#mistakes avoid in recruiting

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Prison Warden

After getting thrown into jail for a crime you refuse to talk about, one of the wardens takes a keen interest in your past. Tags: Male Yandere x Fem Reader, blood, violence, mentions of child abuse, lowkey kind of sweet, 10k words

Being in jail is no fun. Being in a maximum security prison after being found guilty of homicide? Somehow even less fun.

You've tried to make the best of it. Got some posters to put up in your cell, started a book club, took up macramé. But you can't really paint a veneer of normalcy over incarceration.

It's violent, it's dirty, and most inmates tend to avoid you. And the thought of at least thirty more years of the same routine, day in and day out? Well, that's plain depressing.

Still, some days are worse than others. Today seemed like it was going to be a good day. The cafeteria food was actually hot, an acquaintance shared some gum with you, you managed to get a new book from the library. Things were, if not great, at least bearable.

Until the tour.

The wardens - also called Corrections Officers, COs, screws, or rotten, motherless bastards - were almost always training new recruits. The prison system had an unsurprisingly high turnover, which meant an almost constant stream of new faces. With time, you'd learnt to ignore the tours and walk-throughs. With one exception.

Slammer.

He was a senior CO who seemed to almost always turn your cell into the final stop on his grand introductory tour of the glorious prison system. Maybe you were just nice to look at or maybe he had a chip on his shoulder. Either way, things almost always ended with you being gawked at.

Like right now.

The 'tour group' was clustered outside your cell. Slammer was in the lead, his baton out and his little piggy eyes gleaming.

The trainees were in their new minted uniforms. Most of them uncomfortable and tugging at the scratchy, starched collars. You could have told them not to bother. That it was better for them to at least pretend they were comfortable. COs weren't your friends - every single prisoner in here would see that lack of confidence, that slight sense of unease. And they would pounce on it the first chance they got.

You hated being looked at like a zoo animal. And you especially hated the way Slammer showed you off to them like you some prize piece in his menagerie. Fellonus Homicidus perhaps.

You hated feeling their eyes on you. But you weren't going to make the mistake of showing them that. The less the COs knew about you, the better. It was like rule number three of incarceration. (Rule one being ‘never trust a warden’ and rule two being ‘don't fight the jacked inmate with prison tattoos.' Obviously).

You didn't bother to get up from your bunk to greet them. You stayed just as you had all afternoon - one arm behind your head and one leg hanging off the bed.

You pretended to keep reading your beat up paperback.

"This one is especially dangerous. Stabbed her neighbour forty eight times before the cops could get her off," Slammer told them.

"Forty six," you corrected without looking away from your book. "Coroner said it was forty six. Allegedly."

You could feel their eyes on you again.

"Right," Slammer drawled, "Because those last two stabs made all the difference."

You didn't bother to answer him.

"She really did that?" One of the trainees, a lanky guy with too large ears, asked. "She looks harmless."

You were almost offended at that. You flicked your eyes over them. They were mostly men, and most of them were looking at you in that hungry, contemplative way you knew so well. Wondering how much they could get away with once they were full fledged COs.

It should have bothered you. It didn't. Horny COs were just a part and parcel of life here. If you were smart, you could wring all sorts of goodies out of them before their supervisors caught on.

"Listen to me son. Every single prisoner in here is dangerous. They wouldn't be locked up if they were like you and me. They don’t feel guilt, not even when they steal from their poor old momma."

"You wound me, Slammer." You turned the page with a flick of your thumb. "I loved my mama. Only stole from her once or twice."

You didn't have much hope of them noticing your sarcasm. COs weren't the brightest bunch.

Slammer ignored you. "Don't ever say they're harmless. They sure as hell ain't. Two weeks here and you'll know exactly what I mean."

You could tell they didn't believe him. In the popular imagination, a women's prison was nothing like the men's. Women weren't dangerous. The trainees probably assumed you spent all day knitting scarves and talking about the lovely husband and kids you were oh so keen to get back to.

They would lose that notion pretty damn fast.

"Are you supposed to tell us the prisoners' charges?" A man's voice, neutral and respectful, but you thought you could hear a hint of reproach in his tone.

You looked back at the group and you were amazed that you didn't notice him earlier. He stood perfectly still, hands clasped behind his back like he was at parade rest. Unlike the others, he had the quiet confidence of someone who knew their job and knew it well.

His blond hair was slicked back and his uniform sat on him in a way that was a lot more natural than any of the others trainees. Ex-military or police, if you had to guess. Not that unusual. Corrections wasn't such a huge leap from those fields.

You sat up and answered him before Slammer could get a chance.

"He's not. Inmate information is confidential. But Slammer here doesn't always listen to the rules."

You shot the head CO a condescending smile. "He's a reaaal rebel."

Slammer scoffed. "The new officers have a right to know exactly how dangerous you are."

You put a hand to your chest, all faux innocence. "Little old me? Slammer, I'm a saint! A nun! I've been to chapel three times this week."

"Yeah. To sell cigarettes and buy booze."

"Just as the good Lord intended."

Slammer didn't find you funny. You could tell from the fact that a) he wasn't laughing and b) he was grinding his teeth like he was a beaver about to dig into a particularly scrumptious tree.

"Fact is, prisoners like her are the worst of the bunch. You think they're harmless, but the second you turn your back, they'll shiv you and run off with your tazer."

You grinned at the trainees as winningly as you could.

"Only did that once by the way. And the guy had it coming, swear on my mama."

Most of them were shifting around uncomfortably. Hearing Slammer keep banging on about your crimes was finally enough to get it through to them. The prisoners are not nice.

You'd assume that was obvious, but incarceration taught you that however slow you thought the wardens were, they could always get dumber.

The only one who didn't seem bothered was the blonde. He was looking at you like you were nothing more or less than a piece of furniture. You got the sense that he was analysing you, looking past your fake smile and even faker bravado.

You also got the feeling that he wasn't impressed with what he saw.

You flopped back down on your bunk and tried not to let it bother you. One more person thinking you were a delinquent. What difference did it make?

He was the last to leave. His eyes did one final scan of your cell before they landed on your paperback. He raised a brow.

"The Green Mile? Isn't that a bit depressing?"

You shrugged, uncomfortable but not entirely sure why.

"I like to think of it as aspirational."

"And why's that?"

"The wardens aren't all assholes."

That earned you a flicker of a smile before he turned on his heel and disappeared.

You forgot all about him after a week. To be fair, there were other things to occupy you. A fist fight on D Block that you somehow got dragged into. Drama in the book club. A warden getting caught with his pants down. Standard prison fare.

It was a Tuesday when you saw him again, in the middle of the cafeteria. You only had a split second to recognise him before he was dousing you in pepper spray and sweeping your legs out from under you.

That was misleading maybe. He wasn't totally unjustified in greeting you like that. You were technically in the middle of beating a CO with a lunch tray.

(He deserved it, but that's not exactly a good excuse when his nose is gushing blood all over the table).

You were still coughing on pepper spray when he hauled you to solitary, your eyes and throat burning.

"Glad...to see you got...the job Blondie," you managed to wheeze.

He sent you stumbling into the cell with a practiced push.

"Yep," he said simply, "They hired me on the spot."

Your shoulder was still a painful mess when he slammed and locked the door, leaving you in the half dark to wash the stinging out of your eyes.

You rubbed at your aching joints. "I can see why."

Pepper spray was considered the least lethal way to subdue a prisoner. Easier than a taser, less brutal than the baton. But despite its shining reputation, it was your least favourite tool in a CO’s belt. A taser was at least quick. The baton left a bruise but the pain didn't linger.

Pepper spray on the other hand? It left your eyes and throat and nose irritated for days.

You were still trying to rinse it out of your mouth when he returned, boots heavy on the linoleum and his keys rattling.

You turned to him with your white prison issued tank practically soaked. To most other guards, that would be an invitation to gawk. Not him though. His eyes never dipped below your chin.

"Sit down. I've got some cold cloths for the swelling."

You sat, more confused than anything else.

"That's not standard regulation Blondie. Usually, they just let us suffer through it."

He tossed you the cloths, still icy from a quick minute in the freezer. You pressed them to your face gratefully.

"It is standard regulation. Treating pepper spray once the prisoner is subdued."

You scoffed. "Why am I not surprised that no one ever told us that?"

He stayed quiet and you peaked at him over the edge of the fabric. He was a lot leaner than you realised, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, his forearms toned with muscle.

And covered in tattoos. Damn, he had some sick tats.

You cleared your throat, not exactly sure why he bothered to do this for you.

"Thank you. It sucks to deal with. Makes everything taste awful. For days."

He raised a brow.

"I just dragged you to solitary and your main worry is that the food won't taste good?"

"The food never tastes good. This is more so a matter of bloody awful becoming hellish awful."

"It can't be that bad."

"Get back to me after you've spent five years chomping down on lukewarm hash browns and soggy peas."

"You've been in here five years already?"

You sighed, pressed the cloth against your brows so you didn't have to look at him.

"Yep. And I've still got another thirty to go."

"Why?"

That got an unexpected laugh from you.

"Didn't you hear Slammer? Homicide. Found guilty on all charges."

"Did you do it?"

"Allegedly."

What was his angle? Was this some new, interactive approach to corrections? Getting friendly with the inmates so they were less likely to riot?

"Didn't they teach you not to ask those sorts of questions?" you asked. "Not really something people in here like to talk about."

You saw that little flicker of a smile again.

"They did. But I get the feeling you don't mind it as much."

He was right. You didn't mind. At least, not with him. He had a kind of quiet confidence that, surprisingly, made you feel comfortable.

"Why did you want to work in a prison? Or more accurately, what the hell went wrong that you ended up here?"

"You think it's such a bad job?"

"I'd never do it and I live here."

He leaned against the cell wall, hands on his belt. There it was again. A veteran's stance, weapons in easy reach in case you tried something.

"It's a boring story."

"I've got nothing but time."

That earned you another raised brow.

"As we've established."

What's this? A CO actually cracking a joke? You never thought you'd see the day.

"And anyway, we're not here to talk about me. I'm here to find out why you attacked my fellow officer."

Ah, so that was why he was playing nice.

"I didn't like his face."

He narrowed his eyes and pushed himself off the wall. "Disappointing. I thought you'd have a better reason than that."

You didn't like his tone, or the way it made you feel. Ashamed. Like you'd failed his test, even though you didn't know you were supposed to be studying.

He paused at the door, like something occurred to him.

"What's her name? The girl he was picking on?”

You raised you head. "What?"

"The guard you attacked. He was causing trouble, wasn't he?"

How did he know? Did he see it? Oh God, was Ruby going to get into shit because of you?

"Listen, she had nothing to do with it. She had no idea what I was going to do. It was all me."

He shrugged. "How am I supposed to believe that's true if I don't know the full story?"

You bit your lip. You didn't like saying too much to the COs. And your instinct was telling you this one would be able to read a lot deeper than the rest.

"Guess I'll just have to ask her then."

"No!" You dug your hands into your sheets to stop yourself from bolting to your feet.

"No, Ruby has nothing to do with it I swear. She’s almost sixty. She gets enough shit as it is. Just leave her alone."

You swallowed. "Please."

He was looking at you again, much sharper this time.

"Explain."

Your grip on the sheets tightened until your knuckles were pale. Did you really have to talk about this shit out loud?

"Ruby is..." you started. "She's different. Older than most of us, keeps to herself. She's not...all there, if you know what I mean."

He turned to face you and settled back against the wall. "Go on."

"Most of the inmates don't bother her. Why would we? She's just a little old lady. Not harmless, no ones really harmless, but about as close to it as you can get. But some of the COs..."

His lips thinned. "They have a nasty streak."

"You can call it that. Usually it's just calling her names. But sometimes some of them get it into their heads that what she really needs is a hard knock. Rattle those screws around enough and maybe they'll fall back into place."

"Is that what happened today?"

You sighed, looked down at your hands and the blood dried in the crevices of your nails.

"Yep. CO was all in her face, being nasty. Grabbing her wrist. Taunting her. And she... she just stood there and took it. Old enough to be the his grandmother and he didn't care."

You closed your eyes.

 What else were you supposed to do?

He'd been at it for five minutes when you stood up with your lunch tray. By then you'd had enough. No one else was going to do anything, so it was going to be you.

The lunch trays were a hard plastic, meant to keep from breaking on impact. You'd left your half eaten bowl of chow on the table and walked up behind him, your heart beating steady and calm. Some part of you had already decided the consequences were worth it.

Some of the inmates were looking at you and every single one of them knew exactly what you intended. But none of 'em said a word.

You could still feel the smack of your tray against his head. The way he stumbled forward with the momentum.

You'd caught him by surprise and you weren't going to let him get over it. You swung the tray at his face, as hard as you could. You could feel his nose breaking. He was on his knees by then. And maybe you'd have let him up, might have ended things there.

But then you saw Ruby's wrist. A frail thing, with the warden's finger marks standing out a livid red.

"I see."

You opened your eyes. He was still watching you, his face unreadable.

You shrugged and tried to smile.

"Today was practically hum drum by our normal standards."

"How exciting," he deadpanned.

"Just wait 'til Christmas time. It gets positively festive."

He snorted and started for the door again.

"You're aren't such a hard ass after all, are you? Saving little old ladies in your spare time," he said.

"Just think how safe senior citizens will be when they let me back out."

It was only for a few seconds, but you liked it when he smiled. It softened that tough guy demeanour just enough to make you wonder about the man underneath.

When he was gone, you laid down with the cloth still pressed against your cheek. Who'd have thought it. A CO who you didn't want to punch in the teeth.

The CO you beat didn't come back to work for two weeks, and when he did, you heard that he asked for a transfer to a different block.

Ruby made you a macaroni necklace and said something about alien warships picking you out of everyone else. You figured that was her way of saying thank you.  

And maybe the most notable thing of all: Blondie was assigned to your cell block. Surprising. Yours wasn't the worst part of the prison, but you weren't a bunch of saints either. Rookies wouldn't even be considered until they'd had at least a year's experience.

It was yet another thing pointing to his past. Something, somewhere, had given him enough experience to slip ahead on the promotion queue.

You didn't much mind it. Hell, you'd almost say it was enjoyable. He wasn't rude, he didn't pick favourites and he was keen eyed enough to catch a lot of the under table business that inmates engaged in.

You didn't go out of your way to talk to him - getting too cosy with a CO wasn't a good look - but you made it a point to greet him whenever you could.

Well, you called it greeting. Most other folk saw it as a smirk and a sing song "Hey there Blondie!"

He must have had some sort of interest in you too. You'd look up from your lunch and see him watching you, head tilted just a little. Like he was trying to puzzle you out. You took to winking at him whenever you caught him.

It would usually be enough to make him look away, but never for long. His eyes would always find you again.

You should have been annoyed at it, or unnerved. But honestly, the way he looked at you was borderline sweet compared to the other COs. You'd occasionally catch some of them watching you too. Usually with their hands on their belts.

There wasn't much to do in prison besides read, sleep and exercise. But around the third week after his arrival, you started getting letters.

Not totally uncommon. Plenty of folk wrote to prisoners. But to you? That was a different story. You put the letters you received into two categories: perverts and the pervertedly curious.

The perverts were exactly what you'd expect. People who thought your mugshot was the hottest thing since Megan Fox taking a swim. Their letters were particularly uncomfortable to read. And often sticky. You never wrote back.

The pervertedly curious were a whole ‘nother class. They probably ran across your case on a true crime podcast or on a documentary. And their first thought at hearing the story was to wonder exactly what it felt like. They'd write and ask you what was going through your mind. What did the knife feel like sinking into his flesh? What did the blood smell like?

A fun bunch of freaks. You'd write back sometimes, more for your own amusement than anything else. Your answers were never even remotely true. I was mostly thinking about how late my taxes were and what a bastard it would be clean up. Stabbing him felt like cutting a steak except more scream-y. The blood smelt like a stack of pennies on a warm summer day, but mostly it just smelt like blood.

You'd always end your sentences with your trademark allegedly.

These new letters were nothing like those at all. The paper was crisp and clean and most importantly, not sticky. The folded lines were sharp, like the writer pressed them down with their thumb nail.

The writer didn't ask about the murder. They didn't ask about your bra size. They were almost...sweet.

You must be lonely in prison. You must get bored. I hope you're safe.

You read it again and again before you wrote a reply. Silly really. They seemed much too nice to be writing to someone like you. Maybe someone trying to do a good deed.

You should scare them off. Writing to a prisoner is sweet and all, but most folk in here would use it as just another way to wring someone dry. You were no different. Your anonymous pen pal would be better off working at the animal shelter if they wanted to help a stray.

I've got a whole host of buddies. We discuss the best ways to get blood out of our socks and pillow cases. I'm not bored at all. We've got a badminton league. Obviously the best way to spend federal cash. I'm as safe as a lamb in the hay. Only got stabbed twice last week.

There. That would get rid of them.

You mailed it out on cheap exam pad paper with a stamp you lifted off your neighbour. You didn't expect a reply.

When the mail got delivered the next week, you were more than a little surprised to find a new letter waiting for you.

The same crisp paper, the same neat, slanting hand.

You can't scare me off. I know you're only prickly and sarcastic because deep down you're scared. Scared a lot. Scared all the time.

I looked you up. You were barely out of high-school when it happened. Well behaved, normal family, no record of misdemeanours. Prison must have been an awful adjustment.

You had to put the letter down and take a deep breath. The kid clocked you. Less than two letters in and they'd read you better than anyone had in years. Better than anyone ever had maybe.

What were those first few years like, I wonder. How did you survive? Please write me back. I like checking in on you.

You considered not replying. What were they hoping to achieve, getting all familiar with a killer?

The letter sat on your shelf for half a week before you gave in and wrote a reply.

I survived by being mean and cruel and evil. Stop writing me kid. I'll bite your head off and drink your blood.

The next letter came almost instantly. If anything, the writer seemed amused more than anything else.

Scary. Did they put you in for homicide or suspected vampirism? You want to get rid of me, but I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to reply, but I know you must need a friend. They aren't easy to come by behind bars. Any alliances you form will always have the expectation of reciprocation. It must be exhausting.

Did I tell you I bought a new car last week? A Camaro. I know. How stereotypical of a Marine to buy a car like that, right? But it's gorgeous. I'd like to take you for a drive someday. Nothing but the open road. I think you'll like that.

You didn't even wait a full day before you wrote back. Because they were right. You really did need a friend. Someone to just shoot the breeze with, without any subtext of a favour being repaid later on.

You didn't know anything about your mysterious pen pal. Not their age or their gender or even the colour of their eyes. They signed all their letters with a simple from B.

They mostly asked you questions. Not obtrusive or gross ones either. They wanted to know which foods you missed the most, which tv series and movies you wanted to catch up on, which actors you thought were getting Grammys this year.

When Grammy and Oscar season rolled around, you choked out a fellow inmate to get the TV remote. You left them sitting up on the couch, passed out and looking like they were just asleep. Blondie almost caught you. He walked past the door and paused to stare at your victim.

You gave him your most charming grin.

"She said the opening ceremony was too long and to wake her up when the red carpet is over," you explained.

He scoffed and moved on.

When you wrote your next letter, you packed it full of award show details.

B wrote to you for the better part of a year. But you only learnt a handful of things about them. They were in the Marines, they now worked some kind of federal job, they had tattoos, they liked Nicole Richie, and they hated fried chicken. Like really hated it. With a passion.

I promise to never cook you fried chicken, you wrote, only fried calamari, fried onion rings, fried mushrooms, fried liver, fried green beans, fried -

Can you even cook? they wrote back. Or are you just running your mouth?

For a while, you were happy. They'd occasionally send you new books in the mail, burnt CDs to listen to on your busted radio, packets of sweets.

Prison was hell, but it was a structured, expected sort of hell. You could deal with it.

But then she arrived.

You didn't bother to learn her name. She was tall and lean, green eyes like pond scum, and teeth chipped from fighting. You didn't like her from the first, but you had no reason to quarrel and so avoided her as much as you could.

Blondie didn't like her much either, and that's where the trouble started.

She'd deliberately bump into Blondie whenever she could. Hard enough that you could almost feel the impact.

"Oops... Didn't see you there."

If it was anyone else, they'd probably get thrown in solitary. But Blondie was a stickler for the rules. He'd brush his uniform off like just touching an inmate was enough to cause a plague. And then he'd settle his blue eyes on her, cool and detached.

"Watch where you're going next time."

That was how it went on. Weeks of passive aggression, slowly getting more and more physical.

You didn't want to intervene. Blondie could protect himself. Still, you kept your eye on him as much as you could.

There was another thing about the new girl you didn't like.

She had a way with people.

Could convince even the most stubborn inmate to do something, even if it was against their own best interest.

She got an inmate who was almost out on probation to attack and almost blind a CO. She got innocent old Ruby to start selling cigarettes. She almost got you to pick a fight with someone for damn near no reason at all.

She was dangerous, in a way no one before her had been. You could feel it in the harsh whispers after lights out. Got to make those dirty screws pay. Fucking COs have had it too good for too long. Who the fuck do they think they are anyway?

A riot was brewing. You started staying in your cell a lot more. Managed to pull some metal out of your mattress and spent every night sharpening it to a point.

Some of the COs were smart enough to notice the tension and your outside time got shortened to half an hour, lunch got pulled back to fifteen minutes. Their solution was to keep you locked in your cells for as much of the day as possible.

Not a good move.

Prisoners with no distractions tend to amuse themselves by planning all sorts of nasty things. How to grab a CO from behind and get their keys before anyone noticed. How to choke out the one bastard who kept throwing them in solitary. How to pay back all those times a CO groped them in the middle of a search.

You could feel it heightening to a point. Could feel it in the dirty, oily stickiness of the air.

When Blondie came past on patrol, you stopped him. You'd been hoping to catch him for a few days and you weren't going to miss your chance.

"Yes?"

Those blue eyes were staring straight through you, cool as a winter without a radiator.

You remembered the pepper spray, the cool cloth pressed against your burning skin.

"Listen, I think you should call in sick for the next week."

Oh no, it came out sounding like a threat.

You cleared your throat, tried to smile.

"I owe you one, okay? So just trust me on this and don't show up for a while."

He narrowed his eyes.

"There's going to be a riot,” he said.

"Seems like it."

"When?"

"I don't know. It's not exactly a scheduled thing. But it's going to be bad."

He looked away from you, scanning the long row of cells across from you. You could hear the ambient shuffling and coughing and laughing of a hundred people living together.

"Can it be stopped?"

You sighed. You'd seen it play out a few times already. Wardens had all sorts of ways to handle riots, but once the fever was brewing, it was near impossible to break. It was in the atmosphere, in the tense glances between prisoners. It was bigger than all of you.

He must have seen the answer in your face.

He shook his head, stubborn to the last.

"I've got a job to do. If I got scared every time the prisoners got rowdy I'd be out of work real quick."

You sighed and pulled away from the bars.

"Your funeral Blondie."

You really hoped it wouldn't be.

The thing that started the riot was so small that on a normal day you'd call it borderline routine.

A CO was watching the cafeteria line, hustling people along when they paused longer than he liked. When he came to one of the girls a few spots ahead of you, he got impatient and shoved her forward. Not hard. Barely enough to make her stumble.

You cringed. For a second or two, you imagined you could feel it on your skin. A static crackling like lightning about to strike.

She punched the CO in the throat.

He stumbled backwards, holding his neck and gasping.

Other prisoners  were already moving forward. Three of them grabbed his arms and bunch of the others ripped off his gear. Taser and baton and pepper spray now in the hands of a pissed and petty prison populace.

The other officers were already coming forward, batons out. Usually that would be enough to break things up, but they had just about everyone against them. Numbers always won.

 The veneer cracked and the riot finally started. It took less than a minute.

The yelling was enough to make your head throb. Bouncing off the cafeteria walls and ringing ringing ringing in your ears.

You ducked out of the way as much as possible, always on your guard. Riots weren't just dangerous for the wardens. Inmates saw them as a way to settle old scores without ending up in solitary or back in court. And lord knew,  you'd accumulated a hell of a lot of grudges over the years.

A prisoner rushed you. She was clutching a shiv made out of a ballpoint pen and a piece of wire coat hanger.

You dodged, sticking your foot between her legs and making her stumble. Your adrenaline was pumping, your vision dark at the corners.

You grabbed her hair before she could recover, and slammed her head against the edge of a metal cafeteria table.

She dropped like a rock.

You stepped away before any of her friends noticed you, your heart so far up your throat you could almost taste it.

That's when you saw her. That green eyed bitch, slipping out a side door with two of her cronies behind her.

You could feel your neck prickling.

There was only one score she had to settle and you knew exactly who it was aimed at.

You followed as quickly as you could. The backup had arrived and two tear gas canisters were belching thick white smoke into the room.

Despite your best efforts, by the time you made it out your eyes were stinging and she was long gone.

You swore and sprinted down the corridor, thinking fast.

If she managed to corner Blondie, she’d want to take her time with him. That's how scores were settled when you had a mean streak. Slow. Painful.

That meant she’d want privacy. Somewhere the riot officers wouldn't immediately find her when things calmed down.

You grabbed the corner of a wall and used it to shoot down the main hall, prison issued sneakers pounding the linoleum.

The showers. That's exactly where you'd go if you were her.

She didn't have time to block the doors. You banged through them shoulder first, the same way a cop would. The room was still thick with steam from earlier and Blondie's blood was running in thin streams toward the drain.

"The fuck is wrong with you?" she barked.

Green eyes, the one who instigated this whole mess.

She was standing with her sleeves rolled up and a razor blade between her fingers. The small, rectangular kind that goes in a straight razor.

Her two cronies were holding Blondie by the arms, stretching him out like he was on a cross.

Blondie clearly hadn't made it easy for them. Green eyes had a nasty bruise blooming on her cheek and both her cronies were sporting ugly nose bleeds. His baton was laying abandoned on the shower floor, rolled up against a bench.

Even a man as strong and well trained as he was couldn't go up against three armed felons and win.

You must have been just in time. The worst they'd done to him was cut his cheek, all the way from his temple to the bridge of his nose. It was bleeding bad, but didn't look too deep.

You straightened up and smiled at them, big and broad like you'd never had a better reunion.

"Having some fun without inviting me?"

Green eyes scoffed. "Why do you care? This shit is personal. Find something else to do."

You tilted your head, still smiling.

"You're right. It is personal. As in I owe Blondie over there a personal favour. As in I don't want you fucking with what's mine."

Blondie was watching you with those sharp eyes. If he took issue with being called yours, he didn't show it.

"Let him go." You didn't scream. You didn't demand. You simply said it. That's what made them nervous.

"Listen bitch - I don't care that everyone is scared of you. What you did on the outside doesn't matter one fucking bit."

You kept smiling, but your fingers were buzzing. The same why they had the night you stabbed a man forty six times.

You flicked your wrist and the shiv fell into your palm.

It was as long as your hand and sharpened into a wickedly pointed tip. It could slide between someone's ribs and kill them in less than five heart beats.

"They aren't scared of me because of what I did outside."

The two cronies were looking at each all worried-like. You vaguely recognised them, but it was clear that they recognised you no problem.

The boss turned to face you fully, light and easy on her toes like a boxer.

"You really gonna make a big deal over a fucking screw? A CO?"

"Since he's the only CO I've met who isn't a total piece of shit, I've got a vested interest in keeping him around."

She rolled his shoulders like a fighter would. You bit back a sigh. This was going to really hurt.

She didn't come at you right away. She ran her eyes over your body - your posture, your build, everything that might give you an advantage.

Then she charged.

Fast, even on the still slippery tiles. There wasn't enough time to duck or dodge.

You blocked her first punch with your arms, her fist smacking against your skin and spiking a sharp pain all the way down to your bones.

You stepped backward and kicked at her knee, but she saw it coming and turned her leg at the last second, took it on her thigh instead.

She’d dropped the razor blade - without a handle it was just as dangerous to her as it was to you - which meant she had full use of her fists.

She kept pummelling at you, catching you on the ribs and then on the sternum. You slammed back against the lockers, winded.

She pushed her advantage, going straight for your throat. You dropped down at the last second and her fist slammed full force into the metal.

She screamed and then screamed again as you slammed your shiv into her thigh.

You grabbed her throat and shoved her away from you, breathing hard.

She was clutching her thigh with one hand, blood welling up between her fingers. Dark red, but not enough to be fatal. You hadn't hit any arteries.

You slammed the heel of your hand into her nose, aiming upwards. You felt cartridge crunching.

She screamed again and scrambled away as quickly as she could with her injured leg.

Blood was running into her mouth, and when she snarled at you, her teeth were red.

You smiled again, as cheerful as a choir girl.

"Had enough?"

She spat blood at your feet.

You waited, half your attention on the other two. They hadn't yet moved to help her. You weren't sure if it was out of fear of letting Blondie go, or just a strong self preservation instinct.

Green eyes finally gave in. Or more accurately, her leg did. She buckled and fell, knees smacking hard on the tile. You winced.

She looked pale, in the about to pass out sort of way.

You sighed and jerked your head at her.

"Get her to the second floor nurses office. Wrap something around her leg. Tight. She’ll live but it's going to hurt a whole lot more if you aren't quick about it."

The other two were looking between you and her, eyes wide.

You wiped the back of your hand across your mouth, still holding the bloody shiv.

That seemed to decide them. They let go of Blondie all at once and grabbed their boss under the arms. Between the two of them, they were able to drag her out.

She left a trail of bright red behind.

When they were gone, you sat on the closest bench, holding your ribs. Hopefully they weren’t cracked - it hurt to breathe. You'd have to visit the infirmary as soon as things died down.

"She’s going to get even with you," Blondie said.

He was watching you. He hadn't moved. Blood was still running in thin streams down his cheek, like he was crying red.

"Yep. She's got a lot of friends too. It's not going to be fun."

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Act so light hearted about everything. I can see your hands shaking."

You balled them into fists and avoided looking at him. The silence stretched.

Finally, "Why did you really kill your neighbour?"

"I didn't like his face."

"I don't believe you."

"Believe what you want. The court already made up its mind."

He finally moved. Picked up his baton and slipped it into his belt. Grabbed a towel��and balled it up, then pressed it against his face. The white started spotting red almost immediately. You watched him from the corner of your eye.

"Give me the knife."

"It's called a shiv. You should know that."

You rubbed the handle against your pants, getting rid of any fingerprints. Redundant, given there were three witnesses who saw you stab another inmate. Old habits don't really die, you supposed.

You handed it to him without looking at his face.

He wrapped it in a smaller towel and stuck it in his belt.

You could hear faint sirens from beyond the door, and his radio was crackling with orders. The wardens seemed to be getting things under control.

"I'm throwing you in solitary. And then I'm requesting a transfer to another block."

"Aww shucks, I'll really miss you Blondie."

"Not a transfer for me, you idiot. A transfer for you. It won't stop her entirely. There's always a little bit of communication between the blocks, no matter how hard we try and prevent it. But it should give you some time to make friends of your own."

"I've never been very good at that."

"Maybe try being less sarcastic."

He grabbed your upper arm and pulled you to your feet. His grip was light, a formality more than anything.

"Why did you really save me?"

You couldn't look at him. You shrugged.

"It's like I said. You're the least terrible warden in here. Not a very high bar to be fair, but still."

He started towards the door and you followed.

There were officers coming down the corridor in full riot gear. He waved them down and thrust you towards one.

"Solitary. Protective custody."

"Why?"

Blondie didn't even hesitate. "Because she saved my life."

Solitary wasn't so bad when the other option was tossing and turning on your bunk, just waiting for a knife to your ribs.

You'd almost call it relaxing. Your ribs were bandaged tight and the painkiller the doc gave you left you floating on a cloud of dope.

When you heard the footsteps pause outside your door, you didn't bother to get up.

Blondie didn't say anything for a long while. When he finally spoke, it was so soft that you had to strain to hear it.

"I still don't believe you. I don't think you're a cold blooded killer. I think that whatever happened between you and that man wasn't really brought before the court."

You sighed.

"Drop it Blondie."

"No."

Maybe it was the medicine or maybe it was the confession booth feeling of the half dark. Either way, you ended up giving away more than you intended.

"It doesn't matter. If the whole thing was public, it would only hurt people who've already been through enough."

"You had a reason for killing him."

"Yes."

"What?"

"I won't tell you. Won't tell anyone, ever. It's not my story to tell”

 “You're in jail because of it. Who else could possibly have more to lose?"

"You'd be surprised."

It was his turn to sigh.

"I'm going to find out eventually, y'know."

"Have fun with that. Don't give yourself a headache."

He sighed and walked away.

You didn't see him again for half a year.

They kept you in solitary a whole week. Long enough for your ribs to stop hurting and for the bruises to lighten. Long enough for green eyes to be processed and transferred further up-state. That was unusual, even if she was the one who instigated the riot. You had a feeling someone pulled some strings behind the scenes. And you had an even stronger feeling about who it must have been.

When you were finally out, you were assigned to a new block. Your stuff was already waiting for you in your new cell, your books and CDs and a new letter from B.

Won't be able to write for a while. I've got something important to work on. Hopefully I'll be back soon.

You couldn't ignore the way that stung. Without meaning to, you'd come to rely on their letters. A little reprieve from the life you were stuck with.

The new block wasn't too bad. You took Blondie's advice and made some friends. Tried to avoid fights as much as possible. If green eyes ever managed to convince someone to get even for her, they didn't go through with it.

Life was, if not good, then at least bearable. You tried ignoring the little nagging part of you that constantly wondered about both Blondie and B. Without either of them, you felt...emptier somehow. Lonely.

When a warden came to tell you that you had a visitor, your heart lurched. Your family didn't visit you much anymore. And you cut off your friends the day you got convicted - no need to draw them into your mess. Secretly, you hoped it was B. You had no clue what they looked like, but after six months without hearing from them, you were almost desperate.

You smoothed down your uniform before you stepped into the visitors' centre, your eyes sweeping the room for familiar faces.

You noticed him almost immediately. Blondie, his hair shaggy when it wasn’t gelled back and his usual uniform replaced by a flannel shirt and jeans. A man was sitting next to him, his pinstripe suit still neat and pressed despite it being late afternoon.

He didn't even give you time to say hello.

"This is Mark Lawrence. Your lawyer."

You squinted at the man, confused. He was clearly a cut or two above the overworked district attorney who'd handled your case.

"No he isn't. I haven't seen him before in my life."

He sighed, irritated. "Mark is the lawyer I hired to represent you when we go to court next month."

"...Why am I going to court next month?"

"To challenge the original ruling."

"Okay. Why?"

"Because I've found another witness to your case, one that didn't testify last time."

You felt like were slammed face first into a bucket of icy water. With rusted nails in it.

"Who?"

"The victim's daughter."

"No."

"Yes."

Your handcuffs rattled as your balled your hands into fists.

"She's just a kid. What she needs is to put the past behind her, not re-live every minute of it up on the witness stand. No. We're not doing this."

You glared at him and he met you straight on. The tension cracked.

The lawyer finally interjected.

"Knowing the full details of the case changes things dramatically. Your charge goes from first degree murder to manslaughter. We might be able to cut your sentence down to fifteen years or less, with time served contributing."

"No. I'm not putting that little girl up on the stand."

Blondie practically snarled. "Yes. You. Are."

"No. I'm. Not."

"She's so much older now! Practically a teenager. She can handle it. And besides, she said she's happy to do it."

"You spoke to her?!"

Could this day get any worse? Why the hell did he have to go and drag up old memories? It must have been just as unpleasant for the kid as it was for you.

"Yes. Myself and the original detective both."

"Why? Is this what you've been doing the past six months? Trying to overturn my sentence?"

He looked away from you for the first time, his ears turning red.

"Yes."

You leaned back in your chair, conflicted and confused more than anything else. You hated to admit it, but a part of really wanted this. Even if the chance was slim, even if it meant another round of dockets and cross questioning. You were tired of prison. You wanted your life back.

You watched the late afternoon sun reflecting off the ceiling.

"I want to talk to her first. And then...maybe."

"Deal." Blondie sounded immensely satisfied.

You kept watching the sun and half listening to the conversations around you.

"Why are you doing this for me Blondie?"

Your voice was awfully soft.

"I'm returning a favour."

Your eyes slid to the lawyer.

"Pretty damn expensive way to do it."

He smirked. "I prefer my method to yours. Requires a whole lot less stabbing."

The kid came to visit you the next day. Blondie was right. She was almost a teenager. Did time really go by so fast?

You grinned at her.

"Hey kid. Sorry to drag you out to this place, but they don't let me out much."

"I bet."

She’d lost a lot of the baby fat from her cheeks and her dark eyes didn't have the haunted look you remembered so well.

"How's life with your aunt?"

"Great actually. The school is nice and we've got this Great Dane. And she isn't like... well, she isn't like my dad."

That made you happy. The kid deserved something good after everything she’d been through.

She broke in before you could keep asking questions.

"I want to do it. I want to testify against my father."

You paused, your smile fading. You could still hear her voice from that night, high and tinny and begging her dad to stop.

He hadn't stopped. He hadn't stopped beating his little girl until the moment you sunk a knife into his chest.

You swallowed, your mouth tasting like metal.

"Are you sure? It's not going to be easy."

She met your eyes. "I don't care. You saved me. I'm not going to let you rot in a place like this."

When she left, you couldn't help thinking about her eyes. The last time you saw her, she wouldn't even look at your face. Wouldn't say more than three words at a time.

The kid might never outrun her past, but she’d done a damn good job so far.

You tried not to be too hopeful. Homicide was almost impossible to overturn.

You tried not to be too hopeful, but the lawyer Blondie hired clearly knew his stuff. He laid it all out in front the judge.

How you used to babysit the kid when her dad wasn't around. How the man used to get violent when he was drunk, but never hit the kid until that night.

How you heard the screaming and banged at his door for fifteen minutes.  How you broke in through a back window when it wouldn't stop.

How you found the girl half dead with her father standing over her. Still going at it.

How you grabbed a knife, just to try and threaten him, maybe bring him back to his senses.

How he attacked you. How you stabbed him and then kept stabbing him until he stopped moving. 

How you bundled the kid off to her aunt and then called the cops on yourself.

The whole story this time. No pleading guilty and then sitting back down without another word. No half hearted defence by a state lawyer already over worked and underpaid. No half truths.

It took three weeks of court dates to get through the whole story, with witnesses and cross examination. By the time it was done, you wanted to wash your hands of the whole mess. Innocent or guilty, you just wanted to stop reliving that night.

The judge was a hard faced man who'd seen a thousand criminals come and go. You didn't have much hope for yourself when the bailiff told you to rise for the verdict.

"In the case of the state versus the accused, in regards to the appeal and additional information provided to the court, the court hereby considers this appeal to be..."

You felt your heart stutter. The last time you were in court listening to a verdict the outcome was a forgone conclusion.

"Granted."

You almost sat back down, your knees weak. There's no way. After all this time, were you really about to have your freedom back?

The judge continued, "The accused's sentence has been adjusted to account for time served. The original sentence of life imprisonment with the chance of parole after thirty years has been changed to immediate parole on strict assessment."

The judge looked at you, eyes maybe a little softer than they were before.

