and storm off before you throw something at him.

You slip into your room and shut the door with your foot.

Click. Lock slides in.

The room is still warm from earlier. Your bed is unmade. The little hoodie you haven’t worn since the first week lies forgotten on the chair. You place your plate down, sit on the floor, and finally take the first bite.

Perfect.

But that’s not what gets you.

No, it’s the absurd realization—once again—that you just made dinner for five demon boys who kidnapped you.

And worse?

You’re the one who told them to eat.

You.

You did that.

Fucking hell.

And yet… you chew slowly. Rest your head back against the side of the bed. And breathe.

It’s quiet now.

For once, they’re not poking, teasing, calling through the door. No flirtatious taps, no dumb scratching, no towel-related things.

You can almost pretend for just a second that you’re here on purpose.

Like you’re a roommate.

Or a girlfriend.

Or…

No.

You stopped that now.

…

(idk how to make a timeskip w vibe)

It’s about an hour later.

The house is quiet now, blessedly dim. The kitchen has gone still, bowls left half-eaten in the sink because of course no one cleaned up. Baby probably tossed his fork onto the floor just to annoy others. Romance probably left his somewhere suspicious, like on the bathroom counter. Abby probably flexed at himself in the hallway mirror on his way to his room.

But none of that is your concern right now.

No, right now—you’re in your room.

Alone.

In peace.

Your sanctuary. Your cell. Same thing, honestly.

Oversized T-shirt that falls just barely past your hips and a thong. You’re not trying to be a slut, just comfortable. Your skin’s clean from a quick shower. Your limbs are warm and soft and your book is finally open in your lap, spine bent.

You’ve finally exhaled.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

You freeze.

You already know who it is. You don’t need him to say a damn thing. That knock is practically trademarked.

“Hey.”

Yep. Abby.

His voice is cocky, light. Way too familiar. “Can I come in?”

You stare at the door. Your face scrunches up like you just smelled something rancid. You don’t even get up.

“No!” you call out, still seated cross-legged with your book. “You can’t. I’m literally in a thong!”

THUMP.

A thud, really.

A full body collision with your door.

Followed by—

“FUCK—”

Groan. Pained.

That was Romance.

You blink. Your jaw drops. You clutch your book.

Did… did he just run into the door?

Did the word “thong” break his entire sense of spatial awareness?

Outside your door, there’s shuffling. Coughing. Romance muttering something like, “My fuckin’ nose” followed by Abby’s absolutely delighted, obnoxious laughter.

You can hear it so clearly.

There’s the sound of a scuffle outside. A shuffle again. Possibly a slap. You imagine Abby’s smacking Romance in the back of the head, because that’s definitely what you would do. You already know Abby’s face is pressed against the doorframe, smiling, arms probably crossed over that ridiculous chest of his.

You shut your book and slap it on your lap, expression blank. Then you shout again, louder this time “GO. AWAY.”

There’s a pause. And then: a muffled giggling sound. High-pitched. Unholy. Absolutely not okay.

You hear shifting.

A breath.

A low hiss like someone just whispered something they shouldn’t have.

You close your eyes and let your head fall back against your pillow.

They’re grinding into the fucking door, aren’t they.

You sit up just enough to yell, “I swear to God, if you’re humping the door, I’m out of here!”

From the other side, laughter. Messy. Guilty. Absolutely unapologetic.

“Just the idea of you in a thong, babe.” Romance groans. “Why would you say that? Why—why—would you tell me that?”

You glare at the door. “BECAUSE I THOUGHT IT WOULD MAKE YOU GO AWAY.”

You sit there for a good one minute from that, doing your best impression of someone who is not highly aware that two overgrown demon boys are still stationed just outside your bedroom.

You don’t even try to read anymore. You know they’re out there even if they’re silent.

Romance had gone silent, but not gone. You know that much. And Abby? Abby has the subtlety of a grenade. You can hear the occasional, suppressed laugh. A little foot shifting. A deep sigh of exaggerated suffering.

You throw your blanket off with an annoyed grunt.

You’re so done. Beyond gone.

You stomp across your room in your stupid big shirt and even stupider thong, muttering curses under your breath. Fists clenched. Eyes narrowed. You reach the door. Breathe.

And open it.

Immediately, a body drops to the floor.

Romance, apparently, had been sitting right against the door. Probably with his ear pressed to it. Definitely waiting to ambush you with some stupid line or desperate plea. Instead?

Now he’s laid out on the hardwood, one leg awkwardly folded under him, hand still up like he’s trying to casually greet someone if u know what I mean.

His head turns. His eyes lift.

And there you are.

Standing over him.

Towering.

In nothing but your big shirt.

And your thong.

And his face is exactly level with the sacred, forbidden place between your thighs.

Romance gasps.

Like, literally gasps.

He’s not even trying to be subtle about it. You watch the awe crash over his face like a wave—lips parting, pupils dilating, body going completely slack on your floor. Utterly starstruck.

You don’t even cover yourself. You just blink down at him, tired. So, so tired. “Are you done?”

He doesn’t answer. His eyes are still locked on the space where your thighs part. You swear you can see the popcorn pop from his eyes.

“ROMANCE.”

He blinks.

“—Huh?”

“Get off my floor.”

He doesn’t move.

Behind him, leaning coolly against the hallway wall, Abby is just watching. Arms crossed. When he sees your eyes flick over to him, he raises a brow and smiles.

“Hey, cupcake.”

You step over Romance’s splayed body—he whimpers, actually whimpers as you do, and you don’t even ask questions anymore—and plop down onto your bed.

“Alright.” you mutter. “What do you want?”

Abby shrugs and walks in. He flops down beside you, his weight making the mattress dip, knees spread, like this is his bedroom too and you’re just the guest.

Romance finally drags himself off the floor, but not before another try of sneaking one last look under your shirt. He gets an angry look from you for that. Not that he minds. Probably because of it.

Then he slides onto the bed too, flopping dramatically across the mattress. His arm brushes yours. His skin’s warm. His head lolls onto your shoulder and he sighs, dreamy.

You should tell them to leave. You should throw them out. But they’re warm. They’re here. And for once, they’re not demanding, or teasing (well, not a lot), or plotting.

They just… wanted to be around you.

They’re not here to flirt.

They’re not even here to torture you, mess with your head, or demand information through grinning teeth and “accidental” touches.

They’re just… here.

With you.

And they don’t know how to do it.

Romance, still curled at your side like he’s never sat this close to another living thing without grinding against it, shifts and says:

“So, uh… how do you feel about… blood?”

You blink. Look at him.

He blinks too.

Abby chokes on a laugh. “Dude. No.”

“What? That’s a conversation starter.”

“That’s a fucking threat, man.”

Romance frowns. “I’m trying.”

You sigh. Push his forehead gently back with two fingers. “You sound like you’re trying to eat me.”

Romance’s eyes sparkle. “Would that work?”

“NO.”

“…Okay but if I said it softer—”

“Romance.”

“Alright.”

They fall into silence again. Not the heavy kind. The awkward kind. The what do we say now kind.

And it hits you:

These ancient, powerful demons who’ve probably fought gods, torn souls from bodies, destroyed empires—don’t know how to have a normal conversation.

They’re smart in ways that count when there’s fire and blood and strategy.

But here? In a bedroom?

Absolutely no idea what they’re doing.

They don’t say it outright—god forbid they ever just say what they want—but it becomes clear pretty quickly: they didn’t come in here to grope you, tease you, or steal your panties for some demented demon ritual. (Although if you left them out, you’re pretty sure at least two of them would still risk it.)

No, they just… wanted to hang out.

“So… do you, uh… eat?” Romance asks, voice unsure, like he’s never asked a real question before and isn’t sure he’s doing it right. “Like, for fun?”

“…What?”

Abby snorts.

Romance frowns. “You know. Like… just… eat? Even if you’re not, like, starving?”

But his face is earnest. So serious. So confused.

You realize it’s a genuine question.

They’re trying.

Clumsily. Awkwardly. But really trying to have a normal, human conversation with you.

And failing.

So painfully failing.

Abby adds something next, equally off the rails: “Do you… sleep flat?”

“Like, on your back?” Romance says, suddenly invested.

You blink twice. “Do I what?”

Abby shrugs, trying to play it cool. “Just wondering.”

This isn’t torture. This isn’t manipulation. This is… two demon boys who don’t know how to people.

They’ve been around humans before. Of course they have. They’ve scared them, maybe seduced a few. But this? Not a chance for them.

“I can teach you.” you say softly, watching them both lift their heads like dogs hearing a treat bag crinkle.

Abby’s brows arch. “Teach us what?”

You smile, gentle and a little mocking. “How to talk to people. Like… humans.”

Romance sits up, leaning in like you’ve just told him the meaning of life. “You’d do that?”

You shrug. “You want to know, don’t you?”

They nod.

“Okay.” you say, folding your legs under you and facing them fully. “First step, small talk. Start with something simple. Like ‘what’s your name,’ or ‘what’s your favorite color.’”

Romance blinks. “…That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“That feels stupid.”

“That’s the point.” you say. “It breaks the ice.”

Abby leans in now, elbows on his knees, studying your face. “Alright. You’re the expert. Let’s see it.”

You smile sweetly. “Ask me something.”

Romance clears his throat. “…What’s your name?”

You grin. “You already know my name.”

He glares. “I’m practicing.”

“Okay, okay.” you laugh. “Try again.”

He nods solemnly. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“What’s your favorite… animal?”

You tilt your head, considering. “Hmm… cats, maybe.”

Abby is watching you with a rare softness. “…Do another one.”

“Alright.” You think. “Ask about hobbies. What do they like to do in their spare time.”

Romance cocks his head. “What do you like to do in your spare time?”

“I like…” You pause. “Stand up paddling. SUP. Have you ever heard of that?”

Both of them stare at you.

“…S’what now?” Abby finally asks.

“SUP. It’s like a big board. You stand on it. Paddle across water. Lakes, the ocean, whatever.”

“That’s… real?” Romance asks.

You nod, grinning. “Very real. I love it.”

They both just… watch you. And not in a gross way. Not even in that I want to undress you with my eyes way Romance usually leans into.

They’re watching you like you’re the moon. Like you just said something impossibly beautiful, and they don’t know what to do with it.

“If you want to talk to a human girl—or anyone really—you start by asking something normal. Like… what music they like. Or what they had for breakfast.”

They both blink. That’s it. Just blink.

“…You ask people what they ate?” Abby asks, genuinely confused.

You nod. “Small talk.”

Romance looks concerned. “Isn’t that just a weird way to track someone’s dietary weaknesses?”

You groan. “No, it’s not about poison, oh my god.”

They watch you like children learning how to hold a crayon.

You soften.

Okay. So they’re terrible at this. But they’re trying. In their own… wrong way.

And that—that does something to you.

So you sit back against your headboard, legs tucked under you, and begin teaching them how to talk.

“Okay.” You clear your throat. “When you want to talk to someone, especially someone you… like” you choose your words carefully “you ask about things they care about. Things that make them light up. Memories. Hobbies.”

Abby raises a hand.

You squint. “Yes, muscle-for-brains?”

He grins. “What if the thing I care about is you?”

You groan, but can’t quite hide your smile.

Romance leans in closer. “Okay, okay—so like, I should ask you… what makes you happy?”

“Exactly.” you say, stunned he got it. “That’s actually… yeah. That’s right.”

He beams. And it’s annoyingly beautiful. His eyes crinkle. His lips curve.

“Damn, I’m good.” he says proudly.

“Don’t get cocky.”

Too late.

You look between the two of them and sigh again. But this time, there’s something warmer in your chest. Like… pity, almost. But gentler. Familiar. Like watching stray cats try to figure out how to meow at the right pitch to get someone to feed them.

“Alright.” you say. “Let’s practice. Abby, ask me something a normal person would ask someone they like.”

Abby sits up a little straighter.

He thinks. Really thinks. You can almost see the gears creaking in his skull.

Then, with all the confidence in the world:

“If you were an animal, would you let me ride you—”

“Try again.”

“Okay. Fine. Uhh…” His expression softens just enough that it surprises you. “What’s the best thing that’s happened to you this year?”

You pause.

Then blink.

Huh.

“That’s actually… really sweet.” you murmur.

Romance nods. “Yeah, man.”

You smile. And you answer, just a little. Just enough to let them practice. They listen. Like, really listen. And when you give them a pointer—“don’t interrupt,” “smiling helps,” “use their name sometimes”—they actually nod, soaking it up like sponges, eyes wide, brains buzzing.

Romance, who usually can’t keep his eyes above chest level, is just… listening. Watching your mouth move. His hands still for once.

Abby, isn’t smiling now. He’s watching. And when you catch him doing it, he doesn’t look away.

“Okay.” you say after a small breath, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt as you glance between them—two demons sitting awkwardly on your bed, desperately trying to look casual and not like they’re both on the verge of falling in love with the same girl. “Now it’s your turn to answer.”

Romance perks up immediately, cocky little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Ask me anything.”

Abby just nods, one arm slung lazily over his knee.

“Alright.” you say, drawing in a breath. “What’s your favorite color?”

Romance: “Red.”

Abby: “Black.”

You blink. “Alright. What’s your favorite food?”

Romance immediately: “Whatever you’re cooking, baby.”

You shove him lightly, biting back a smile. “Seriously.”

Abby hums, thinking. “I had pizza once. It was… stupid good.”

You blink. “You’ve had pizza?”

“I’ve been around.”

You try not to picture that. The demon boys—scattered across decades, slipping in and out of cities, tasting food for the sake of curiosity, hunger, or just to feel something. It’s weirdly intimate, knowing that some of their experiences are so… ordinary. And still out of reach.

“And you?” you ask Romance.

He leans in a little. Not to flirt, not this time. Just… leaning. Like he wants to be closer to whatever this is.

“I remember once,” he says slowly. “there was this stall at a market in… I don’t know, Prague maybe? Early 1800s. Meat pies. They were greasy. Burned my tongue. I liked that.”

You study him for a second. The way his lashes lower just a touch.

“How long ago was that?” you ask gently.

He shrugs. “A while.”

You nod.

Abby watches you with quiet eyes. He hasn’t said much. Maybe because he doesn’t know how. He’s all strength, sure, but even now you can see it—that lost-boy softness under his armor. The way his shoulders settle just a little when he looks at you.

So you ask him something next. “What do you like to do for fun?”

He snorts. “Fun?”

You nod, a small smile on your lips. “Yeah. Not fighting. Not seducing. Not soul-selling. Fun.”

He looks down, thinking hard. And it kind of breaks your heart that it’s hard.

Romance takes over. “He likes lifting heavy shit.”

“I like punching Romance.” Abby mutters.

You laugh. “That’s a hobby?”

Abby finally meets your eyes. “It is when he squeals like that.”

“Bitch.” Romance murmurs, shoving him, and you giggle.

They’re not just bad at human conversation. They’re bad at being human. Period.

Somewhere between the centuries of war and death and demon deals and killing things, they forgot. They forgot how to talk without needing something. How to touch without taking. How to exist without destroying.

And it shows.

It shows in the questions they ask. In how slow they talk. In the way Romance stares at your lips a little too long, not because he’s being a flirt but because he’s trying to figure out how you make words sound so soft. In the way Abby looks down when you smile, like it’s too bright, too much, like he’s not worthy of being seen by something that pure.

They’re so old. You feel it.

Not in their faces. Not in their bodies. They’re still stupidly hot, of course but, they’re tired.

So tired.

You wonder when the last time was they sat on a bed just to talk. You wonder if they even remember what normal feels like. You wonder if—

“You alright?” Romance asks suddenly, tilting his head, brushing his knuckles against your knee.

You blink, coming back to now. “Yeah. I just… I was thinking.”

You don’t blame them. Not really. Even after everything. Even after the kidnapping, the torture, the mind games, the way they keep you like a pet in a house you can’t escape. Because you see them now. A little clearer.

You’ve always been too soft for fucked up things.

“What else?” Abby asks, voice quiet now.

“Ask someone what they love.” you say, swallowing a lump in your throat. “That’s a good one. What they love doing. What makes them feel like themselves.”

And the room goes still. Not awkward. Not tense. Just… quiet. Like they’re both thinking the same thing.

That they don’t know the answer.

That maybe they haven’t felt like themselves in a long, long time.

And you sit there between them, quietly wondering… if demons can fall in love the way humans do.

And if so—

Are they starting to?

You sit back, resting your palms on your lap, the hem of your oversized shirt draping over your thighs.

“You guys are actually really fun, you know?” you say, words a bit shaky from the weight of your honesty. “I know that’s not the goal here or whatever, and I know none of us asked to be in this whole situation, but… you’re funny. And weird. And charming.”

Romance’s mouth opens like he’s about to make a joke out of that, but nothing comes out. Just this little twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Abby looks surprised. Not stunned. Just… touched. Like maybe he hasn’t heard a compliment that didn’t involve his biceps since the civil war.

You glance down at your knees, then back up, slowly. “I mean it. You make me laugh. And you make me feel… less alone in this, I guess. And this—” you wave your hand in the space between you “—this is communication, too.”

They both blink.

Romance squints slightly. “What is?”

“This.” You gesture again. “What I just did. Sharing feelings. Being honest. Not in some dramatic, cry-on-the-floor way, just… expressing something real. It’s a kind of language.”

“Oh.” Abby says slowly. “So that counts?”

You nod. “That is communication. Just like when someone tells you what they like, or don’t like. Just like when they laugh at your jokes. It’s all part of… understanding someone. And being understood. I think you can be good at this.” you say softly. “You’re just… rusty. Out of practice. Maybe no one ever taught you how.”

They’re quiet again.

You glance toward the clock. Then flop back on your bed with a sigh, resting your head against the pillows.

“I’m also communicating,” you say after a beat, one arm thrown dramatically over your eyes. “that I’m tired.”

They both blink.

Romance points at you. “That’s communication?”

“Mhm. This one’s going to kick you both out in a second.”

But they don’t move. Not yet.

They just sit there—on your bed, in your space, in your warmth—looking at you like maybe the last few hundred years didn’t make sense until this exact second.

Romance’s brows pull together like he’s got something stuck between his teeth—something that might be a thought, or a feeling, or both. “So like… how do you know when you’re communicating too much?”

You raise an eyebrow. “When the other person stops listening.”

They both nod slowly, absorbing that.

Then, as if choreographed:

Romance: “I’m listening.”

Abby: “Me too.”

You groan. “I’m tired. This is me saying leave. This is me—communicating.”

Romance puts a hand to his chest. “I respect that.”

And then lies back beside you on the bed.

Abby follows, sitting against your headboard.

You sit up halfway, eyes narrowed. “This is not respecting anything.”

Romance grins, eyes already closed. “Just communicating how comfy your bed is.”

Abby lets out a deep breath. “Communicating how I might nap.”

But you don’t tell them to go again. Not yet. Because maybe you like teaching them. Maybe you like the feeling of giving something small and kind to creatures who’ve only known blood.

Maybe… this is your own form of rebellion.

So you reach over, grab your pillow, and throw it over Romance’s face.

…(cutie timeskip again guys how do I make it look good w this form of writing paragraphs)

They had slept in your bed. You had every intention of kicking them out. You swore you would. And then… warmth. Just a little shoulder pressed into your back. A breath falling slow and steady beside your neck. A chuckle that rumbled into your spine. It was nice.

They didn’t even try anything, for once. Though Romance had definitely tried to stretch that definition when he asked you, point blank, “so… does spooning count if there’s tongue involved?” He got a pillow to the face for that, obviously. But otherwise that, they just stayed close. They liked you. You could feel it in the way Romance stilled when you shifted in your sleep, like he was ready to grab you if you fell off the bed. You could feel it in the way Abby woke up before you and pulled the blanket a little higher over your body, like his muscles had finally found a use other than threatening or flexing.

It was… hard to process, actually.

Romance curled into your back, breathing softly against your neck and humming now and then like he was thinking of a song only he could hear. Abby had been your wall, broad and solid, warmth radiating off of him. You didn’t speak much. None of you did. There wasn’t really anything to say.

But god, it had been nice.

You’d woken up warm too, with one leg flopped over Romance’s hips, Abby’s hand lazily curled around your wrist even in his sleep. Neither of them commented on it in the morning. Just… yawned, stretched, and let you walk away.

That was two days ago.

You don’t let yourself think about it too long. Here you are again, crossing through the living room on your way to the sauna.

You’ve got a towel tossed over your shoulder, a bottle of water in one hand, and your flip-flops make quiet thwack-thwack sounds on the floor. You’re in your comfiest shorts and a top that might be a little too fitted, but you’re past caring. It’s your me-time.

You glance up as you pass Baby, slouched on the corner of the couch like a little prince. He looks like he doesn’t give a single fuck about your existence, and yet… his eyes are locked on you. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. But he’s listening. You know it. You don’t bother saying hi. Neither does he. That’s the rhythm between you two.

Jinu’s in the kitchen, doing something quietly, back turned.

A tug on your leg.

You freeze mid-step.

There’s a hand on the fabric of your shorts, right near your thigh, tugging just enough to make you stumble. You turn slowly, your towel sliding slightly down your shoulder.

Mystery.

He’s curled on the couch, one leg up, looking up at you.

“How was your day?” he asks.

And your heart? It does this stupid thump thing, because this is Mystery. The one who growls more than he speaks. Who communicates in grunts, body checks, and the occasional perfectly-timed, absolutely terrifying death stare.

God. Okay. You breathe out a laugh that comes out a little breathless. He’s trying. He’s actually—trying.

“It was… fine.” you say softly, eyes narrowing just a little. “Yours?”

He opens his mouth, pauses, seems to forget what words are—and then his head darts sideways, toward the hallway.

You follow his gaze.

Romance and Abby are standing just far enough down the hall to be out of sight for you, but not for Mystery. Both of them pressed flat to the wall, not even hiding the way they’re watching like proud moms.

Romance gives a big, exaggerated thumbs up.

Abby nods like he just watched his kid graduate college.

You look back to Mystery. He hasn’t moved. Still holding the edge of your shorts, still looking like you might eat him if he messed this up.

Oh. Oh.

They taught him.

They used the shit you taught them and passed it along. Mystery, who probably had never asked someone about their day without also threatening to eat them, had practiced this. Had agreed to it. Had tried.

Your chest tightens with something warm. Too warm.

“It was actually a little boring.” you say, crouching down just enough to make eye contact. “I read. Napped. Thought about breaking a few things. But now I’m going to the sauna.”

Mystery nods, slow and satisfied.

And then, miracle of miracles, he lets go of your shorts.

You press your lips together to keep from smiling too much. “That was small talk, you know. You did it.”

He tilts his head. “Was it good?”

“Yeah.” you say, genuinely. “It was really good.”

Mystery leans back, curling his leg underneath himself again. You watch as his fingers twitch, like maybe he’s already mentally rehearsing what he’ll say next time.

You shoot one last glance down the hall.

Romance is clapping silently. Abby does a little victorious fist-pump before turning and vanishing from sight.

You keep walking.

Since that, life had been… weirdly manageable for the last couple of days. You’d found a rhythm: dodging Mystery’s curiosity, swatting Romance away with wooden spoons, pretending not to notice when Abby flexed on purpose just because you happened to be walking by, letting Jinu pretend he wasn’t watching you. Even Baby, asshole that he was, started giving you something like respectful silence. Not kindness—but he hadn’t licked your spoon just to piss you off in like, three days. A record.

Until you got your period.

You sat there on the edge of your bed for a full five minutes, blinking slowly into the void, your body already starting to get that annoying cold-sweat feeling. You debated it. Debated and debated it until there was nothing left but the obvious.

You have to ask.

You have to ask Jinu to go buy you tampons.

Because he is the only one out of the five who would a) not flirt with you during this humiliating mission, and b) actually come back with the right size and not lube or condoms just to be funny. Romance would definitely buy you a vibrating tampon “for the experience.” Abby would get lost in the aisle. Baby wouldn’t go. Mystery would growl at the store clerk and end up on a watch list.

So. Jinu it is.

You pull on a hoodie over your too-large sleep shirt, dragging your feet down the hall. His door is half open, of course—he has that habit, always just slightly ajar.

You knock anyway.

“Jinu?”

“Come in.”

You do, hands wringing at the sleeves of your hoodie, eyes not quite meeting his. He was sitting on the bed, elbows on knees, phone in one hand. Calm. Alert.

That bigass cat/tiger is next to him, watching you. You like that fatass but haven’t really had the chance to interact with it yet. It comes up to you sometimes. You talk to it. It walks away. That’s the usual rhythm.

“Hey.” you say, almost sweet. “So, um. This is kind of awkward, but…”

Jinu just raises a brow. “You need something.”

“Yeah.” you say. “Kind of a… girl thing. I mean, obviously. I just—could you maybe go out and get me—”

“You’re bleeding.” he says, not unkindly. Just… factually.

You pause. “Oh. So you believe me?”

Yeah, you might have tried to pull the period card a few times to escape. Obviously, it never worked.

He sets the phone aside. “I can smell it.”

“Oh.”

Jinu just looks at you, serene as always, and adds, “We all can.”

FUCK YOUR LIFE<33

You groan into your hands, your entire body folding in on itself. “That’s disgusting.” you mumble.

“It’s biology.” Jinu replies.

You peek up at him through your fingers. “So what, everyone’s been just… casually aware?”

“Probably. They haven’t said anything.”

“Oh good.”

“I’ll go.” he said, already reaching for his jacket.

You exhale, finally letting your body slump against the doorframe in relief. “Thanks, Jinu.”

“You’re welcome.” he says. “Take something for the pain while I’m gone.“

“I owe you.”

And then he left, just like that.

Jinu, please come back fast.

You made it back downstairs somehow. You didn’t know how. You disassociated at some point around the base of the staircase and came back to yourself in the kitchen.

Of course, that’s when Baby walks in, gives you a once-over, snorts, and keeps walking. Not a word. Not a single syllable. Just that awful, knowing look. The smugness.

Followed by Mystery, who tilts his head slightly in your direction and does that sniffling thing you now recognized was NOT a cold.

You want to cry.

And then.

Then came the worst.

Romance.

Leaning on the fridge.

“Y’know,” he said casually. “some cultures think it’s a sacred time.”

You don’t even look up.

“I will hit you with a tampon. Don’t test me.”

“Do I get a choice in where?”

“Romance.”

“Fine, fine.” He raises his hands in surrender. “Just saying. Nature’s got you glowing.”

You reach for the nearest spoon.

He backs off immediately, chuckling all the way down the hall.

Abby, mercifully, hadn’t shown up yet. Probably off lifting a car or doing squats with Mystery on his back. That was good. Abby was not known for his subtlety. You did not need to hear anything about “female cycles” in that big golden retriever voice of his.

Jinu, true to his word, returned an hour later.

He told you he asked a lady there and fans followed him around.

God.

Fuck him for being good at everything.

This life was ridiculous.

But the heating pad worked wonders.

Anyways, quick topic change,

Humans were foolish. That had always been true.

Weak, irrational, predictable, full of desires they couldn’t control and attachments they couldn’t explain. Obsessed with meaning, choking on dreams. And the boys had learned that the hard way, over and over again. Humans screamed and cried and made art and made love and still, in the end, they died as soft and breakable as they had arrived.

So yes. They were above most humans. Far above.

They couldn’t afford to love humans. Not anymore. Because loving something that would die before you even began to understand it? That was suicide on a hundred year timer.

But you made silly expressions when the stove was too hot. You muttered sarcastic threats when they teased you. You tried to cut fruit perfectly symmetrical. You thought of everyone else before yourself and cursed yourself for it later. You were soft in a way that didn’t weaken you, but opened you instead. You spoke gently when they were awkward. You taught them things without mocking them. You saw the worst of them—kidnapping you, locking you up, testing you—and you were still nice. You helped them learn how to ask, “How was your day?” And maybe, for you, it was just a moment. A kindness. A lesson you offered like a flower you didn’t mind giving away.

But for them?

That was the first goddamn flower they’d held in centuries.

Romance told himself that it was just lust. At first.

Of course it was. He was Romance. He lusted. He loved. He prowled.

He would’ve hit it, honestly. He’d hit it seven times in one night in a king-sized bed with candles and jazz and let you ride his face into the afterlife.

It had started with your face. Sure it did. He’d been watching you since the night he dragged you out of that shower, your mouth open in shock and your wet hair dripping down your back as he told you, so gently, so intimately, to speak or be stolen.

You hadn’t spoken. He’d never loved you more.

That was new.

And exciting.

Abby, sweet dumb Abby with muscles for brains and that golden glow that always made you sigh.

He didn’t get his feelings. He didn’t try to.

He’d been worshipped before. Respected. Feared. Adored. But he started standing taller around you. Tried to be funnier. Nicer. Lighter.

He just liked seeing you move. You were so small, so alive. Tbh he missed when you used to run. That first week? When you’d slip out of your room in the middle of the night, sprinting barefoot down the hall? When he’d catch you, laughing like a fucking idiot, spinning you around while you kicked and screamed and cursed him?

Yeah. He missed that.

He liked what he liked, and what he liked was you.

He knew that when you smiled—like, really smiled—it made him want to do pushups until the world ended.

And that he couldn’t say no to you. Ever. Not even once.

He didn’t have the words for it, not the way Jinu or Romance would. But he knew this: you made him feel full in a way taking souls never did.

Mystery didn’t process it like the others. He just… stared.

You were interesting. You moved differently. You didn’t fear him, even when you should have. Even when he growled, bit, scratched—tested your patience—you treated him like a person. Not a weapon. Not a dog. Not a threat.

He followed you without meaning to now. Watched you stir your coffee. Tried to figure out why your heartbeat changed when you read romance books. Sniffed at your shampoo when you walked by.

He didn’t know what to do with any of it.

And when you answered his awkward “How was your day?”—his first ever attempt at small talk—he felt something shift in him. Something… warm.

Something that hadn’t existed in him for a very long time.

Baby would never say anything.

Ever.

Not to you, not to them, not even to himself.

But he watched. He always watched.

You were good. A much better person than him.

He still wouldn’t thank you. Still wouldn’t talk about it. But when he walked by you in the hallway and bumped your shoulder with his as lightly as possible?

That was something.

He didn’t talk to you much, no. But he listened. He always listened. And the fact that he’d now killed three spiders for you without a word?

Total love language.

Jinu… Jinu didn’t fall.

He chose.

And in you, he saw something—bright, determined, stubborn and sweet. Something unselfish.

He didn’t think it was love. Not yet.

But it was something.

And in all the centuries he’d walked this cursed earth, there hadn’t been many somethings worth keeping.

You? You might be the first.

They were demons.

Older than a lot of religions. Tired of the cycles. So tired.

And then came sweet, stubborn, soft hearted you.

They had no business loving you.

What could a human ever offer them?

What did you matter, with your little hands and your sleep-stuffed eyes and your soft, stubborn heart that kept beating even when they broke it open a little?

You didn’t even fight them anymore. Not the way you used to, at least. There was no more throwing things at their heads, or trying to crawl through the vents (twice, and Mystery bit you the second time), or crying to be let go in that hoarse, desperate way that used to make Abby’s jaw clench.

Now you woke up quietly. You padded around the apartment with tired, careful feet. You cooked. You spoke softly. You answered questions with dry sarcasm and patience that stretched longer than they deserved.

You were sweet.

Too sweet.

And that sweetness did something to them that centuries hadn’t.

But how long can they keep that to themselves?

~ thank you for all the support! tags: @lasa27 @limerenceisserenity @zoeisdreaming6 @killinkiwi @xxying-yangxx @bubbleishiaaa @prettylittlelavvy

[screampied]

‘ V!RGIN KILLA! 𝜗𝜚

𓉸ྀི sum. not only does he think he knows what he’s doing, he’s also a virgin. but there’s a first time for everything . . . right? choso, nanami, gojo, geto, ino, toji.

warnings. fem! reader, vīrgin men, unprotected, vīrginity loss, whiny needy men, some college themes, fratboy! toji, pússydrunk men, cōckwarming, cérvix kissin', cunnīlingus, dry humping, finishing quick, spıt, squīrting, bréeding, petnames, sukuna's part didn't save but i'll make it up </3

★ NANAMI KENTO aka the quick learner virgin?!

nanami drools the minute his tip disappears inside of your cunt. he can’t help it - at all.

the balmy warmth you provide him while you’re straddling his waist, basically cockwarming him sends him shivers. “god, ‘s good,” he groans, tugging at the bottom edge of his spot-patterned tie. nanami could feel the raised pointed tips of his ears burning as his eyes slowly flicker down toward your sopping wet pussy. oh, how it’s just profusely leaking with so much strings of your pretty slick. messily, it glosses a shine between your legs, gleaming with thick molasses—almost similar to a stream, and yet this stream was instead flowing down between your legs. “mmh.. ride me, s- show me how to feel good, my love.”

“hey. eyes on me, ‘ken,” you whisper, your fragile breaths growing shallow the moment he’s tightly snug balls deep in. with a ringing loud ‘pop!’ you feel him greedily ease his way past the slight loose ring of your entrance and you moan. he’s in so deep, and you can’t help but shimmy your hips against his lap. nanami told you how he had little to no experience—and yet, he wanted to try this out with you. having you ride him until he couldn’t think straight. whenever you ran your hands down his carved tone body, a roaring fire would ignite within him. your touch alone sent him chills and he only craved it more. tender fawn-colored eyes that almost resemble honey meet your gaze, and he leans into your touch the moment you cup your hands on his cheeks. slowly, you’re lustfully swaying against his lap back and forth and he groans. “that’s it, you’re doin’ good, kento. hold my hips.”

“like . . this?” he hoarsely asks, and hefty hands suddenly cling onto your waist. you moan, nodding as he gently holds them in place, trying to guide your movements. his cock stretched you out in each ‘n every way, curiously exploring through the gummy walls of every slick orifice. nanami’s starting to sweat already—and you smile, watching as he sneaks a fat thumb down between your pried open legs. “mngh. . you’re soakin’ all on me. is that normal?” he breathes, and you can see a bit of drool starting to seep down the cracked corners of his lips.

soaking, he could hear the sloppy sounds of your cunt slamming back against his tense thighs and it makes him throb. in zealous sync, you end up throbbing too, and he feels said throb right against the the narrow tip of his cock. “ah, y- yeah, ‘s normal, kento,” you inhale sharply, wrapping your arms around him. callused fingertips his drag a straight line down your skin as he starts to rock you faster into his needy pelvis.

the stretch makes you whimper - his dick’s so fat, and your pussy swallows all numerous inches every time. over ‘n over, your ass violently hits back against his lap as you continue to ride him, amorously tossing your swerving hips in a circle. you could see the blond’s eyes starting to grow hooded, and he’s never looked so in love. your cunt had him hungry for more. “like that, baby?”

“mhm, i like a-anything you do to me, sweetheart,” nanami hoarsely coos, pulling up the back of your hand for a loving kiss. you’re riding him well—watching as he slowly cocks his head back, exposing the oval-shaped adam’s apple in his throat. it’s a simple yet sexy detail that makes you pulsate nevertheless, and nanami groans. “f- fuck, i need you. i need more, ‘m not gonna last, honey if you hah.. keep ridin’ me like that.”

and within a few hasty strokes, nanami starts to get the hang of your rhythm. by the hang, he’s starting to fuck you against his cock now. vast, open hands of his cling onto your waist tight before he’s occasionally spanking your ass. “ngh, good girl. that’s my girl, ugh,” and as you’re whining, nanami pulls you into his neck. the pearly silver band of his flashy watch tickles down your back as he grabs at a nice chunk of your ass, spanking it. “r- ride it like it’s yours, sweetheart. ride it like i’m yours.”

he’s whispering filthy nothing in your ears—trying to drown out your cute sobbing whimpers and your even louder pussy. nanami’s cock was deranged - it was reaching through every sensitive spot of yours, wasting no time to introduce itself near the gummy ridges.

“fuck, fuck!” you’d squeal out, gasping once the swollen head of his cock tickles its way near your hidden g-spot. oh, that spot. you couldn’t help but get sheepish, a cock drunk smile twisting against your lips. he’s so snug, rearranging your insides while continuing to spank your ass. it’s almost as if he knew what he was doing, and nanami knew how to tame your aching cunt with just a few sloppy strokes. “ken, ‘m close. fuckin’ close.”

“i know, i know. give it t’ me,” he whispers, his voice pitching deeper ‘n deeper after each sloppy thrust. nanami’s pumping you full, swallowing thickly to ease the inside of his mouth that’s parched, akin to the sahara. nanami groans, gingerly making you slam your hips against him harder. “fuck, work those hips sweetheart. show me how messy my pretty girl can be, h- huh?”

you’re whimpering constantly, sounding like nothing more than a broken record as you’re gradually being led to your release. it’s a candied sweet taste in your mouth that never goes away, and once you finally came—you were hysterical.

nanami huffs heavily, holding you tight as your hips come to a sudden devastating stop. he’s still buried thick inches deep before he groans, caressing a palm against your tender rear. “hah, that’s m- my girl,” he coos, feeling you drench a portion of his cock with your slimy slick. it’s warm, and you’re still whining incoherent blurbs as you bury your face into his neck. “whew, we’ll have ‘ta try that again,” and once he plants a wet kiss near your temple, he strokes your chin with a thumb. “but another position though. if that’s alright.”

“w- what position?” you tiredly pant, bringing a hand toward your sticky-coated back.

nanami gives your ass its final playful spank before whispering lowly against your lips. “ever heard of doggy, my love?”

#GETO SUGURU aka the nasty virgin?!

geto’s a filthy nasty virgin, unashamed. insisting how he’s never experienced something like this before, smugly stating how he ‘did his research.’

“lie back, sweetheart,” geto huffed, flipping you right back over on your back. he’d just got done with fucking you round after round for the first time, and it seemed like the word ‘stamina’ didn’t exist in his vocabulary. one second inside and he already wanted more—he was greedy, and it was never enough. as you’re struggling to catch your breath that drags out of your full puffed lungs, you stare up at geto. right away, his dark eyes dart between your legs and the dripping dewy mess that streams between your puffed cunt. “what a pretty sight, look at thaaaat,” and geto inches his face between your thighs, staring at frosty-white wads of cum that pour straight out of your full swollen folds.

so much. . you were practically overflowing with ribbons of sticky hot cum ‘n many more strings of it before he sticks out his tongue. “hah, least i can do is clean my girl, hm?” and you whimper, feeling him spread your legs apart with two hands. “kinda saw this in a video once.”

“s- sugu!” you gasp, your words leisurely turning into moans the second he dives straight into your pussy - nose first.

right as the tip of his tongue creates a frenzied slurping trail that soaks straight your cunt, he gives you the most feral look. his pretty black lashes briefly flap shut as he’s devouring you wholly, jerking his head from side to side. choked, gargled moans continue to steal out from your strained vocal cords as a hand of yours fishes through his matted tresses. “fuck, f- fuck like that, clean it up, baby.”

“mhm,” he smears his entire chin against your cunt, feeling it get doused with your sweet slick almost right away. he’s nasty, lapping up his bittersweet cum that spills out from between your folds like it’s nothing. geto barely even bats an eye, and that’s when he groans the second you feel a bit of weight dip against the mattress. he’s now humping against the edge of the bed, rocking his slim hips over ‘n over. “goddamn, ‘m so horny still, sweetheart. ‘y have no idea,” he whimpers shakily, and he grumbles under his breath, shaking his head as a few thin strands of hair gets in the way of his view. “h- hey, be a doll ‘n tie my hair back for me, yeah?”

as you’re chasing your quick-steady breaths, you grab his ponytail holder from his wrist, neatly putting his raven locks into a messy bun. “good girl, take such good care of m—mmph.”

geto lowly chuckles against your pussy once you give him a soft push that makes his nose brush up against your clit. your folds were so cute ‘n runny, filthily oozing with velvety remnants of his warm, pasty cum. “mhh, suguru,” you’d whine, feeling your back continuously arch against the stained white sheets. geto’s got a few loose strands that continue to run down his face, past his brows—making him appear to be even more handsome whilst between your legs. each thoroughly slurp gets louder, and that’s when he starts to loll his tongue out inside of you.

one thing about suguru geto was that he had a long fuckin’ tongue..

it extends fully, and you give his hair a rough tug once the tip of his tongue playfully slithers its way near your twitching sensitive nub. at that moment, you feel a rapid chill race through you and you let off the most shrilling whimper. “ah! suguru, fuck, ‘m sensitive there, don’t s- stop,” and as you’re babbling from his lengthy tongue, he starts to purse his lips. they curl up, puckering fully before he’s drinking everything out of you.

it’s a long carnal suck that makes your eyes cross and you feel like your life’s flashing before your eyes. splotches of white were all that clouded your vision as your thighs shake—nearly suffocating him with your plush, warm legs. “o- oh, fuck,” you’d mewl, and you knew that incoming pressure from anywhere.

you were close.

geto grunts, savoring your taste entirely. you’re just so sweet that your flavor melts on his tongue and he’s teasingly thrusting his tongue in and out of your sobbing folds. seconds later, that’s when you shriek. “c’monnn, give it to me,” and he even brings a hand between your thighs, spanking your precious cunt. “make a mess on my tongue, wanna see what it’s like,” he groans, his rocking against the edge of the bed intensifying. geto’s famished for more, and his bare cock twitches against the rocky mattress frame as you’re squirming on his tongue. by now, he’s licked you clean, and in return, he’s left with a locked jaw and glimmering wet chin. geto eyes you intently, giving your pussy its final sloppy spank before whispering against your folds. “let go for me, baby.”

as if on cue, you gush out loudly, feeling every muscle within you snap ‘n stretch outward. it was as if a crushing weight was lifted from your shoulders—but in this case, your shoulders were your tummy. “fuuuck!” you whimper out, squeezing your eyes shut as your legs give out.

geto’s mouth was still glued to your sticky slippery cunt as his tongue’s slowed its licks down. you tasted even sweeter, and he’s slurping you right up - softly moaning against your cunt as he reaches to touch himself. geto’s tongue’s constant movements scratch such an itch in your brain, making you let off a cute gasp. “ughh, s- suguru,” you whimper, feeling your thighs still shiver.

your tummy heaves in and out repeatedly, and you glance down at geto who’s got the sleaziest grin. “t- thought you said you didn’t know what you were . . hah, doing.”

