mydeist

[mydeist]

Waterworks

Synopsis: The story in which Zayne wants to be the one and only to make you squirt.

Warnings: Overstimulation, crying, squirting, Brat taming, soft!dom.

When the subject was brought up, it was said in a fleeing joke you mentioned over dessert one night.

“Squirting isn’t even real, I swear porn actress’ just piss themselves.”

Zayne ignored the vulgar comment with an arched brow.

That’s how he became engrossed in the mere thought of making you squirt.

He had done his research as a man of science. He knew it was entirely possible.

You didn’t think much of it when he had you guzzling water. He hid it under the excuse that you were dehydrated. He was a doctor and your lover, so again, you chugged the water without a second thought.

Sex with Zayne was reverent. He worshipped you with not only words, but the way he handled your body like the finest piece of art. His fingers parted the folds of your flower, middle digit rolling your clit against the pad of his finger.

“I wish to try something. Will you humor me?” He whispered against your collarbone. Experimenting in your sex-life was common so you nodded breathlessly. “I need a verbal respond, My Dear.”

“Y-yes-“

Zayne smirked and nipped at your neck. “Good girl.”

Two fingers slid into your aching hole. Zayne knew he had brought you to the cusp of his mission many times, but a mental hold stopped you from obtaining the orgasm he wanted to pull from your very essence.

Your moan slipped from your lips and your back bowed beautifully under him. But Zayne pressed the heel of his palm against your lower belly, effectively pinning you against the mattress. “Z-Zayne?”

He hushed you, nuzzling your abdomen. “Do you trust me?”

The phrase seemed crazy to you. Of course you trusted him. Every time he was wrist deep in your chest cavity, you trusted him. “Of course.”

“Then let me work.”

His thumb pressed firmly against your clit as he dragged his finger in a curved motion in and out of your gummy walls. That stubborn hand on your stomach stopped you from squirming around despite the growing pit in your stomach.

“Legs up, hold them for me.” His voice was cool and calculating. Your peeled open your eyes with a wild pant of confusion.

“W-“

“Are you going to argue with me? Or allow me to make you feel good?” His eyes narrowed behind the glasses slowly sliding down the bridge of his nose. You swallowed the lump in your throat and hooked your hands under your knees. “Good, further back.”

When you lifted your legs the pressure-

“I-I can’t-“

“You can, and you will.” The pressure in your abdomen intensified. His pace quickened, each adult pull out of his fingers sent a slick sound into the air. Zayne watched you with the corner of his mouth twisting up into a smile.

“Look at you, so pretty.” He praises, despite the lewd noises he’s making between your thighs. The heel of his palm plaps against your twitching clit. He’s gazing between your legs as if just examining another patient in need of his healing. “Pretty, Pretty Girl. You’re dripping down my wrist. Don’t hold back.”

Your head is thrown back into the pillows. The hold on your legs is slipping, a thin sheen of sweat on your thighs. “Zayne-feels like-“

Zayne chuckles and leans over your drilling cunt. A trickle of spit lands on your clit and your eyes go into the back of your skull.

“You won’t urinate. You can do it, let go for me.”

He presses down on your tummy as he hooks his fingers over and over against the spot that makes you see stars. “P-please I can’t-I don’t wanna-“

“I don’t want to hear it.” He reprimands you in a cold voice that sends a chill up your spine. “Bare down-there we go. Let it go Darling.”

And you do.

Oh you do.

The first gush is barely noticeable amoungst the wetness on his hand. But the second and third gush from you right as he pulls his fingers out, just to press them back into your sopping hole. The bedsheets are stained with wetness.

You’re crying, a different type of Waterworks.

Zayne gently eases his fingers from you, grabbing the nearby towel to clean his digits off as he kneels by your head. “Shh, I’m so proud of you. Doesn’t that feel better?”

You drop your trembling thighs, lower lip quaking as you try to breathe through your tears of pleasure.

“I-I made a mess…” you hiccup. Zayne nuzzles your cheek and pats your dripping folds.

“I know. Let’s make another one, hm?”

[mydeist]

you’d been dodging him all day.

a door closed gently in the morning, an excuse at lunch that even you didn’t believe. you drifted through your home like mist, choreographing your disappearance with practiced steps - ducking around corners, shrinking into silence each time you caught the rustle of his newspaper or the soft clink of his watch as he adjusted it for the third time.

you wore invisibility like a cloak, moving as a ghost through the rooms you used to share with ease.

because your skin had betrayed you again - four angry blemishes rising red and bright across your cheek and jaw, blooming like a constellation born to shame you.

it wasn’t the worst you’d had, sure. but it was enough to make you recoil from the mirror, to keep your face turned away, to lower your face when nanami passed too close.

you couldn’t bear to let him see you like this.