"This court will never condone murder, not even in defence of a child. But I think it's clear, young lady, that you've spent more than enough time behind bars."

Your lips felt numb. Your whole future changed in one sentence. In one afternoon. It was staggering.

"Thank you, your honour."

The bailiff read out a list of regulations to follow. Weekly check ins with both a parole officer and a state psychiatrist. No furthers run ins with the law, not even misdemeanours. If even one person close to you felt you were a threat, they could report it to the police and have you sent back to jail almost immediately. You were on house arrest until further notice. It was one of the strictest parole agreements you'd ever heard.

You didn't care if they told you to do a hundred push ups morning and evening. You were free again. You were going to behave like a damn saint for the rest of your days.

The only hiccup was when he mentioned the address that you were registered to stay at. You raised a brow at your lawyer but he avoided your eyes.

When court was finally dismissed, the first thing you did as a free woman was give Blondie a hug.

He was much taller than you, though you'd never realised it before.

"How much do I owe you? When I get a job, we can work out some kind repayment plan."

He waved you away and lead you from the courthouse. You tried to ask your lawyer about the house arrest, but he managed to slip away before you could.

His car was waiting for you. A new Camaro barely a year months old.

You let out a low whistle.

"She’s a beauty."

When you climbed into the passenger seat, you were sure to buckle your seat belt. No tickets for you, not ever.

The car started up with a thrumming purr.

It ate away at the road, even in the dense city centre. It wasn't long before you were almost at the city limits and cruising.

"By the way, do you know where I'll be staying? I didn't recognise the address."

You couldn't be sure, but it seemed like his hands tightened on the steering wheel just a tad.

"Mm-hmm. You're staying with me."

What? You couldn't possibly do that to him.

"Thank you. But don't you feel a little awkward having a felon in your home? I've still got my savings from before. I can rent my own place for a little."

"You're staying with me. Do you know how hard it is to get a good apartment with a criminal record?"

"I guessed as much. But Blondie, I already owe you. I can't possibly intrude on your life. Maybe you think you still owe me from that day. You don't. We're square."

He was quiet for a bit, but finally managed to force a smile into his voice.

"No. I'm not doing this because I feel indebted to you."

He kept his eyes on the road, his hand loose and confident on the wheel. His sleeves were rolled up again and you got your first good look at his tattoos. They were a collection of really well done pieces, each small tattoo blending with the others. Mostly fine line work, simple and clean.

"Why are you doing it then?"

He didn't answer.

When you arrived, his house was ranch style three bedroom with a huge, rolling yard and a neat wraparound porch.

You let out another low whistle.

"How do you afford this on a correction officer's salary?"

"I don't. It's paid off already. I was in the USMC for a long time. The money was good."

"I knew you weren't a normal civvie."

He grinned. "What gave it away?"

"The muscles."

He laughed and pulled your duffel bag from the trunk.

You'd told your parents to donate all your clothes when you were first sentenced. You didn't think you'd ever be free again so why hoard? Someone out there was probably making good use of your Doc Martens and distressed denim. Whatever normal clothes you currently had were what you were locked up with. The outfit on your back and little else.

The suitcase was instead filled with your meagre prison possessions, the stuff you didn't want to leave behind. Your collection of books. Some postcards. The CDs that B sent you.

Blondie carried it across the lawn like it weighed nothing at all.

Stepping into his house was a surreal experience. You hadn't been inside someone else's home since the night of your crime. Your last few years were exclusive to the grimy and outdated rooms of state buildings.

It was like stepping back in time. Or more accurately, like stepping into a future you thought was lost to you.

Clean, without the tang of cheap, industrial grade bleach. The walls painted and wallpapered instead of just whitewashed. The feeling of finally being somewhere you could relax. Not an in-between place.

Home.

He showed you to your room, a neat guest bedroom across from his, with a double bed and wide windows.

You didn't sit down on the bed or on the neat desk chair. You didn't feel clean enough. You still felt the stink and grime of prison clinging to you.

He raised a brow but showed you where the bathroom was.

It was another taste of freedom. Showers in prison were monitored and timed affairs. No standing under the water and just enjoying the heat, no taking the time to scrub and exfoliate. In and out and done as quick as possible.

You stood under the hot water for a long time, your face wet not just from the spray.

When you finally climbed out, you felt clean for the first time in years.

Blondie was gone when you got downstairs, a hasty note scrawled on the fridge about grabbing you some new clothes. You tilted your head at the handwriting. You could swear it looked so familiar... But no, it couldn't be. That was ridiculous.

You brewed yourself a hot drink, fully intending to sit on the porch and enjoy it. Like a little old woman.

The backdoor was locked.

You frowned. Okay, not that uncommon. Folk kept their doors locked all the time. He probably intended you to use the front door instead.

But that one was locked too.

So were all the downstairs windows. Closed shut with little hatches you hadn't noticed earlier.

You tried not to panic. He was probably just looking out for you. Being careful. You were still a felon. How did he know you weren't going to make a break for it the second you could, his tv and laptop in tow?

It was fine. You were fine. You could just drink at the table and wait for him to get home. You kept telling yourself that, even as you searched through the kitchen drawers for a spare key.

Nothing.

You didn't want to panic. You'd spent years locked away. Wasn't this much nicer than a cell?

No. Because at least in a cell you had no illusions about your freedom.

You ended up in his bedroom without knowing when you'd gotten there. You didn't dig through his drawers. He'd know instantly. But you did open them all, one by one, as if you'd find the key right on top of his neatly folded shirts.

You found the letters in the last drawer. The one right next to his bed, like he read them every night.

It took you a while to recognise them, even though you were looking at your own handwriting.

Your letters to B. Every single one of them. The envelopes neatly cut open and the letters themselves stacked in chronological order. The most recent one was at the very top and you picked it up with numb hands.

Hey B! Guess who's going back to court. Guess they missed seeing me strutting down the aisle.

Don't worry. I haven't down anything bad (at least not this time). Someone who thinks they owe me a favour has gotten it into their head that the best way to repay me is to get me out of jail.

The legal way, that is. No midnight tunnels or disguises. (Boo. How boring. What happened to romance?)

I don't have much hope, but at least it means a break in the monotony. And nicer chow.

You'd better write me soon. Can't believe I'm admitting this out loud, but I get a warm fuzzy feeling in my heart whenever I get a new letter from you. I think it must be acid reflux.

-your favourite felon.

B did, in fact, write back quickly. For the last time - no return address on the letter. In that, and in so many other ways, it was clear it was the final letter you were getting.

You're the most complicated person I've ever met. Caring and kind but somehow wrapped up in the most sarcastic personality. I've fallen in love with you. Stupid. Incredibly stupid. But it's true.

I love you.

-B

You'd sat in your cell with your eyes almost bugging out of your skull. Wondering what B did to have the misfortune of falling for a girl like you. Wondering if you could have loved them back, if given the chance. Wondering who they really were.

Well, here was your answer. B, the person who wrote you sarcastic poetry and hunted down your favourite books, was Blondie, the warden who owed you his life.

And he was in love with you.

You sat down, knees replaced by lunch time jelly cups.

No wonder he did what he did. No wonder he paid for an attorney and got your house arrest registered at his house. No wonder he kept the doors and windows locked.

There was a light step behind you and you flew to your feet, the letter still clutched in your fist.

He was standing in the doorway, watching you with cool blue eyes.

"So. You found them."

You couldn't answer.

He stepped into the room, his eyes never leaving yours. He'd taken off his shirt and stood in only his tank top and jeans, his arms lean with muscle. You'd spent years fighting and you knew in one glance that you could never take him. He was stronger. Had years of Marine and police training. It had taken three prisoners and a razor blade to finally hold him. What chance did you have?

"The world isn't built for prisoners. Rehabilitation is hard. What were the stats again? Eight out of every ten end up back in jail before ten years is up?"

He continued towards you, as calm as ever.

"You're safer here. With me. You said you'd be a great housewife remember?"

"I was joking," you managed. "Just kidding around."

He reached you and gently took the letter from your unresisting fingers.

"I won't make you do anything you don't want to. But you're not leaving me. You're not leaving this house."

"Why?"

He smiled, that half smile that gave you a glimpse past his tough guy shell. This time, you didn't like what you saw.

"You know why."

"I'm a terrible person to love. I'm prickly and sarcastic and I suck at doing the dishes."

"I've got a dishwasher."

"All I know how to cook is fried chicken."

He wrinkled his nose. "We'll work on it."

"I snore all night."

"You don't. I've watched you sleep."

"Really?"

"Really. I'd stop outside your cell and just watch you sometimes. I couldn't help it. You're so much calmer when you sleep. It's like seeing another version of you."

He tilted his head and closed the last bit of distance between you, until you could smell his cologne and see the flecks of green in his eyes. You'd never noticed them before.

"There are worse cells than this, aren't there? All you have to do is stay with me. Be happy. Let me love you."

"Do I have a choice?"

He smiled that secret smile again.

"Nope. It's either me or straight back to prison."

It was true. He was a model citizen – a veteran with a clean record as a corrections officer. Even if you did talk to your mandated psychologist or parole officer, they wouldn’t believe you. You’d be the ungrateful prisoner trying to manipulate her way out of house arrest.

You knew it from the start. Rule one - never trust a warden. They never have your best interests at heart. All they want is to cover their own skin and get theirs.

But, you never were very good at following the rules, were you?

[catchastarorten]

—Pause the game.

Pairing: the salesman/recruiter x wife!fem!reader

Summary: your husband had some ‘work’ to take care of with the two people that had been trailing after him all day, but when your call came in, and when he found out that you felt sick, you became much more important than whatever he had going on.

Warnings: mainly fluff, mentions of Woo-seok and Jeong-rae following snd spying on him, some parts of the Russian roulette game, he’s soft for you, he misses you, English isn’t my first language, mistakes should be present, not proofread, sorry!

Word count: ~ 1.4k

The day had been long, even by his standards. A hundred lottery scratchers, a hundred loaves of bread, the park, the homeless. He had been up to a little ‘social experiment’. Even then, he caught onto the two men who had been trailing behind him since the subway station.

He wasn’t stupid. Someone was after him, and these two lackeys were clearly here to track him down. His best guess? Seong Gi-hun.

Woo-seok and Jeong-rae had been following him like shadows—clumsy ones, attempting to blend in with the surroundings every time he stopped, as if they expected him to turn around and strike at any moment. And eventually, he did.

He had let them tail him, then to his surprise, they made the first move down an alleyway to avoid losing him. By the time they realized they had made a mistake, it was too late. He had taken them down quickly, efficiently, the way he always handled these things. No emotions, no hesitation.

Jeong-rae had gone down first, crumpled to the ground. Woo-seok tried to fight back with the poor attempt of using a small knife, but a sharp blow of the suitcase to his head had knocked him out.

Now, they were sitting across from each other, bound to chairs, tied up with ropes, their mouths gagged, their muffled groans filling the dimly lit room. They couldn’t scream, couldn’t beg—just incoherent muffled noises as they squirmed like trapped animals.

He slowly circled the two men, then stopped to place a hand on each of their shoulders, eyes filled with amusement at their looks of terror.

“We're going to play a game now... Rock, Paper, Scissors, Minus One. I trust you know the rules.” his gaze flickered from Jeong-rae to Woo-seok, a smile forming on his lips.

“You form a shape with each hand, then take one away. The game is decided by the remaining hands. Of course, there’s a penalty for the loser.” he picked up the nearby revolver and inspected it, then pressed the barrel to his temple. “Russian Roulette.”

Their muffled protests grew louder, their bodies twisting against the ropes in a futile attempt to escape. The two men were shaking, their breaths heavy as he leaned closer, his finger on the trigger.

Click.

Empty.

His smirk widened as he backed away slowly.

“Alright. Now, let’s play. On my count.”

But then, as he was getting ready to spin the cylinder of the revolver, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

His brows furrowed, the interruption pulling him out of the carefully constructed moment. He pulled the phone out, and the sight of your name on the screen made him pause.

He froze for a moment, staring at the screen as his heart softened. It wasn’t like you to call him in the middle of the day. You knew he was busy—always busy. The ‘work’ he pretended to do required him to keep odd hours, to vanish without explanation, and you never questioned it. You trusted him. And he loved you for that trust, even if he didn’t deserve it.

His thumb hovering over the answer button before taking a deep breath and sliding his mask of indifference back into place. But when he answered, his voice betrayed him. It was warm, gentle—a tone he reserved only for you.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft, the edge it had carried a moment ago completely gone. He shot the two men a warning look, his eyes narrowing as if daring them to make a sound.

Turning away from them, his tone dropped into something almost tender. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Your voice came through the line, quiet and tinged with vulnerability. “I… I didn’t mean to bother you. I just… I’m not feeling well.”

He could hear the catch in your throat, the faint rasp. “Are you sick?” he asked, straightening.

There was a pause on your end, then a soft sniffle that nearly broke his heart. “Yeah. Just a cold, I think. My head hurts, and I’m all stuffed up.”

He closed his eyes, letting out a slow, steadying breath as guilt twisted in his chest. You sounded miserable, and he hated that he wasn’t there to take care of you. Hated that he was here, in this cold room, when he should’ve been home with you.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured. “I know you’re busy. I just… I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said quickly, his voice gentle but firm. “You can call me anytime, okay? I mean it. Anytime.”

There was a pause, and then he heard another sniffle on the other end. It made his chest clench. “Where are you?” you asked. “Are you coming home soon?”

He glanced down at Woo-seok and Jeong-rae, their wide, panicked eyes watching him like trapped prey. The revolver gleamed on the table beside him, a stark reminder of the life he led when he wasn’t with you.

For the first time all day, he felt a pang of guilt—not for them, but for you. For the life he kept hidden from you. You had no idea what he did, the darkness he waded through every day. And he wanted to keep it that way. You were his light, his one connection to something pure and good in a world full of shadows.

“Soon,” he promised, his voice softening even further. “I’ll be home soon."

You didn’t reply right away, but he could picture you nodding, your lips pressed into that small, tired smile you always gave him when you were sick. He could see you in his mind—wrapped in a blanket, your hair messy, your cheeks flushed from the fever.

“There’s soup in the fridge,” he added gently. “I made it this morning. Heat some up, okay? And the heating pad’s in the bottom drawer. You’ll feel better if you use it.”

“Okay,” you murmured, your voice tired.

“I love you,” he said, the word coming out more vulnerable than he intended.

“I love you too,” you replied, and he could hear the faint smile in your voice despite the cold.

His chest tightened at the sound of those words. He glanced away from the two men on the floor, his jaw clenching as he fought the sudden wave of emotion that threatened to rise. “Now go rest, my love. I’ll be home soon.” his voice was thick with sincerity.

When the call ended, the room was silent. He stared down at the phone in his hand, his mind still on you.

For a moment, he let himself imagine walking through the door of your shared apartment, dropping his keys on the counter, and finding you curled up on the couch. He’d press a kiss to your forehead, make sure you were warm, and hold you until you fell asleep. That was all he wanted.

But instead, he was stuck here.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket and turned his attention to Woo-seok and Jeong-rae. His expression hardened once more. “Well,” he said. “Where were we?”

He reached for the revolver, spinning the cylinder with a practiced flick of his wrist. The sound echoed through the room, sharp and final.

“Rock, paper, scissors,” he said, his tone almost mocking. “Loser gets to test their luck with this. Simple, right?”

He crouched down in front of them, his movements slow and deliberate, as if savoring their terror.

They shook their heads frantically, their breathing heavy, protests muffled by the gag. He sighed, standing up and running a hand through his hair. “You know,” he said, his voice almost casual. “I’d love to stay and play, but I’ve got someone waiting for me at home. So let’s not drag this out.”

Their muffled protests grew louder, but he didn’t care. This was his world. His game.

And when it was over, he’d go home to you. To the warmth of your love, the softness of your touch.

You didn’t know what he was. What he did. And he intended to keep it that way.

Because as long as you were safe, as long as you loved him, he could pretend—for just a little while—that he was someone worth loving.

[grimmsbride]

▒ ❀ ̭͡⠀ ❛ SOME ENCOURAGEMENT. NAM-GYU / PLAYER 124

nam-gyu attempts to recruit beloved, timid reader into thanos’s world. all it takes is a little encouragement.

𖥔 ࣪˖ TAGS, nam-gyu is a little pushy (but everything is consensual between him and reader) | unconsensual voyuerism (again everyone is asleep but i don’t wanna make anyone uncomfortable) | ooc characters (first time writing for nam-gyu) | minor degradation & praise (+humiliation(?)) | use of the words slut, good girl, etc. | fingering | minor dacryphilia | just a silly little imagine | nam-gyu is lowkey manipulative | reader is a freak with a thing for fingers/hands | etc.

𖥔 ࣪˖ NOTES, writing smut on company time is actually hilarious, idk why i got this idea during work. but anywho — i hope you enjoy, i tried my hand at his character. as always please ignore any grammar mistakes or typos.

Imagine Nam-Gyu attempting to recruit someone without the advice of his beloved purple-haired leader. Surprising, right? Despite his own issues with inferiority; the ex-club worker just seems to follow behind Thanos like a hungry puppy desperate for a bone— or drugs, for that matter. But no, just this once, Nam-Gyu takes the lead. The numbers are growing closer and even more scarce, fear lacing people’s minds and causing them to hit that dreaded X button. Thanos’s World’s dream is to continue the games to pay off their debts, right?— so it only made sense for Nam-Gyu to turn an X over to the O side.

He couldn’t just pick anyone. Someone far too strong-willed would definitely tell him no, and someone far too weak would just be a curse rather than a blessing.

Who to choose.. Who to choose..

Soon enough the man’s eyes are locking on to you— a contestant he has seen around, yet hasn’t heard much from. Not only were you easy on the eyes but you just seemed like the perfect person to shape into a worthy teammate.

Within minutes he’s approaching you, an easy-going smile in place as your name falls from his lips. Nam-Gyu had heard it said before by someone close to you, another random that he hadn’t bother to think about.

“Yes..?” Your words are slow, lips pursing as you take in the man before you. You were beyond nervous; this was the lackey of that purple-haired lunatic after all. Watching the two fight on the very first day was enough to tell you to avoid them at all costs. Yet here you were, a few feet away from one of them, under his gaze that trailed over you like a pretty piece of jewelry behind a display case.

You couldn’t help but bring your hands closer to yourself, teeth dragging across your cheek nervously.

From your head to your toes, Nam-Gyu’s eyes soon landed on that big red patch residing just under your bosom. With a breathy chuckle he reached over, allowing a single finger to press and trace the X.

“You wanna get out of the games that bad, huh? You voted X twice already.”

Your eyes flicked down to his hand, before traveling back to his face. “Yeah well..” You dragged slowly, watching that harsh gaze return to your features.

“I—I want to get rid of my debts.. but putting my life on the line for it just seems..” You hoped you got your words across perfectly, even without continuing your sentence. Sure, it was hard being hounded for your debts, but death looming over your head just didn’t seem worth it.

Still, Nam-Gyu only shook his head at you, a sigh full of pity escaping his lips.

“Well, that’s where you’re messing up.” Nam-Gyu hummed, stepping just a bit closer, finger still tracing that damned patch. Your attention kept flicking between his face and finger, wondering why exactly warmth was pooling throughout your entire body.

“Worrying too much about dying is what’s gonna get you killed, not anything else.”

Your eyebrows knitted close, a look of confusion plastered across your face. Worrying seemed like the right way to keep yourself alive.. right? Not worrying just seemed, well— stupid. Not that you would say that to his face, obviously.

“I have to disagree..”

Just barely did you hear the sound of the man sucking his teeth, watching the way his face turned to the side, clearly searching for his next few words. You debated on walking away from this conversation, it was clear what his objective was. And whether ordered by Thanos or not, you didn’t really want to know— nor figure out.

Yet for some reason you were practically glued to the spot, blinking up at him and waiting oh, so patiently for his next spiel. And as you watched his face turn back to you, your breath got caught in your throat.

“Okay then.. worry all you want, but you wouldn’t you want someone to look out for you?” Nam-Gyu’s other hand was reaching to your patch at this point, using both thumbs to trace it. “Being on this side, there’s no unity.. it’s every person for themself.”

The two of you locked eyes, a sickeningly sweet smile crossing his face.

“Come with us, and we’ll look after you. I’ll personally see to it too.”

Slowly did your teeth sink into your bottom lip, struggling to maintain the eye contact that he seemed so keen on keeping. The only thing you could hear was your racing heart and the gentle sounds of his thumbs sliding across that red patch. His words were.. tempting. You wondered if he rehearsed what to say, like a video game with multiple endings; did he have it all figured out before he even walked over? Was he so prepared to convert you, using every rejection you had as some silly obstacles the man easily hobbled over?

So caught up in your thoughts, you hardly realized Nam-Gyu had gotten even closer until his breath fanned across your ear in a simple;

I’ll let you think it over, let’s talk again later..

When you thought of later, you initially believed in thirty mins or so. Maybe this time he would bring over his beloved leader to really get the point across. But no, later seemed to be during lights out; when you all should be sleeping, tucked away in the rare bliss these murderous games brought.

And the only talking that was happening was the soft words Nam-Gyu continued to whisper into your ear and the even softer moans of passion that slipped from your swollen lips.

See, Nam-Gyu wasn’t an idiot despite what Thanos seems to think. Quickly he caught on to two things whilst speaking to you.

The first being, you were quite cute when nervous. And two, you just loved looking at his hands.

So what better way to really stretch his point across but using his beloved fingers to stretch you open just how he liked?

“Should have done this from the start, look how cooperative you’re being..” The smile on Nam-Gyu’s face was permanent at this point, the corner of his mouth twitching with each pitiful moan you released. His rings were tossed lazily to the side, his bare fingers now pushing into your sloppy cunt so perfectly. Longer then your own, they pushed and prodded; opening you up and rubbing against your soaked walls. With each breath you were clenching, causing the smile on his face to only grow deeper.

“Scared of dying but not of some stranger finger-fucking you, huh? What a joke.”

You wanted to tell him off, how he was so mean and so wrong. But you couldn’t, not with how your mind was getting complete lost from his movements. Your teeth were grinding into your bottom lip, a metallic taste filling your mouth as time progressed. Deep moans thundered from your throat, muffled by your harsh biting. You couldn’t imagine having your little recruitment interrupted by some poor contestant just trying to get some rest.

But with the way Nam-Gyu was practically ruining you, it didn’t seem he cared much either way. He was so hellbent on coaxing you, his lips right against your ear as that damned thumb came and circled your swollen bud.

“I told you I’d look after you right, where’s my thank you?”

Your eyes widened the moment his free hand rose, pushing at your cheeks and basically forcing your lips to part. The sound you let out was a strangled mix of a moan and gasp, quickly clasping your own hand against your mouth.

Nam-Gyu chuckled on his breath, thrusting a third finger into your wet cunt as he spoke; “What? You scared of the other contestants realizing how much of a slut you are? Shouldn’t worry too much; this messy cunt is making enough noise for you.”

Your eyes were meeting the back of your skull, so fucking mean he was— yet you couldn’t help but enjoy the attention. His digits were curling inside, brushing across that special spot that caused you to shake. Your thighs were clenching harshly around his arm, rushed breaths escaping as your chest rose and fell.

“Th—thank you.. fuck— please…!” You whimpered as softly as you possibly could, glossy eyes staring up at the man. You felt accomplished the moment he drew closer, feeling the cold metal of his chain brush against your heated skin before a gentle kiss was pressed right against your cheek.

“What a good girl.. You wanna come, hm?” The hand was lowering to your throat, fingers simply wrapping around it yet not squeezing. Nam-Gyu watched in pure enjoyment at the way your head tossed back and forth in a rushed nod; how needy you were for him. What a palpable little thing, is what he thought.

“I can make that happen, you just gotta do something for me.”

More words, whispered, tempting; drifting right into your ear and hitting the same pleasurable spots right between your legs. Speaking of, you felt your peak drawing closer; a tight band resting deep in your tummy— ready to burst.

You knew what he wanted, you weren’t an idiot nor were you too fucked out to forget. Your mind was screaming at you, telling you an orgasm wasn’t worth pressing that cursed button.

Yet, for now, you weren’t thinking with your brain, but with your pussy instead.

“P—please let me join! I’ll press the button— I promise!” Another whisper-yell escaped you, desperation clinging to every word as they fled those pretty lips.

With that final confirmation Nam-Gyu was quickening the pace of his fingers, eating up the way your body convulsed, a lost look invading your eyes as you came undone. Your essence trickled down his fingers all the way to his wrist, a sticky residue that he would make sure you clean up later.

For now.. his hand rose from your throat to instead cup your cheek, rubbing his thumb right under your eye so tenderly— so sweetly.

“I knew you could do it.. just needed some encouragement, right?”

[merrinla]

Cut lines from Solas and Rook after Weisshaupt. None of these are voiced, so only text. Some are rewritten in the game.

Solas: You once told me that you would stop the gods without getting "thousands of innocent people killed."

Solas: You once told me that you would accept whatever consequences came from your battle.

Solas: You once told me that the consequences of your battle would be a problem for "Future Rook."

Rook: Yeah.

option: Don't mock me, okay? Rook: Whatever your big trickster-god lesson is, could we just... not? Solas: Why not? What makes this time different? Rook: Weisshaupt? Solas: You have seen death before.

option: I let the team down. Rook: I went to Weisshaupt to stop the gods... with a team of people I'd recruited.

Rook: Davrin, Lucanis, all of them... I convinced them to join. I told them we could win. Rook: And right now, it feels like I lied to them.

option: I was in command. Rook: But I've never been in charge. And this time...

Rook: I punched the First Warden in the face and made everybody listen to me.

Rook: I got the First Warden to listen. I got him to believe in me.

Rook: And then I... I couldn't get it done. I failed. And Weisshaupt fell.

option: This time broke me. Rook: This time, I feel... nothing. Solas: And still you hide your feelings.

Rook: No, I mean... I try to think about what I'm feeling, and I just... there's nothing there. Rook: If I think about what happened at Weisshaupt, I just... stop. Like I could go to sleep and never wake up. Rook: And I can't afford to do that. Solas: Why not? Rook: Because I let everyone down once already. I can't do it again.

Solas: There it is. The grief of having not lived up to the trust that others placed in you. Solas: It is a pain worse than any Elgar'nan or Ghilan'nain could inflict, and if you let it, it can help you. Rook: How?

Solas: There are those who hold their emotions at a distance to avoid the sting of failure. Solas: To defeat Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain, there can be no distance. You must be committed. Rook: What, you think we failed because I didn't want it enough? Solas: I cannot say. But you chose this battle, and in so doing, you chose these consequences. Solas: Regret is the price we pay for acting when no one else will. Solas: Without regret, we would not be driven to correct our mistakes, to improve. To get it right.

option: I'll get it right. Rook: Next time, we won't miss. Solas: I believe you. Solas: And I believe that if you listen to me, then Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain will fall.

option: I don't want to feel this. Rook: It still hurts. Solas: I have lived thousands of years and made countless mistakes. It always hurts. Solas: If you listen to that feeling, perhaps you may never need to feel it again so keenly.

option: I'm not here for this shit. Rook: I didn't come here for your philosophical bullshit. I came for help! Solas: What did you think my help would look like? Solas: I cannot promise that our talks will be easy. All I can promise is that if you listen to me, Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain will fall.

option: I need some support. Rook: Could you be hopeful Solas instead of smug Solas right now. Rook: I don't need you to convince me how bad things are, okay? I get it. I really, really get it. Solas: You have finally met the Evanuris in battle.

option: I have to act confident. Rook: Yeah, we met the gods, and now I have to act like we're not completely screwed and this was a good step forward. Solas: Why? Rook: We lost a lot of Grey Wardens. We lost Weisshaupt. If we lost all of that, and I didn't accomplish anything? Solas: Then what? Rook: Then there's no way I can win. I should just start running now. Rook: But I can't. I have to keep acting like there's some way to win. And that's... terrifying.

Solas: Good. There it is. The fear. Solas: You finally see the consequences. You know the stakes. That fear, the terror of what you face now, can help you, if you let it. Rook: How does admitting I'm terrified help?

option: And I'm in charge. Rook: And somehow, I'm supposed to go up against them again, and everyone is looking to me for a plan. Solas: The plan will come. Once you have marshaled your forces...

Rook: I had a legendary assassin, a dragon hunter, and an army of Grey Wardens, and we still failed! I still failed. Rook: People keep asking me what we do now, and I have no idea. And that is... terrifying.

option: They're too powerfull. Rook: Yeah, and it turns out that when you're fighting a god, terror is a perfectly rational feeling!

Rook: And don't give me that "Evanuris" crap. You can turn people to stone with your eyes! Solas: Yes, and yet I wield far less power than Ghilan'nain or Elgar'nan. Rook: The world is going to end up a blighted wasteland unless I stop them, and... I don't think I can.

option: This is your fault! Rook: No. You don't get to come in here all superior. A whole lot of people just died, and that's on you! Solas: I have made many mistakes, but I did not free Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain. Rook: Fine. Whatever. Solas: No. This is important, Rook. Solas: Your fury is real, but you can only defeat it if you identify its source. Who are you truly angry at?

option: Everyone! Rook: I'm trying to save the world, and everybody's kicking me in the shins while I'm doing it!

Rook: Tevinter and the Antaam would rather fight each other!

Rook: The Grey Wardens wouldn't listen until I punched their leader in the face and took over!

Rook: The First Warden wouldn't listen until the enemy was stomping all over his courtyard!

Rook: I can't do this alone! I need people to shut up and do what I tell them for once, or I'm going to fail again!

option: Ugh. Myself! Rook: I know who I'm angry at. It doesn't matter. Solas: Of course it matters. You must learn who you are.

Rook: The whole world is gonna know who I am! They're gonna make statues of me!

Rook: "In honor of Rook: He/She/They almost saved Weisshaupt!"

option: Bad luck? Rook: I don't know! Fate, luck, something! This whole mission has been one disaster after another. Solas: And how would luck help you? What is it that you need?

Rook: I need a break! I need one damn thing to go right for once! Solas: Because you deserve it? Rook: Because I can't do this! Rook: But if I don't, nobody will. So I've gotta keep banging my head against this wall like an idiot hoping for a miracle!

Solas: There it is. The anger. The frustration at having failed. Solas: Properly channeled, that rage can flare hot enough to burn away any impurities. Rook: Fine! I'm angry! How does that help?

option: We made progress. Rook: I'd hoped we'd take down Ghilan'nain, but we did kill her Archdemon. That's a good start.

Solas: "A good start." I wonder if your fellow Wardens would agree.

Solas: "A good start." I wonder if the Grey Wardens would agree.

Solas: Does this truly feel like even a partial victory, or does something uncomfortable lurk behind that easy smile?

option: No. But being sad won't help. Rook: No, of course it doesn't feel like victory. But that's what leadership is. Rook: It's putting your own feelings aside so the team doesn't collapse. Solas: And what is so dangerous that the mere sight of it would destroy your team? Rook: That I was wrong.

option: I'm tryung to believe. Rook: It has to feel like a partial victory. If it doesn't...

option: I need to seem confident. Rook: How do you think I feel? But the team needs me to look like I know what I'm doing. Solas: And what do you need?

option: Thanks, Past Rook. Rook: Sounds like something Past Rook would say. He's/She's/They're kind of an asshole.

Solas: (Chuckles)

Solas: You use humor a great deal.

Solas: "The elven god of sarcasm."

Solas: "This is the reason nobody likes you."

Solas: "Killing an Archdemon is the easy part."

Solas: Is all of this really so amusing, or is that wit the blade with which you keep less comfortable feelings at bay?

option: It's that or cry. Rook: I'm doing the best I can to hold it together. Sometimes that means stupid jokes. Solas: And when those fail? Rook: Then I probably start ugly-sobbing. Snotty nose, blotchy face, the whole deal. Solas: Why? You are no stranger to death. You have seen warriors fall in battle before.

option: It's that or panic. Rook: Well, I don't think uncontrollable screaming is gonna help anything, and that's the only other option. Solas: Uncontrollable screaming at what?

option: It's that or rage. Rook: Yeah, there's a pretty good chance the jokes are how I cope. Solas: And beneath those jokes? Rook: Why does that matter? Would me yelling right now help anything? Solas: It might help you know who you are.

option: It's a lot to accept. Rook: I was thinking I'd be accepting hurt feelings, not a whole fortress falling to darkspawn. Solas: Sometimes the hurt feelings are worse.

option: I guess? Rook: Weisshaupt could've fallen without us killing Ghilan'nain's Archdemon. That would technically be worse. Solas: Technically.

option: That's still true. Rook: And I stand by that. Solas: Truly? You watched a fortress fall and Wardens die, and it touches nothing within you?

Solas: I expect that you call it professionalism.

Solas: No hesitation. "We stopped you. We'll stop them."

Solas: No concern. Just targets. "Any other surprises we should know about?"

Solas: What are you so desperate to avoid feeling?

option: Numb. Rook: Nothing. Solas: So no fear, no anger, lurks beneath the surface?

option: Terror. Rook: Ghilan'nain was so much worse than anything I expected. She's a god.

option: Fucking furious. Rook: I am so fucking tired of being the one who has to do this while the rest of the world ignores the problem!

Solas: And while your grief is valid, the situation is not as dire as it seems.

Solas: And while your fear is valid, the situation is not as dire as it seems.

Solas: And while your frustration is valid, the situation is not as dire as it seems.

Solas: You have slain an Archdemon, a feat only a few have accomplished over the centuries. Solas: Ghilan'nain is now mortal. If you can find her and catch her unprepared, you can kill her. Rook: So how do I find her? Solas: Your team has ties to organizations with connections you lack. The Shadow Dragons in Minrathous, the Veil Jumpers in Arlathan, and so on. Solas: Strengthening your team will strengthen those groups. Prove your value as an ally, and they will give you the openings you seek. Rook: Okay, I'll see what I can do. Solas: Good. And Rook... I am sorry for the necessity of this lesson.

option: No, I appreciate it. Rook: You don't have to apologize. I know you're trying to help, so... thanks. Solas: Don't. Don't thank me. Solas: Our talk today will lead to Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain falling, but it is not a kindness. Solas: Good luck.

option: It's not wholly unexpected. Rook: You talk with the Dread Wolf, you gotta be prepared to bleed a little. Solas: A painful assessment, but more than fair, especially today. Solas: If I knew some other way to prepare you for what lies ahead, I would do so.

option: Whatever. Goodbye. Rook: We're done here. I'll talk to you when I know something. Solas: Of course. Then I will simply wish you good luck.

[aliceinborderlandsquidgame]

The Salesman | SFW alphabet + being obsess with his wife

Can be read as part of this

Template credit

Warnings: Parts with Suggestive things - Obsess!Salesman - Wife!Reader - Possessive!Salesman - Grammar mistakes -

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

The Salesman its not someone who usually shows affection or gets said feeling towards anyone. In fact for most years he thought he was unable to feel such a thing.

But then you came into his life and shattered that thought. He ended stalking you around Seoul, getting to know you before he did a first approach. He called it fascination at first, but when he finally got to know you for real he fell hard for you.

His ways of showing affection are quality time together, since he has some complicated hours at work he looks out for things you two can do together. Avoids the places where he usually goes.

Words, he loves calling you cute nicknames and telling you how well you did something. No matter what it was he makes a big deal out of it.

Contact, if he could take you everywhere with him, he would. He needs to have you by his side, being able to touch you its a must. He needs one kiss from you for his day to be good.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Most likely you two would be friends if you two used to work for the Organization and shared the same twisted dark mind set back then.

Like that he is a chaotic one, he does not like breaking the rules, in fact he lives by them. But would push your limits both inside the island and outside.

If you two worked as recruiters then you two would have friendly competitions on who can get more peopel into the games and bet on them once the games starts.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

YES. He is a big softie for his wife. After a long day of seeing the kind of peopel he hates the most he comes home needing you. 

Will drag you to either the bed or the expensive couch the saw you seeing one time and got it for you, cause why not? The best for his wife.

Will hug you from behind, let his head fall on your shoulder and whisper how much he loves you and how happy he is with you.

If you two lay down then he would like to have you pressed against his chest, facing him so he can give you small kisses or being the small spoon so he can hug you against him and act as a shiled from the world.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

THIS MAN SAW YOU AND WAS ALTERADY PLANNING THE WEEDING.

He is actually good at both. He likes to keep his home clean and prefers food that he made himself. However he cant compare his coking skills with yours. After the first time he tried your food he was unable to make himself food again. Why ? Because yours its just better!! And dont ask him to eat fast food, he hates it.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Oh sweet you, he would NEVER break up with you.

If for some reason you start to act strange and distant yourself from him he will gashlight you and blame you, manipulating the situation on his favor so you would feel bad for even think about it.

No. He needs you like his lungs needs air, he cant and wont ever let you go. He would destroy your personal life first so you would have no one to reach for.

You are his light and muse, he wont let you go.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

FAST. As I said he saw you and he was planning the weeding.

Even if he wants to get married fast he would work himself to be seen as a proper future husband. If you have friends then he would act as a gentlemen and even make them jealous of you. Your family would love him to no end, and would joke about when the weeding will be.

Your mom/dad may beg you to marry him since he is a good man and wants the best for you.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

SFW: SOFTIE. Loves to hold you close, smell your perfume and have your hands around him. It helps him ground himself down when he is too stressed.

Emotionally he is complicated, for you he is a open book at least with his feelings of devotion towards you. He is very vocal by how much he cares for you and how happy you make it. When it comes to personal matters, mostly his work he prefers to keep you in the dark about it. He does not want you to see him any different.

NSFW: At first in order to not scare you away he would be gentle and vanilla with you in bed. Then he would slowly introduce you to his depraved and dark side of it.

Does he manipulate you into giving in? Yes, yes he does. But you wont ever notice it.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

He likes them, his hugs are short but with full of meaning. He likes to give you one during the mornings and at night.

Its a routine he has, he needs to at least give you one during the day.

On special times his hugs will be longer, maybe in your anniversary, he will hold you in his arms against his chest letting you listen to his heart beat.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

In is mind, he tells you the L word just days after starting dating you, or even while he stalked you.

He knows he loves you, but wants you to say it to him first so he can respond pulling all his heart in these words.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He gets easily jealous, not because he does not trust you. But because he wants you all for himself.

Not only does he gets jealous over strange males, but over your friends too.

If he feels like you are passing too much time with them, then he will use his charm to keep you away from them.

If things gets more serious...then he will just make them dissapear, he may torture them or take two at times and makes them play a deadly game but the catch is..no one has a chance of winning.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Oh! His kisses are full of love and passion, his favorite spot its defenetly your lips. He loves to kiss them till they end all red and puffy.

Your neck is another place, he likes to leave both, small kisses and long ones in order to leave marks behind.

He likes to be kissed by you on his lips, neck, cheeck and hands. The last one its his personal favorite since it makes him feel less of a monster...or does not care what he does as long as you like his hands.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Actually no.

He can fake around kids that are not his but he does not want kids with you.

He wants to live a long life with you and only you. He wants your attention only on him.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Depends on how the night activities went.

Sometimes he lets you sleep while he gets ready but he finds you making him breakfast. Thats a thing that always happen.