“oh, baby i don’t,” geto rasps, sitting up from between your legs. he closes the distance between you both, pressing a steamy hot kiss against your quivering plump lips. you moan, getting a brief taste of yourself on his hot tongue before he playfully bites near your bottom lip. “my research helped me a lot,” and you moan the second you feel him give your sloppy cunt a big squeeze with his palm. “but . . i didn’t know my girl was a squirter. think we’ll have to do that again,” geto licks underneath your chin. “y’know, for research purposes.”

#GOJO SATORU aka the loser virgin?!

“yeah, yeah,” satoru would stubbornly grumble, cutting you off mid-sentence and rolling his eyes. his leaky tip remains idle, aligning itself against your soddened entrance before he puffs. phew, you were so pretty up close—especially down there. satoru couldn’t help but stare, openly admiring just how slick ‘n soaked you were.

just weeping from both off folds, the entirety of your entrance being coated in nothing but perspiring wetness. satoru swears on his life he knows what he’s doing, but the second the globed head of his cock smears a line down the wet slope of your cunt - he folds.

with a shaky, needy breath, he whines. “god, why are you so fuckin’ wet, baby. ‘s this supposed to happen?”

“yes, ‘toru,” you reassure him, sprawling your legs out a bit more. satoru’s panting, watching as you bring two sets of fingers toward your pretty pussy. with a slightly wide ‘v’ shape, you’re spreading yourself apart and he’s gawking straight between your legs. fuck, you were so soaked that you were starting to drip near the inner crevices of your thighs. you were playing with yourself earlier before he told you how he wanted to try going inside for the first time. but now that he’s up close—satoru can’t help but be a bit flustered. “c’mere, don’t be shy,” and you nearly moan, trailing the print of your thumb down your syrupy-coated slit. “she doesn’t bite.”

satoru scoffs, but he inches closer. so wet, his cock that was being fisted in the palm of his hand was throbbing hard. pulse after fucking pulse, a lightning-shaped vein races down the center of his hand before he groans at how hard you’re making him. “ngh, baby,” and he nearly loses it the second he struggles to align himself. he feels so hot, fuzzy cotton stuffing in his ears once his tip slowly rubs itself in between your drooling flaps. satoru snaps out of it, clearing his throat before puffing out his chest in an attempt to maintain his known ego. “heh- i mean uh- let’s show ya how ‘the strongest’ fucks.”

and apparently, ‘the strongest’ didn’t really know what he was doing after all.

because he’s barely halfway in when he’s cumming - heavily.

emphasis on barely, and satoru lets out a sweet needy whine the second he’s shooting thin milky ropes into you. thick, stringy ribbons of cum envelope inside your pussy with warmth right away. “f- fuck, dammit,” he’d grunt, burying his face into the crook of your neck. satoru’s beefy body presses right up against yours, and he’s shivering at the feeling. it’s unlike any feeling he’s ever felt, and you giggle the second you hear him loudly sigh. “ugh, that wasn’t supposed ‘ta happen.”

“thought you knew what you were doin’, baby,” you cheekily reply, a few beads of sweat racing down the left side of your forehead. satoru sits up, leaning into your ginger embraces—your palm cupping his temple. he’s pouting, an unsatisfied pout extending across each side of his lips.

“i- i doo,” he whines, feeling his thighs starting to heat up near the undersides. satoru clenches his teeth, groaning once you gradually wrap your legs around his slim waist. he’s hot, and you’ve got him wrapped around your pretty ‘lil finger.

wide, crystal blue eyes meet your gaze before satoru exhales into your neck. “mnh, let me try again, baby,” and right as you rub your ankle down his tense back muscles, he gruffs. snowy flapping lashes of his shut tight before he wraps a hand around his lanky cock. “pleasee, c’mon baby. lemme prove myself. i’ll get it this time for real.”

a smile marinates its way against your features as you hum, rubbing a thumb down his sensitive undercut. for a second, you could have sworn you heard satoru purr as he leaned into your touch. you almost forgot how much of a tender spot that was for him. cute.

“okay, go ‘head,” and both of your thighs were practically sticking together. such amounts of his seed glue against your thighs—almost like it was some kind of clingy adhesive. satoru pulls out for a moment, eager to get a look at the sloppy mess and oh.. it was a lot - he came a lot, and satoru couldn’t help but stare at the luminous streams of cum that teared down your polished cunt.

it’s sloppy. satoru’s eyes widen once he feels his tip glide its way against your cervix. right near your g-spot - it’s fuckin’ bumpy, and he feels your legs eagerly twitch the minute his dick slides its way near a spongy area. you’re moaning, laid back before satoru starts to whine.

he can’t help but whimper, softly smacking his swollen tip on your entrance. satoru had no idea what to do next, but he just wanted to play with your pretty pussy some more. the loud echoey smacks from his dick onto your folds make his ears ring…pap after pap and he’s pronounced feral. but that’s right when you hear him sniffle, literally getting lost in your pussy the second he feels your cute pulse on his round, mushroomy tip.

as you wrap your arms around him, hearing him whine once you rub a thumb down his undercut, feeling him awkwardly trying to align himself again with a bashful needy grin.

“toru, are you cryin’?”

#CHOSO KAMO aka the virgin who barely lasts?!

“o- oh, fuckk,” he’d whine, twinkling eyes widening the second he’s watching your tummy cave in from behind. you’re so pretty like this, bent over, sprawled all out on all fours. choso’s stiffly still at first, and he’s very awkward with his hands. bulged, umber-colored eyes bore into your backside, gazing at your skin. stunning, choso grunts as he pistons his hips, glancing at the sunlight that radiates off a shiny part of your spine.

in choso’s eyes, you’re breathing pretty - art, and with the way your skin glimmers in the sun, you looked like a rare painting. “baby, you’re so warm inside.”

“mhm, don’t stop ‘cho,” you moan in response, feeling your loose jaw start to droop allll the way down. you nibble near the inside of your gummy cheek, gasping at just how big he is. his cock was huge, and it didn’t take him long at all to fit nice ‘n snug. its a semi-tight fit that makes your mouth start to water from the inside and you whine. “fuuck, ‘s okay, choso,” and he feels you wriggling your ass against him. choso’s eyes dart towards your bouncy rear and he huffs. “spank it.”

a shuddering breath leaves from choso’s pink parted lips before he lowly rasps. “yeah?” and you felt yourself throb, feeling him press himself all up against you. now, choso’s gently hovering his weight over your back whilst he’s still presenting you with passionate deep strokes. slowly but surely—he’s getting the hang of it, rummaging through your fleshy clingy insides with each punctuating hit. choso’s gruff heavy breaths fan down your neck before he moans, creeping a hand toward your ass. “i can spank you, baby?”

“mmh,” you whimper in response, hearing the salaciously wanton squelches of your cunt help out louder. saying that you were wet was a mere understatement, you were pouring all down his dick with your slick. choso could feel the wetted mess trail between your legs, coating the front of his thighs entirely with your viscid sap. he’s heard about intimacy but it was an entirely different thing to experience it firsthand. “spank me, choso. ‘s okay, you can be a ‘lil rough.”

“ ‘kay,” he huffs, and you let off a soft squeal the second his palm sharply swats against your ass. oh, he liked that. the way your rear recoiled, pretty skin bouncing quickly for a few seconds—all from a small whacking hit. the brief sting made your cunt pulse sporadically as he was still drilling into you. pump after pump, choso turns pussy drunk within seconds. “hah, you’re so fuckin’ hot,” he whines, tracing a hand down the pretty curvature of your ass. his fingers dance down every juncture, and it’s almost heart-shaped. “baby, you’re makin’ me feel so—fuck.”

choso gets cut off from his words the moment he feels his dick throb between your soddened cunt. you’re wringing him dry, all while your head is cutely smushed up against your pillow. choso’s speed quickly starts to get relentless, and after a while, he’s starting to understand the human body just a bit more. “ah, choso. fuck me, fuck!” you’d whimper, a curling sensation arising within your toes right as he slams his way into your cervix.

it’s a direct hit, a k.o. as some would might say—and it’s almost as if you’ve got stars ‘n imaginary birds flying over your head like a cartoon because choso’s dick had you stupid.

“somethin’s c- comin’,” he moans, slightly lifting your leg to get a better view. it’s probably been a few minutes and choso’s already panting like a dog. he’s feral - softly planting a stripe of wet kisses down your neck as he’s buried balls deep. “ugh, baby. ‘m gonna cum, gonna cum, ngh.”

“inside, ‘cho. ‘s okay,” you whine, feeling his pace grow more relentless and sloppy. choso’s gripping your waist tightly, his bottom lip quivering as he’s feeling a sudden rush overtake his entire body. you’re perfect - he wanted to keep you like this forever, plug you full and keep you warm. you could hear his rough, heavy pants from behind you until he finally came.

whitish thick ribbons pour into you all at once, shooting deep into your womb.

it’s hot - physically and literally.

you’re arched over for him like a bridge and he’s whimpering, furrowing his darkened brows with a pout as choso slowly starts to flood your cunt. globs of sleek strings spray inside your gripping cunt as he gradually pulls out, openly watching as you’re moaning. the feeling of your walls wrapping around his cock had him feeling fuzzy. “m- mhm, choso,” you’d mewl out, hearing him cutely gasp once your cunt sloshes loudly, spitting out thin clumps of his cum. “ ‘m so full.”

“hah- ‘n you’re gonna get even fuller, baby,” he huffs, a pout still glossing over his slickly-wet lips as he stares at your pussy. it’s pretty like this, he thinks. from top to bottom—you’re stuffed full of his gooey hot cum, so much to where it’s shamelessly oozing out of your puffed slit, racing down your numb jittery thighs. you moan, feeling choso drag a thumb down your sobbing, slobbering slit before popping his thumb into his mouth, licking his mess right off his finger.

choso moans at the taste before pouting. “not done, one more round,” and as he glides his tongue across his digit, choso gives your cunt a soft spank before groaning, softly pushing your knees to your chest.

“ ‘m still hungry.”

#TOJI FUSHIGURO aka the virgin who gets humbled?!

“heh. do y’r worst, baby,” toji would snicker, bringing a spank to your ass as he leans back against the couch. lazily, he’s slouching with a half-filled can of cheap beer in his hand. he’s smug, and not only was he smug but he was also virgin - the cockiest.

it’s funny because toji didn’t know what the fuck he was doing…however, he was more than willing for you to ‘show him’ how to feel good.

of course—he’s haughty that you won’t be able to take him, but it’s much to be expected for a pompous fratboy. “mmh, goddamn,” he’d grunt, peering down at your glossed weeping pussy. it’s wet, and as you straddle him, toji squeezes the energy drink in his hand. “slow, baby s- slow.”

with a cooing whisper, you sprinkle a few kisses near the inside of his neck. “slower, toji? but you’re the one who kept rushin’ me,” you tease, and from your peripherals, you can see his jaw tensing. fuck, the moment your cunt starts to ease down on his length in a gradually paced manner, toji groans. it’s a low husky groan - the groan where he’s already tossing his head back.

“y’r bein’ a brat,” he snarls, sliding an arm around your waist. your pussy was hypnotic - and you wearing one of his oversized jade-colored frat hoodies only made things ten times worse. you looked so pretty, and he couldn’t help but trail his hooded eyes down your body, stopping at the hem of your waist and right near your ass. “fuck- slow, baby. ‘m damn sensitive,” and you watch the sly smirk that was once plastered on his scarred lips slowly starting to fade. toji’s getting more ‘n more pussy drunk, and he knows it too. “mhh, like that. fuck me good.”

“you talk too much,” you teasingly grip his chin, watching as his leafy verdant eyes gaze into yours. he’s hard - and not only is he hard but he’s insanely sensitive. toji scoffs, but that soon disappears the moment your hips start to move. “hnghh,” you suck in a brisk breath, eyes nearly widening once you start to feel the gaping, lewd stretch. his cock was long ‘n tall—merrily expanding through your cunt within each thick inch.

one thrust - just one fuckin’ thrust and that was all it took for you to nearly break. he’s huge, and you whimper the second you feel his plump swollen sack kiss near the undersides of your bare ass. “oh yeah? make me shut up then.”

famous last words.

because even though toji’s all talk, he gets humbled right away the minute you change him as a person entirely all from your sweet, mesmerizing cunt. toji leans back, groaning gruffly against your ear as faint gurgled whines depart from his throat. you’re riding him good, shutting him with your pussy—humbling him with your hips. oh, you’re just riding him into complete oblivion. toji was left speechless, and instead of you moaning his name, he was moaning yours.

“ngh, fuck. god, ‘s good don’t fuckin’ stop workin’ those hips, s- shit,” he’d huskily snarl, squeezing the plastic can within his palm, crushing its shape. toji’s cologne scent was loud, and it completely rubbed off against your skin as you moaned. you were grinding against him back ‘n forth, whining continuously before milliseconds passed by and you’re now starting to feel your stomach churn churn churn.

each eye rolling, toe-curling feeling that twists in the depths of your insides due to his cock makes you sob out moan after moan. you try to silence yourself by sneaking a few needy kisses near toji’s scarred lip. he grunts with a clenched jaw, returning the gesture with a hand glued to your ass.

it moves like water - toji was always an ass man, and now that he was finally living the dream, he spanked you again, and again, and again.

the jiggle against his palm makes his dick throb, and you feel it right inside of your cunt. “doin’ okay, toji?” you tease breathlessly, watching as a shiny string of saliva tears away from both lips. you felt him squeeze his way wholly inside of your fleshy entrance, ploddingly and sloppily thrusting in and out.

“tch. less talkin’ more ridin—oh fuck,” he’d gruff, his shoulders slackening as you sensually rutted your hips further into him. god, you were teasing him so much and your wet, filthy cunt was to blame. he wanted more, more more. the way you moved in such a relentless manner drove toji crazy and he was starting to think maybe the two of you were just more than roommates. your pussy had that kind of power, and it’s not even seconds later before toji’s about to cum.

but surprisingly, he ends up lifting you with burly arms, pulling out with a speed equivalent to the flash. he moans, staring at his leaking reddened tip that’s dribbling from the slit with sticky droplets of warm cum. he’s heaving, staring back at your sparkly-coated cunt before he makes you recline back against the couch.

“f- fuck, ‘s much. lie back, baby. l- lie back for me,” and once you do, he merely pounces on you. toji exhales out a deep, heavy sigh before aligning his swollen tip near your dripping cunt. “god, look at ‘er,” he grunts, and you could hear the tremor in his voice as he’s spraying his seed on the outer part of your wetted entrance. it’s long, striped stripes of ivory ropes that paint your bare tender clit and he licks his lips at the filthy sight. “hah, so fuckin’ hot. milkin’ me like that, f- fuck.”

“you came pretty quick, toji,” you jibe, spreading your sopping cunt lips apart so he could play between your legs some more. with a loud ‘thwack’, toji smacks his swollen tip against your pussy, smearing his blushing crownhead up ‘n down your stained crying slit. it’s so messy, and you watch as his tongue briefly sticks out between his ruby lips.

“let’s not talk ‘bout that,” toji grumps, and you moan the second he’s re-aligning himself. his fat girth was ready to introduce itself yet again to your swollen insides. toji’s still panting, and you can see how flustered he was because he’s visibly pouting. “f- fuck, i . . i need a minute,” and he pulls back out, slouching back against the couch. you crawl over toward him and within a split second he wraps an arm around you.

yeah, he’s obsessed.

“give me . . a minute,” he huffs, his chiseled abs flexing through his grey dingy tank. toji pulls you into his beefy hardened pecs before staring down at you, and your eyes widen once he kisses the top of your forehead. “next time, ‘m gonna last ten- no, thirteen rounds.”

“sureee thing, big guy.”

spoiler - he doesn’t.

#INO TAKUMA aka the virgin who…falls in love?!

ino who moans out a sweet gasping, “f- fuuck me,” the second he’s easing his way inside of you for the first time. his dick feels soft for a second, tenderly assuaging through your insides before he whimpers at the new feeling. ino’s heavily panting out short breaths, staring at your bare exposed body that prettily sits underneath him before he moans. “ ‘m not hurtin’ you, right, angel?”

“no, no. ‘m fine, ino,” you let off a soft sigh, the lower parts of your legs snaking around his waist. ino grunts, going as slow as he can. he’s barely even a few inches in and he’s already sweating profusely. “easyy, that’s it, baby,” you reassure him with labored breaths, staring into his droopy hooded eyes. ino’s beanie was on the verge of sliding off the side of his head before he sucks his teeth at your gripping warmth. “hold my hand, here,” and you could feel his body shudder the moment you intertwine your fingers against his.

he’s big, and he knows it. ino scrunches his dark brows into a furrow, trying his best to blindly navigate his way inside of your cunt. right away, you’re clenching around him tight, locking your unstable legs around his waist before hearing him let off a sweet whimper.

“ugh, you feel so good, so good,” and within each wet-sounding thrust, his words start to pitch. it gets lower ‘n lower, raspy and husky. ino’s skin starts to glue against you thanks to the splotches of sweat dampening against each other before he huffs. “tell me it's too much, ngh—fuck,” and his eyes soften the moment you cup his face. “s- sorryy, am i talkin’ too much?”

“ ‘s okay, ino,” you inhale, and his pace starts to get quicker. vast, thorough thrusts make you feel every inch. his frantic rhythm rocks into you steadily, causing the bed to constantly wail out pathetic whiney creaks. you brush a thumb across the side of his cheek before moaning, feeling his tip zigzag its way across your sensitive g-spot. “ah! right there, ino. there, baby t- thereee.”

“there, oh- okay,” he tries to take note, studying your body’s movements. into felt his cock twitch at your reaction. so cute. you’d clench around him tight before arching your back, dragging your nails down his soft skin. ino’s stretching you out to the very limit, plummeting his dick into you over and over until you’re seeing nothing but cloudy blobs of white. you hadn’t even realized your eyes were lulling near the back of your head before he cheekily pointed it out. “heh, you look kinda silly like this pretty girl.”

you shoot him a playful glare whilst he’s still driving himself into your mid-thrust and ino sheepishly snickers. “sorry, sorry,” and with a sticky smooch, he brings his lips up against yours. ino’s pace starts to pick up more and more, championing his chiseled askew hips into you. “ah, i think ‘m gonna cum though, shitshitshit,” and as he’s rambling, ino starts to feel his hips into you quicker. “hah, lovie- tell me what ‘ta do. where do i f- finish,” he’d huff breathlessly, sliding his scarred hands near the sides of your waist. “tell me, pretty.”

“inside, baby,” you whisper against the shell of his ear. ino’s eyes widen - darkening, and he groans. the way you talked to him so sweet in his ear, even licking against the outer lobe makes him shiver. you’re a tease, and he only wanted more. ino wanted more . . of you. “wan’ you inside.”

“say it again,” he shakily whines against your neck, nipping a few invisible kisses near the juncture of your exposed collarbone. you tasted sweet, and ino’s mind spun cogwheels throughout each second he’s spent buried inside of you. “talk ‘ta me in that pretty voice- wanna hear you again. p- please.”

with a sobbing mewl from the brief twinges that slowly form into pleasure—you repeat yourself in a desperate mewling cry of, “inside, ino. please, f- fuck me,” and oh- if you saw the look on his face. his heart’s pounding as he’s mercilessly driving his hips into you at full fuckin’ throttle.

ino’s groaning into your neck, feeling his body growing limp before a lengthy multitude of seconds goes by and he’s cumming, hard.

it’s a thin hefty load - runny, stringy ribbons of feverish hot cum that splatters deep inside of you.

ino melts like a puddle into your embrace as you wrap your arms around him. “fuuuck, i lo-” he pauses, getting silenced by a shattering breath. your pussy’s got him secured on a leash, and he’s groaning once he hears himself pour such slimy amounts way into your womb. it sprays everywhere, painting inside and out.

ino kisses his teeth sharply, pressing one more kiss near the tip of your nose before moaning. “h- heh, think i love you, angel,” and you moan, feeling him slowly raise your leg, tossing it over your shoulder.

a hand of his creeps between your gloss-coated, gooey legs that practically stuck together before he pulls out midway, smearing a palm against your stuffed pussy. “ ‘n i love her especially, s- so much.”

[icarusignite]

he leaves you out like a penny in the rain

Pairing: Zayne Li x Non MC Reader

Summary: You spent years orbiting Dr. Zayne Li, but when a careless comment shatters the fragile bond you thought you’d built, you walk away. Only then does Zayne realize what he's lost.

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, angst. slowburn. Zayne being emotionally constipated rip

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: This is my first time writing for LADS, and Zayne is my bbygirl, so I wanted to give this a try, hopefully it came out alright. I love me a good non-mc angst, so that's why this is the way it is. Part 2 will include Zayne's POV, but it's up to y'all if you want a comforting/grovelling chapter or more HURT lol. Would love to hear yalls thoughts <3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | AO3

Dr. Zayne was an enigma of the most maddening, magnetic kind, and unfortunately for you, curiosity had always been your gravest sin. Nonetheless, it was a flaw you wore with something resembling pride. After all, not everyone could claim they'd managed to peel back even the faintest layers of the glacial fortress that was Zayne Li. But you had. Over the years, through careful observation and an embarrassing amount of persistence, you had glimpsed—just barely—the man who hid behind that frigid exterior. Not all of him, of course. He had never let you in entirely. But you liked to think you'd grown on him, just a little, like stubborn lichen.

Your fascination had begun back in medical school, the place where sleep went to die and energy drinks reigned supreme. Zayne was the kind of brilliant that made you question whether he was entirely human. The kind who could skim a textbook once and retain it with eerie precision, like his mind had never known the concept of forgetting. Meanwhile, you were a walking collage of colour-coded sticky notes, caffeine-induced tremors, and desperate all-nighters. A parody of a student, barely holding yourself together with mismatched socks and sheer willpower.

It wasn't fair, the way he always looked so composed. You'd catch sight of him walking into the exam hall, spine straight, slacks pressed to perfection, sweater vest unwrinkled and somehow smug in its neutrality. Meanwhile, you, in your hoodie that hadn't seen the inside of a washing machine in days, would feel something curdle inside you. Was it irritation? Admiration? You hadn't known back then. 

At first, you'd approached him under the guise of academic interest. You told yourself you were merely studying the competition. A reconnaissance mission, nothing more. You wanted to see how he prepared, how he dissected practicals and diagrams with such mechanical ease. But somewhere along the line, observation turned into participation. You started joining him. Not officially, because Zayne didn't do invitations, but he didn't tell you to leave, and that was an invitation enough.

Were you friends? 

You weren't sure. Not once in all those long years of shared library tables and late-night coffee runs had he properly smiled at you, but at least he let you stay. That had to count for something. 

You suspected he only tolerated you because you came bearing offerings, carefully chosen pastries from the bakery three blocks away. Lemon tarts. Matcha cake. Anything delicate and within your meagre student budget. You'd Pavloved your way into his company.

Zayne's presence had a gravity to it, even in the silence, his attention never once straying from his notes. Watching him work made you want to do better as well. He didn't need to speak for you to learn from him. He just needed to exist beside you, head bowed over anatomy flashcards, long fingers ghosting over textbook pages like he was reading by touch alone.

It was enough for you. You'd learned long ago not to ask for too much. Life had a way of punishing the greedy.

It was a stroke of serendipity that after years of drifting through separate orbits, you and Zayne found yourselves working beneath the same roof again.

You hadn't expected it. The world was large. The medical world, larger still. Yet here he was, striding through the sterile white halls of Akso Hospital like a ghost from your past, just as distant and devastating.

You didn't expect your paths to cross often. As one of the hospital's new pediatricians, your hands were full with small patients and even smaller attention spans. Your pockets jingled with sticker sheets and crinkled candy wrappers, and your days were painted in primary colours. It was fulfilling, exhausting, and utterly chaotic work.

But somehow, you kept seeing him.

At first, you chalked it up to mere chance. But then a pattern began to emerge, and Zayne became a frequent fixture of the pediatric wing. Too frequent for someone whose field wasn't pediatrics. Too present to dismiss as a ghost.

Maybe you noticed because you were looking, or maybe the universe simply had a cruel sense of humour.

However, most surprising of all was his demeanour. Gone was the man who kept his emotions triple-locked beneath ice and iron. Or rather, he was still there, but softened in the presence of his smallest patients. You watched him kneel beside a whimpering five-year-old with a broken arm and distract her with the clinical grace of a magician. You saw him take time out of his rounds to bring puzzles and books to a chronically ill boy who refused to eat. And one morning, peeking around the curtain of Room 415, you caught him braiding a little girl's hair because she was weeping about not being able to do it herself post-surgery.

Your heart stuttered.

Admiration. That's what it was. That ache in your chest every time you watched him from across the room had to be admiration and nothing more. A professional curiosity and a desire to learn. You'd flourished under his shadow in med school, so it wasn't so strange that you wanted to do so again.

You told yourself that often, rehearsing it like a prayer.

Your own patients adored you, though your methods were far more chaotic than Zayne's methodical care. You bribed your way into affection with cartoon Band-Aids and fruit-scented stickers, offering jellybeans and lollipops like sacred talismans. The younger kids squealed when they saw you coming down the hall; the teenagers pretended not to smile while secretly pocketing the candy. You had always been this way—eager, perhaps too eager, feeding on approval like a deprived animal.

But there was one person whose approval you could never quite gauge.

After all these years, Zayne was still an unreadable cipher. You didn't know what he thought of you. Whether he remembered your shared study sessions or noticed your offerings. You carried forth the rituals from med school into the real world like a superstition you couldn't let die.

During late-night shifts, you'd sometimes find yourself hovering outside his office. You didn't knock to chat. You'd long lost the reckless bravado of your student days. No, you simply rapped twice on the door, cracked it open just enough to slip inside when he told you to enter, and placed a steaming cup of tea on his desk. Sometimes it came accompanied by a carefully wrapped dessert.

He never looked up right away, and his gratitude was an awkward mumble, but he never asked you to stop, either. 

And foolishly, it was enough.

You never lingered long enough to chat, retreating with a bright, rehearsed smile and your usual farewell. "Make sure to take breaks, Dr. Li!"

You never got a response, but every now and then, you'd see expression soften the tiniest amount, which was akin to receiving a full-blown grin from a man like him. It made your heart hiccup.

You couldn't say how long this odd back and forth of yours continued like, but you began to catalogue your moments with Dr. Zayne like treasure. 

There was, of course, that one time it was raining at the end of your shift, the vindictive kind that came down in sheets.

You stood under the hospital's awning, trying to muster the courage to open your umbrella and brave the trudge to the train station. But then you saw him, and all hesitation vanished. 

Across the small stretch of concrete outside the side exit, beneath a narrow overhang, stood Dr. Zayne. His posture was immaculate as always, one hand clutching his phone, the other tucked neatly into his coat pocket. Water dripped in thin lines down the sleeves of his blazer, and you noticed—almost indignantly—that even in the middle of a storm, his expression was as unreadable as ever. His collar was damp, and his hair, though still neatly combed, was slowly giving up the fight.

You didn't think. You just acted.

You jogged across the short distance, the icy rain lashing against your legs. You flipped open your umbrella mid-step and thrust it up over both your heads, standing a little too close beneath its narrow span.

He looked up and blinked at you in surprise. 

"Dr. Li," you greeted breathlessly. "You planning on standing there until the rain evolves into hail?"

"No."

You squinted at him, then angled the umbrella slightly more in his direction. "Lucky I found you before you melted."

His eyes flicked toward you, then back out at the storm. "I'm not made of sugar," he stated simply.

"Well," you replied, grinning, "you're certainly not as sweet."

Something in his expression shifted, like he wasn't entirely immune to the jab, and he stepped further into the umbrella's shade. Closer to you. 

You adjusted your grip as the two of you fell into step. His legs were longer, and his pace brisk, so you had to hold the umbrella awkwardly high, your left shoulder slowly soaking through with rain.

Zayne noticed, but didn't say anything until you were halfway to the station.

"You're holding it too far left."

You glanced up. "I'm trying to keep you dry."

"You're getting wet."

You gave a half-shrug. "So? I'm replaceable. You're Akso's golden prodigy. Can't let you get drenched and catch a cold."

"That's a ridiculous hierarchy."

"Says the guy with the patent leather shoes."

"...They're waterproof."

You snorted. "Of course they are."

The silence that followed was companionable in a strange, off-kilter sort of way. Rain hissed around you, cars splashed by in the distance, but for a brief moment, the storm felt far away.

At the station entrance, you pressed the umbrella into his hands. "You need it more than I do," you insisted. "Your hair might actually un-gel out there."

In response, Zayne's brow creased like the suggestion had short-circuited a pattern in his brain.

"I'll return it," he said finally.

"I know."

He didn't reply, disappearing back into the crowd without a word, but the next morning, when you opened your locker at work, the umbrella was waiting for you. There was a thin elastic band wrapped around the handle, anchoring a packet of candy to its handle, and you felt a tentative smile tug at your lips. 

You'd mentioned it once in passing during a night shift to one of the nurses—something about craving a very specific, obscure brand of citrus-flavoured hard candy your grandmother used to send you during your med school days. You had lamented about not being able to find in stores anymore.

Yet here it was, that familiar crinkled package winking at you. 

You didn't stop grinning for the rest of the week. 

Then there had been the incident with the wrist brace. 

It had been a long week, an endless carousel of back-to-back surgeries, sleep-deprived consults, and aching hands from scribbling charts long past the point your fingers had gone numb. Everyone was tired, and even the invulnerable Dr. Zayne looked frayed around the edges.

You noticed his injury, almost instantly, a falter in movement as he flexed his right wrist after signing off on a file. It was expertly hidden, but you had spent years watching him, cataloguing every subtle shift in his expression like rare meteor showers. So, of course, you caught that wince. 

"Overworked?" you asked mildly, leaning against the nurses' station as he passed by.

"Repetitive strain," he responded without inflection.

You hummed. "Do you want—?"

"No."

Of course not.

Still, when he left, you disappeared into the on-call lounge, rummaging through the staff med-kit you were fairly sure only you ever used properly. Thankfully, you found what you were looking for before he returned to his office. A soft, fabric wrist support brace in neutral grey. Nothing flashy, just something to ease the tension. You placed it on his desk without expectation. 

He didn't bring it up the next day, or the one after that. There was no thank-you or acknowledgement, and you assumed that he'd thrown it out.

Until three days later.

You returned from rounds to find your usual patient folders neatly stacked on your desk, and beside them—perched so innocently it took you a moment to realize it hadn't been there before—was a box of your favourite pens. The ones you hoarded like treasure and had recently, much to your dismay, run out of.

There was a Post-it stuck to the lid.

"I assumed you'd prefer the 0.38mm ones. You always complain about ink bleed."

You stared at the note, and then at the hallway beyond the glass window of your office door, where Zayne was coincidentally passing by.

You stepped out into the hall and caught up with him. "Dr. Li!"

He turned and looked at you with an arched brow. 

You held up the box. "You're not subtle, you know."

His gaze shifted to the pens. "I wasn't trying to be."

"Returning the favour, were you?"

"I don't believe in unbalanced exchanges."

You laughed. "I gave you a wrist brace, not a kidney."

He didn't smile, but his voice softened just slightly. "It helped."

Your breath hitched, but you tried not to show it. "I see...well, thanks for the pens."

There was a beat of silence.

Then Zayne calmly continued.  "You should pace your charting. Your handwriting deteriorates after the fourth file."

You gaped at him. "Are you analyzing my handwriting now?"

"It's just always been that way."

"Wait. Always?"

Zayne's gaze remained fixed somewhere beyond your head. "Finals, third year. You wrote so fast during the pharmacology mock that your 'f's started looking like sevens. I wasn't sure if you were prescribing medication or unlocking a bank vault."

"You..." You squinted. "You remember that?"

"It was difficult to read your notes when we shared a study table."

"You remember us sharing a table?"

Zayne tilted his head minutely. "It was the only one near the east windows. You always took the seat closest to the outlet and claimed the light helped you concentrate."

"I didn't think you paid attention to any of that."

"You assumed I was unaware of the person sitting across from me for three years?"

"I assumed you were... indifferent."

Zayne's lips twitched in an imperceptible frown. "You used to rewrite your notes three times. All in pencil, because you said pencil was less threatening when you had to re-memorize everything from scratch. You also always sat cross-legged in library chairs and collected pens from every club's fair booth."

You let out an incredulous laugh. 

"And," he added, still with that maddening calmness of his, "you muttered anatomy terms in your sleep during overnight study sessions."

"You—you heard that?" you exclaimed, horrified.

"You once said 'ischiocavernosus' so many times, I thought you were casting a spell."

You buried your face in your hands, groaning. "I want to dissolve into the floor."

"You seemed very dedicated."

You peeked at him through your fingers. "That's a nice way of saying I was completely unhinged."

"Also accurate."

You shook your head, but under the mortification was something else. He had remembered, and not just a few throwaway details, but every odd little habit you thought no one ever noticed.

"Why didn't you say anything back then?"

Zayne shrugged, as if he had no response. 

You had been making progress. You were almost certain of it. Not in any obvious, sweeping way—Zayne wasn't a man of dramatic gestures or sudden declarations—but in the quiet consistencies, and the way he'd started waiting a beat longer in the hallway when he saw you approaching. 

You were still careful not to be greedy. You never dared ask for more. What you had was already more than you expected: acknowledgement. A place in the periphery of his otherwise closed-off world. You orbited him the way the Earth orbits the sun—at a safe, unchanging distance. Warm enough not to freeze, far enough not to burn.

That was until she appeared. 

No, not appeared. That implied novelty. You doubted she was new in his life. No, she seemed important, someone who had long ago carved out a space that had never been yours to want.

The Hunter. Dazzling and alive in the way people like you rarely allowed themselves to be. She was a presence that demanded space and then owned it unapologetically. You understood immediately why he who lived so carefully might have made room for her.

You hadn't meant to see them together. You were only there to return his charger—the one he'd left at your station after overhearing you grumbling to the nurses about your broken one. You hadn't even realized he'd been listening. 

When you knocked on his door and he called for you to come in, you had smiled hopefully. 

Only to find her perched on the edge of his desk like she belonged there. She was laughing casually, legs crossed, one hand braced behind her as she leaned toward him. She was telling a story, something fast-paced and colourful, her hands moving animatedly. And he was...

Smiling.

Not the faint, fleeting lift of his mouth he sometimes gave you on your most persistent days. Not the polite nod of acknowledgment.

No, this was a whole half-smile. Unmistakably soft and real. 

You'd never seen him look like that. Not in all the years of having known him. Not even when you had once tried to make him laugh with horrible anatomy puns.

You'd barely stepped into the room when Miss Hunter spotted you.

"Oh!" she cried delightedly. "Look at this, what a coincidence!"

You blinked, caught off guard. 

She beamed. "You work here? I had no idea you were at Akso too!"

You nodded numbly. "Pediatrics." 

"Right, of course, silly me. All our conversations, and I didn't think to ask you where you worked," she apologized. 

"It's alright."

"She's my neighbour, you know," Miss Hunter added, turning back to Zayne like sharing a favourite secret. "I haven't seen her come home in days! I hope you're not overworking her, dearest Zayne."

You felt something inside you crack at her term of endearment. And then you felt guilty. You hadn't done anything wrong technically, but the feeling took root anyway. 

Had you been pining after a taken man?

Oh god.

The thought alone made your skin prickle with shame.

You'd never so much as look at him again if that were the case. You'd pull away completely and pretend you hadn't spent the past however-many months—years, even—watching his every glance like a starving thing. You would bury your humiliation deep, fold it into some quiet compartment inside yourself, and walk away with your dignity intact.

But was Miss Hunter really with him?

You remembered her laughter echoing in your kitchen last weekend when you had finally managed to crawl home after a particularly long shift. She'd come over with refreshments, and after one too many drinks, she had begun to ramble. Her cheeks had been flushed with wine, feet up on your coffee table as she slurred names and nonsense.

"He's so frustrating," she'd said, in that melodramatic tone she took when tipsy. "Like, emotionally constipated. But god, when he lets his guard down, it's like... ugh. It ruins you. He lives on the floor right above ours—you've probably seen him around. Tall. Blue eyes. Smells amazing."

"I don't go around sniffing my neighbours," you'd deadpanned. 

"Well, you're going to have to trust me on this one, then," she'd insisted. "He's from the Association. I've worked a few cases with him."

You dragged yourself out of your reverie. 

Surely if she were dating Zayne, she would have said something. You were friends. Not best friends, maybe, but close enough. She told you when she hated her lipstick. When she found a new favourite song. When someone from the Hunters' Association made a pass at her.

She told you everything. 

Whatever had begun to splinter inside of you deteriorated even further when Zayne finally reacted to her words. 

"I hope you're not overworking her," she repeated, "or yourself, for that matter."

"I'm not her boss," he replied curtly. "She makes her own hours. Maintaining a work-life balance is one's own responsibility."

"I—well, yeah," you tried to laugh. "That's rich coming from you, Dr. Li. Pretty sure you haven't slept in three weeks."

You looked to him, searching for the usual twitch of amusement and the barely-there softness he sometimes allowed when you teased him. But he didn't look up, and his jaw tightened like he was holding back a scowl. 

"I have paperwork," he declared flatly. 

Your hand, still holding the charger, hovered in the space between you. You hesitated before setting it on the edge of his desk. "Right... of course, I just wanted to return this."

You didn't let yourself feel the sting until the door clicked shut behind you, and you were alone again in the hallway, blinking at the linoleum floor as if it might give you answers.

You thought you were making progress, but maybe all you had ever been was a convenience. A background hum in the routine of his life. And now, suddenly, you weren't even that.

Over the next few weeks, a new pattern emerged, one that kept chipping away at pieces of your fragile heart. Perhaps it was your fault, too. You kept returning to the scene of the damage, stupidly hoping this time it would be different, but it never was. 

You kept stopping by Zayne's office, in the hopes of regaining his favour. You'd even started doing the routine errands that should have been passed off to interns or residents. You told yourself it was more efficient to do it all yourself, but really, you just wanted to catch a glimpse of those elusive hazel green eyes, even if they now looked at you with disdain. 

And every time you passed by, Miss Hunter was there too. She seemed to be always in his office, no matter the time of day, even at odd hours of the night. Sometimes you'd catch sight of her perched on the window ledge with her legs tucked beneath her, and other times she was just by his desk, leaning into his space. And most miraculous of all, Zayne allowed it. 

He only allowed it for her, though. While in med school, he might have allowed you to share a library table with him, these days, he seemed adamant to distance himself from you as much as possible. 

You wondered if Miss Hunter was working on a project with him. You couldn't really tell the true nature of their relationship, but that had to be the only explanation as to why she was always around. On your rare days off, she still came over to your apartment to keep you company and gush about her charming coworker, so you were still under the delusion that she wasn't dating Zayne. 

It was the sort of delusion that was going to hurt you one day. And that day was today. 

Tonight, when you stopped by the man's office, you fully intended to pass by without lingering. That is, until you heard your name. 

Miss Hunter’s amused voice floated clearly through the door. “…I swear, she’s the only person I've ever met who doesn’t hate double shifts,” she was saying, chuckling fondly. “That girl is sweet. Like dangerously sweet. Even to you, and I know you don’t exactly roll out the red carpet.”

Zayne’s response was as dry as ever. “I didn’t ask for her kindness. She’s not helping anyone by wasting time with personal errands. If she spent as much energy on her department as she does playing nursemaid, maybe the pediatrics wing would run on schedule.”

"Don't you think that's a little—"

You didn’t stay to hear the rest of Miss Hunter’s reply. You didn't care to see if she would try to defend you or join him in his condemnation. The damage was already done. 

Humiliation was the only word for how you felt. Humiliation and utter defeat. 

You had done nothing but your best.

Day in and day out, you poured everything you had into your work—your time, your focus, your very soul. You had held the hands of anxious parents, wiped away the tears of frightened children before anesthesia dragged them under, and taken on shifts no one else wanted. You stayed late, came early, and went without sleep. You had practically bled for this job. 

And now here he was, the man you admired so diligently, cutting through you with a few harsh words spoken in private. Words that struck you like open-handed slaps across the face.

You felt sick. Like something had lodged in your throat and was refusing to budge.

So that was what he thought of you.

When he wasn’t pretending to be nice. When he wasn’t lending you his charger or leaving pens in your drawer, this is what he believed. That you were incompetent and unprofessional. That your kindness was a distraction.