not with the wedding two weeks away, not when the final fitting was tomorrow. not when he was the nanami kento - precise, composed, impossibly, effortlessly elegant - and you felt like a child masquerading in grown woman skin, unraveling just when you should have been most beautiful.

you braced for the change, waited for it like rain preparing to ripple through the clouds, for the shift in his gaze, the falter in his tone, for the quiet moment where his warmth would begin to dim as the fading sunset, and the words you’d feared might surface:

this isn’t working, i didn’t sign up for this, maybe we rushed things.

but of course, he never said any of that - instead, he let you vanish until dinner, when you padded back to the bedroom with a bowl of noodles and a bruised kind of shame, closing the door like it could keep your insecurities contained.

half an hour later, it opened.

you were curled cross legged on the bed, hoodie drawn up over your mouth like a veil, the ceramic bowl empty on the nightstand.

nanami stepped inside with the quiet certainty of a man who never needed to raise his voice to be heard, to be seen. he closed the door behind him. the silence shifted.

you stilled, your eyes stayed low: fixed on the wall in front of you. your shame flared redder than your skin.

“i’m only going to ask once,” he said, voice calm accompanied by the kind of steadiness that cuts through any lie you could form. “are you avoiding me because of a breakout?”

your heart stuttered.

you didn’t answer, just sank deeper into the hoodie, into the fabric, into yourself. the sting behind your eyes crept closer to the surface.

he sighed - not with anger, but with weariness. the kind born not of frustration with you, but with the invisible wall you’d built between you both. with the absurd, aching notion that a few angry patches on your skin could shift the foundation of his love for you.

“darling,” he said, the word felt like gravity sucking you into him.

you heard his steps, slow and deliberate, as he crossed the room. felt the bed dip beneath his weight, his hand reached up and gently tugged the hoodie from your face. you turned away of course, instinct as sharp as breath.

but his palm found your jaw, and turned you back, “no,” he murmured. “let me see you.”

you hesitated, then lifted your eyes.

he saw everything - the irritated pink, the heat of humiliation, the unshed tears clinging to your lashes like dew. and in return, gave you no wince. no judgment. just his gaze - gentle, grounded - and his thumb, brushing reverently over the most inflamed of the blemishes.

“i’ve seen you exhausted,” he said. “in pain. crying. afraid. do you really think something as small as this would ever make me hesitate?”

you tried to laugh. it came out watery, brittle.

“kento… don’t say that. it’s not just a breakout. it’s me, i always fall apart before big things happen, and you’re… you. i thought maybe you’d -”

“call it off?” he offered, a brow lifting, eyes calm, you nodded, breath catching, gaze falling.

for a moment, he was quiet.

then, softly, he muttered, “unbelievable.”

you flinched - when he leaned in and pressed his lips to your cheek, to the angriest mark on your face. a kiss - comforting.

“kento -”

“again,” he said, kissing the blemish near your jaw. “and again.”

you squirmed, laughter startled and sharp, pushing at his chest. your face burned now for a different reason.

“stop -!”

“no,” he said, finally brushing his lips against yours. “i’ll stop when you understand this: i didn’t choose you because you were flawless. i chose you because you’re you. skin and all. hormones and all. all of it.”

your heart ached. the kind of ache that cracked you open just enough to breathe as if a weight has been lifted off your chest.

he exhaled, softer now, and pulled you into his arms. folded you beneath his chin, like something precious, something sacred.

“you’re marrying me in two weeks,” he murmured into your hair. “don’t run from me again, sweetheart. i’m not going anywhere.”

you nodded, a sound caught in your throat, small and raw, your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt like roots into earth.

divider by @/cafekitsune // art by ThisUserIsAngry on twt // not proofread.

[mydeist]

same but different — ft. phainon

phainon is always changing. he’s twelve, he’s sixteen, he’s eighteen, and he’s twenty-three. and he’s changing. but he’s still your phainon and you still love him

word count. ❤︎ 10.4k words — girl (gn) what ze hell

before you read. ❤︎ female reader ; childhood friends to lovers ; modern/non canon au ; reader saves him from a bully when they’re young ; reader has a bad date (with someone else) ; very tame violence (phainon fights some assholes for her) ; love confessions ; loss of virginity ; awkward first times ; car sex/semi public sex (it’s dark) ; use of condoms (be safe!) ; finger sucking ; vaginal fingering ; slight hand jobs ; vaginal sex ; proposals (you say yes!) ; phainon is a bit of a crybaby (affectionate) ; not proof read pls tell me if there’s errors

commentary. ❤︎ THAT ART IN THE HEADER SENT ME INTO A SPIRAL BRO . so here’s the result ig

You meet Phainon when he’s twelve. 