If he feels like he wants to spend more time with him then he would ask you to shower with him, and help him dress for the day.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Depends on how he wants the night to go and and what time he gets back.

If he comes early and just wants to spend quiality time with you, you two would watch a movie or talk for a bit.

And if he wants to do another tnings...well you two are in for a long time.

If he comes home late then he would prefer you to be asleep, since he still has to shower and other things.

But you usually wait for him awake or wake up once he gets in, you like to see his tired face light up when he sees how much you worry over him.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Its complicated. He likes how you see him and only know of his depraved side when it comes to sex.

He may twist the truth about his past and what he does for work, maybe with a few years he will reveal something more, but nothing that would scare you.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

He has much patience, needs it for his work and it traslates to your relationship. Its not like you can do more to break his patience, he deals with worse things.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He remembers every single detail.

Even since he stalked you and got all your personal information, its like his second life.

What you like and dislike, what type of music, food, colors and activities, he remembers all of it.

Its impossible for him to forget a single detail when it comes to you.

He remembers your the special dates, from the first time he saw you to the first date you to had.

Your anniversary date its printed on his mind, you will find the most romantic dinner waiting for you, the most relaxing day just for you.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

His favorite moment its one centrain day, the day you told him you loved him.

It was a sunny day of spring, both of you were walking around a park, seeing the flowers and nature as well as other couples.

He had stopped to buy you some sweet and was enjoying seeing you munch over them.

"You know, we have been dating for some time now" You said to him, stopping to look up at him.

Taking a deep breath you added "And I cant keep this hide from you anymore, I love you, I have never feel loved like this before. And I have never loved someone so much before, it makes my heart feel heavy in a good way. And I want you to know it, I love you"

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

He is very protective over you.

While he knows the organization wont do anything to you unless you do something to interfer with the games he feels at ease with that.

He does not trust the people.

He hacks your phone so he can know where you are at all hours. Has cameras at his home and a security system in case someone breaks in.

He even teachs you to use a gun and fight just in case.

(Having you around him its just a plus)

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

LOTS. Each date, anniversary and gift suprasses the last one.

He will ask you what you biggest dream is and make it come true. Gets you the best gifts and take you to the most fancy and fun dates.

Even once you two are married he likes to still take you out like old times.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He is:

A stalker.

Manipulative

Gaslighter

Possessive

Control freak but hides it.

He is a red flag, a walking one. But even that he gets all softie for you, his dear wife.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Well, he knows he is good looking and likes to take care of how he looks. But only for you.

Wants to look handsome and well dress for you. Does not care if he catches the eyes of others, he just wants you to look at him and tell him how good looking he is.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Totally. He never felt complete before, always alone and going on with his days. He never cared if he felt lonely, not till he met you from afar and then for real.

To him, you are his soulmate, his other half, his human side and lover. The one who grounds himself and brights his life.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

If you have a special plush to sleep with, he gets jealous of it. Even if he got you the plush himself.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Honestly if he ends being obsess with you he may ignore whatever thing he may dislike from you.

Does this mean he would not try and change you? Oh no, he would.

Something he dislikes is disobedience , if he tells you to not ask about his work he expects you to do as told. You cant follow, you cant enter his office...

Thats what he hates the most.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Before meeting you, he would sleep six hours. And thats it. His nights are plagued with nightmares and lots of times he would wake up before his alarm and look outside the window, towards the dark till the sun comes out and the lights of other houses starts to get on.

But once he meets you, he becomes a heavy sleepier, he loves to cuddle you during the night, with you by his side his nightmares are gone. His six hours passed to be eight hours, more if he feels greedy and want to stay besides you some more.

[thefuzzzz]

In expansion of my last post about Jayroy loving each other quietly, here’s the order that I think the Batfam would realize Jason and Roy are dating, and not just friends, and how:

Alfred noticed first. He does Jason’s laundry and cleans his room when he stays there. He knows damn well he does not own that many hats.

Tim noticed next. He has also been sneaking around with Bernard and Kon. He knows what guilt on a man’s face looks like.

Then it was Bruce. He probably would’ve noticed way earlier if Jason didn’t deliberately avoid him when he was with Roy the most. Bruce notices because (I’m about to angst bomb all of you) he hasn’t seen that little glimmer in Jason’s eyes since before he died, and every time he talks about Roy it comes back.

Next was Damien. He makes the terrible mistake of walking into his big brother’s room uninvited and finds them asleep and cuddling. The two are interrogated the next morning then swear Damien to secrecy.

Last is Dick. You’d think with how much he loves Jason he’d realize first, but you must remember he was also once Roy’s best friend. His mind doth not wander to the idea of Roy dating his lil Jaylad until he realizes they both have engagement rings on one day.

The reason Duke, Steph, and Cass aren’t here is because they already knew. Jason and Roy recruited them to help them sneak around months ago. They wanted to be enjoy their relationship quietly, at least until they got married, and knew the batboys would not let them

[bunnwich]

Devourer👑(Scar!Leona x Yuu) 01

Leona got everything he wanted, except for one thing. After 7 long years of being king, Yuu comes back into his life. As Yuu finds themselves in his nightmare, will they be able to "find " Leona and wake him? Or will they both be devoured?

Characters: Leona Kingscholar x Yuu!Reader (GN. No physical description for Yuu. They/Them pronouns. Yuu majors in alchemy at NRC.)

Words: 5k, 3rd person Notes: A darker AU based on Leona’s Chapter 7 Dream. Part 1 of ??? Not sure if I will continue this AU but it was fun as an exercise to write a bit of more of a darker and sinister Leona for once. LMK if you like this sorta thing?

Parts: Part 1, Part 2

CW: Murder, Slight Dark themes??, Pushing of physical boundaries.

Tagging: I will be tagging in comments!

--

From the moment he took the throne after his brother’s death, whispers filled the kingdom, unease and ridicule trailing him like a shadow. He remained in the heart of the people as a scar of a prince on the divine oligarchy’s legacy. A black stain of spilled ink over the Sunset Savanna’s entire proud history. Once seen as a prince with little promise, he had sat as a king for seven long years now, ruling with an iron fist and a sharp tongue.

The “when” was foggy now, a few months, a year ago? Leona, as they used to know him, had personally recruited them to head an experimental “agricultural development program,” aimed at alleviating the famine gripping the kingdom. Yuu supposed he found out about their internship and majors sometime after they graduated. The years after Night Raven College had been hard and their old school life seemed almost idyllic compared to the world outside. After their friends scattered to the winds to start their own lives, Yuu had been left behind to pick up the pieces of a shattered life. Alchemy, the study of magical plants, was one of the only ways to make them feel competent in a world surrounded by people often more powerful than themself.  They had gotten quite good at it, but it felt surreal to be bestowed such an “honor” from a king after so many years. 

They hadn't seen Leona Kingscholar in nearly a decade after all. --

It was rounding the third hour of a meeting, and the afternoon heat was blistering. Yuu was slumped in their stone chair, mind starting to wander, eyes lulling dangerously closed. After a brief silence, a single voice broke the once-quiet discussion of the royal budget, and their trance.

“Your Highness! We cannot afford to execute this plan! This…aid program to provide outreach to the Outlands.” The council member never even bothered to look over at Yuu themselves. Even when he was implying their very existence at this council was an unwelcome one.

Seated around the oval table, each other council member avoided Leona’s piercing gaze. However, Yuu’s eyes flicked to the man seated next to them. The king was draped lazily across his chair, his expression one of equal parts calculation and boredom.

Oh? Their eyes widened, the elders rarely stood their ground with him.

“Hm? And why not?” Leona’s voice was low and menacing as his emerald eyes narrowed, deep voice cracking through the entire throne room. He was dressed in his standard black dashiki suit, its sleek fabric adorned with shimmering gold accents that seemed to catch the light with his every movement. The suit’s high collar stood proud, a dark canvas for the multiple beaded and gold necklaces that dripped over his chest.

"Your Majesty, diverting even more of our time and resources to the coastal neighborhoods is a mistake.” Councilman Griza, a giraffe beastman, braver than the rest, spoke again, his voice shaking only slightly. “Those…people have shown time and time again they are a threat to the capital. Offering aid will only embolden them, send mixed messages. Especially with how things have been as of late..." His malice made him braver it seemed, his resentment of the outlanders barely concealed.

“How convenient.” Leona sneered, slouching forward. His voice was a slow rumble, dangerous and intentional. “Of course, they’ve been aggressive. Anyone would be if they were historically treated like pests...starved, shunned, discarded.” He stood, palms slapping against the table, his claws scraping the stone discordantly. “They’ve been cornered, can't expect them not to bite.”

Each of his movements was a steady prowl as he circled the long table, his brown sash flowing across his shoulder. The councilman flinched as Leona suddenly stopped behind him, looming like a dark cloud over the man. “I think sometimes you all forget, I know what it’s like to be cast aside. And…to hunger for something denied.” His eyes scanned the table’s occupants and Yuu made sure to look down before he could make eye contact with them. 

They knew their place, as the youngest and arguably least qualified…they tended to keep their mouth shut unless their opinion was asked.

He went on. “...Starve someone long enough, treat them like the dirt beneath your feet, and then when they lash out, suddenly they’re the problem? How noble of you to twist the narrative, Griza.”

Another councilman, Lord Danga, a zebra beastman, cleared his throat nervously. “With all due respect, my King, our resources are already stretched so thin this year. The Sunrise City’s people must come first, our people. Surely you can see that?”

Leona leaned forward, his sharp green eyes locking onto the man, his claws still tapping rhythmically against the back of Griza’s stone chair. “ Oh? Our people?” His voice was low and venomous. “Tell me something…Lord Danga. When you hoarded grain last season for your own settlements and let three nearby jackal villages go hungry, were those not ‘our people’? Or did they suddenly stop counting?” He shrugged.

“I-”

Leona cut him off with a sharp glare. “...And now you all want to sit here and preach to me about where my mercy should begin and end?”

An elephant beastman, emboldened by frustration, stood up. "It’s not about your mercy, Your Majesty. It’s about strategy! Strength! If we appear weak to those in the Outlands, those people will take advantage of us and our generosity as they have been the past few dry seasons!” He slammed his fist on the table.

Leona scoffed, his voice dripping with contempt. “Do you know what really makes a kingdom weak?” He leaned more of his weight against Griza’s chair, the legs scraping loudly across the stone floor, as he suddenly pulled the old man and his seat backwards.

The giraffe beastman in question froze and nobody spoke, even breathed. Yuu found themself barely able to swallow.

“Fear.” Leona hissed.

“Short-sighted, foolish, hypocrites who think power means hoarding everything for themselves.” He spoke slowly, his voice lowering with menace. “You all aren’t protecting this kingdom. You’re choking it.”

Griza stiffened below him, hazel eyes downcasted. Beneath his breath, he muttered something Yuu couldn’t hear. 

“What was that?” Leona’s voice was sharp enough to cut.

“Hmph.” He tried to keep his lip stiff. “I... I only meant that... your father would have-”

“Go on. Finish that sentence…” Leona’s growling tone was dark, and dangerous, and his eyes glowed with a barely restrained fury.

The councilman’s lips quivered openly now, but he remained silent.

“...”

“I see. A lesson needs to be learned.” Leona exhaled sharply, his patience visibly thinning. “I don’t need comparisons, and I certainly don’t need your approval to do what’s right for my people, all of them.”

The room fell silent. Leona’s soft chuckle echoed through the room, cold and mocking. “Weak, huh?” He laid both hands on Griza’s shoulder, digging his claws into his white council member robes.

The man squealed like a stuck pig, trembling under Leona’s hand. There was no escape.

“Let me show you what real weakness looks like.”

Before any of the councilmen or Yuu could react, Leona’s fingers clenched and his knuckles turned white. He muttered a familiar incantation and the man stilled in his grip, before his body seized violently. Sand spilled from Leona’s fingertips, snaking around the old man’s face, frozen in fear as his panicked eyes darted to his peers. 

It was over in seconds, he didn’t even have time to scream. No one did.

“You see,” Leona said, his tone casual as “Griza” crumbled into a lifeless heap of sand in the pulled-out chair. “True weakness is being so afraid of the past that it gets in the way of the progress of the future.” His hand made an exaggerated flourish.

He turned to the remaining council members, clapping the sand from his palms. “You call yourselves leaders, yet you sit here staring at me with your mouths agape…like frightened prey.”

He cleared his throat, sliding his claws through his dark hair casually as he paced back toward his seat. “…The coastal neighborhoods will continue to be eligible in our restoration project through the dry season.”

No one dared speak, except to echo one word.

“Yes…”

Leona nodded with finality. “Good.” He moved toward the throne’s platform, the weight of his authority filling the room as he climbed the steps, taking his rightful seat. “You’re all dismissed.” He waved.

The council members scrambled to bow before filing out, leaving Yuu alone with their new king, too stupid to move. They always heard you shouldn’t run from a predator. 

While Leona stared satisfied at the pile of sand drifting from the empty chair, they forced their weak legs to work again, finally sliding from their seat at the table and retreating toward the throne’s steps. As Yuu stood rigid at the edge of the dais, their hands clasped tightly in front of them, palms sweating as they tried to still the faint tremor that betrayed their nerves. 

The room felt impossibly quiet now, the air heavy with humidity and the unspoken aftermath of what had just transpired. A few feet away lay the remains of what was once Councilman Griza. a man whose leering gaze and oily words had made Yuu’s skin crawl on more than one occasion.

Now, there was nothing left of him but dust.

Their time assisting in infirmaries for their college internship taught them that death usually smelled like something: decay, burning flesh, blood but...here a man lay, as if he had been ripped from existence.

Nothing. 

Yuu couldn’t bring themselves to look away from the dusty remains, though bile churned in their stomach anyway. They should have felt horror. Or grief. Anything other than this cold, detached emptiness and macabre curiosity. But Griza had been a contemptible man, a social-climbing parasite who had delighted in undermining Leona at every opportunity. Was it so wrong not to mourn him?

The silence stretched, broken only by the distant echo of footsteps as the council members continued to flee the room, their fear a tangible presence in the air. Yuu couldn’t blame them.

Their fingers tightened on the fabric of their own white robes, trembling creeping back into their hands. Drawing on every ounce of composure, they dipped into a shallow bow at the steps, the fabric of their clothing brushing against their knees. "Is there... anything else you require of me, Your Majesty?" Yuu finally asked, their voice soft but steady. Their gaze dropped to the floor as they clutched the folds of their robe like a lifeline. 

Heart pounding in their chest, each beat was a sobering reminder that they were still alive...still here, unlike Griza.

Seeing them still there, Leona’s low chuckle rippled through the room, smooth as silk yet sharp enough to cut their composure.

They straightened cautiously, their gaze lifting just in time to see the king rise from his throne. When he moved, it was slow and deliberate, his footsteps echoing against the polished stone floor as he approached them.

"Anything I require?" he drawled, amusement coloring his voice. "How polite of you."

Before Yuu could respond, his clawed fingers curled under their chin, tilting their face upward. The warmth of his touch seared against their skin, forcing them to meet his piercing green gaze. Yuu’s breath hitched, their composure slipping for the briefest moment as his smirk deepened.

"You saw what happened just now," he murmured, his voice deceptively soft, almost a purr. "And this is your response?" His sharp black nail tapped on their chin, thumbing the divot below their bottom lip.

Yuu swallowed hard, trying not to think that this was the same touch that just turned a man to ash. The weight of his scrutiny pressed down on them like a physical force. His eyes searched theirs, sharp and unrelenting, as though he could strip away every carefully constructed defense they’d built. He studied their face like a puzzle he intended to solve, his smirk deepening when his eyes flicked to their hands, still pulling at the fabric of their robes tight.

“Tell me.” he started, leaning closer, the warmth of his palm seeping into their skin, a stark contrast to the cold knot forming in their stomach. "What do you really think?"

Yuu’s pulse thundered in their ears, their mind racing as they searched his face for some trace of the man they once knew. Wishful thinking. His proximity was suffocating, his presence an overwhelming force that left them no room to breathe.

No, this wasn’t the Leona they remembered, the lazy boy who had once scoffed at the pomp and circumstance of royal life.

The man before them now was a king, his sharp edges honed to a deadly point by years of bitterness and isolation. He wore his title like impenetrable armor, his every movement, and word laced with the weight of his new authority.

“I-” They looked up at him.

His hair, once unkempt and free-falling, was slicked back from his forehead, threaded with faint spirals of grey that hadn’t been there in his youth. The heavy makeup around his eyes only deepened the shadows beneath them, giving him a look far older than even his thirty-three years. His gaze seemed to be shadowed with exhaustion that no amount of sleep could cure.

Yuu swallowed hard, their throat dry. They wanted to laugh, to make some cutting remark about personal space or his newly acquired dramatic flair. But those days were long gone. They were no one of consequence to him anymore, just another servant standing before a terrifying king. One who could crush them as easily as he had Griza.

Still, they couldn’t bring themselves to lie outright. They forced a weak, bitter laugh, the sound surprising even them. “Well…sir. I can’t say I ever shed any tears for Councilman Griza," they admitted, their voice quieter than they intended. "And I suppose I'm a little biased on the success of the restoration plan." They shrugged.

Leona’s chuckle was low and rich, sending a shiver down Yuu’s spine. His grip on their chin loosened, his hand falling away only to settle on their shoulder, still leaving char marks on their jaw. His claws lightly grazed the fabric of their clothing as he prodded them toward the throne.

"No one would," he said, his tone tinged with amusement. "The man was a perverted old bastard."

Yuu allowed themselves to be led further by their king, their steps measured as though they were walking a tightrope with him. The weight of his hand on their shoulder was impossible to ignore, a silent reminder of their wildly unbalanced power dynamic.

He stepped back, gesturing for Yuu to follow as he made his way to the throne. With a lazy grace, he dropped into the large seat, his arms draped languidly over one of the armrests as though the events of the day had taken no toll on him at all.

"C’mere." he said as casually as he might have back in school, motioning to the small space beside him. "Sit. I won't bite."

Yuu hesitated, their stomach twisting as their gaze flicked between him and the space left on the cushioned seat. 

Leona’s gaze never left them, the weight of his command impossible to ignore. Slowly, they moved over, beaded sandals echoing in the large empty room. They started to lower themselves onto the left side of the throne, their hands gripping the armrest as if anchoring themselves to reality.

There was barely room for the both of them. Yuu sat down cautiously, making sure to leave at least a few inches between both their legs. They looked down at the colorful beaded bangles on their wrists and adjusted them as they settled in.

Leona leaned forward slightly, his smirk sharp. "Now," he said, his voice low, "No bullshitting. Tell me what you truly think of what I did."

Yuu’s breath caught, their pulse pounding in their throat. They met his gaze, their own expression carefully guarded, They inhaled deeply, steeling themselves. They knew the wrong answer could cost them, and so could the truth. It was a dangerous game, and they were far from certain they could win against him. 

One thing was clear, there was no turning back now. He intended to play with them.

The answer was simple. He wanted them all to witness it. That’s why he did it.

"I think…" Yuu began, their voice measured, "You’re trying to prove something. To the council. To the kingdom. To yourself." The truth left their lips easier than they thought possible.

Leona’s eyes narrowed slightly, though his smirk didn’t falter. "And what, exactly, do you think I’m trying to prove?"

Yuu hesitated, the weight of his question pressing down on them. They chose their next words carefully, heart racing as they stared into his sharp green eyes.

"That you’re…strong enough to lead," they said finally. "That you deserve to be here."

For a moment, the air between them was charged with unspoken tension. Then, Leona leaned back, his smirk softening into something that almost resembled a genuine smile.

"Interesting theory," he said, his tone unreadable.

Yuu couldn’t tell if that was a good thing, or if they’d just sealed their fate. They took a steadying breath, relieved that Leona seemed somewhat satisfied with their response. His sharp gaze, however, told them the conversation was far from over.

“One more thing,” he said, his tone deceptively casual. “There’s something else I want to know your thoughts about.” One of his brows quirked upward.

Yuu straightened slightly in their corner of the throne, their posture still cautious. “Your Majesty?”

“You seem restless, little mouse. Tell me…what else is on your mind?” His voice was low, almost a purr, but the demand was razor-edged. “No sugarcoating it either. No filter. Honest thoughts about everything.” He held a palm in the air between them, but it felt like a trap.

Leona’s eyes tracked Yuu’s every move as they absorbed his words, seeming to just notice how they sat slightly off-center, leaving space between them and his leg.

 As if any physical distance could ever shield them from his intense scrutiny.

Yuu exhaled a breathy laugh, the sound strained. Their head spun from the abruptness of his request. In the time since their arrival at Leona’s behest, he had spoken to them so sparingly, and never this directly. It was almost as if they were strangers all over again.

“Everything?” they asked, stalling for time. “That’s a lot to cover.” They hesitated before adding, softly, “I mean-” They struggled on where to begin. “It’s… good to see you, Leona. I mean…Your Majesty.” The correction felt clumsy, a verbal stumble that reminded Yuu just how much had changed. The man sitting beside them was not the same person they’d once known. The thought tugged painfully at their chest.

“Not to be uh- rude but…you do look tired…” they ventured cautiously. “I heard the Sunrise City folk have been organizing more protests. Challenging the authority of the palace.” Their voice softened. “It can’t be easy to deal with.” They diverted his question slightly, bringing up recent events.

“I mean…” Yuu’s gaze drifted to the pile of sand that had once been Griza, then back to Leona. The question tumbled out before they could stop themselves. “H-how are you…feeling?”

Leona’s expression remained impassive as he studied them and their words. No doubt he noticed how their eyes lingered on him, searching for traces of the man they’d once known. 

A man he himself knew no longer existed.

He let out an irritated huff, his eyes flicking briefly to the pile of sand too. “It’s becoming more of an annoyance than an actual threat,” he said, his tone dismissive. Then his gaze returned to Yuu, sharp and unyielding. “...You really want to know how I’m feeling?” 

Yuu’s ears perked up at the question, hearing the doubt in his tone. It was the most candid he’d been since their arrival. His guardedness, the impenetrable walls he’d built around himself, seemed to crack, if only slightly.

“Oh.” Yuu blinked, startled. “Yes, Your Majesty. Of course! You can… talk to me about anything.” Their words were soft, formal, yet tinged with sincerity as they nodded.

Leona scoffed bitterly, the sound carrying a weight of frustration. “...Ever since I became king, everything I had before is gone. No more days of slacking off, no more carefree moments of not giving a damn. Now, it’s just this...” He gestured lazily around the grand but empty throne room. “...the kingdom and its endless turmoil.” He paused, his expression unchanged, but his emerald eyes burned with emotions left unspoken.

“And now, I don’t even have the one thing I truly wanted.”

Yuu’s breath hitched as they watched him watching them from the corner of their vision, their carefully maintained mask slipping. “But…Your Majesty, isn’t this what you wanted?” They gestured to the ornate throne room too, its vastness a testament to his new status. “To be king?” They relaxed slightly as they spoke, a whisper of the old melancholic Leona slipping through in his words. For a fleeting moment, he felt less distant.

Leona’s lips curled into a faint, sardonic smile, wrinkles creasing around his darkened eyes. “What I wanted? What I really want…” He leaned closer, his voice low but searing. “...is to go back to when I was free to do whatever the hell I wanted. When I wasn’t stuck in this…damn throne room, surrounded by…traitors and sycophants. No one I can trust or talk to, to…be by my side.”

The honesty in his tone made Yuu’s chest tighten. 

“You of all people should know that,” he said, his gaze piercing as a crooked smile tugged at his mouth.

They had wanted to keep their distance, but Leona's words landed heavy in the silence between them, the soft weight of his confession pulling their heartstrings. There was a rawness to his tone that unsettled them. As if their prior words had stirred something deep inside him, memories they had once shared, secrets only they both knew.

Leona’s broken smile felt like a ghost, haunting them both.   

“I’m sorry…” Yuu looked down, their voice barely above a whisper. They wanted to…to empathize with him, but the memory of Griza’s death still hung heavy in the air, a grim reminder of the man he had become. “I do know, Leo-” The name slipped from their lips again before they could stop themselves. “I mean…Your Majesty.”

Leona’s scoff was softer this time, almost wistful. 

"I guess...things were simpler back then, huh?" Yuu gave him a nostalgic smile as the coolness of the back of the throne soaked into their robes. The few inches between the two of them felt like a cavern now. “I…don’t envy you. Being king must be…” They struggled to find the word, a tightness in their own chest. “...lonely.” Their voice dropped. 

Yuu hesitated before speaking again, the silence between them like still, uncharted waters. “...What can I do to help, Your Majesty?” They dared to ask again, creating a ripple they weren’t sure if they wanted to cause. As they met his gaze, they knew they could no longer hide the sadness they felt for him, for both of them, at how things turned ended up.

He breathed out.

“I never asked for this. I never really wanted this, ya know.” Leona said, his voice flat yet laced with an unmistakable pain.  

“I know…”  Yuu felt the full weight of his gaze settle on them, searching, pressing his grief onto them. His eyes flicked over their face, taking in every subtle shift of their expression, the sadness they thought they had hidden beneath a veil of stoic composure. He saw them. And they knew he saw them, mourning for what both their lives once were.

It was a silent accusation, a subtle reminder that the walls they had worked so hard to erect were not as impenetrable as they thought. And yet, there was an unsettling tenderness in his eyes that made Yuu’s breath catch, slipping like a dagger under their ribs.

“But, there’s nothing you can do, even if I wanted ya to…” he said, his voice quiet but firm, the words weighted with resignation. The tension in the air only thickened, a heavy silence; screams muffled with years of unspoken words and unhealed wounds.  

Yuu’s eyes burned. They felt the sting of tears gathering, but they blinked and fought to keep them at bay, clawing at their bracelets on their wrist once more. They were unraveling at the edges, and for a fleeting moment, they feared the years of their trained professionalism would slip if they sat next to the miserable king any longer. 

They couldn't break character.  

"You're right, I’m sorry," Yuu confessed, wiping at their eyes with a hasty swipe of their arm. Their voice cracked as they spoke, an unintended tremor in the words. “I guess I should go, continue my work then, sir?” They stood, hoping to escape the suffocating intensity of this moment between them. “Your Majesty…” They bowed again, then stood there, waiting. 

But, Leona didn’t dismiss them.  

Before they could take another step, the king’s arm shot out like a whip, taking their wrist with surprising force. His touch was firm but desperate, pulling them back down onto the throne with him.  

Yuu’s breath was taken from them, and before they could even process what was happening, they found themselves falling and plummeting...straight into his lap. The impact left them breathless, their heart pounding wildly against their ribs. Leona shifted his body, catching them easily and wrapping his arms tightly around their waist, pulling them flush to him, their back pressed to his chest. His chin came to rest on their shoulder, his breath warm and shaky against their skin. Without words, he buried his face in the crook of their neck, nose tip tracing their pulse point. 

His smell was the same from all those years ago, cinnamon, citrus, star anise. Yuu could practically feel it, the tension and desperation pouring off him like an electric current. It was all they could do not to scream, for both of them.

“S-stay,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, crackling with emotion. “I don’t want cha to go.”  

Yuu’s body went rigid, heart hammering; a frantic rhythm in their ears. The warmth of his body, the weight of his arms around them. It was all so achingly familiar, yet the desperation in his grip felt foreign. This wasn’t the Leona they had once known. His loneliness clung like a heavy shroud, smothering them both in the savanna heat. There was something darker, more urgent beneath it all now, more intense than anything they remembered, a weight, a suffocating pressure. His loneliness seeped into them, and it clung to their chest like an immovable boulder. 

They couldn’t breathe. They couldn’t even move.  

“Your M-majesty?” Their voice trembled, a flicker of uncertainty breaking through the facade they had carefully crafted. They froze, unsure how to react, caged in the snare of his arms like a helpless animal. 

“I thought…” Yuu stuttered, still breathless, their voice barely a whisper. Their sweat caused their clothes to stick to multiple points on their body. “I thought there was nothing I could do t-to help?” Their body reacted to his touch against their neck, sending involuntary shivers down their spine. The tingles ran from their chest into their legs, and they couldn’t suppress the way their body burned under his invasive touch.  

Leona’s grip tightened, pulling them even closer to him. He inhaled deeply near their ear, his breath shaky against the curve of their neck. They knew he could feel how stiff they were in his arms, the way their body quivered with a mixture of confusion, fear, and something else. 

They knew he could feel their hesitance, but still, they stayed. 

And that seemed to be enough for him. 

“...You’re the only person in this fucking place that makes me feel like….myself,” he murmured, his voice soft, almost pleading. He whispered it as if it was the world’s most important secret. “That’s how you can help.”  

Yuu’s chest ached. They wanted to empathize with him, comfort him, and understand. But, there was another weight in the room that couldn’t be ignored. A man’s remains still lay near, a grim reminder of what Leona had become in their years apart. 

A king broken by his choices, a man who had spilled blood. Devoured his own remorse and morals long ago. And yet here he was, like a child clinging to their robes, desperate for the comfort of a bit of human touch. 

Yuu closed their eyes, torn. Every fiber of their being screamed to pull away, to remember the man he had killed with their own eyes. But the ache in their chest grew, the heaviness of his loneliness, clawing at them. It was too much to resist indulging in. They knew it was wrong, toxic even but-

The desperation he felt for them was...intoxicating. 

“Yes, Your Majesty,” they whispered, head light, their voice barely a breath. They closed their eyes, bracing for whatever would come next, but still, they waited, unsure if they had just stepped into a trap they would never escape from.

Leona’s body stiffened at their passive response, and a soft, almost satisfied hum escaped him. 

Oh? So, he hadn’t expected them to stay on his lap, to offer any kind of comfort, but here they were: allowing him to have what he apparently so desperately wanted.  

Slowly, Leona tilted his head, the outline of his lips grazing the skin of Yuu’s neck with the gentlest of touches. His grip remained tight, as though trying to anchor them both to this fleeting moment, afraid it would slip away if he didn’t. 

“Say my name,” he whispered, his voice low and full of something almost frantic.  

Yuu gasped, their body relaxing despite themselves. It somewhat disgusted them that they wanted to give in to him. The tension in their limbs began to loosen, and they instinctively pressed themselves closer to him, their body betraying all those emotional boundaries they had worked so hard to build.

"Leona," they murmured, their voice barely audible, a trembling whisper, just for him. 

"Leona..." They repeated it as if saying his name was the only thing that could ground them both in this chaotic and messy moment.  

They sensed his body react at the sound of his name, reverberating in the space around them. His chest shuddered behind their back, his grip on Yuu’s waist tightening. His claws gripped their robes to almost discomfort, trapping them even closer to him.  

As he exhaled shakily, it was as if a sense of relief washed over him. Yuu felt the tension in the rest of his body release beneath them. “Again,” he whispered, broad nose tracing the shell of their ear. His voice was croaky, almost pleading.  

Yuu’s heart raced, the warmth of his thighs soaking into theirs. Their breath quickened, caught somewhere between fear and longing, sweat beading on their forehead. They didn’t know how they had ended up here, sitting in the lap of the damn king after he murdered someone before their eyes. Then, offering him comfort with nothing but his name, and the weight of their body. 

But here they were, and there was no turning back.  

“...Leona,” they whispered a third time, sealing their fate. The name escaped their lips like a prayer, a desperate plea for the boy they once knew, the boy they had once admired, to come back. To claw his way through the cruel king he had become.

--

[rustyironskillet]

Day 12: Time Travel

“Sooooo Phantom, do ya have any siblings?” Kid Flash asked as he tried to make small talk with the newest recruit to the team.

A few days ago, Young Justice was called to a meeting by Batman where he introduced their new team mate, Phantom. Phantom was a tough looking dude, he was jacked and towered over them all, even Conner!

Batman didn’t give them much information about the guy but apparently John Constentine was the one who suggested him for the team since he needed “community service hours”.

The dude was currently drinking some soda next to the computer as Red Robin searched for any new info on their latest mission. He turned his attention away from the can, and stared at Wally, his red eyes piercing into his soul.

“Why?” 

“Well we are all about to go on a mission together and none of us really know you so I think it’d be best if we all got to know you better,” that was half true. Mostly Wally was just being nosey, but the dude really did make everyone nervous since he was this really tough dude with blood red eyes and apparently was here because John Constentine said he needed community service hours???? Constentine typically say some wild shit, but what the fuck do you mean by community service? Wally knows you can’t use those for school, he’s tried, and what else gave you community service? Juvie and prison!!

Phantom stared at him hard for a few seconds, his eyes searing into the back of Wally’s skull before saying, “Okay fine”.

The answer surprised everyone in the room, I mean the guy had barely even spoken the last few days and had rejected every question about his personal life.

“Depending on how you see it, I have 2 to 4 siblings”

“Is your father a serial adopter too?” Tim joked.

“Yes and no”

“Huh?” 

“It’s pretty complicated,” Phantom shrugged, seemingly deciding to end the conversation there and taking another swig of his drink.

However, Tim, out of annoyances of every attempt to get to know this jerk being thwarted and a bit of confidence his family was more complicated, decided to challenge Phantom’s statement.

“Ehh, it probably isn’t as complicated as my family, we got about 50 more siblings adopted each month, all with lots much trauma”

At this, Phantom narrowed his eyes at Tim.

“I see what your doing, your trying to get me to talk tell you guy more about my family by acting like yours are more insane”

“Am I?” Tim asked, trying to hide the shivers going down his spine from the way Phantom was staring at him.

Phantom to a huge swig of his soda, emptying it and throwing it into the garbage, before fully turning to Tim.  

“You’re lucky I am always good for competitions, now sit down this is going to take a bit”

Tim gladly obliged and soon everyone sat around Phantom as if it were storytime in kindergarten.

“Okay, so at first I only had an older sister and my parents” Phantom began, “but then they died because of a mistake I made and I had to move in with my evil godfather”

Megan raised her hand and asked, “Isn’t a godfather someone who is very close to the family? Why would your parents choose an evil person?”

“‘Cause my dad was oblivious to this and though they were good friends even though the dudes tried to kill him multiple times”

“I see,” Megan lowered her hand, no less confused.

“There I went mad with grief and had him remove my humanity and tried to kill all of humanity”

“I think that was a bit of an overreaction,” Wally joked.

“You tried to kill all of humanity? Why weren’t we told of this when it happened?” Kaldur'ahm asked.

“That was in a different timeline, I was a big enough problem that they gods tried to kill the younger version of me to stop me, so to avoid dying, my younger version decide to try to defeat me and the only reason he did was cause I was underestimating him,” Phantom emphasized the last part because he had to stress he didn’t not lose to a 15 year old boy because he was weaker than him.

“What happened next?,” Artemis asked, completely inraptured in the story.

“I was then imprisoned for sometime before escaping, causing problems and then realizing that causing younger mean the same pain I experienced won't bring my loved ones back,” Phantom continued to explain, “so I am now going to therapy, doing community service, and got the majority of my powers taken away”.

“Is your therapist open to seeing new patients?” Konner asked.

“No, but this timelines version of my sister is and she has a lot of experience so I can give you her number instead”

“Sure, that’ll work”

“Okay,” Phantom said before writing her number down and handing it to Konner, “The thing is I can’t go back to living with my real parents because they don’t know that I am Phantom so I have to go back to living this timelines version of my godfather”

“You gotta be kidding me” Tim groans.

“Exactly what I said!!” Phantom put his arm up defensively, “Fortunately, this version is a little better, he is no longer tiring to kill my dad and has stopped chasing after my mom, he did clone the other of me and now there is a genderbent version of him but my godfather treats her like a princess and will not stop spoiling her, which I am also guilty of”

Phantoms continues to explain more and in the back of Tim's mind he remembers he was supposed to be doing something but honestly this conversation was too good to care.

“Anyways that's how I technically have 2 to 4 siblings, Jazz and Elle are permanently my sisters and I love them so much, and even though the other Jazz is technically the same as this Jazz, I still think of her as someone else, someone I miss dearly. Also if I considered this Jazz my sister, I guess I’d have to considered the other me as my brother”

“Damn bitch your family is crazy” Wally said, happy he finally managed to get through Phantom’s tough skin.

As they finished up their storytime, the Zeta-tubes activated and Red Tornado and an upset looking Batman walked to the group.

“You all were supposed to leave thirty minutes ago”

[starkeymeow]

# DIVERGENT — dauntless!rafe who . . .

main masterlist | series masterlist

was probably born erudite but hated how quiet they were about cruelty, so he cut his palm deep and jumped first into dauntless without even hesitating.

is dauntless through and through now, all sharp eyes and bruised knuckles, but you can still see the strategist in the way he fights.

was top of his initiation class and got recruited early to help lead training, mostly because he was fearless and unshakable in simulations.

doesn’t talk much during instruction unless he’s calling you out or making you start over from the top, and again, and again. but he’s helpful. he gives you advice you don’t ask for, tells you which instructors to avoid, where the training flaws are, even though he pretends not to care.

calls you “transfer” more than your name, like he’s trying to keep you distant, but his eyes always find you when someone lands a punch you don’t see coming.

gets real still during fear simulations like nothing rattles him, but he always wakes up breathing too hard, like there’s more fear than he admits.

hates jj and john b in a quiet kind of way. he doesn’t say much but you know he’d let them fall off the train without blinking.

barely looks at sarah when they cross paths in the pit, like he’s trying to pretend she’s just another dauntless soldier and not someone who knows him.

doesn’t play favorites, but he’s rougher on you than anyone else, and no one can tell if it’s because he wants you to break or prove that you won’t. he’ll tells you “again” during sparring over and over, like he’s trying to exhaust you, but he’s really watching the way you refuse to stay down.

doesn’t show weakness in public, but he’s the kind of leader who’d carry an injured initiate back from a failed climb and then swear them to silence about it.

kisses you the first time like it’s a mistake, then does it again slower like he meant it the whole damn time.

keeps his fear sim results locked away, but rumor is one of his fears looks exactly like losing control of himself and hurting someone he didn’t mean to.

always finishes a fight, even when it wasn’t his to start, and even when it costs him.

eventually stops calling you “transfer” for good, and when you notice, he just shrugs and says, “didn’t fit you anymore.”

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @sukunasmuse @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar @drewstarkeyzwhore @drewsephrry @annaconscience @writtenbyhollywood @yourtypicalteenagegirl @daisydark @v4mpscrms @issahruiz @ilovefictionallmenn @derpjungkook @vanessa-rafesgirl @sunny1616 @alphabetically-deranged @nrmlgirl @supercxnt @xoxosblogsblog @rafegetinmybed @siyahmoonlight @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @d-daxx @tsumudoll @ogcrashout @jjasmiineee @loverliner @ailimedae @belle101200 @hiimbrina @nomup @ayy1234567 @girxwrp @k4yr14 @amterasuu @theteenagementality @maggscr @hey-you22w @delilah22pbp @hayleynott @silkenthusiasts

[novella-november]

See, here's the thing about generative AI:

I will always, always prefer to read the beginner works of a young writer that could use some editing advice, over anything a predictive text generator can spit out no matter how high of a "quality" it spits out.

I will always be more interested in reading a fanfiction or original story written by a kid who doesn't know you're meant to separate different dialogues into their own paragraphs, over anything a generative ai creates.