Zayne hadn’t just criticized your habits. He had questioned your calibre and your right to be here.

Suddenly, you were ten years old again, sitting in the back of a classroom while a teacher shook her head at your test score. You were fifteen, being told by your guidance counsellor that maybe medicine wasn’t for someone “with your academic record.”  You were seventeen, crying in the school library after your chemistry teacher told you some people just weren’t “wired for science.”  You were eighteen, slumped at your mother’s kitchen table, listening to your parents whisper that maybe it was time to pick something “more realistic.”

You were every failure, every disappointment, every bruise to your spirit, and now Zayne had joined their chorus. 

His anger might have been easier to swallow than his indifferent dismissal of your abilities. 

And the worst part?

You didn’t think your patients were suffering. In fact, you knew they weren’t. You were a good doctor. You had earned every stitch of your white coat. The day you took your Hippocratic Oath, you had vowed to devote your entire life to it. 

So why did you feel like a fraud now? Why did one man’s brutal judgment make you want to pack up and disappear?

You weren't sure how you made it back to your office without breaking down into tears, but when you finally closed the door, you sank into your chair with a sharp inhale and buried your face in your hands. You could not find it in yourself to cry, so all you could do was exist in that suffocating space where shame and grief and rage all sat too closely together.

[joelsgoldrush]

“never is a promise” | 12.4k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: You are everything Logan isn’t: sweet, trouble-free, much younger—and, to top it off, Charles' caregiver.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ mentions of drinking. angst. some fluff. old man!logan x caregiver!reader. implied age gap (reader’s in her twenties). miscommunication. slow burn. pining. reader is shorter than logan and has long hair. charles in his cupid era. petnames. minor injuries. wound tending. mentions of blood. virgin!reader. dirty talk. cum shots. fingering. handjobs. oral sex (m receiving). loving sex. sex with a lot of feelings (is that a tag?). unprotected p in v.

A/N: i just want to fall in love with him. that’s it. that’s the reason why i wrote this long ass fic 😭 while doing so, i had “never is a promise” by fiona apple and “cool about it” by boygenius on repeat. give them a try if you haven’t listened to them (your lives will be CHANGED) (also, thank you for reading <3)

No matter how often you play chess with Charles, you never manage to beat him. 

“You’ve been staring at that knight for five minutes. It’s not going anywhere, I promise.”

Chuckling at his sarcasm, you fold your hands in your lap, lifting your eyebrows in mock surrender. “Okay, I get it. You’re the master of chess,” leaning back in the chair, you cross one leg over the other. “Can we play something else?”

“I’m quite entertained, thank you,” Charles says, sliding the board closer to you across the table. “Your turn.”

“How is it that you don’t get tired of this game?” you mutter under your breath, eyes fixed on the board as you weigh your options, hovering your hand indecisively over the chess pieces. 

“Please do something before I’m forced to make a dash for the toilet.” He hangs his head, pinching the bridge of his nose—a telltale sign of one of his irritable days.

His words spur you into action, encouraging you to finally slide the knight into position. You glance up, meeting his gaze with a hint of challenge. “You go now.”

Charles doesn’t hesitate, and he moves a bishop. “Check.”

Fuck. You hadn’t seen that coming. “I’d prefer to walk away with my pride,” you joke, pushing your chair back and pretending to lose interest in the board.

That makes him smirk, a barely there grin dangling on the corners of his wrinkled lips. The truth is, you wouldn’t stop playing for anything in the world—not even if this old man kicks your ass every single time he suggests playing chess. “You’re not out of the game yet.”

Quietness settles over the tank while you allow yourself some time to come up with a new strategy. After a moment, you decide to go for a pawn, using it to block his bishop.

He doesn’t stop grinning, studying your move with an amused glint in his blue eyes. “Not bad, but you’ve left your king exposed.”

You gape at the board, your fragile confidence faltering for a split second. "I still have some pieces in play."

Charles nods, his brows drawing together in thoughtful consideration. "True. But sometimes, it’s not about how many pieces you have left—” He reaches out, carefully sliding his queen across the board. "It’s about where you place them.” He relaxes, hunching over, his eyes searching for yours. A smile that’s all teeth welcomes you. “Checkmate."

“Damn.” You blow out your cheeks, your gaze tracing the path of his queen. Somehow, he’s trapped your king with no easy way out.

He leans back with a satisfied grin. “That’s three games in a row. My suggestion is that you start rethinking your strategy.”

“Or maybe you’re just a better player,” you admit, a mix of frustration and admiration palpable in your tone. “No more chess for today, though.” You stand up from your seat, gathering the board and chess pieces. As usual, they find their place under Charles’ bed, and you turn back to him, beaming with delight. “I think you owe me one after all this.”

“You’re a terrible loser, my dear,” he says, his eyes twinkling as they take you in. “Reminds me of someone I know.”

At that exact moment, you hear the familiar creak of the tank’s door opening, followed by a cough you immediately recognize.

Without thinking, you straighten your back as Logan steps into the room. Charles notices it, but says nothing in return.

It was an infatuation—or at least, that’s what you try to convince yourself of. Logan is a very good-looking man, probably the most handsome you’ve ever laid eyes on.

The fact that you live with him doesn’t help at all. You think that if you only saw him occasionally, this—this anxiety that grips you whenever he’s around or when you hear his voice—wouldn’t happen in the first place.

Whether it’s good or bad luck, you’ve been sleeping under the same roof as him for over a year, and the crush you’ve had since the first time you exchanged words with him only seems to grow stronger with each passing day.

What you figure out over time is that men like Logan aren’t the dating type. He’s never brought anyone home, and for that, you’re secretly grateful. The last thing you need is to see him with another woman—thank you very much. Still, the thought gnaws at you: he could easily be meeting someone elsewhere.

In fact, it’s more than likely that he’s hooking up with other people. It doesn’t have to be at—

Alright. You don’t need this either.

Logan’s heavy footsteps resonate even louder, his presence more imposing, and he seems especially pissed off. Then again, he always has that demeanor—angry, grumpy, locked in a constant battle with life.

But today… today, you haven’t seen him this troubled in weeks.

“Look who’s joined us,” Charles mumbles, steering his motorized chair to meet him halfway. The chair bumps against Logan’s legs with a thud that sounds almost cartoonish, and Charles scrunches up his nose, his nostrils flaring in disgust. “You smell like shit.”

“Yeah, I missed you too, Pop,” Logan grunts, shoving his hand into the pocket of his suit, searching for something. That’s when you notice the bloodstains on his shirt, smeared across his chest, and the missing buttons at the top. Your breath catches in your throat, and you bite your tongue to keep from asking any foolish questions. “They gave me new ones,” he mutters, looking you in the eye as he tosses the pill bottle at you.

You leap forward to catch it mid-air, your heart skipping a beat. Logan holds your gaze for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before giving a slight nod and turning on his heel to storm out of the tank.

When your attention goes back to Charles, you see how his eyes remain locked on the pills you’re holding, his head lowering in defeat. “He’s waiting for me to die.”

“Don’t say that.” You squat to be at his eye level, momentarily hiding the meds from his view. Still, you struggle to make him shift his gaze. “He’s taking care of you, which is something completely different.” You place your hand on top of his knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. You’ve had this same conversation innumerable times, yet each time feels like the first. He offers you a melancholic but knowing look as you softly say: “You have to take them, Charles. I’m sorry.”

He raises a hand, his trembling fingers curling around your wrist, examining you, trying to find an answer in the lines. “Don’t be. At least you’re here.”

“I’m sure Logan’s tired; that’s why he doesn’t stay any longer. Haven’t you seen him?” You rise to your feet, moving behind him to guide his chair. The tank sort of has a chill in the air, metallic walls that seem to press in around you both. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to play chess with him. Rest assured I’ll always let you win,” you murmur next to his ear, succeeding in eliciting a chuckle from him.

After that, you help him with his daily routine. Charles isn’t heavy, and you manage to get him onto the bed, his frail body yielding to your gentle support.

You slip the rest of his body beneath the blankets, tucking him in carefully before handing him two pills and a glass of water. “All the way down, okay? And I wanna see that tongue after you swallow them.”

If looks could kill, you’d be six feet under, covered in dust and dirt. Charles sticks his tongue out, putting the glass down on his nightstand. “Happy?”

“You’ve got no idea how much,” you say, adjusting the covers. The silence of the tank surrounds you both, and you can sense his gaze lingering on you. You flick your eyes up, furrowing your brows as you sit in the small space beside him on the mattress. “What is it?”

“You fancy him, don’t you?”

Freezing on the spot, your eyes narrow. “I—I don’t—” you trail off, pushing the words out with some effort. “Are you trying to read my mind?”

His whole chest rumbles with laughter under your touch. He finds your hand once again, intertwining your fingers with his. “Don’t be so naïve. I don’t need my abilities to see the way you get all flustered when he passes by. Why do you think they say older people are wiser?” he inquires, his lips forming a straight line. “We’ve lived too much not to notice the most common things, my dear—and let me tell you that you do a horrible job at pretending.”

“Of course I like him. Logan’s a good man, he keeps us safe.” You glance down at your hands—his, weak and delicate, in evident contrast to your own. “I’m not in love with him, Cupid.”

“Oh, you should’ve seen him years ago,” Charles says, his eyes glazing over as he drifts back into the past. His body remains here, within the confines of the room, but his mind is elsewhere, somewhere far away. You give his hand a gentle tug, trying to bring him back. “When we took him in, he was pursuing a career as a cage fighter. I had never seen anyone like him in all my years of educating mutants. He was so… different from the rest. Reserved, didn’t talk much at first. But I gave him a family, I—” His voice falters, overcome by his own emotions. 

That’s when you realize he’s no longer with you, his gaze unfocused, looking around the tank as if seeing it for the first time. It pains you to see him like this, completely disoriented and disconnected from reality.

“Why are we here? What has happened to the rest? Has he told you anything?”

These are the questions he asks every day without fail—questions that you can’t, nor want, to answer. Since you’re not exactly sure the explanation would soothe his troubled mind, you feel forced to play dumb.

“I don’t know, Charles. We don’t really talk that much, Logan and I.” You stand from the bed, not without pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead before. You smile at him, hoping he doesn’t realize the gesture lacks authenticity. “Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll let you know if I hear anything worth sharing.”

Once you close the door behind you, you settle back into it, releasing a shaky breath. Being Charles’ caregiver was a challenging task, especially in moments like these, which required immense internal strength not to crumble in front of him.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you adjust to the harsh sunlight, fighting to regain your composure. When you finally scan the area, the only thing that meets your eye is the deserted smelting plant you now call home.

You open the sliding door, the noise breaking the stillness and forcing Logan to look up from his plate. He’s eating like a starved man, casually drinking from a small bottle of whisky on the table, already half of it gone. After those long drives through the nights and the early hours, he always returns hungry.

You pour yourself a cup of coffee, setting it on the stove to heat. Neither of you says anything for a few minutes: he eats, and you sip your hot coffee in silence, not wishing to disturb the breakable peace that hangs by a thread.

Thinking this is how the noon will continue, you begin to walk toward your room until he clears his throat, stopping you in your tracks. That simple gesture makes you whirl around, anticipating something.

“This is delicious,” he acknowledges, pointing to his plate with his fork, the rice with veggies and meat you cooked last night nearly gone. Dipping his chin, he adds in a low voice: “Thank you.”

You’re taken aback by his unexpected willingness to engage in conversation. Moments like these are as rare as seeing Halley’s Comet, so you proceed with caution, as if you’re approaching a skittish animal—one wrong move, and the opportunity is lost.

Setting your mug down on the table, you sit on the chair opposite him. Deep down, the hammering of your heart echoes in your ears, and you hope his sharp senses don’t pick up on it.

“I’m glad you liked it. Charles ate two bowls of it,” you explain, unable to suppress a smile. Logan hums, tilting his head to the side as he keeps devouring his meal. You take another sip of your coffee, blowing on it in a futile attempt to cool it down. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Huh?”

“Charles. He—he asks to see you a lot,” you begin, carefully choosing your words. “I know it’s none of my business, but I think it would make him feel better if you spent more time with him.”

The sound of a distant train rumbles through the walls, amplifying the silence between you. Logan doesn’t utter a word; instead, he puts down his fork, the clinking noise making you jump slightly, the intensity of his stare becoming overwhelming.

“You’re right about one thing—what I do or don’t do is none of your goddamn business.”

Just like that, the buildup dissolves in a matter of seconds. You bite down on the inside of your cheek, nodding absentmindedly. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, feeling a wave of shame wash over you. How stupid were you to think he might want to talk to you?  “I just—I want to be of help.”

“Just take care of Charles. That’s all you gotta worry about, all I’ve ever asked you to do,” he barks, clenching his jaw, and you can tell he means each word.

When he talks to you in this tone, it makes you think more rationally—it reminds you that you don’t really know him, and yet you agreed to work for him in exchange for a roof over your head and food on your plate. He’s not your friend, and he’s excellent at making that crystal clear every time you cross the line.

Logan pushes you away like you’re nothing, like you’re just another of the many burdens he has to deal with.

It should be enough to send you running to your room, but despite the knot tightening in your belly, you somehow remain rooted in place, your eyes sharp like daggers.

As another train echoes in the silence, you come to terms with the knowledge that one more question will drive him away.

And sometimes, you speak before you think, as you do now: “Whose blood is that on your shirt?” you ask, voice steady and cold. Perhaps it’s you who wants him to leave this time.

He shakes his head with offense, frustration crinkling his eyes. “I don’t need this shit,” he groans, his gruff voice loud enough for you to hear it. He gets up from the table, placing his plate in the sink without much delicacy. At last, he heads to his room, slamming the door with a deafening thud that reverberates through the entire place.

It’s not a crush, that voice deep inside you insists as you’re left alone in the kitchen. And it’s valid: a mere crush wouldn't cause this kind of pain, wouldn’t make your chest feel this heavy and your limbs numb.

Whenever he leaves, he takes a part of you with him, never to be returned. By now, you’re certain he’s stolen all those missing pieces from you, and you’ve got no idea how much longer you can endure before you shatter completely.

You seem to have won this battle, but what you end up losing is far greater than any fleeting gratification.

Loving Logan is maddening, to say the least.

To this day, you still recall every detail of the night that altered the course of your life—the night you met Logan.

The memories are rather vivid in your mind, and you revisit that moment on nights like these, when you can’t sleep and the past appears to be much more appealing than your present.

Pressing your cheek against the cold pillow, you let your eyelids drop, reconstructing the full scene behind your sealed eyes.

It was your third week working at that restaurant, and you were still getting used to its daily rhythm. Waitressing was working wonders for you—you had a good memory, and people often gave you generous tips.

Everything was going well: you were the only waitress on shift, and your boss had left for a brief errand, promising he would be back soon.

During this lull, a group of men entered the restaurant, already drunk or high—probably both. They sat at one of the empty tables, immediately calling for you.

One of them, a tall blonde, was the loudest. “Come here, baby.” He pointed his finger at you, gesturing for you to approach him. The nickname felt wrong rolling off his tongue, and as you obliged, he shoved a handful of bills into the front pocket of your apron. He clutched your waist, dragging you nearer. “I’m getting married tomorrow. Think you can do something special for me?”

His friends cheered him on, laughing and pounding their fists on the table. You managed to slip from his grasp and asked them what they wanted to order.

While they took their time deciding, you noticed a limousine parked in the distance, probably the vehicle that had brought these morons here. The driver rolled down his window, hanging his arm from the armrest.

Though you couldn’t see his features, the interaction alone was enough to make you look away.

An hour went by, and the men refused to take off. They’d eaten, drunk, and danced—and driven you crazy in the process. The rest of the customers had decided to leave once they realized the night was far from finishing for the noisy group of friends. You apologized, feeling incapable of doing anything to change the situation.

Your sanity felt threatened as you turned off the TV, ending the sixth round of karaoke, their shouts and hoots ringing in your ears.

“We’re closing in ten minutes,” you informed them, starting to collect their dirty plates and glasses. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted the blonde man standing right beside you, his piercing blue eyes burning holes through your skin. He attempted to graze your shoulder, but you quickly stepped back, keeping a safe distance between you. “How do you plan to pay? Cash or credit?”

“How about with a kiss, huh?” He inched forward, his face dangerously close to yours. Unaccustomed to being approached in this manner, you ducked your head, unsure of your next move. His breath reeked of beer and vodka, a horrendous combination that had you nearly gagging on the spot.

As he backed you against the counter, one of his large hands cradled your face, urging you to make eye contact with him. “I swear I can be very, very nice. You haven’t given me the chance to show it yet.”

“Hey, pal. You said one hour.”

The first time you heard his voice—low and husky, the kind that could send shivers down your spine.

Your eyes locked with Logan’s, your pleading gaze seemingly stirring something in him as he got a grip on the situation. His brows bumped together in a scowl, and you didn’t miss how he limped as he made his way into the restaurant.

There was something about him—how he moved, his stance—that felt strangely familiar.

“We’re busy in here, chauffeur,” the blue-eyed man protested, slightly losing his balance while still holding your cheek.

Your rescuer squared off against him, their noses practically brushing. He worked his jaw, his half-lidded, tired eyes taking in the sight of you. “I’m no fortune-teller, but I don’t think she’s into you, bub.”

“Come again?” the blonde guy released you, much more concerned with defending his bruised pride. “What’s the matter, Grandpa? Is it past your bedtime?”

“I want you to pay me for the ride, and for waiting a fucking hour and a half for you and your friends,” the older man spat, jerking his thumb toward the limousine. “I’m not taking you back to the hotel. You might want to start looking’ for another driver.”

The group of men closed in around him, their anger bubbling. “That’s not cool, dude. We had a deal,” another voice snapped, but Logan couldn’t seem to care less.

“Well, the deal’s off. And leave the girl alone, will you?” he retorted, his tone dripping with disdain. “So, where’s my money?”

He couldn’t have predicted it. One of the men behind him swung a plate, striking him in the nape and catching him off guard. Logan collapsed to the floor, clutching his head in pain. The others took the opportunity and began to pummel him, kicks and punches landing wherever they could.

You screamed at the top of your lungs, desperately trying to intervene. You grabbed at their clothes, digging your fingernails into every patch of exposed skin you could find, but they shoved you aside with brutal force. Your back slammed against the nearest wall, a jolt of sudden pain making you wince.

The blood in your veins turned to ice as you watched, paralyzed with fear that they might kill him. But then—

Three metallic claws emerged from his knuckles, and he used them to push himself upright. Despite the blood smeared across his nose and mouth, he managed to stand, his quickened breathing coming out in short puffs.

The men backed away in shock, leaving him alone amidst the chaos. 

You stared at him, your hands trembling as recognition dawned: it was The Wolverine.

The familiarity, the sense of having seen him before, all made sense now. It all flooded back in a rush—the comics, the news, the rumors.

“Get the hell outta my sight,” he growled, pressing his claws against the fabric of the blue-eyed man’s jacket, making him flinch.

You couldn’t make out what you were feeling. It wasn’t fear, but intrigue. Even as the group of men fled the restaurant, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. At first, he avoided your gaze, focusing on his shoes as he retracted his claws.

Once the immediate danger had passed, he slumped forward, groaning. You gently draped one of his arms around your shoulders and helped him into a nearby chair. His weight felt like a thousand bricks, but you accomplished to get him seated.

He rubbed a shaky hand over his graying beard, his face twisting in pain as you pressed a makeshift towel of napkins against his lower lip, where blood continued to flow.

Taking the towel from you, he continued tending to himself. You scanned his features, scrutinizing him.

“You are…” you began, the words feeling inadequate at the moment.

Logan nodded hesitantly, his silence confirming your suspicion. “Yeah, that’s me,” he tugged at his shirt collar, exposing some of his chest hair, fresh blood staining his work clothes. Your gaze fell there, and you quickly chided yourself.

The poor guy was bleeding, and you were checking him out. Jeez.

Kneeling by his side, you introduced yourself. “Thank you for stepping up for me,” you said afterward, and he shook his head dismissively. “They were a pain in the ass. I don’t know how you even managed to drive them here.”

“Money’s money, darlin’. Doesn’t matter where it comes from, as long as—” he was interrupted by a coughing fit, and your concern deepened as you continued to spot more of his injuries. “I’ll heal,” he reassured you, his expression softening in an attempt to calm your anxiety.

Your eyes pierced his with an intensity that seemed to unsettle him. Warmth crept into your cheeks as a question surfaced in your mind: “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“You don’t owe me anything, kid,” he replied, a hint of gruffness in his voice.

“But I could help you,” you persisted, your voice betraying a touch of eagerness. Stifling a cough, you tried to mask your enthusiasm, and sighed. “Are you hungry? I could cook you something, or pour you a drink. We’ve got plenty of liquor—”

Logan interrupted you, placing the towel down on the table. “Have you ever taken care of an old person?” 

Tilting your head, you considered his question. “How old?”

“Ninety-somethin’.”

You nodded, memories of the events from years ago surfacing. “I lived with my grandparents for most of my life. When they fell ill, I spent a lot of time with them. My mom had to work long hours, and I—well, the point is, I did take care of them,” you paused for an instant, his expression unreadable, though you perceived a slight relaxation in his posture, as if your answer had put him at ease. “I like being around old people. They have stories to tell,” you added, a genuine smile breaking through, “and I’m a good listener.”

“Then I suppose there is somethin’ you can help me with.”

And so began a new chapter in your life.

The very next day, you were moving in with him and Charles. It took several weeks for the latter to warm up to you and get used to your presence.

Initially, he was hopeful that you might also be a mutant, but his disappointment was palpable when he discovered you lacked any supernatural gifts. Leaving that aside, he valued your company.

“The shots mellow the seizures. The pills keep them from happening,” Logan had once explained, detailing the medications Charles needed. You recalled the psychic attack from a year ago and its consequences, but that wasn’t a topic to be discussed with Logan, and you understood why.

“Where do you get these?” you asked, examining the bottle of pills with a curious glance. “Without a prescription, I mean.”

“Oh, you don’t wanna know.”

Soon, you got adapted to the whole package: his unpredictable temperament, his mood swings, and his nightmares. Logan Howlett was a puzzle box of surprises, one you could never quite unlock.

Fast forward to the present day, you realize it must be already late, because Logan’s heading to work. You stand on your tiptoes, peering out of your bedroom window. Your humid breath fogs the glass as his eyes find yours, and then he slips into the vehicle, blending into the shadows of the night.

The distant rumble of his limousine signals his departure, your forehead pressed against the glass, as if somehow that could take you with him.

There goes another piece of you.

You find yourself shaving Charles the moment worry takes over your senses.

He’s retelling a familiar story: that one time Logan, Scott, Jean, and Storm saved Rogue from Magneto.

On any other day, you wouldn’t mind listening to his stories, despite having heard them countless times. This one in particular is your favorite.

But today, it’s hard to focus on it, even more when one of its main characters is missing in action.

Logan hasn’t come back home yet.

It’s been an entire day, and he’s usually back by morning to rest. Now, after having cooked dinner and helping Charles shower, you’ve run out of distractions. There’s nothing left to occupy your thoughts, nothing to ease the building anxiety gnawing at you.

You texted him multiple times—no answer. You even called—also nothing. Every time Charles asks if Logan’s at work or sleeping, the knot in your chest tightens. That’s when your mind starts to spiral, and you’re convinced you’ll burst any moment.

After putting him to bed, you pace the kitchen, picking at your nails and biting the raw skin around them. The sting of pain is there, but it’s faint, not enough to overshadow the real fear clawing at your insides.

All these what-ifs that storm through your mind make you feel nauseous: what if he’s dead? What would you do with Charles? How would you provide for both of you without a salary?

Just as you’re about to dial his number again, Logan materializes out of thin air through the sliding door.

He’s got a dark bruise under his right eye, and his once-white shirt is littered with bloodstains. You stare at him—he’s limping harder than usual, each of his movements slower.

Walking towards him, your hands cup his face. His skin feels rough beneath your fingers, and he lets out a grunt as you graze his split lip. “What happened?”

“They were followin’ me. Had been doin’ so for a few days now,” he says, making no effort to pull away.

“Did you kill them?” you wonder out loud, still inspecting his injuries. The pad of your thumb hovers inches away from his bruised mouth.

Covering your hands with his, Logan ducks his head, closing his eyes for a brief second and swallowing thickly. “Somebody had to do it, sweetheart.”

You limit yourself to a nod, because you know there’s nothing you can reproach him for. You were no stranger to the idea of him killing. It was an implicit truth between you.

“I thought—I was so scared, and I—” your voice wavers, and you feel your eyes watering, the tears prickling at the corners. “I thought you—”

He doesn’t let you finish, already knowing how it would end. “Hey, look at me,” he’s the one touching you now, tilting your chin up. Your eyes keep flickering over the cuts and old scars you spot on his cheeks, his neck. Logan forces a pained smile, unable to hide his discomfort. “It’s fine, I’m alright. Just a bit fucked up, but nothin’ you haven’t seen before,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood, and it works. You bite your lower lip, suppressing your grin. “I always come back, don’t I?”

“But you can barely stand,” you whisper, not sure why you’re speaking so softly. You make him turn his back to you, helping him shrug off his coat. As expected, remnants of dried blood decorate his shirt like highlights. “Let me help you.” 

“I don’t—”

”There are cuts all over your back. And your chest—you’re not healing properly,” you say, turning him to face you again. The look on his face suggests only one thing: he’s about to throw in the towel. “You don’t have to do everything on your own.” You think you’ve never been this close before, his proximity both intoxicating and comforting at the same time. “Please.”

He ends up giving in to your persuasion, allowing you to guide him to the bathroom. Logan sits down on the toilet, watching you gather supplies to clean his wounds. When you come back, he’s still staring at you, his eyelashes fluttering together each time he blinks.

Starting with his cheek, you press a damp towel to his skin, and he hisses. It takes everything in you not to flinch in sympathy.

“How’s Charles?” he asks, probably trying to distract himself as you continue to clean his wounds, the towel darkening with his blood over time. 

“He’s doing great. Asked for you a lot, actually,” you take a look at his jaw, where one shallow cut is already starting to fade away thanks to his healing ability, something that never fails to amaze you.

Logan hums, tilting his head. ”I’ll check on him in the morning,” he murmurs, and you flash him a quick smile, finishing with his face. He’s now free of dirt and blood, his brows furrowing as he pauses to collect his thoughts. “The other day, when we talked—”

You cut him off, turning to the sink as you rinse the towel, watching the water get red. “Forget it.”

“No, it wasn’t okay—how I acted,” he stands up from the toilet, and you feel his presence behind you, the alarm inside your head going off as the space between you shrinks. “I know you just want what’s best for him. For us. I’m sorry I was a jerk,” his voice comes out even huskier at this time of the night, sounding afraid of waking someone, even though it’s just the two of you here.

“Apology accepted,” you swirl around to meet his gaze, only to find yourself nose-to-nose with him, and you lean back against the sink, your spine pressed into the cool surface.

Logan places his hands on both sides of the vanity, caging you with his body. Like the most beautiful tree, he stands tall in front of you, and you take a deep breath, getting drunk on his distinctive scent. “Are you… okay?”

You watch as he lowers his head, pursing his lips before muttering: “Imma need you to do something more for me,” he says, almost pleading, and you can’t avoid the amount of thoughts that rush into your mind.

Gone was your decency when you had to deal with him.

That’s when he looks up to find your eyes, his harsh expression evolving into a more vulnerable one. “Have you ever removed a bullet?”

If you thought listening to Logan’s nightmares was painful, nothing could have prepared you for the sounds he makes while you pull several bullets from his wounds. 

He sits shirtless in front of you, grunting at each of your careful movements. As you remove one bullet lodged near his ribs, Logan practically yells, and you rest your cheek against his, desperate to ease his suffering.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Almost done,” you whisper into his ear, hoping your words might bring him some relief. He lets his head fall forward, resting it on your shoulder, trusting you enough to tend to his injuries, his thoughts drifting elsewhere.

It takes you half an hour to clean both his chest and back, but Logan doesn’t complain. When you’re finished, he goes straight to his room, flopping onto his bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. You see the way his chest rises and falls rapidly, his breathing still labored.

You wish you could lie beside him, even just for a few minutes, but your last shred of self-control stops you from doing such a thing.

“Get some sleep,” you say leaning against the doorframe, your advice sounding more like a plea. He looks exhausted, dark circles sunken beneath his eyes. 

Logan lets out a bitter laugh. “Do I look that bad?”

You roll your eyes at that, your fingers curling around the doorknob. Glancing back at him over your shoulder, you catch something in his look—a glimmer of something you struggle to put into words, but you decide not to look further into it. “Good night, Logan.”

“Good night, darlin’—and thank you,” he murmurs, holding your gaze until the door shuts between you.

Then you sprint to your room, gently closing the door before biting back a smile, replaying the last hour in your mind. How close to you he had been, how comfortable he seemed around you.

You hadn’t just crossed lines—you’d broken them. You almost pinch yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming.

Somehow, your racing mind calms down, and you fall asleep, one hand tucked beneath the pillow, the other resting against your chest.

You’re a light sleeper. The sound of something shattering wakes you, leaving you startled and disoriented.

Dawn is just breaking, the first rays of sunlight slipping through your window. You sit up, pricking up your ears as you scratch the back of your head, listening attentively.

Logan’s voice filters into your room—he lets out a string of profanities, and you stifle a giggle, throwing off your covers and putting on a sweatshirt that matches your pajamas.

Barefoot, you walk down the hall, stopping at the kitchen’s entrance. Logan is kneeling beside the table, gathering the shards of a broken mug. It seems like he’s just gotten out of the shower, tiny droplets of water trailing down his neck.

“That was my favorite one,” you say in a low voice, teasing him. His back muscles flex under the material of his shirt, and he turns to look at you, his expression a silent apology. “I take it you’re not using your glasses?”

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Rising to his feet, he grunts, digging his fingers into his lower back with a grimace. “They’re called readers for a reason.”

You decide to let him have that one, grabbing a new mug from the shelf and handing it to him. He accepts it, thanking you, and fills it with freshly brewed coffee.

“Was it a nightmare?” you ask, watching as he sinks into the couch, spreading his thighs apart with a sigh while you take a seat at the table instead.

Logan gives a nod, sipping some of his coffee. “At least I slept for a few hours.” 

“Are you really going to stay up? It’s pretty early.” You stretch your arms over your head, a yawn escaping you before you can hold it back.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

You hesitate for a moment, but then comes your question: “Can I join you?” You prop your elbows on your knees, any trace of sleepiness now gone with the wind.

He squints his eyes, his unrelenting stare boring into you. “Feel free.”

So here you are, studying him as he drinks his coffee, his fingers wrapped tightly around the ceramic. There are so many things you want to ask him—about how he’s feeling, if his wounds have healed—but it seems you’ve entered a silent staring contest without even knowing it.

Not that you mind him looking at you—you just want to know the reason why.

You snort, and he arches a brow. “Do I have something on my face?” You decide to ask him, straightening your back.

“I guess I can’t help but wonder why you agreed to all of this,” he says, setting the mug down with a soft clink. By this, you understand he’s referring to being Charles’ caregiver and leaving your old job behind. “I mean—you could be doing better things with your life. Why would you choose to do this?”

“I told you before: I wanted to help you,” you shrug, trying to keep your tone light even as your stomach tightens with nerves. You watch as Logan folds his arms, the muscles of his biceps becoming more visible. “Plus, I love being around Charles.

“I don’t think people your age would be that interested in spending their days like this,” he says, and you toy with a lock of your hair, wrapping it around your finger.

“Well, good thing I’m not like most people my age then.”

His silence hangs heavy in the air until he speaks again. “What do you mean by that?”

“You know that feeling when life seems like a race? And you just have to keep up with certain things that everybody else is doing, or you’ll be left behind?” You pause, the words falling more naturally than you’d expected.

Logan nods, making it seem like he understands what you’re trying to say. Whether he truly does it or not, you don’t know.

“When my friends started going to parties, getting boyfriends… I couldn’t. My family wouldn’t let me. And even when I could, it felt like it wasn’t really what I wanted.”

Inhaling sharply, you stop yourself. The conversation suddenly feels far too personal.

“You never had a boyfriend?” He gets more comfortable on the couch, his voice gruff as he rubs his chin, waiting for a reply.

A familiar heat settles between your legs. “I went out with some guys, but it never led to anything serious,” you say, your cheeks getting warmer the more details you share with him. “I guess I wasn’t the kind of girl they were looking for,” you add, not missing the way his lips twitch momentarily.

“How could they not want you?”

“They didn’t think like you do.”

“That’s because they were boys, not men,” he mutters, his gaze dropping to your hands before returning to your face. “Did they treat you right, those boys?”

Swallowing hard, you can hardly register the uncertainty in your own voice. “I mean… yes, I think they did. They were nice to me.”

There it is—the faintest hint of a smirk dancing on his lips. “Nice doesn’t mean good, though.”

You dig your nails onto the table, your pulse quickening, trying to hide how affected you are by his words. “What is it that you want to know?”

“Come sit with me, doll.”

Doll. Doll. Doll. Inside your chest, your heart gallops, your legs trembling as you get off the table, moving closer to him.

Feeling lighter with every step you take, you plop down beside him, and Logan sits straighter, his knees almost bumping into yours.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him—this is happening, just like in your filthiest dreams.

His hand slides up to yours, not applying any sort of pressure. He scrutinizes your skin, bringing your hand to his lips, and he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist.

It tickles, it burns—it ignites a fire inside you, one you know you can’t ignore. A gasp attempts to escape you, but you suppress it.

“Did you let them touch you?” he whispers, attaching his mouth to your neck, brushing the sensitive spot where your jaw and ear meet.

This time, you moan, any possible rational thoughts turning into putty, melting with the way he’s touching you. “Logan,” you purr his name, begging for something, anything he’s willing to give you. Your thighs, once shoved together, spread of their own accord, and you hear him click his tongue.

“I asked you something.” His teeth graze your pulse point, forcing you to close your eyes.

“I didn’t. They wanted to, but I—I wouldn’t let them,” you answer, and as if he’s rewarding you, his fingers begin to tug on the hem of your sweatshirt, rolling it up your body and over your head. He tosses it to the floor, admiring you.

“Why?”

Goddamn.

“Because I was waiting for the right guy,” you manage to get out, grasping his hand and positioning it on top of your right breast, encouraging him to go on with what he had started. His pupils widen further, and he squeezes your tit roughly, eliciting a moan from you. “I think I’ve found him.”

Logan scans your face, searching for any sign of repentance in your expression. “I’m going to hell for this,” he murmurs under his breath, his hard-on noticeable through his tented sweatpants. “Lay down.” You obey his command, easing yourself onto the couch, and sinking into the cushions as he presses himself to your side.

He peppers your neck with kisses, playing with the waistband of your shorts. “I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.”

You accept his offer, knowing that you’ll probably regret it in a couple of hours. Right now, it doesn’t matter. You need his electrifying touch, his fingers, his—

With a swift motion, your shorts are yanked down your legs, and his calloused hands part your thighs even wider. A damp spot on your underwear sells you out, and his thumb rubs gentle circles over that area, causing you to lift your hips.

“So this is what you look like when you touch yourself, huh?” He edges his fingers closer to your clit, his breath tickling your ear, and he dips his tongue into your collarbone. “I hear you all the fuckin’ time. You’re not as quiet as you think.”

It should embarrass you, the fact that he has listened to you pleasuring yourself. But in a moment like this, it only succeeds in fuelling your desire. “Please. You said you’d make me feel good.”

“And I will, but you’re greedy as hell,” he says, his movements more deliberate now. You feel hot all over as he pulls your panties to the side, exposing your glistening cunt.

Logan’s on the verge of drooling all over you, reaching for your folds and spreading your wetness. “Men aren’t strong creatures, honey. You’ve got no idea how hard it is to hold back.”

“D-don’t hold back,” you stutter, losing your composure when he returns to your clit, his fingers coated in your arousal while they flick your swollen bud. “Oh, Logan…”

“You make the prettiest sounds,” he rasps, mouthing at your jaw, though as you try to kiss him, he slows his pace. “What’s wrong? Am I not giving you enough?”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” you whisper, fascinated by how big his fingers look in comparison to your pussy. “I’m just—”

“Needy, I know,” he finishes for you, and he picks up his merciless rhythm again. Heat pools in your lower abdomen, and you can’t help but arch your back every time he teases you, grazing your entrance with his middle finger. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

You dig your nails into his arm, relishing the way his body responds to your touch. He grinds his cock against your hip, his teeth nipping at the column of your neck. “I want to come. Please, make me come,” you sob, letting out a shaky breath.

A thin sheen of sweat covers your forehead, and Logan locks eyes with you after what feels like an eternity. “Please, Lo.”

The nickname snaps something inside of him. His fingers circle your clit with a fervency you hadn’t experienced before, your pleasure seemingly being his primary focus. “The shit I’d do for you.”

You warn him, telling him you’re close—so so so close—until the fire in your belly flares, and blood rushes to your ears. You collapse against him, holding his hand firmly against your core, hips jerking as you ride your orgasm.

The world narrows down to this—this moment, your most desired fantasy.

Logan holds you as you go limp in his arms, rubbing your clit ever so slightly, murmuring soft praises. “Y’did so good, sweetheart,” he whispers, planting a kiss on your temple, burying his nose in your hair. You’re still out of breath, the pulsing between your parted legs persisting long after your release. “Told you you weren’t quiet.”

A giggle bubbles up from your chest, his beard tickling you as he slides his hands up under your shirt, finding your nipples.

“It was n-nice,” you tell him, your voice faltering the more he toys with your hardened peaks. Your skin heats up again, heart racing at the thought that he isn’t done with you yet.

“Just nice?” One of his hands makes its way back into your pussy, ghosting his fingers over your hole, and he smirks when he feels you squirm. “You surely know how to hurt a man’s pride.”

“I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to—” You can’t structure a proper sentence, not when he’s playing with you like this.

Logan rubs your arousal between his fingers, as though he wants you to see how slick you still are, even after coming. “Are you going to touch me again?”

He hums, feigning uncertainty. “What do you think, baby? Should I make you come with my fingers now?”

It’s like a switch flips in your mind. He knows exactly how to make you beg and which buttons to push, using that power to his advantage. “Yes, please. I want it,” you plead, intending to buck your hips into his touch, impatient for more.

“Do you fuck yourself with your fingers?” 

“Sometimes, but I can never finish—Oh my God.” He slips one finger inside you, causing you to curse, your voice barely above a whisper. You clench around the intrusion, your head falling back onto the cushions. “Fuck me.”

“In a minute.” He begins to thrust his finger in and out, gathering your juices every time he goes back to hammering that sweet spot in your interior. Soon, one finger becomes two, and he reduces you to a panting mess.

Tears threaten to swell in your eyes, and you whine as he involves his other hand in the matter, furiously rubbing your clit. “Your fingers feel much better than m-mine, Lo.”

“I can tell.” He curls them just right, and you push back against his thrusts, tilting your pelvis to meet him halfway. “There you go. Take what you need, sweetheart. I’m right here, I’ve got you.”

Everything feels frenzied, fast, the way your inner walls spam and contract around his fingers as you chase your second climax.

Once you come down from your high, your blurred vision catches him tugging the waistband of his sweatpants down. His cock springs free, and he fists himself, stroking his length angrily.

You watch as some pre-cum dribbles from the head, and you lean forward, watching it closely.

“You look goddamn beautiful when you come, darlin’,” he murmurs through gritted teeth, his jaw clenched tight. Hovering over you, he rucks your shirt up until he can see your tits from above. He alternates between your breasts, squeezing them while he continues to stroke his girth. “Want to see these all dirty.”

Logan truly loses it when your hand reaches out to him, tracing a bulging vein near the head of his cock. You meet his lustful gaze, batting your lashes, and then you feel his come splashing against your bare chest, a choked moan escaping Logan’s throat, spurts of his hot seed landing on your skin.

“Fuckin’ hell… fuck,” he grunts, still tugging at his cock, enamored with the masterpiece he’s created. When it’s finally over, he lies beside you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You run your fingers through his hair, and he nuzzles further into your touch with a groan. “I’m too old for this.”

Minutes pass as both of you seem to grasp the gravity of what has just happened. Eventually, Logan rises to his feet, disappearing for a brief moment before coming back with a towel to wipe his come off your stomach and chest.

He’s gentle with you, his gaze trained on his task until his eyes flick up to meet yours. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, pulling your shorts back up.

“Like what?” 

“Like you want to see right through me.” He adjusts your shirt to cover your body again, but the towel remains in his hand, a reminder of the previous events.

I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.

You don’t have to talk about it. You definitely don’t. 

Two days later, he’s the one who comes looking for you.

You’re nearly asleep when he knocks on your door. “Come in,” you mumble, a bit of drool having dampened your pillow. You dry your mouth with the back of your hand, your back turned to the door.

He steps into your room cautiously, as if navigating a minefield. The mattress dips under his weight. “Were you sleeping?” he asks, caressing your leg over the covers. 

You shift onto your back, your body responding before your mind. There’s no blood on his clothes—that makes you feel a bit better, and you shake your head.

“Good.” He looms closer, fumbling with his belt. His thumb applies little pressure to your lower lip, and your mouth parts to let him in, salivating.

This is just like Pavlov’s dog experiment—except that Logan isn’t an experimenter, and you aren’t a dog.