You’re new to the neighborhood, and so is he, starting over at school at the same time and learning the halls and classrooms in the same way—he seems to take being the new kid well. The teachers like him, and he’s friendly and easy to get along with, and most other boys like having him on their teams for sports because he’s agile and decent at catching a ball. You? Well…you don’t adjust as well.

You move not far from your old home, but far enough that everything feels different. He moves from some small town that no one has ever heard of, and all in the matter of a few weeks, he worms his way into your life and doesn’t let you know a single ounce of peace. You’re still eleven at the time, but he’s only two months, one week, and four days older than you, and you’ll be the same age soon enough. 

But it doesn’t really matter that he’s older, anyway, because he cries like a god damn baby. 

The older kids can be mean. Especially when twelve-year-old boys who still haven’t hit that growth spurt that most teenage boys seem to hit, like Phainon, are right there. Despite being quick on his feet, he’s especially small and scrawny for his age, shorter than you by a couple of inches—which is a little pathetic, you think. He’s supposed to be older. 

It happens on a Monday—the start of you and Phainon. Phainon and you. Something weird possesses you on a random Monday before you turn twelve, and you step between him and a taller, broader, acne-painted older boy after school, and before thinking, you glare as you hiss out, “Leave him alone, weirdo.”

The boy doesn’t look too happy—and if you had an ounce of common sense, you’d take that as your cue to leave. But you don’t. You stare him good and hard in the eye as he grits out, “Mind your business.”

Phainon is still on the concrete, flat on his ass in a pathetic sort of way as tears coat his pale, soft cheeks and glisten in his eyes. They’re blue. Very blue. You glance at them for a quick second and realize too late that looking into them was an awful mistake. He looks like a kicked puppy, and something stirs in you and makes you turn abruptly, drawing your hand back before it snaps, and a loud, hard clap rings through the air. 

You freeze, processing what you’ve done. Phainon’s breath hitches. The boy—some asshole whose name you never learn—turns his head, slow and stunned, the side of his cheek where your palm landed blooming red.

This is it, you think. This is how you die. This is where your body will be found face down in the dirt behind your new school that you didn’t even want to come to, and your parents will find you lifeless and limp. They’ll mourn you, like any parents would, and they’ll wonder why it has to be this way—why they have to bury their daughter and not the other way around. You’ll be dead in a few moments, and your poor, unsuspecting parents will have no choice but to blame stupid, annoying, crybaby Phainon for getting you killed in the first place. All because he’s too weak to fight his own fights and stick up for himself. 

Except…nothing happens.

The boy just glares, rubbing his cheek, and grits out, “Lucky you’re just a brat and not like that little punk. I don’t hit girls.”

And just like that, he storms off. Heavy, angry stomps trailing behind him as he leaves you to let out a shaky breath of relief and marvel at your luck—you don’t typically run into people with standards when it comes to who they pick on. But, all things considered, you survived, and your parents won’t have to pay for your tombstone. You count your blessings and thank whoever’s looking over you. 

And then you glance down at Phainon. He’s still sitting there, looking at you like you just parted the sea. 

“You’re pretty pathetic,” you mutter.

“You’re pretty cool,” he says in awe. 

“You should learn how to throw a punch or two.”

He grins, tears long forgotten as he stands up, brushes his hands on the front of his pants, and wipes his nose on his sleeve. You wrinkle your own nose at the snot stain he leaves behind. 

“That’s okay,” he beams, “you can always just slap the bullies across the face like that for me, right?”

“No,” you gape, “I’m not your baby sitter—”

“I’m Phainon!” he holds a hand out to you. You look at it with a raised eyebrow before curling your lips in disgust. 

“And I’m going home,” you say flatly. 

You turn on your heel and start walking home promptly. You don’t want to make friends with the other new kid—especially not since he seems so much more well-adjusted to his new environment than you. (It’s a sort of bitterness only someone so young would feel. Being eleven and just on the cusp of twelve isn’t the age where rationality and logic are factored in with most decisions. Maybe, if you were older, you’d realize your bitterness has nothing to do with Phainon and everything to do with your inability to let go of your homesickness from moving.)

But Phainon is hard to shake off. He jogs after you and falls into step beside you as he pipes up, “You live down the street. I saw your moving trucks. My mom said I should be friends with you because you’re new too!”

“I don’t want to make friends,” you grumble out.

“Why not?” he looks bewildered, “being new and friendless is no fun.”

“Because I’m not staying here for long,” you snap, “I’m gonna save up and move back as soon as I get the chance. I don’t need to make friends somewhere that I’m not staying for long.”

He looks skeptical. It only makes you angrier as you throw him a sharp glare for having the audacity to not take you seriously, and he at least has the sense to quickly put his hands up in surrender as he murmurs, “Okay, okay! I believe you. But we can still be friends until you leave, right?”