I will happily read a story where dialogue isn't always capitalized and has some grammar mistakes that was written by a person over anything a computer compiles.

Why?

Because *why should I care about something someone didn't even care enough to write themselves?*

Humans have been storytellers since the dawn of humankind, and while it presents itself in different ways, almost everyone has stories they want to tell, and it takes effort and care and a desire to create to put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard or speech to text to actually start writing that story out, let alone share it for others to read!

If a kid writes a story where all the dialogue is crammed in the same paragraph and missing some punctuation, it's because they're still learning the ropes and are eager to share their imagination with the world even if its not perfect.

If someone gets generative AI to make an entire novel for them, copying and pasting chunks of text into a document as it generates them, then markets that "novel" as being written by a real human person and recruits a bunch of people to leave fake good reviews on the work praising the quality of the book to trick real humans into thinking they're getting a legitimate novel.... Tell me, why on earth would anyone actually want to read that "novel" outside of morbid curiosity?

There's a few people you'll see in the anti-ai tags complaining about "people being dangerously close to saying art is a unique characteristic of the divine human soul" and like...

... Super dramatic wording there to make people sound ridiculous, but yeah, actually, people enjoy art made by humans because humans who make art are sharing their passion with others.

People enjoy art made by animals because it is fascinating and fun to find patterns in the paint left by paw prints or the movements of an elephants trunk.

Before Generative AI became the officially sanctioned "Plagiarism Machine for Billionaires to Avoid Paying Artists while Literally Stealing all those artists works" people enjoyed random computer-generated art because, like animals, it is fascinating and fun to see something so different and alien create something that we can find meaning in.

But now, when Generative AI spits out a work that at first appears to be a veritable masterpiece of art depicting a winged Valkyrie plunging from the skies with a spear held aloft, you know that anything you find beautiful or agreeable in this visual media has been copied from an actual human artist who did not consent or doesn't even know that their art has been fed into the Plagiarism Machine.

Now, when Generative AI spits out a written work featuring fandom-made tropes and concepts like Alpha Beta Omega dyanamics, you know that you favorite fanfiction website(s) have probably all been scraped and that the unpaid labours of passion by millions of people, including minors, have been scraped by the Plagiarism Machine and can now be used to make money for anyone with the time and patience to sit and have the Plagarism Machine generate stories a chunk at a time and then go on to sell those stories to anyone unfortunate enough to fall for the scam,

all while you have no way to remove your works from the existing training data and no way to stop any future works you post be put in, either.

Generative AI wouldn't be a problem if it was exclusively trained on Public Domain works for each country and if it was freely available to anyone in that country (since different countries have different copyright laws)

But its not.

Because Generative AI is made by billionaires who are going around saying "if you posted it on the Internet at any point, it is fair game for us to take and profit off," and anyone looking to make a quick buck can start churning out stolen slop and marketing it online on trusted retailers, including generating extremely dangerous books like foraging guides or how to combine cleaning chemicals for a spotless home, etc.

Generative AI is nothing but the works of actual humans stolen by giant corporations looking for profit, even works that the original creators can't even make money off of themselves, like fanfiction or fanart.

And I will always, always prefer to read "fanfiction written by a 13 year old" over "stolen and mashed together works from Predictive Text with a scifi name slapped on it", because at least the fanfiction by a kid actually has *passion and drive* behind its creation.

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Prison Warden - GxG version

After getting thrown into jail for a crime you refuse to talk about, one of the wardens takes a keen interest in your past. Tags: Fem Yandere x Fem Reader, blood, violence, mentions of child abuse, lowkey kind of sweet, 10k words

Being in jail is no fun. Being in a maximum security prison after being found guilty of homicide? Somehow even less fun.

You've tried to make the best of it. Got some posters to put up in your cell, started a book club, took up macrame. But you can't really paint a veneer of normalcy over incarceration. It's violent, it's dirty and most inmates tend to avoid you. And the thought of at least thirty more years of the same routine, day in and day out? Well, that's plain depressing.

Still, some days are worse than others. Today seemed like it was going to be a good day. The cafeteria food was actually hot, an acquaintance shared some gum with you, you manged to get a new book from the library. Things were, if not great, at least bearable.

Until the tour.

The wardens - also called Corrections Officers, COs, or rotten, motherless bastards - were almost always training new recruits. The prison system had an unsurprisingly high turnover, which meant an almost constant stream of new faces. With time, you'd learnt to ignore the tours and walk-throughs. With one exception.

Slammer.

He was a senior CO who seemed to almost always turn your cell into the final stop on his grand introductory tour of the glorious prison system. Maybe you were just nice to look at or maybe he had a chip on his shoulder. Either way, things almost ended up just as they did right now.

The 'tour group' was clustered outside your cell. Slammer was in the lead, his baton out and his little piggy eyes gleaming.

The trainees were in their new minted uniforms. Most of them uncomfortable and tugging at the scratchy, starched collars. You could have told them not to bother. That it was better for them to at least pretend they were comfortable. COs weren't your friends - every single prisoner in here would see that lack of confidence, that slight sense of unease. And they would pounce on it the first chance they got.

You hated being looked at like a zoo animal. And you especially hated the way Slammer showed you off to them like you some prize piece in his menagerie. Fellonus Homicidus perhaps.

You hated feeling their eyes on you. But you weren't going to make the mistake of showing them that. The less the COs knew about you, the better. It was like rule number two of incarceration. (Rule one being 'don't fight the jacked inmate with prison tattoos.' Obviously).

You didn't bother to get up from your bunk to greet them. You stayed just as you had all afternoon - one arm behind your head and one leg hanging off the bed.

You pretended to keep reading your beat up paperback.

"This one is especially dangerous. Stabbed her neighbour forty eight times before the cops could get her off," Slammer told them.

"Forty six," you corrected him without looking away from your book. "Coroner said it was forty six. Allegedly."

You could feel their eyes on you again.

"Right," Slammer drawled, "Because those last two stabs made all the difference."

You didn't bother to answer him.

"She really did that?" One of the trainees, a lanky guy with too large ears, asked. "She looks harmless."

You were almost offended at that. You flicked your eyes over them. They were mostly men, and most of them were looking at you in that hungry, contemplative way you knew so well. Wondering how much they could get away with once they were full fledged COs.

It should have bothered you. It didn't. Horny COs were just a part and parcel of life here. If you were smart, you could wring all sorts of goodies out of them before their supervisors caught on.

"Listen to me son. Every single prisoner in here is dangerous. They wouldn't be locked up if they were like you and me. They wouldn't feel guilt even if they stole from their poor old momma."

"You wound me, Slammer." You turned to the next page with a flick of your thumb. "I loved my momma. Only stole from her once or twice."

You didn't have much hope of them noticing your sarcasm. COs weren't the brightest bunch.

Slammer ignored you. "Don't ever say they're harmless. They sure as hell ain't. Two weeks here and you'll know exactly what I mean."

You could tell they didn't believe him. In the popular imagination, a women's prison was nothing like a man's. Women weren't dangerous. The trainees probably assumed you spent all day knitting scarves and talking about the lovely husband and kids that you were oh so keen to get back to.

They would lose that notion pretty damn fast.

"Are you supposed to tell us the prisoners' charges?" A woman's voice, neutral and respectful but you thought you could hear a hint of reproach in her tone.

You looked back at the group and you were amazed that you didn't notice her earlier. She stood perfectly still, hands clasped behind her back like she was at parade rest. Unlike the others, she had the quiet confidence of someone who knew their job and knew it well.

Her blond hair was scraped back into a low bun and her uniform sat on her in a way that was far more natural than any of the other trainees. Ex-military or police, if you had to guess. Not that unusual. Corrections wasn't such a huge leap from those fields.

You sat up and answered her before Slammer could get a chance.

"He's not. Inmate information is confidential. But Slammer here doesn't always listen to the rules."

You shot him a condescending smile. "He's a reaaal rebel."

He scoffed. "The new officers have a right to know exactly how dangerous you are."

You put a hand to your chest, all faux innocence. "Little old me? Slammer, I'm a saint! A nun! I've been to chapel three times this week."

"Yeah. To sell cigarettes and buy booze."

"Just as the good Lord intended."

Slammer didn't find you funny. You could tell from the fact that a) he wasn't laughing and b) he was grinding his teeth like he was a beaver about to dig in to a particularly scrumptious tree.

"Fact is, prisoners like her are the worst of the bunch. You think you they're harmless, but the second you turn your back, they'll shiv you and run off with your tazer."

You grinned at the trainees as winningly as you could.

"Only did that once by the way. And the guy had it coming, swear on my mama."

Most of them were shifting around uncomfortably. Hearing Slammer keep banging on about your crimes was finally enough to get it through to them. The prisoners are not nice.

You'd assume that was obvious, but incarceration taught you that however slow you thought the wardens were, they could always get dumber.

The only one who didn't seem bothered was the blonde. She was looking at you like you were nothing more or less than a piece of furniture. You got the sense that she was analysing you, looking past your fake smile and even faker bravado.

You also got the feeling that she wasn't impressed with what she saw.

You flopped back down on your bunk and tried not to let it bother you. One more person thinking you were a delinquent. What difference did it make?

She was the last to leave. Her eyes did one final scan of your cell before they landed on your paperback. She raised a brow.

"The Green Mile? Isn't that a bit depressing?"

You shrugged, uncomfortable but not entirely sure why.

"I like to think of it as aspirational."

"And why's that?"

"The wardens aren't all assholes."

That earned you a flicker of a smile before she turned on her heel and disappeared.

You forgot all about her after a week. To be fair, there were other things to occupy you. A fist fight on D Block that you somehow got dragged into. Drama in the book club. A warden getting caught with his pants down. Standard prison fare.*

It was a Tuesday when you saw her again, in the middle of the cafeteria. You only had a split second to recognise her before she was dousing you in pepper spray and sweeping your legs out from under you.

That was misleading maybe. She wasn't totally unjustified in greeting you like that. You were technically in the middle of beating a CO with a lunch tray.

(He deserved it, but that's not exactly a good excuse when his nose is gushing blood all over the table).

You were still coughing on pepper spray when she hauled you to solitary, your eyes and throat burning.

"Glad...to see you got...the job blondie," you managed to wheeze.

She sent you stumbling into the cell with a practiced push.

"Yep," she said simply, "They hired me on the spot."

Your shoulder was still an aching mess when she slammed and locked the door, leaving you in the half dark to wash the stinging out of your eyes.

You rubbed at your aching joints. "I can see why."

Pepper spray was considered the least lethal way to subdue a prisoner. Easier than a taser, less brutal than the baton. But despite its shining reputation, it was your least favourite tool in the COs' toolbelt. A taser was at least quick. The baton left a bruise but the pain didn't linger.

Pepper spray on the other hand? It left your eyes and throat and nose irritated for days.

You were still trying to rinse it out of your mouth when she returned, boots heavy on the linoleum and her keys rattling.

You turned to her with your white prison issued tank practically soaked. To most other guards, that would be an invitation to gawk. Not her though. Her eyes never dipped below your chin.

"Sit down. I've got some cold cloths for the swelling."

You sat, more confused than anything else.

"That's not standard regulation blondie. Usually, they just let us suffer through it."

She tossed you the cloths, still icy from a quick minute in the freezer. You pressed them to your face gratefully.

"It is standard regulation. Treating pepper spray once the prisoner is subdued."

You scoffed. "Why am I not surprised that no one ever told us that?"

She stayed quiet and you peaked at her over the edge of the fabric. She was much leaner than you realised, her sleeves rolled to her elbows, her forearms toned with muscle.

And tattoos. Damn, she had some sick tats.

You cleared your throat, not exactly sure why she bothered to do this for you.

"Thank you. It sucks to deal with. Makes everything taste awful for about two days."

She raised a brow.

"I just dragged you to solitary and your main worry is that the food won't taste good?"

"The food never tastes good. This is more so a matter of bloody awful becoming hellish awful."

"It can't be that bad."

"Tell me that after you've spent five years with lukewarm hash browns and soggy peas."

"You've been in here five years already?"

You sighed, pressed the cloth against your brows so you didn't have to look at her.

"Yep. And I've still got another thirty to go."

"Why?"

That got an unexpected laugh from you.

"Didn't you hear Slammer? Homicide. Found guilty on all charges."

"Did you do it?"

"Allegedly."

What was her angle? Was this some new, interactive approach to corrections? Getting friendly with the inmates so they're less likely to riot?

"Didn't they teach you not to ask those sorts of questions? Not really something people in here like to talk about," you said.

You saw that little flicker of a smile again.

"They did. But I get the feeling you don't mind it as much."

She was right. You didn't mind. At least, not with her. She had a kind of quiet confidence that, surprisingly, made you feel comfortable.

"Why did you want to work in a prison? Or more accurately, what the hell went wrong that you ended up here?"

"You think it's such a bad job?"

"I'd never do it and I live here."

She leaned against the cell wall, hands on her belt. There it was again. A veteran's stance, weapons in easy reach in case you tried something.

"It's a boring story."

"I've got nothing but time."

That earned you another raised brow.

"As we've established."

What's this? A CO actually cracking a joke? You never thought you'd see the day.

"And anyway, we're not here to talk about me. I'm here to find out why you attacked my fellow officer."

Ah, so that was why she was playing nice.

"I didn't like his face."

She narrowed her eyes and pushed herself off the wall. "Dissapointing. I thought you'd have a better reason than that."

You didn't like her tone, or the way it made you feel. Ashamed. Like you'd failed her test, even though you didn't know you were supposed to study.

She paused at the door.

"What's her name? The girl he was picking on?"

You raised you head. "What?"

"The guard you attacked. He was causing trouble, wasn't he?"

How did she know? Did she see it? Oh God, was Ruby going to get into shit because of you?

"Listen, she had nothing to do with it. She had no idea what I was going to do. It was all me."

She shrugged. "How am I supposed to know if that's true if I don't know the full story?"

You bit your lip. You didn't like saying too much to the COs. And your instinct was telling you she would be able to read a lot deeper than the rest of them.

"Guess I'll just have to ask her then."

"No!" You dug your hands into your sheets to stop yourself from bolting to your feet.

"No, Ruby has nothing to do with it I swear. She's almost sixty. She gets enough shit as it is. Just leave her alone."

You swallowed. "Please."

She was looking at you again, much sharper this time. You hadn't noticed it before but her eyes were a gunmetal grey.

"Explain then."

Your grip on the sheets tightened until your knuckles were pale. Did you really have to talk about this shit out loud?

"Ruby is..." you started. "She's different. Older than most of us, keeps to herself. She's not...all there, if you know what I mean."

She turned to face you and settled back against the wall. "Go on."

"Most of the inmates don't bother her. Why would we? She's just a little old lady. Not harmless, no ones really harmless, but about as close to it as you can get. But some of the COs..."

Her lips thinned. "They have a nasty streak."

"You can call it that. Usually it's just calling her names. But sometimes some of them get it into their heads that what she really needs is a hard knock. Rattle those screws around enough and maybe they'll fall back into place."

"Is that what happened today?"

You sighed, looked down at your hands and the blood dried in the crevices of your nails.

"Yep. CO was all in her face, being nasty. Grabbing her wrist. Taunting her. And she... she just stood there and took it. Old enough to be his grandmother and he didn't care."

You closed your eyes. What else were you supposed to do?

He'd been at it for five minutes when you stood up with your lunch tray. By then you'd had enough. No one else was going to do anything, so it was going to be you.

The lunch trays were a hard plastic, meant to keep from breaking on impact. You'd left your half eaten bowl of chow on the table and walked up behind him, your heart beating steady and calm. Some part of you had already decided the consequences were worth it.

Some of the inmates were looking at you and every single one of them knew exactly what you intended. But none of 'em said a word.

You could still feel the smack of your tray against his head. The way he stumbled forward with the momentum.

You'd caught him by surprise and you weren't going to let him get over it. You swung the tray at his face, as hard as you could. You could feel his nose breaking. He was on his knees by then. And maybe you'd have let him up, might have ended things there.

But then you saw Ruby's wrist. A frail thing, with his finger marks standing out a livid red.

"I see."

You opened your eyes. She was still watching you, her face unreadable.

You shrugged and tried to smile.

"Today was practically hum drum* by our normal standards."

"How exciting," she deadpanned.

"Just wait 'til Christmas time. It gets positively festive."

She snorted and started for the door again.

"You're aren't such a hard ass after all, are you? Saving little old ladies in your spare time," she said.

"Just think how safe senior citizens will be when they let me back out."

It was only for a few seconds, but you liked it when she smiled. It softened that tough guy demeanor just enough to make you wonder about the woman underneath.

When she was gone, you laid down with the cloth still pressed against your cheek. Who'd have thought it. A CO who you didn't want to punch in the teeth.

The CO you beat didn't come back to work for two weeks, and when he did, you heard that he asked for a transfer to a different block.

Ruby made you a macaroni necklace and said something about alien warships picking you up out of everyone else. You figured that was her way of saying thank you.

And maybe the most notable thing of all: Blondie was assigned to your cell block. Surprising. Yours wasn't the worst part of the prison, but you weren't a bunch of saints either. Rookies wouldn't even be considered until they'd had at least a year's experience.

It was yet another thing pointing to her past. Something, somewhere had given her enough experience to slip ahead on the promotion queue.

You didn't much mind it. You'd almost say it was enjoyable. She wasn't rude, she didn't pick favourites and she was keen eyed enough to catch a lot of the under the table business that inmates engaged in.

You didn't go out of your way to talk to her - getting too cozy with a CO wasn't a good look - but you make it a point to greet her whenever you could.

Well, you called it greeting. Most other folk saw it as a smirk and a sing song "Hey there blondie!"

She must have had some sort of interest in you too. You'd look up from your lunch and see her watching you, head tilted just a little. Like she was trying to puzzle you out. You took to winking at her whenever you caught her.

It would usually be enough to make her look away, but never for long. Her eyes would always find you again.

You should have been annoyed at it, or unnerved. But honestly, the way she looked at you was borderline sweet compared to the other COs. You'd occasionally catch some of them watching you too. Usually with their hands on their belts.

There wasn't much to do in prison besides read, sleep and exercise. But at around the third week after her arrival, you started getting letters.

Not totally uncommon. Plenty of folk wrote to prisoners. But to you? That was a different story. You'd put the letters you received into two categories: perverts and the pervertedly curious.

The perverts were exactly what you'd expect. People who thought your mugshot was the hottest thing since Megan Fox taking a swim. Their letters were particularly uncomfortable to read. And often sticky. You never wrote back.

The pervertedly curious were a whole 'nother class. They probably ran across your case on a true crime podcast or on a documentary. And their first thought at hearing the story was to wonder exactly what it felt like. They'd write and ask you what was going through your mind. What did the knife feel like sinking into his flesh? What did the blood smell like?

A fun bunch of freaks. You'd write back sometimes, more for your own amusement than anything else. Your answers were never even remotely true. I was mostly thinking about how late my taxes were and what a bastard it would be clean up. Stabbing him felt like cutting a steak except more scream-y. The blood smelt like a stack of pennies on a warm summer day but mostly it smelt like blood. You'd always end your sentences with your trademark allegedly.

These new letters were nothing like those at all. The paper was crisp and clean and most importantly, not sticky. The folded lines were sharp, like the writer pressed them down on purpose.

The writer didn't ask about the murder. They didn't ask about your bra size. They were almost...sweet.

You must be lonely in prison. You must get bored. I hope you're safe.

You read it again and again before you wrote a reply. Silly really. They seemed much too nice to be writing to someone like you. Maybe someone trying to do a good deed.

You should scare them off. Writing to a prisoner is sweet and all, but most folk in here would use it as just another way to wring someone dry. You were no different. Your anonymous pen pal would be better off working at the animal shelter if they wanted to help a stray.

I've got a whole host of buddies. We discuss the best ways to get blood out of our socks and pillow cases. I'm not bored at all. We've got a badminton league. Obviously the best way to spend federal cash. I'm as safe as a lamb in the hay. Only got stabbed twice last week.

There. That would get rid of them.

You mailed it out on cheap exam pad paper with a stamp you lifted off your neighbour. You didn't expect a reply.

When the mail got delivered the next week, you were more than a little surprised to find a new letter waiting for you.

The same crisp paper, the same neat, slanging hand.

You can't scare me off. I know you're only prickly and sarcastic because deep down you're scared. Scared a lot. Scared all the time.

I looked you up. You were barely out of high-school when it happened. Well behaved, normal family, no record of misdemenaors. Prison must have been an awful adjustment.

You had to put the letter down and take a deep breath. The kid clocked you. Less than two letters in and they'd read you better than anyone had in years. Better than anyone ever had maybe.

What were those first few years like, I wonder. How did you survive? Please write me back. I like checking in on you.

You considered not replying. What were they hoping to achieve, getting all familiar with a killer?

The letter sat on your shelf for half a week before you gave in and wrote a reply.

I survived by being mean and cruel and evil. Stop writing me kid. I'll bite your head off and drink your blood.

The next letter came almost instantly. If anything, the writer seemed amused more than anything else.

Scary. Did they put you in for homicide or suspected vampirism? You want to get rid of me, but I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to reply, but I know you must need a friend. They aren't easy to come by behind bars. Any alliances you form will always have the expectation of reciprocation. It must be exhausting.

Did I tell you a bought a new car last week? A Camaro. I know. How stereotypical of a Marine to buy a car like that, right? But it's gorgeous. I'd like to take you for a drive someday. Nothing but the open road. I think you'll like that.

You didn't even wait a full day before you wrote back. Because they were right. You really did need a friend. Someone to just shoot the breeze with, without any subtext of a favour being repaid later on.

You didn't know anything about your mysterious pen pal. Not their age or their gender or even the colour of their eyes. They signed all their letters with a simple from B.

They mostly asked you questions. Not obtrusive or gross ones either. They wanted to know which foods you missed the most, which tv series and movies you wanted to catch up on, which actors you thought were getting Grammys this year.

When Grammy and Oscar season rolled around, you choked out a fellow inmate to get the TV remote. You left them sitting up on the couch, passed out and looking like they were just asleep. Blondie almost caught you. She walked past the door and paused to stare at your victim.

You gave her your most charming grin.

"She said the opening ceremony was too long and to wake get up when the red carpet is over," you explained.

She scoffed and moved on.

When you wrote your next letter, you packed it full of award show details.

B wrote to you for the better part of a year. But you only learnt a handful of things about them. They were in the Marines, they now worked some kind of federal job, they had tattoos, they liked Nicole Richie, and they hated fried chicken. Like really hated it. With a passion.

I promise to never cook you fried chicken, you wrote, only fried calamari, fried onion rings, fried mushrooms, fried liver, fried green beans, fried -

Can you even cook? they wrote back. Or are you just running your mouth?

For a while, you were happy. They'd occasionally send you new books in the mail, burnt CDs to listen to on your busted radio, packets of sweets.

Prison was hell, but it was a structured, expected sort of hell. You could deal with it.

But then she arrived.

You didn't bother to learn her name. She was tall and lean, green eyes like pond scum, and teeth chipped from fighting. You didn't like her from the first, but you had no reason to quarrel and so avoided her as much as you could.

Blondie didn't like her much either, and that's where the trouble started.

She'd deliberately bump into Blondie whenever she could. Hard enough that you could almost feel the impact.

"Oops... Didn't see you there."

If it was anyone else, they'd probably get thrown in solitary. But Blondie was a stickler for the rules. She'd brush her uniform off like just touching an inmate was enough to cause a plague. And then she'd settle her blue eyes on her, cool and detached.

"Watch where you're going next time."

That was how it went on. Weeks of passive aggression, slowly getting more and more physical.

You didn't want to intervene. Blondie could protect herself. Still, you kept your eye on them as much as you could.

There was another thing about the new girl you didn't like.

She had a way with people.

Could convince even the most stubborn inmate to do something, even if it was against their own best interest.

She got an inmate who was almost out on probation to attack and almost blind a CO. She got innocent old Ruby to start selling cigarettes. She almost got you to pick a fight with someone for damn near no reason at all.

She was dangerous, in a way no one before her had been. You could feel it in the harsh whispers after lights out. Got to make those dirty screws pay. Fucking COs have had it too good for too long. Who the fuck do they think they are anyway?

A riot was brewing. You started staying in your cell a lot more. Managed to pull some metal out of your mattress and spent every night sharpening it to a point.

Some of the COs were smart enough to notice the tension and your outside time got shortened to half an hour, lunch got pulled back to fifteen minutes. Their solution was to keep you locked in your cells for as much of the day as possible.

Not a good move.

Prisoners with no distractions tend to amuse themselves by planning all sorts of nasty things. How to grab a CO from behind and get their keys before anyone noticed. How to choke out the one bastard who kept throwing you in solitary. How to pay back all those times a CO groped them in the middle of a search.

You could feel it hightening to a point. Could feel it like a dirty, oily taste in the air.

When Blondie came past on patrol, you stopped her. You'd been hoping to catch her for a few days at least and you weren't going to miss your chance.

"Yes?"

Those blue eyes were staring straight through you, cool as a winter without a radiator.

You remembered the pepper spray, the cool cloth pressed against your burning skin.

"Listen, I think you should call in sick for the next week."

Oh no, it came out sounding like a threat.

You cleared your throat, tried to smile.

"I owe you one, okay? So just trust me on this and don't show up for a while."

She narrowed her eyes.

"They're going to riot."

"Seems like it."

"When?"

"I don't know. It's not exactly a scheduled thing. But it's going to be bad."

She looked away from you, scanning the long row of cells across from you. You could hear the ambient shuffling and coughing and laughing of hundreds of people living together.

"Can it be stopped?"

You sighed. You'd seen it play out a few times already. Wardens had all sorts of ways to handle riots, but once the fever was brewing, it was near impossible to break. It was in the atmosphere, it was in the tense glances between prisoners. It was bigger than all of you.

She must have seen the answer in your face.

She shook her head, stubborn to the last.

"I've got a job. If I got scared every time the prisoners got rowdy I'd be out of a job."

You sighed and pulled away from the bars.

"Your funeral Blondie."

You really hoped it wouldn't be.

The thing that started the riot was so small that on a normal day you'd call it borderline routine.

A CO was watching the cafeteria line, hustling people along when they paused longer than he liked. When he came to one of the girls a few spots ahead of you, he got impatient and shoved her forward. Not hard. Barely enough to make her stumble.

You cringed. For a second or two, you imagined you could feel it on your skin. A static crackling like lightning about to strike.

She punched the CO in the throat.

He stumbled backwards, holding his neck and gasping.

Others were already moving forward. Three prisoners grabbed his arms and bunch of the others ripped off his gear. Taser and baton and pepper spray now in the hands of a pissed and petty prison populace.

The other officers were already coming forward, batons out. Usually that would be enough to break things up, but they had just about everyone against them. Numbers always won.

The yelling was enough to make your head throb. Ringing ringing ringing off the cafeteria walls.

You ducked out of the way as much as possible, always on your guard. Riots weren't just dangerous for the wardens. Inmates saw them as a way to settle old scores without ending up in solitary or back in court. And lord knew you'd accumulated a hell of a lot of grudges over the years.

A prisoner rushed you. She was clutching a shiv made out of a ballpoint pen and a piece of wire coat hanger.

You dodged, sticking your foot between her legs and making her stumble. Your adrenaline was pumping, your vision dark at the corners.

You grabbed her hair before she could recover, and slammed her head against the edge of a metal cafeteria table.

She dropped like a rock.

You stepped away before any of her friends noticed you, your heart so far up your throat you could almost taste it.

That's when you saw her. That green eyed bitch, slipping out a side door with two of her cronies behind her.

You could feel your neck prickling.

There was only one score she had to settle and you knew exactly who it was aimed at.

You followed as quickly as you could. The backup had arrived and two tear gas cannisters were belching thick white smoke into the room.

Despite your best efforts, by the time you made it out your eyes were stinging and she was long gone.

You swore and ran down the corridor, thinking fast.

If they managed to corner Blondie, they'd want to take their time with her. That's how scores were settled when you had a mean streak. Slow. Painful.

That meant they'd want privacy. Somewhere the riot officers wouldn't immediately find them when things calmed down.

You grabbed the corner of the wall and shot down the main corridor.

The showers. That's exactly what you'd do if you were her.

They didn't have time to block the doors. You banged through them shoulder first, the same way a cop would. The room was still thick with steam from earlier and Blondie's blood was running in thin streams toward the drain.

"The fuck is wrong with you?" green eyes snapped, barely turning to look at you.

She was standing with her sleeves rolled up and a razor blade between her fingers. The small, rectangular kind that goes in a straight razor.

Her two cronies were holding Blondie by the arms, stretching her out like she was on a cross.

Blondie clearly hadn't made it easy for them. Green eyes had a nasty bruise blooming on her cheek and both her cronies were sporting ugly nose bleeds. Her baton was laying abandoned on the shower floor, rolled up against a bench.

You must have been just in time. The worst they'd done to her was cut her cheek, all the way from her temple to the bridge of her nose. It was bleeding bad, but didn't look too deep.

You straightened up and smiled at them, big and broad like you'd never had a better reunion.

"Having some fun without inviting me?"

Green eyes scoffed. "Why do you care? This shit is personal. Find something else to do."

You tilted your head, still smiling.

"You're right. It is personal. As in I owe Blondie over there a personal favour. As in I don't want you fucking with what's mine."

Blondie was watching you with those sharp eyes. If she took issue with being called yours, she didn't show it.

"Let her go." You didn't scream. You didn't demand. You simply said it. That's what made them nervous.

"Listen bitch - I don't care that everyone is scared of you. What you did on the outside doesn't matter one fucking bit."

You kept smiling, but your fingers were buzzing. The same why they had the night you stabbed a man forty six times.

You flicked your wrist and the shiv fell into your palm.

It was as long as your hand and sharpened into a wickedly sharp edge. It could slide between someone's ribs and kill them in less than five heart beats.

"They aren't scared of me because of what I did outside."

The two cronies were looking at each all worried-like. You vaguely recognised them, but it was clear that they recognised you no problem.

The boss turned to face you fully, light and easy on her toes like a boxer.

"You really gonna make a big deal over a fucking screw? A CO?"

"Since she's the only CO I've met who isn't a total piece of shit, I've got a vested interest in keeping her around."

She rolled her shoulders like a fighter would. You bit back a sigh. This was going to really hurt.

She didn't come at you right away. She ran her eyes over your body - your posture, your build, everything that might give you an advantage.

Then she charged.

Fast, even on the still slippery tiles. There wasn't enough time to duck or dodged.

You blocked her first punch with your arms, her fist smacking against your skin and sending a sharp pain all the way down to your bones.

You stepped backward and kicked at her knee, but she saw it coming and turned her leg at the last second, took it on her thigh instead.

She'd dropped the razor blade - without a handle it was just as dangerous to her as it was to you - which meant she had full use of her fists.

She kept pummeling at you, catching you on the ribs and then on the sternum. You slammed back against the lockers, winded.

She pushed her advantage, going straight for your throat. You dropped down at the last second and her fist slammed full force into the metal.

She screamed and then screamed again as you slammed your shiv into her thigh.

You grabbed her throat and shoved her away from you, breathing hard.

She was clutching her thigh with one hand, blood welling up between her fingers. Dark red, but not enough to be fatal. You hadn't hit any arteries.

You slammed the heel of your hand into her nose, aiming upwards. You felt cartridge breaking.

She screamed again and scrambled away as quickly as she could with her injured leg.

Blood was running into her mouth, and when she snarled at you, her teeth were red.

You smiled again, as cheerful as a choir girl.

"Had enough?"

She spat blood at your feet.

You waited, half your attention on the other two. They hadn't yet moved to help her. You weren't sure if it was out of fear of letting Blondie go, or just a strong self preservation instinct.

Green eyes finally gave in. Or more accurately, her leg did. She buckled and fell, knees smacking hard on the tile. You winced.

She looked pale, in the about to pass out sort of way.

You sighed and jerked your head at her.

"Get her to the second floor nurses office. Wrap something around her leg. Tight. She'll live but it's going to hurt a whole lot more if you aren't quick about it."

The other two were looking between you and her, eyes wide.

You wiped the back of your hand across your mouth, still holding the bloody shiv.

That seemed to decide them. They let go of Blondie all at once and grabbed their boss under the arms. Between the two of them, they were able to drag her out.

She left a trail of bright red behind.

When they were gone, you sat on the closest bench, holding your ribs. It hurt to breathe. Hopefully not cracked. You'd have to visit the infirmary as soon as things died down.

"She's going to get even with you," Blondie said.

She was watching you. She hadn't moved from her place. Blood was still running in thin streams down her cheek, like she was crying blood.

"Yep. She's got a lot of friends too. It's not going to be fun."

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Act so light hearted about everything. I can see your hands shaking."

You balled them into fists and avoided looking at her. The silence stretched.

Finally, "Why did you really kill your neighbour?"

"I didn't like his face."

"I don't believe you."

"Believe what you want. The court already made up its mind."

She finally moved. Picked up her baton and slipped it into her belt. She grabbed a towel and balled it up, then pressed it against her face. The white starting spotting red almost immediately. You watched her from the corner of your eye.

"Give me the knife."

"It's called a shiv. You should know that."

You rubbed the handle against your pants, getting rid of any fingerprints. Redundant, given there were three witnesses who saw you stab another inmate. Old habits don't really die, you supposed.

You handed it to her without looking at her face.

She wrapped it in a smaller towel and stuck it in her belt.

You could hear faint sirens from beyond the door, and her radio was crackling with orders. The wardens seemed to be getting things under control.

"I'm throwing you in solitary. And then I'm requesting a transfer to another block."

"Aww shucks, I'll really miss you Blondie."

"Not a transfer for me, you idiot. A transfer for you. It won't stop her entirely. There's always a little bit of communication between the blocks, no matter how hard we try and prevent it. But it should give you some time to make friends of your own."

"I've never been very good at that."

"Maybe try being less sarcastic."

She grabbed your upper arm and pulled you to your feet. Her grip was light, a formality more than anything.

"Why did you really save me?"

You couldn't look at her. You shrugged.

"It's like I said. You're the least terrible warden in here. Not a very high bar to be fair, but still."

She started towards the door and you followed.

There were officers coming down the corridor in full riot gear. She waved them down and thrust you towards one.

"Solitary. Protective custody."

"Why?"

Blondie didn't even hesitate. "Because she saved my life."

Solitary wasn't so bad when the other option was tossing and turning on your bunk, just waiting for a knife to your ribs.

You'd almost call it relaxing. Your ribs were bandaged tight and the painkiller the doc gave you left you floating a cloud of dope.

When you heard the footsteps pause outside your door, you didn't bother to get up.

Blondie didn't say anything for a long while. When she finally spoke, it was so soft that you had to strain to hear it.

"I still don't believe you. I don't think you're a cold blooded killer. I think that whatever happened between you and that man wasn't really brought before the court."

You sighed.

"Drop it Blondie."

"No."

Maybe it was the medicine or maybe it was the confession booth feeling of the half dark. Either way, you ended up giving away more than you intended.

"It doesn't matter. If the whole thing was public, it would only hurt people who've already been through enough."

"You had a reason for killing him."

"Yes."

"What?"

"I won't tell you. Won't tell anyone, ever. It's not my story to tell."

"You're in jail because of it. Who else could possibly have more to lose?"

"You'd be surprised."

It was her turn to sigh.

"I'm going to find out eventually, y'know."

"Have fun with that. Don't give yourself a headache."

She sighed again and walked away. You didn't see her again for half a year.

They kept you in solitary for a whole week. Long enough for your ribs to stop hurting and for the bruises to lighten. Long enough for green eyes to be processed and transferred further up state. That was unusual, even if she was the one who instigated the riot. You had a feeling someone pulled some strings behind the scenes. And you had an even stronger feeling about who it might have been.

When you were finally out, you were assigned to a new block. Your stuff was already waiting for you in your new cell, your books and CDs and a new letter from B.

Won't be able to write for a while. I've got something important to work on. Hopefully I'll be back soon.

You couldn't ignore the way that stung. Without meaning to, you'd come to rely on their letters. A little reprieve from the life you were stuck with.

The new block wasn't too bad. You took Blondie's advice and made some friends. Tried to avoid fights as much as possible. If green eyes ever managed to convince someone to get even for her, they didn't go through with it.

Life was, if not good, then at least bearable. You tried ignoring the little nagging part of you that constantly wondered about both Blondie and B. Without either of them you felt...emptier somehow. Lonely.

When a warden came to tell you that you had a visitor, your heart lurched. Your family didn't visit you much anymore. And you cut off your friends the day you got convicted - no need to draw them into your mess. Secretly, you hoped it was B. You had no clue what they looked like, but after six months without heating from them, you were almost desperate.

You smoothed down your uniform before you stepped into the visitors' centre, your eyes sweeping the room for familiar faces.

You noticed her almost immediately. Blondie, her hair tied back in a ponytail and her usual uniform replaced by a flannel shirt and jeans. A man was sitting next to her, his pinstripe suit still neat and pressed despite it being late afternoon.

She didn't even give you time to say hello.

"This is Mark Lawrence. Your lawyer."

You squinted at the man, confused. He was clearly a cut or two above the overworked district attorney who'd handled your case.

"No he isn't. I haven't seen him before in my life."

She sighed, irritated. "Mark is the lawyer I hired to represent you when we go to court next month."

"...Why am I going to court next month?"

"To challenge the original ruling."

"Okay. Why?"

"Because I've found another witness to your case, one that didn't testify last time."

You felt like were slammed face first into a bucket of water.

"Who?"

"The victim's daughter."

"No."

"Yes."

Your handcuffs rattled as your balled your hands into fists.

"She's just a kid. What she needs is to put the past behind her, not relive every minute of it up on the witness stand. No. We're not doing this."

You glared at her and she met you straight on. The tension cracked.

The lawyer finally interjected.

"Knowing the full details of the case changes things dramatically. Your charge goes from first degree murder to manslaughter. We might be able to cut your sentence down to fifteen years or less, with time served contributing."

"No. I'm not putting that little girl up on the stand."

Blondie practically snarled. "Yes. You. Are."

"No. I'm. Not."

"She's so much older now! Practically a teenager. She can handle it. And besides, she said she's happy to do it."

"You spoke to her?"

Could this day get any worse? Why the hell did she have to go and drag up old memories? It must have been just as unpleasant for the kid as it was for you.

"Yes. Myself and the original detective both."

"Why? Is this what you've been doing the past six months? Trying to overturn my sentence?"

She looked away from you for the first time, her ears turning red.

"Yes."

You leaned back in your chair, conflicted and confused more than anything else. You hated to admit it, but a part of really wanted this. Even if the chance was slim, even if it meant another round of dockets and cross questioning. You were tired of prison. You wanted your life back.

You watched the late afternoon sun reflecting off the ceiling.

"I want to talk to her first. And then...maybe."

"Deal." Blondie sounded immensely satisfied.

You kept watching the sun and half listening to the conversations around you.

"Why are you doing this for me Blondie?"

Your voice was awfully soft.

"I'm returning a favour."

Your eyes slid to the lawyer.

"Pretty damn expensive way to do it."