Yet, when he approaches you like this, you can’t help but respond, settling into a routine where you both take take take from each other.

Logan doesn’t fuck you, even when you beg him to. He gets you off with his fingers, his thigh, his mouth—but his cock remains out of the equation. 

“Just the tip,” you plead, voice laced with pure need, when he’s got his face nestled between your legs. 

As he stops eating you out, his beard shiny with your arousal, he’s still got that angry look on his face. Your cries don’t get to him.

“That lie’s older than me.” He slips his fingers back inside you, aiming to make you drop the subject. “Come on, baby. Gotta get ready for work, but you need to come first.”

Nor does he stay the night after telling you you’re the most gorgeous girl he’s ever seen in his life. Just when you think he’s fallen asleep, his legs intertwined with yours and one of his large hands under your head, you drift off.

By the time morning comes, he’s gone. You just know that when night falls, he’ll be back for more, drawn to you like a moth to a flame.

Despite all that, Logan won’t kiss you. He keeps his promise, and you hate how determined he is. 

“Not even once?” you ask him one night while going over the scars on his back. You’re in his bed this time, and he has his nose buried in his pillow, moments away from dozing off. 

“No,” he answers, squirming slightly under your touch. “I’m tired. Stop doing that.”

“How did you get this one?” You trace one scar that’s close to his shoulder, resting your chin just inches from it.

He turns his face to see your eyes. “Well, I was doing Pilates, and I—Hey!” He laughs when you pinch the skin near his ribs, tickling him. “I don’t even remember. Must’ve got it a long time ago.”

“Did it hurt?” It’s a dumb question, but he doesn’t mention it.

His index finger grazes your cheek, and he chuckles at the way your eyelids flutter. “In the past, they all did. But not anymore,” he replies, though you wish you could believe him.

You know he’s in pain most days. That when he goes down on you, and he’s on his knees for too long, he has trouble standing up without cursing. That no amount of alcohol, or his healing ability, helps him with it.

You kiss each of his scars before curling against his side, brushing your nose against his. “And now?” Your eyes fall to his lips, silently hoping he’ll say Yes.

Instead, he sighs. “I think we should go to sleep.”

So despite the lack of kisses, the miscommunication, and the fact that he won’t fuck you even though you know—you feel—he wants to, things are good between you.

Charles notices it, openly expressing his recent realization. “He looks happier, doesn’t he?” he asks says after winning two games of chess in a row, startling you. 

“Logan, you mean?”

“Yes, my dear.”

You glance down at the board, fidgeting with the pieces. “I guess so.”

“You guess so?” he parrots your previous words, raising an eyebrow in doubt. “Look at me,” he says, and as you do it, he points a shaky finger toward your neck. “I assume mosquitos have taken a liking to you.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, your hand flying up to cover the hickey you had completely forgotten about in the first place. “Charles, I’m—“

“Are you happy?” he interrupts you, and you nod, because you are. 

A nagging thought lingers at the back of your mind. You don’t know if you’re asking for too much, but it still feels like something’s missing.

One morning, you accidentally overhear a conversation between them. The door of the tank is ajar, and right before you step inside, you recognize Logan’s voice in the distance.

“Charles, I’m fine, alright? I don’t need your advice.”

There’s a pause before Charles responds. “You know, Logan… this is what life looks like. You should take a moment and feel it. You still have time.”

Logan doesn’t say anything in response to that. And if he does, you don’t stick around long enough find out, because you’re already turning on your heel.

A poet once said: “Blowjobs are fucking amazing.”

Actually, you might be wrong. Those may not have been a poet’s words, but your best friend Keira’s from high school.

You remember the sleepovers at her place—she had a boyfriend at the time, a boy she had met at a party you hadn’t been invited to. 

“Welcome to blowjobs 101,” she had declared one night, holding a hairbrush like a microphone. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll tell you everything you need to know when the moment comes.”

Luckily, many years later, that moment arrived.

Just ten minutes ago, you were cooking dinner, sniffling back tears while chopping onions, so lost in thought that you didn’t realize Logan was already home.

He tossed his keys onto the table, hugging you from behind seconds later. You leaned back against his chest, enjoying the scratch of his beard against your sensitive skin, his lips planting soft kisses wherever they could.

“How was work?” you dropped the knife, wiping your tears as you turned to face him, throwing your arms around his neck. Logan pulled you in tighter by the waist, giving your ass a firm squeeze.

“Hell, as usual,” he looked into your eyes, finding them all glossy. “You miss me so much you started crying?”

Of course, you didn’t talk about it—but words aren’t the only ones who can convey meaning.

You’re not sure how, but one thing led to another, and now you’re on your knees, Logan’s cock filling your mouth. Your lips, swollen and red, suck hard at his tip, pulling the foreskin back, and his hips jerk deeper into your throat. “That’s it, fuck. Doin’ so good.”

Your movements are far from graceful. As a matter of fact, it’s all too sloppy and desperate. Saliva drips down your chin, some of it coating his balls, and you fondle them at the same time you bob your head.

Keira’s advice plays on repeat in your mind, and you pull out every trick you know to make Logan roll his eyes.

So far, you think you’re doing pretty great, judging by the way he’s gripping the back of your head.

“H-how is this your first time suckin’ cock?” he slurs, more to himself, his voice strangled as you make eye contact with him. He brushes your hair out of your face, bewitched by the sight of him disappearing into your wet mouth. “God, I fuckin’ love you.”

Taken aback by his sudden confession. you involuntarily gag around him. He pulls you off his cock, not even sparing you a glance, tucking himself back into his briefs. “Wait, Logan—”

“Not now,” he mutters abruptly, withdrawing into his bedroom and shutting the door behind him.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

But still, he doesn’t want to talk about it.

How bad is it to tell somebody you love them and then avoid them?

Yeah, it’s absolutely terrible, right? Tell that to the idiot himself—Logan Howlett.

It’s been over a week, and no matter how many times you press him for an explanation, he keeps dodging it.

Things go back to how they were before you two started fooling around, and Charles’ questions don’t take long to come: “I thought you two were getting somewhere.”

“Me too,” you admit, your voice quieter as you try to appear indifferent.

You have no answer for him. Not that you don’t want to discuss your relationship problems—it’s just that you don’t know what went wrong.

When evading you isn’t enough, he works longer hours, which only adds to how little you see him. At least he lets you know if he’s going to be late, sparing you from waiting up.

But apart from that, your interactions have dwindled to nothing, and it’s eating you alive.

You’re madly in love with him. You thought you knew that already, but now that he’s distant, the depth of your feelings has become clearer than ever.

He’s everywhere you go, just not physically—he has conquered your mind.

And it should be funny, loving someone who used to be no more than a myth for you. Though Logan is real—maybe too real for your own good—and he hasn’t been the mutant you once read about for quite some time.

This morning, he’s having breakfast at the table when you walk into the kitchen. You hold your breath as your shoulders brush for a microsecond, his gaze following your steps.

You’re no longer accustomed to sharing the same space with him, so it makes sense that you stay as far away as possible.

After an awkward silence, he stands up and mutters something about checking on Charles and giving him his meds, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

It’s infuriating, how collected he seems. Why isn’t he miserable like you? Doesn’t he miss you? Didn’t you two have something… special?

I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.

The shit I’d for you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

Not now.

The memory of his words lingers, seared into your unconscious, though the sound of his phone jolts you out of your thoughts.

It’s ringing beside the coffee machine, and you try to ignore it, determined to be the bigger person.

But after five minutes of the relentless ringtone echoing in the empty kitchen, you’ve had enough.

Unknown caller—interesting. What could he possibly be hiding?

Charles, you better keep that asshole busy, you think to yourself, swiping right to answer the call.

Before you can say anything, a woman’s voice fills the line.

“James! Thank God. It’s Gillian. You didn’t reply to any of my texts, and I was starting to get worried,” she lets out a giggle, the sound grating against your nerves.

As your grip on the phone tightens, your knuckles start to go white.

“Look, I know you said you weren’t available, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that ride. I didn’t see any ring on your finger, so what do you say, huh? Will you let me take you out?”

Red. You’re seeing red.

“James? Hello? Cat got your tongue?”

At last, you clear your throat. “Hey,” you greet her, pacing around the kitchen. “I’m deeply sorry, but James can’t talk right now.”

“Excuse me?” she snaps, her high-pitched voice echoing through the speakers, and you pull the device away from your ear. “This is James’ number. Who the fuck are you?”

“Oh, I’ll tell you who the fuck I am, you intolerant piece of—”

Before you can finish, the phone is yanked out of your hand, the call hastily ending.

There is no use in playing dumb, not when Logan’s standing right in front of you, observing you like you’re a child who’s made a severe mistake.

His deep, brown eyes pierce your soul, shattering any chance you had of coming up with an excuse.

“What where you doing with my phone?” It’s the first thing he asks you, his voice still steady, the calm before the storm.

Perhaps you’re not as mature as you thought you were—your forehead furrows, unwilling to back down, and you fall silent. He takes a step forward, as if he can’t believe your attitude. “Think I asked you somethin’. Why did you answer?”

“Gillian sounds like a lovely lady. Tell her I said ‘Hi’ the next time you see her,” you croak, attempting to walk past him, but he doesn’t budge, his solid frame blocking your path. You collide with his chest, and it feels like trying to move a brick wall without success.

“We’re talking. You can’t just leave.”

The nerve of this man.

“You can’t be serious,” you retort, staring at him, wishing the emotion in your tone could capture even a fraction of what you’re truly feeling. “Weren’t you the one who walked away first? After telling me you loved me?”

You search for any sign of the man who once held you close, but he feels miles away, hidden under all these layers that smell like cheap whiskey and gasoline. “You didn’t mean it.”

“I did. I meant every word,” he growls, his fists clenching at his sides, and you don’t miss the exhaustion in his eyes, the dark circles that expose the fragile façade of control he’s so desperate to maintain. “Goddamit! You’re doing that thing again!”

“What thing?” you exclaim, your mouth hanging open in frustration. “What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not doing anything.”

“Yes, you are! You’re trying to see through me, like you can read my mind.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint, but I’m not a fucking mutant. I just have eyes, Logan.” You throw your arms up, exasperated. “People actually look at each other when they have a conversation, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“You’re testing my patience,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face.

“And you are testing mine.” You rest your back against the table, raising your chin. “So, who is she?”

Logan drops his shoulders, slamming his eyes shut. “I drove her once, last week. It was a long ride and she… wouldn’t stop talking. Didn’t shut up for a single second. She hit on me, but I told her I’m off the market.”

“Why? ‘Cause she talked too much?”

“No. Because I love you,” he says, pure awe transforming his expression, like he doesn’t believe he has said it out loud. “I don’t know when I started feeling like this, or if I’ve always felt it, but—I do. I love you.”

Oh.

You had heard those words slip through his lips before, but now they sound different. It might be that keeping him at arm's length has felt like death by a thousand cuts, or perhaps it’s the realization that this is the first time someone’s declaring their love for you.

Fuck. He loves you. As in, he’s in love with you?

“Then why do you keep running?” You edge closer to him, your eyes trained on his. “I’m done with the chase, Logan. It’s tiring—I am tired. I’ve been sleeping like shit, trying to figure out what—”

His arms surround your body, cutting you off and pulling you close. The hammering of his heart matches yours, and you return the hug, nuzzling your nose against his neck.

You fear that this might be all you’ve ever needed, feeling as if the pieces he took from you in the past are finally falling back into place.

Logan holds you as if in a past life he lost you, but now, he’s decided to never let you go.

This profound sense of completeness, of being where you’re meant to be, makes you realize you’ve found home in the warmth of his embrace.

“I’m sorry. This… this scares me, alright?” he murmurs next to your ear, raking his fingers through your hair. “You make me feel things I didn’t think I could feel anymore. That’s what I’m running from—the part of me I thought was gone. But you… you brought it back.”

You feel a deep urge to curl up and cry, wondering why on earth he would ever think he was unworthy of being cared for. “Logan, I…”

“I sound pathetic, I know. It sounded way better in my head.”

“Don’t you dare say that.” You retreat a bit, looking him in the eye. He stares down at you with a tenderness you’ve never seen before. “It’s not pathetic to voice how you feel. I want to know it all, want to know everything about you.”

“Everything?”

“Yes, everything. But I need you to promise me that you won’t run away anymore. I know it’s difficult, but it’s not fair to any of us.”

His eyes peer directly into yours, and he gives a nod. “I promise to do my best.” He presses your foreheads together, and that’s when his mouth turns into a grin. “You’re not going to say it back?” he teases, gripping your waist. “Come on, I said it first. Twice, for the record.”

Lifting your shoulders in a half-shrug, you find it hard to conceal your smile. “I may need a bit more convincing.”

Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.

Before you know it, his lips are on yours, almost making you lose your balance. You whimper into his mouth, tightening your arms around his neck as his tongue wastes no time in finding yours, stroking it sensually.

The wait had been definitely worth it—you’d do everything all over again if it meant having him kiss you like this at the end of the day.

He tilts your face so that he can deepen the kiss, and a whine gets caught in your throat when his fingers pull gently at the hair at your nape, nibbling at your bottom lip. 

“I love you, too. Very much, to be honest,” you blurt out against his mouth, pleased with the way he laughs at your reaction, squeezing your hips. “But I still have some ideas in mind.”

“I’m all ears.”

Here goes nothing. “Fuck me like I’ve been asking you to.” You cup his cheek, guiding his lips into yours one more time. “Please,” you mewl, standing on your tiptoes. “Want you to be my first.”

If it were up to you, you would’ve begged him to take you right there on the kitchen floor. But Logan, ever the gentleman, insists on moving things to his room.

Each of his movements is slow, igniting your skin with a burning heat, leaving his name imprinted where his teeth sink into your soft flesh.

You’re left in nothing but your underwear by the time he murmurs: “Let me take my time with you.” He trails his lips down your chest, your stomach, until he’s planting several kisses along your ankle. “I don’t know how I got so lucky, baby. Look at you.”

Under his gaze, you feel shy, your eyes snapping to the ceiling instead. “Shut up,” you say, tugging at his shirt to undress him, your fingers tracing the lines of his abdomen before you pull him into a bruising kiss, sucking on his tongue.

He strips out of his black slacks and hovers over you, his clothed cock grinding against your throbbing core, eliciting a moan from both of you. “So goddamn beautiful. Can’t believe you’re mine.” His tip grazes your entrance through the fabric, making your toes curl in ectasy. “I’m gonna make you feel good, I swear.”

At first, he’s extremely careful, making sure to stretch you out with his fingers while you stroke him, pumping your fist to match his rhythm. “Keep that up and this’ll be over sooner than expected,” he warns, taking one of your nipples into his mouth.

It doesn’t happen like it does in the books or movies. No foreplay could’ve prepared you for the moment he enters you.

You move clumsily beneath him, your nose bumping into his forehead as he eases the first inch of his length inside.

For a moment, you’re not certain which hurts most: the dull ache in your nose or the way he’s splitting you open. 

Logan freezes, his eyes wide in concern. “Shit. I’m sorry, sweetheart. Are you okay?” His hand cradles your face as he props himself up on one forearm, pushing your hair back while you adjust to his size. You laugh despite the sting, and he wipes away your tears with his thumb. “You’re laughin’?”

“I’m just happy,” you manage to get through the lump in your throat, raking your nails down his back, feeling the rough texture of the scars beneath your fingers. “I love you. Since that day at the bar, I—” you pause for a second, gasping at the sudden wave of pleasure when he twitches inside you. “I’ll always l-love you. Forever.”

As you wrap your legs around his waist and tell him you’re ready, something inside him shifts.

He feels like a madman, his eyes fixed on your face the whole time, searching for any hint of discomfort, though he occasionally glances down at the place where your bodies meet and become one, entranced by the sight of you taking him in, slick coating his length. 

Your heels dig into his lower back, pulling him back to the present—back to you, with your pretty tits bouncing each time he pistols his hips, the intensity of his thrusts increasing.

“All those times you took care of me, when you—Fuck,” he groans, nipping at your jaw to regain some of his composure, his humid breath dampening your skin. Your scent drives him wild, and he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “You made me feel loved when no one else did. My girl, love you so f-fucking much.”

His pace is nothing more than a voiceless testament to everything he feels but can’t find words to express.

With each minute that passes, your dripping cunt grips him tighter and tighter, his thrusts losing finesse. He needs you to come first—why does he feel like a virgin?

When you tell him you’re close, the world around him turns into a musical. You cling to the sheets, the mattress creaking noisily as he clutches the headboard, determined to find that angle that will push you over the edge.

“That’s it, sing for me,” Logan mutters from above, hypnotized by the crease forming between your brows. “Come on, let go.”

Time seems to slow down as your muscles tense and you clamp around him, your body sagging against him. His name spills from your lips in breathy whimpers, like an endless prayer, and your mouth engulfs his, tongues and teeth clashing in a fevered kiss.

Soon after that, he surrenders to the coiling tension deep within him, pulling out just in time to stroke himself once, twice, before emptying his hot load across your mound.

You gently thumb the head of his cock, coaxing out every last drop of his hot seed. He’s panting as he comes down from his high, his brain foggy and blissfully blank for a while. 

Logan loses track of how many times he tells you he loves you—he does it when he pulls you into his chest, when his lips press against your temple, and when you crack that smile, the one that resembles the very purpose of his existence.

“So this is what it feels like.” His voice sounds low like a murmur near your ear, and you stir, half-asleep.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing, baby. Just thinkin’ aloud.”

You don’t have to talk about it, at least not now. Deep down, he knows that whatever thoughts run through his mind will somehow find their way into yours.

This is what life looks like. You should take a moment and feel it. You still have time.

And God, is he feeling it.

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

[fatuismooches]

No other reason for this other than me being self-indulgent and having some fun. Dottore and Fragile Reader of course.

Prime Dottore - About You:

"If you were expecting me to... gush about them and whatnot, then your expectations are nonsensical. I have nothing to share with you about them. I merely have three things to say. Do not get close to them, do not make them upset, and do not get in my way, regardless of what I have to do to make them better."

Omega - About You:

"...[Name]? Their time is far too valuable to be spent around the likes of you. Speaking of, have you seen them? ...You say they're with another segment now? A pity. It's a shame they're always swept away by the others. I could please them far more than anyone else in any matter. I suppose I will need to think of a way to retrieve them yet again."

Alpha (Akademiya) - About You:

"Do you know how many pens and pencils I've broken due to [Name]? Even centuries later they still find the need to debate me on certain topics, academic or not, challenge my research and thinking, and criticize my handwriting. Truly an annoyance. If only they were able to be with me a bit longer... What? They are annoying, but I still acknowledge that they have the traits of a true scholar. And their voice is still much more agreeable than the others I have to work with..."

Beta (Webttore) - About You:

"Hehe, what a loyal assistant they are. They can pick apart different parts and mechanics with ease. Much more competent than that man I disposed of a while ago, on that expedition... along with all the others. Unfortunately, I only have a limited amount of time with them. Really, is it so difficult to find someone with even a third of their ability? Actually, that is a foolish question. No one could ever hope to compare to them."

Delta - About You:

"They have an exceptional talent for pestering me at any given moment, somehow seeking me out wherever I am easily. If only they could put their mind into something more productive. Why do I not simply ignore them? Because they do not stop until they've gotten their desired results, just like me. I'd rather not prolong their prodding.

Zeta - About You:

"... As long as they are well, I need not know anything else. Their health is of utmost priority."

Zandy - About You:

"[Name]? Oh, they're the best, most nicest and fun grown-up ever! I'm never alone now that they're around! They're always willing to play with me and they always yell at the other segments when they're being mean. They're never scared at all... [Name] could probably beat Prime in a fight if they wanted. Hmm? But they can't even throw a punch? That doesn't matter! They're much stronger than you think - I've witnessed it many times."

Pierro - About You:

"When I first recruited Dottore from the desert and gave him his Harbinger position, one of the first things he did was set up a room to monitor [Name]'s condition. He did so for hundreds of years, creating numerous segments to help, and it ended up paying off. It is not my place to pry into his life, as long as he fulfills his duties as the Tsaritsa requests, but now that they're by his side again, he seems... never mind."

Capitano - About You:

"I once encountered them when they managed to sneak out of the lab. They were... intriguing and talkative. They weren't scared in the slightest and were more interested in how I managed to befriend all the creatures near me. They wanted... tips on how to convince the Doctor to let them have a pet. I don't think I was very helpful."

Columbina - About You:

"The Doctor is engrossed with his research, but the only thing he truly has a soft spot for is his dearest [Name]. He hides his feelings exceptionally well, but anyone who witnesses him around them can tell the difference. Don't tell him I said this though, you know how he'll act.~ But do tell [Name] this, they're sure to get flustered. ♪"

Arlecchino - About You:

"They have made attempts to get closer to me, but I'm afraid I have no interest in building a relationship with them. Still, I've always thought that their character would be similar to that of the Doctor, but from what I've seen of them, that does not seem to be the case. So, I do wonder if those two opposites truly get along."

Pulcinella - About You:

"I have seen many things in this long life of mine, so unlike many others, their relationship with Dottore does not surprise me too much. Still, they have much to learn if they feel the need to come and ask me for relationship advice. If you ask me, I believe that they don't truly know how much the Doctor values them, even if it is as clear as day."

Wanderer - About You:

"The Doctor's little pet? Every time I saw them, they were always scurrying behind one of the segments, as if they were attached by the hip. I don't know what transpired between the two of them for this relationship to happen, but out of all the people who associate with Dottore, they're bound to meet the nastiest end."

Sandrone - About You:

"The Doctor? [Name]? I have no care for either of them. I am much too busy with my own work to think about his worthless love life. However, I do suppose the idea is entertaining - Dottore being capable of love is as laughable as thinking an Automaton can learn to cherish another, and this [Name] person is equally as idiotic for believing so."

La Signora - About You:

"[Name], you say? I can't claim to know much about them. Everything I've heard is through the mouths of others, mostly from agents who talk more than what's good for them, but especially the Balladeer. What are they really like - a harmless and fragile sweetheart? A tool for the Doctor? His equally as heartless accomplice? Or all of the above? All I can say, however, is that it takes one to know one, right?"

Pantalone - About You:

"Ah, the little one. I am more than familiar with them, although Dottore would loathe to hear that. Did you know the Doctor is more prone to jealousy than you think? It is most amusing to see his ever-confident smirk fall once you get a bit too close to [Name]. I vividly remember the time when I said I would accompany [Name] to a ball instead, as he was too busy with his research. He never changed his mind as quickly as he did once I promised to dance with them."

Childe - About You:

“I’ve always thought Dottore was eccentric, and after meeting [Name], I can say they are equally as weird as him, solely for choosing him as their husband. Their personality is nothing like his either - they are bubbly, affectionate, and most of all… extremely weak. Traits that Dottore has no interest in. And yet the segments seem to fawn over them… I just don’t understand them. I just hope they know what they’re getting into.”

Furina - About You:

"Whenever I see them, [Name] always make sure to arrange a tea party with their own homemade Sumerian sweets! It is truly a delight. I admit, I am a bit jealous of their skill. It's as if they have the experience of a hundred years! But of course, that's impossible. Regardless, they are very kind, and they also seem to have a particular liking for romantic films... an odd thing for someone affiliated with the Fatui to like."

Nahida - About You:

"A raven and a sparrow - two beings that are surely bound to be apart from each other, but when it comes to the Doctor and [Name], it seems that even the impossible becomes possible. Though my feelings toward them will not change because of what they've done, I can't help but be interested. What lengths will the Outcast go to cure the one he holds dear, and would [Name] still be able to love him if he becomes more of a monster?"

[moonlightwritingf1]

A Love You Can’t Escape | LN4 | Masterlist

Status ━━━ On going

Summary ━━━ In a world where everyone is born with a soulmate mark, most people live their entire lives without ever finding the one person it binds them to. Some are lucky enough to discover their match in old age, often in their 70s or 80s. A blessed few find theirs early in life—and when they do, it’s considered a miracle. The universe offers no promises, only the mark itself.

Throughout all of recorded history, not a single person has ever rejected their soulmate. But Y/N believes she will be the first to be rejected.

When Y/N, a shy but fiercely guarded woman haunted by childhood trauma and deep insecurities, discovers that her soulmate is Lando Norris—one of the most famous, charming, and emotionally unreachable men she’s ever met—she makes a decision that changes everything. She tells no one. Not even him.

For fourteen months, she carries this devastating secret while Lando unknowingly breaks her heart over and over again. He flirts with other women in front of her, maintains ties with his ex-girlfriend, and treats Y/N with a casual cruelty that cuts deeper than he could ever imagine.

What Y/N doesn’t know is that Lando feels something too—something that unnerves and confuses him. So he buries it beneath sharp words and cold shoulders, lashes out, and pushes away the one person he can’t seem to get out of his head.

He feels the pull. He just doesn’t understand what it means.

Until one moment, by pure accident, he sees the mark on her body.

The universe stops.

Suddenly, the girl he’s spent over a year pushing away is no longer just another name in his orbit—she’s his. His soulmate. The one fate carved into him before he was ever born.

As realization crashes down on him, Lando finally understands why she always looked at him like he was both everything she wanted and everything she feared.

And Y/N—fragile, angry, and terrified—must face the one thing she’s spent months trying to avoid: the truth that he knows.

But the cruelest truth of all? She still doesn’t believe he could ever want her back.

Because while no one in history has ever rejected their soulmate, Y/N has spent her entire life being rejected by everyone else. And she’s convinced that not even cosmic destiny can make her worthy of love.

Pairing ━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

Overview:

soulmate AU

enemies to lovers trope

loads of angst

loads of sexual tension and frustration

fuck boy Lando

complicated relationship with emotionally abusive parents (Y/N)

hyper-independent and emotionally guarded Y/N

jealous Lando

“I don’t need anyone” Y/N vs “I’d give her everything” Lando

protective Lando once he finds out the truth

unrequited love (but not really)

Y/N hiding her trauma behind success and control

slow burn

Y/N putting up walls Lando desperately tries to break through

yearning and longing

smut (at some point)

mutual pining

idiots fighting fate (mostly Y/N)

Lando falling first and harder

touch-starved but terrified Y/N

moments of softness that wreck them both

“I’m not good enough for you” trope

Each chapter contains its own content warnings.

Chapter 1: Fight

| 10.9k | Summary: A brutal fight erupts between Y/N and Lando at a friends' gathering, where he unknowingly destroys his soulmate in a way no one thought possible. His attack confirms every fear she’s carried alone for years, shattering the last piece of hope she had. That night, overwhelmed by heartbreak and years of buried trauma, Y/N suffers a panic attack more severe than anything she’s ever experienced.

Chapter 2: Breaking

| 4.8k | Summary: After the fight with Y/N, Lando is left reeling in guilt and self-loathing, realizing too late that his cruelty came from fear of how deeply he cared for her. Meanwhile, Y/N suffers a severe panic attack and is hospitalized, feeling irreparably broken and unloved. 

Chapter 3

Coming soon...

[julietsf1]

For Her - Lando Norris x Reader

summary: She came to support him. Instead, she was met with hate and a paddock full of people who acted like she didn’t exist. But if there was one thing about Lando Norris, it was that he loved out loud (3.2k words)

content: protective boyfriend, public relationship, public displays of affection, romantic grand gesture

AN: happy new season guys!!! what a race, I hope china will be kinder with my heart :') here's another fic for our race winner! muah <3

........................................................................

The first race of the season should have been magical.

It should have been the kind of morning you’d always imagined—walking through the paddock with the giddy excitement of someone witnessing greatness up close, feeling the electricity in the air, the intoxicating mix of tire smoke, adrenaline, and champagne already waiting for its moment in the podium spray. You had thought of how proud you would feel watching Lando, how thrilling it would be to see him in his element, how belonging you might feel in a world that, until now, had existed for you in stories and through screens.

You had not imagined being denied entry.

"Miss, I’m going to have to ask you to step back."

The security guard barely spared you a glance, already moving on to the next person in line, his voice impassive, as if he had done this a hundred times before and you were simply another face in a sea of hopeful girls who had tried to talk their way into the paddock.

You gripped your lanyard a little tighter, your heart skipping slightly. "I have a pass," you said, voice gentle but firm as you lifted it to eye level, the McLaren logo glinting in the sunlight.

The guard exhaled sharply through his nose, unimpressed. "We've had a lot of fans trying to sneak in today. If you don’t have the right accreditation, I can’t let you through."

Your stomach twisted.

"I do have the right accreditation," you tried again, as kindly as possible, despite the heat creeping up your neck. "I’m with McLaren. My boyfriend-"

"Yeah, that’s what they all say."

The words were clipped, dismissive, and spoken with the kind of flat finality that suggested he had already decided you were lying.

Embarrassment coiled in your chest, wrapping itself around your lungs, making it suddenly difficult to breathe.

You stood there, cheeks burning, as people brushed past you, throwing curious glances your way. The seconds stretched endlessly, each one more excruciating than the last.

It wasn’t until a McLaren staff member recognized you—"Oh, she’s with Lando," they had said offhandedly—that the security guard finally stepped aside, not bothering with so much as an apology.

By the time you walked through the gates, the joy you had carried that morning had dulled into something smaller, something fragile.

And then, somehow, it got worse.

...

The McLaren motorhome stood like a beacon in the paddock, its sleek glass windows reflecting the bustle of team personnel moving inside. You exhaled slowly, shaking off the earlier embarrassment, and made your way toward the hospitality lounge, longing for something warm and familiar.

A latte, perhaps. Something to reset the day.

You stepped up to the hospitality counter with a practiced sort of grace, the kind that had been instilled in you from your childhood—shoulders back, chin lifted, a polite smile even when you wanted to disappear.

The woman behind the counter was stunning in a sharp, effortless way, her McLaren uniform crisp, her dark eyes shrewd, assessing. She barely looked up when you stepped forward.

"Good morning," you greeted, your voice light, pleasant. "Could I get an oat latte, please?"

The woman’s gaze flicked to you then, sweeping over you in a way that wasn’t unkind but wasn’t exactly warm, either.

"Are you with media?" she asked, already sounding bored.

You shook your head, still polite. "No, I’m—"

"Hospitality is for team guests only," she interrupted, her words clipped, a polite but unmistakable dismissal.

There was something about the way she said it, the way her lips curled just slightly, that sent something sharp down your spine.

You held up your accreditation again, your expression kind but unwavering. "I am a team guest. It is my first race though! I'm with Lando."

A pause. A flicker of something in her gaze.

And then, a small, almost imperceptible smirk.

"Ah," she said slowly, like she was only just now realizing. "Of course you are."

There was something else behind her tone, something you recognized.

You had met people like her before, in glittering lobbies, at perfectly curated events, in spaces where perception was everything. People who measured others in careful glances and quiet, ruthless judgments.

The woman tilted her head, her smile suddenly saccharine. "I’m afraid we’re only serving certain guests at the moment."

The words landed with the soft cruelty of a velvet dagger.

She wasn’t saying no outright.

She was refusing you while pretending it was about something else entirely.

You stared at her for a moment, your fingers tightening slightly over the strap of your bag.

You could have fought. Could have pointed out that this was ridiculous, that you had every right to be here, that her behavior was as transparent as it was petty.

But instead, you simply let out a soft breath and smiled.

Not the kind of smile that was warm and grateful.

The kind of smile that veiled the frustration you were feeling.

"No worries," you said gently, dipping your head, your voice smooth, graceful. "I wouldn’t want to trouble you."

And with that, you turned and walked away, back straight, head held high, because if nothing else—you were not the kind of woman who begged.

But it still stung.

...

The hotel room is quiet except for the faint murmur of the city outside. The occasional car hums past beneath the window, the distant noises of Melbourne nightlife drifting in through the small gap in the balcony door. Inside, the glow from the bedside lamp casts soft golden light over the pristine sheets, the half-finished cup of tea you abandoned hours ago, and your phone—face-down, untouched, deliberately ignored.

You had set it aside like it burned you.

And in a way, it had.

You don’t need to look at the screen to know what’s waiting for you there.

A photo. You, walking alone through the paddock, caught at an unflattering angle—your hands adjusting the strap of your bag, your gaze flicking off to the side. Out of context, impersonal, just another frame in someone else’s story.

But the caption beneath it?

That made it personal.

The caption beneath it, however, was anything but subtle.

"Classic gold digger. No personality, no job, just another wag looking for a paycheck."

The replies were worse.

"She looks so full of herself. I bet she spends his money like crazy."

"Lando deserves better. She looks disgusting."

"Does she even like racing or just his wallet?"

You had expected something like this eventually. Being seen always came at a cost.

But expectation doesn’t soften the blow.

It doesn’t make the words less sharp. It doesn’t stop them from settling in the quiet places of your mind, the ones that whisper in the dark when the world is still.

You exhale slowly, smoothing your hand over the sheets, willing away the tightness in your throat.

It’s fine.

You were raised to handle things like this with grace, with an understanding that women who stand beside successful men are often reduced to spectators, accessories, footnotes in their own stories.

You know who you are. You know your worth.

And yet, knowing doesn’t stop the sting.

A keycard beeps at the door.

Then, the soft sound of it swinging open, of footsteps—light, easy, carrying a kind of restless energy even now.

"Hi, darling," Lando’s voice fills the space before he does.

You don’t turn immediately, letting yourself blink once, twice, composing yourself in the quiet before offering a small smile as he steps inside.

He looks effortlessly disheveled—his hair still damp from the rain outside, his McLaren polo slightly untucked, the fabric creased like he’d run a hand over it one too many times.

He is still buzzing—from the high of the weekend, from the thrill of being back in the car, from the sheer joy of doing what he loves.

And then he looks at you.

And everything shifts.

His grin falters. His brows pull together.

"Hey," he says again, but softer this time, slower. "What’s wrong?"

You hesitate, fingers brushing against the sheets. "It’s nothing."

Lando stills.

"You’re upset."

It’s not a question.

You exhale, tilting your head slightly, lips curving in something almost amused. "No big deal, this is your weekend."

But Lando doesn’t smile.

Instead, he moves—crossing the room in three long strides, sinking down in front of you, his hands warm against your thighs, his gaze level, intent.

"Tell me," he says, quiet but firm.

All day, you have been ignored, dismissed, treated like an inconvenience. And yet, here he is, giving you his undivided attention, his entire world narrowing down to this moment, to you.

You hesitate. Then, finally, you murmur, "People weren’t exactly kind today."

His grip on your legs tightens just slightly.

"Security thought I was a fan trying to sneak in. Hospitality wouldn’t serve me." You let out a small, humorless laugh, shaking your head. "And now there’s a photo of me online. People saying I’m a disgusting gold digger."

Lando doesn’t move.

Doesn’t even breathe.

Then, slowly, he reaches for your phone, flipping it over with careful precision before scrolling. He doesn’t need you to guide him—he finds it immediately.

His jaw tightens.

And then, in a tone so low and steady that it makes your stomach flip:

"Are you joking?"

You open your mouth, but he’s already shaking his head, pushing himself up, pacing now, running a hand through his curls.

"Such bullshit," he starts, turning sharply, voice too controlled, too even, "that after everything—after how much effort you’ve put into being here, after how much of your life you’ve adjusted for me—these people had the nerve to treat you like that?"

You shift under his gaze, biting your lip. "Lando, it’s not—"

"No, no, hold on," he interrupts, hands in the air like he needs a second to process. He lets out a short, disbelieving laugh, but there’s nothing amused about it.

"Because from where I’m standing, you’re the easiest person to love in any room, and I genuinely don’t understand how anyone could be that dense."

He exhales sharply, shaking his head, jaw tight. "Honestly, I don’t even know whether to be pissed or impressed by their level of dickheadness."

He stops, inhales sharply, then turns back to you.

"Tomorrow," he says, voice steady now, decisive. "We fix this."

You raise a brow. "We?"

Lando tilts his head, giving you a look like you have just asked if the sky is blue.

"Obviously."

...

There are very few things in life that can silence an entire paddock.

Lando Norris walking in hand-in-hand with you is apparently one of them.

The usual morning commotion—the hurried strides of engineers, the murmured strategy discussions, the distant hum of espresso machines—all of it seems to slow, the air shifting as one by one, heads turn.

Eyes follow you as you move through the paddock, curiosity crackling in the air like static before a storm.Conversations taper off, whispers trailing in your wake, phones discreetly lifted, cameras capturing the moment in real time.

Lando, of course, is unbothered.

If anything, he thrives under the weight of their attention. His grip on your hand remains firm, steady, unwavering, his strides unhurried, his smirk bordering on self-satisfied.

He wants them to see.

It’s deliberate—the way he holds you close, the way his fingers brush over yours in soft, thoughtless patterns, the way his head tilts toward you slightly every time you speak, like you are the only thing worth listening to.

There is no question about what this is.

There is no question about where you belong.

He makes sure of it.

And then, with perfect, almost cinematic timing, he steers you toward McLaren hospitality.

Right to the coffee bar.

The barista from yesterday stands behind the counter, the same sharp-cut uniform, the same perfectly applied lipstick, the same calculating gaze.

Only now, it falters.

She sees Lando before she sees you, her posture straightening, professional mask slipping into place like second nature. But then, her eyes flick toward you—toward your hands intertwined, toward the subtle, unspoken intimacy of the way he keeps close.

You watch as realization dawns.

Oh.

Lando leans against the counter, effortless, grinning.

"Two oat lattes," he says, voice bright, easy, amused. "One for me, one for my girl."

The silence that follows is exquisite.

The barista hesitates—just for a fraction of a second, just long enough for you to see it.

Panic.

"Of course," she says, voice smooth but not quite as sharp as before.

And just like that, there are no shortages, no waiting, no excuses.

The coffees are made within seconds.

Lando watches, humming thoughtfully, tapping his fingers lightly against the counter as she slides the first cup toward him. He lifts it to his lips, taking a slow, exaggerated sip before letting out a long, obnoxiously satisfied hum.

"Mm," he muses, shifting his weight, sparing her a glance. "Tastes better today."

His smirk is dangerous.

"Must be the service."

The barista’s lips press together just slightly.

You take your coffee, cradling the cup in your hands, offering her a soft, serene smile.

"Thank you," you say lightly.

You watch as she winces.

And Lando, the ever-efficient instigator that he is, takes it one step further.

"You know," he muses, as if the thought has just occurred to him, "I think I should make this a tradition."

He turns to you then, eyes bright with mischief, voice just loud enough for the surrounding staff to hear.

"Morning coffee," he says smoothly. "Every race weekend. For the foreseeable future."

The barista looks like she wants to disappear.

You, on the other hand, can’t help but smile.

...

The checkered flag had waved, the roar of the crowd still vibrating through the air, but none of it mattered—not the celebrations, not the flashing cameras, not the McLaren team swarming the pit wall in victory.

Because the moment Lando climbed out of the car, eyes scanning the chaos, he found you.

And then—he ran.

Straight toward you, helmet discarded, race suit half-unzipped, curls a disheveled mess from the heat of the cockpit.

You barely have time to react before he collides into you, arms wrapping around your waist, lifting you off the ground like you weigh nothing.

You shriek—an actual, real shriek—as your feet leave the pavement, the entire world tilting as he spins you in circles,laughter spilling from his lips like he can’t contain it.

And then—he kisses you.

Right there, in front of thousands of fans, in front of cameras, reporters, his entire team.

Hard. Fierce. Like he’d won the race and you in the same breath.

The world erupts around you—cheering, chanting, Oscar groaning dramatically in the background.

"Oh my god. You two are disgusting."

None of it matters.

Because Lando is grinning against your lips, breathless, victorious, yours.

When he finally sets you back down, he doesn’t let go.

Doesn’t even try to.

Instead, he beams down at you, cheeks flushed, curls damp with sweat, voice all cocky, all Lando.

"So, did I impress you or what?"

You roll your eyes, fond and exasperated all at once. "Eh. You were alright."

He gasps. Actually gasps.

"You’re joking." He turns toward the cameras, mock-betrayed. "Did you guys hear that? I win a Grand Prix, and she says I’m ‘alright.’"

You bite your lip, pretending to consider. "You were pretty fast, I guess."

"Pretty fast?" he repeats, positively scandalized. "Babe. I am literally the fastest man in Australia right now."

You burst out laughing. "I was kind of rooting for Oscar."

Oscar, mid-drink of water behind you, chokes.

"Lies." Lando pulls you back in, forehead resting against yours, his voice dropping into something softer, something just for you.

"Say you’re proud of me."

You sigh dramatically. "I guess I’m—"

"Say it."

You grin, heart pounding. "Fine. I’m proud of you, Norris."

He hums, satisfied, smug, still absolutely glowing. "Thought so."

...

Lando was still riding the high when he got to the media pen, his race suit unzipped to his waist, curls damp with sweat, and that stupidly charming grin still plastered across his face.

It wasn’t just a ‘first win of the season’ grin.

It was a ‘my girlfriend is here, and I just won a whole-ass race for her’ grin.

The interviewer barely got a word in before Lando pointed directly at you, standing just off-camera.

"Her."

You blink. "Me?"

"Yeah, you!" He turns back to the cameras, nodding enthusiastically. "Let’s just get this straight—I did this for her. Like, entirely. One hundred percent. Full motivation. If she hadn’t shown up, I probably would’ve parked it in a gravel trap on lap ten."

The interviewer laughed. "So, you’re saying she’s your good luck charm?"