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes. He walks you home. You feel a little less lonely on the way back.

(In the end, you never move away like you said. He never stops being your friend. You can’t say you hate it even if you never admit it out loud.)

— — — — — — — — — — 

Phainon is sixteen when you first realize he is no longer that puny, bite-sized little runt that got bullied by the older kids for being new. He doesn’t need saving anymore. 

(He still cries as easily, though—it just happens with a little more dignity. He cries during movies and when he’s stressed from school and maybe after a bad day, but he doesn’t do it so easily in front of other people anymore. 

Still, he always does in front of you. 

Pathetic, you always call him. So mean, he always pouts. And then you hug him and he hugs you back and you remember the little boy you grew up alongside for the last four years. The one who’s two months, one week, and four days older than you, even though it doesn’t feel like it.)

It happens on a Friday night.

You go on a date. It’s your first one ever, in fact. Your father isn’t too happy, but your mother is ecstatic, and after a couple of convincing words from her, he reluctantly allows it to happen as long as you know your curfew and keep your location on at all times. You’re excited. 

Until you’re not. 

You think the date is going rather well. Really well. You like the boy, and he’s handsome and funny, and he listens to you when you ramble about the things you like. It’s a good date. Your mother bought you a new dress, and it’s your favorite color, and you even do your makeup a little nicer than you usually do. Everything feels right. Everything feels like it’s going how it should, and some naive part of you starts to dream about a high school romance that blossoms into something serious. Maybe at the wedding, you’ll speak about this date. How your father was against it, but your mother was thrilled. How you tried on seven dresses before this one, and had started to get antsy until you tried it on and knew it was the one. How you watched a YouTube video or two to learn how to do your eyeshadow properly, because you’re not used to doing it the fancy ways that older girls seem to do. 

It’s all going well. Until your date politely goes to the bathroom and you wait for five minutes, which turns to ten, which turns to fifteen, and then at twenty minutes, your waiter comes and holds an apologetic look on his face as he informs you that the bathroom is empty after you insist for the third time that your date is just taking a while in there. 

It guts you. 

You don’t even know how or when he managed to slip out and leave you alone and stupidly waiting, but he does. Long gone are your dreams of a sweet high school romance and a big, happy wedding where you smile and remember the silly old days when you’d get dropped off to your dates by your mother ten minutes early as you anxiously check your makeup in the mirror. (And yes, maybe later you’d look back and laugh at how naive you were to think one silly date would snowball into all of that, but you’re sixteen. And at sixteen, your world feels like it’s the only thing that exists, and your problems feel like they’re bigger than they are.)

In the end, the only thing you can think of doing is calling Phainon. He comes in ten minutes flat, waiting outside in his father’s car that he’s allowed to use on weekends only and nothing more. (He’s sixteen and you’re still fifteen, so he’s licensed and you’re not. He likes to brag. You don’t typically find it as amusing as he does. Right now, though, you’re grateful. )

You get in the passenger seat, and before he can even ask, you burst into tears. He makes a face that you can’t quite discern. But he’s not happy—you know that much as easily as you know Phainon. 

“What happened?” he asks softly, “It didn’t go well?”

“It was,” you sob, “I-I th-thought it was! We were talking, a-and laughing, and…and he asked me things and then…h-he went to the bathroom and he just disappeared for like…like half an hour! And the waiter checked the bathroom a-and he wasn’t there…and it was so embarrassing!”

He’s silent. For a long time, Phainon is quiet and he doesn’t say anything. It’s unlike him. He never lets the silence go on for long before he fills it with something. Whether it’s stupid or sweet or funny or annoying, Phainon always has something to say to you. He never runs out of things to talk about. It’s always been like that. He’s never had a problem talking your ear off and keeping you company and following you around and filling the silence with his voice. You never realized how deep it had gotten over the years until you watched some old videos back. The first time he was gone for a whole summer, you didn’t realize how quiet the world was until the only way you could talk to him was over text. 

But he’s quiet now, and he just lets you cry. Softly, he reaches out and brushes tears from your cheeks gently as he murmurs, “Your makeup is pretty tonight. You shouldn’t ruin it, you know.”

“There’s no point,” you sniffle, “it’s not like anyone is gonna see it now, anyway.”

“I’m seeing it,” he insists, “just because some weird asshole doesn’t appreciate a nice smokey eye doesn’t mean I can’t.”

“This isn’t a smokey eye look.”

“Whatever it is,” he shrugs, “it looks good. You’re pretty.”

He says it easily, like it’s not weird or awkward or makes him shy to point it out. He says it so plainly, it’s like some passing observation he makes and doesn’t have to think too hard on. You’re pretty. Even when you cry your makeup off, he thinks that. 