She smirked. "I prefer my method to yours. Requires a whole lot less stabbing."

The kid came to visit you the next day. Blondie was right. She really was almost a teenager. Did time really go by so fast?

You grinned at her.

"Hey kid. Sorry to drag you out to this place, but they don't let me out much."

"I bet."

She'd lost a lot of the baby fat from her cheeks and her dark eyes didn't have the haunted look you remembered so well.

"How's life with your aunt?"

"Great actually. The school is nice and we've got this Great Dane. And she isn't like... well, she isn't like my dad."

That made you happy. The kid deserved something good after everything she'd been through.

She broke in before you could keep asking questions.

"I want to do it. I want to testify against my father."

You paused, your smile fading. You could still hear her voice from that night, high and tinny and begging her dad to stop.

He hadn't stopped. He hadn't stopped beating his little girl until the moment you sunk a knife into his chest.

You swallowed, your mouth tasting like metal.

"Are you sure? It's not going to be easy."

She met your eyes. "I don't care. You saved me. I'm not going to let you rot in a place like this."

When she left, you couldn't help thinking about her eyes. The last time you saw her, she wouldn't even look at your face. Wouldn't say more than three words at a time.

The kid might never outrun her past, but she'd done a damn good job so far.

You tried not to be too hopeful. Homicide was almost impossible to overturn.

You tried not to be too hopeful, but the lawyer Blondie hired clearly knew his stuff. He laid it all out in front the judge.

How you used to babysit the kid when her dad wasn't around. How the man used to get violent when he was drunk, but never hit the kid until that night.

How he wouldn't stop, even though she was bleeding and about to pass out. How you banged at his door and then finally broke in through a back window.

How you found the girl half dead with her father standing over her. Still going at it.

How you grabbed a knife, just to try and threaten him, maybe bring him back to his senses.

How he attacked you. How you stabbed him and then kept stabbing him until he stopped moving. 

How you bundled the kid off to her aunt and then called the cops on yourself.

The whole story this time. No pleading guilty and then sitting back down without another word. No half hearted defense by a state lawyer already over worked and underpaid. No half truths.

It took three weeks of court dates to get through the whole story, with witnesses and cross examination. By the time it was done, you wanted to wash your hands of the whole mess. Innocent or guilty, you just wanted to stop reliving that night.

The judge was a hard faced man who'd seen a thousand criminals come and go. You didn't have much hope for yourself when the bailiff told you to rise for the verdict.

"In the case of the state versus the accused, in regards to the appeal and additional information provided to the court, the court hereby considers this appeal to be..."

You felt your heart stutter. The last time you were in court listening to a verdict the outcome was a forgone conclusion.

"Granted."

You almost sat back down, your knees weak. There's no way. After all this time, were you really about to have your freedom back?

The judge continued, "The accused's sentence has been adjusted to account for time served. The original sentence of life imprisonment with the chance of parole after thirty years has been changed to immediate parole on strict assessment."

The judge looked at you, eyes maybe a little softer than they were before.

"This court will never condone murder, not even in defense of a child. But I think it's clear, young lady, that you've spent more than enough time behind bars."

Your lips felt numb. Your whole future changed in one sentence. In one afternoon. It was staggering.

"Thank you, your honour."

The bailiff read out a list of regulations to follow. Weekly check ins with both a parole officer and a state psychiatrist. No further run ins with the law, not even misdemenaors. If even one person close to you felt you were a threat, they could report it to the police and have you sent back to jail almost immediately. You were on house arrest until further notice. It was possibly one of the strictest parole agreements you'd ever heard.

You didn't care if they told you to do a hundred push ups morning and evening. You were free again. You were going to behave like a damn saint for the rest of your days.

The only hiccup was when he mentioned the address that you were registered to stay at. You raised a brow at your lawyer but he avoided your eyes.

When court was finally dismissed, the first thing you did as a free woman was give Blondie a hug.

She was taller than you, though you'd never realised it before.

"How much do I owe you? When I get a job, we can work out some kind repayment plan."

She waved you away and lead you from the courthouse. You tried to ask your lawyer about the house arrest, but he managed to slip away before you could.

Her car was waiting for you. A new Camaro barely six months old.

You let out a low whistle.

"She's a beauty."

When you climbed into the passenger seat, you were sure to buckle your seat belt. No tickets for you, not ever.

The car started up with a thrumming purr.

It ate away at the road, even in the dense city centre. It wasn't long before you were almost at the city limits and cruising.

"By the way, do you know where I'll be staying? I didn't recognise the address."

You couldn't be sure, but it seemed like her hands tightened on the steering wheel just a tad.

"Mm-hmm. You're staying with me."

What? You couldn't possibly do that to her.

"Thank you. But don't you feel a little awkward having a felon in your home? I've still got my savings from before. I can rent my own place for a little."

"You're staying with me. Do you know how hard it is to get a good apartment with a criminal record?"

"I guessed as much. But Blondie, I already owe you. I can't possibly intrude on your life. Maybe you think you still owe me from that day. You don't. We're square."

She was quiet for a bit, but finally manged to force a smile into her voice.

"No. I'm not doing this because I feel indebted to you."

She kept her eyes on the road, her hand loose and confident on the wheel. Her sleeves were rolled up again and you got your first good look at her tattoos. It was a really well done piece, each small tattoo blending with the others. Mostly fine line work, simple and clean.

"Why are you doing it then?"

She didn't answer.

When you arrived, her house was ranch style with a huge, rolling yard and a neat wraparound porch.

You let out another low whistle.

"How do you afford this on a correction officer's salary?"

"I don't. It's paid off already. I was in the USMC for a long time. The money was good."

"I knew you weren't a normal civvie."

She grinned. "What gave it away?"

"The muscles."

She laughed and pulled your duffel bag from the trunk.

You'd told your parents to donate all your clothes when you were first sentenced. You didn't think you'd ever be free again so why hoard? Someone out there was probably making good use of your Doc Martens and distressed denim. Whatever normal clothes you currently had were what you were locked up with. The outfit on your back and little else.

The suitcase was instead filled with the meagre prison possessions you didn't want to leave behind. Your collection of books. Some postcards. The CDs that B sent you.

Blondie carried it across the lawn like it weighed nothing at all.

Stepping into her house was a surreal experience. You hadn't been inside someone else's home since the night of your crime. Your last few years were exclusive to the grimy and outdated rooms of state buildings.

It was like a breath of fresh air.

Clean, without the tang of cheap, industrial grade bleach. The walls painted and wallpapered instead of just whitewashed. The feeling of finally being somewhere you could relax. Not an in-between place anymore.

Home.

She showed you to your room, a neat guest bedroom across from hers with a double bed and wide windows.

You didn't sit down on the bed or on the neat desk chair. You didn't feel clean enough. You still felt the stink and grime of prison clinging to you.

She raised a brow but showed you where the bathroom was.

It was another taste of freedom. Showers in prison were monitored and timed affairs. No standing under the water and just enjoying the heat, no taking the time to scrub and exfoliate. In and out and done as quick as possible.

You stood under the hot water for a long time, your face wet not just from the spray.

When you finally climbed out, you felt clean for the first time in years.

Blondie was gone when you got downstairs, a hasty note scrawled on the fridge about grabbing you some new clothes. You tilted your head at the handwriting. You could swear it looked so familiar... But no, it couldn't be. That was ridiculous.

You brewed yourself a hot drink, fully intending to sit on the porch and enjoy it. Like a little old woman.

The backdoor was locked.

You frowned. Okay, not that uncommon. Folk kept their doors locked all the time. She probably intended you to use the front door instead.

But that one was locked too.

So were all the downstairs windows. Closed shut with little hatches you hadn't noticed earlier.

You tried not to panic. She was probably just looking out for you. Being careful. You were still a felon. How did she know you weren't going to make a break the second you could, her tv and laptop in tow?

It was fine. You were fine. You can just drink at the table and wait for her to get home. You kept telling yourself that, even as you searched through the kitchen drawers for a spare key.

Nothing.

You didn't want to panic. You'd spent years locked away. Wasn't this much nicer than a cell?

No. Because at least in a cell you had no illusions about your freedom.

You ended up in her bedroom without knowing when you'd gotten there. You didn't dig through her drawers. She'd know instantly. But you did open them all, one by one, as if you'd find the key right on top of her neatly folded shirts.

You found the letters in the last drawer. The one right next to her bed, like she read them every night.

It took you a while to recognise them, even though you were looking at your own handwriting.

Your letters to B. Every single one of them. The envelopes neatly cut open and the letters themselves stacked in chronological order. The most recent one was at the very top and you picked it up with numb hands.

Hey B! Guess who's going back to court. Guess they missed seeing me strutting down the aisle.

Don't worry. I haven't down anything bad (at least not this time). Someone who thinks they owe me a favour has gotten it into their head that the best way to repay me is to get me out of jail.

The legal way, that is. No midnight tunnels or disguises. (Boo. How boring. What happened to romance?)

I don't have much hope, but at least it means a break in the motony. And better chow.

You'd better write me soon. Can't believe I'm admitting this out loud, but I get a warm fuzzy feeling in my heart whenever I get a new letter from you. I think it must be acid reflux.

-your favourite felon.

B did, in fact, write back quickly. For the last time. No return address on their letter. In that, and in so many other ways, it was clear it was the final letter you were getting.

You're the most complicated person I've ever met. Caring and kind but somehow wrapped up in the most sarcastic personality. I've fallen in love with you. Stupid. Incredibly stupid. But it's true.

I love you.

-B

You'd sat in your cell with your eyes almost bugging out of your skull. Wondering what B did to have the misfortune of falling for a girl like you. Wondering if you could have loved them back, if given the chance. Wondering who they really were.

Well, here was your answer. B, the person who wrote you sarcastic poetry and hunted down your favorite books, was Blondie, the warden who owed you her life.

And she was in love with you.

You sat down, knees replaced by those lunch time jelly cups.

No wonder she did what she did. No wonder she paid for an attorney and got your house arrest registered at her house. No wonder she kept the doors and windows locked.

There was a light step behind you and you flew to your feet, the letter still clutched in your fist.

She was standing in the doorway, watching you with cool blue eyes.

"So. You found them."

You couldn't answer.

She stepped into the room, her eyes never leaving yours. She'd taken off her shirt and stood in only her tank top and jeans, her arms lean with muscle. You'd spent years fighting and you knew in one glance that you could never take her. She was stronger. Had years of Marine and police training. It had taken three prisoners and a razor blade to finally hold her. What chance did you have?

"The world isn't built for prisoners. Rehabilitation is hard. What were the stats again? Eight out of every ten end up back in jail before ten years is up?"

She continued towards you, as calm as ever.

"You're safer here. With me. You said you'd be a great housewife remember?"

"I was joking," you managed. "Just kidding around."

She reached you and gently took the letter from your unresisting fingers.

"I won't make you do anything you don't want to. But you're not leaving me. You're not leaving this house."

"Why?"

She smiled, that half smile that gave you a glimpse past her tough guy shell. This time, you didn't like what you saw.

"You know why."

"I'm a terrible person to love. I'm prickly and sarcastic and I suck at doing the dishes."

"I've got a dishwasher."

"All I know how to cook is fried chicken."

She wrinkled her nose. "We'll work on it."

"I snore all night."

"You don't. I've watched you sleep."

"Really?"

"Really. I'd stop outside your cell and just watch you sometimes. I couldn't help it. You're so much calmer when you sleep. It's like seeing another version of you."

She tilted her head and closed the last bit of distance between you, until you could smell her perfume and see the flecks of green in her eyes. You'd never noticed them before.

"There are worse cells than this, aren't there? All you have to do is stay with me. Be happy. Let me love you."

"Do I have a choice?"

She smiled that secret smile again.

"Nope. It's either me or straight back to jail."

It was true. She was a model citizen – a veteran with a clean record as a corrections officer. Even if you did talk to your mandated psychologist or parole officer, they wouldn’t believe you. You’d be the ungrateful prisoner trying to manipulate her way out of house arrest.

You knew it from the start. Rule one - never trust a warden. They never have your best interests at heart. All they want is to cover their own skin and get theirs.

But, you never were very good at following the rules, were you?

[kitty6choi]

𝑬𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝑺𝒖𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒆

𝑆𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠: The memory of his betrayal is still present in your mind, but you decide to leave it behind now that you are at peace, but when an old friend asks you for a favor, you cannot refuse without imagining that you will relive some feelings that you thought you had buried.

𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: Song Mingi x fem! reader

𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: smut MDNI + little angust + mafia au + loves from the past

𝑊𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝐶𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 9.2k (damn it)

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: Fights, physical injuries, blood, aggression, violence, hidden identity, sexual warnings: unprotected sex (don't do it), semi-public sex, fingering, mutual masturbation, creampie, (sorry if I forgot anything)

A/N: First of all, sorry for the delay, December was very frustrating for me and it wasn't very pleasant and I needed a little break, but now I'm better so I was finally able to finish this fic and I'm very proud, I hope you like it <3 English is not my first language so sorry if I made a mistake.

⋆｡˚୨𝖬𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍୧˚｡⋆

With hurried steps, you adjusted the cap over your hair and pulled up the collar of your jacket. You were fleeing from the sirens echoing in the distance. It wasn’t anything new for you, and you knew it wouldn’t stop being part of your life because of the bad decisions you’d made in the past. This was your life now, and there was nothing else you could do but survive.

What started as small thefts to eat or find something to keep you warm turned into a desperate search for shelter. That’s how you ended up seeking help from dangerous people. The Black Eye wasn’t just a group of petty criminals; they were an organized, ruthless network—and, for you, the last chance to keep living.

Despite your efforts, you knew you were at a disadvantage because you were a woman. But if you had to hide that fact to survive, you would do it. The hardest part was cutting your hair, but you did it. Then, you wrapped your chest with bandages, wore loose-fitting clothes, and finally, you began calling yourself “Lee.” You tried not to speak too much and always wore a cap to hide your face, hoping no one would ask too many questions. That’s how you managed to catch the attention of one of their members.

They tested you for a couple of months before deciding to present you to their leader. You were nervous, cold sweat trickling down your back, but you kept calm as you waited in a room. Then, the doors opened, and two people walked in. One of them was tall and muscular, with multiple scars on his face. From his imposing presence, you guessed he was the leader, Jack. The other person entered calmly, taking his time to assess the room silently but with sharp alertness.

“Is this the new recruit?” the second person asked in a deep, curious voice.

“Yes, Mingi, this is Lee,” another man replied, shoving you forward. He was the recruiter who had "guaranteed" your entry into the group.

Mingi approached you, observing you for a long moment, watching how you lowered your gaze and hid your hands in your pockets.

“Why do you want to join us?” he finally asked. His voice was low, almost gentle, but heavy with authority.

“I need protection. And you need someone who knows how to navigate the streets,” you replied, your voice firm but calm.

“You better be useful, Lee,” he said, pronouncing your false name with authority. You knew that from now on, you belonged to the gang, and he was making your place clear. “There’s no room for the weak here.”

“You’re in,” the other man said before turning and leaving the room, leaving you with the assurance that you’d live to see another day.

Your days of trying to survive on your own had now turned into trying to hide your true identity to keep living. It was hard, but over time, you learned to manage. You avoided interacting with the members and rarely spoke to anyone unless it was absolutely necessary. Still, there were a few moments when you were almost discovered.

You tried to blend in, and for most people, you succeeded—except for one. Song Mingi. He always seemed to notice everything, and for the past few months, he hadn’t taken his eyes off you. It was starting to get annoying.

One day, after a mission went slightly out of control, you returned to the abandoned warehouse that served as the gang’s base. A voice you knew all too well called your name.

“Lee, come here.” You turned to see Mingi in the distance and dragged your feet toward him “I have to admit, I’m surprised you made it back,” he said.

You rolled your eyes. He always said before every mission that he didn’t expect you to return, but you made it back just to see his irritated expression.

“Get used to it, Song. I’ll be here for a while,” you replied, a bit defiantly, raising your head to meet his gaze despite his towering height.

Mingi stared at you, tilting his head slightly, and let out a low chuckle—but there was no humor in it. With a swift motion, before you could react, he grabbed your face firmly, his nails digging into your cheeks.

“Listen closely,” he said, leaning in, his voice dropping but his grip unrelenting as you struggled to free yourself by clutching his hand. “There’s no place here for someone like you.” You froze at his words, fear flashing in your eyes as you locked gazes with him. Then, without warning, he shoved you hard, making you fall to the ground “Get out,” he said coldly.

The days didn’t get any better, and you began questioning whether you had made the right decision. But the fear of what might happen if you left the gang kept you in place—even if it meant enduring Mingi watching your every move.

One day, the gang organized one of its oldest traditions: an internal fighting tournament. It was a way to measure strength, prove who was worthy and who wasn’t, and keep the members sharp for real confrontations. The atmosphere in the warehouse was charged with excitement and pent-up violence, as shouts and bets filled the space.

You didn’t want to be there, but you thought staying alone in the rooms would make you stand out more. Blending into the crowd seemed safer—or so you thought. The fight was entertaining, but it didn’t excite you as much as it did the people around you. Still, you forced yourself to watch and analyze the movements of both fighters. To no one’s surprise, the expected victor won. He had five consecutive wins under his belt, and now, as his sixth opponent lay defeated, no one wanted to face him.

“Who’s next?” the winner shouted, scanning the crowd for his next victim. Everyone took a step back, and silence began to fill the room. You noticed how some were shoving the newer recruits forward. From afar, you felt a gaze on you. You looked up, only to lock eyes with Mingi, who was staring at you intently, a smile on his face.

“Lee, maybe you should go next,” Mingi said suddenly, breaking the silence. You cursed him in your mind as all eyes turned to you. You began searching for an excuse to decline, but you knew Mingi wouldn’t let this opportunity pass “You should earn your place, rookie,” he said, taunting you. The murmurs of the crowd grew louder “Or do you think you don’t deserve it?” he added, provoking you further.

You felt hands pushing you toward the ring. With your heart pounding, you climbed into the makeshift ring as the crowd gathered around, shouting bets and cheering for the fight.

You glanced at Mingi behind the crowd and sighed, cursing him under your breath before turning to face your opponent. He was a tall, muscular man whose muscles seemed to have muscles. His angry expression only highlighted how eager he was for this fight.

You took a step back, but hands pushed you forward. Then, the bell rang, signaling the start of your defeat.

You didn’t even try. You knew you had no chance. You simply closed your eyes as you saw the man’s fist coming straight for your face, bracing for the impact. His punch knocked the air out of you in one blow. You thought that would be enough to stop him, but you didn’t expect him to climb on top of you and continue his brutal assault.

Everything around you grew blurry. The crowd’s cheers faded into the distance. You didn’t fight back—not even a little. You let the darkness take over.

When you opened your eyes again, you wished you hadn’t. A sharp pain coursed through your entire body, as if a train had run you over. Despite the agony, you tried to move to figure out where you were until something stopped you.

“Don’t move,” a deep voice ordered. You turned your head to see Mingi sitting nearby, arms crossed. He looked worried, though he tried to hide it behind a mask of seriousness.

“What happened?” you asked, staying still.

“You got beaten up,” he said bluntly. “Then you passed out.”

You let out a dry laugh. “Well, thanks to you.”

Mingi sighed deeply, watching as you struggled to sit up. He seemed angry—not at you, but at himself.

“I didn’t think this would happen,” he said, his frustration evident.

“Whatever,” you muttered, attempting to stand, but the pain in your left side was unbearable. “Damn it.”

“Let me help you,” Mingi offered, stepping closer. You flinched, fear sparking within you as he approached. The sudden movement made you wince in pain again.

“I can handle it.”

“No, you can’t,” he snapped, taking another step forward. You tried to back away, but with your injuries and his speed, you couldn’t stop him from grabbing your arm.

“Stop moving,” he commanded. You wanted to fight him off, but there wasn’t a trace of strength left in your body. He pushed you gently back onto the mattress and lifted your hoodie.

His expression darkened instantly. His hand froze mid-motion as he realized the truth.

“You…” His voice came out uneven, words escaping him as the realization sank in. Everything finally clicked in his mind. “Why?”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t have the energy to argue, especially over something like this. You simply waited for the worst to come.

And it did, far sooner than expected. The door to the room opened, and the leader walked in. Mingi snapped out of his daze as Jack approached you, his face a mix of concern and curiosity.

“How are you?” Jack asked, ignoring the tension hanging in the air.

“I…”

“can’t stay,” Mingi’s voice rang out, cutting through the room. Fear surged in you as you silently begged him with your eyes to keep the secret. But the doubt in his gaze told you all hope was lost “It's a woman,” Mingi declared. The words echoed in the room, followed by silence so profound that all you could hear was the pounding of your heart.

Jack’s gaze shifted to you, filled with a mix of astonishment and concern. After a long, heavy sigh, he finally spoke.

“I know.”

“What?!” Both you and Mingi exclaimed at the same time, equally stunned. You thought Jack would throw you out right then and there, not admit he already knew.

“How…?” you asked, still in shock.

“Since when?” Mingi demanded angrily. “And why didn’t you tell me?”Jack leaned against the wall, crossing his arms “Since the beginning. It was kind of obvious, if you ask me,” he said, looking directly at you. “You were shorter than most, and your appearance was different. You stood out. It wasn’t hard to figure out.” Mingi stepped forward, but Jack continued “I let you join because I wanted to see how far you’d go on your own—until this idiot decided to intervene.” Mingi lowered his head like a scolded dog.

“Even so, she can’t stay,” Mingi insisted.

“She absolutely can. And you, you damned fool, will shut your mouth and act like you saw nothing,” Jack ordered.

“But she can’t defend herself!”

“This is your fault,” Jack shouted, his voice rising. “I told you to leave Lee alone, and now she’s hurt. From now on, she’s your responsibility. If anything happens to her, I’ll kill you.”

Mingi clenched his fists, his face red with fury and frustration. Without another word, he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

You were left in confusion, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Everything felt strange and surreal. Jack approached you, and you looked at him, still processing.

“Why?” you finally asked.

“That doesn’t matter,” Jack replied.You let out a tired sigh, too drained to argue. You just wanted to rest.

“Mingi’s a good person, but sometimes he’s an idiot,” Jack said. “He’ll look after you. You don’t have to worry; no one will find out your secret. You’re safe here.”You decided to believe his words. You didn’t want to fight anymore “Now rest. Everything will be fine.”

******

The first few months were tense. You were still recovering and couldn’t do much more than linger around. Even so, Mingi was always nearby, watching you with a mix of frustration and curiosity in his eyes. He made sure no one got too close to you, even if it meant getting into fights with other gang members. His constant presence annoyed you, but it was also a relief. You knew that, despite everything, he was keeping his word to protect you.

When you felt ready to return to the streets, Mingi stopped you, and Jack agreed. You had no choice but to stay in the warehouse, but you didn’t waste your time. You started training to be prepared—you didn’t want to end up on the ground again.

It was nighttime, and everyone else seemed to be asleep, but the sound of your fists hitting the old punching bag echoed throughout the space. Your punches were clumsy, and you felt exhaustion in your arms with each hit, but you refused to give up. You needed to learn to defend yourself.

“You’re terrible,” his deep voice said behind you, making you freeze. You turned quickly to see Mingi leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with that irritating smile.

“What do you want, Song?”

“Nothing. The noise woke me up, that’s all. Go on,” he said, gesturing toward the bag hanging in front of you.

“If you’re not going to help, then leave,” you replied, rolling your eyes before turning back to the bag and hitting it again, ignoring him.

He walked toward you slowly, letting out an exaggerated sigh. Standing behind you, he took your wrists in his large hands before you could protest, adjusting them into a different position. His touch was firm but surprisingly gentle.

“Like this. Keep your fists tighter, and don’t just use your arms. You need to involve your whole body in the punch.” His closeness made you nervous. You could feel his breath on the back of your neck and the warmth of his body just behind yours. You shivered but tried to focus on his words.

“Now, try again,” he said, releasing you slowly.

You took a deep breath and threw another punch at the bag, following his instructions. This time, your punch felt stronger.

“Better,” he said with a smile, nodding in approval.

“Whatever.” You couldn’t help but glance at him out of the corner of your eye. There was something in his expression, in the way he looked at you, that made your heart beat faster. “Thanks.” You didn’t know where those words came from, but somehow, they made the air in the room feel lighter.

“You’ve done enough for tonight,” he said quickly, his voice rougher than before. “Get some rest. We’ll continue tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“This is just the first step, Lee.” He turned and walked toward the exit, but before leaving, he paused for a moment to look back at you as you struggled to steady the strange rhythm of your heart.

"Again."Your heart was pounding, and every muscle in your body screamed with exhaustion, but all you could hear was Mingi's voice "Harder."Your hands were bruised and swollen, yet you didn’t stop throwing punches "Harder." You focused on everything Mingi had taught you over the past few weeks—firm feet, clenched fists, channeling your strength. But there was something more, something raw. The anger you’d suppressed for years surged within you, blinding and heavy with sadness.

On your final punch, you released everything you’d been holding inside. Your body gave out, and you collapsed to your knees, gasping for air. Mingi rushed to your side, helping you sit down somewhere nearby as he handed you a bottle of water.

“Shit, don’t scare me like that.”You shoved him away and tried to stand, ready to continue, but he grabbed your arm “Take a break.”

“I can’t,” you said breathlessly. “I need to be ready for tomorrow.”

“You’re not fighting.”

“You can’t stop me, Song.” Mingi gripped your shoulders, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.” His words caught you off guard, and before you could respond, he stepped closer. He was so close now that you could barely think.“Not again.” The overwhelming silence was filled with an unfamiliar sensation in your chest.

In recent weeks, the two of you had spent hours training together. At first, it was just a few hours a night, but over time, the darkness of the night wrapped you both in an odd honesty. You talked about things you never planned to share. He told you how he ended up in the gang, and for the first time in years, you told someone the truth about your past.

“I’m ready,” you said firmly. “And neither you nor anyone else is going to stop me.” You pulled away from his grasp and headed toward the exit, but you heard his hurried footsteps behind you.

“What are you trying to prove?” You turned slightly to look at him and sighed.

“It’s not about that. The world is cruel to someone like me.” You knew he understood you meant being a woman, and his expression softened with compassion “And I won’t let them leave me on the ground again.”

Mingi didn’t know how to respond. You gave him one last glance, noticing a vulnerability in him that you had never seen before. And in that moment, you realized your feelings for Mingi were starting to change.

The boy who once seemed like your greatest enemy had become your only source of security in a dangerous world. And though neither of you would admit it, something was growing between you—something neither of you knew how to handle amidst the darkness surrounding you.

The next day, Mingi promised himself not to interfere. But as the fights began, he couldn’t stop scanning the crowd for you. Not seeing you anywhere made him tense. If Jack found out you’d joined the fights again, he’d kill him—but what mattered most to Mingi was knowing where you were.

The matches dragged on, and he began to relax, thinking you wouldn’t show. But when the final winner was announced and the event was wrapping up, he saw a shadow cross the ring and step into the center.

“This isn’t over,” you declared loudly.

“Get off the ring, Lee!” someone shouted. “They’ll beat you up again!”

Mingi watched as a dark shadow crossed your face, and your eyes took on a hardened, almost menacing look.

“Why don’t you try it?” Everyone fell silent, shocked at your boldness. You’d always flown under the radar, but this was new—and it sparked curiosity in some “Or are you scared?”

The crowd erupted, people pushing and shoving to see who would step up to face you. Mingi tried to get to you, but the chaos of the crowd held him back.

Finally, someone stepped into the ring, facing you. You raised your fists, and he laughed before getting into position.

“You’re done for.”

“We’ll see.”

The bell rang, and the man lunged at you with speed. But you easily dodged him and drove your elbow into his side. He stumbled, turning to glare at you, realizing this wasn’t going to be as easy as he thought.

Adrenaline coursed through your body. You were exhausted, your lungs begging for rest, but you couldn’t stop—not now. The man threw punches aimed at your face, and you dodged as best as you could. The crowd’s shouts blurred into the background as you focused entirely on the emotions spilling out with every strike.

Rage consumed you as you drove a punch into his face, your body moving on its own as you continued to rain blows on the unconscious man beneath you.

Hands pulled you away as the crowd erupted into cheers. You looked up and could barely make out your name being chanted amidst the chaos—you had won.

Mingi shoved his way through the throng, crossed the ring, and ran to you. You thought he was coming to congratulate you, but his furious expression said otherwise.

“Enough!” he shouted, his voice silencing the crowd instantly “This is over.” People protested, but Mingi didn’t back down “I said it’s over!”

Reluctantly, the crowd began to disperse. You turned to leave, but he grabbed your hand and dragged you down the hallways until you were alone in a room.

“Let me go,” you demanded, struggling against his grip.

He didn’t release you until he closed the door behind you both, shutting out the rest of the world.

“What were you thinking?” Mingi paced back and forth, running a hand through his hair “They could’ve hurt you or worse…” His voice was thick with anger and desperation, tinged with something that sounded like worry.

“But they didn’t.” He sighed and gave you a once-over, his gaze lingering on your bloodied hands. You quickly hid them behind you.

Mingi stepped closer, taking your hands into his. For a moment, it looked like it pained him to even look at them. Your knuckles were torn, and the pain was unbearable, though you refused to admit it.

“Let me help you.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” he said firmly, guiding you to the bathroom and making you sit down. “Stay still.”

Without waiting for your permission, he grabbed a small first aid kit from a nearby shelf. His movements were deliberate but gentle as he cleaned your knuckles with a damp cloth. You shut your eyes, biting your lip to stifle a groan.

“This is going to sting,” he warned, pouring antiseptic over your wounds.

“Could you be gentler?” you hissed, pulling one hand back, but he caught it with ease.

“If you were more careful, I wouldn’t have to do this.”

His eyes locked onto yours, and the air between you felt charged with something that went beyond physical pain.

The silence stretched as he wrapped your hands in bandages. His fingers were surprisingly tender, and for a moment, you forgot the pain and exhaustion. His closeness overwhelmed you, the warmth of his skin sending your senses into overdrive.

“Mingi…” you began, but didn’t know how to finish.

“What?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost a whisper.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do,” he replied, his tone filled with an intensity that took your breath away. “Because if I don’t, who will?”

His gaze held yours, and something in his expression shifted. There was vulnerability, honesty, you’d never seen in him before.

Time seemed to freeze as his hand lingered on yours. His eyes flicked down to your lips for a split second, and a wave of nervous energy swept through you.

“Mingi…”

Before you could say anything else, he leaned in and his lips brushed against yours. The kiss was hesitant at first, almost as if he were unsure. But when you didn’t pull away, it deepened, filled with a desperation that mirrored the chaos around you.

Your heart raced as you closed your eyes, letting the walls between you crumble entirely. His lips moved against yours with a mix of urgency and relief, as if this moment had been inevitable all along.

When he pulled back, you were both breathless. His gaze searched yours, and what you saw wasn’t his usual cocky demeanor but something raw and genuine. You didn’t know what to say, so you simply looked at him, letting the gravity of what had just happened settle between you. The world outside faded away, leaving only this fragile moment the first kiss in a place as dangerous as it was unexpected.

“No…” you said suddenly, breaking the atmosphere. “This…”

“Please, don’t say it.”

“Mingi, I…” you didn’t know what to do. You had never experienced anything like what you were feeling in your body. This was new and strange, and you were scared, unsure of what to do or say.

“Please, don’t push me away,” he pleaded, holding your waist and looking at you with eyes full of desperation.

“I’m scared,” you confessed, letting the tears well up in your eyes. Mingi hugged you, letting you sob into his chest as he gently stroked your back to comfort you.

“It’s okay, I’ll take care of you,” he said softly. You looked up for a moment, and for the first time in your life, you let the walls around you crumble.

“Do you promise?”

“I will never leave you,” he assured you. His words struck you deeply, and you trusted him. You let his arms wrap around you, comforting you for the night, not knowing it wouldn’t be the only time he would do so.

*******

Time only made your feelings for Mingi grow. It became harder and harder to hide it from others, as being near him felt like standing on fire. Every glance, every slight touch from him made your heart race. Whenever you had the chance to be alone, Mingi would pin you against the wall, pressing his lips to yours, his hands wandering over your body. But you always stopped him when he tried to touch you beneath your clothes. He never insisted, and you were grateful for that, though deep inside, you wanted it too. Yet you were scared—it was something you'd never done before, and you feared it wouldn’t go right.

Mingi never let anyone get close to you. On the missions you shared, he was always by your side, never leaving you alone. Sometimes, when someone bothered you, Mingi made sure to put them in their place, even if it ended in a fight.

You knew this life wasn’t easy—it never was—but there were moments when it felt unbearable. Sometimes you wondered what you had done to deserve this. Sometimes you wished for an easier life, for loving parents, for school, to fall in love under different circumstances, to be a normal girl who could dress up in beautiful clothes without needing to hide to protect herself.

With tear-filled eyes and a heavy heart, your feet led you to Mingi’s room. You hesitated before knocking on his door but eventually did. A few seconds later, he stood in front of you, and without waiting for anything, you wrapped your arms around him, seeking the comforting warmth of his body.

“What’s wrong?”

“Can I sleep with you?” you asked, knowing it was risky, knowing it was dangerous, but you had no other safe place to go. “Just for tonight,” you pleaded.

“Alright.”

You had only been in his room once before—the day everything began, that afternoon when he had tended to your wounds and shared that first kiss with you. “Is everything okay?” he asked as he closed the door.

“No.” With him, you had the chance to be honest, and you never held back from telling him the truth. “I’m tired.” Mingi hugged you tightly, trying to ease the weight from your body.

“Come here.”

You both lay down on the small bed, and you curled up against his chest. It was the first time you’d been this close, yet somehow, it felt as if you had done it a thousand times.

“Mingi,” you said, lifting your gaze to meet his eyes. “If there were another life… do you think this would be different?”

His silence made your chest tighten slightly, but then his hand caressed your cheek with tender compassion.

“If there were another life, I wouldn’t care how it was, as long as I could be by your side.”

Without being able to help it, you pushed yourself up and kissed him, unloading all your sorrow into his mouth, all those thoughts you had you left on his lips for a moment, you didn't want to think about anything other than him. His kisses became desperate and hungry, you felt that intense heat on your body and his hands holding you tightly did nothing but want it. You separated from him for a moment and lifted your sweatshirt, but he stopped you.

“No… I don't want you to do this if you're not ready.”

“Mingi… I want to do it” you wanted him to touch you, you wanted his mouth to run over your skin and show yourself to him without any barrier, you wanted him to see you as you were. You took off your sweatshirt and Mingi looked down at the bandage that covered your breasts, you took a breath and began to take it off, a part of you felt relieved to take it off as you showed yourself as you were in front of him and a part of you was afraid.

When you finished your breathing was labored at the sight, Mingi had bitten his lip and seemed to be struggling with something inside of him. You took one of his hands and placed it on one of your breasts as you sat on his lap.

“Please… say something” you begged as you saw how he closed his eyes.

“You are beautiful,” he said before kissing you again.

That night they both gave more than their bodies, they put their hearts in their hands and gave it to the other, letting the moon be the only witness of their love.

*********

In all the times they had had a mission they had never failed, but this time everything seemed different, everyone was divided and the sound of sirens was heard getting closer, they couldn't get out of the place, they were surrounded and the bullets in their weapons had run out a while ago.

“Shit” Mingi growled at your side hiding “we will get out of this” he told you taking your hand without caring if anyone saw them.

The years had passed faster than you thought, but in that time neither of you hesitated to walk away from the other, even when Jack warned them about the rumors that ran through the gang, Mingi didn't care if they assumed things and neither did you, even so, they tried to be discreet and give themselves only in the shadows.

“I’m scared” you said with tears in your eyes

“Everything will be okay” a loud bang was heard and you both looked out just to see the opportunity to leave, someone had broken the glass of the door “okay, let’s go” he said without letting go of your hand heading to the exit, but before you could get there you felt a strong blow to the head that made you let go of his hand.

Mingi noticed immediately and lunged at the person who had hit you, you tried to get up, but everything was spinning and you felt something hot dripping down your forehead. You touched your head and were not surprised to see your hand red, you took a breath and tried to look for Mingi, but everything seemed to go slower and slower and the sound of sirens resonated in your ears at the same time as someone screamed.

“We have to go” “It’s too late” “They’re here” “Leave him”

You couldn’t bear the pain any longer and you closed your eyes for a moment. You wanted Mingi to take you in his arms, you wanted to feel the warmth of his body comforting you again and hear his voice telling you that everything would be okay, but all you could feel was the cold of the floor and the only thing you could feel was the unbearable pain in your head. You looked up for a moment and wanted to believe that what you saw was a bad dream, that it was just a figment of your imagination, but something inside you broke when you saw Mingi running away from you leaving you alone.

********

Five years had to pass before you could get out of prison, but those five years couldn't make you forget the day you opened your eyes and realized that you had lost everything again and you were alone again. The day Mingi decided to abandon you and leave you behind, that day remained engraved like ink on your skin all this time.

No matter how many times you repeated it and tried to make it less painful, it always felt like a million needles were stuck in your heart and crushed at the same time, it was a slow and raw pain that became more unbearable every second.

The day you got out of prison you looked at the sky as if it were the first time, you let the sun's rays penetrate your skin and warm your body. It was a little comforting to leave feeling like you could start from scratch. Life had given you a new opportunity and this time you wouldn't repeat the same mistakes of the past.

You walked through the streets, contemplating the city that once seemed huge to you, but over the years you got to know every alley, every sidewalk, every store in it. Without realizing it, you ended up somewhere you knew too well, maybe it was your subconscious or maybe it was because you had nowhere to go, but you decided to push the old worn door and enter anyway.

You were surprised that the old warehouse was still here, but seeing it empty and full of dust seemed strange to you. The place that was once your home now felt unknown, despite the bad times you spent here there were also many good ones. Every corner you passed brought back memories and you smiled sadly, the old jacket was still hanging and you felt a small knot remembering someone by your side teaching you how to fight, you looked away and walked every inch until you ended up in front of a door you knew well.

A part of you wanted to knock and hoped someone would open it like the first time you did, you wanted to meet someone, but you opened the door yourself only to find an empty room full of memories and dust. It hurt to be here, but you didn't know where to go.

You entered letting the memories flood over you and it was as if you were living them for the first time, that first kiss, that first night together and many others that followed, those endless hugs and the words he whispered to you to help you sleep. But all that had vanished, all that was in the past thanks to him.

You opened the window and looked at the buildings in the distance while the night fell and the city was flooded with dreams and unfulfilled hopes, you looked at the sky and contemplated the moon whispering your wishes knowing that it wouldn't hear you.

You woke up thanks to the sound of something falling and a bottle rolling on the floor followed by firm footsteps that ran through the place. You looked around for something to defend yourself with, but all you saw was the trash from the food you had stolen and the beer cans you had left abandoned in a corner over the days.

You slipped out of the room and walked towards where you had heard the noise, your heart pounding as you tried to hide in the shadows as you knew how. You peeked your head out and noticed the figure of a man curiously admiring the deformed drawing you had made with the dust the night before.

He seemed to sense your gaze as he looked up and let out a laugh.