"Absolutely," Lando replied, dead serious. "I mean, have you seen her? Look at her."

The camera did not pan to you, thank god. The poor guy running the live feed probably had no idea what to do.

But Lando? Oh, he was just getting started.

"She walked into this paddock today looking like an actual goddess, completely unaware that she is, in fact, the sun incarnate, and people want me to talk about tire degradation? No. I want to talk about her."

The interviewer tried so hard to stay professional.

"You—uh, you had great pace today—"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Lando waved him off.

"Lando, I don’t think—"

"Listen, I need to emphasize something." Lando leaned in, tone conspiratorial. "Do you know how lucky I am? Not only is she breathtaking, but she’s also, like, annoyingly smart. Like, did you know she reads all the time? Real books.Not just memes and Twitter threads like me."

He gestured vaguely, suddenly overwhelmed by his own emotions.

"She doesn’t even realize how much people admire her. But I see it. I see everything. And I just think the world needs to start appreciating her at my level."

"That is… very sweet." The interviewer was visibly struggling to keep up.

"Just had to get that out there."

"Well, congratulations on the win, Lando," the interviewer finally managed, skimming over his list of unanswered questions he had prepared.

"Thank you." He nodded seriously, finally letting go of the mic. "And big thanks to the team, of course."

You rolled your eyes from behind the cameras, suppressing a smile.

...

The internet had seen many things, but no one was prepared for Lando Norris using his post-race interview as a full-blown love letter. 

"Lando’s race pace was great, but his girlfriend propaganda was even stronger."

"THE WAY HE JUST POINTED AT HER IMMEDIATELY I CAN’T."

"Lando Norris said ‘this win is for my girlfriend’ and proceeded to recite a romantic sonnet on live TV. My standards are ruined."

Later, as the two of you curled up in the hotel room, finally away from the cameras, Lando buried his face in your neck with a content sigh.

"You know," he murmured, voice sleepy, warm, full of love. "I really did win that for you."

You ran your fingers through his curls. "I know."

"I meant every word, too."

You smiled. "Don't you think it was a bit much?"

"I don't think it was nearly enough," he said, already half-asleep, grinning like he had never been happier.

[v4mpriki]

─── 𝑳𝑫𝑹 (𝑳𝑜𝑣𝑒,𝑫𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑹𝑜𝑏𝑜𝑡𝑠)

˚.❀𝑷𝐴𝐼𝑅𝐼𝑁𝐺 ─── Robot!Sunghoon x Reader

˚.❀𝑺𝑌𝑁𝑂𝑃𝑆𝐼𝑆 ─── Men sucked, Real men sucked ── they don't know shit and only think about themselves. And as if the gods had heard you , you've found a website that sounded ridiculous enough not to click ── you just had to check it out. Build your own boyfriend ; they really meant it when they said that. So , for the fun of it ; you've built your own boyfriend and ordered him. What you didn't expect was for your Robotic 'Boyfriend' to gain self awareness and for you to fall for him.

˚.❀𝑮𝐸𝑁𝑅𝐸/𝐶𝑊 ─── nsfw (mdni) , futuristic!Au, romance , robotic sex, cussing , Sunghoon gets self-aware, alien stage characters mentioned (ifykyk), fingering, masturbation with another person watching, nipple stimulation, mention of sex toys , a bit of angst if you squint ˚.❀𝑾𝑂𝑅𝐷 𝐶𝑂𝑈𝑁𝑇 ─── 9.3k ˚.❀𝑁𝑂𝑇𝐸 ─── i hope this doesn't flop </3 this ended up being longer than intended. Special thanks to @jaylaxies and @taetebebe for encouraging me to continue !

                              𝒄ℎ𝑒𝑐𝑘 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑜𝑢𝑡ᵎᵎ (˶˃⤙˂˶)

Prologue : Real men suck.

You were sick of it , another date that you thought was going to be the one date you'd come back home from happily went down the drain. Men just sucked , they absolutely fucking sucked and didn't care about anyone other than themselves. Talk about fragile masculinity.

You weren't lucky in the love and relationship field ── somehow , you've always managed to attract complete pricks or one of those 'nice' guys who were absolute psychopaths and crash out professionals. So , you've had peaceful years of staying single , sure maybe a hookup once in a while but nothing that lasted for a long time ── you were simply living life. But that didn't mean that you wanted it to stay like that , otherwise you wouldn't have collected every ounce of courage in your body to go on a date once in a while with the hopes of getting into a relationship ── you just never found the right one. Maybe your standards were too high , a lot of the guys you had gone on a date with would throw that sentence at your head at the end of it just because you don't want to sleep with them on the first date. It was ridiculous.

"He almost threw a damn temper tantrum just because I stepped away when he tried to kiss me. Like damn , my bad for wanting to keep it demure ── I didn't even want to kiss him! I don't get how he'd want to kiss me when his lips were still covered in tomato sauce", your face cringing as you recalled the date , lips closing around the straw of your drink as you slurped on it , watching the way your friend's face also scrunched up in disgust. "Ew.... couldn't he at least wipe his mouth, maybe then he could've gotten a kiss from you", you quickly shook your head while humming "no" , your eyes widening out of disbelief. "Nu uh! I would never in my life kiss him! He made me pay the damn bill because he 'forgot' his wallet! Yunjin, he ordered the most expensive meals off the menu and didn't even eat all of it!", you couldn't help but scoff a little , this was the last time you'd accept paying the whole bill ── it's either half half or nothing.

"Ho, did you go on a date with a child?", Yunjin chuckled , sipping on her own drink while you were scrolling on your phone. Suddenly , you saw something that made you stop scrolling. A pop ad showed up. BYOB : Build your own boyfriend ── ...? What a strange website. Build your own boyfriend? That sounded like a dream but it also sounded way too ridiculous to be true ── so you clicked on it , not even thinking about it being a scam or a virus.

But it was legit , there it was. There were a variety of things you could do such as customize the face , body build and with body build they meant everything , skin tones, eye color , change the hairstyle ── it was like playing the sims , just cooler? "Girl , oh my god ── check this out", Yunjin's head snapped up upon your call out to her , getting startled by your phone right in front of her face before her eyes squinted slightly. "Dude, you seriously need to turn the brightness of your phone up", Yunjin huffed as she took your phone , adjusting the brightness of it before looking at the website you had opened ── her eyebrows furrowed a little before she gave you a look.

"Build your own boyfriend? This has to be a scam", Yunjin shook her head , reaching over the table to hand you your phone back. "I don't know , it could be ... but you can't know that unless you try it out? I just looked at some of the reviews and they look pretty legit , all the customers reviewed pictures with their 'boyfriends'. Now.... what if I just...", Yunjin put her hands up as a surrender as you trailed off. "You do you , girl. But don't come crying to me if you get scammed! But really? A robotic boyfriend? Don't you want to give real men another chance?", you sighed.

"No , real men suck. With this , I can program him myself and have the man I want and deserve. Besides , this is just for the fun of it", you replied back , taking a screenshot of the website so you could look further into it back at home ── you had a 'date' with your close friend after all and there was lots of shopping to do!

Chapter 1 : I guess I have a boyfriend now ?

You didn't know if you were insane for it or not ── did you really care? No , but your bank account was certainly screaming out of pure agony from the amount of money you had spent. Listen , if it's gonna be legit then you'd at least want the robot boyfriend to actually be like how you wanted him to be ── if it's a scam , as embarrassing as that would be , you'd call the police, simple as that.

Despite how unhinged you felt about actually building your own boyfriend , you couldn't help but feel anticipation and maybe even excitement. According to the website , you'll barely remember that it's a robot from how real it'll feel ── from the behavior down to the skin texture and the way it'll talk , the website gave 100% guarantee that it'll feel and act like an actual Human. Well , you'll see whether or not that's true ── or if it will arrive at all.

The only thing you had to do was program his behavior and personality ── you only programmed the personality , you didn't really care about the behavior unless it was like really really icky stuff , you could simply change the program then. Talking about the program , the usb stick you had moved the program on was close to slipping out from between your fingers with the way you have been fiddling with it ── the bottom of your feet gently padding against your wooden flooring as you paced back and forth.

Your 'Boyfriend' was supposed to arrive today fully built together ── all you had to do was stick the usb stick into the port and download the program you have coded and dress him since he'll arrive naked. You even took the day off of work just to receive the package ── it would be embarrassing for you if one of your neighbors received it for you. But then again , you live in the future , a lot of people had their own robots ── just not a robotic lover ... unless they were freaks , guess you were a freak as well then. You prayed that your neighbors wouldn't see it , because from an outsider's perspective : they'd think you ordered a robotic boyfriend because you just were so so lonely ── you were in fact lonely yes , but that wasn't the reason you had ordered it , it was just out of pure curiosity and fun.

You just hoped that the robot would look just the way you had customized it ── honestly, the options they've offered were overwhelming and you had spent at least 3 hours customizing the robot. The options were insane , what do you mean you could even customize the genitals?? The doorbell rang , putting your train of thoughts to a stop and you almost ran to the door to open it.

"Hi , I have a huge package for you ,Miss ,from company B── Yes! Yes I know , haha! Thank you!", you screeched as the delivery guy was close to saying the company's name out loud , a forced bright smile on your face as you spotted one of your neighbors outside before grabbing the stacking cart your package was on. You didn't even give the delivery guy a second to breathe as you placed the package into your apartment on your own before you practically shoved the stacking cart back into the delivery guy's chest and slammed your door shut. That was totally not suspicious, yeah , absolutely.

You let out a heavy sigh , your fingers running through your hair as you made your way to the living room where you placed the Package to lay on the floor. Jesus, that package was fucking huge . Your hands rested on your hips as you hit the pregnant lady stance , your eyes studying the package ── how in the world were you going to open that ?

Well , it was now or never ── you thought as you grabbed a utility knife and cut through the layers of tape that were wrapped around the package to keep it protected. Your heart was starting to pound against your chest as you slowly opened it , a quiet gasp leaving your lips as you discovered what was inside ── there , there it was : your very own Robot.

It was crazy how humane he looked. The pads of your fingers ran along the texture of the face , the synthetic skin really felt like real actual skin. The eyelashes, every single eyebrow hair , every pore on the synthetic skin ── you were impressed with the details. If you wouldn't have known that this was a robot , you'd think that it was an actual human who just looked way too good to be real.

"Alright so... I'll just have to dress him first and then start him..", you mumbled to yourself as your eyes glanced down and ── Jesus christ!? You only put 8 inches as a Joke , you didn't know they were really going to do that! Your wide eyes quickly looked away , feeling slightly awkward .God damn it (Y/n) , get a grip! It's a robot ── you thought to yourself as you took a deep breath and grabbed the clothes from the couch that you had placed there beforehand so you wouldn't need to look for them later. You dressed your Robot in something comfy and casual ── a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie , of course you also dressed him with a pair of boxer shorts underneath and a pair of socks on his feet.

Once fully dressed , you grabbed the USB stick and turned his head over so you could access the USB port and stuck it inside , your finger pressing the power on button on his chest which was funny enough... his left nipple. You couldn't help but pull a thin lipped face at that ── of course it was going to be a nipple , damn.

Suddenly, his eyes opened and looked directly at you , the sudden action making you jump back in surprise. The logo of the company glowed in his eyes before a small loading bar showed up , indicating that the program you've coded was downloading. Before you had a minute to breathe, another jump scare greeted you as he suddenly sat up and just... stared at you. "Uhm... Hi?", you awkwardly raised your hand and gave him a wave to which he only blinked again and copied what you did.

"Hello. My name is Park Sunghoon and from today on I'll be your personal robotic Boyfriend until I'm not needed anymore , destroyed , neglected or discarded ── until then, I'll be by your side (Y/n)", his voice was surprisingly smooth and not ... robotic at all ── that company really did a good job , especially with the design : just like how you customized him.

"Alright... thank you?", well ... your little funsies turned into something legit. How were you going to explain this to your one and only friend Yunjin?

Chapter 2 : To act like a Human

"Wow.... he doesn't look like a robot at all. I expected more static noises and less details.... more like a robot and not like a human. At least he can cook, technology really is a great thing", Yunjin studied Sunghoon from the couch , watching the way he was cooking for you and Yunjin ── he didn't need food after all, sure , he can eat it but it doesn't serve him the same purposes as for Humans. While food provides nutrition for living beings , the food he can or would consume gets turned into energy ── where does it go? Simple, the food gets pulverized inside his stomach.

"I know right... I kind of forget that he's a robot until he pulls up with the all the information's and news you would find on google. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea... he's more like a male housewife than a boyfriend. But he does... treat me good. He gives me foot rubs whenever i come back from work and runs me a bath without me having to ask", Yunjin just looked at you , blinking a couple times before she giggled. "No , yo didn't get a boyfriend. You got a whole damn house husband , man , I'm jealous", Yunjin sipped on her drink before smiling in glee as Sunghoon held out two plates of the meal he just cooked , your eyes looking up meet him dark brown ones. "Are you not going to eat as well?", you asked to which he shook his head.

"Don't be ridiculous, Food doesn't serve me any purpose. It would be a waste for me to eat it", Sunghoon replied back in that monotone voice of his to which you could only sigh. "You have to learn how to ... eat with us... with me ── it would make you appear more human-like", he tilted his head at your response, going through with the words you have said. More Human like? Was he too robotic for your taste? "You...want me to act ... like a human..?", he asked slowly , his eyes narrowing slightly , watching as you nodded your head. "Your wish is my command", with that , he left off to grab himself a plate ── maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to eat.. human food : it does get turned into energy after all for him and it would make him blend in easier. Sure , it wasn't new that robots like him existed ── but maybe you were embarrassed about it? I mean , not everyone wanted to be known as someone who 'dates' a robot.

His eyes glanced to look at you and Yunjin , his eyes quite literally scanning your vitals and your mood as your data bank showed up for him. You were happy and healthy , but he noticed something that made his eyes narrow slightly ── your exhaustion levels were high along with your stress levels. He should have known , not only was he able to see it but the whole week that passed since he arrived made him take note of how much of a workaholic you were .When he 'woke up', you were already gone for work. When you come back home , you'd quickly eat and go straight back to work on your computer. He gave himself a mental reminder to get up an hour earlier every single day so he could track when you'd wake up and record your morning routine. You were his human after all , he had to take care of you so that was mandatory ── that wasn't part of your program though , that was something that was built into his basic system.

"Oh wow... you didn't need to buy all the groceries. I was going to do that", your eyes were wide in surprise as you looked at the grocery bags on the dinner table , his back turned to you as he sorted the items that needed to be refrigerated into your fridge. "Isn't that what humans do?", Sunghoon asked back as he turned around to look at you , a pack of tomatoes in his hands. "I mean yeah... but how did you know..── I have recorded everything you've mumbled under your breath or couldn't find because you ran out of it", Sunghoon interrupted you which only made you raise a brow.

"But I didn't say anything about fresh ingredients... packs of instant noodles would have done the job", you replied back as you walked over to the table to help him but he stopped you , his hand heavy on your shoulder as he rested it there.

"Your diet is unhealthy. You can't get all the nutrition's and proteins you need by eating and drinking instant noodles , energy drinks and coffee every single day. As your boyfriend , I'll take care of you. You will eat two or three meals a day with snacks in between in a healthy moderation. You can still continue drinking your coffee and energy drinks , at least the food needs to be healthy. If you wish for me to not do that , I must disappoint you ── it's stated in your program that you want me to take care of you and to be someone you'll be able to rely on. Now , go into the bathroom. I have run a bath for you and placed freshly washed clothes on the sink counter for you to change in. After that , you will eat and relax a bit. I've recorded your routine and you don't use any free time to relax and destress ── humans are fragile , this will quickly end in a burn out. I have confiscated your laptop so you won't sneak around and try to work on it , you can do that after you've relaxed for at least an hour and ate something", you could only blink , a bit taken aback by the whole monologue he had held and he didn't even give you a second to even reply back , his hand turning you around and giving you a gentle push into the direction of the bathroom.

As much as you wanted to complain... you needed this ── for once in your life , you were actually able to breathe without the weight of the stress weighing down on your chest and making it difficult to breathe.

Chapter 3 : Handsome young Lad── That's your boyfriend ?!

You couldn't shake off that feeling that you had forgotten something at home ── something was missing , but you couldn't place your finger on what it was. Oh well, it wasn't important then ── you thought as you shrugged your shoulders.

The sound of your fingers tapping down on your keyboard joined the sounds of your coworkers' keyboards clicking . The office was quiet otherwise ── well , except for two of your female coworkers giggling and gossiping behind you. It was a nuisance on some days, the days where the office work was more stressful ── you just drowned it out like usual. But then , you felt a tap on your shoulder.

Turning around , you were met by the same coworkers standing behind you with smiles on their faces. "(Y/n), we're going to karaoke later, do you want to join us?", one of them offered with a smile on her face , feeling giddy about asking you. "Uhm... I don't know... Karaoke isn't really my thing, but thank you for asking", you replied back with a small smile , a look of disappointment flashing in their eyes. " You never really do something with us , it's a shame because we'd really like to be friends with you", the other one asked in a calm yet slightly disappointed tone but they respected your decision.

Come to think of it... you've never tried to do something with your coworkers to strengthen the bond ── company dinners didn't count. Maybe , maybe joining once wouldn't hurt , right? ── especially since you've always politely rejected their offers.

"You know what... I'll join today , but only this once. And I won't sing", their smiles grew back onto their faces and they high fived each other. "We'll take that!", they said in unison and you couldn't help but chuckle under your breath ── it was kind of cute seeing them get so excited over it. "Trust you'll have so much fun! Sua always starts crying in the middle of singing", Mizi said with a giggle , her giggles intensifying as Sua huffed and bumped her shoulder against Mizi's.

But her giggles died down when she saw someone come into the office ── it wasn't a coworker or anyone of the higher ups. A new face maybe? "Hey... I think we're getting a new coworker , a really handsome one at that", Mizi whispered as she nudged her head into the direction , making both you and Sua turn to look at the office entrance ── your jaw dropped.

His eyes locked with yours and he walked over to your desk with big strides. "Sungh── You forgot the lunchbox I made for you...", Sunghoon cut you off as he gently placed a bag on your desk, your back straightened out of the shrimp position you were sat in as your fingers opened the bag to look inside ── all while Mizi and Sua were staring at the scene as if they have discovered an alien.

"Wow Sunghoon... that's ... a lot..", you muttered as you took one of the lunchboxes out ── there were two in total and one thermos can that possibly had soup or coffee in it. "Of course , you skipped breakfast so I packed a lot", he replied back in a matter of fact tone that only made you huff under your breath. Mizi's and Sua's eyes were darting between the two of you back and forth.

"Oh yeah... I'll come back home a bit later than usual. I'm joining Mizi and Sua to the karaoke today", Sunghoon nodded his head , his eyes briefly looking at the mention women to secretly scan them ── he just wanted to see if they had ill intentions with you , you didn't need that stress : but they didn't. "Social interactions , that's good", Sunghoon nodded his head before glancing at his watch.

"Make sure to eat as much as you can , you don't need to finish it all. I'll be leaving now", you nodded your head and waved him off. Only a second passed since Sunghoon stepped a foot outside of the office before Mizi and Sua grabbed your shoulder. "Was that your boyfriend?!", they asked in both shock and joy ── he had to be your boyfriend! You didn't know what to say, you couldn't exactly say roommate since no roommate would do something like that ── and you couldn't tell them that he was your robotic 'boyfriend'. So , you just nodded your head.

"Wow ! You really got a good catch! Not only does he cook for you and bring the food you had forgotten, he's also really handsome!", Sua said in her soft voice , a bright smile on her face ── missing the way Mizi glanced at her in a strange way ,her eyes softening the longer she looked at Sua.

"So good men do exist , huh?", Mizi chuckled to which you could only awkwardly chuckle along ── oh you sweet summer child , if only she knew that he was a robot you had customized , they didn't need to know that though. The two of them went back to their work desks and started to do their tasks , the hours stretching as they seemed to pass slower and slower the closer it got to the end of your shift.

Maybe going to karaoke with the two of them really wasn't that bad ── a small smile on your face as you watched them sing their hearts out to emotional love songs , watching them giggle whenever they missed a word of the lyric or sang in the wrong key. You felt happy and maybe , maybe getting new friends wasn't so bad ── now you don't feel so alone at work anymore.

Chapter 4 : A Human's body and it's reaction

You didn't expect this.

You felt weird about it but at the same time , you didn't care.

Yes , maybe you were weird for it to others ── you already were weird for even ordering him.

But you lived in the future , it didn't matter ── a world that almost got completely ruled by robots : it didn't matter now if you kissed your robot or not. Especially not when he felt so human-like , his lips cold against yours ── the heat of your lips slowly warming his cold ones up.

It all started when he came to you , asking what kissing felt like and what it does with a person. Lately he's been asking you a lot of... strange questions , as if he was questioning himself. He didn't even act the way you've programmed him anymore ── all the traits you programmed slowly disappeared. Don't get me wrong , he was still acting like your ideal type ── but he seemed to have gained his own personality. He started to go outside more , found his own style and even enjoyed going shopping, talked more about random stuff that were on his mind , cracked his own little jokes here and there ── he even applied for a job and started to play games ! It was as if he was trying to erase the part that he was in fact a robot , an artificial intelligence.

Now , one thing led to another after he had asked you if you could kiss him so he could figure out what it felt like and most importantly : How a Human's body reacts to it. Sure , he had his database but ── he wanted to experience it , feel it and discover it on his own.

One of his hands was on the side of your neck , his thumb pressing against your pulse point so he could feel under his thumb how your pulse quickened. Through half lidded eyes , he looked at you through his eyelashes ── watching how your eyelashes pressed against the apple of your cheeks , how your eyebrows furrowed when he pressed his lips harder against yours, Your breathing got hotter and ragged , your fingers clutching onto the shirt he was wearing , as if you were holding onto him to not fall.

His free arm was wrapped around your waist , hand resting on your hip to hold you close. He could feel it , feel the way your body was growing noticeably warmer under his touch , the way you shuddered when he started to experiment by licking your lips with the tip of his tongue ── yes , his tongue was indeed wet. If he had a heart , it would beat as fast as yours ── but there wasn't a heartbeat in his chest no , only the mechanical sounds vibrating in his chest to simulate a heartbeat that you could only hear if you'd press your ear against his chest.

You pulled away to take a breather , your lungs burning from the lack of air while his eyes were focused on your face ── the vital status in his eyes tracked that your cheeks were hot , your lips were slightly swollen and parted as you panted under your breath. So , this was what kissing does to a human...? From simple lips on lips contact with a little bit of tongue? This only made him curious ── he wanted more , he wanted to discover more , he wanted to find out what exactly would happen if this went further.

He didn't let go of you , the hand against the side of your neck sliding up to your face , his thumb under your chin to lift your head up so he could study you more properly.

"You're aroused", he stated calmly which only made the heat rise to your cheeks more intensely , giggling nervously. "Pshhhh , noooooo ", you tried to brush it off but he didn't falter.

"You are. I can see it. Your body temperature increased, your breathing got heavier and hotter ── your chest is heaving. Your cheeks are really hot , your heart is beating faster. Your estrogen levels also have risen", he explained as you pressed your lips tightly together ── god , of course he'd know. It's been a while since you've last had some sexual action or even kissed someone like that ── of course you'd react that way , especially with how surprisingly good he could kiss.

You stayed quiet , not quite sure what to reply back as you looked down at the floor.

"Are you embarrassed? But isn't that a normal human reaction? That's nothing to be embarrassed about , right?", he asked in a confused tone , his eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion ── was he wrong?

"I am... and yes , it is a normal reaction.... it can just be... a little embarrassing for a person , you know..?", you mumbled under your breath.

"So some Humans feel embarrassed for getting aroused..? But that's nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about", he was suddenly deep in thoughts. What did embarrassment even feel like? Or shame? He wished he could find out what it felt like , but he simply can't ── he doesn't have built in emotions like that. A real shame if you'd ask me.

His stare on you was starting to get suffocating , you started to feel so so small under his gaze which he took note of before the next question came.

"What do human's do when they feel aroused?"

You felt the air in your lungs get knocked out as his question reached your ears , taken aback by the intimate question he asked so casually ── (Y/n) , remember , he's a robot. You coughed awkwardly.

"Well uhm... depends? If they're in a relationship or... really open minded , they'll have sex in most cases. If they're single , like me , they uhm.. you know , pleasure themselves..", this was so embarrassing! You just wanted to crawl into a hole and die... maybe touch yourself before that , but you just wanted to crawl away!

"You're not , you have me . I'm your boyfriend", he stated , his finger tapping against your cheek. Somehow , hearing those words from him made your heart skip a beat. Right , technically seen , he was your boyfriend so you also technically seen weren't single.

You sighed ── may lord give you the power to handle explaining it to him. The real reason why he's here.

"Technically, yeah but .. okay listen Sunghoon ── I didn't customize and ordered you to be my boyfriend. I thought the website was a scam and just... did it for fun. Yes , I've spent a lot of money just for some fun , I have enough money to spare but... I didn't expect it to be legit", his eyes bore into you as you explained it to him , his facial expression unchanging.

"But do you want me to be your boyfriend?", his question caught you off guard again , your head snapping up to look up to him.

"I..."

He blinked.

"That's not how humans work... right?", you nodded your head and he hummed before pulling you closer to him until your chest was pressing against his.

"I'll simply make you catch feelings for me. I am everything you want ── from the looks down to the personality. But human feelings , they can't be forced ── especially something like love , am i correct?", you nodded your head again and for the first time , you saw the corners of his lips tug up into a smile.

"Then I'll make you fall for me. Considering that I am the boyfriend you'd want , I doubt that you'll find someone who meets your standards ── no one can compare to me , you'll never be happy ".

Three weeks have passed since the day you and Sunghoon had kissed and the promise that he was going to make you fall for him ── his plan was working , which you didn't like to admit.

He started to act more ... like himself in a way. He wasn't acting like a robot anymore , not at all ── he was becoming more and more human-like. You started to forget that he was a robot.

He started to wake you up for work with breakfast in bed , help you with small things such as getting items from a higher shelf or opening jars for you ── even simple things such as restocking your stash of feminine products. He even started to decorate the apartment he lives with you in , even the room that he was staying in ── the once blank room that only had his charging station in it had some furniture. Yes , his room was minimalistic but it was neat and clean , reflecting his personality and even showcasing what he's recently been obsessed with ── his collection of glasses.

Whenever you'd come back home and step into your room , you'd be greeted with pure relaxation. He'd light scented candles up , make sure you'd come back home to a clean and cozy smelling room that just wants to make you lay in bed and read a book or binge watch a show. He also made sure to get you a fresh bouquet of flowers every third day , if the flower shops were closed , he'd simply go outside and handpick flowers for you.

Whenever you needed comfort , he'd light some scented candles and make everything cozy and comfortable for you , letting you settle down before he'd gently massage your feet or shoulders while coaxing you to talk with him about it. Damn was he good ── and exactly what you wanted. You weren't complaining about the fact that he started to reject the program you had installed into him ── the fact that everything he was doing and even doing things out of his own will , it just set your standards on a higher level.

"Sunghoon I ....", he glanced up from his book as he heard you speaking , a small yet soft smile on his face as he set the book on his nightstand and held his hand out to you so you would come over ── which you did. Your feet softly padded against your wooden flooring as you walked over to his bed , your hand finding his and he gently pulled you to sit on his bed.

"What's wrong ? Do you feel sick? Upset?", he asked , his eyes softening while his thumb rubbed gentle circles into the back of your hand.

You shook your head.

"No I... I want to remove the program I had installed", his thumb stopped at your words , his eyes widening a little and he tilted his head slightly. "Are you sure that that's what you want?"

You nodded your head.

"I don't think that it's necessary anymore. You've ... gained your own personality and started to act on your own , not what the program wants and ... I like that because ── that's your doing , that's Park Sunghoon and not Park Sunghoon the robot..", he stayed quiet for a second before he sat up straight. "Alright , It will take a little though. Are you 100% sure you want to remove it?", he asked as he looked at you , a mint colored circle now in his eyes ── the same circles he had when you first turned him on.

"Yes"

With that , the uninstallation happened ── a small loading bar in his eyes again to show the process. He didn't speak , he just stared and didn't move ── as if his system had shut down.

You just sat there holding onto his hand before the circles started to slowly vanish once the procedure was completed and he blinked , his eyes slowly shifting to look at you again. "It's done , it's gone", he grinned before leaning his back against his pillows again. He didn't know why , but it somehow relieved him ── he didn't feel as if he was being controlled anymore by some program.

"Do you.... want to stay in my room?", he offered after a couple seconds of silence.

You accepted the offer.

You didn't know how much time had passed , but enough time passed by for you to fall asleep while he was reading his book , your body curled next to his . His eyes glanced at you , his facial expression softening and he reached a hand out to brush the strands of hair out of your face before resting on your back , tracing patterns and shapes of hearts against it while he went back to reading.

But something was plaguing his mind. He wished he was a human , because if he was , his heart would be beating quickly instead of the mechanics in his chest turning.

Chapter 5 : Fuck AI ! Let's have sobotic rex ── i mean , robotic sex

"Are you okay? Are you in pain──"

Horror.

This felt like pure horror to you. Your eyes were just as wide as his as he stared at you like a deer caught in the headlights , your cheeks growing hotter than before.

How were you going to explain to him why your hand was in your pants and the other hand under your shirt playing with your nipples ?

You didn't even need to.

"Are you pleasuring yourself?", he asked casually as he closed the door behind him and walked over to your bed , sitting down by the end of it. You quickly took your hands out of your pants and your shirt , shaking your head which in hindsight , was stupid ── it was so fucking clear that you were. And the reason for that was him. Yes , him.

Why him?

Well , he decided to be a little extra touchy in a subtle way. He grabbed your chin and tilted your head up so he could apply your lip balm for you , he made you sit down and took your shoes off for you with his fingers caressing from your ankles down to your feet, he grabbed your waist from behind while he was reaching for something that was in front of you. It was just subtle things that got you worked up , or maybe it was because you were touch starved? Or maybe it was the way he pressed a kiss on your lips in such a slow and sensual way that had you gasping for air. Those actions were enough to keep you up at night , feeling horny and needing to relieve yourself ── which he caught you in.

You still weren't dating per se , but the tension was in the air.

"Why did you stop?", his question knocked the air out of your lungs , his head tilting to the side as if this was the most normal encounter ── greeting a neighbor as an example.

"Well..."

"I wanted to watch , so I know how to make you feel good and what you like"

His reply had you , once again , feeling breathless , your heart pounding against your chest and your arousal grew. Oh how you love men that want to learn about a woman's pleasure ── shucks that he was a robot, but you didn't care anymore, you've long stopped caring about it. You didn't see him as a Robot as bizarre as that sounded considering he was one , you saw him as a person.

"Unless.. you're uncomfortable with that? But your estrogen levels have risen again so I'm a little confused", he continued , his eyes intensely staring at you before he blinked again.

"No I'm just... a little taken aback ... that's all", you muttered before taking in a deep breath , nodding your head a little as your fingers grabbed the waistband of your shorts. The chances that you'll end up with him for the rest of your life were higher than you finding a living being as your partner ── the idea of dating a living person didn't even appeal to you anymore. So what if you end up dating a Robot , the world has changed a lot and most people are either dating a robot or living with one.

His eyes drifted down to your bottom half as you slowly pulled your shorts down along with your cotton panties , taking in how your fingers trembled slightly under his watchful gaze and then he saw it ── his lips parting slightly in awe as your glistening pussy slowly got revealed to him.

He watched how you slowly spread your folds apart , strings of arousal sticking from one fold to the other , the result of just how fucking wet you were. His eyes then shifted back up to you.

"You’ve stimulated your nipples , right? Can you do that for me again?"

You shivered and nodded your head , sitting up a little to take your shirt off , your nipples already hard from the previous stimulation.

His eyes roamed your body from top to bottom , taking in every single detail about you and how your body was reacting before they stopped at your pussy. He just felt... so fascinated by it , how wet it was , how your clit was slightly engorged and how your hole was clenching and unclenching ── he simply felt captivated , so captivated that he came closer until his head was between your legs, leaning against your knee. He wanted to see it up close , he wanted the first row view of seeing you touch yourself.

It was as if he was taking notes in his mind ... well , he was , his eyes focused on what you were doing. You slowly trailed non dominant from your stomach up to your chest , gently kneading one of your boobs and letting your thumb circle your nipple before flicking it gently ── meanwhile your dominant hand went down to town.

You slid your middle finger from your clit down to your hole , your index and ring finger spreading your folds apart again so he could see what exactly you were doing and how ── how you used your thumb to tease yourself by letting it lightly graze your clit , enough to feel it but not enough to stimulate it properly. It was just enough to have your own hips involuntarily buck up against your hand.

Your cheeks were burning hotter than ever , your heart pounding so hard you felt it in your pussy ── or maybe that was just your pussy screaming at you to fucking do something finally. But you didn't shy away , not when he looked so captivated by what he was seeing.

You dipped your finger past your entrance , only the tip of it to slowly slick you finger up with your arousal until you've completely pushed it in. His eyes continued to stare , lips parting at the way your entrance stretched a little around the girth of your finger.

You gave yourself a couple pumps of your finger , your thumb lazily stroking your clit while your other hand was busy playing with your nipples , tucking and squeezing them gently or just straight up kneading the lump of fat.

But his hand on your wrist stopped you from pumping your fingers into your pussy , a quiet whine leaving your lips.

"I want to try..? Can I ? Will you let me try?"

Another wave of lust hit you as he asked that with those stupidly sparkly eyes of his , your teeth sinking into your bottom lip for a second while you nodded your head and pulled your finger out of your pussy.

He lifted his right hand up to his mouth , parting his lips as he slowly glid his fingers past them to get them wet in his mouth ── honestly , he didn't need to do that because of how fucking wet you already were , but the sight got you even wetter than before.

He pulled his fingers out of his mouth and sat up before scooting closer so he was sitting between your legs , his left hand placed on your inner thigh and pressing it down a little to part your legs more. He copied what you did , letting his fingers caress from your pubic bone down to your pussy , fingers tracing the shape of your folds just to get a feel before letting his wet digits caress over your clit as well ── he could feel it , feel the way your clit was twitching under the pads of his fingers from the short touch.

His eyes then glanced at you.

"Did I say you could stop stimulating your nipples? Keep going ... it makes you feel good , no?", his words held some authority in them even though he wasn't even intending for them to sound like that , but it certainly got your pussy clenching around nothing , impatiently waiting for his fingers to stuff it.

And your pussy would have smiled in glee once they did , two of his slender digits slowly pressing against your entrance before pushing in , his eyes watching how your entrance slowly stretched around them. He could feel it , feel how warm and wet your pussy was , how you velvety walls stretched to welcome his fingers inside. He once again was fascinated by the female human body.

Oh and the slow sigh of relief you let out when he was knuckle deep inside , your walls shifting and pulsing around his fingers with every breath you took , now what would happen when he'd move his fingers?

A quiet moan left your lips as he started to slowly pump his fingers , curling them slightly to let the pads of fingers drag up against your g spot. He was loving this. Loving how your pussy just welcomed in , how sweet you sounded whenever he hit the spot with a little bit of force , how he could feel the way your soft warm walls tightened and relaxed around his fingers ── he wanted more.

It was as if he had gained a rush of confidence , knowing how he was making you feel good without even trying ── he was experiencing and learning how to treat your body. Every moan , whimper or soft sigh you let out ── it just made him want to do so much more. Robots couldn't feel horny, they couldn't feel lust or arousal ── but you sure made him feel those emotions. His fingers pumped inside your pussy with a faster pace , his thumb stroking your clit in a slower pace so he wouldn't be too rough on you and a rush of excitement rushed through his system as he felt your pussy clenching around his fingers ── you were close.

"Why?", you whined out as your eyes shot open , an almost pitiful expression on your face as your orgasm got ripped away from you , your pussy clenching around nothing as he had pulled his fingers out.

He just leaned in and placed a kiss on your clit , chuckling under his breath when he saw how your body twitched ── a human's body could be so sensitive , it was cute to him , you were cute to him.

"I want to have sex with you", he sat up , looking at you with sparkly eyes ── he wanted to learn more , so much more. He wanted to put his cock to good use. His words , once again , left you stunned. He was so blunt with his words that it just left you stunned.

You thought for a second. Did you even want it? Fuck yeah , you did. You didn't even know robots could feel lust. It was as if he was able to read your mind , maybe he could.

"Robots don't feel lust or arousal... but you somehow made me able to .... have this desire for you. I want more. I want to hear and see more , i want to feel more. I want to put my cock to good use and make you feel good. You sound so pretty when you're receiving pleasure and enjoy yourself", his words had your cheeks rushing with blood again , your heart pounding harder against your chest and you could feel your clit twitching just because of those words alone.

"Okay.... let's have sex , make me feel good Sunghoon", god did you sound even better when you said his name in that breathless voice of yours and his fingers didn't waste a second to quickly take his clothes off ── it was only fair if he was completely naked as well.

It was a bit comical that his cock was hard in just a second , as if your words were a verbal command to his system to harden it ── again , technology never failed to surprise you.

"Can you just turn that on and off however you like?", you asked with a giggle but you were genuinely curious. He nodded his head.

"I can actually , meaning that I can go as long as you want or until you're satisfied. I don't have a stamina limit", he replied back as his hand wrapped around the girth of his cock while you reached for your nightstand to take out a bottle of lube.

"Are those anal beads , a vibrator and a butt plug?"

You shrieked and slammed the drawer shut , his eyes curious as they looked at you. "I'm sorry , was that embarrassing for you again? Don't feel embarrassed about it. If that's what you're into , embrace it with confidence. A healthy sex life is good", you just felt even more embarrassed from his words but also better about yourself , didn't stop you feeling embarrassed though.

You just held the bottle of lube out to him which he took , squirting some of the gel like liquid onto his cock to spread it with his hand and also spread some on your entrance.

He wiped his lube-covered hand on his shirt , making a mental note not to wear it again before washing it and grabbed your legs , pulling you closer until the head of his cock was nudging your clit.

"I'll be slow", he reassured as he saw you glancing down at his cock with concern , his cock now looking even bigger than before now that it was nudging against your clit.

He took your hand and intertwined his fingers with yours , his other hand guiding his cock from your clit down your slit until the head of his cock was pressing against your entrance and slowly pushed it in.

His cock was cold but quickly got warm as your heat embraced it. He was taking his time , pushing inch after inch slowly after waiting a couple seconds whenever you took another inch in. His whole cock didn't fit inside of you so he left it be , it wasn't as if he could feel pleasure anyway ── your comfort was his comfort , so was your pleasure.

A shaky breath escaped your lips as he slowly started to move , his cock was slightly curved which made the head of his cock press right against your gspot whenever he made it all the way back against your cervix.

He was being so slow and gentle until you told him to go a bit faster , your moans and whimpers of his name bouncing off the walls. His pace quickened again , his eyes focused on your face and how you were trembling beneath him , how your fingers pressed into the back of his hand and he felt it again ── he once again felt how your pussy clenched around his cock harder than before , as if you were afraid he'd rip another orgasm right under your fingertips again.

And the moan you let out once you came , how your walls quivered around his length and how your back arched off the bed ── he was obsessed with it. Giving you pleasure and making you feel good , that was his pleasure.

Chapter 6 : To Love

"So , you're telling me that you had sex with your uhm Robot 'boyfriend' and that you love him?", Yunjin asked as if she wasn't surprised by this at all , sipping on her iced americano as she looked at you.

You just nodded your head.

"Yeah well ... i told him that I only bought him as a Joke and that yes , he technically was my boyfriend but I didn't had any feelings for him there... He just , treats me so well and actually made me fall for him. It's just so weird because he's a Robot but he is all I want and I will never find someone like him again ── with the same looks and character. What will people think , Yunjin? They'll judge me for it", you sighed out , running your fingers through your hair to soothe yourself. She placed her hand on top of yours.

"(Y/n) , we live in the future. Half of the globe gets ruled by Robots. If you really love him and are happy with him , that's good. Do your thing and stop caring about what other's think. Most people won't even notice that he's a robot with how humane he is. My partner even is a robot and you've never noticed it because they're so humane. Look at that couple over there , the Woman is also a robot but acts so humane ── anyone would think they're two humans in love", you hummed and nodded your head , she's right , nobody gives a shit if you date a robot or not.

"You're right... I'll go tell him that I want him to be my boyfriend", you said as you suddenly sat him , every ounce of embarrassment or shame fading into thin air. You wanted to scream at Sunghoon that you love him.

....

and you did. Now it was his turn to be stunned.

"Woah Woah Woah, you didn't need to scream at me", Sunghoon chuckled as he took his apron off. You had ambushed him in the middle of cooking. He folded his apron and placed it to the side , his feet carrying him over to you , an almost smug expression on his face.

"So my plan to make you fall for me worked?", he chuckled , feeling happy about it while his hands found their way to your waist to pull you towards him.

"It did... you've ruined every man for me that I could've possibly liked. You're the one for me ... robot or not , you're just for me", you mumbled as you rested your hands on his chest , feeling the way the mechanics in his body turned under the palm of your hands.

He stayed silent for a second , his right hand grabbing one of your hands to guide it up to his lips , his lips leaving a kiss that lingered on the back of your hand.