“I don’t want to go home,” you whisper, “my mom is gonna be sad and my dad will get angry when he knows what happened to me, and I just…don’t feel like dealing with that mess.”

“Then don’t,” he offers.

You raise a brow, sniffling as you reach into the compartment and grab the tissues that you know are there, and blow your nose. He stifles a smile at the way it’s loud. “What am I supposed to do then, just sit in here?” you ask blandly.

“Why not? We can drive for a while. In fact, we can get milkshakes.”

“Are you buying?” you perk up.

He snorts, looking at you in amusement as he mumbles, “Don’t I always have to?”

You beam at that. It’s true—he does always buy.

He takes you to a drive-thru and buys you a milkshake like he always does when he drives you somewhere. You add in a side of fries and he lets you, paying without a complaint and handing you your order as it comes through the window. It’s nice. It feels like it always does when it’s you and Phainon, and you forget the shallow asshole who broke your heart on your first date not even an hour ago. He parks in the parking lot and you sit and share your fries, and when he dips his in ketchup, you wrinkle your nose—and when you dip yours in your milkshake, he wrinkles his. 

“I’m never going on a date again,” you mumble.

“Don’t say that,” he says softly, “you might miss out on a super handsome and nice guy some day who’s waiting for you.”

“That sounds like something my mom would say,” you snort.

He cracks a grin, chuckling as he offers, “Well, that’s probably why I’m so smart. You should listen to me more.”

“I don’t know about that one,” you tease, “you’re still the same crybaby from middle school.”

“I’m not a crybaby!” He gasps, “Quit saying that! Being emotionally intelligent and being a crybaby are not the same thing, you jerk!”

“Is that what you like to call it?” You laugh, throwing your head back against your seat. He stares. For a good, long moment, he stares as you laugh, and you never catch it. (He wonders sometimes if you will. If some day he’ll stare and you’ll finally notice that he only ever looks at you.)

“Yes,” he grumbles, “I am, in fact, emotionally intelligent. And women are really into men who are smart about their feelings.”

“I’m sure they are,” you give him a sarcastic nod. “And I bet they—”

“Hang on,” he says, stopping you.

You pause as he interrupts your sentence, and before you can even blink, his door is opened and then closed, and Phainon is gone. He’s left the car and he’s walking over to some group of boys who leave the fast food place you’re parked outside of, and you can’t figure out what on Earth would make him leave so abruptly to go over and—oh. 

Your eyes widen as you realize. 

Oh.

Something in your heart sinks deep into the bottom of your stomach as you realize your date is standing there among the group of boys with a bag of food in his hands and a drink. Something else in you gets a lick of anger that starts to burn in the pit of your stomach as you think about how he left you to pay for his meal while he’s here buying himself a whole new one after ditching you. And then your eyes widen when in a quick second, Phainon has swug his arm and landed a solid punch right in the jaw and knocked the guy onto his ass as he towers over him. You blink once, then twice, and then you quickly take your seatbelt off and climb out of the car as you rush over. 

There’s a chorus of deep, angry voices back and forth and you can’t make out more than a few words at a time as everyone speaks over each other—Phainon, your asshole date, and his asshole (by association) friends.

“Yo, what the fuck—”

“He had that coming—” (Phainon.)

“Who the hell are you—”

“What’s your fucking problem man—”

“You get off on being an asshole, or something?” (Also Phainon.)

Maybe if you weren’t so worried, you would think about why Phainon’s voice is the only one you can make out so easily in a mess of all these other voices. Maybe if you weren’t worried about a group of boys outnumbering him as they approach him and try to beat him to a pulp, you might think more about the implications of that and what that means. 

But you don’t. You can’t. Not when you have to go and save him, just like the day you met him, from boys who are stronger than him and can knock him to the ground easily. 

Except he doesn’t need you to save him. Phainon…holds his own against three boys who come swinging at him, and…he does surprisingly well. He shrugs off each guy one by one and lands a punch when he needs to, and soon enough, when they realize that he’s a little too strong for any of them to properly take on, they call him a few names and leave a few empty threats before they leave. You stand a short distance away and watch, blinking as you process the whole exchange. 

Finally, with a shaky breath, he turns to face you with a guilty look on his face. 

“Sorry, I know I probably shouldn’t have done—”

“When did you get strong?” you interrupt, flabbergasted. “You can fight?”

He looks almost a little offended. “What do you mean? Why do you have to say that like I can’t be strong?”

“I used to save you from the older boys all the time,” you gape, “and all you ever did was cry! Since when do you know how to throw a punch?”

“I was twelve!” He sputters, looking at you in equal parts disbelief and equal parts embarrassment. “I’m way bigger now! I’m taller than you!” (He is.)

“You’re still a crybaby!”

“Am not!”

“You fought four guys and won,” you breathe out, like the concept is something you still can’t quite wrap your head around. (You can’t.)