“I know you’re there” you hid again and pressed your body against the cold wall, you thought of something, but nothing came to mind, you looked at the ground and the only thing you found were your fists, well, if you had to fight to escape you would do it, you had done it before, you should… “Lee”

That name paralyzed you, you felt like your heart stopped for a second and you peeked out again only to see Jack with his arms crossed when he saw your head peek out. You felt relief run through your body and you came out of your hiding place.

“Shit, you almost scared me to death”

“I’m glad to see you” he said showing a smile “you look… different” shame took over you knowing that he saw your long hair and that you showed your figure without hiding behind a sweatshirt

“How did you find me?” You asked suddenly, changing the subject

“I never stopped coming here hoping you would show up” you turned your gaze to the ground, you were glad to know that someone was waiting for you “when I find out what happened that day…”

“No… that doesn't matter” you interrupted him before he could continue “what have you come for?”

“I want to help you, you can join again and…”

“No, I'm not going back there again” Jack sighed, he looked tired

“Everything has changed, you know?” He dropped onto an old bench, kicking up some dust. “Many left since… we had to leave here and everything was much harder.” He ran his hand over his face as he remembered, you could tell he was having trouble speaking. “A new gang appeared and… we had to join them or we were finished. Many left, including Mingi.” His name made you a little uncomfortable, but you stood firm. “Little by little, the new gang grew and got involved in shady business, but we had no choice.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter, no one knew this would happen.” He stood up and took a step towards you. He looked at you tiredly and placed his hand on your shoulder. “You can stay here as long as you want, but if you need help, just call me.” He gave you a piece of paper with an address on it and left, leaving you in the dust and the weight of his words.

You thought you would never call him, but the weeks were getting harder and harder alone, stealing wasn’t enough anymore and even though this place was huge it wasn’t equipped to keep running.

You looked again at the crumpled paper you once threw away and wondered if (again) this wasn’t one of your bad decisions. When you got to the place you were surprised to see a small house on the outskirts of town, you expected an old warehouse again or maybe someone’s garage. With a little fear and holding your breath in your lungs you dared to knock on the door.

Jack smiled at you and let you in. He gave you new clothes and let you take a bath, he fed you well and you devoured every bite. You had never felt anything like this and now you knew why people lived so happily.

“So?” you asked leaving your fourth empty plate “if I join you what will I have to do?”

“It's easy” Jack said sitting in front of you “you'll just get paid”

“Wow, I didn't think I'd be Lee again”

“No” he interrupted you “this time it won't be Lee, it'll be you”

“But…”

“That doesn't matter”

A part of you knew that this would be more dangerous than before, you knew it sounded like a terrible idea and that it would be even worse, but you had no choice, you never had one, so you had no choice but to accept.

The days passed and Jack warned you that this would be dangerous, the people you would meet were very dangerous, that they belonged to some kind of mafia and that you should be prepared, he gave you a gun and although you had never used it to harm anyone the weight of having one was always comforting.

The day had arrived, Jack and you were inside a luxurious bar, you had never been in one and you were amazed by the bright lights and the music resonating in your ears, a part of you wanted to abandon everything and get lost among the people while having fun dancing, but you weren't here for that, you had a mission and you wouldn't let anything cloud your mind. Jack guided you through the hallways and approached you.

“It's the last door on the right” he told you before disappearing with a tall guy with a kind smile. Nerves ran through your body even though you had gone over the plan a thousand times before, but you never imagined being in this situation. The missions you had carried out had always been as 'Lee' but now you had left it behind, now Lee had been left in a place of the past and now you walked as the real you.

You entered that room with your head held high, with your heels clicking on the floor and with the loaded gun hidden in your leg, but none of that could prepare you for what you were going to find on the other side of the door.

It was a small room, with just a desk and two chairs, but the light was very dim, so much so that you could barely see the other person in front of you because of the thick smoke from the cigarette he was smoking, even so, you approached and sat in the empty chair that was in front of the desk.

The smoke parted like a curtain and left you both stunned when you saw the face of the person in front of you, he thought he would never see you again and you thought that the pain of that betrayal was behind you, but when you saw it all seemed to come back to you like a wave hitting your heart hard, everything you thought you had forgotten, all the feelings and memories came back to you when you recognized those eyes.

“I see you’ve been busy,” you said, trying to control your voice. Mingi stood up suddenly, it was as if he had seen a ghost and had stolen the words from him. “So much so that you seem to have forgotten me.”

“I never forgot you,” he suddenly replied. Just being here made you feel a lump in your throat with the millions of memories you spent together clouding your mind, but you never forgot the last moment.

“But you abandoned me.”

“What… what are you doing here?” he suddenly asked.

“I can ask you the same thing” Mingi stayed silent, the shock of seeing you still had him speechless “let me guess… you’re the one who’s going to give me the payment, aren’t you?”

“You… joined the gang again?”

“Deal with your own problems Song” you placed your hands on the desk a little irritated

“But why?”

“I don’t have time for you” you stood up annoyed, but the truth was that you couldn’t stand being in the same room with the guy who broke your heart “give me the payment and go back to your business”

Mingi shook his head and looked at you again, he noticed that you had long hair and the dress you were wearing highlighted the curves that you once hid, you looked very different, but he still knew that you were still the same.

“Let’s talk”

“No” you answered firmly taking out the gun “save it, your words are of no use to me now”

“Don’t do it” he pleaded when he saw you load the gun “you don’t even know how…”

You pulled the trigger aiming close to him making his words stay in his mouth.

“I won’t repeat it again Song… give me the payment”

Mingi let out a dry laugh knowing he had lost, he took out the money and placed it on the desk, you looked at him for a second and went for the money when he didn’t say anything, but he quickly took your hand, Mingi couldn’t let you go, not again. You tried to get away, but quickly between the fight and the struggle you were face to face.

“Let me go”

“No” you pointed the gun, but when you least expected it Mingi had snatched the gun from your hand, you no longer had anything to fight with, but that didn’t stop you from trying to do it.

“You never change” he said taking your hands in quick movements and imprisoning your body on the desk “you are still as stubborn as before”

“And you are still an idiot” you could not do anything, you could only look at him with resentment hoping that the weight of your gaze would do something to him.

Mingi was not going to hurt you, he only wanted to talk things over, but when he saw your eyes he knew that you were dragging bad memories from the past.

“I never forgot you” he repeated and somehow you felt that his words reached your heart.

You looked at him and realized the closeness that there was between the two of you, as if all the past that had existed between you had vanished and only this moment existed. He was very close and something inside you urged you to get closer to him, your heart was beating strongly and you wanted to feel more than a simple touch of his hands on your wrists, you still loved him, you always knew it.

“It still hurts” you said, holding back your tears and the urge to hug him. Mingi let go of your hands but didn’t move away “I can’t forget it so easily”

“So, let me help you” he came a little closer and you felt his breath on your lips for a second, you could have moved away, you could have pushed him away and left that room, but the truth was that you also wanted to forget the traces of the past.

His lips were just like you remembered, soft and delicate with a warmth you had never felt before. Mingi's hands ran down your arms to your hips and he held you by the back to bring you even closer. You separated for a moment and it was as if all the differences, thoughts and problems had disappeared in that simple kiss, his gaze was filled with a mixture of desire and pure longing.

“Mingi…” his name in your voice was like a spell for his body and he responded immediately waiting for your words, but there was nothing to say, you just wanted this, you wanted him.

You pushed yourself forward and held onto his neck as you brought your lips together again, your kisses were no longer slow, now they were just devouring each other, your tongues met and your teeth clashed because of the desperation and desire that seemed to overflow.

His hands held you tightly, as if he feared that at any moment you might fade away again, but each kiss felt more real than ever. Mingi contoured your figure and lifted the hem of your dress, you couldn't help but moan a little at the feeling of his fingers on your skin and he took the opportunity to grab your legs and climb onto the desk.

Your gazes met for an instant and you both knew what the other wanted. Mingi squeezed your thighs as he watched you take off the straps of your dress, leaving your breasts exposed. You noticed how he bit his lips, but at the same time he contemplated your body.

His mouth went straight to your neck and you let out a muffled moan at the feeling of his kisses, his hands went up your legs and slowly approached your core at the same time as his kisses now went down your collarbone and approached your chest.

When his fingers touched your pussy you arched your back from the sensation you had missed so much, without wasting time he began to move his fingers over the fabric letting your breathing slowly become agitated. You placed your hands behind you to lean on the desk and leave your chest at his mercy, with his other hand he took one of your breasts while his mouth captured your nipple.

You felt your body slowly sink into the whirlwind of sensations that Mingi caused you, you opened your legs to seek a little more pleasure and Mingi noticed it, you felt his smile on your skin and he looked up to see your pleading face.

“Do you want more?” you nodded desperately and he moved the fabric that separated your pussy from his fingers.

You let out a moan when his fingers ran over your wet core and touched your clitoris, he played with it for a moment turning it and pressing gently on it making you start to moan. You never took your eyes off him and you were struggling not to close your legs when a shiver ran through your body announcing your orgasm.

Mingi knew it and sank two of his fingers inside you, you let out a stifled sigh and held onto his shoulders when he began to move them in and out. You pulled him in for a kiss and he gladly accepted without stopping giving you pleasure, your hips began to move on their own looking for the highest point, your legs began to tremble and when you thought you had achieved it Mingi stopped.

“Not yet princess” you sobbed internally, but when he pulled his fingers out of you a strange mix of shame and excitement filled you inside as you watched him take them to his mouth and taste the trace of you left on him.

You placed your hands on his chest and began to unbutton his shirt, Mingi admired the way your hands shook a little, but you were determined to undress him. When you opened the shirt you admired his bare chest and ran your hands over his skin feeling every inch of his torso, you slid your hand down his abdomen and stopped for a second when you noticed the bulge in his pants.

You noticed his anxious and desperate look, you began to unbuckle his belt, but Mingi felt that you were too slow but that it was somehow a kind of torture. He took a slow breath trying to concentrate on not ripping his clothes off himself and let you continue at your pace.

You gently pressed his bulge when you pulled down his pants and heard him curse, you saw how his chest rose and fell faster and faster, but you continued just touching him above.

“Shit… stop playing with me” he begged through gritted teeth.

“It’s your punishment.” Mingi closed his eyes and sighed as he felt your hand touch him beneath his boxers. He felt you wrap around his girth and begin to massage him.

It was getting harder and harder for him to breathe and it was complete torture the way your thumb played with his sensitive tip. He grabbed your legs and brought you a little closer to the edge, he needed you right now, he wanted to have you and fill you, he couldn’t take it anymore and neither could you. You stopped as his cock began to twitch and smiled as you heard a frustrated sigh from him.

“I guess I deserve it” he said with a broken voice and you nodded when his forehead pressed against yours “but I can’t continue like this anymore” he confessed looking into your eyes “let me have you one more time”

“I’ve always been yours Mingi” your words moved his chest and he lowered your panties along with his boxers leaving the path clear between your bodies.

Your breathing mixed and you both moaned when he placed the tip of his cock over your entrance, you held onto his shoulders and dug your nails into his skin when he slowly sank into you.

The room was filled with the sound of your bodies colliding and your moans saying Mingi's name. You were hugging his neck and Mingi's hands were holding your ass while his thrusts took you into a spiral of sensations. His mouth devoured your neck and his teeth left marks on your shoulders.

You didn't want this moment to stop, but when Mingi separated from you for a moment you felt empty. He lowered you from the desk only to turn you around making you show him your ass while he pressed your breasts against the wood. You turned your head to look at him, but you moaned when you felt him sink easily into your pussy.

Mingi grabbed your waist tightly and looked at your figure, he approached your body and your skin crawled when his mouth began to leave a trail of kisses all over your back. One of his hands slid down a little and squeezed your ass hard before giving you a spank that made you moan, his hand went inside your legs and touched your clit making you squirm under his body that pressed against yours.

“Mingi… I’m close” you warned, but he continued to touch you as his cock sank deeper and deeper inside making your body start to shake.

“Cum for me princess” his words in your ear gave you shivers and his thrusts mixed with his fingers on your clit seemed to be enough to make you let yourself go in the fog that was starting to take you to your orgasm.

You scratched the wood beneath you looking for something to hold on to as you let the knot in your belly come loose. Mingi gave a few more thrusts and sank in hard letting his load warm your insides. He kissed your back and then pulled away from you, watching his essence drip down your thighs.

He couldn't resist the urge to pick it up and sink his fingers into your sensitive pussy, you moved at his touch and pressed against his fingers that didn't let you spill anything.

"Stay like that, just a moment" he said admiring your body and seeing how a trace of him was left on your body.

After he helped you get dressed the atmosphere became tense again, it was obvious that you didn't want to leave that room and separate again, but Mingi couldn't have you with him, his job was dangerous and he didn't want to put you in danger, while he thought about what to do you finally decided to speak.

"I have to go, they're waiting for me" your voice came out broken and revealed that you didn't want to leave

"Will we see each other again?"

“I don’t know” Mingi took your hand so you wouldn’t leave and hugged you tightly, he didn’t want to let you go, not again.

When you looked at each other again thinking it would be a farewell a loud bang was heard outside. You looked at each other once and without thinking Mingi took your hand before opening the door and discovering what was happening.

There was a lot of smoke and you couldn’t see anything beyond you, but the screams of the people were not long in being heard. People began to run towards the exit, they didn’t know what had happened, but moving a little further they noticed a destroyed wall in a row, people were pushing each other to get out and everything was chaos.

It wasn’t long before you heard the sound of sirens and something inside you brought you back to the past. You were starting to get restless and wanted to get out of here, but Mingi squeezed your hand reminding you that you weren’t alone.

"I won't let you go again" he said before taking out his gun and walking through the crowd without letting go of you. They managed to get out and for the first time you felt relief when you looked at him, he hugged you tightly and knew it was what he had to do "I'm not leaving you, come with me, I'll protect you"

You'd be lying if you said you weren't scared, but you knew Mingi was serious, he wouldn't let anything bad happen to you again so you just nodded as you shed tears and kept a new hope in your heart.

𝐴𝐿𝐿 𝑊𝑂𝑅𝐾𝑆 𝐶𝑅𝐸𝐴𝑇𝐸𝐷 𝐵𝑌 ©𝐾𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑦𝟼𝑐𝘩𝑜𝑖 𝑀𝑈𝑆𝑇 𝑁𝑂𝑇 𝐵𝐸 𝑃𝐿𝐴𝐺𝐼𝐴𝑅𝐼𝑍𝐸𝐷 𝑂𝑅 𝐶𝑂𝑃𝐼𝐸𝐷

tag: @londonbridges01 || @likeathunderoverflow

[zerocoded]

summary: caleb makes you kung pao chicken and you repay him by milking him dry.

authors note: gut wrenching smut to my caleb girlies. like jungkook said, SEVEN DAYS A WEEEK 😩 get in the car babes, we're going to pound town. so sorry for the delay! like i said, idk how to write happy feelings so i struggled with this one a little lol. but i still had a good time! thanks for reading this four-chapter series, you guys have my heart. again, this was supposed to be allll in the last chapter but i figured it would be too much for just one post, so i split them in two.

warnings: HEAVY ANGST • nsfw content, mdni • obsessive!caleb • UNCANNON bc i finished this before caleb release • grinding • astraphobia • downplaying fears as we all do • soft!dom caleb but then hard!dom caleb • teasing • orgasm denial • SO MUCH TEASING • word play • fingering • skyhaven is under a isolation period.

word count: 13.3k (i swear i'm not sane)

the first time you see caleb after the incident┃caleb uses you as a hostage at the farspace fleet┃you punch caleb in the face┃you're here

isolation week blurred together in a strange rhythm, the days blending into each other like half-forgotten dreams. you didn’t keep track of the hours—there was no point. the world outside skyhaven felt distant, unreachable, as if it had been swallowed by the endless hum of magnetic fields holding this floating island in the sky.

caleb made it easier, somehow. his presence was a strange mix of soothing and frustrating, a reminder of the man you used to know and the one he’d become. you hadn’t realized how much you’d come to depend on him until you were confined to this room together.

the first morning felt awkward, to say the least. after inviting him back to the bed, you woke up to find him sprawled out beside you, his bionic arm stretched across the mattress like an unfamiliar guest. he wasn’t touching you—you could see he’d been careful about that—but the warmth of his presence was undeniable.

“morning,” he’d said when he caught you staring, his voice low and teasing. “sleep well?”

you hadn’t, but you didn’t tell him that. instead, you muttered something incoherent and shuffled to the bathroom, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened under his gaze.

that first day passed in cautious steps, a strange dance of proximity and avoidance. caleb filled the silences with stories from the base—how he’d managed a near-disastrous training exercise or how a recruit had accidentally fried half the communication systems. you found yourself laughing more than you expected, his sharp wit and easy charm tugging at memories you thought you’d buried.

the second day was spent with caleb working in the living room and you lounging in his room. turns out that the floor-to-ceiling glass windows weren’t as soundproof as you thought. every time caleb cursed under his breath at whatever he was tinkering with, it carried into the bedroom like a muffled echo, forcing you to stifle laughter more than once. by the fourth time he muttered something about “rookie mistakes” and “damn loose wiring,” you couldn’t help but shout, “you talking to the wiring or yourself?”

his reply was immediate, his voice full of dry humor. “depends. which one’s listening better?”

when the evening of the second isolation day came, a storm rolled in slowly, creeping over skyhaven like a shadow. it began with the faintest rumble of thunder in the distance, barely audible over the soft hum of the dorm. the sky outside the windows darkened, heavy clouds gathering until the first streak of lightning cut through the horizon. you glanced toward the glass, drawn to the way the city lights below flickered like stars against the storm.

caleb called you to the kitchen for dinner, his voice casual but tinged with an edge of exhaustion. “nothing fancy,” he’d said, placing a plate in front of you. “just leftovers. figured you wouldn’t complain.”

you didn’t, especially not when you caught the faint scent of whatever he’d reheated—it smelled good, and by now, you were too hungry to care about the lack of flair. you sat together at the small table, the storm outside casting shifting shadows across the walls. the dim lighting made the space feel smaller, more intimate, and for the first time in days, the silence between you felt easy, comfortable.

“do you remember when we used to sneak into the kitchen at gran’s place?” you asked between bites, the memory coming unbidden but welcome.

caleb snorted, a rare, genuine laugh slipping past his usual guarded demeanor. “you mean when you’d sneak and i’d get dragged into it?”

“oh, please,” you shot back, a grin tugging at your lips. “you were the one who wanted to make those awful peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with way too much jelly.”

“you ate them, didn’t you?” he countered, raising an eyebrow.

“because i was starving!” you laughed, shaking your head. “you could’ve fed me cardboard, and i would’ve said thank you.”

he chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “you were easy to please back then. now look at you, living the high life with reheated kung pao chicken.”

the playful jab earned him a mock glare, but the warmth in his voice made it impossible to be annoyed. the shared memory lingered between you, softening the edges of everything else. for a moment, it felt like you were kids again, stealing moments of joy in the quiet corners of a world that never quite felt safe.

outside, the storm intensified, the thunder growing louder, closer. lightning lit up the room in sharp flashes, followed by the low growl of the sky. you turned your gaze to the windows, the storm demanding attention with its unpredictable rhythm. caleb followed your line of sight, his expression shifting as he watched the storm unfold and your reaction at the same time.

“this one’s going to be loud,” he said, almost to himself. “storms like these always are, especially up here.”

his voice was calm, but the weight of the storm pressed against the walls, creeping into the space between you. as the wind howled and the rain began to streak the glass, the moment of levity faded, replaced by a quiet intensity that you weren’t capable of ignoring.

“guess we’re in for an interesting night,” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the first sharp crack of thunder.

“looks like it,” caleb replied, his tone softer now, his gaze flicking to you as the storm continued to rage outside.

for the next minutes, you realized that storms in skyhaven were way different from the storms in linkon city. the way the lightning lit up the entire sky, crackling with a brightness that seemed to ripple through the clouds, was almost beautiful—if it wasn’t so overwhelming. the thunder was deeper here, more resonant, as if the very air carried its weight. every flash and rumble seemed to rattle the walls, making the room feel smaller, like the storm was trying to press its way in.

unfortunately, you were scared of both.

you tried to keep your composure, focusing on your plate and the casual rhythm of caleb’s fork against his. but when a particularly loud clap of thunder roared through the dorm, your hand flinched, nearly knocking over your glass. caleb’s head snapped up at the sound, his gaze flicking to you with an intensity that made your cheeks flush.

“you okay?” he asked, his voice steady, though his brow furrowed slightly.

“fine,” you replied too quickly, your voice thinner than you meant. you placed your hands in your lap, twisting your fingers together to hide the slight tremor. “just… loud, that’s all.”

he didn’t look convinced, his eyes narrowing just a fraction before he set his fork down. “are you still scared of them?” he said, leaning back in his chair. his tone was casual, but there was a softness to it, the kind he used when he was trying not to push too hard.

you nodded, your gaze fixed on the plate in front of you. “still not my thing.”

he watched you for a moment longer, his gaze steady but unreadable, before a particularly sharp crack of thunder split the air. it was closer this time, louder, and it made you flinch despite yourself. your breath hitched, your shoulders tensing as you tried to steady yourself.

“hey,” he murmured, his voice gentler now, the edge gone. “come here.”

you hesitated, your fingers tightening in your lap. “i’m fine,” you started, but the words felt hollow, unconvincing even to yourself.

“you’re not, pipsqueak” he said, his tone firm but not unkind. he reached out then, not quite touching you but close enough that the gesture felt like a tether. “i know you. just… come here.”

you stood slowly, unsure at first, but when you moved closer, he didn’t hesitate. he pulled you gently into his lap, his arms wrapping around you like a shield against the storm.

the movement caught you off guard, but you didn’t resist. the warmth of him was immediate, grounding, his bionic arm cool against your side as he adjusted it carefully.

“better?” he asked softly, his breath brushing against your temple.

you nodded, your cheek pressing against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat calming the chaos inside you. “a little,” you admitted, your voice muffled but steadying.

another roar of thunder shook the room, and your hands gripped his shirt instinctively. he didn’t flinch or pull away—he just held you tighter, his hand moving in slow, reassuring circles against your back.

“you’re okay,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “i’ve got you.”

“i look like a child, sorry,” you muttered, your voice barely audible as you kept your face buried against his chest. “i fight wanderers, for god’s sake.”

caleb chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through you. “you don’t look like a child,” he said, his tone light but carrying that familiar edge of warmth. “you are you, pipsqueak.”

you huffed a quiet laugh, rolling your eyes even though he couldn’t see it. “comforting.”

“it’s true,” he added, his voice dropping slightly, almost like he wasn’t sure he should say it. “i remember you always cried when it was storming back then.”

you pulled back just enough to look at him, his words tugging at a long-forgotten memory. “you teased me at first,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips. “but then you always slept with me in my room afterward.”

his lips quirked into a faint grin, his eyes softening. “because you’d cling to me like a little barnacle,” he teased gently, though the fondness in his voice was unmistakable.

“you never complained,” you countered, your cheeks warming at the memory.

“never had a reason to,” he said simply, his gaze steady on yours.

the room felt quieter then, the storm outside reduced to a distant rumble as the two of you sat there, his arms stayed around you.

“it’s not so different now, is it?” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “just you and me. like it’s always been.”

you didn’t reply, but the way you stayed pressed against him, your hand unconsciously gripping his shirt, was answer enough.

“stupid floating island, why did the daa have to make their base here?” you joked, your voice muffled against his chest. “now i can’t even finish my burnt kung pao.”

“burnt?!” caleb laughed, mock-offended, pulling back just enough to look at you. “you just said you wouldn’t complain. for me, that’s partially overcooked, nothing more.”

you tilted your head, giving him an incredulous look. “partially overcooked? caleb, the chicken was practically charcoal.”

he smirked, his hands still resting lightly on your sides. “it’s called adding texture. i’m innovating.”

you couldn’t help but laugh, the tension in your chest easing as his grin widened.

the storm rumbled outside, the occasional flash of lightning casting fleeting patterns across the walls. his hands, still steady on your sides, seemed to hesitate for a moment, his thumb brushing lightly against the fabric of your shirt. it was such a small, unconscious gesture, but it sent a shiver down your spine nonetheless.

you glanced down at his hand, then back up at him, and found his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. there was no teasing in his expression now, no quick retort or sarcastic comment. just him, watching you like you were something fragile and precious, something he couldn’t bring himself to look away from.

“caleb…” you started, your voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

“what?” he asked softly, his tone steady but edged with something deeper.

you shook your head, unsure of what to say, unsure if you should say anything at all. “nothing,” you murmured, though your heartbeat betrayed you, thudding loudly in your ears.

he didn’t press, but his gaze stayed on you, unrelenting. the hand on your side shifted slightly, his fingers curling just enough to ground you, to remind you he was there. “you sure about that?” he asked after a beat, his voice low.

you nodded, but the motion felt half-hearted, like you weren’t entirely sure of anything anymore. the tension between you grew heavier, the air around you thick with something unspoken, and you wondered if he could feel it too—the way the space between you seemed to shrink without either of you moving.

“you’re trembling,” he said softly, his brow furrowing as his other hand came up, hesitating before resting lightly against your arm.

“it’s the storm,” you replied, though you weren’t sure if that was entirely true.

“is it?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper now, his thumb brushing a slow, deliberate line against your arm.

you didn’t answer. you couldn’t. instead, you stayed there, caught between the steady warmth of his hands and the wild rhythm of your own heart, waiting to see what would happen next.

another thunder came, the loudest yet, and you trembled in his hold. his arms tightened instinctively around you, grounding you as your breath hitched.

"fuck, this sucks," you muttered, frustration and embarrassment creeping into your voice. "i’m sorry, i think i should—"

"do you want to watch something on the tv?" he interrupted, his tone casual but deliberate, like he was trying to steer your focus elsewhere.

you looked at him, confused. "i think i shouldn’t—you don’t have to worry about me."

he tilted his head slightly, his expression soft but unyielding. "i used to distract you from the storms with silly cartoons when you were younger," he said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "i think it will help."

"we’re not kids anymore—" you started, but he didn’t let you finish. in one swift motion, he stood, lifting you effortlessly into his arms, bridal style. "what the hell!" you gasped, your hands instinctively clutching at his neck to steady yourself.

"i can walk, you know," you said, glaring up at him, though the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed the annoyance in your voice.

"i know," he replied, his voice warm but firm. "but i prefer you don’t when i’m around."

you opened your mouth to argue but stopped when you caught the way he looked at you—steady, unwavering, his grip on you secure but gentle. as he crossed the living room and entered his bedroom, you couldn’t help but feel the tension in your chest begin to ease. 

as he set you down carefully on the edge of his bed, his hands lingered for a moment, his touch light yet grounding. his fingers brushed your arms briefly as he pulled back, and the faint contact left a trail of warmth on your skin.

"you good here?" he asked softly, his voice low, his gaze searching yours as if to make sure you were really okay.

you nodded, but the truth was, the weight of the storm still pressed on you.

"yeah," you murmured, your voice quieter than you intended. but even as you said it, your hands fidgeted in your lap, betraying the unease that still lingered.

caleb didn’t move far, instead crouching in front of you, his arms resting on his knees as he leveled his gaze with yours. "you don’t have to pretend, you know," he said, his tone soft but firm. "if it’s still too much, just tell me."

his sincerity made your chest tighten, the way his eyes softened as he spoke, the faint crease of worry between his brows. the storm outside growled again, a low rumble that rattled the glass, and before you could stop yourself, you moved.

your body acted on instinct, seeking out the comfort that had been so immediate and steady. you slid forward, closing the space between you as you climbed into his lap, your arms wrapping around his neck.

“hey,” he murmured, startled for only a moment before his hands came up to steady you, one resting firmly on your back while the other settled on your hip. “you okay?”

“sorry,” you whispered, your face pressed against the curve of his neck. “i just… it’s better like this.”

he exhaled softly, the sound more like a sigh of relief than anything else. “don’t apologize, pipsqueak” he said, his voice low and soothing. “the storms you’ll encounter in the future… they shouldn’t exist here.”

his words sent a shiver down your spine, and you felt his arms tighten slightly around you, holding you closer. the heat of his body seeped through the thin fabric of your clothes, and the steady rhythm of his breathing calmed the erratic beat of your heart.

his fingers flexed against your hip, the warmth of his hand seeping through the material. “i’ve got you,” he replied.

he sat on the bed bringing you with him, his back touching the headboard.

the storm outside roared again, but it felt distant now, muffled by the space you shared. you shifted slightly in his lap, and his grip tightened reflexively, a quiet inhale escaping him as you moved.

“sorry,” you murmured, your cheeks warming with the apology.

“you’re trembling,” he noted again, his voice quieter now, rougher at the edges. his hand on your back moved in slow, soothing circles, but there was a tension in him that hadn’t been there before—a subtle stiffness in his posture, the way his fingers lingered just a moment too long.

“i’m just a little shaken,” you replied, though your voice betrayed you, wavering slightly as your chest pressed against his.

“don’t worry too much, princess,” he murmured, his voice dipping low, the words brushing against your ear like a secret. his hand stilled on your back, the pause heavy, loaded with something unspoken. “i like when we’re close like this.”

you didn’t reply at first, your breath catching as his gaze held yours. his eyes searched, questioned, the intensity of his closeness overwhelming—the faint warmth of his breath on your cheek, the steady weight of his hand against your back. it was too much and not enough all at once. you swallowed hard, your voice barely a whisper as you said, “me too.”

“do you?” his tone was curious, soft, yet laced with something deeper, and you felt a flicker of need pulse through you. his question lingered in the air, fragile and heavy. you didn’t know how to respond, unsure if the truth would feel like breaking something—or like setting it free.

“because i do,” he admitted, his voice unwavering, his honesty unraveling something inside you. “always have.”

the sincerity in his words, the way his eyes held no doubt, no hesitation—it pulled at you. it felt like stepping into something safe and terrifying all at once, his certainty acting as a charm you couldn’t resist.

“i do,” you murmured timidly, your voice so soft it was almost lost to the storm outside. you couldn’t meet his gaze, your eyes dropping to avoid the weight of everything he’d laid bare.

smoothly, caleb's hands tightened on your sides, his touch a quiet plea for your attention. and so, you look at him. your gaze meets his amethystine eyes, and there, you find it—yearning, raw and unguarded, etched into every facet of him.

"would you hate me even more if i said i wanted to kiss you right now?"

his voice was so steady, so effortless, that it left you momentarily stunned. you stayed silent, your heart pounding against the truth you were too afraid to confront, the truth simmering just beneath the surface of your heart.

“i don’t hate you,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. they hung in the air between you, fragile and vulnerable. his gaze softened, searching your face for something—permission, maybe, or clarity.

“but you don’t want this,” he said, though his voice wavered, unsure. his grip loosened, like he was already preparing to pull away, to retreat.

you shook your head slightly, barely more than a tremble. “it’s not that…” your voice cracked, and you hated how exposed you felt.

"i’m sorry," he murmured, his voice heavy with regret, eyes staring at both of his hands on your side. his bangs fell over his eyes, giving him an innocent look. caleb had always been effortlessly pretty in your eyes.

you caught yourself staring at his sudden shyness with more awe than apprehension. ever since you’d grown a little taller and started seeing caleb through a different lens—one that wasn’t colored by the “older brother” view you once had—you couldn’t help but admire his beauty. moments like this, when his youthful charm caught you off guard, felt like they pressed you against an invisible wall, leaving you breathless.

because how many times had you wanted to kiss him before? god, you’d had the silliest crush on this man for what felt like forever. and now, knowing he’d been pining for you just the same all along? it felt unreal and unfair at the same time.

"i shouldn’t put you in a position like this… let’s just—let’s watch something." he leaned back slightly, creating space that felt colder, emptier, and pretended to be searching for the controller on his bedside table.

but you saw it—the restraint in his eyes, the way he was holding himself back for your sake. and you couldn’t let that linger. "caleb," you said softly, reaching for his hand before he could fully pull away. "it’s not that… you’re not putting me on the spot." you hesitated, your breath shaky as you forced the words out. "i kind of… want to be on the spot."

were you caving yourself in a bigger mess? you honestly couldn’t tell. but ignoring your childhood feelings right now seemed to be as painful as the possible ache of regret you could face later.

his eyes snapped back to yours, wide, searching for any sign of doubt. "you do?" his voice was quieter now, almost disbelieving.

"i do," you admitted, your cheeks warming under his gaze. "it’s just… this is new, and i’m scared, but that doesn’t mean i don’t want it."

he exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing as he took in your words. "fuck, i don’t want to scare you, pipsqueak," he said, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.

“you could never.”

his lips parted slightly, his jaw tightening as he exhaled through his nose, seeming thoughtful. “you want me to stop?” he asked, his voice low and steady, though there was a hint of strain behind it.

again, caleb seemed so youthful in this light, his features softer, the usual sharpness in his gaze replaced with something gentler. there was an innocence about him now, a vulnerability that clung to the edges of his desperation. it wasn’t just restraint—it was care. as if the fear of scaring you, of pushing you too far, outweighed any longing he might have for your body.

you shook your head, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you leaned closer. “no,” you whispered, the word trembling between you.

your breath caught, and for a moment, the world outside—the storm, the hum of skyhaven, everything—faded into a quiet, dizzying stillness. his touch was grounding, his gaze searching, and yet, all you could think about was the last time you felt this close to him.

a week ago.

it came rushing back, unbidden and vivid, like a memory you’d tried to bury but couldn’t. the moment when he reappeared on your front door in linkon city, alive and impossibly real, standing in the doorway of your tiny apartment as if the months between you hadn’t happened.

your chest tightened as the ache in your heart shifted into something else—something sharper, hungrier. you leaned in without thinking, your hand moving to his jaw, your lips hovering just a breath away from his.

but before you could close the distance, he froze. his hand moved to yours, holding it gently but firmly, his eyes now wide and dark, filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

“don’t,” he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper, his breath hot against your skin. “don’t do it if you are not ready to forgive me yet, princess.”

his words made your heart stutter, the rawness in his tone cutting through the haze in your mind. his jaw tightened beneath your hand, his grip on your waist trembling slightly, as if the effort to stop himself was taking everything he had.

“tell me you want it first,” he pleaded, his voice rough, almost pained. “please.”

your breath caught, the weight of his gaze pinning you in place. he looked at you like the thought of stopping physically hurt him, like holding himself back was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

“caleb…” you started, but your voice wavered, the unspoken pull between you making it hard to find the words.

“say it,” he urged, his forehead resting against yours, his voice a whisper now, almost broken. “if you want me, tell me.”

fuck, caleb was trembling.

“i think,” you whispered, your voice shaking as much as he was. you brought your hand to his jaw again, your fingers brushing against the faint stubble there, grounding both of you in the moment. “i think this will help.”

—with the forgiving part, you wanted to complete.

his eyes searched yours, desperation and longing swirling together in a way that made your chest ache. “don’t say it unless you mean it,” he murmured, his voice rough, his forehead pressing against yours harder now, like he needed the contact to steady himself. 

you swallowed hard, your thumb brushing the edge of his jaw as you let out a shaky breath. “i want this,” you said, the words fragile but true. “i want you.”

his breath hitched, his fingers tightening on your waist as if those words had been the only thing holding him back. 

“say it again,” he whispered, his lips so close to yours that you could feel the heat of them.

“i want you,” you repeated, your voice steadier now, your grip on him tightening as if to prove it.

that was all it took. the tension between you snapped, and caleb closed the space between you in one fluid motion, his lips crashing against yours with a hunger that stole your breath. this wasn’t like the kiss in linkon city, sharp and painful and desperate. this was different—deeper, slower, filled with a need that burned just as fiercely but carried the weight of something more.

his hands moved to your back, pulling you closer, every inch of him pressing against you as if he couldn’t bear the thought of space between you. the storm outside raged on, but in that moment, it felt like the two of you had created your own—just as powerful, just as unstoppable.

his lips moved against yours with a deliberate intensity, each touch igniting something deeper. his hands, strong and steady, slid up your back, grounding you.

your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, and he groaned softly against your lips, the sound low and desperate. the sheer intensity of it all made your pulse race, and you felt a rush of heat spread through your body as he deepened the kiss, his teeth grazing your lower lip before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze.

“tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured, his voice rough, his breath fanning across your cheek. his forehead rested against yours again, his grip on your waist firm but trembling just slightly, a reminder of how much he was feeling at the moment.

“it’s not,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. “don’t stop.”

he leaned in again, his kisses softer now but no less consuming, his mouth tracing a path down your jaw to the curve of your neck. 

his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you into his lap again as if he needed you even closer, needed to feel every part of you against him. his bionic arm settled carefully on your side, his fingers cool against your skin where your shirt had ridden up slightly. the contrast between the metal and the heat of his other hand sent a thrill down your spine, grounding you in the moment.

“you’re perfect,” he murmured against your skin, his voice raw and unguarded, the words slipping out like he couldn’t hold them back. “i don’t deserve you.”

“i’ve wanted this—wanted you—so much, princess, you have no idea.”

your chest tightened at his confession, the vulnerability in his tone cutting through the haze of heat and desire. your fingers moved to his face, cradling his jaw as you pulled him back to look at you. his lips were swollen, his breathing uneven, but his eyes—his eyes were full of unshed tears that broke your heart.

"caleb," you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of it all. you searched his face, seeing not just the man you cared for but the fragile edges of him he never let anyone else see. "i’m here," you said, the words barely louder than a breath. "it’s okay. i want this."

his hands moved to yours, holding them against his face as if grounding himself in the moment. “i’ve wanted this for so long,” he whispered.

“show me, then” you said softly, the words trembling with their own weight. “show me how much you wanted me, caleb.”

as if echoing the tension that crackled in the air between you, a thunderclap roared outside, the sound reverberating through the walls and into your chest. 

a trembled exhale escapes you, and in that moment of vulnerability, he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue alongside yours. 

his bionic fingers shift against your cheek, you can feel the tension in him—the way he’s holding you so carefully despite the intensity of the moment. it’s as though he’s trying to reconcile the boy he used to be with the man he’s become, and in that kiss, he’s asking you if you can love both.

the kiss is frenzied, a desperate tangle of lips and breaths.

without thinking, your body moves on its own, testing his resolve with a slow, deliberate roll of your hips into his lap. the effect is immediate—his jaw tightens, the sharp edge of restraint etched into his expression. his hands fly to your waist, one strong and warm, the other cold and unyielding, gripping you tightly as if to steady himself.

“princess,” he groans, his voice low and ragged, though his hold betrays how much he doesn’t want you to stop.

ignoring his warning, you roll your hips again, feeling the heat of his reaction through the thin layers between you. a low, guttural sound escapes him, and the sheer rawness of it sends a rush of heat through your body. the sound pulls a whimper from your own lips, and you move with more purpose, your body seeking to draw that noise from him again, needing to unravel him.

it felt like your core had its own heartbeat.

“pipsqueak” he mutters, his grip tightening as if trying to regain control. his head falls forward, his forehead pressing against your shoulder. his sweet resolve was being tested and you felt your lips curl into a smile, sweet vengeance sounding fair in your ears.