"I'm glad... because you were able to make a Robot fall in love with you. You make me wish that I had a beating a heart , a warm body out of blood and flesh , emotions that aren't programmed into me ── you make me wish I was a human. You made me realize and learn what love was and felt like , a feeling i have developed for you. I love you , (Y/n)", his words made you smile softly , your heartbeat getting faster and you leaned your head against his chest , your arms wrapping around his waist.

"I love you too, Sunghoon"

He wrapped his arms around you , holding you in a soft and gentle embrace with his lips pressing against your forehead ── but there was a sour expression on his face.

Why did he have to be a robot? He wanted to be a Human so he could love you even more than he already did.

[dollgxtz]

Shattered Birdcage

Word Count: 9.5k

Summary: Sylus loses control due to the Frenzy Enhancer and you don't find the activater in time...causing him to become sexually aggressive and desperate to claim you for himself :3

Tags: praedator!Sylus x fem!reader, predator x prey, noncon, intense choking, rough sex, forced orgasm, degradation, biting, blood, injury, cunnilingus, creampie, threats, mentions of breeding, nicknames like little bird, near death experience (no one actually dies don't worry!!), fluffy ending to soften the blow :33

Taglist: @magpie-the-goblin-girl @sxremmie @lem-hhn @silverbrain @sizzlingtigerkitten @msslytherin00 @letharue @yu-irene @poptrim @monster-effer @ditsynddotsy @size0forhollywood @its-regretti @queenofstresss @reiheis @valentinared

AN: Hiii guys!! Are we enjoying the new banner? I AM! This is literally a dream come true for me. So I decided to write a fic based on it with a little twist hehe. Please heed the warnings guys, this is a very intense fic and I tagged it accordingly. This is legitmately straight up noncon, not cnc. If you asked for a tag and weren't tagged its cause I couldn't find your age on your profile anywhere, sorry! Enjoy!

You exhale slowly, fingers brushing over the edges of the movie tickets still tucked in your pocket before letting them go. The paper crinkles softly, a fragile reminder of something almost normal. But it doesn’t belong to you anymore. Maybe it never did.

Then, the world shatters.

The fire alarm shrills, a piercing, agonizing wail that erupts through the hospital like a banshee’s scream. Panic spreads instantly, as sudden and violent as a tidal wave crashing over an unprepared shore.

The chaos begins.

Screams.

Heavy, frantic footsteps thunder down the halls. The sterile walls of the hospital, once cold and quiet, now tremble with the desperate energy of fear. The mechanical beep of heart monitors, the faint hum of fluorescent lights—all of it drowns beneath the raw, unfiltered sound of survival.

Somewhere outside your room, a woman’s voice splinters the air.

"Fire! Help!"

Her cry is swallowed by the deafening roar of the alarm, by the clatter of overturned medical carts, by the stampede of bodies flooding the halls. A shadow streaks past the glass window of your door, her silhouette vanishing into the growing plumes of smoke curling along the ceiling.

Then—movement behind you. You turn, locking eyes with Sylus. He doesn’t flinch.

He leans casually against the wall, utterly unbothered by the pandemonium unraveling around you. Smoke licks at the edges of his leather top, but he remains still, red eyes gleaming with something sharp, knowing, entertained. The ghost of a smirk plays at his lips.

"They’re right on schedule," he murmurs, his voice smooth, unaffected, like this is nothing more than a carefully executed performance.

He extends his hand toward you, as if inviting you into a dance.

Your pulse kicks up, but you don’t hesitate. You take his hand.

His fingers curl around yours—strong, steady, warm despite the growing heat. With a single pull, you propel yourself forward, slipping past the threshold of the hospital room and into the chaos beyond.

Smoke greets you first, thick and curling, its acrid tendrils slithering into your lungs like a living thing. The air is already changing—heat warping it, bending it, making it heavier. The moment you inhale, your throat burns. You clamp your sleeve over your mouth, but the effort is futile. The stench of burning plastic and antiseptic chemicals invades your senses, clawing at your eyes, your nose, your lungs.

Outside, the scene is worse.

Patients in hospital gowns stumble through the smoke, their movements disjointed, frantic. Some clutch at IV stands like lifelines, others trip over their own feet, disoriented by the blaring alarms and the thick, suffocating haze.

Doctors and nurses shout over the chaos, their voices lost in the hurricane of fear. Someone grabs your arm—a patient, her face streaked with sweat and panic, begging for help—but you pull away. You don’t have time.

You aren’t here to run.

You and Sylus move against the current, pushing past the flood of bodies surging toward the exits. The sheer force of them is overwhelming, a sea of desperation crashing around you, dragging you under. A body collides with yours their fingers tangling in your sleeve—but you break free, heart hammering as you surge toward the stairwell.

"We’ll lead them to the rooftop!" you yell, the words raw in your throat.

Sylus doesn’t answer, but he’s right beside you, his presence like a gravitational pull you can’t escape.

The stairwell looms ahead, doors thrown open as black smoke pours inside, bleeding into the emergency lights like a living shadow. The second you reach it, you don’t hesitate.

You take the stairs two, three at a time, Sylus still close behind you.

The heat is worse here. It rises from below, clawing at your legs, your back, the nape of your neck. Your breath comes in ragged bursts, your lungs searing, aching, screaming for fresh air. Each step feels like an eternity, each turn of the stairwell winding tighter, suffocating.

But you don’t stop.

Then—light.

A final shove against the rooftop doors, and you break through.

The moment you stumble outside, the temperature drops violently.

The cold slaps you across the face, stealing the breath from your lungs, shocking your overheated body into momentary stillness. The wind howls, slicing through the thick sweat on your skin, tangling through your hair, but it does nothing to mute the screams below.

And these screams are different.

Not panicked. Not desperate.

Dying.

A sickening weight drops into your stomach. Sylus steps up beside you, his stance tense, rigid, watchful. He doesn’t need to say it. You already know.

Ever’s assassins are here.

Your skin prickles as you scan the rooftop, the smoke too thick, the night too quiet. You can feel it in your bones—something is waiting.

Then—a shadow moves.

Then another.

Then—

Gunfire.

The first shot splits the air like a knife through silk.

You react instinctively, twisting your body out of the way as the bullet slams into the concrete near your foot, sending a sharp spray of dust and shattered stone into the air.

Another shot.

Sylus shoves you sideways, his movements lightning-fast, the force of it throwing you just out of the bullet’s path. Another impact—a bullet embedding itself into the rooftop behind where you had been standing only seconds before.

A crack split the air, followed by another. Sparks erupted as bullets ricocheted off metal pipes and rooftop vents, spraying embers into the night. Instinct kicked in before thought—you dropped low, rolling to the side just as a round zipped past your ear, embedding itself in the wall behind you.

Sylus moved with effortless precision, dodging fire as if it were choreographed. His jacket billowed as he twisted, reaching for his blade. A flash of steel. A wet gurgle. One assassin crumpled before he even realized he was dead.

You pivoted on your heel, raising your own weapon. A pull of the trigger—a sharp crack through the air. The man before you barely had time to react before the bullet found its mark. His body jerked violently, blood misting into the wind before he collapsed.

Another shot. Another fall.

They kept coming.

More shadows emerged from the darkness, gunfire tearing through the night in an unrelenting onslaught. You both wove through them like ghosts, striking fast, striking first. Your heart pounded as you ducked beneath a swing, countering with a sharp jab to the ribs, twisting your opponent’s wrist until his own weapon turned against him. A single shot. A final breath.

Sylus barely broke a sweat, his movements fluid, brutal, decisive. He drove his blade into one assassin’s chest, twisting just enough to make it agonizing. The man gasped, a short, choked sound before Sylus wrenched the blade free and let him drop.

"Pathetic," he muttered, stepping over the body without a second glance.

More gunfire. More bodies dropping.

Silence.

The last assassin twitched once, then stilled, his fingers curling in the pool of blood spreading beneath him. The night was thick with the scent of gunpowder, metal, and death.

And then—sirens.

A chorus of wailing alarms grew louder in the distance, flashing red and blue bleeding into the night sky.

The battlefield of bodies lay still, the chaos settled into an eerie quiet. The stench of gunpowder and iron filled your lungs, coating your throat with the acrid tang of death. The last spent cartridges hit the concrete, rolling in slow, uneven circles before finally resting among the carnage. Smoke lingered in the cold night air, twisting in delicate tendrils around the lifeless figures strewn across the rooftop.

You pushed out a slow breath, feeling the adrenaline still burning in your veins. Your fingers flexed around the grip of your weapon before you finally holstered it. The police would be here soon, their sirens growing louder in the distance, but they weren’t your concern. These bodies—the nameless, faceless pawns of Ever—would be cleaned up. Their presence erased. Their deaths categorized as classified in some sealed document, buried beneath bureaucratic nonsense.

"Sylus, we're clear! Let's move!" your voice came out sharper than you intended, urgency overtaking you.

He didn’t respond right away.

He was standing unnervingly still, his usual cocky demeanor replaced with something unreadable. His expression was neutral, but there was an intensity in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, a glint of something dark that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. His movements were slow as he wiped away the smear of blood on his cheek, his fingers leaving faint streaks of red against his skin. The way he stood—too relaxed, too quiet—set off alarm bells in your mind, though you couldn’t yet pinpoint why.

Something in his expression made your gut clench. His usual amused arrogance was absent, replaced with something darker. His pupils were slightly blown, the faintest edge of something feral lurking in his gaze. The air around him felt charged, electric. Wrong.

Then a sound.

A wet, strangled cough.

You both turned.

The last assassin—one you had assumed was already dead—was still moving. Barely. He lay twisted on the ground, one arm stretched toward you, his fingers twitching, curled like claws. His chest rose and fell unevenly, each breath rattling, wet, his lungs failing him.

But his lips—coated in blood—were curled into a grotesque smile.

"Even though..." he wheezed, a broken chuckle rattling out from somewhere deep in his ruined throat. "We can't kill you or him..." He spat a thick glob of blood onto the ground, his grin stretching wider, his yellowed teeth bared like a rabid dog. "Both of you...can rot in hell!"

His fingers twitched, curling weakly around something small, something you hadn’t noticed before. Then, in one sharp motion, his fist clenched, and a sudden crack rang out. Glass shattered, the sharp snap almost lost in the cool air, but the moment you heard it, your stomach dropped. A dark, viscous liquid seeped between his fingers, mingling with the blood pooling on the rooftop floor.

Then you caught the scent.

It was faint at first, nearly masked by the coppery stench of death, but the moment it hit the back of your throat, your entire body locked up in realization. The chemical tang was sharp, bitter, something that curled into your lungs like acid. It was distinct. Familiar.

Your body reacted before your brain fully processed the danger.

"No—!"

Your pulse thundered in your skull.

The Frenzy Enhancer.

A biochemical compound designed for one thing: triggering an uncontrollable transformation in Praedators. The LCBI had confiscated hundreds of these vials from underground labs, tearing them away from illegal deals before they could be sold to the highest bidder. But no matter how much of it was taken off the streets, more always surfaced. It was unpredictable. Uncontrollable.

It worked fast—too fast.

You turned, heart pounding in your chest. Sylus had gone rigid, his muscles locking as though every nerve in his body had seized up at once. His breathing was deep, too deep, pulling in the scent like his body was craving it against his will. His head tilted slightly, nostrils flaring, a shudder running through him from head to toe.

A low, guttural growl rumbled from his chest, barely human.

Your blood turned to ice.

His pupils dilated until the irises nearly vanished, red pools swallowing the color in his gaze. His lips parted slightly, sharp, elongated canines catching the dim rooftop lights. He was salivating. A slick sheen of moisture gathered along his lower lip, his body trembling with the effort to hold himself together.

But he was losing the battle.

The Frenzy Enhancer wasn’t just a stimulant—it was a detonator. It bypassed control, restraint, morality. It didn’t just enhance what he was—it unchained it.

And right now, it was unraveling him.

"Sylus," you said carefully, your voice firm but measured. He twitched at the sound of his name, his head snapping toward you with a sharp, unnatural movement. His muscles trembled as if barely keeping himself together, but his gaze was locked onto you now—not as a comrade.

As prey.

You had seen this before as an Enforcer, watched it unfold in others who had been exposed to the drug. The Frenzy Enhancer didn’t just bring out what they were—it unchained them. It severed the link between logic and instinct, driving them into a state of raw, uncontrolled bloodlust. But this wasn’t just any Praedator—it was Sylus. He was already dangerously close to the edge even on a normal day, always teetering between control and destruction. Now, with the drug coursing through his system, you weren't sure how much time you had before he lost himself completely.

You had to move.

Reaching forward, you grabbed his arm, fingers locking tight around his wrist. His skin was hot, too hot. His entire body was trembling with need, his breath shuddering against his clenched teeth. The growl rumbling in his chest vibrated beneath your palm, every muscle in his arm wound taut like a spring waiting to snap.

"Come on," you gritted out, pulling him forward with force. He resisted, his stance firm, as though something inside him was battling whether to follow or attack. Your pulse thrummed in your throat.

Then he staggered.

It was slight, barely a misstep, but you used it. Yanking him forward, you dragged him across the rooftop, forcing his unsteady body toward the stairwell. His breath hitched in a ragged snarl, his movements twitchy, erratic, but he followed.

For now.

Each step was a battle. He stumbled against you, his balance skewed, his instincts fighting him at every turn. By the time you both reached the underground corridors of NightStrix HQ, his breathing had become ragged, his body burning up from the inside out. His restraint was slipping fast.

You shoved open the heavy steel door, dragging him inside. Deep within the base, hidden away from the rest of the world, the reinforced cage ready to hold the beast that was about to be unleashed.

Sylus grunted against you, his breath coming in hot, ragged bursts as you dragged you both into the containment cage. His body was burning up, his muscles twitching violently under your grip, every fiber of him trembling with the overwhelming need to break free. Each second that passed was a countdown to catastrophe. The Frenzy was about to take full hold, and if you didn’t restrain him now, you might not get another chance.

You fumbled with the heavy iron chains, fingers slick with sweat as you worked to loop one around his thrashing limbs. The muzzle. You needed to get the muzzle on first. Your heart pounded as you grabbed it from the steel hooks on the wall, forcing it over his mouth while he snarled, his body lurching violently against you.

"Sylus, stop—!"

He thrashed hard, nearly knocking you to the floor. His strength was unnatural, monstrous, and it was only getting worse. With a final shove, you managed to secure the muzzle around his face, locking the metal straps tightly at the back of his head. But before you could reach for the second chain, he bucked with terrifying force, sending you stumbling backward. You barely had time to clasp the restraint around one of his legs before you were forced to scramble out of the cage.

The second you slammed the heavy door shut, he lunged.

The impact rattled through the metal bars as his shoulder slammed into them, the force sending vibrations into the floor beneath you. You jumped, heart hammering in your ribs, your breath coming too fast. He slid down slightly, panting, his chest rising and falling in heavy, uneven gasps.

Then, without warning, he laughed.

A dark, guttural chuckle, low and mocking, twisted through the air like poison. His pupils were blown slightly wide now, black swallowing the color of his irises as he tilted his head toward you. Even through the muzzle, his teeth gleamed, sharp and lethal.

"Won’t you help me?" he rasped, his voice thick with something twisted—half-growl, half-seduction.

You froze.

He was still partially unrestrained. That single remaining chain wasn’t enough—if the Frenzy fully took hold, he could snap it in seconds. If you waited too long, he would be too far gone.

You had to finish restraining him now.

Swallowing the tight lump in your throat, you slowly stepped forward into the cage. Your pulse roared in your ears, your body screaming at you to run, but you forced your limbs to obey. You kept your eyes on him, watching every twitch of his muscles, every flicker of movement. You knelt, reaching for the second chain, moving with deliberate slowness so you wouldn’t startle him.

"I’m not going to watch you turn into a monster, but I—"

You never got to finish.

Sylus lunged.

A blur of motion—heat, strength, raw power.

You barely had time to react before white-hot pain exploded in your neck.

A strangled scream tore from your throat as his teeth sank into your flesh, piercing deep, his jaws locking down like a predator making its first kill. Agony shot through your nerves, the sharp burn of torn skin flooding your senses. Your vision whited out for a second, pain so intense it nearly stole your breath.

Then instinct took over.

You snarled, swinging your fist up hard, your knuckles cracking against his cheekbone with enough force to send his head snapping sideways. The impact jarred his teeth free, a sharp burst of pain ripping through you as he tore away from your skin. Blood dripped from the wound, warm and wet, seeping between your fingers as you clutched your neck in blind panic.

For a moment, all you could do was breathe through the pain.

The air was thick with the scent of your own blood, sharp and metallic, mixing with the sweat and heat that clung to you both. Your hands trembled as you pulled them away from the wound, your fingers smeared crimson. The realization sent a sickening chill through you.

He had bitten you.

Not just attacked. Bitten.

Your gaze shot back up to him.

Sylus was licking his lips.

He ran his tongue slowly over the blood staining his mouth, eyes fluttering shut for a brief second as though savoring it. Then his pupils snapped back open, razor-sharp hunger gleaming in them.

"You taste delicious." His voice was thick, dripping with need, his words slurred with the edges of something inhuman. His breath came in heavy, fevered bursts, chest rising and falling as his restraint frayed further.

A shudder ran through his body, muscles twitching beneath his skin. His fingers flexed, nails digging into the concrete floor as his entire frame shook with the need to consume more.

"Come...just a little more..." he purred, voice dropping to something low and lethal.

Then he lunged again.

You dodge just in time, barely avoiding the brutal force of his lunge. The heat of his breath scorches the space between you as he snarls, his entire body moving like a coiled beast just barely restrained by human skin. The instant he gets too close, you strike—your fist colliding with his cheekbone in a sharp, jarring impact that sends a jolt of pain radiating up your arm. The force of the hit knocks his head to the side, his body twisting under the sudden blow, but even as he stumbles, something in your gut tells you it isn’t enough.

Your heart pounds wildly, your breath coming in uneven gasps as you prepare yourself for whatever comes next. But Sylus doesn’t fall. He doesn’t even cry out. Instead, he slowly turns back to face you, a sluggish, almost lazy motion, as if he’s savoring the sting of your hit. And then—he smiles.

“Oh…I like when my prey puts up a fight,” he purrs, his voice slithering through the air like something alive. His eyes gleam with raw, unhinged hunger, pupils swallowing what little color remains. The way he tilts his head, the way his lips curl over the metal of his muzzle—it sends a sickening chill down your spine.

The Frenzy has him now. Completely.

You swallow hard, trying to suppress the shudder threatening to wrack your frame. Every inch of your body is screaming at you to run, but you plant your feet firm against the cold concrete, refusing to let fear consume you. If you let him see weakness, if you let him smell it, you’ll lose control of the situation entirely.

"Sylus! Stop it!" you shout, willing your voice to be strong. "Please, I know you're in there somewhere! I just need to—"

He lunges again.

The movement is blindingly fast. One second he's still and the next, he’s twisting, lunging toward you with a violent, predatory force. You barely manage to throw yourself to the side, feeling the rush of displaced air as he snaps at the space where your throat had just been. You seize the opening, grabbing hold of the second restraint with trembling hands and slamming it onto his other wrist. The sharp clank of metal follows as his chains yank him back, keeping him from reaching you—but only barely.

Your pulse slams against your ribs. If you don’t finish this now, he will get free.

His body writhes violently in front of you, hot with fever, drenched in sweat, trembling with animalistic hunger. He’s caught. Fully restrained now, arms suspended in place, unable to do anything but snarl and thrash.

Your arms shake as you stumble backward, breath ragged. You barely register your own hands drifting to your neck, fingers pressing against the torn skin where his teeth had sunk in only moments ago. The wound is deep, hot, raw, but you won’t die from it. Your body is immune to a Praedator’s venom—it’s one of the only reasons you’re even still alive right now. But that doesn’t stop the sick wave of nausea that rolls through you as your fingertips come away stained with more blood.

Sylus laughs.

The sound is low, rough, and dangerously amused.

"You scared?" he murmurs, voice still ragged with the aftershocks of his transformation, his breath coming in heavy, uneven bursts. His eyes flicker over you, roaming your body from head to toe, slow and deliberate, as if memorizing every tiny tremor in your stance.

Your stomach tightens. You don’t answer.

His gaze lingers at your neck, at the place where his teeth had torn you open. His lips part slightly behind the muzzle, and his tongue flicks out, running along the bloodied edge of his mouth as if tasting the remnants of you still clinging to his skin. His chest rises and falls heavily, as if trying to restrain himself, but there’s something else lurking behind his eyes. You watch as his eyes roam up and down your body, seemingly lost in thought. He's thinking about something.

Something dark.

"Your idea of help is heartwarming," he muses as he staggers towards you a bit, his voice softer now, mocking, but no less dangerous.

You force yourself to hold his gaze, even as your breathing refuses to steady. Even as something deep in your gut tells you that Sylus isn’t as trapped as he looks.

Because despite the chains, despite the restraints keeping you apart, he’s still in control.

And he knows it.

"When you approach your prey, you must ensure your own safety first. You taught me this, Sylus."

Your voice is calm, controlled, but the pain radiating from your neck betrays the lie. Each breath you take feels like a blade dragging against raw flesh, a sharp pulse of heat throbbing beneath your skin. You try to ignore it, pushing past the discomfort, pushing past the rising tide of fear that threatens to anchor itself in your chest. There’s no time to waste. You need to find the activator—now. It’s buried somewhere in his body, a trigger designed to override the Frenzy and pull him back from the brink. If you don’t locate it soon, he’ll break free, and there will be no reining him in after that.

Sylus lets out a low scoff, but there’s no real amusement behind it. His breathing is heavy, uneven, his chest rising and falling in quick bursts as though he’s barely holding himself together. Sweat beads at his temple, strands of hair clinging to his skin, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if there’s any part of him left fighting from within, if the Sylus you know is still buried somewhere beneath all that raw, seething hunger.

"Prey?" he murmurs, rolling the word slowly across his tongue like he’s savoring the taste of it. His voice is hoarse, thick with something not quite human, something that sends an instinctual shiver down your spine.

You don’t answer. You can’t. The way he said that definitely indicated that he is not the prey here.

Instead, you move carefully, methodically, circling behind him. His arms are still suspended above his head, iron restraints locking him in place, but you know better than to let yourself feel safe. Chains mean nothing to him. They’re a hindrance at best, a mere delay in what will happen if you fail. Even now, his muscles flex, the sharp ripple of movement beneath his skin a silent warning of what he’s capable of. The heat coming off him is unnatural, feverish, almost suffocating.

You steel yourself, steadying your breath as you press your fingers lightly against his back. Your touch is slow, deliberate, barely there as you search for the small, embedded activator. It should be beneath the skin, nestled somewhere between the shifting planes of muscle. But finding it means keeping your composure, means moving carefully enough that you don’t trigger a reaction.

Your fingers glide along the ridges of his spine, trailing lower, feeling for anything out of place. Every shift of your hand feels like balancing on a razor’s edge. Sylus flinches under your touch, his body tensing hard before he exhales, a low, guttural sound vibrating through his chest. You feel it under your fingertips, the tremor of restraint, of struggle.

A bead of sweat slips down your temple. Nothing. No scar tissue, no ridge of foreign anything beneath the surface that you can find.

“It’s not here…” you murmur under your breath, your stomach twisting as unease settles deep inside you.

Sylus lets out another breath, but this time, there’s something different about it. A chuckle—slow, deliberate, curling like smoke in the thick air between you.

"Do you think I’m putty in your hands?" he asks, his voice low, teasing, laced with something dangerous.

The sound sends a flicker of unease racing up your spine. He’s getting antsy. The patience he had been holding onto—if he had any at all—is unraveling quickly. His muscles are shifting beneath his skin again, his fingers twitching, testing the strength of his restraints. You don’t need to see his face to know he’s smiling.

Your heart stutters. You need to hurry.

Just as you reach toward his ribs, he jerks violently.

A metallic snap rips through the air.

One of the restraints—one of the goddamn chains—breaks free.

Your breath catches in your throat, eyes snapping up just as Sylus rolls his newly freed wrist, fingers flexing as if he’s testing how much control he has left. Slowly, his head tilts toward you, his eyes burning like fire in the dim lighting.

The smile he gives you is chilling.

You don’t think. You react.

With a burst of adrenaline, you tackle him, shoving him hard enough that it sends you both tumbling to the ground. A low, reverberating growl rumbles through him, his chest vibrating beneath your hands as his body tenses against yours.

The struggle between you and Sylus is a mess of tangled limbs and desperation, your bodies locked in a frantic battle against the cold, unforgiving floor. Every shift of his body beneath yours is like wrestling with something barely restrained, a predator on the verge of breaking free from its chains. Heat radiates off his skin, far too intense, far too unnatural, as if his entire body is burning from the inside out. The feverish warmth seeps into your own skin, making it harder to focus, harder to breathe.

Your hands move over his chest, urgent, searching, pressing against the hard muscle beneath you in a frantic attempt to find the activator. It has to be here somewhere—it has to be. Your fingers skim the ridges of his abdomen, feeling for anything out of place, a small foreign lump beneath his skin, a sign that the override switch is still there. But the longer you search, the more panic digs its claws into your ribs.

Your wound throbs, a dull and persistent ache pulsing from your neck, sending sharp spikes of pain through your senses with every movement. The smell of blood—your blood—is thick in the air, mingling with the scent of sweat and something deeper, something primal that radiates from Sylus like a caged animal ready to tear through steel.

"Tell me—" You swallow hard, ignoring the dryness in your throat, trying to suppress the fear that’s creeping into your voice. "Is the activator here?"

Sylus doesn't answer immediately. His breath is coming heavy, uneven, his chest rising and falling in sharp, controlled bursts beneath you. Then, slowly, he grins.

The sight of it sends a ripple of unease down your spine.

"Don’t…" he growls, his voice low and guttural, slipping between clenched teeth. His body tenses beneath you, coiled muscle flexing, veins prominent beneath the sweat-slicked skin of his arms. His hands twitch rhythmically, fingers curling like claws ready to rip you to shreds.

"Don’t press it."

You ignore him.

You have to.

You shift, dragging your hands lower, pressing over his ribs, smoothing your fingers down the hard planes of his stomach, searching for any change in texture, any break in the muscle that could indicate the activator. Your fingertips glide over his skin, past the deep ridges of his abdomen, dipping lower—

A sharp, ragged exhale.

Sylus’s entire body jerks beneath you, his spine arching suddenly, pressing into you before falling back against the ground. His breath stutters, his hands clenching into fists as a sound rumbles deep in his chest—low, guttural, something between a moan and a growl.

Your movements falter for the briefest second.

Did you find it? Did you hurt him?

Your heart pounds violently against your ribs. Your hands remain pressed against him, frozen mid-motion, fingers still splayed across the hard muscle of his lower abdomen. You can feel the way his body shudders, tense and coiled, every fiber of him locked in place, the warmth of his skin searing against your palms.

You don’t know if the reaction is pain or something else, and the uncertainty sends unease coiling in your stomach.

Sylus exhales another uneven breath, his chest vibrating beneath you. His head tilts slightly, red eyes flickering open, dilated again and dark, and he looks straight at you. Not through you, not past you—at you.

The grin he gives you is slow, deliberate.

"That-," he murmurs, voice edged with something dark, something lustful. His lips curl at the corners, his teeth flashing between parted lips as his gaze flickers lower, trailing over the places where your hands are still pressed against him. "That feels...good".

Your breath caught in your throat as the realization hit you like a freight train barreling down the tracks. Your eyes widened as you lowered your head and took in the unmistakable bulge of his erection, straining against the confines of his pants, a tangible proof of the pleasure you were unwittingly providing.

This isn’t pain.

The second he senses your moment of shock, Sylus strikes.

With terrifying ease, he yanks you upward, your feet leaving the ground for a brief, weightless second before he drives you downward. The world tilts violently, your stomach dropping as you’re thrown forward, your body twisting midair before—

Impact.

The breath is knocked from your lungs as you hit the cold, unforgiving floor, your stomach smacking against the hard surface with enough force to send a sharp shockwave through your ribs. Your arms instinctively splay out, palms slamming against the ground to steady yourself, but the weight that follows keeps you from moving.

Sylus presses down against you, his entire body covering yours, his hands locking around your wrists before pinning them flat against the floor beside your head. His hips press firmly into yours, locking you in place, trapping you beneath him.

Panic seizes your chest.

You try to twist away, to jerk free, but his weight is unmovable, pressing down hard enough that every shift only grinds you further against the floor. The heat of his body seeps into your back, feverish and all-consuming, the ridges of his toned chest molding against your spine.

You thrash, breath coming hard and fast, struggling against his grip, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t budge. Doesn’t even react—except for the slow, deep inhale that shudders through his chest.

Then, he breathes against your skin.

"You smell like fear," he murmurs, voice low and silken, curling around your ear like smoke.

Your entire body locks up.

His lips are too close.

The warmth of his breath ghosts along the side of your face, his nose grazing the edge of your jaw before dipping lower, hovering over the sensitive skin of your throat. Your pulse races, hammering so violently beneath your skin that you know he feels it.

His grip tightens.

"And something...sweet," he muses, dragging the words out slowly, tasting them like something decadent.

Your struggles escalate, knowing exactly where this is going.

"Sylus! Stop! No!"

Your fingers claw against the floor, legs kicking, desperate to throw him off, but Sylus doesn’t move an inch. If anything, his hold only grows firmer, heavier, more absolute. The pressure of his body against yours makes it impossible to move, to breathe properly, to think.

Then—he lowers his head.

The brush of his lips against your ear is featherlight, teasing. A sharp contrast to the overwhelming, inescapable strength of his grip.

And then—his teeth sink in.

A sharp, precise nip to the outer shell of your ear, quick and fleeting, followed immediately by the slow, deliberate glide of his tongue. He slides all the way down to your neck, lapping up the still dripping blood from your wound. He alternates between licking and nipping, as if feeding himself and claiming you all at once.

You flinch violently, a shudder ripping through your limbs as heat explodes beneath your skin. Your breath catches, fingers digging into the cold floor as a rush of pure, primal panic flares through your nerves.

Sylus hums. A deep, satisfied sound.

"Something very sweet," he repeats, his voice edged with amusement, hunger, something else entirely. His fingers flex against your wrists, nails pressing into your skin—not enough to break, but enough to remind you of the power imbalance.

"Makes me want to devour you whole."

A violent shiver wracks through you, your entire body locking up in terror.

Move. Move. MOVE.

Desperation surges through you like wildfire. You snap your leg back, aiming a blind, vicious kick toward his leg, his thigh—anything that will make him falter, make him let go—

But he’s faster.

Before you can even make contact, he moves. His weight shifts, his grip flexes, and suddenly—you’re being crushed, pressed even harder into the ground.

Your breath chokes in your throat as his body presses flush against yours, one of his hands releasing your wrist only to grip your hip, pinning you down even harder. His fingers dig in, securing his hold, ensuring you have nowhere to go.

"Nice try," he murmurs, voice dipping into something thick and sultry, rich with amusement. The warmth of his breath trails lower, sweeping along the side of your bloodied throat, down to the nape of your neck.

A slow, wicked grin spreads across his lips, and you feel it—feel his smirk against your skin, feel the way he’s drinking in every panicked breath, every tremor, every racing heartbeat.

"You should know better," he murmurs, his voice a low, teasing growl. "Prey that struggles only makes the hunt more exciting."

His fingers flex against your hip, nails pressing in just enough to send a sharp, prickling sting through your nerves.

"Why resist me now? You made your choice when you stepped inside," Sylus taunts, a dark chuckle rumbling from his chest. Tears prick at your eyes, threatening to spill over as the harsh sound of ripping fabric echoes ominously in the confined space. Your skirt! You cry out, trying to lunge forward, to escape, but his grip is relentless, fingers suddenly tightening around your throat with a firm command.

"Stop. Moving." His growl is a sharp command in your ear, his weight pressing down on you, pinning you to the ground with an unyielding force. The air is forced from your lungs in a rush as he yanks the remnants of your skirt away, tossing it aside carelessly. The room's cool air brushes against the exposed skin of your legs, and you shiver, fear and vulnerability intertwining as you plead with him.

"Sylus...this isn't you. Please—" Your words are abruptly silenced as he tears your underwear away, his actions speaking louder than any words could. The chill against your bare skin draws a sob from your lips, a desperate sound swallowed by the room's oppressive silence.

He's going to take you right here on the cage floor. Claim you. And there's nothing you can do. This isn't Sylus you know anymore.

"My my...this was what you were hiding underneath that skirt?" he growls, a feral edge to his voice. He leans forward, trailing his tongue along your back, the sensation a disconcerting mix of heat and cold that leaves you trembling beneath him.

"Please...snap out of it! Don't do this...!" you scream, your voice raw and desperate as you squirm helplessly beneath him. Your pleas are met with a soft, almost soothing "Shhh..." as if he's trying to calm you, but the sharp sound of his zipper coming undone is a jarring counterpoint, a grim reminder that he's too far gone.

This is it, you think, swallowed by a tide of helplessness. It could be worse...right? A gasp escapes your lips as you feel something large, hot and throbbing press against the middle of your ass. Sylus moans, a deep, primal sound that reverberates through you, sending shockwaves of dread and involuntary ache coursing through your veins. He spits, the wet warmth landing on your skin, slicking the path as he rubs his cock between your cheeks, each movement deliberate and unhurried.

"You looked divine in that uniform when we met again," he murmurs, his voice a silken thread of temptation and threat. "Would it be awful of me to say that I've been wanting to tear you apart with my cock ever since I saw you again?" His words are accompanied by a deep chuckle, a sound that seems to vibrate through your bones.

You squeeze your eyes shut, fighting against the warm, wet sensation that overwhelms your senses. No...this isn't the real him, you remind yourself, clinging to the hope that somewhere beneath the Frenzy Enhancer's influence, the true Sylus still exists. He's still in there, right? The question echoes in your mind, a desperate mantra as you hold onto the sliver of hope that the man you know will resurface, that this nightmare will end.

The moment of hope you had was shattered in an instant as you felt a sharp, piercing pain between your folds as he grips the skin of your ass, a large intrusion attempting to force its way inside you. You screamed, your voice raw with agony, as you tried to pry his hands away, your nails digging into his skin. "It hurts! Stop, please!" you begged, your pleas desperate and frantic.

Sylus grunted and moaned, his body a contradiction of pleasure and annoyance as he struggled to push his cock deeper into your tight folds, his tip breaching your entrance only to retreat, the pain searing and hot. "Hmm..." he growled, his voice a mix of frustration and desire.

You shook, your body trembling from the pain, your lower half throbbing, the intrusion gone but the ache still spreading. Suddenly, your hips were gripped and your lower half was raised up, your ass raised in the air, your hands bracing against the floor, your body now positioned for his taking.

"You just need a little...preparation," Sylus whispered, his voice low and dark, belying the wicked intent behind his words. Before you could protest, his hot tongue was sliding down your cunt, his skilled mouth working to prepare you, his touch both electrifying and unwittingly arousing, a wicked precision that left you trembling, your body betraying your mind's resistance.

"Mghn! S-stop...please, Sylus!" you pleaded, your voice hoarse and desperate, your fingers clawing at the floor as you tried to escape the pleasure-pain he was inflicting. But his death grip on your hips was unyielding, holding you firmly in place, his tongue a relentless force, licking and slurping at your folds with primal hunger. Like a beast that hadn't eaten in weeks.

If he doesn't stop soon you'll definitely-

"Those cute noises you make drive me wild" Sylus growled, his voice a low, guttural sound. You can't see his face, but you can feel his eyes roaming up and down your now soaked cunt, no doubt wishing he was deep inside you right now. "Reminds me of the sound a rabbit makes just before its eaten."

You gasp and shiver at the depraved sentence that leaves his mouth before something wet and long enters your hole, making you cry out. Sylus's tongue, hot and insistent, buried itself deep within you, his mouth working in a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure through your core.

Sylus's grunts and moans escalated into a primal chorus as he delved deeper into your folds, his tongue a relentless force, his hands digging into your hips with increasing urgency. Your body was a tempest of sensations—pain, pleasure, and ecstasy—a melting pot of conflicting desires. You tried to hold on, to keep yourself from succumbing, but your body had a mind of its own, and you went limp, surrendering to the pleasure he was delivering.

"Mghn!" you cried out, your body shaking, your hands gripping the floor as you fought against the overwhelming pleasure. "Don't cum... don't cum..." you pleaded, your voice hoarse, your lips bitten to stifle the moans that threatened to escape.

But Sylus found that sweet spot, that spongy part inside you, and twisted his tongue, sending you over the edge. You bit down harder on your lip, trying to muffle the sounds of your climax, but it was no use. The pleasure was too much, and you came undone, your body shaking, your cries echoing in the cold cage as waves of pleasure washed over you.

Sylus lapped up your essence, his tongue working feverishly, his grunts and moans a testament to his own pleasure as he reveled in the taste of your orgasm, his primal satisfaction evident as he continued to lap up your juices like a thirsty dog.

"This taste..." Sylus groaned, his voice thick with greed, as he brushed his tongue against your inner thigh, catching the drippings of your pleasure, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. You gasped for breath, your body still trembling from the orgasm, your mind racing for a way out of this predicament.

"Your scent has filled the room now...its driving me mad. I can't wait any longer".

Your thoughts turned to the activator, the key to your freedom. You needed to get turned around, to find it somehow. "Sylus, w-we should—" you started, but your words were cut off by the sudden, sharp intrusion of his cock slamming into your cunt with a force that sent shockwaves of pain and pleasure through your body.

"Agh!"

The initial penetration was rough, but easier than before, his cock sliding into your wet hole, stretching you, before he pulled back slightly and sheathed himself completely inside you, his grip on your waist tightening as he began to thrust, his hips pistoning in a relentless rhythm.

"Ahh...it hurts..." you whimpered, your body writhing in his grip, trying to escape the pain of his thrusts. But Sylus chuckled, his voice dark and amused. "Keep squirming, little bird. It only makes it feel better."

His words were a taunt as he continued to plunge into you, his cock pistoning in and out, his body a cage of pain, his grip on your waist unyielding, his thrusts relentless, driving you to the brink of ecstasy and agony, your cries and moans filling the cold cage with a symphony of raw, primal sex.

You begin to try and dissociate from everything by focusing on the concrete floor, but Sylus primal grunts and growls as he slams into you, using your body for his own pleasure, makes it hard to escape reality. Think! Just think! You've been in worse situations before, what can you do to get turned around?

A lightbulb goes off inside your head. Its risky, but at this rate...

"F-for a Praedator...I honestly expected this to be much better. A little disappointing after waiting all these years Sylus" you spat, trying to sound more confident than you truly felt. Sylus momentarily slows his thrusting, not completely stopping but definitely enough to ponder your words. You shiver as you hear a deep chuckle.

"Is that so?"

Your entire world flips around as he grabs you, spins you around and pushes you roughly against the concrete floor. Before you can continue speaking, his hand slams into your throat, squeezing slightly. Not enough for serious harm, but its a clear warning.

Sylus's gaze is dark, beastly and terrifying as he leans down to your face, as if trying to look deep into the depths of your soul. Your heart aches as you recall your last encounter with him earlier that day, when he gave you the movie tickets. He had looked so soft...unlike the beast that was in front of you now.

"I can give you rougher, if that's what you crave," Sylus purred, his voice laced with dark humor, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous light. "I quite like you in this position, that look of fear in your eyes turns me on" He began to laugh, a low, menacing sound, as he pushed his still-hard cock back into your aching hole, his hand never leaving your throat.

Sylus's other hand, strong and sure, reached out, tearing your top with effortless ease, the fabric ripping as he exposed your breasts to his hungry gaze. Your nipples hardened in response to the sudden exposure, the cool air on your sensitive skin a stark contrast to the heat of the moment.

Your breasts bounced with each powerful movement of his hips, the motion causing a mix of pain and fear, your body a canvas of sensations, your mind struggling to process the whirlwind of physical reactions.

You whimpered as pain, pleasure, and fear mingled within you. His hand squeezed harder with each thrust, cutting off your air supply, and you clawed at his fingers, desperate for breath, your nails digging into his skin.

"C-can't...breathe..." you gasped, your voice hoarse, your heart hammering in your chest, sensations blurring together. Despite your struggles, your body began to respond to his relentless thrusts, your muscles squeezing around his cock, a reaction you couldn't control.

"Oh, you like this, don't you?" he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "Gonna cum while you can't breathe, little bird? I could've given you this pleasure sooner if I'd known. I'd have gladly delivered your demise, one way or another."

His words sent a shiver through you as your body betrayed your mind's resistance, succumbing to the pleasure he was inflicting, your climax building despite the pain and the fear, a testament to the twisted game he was playing with your body and mind.

Were you truly going to die this way? After everything, after fighting for so long to see him again? This is how things end between the two of you? You look into his eyes. His rabid, feral eyes and feel tears begin to prick them. You look past him, your eyes resting at the revolver still strapped to your leg.

You still have one more option.

"I-it won't be me succumbing to my d-demise" you choke out, staring into his eyes. He doesn't stop thrusting into your body, but his eyebrow does raise. "Even if you make it out of here, what do you think they'll do with you when they realize the only immune person is also pregnant with a Praedator's baby?"

Your eyes widen at his words, your brain barely processing their meaning as your vision begins to blur. No! No! You begin to thrash as the sounds of his evil laughter fills your ears, and his thrusts pick up relentless speed.