He shoots you a glare and grumbles, “I am grown now, okay? You don’t have to keep acting like I’m the scrawny kid you saved in middle school.”

“You are the scrawny kid,” you argue.

“Am not! Look, I’ve been working out!” He flexes his arm, and sure enough, there’s a bulge of muscle forming at his bicep, and it makes you stare in disbelief as you take in the way Phainon has really changed. You never notice it because he’s with you every day, and every single day has started to leave its mark on him, but you’re too caught up in knowing him the way he is to think about knowing him the way he isn’t anymore. 

But he’s stronger now. His voice is deeper, and he’s taller, and he has some muscle to him. You look at him properly for a moment, and it occurs to you for the first time that the chubbiness of his round face and baby cheeks are gone and they’re replaced with a strong, sharp set of cheekbones that carve his face perfectly. His hair is longer, too—and you think it suits him better this way. He parts his hair in a way that looks less childlike and more mature. 

But his eyes are still the same. Same shade of blue. Same puppy look as he stares at you, mildly offended. Same soft, delicate orbs that look you in the eye, always, and never look away. 

“Oh my god,” you mutter, “what is happening to you? This is freaky.”

He cracks a smug grin before he teases, “I’m growing up. Try not to fall in love with me—pretty soon, I’ll be a heartthrob.”

You bite back a grin and give him a scoff. “I doubt that. You’re about as interesting as cardboard.”

(You lie. In the end, you go against your own words, and you do fall in love with him. It’s hard not to. It’s hard not to fall in love with him, the more time passes every day. You never admit it, but you notice every little thing about him that changes from then on.)

— — — — — — — — — — 

You’re eighteen when Phainon and you don’t just kiss, but share your first time. It’s on your birthday. There’s something there between the two of you that you both know is there. It’s impossible not to notice it. 

You leave for college in two months, and he might not be going to the same one as you, but it's close enough that you can see him whenever you want. (Whenever you want—it’s what he had said when he first told you he wasn’t picking the same college as you. The look on your face was enough to voice your devastation without actually using any words, but he only laughed and murmured, I’ll be close by. You can still see me whenever you want, yeah?)

It happens in his car. It’s no longer his dad’s old one that he had to ask for permission to use only when his father wasn’t using it. This one is his, and he can drive it whenever he wants and wherever he pleases. Because you’re both old enough for that now—driving around and going places without needing to worry about curfews and school nights and your parents’ angry texts about being home soon. 

“I’m officially an adult,” you tell him in his car, drinking the last of your milkshake that, as always, he’s paid for. (It’s your birthday, though, so you think it's especially fair that he pays because no one should expect the birthday person to pay for their milkshake.)

“Congrats,” he hums, “they grow up so fast,” he adds with a soft, dramatic sniffle.

“You’re not old enough to act like there’s a difference,” you roll your eyes, “I doubt in two months you’ve learned things like how mortgages and property taxes work.”

“Well, it’s actually two months, one week, and four days,” he corrects with a pointed look, as if it really makes all the difference, “and I’ll probably still learn all that shit before you do because I’m older.”

“Yeah, but you’ll also probably die first since you’re older,” you point out cheekily.

“I don’t think that’s how that works,” he huffs.

“You always decide how things work when it’s convenient for you, you prick,” you accuse, shoving him away as he chuckles and steals a french fry from your share. 

He’s stopped laughing when his eyes meet yours, and something about the way he looks at you feels a little out of the ordinary. The wrappers are crumpled, the milkshakes are almost gone, and you’re both sitting in the same parking lot you have for years in the middle of the night, nothing but just the light over your heads in his car illuminating him just enough that you can still make out that soft blue of his eyes. 

Everything is the same. The parking lot, the milkshakes, the way you drain his wallet, and he lets it happen, the way it’s you and him and no one else. Nothing has changed. Nothing but you and Phainon. You’re both different—something about you and him is different. 

“What?” you ask.

Phainon shrugs, smiling to himself. “Dunno,” he says. “Guess you just look old.”

You scowl as he throws you a lopsided grin. (You think, regretfully, that it’s quite handsome.) “And you look geriatric,” you hiss back.

His smile becomes a little softer, and something in it flickers—sad, maybe. You can’t tell exactly what it is, but you do know it makes something in your heart ache. Something like longing fills you up to the brim—it’s funny, you think. Even when Phainon is right next to you, all you can do is long for him anymore. You wonder when that started. Maybe it was the day you noticed he was bigger and taller. Maybe it was the day you noticed he paid with a credit card and not cash anymore, like a proper grown man. Maybe it was the day you realized his front teeth were no longer crooked and his smile was as bright as those perfectly blue eyes of his. 

“I’m gonna miss this,” he admits quietly.