“pipsqueak,” he muttered, his grip tightening as if he were struggling to regain control. his head dipped forward, his forehead resting against your shoulder. his sweet resolve was fraying at the edges, and you couldn’t help the smile that curled on your lips—sweet vengeance was practically begging to be served.

but just as you were about to push him a little further, his metal hand gripped your behind with enough force to draw a startled squeak from you.

“fuck—” you breathed, the word tumbling out unbidden.

“watch it, baby,” he murmured, his lips trailing up from your neck to your ear, his voice a low, tantalizing growl. “i’ve got years of pent-up tension to take out on you.”

was that a promise? god, why did you wanted it to be so much?

“caleb, please,” you whisper, your voice trembling with a mix of need and vulnerability. the sound of his name—your plea—seems to undo him. his resolve snaps like a frayed wire. with a growl, his hands shift, pulling you even tighter against him as his lips crash into yours again, no longer holding back the storm that’s been building inside him for so long. 

“i know, princess,” caleb mutters, his voice thick with restraint. his erection twitches in the confines of his pants as he watches you, the sight of you slowly grinding into his lap nearly ending him. your eyes, half-lidded and dark with lust, hold him captive, and he swears he could lose himself in that expression alone.

every slow roll of your hips sends a wave of pleasure coursing through both of you, the friction igniting sparks that only leave you wanting more. there’s an incessant throbbing between your legs, a growing need that these teasing movements can’t quite satiate. each brush of your core against him only heightens the ache.

caleb feels it too, because he’s already pulling at the waistband of his pants, his thumb hooking into both layers as he tugs them down, revealing the sharp definition of his defined v-line. the sight alone makes your mouth go dry, heat flooding your veins as your gaze lingers.

“fuck,” you whisper under your breath, unable to stop the word from slipping out.

caleb catches the way your eyes widen, and his lips curve into a slow, wicked smirk. his bionic hand rests on the bed beside him for balance, while his flesh hand gestures toward you. “take it off,” he commands, his tone soft but laced with a quiet authority that makes your pulse quicken.

you freeze, caught off guard by the intensity in his voice, and the way his gaze seems to pin you in place. the handsome smirk that tugs at his lips grows wider as you let out a startled breath, your cheeks burning hot with embarrassment and arousal.

you’d seen his body before, seen the dedication he put into keeping it in peak form. you’d been there when his once-lean chest began to transform, muscles growing larger than any of your own limbs as he transitioned from boy to man.

and you’d dreamed about his touch too—wild, fleeting thoughts that only a hormonal teenage girl could summon on those countless nights when the ache of loneliness crept in.

god, you should probably feel embarrassed for all of it right now.

but caleb didn’t seem to mind. he didn’t seem to care about your wild thoughts swirling around him now or the teenage fixation you’d once had on his quiet care. all that mattered to him was the relief painted across his face—the realization that this wasn’t a one-sided transition, that you were right here with him. aching for him.

biting your lip, you slip off his lap and move to stand, your fingers curling around his waistband as you carefully pull his pants and boxers the rest of the way down. his member springs free, hard and aching, and the sight sends a jolt of heat straight to your core. your thighs press together instinctively as you shiver at how thick and undeniably pretty he looks.

fuck, you weren’t exactly a novice—but being a deep-space hunter didn’t leave much time for fooling around. still, every fantasy you’d ever buried seemed to find its way to the surface, all centered on the boy you could once call your first love.

caleb was intimidating, but in the most deliciously enticing way. you weren’t a teenager anymore, and your desires had grown with you, maturing into something sharper, more urgent. whatever this was between the two of you—it felt like the thing you’d been craving for so long, the missing piece you didn’t even realize you’d been waiting for.

he was thick, but not in an overwhelming way—just enough to leave you aching, his desire for you palpable in every movement. but what truly left your mouth watering was his length, something you’d only ever imagined existed in exaggerated adult videos or ridiculous ads.

was this really the same person who stood up to bullies for you and patiently taught you how to cook when you were 14? fuck, you were absolutely cooked.

in a good way, it seems.

you don’t even realize how long you’ve been staring until caleb clears his throat, the sound breaking through the haze of your thoughts. your gaze snaps up to meet his, only to find his smirk has softened into something more amused, though no less confident.

“while i appreciate the compliment,” he teases, propping himself up on one elbow, “i wasn’t talking about me, princess. i meant you. take it off.”

your nerves were impossible to hide, and his commanding voice only made it worse. for a fleeting moment, you wondered if there was a way to skip past this awkwardness and dive straight into satisfying the ache in your core that you could no longer ignore.

caleb seemed to catch onto your hesitation. he offered you a kind, almost reassuring smile as his flesh hand wrapped gently around your wrist, his touch grounding you in the moment.

suppressing your nerves, you hook your fingers into the waistband of your shorts, sliding them down your legs along with your panties. they pool at your ankles, and you step out of them with a small, shaky breath, standing between his legs as his gaze sweeps over you.

“beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice low and sincere. the word sends a rush of warmth through you, and the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the only thing in the galaxy—makes your chest tighten.

did he feel this instant pull towards each other too? 

sitting up fully, caleb pats his lap, his smirk softening into a smile that’s equal parts playful and inviting. “c’mere,” he says, his voice rich and steady, like a promise.

you could come, my god. but you hope you weren’t so transparent in your lack of confidence in the moment, hoping to have some leverage over the man who seemed to be eating you alive with only his eyes.

caleb seemed so sure of his love and his expression for you, it made you feel small—not in a bad way—, but maybe a bit childish.

you hesitate for only a second before stepping closer, climbing back onto his lap. his hands, warm and steady, settle on your hips as he pulls you against him.

“that’s better,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to your shoulder, his lips lingering against your skin. 

you crawl onto caleb’s lap, careful not to sit fully. hovering just above him, your knees press firmly into the mattress on either side of his thighs, effectively trapping him in place. you can feel the heat radiating off his body, but there’s no way in hell you’re going to lower yourself—not yet.

if you did, you’d be pressing your bare pussy against his naked thigh, and he’d feel everything. the thought alone has your cheeks flushing hot, knowing it would expose just how soaked you’ve become from mere kissing.

caleb’s gaze doesn’t waver, his sharp eyes watching you like a predator sizing up his prey. he hums softly, one hand trailing up your side to lift the hem of the shirt you were wearing—his shirt—, pushing it up just enough to reveal your bare chest. his expression softens slightly as he sighs, a low, appreciative sound rumbling from his throat. “pretty,” he murmurs, his voice husky and thick with restraint.

before you can respond, he leans forward, his lips capturing one of your nipples. the sudden contact makes you gasp sharply, your hands instinctively flying to his shoulders for balance. his tongue swirls over the sensitive peak, rolling it in a way that has your back arching toward him.

“caleb—ah!” your cry cuts off as his hand moves between your legs, startling you with its boldness. his bionic fingers rest against your thigh, steadying you, while the fingers of his other hand slip against your slick folds, testing you.

“you’re wet,” he comments, his voice quiet but undeniably teasing as his fingers slide through your arousal. the statement is casual, but the tone of his voice sounded almost painful, as if the realization seemed to fucking pain him. 

you swear you heard him mutter a “fuck” while closing his eyes.

“no fuck, sherlock,” you almost whine, the words sharp though your voice lacks any bite. your head falls forward against his neck, the words trembling as his touch continues to unravel you.

but he doesn’t stop. instead, he presses another finger against you, slipping them both at once inside with deliberate ease. the stretch has you gasping, your hips jerking instinctively against his hand as he curls his fingers, finding the spot that makes your breath hitch. “you got this wet just from grinding, pipsqueak?” he murmurs, his tone both teasing and utterly sinful.

“shut up,” you try to protest, but the way his fingers push deeper, curling again, steals the words from your lips. a whimper escapes you instead, and you clutch at his shoulders, your body trembling against him. “fuck”.

regardless of the resistance that was impossible to ignore, your body was so hot that the initial discomfort was quickly replaced but more desire. caleb’s fingers were so damn long, reaching places your personal toys used to reach. the knowledge made your insides clench, something so dirty crossing your mind in the early stages of your love making.

“you’re incredible,” he mutters, his voice low and reverent, his lips brushing against your temple as he works you open with a deliberate precision that leaves you breathless. “don’t be shy, princess. let me hear you.”

a shaky breath stutters out of your mouth as you rock yourself against his hand, chasing the initial fire that have taken upon your core. but it’s not enough—not nearly enough. the ache in your core is unbearable, and every deliberate curl of caleb’s fingers only makes you crave more. 

“do you have a condom?” you manage to gasp, your voice trembling with urgency.

his movements still for a fraction of a second before a sly, knowing smirk spreads across his face. “oh my, already?” he drawls, his tone dripping with playful teasing. “princess, i’m just starting with you.”

before you can respond, he moves. with a fluid motion, caleb rolls both of you over, his body pinning you down against the soft expanse of his king-sized bed. the shift leaves you breathless, his weight grounding you in the moment. his hands frame your face, one warm and rough, the other cool and unyielding, a perfect contrast that sends a shiver down your spine.

his lips hover just above yours, his breath mingling with your own as his teasing smirk softens into something darker, more intent. “we’ve got all the time in the universe, princess,” he murmurs, his voice low and velvety, sending a thrill through your body. “i’m not rushing this. i’ve waited too damn long to rush things now.”

your heart pounds in your chest as his gaze locks onto yours, his eyes filled with a heady mix of desire and something deeper. “please—” you start, but the words catch in your throat as his lips press against your neck, soft and deliberate, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

“c’mon, princess, don’t be shy. it’s just me, caleb.”

you were grateful his fingers weren’t inside you anymore, or else he’d have felt the dangerous clench your pussy made upon hearing his sentence. how can someone act so innocent with so much craving embedded in his voice?

“i want to savor this,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice muffled but no less commanding. his hand slides down your side, his touch lingering as if committing every curve to memory. “savor you.”

you swallow hard, your body arching into his touch despite your best efforts to remain steady. “but i want—”

“shh,” he interrupts gently, his lips brushing over your collarbone before he leans back to look at you. his smirk returns, though it’s softer now, tinged with affection. “don’t worry, princess. i’ve got you. you’re going to have to be patient, all right? let caleb take his time with you?”

his words are both a promise and a warning, and you can feel the anticipation building as he begins to move inside of your heat again, his touch deliberate, his actions slow and measured, as if determined to explore every inch of you before giving you exactly what you asked for.

“of course, you’re so warm, you had to be…” caleb mutters, his voice low and strained, each word dripping with unfiltered desire. his lips brush against the shell of your ear, and the heat of his breath sends shivers down your spine. “i’ve always imagined how you’d feel—if you’re as pretty on the inside as you are on the outside.”

the deliberate tease in his tone is enough to set your skin aflame, and your breath hitches at his words. 

“stop,” you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders as your body reacts to every word, every touch. the intensity of his gaze locks you in place, your heart racing under the weight of his attention.

“what’s wrong, pipsqueak?” he asks, his smirk wicked, his voice like velvet. “am i being too honest for you?” his lips graze your jaw, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “or is it that you like hearing how much i’ve wanted you all this time?”

your cheeks burn as your hands clutch his biceps tighter, your body betraying you by arching closer to his. 

“do you like the fact that i’m obsessed with you? that i’d burn the world down for you?” caleb teases, his voice a dark, sinful whisper as his fingers curl inside you, scissoring your pussy with deliberate precision.

your body betrays you completely—your walls clench tightly around him, and a loud, unrestrained moan spills from your lips before you can stop it. your head tilts back, your thighs trembling as he chuckles low in his throat, the sound dripping with satisfaction.

“oh, what’s that?” he drawls, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth as his fingers continue their relentless rhythm. “is this your special spot?”

your cheeks burn, and your hands grasp at his shoulders for support as his words wash over you, leaving you utterly exposed. how come his fingers were so fucking long? to the point where only them were already making you feel lightheaded. 

or maybe it was him the one to blame for that.

“shut up,” you manage to gasp, though there’s no real weight behind your protest. every inch of your body is responding to him, and he knows it.

“my princess likes being naughty?” caleb counters, his tone as infuriatingly smug as the grin tugging at his lips. his bionic hand steadies your hip, keeping you from squirming too much, as his flesh fingers work deeper inside you. “you’re the one clenching around me like that, baby.”

“caleb—” your voice breaks as he curls his fingers just right, hitting the spot that makes your back arch and your moans grow louder. his smirk widens, his eyes glinting with mischief and unrelenting focus.

“that’s what i thought,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. “don’t fight it, let me hear you, please.” his fingers curl again, dragging another sharp moan from you, and the sound only seems to spur him on. “thank you, princess,” he adds softly, but there’s an edge to his words, a possessiveness that makes your heart race even faster. “every little sound, every little reaction—thank you for gracing me with them.”

“you’re impossible,” you manage to whisper, though your voice trembles, your resolve crumbling under his teasing.

“and you’re irresistible,” he counters, his lips finding yours in a kiss that’s equal parts tender and consuming. his words, his touch, his presence—it’s all too much and not enough, and you can feel yourself spiraling under his careful control.

your hands move instinctively, cradling his face, your thumbs brushing gently along his cheekbones as you pull him closer. his eyes search yours, intense and dark, as though waiting for you to shatter whatever thin line of control remains between you.

“just fuck me already,” you whisper, your voice trembling with need, your lips brushing against his as the words spill out. “please, caleb… i’m sensitive.”

the corner of caleb’s mouth lifts into a crooked smirk, though there’s a flicker of something deeper in his gaze—desire tempered by affection, by the weight of how much he feels for you. 

“sensitive, huh?” he whispered against your lips, his tone teasing, but his eyes were anything but. they searched yours, dark and heavy with longing, silently asking for permission, for trust.

you nodded, your breath hitching, and he smiled—a soft, crooked smile that made your heart stutter.

he brings his lips close to your pulse point, his warm breath brushing against your neck. you feel the tease in his exhale, deliberate and slow, as if savoring the moment. instinctively, you tilt your head, offering more, knuckles still buried inside of you.

he leans in close, his voice low and dark as he murmurs, “you love being teased like this, don’t you?” a soft whimper escapes your lips, your body responding instinctively to the way his fingers work, each movement sending waves of sensation through you.  

your hands press against his shoulders, searching for control, but he holds you firmly in place, his grip on your waist unyielding. his movements are deliberate, precise, barely grazing over sensitive spots, leaving you aching for more.  

he doesn’t relent, his rhythm intensifying with every motion, each calculated touch sending your body into spiraling sensations. your breaths hitch as your body tightens, overwhelmed by the building tension, every moment pushing you closer to the edge. 

"you look so damn gorgeous here in my arms, princess," caleb murmurs, his voice dripping with heat. "makes me wonder what would happen if i just..." he trails off, bending his fingers inside you until they hit that perfect spot again, sending a shockwave of pleasure through you. he focuses on it relentlessly, each movement precise and deliberate, drawing sharp gasps from your lips as your body responds instinctively.  

the tension builds, pooling low in your stomach, ready to snap at any moment. you're right there, teetering on the edge of release, when suddenly, he stops. the absence is jarring, leaving your body aching for what it was so close to having.  

your eyes fly open, heat rising in your cheeks as shock and frustration flood your senses. "caleb, what the hell?!" you gasp, scandalized, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.  

he chuckles darkly, the sound low and unapologetic, almost infuriating. "did you really think it would be that easy, my sweet girl?" his tone is teasing, almost rhetorical. "i love to savor what i want. so tell me..." his gaze locks with yours, daring and full of mischief. "will you let me play with you a little longer?" 

"this isn’t funny," you pout, the frustration evident in your voice. "i want you."

"i know that, baby," caleb replies, his tone soft but teasing. "and i’ll give it to you. just hang in there for me a little longer, okay? don’t you want to be a good girl? i promise, it’ll feel even better."

before you can respond, his fingers are back inside you, curling with precision as he picks up where he left off. the intensity leaves you gasping, your body arching into his touch as he pins you firmly to the bed, each movement calculated to unravel you.

he drinks in every sound you make, the way your body reacts under his control. the tension builds quickly, spiraling upward as he focuses on that spot that drives you wild, your walls tightening around him. but just as the wave threatens to crash over you, he stops again, pulling away like it’s a game.

"caleb," you whine, your voice trembling as you feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "i-i need to come, please."

"i know, baby, i know," he soothes, his fingers moving gently now, almost comforting, though his teasing tone betrays him. "you trust me, don’t you, sweet girl?"

you nod weakly, cheeks wet and burning with embarrassment, but caleb’s gaze softens as he leans closer. "so pretty, my princess," he murmurs, his words wrapping around you like a caress. "i’ve waited so much for this. you deserve the world," he whispers, his lips trailing kisses down your body until his warm breath fans over your chest, teasing the hardened peaks of your nipples.

"she’s going to wait for me, just like i waited for her all this time, right, baby?" his voice sounded almost mocking, a dangerous mix of sarcasm and pure love.

was he talking about your pussy? oh god.

his words make your eyes widen, shock coursing through you as you try to pull away, only for him to hold you firmly in place.

"caleb," your voice trembles, barely above a whisper, and he chuckles softly, finding your helplessness endearing.

"hey, hey, look at me," he says gently, tilting your chin so your eyes meet his. "i’m here, aren’t i? don’t you think it’s fair, pipsqueak?” his lips press harder against your skin with every word, leaving marks that bloom red and tender. “i’ve always held myself back, endured for you." his canines leave two red dots just above your nipples, "day after day, after day, it was suffocating."

he pauses, his lips lingering just above your chest, leaving a bruise that you know will remind you of this moment long after. "at some point, i thought you liked me too," he whispers, pain lacing his words. "but then you left me. and forgot about me."

“caleb!” you try to protest, wanting to tell him he’s wrong, that he doesn’t understand, but the way he touches you—so deliberately, so tenderly, even when he’s pushing you to your limits—leaves you breathless, knees weak, eyes fluttering shut.

how does he know exactly what to do to unravel you like this?

before you can gather your thoughts, his fingers are back inside you, moving with an unrelenting rhythm that has you gasping, every thrust calculated to drive you closer and closer to the edge. just when you think you’re finally about to tip over into bliss, he pulls away again, leaving you trembling and desperate.

and the worst part? he keeps doing it—again and again—pushing you to the brink only to deny you at the last second. tears streak down your cheeks as you thrash beneath him, pleading for release, your body betraying you with every lewd moan and quiver. his fingers work you over, drawing out every sound, every reaction, but he never lets you find that sweet relief.

it doesn’t make sense—how can he know your body this well after such a short time? how can he read every twitch, every sigh, like he’s been doing this for years? there’s something almost reverent in the way he watches you, as if your pleasure is his own, even as he denies you again and again.

he’s wicked—a tormentor wrapped in the guise of a lover.

each time you’re on the verge of release, he withdraws, and fresh tears spill over as you whimper and beg. “please, caleb, let me come,” you plead, voice breaking. “i promise, i’ll listen, i’ll be good—just please, let me come!”

his lips curl into a smug grin, the glint in his eyes almost cruel as he leans in, voice a dark whisper against your ear. “princess wants to give in so soon?” he teases, the condescension in his tone making you burn.

he chuckles, low and sinister, the sound vibrating through you as he promises, “i haven’t even started yet.”

you’re reduced to a tearful mess, your body trembling with desperation as you try to cling to whatever composure you have left. you’d kick him if you could, but caleb holds all the power, the keeper of your release, and you know you have to play his game if you want even the slightest chance of relief today.

"caleb, baby," you plead, voice dripping with desperation. "the love of my life, please, please—i’ll be good now. i won’t push you away anymore. i need you."

did you sound pathetic? a little. but there are moments where you couldn’t find the strength to protect your pride when all that you ever wanted was to untie the knot burning in your core.

his dry chuckle sends a shiver down your spine as his grip tightens on your torso, holding you steady while his fingers continue their relentless rhythm. "i know, baby," he murmurs, his voice softer now. "just give me this moment, please."

and then he’s right back at it, thrusting his fingers deep inside you without mercy, his other hand occasionally teasing your clit. each precise movement against your sensitive spot sends you spiraling, the overwhelming pleasure leaving you breathless.

this time, though, he leans in, his mouth finding your pulse point. the heat of his lips against your damp skin, the way he bites and sucks at you, adds another layer of stimulation that has you reeling. it’s like he’s devouring you, taking every piece of control for himself as he plays with your body, denying you over and over like it’s a game he never tires of.

but when you find your voice again, it’s what finally cracks his composure. "caleb, baby, please—i need your cock, or i swear i’m gonna die."

it’s dramatic, sure, but it works.

he pauses, his breath uneven as he seems to wrestle with himself. his hand slips away from your aching core, giving you a brief moment of reprieve before he lines himself up against your entrance. the thick head of his member presses against you, the sensation so euphoric it has you pressing your forehead against the nearest pillow, trying to ground yourself.

was that what he wanted to hear all along?

biting his lip, he drags himself against your slick heat, collecting your essence along his tip, his gaze locked on the way your body clenches, desperate to be filled.

“you see, princess,” he continues, his voice a mix of tenderness and control, “maybe you’ve learned today, but i will always put you first.” his movements slow, deliberate, as he anchors your wrists against his shoulders, his hands firm but not harsh. “in my own selfish way, i just want the best for you. okay?”

you nod frantically, your body practically begging, even if your mind can’t quite catch up. you’re not sure what you’re agreeing to anymore, only that you want him—need him—to follow through.

but just as you think you’re finally there, everything shifts.

in one swift motion, caleb flips you onto your stomach, his weight pressing you into the bed as he adjusts himself behind you. the next thing you feel is the coarse sensation of something binding your wrists together behind your back, leaving you to hold yourself up by your shoulders.

a rope.

your heart races as you realize what he’s done, his control over you now complete, and all you can do is submit to whatever he has planned next.

it wasn’t just a rope, it was almost like a wire.

"caleb?" your voice wavered as you heard a mechanical whirring behind you. craning your neck, you caught a glimpse of his bionic arm in motion, a thin wire smoothly retracting from his forearm. the precision of it left you breathless—it was designed for this, leaving the prosthetic intact as it unraveled into a makeshift rope.

he wasted no time, expertly wrapping the wire around your wrists, binding them together at the small of your back. the restraint pressed you further into the bed, leaving you utterly at his mercy.

god, this was so hot.

"fuck, do you enjoy this, pipsqueak?" he murmured, his lips trailing soft kisses along your shoulders as he spoke. the heat in your body answered for you, clenching around nothing, leaving you needy and exposed.

"oh my…" his voice dropped, intimate and teasing. "if i knew my dirty princess was this naughty all this time…"

the way his tone dipped lower, filled with a mix of awe and desire, sent shivers down your spine. once again, you felt dangerously adored, like the very center of his universe.

he paused, leaning close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath. "you tell me to stop, and i’ll stop. you know that, right, baby?" his question hung in the air, a gentle reminder that despite everything, he was always seeking your consent.

"yes, just—go on with it already," you manage, your voice trembling with anticipation as the tension within you continues to build, lingering in every nerve. even the sound of his voice feels like it could unravel you completely.

and that’s all the warning you get before caleb presses forward, his movements slow and deliberate at first, as though testing your reactions. his hands steady your hips, his touch both firm and grounding, as he finds a rhythm that makes you gasp softly.

the press of his member was initially a relief. you could see yourself opening your mouth in an embarrassing long moan that reverated into the walls of his bedroom. the pitch was drown out by the teasing of his bare member, no protection whatsoever, and the feeling of each vein of his pressing against your insides.

you could feel everything. and the clench of your walls was the proof of that.

caleb moaned too—almost a pornographic grunt—and left you searching for the back of your head with your own eyes as he pushed and pushed and pushed inside of you.

“oh fuck, baby,” caleb fucking whined, too lost in the heat of your pussy. you could picture him throwing his head back and taking a deep breath after setting himself all the way in.

you were left clenching and clenching and clenching until you could feel the pressure in your abdomen starting to hurt you.

“caleb, wait—,” you hissed and pinched your eyebrows, bound hands trying to reach for his hips. at the sound of your plea, he seemed to get back to himself.

“what, sweet girl?”. he pressed his forehead on your shoulder and hissed at the clench your pussy made because of the new angle. 

“just—go slow please.” you asked and he nodded.

“can you feel this, princess?”, caleb snaked his hand in your stomach and pressed his long fingers into the bulge he could feel right there. you moaned loudly at his teasing, feeling his member twitch inside of you.

“is that you?”, you whined weakly, already feeling lightheaded.

“yes, my sweet girl, this is me right here,” he pressed the tent in your stomach again, making your breath hitch and your cheeks wet. “see how well you were made for me? my perfect baby”. caleb pressed kissed all along your back until he was no more touching your skin. 

he fucks you experimentally slow for all but one minute before he speeds up, and fucks you mean and hard and rough from the get-go. you whine and thrash at first, but then you start feeling the delicious burn of his movements right below your navel and surrender yourself to the pleasure. he buries himself to the hilt, revels in the perfect sponginess of your tight, warm walls until he pulls out, only to insert himself again.

you gasp sharply, the intensity of caleb’s movements overwhelming as he keeps a steady, unrelenting rhythm. the sounds between you fill the room, a harmony of raw emotion and connection. his presence feels all-encompassing as you adjust to him, every motion deliberate, leaving you breathless.

you brace against the makeshift restraint, your body responding instinctively to the sensation, a soft moan escaping your lips. “caleb...” his name falls from you like a prayer, your voice trembling with both need and surrender as the moment consumes you completely.

you don’t even realize you’re reciprocating caleb’s movements with your own, meeting his rhythm as he keeps up a rough, relentless pace. you submit to his every motion so easily, fueling caleb’s confidence, his nerves alight with a mix of dominance and raw desire.

“fuck, princess. look at how good you take it… such a good girl for me,” he murmurs, his voice rough and breathy, laced with his own building tension. you can tell he’s been holding himself back, the strain evident in his tone.

“god, caleb, please—go harder. you’re so…” you pause, your words trailing off as the sensations overwhelm you.

caleb takes your plea to heart, his grip tightening as one hand tangles in your hair. he pulls gently but firmly for leverage, picking up his pace, the sound of every movement echoing through the room like a symphony of chaos and passion.

of course him pulling your hair made you moan even louder, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

caleb’s ego swells as he takes in your pleas, doing exactly as you ask. his hand tightens in your hair, using it as leverage to increase his pace, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the room in a rhythm that leaves you breathless.

you can’t help the moan that escapes your lips, his grip on your hair sending jolts of pleasure through your entire body. “fuck, caleb, yes,” you gasp, your voice trembling with need.

caleb chuckles deeply, the sound rich and heady, his own composure slipping as he leans further into the moment. “now i’m sure you were made for me,” he mutters, his voice rough and strained. “god, i’ve dreamed of this for so fucking long…”

his words push you further, every syllable igniting something primal in you. you let go of every inhibition, your moans growing louder as he finds that perfect spot inside you, the one that leaves you reeling.

just when you think you’ve felt it all, caleb surprises you. his grip on your hair tightens slightly as he brings his other hand to your throat, his palm pressing lightly against your skin. the added sensation leaves you stunned, his breath hot against your ear as he leans in close, his voice a low whisper that makes your pulse race.

“how are you so loud, princess?” caleb murmurs, his words teasing yet softened by the gentleness in his tone as he trails praises over your skin. “i know you can take more than this. my girl is so strong, isn’t she?”

tears prick at the corners of your eyes, the overwhelming sensations building, the tension in your body coiling tighter and tighter with each second. you squirm against your restraints, craving more of him, every fiber of your being begging to let go.

“caleb, i’m so close,” you gasp sharply, his movements deliberate as he pulls your hips closer, each thrust leaving you breathless. “you fuck me so good, yes,” you manage, voice breaking under the weight of everything.

caleb pauses just long enough to undo the makeshift restraint, his dark, intent gaze never leaving you. his fingers work quickly, and the wire is discarded without a second thought. his hands steady you as he flips you onto your back, positioning you in missionary again.

you look up at him, relieved to see the same undone expression mirrored on his face. sweat beads along his skin as he breathes heavily, his movements just as affected as yours. instinctively, you reach out for him, but he catches your hands effortlessly, pinning them above your head.

“you’re mine,” he growls lowly, his voice strained with intensity, his gaze burning into yours. “all pretty and mine, finally.”

his grip remains firm as he leans down, his lips finding your neck, leaving heated kisses and light marks in his wake. his other hand braces against your hip, steadying you as he moves with an intensity that leaves no room for anything else. the bed shifts with each motion, his every movement deliberate and overwhelming as your own release builds again, unstoppable this time.

“caleb, please—i need to,” you plead, your voice trembling, barely holding yourself together as you teeter on the edge. “please let me…”

his gaze softens briefly, his focus solely on you as he leans closer, his movements never faltering. “just a little more, princess,” he murmurs. “i’ve got you.”

his thrusts are so powerful you’re sure he’s beating up your stomach, guts fully rearranged until they spell his fucking name.

“you want to come, princess? is that what you’re asking for?” caleb’s voice is firm, laced with dominance, but there’s a tenderness beneath the edge as his hands hold you firmly in place, grounding you amidst the chaos.

“yes, caleb, please,” you gasp, your voice breaking under the weight of your own need.

he holds you strictly in place as he gives it to you unforgivingly, hammering your pussy like it’s his, because fuck, are you goddamn his.

he leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “then tell me, baby,” he murmurs, his tone commanding yet teasing, “what’s my name?”

your voice trembles as caleb moans, your walls aching so bad your clit’s engorged beyond comprehension. it’s sickening the way he fucks you, so intoxicating and blissful and perfect you feel your soul leaving your body, feel your insides coiling so tightly you’re going to snap any second.

“caleb, fuck, caleb!” 

“do i treat you right, baby?” caleb asks, his voice softer now, tinged with vulnerability beneath the heat. “will you let me be yours? will you let me love you, finally?”

“yes,” you gasp, your voice trembling with conviction. “god, yes—whatever you want. i’m yours, caleb. always have been.”

his response is immediate, shifting his position to deepen his movements, his breaths coming out in rough, raw grunts as he finds an angle that leaves you utterly undone. every motion is purposeful, pushing you to the brink as your hands strain against his hold, your body giving in completely to him.

and then it happens—your vision clouds, a rush of heat and intensity overtaking you as the tension inside you snaps like a tightly wound coil. everything bursts at once, your body consumed by waves of release so powerful it leaves you breathless, shaking as the moment overwhelms you entirely.

you’re so in your head it’s caleb’s frantic speaking that even keeps you at it, suddenly feeling something gush out of you in sheer abundance. “oh, oh shit, princess, you’re squirting, holy fuck, yes. just like that, baby, this is so fucking hot.” he praises copiously as you squirt all over caleb’s cock, leaving a gigantic, sloppy mess as he finally allows himself to come fiercely. 

the connection between you remains unbroken as he lets himself go, his own release crashing over him. his body shudders, and you feel him tremble against you as the intensity of it all leaves you both breathless. the world narrows down to this shared moment, leaving you weightless and entirely consumed by the euphoria of being completely his.

your body lurches off his cushions and caleb’s dick twitches inside you, throbs and fills you up to the brim with his cum, the feeling nothing short of euphoria.

he releases with a deep, guttural groan, his body trembling as his palms press into the bed on either side of your head, caging you in. his breaths come in heavy, uneven huffs as he hovers above you, beads of sweat clinging to his damp hair, a mixture of exhaustion and satisfaction radiating from him.

your wrists fall limply above your head, released from his grip, but you barely have the strength to move them. your body feels heavy, spent, every muscle lax from the intensity of the moment. your eyes flutter open and closed, exhaustion pulling at you as you try to focus on the man above you.

he’s still nestled against you, his body fitting yours like it was meant to, his forehead coming to rest gently against yours. his voice, low and husky, breaks through the haze. “pipsqueak, baby, don’t sleep just yet,” he murmurs, his breath mingling with yours as he cups your face in his warm hands.

your throat feels dry, your body too worn to respond fully, but his touch keeps you grounded. he brushes his thumbs over your cheeks, his voice soft and tender, as if to anchor you. “princess, you were amazing. you did so well… my good girl, forever my good girl,” he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose.

you barely manage a small nod, the pull of sleep too strong to resist much longer. his words are like a lullaby, soft and full of adoration, wrapping around you as you drift.

“i love you, caleb,” you manage to mutter, your body still trembling faintly from the aftershocks coursing through you. “i always have.”

his movements still at your confession, and though your eyes remain closed, you can feel the weight of his shock. his silence stretches, thick with emotion, and you wish you could see the expression on his face.

“you do, princess?” he finally breathes, his voice cracking with disbelief. “are you sure?” the raw vulnerability in his tone is almost heartbreaking, as if the idea of you loving him is too fragile, too precious for him to fully believe.

you nod, unable to speak, too afraid to shatter the fragile moment between you.

his hand brushes against your face, trembling slightly. “i’ll be good for you, princess,” he murmurs, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “i promise. you’ll never have to cry again. not ever.”

you feel a strange pressure leave your body, realizing it’s caleb pulling out of you. the sensation leaves you feeling empty, but his gentle care grounds you. he moves with practiced tenderness, cleaning you up and whispering soft reassurances as your exhausted muscles fight against the weight of sleep. even as your body surrenders to the pull of rest, his touch remains a steady reminder that you’re safe in his hands.

as caleb works quietly, his hands careful and deliberate, you can’t help but notice the shift in him. the way he moves, the way he looks at you—it’s different now. softer, almost reverent. he’s so eager, so determined to tend to your every need, as though this moment means as much to him as it does to you.

he catches your gaze, and for a moment, you see it—his redemption arc, written in the lines of his face, in the way his hands tremble ever so slightly as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. he’s trying so hard, pouring every ounce of himself into being what he thinks you need.

“princess,” he murmurs, his voice soft as his fingers trace your jaw. “you okay? do you need anything else?”

his question is earnest, his eyes searching yours for any hint of discomfort or lingering pain. and it’s in that moment you realize—this isn’t just about pleasing you. this is about him trying to earn something he doesn’t think he deserves. your love. your trust. your forgiveness.

“the condom, you asshole—you forgot the fucking condom,” you say, trying to sound angry, though there’s a playful glint in your eyes.

caleb freezes, his body going rigid as panic spreads across his face. his gaze darts to your body, and it’s like his senses have only just returned to him.

“shit—fuck, princess, i swear it wasn’t on purpose! i just… i wanted to feel you so fucking bad,” he blurts out, his words tumbling over themselves in his desperation to explain. “after you said you needed me or else you were going to die, i—i lost it. i threw all caution out the window. i’m so fucking sorry—”

his rambling apology is so frantic, so guilt-ridden, that you can’t hold back the soft chuckle bubbling up from your chest. it cuts him off mid-sentence, his eyes snapping up to meet yours, wide and full of worry. the tenderness in his expression, the way he’s so wrapped up in your well-being, tugs at something deep inside you.

“what?” he asks, his voice almost breaking. “fuck—i know it’s my fault, i know, i’m going to—”

“caleb,” you interrupt softly, reaching up to thread your fingers through his tousled brown hair. the motion draws his attention, grounding him as his frantic thoughts start to settle. “i’m joking. i’m on the pill.”

his eyes search yours, blinking in disbelief as your words sink in. “you’re… you’re joking?” he repeats, his voice a mix of relief and exasperation.

“yeah,” you say with a small, teasing smile, letting your fingers curl a little tighter in his hair. “relax. i’ve got it handled.”

he exhales a shaky laugh, resting his forehead against yours as his body finally unclenches. “jesus, princess, you almost gave me a fucking heart attack.”

“good,” you reply, smirking. “you deserve it for forgetting the condom in the first place.”

he laughs again, softer this time, and there’s something vulnerable about the sound. “you’re gonna be the death of me,” he murmurs, pressing a light kiss to your lips.

“maybe,” you whisper against his mouth, your smile growing. 

caleb pulls back just enough to look at you, his lips still curved in a soft smile, but his eyes are searching yours. there's something unspoken there, a mixture of relief and lingering uncertainty, like he’s still trying to believe this moment is real. his hand brushes your cheek, his thumb trailing a path down to your jaw, grounding you both in the quiet intimacy of the aftermath.

"you know," he murmurs, his voice low and steady, "i’ve always dreamed of us like this. not just the… well, you know," he says with a small, self-conscious laugh that tugs at your heart. "but being with you, waking up next to you, knowing that this isn’t just something fleeting." his brow furrows slightly, the vulnerability in his expression catching you off guard. "this means everything to me, princess."

your chest tightens at his words, the weight of them settling over you like a warm blanket. you reach up, cupping his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing over the faint stubble on his cheeks. "this isn’t fleeting, caleb," you say softly, your voice steady despite the rush of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. "it never was. i’m here, and i’m not going anywhere. not now, not ever."

his eyes close briefly, like he’s taking in the full meaning of your words, before he leans down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. "thank you," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "thank you for giving me this. for giving us a chance."

the silence between you stretches, but it’s not the kind that feels empty. it’s filled with understanding, with promises unspoken but felt in every look, every touch. outside, the faint hum of skyhaven’s magnetic fields reminds you of where you are, but for the first time in what feels like forever, you’re not afraid of the isolation. caleb is here, and that’s all that matters.

"we should probably clean up," you say after a moment, your voice light but teasing as you glance at the mess the two of you have made. caleb grins, a mischievous glint in his eye as he leans down to nuzzle against your neck.

"or," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin, "we could stay like this a little longer. i mean, i’d hate to let go of my good girl so soon." his playful tone makes you laugh, the sound light and free, and you realize that for all the chaos that brought you here, you wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.

"five more minutes," you agree, your arms wrapping around him as he settles beside you. it’s not perfect—not yet—but as you lie there together, tangled up in each other, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this is the beginning of something that will be. something that feels a lot like forever.

author’s note: thank you for everyone who took the time to read the four chapters of this mini-series, especially those who commented, you guys have my heart. the cheeky ending is a must, i'm sorry. send me a request • my masterpost

taglist: @bbieainee

[otkuhotgirl]

─── 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖 .

# with roronoa zoro.

after one harsh encounter with the marines, the merry presented malfunctioning in many areas — one of them being the water supply. baths then became shared and scarce. zoro thought he’d have no problem with it; he wasn’t the cook. of course, that was until he saw you naked.

⎰ & fem!reader. smut. solo!male masturbation. edging. oral (male receiving). water play, i guess? bathtub sex. voyeur!sanji at the end.