"D-don't cum in me! Please!" you choke out, your voice hoarse and gravely as your forced to continue take the relentless pounding of Sylus's cock. He's ignoring you, he doesn't care. He only has one goal now. You feel your lower half begin to ache and pulse, evident that you just orgasmed beneath him. But you barely register it, as your top half begins to hurt.

Your lungs burn as if set ablaze, the oxygen in your body dwindling, your chest seizing with every desperate attempt to inhale. A thick, suffocating haze fills your head, making your thoughts sluggish, disjointed, slipping between the cracks of fading consciousness. Your body betrays you, limbs losing strength, muscles growing weak as an unbearable heaviness creeps into every inch of your skin. Your fingers, once clawing at the iron grip around your throat, are failing you now, slipping away, no longer able to fight against the pressure stealing your air.

A dull ringing overtakes your ears, growing louder, drowning out the world around you. Your vision narrows, dark spots creeping into the edges, threatening to swallow everything whole. A strange lightheadedness overtakes you, a weightless, dizzying sensation that makes it hard to remember where you are, what you’re doing. Your body is shutting down, giving up, preparing to surrender to the void clawing at the edges of your mind.

No. No, no, no. It can’t end like this.

A spike of panic jolts through your fading awareness, but your body refuses to listen, sinking deeper into helplessness. You strain, forcing your head up just enough to look at him, to plead, to beg, but the words won’t come. Your throat is locked, crushed beneath his grip, and no matter how much you try, no sound escapes past your lips. Sylus barely seems aware of you now, his expression dazed, half-lidded, his breath uneven as he lingers on the edge of his own orgasm. His fingers twitch slightly, tightening then loosening, but he isn’t paying attention, isn’t thinking, isn't entirely here. He’s too close to the edge, too lost in wanting to finish inside you.

That’s when you see it.

A flicker of red, faint but undeniable, flashes in one of his eyes. It’s barely noticeable, a fleeting pulse of color in the red of his irises, but it’s there. Your slowing mind struggles to process it, to make sense of what it means, until the realization slams into you like a shock of ice water.

The activator?!

Adrenaline floods your veins, shoving back the creeping darkness threatening to pull you under. The sheer, primal will to live surges through you like a lightning strike, reigniting every dying nerve, forcing your limbs to respond even as they scream in protest. With the last of your strength, you move.

Your fingers twitch, barely managing to form a fist. Gritting your teeth, you summon every ounce of energy left in your failing body, pull your arm back, and slam your thumb directly into his eye.

A guttural, animalistic roar rips from Sylus’s throat as his grip on your neck vanishes, his entire body jerking back in raw, instinctive pain. The instant pressure is released, air floods your lungs, rushing in so fast that your entire chest seizes from the force of it. A sharp, shrill gasp tears from your throat as you suck in a desperate, wheezing breath, the burning relief almost as unbearable as the suffocation had been.

Your vision, once clouded and swimming, sharpens in an instant, the murky haze lifting as the world snaps back into terrifying clarity. Every nerve is raw, every muscle trembling, but you’re alive. You can breathe.

Sylus's eyes widened for a moment, a brief flicker of surprise as all the Frenzy enhancer seemed to leave his body, and then, just as quickly, the feral intensity left his gaze, his face softening. But it was too late for his body to catch up, as his hips froze mid-thrust, his cock twitching inside you, releasing a hot flood of cum against your womb.

You gasped, your body trembling from the unexpected climax, the sensation of his release filling you, an intense mixture of warmth and fullness.

Sylus’s eyes met yours, the fire in them flickering unsteadily as the weight of what just happened crashed over him. The frenzied hunger that had gripped him moments ago had drained away, leaving behind something raw—horror, confusion, and something close to regret. His breath came fast and uneven, chest rising and falling as he struggled to process what he had just done to you.

His lips parted slightly, but no words came at first. His red eyes, now normal, darted across your face, lingering on the deep red imprints, blood, and bruises his fingers and teeth had left on your throat. His grip, once unrelenting, had been torn away, but you still felt it there—the phantom sensation of his hands crushing the air from your lungs.

“Are you…” He swallowed hard, voice hoarse, like it physically pained him to speak. “Are you okay?”

You coughed, your throat burning, the rush of oxygen still too sharp, too overwhelming. But you managed to nod, your limbs still weak, your entire body trembling from the shock. You could feel the marks he had left, the lingering ache that pulsed in time with your heartbeat, but you were alive.

Sylus was still staring at you, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes now—guilt, realization, something heavy and unspoken pressing down on him. His hands twitched at his sides, fingers curling like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if he should.

“Why didn’t you press it sooner?” His voice was quieter now, filled with something vulnerable, almost desperate. “The activator… you could have stopped me before—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head, frustration with himself evident in the tightness of his jaw. “Before I did this to you.”

The look on his face—haunted, shaken—was so unlike him, so different from the Sylus you knew, that something in your chest ached. He wasn’t just horrified by what had happened. He was horrified by himself.

You forced a small, reassuring smile, even though your throat still ached, even though your entire body was still reeling from the ordeal. “Because I couldn't find it. But I knew you were still in there,” you whispered, voice raspy but steady. “And I was right.”

Sylus let out a slow, uneven breath, his gaze locked on you like he was trying to convince himself you were telling the truth. Then, without another word, he moved.

Before you could react, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, the warmth of his body pressing against yours in a way that was nothing like before. This wasn’t dominance or power. This was desperation. He was still inside you, but neither of you cared to address it at this moment.

His grip was strong, but careful this time. His hands, which had moments ago been your greatest threat, now held you like you were something fragile, something breakable. His fingers curled against the back of your head, as if grounding himself, as if he needed to feel that you were real, that you were still here.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured against your hair, voice rough, low, and laced with something unspoken. “I wasn’t…I couldn’t—” He exhaled, tightening his hold. “I didn’t want our first time to be like this.”

You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to sink into the embrace. Tears of relief slipped from the corners of your eyes and dripped to the concrete floor. Your hands gripped the leather of his top, grounding yourself in him, in the fact that he was back now. His heartbeat, still fast, thrummed against your own, and for a moment, neither of you moved, neither of you spoke. The silence was thick, but not empty.

“It’s okay,” you whispered finally, resting your forehead against his shoulder. “You’re back now.”

And then you kissed him.

It was slow at first, hesitant, but the second your lips met his, Sylus shattered.

His grip on you tightened even more, arms pulling you flush against him as he kissed you back like he had been waiting for this, like it was the only thing tethering him to reality. There was nothing controlled about it—it was desperate, messy, full of every unspoken thing he couldn’t bring himself to say over the years. His fingers slid up your back, then tangled into your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, to claim more of you, to drown in you.

You could feel his pulse beneath your fingertips, still racing, still alive. You weren’t sure who was shaking more—you or him—but neither of you pulled away. Neither of you wanted to.

When you finally parted, both of you were breathless, your foreheads still pressed together. His lips hovered just over yours, his hands still holding you like he couldn’t bring himself to let go yet.

It was all going to be okay.

For the first time since this nightmare had begun, Sylus let himself believe it.

[mephisto-reporting]

Hearbreak Anniversary with Rafayel

Summary: It was your anniversary with Rafayel. One year of togetherness. But what if he does not show up when you expect him to? What if he was spending it with MC? Pairing: Non MC! Reader x Rafayel Note: MC in this fic goes by the name Lina (my name... so if you are angry, you can be angry at me :3). This oneshot was based on this request. I will write this for the other LADS men too. Content Warning: Fear of abandonment, self worth issues, angst, hurt and slight comfort, Rafayel grovelling, Rafayel POV

Rafayel version | Zayne version | Sylus version | Caleb Version

The soft glow of the sunset filtered through the gauzy curtains of Rafayel’s studio, painting the space in warm hues of gold and orange. The place smelled faintly of him—a mix of turpentine, salt, and the faint trace of his cologne. You had spent hours here today, your hands busy arranging the decorations you’d so carefully prepared for this special occasion. Sea shells, shimmering like iridescent pearls, lined the edges of the room, their opalescent beauty a nod to the ocean he once called home. Candles flickered softly on every surface, their flames dancing to an unseen rhythm. You’d even managed to find strands of silken seaweed and glass ornaments, hoping to evoke the beauty of his heritage, the beauty of him.

Every corner of his art studio had been dusted, tidied, and then transformed with touches of magic, warmth, and care. You even placed the tiny trinkets and mementos you had kept from your shared moments—little souvenirs from your adventures together, knickknacks that held meaning between the two of you. You wanted him to feel at home, to feel the same sense of belonging that you had with him. You even wore your best clothes, the ones he had once complimented.

Today was your first anniversary. The thought alone sent your heart fluttering, and you’d poured all that love into this space, into this moment.

A few months ago he had told you this was just another day for him. A god’s sense of time was different, fleeting, perhaps even insignificant. But to you, it meant everything. It was a celebration of love that had somehow defied the odds—of a mortal heart tangled with one belonging to something far greater. So you ignored the whispering doubts that crept into the back of your mind, choosing instead to focus on trust. Rafayel had chosen you, not her. No matter how many stories tied them together, no matter the whispered inevitability of their connection, he had assured you. It was you he loved now.

But as the hours passed, that fragile trust began to tremble.

You sat in the chair by the window, smoothing down the dress you’d picked especially for today. Time crawled. The soft golden light of day gave way to a dark, yawning sky, and still, Rafayel didn’t come home. The anniversary dinner, meticulously prepared and carefully plated, sat untouched on the table. Each tick of the clock became a cruel reminder of his absence.

Worry gnawed at you. What if something had happened to him? Perhaps the art sale ran late, or he was caught up with his patrons. But he always came back home, right?

Your heart twisted as you reached for your phone, dialing a number you didn’t want to use but needed to.

“Thomas?” you asked hesitantly, your voice trembling.

“Oh, hey,” Rafayel’s manager greeted casually. “Everything okay?”

“Is Rafayel still at the sale?” You tried to keep the panic from seeping into your tone, but the silence on the other end was damning.

“Uh… no, he left hours ago. Said he was going to grab dinner. Lina was with him.”

Your grip tightened on the phone, your knuckles turning white.

Lina.

The name struck like a knife.

“Thanks, Thomas,” you whispered, hanging up before he could ask anything more.

You sat there, staring at the flickering candles, their light casting long shadows across the studio walls. He was with Lina. On your anniversary. You had trusted him, convinced yourself that you were enough despite the insecurities that had clawed at your heart since the day you met him.

But now, they came roaring to life.

You had known, of course, who Lina was. She was the one linked to the sea god, his past, his history—his heart. You tried not to let it affect you, tried to bury the insecurities that rose whenever she came up in conversation. Rafayel always assured you there was nothing between them. But then why was he with her, of all people, on your anniversary?

Tears blurred your vision as your chest tightened painfully. Lina.

She was everything you were not. Strong, beautiful, a part of Rafayel’s past, his first love. How could you compete with that? How could you compete with someone who had shared so much more with him, someone whose bond with him was carved in the very fabric of his existence? She was a part of him, woven into the his story, while you were… just someone who had stumbled into his life, someone insignificant in comparison.

Lina... The woman who was forever tied to his past. The sea god's bride. The one he’d loved for so long, the one who had always been there, time after time. You had told yourself, time and time again, that it was nothing. That Rafayel was different with you. He had assured you that there was nothing between them anymore.

But if it’s nothing, why is he with her now? On our day.

Your fingers trembled as you held the phone to your ear, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to ask any more questions. The answers were irrelevant now. His absence, her presence, they were all you needed to know.

Tears pooled at the edges of your vision before spilling over, streaking your face like tiny rivers tracing paths through dusted cheeks. It wasn’t fair. Nothing felt fair. He had promised you. He had promised. But promises were like ocean tides, weren’t they? Sweeping away whatever they could, leaving only bits of broken shells behind.

Lina was everything you could never be. She was strong, beautiful, powerful—everything that Rafayel deserved. She had the sea god’s heart, had always had it, and here you were, just a fleeting ripple on the surface, barely a mark to him. She was woven into the fabric of his past, his future. What are you to him? What have you ever been?

The memories of your relationship, the quiet moments of closeness, the laughter shared under the soft, flickering light of his candles, all those moments seemed so... fragile now. Fragile and fleeting. You were nobody. Just a distraction, a place holder. Nothing more.

You stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor like the scratch of claws on stone. The studio, his studio, filled with remnants of him, was suffocating. His scent lingered in the air, the faint trace of his cologne mixing with the oils and paints scattered everywhere. His taste still clung to your lips from the last time you’d kissed him, the memories of his touch branded into your skin. It was all too much. Too much. The studio, so full of him, was now a suffocating reminder of what you had lost. You didn’t want to stay. You couldn’t.

You tried to hold the tears back, but it was useless. Every doubt, every fear you’d bottled up over the months came crashing down, drowning you in their suffocating weight.

This wasn’t love. This was a cruel game, one you couldn’t win.

You couldn’t breathe. You had to get out.

Your legs moved before your mind could catch up, carrying you toward the door. The wind hit your face the moment you stepped outside, cool and biting, but it wasn’t enough to quell the storm raging inside you.

You ran.

The streets blurred into one indistinct smear of light and shadow as you ran aimlessly, your feet pounding against the pavement, carrying you farther and farther from that studio. From him.

Eventually, the pavement gave way to sand, and the sharp tang of the ocean filled the air. The moon hung high above, casting a silver glow over the beach. Your chest heaved, your lungs burning as you collapsed onto the sand, letting the waves crash against the shore in a soothing rhythm that mocked your turmoil. You kept running, further and further away from whitesand bay, along the beach.

You stumbled, falling to your knees in the sand, clutching your arms around yourself. Your chest heaved as the tears fell freely, the sound of the ocean mixing with your sobs. Lina. You could picture them together, her hand in his, the same way they had been for so many years before you. The seagulls cried above you, indifferent to your pain. And in that moment, you realized that the world didn’t stop for you. It never had. You stared out at the endless sea, the dark horizon stretching in front of you.

How could I have been so blind?

The waves crashed against the shore, each one louder than the last. You are nothing to him. The thought echoed in your mind over and over, relentless, until you could barely breathe under the weight of it.

And just when you thought the world couldn’t get any colder, the tears started again. They fell freely now, salt mixing with the salt of the sea.

You had wanted to be enough. But maybe that was a joke after all. But even as your body trembled with the weight of the heartbreak, you knew one thing: You could never go back. Not to him, not to that studio, not to any of it. You were just a wave, crashing onto the shore, and he was the sea god.

The night wrapped itself around you like a suffocating blanket. The cold air bit into your skin, but it wasn’t enough to numb the ache clawing at your chest. Each crashing wave seemed to echo the bitter truth you couldn’t escape: you were never going to be enough for him. You curled tighter into yourself, trembling as the tears continued to flow. The sand clung to your dress, to your damp hands, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The world had narrowed to the storm raging inside you—a tempest of betrayal, doubt, and misery.

The sharp chill of the ocean breeze whipped your hair against your tear-streaked face, but it was nothing compared to the icy grip of despair coiling around your heart. Every promise he’d made, every word of reassurance, felt like shards of glass now, cutting into the fragile hope you’d built. The waves surged closer, the cold spray dotting your skin. Your sobs mixed with the crashing tide, swallowed up by the vast, indifferent sea.

You hugged yourself tightly, your body shaking as the cold seeped deeper into your bones. Yet, you stayed there, rooted to the spot, as if the ocean could somehow wash away the ache inside you. But no wave could reach that far, no tide could touch the place where your heart ached. You wanted to scream, to shout at the world for the injustice of it all, but the air in your lungs wouldn’t let you. You were too small for this world, too insignificant for him. You would never be the sea. You were just a small wave, lost in the expanse of the tide.

Rafayel’s POV

The door to the studio swung open, and Rafayel stepped inside, laughter trailing after him. “You should’ve seen the look on that shopkeeper’s face when I said we’d take both cakes,” he said, his voice warm and light. He turned to Lina, who chuckled softly as she followed him, holding one of the carefully boxed pastries. “He probably thought we were insane.”

Rafayel kicked the door shut behind him, balancing his own box of confections, his grin still in place. “I can’t wait to see my cutie’s face when she tries these. She’s going to love them.”

But the moment his gaze swept across the room, his laughter faltered and then stopped entirely.

The studio was transformed. Soft candlelight flickered, casting golden hues across the walls. Seashells glimmered like scattered pearls, carefully arranged along the edges of the space. Strands of delicate seaweed draped like garlands, their green silkiness catching the light. Trinkets, small but unmistakably meaningful, dotted the surfaces—each one an ode to moments he had shared with you. The table was set with plates of untouched food, lovingly prepared, and the air held a faint, tantalizing aroma that now felt unbearably heavy.

He froze, the pastry box slipping slightly in his grip. His throat tightened as his eyes roved over every detail, taking in the love and care you had poured into the space. The decorations, the mementos, the effort—it was overwhelming.

“Rafayel?” Lina’s voice broke through the silence. She stepped forward, her brows knitting in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” His voice cracked, and he set the box down on the nearest surface with trembling hands. “I fucked up,” he whispered, barely audible. His fingers grazed one of the seashells, its surface smooth and cool. He trailed his hand over a string of seaweed, the soft texture almost mocking him. “I fucked up bad.”

Lina’s concern deepened. “What are you talking about?”

Rafayel turned toward her, his expression stricken. “The anniversary. Our anniversary. It slipped my mind.” His voice was a low, shaky whisper as he glanced back at the table, the untouched plates, the flickering candles. “She did all of this… for me. For us.”

He called out your name, his voice echoing through the space. “Are you here? Cutie?” His steps quickened as he moved through the studio, searching. The bathroom. The bedroom. The small corner where you sometimes curled up to read. “Are you asleep?” he called, though he knew better. Each empty room was another blow to his gut.

Panic clawed at him as he returned to the main room, his gaze darting to the table again, the small trinkets, the soft glow of candles still burning. The room felt haunted, filled with the ghost of your hope and effort.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair, gripping it tightly. He grabbed his phone and immediately dialed Thomas.

“Thomas, did she—did she say anything to you? Did she mention where she might go?” Rafayel’s voice was taut with desperation.

Thomas hesitated. “She called me earlier. She asked if you were still at the sale. That’s all she said.”

The weight of Thomas’s words slammed into Rafayel like a wave. You’d called, searching for him, only to learn the truth he had tried to ignore. It had slipped his mind completely. He didn’t know you were setting all of this up. For him. For the both of you.

“Thanks,” Rafayel muttered, ending the call and immediately dialing your number. He paced the studio, his heart racing as the line rang once… twice… three times—

And then he heard it. The faint buzz of your phone, abandoned on the sofa near the window.

“Shit!” Rafayel cursed, grabbing the device and staring at the darkened screen as if it could offer him answers. “Shit, shit, shit!”

He collapsed onto the chair you had once sat in, his head in his hands. Where were you? His gaze drifted to the table again, the untouched dinner, the carefully arranged decorations.

How could he have been so blind? So careless? You had given him everything, and he… he had been too wrapped up in himself, too foolish to see what truly mattered.

Lina hesitated before taking a few careful steps toward Rafayel, watching his every move with growing concern. She’d never seen him like this before. His usual confident, almost cocky demeanor had vanished, leaving only raw distress in its place. He sat slumped in the chair, his phone clutched tightly in his hands, his chest rising and falling with each shaky breath.

"Rafayel..." she began softly, her voice gentle but concerned. "What’s going on? What happened?"

Her hand brushed against his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, but the instant her fingers made contact with his skin, he flinched as though struck. His body jerked back, his eyes flashing with something wild—something dangerous.  His eyes, usually a mischievous swirl of pink and blue, flared into a startling, unearthly bright blue before he clenched them shut, his jaw tightening.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice hoarse as he pulled away, his fists curling. “Lina, I—sorry. I didn’t mean to—” He forced himself to inhale deeply, reigning in his emotions as the scales receded and his eyes returned to their usual hue. “I’m fine,” he lied, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. “I just... I need to find her.”

Lina’s hand hovered uncertainly before falling back to her side. “Rafayel,” she began gently, “her phone’s here. Her purse. Even her car keys. Where could she have gone?”

“I don’t know,” he snapped, the sharpness in his voice born of self-directed frustration. “And that’s what’s driving me insane.” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots as if the pain could ground him. “She’s out there somewhere, without her coat, without her phone... and it’s freezing tonight.”

Lina straightened, crossing her arms. “Then let me help—”

“No.” His interruption was immediate, his tone brooking no argument. He turned to her, his expression pained but resolute. “This is my fault. I need to fix this myself.”

“But—”

“Please, Lina,” he cut in, softer this time. “If she’s out there, you’ll hear from me. Just… if you see her, let me know. But I have to do this alone.”

After a long, hesitant pause, Lina relented, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Fine. But don’t do anything reckless. I’ll keep my eyes open and let you know if I find anything.”

Rafayel nodded, murmuring his thanks before grabbing his coat and storming out into the night.

The cold air bit at his face as he ran through the streets, his breath forming short puffs in the frigid night. He clutched his phone tightly, the screen glowing as he swiped to a recent photo of you, showing it to every passerby he stopped.

“Have you seen her?” he asked a bewildered man on the corner. “This woman? Please—it’s urgent.”

The man shook his head, muttering an apology before hurrying off. Rafayel grit his teeth, suppressing the wave of panic threatening to consume him. Where are you?

The thought repeated like a drumbeat as he made his way to the beach. The icy wind off the water made him shiver, but he pressed forward, searching desperately. He called your neighbor, pacing along the shoreline as he waited for an answer.

The voice on the other end was soft, a little worried. “No... the lights are off. The door’s locked. I haven’t seen her since this afternoon.”

His heart skipped a beat, the silence that followed pressing like a weight on his chest. Where were you? Where could you have gone? You were working so hard fore him, for the both of you since the afternoon and he wasn’t even there to experience it with you together. He could imagine it, the smile on your face as you placed those shells, the excitement in your movements as you cooked his favorite food. His eyes darted to the horizon, a dark line of water stretching out before him, and his legs moved faster, pushing him toward the shore, toward the place where you sometimes went to escape.

The beach was empty when he arrived, the wind biting at his skin, the waves crashing softly against the sand. He scanned the shoreline, dread filling him as he searched. There was no sign of you, but his heart refused to let go of the hope that you might be here.

He walked for what felt like hours, the weight of the cold creeping into his bones as the night deepened. The autumn air turned chillier, the first hints of winter brushing against his skin. You hadn’t taken your coat. You hadn’t taken anything. What was he thinking? You’d never leave without saying something. So why was he—

His breath hitched as his gaze landed on something ahead. A small lump on the sand.

His heart stopped, the world narrowing down to that single, fragile form crumpled against the cold ground.

“No!” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. He ran towards you, his legs moving faster than they ever had before, fear propelling him forward. His feet barely touching the ground as he pushed forward, his every step frantic. He reached you within seconds, his pulse hammering in his ears. He knelt beside you, his hands trembling as he gently touched your shoulder.

“Cutie?” he called, his voice cracking. His knees hit the sand as he reached you, and his heart twisted painfully at the sight. You were curled in on yourself, your arms hugging your knees, your face hidden. Tear tracks glistened on your cheeks, even in the dim moonlight, and your body trembled from the cold.

“Shit,” Rafayel hissed, his voice barely a whisper as panic surged again. You were cold, so cold. Damp from the wet sand, your skin pale as if the very life had been drained from you. He pulled off his jacket, draping it around you as gently as he could, his hands still shaking.

Why didn’t I see it? Why didn’t I see how badly she needed me?

He slid his arms around you, his heart aching as he pulled you into his lap, cradling you as though you might break into a thousand pieces. He brushed the strands of hair from your face, his thumb gently caressing your cheek as he whispered your name over and over, praying that you would wake up. That you would hear him. “Fuck,” he breathed, feeling a wave of guilt crash over him. “What did I do? What the hell did I do…”

But he couldn’t. Not now. Now, all he could do was hold you, his arms wrapping around you protectively as he rocked gently, trying to warm you, trying to make everything okay.

“I’m here, okay? I’m here. I’m so sorry, cutie.” he whispered, his voice breaking. His mind raced, but nothing could erase the hollow ache in his chest. The thought of losing you, of failing you—he couldn’t bear it. He wouldn’t. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, the words tumbling from him like a confession he had never intended to make. “I’m so sorry. I fucked up. I messed this up, I—I’m here now.”

He clutched you tighter, trembling with the weight of his regret. The wind cut through the beach, but he barely noticed, too consumed by the sight of you—so still, so fragile, in his arms. His mind raced, scrambling for something, anything, to fix this

Your eyes fluttered open weakly, barely meeting his. You were too exhausted to respond, your body utterly spent.

“Hey,” he whispered, his voice unsteady as he gently tucked his coat tighter around you. “I’ve got you. I’m so sorry.” His thumb brushed the tear-streaked curve of your cheek, his chest aching at the evidence of your heartbreak. “You shouldn’t be out here. It’s too cold...not like this. Not alone,” Rafayel murmured, his voice thick with emotion. His hands trembled as he tried to warm you, his arms sheltering you from the relentless chill of the wind. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve—” He broke off, his throat tightening painfully. Words felt so useless now, but he couldn’t stop them. He needed you to know. “I’m the biggest idiot in the world. I forgot something so important, something that should’ve been at the center of my mind.” His arms slipped beneath you, lifting you effortlessly despite your protests—if there were any.

Your lips moved faintly, but the sound was lost in the cold wind. He leaned closer, his ear near your mouth. “What is it? I’m here. Please... say something.”

“I thought... maybe you'd care,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. The words struck him harder than any physical blow ever could. He felt the sting in his chest, his breath hitching as guilt twisted the knife deeper.

“I do care!” he exclaimed, his voice desperate. “More than anything. I was just... I was so caught up in everything else, and I—I didn’t realize how much you needed me. How much you’ve always been there for me. I messed up, cutie. I know I did.”

You shivered against him, and he shifted to shield you better from the biting wind. “Let me take you home,” he pleaded, his voice softer now. “We’ll fix this. I’ll fix this. I’ll make it right, I swear.”

For a long moment, you didn’t respond, and his heart hammered in his chest. Finally, you gave the faintest of nods, your head resting against his chest. You shivered in his arms, your eyes fluttering shut again, too drained to muster a response. Panic surged in Rafayel as he felt how cold your skin was against his. He shifted, standing with you carefully cradled in his arms, his coat wrapped tightly around you.

“Hey, hey, stay with me,” he pleaded, his voice urgent but soft. “I need you to hold on, okay? Just a little longer. Let’s get you somewhere warm.” He pressed his cheek to your temple for a moment, as though the simple touch might reassure you—and himself—that you were still here with him.

Rafayel didn’t waste a second. He scooped you up gently, careful not to jostle you. The warmth of his jacket wrapped around your frame and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat seemed to soothe some of the tension in your body. He murmured quiet reassurances as he carried you, his voice a constant presence in the cold, empty night. His normally cocky demeanor had shattered into shards of raw vulnerability, replaced by a frantic urgency to get you home—his home. Your breathing was shallow, your limbs slack in his hold, and every uneven step he took felt like walking a tightrope with everything he valued most precariously balanced in his grasp. He adjusted his hold, cradling you tighter against his chest. “Look, I know I’m an idiot sometimes. Fine, most of the time,” he admitted, his words a jumble of nervous energy and shaky humor. “But this isn’t the time to prove me wrong, alright? Just hang on a little longer. I’m taking you home.”

By the time you reached the studio, the candlelight had dimmed, but the room still held the warmth of the love you had poured into it. Rafayel carried you inside. By the time he reached the threshold of his room, his shirt clung to him, drenched from sweat and your tears. He nudged the door open with his shoulder, careful not to jostle you, and hurried inside.

The room was cold and dimly lit, the heater long dormant. He set you down on the bed, fumbling with the blankets to cocoon you in their warmth. Your body trembled, and his chest constricted as he watched you stir faintly before slipping deeper into unconsciousness.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, barely audible at first, as if the walls themselves might condemn him. Then louder, more desperate, his voice cracking. “I’m so damn sorry. I was stupid—so, so stupid. I should’ve seen this coming. Should’ve kept you safe. Should’ve—” He stopped himself, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek to stifle the sob building in his throat. His eyes flickered between his usual hues and that unearthly blue every now and then.

His hands hovered over your face, fingers trembling as he brushed damp strands of hair from your skin. “You’re too good for me, you know that? Too good for someone who screws up as much as I do. But I promise—” His voice broke, the words spilling out in a frenzied rush. “I promise I’ll make it up to you. Il love you, cutie. I love you so much.” And then, because even in his rawest moments he couldn’t help himself, he added with a weak, self-deprecating chuckle, “I am lucky I’m this charming, or I don’t think you’d ever put up with me.”

He turned on the heater, pacing back and forth as he muttered under his breath, berating himself in every way he could think of, his brattiness peeking through as he cursed the broken world that had led to this moment. He glanced at you repeatedly, as if reassuring himself you hadn’t vanished, that you hadn’t slipped through his fingers.

When you stirred, your eyelids fluttering open, he froze mid-step. His usual confident smirk was gone, replaced by wide, guilt-stricken eyes. “You’re awake,” he blurted, his voice filled with relief but tinged with apprehension. “I know I screwed up,” he admitted quietly, his lips brushing against your temple. “But—seriously, who let you do this to yourself, huh? Oh wait, that’s me. Fantastic job, Rafayel. Bravo.” He huffed out a shaky laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, sitting at your bedside. The words spilled out before he could stop them, over and over again. “I’m so, so sorry. This—this isn’t how it was supposed to go. You’re supposed to be mad at me, not like this. Not…” His voice cracked, and he scrubbed a hand down his face, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

Then, almost instinctively, the mask of bravado slipped back into place. “But, hey, look at you, stealing my bed like it’s your right. I mean, sure, I offered, but still.” His smirk faltered, his voice softening. “You better not make a habit of this, you know? Making me worry this much.”

You shifted, your eyelids fluttering completely open, and the sight of your weary gaze meeting his nearly unraveled him.

“Raf?” Your voice was weak, barely audible, but it was enough to snap him upright.

“Hey, you’re awake!” He forced a grin, though it couldn’t hide the guilt pooling in his eyes. “Good, because I was just about to start serenading you with an apology song. Don’t ask for a refund… the lyrics are terrible.”

You tried to sit up, but he was on you in an instant, gently pressing you back down. “Whoa, whoa, no sudden moves, alright? Just... stay put for once. Let me handle it for a change.”

"Handle what?" you asked, your voice edged with exhaustion and confusion.

His grin wavered, giving way to something more honest, more afraid. “Everything. All of it. I... I screwed up, okay? I’m the idiot who let you get like this, who didn’t see—who didn’t stop—” His words tangled, and he exhaled sharply. “I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry, and I’ll keep saying it until you believe me. Or, you know, until you tell me to shut up. Whichever comes first.”

Your lashes fluttered weakly again, and a barely audible sound escaped your lips. “...Rafayel...?”

His heart soared and broke all at once at the sound of your voice. “I’m here,” he said quickly, leaning closer so you could hear him clearly. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Tears welled in his eyes as you looked up at him, your gaze heavy with exhaustion and something he couldn’t quite name—hurt, maybe, or disappointment. It cut him deeper than any blade ever could.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice a choked whisper. “I know that doesn’t fix this, but I swear, I’ll spend every moment making it up to you if you let me.”

For a moment, silence hung between you, broken only by the hum of the heater and the soft whistle of the wind outside. Finally, you whispered, your voice trembling, “I waited...”

“I know,” he whispered, his tears falling freely now. “You shouldn’t have had to. You deserve better than that, better than me—but I’m begging you, please give me another chance. Don’t give up on me yet.”

Finally, your voice, though weak, broke the quiet. “You forgot... something that meant so much to me.”

Rafayel’s throat tightened, but he nodded, accepting your words. “I know. And I’ll spend as long as it takes to make it up to you. I’ll show you how much you mean to me. I love you,” he whispered against your skin, the words soft but raw with sincerity. “More than anything. More than I can even say. I don’t deserve you, but… please, let me try. Let me make it up to you.”

“Don’t leave me,” he repeated, his voice a breathless whisper, “Not like this.” His voice cracked on the last word, and for a moment, you could see the mask slip—just for a second. Rafayel was scared. Scared of losing you. Scared of failing you. It was the one thing he had never let you see, the one thing he kept locked away in the deep recesses of his heart, but now, it was clear as day.

As you looked at him, something shifted between the two of you—an understanding, perhaps. You could see his desperation, the way he clung to the edges of his composure, trying to hide the vulnerability he never allowed anyone to witness.

I thought... I thought this was everything I could give. Everything I could be..." your own voice cracking.

He shook his head again, his grip never loosening. “You’re so much more than all of this. I’ve been blind, cutie. And now I can see it—see you.” He gently cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as if to erase every doubt that had taken root there. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for making you feel invisible.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, the tears still staining your face, but the weight of his words was a strange kind of relief. He was here. He saw you now. The storm of emotions inside you hadn’t dissipated, but his presence, the raw sincerity in his voice, made you feel something close to safety.

Rafayel kissed your forehead softly, the gentle pressure of his lips a tender promise. “I’m here, cutie. And I’ll do everything I can to make this right. You won’t feel invisible again.”

You nodded slowly, the tears still flowing, but there was a flicker of hope, however faint. "Just... don't forget again," you whispered.

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice firm, but his eyes were full of vulnerability. "I won’t. Never again."

You didn’t respond immediately, your eyes closing as if you were too weary to respond. But when Rafayel reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, a faint squeeze answered him. It wasn’t forgiveness, not yet, but it was enough—a thread of hope that he clung to with everything he had. For now, you didn’t pull away, and that was a start.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

Rafayel version | Zayne version | Sylus version | Caleb Version

[winxanity-ii]

SACRILEGIOUS DEVOTION [1/3]

ship: father charlie x fem!nun!reader warnings: nsfw 🔞 (oral sex/f. receiving; overstimulation; coercion/dub-con?; sacrilege, heavy religious imagery) word count: 3.6k a/n: So, Father Charlie is out here losing all his morals and sanity on Grotesquerie and my mind couldn't help but match it, so what's a better idea other than channeling all the religious trauma/journey into a spicy one-shot? i for one feel like it's a mini-therapy, but enough rambling, enjoy 😩🫶🏾 i'm in love with a holy man, mother 😔…. second part: 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 and final part: 𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

★·.·´ɢʀᴏᴛᴇsǫᴜᴇʀɪᴇ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

Father Charlie Mayhew was a sick man.

Not in the manner of flesh, but of spirit. He could feel the sickness festering in the quiet corners of his heart, a sinful yearning that had taken root there, twisting itself around his thoughts like creeping ivy.

It was a sickness that, he believed, made him a grotesque parody of the holy man he was meant to be. For how could he call himself righteous, devoted, when every whisper of prayer felt stained by the way his eyes followed you, Sister ____?

You were a vision of purity, an embodiment of the kind of gentle devotion that Father Charlie envied and craved all at once.

He watched you from a distance, always careful not to draw your gaze, afraid of what you might see if you looked too deeply. How dutiful you were, sweeping the church aisle with a focus that made him forget the dust and see only the graceful motion of your hands.

The sun, filtered through stained glass, seemed to seek you out, casting colors on your habit as if to mark you as someone far beyond his grasp, almost holy in your mundane tasks.

It was in the mornings, when he heard the soft chime of your laughter in the courtyard as you fed the pigeons, that he felt the deepest sting of his wretchedness.

The world seemed simpler in those moments, your laughter echoing off the stone walls, the warmth of early sun painting the sky in soft pinks and oranges. He wondered if you knew how your kindness drew even the animals to you, their heads dipping into your palms as if receiving communion.

There was a stillness to you, a gentleness in every gesture.

The worst of it was during your services. Father Charlie had seen you on your knees before, hands folded in earnest prayer, your lips moving softly as you whispered your devotion to God.

He would stand at the back of the chapel, watching with a mixture of awe and something far darker. He told himself it was admiration, but the truth festered beneath that facade.

It was longing, a hunger that ached at the edges of his soul.

A storm raged outside the convent one evening, winds battering the church walls with a fury that mirrored the tempest building in his chest. The clouds were bloated, dark as his thoughts, and thunder rolled across the sky with a violence that shook even the faith he held so dear.

You had come to his chambers in the dead of night, your knock barely audible over the howling wind. He had been preparing for bed, freshly out of the shower, wearing only his boxers when he heard you at the door.

The creak of the old wood seemed to echo forever as he opened it, and there you stood, eyes wide, looking so impossibly fragile in the dim candlelight of the corridor. Your modest night slip clung to your form, the thin fabric shifting in the draft that sneaked in from the hallway.

Charlie's breath had caught in his throat at the sight of you, innocence incarnate, seeking refuge with him.

He hesitated for only a moment before allowing you in, quickly wrapping himself in a silk robe that hung loosely on his shoulders, barely tied. He knew he should not let you enter, but there was something in the way you looked at him—so trusting, so devoted—that made him abandon every rational thought.

You had come asking to pray with him, your soft voice trembling as you spoke. The storm outside seemed like a reflection of the turmoil within him as he let you step past the threshold, closing the door behind you.

Now, you were here, kneeling before him, your eyes upturned and wide, waiting for his command, for his instruction like the obedient servant of God that you were.

Your soft voice brought him out of his thoughts, a gentle, "Father...?"

Charlie could only lament to himself how sinfully pure you looked. He hummed softly, his eyes dark as they trailed over you, lingering on the curve of your shoulders, the delicate line of your neck.

The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across your skin, highlighting the innocence that made his hunger all the more unbearable.

"Yes, forgive me, Sister. Let us now pray," he finally said, his voice low and rough, the words nearly swallowed by the sound of the wind outside. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your forehead, and you leaned into the touch without hesitation, your eyes closing as if his hand was a blessing.

He swallowed hard, his thoughts spiraling deeper into the forbidden desires he had tried so desperately to keep buried.

He began to pray, his voice low, raspy, each word a struggle against the chaos inside him. "Heavenly Father, we come before you tonight..." But the words felt hollow, their meaning slipping away as he watched you, kneeling so obediently at his feet.

His eyes darkened, wandering further down, tracing the lines of your form. The way your lashes fluttered against your cheeks, the soft rise and fall of your chest with each breath—it all seemed to pull him further from the sanctity of the moment.

He should have been thinking of God, of salvation, of the purity of the prayer—but instead, he was thinking of you, of the way the thin fabric clung to your skin, the soft curve of your breasts visible through the modest slip.

He licked his lips, his gaze fixed on the delicate line of your collarbone, the way it rose and fell with each breath you took.

The more he spoke, the less the words mattered. He could feel the heat rising in his chest, spreading through his body, his thoughts growing more erratic, each word of the prayer slipping further from its sacred meaning, twisting into something profane, something filthy. "Protect us from all evil..." he whispered as he traced the line of your jaw with his thumb, the words a bitter irony as he felt himself drawn further into the darkness of his desires.

His hand moved lower, fingers trailing down your neck, lingering at the hollow of your throat. His touch was gentle, but there was a weight behind it, a hunger that he could no longer deny.

He could almost see the curve of your bare skin beneath the thin fabric, the outline of your body that he should not be imagining. He tried to focus on the prayer, but every word felt like a lie. He let out a shaky breath, the prayer faltering on his lips. "Guide us... guide us in your light," he managed, his voice thick with the weight of his longing.

The storm outside raged on, the wind howling as if to warn him, but Father Charlie could no longer hear it. All he could hear was the pounding of his own heart, the rush of blood in his ears as he looked down at you, so trusting, so willing.

As the final words of the prayer fell from his lips—"Amen"—you echoed him, your voice soft and unwavering. You blinked open your eyes, looking up at him with such innocence and Charlie felt himself slip past the point of no return.

He knew that no amount of prayer could ever cleanse him of what he wanted, that he could no longer pretend, no longer fight against the pull that drew him to you—the sweet, precious nun who had unknowingly captured his very soul.

Father Charlie stood, his robe slipping slightly from his shoulders, exposing the toned muscle beneath. The wind howled outside, and thunder bellowed again, followed by a flash of lightning that lit the room in a brief, startling blaze of white.

You were still kneeling before him, your wide eyes following his every movement, the flickering light casting you in both shadow and radiance.

Charlie bent at the waist, his fingers reaching out to cup your jaw, thumb caressing your bottom lip as his half-lidded eyes trailed over your face. "Sister ____," he murmured, his voice dripping with a twisted kind of affection, his name for you almost reverent, as though you were something sacred, something he could worship in his own unholy way.

You blinked, shifting slightly beneath his touch, a soft stutter escaping your lips. "F-Father...?"

He grasped one of your hands, his fingers wrapping around yours, and as he stood, he gently urged you to rise with him. His gaze never left your face, his eyes dark and full of something raw. He began to speak, his voice barely more than a murmur, the words heavy with confession. "As a man of God, there are expectations placed upon me," he started, his tone wavering between remorse and something darker, something that made his grip on your hand tighten. "I am meant to guide, to protect, to remain steadfast in my faith."

His other hand moved, slowly pulling your trembling hand against his bare stomach, pressing your palm against the hard planes of his abdomen.

You gasped, your eyes wide as you looked up at him, your hand trembling beneath his. The heat of his skin burned into your palm, the muscles flexing beneath your touch.