You don’t ask what he means. You already know. 

It’s not the milkshakes, or the shared fries, or the way he always pays, no matter how much you can easily afford it on your own by now. It’s the way he’s home for you. The way you moved when you didn’t want to, and you didn’t get a say because you were only eleven and your parents made those kinds of decisions for you—when you left behind everything you loved, and Phainon took on the burden of becoming everything you’ll relearn to care about. When you promised to move away the first chance you got, he made you want to stay without trying. Now it’s not the same—now you move, and so does he, and you both make those decisions on your own because you're older now. 

You’ll miss it. The quiet nights in his car and the long, stupid, pointless, aimless conversations that always meant the most when you babbled about nothing. The easy, familiar way you’ve always fit together—ever since he was twelve and you were eleven, all the way until now, after you both grew and grew and the days added up until they totaled to you both being eighteen-year-old adults. You’ll miss the way you’ll open your door, and you’ll see him waving down the street as he opens his. You’ll miss the way he can crawl to your window and sneak in to play card games, and your mother isn’t surprised as she makes him breakfast when you both accidentally fall asleep before he can leave. You’ll miss the way the world felt small, and all you knew was this. Here. Phainon and you and the town that becomes home, even when you didn’t want it to be, all because of him. 

“You don’t have to miss it,” you say, trying to convince yourself it’s true. “We’re not going far.”

“Maybe not,” he murmurs. “But it won’t be like this. Not exactly.”

It won’t.

It won’t ever be like the way you guys are now, how you were over the years. When he sat on the ground and cried after being picked on and you saved him. When he came over and met your mother for the first time, and she looked relieved at the fact that you finally made some friends. When you let him borrow your favorite book, and he gave it back with the pages dog-eared and you had your first argument over your ruined book. When he rescued you after your awful first date and spent the night with you so you’d go home happy. When you rear-ended the car in front of you, and he was sitting passenger as he tried to warn you that you weren’t hitting the brakes soon enough.

“Is it a bad thing, do you think?” you murmur hesitantly, “if things change?”

“Maybe not,” he says, leaning closer as he looks at you better.

And then you kiss him. Or maybe he kisses you. What matters is that you’re kissing each other. It’s been a long time coming—your parents have teased you about him, and your friends have always been too nosy about just how close you really are, and your teachers have always meddled with seating arrangements to make sure you’re close by each other because they’re certain something is going on. 

He smiles into the kiss. It’s giddy and sweet and a touch clumsy as he presses into you closer, leaning over the center console of his car to get closer to you. You giggle. A soft, delicate little sound that makes his breath hitch before he moves again to swallow it up, drinking in the small, precious little sounds of joy you make against his mouth as his hand cups your cheek and your arms swing lazily over his shoulders. 

“I think things are already changing,” you breathe as soon as you pull away, “so it can’t be so bad.”

“Maybe not bad at all,” he chuckles.

“Are you still gonna miss it?” you ask softly. 

“Hm,” he pretends to think, “let me try this again and see what I like better just to be sure.”

You laugh against his mouth as he kisses you, pecking your lips once, twice, a third time before he’s back to pressing his against you with a lingering pressure. Some part of you knew this was going to happen. You didn’t know when or how, but you think this is a good way to let it happen. You knew that day he came to your defense in that parking lot—when he didn’t have to, but he did because he cared enough to. When he showed you he was bigger than you remember and growing more than you realized, and could take care of you just like you took care of him. (Maybe he’s been taking care of you all this time, and you just didn’t realize it. Maybe when you stopped being lonely and finally felt like you made a home on the street that he came at the same time as you, he was looking out for you all along.)

“I think change is an inevitable part of life,” he murmurs, “we shouldn’t avoid it.”

“Hm, that’s very grown-up of you to say,” you tease. 

“Thank you,” he grins—stupidly handsome, and annoyingly cheeky. And you love him for it. “I am older, you know. By two months, one—”

“—One week and four days, yes, I know,” you interrupt, rolling your eyes. “Shut up.”

He does. He shuts up only to press his lips against yours again and kiss you like he’s been waiting years to do it. (He has. He’s waited many, many years to do this. More than he thinks you might even realize—he doesn’t think you understand how much he’s changed until rather recently, but that’s okay. He could wait. He did. He waited and he waited and he’d always have waited if it was for you.)

“Do…” he pauses, nervously taking in a shaky breath as he mumbles, “do you…want to like…w-well, we don’t have to do anything…but if you want—”

“At least this much hasn’t changed,” you snort, interrupting him, “and maybe it won’t—you’re still lame.”

He scowls at that, and as if he has something to prove, he climbs (and fumbles a little) into the back seat before his hand grabs your wrist and tugs you to follow. And when you fumble your way onto his lap with a squeak, flustered as your chest is pressed right up against his own (rather sturdy one), he murmurs, “Yeah? Is that what you think?”