W.C: 4K.

when the cannonball neared the merry’s hull, none thought much of it. the cook had managed to change its trajectory with one of his irritating kicks, and the explosion was swallowed by the sea with utmost diligence. nami’s instructions led them far from the destroyed marine ships. chopper mended some minor gashes. usopp began to hammer some nails into the damaged deck. you were scolding luffy for his recklessness. robin returned to her book. and zoro himself sat somewhere secluded to take a nap.

nothing was amiss, as that had been but another day for the strawhats.

the peace that followed thereafter was odd, yet welcoming, until the first stars shone above their heads and nami screeched from her spot in the bathroom. half-covered with a towel, the navigator was wide-eyed as she dragged usopp to the showering area, begging him to fix whatever was wrong with the water’s flow.

as predicted, he had no idea what was to be done whatsoever. there was a motive behind the desperation to recruit a shipwright: merry had gathered severe damages through the journey, and it was more a patched wreck than a proper ship at that point. without one to care for it with the demanded professionalism, it would crumble within the month.

the additional harm from the earlier battle was but a droplet in an overflowing mug. the situation was frustrating, of course, yet not one of surprises. after punishing sanji with a punch to the head, nami accessed what was meant to be done next, creating a bathing schedule based on the remnant water. as the distance from the closest island was unknown, and considering that sanji would need a fair amount of water for the meals, baths were to be taken once per five days.

zoro and luffy themselves could not have cared less for that condition, as both were unused to bathing twice a week. chopper and usopp, too, had decent intervals of three days before cleaning themselves. which led to the cook and nami — who were both voicing their discontentment —, and you and robin, who somehow managed to hide it better.

when the long-awaited time to bathe — at least for some — at last arrived, a particular mistake left the crew at an impasse. sanji and usopp shared the bathroom earlier, both too eager, to remind the rest of the male members that they were supposed to join. which meant that the “garbage duo”, as nami voiced out, hadn’t showered. inviting chopper was one thing. extending such courtesy to the men in question was another one entirely.

“i don’t even like showering!” luffy had complained, having his ear gripped by one very enraged nami.

“there’s no way i’m allowing either of you to avoid what’s coming. the entire ship smells like carrion, and the pair of you are at least seventy percent responsible!” she rebuked, although not moving towards the bathroom in the slightest.

“the shitty cook was the one who kicked that damned cannonball!” zoro spat, intervening for the honor of his natural scent — or stench.

“HUH?! WANNA SAY THAT AGAIN, MARIMO?!”

foreheads pressed against one another, smoke swirling from the cook’s lit cigarette. zoro reached for his sword as the other man raised a leg. was it not for robin’s intervention — her next words enough to fill the cook with desperate envy —, the pair would have engaged in one of their countless and predictable fights.

“the bathtub is large enough to fit in six,” she pointed out, as the entire crew held its breath, awaiting for nami’s response.

“NO WAY IN HELL—” the cook began to scream all of the sudden.

“sanji, i’m thirsty,” you interrupted, becoming the object of his devotion. zoro scowled.

“i’ll fetch you a beverage right in this second, my seastar!”

he ran to the inside of the ship, leaving a sudden silence that allowed the involved crewmates to unravel what was at stake.

the navigator pondered the suggestion, sighing as her glance shifted from zoro to their captain, still a victim of her grip on his earlobe. “i’m not sure. a bath with men and women…”

“neither i nor luffy care to bathe,” zoro stated, placing one hand on his nape as he shut his eyes, preparing himself for a nap.

he felt nami’s fist meet the crown of his head. “you will be taking a bath today, walking pigsty!”

zoro placed his palm above the pained area. “WITCH!”

“it’s just luffy and zoro,” chopper pointed out, observing from where he stood, glued to your leg.

lucky guy.

“we don’t have the luxury of wasting water for three baths in a day,” you chimed in, patting the reindeer’s head as he beamed at you, grateful for the support.

nami sighed. “i suppose, if it’s fine for the rest of you.”

due to the overall agreement, the members who yet needed to bathe gathered in front of the door. luffy left no space for awkwardness whatsoever as he kicked it open, bouncing with his fists raised to the air. the unusual excitement was due to the perspective of engaging in a silly water fight — one robin had alluded to in order to convince him.

zoro had been the last in line, and before he could enter the fuming bathroom, sanji gripped the hem of his crumpled shirt, face in a tone of red as he pressed their foreheads together, his expression holding nothing but rage.

“if you dare to do a single weird movement towards our beautiful ladies—”

“i’m not you, perv cook,” he snarled, matching the man’s fervor.

“oi, you two! quit it,” nami shouted from the inside.

zoro grinned all of the sudden, stepping back from sanji’s vicious grip, not once daring to tear his glance from the cook, all too proud to have vexed him so much. he would enjoy the shared space, if only by knowing that sanji would be fuming somewhere in the ship.

he, at last, closed the door, absentmindedly removing his clothes. zoro could hear the splash as luffy sent water everywhere, immediately being scolded by nami, worried about the waste. chopper was humming happily as robin scratched the fur between his horns, and you—oh, fuck.

zoro had to dive in with haste, splashing even more water with his addition to the bathtub. nami shouted at him, yet his mind didn’t process a single word. because you had neither foam nor vapor covering your figure, offering zoro a clear sight of your breasts and legs and the shadow of your pussy.

he shut his eyes, tensing up. the reason behind the mutual decision of that shared bath was due to his and luffy’s lack of interest in trivial manners such as sex and gender divergence. zoro shouldn’t react to your presence that way; it was vile and disrespectful, and a behavior that resembled the cook’s too much for his likings.

you were attractive, of course. zoro had known that from the first instance his glance met yours. you were also strong. and a pleasant companion. and smart. and your nipples were hardening up due to the coldening water. and—damn it!

luffy somehow had the worst timing known by mankind, as his playful actions in the bathtub shoved you straight into zoro’s side. the bare skin of your arm brushed against his own and he nearly combusted. the swordsman had to press the back of his head against the bathtub’s border so that his eyes were trailed to the ceiling instead.

he should have never agreed to this. he should have known better. nami had pointed out weeks prior that reciting your favorite color and food; your sleeping schedule; the things you needed; the chores you hated the most; was something that pointed out to one very obvious four-word feeling. he should have listened to her. damn him and his meaningless pride.

the bath lasted no longer than twenty minutes — the water was precious after all —, yet zoro felt as though he had lost a decade of his lifespan from the second he entered that bathtub to the moment his crewmates started to take their leaves.

he felt you move from his side, and stupidly opened one eye, only to be graced with the full view of your naked body before you covered it with a towel.

again. eyes shut. clenched jaw. he was both in heaven and hell all at once.

“don’t forget to drain the water before you leave,” he heard nami instruct from somewhere.

despite the crew having left the tub, zoro remained glued to his position. oddly enough, his lingering wasn’t frowned upon — merely ignored. perhaps they figured he had fallen asleep.

zoro had never been more awake in his damned life.

once alone, the swordsman started to fist his cock with a vicious grip, teasing the leaking tip with a press of his thumb. he sunk his teeth on the back of his hand, muffling groans of pleasure. he gripped his erection, moving his hand up and down. the water made the movements of his calloused palm smoother; faster, even. yet, he remained just as hard, the lack of release bringing forward a jolt of pain.

glimpses of your figure danced around his closed lids. he thought of those hardened nipples and pictured himself latching his mouth to them, his tongue swirling and biting and sucking, claiming your flesh through a trail of bruises. zoro’s hips jolted at the idea, and he moaned due to the pondering of your legs intertwined with his own; your breasts jumping in sync with your body as you rode him, gripping his shoulders; bouncing on his cock.

he’d have a bruising grip on your ass, guiding your movements, matching them, even — plummeting into you in the exact moments where you sank on his shaft.

zoro’s pace quickened, chasing a release that refused to come. you arched your back in his mind, echoes of your pleasure gracing his ears, nails scratching on his back and eyes glistening with satisfied tears. zoro pictured his tongue in your face, drinking on those same tears with the desperation of a wanderer in the desert.

his cock twitched. you’d cry and beg for more, voicing out his name with a tone of undeniable desire. zoro. zoro. zoro.

“zoro, have i left something—” the handle turned, and he froze.

hand still violently latched to his erection, zoro turned his head towards your surprised figure by the doorway, his throat going dry. you were dressed, clutching to your towel, and as much as he wished to apologize — to say anything — his voice was lost as his treacherous eyes drowned in your figure, unable to ignore the flashes of what laid under the fabric of your clothes.

“‘m sorry, thought you wanted me for something,” you mumbled closing the door behind you.

“huh?” he inquired, dumbfounded.

“you were chanting my name, so i thought—”, you stopped yourself mid-phrase, closing your eyes as if that would grant you courage. “do you? i mean, want me for something?”

could he? zoro swallowed, unsure despite the ache of his cock. he was not that great of a man — hell, there were times he was rather the devil incarnate —, yet there you stood, still dripping from the previous bath, an expectation-filled expression, yearning for him; wishing for a positive answer.

the thought of having you was such a blasphemy that his lust increased. zoro was an undeserving shell of a man who had been blessed with a treasure. one awfully desirable treasure of flesh and sweat and sounds he oh so yearned to hear.

drool connected his hand to his lips as he answered, voice rasping against his throat. “c’mere.”

no other instruction was needed. you caught on his urges with a swift glance, removing your clothes as you approached his spot at the tub. neither hesitation nor embarrassment were suitable between the pair of you. ten minutes prior, you were bare in front of his starved eyes and sharing a bath with four others. when your feet submerged, then, your legs, and at last, your torso, zoro’s arms encircled your waist, causing you to straddle him as you’d done in his mind.

reality made for far much pleasant sight.

yet he had no time to observe it properly, as you started to pepper kisses down his chest, inching closer to his awaiting cock. zoro expected you to replace his hands with yours, and failed to hold a surprised groan when he saw you lower your face underwater and guide your lips to his tip.

that was madness. how were you to breathe down there? but you had stolen the worry from his mind once you dragged your tongue through the entirety of his erection, before swallowing him completely. he gripped his hair and clawed at his own skin, head falling back and a grunt leaving his lips at the sensation. zoro could neither move nor touch you, otherwise, he’d surely end up fucking your throat — a dangerous thing, considering how scarce the air in your lungs was.

so, for once, he spared you an ounce of control.

your hand squeezed his balls, a thumb teasing the sensible inch of flesh between them. your tongue swirled around his tip, while the other hand spared some attention to the neglected extension of his shaft. with an accidental buckle of his hips, zoro shoved his dick inside, and the gag you let out brought bubbles of air to the surface.

zoro couldn’t quite see you, which was a terrible shame. yet, he could feel your lips doing its magic. hollow cheeks and careful teeth. a swift palm gripping his shaft and moving it up and down. a warm tongue enveloping the rest of him. he grunted out of the pleasure and desperation to touch you, marveled to witness the rise of your face above water, gasping for air; hand still on his cock.

he could not have you returning there, as much as his primal instinct shouted otherwise. zoro needed to have you in his arms, despising the consequences that forced him to be meek and composed, measured movements that didn’t mirror the reciprocal need.

“have i done something you disliked?” you inquired, puzzled at the interruption, hesitating to touch him further.

the swordsman dragged your figure back to his lap, scoffing as if you had offended him. “there’s nothing you could do to me that i wouldn’t like. we clear? don’t fucking think that again.”

zoro wasn’t sure where to first guide his hands. he was a man capable of handling three swords at once, yet the indecisiveness clawed at him. with a grin, observing your awaiting face, he decided to wield you as he would his steel.

zoro’s mouth clashed against yours, pushing his tongue inside and swallowing the gasp of surprise born from his touch. it was the sea meeting the rocks at the shore; his teeth colliding with your own as his lips claimed you with bruising force.

his first hand groped your breast, a finger pinching at the hardened nipple. zoro rolled a thumb over it, pleased with the elicited reaction. his other hand busied itself with a fistful of your ass, nails digging into the flesh as he parted it open.

your back arched, inching your chest closer. zoro growled, biting on your lower lip before latching his sinful mouth to your neck and collarbone, sucking on the skin and soothing the bruises with a warm tongue.

you started to move your hips, chasing friction, gripping his shoulders as if he was the solemn thing tethering you to that realm. zoro observed your face, contorted due to the pleasure, and was left wide-eyed. zoro cursed deities he had no faith in, for he wasn’t born with the talent to draw or write or sing, therefore unable to immortalize that singular expression; to praise your existence as you deserved it to. the swordsman wondered if you’d appreciate him if he wrote your name with the blood of those who dared to cause you harm. violence was the language he spoke. it also happened to be one you understood.

zoro felt the vibrations of the water sent to his muscles through the small jets of the tub, noticed the continuous teasing waves. he wondered, was he capable of fucking you with your cunt positioned close to it?

he swallowed. “you trust me?”

“with my life,” you answered, whimpering as your cunt slid effortlessly on his thigh.

zoro gripped your hips, turning your body without struggle. he trailed kisses down your back as you gripped the edge of the tub, with your cunt strategically placed near one of the jets. zoro pressed his chest against your back, two of his digits sliding into your awaiting folds. he moved them up and down — searching —, until he found the bundle of nerves. zoro’s lips brushed above your earlobe, blossoming goosebumps brought from his hot breath.

“how?” he inquired roughly. how do you like it?

your voice failed as you answered, the instructions broken due to a choir of moans caused by the stimulation from both his fingers and the water jet. zoro pressed himself closer, panting as he bucked his hips, seeing stars from the smallest contact.

“wish i could take my time,” zoro rasped, observing the muscles of your back. “wanted you to squirm under me a little longer.”

you moaned as he fastened the pace of one finger, while sliding the reminiscent digit to your entrance, accessing the lubrification. zoro fingered your cunt with awe, observing as the crystalline water was tainted white.

“m-more,” you begged, cranning your head to try and catch a glimpse of him. “you. need you.”

zoro grinned, licking on the lonesome droplets of water on your back. “you have me.”

“don’t make me say it.”

he stopped the movement of his fingers, retrieving the one who was once inside of you. you whimpered at the absence, to curse him thereafter.

“i need your cock,” you snarled, and zoro shuddered with anticipation, aware that he’d enjoy demolishing such attitude.

he positioned himself at your entrance, careful as not to remove your figure from the water jet. zoro’s least intention was to hurt you during your first time, and the stimulus from the vibrations guaranteed that he wouldn’t.

the swordsman was a man of composure. yet, as your walls enveloped his cock, he had to grip the edges of the tub in order not to move before your allowance. his teeth dug on the flesh of your shoulder, and you whimpered, eyes shut closed. he had never seen a prettier sight.

your chest rose and fell, nipples pressed to the tub’s surface. he buried his nose in your nape, hating the industrial scent from your perfume, wishing for nothing but to ruin you; to defy the structure of nature and fuck you enough to have you covered in sweat despite the cold water that surrounded you both.

“move,” you said through gritted teeth, although reconsidering right after. “please.”

“aren’t you a quick learner?” zoro mocked, a smug smile etched on his features.

he observed the gears turning your head. the answer at the tip of your tongue. and then he stole your capacity to speak.

whatever sentence you meant to utter melted and gave way to a luscious moan. zoro thrusted into you with diligence and precision, ignoring the ache of his knees as he removed his shaft until the tip, only to hammer it yet again, drunk in the way your pussy hugged his cock — starving, desperate, demanding to be filled. it was not the sweet beckoning of a lover, but the challenge of a rival. he marveled at the sound of your moans; at the white essence that pooled between the pair of you.

again and again, his cock rammed into you. zoro’s hands gripped your waist, his teeth on your shoulders, muffling the broken cacophony of his voice. you tried to adjust your hips in order to match his pace, yet your movements were sloppy.

the sound of his balls meeting your ass was overtaken by the splash of water, crystalline and fluid upon its entrance, and an ivory cream in its egress.

zoro drew circles in your clit, regardless of the odd angle to his wrist, movements growing ever so sloppy as you clenched on his cock, guiding him to the gates of heaven. the water jet, the teasing of your clit, his never-ending pace, and his shaft sliding through your cervix ruthlessly were an overstimulation of itself. your eyes were filled with tears, and you had to cover your mouth in order to muffle a shout of pleasure.

he clicked his tongue in disapproval, slapping your hand. zoro pushed two fingers inside of your lips and tore them open, your jaw growing slack; exhausted vocal cords.

“don’t you dare cover those sounds,” he demanded, shoving his cock deeper. “i want to hear you sing for me.”

you babbled the syllables of his name — or so he figured — crying into the edge of the tub. your choir of disharmony sent a jolt of adrenaline through his body, similar to those gained during battling, and zoro forced your ass to meet the pace of his cock, slapping and splashing added to the orchestra of that moment.

zoro was close. he felt the cum threatening to spill as though a half-opened faucet, tears of his own pooling in his eyes as he tried to hold it back, if only for the sake of watching you crumble first.

a muffled sound — not yours, and definitely not his — managed to break through his concentration. zoro halted all of the sudden, to which you whimpered and cursed. his ears peaked up, a grin of pure mischief dominating his features once he realized who had produced such a thing.

“shitty cook’s watchin’ us,” he groaned close to your earlobe, eyeing the subtle crevice of the door.

you sent a dazed glance towards the cook’s not-so-hidden position, and zoro heard him whine at the sight.

“lemme give him a proper show. you can take it, right?” yet it was not a question per se, and rather an affirmation.

zoro gave his knees a break, sitting on the tub. he dragged you with him, somehow managing to keep his dick inside. you fell on his lap, back against his chest; head pending to the sides above his shoulder. zoro dragged his canines along your pulsing point, and you whimpered. somewhere, zoro heard the cook whine. the swordsman gripped your hips and started to guide your bounces, matching the imposed rhythm with his hips. he eyed the door with a grin, fingers lazily teasing your folds as you rode him, moaning with your eyes closed.

zoro licked the salty tears dripping down your cheeks, observing you squirm with a sense of pride.

“‘m c-close,” you whined, and he increased his pace, grunting as your walls tightened around his cock.

“touch yourself,” he voiced, unable to do so as one of his hands guided your hip and the other circled your clit.

you complied, groping your breasts and pinching your nipples, arching your back. the movement had shifted your position on his cock, allowing him to slam deeper into you.

a streak of blonde hair broke through the door. zoro shifted, offering an entire view of your figure to the cook. his grip tightened, glance menacing. zoro heard the fisting of the other man’s cock, grinning to himself. the cook had to pleasure himself with the thought of you; forced to witness your tits bouncing and face contorted in pleasure, yet never given the chance to touch you. to taste you.

zoro came without warning. his seed dripped from your hole and he fastened his fingers, allowing you to reach your own ecstasy. you fell limp on him, chest moving heavily in an attempt to gather your thoughts. still with his softening cock inside, zoro moved afar from the shared cum that floated on the water, marveling at the trail of his seed that accompanied your cunt.

with some possession, he gripped the side of your neck, mumbling nonsense against your skin. his lips sucked softly on the tender spots, and though you hummed in dazed delight, zoro noticed the crease of your forehead.

“trying to mark me, zoro?”

he grinned, eyes glued to the door. “already did. mine to touch, aren’t you?”

you hummed in agreement, but zoro wasn’t taking any of that. still with your walls around his dick, he raised his hips on purpose. you yelped, gripping his arm.

“aren’t you?”

“yes, i am yours to touch, fuck—”

the swordsman heard the cook’s steps. he could have the sight of your naked figure engraved into his restless mind. zoro didn’t care; not when he had the real thing.

— 🐈‍⬛ : hi, welcome to chili’s. don’t ask me the color of anything. i ෆ men who whimper.

[gunsandspaceships]

MCU Timeline: Captain America: The Winter Soldier

This one is even worse than Iron Man 2.

1942 - James Barnes joins the US Army.

Winter 1942-1943 - Barnes undergoes military training at Camp McCoy, Wisconsin.

As you can see, Bucky was born twice: in 1916 and 1917. Let's move on to the next exhibit.

Winter 1943-1944 - Steve Rogers saves more than 1,000 people by breaking Hydra's blockade. Peggy's future husband is among them.

Early 1945 - Sergeant Barnes fell from Zola's train, lost his left arm, but somehow survived. He is found by Red Army soldiers and taken to Hydra's lab.

Before March 5, 1945 - Rogers disappears in the Arctic.

Note: As you may have noticed, this movie made a mistake where it said it happened in 1944 and also in 1945 (Bucky's "death" and Zola's capture + ~2 days later). To avoid this mistake, I assumed it was December 31, 1944 - January 1, 1945. But I forgot about this newspaper that says "March 5, 1945". The title can be interpreted in many ways, but one thing is for sure - the event did not happen on March 5, because that is the date the newspaper was published. We need to go back at least one day.

March 1945? - Hydra branch in the Ukrainian SSR replaces James Barnes' lost arm and puts him into cryogenic sleep.

Note: These flashbacks of Zola talking about "new fist of Hydra" and "putting him on ice" make no sense since Zola was captured by SSR and imprisoned at the time. Either this took place years after the fall (was Barnes kept on ice this whole time?) and Zola was left alone at some point and somehow made his way to the USSR, or these parts of his memories with Zola are fake (and he's not in the room during the procedures) and were implanted in his brain by Hydra. Or was it just his imagination that created these memories to replace the lost ones? This movie gives more questions than I can get answers from it.

~August 14, 1945 - The US recruits German scientists, including Arnim Zola.

"After WW2" - S.H.I.E.L.D. is founded. SSR's federal functions and responsibilities are consolidated into the new organization.

1953 - Peggy Carter gives an interview about The Howling Commandos in New York.

Before 1970 - some recruited German scientists of strategic value (including Zola) are transferred to S.H.I.E.L.D.

1972 - Arnim Zola receives a terminal diagnosis and uploads his consciousness on 200,000 feet of databanks.

December 8, 1973 - Jasper Sitwell is born in Norfolk, Virginia.

1984 - Natalia Alianovna Romanova is born.

Note: In Black Widow we see a different year and a more precise date of "December 3, 1983". At this point I don't know which date is correct, so I'll just leave 1984 for this movie.

December 16, 1991 - the Winter Soldier kills Howard and Maria Stark.

Between 1990 and 1992 - Nick Fury serves as the Deputy Chief of the S.H.I.E.L.D. station in Bogota, Colombia. Alexander Pierce serves there in the State Department. Fury rescues Pierce's daughter, who has been taken hostage by rebels. Following the incident, Pierce joins Hydra.

As of September 18, 1992 - Alexander Pierce serves in the US Department of Defense.

Between 1995 and 1997 (5 years after the Bogota incident) - Pierce promotes Fury to Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.

Note that Fury has both eyes here. As we know from the movie Captain Marvel, he lost one of them in 1995. Shown here is the swearing-in scene for a position that could be one of the two mentioned - Fury to Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. or Pierce to WSC Member. The latter doesn't make much sense because members of the council are higher than the director. So it's assumed that Fury becomes Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., which couldn't happen while he had both eyes.

Before 2012 - at Fury's request, Alexander Pierce becomes a member of the World Security Council.

2009 - in Odessa, Ukraine, while on a mission to escort a nuclear engineer from Iran, Natasha is wounded by the Winter Soldier.

Between April 2012 and April 2014 - Steve Rogers kisses someone.

Early 2014 (before the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D.) - Baron Strucker and Dr. List use the Scepter in experiments to create mutants. Two survive - the Maximoff twins.

The main events of the movie take place in the second half of April 2014.

Why: It's impossible to determine the dates from the ones mentioned in the movie ("04/14/13" or "10/12/2013") because they a) contradict each other; b) say it's 2013, but as we know from IM3 and Thor: The Dark World, S.H.I.E.L.D. was still operational throughout 2013. So we'll have to treat them the same way we treated the dates on screens in IM2: disregard. Some (MCU Fandom Wiki) think it's March, which can't be true since in Washington D.C. in March you'll either see bare trees or cherry blossoms. The latter will last until mid-April. We don't see any of that in the movie, so we have to assume it's later, but not too far since some people are still wearing jackets. So we're looking at the second half of April - early May. May is definitely Marvel's favorite month.

No dates this time, kids. It's a mess, so I won't risk putting them in and will stick with "Day #".

Day 1:

~6:00 - 6:39 am - Rogers meets Sam Wilson. Natasha takes him on a S.H.I.E.L.D. mission.

Rogers, Romanoff and STRIKE are sent on an unmentioned mission near India.

Why we have to assume there was another mission before the ship was hijacked: Rumlow says the ship was hijacked by pirates 93 minutes ago. No one could get from Washington to India in 93 minutes, and I'm not even talking about reaction time and briefing. So we have to come up with this solution: Fury gave them another mission in India, then the pirates he hired hijacked the ship, and it "just so happened" that Rogers and Romanoff were nearby to be included in the response team.

Evening in DC/Night in Mumbai - The Lemurian Star mission in Indian Ocean, near Mumbai.

Day 2:

Fury shows Project Insight to Rogers.

Rogers goes to The Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum.

Day 3:

Morning - Rogers visits Peggy in the UK.

Note: Some people think she is shown in a nursing home in DC, but that doesn't make sense because after leaving S.H.I.E.L.D., Peggy returned to England (her S.H.I.E.L.D. file) and her funeral in CW was in London. So we have to assume that after visiting the museum, Steve went to the airport and spent 7-8 hours flying to the UK. He arrived there in the morning, visited Peggy and returned to the States to visit Sam at the VA in the evening and be home after sunset.

Fury learns that he does not have access to the Lemurian Star files and that "he" took the access "himself". He goes to Secretary Pierce and asks to postpone the launch of Project Insight.

Fury is attacked by Hydra agents and the Winter Soldier.

Evening - Rogers visits Wilson at VA.

Maria Hill comes to DC.

Night - Fury hides in Rogers' apartment. He informs Rogers that S.H.I.E.L.D. has been compromised and is then shot by the Winter Soldier. Fury manages to give Rogers the Project Insight flash drive.

Batroc is captured in Algiers.

Day 4:

1:03 am - Fury "dies".

Morning - Rogers meets Pierce.

STRIKE attacks Rogers in the Triskelion elevator.

Fury is taken to a secret location by Hill and his doctor.

Rogers throws away his S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform, returns to the hospital to retrieve the drive hidden there, and reunites with Natasha, who tells him about the Winter Soldier.

Under Pierce's manipulation, the WSC members reactivate Project Insight.

Rogers and Romanoff hack a flash drive in a mall.

Hill arranges a fake funeral for Fury, which is scheduled to take place on Friday.

Night - Steve and Natasha reach Camp Lehigh in NJ. They find Zola's servers, learn of Hydra's plot, and are attacked by a S.H.I.E.L.D./Hydra missile, but survive. Zola's servers are destroyed. Steve escapes with unconscious Natasha before STRIKE finds them. Rumlow calls in the Winter Soldier.

The Winter Soldier is at Pierce's house. He is given 10 hours to kill Natasha and Steve.

Pierce kills his housekeeper, Renata.

Day 5:

~7 am - Romanoff and Rogers return to Washington. They arrive at Sam Wilson's house.

Between 8 am and 2 pm - they steal an EXO-7 Falcon suit from Fort Meade, Maryland.

~3 pm - the trio capture Agent Sitwell, who tells them about Zola's algorithm and the goal of Project Insight - to kill anyone who poses or will pose a threat to Hydra (including them, Bruce Banner, Stephen Strange, Maria Hill, president Ellis and Tony Stark).

6 pm - the Winter Soldier and other Hydra agents attack the car with Rogers, Romanoff, Wilson and Sitwell. Sitwell is killed. Rogers finds out that the Winter Soldier is Bucky Barnes.

Barnes escapes. STRIKE apprehends Rogers, Romanoff and Wilson.

On the way to the execution site, the trio is rescued by Maria Hill and taken to Nick Fury.

8 pm - Pierce resets Barnes, who begins to regain his memories.

Night - Fury and Co discuss the situation and prepare a plan to stop Hydra and destroy S.H.I.E.L.D.

Day 6:

Project Insight launch day.

This is where the timing gets really confusing. The coordinates the characters give us are inconsistent: at night, Pierce gives Bucky 10 hours to kill Steve and Nat, and it can't be later than 3 pm. Lunch time limits us to 11 am - 3 pm, and then Natasha says there are 16 hours left until Project Insight launches, which can't be earlier than 10 am (in the scene with Rogers, before he stole his old uniform, it was already daylight, he needed time to do the heist, and when they arrived at the Triskelion, the original launch time was 2 hours later), but no later than 11 am (Pierce said it would be in the morning). And if you count 16 hours back from 10 am, you get evening, not lunch time. And Bucky's 10 hours have already passed. My solution - I would rather assume that the Winter Soldier was unable to track his targets in time and was late, plus Natasha rounded the clock so it was closer to 17 hours than 16.

~8 am - Rogers steals his World War II uniform from The Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum.

~9 am - Rogers exposes Hydra. Project Insight is launched 2 hours earlier.

The Battle at the Triskelion.

Afternoon - Brock Rumlow is taken to a hospital with serious injuries.

Senator Stern arrested by FBI.

Day 7, morning - Steve Rogers wakes up in the hospital with Sam Wilson at his bedside.

After the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. (AFS), May 2014:

~A week AFS - Natasha is questioned at a hearing of the DoD committee.

~A week AFS - Bucky visits the Captain America museum exhibition and learns about his past (determined by the growth of his facial hair).

~2 weeks AFS - Rogers, Wilson, Fury and Romanoff meet at Fury's gravesite. Fury heads to Europe (determined by Fury not having a black eye anymore).

Sharon Carter joins CIA.

Maria Hill is hired by Stark Industries.

MCU Timeline: The Infinity Saga

[illyrian-dreamer]

Make a bargain with me

Rhys x reader angst/fluff one shot

Summary: Your unrequited love for your High Lord has seen you distancing yourself not just from Rhys, but the entire inner circle. Rhys is concerned, and confronts you.

Word count: 2.2k

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You shifted uncomfortably under Rhys’s stare, keeping your eyes fixed the night’s horizon, still with anticipation of starfall that was yet to begin.

“What’s going on Y/N?” he asked softly. 

He had sprung you from your hideaway. It was stupid, really, to think you could escape him, or that he wouldn't follow. 

Tonight on Starfall, when your family and friends were drinking and laughing and toasting to a better year ahead, you had held yourself back, observing from the sidelines, longing to partake as you had each year before.

But things were different now, you were different. It had been a stressful year to say the least – too many losses, too many sacrifices made on missions that you couldn’t come to terms with. Choices made, last words said – the turmoil of your mistakes was a constant loop in your mind, each of your missions weighing heavier than the last, a little piece of you left behind on along the way.

And where you would usually confess or turn to your family for the support you desperately craved, it was all skewed by the devastating, gut-wrenching love you had developed for your High Lord.

You wondered what your friends might say – their snorts and sorry smiles as you dreamed of a life with not just any High Lord, but the High Lord of the Night Court, who was only just finding his feet. 

It was only shy of a decade since Rhys lost his sister and mother, leaving the male to wade through the trenches of grief alone, which were only deepened by the weight of responsibility as he assumed position as High Lord of the Night Court. You hadn't known him before he recruited you to the inner circle, but in your few years of working for Rhys, he had aged, maturing into his title and proving himself as a true and honest leader.

And in those years, not once had you seen him take to a lover or celebrate romance in his life. You knew that your love for Rhys would be nothing more than an imposition – a burden for him to manage in a world where he was not ready to love again, especially not someone like you. 

But concealing your feelings had a very true affect in physicality – you were plagued with guilt, rigid  by unrequited, unconfessed love practically bursting to come out. Skittish manoeuvres to avoid his touch, aloofness at times where you were known to share and console – you had done excellent work to distance yourself from Rhys, and with it the rest of the inner circle. 

Even the blatant probing by Cassian to open up, or gentle suggestions from Azriel to join them on flights went politely declined as you assured them you were fine. And the times where your work was too much, when you needed to tell your High Lord the burdens you were baring and seek comfort from him as a friend – instead you bottled it up, unsure of what you might confess and afraid of the very real affect of someone who was not yet ready to love. 

Rhysand had been particularly observant tonight. Your own behaviour was predictable as of late, but after the first bashful glances to the ground, reddened cheeks where you used to bite back, and the distant, distracted manner in which you watched on – you felt watchful violet eyes on you all evening.

The tipping point had been Rhysand’s speech, a glass of auburn liquid raised high as he spoke to his sincere care and affection for each of you in his circle. He was thankful for all of you, for being the self-made family he could have only ever dreamed of having. But as he spoke to each of the members, starting with his second-in-charge, followed by Mor, Cassian then Azriel, you had slipped from the room before he could get to you. 

Because in that speech - he had shown that he still loved, just not in the way that you craved. And if you had learnt anything through both your career at the Night Court and from Rhys himself – it was that happiness could be stolen in an instant. 

So you fled, heart thumping as you craved fresh air – overwhelmed with cyclical thoughts and foolish amounts of fae wine. 

After a polite ten minutes, Rhys had followed, finding the flattened patch of roof you often sought out after long missions, now stripping you bare under his gaze.

“Y/N?”

“Hm?”

Rhys winced with worry. “I asked what’s going on with you?”

You forced a small smile, keeping your breathing as even as you could. You were trained to stay calm when interrogated, but somehow this was harder than some of the life threatening circumstances you had endured. It was almost laughable.

"Nothing at all," you forced your eyes to his, your stomach dropping at his beauty.

Rhys’s face remained concerned, completely unconvinced. 

“Is it work?”

“No.” A half-truth.

Rhys nodded, a sense of relief that his court was not to blame.

A few moments of silence, you were burning from within, cheeks flushing yet again. You allowed for a moment to imagine his reaction if you were to tell him. Imagined his face as you confessed your feelings for him – your High Lord, your employer. How ridiculous and wildly inappropriate. 

Your face flushed a deeper pink at the shame of it. Rhys’s eyes dotted to your cheeks, not missing a thing.

He leveled a look at you. “You can always be honest with me.” You felt a gentle caress on your mental shields, and it was an instinct you cursed yourself for to seize them higher at his touch.

You moved your eyes back to the horizon, sighing with frustration. He was here, he cared – perhaps you could just, try?

“How did you do it?” you asked ominously, a pained frown pulling at your brow.

Rhys shifted at your question, brows raising in surprise. “Do what?”

You cleared your throat. “How did you let yourself love again, when you know how quickly it can be taken away?”

Rhys nodded slowly, violet eyes softening with understanding.

“Would you believe me if I said it was easy?” he replied.

You gave a small laugh, looking down at your hands. “No, actually.”

“Well it was.”

Another beat of silence. 

“Opening my home to all of you, creating this family is the easiest thing I’ve ever done, because it was meant to be.”

You nodded back. You would never tell him how easy it is for you to fall in love with him too. How quickly it had happened, how natural it felt for you.

“I would risk everything I have to have to keep you all safe and content, even just for one more day.”

His words struck you. Risk – there was too much to lose.

“I would risk everything I have for anyone I love, I think,” he continued. “I know that now, that it’s important to let go of what I can’t control, and let myself risk it all.”

He loved your family so dearly – it felt traitorous to indulge in the idea that your love could evolve past the sincere platonic form that it took now. You were greedy, spoilt.

“But that doesn’t just apply to my love for my court.”

Huh?

“As you know, anyone I care for is automatically a target beyond Velaris. My brothers, Mor, Amren.” Rhys paused. “And you.”

You looked up at him, his violet eyes unreadable as stars winked in their depths.

“I don’t want you to risk what you have for me,” your voice was barely a whisper, and you wondered if he sensed the deeper implication of your words.

Rhys wore a soft, sideways smile as he spoke. “You are well worth the risk.”

You were sure he could hear your fastened heart, no longer able to conceal your feelings. For a year your secret had lived at the tip of your tongue, threatening to ruin everything you had. It was too much to bare.

Silent tears started to run down your cheeks.

Rhys’s eyebrows clenched in concern, and he stepped towards you, reaching to brush them away with a stroke of of his cool fingers. You tried to step away, turning your face in shame – but he held your shoulders, a gentle hand pulling your chin to face him.

Violet beheld you again, and you forced yourself to not look away. Maybe you could face him, face your truth. Maybe, you could be as brave as him.

“You are so beautiful, Y/N,” Rhys said softly, his hands cupping your face as he brushed away your tears. “I don’t think I need to tell you that I’m very fond of you.”

Your heart thrummed, pulsing with instinct. Say it, out loud, risk it! it seemed to shout.

You bought your hands up to his, holding them as you took a deep breath.

“And I am fond of you.”

Rhys’s face lit up as stars twinkled in his eyes. He was devastatingly handsome, and the smile that pulled at his sharp cheek bones threatened your knees to buckle.

You couldn’t help the tears that kept running. You were given in, risking it all, and there was no coming back. 

Rhys leaned in close to your face, his fresh scent filling the air around you. He placed a gentle kiss on each of your tear stained cheeks before licking the salty liquid from his perfect lips.

You stared at him in awe, his beauty enveloping your view.

“Fond, on my behalf, is an understatement,” he murmured, tilting your chin upwards to him. 

A gentle hand snaked behind your back, pulling you against his body. The feeling of him softly pressed to you made you throb, and you continued to stare up at his face, unable to hide your own shock. 

He brushed your hair behind your ear, before cupping your jaw.

“So beautiful,” he said again, before leaning down and placing his lips on yours gently.

The kiss was soft, more attentive than you had ever experienced. You succumbed to it, letting your body relax into his hold as he pulled you in closer with the arm at your back, strengthening to hold your knees truly gave out at his touch.

You own arms naturally made their way to his hair and neck, trying to pull yourself closer.

Rhys chuckled into the kiss, inhaling as he traced his tongue along your lips, asking for permission.

A moan escaped you as you gained Rhys his entrance, his tongue sliding sensually over yours.

Your skin was alight, senses heightened and perked as every part of you ached and begged to never let go.

But a guilty conscience had Rhys pulling away from your lips, a small smirk pulling at your frustrated moan.

“Y/N,” he straightened, suddenly more serious. “I didn't come here to only confess my affection.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you did,” you hummed, fingers on your mouth as your lips tingled with his lingering touch.

When Rhys chuckled, you swore it pleased the Gods.

“The others are just as concerned as I am. You’re withdrawn, proper sleep has escaped you for months, and–"

Your mouth twitched, before you flew up to plant a quick peck on his lips, silencing him. “And what of you, High Lord? How much do you burry in that head of yours? It is hard to know how much to burden onto you, when you are already dealing with so much.”

Violet eyes danced between yours in thought. “Make a bargain with me.”

Your brow quirked. “Pardon me?”

“Promise me, to share the things with which you need support so you may not burden them alone. And I will promise to do the same.”

“Rhys,” you breathed, honoured yet anxious at the vulnerability weaved into a bargain such as that. “Do you know what you’re asking each of us to confess?”

Rhys smiled, shaking his head. “With conditions, of course. This will be for those things that you know you shouldn’t keep to yourself, the truths you know the other would want to help with.”

You couldn't help the grin that pulled at your cheeks. “You’re mad.”

Rhys flicked your nose. “I know what it is to rot from within, Y/N. And in a world of magic and power and darkness, I will not let you burden it alone.”

“Rysand…”

Rhys all but moaned, pulling you in for a searing kiss. “Say yes,” he murmured against your lips.

With clenched eyes, you nodded, aware of the itching sensation on your neck as Rhys enveloped you with another kiss, the etching of your bargain searing to your skin. 

A gentle talon stroked at your mind then, hinting with sensuality.

You opened your eyes, forcing your shields down for the first time in years. 

Rhys growled as he entered your mind, pulling you flush against him as he kissed you deeply. And as the night sky became alive with iridescent streaks of light, the beginnings of starfall went neglected as you and Rhys explored a world of your own.

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AN: Hello dreamers, I just had to get out a one-shot, and I had a few requests to write for the most handsome High Lord! I sincerely hope you liked this, I haven't done a one-shot in a HOT minute!! So glad to be back with them. Comment to join my main tag list anytime, MWA!