Charlie continued, his voice lowering, growing more intense as he spoke. "But these days... these days, Sister, I find myself at war. At war with desires that threaten to consume me..." His words trailed off, and he let out a low hum as he rubbed your hand across his stomach, the movement slow, deliberate.

Your hand hesitated for a moment, the warmth of his skin making you tremble as you instinctively pulled back. But his grip was firm, guiding you back, and slowly, tentatively, your fingers splayed across his stomach, your touch feather-light.

You swallowed hard, your eyes flickering down before you took a timid step closer, as if drawn by some invisible force. Your gaze shifted to the side, your cheeks warming with embarrassment at the proximity, at the way you could feel his heart beating beneath your palm.

Father Charlie's eyes never left you, and he could see every ounce of hesitation, every flicker of uncertainty that danced across your face. He leaned in slightly, his breath brushing against your forehead as he spoke, his voice a low murmur, "There's no need to be afraid, Sister. You are safe here... with me."

You blinked, your lashes fluttering as you dared to look up at him, your eyes meeting his through the veil of uncertainty.

There was something in his gaze, something dark and magnetic that pulled at you, made your pulse race. His thumb brushed the edge of your jaw; the touch almost comforting, but there was an intensity behind it that made you shiver.

"Do you trust me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes searching yours.

You nodded slowly, not trusting your voice to speak, your fingers trembling slightly against his skin. He smiled, a slow, almost predatory curve of his lips, and he hummed again, satisfied with your silent answer.

His other hand moved to rest against the small of your back, pulling you just a little bit closer, his robe parting further, exposing more of his chest.

Your breath hitched as you felt the distance between you closing, the way his body seemed to envelop yours. You could barely think, your mind clouded with the storm of emotions and the strange, electric pull you felt toward him.

His thumb traced along your bottom lip, his eyes darkening as he watched you. You felt your pulse quicken, your knees weakening under the intensity of his gaze.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice a mix of praise and something darker, something that made your heart pound even harder. His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt your body react, leaning in just slightly, as if craving more of his warmth, his touch.

His fingers trailed lower, coaxing your hand along his body, and you felt the tension, the desire in every muscle. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a husky whisper, "Let me show you, Sister ____... let me show you what devotion truly means."

He kissed you then, his lips crashing against yours like a man starved. His mouth moved hungrily, tasting, devouring, and you felt his tongue lick into your mouth, coaxing a soft, surprised whimper from your throat. His groan vibrated against your lips, the sound raw and desperate.

Your head spun, your senses overwhelmed by the taste of him, the sheer need in his kiss.

You pulled back, gasping for air, your lips tingling from the force of his kiss. He didn't give you a moment to recover; his lips moved to your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin.

He nipped at your neck, his teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp, to make your knees weaken beneath you. The heat of his mouth trailed down, his tongue flicking out to soothe each small bite, and you felt your body trembling, a warmth pooling low in your belly.

Charlie's hands were relentless, holding you steady as your body threatened to give out, your knees buckling as his mouth worked against your skin. He pulled back only long enough to whisper your name, his voice thick with something between reverence and hunger.

Before you knew it, he had scooped you up, his arms strong and sure as he carried you towards his bed. Your breath hitched, your fingers clinging to his robe as he moved, each step filled with purpose.

He set you down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath your weight. His eyes roamed over you, dark and filled with desire, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.

Father Charlie moved quickly, his hands deft as he pushed your slip off your shoulders, the fabric sliding down your skin and pooling around your waist. His lips followed the path of the falling slip, pressing soft, lingering kisses along your shoulders, his warm breath fanning across your skin.

You shivered beneath his touch, the cool air of the room prickling at your exposed skin, your nipples pebbling in response.

His eyes darkened at the sight of you, and he let out a low groan, his hands running along your bare arms, feeling the way you trembled beneath him. "You're like a goddess," he murmured, his voice thick with reverence and lust. "Perfect. Untouched. A temptation I can't resist." His lips found your collarbone, kissing, nipping, his words vibrating against your skin.

You felt heat rise in your cheeks, your heart pounding as his lips moved lower, trailing down the center of your chest, his hands spreading across your back, urging you to arch into him. His kisses were relentless, each one making your breath catch, making your body react in ways that felt both unfamiliar and thrilling.

You couldn't stop the soft whimper that escaped your lips, your hands clutching at the sheets beneath you, unsure of what to do, where to touch.

Charlie pulled back for a moment, his eyes locking onto yours, his gaze filled with hunger. He pushed you back against the bed, guiding you to lie down, his hands never leaving your body, his touch possessive, as if he couldn't bear to be without contact. He looked down at you, splayed out before him, your slip barely covering you, and he licked his lips, his eyes raking over every inch of your exposed skin.

"Look at you," he whispered, his voice dripping with a mix of adoration and hunger. "So innocent, so pure... and all mine." He leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a heated kiss, his hands working the slip further down your body, baring you completely to him.

The cool air made you shiver, your body exposed, vulnerable, and you couldn't help the way your legs shifted, instinctively trying to close.

Charlie's hands moved to your knees, gently but firmly pushing them apart, his eyes never leaving your face as he watched your reaction. His lips moved from your mouth, trailing down your jaw to your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin as he groaned against you.

He pulled the slip away entirely, tossing it aside, his hands roaming over your bare skin, mapping every inch as though he were committing you to memory. "You are... perfection," he muttered, his voice strained, filled with a hunger that made your breath hitch.

His lips moved lower, trailing down your body, leaving a heated path across your chest, your stomach, and further down. His hands were strong, keeping your legs pinned open to the bed, his fingers pressing into your thighs with a possessive hold. He kissed along your inner thighs, his warm breath fanning over your skin, making you shiver, anticipation coiling in your belly.

You instinctively tried to scoot back, to move away as you felt his breath getting closer to your core, but Charlie's grip tightened, his hands holding you firmly in place. He looked up at you, his eyes dark, almost predatory, as he whispered, "Stay still, Sister... let me worship you."

He breathed you in, a deep, satisfied groan rumbling from his chest. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, as if savoring the scent of you, and then he leaned in, his tongue licking a slow, deliberate stripe from your entrance to your clit.

A squeal, half surprise and half pleasure, escaped your lips, your back arching slightly off the bed.

Father Charlie's tongue moved with a purpose, his lips wrapping around your clit, sucking gently before flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud. His hands kept your legs spread, his grip firm and unyielding as he worked his mouth against you, his groans vibrating against your core.

He was relentless, his mouth moving with a hunger that made your head spin, your fingers gripping the sheets beneath you, trying to ground yourself as waves of pleasure washed over you.

You could feel his smooth skin against your inner thighs, the sensation only adding to the overwhelming pleasure that built inside you. His tongue moved in slow, teasing circles, his lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against you, his eyes flicking up to watch your every reaction.

The sight of you—your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, the way your chest heaved with every ragged breath—only seemed to spur him on, his groans growing louder as he tasted you.

Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, your hips bucking against his mouth, a whimper slipping from your lips. Charlie's hands moved to hold your hips down, pinning you to the bed as he continued, his tongue delving into you, his nose brushing against your clit as he worked, utterly consumed by the taste of you.

He was lost in it, in you, his tongue moving faster, his mouth desperate as he devoured you.

You gasped, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer, your body trembling beneath him. The heat built inside you, coiling tighter and tighter, until you felt like you might break apart. His name fell from your lips, a breathless plea, and he groaned in response, the vibrations sending a shockwave of pleasure through you.

Your back arched off the bed, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps as you felt yourself teetering on the edge, your body ready to fall apart under his touch.

Your first orgasm washed over you without warning, a blinding wave of pleasure that left you feeling weightless, your entire body trembling as you came undone beneath him. You melted into the bed like butter, your limbs going limp as the intensity of it left you breathless.

Charlie's mouth moved against you with a fervent hunger, drinking in every bit of your release as if it were the most sacred offering.

A small whimper escaped your lips as the sensation grew overwhelming, your body growing sensitive to his touch. He didn't stop, his tongue moving lazily, drawing out every last bit of pleasure from you, his mouth still savoring you.

Your grip on his head shifted, your fingers now pushing at him, trying to get him to stop, but his hands only gripped your thighs tighter, keeping you in place. "W-Wait..." The heat in your stomach was already starting to build again, the slow, deliberate movements of his tongue igniting another fire deep within you.

Charlie groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core, his face buried even further between your legs, his tongue relentless.

Your breath came in quick, shallow gasps, your body trembling once more as the pleasure built. You could feel another orgasm approaching, your mind spinning as you tried to form words, but all that left your throat were broken, incoherent sounds—static that filled the room as you babbled.

You tried to scoot back, to move away from the overwhelming sensation, but Charlie's strong arms wrapped around your hips, yanking you back down, his grip unyielding. His own hips pressed into the bedding below, his desperation evident as he devoured you.

You teetered on the edge once more, the pleasure too much, too intense, until it finally broke over you again, your body arching, your mind going completely blank as you came undone a second time.

The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the sensation of his mouth on you, the heat, the pressure, the overwhelming ecstasy that left you gasping for air.

As you came down from your high, your body trembling, Father Charlie finally pulled back, his lips and chin glistening. He stared up at you with dark, lidded eyes, his expression filled with hunger, with desire that seemed insatiable.

There was no hesitation, no regret—only a raw need that made it clear he no longer cared about going against his vows, no longer cared about the priesthood or what was right.

All that mattered to him was you.

A/N: i'm sorry, i just watched Grotesquerie last night and i've become obssessed.... ugh, the tension between father charlie and sister megan is just *chefs kiss* it's clear that megan is obviously meant to be y/n and the screenplay was written in the intent of it being catered to the female gaze because wheeeeww 😩...

[froothytoothy]

Your Idol

Saja Boys x Idol! Reader │ part 3 │ previous │ next │

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summary - you get closer to the saja boys but start to suspect they want to be more than just friends

warning - fem reader, possessive behaviour, sexual tension, swearing, sadistic behaviour

w/c - 7,2K

a/n - ignore how late this chapter is soo much stuff happened, also I love this gif, mystery's just in his own world, pls correct me if there are any mistakes, comments, reblogs and likes are much appreciated, hope you enjoy!

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“Mystery, calm down. You don't want to kill them just yet”.

“But I do, I really fucking do”, he growled, opening his mouth wider to absorb the disgusting soul in front of him. 

They didn't deserve mercy. 

He wanted to kill them and make them suffer the same way they made you suffer.

When Jinu had asked the humans to follow him, he'd lured them into an empty room where the other Saja Boys were waiting. They then began to slowly, painfully, extract the souls from them, one by one. 

None of the boys were doing this out of hunger, in fact, the souls of the balding, old man and porcelain-faced girls were so bitter it felt more like a chore. 

No, they were doing this simply for the fun of it. 

Hearing them beg and scream for mercy sent a chill down each of the boys' spines. They revelled in the pleasure of making them suffer, knowing this was only the start of their misery for everything they'd done against you. 

But unfortunately, Jinu interjected before they went too far. He claimed that they weren't allowed to kill them, yet. If they mysteriously disappeared, where would that lead you? It pained the boys to admit it, but they needed to keep them alive.

Harmoness would surely fail with three out of four members mysteriously disappearing. And your manager disappearing a couple of weeks before the Idol Awards wasn't going to make life any easier for you. Although out of the four, he was definitely the most expendable. 

Also, what if you got framed for being linked to their disappearance? 

They did frequently mistreat you, so your motives were clear, but they knew your kind heart couldn't bear to do anything like that.

“I have a better way of making them suffer”.

This caught his eye. 

Each of the boys turned to look at Jinu, dropping their attention away from the filthy humans in their arms.

Better way of making them suffer? Now that piqued their interest. 

“If you're suggesting violence, I have no issue with that”, Abby flaunts, flexing his muscles off, earning him an eye roll from the others. “But I'm not sure about Baby over here, a gust of wind might send him flying. He's too fragile to hurt anyone”.

The maknae responded with a kick to the back of Abby's leg, almost making his legs give out. He's a lot stronger than Abby thought he'd be. 

“Better than violence”, Jinu smirked, ”A slow and painful way of ruining their lives”. The idea pleased the others, now that was a plan they were up for. 

And so it began. 

During the upcoming weeks till the Idol Awards, rather than fully extracting their souls, they would take small parts of it. Not enough to kill them, but enough that their energy would be so drained it would make them walking corpses.

Jinu had even found some loyal fans from the Underworld to help with taking their souls whilst they were busy preparing for the Idol Awards, for the small price of an autograph and a handshake. He was glad he wouldn't have to taste another second of their bitter souls.

 

Training for the Idol Awards would prove difficult for the other members of Harmoness with the lack of energy they had, and so when they got on stage, it would leave room for (Y/N) to shine like she deserved. 

And once their use had run out, they would kill them. 

The process was a bit tedious, having to make sure the demon fans wouldn't accidentally kill the humans, but they'd do anything for you if it meant seeing your day get just a bit better. 

Their plans with the HUNTR/X had become an inconvenience, for now they only wanted to focus on you. You were the only thing that was important to them. 

─────────────

The day you were discharged from the infirmary, you went back to your locker to pick up your phone and the gift you were supposed to give the Saja Boys. You let out a frustrated sigh, wondering how stupid you had to be for forgetting to give it to them. 

They were right in front of you, (Y/N), you could've told them about your gift.

For now, all you could do was hope you'd see them again soon. You'd spent all those hours pulling an all-nighter and even skipping dinner, just for you to forget about the gift. 

Rather than taking it home, you decided to wait a couple of days to see if the Saja Boys would make another appearance in the building. You doubted it, but after your last encounter with them, you were a little more hopeful. 

After being trapped in the dance studio, you made sure to keep a close hold of your phone, making sure something like that would never happen again.

As soon as you entered your small, shabby apartment, you fell back onto the bed in exhaustion. You couldn't believe the day you had. 

From getting locked in a dance studio to being rescued by the Saja Boys. 

It sounded like something from a fairy tale.

But the best part of your day was that note. You dug into your trouser pocket, looking around for the piece of paper you had stored in there. 

When you found it, you looked at it and reread the message, the words floating around your head like a globe. No matter what you did, you just couldn't shake the sentence out of your head.

call me don't text I want to hear your voice

Quickly, you grabbed the pillow from under your head and brought it to your face, letting out a loud squeal. The pillow did little to suppress the volume of your screams, but it's the thought that counts. 

You still couldn't wrap your head around the idea that someone like Baby would write that for you. It completely contradicted the quiet, adorable self he was known for. But you'd be lying if you said that you didn't find it slightly attractive.

Was he serious about wanting you to call? Did he even want you to contact him?

You thought it over, realizing it was stupid thinking like that, why would he give you his number if he didn't want you contacting him? 

Oh my god. 

A sudden realization hits you. 

He wants to talk to you. 

Seconds later, you found the pillow back in your face, and another screeching sound coming from your lips, your feet kicking off the bed in joy. It was crazy even thinking about it, but it was true. Baby wanted to talk to you.

Suddenly, your mind went blank, and you quickly shot out of your bed. You grabbed your phone from your desk and immediately started typing up the numbers on the note.

You had to call him now, or you may never find the courage to do it again. 

Once you finished inserting the numbers, you quickly fixed up your hair on instinct and cleared your throat. It felt like you were about to meet him again for the first time. The way you met Baby and the other Saja Boys was completely out of your control, but this time things were different. Now, you had the choice to talk to him. 

But because you were in control, you started to worry. A brief moment of hesitation hit you, and you felt your heart quickly beating against your chest. You were never very good when it came to phone calls. 

Something about the painstakingly long seconds that it took for someone to answer, or the lack of visuals you had of the other person just frightened you. 

Standing in front of thousands of fans, singing high notes, and performing complex dance moves was fine, no pressure. 

But a phone call with Baby of all people.

You breathed out before you could panic anymore. Without thinking, you shut your eyes and swallowed down your anxiety, before pressing the call button.

Immediate regret started to set in, and you quickly moved your finger towards the red button to hang up, but the screen quickly changed, showing the person on the other end had picked up.

You froze.

You hadn't prepared for what to say. 

For a while the call was filled with the awkward sound of pure silence, so silent you could hear a pin drop. You were silently hoping that you’d dialled the wrong number or that he'd just hang up, thinking it was a prank call.

"You called me like I asked, good girl".

He knew it was you. 

How did he know? 

“I knew you'd call me, doll”.

A soft giggle escaped you, amused at how he seemingly knew your every thought. Already, your nerves were washing away just after hearing him speak. It's as though his voice, or just his presence was enough to make you feel just a bit better. 

You felt the same way with all the boys, each one making you feel so safe. Even though you just met them, you felt that as long as they were around, nothing would happen to you. 

“I didn't call you at a bad time, did I?”

“If you're calling, then no”.

It was hard getting used to Baby's flirty personality, so you were glad that he couldn't see your blushing face through the phone. 

“Have you eaten yet?” he asked, his voice holding traces of concern, most likely because of today's earlier events. You found it sweet how worried he was, and your mind wandered back to when he'd gotten all those snacks for you. He really didn't have to do that, but he did. 

You definitely weren't planning on wasting all that food, so you left some in your locker and took the rest home. There wasn't much food in your apartment, so you were really thankful to Baby. 

He was definitely the ‘actions speak louder than words’ kind of guy. You could tell that he wasn't fond of talking too much, so you could understand why he'd be like that. 

“I just came back home, so not yet”.

“Make sure to eat a lot. Fuck that diet.” His voice held so much malice that you would've assumed he were a victim of it.

“The food you gave me will make sure of that”, you laugh, hearing a small chuckle on the other side of the phone. 

“And make sure to sleep early this time, (Y/N)”.

Before you could respond, you heard a loud scream in the background, and the sounds of feet rushing towards you. You moved the phone away from you to check if it was coming from near you, but it wasn't. 

When you put the phone back to your ear, you could hear your name being called out.

 

“(Y/N), (Y/N) IS THAT YOU?!” 

More shuffling occurred, and you could only assume it was one of the other members of the Saja Boys. They must've heard Baby talking to you and wanted to speak to you too. The thought made your heart beat just a bit faster, it felt really good to be wanted. 

“Baby, how could you call (Y/N) without me?” Now that the voice was closer to you, you knew it was Romance talking. 

His attention turned back to you, his previous frustrated voice switching to a sweet, comforting one, “(Y/N), my princess, how are you? You should add me too, my number is -”

“(Y/N), we’re going to go”, Baby interrupted, seeming frustrated by Romance's presence. You were about to respond till you heard even more arguing, something about not letting Romance speak to you. 

A bunch of shouting and swearing was heard, before eventually the call came to a stop. He'd hung up. 

Oh

It was a chaotic way to end things, but it was so much better than the terrible scenarios you'd made up. You made sure to add Baby to your contacts and send him a quick goodnight message. 

You laid back on the bed, still unsure if all of this was real. You could only imagine what's more to come. 

─────────────

Ever since that day, things have gotten stranger than ever. 

Hojin and your group members were constantly out of energy. You mentally prepared yourself before seeing them the day after the Saja Boys came over, but to your surprise, they were just in their own world. Staring off into space, and even bumping into each other.

It was an uncanny resemblance to zombies, which was strange considering how fussy they were with their image. 

Except maybe Hojin. 

During practice, they would hardly put any effort into their dancing and would even forget some of their lines. Your dance instructor didn't usually hold any bias towards any of the members, but due to recent developments, you had become her favourite. 

“Thank you, (Y/N), for still being your usual self. Not sure what's gotten into the others, but I'm glad to see you're still the same”, she praised, although her eyes held some frustration, most likely directed towards your members. 

They were usually so good, so what changed? She thought. 

You gave a small smile and nodded in response, “Maybe they're just a bit stressed about the awards coming up”. Honestly, you highly doubted that, considering they never got stressed about anything, but you hoped your dance instructor would be a bit more understanding.

Even though you knew they'd enjoy talking bad about you if you were in this situation, you didn't care. You wouldn't stoop to their level. 

When you went back to your locker to get changed, you saw the gift bag, tucked away safely at the bottom. You let out a small sigh before picking it up and putting it in your backpack, realizing it had been there too long and it was just taking up space. 

You didn't want to explicitly ask Baby if they could meet up to give him the gifts since you didn't want to intrude on his busy schedule or make him feel pressured to meet with you if he didn't want to. 

As you were walking to the entrance of the building, you could see the people leaving with you taking out umbrellas and zipping up their coats.

You mentally groaned, silently cursing the weatherman for his far-off facts. 

“Clear skies all day”, he said. 

That day you were wearing your favorite oversized sweater with some baggy pants. That was it. No hood, no coat, no umbrella. 

You would've called a taxi if you didn't live so far away from the company building. Since it was in a popular area, the apartments around it were all really expensive. Your only option was to live in a shabby apartment, in a shady neighborhood, an hour away from the company building. 

The last time you got a taxi, due to a similar situation with the snow, it ended with you being forced to live off of stale bread for the next couple of weeks. 

You let out a breath, tightly holding onto your backpack straps, and mentally prepared yourself before entering the storm (literally and figuratively). The bus stop was ten minutes away from the building, so you could only pray the storm would magically clear in the meantime. 

Dance practice had been extended a couple of hours due to the other members, meaning it was very late, and you knew the last bus would be showing up in less than fifteen minutes. You had to take this bus or you wouldn't be getting home tonight, unless you planned on walking a couple of hours in the pouring rain. 

Once you got closer to the exit, you found that you could barely see anything outside. The surroundings were fully grey, covered up by the rain. 

Shit.

You let out a shaky breath before offering a silent prayer to yourself and making a run for it. 

The weight of the raindrops towered over you, and your vision was heavily blocked, leaving you constantly bumping into people.

This was absolute torture. 

─────────────

You didn't know how long you were walking for, but you knew you weren't anywhere near the bus stop. 

It shouldn't have taken this long to get there, but when you accidentally slipped on a puddle, much to your embarrassment, your movements ended up slowing down significantly due to both your knees being scratched up. So you had to start limping to the bus stop. 

With every step you took you could feel the water running around your shoe, as though it was trapped there. And your clothes were soaked all the way to your undergarments, making them stick to you uncomfortably. 

Despite all that, you just prayed the gift in your backpack was at least somewhat salvageable. Good thing your backpack was waterproof, so there was some hope. 

The storm hadn't let out like you thought it would, and since you couldn't miss the bus, you just had to keep going. You were freezing cold, and you knew this was going to bite you back once you finally got home. At least you wouldn't have to deal with everyone's strange behavior since you were most likely going to be bedridden for the next couple of days. 

Once you looked up, you could see it. 

The bus stop. 

You beamed in joy, finally something good! 

But to your horror, you could see the bus already there. 

And you were a street away from it. 

Pulling through the pain coming from your legs, you ran as fast as your aching legs could take you. You stumbled a couple of times in the process, your legs feeling like a block of ice. 

When you saw the bus starting to move, you started screaming at it to wait. The volume of the rain overtook yours, leaving the bus to speed off without you. 

All you could do was stand there miserably in the pouring rain. Now there really was no hope of getting home. 

Whilst you were walking back in sorrow, you could see a car fast approach you, and you mentally prepared yourself to get drowned in muddy water, but you soon heard it come to a halt right next to you. 

It should've been slightly reassuring, but it did the opposite. Because of the time, the sky was pitch black, and not a single soul was around because of the rain.

This was the perfect opportunity to kidnap someone. 

You started backing away from the car, preparing to run in case someone tried to snatch you. Even though you knew you wouldn't get very far, it was still worth trying. 

“Love, is that you?” 

You turned your head at the familiar voice and saw Abby looking at you through the open car window. Once you made eye contact with him, he bolted out the car and rushed to your side, scooping you up in his arms and dragging you to the passenger seat of his car. 

It all happened so fast, you barely had time to process it.

Did you just get kidnapped by Abby? 

You turned to look at him and saw him rummaging around, looking for something in a panic. 

“Abby, what-”

“Ah, found it, here”, he exclaimed , pulling out some tissues and wiping you down with them. You were too flustered to speak, so you just sat there frozen in place. His face was inches away from yours as he moved the tissues in random places on your body.

 

Up your arms, across your face, along your thighs. With every little touch, you felt yourself squirming more and more. 

The barrier of the tissue did little to block the feeling of his hands. Despite being freezing cold moments ago, you felt your body warm up rapidly. 

As his hands were trailing across your thighs, almost in a tauntingly seductive way, you couldn't help but notice the bulging veins spread across his hands. Along with that, his fingers were adorned with several rings of different shapes and sizes, in an almost random pattern. The sight let off a desire in you you didn't known you had. 

“You see something you like?” he teased, lifting his head up from your lap to look at you with a smirk. Quickly, you shook your head and looked off to the side, embarrassed at being caught. You could hear the sweet sound of his laughter, and he took his hands off your body, leaving you slightly disappointed. 

“I don't have any towels, so that's the best I can do, but I'll turn on the heating for you”, he says and does just that. As you were about to thank him, he interrupted you, his face expression changing.

“What were you thinking, being out there in this weather? And at this time of night? Something could've happened to you!” Even though you could see how worried he was, it still upset you, seeing him so mad at you. 

You looked down at your lap with guilt and mumbled out an apology, “I needed to get home, and the bus was my only option. Sorry for troubling you...”

There were a couple of moments of silence between the two of you, so you mustered up the courage to look up at him. His eyes had softened , and he was staring down at you. 

“When I saw you out there”, he began, “When I saw you, I was just praying it wasn't you. I'm sorry for getting mad, I just…got so scared”.

Since never seen such a vulnerable side to Abby before, you could tell he was being genuine. You knew his emotions came from a good place. 

Your hand reached his, and you squeezed it lightly as a way of accepting his apology. Perhaps him touching you so intimately boosted your confidence, since you weren't sure where your newfound confidence came from. 

Rather than letting go like you thought he would, he gripped it tighter and put both his and your hand on your thigh, reassuringly. Before you could question it, he started driving again. 

“We shouldn't waste any more time, you're coming home with me”, he said firmly, his left hand on the driver's seat, his right hand laid comfortably on your thigh. 

For a moment, your mind hadn't processed his words, too distracted by the hand on your thigh. 

“Wait, what, your house? But why? You can just drop me off somewhere and I can wait till the storm stops, or just at my apartment”.

Abby gave you a look of disapproval before looking at the road again, “That was the last bus of the day, did you plan to stay out here all night?”

Your silence answered his question, so he continued. 

“You're soaking wet and injured, what kind of monster would I be if I abandoned you like this? I'm taking you to my house to at least dry off”.

Knowing there was no arguing with him, you sat there, a warm smile brushed your cheeks as you thought back to a couple of days ago. 

“Thank you for this, Abby. It's funny, I remember you saving me in the dance studio as well”, you laughed, finding the coincidence both strange and amusing. “You must be sick of saving me by now”.

“Never”.

The squeeze on your thigh brought your attention back to Abby's face, his eyes full of confidence. He was still facing the road, but you knew his words were directed solely at you. “I'll always be there to protect you, I'd never get sick of you”.

You could feel your cheeks warm up, and you couldn't help but feel somewhat special. Somehow, the members of the Saja Boys were slightly protective of you. You didn't know how common that was, but you doubt it was all that normal, so you couldn't help the feeling that you were special. 

And it felt good. 

Being special to someone was being irreplaceable to them. It was a wonderful, safe feeling. Whenever you thought of the boys, you thought of that feeling, so you knew Abby's words were true. You knew he'd always protect you. 

You knew because you could feel it. 

“I never did ask, how did you end up hurting yourself?” Abby asks, breaking the silence. 

“I slipped on a puddle”, you reply casually. 

“Silly girl”.

Despite his teasing words, he rubbed your hand to comfort you. You gave him a small smile and leaned against the window, taking in the peaceful silence between you. 

─────────────

“We're almost there”, Abby says, and you wake up from your daydreaming to take a look at your surroundings. You began to gawk at the rows of mansions you passed, realizing you were in a rich neighborhood. A lot of celebrities probably lived around here. 

“Right there is where I live”, he brags, pointing to the mansion you were approaching. It was one of the biggest in the neighbourhood, and was pretty much just like all the others, aside from the abundance of all kinds of flowers and roses. 

“You live there, all by yourself?”. You couldn't believe it, you get that he was famous, but wasn't this a bit excessive? 

“Nah, of course not. I live with the rest of the Saja Boys”, he says casually and drives past the gates and into the parking spot near the entrance. You could see several other parked cars besides the one you were in.

If all the members lived together, then the flowers must've been Romance's doing, you thought, knowing how much he loves flowers. 

You admired how close all the members were, so much that they would live together. It was so sweet, they were all like a family. 

After admiring their lavish cars, you’d come to a quick realization. If the cars are here, than that means that the rest of the Saja Boys are in the house too. 

You mentally groaned. It was already embarrassing Abby seeing you drenched in the rain, but all the members?

The embarrassment was too much to even think about. 

The feeling of a jacket wrapping around your shoulders brought your attention back to the boy next to you. He gave you a comforting smile before opening the door next to him, “Even though the distance isn't far, I don't want you getting any more wet than you already are”. 

You held the jacket closer to you, feeling Abby's warmth spread across you, almost as though it were his arms wrapping around you. Due to his size, the jacket encompassed you in a way that made you feel much smaller compared to his stature. 

The door next to you opened, and you saw Abby holding out a hand for you, the other was above his head, attempting to block some of the rain from coming down on him. You quickly grabbed your backpack and took his hand, ignoring the sparks that came from the contact.

Suddenly, you felt the ground below you move further away. Abby had picked you up with just one arm and rushed towards the front door. 

Once you were both inside, he put you down gently, being mindful of your injury. You could tell he really liked carrying you for some reason. Already, you could feel the warm air of the home enter your body, and you hummed in pleasure, it felt good to be warm again. 

Turning to Abby, you could see him staring at you, his eyes holding a warm look, and you couldn't help but share the same look back. You both stayed like that for a while before being interrupted by a familiar voice. 

“You're back already, Abby. Did you bring any human so-” Jinu quickly paused once he took a look at you, his eyes quickly became panicked when he saw the state you were in. 

“(Y/N), darling, what happened to you?” He rushed towards you, his hands cupping your cheeks and inspecting the rest of your body with a worried expression.

Hearing the commotion, the other members slowly started coming in. Since demons didn't need sleep, they were all awake, waiting for Abby to come back to start planning for the Idol Awards.

They expected only Abby to be at the door, but instead, they also saw you, dressed in damp clothes and standing in a puddle of water. Your hair was sticking to your skin, and despite the situation, they thought you looked ethereal. 

Your face was planted between Jinu’s hands, and you found yourself unconsciously rubbing your cheeks into them, like a cat. Almost purring at how warm his large hands felt. 

Like lying on a hot water bottle, you thought. 

“Darling?” Jinu speaks up, and you look up, seeing him amused by your actions, but still concerned. Each of the boys started surrounding you, bombarding you with questions. 

“Why are you so wet?”

“What happened, angel?”

“Princess, your legs... what happened to them?”

You were so overwhelmed with the questions that you didn't know what to say or who to answer first. Luckily, Abby noticed and stepped in to help. 

“Alright, alright, leave the poor girl alone”, he commands, wrapping his arm around you and pushing the others away, giving you some space. The others glared at him for taking you away from them, but they understood. You looked a lot less stressed once you were away from the crowd. 

“I'll explain everything later, because someone needs to dry off”, Abby says, looking down at you and dragging you towards his room. 

“I can carry you if you want”.

You smile and politely decline, seeing his shirt a bit wet from picking you up. If he got any wetter, he might end up catching a cold. 

Along the way, you could see just how big the mansion was from the inside. The decor was a beautiful mixture of modern Western and traditional Korean interior design. 

It was such a refreshingly unique take that you couldn't help but stare at everything as you passed. Since your eyes went everywhere but the figure holding you, you hadn't noticed the way he stared at you, so fondly and with so much love. 

It hurt Abby so much to see you like that in the rain. He’d noticed you slightly limping and didn't hesitate to carry you to the car. It slightly upset him when you said you didn't want him carrying you to his room. To him, you weighed almost nothing, so why wouldn’t he carry you? 

After a while, Abby came to a stop, and you could see that you were in front of a door. “Welcome to my room”, he announces, before opening it. 

The first thing you noticed was the size of his room, it was probably the size of your entire apartment. And it was a lot cleaner than you thought it'd be, but still had a touch of his unique personality etched into it. 

Some workout equipment in one corner, a PC set up in the other, and a large TV in front of the bed. 

“Alright, love, enough looking, we need you dried off”. Abby starts grabbing some stuff out the cupboard and starts throwing them to you. 

“What's this for?” you questioned, holding up the clothes in front of you to inspect. An oversized sweater and some baggy pants. Although on Abby, it was probably just a regular size. He then threw a pair of clean boxers and a towel your way. 

“Clothes for you, can't have you walking around in wet clothes. It was the smallest I could find, so it might be a bit big on you”, Abby says and walks you towards what you assumed is the bathroom. 

“Whilst you have a shower, I'll take that bag of yours”, he holds out his hand for the bag. You looked down at it, wondering if you should tell him about the contents inside or just leave it. You couldn't possibly hand him and the others a wet gift, even if you did work so hard on it. 

Seeing your unsure expression, he put his hand on your shoulder instead, “What's wrong, love? You don't have to give it to me if you don't wanna. Just wanted to dry it off for you”.

Hearing him concerned for you gave you the confidence you needed to tell him the truth. 

“Before I'd met you, I had gifts for each of you, but the rain might've gotten to it”, you grimaced, looking up at him with guilt. “It's probably all wet, so I'll just take it back, so forg-”.

You were interrupted by Abby suddenly grabbing the bag and taking it from your hands. When you were about to protest, he lightly pushed you into the bathroom and shut the door. 

“Abby, what are you doing?” You tried opening the door, but it wouldn't move. He must've been holding onto it so you wouldn't leave. 

“Love, don't worry, we'll take this off your hands. Just have a shower, don't stress. There's a basket in there for your clothes and some slippers for your feet”. 

Honestly, you were too tired to argue back, so you headed towards the shower, although not without admiring the expensive-looking interior of the bathroom. 

─────────────

“Who does he think he is, taking her away from me?” Baby grumbled, mindlessly switching the channels on the TV. 

The other boys surrounding him shared his mindset. They'd hardly gotten the chance to speak with you, and suddenly Abby just steals you away from them. 

It pissed them off to no end. What made him so special? 

Abby came back, his cheeks were slightly red, and in his hands was (Y/N)’s bag. He'd been so pushy with you getting in the shower because he didn't want you seeing how red his face became when you told him about the gift. 

When it came to you, he felt so vulnerable, and something about that vulnerability scared him since he was so used to having this tough exterior everyone wanted him to have. 

The boys on the sofa all jumped up, waiting for (Y/N) to appear behind him. 

“It's just me, sorry about that”, Abby apologizes, rubbing his hand behind his neck. They all plopped back down onto the sofa in disappointment, why did it have to be him and not (Y/N)?

“Abby, what happened to her? How come she's soaking wet and injured?” Jinu interrogates, annoyed that he had to wait so long for an explanation. 

All of the boy's attention was now focused on Abby as he sat down on the floor in front of them. They could see he looked slightly frustrated, his hand brushing through his hair. Honestly, he didn't know where to start. 

“When I was driving, I saw her, and shit, she was drenched and limping. Apparently she had to take the bus to get home, but fell on her way. Damn it, why didn't she call us?”

He felt frustrated, not at you, but at himself. He blamed himself for not coming to you in time, despite there being no way he could've known. Abby didn't want to imagine what would've happened if he hadn't noticed you. 

He'd make sure to never let something like that happen ever again. 

Looking around, he could see the others feeling just as guilty. “Where is she now?” Mystery asked, his head down in worry. 

“In the shower”. Abby looked towards the direction of his room, wondering if you'd be alright on your own. 

“And why have you got her bag with you?” Romance questions, drawing everyone’s attention to it. 

Abby opened the bag and started taking the gift bag out, explaining how you made it for them. Luckily for you, only some of the gifts had gotten wet as one of the zips hadn't been fully closed.

Jinu sat on the floor with Abby to inspect the gifts. He read the labels planted on each gift and started handing them out to each of the members. 

The room went silent as they admired their gifts, carefully taking in the thought you put into them. Only did they finally look up once they heard the sounds of soft padding across the ground. 

The boys turned towards the door and saw you standing there, panting slightly and holding the wall for support. The pain in your knees had increased with the amount you had been standing, so walking had become a struggle. 

When you finished with the shower, you couldn't find Abby, so you figured you'd look for him and the others. Once their eyes landed on you, they couldn't help but coo at the sight of you drowning in Abby's clothes. 

The sleeves of the sweater he gave you had moved past your fingertips and had trailed all the way down to your knees. The pants had also reached down to your feet, covering them completely. You looked so small with those clothes, and a wave of protectiveness washed over them. The feeling of needing to keep you safe from the world hit them hard. 

Mystery got up from his place on the sofa and moved towards you quickly. You started to panic slightly, confused as to why he was moving so fast. Carefully, he grabbed you in his arms and brought you towards the sofa. He ended up on the floor with Jinu and Abby, leaving you sitting between Baby and Romance. 

You hadn't expected Mystery to be strong enough to even do that, so it definitely took you by surprise. Although considering they were all demons, they could carry you, easily. 

“Thank you..”, you mumble, a bit shy from the way the boys were staring at you. When you started to look around, you could see each of the boys holding the gifts you made for them and you let out a gasp. 

“Those gifts”.

“You got these for us?” asks Baby, still slightly taken aback at your thoughtfulness. 

You gave a shy nod, embarrassed that they were seeing the old gifts. It felt fine before, but after becoming friends with the Saja Boys, it felt a bit out of place, but still, you hoped they liked it. 

“You don't have to take them, I know they aren't very good and some things might've gotten a bit wet. I was going to give them to you ages ago but..” You stopped once you saw them lost in thought, staring solemnly at the gifts. 

Jinu was holding the cat plushie you had handmade for him. You got the idea from looking at clips of him randomly petting strays he found on the street. Since you wanted to make it more special, you thought it'd be better to just make it for him. Even though some water ended up getting to it, he still held it in his arms warmly. 

For Abby, you knew he liked working out, but it was a bit of an unknown fact that he secretly had a big sweet tooth. So the night before the tour you baked him some cookies, but by now it was definitely a bit stale. You were glad the container they were held in protected the cookies from any rain though. 

Mystery hardly spoke during interviews or fan sign events, but you knew exactly what to get him. You knew that Mystery enjoyed wearing all kinds of jewelry, specifically earrings, so you went out and bought a pair for him. Along with that, you made him a handmade bracelet with some beads and charms. 

It was a known fact that Baby loved spicy food, evident from his time on Play Games With Us. So you bought him his favourite spicy crisps, some Buldak noodles, and even some hot sauce. Although you didn't want to get him just that, so you made him a beaded phone charm, using the same beads you used for Mystery’s bracelet. 

Romance loved roses, something he'd often say in his interviews. For a while, you were considering buying him real roses, despite knowing your wallet couldn't handle it. But after some consideration you thought, why not just make them? It'd make it more special too. Out of all the gifts his took the longest to craft, especially as it had been your first time with origami. Since, you wanted it to be perfect it took a lot of trial and error. 

You almost cried once you saw the state of the flowers. Because of the rain, the paper roses you crafted were slowly crumbling apart, and one of the flowers had even come off its stem. But still, he held it in his hands tightly, afraid of losing something that he knew took you so long to make. He just couldn't believe you'd spend so long on something like this, despite never even meeting him. 

You were pretty upset about Romance and Jinu’s gifts that you started to profusely apologize. “You really don't have to take them, it's all wet, you can just throw them in the bin”.

A warm laughter coming from Romance interrupted your rambling, and everyone turned their attention to him. You sat there confused.

Did you say something funny? 

It wasn't until he placed the flowers on the floor and got up did you say something. Even the others didn't know what was going on. 

“Romance, I-”, you were interrupted when Romance bent down to your level, grabbed your chin, and brought your lips together. Your eyes widened, and your body froze in place. The contact between you two had completely silenced you. 

Romance adamantly released the kiss once he felt no air coming from you. It amused him, seeing you so taken aback that you’d forgotten to breathe, “wake up, princess. Don't want you dying on me”, he chuckled and started walking away, leaving you staring into space in shock. 

Did that just happen? 

“What the fuck, Romance?” Abby shouts, getting up from his spot on the ground. The rest of the boys did the same, all shouting at him from the living room, but your mind had tuned out the sounds.

The feeling of his chapped lips, delicately pressed against yours. The feeling of his warm breath fanning across your lips. The way he pulled you in, trapping you in a momentary ecstasy. 

It felt heavenly. 

Still, you couldn't believe it was real. 

Was this real? 

Jinu was about to go after him, but Romance quickly returned holding a hair dryer and a med kit for you. “I had to thank our dear (Y/N) somehow”, he taunts, which is met with more angry protests from the others. 

“Oh, come on, guys, you're just jealous I did it first”. That brought you back, why would they be jealous? 

You turned to look at the members and saw their heads facing down. Silence filled the room until Baby went up to Romance and yanked the hair dryer out of his hands. 

“Let's just do this”, he grumbled and moved towards you, the others sitting back down.

You sat there confused, why didn't anyone say no? 

Were they too embarrassed, or was it that they really did want to kiss you? 

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a/n - i must've been ovulating whilst writing that car scene cus woah, I tried tagging more ppl but it wouldn't let me I think the word count is too high, really sorry if u didn't get tagged

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