“Yeah,” you swallow, looking into his eyes for a short second before quickly looking away, “it is.”

“Guess I’ll just have to change that,” he hums.

Suddenly, your lips are once more coated with the heat of his, and you close your eyes and fall apart in his arms. You press more of your weight onto him, letting him slump back against the backseat of his car while your hands weave into his hair and tug. He groans deeply. It’s a sound you’ve never heard from him—ever. 

His hands bring you closer, and as your body is pressed against his with even less space, you feel it—something hard that pokes against your leg that you’re certain you know what it is. But, just to be sure, you pull away to look at him. 

“What’s that?” you hum, grinning smugly as you move your thighs to brush over the hardness once more, “is that—”

“You know exactly what it is,” he huffs, flushing a soft pink that you can just barely make out in the dark, “now quit talking so much.”

“You don’t like me when I’m chatty?” you pout.

“I like you always,” he says bluntly, lips forming a small pout as he adds, “but I like you a little less than other times right now for being rude.”

“I’m not being rude! I’m simply making an observation—mmph!”

He cuts you off with another hard, impatient kiss before he pulls away and lets his thumb brush over your lip, smearing your already messy lip gloss some more as he murmurs, “I always wondered how that tasted. Seen you apply it so many times.”

“It’s pretty sweet, isn’t it?” you wink cheekily, “strawberry flavored.”

With that, you wrap your lips around his thumb and slowly roll your tongue around the digit, swallowing around it as you suck. It’s probably the filthiest thing you’ve done—which is not a lot. The filthiest thing you’ve done prior was sitting on a boy’s lap and feeling his hard-on against your thigh as you kissed him. There are a lot of firsts it seems he’s hell bent on taking from you tonight. Luckily, there’s not a lot of firsts you’re unwilling to give. 

He groans at the warmth of your mouth, the wet glide of your tongue making him stare at you with hazy, lust-filled eyes before he pulls his hand away from your lips, hoisting you up enough so he can reach under your skirt and pull your panties down. They’re drenched. He takes a second to stare at them through the darkness of the backseat of his car while it’s your turn to feel heat spread across your cheeks and up to your ears. 

“Stop looking, you pervert!” you hiss.

He gives you a not very apologetic grin. “Sorry,” he lies through his perfect, pearly whites, “guess that’s not very chivalrous of me, huh?”

You snort as you murmur, “You had your finger in my mouth a second ago.”

“And who put that there?” he teases. You feel your cheeks burn again—but he spares you the embarrassment a second time as he pulls your underwear down your thighs enough to leave your aching cunt exposed before he murmurs, “Do it again one more time for me, baby.”

You open without thinking as he presses his middle and ring fingers into your mouth, letting your tongue roll around them, too. You coat them well, the wetness of your mouth covering his fingers as his thumb strokes your cheek. His cheeks are flushed pink from the sight alone. Your throat bobbing from every swallow around his digits has him imagining much more lewd fantasies, and you can tell that from just the way his pupils lose focus, dilating at the image of you. You moan around him, and his breath hitches as he feels the vibrations from the sound. 

It’s dirty, the way he’s thinking about you. Almost as dirty as the way you look as you suck on his fingers—and when he pulls them out and uses his fingers to press into your cunt, it feels dirty to be worked open with your own spit as the lubricant that helps him slip inside easily. Well…you suppose the way your core is dripping is also part of the reason why it’s so easy, but you don’t focus on that. 

Instead, the only thing you can focus on is the way he curls into you as he thrusts his fingers in and out, in and out like he knows exactly what you need. His fingers are longer than yours. The only thing that’s ever been inside of you are your own digits when it’s late and night and you force yourself to stay quiet in your room—but Phainon’s fingers reach deeper and there’s no one here you have to be quiet for, so you whimper loudly as he presses into your walls and finds some spot deep in there that you’ve never felt before.

“Well,” he chuckles, “that was easy. I found it,” he gives you a cheeky grin.

“Sh-shut up,” you hiss, the sound tapering off into a moan as the heel of his palm glides over your clit while he angles his hand in and out of you. 

He’s never done this before—it’s good, and it feels better than anything you’ve ever felt yourself, but he’s still never done this before, and it shows. He doesn’t get the rhythm quite right as he goes faster than you like, and when your hand gently grabs his wrist, he pauses and looks at you in alarm. 

“W-what’s wrong? You want to stop? I-I’m sorry, I…I got carried away, I didn’t think—here,” he goes to pull his fingers and you hiss, tightening your grip and keeping him in place as he pauses and looks at you, bewildered.

“Just…just go slower,” you breathe, panting softly, “that’s all.”

“O-oh…” he nods slowly at first, then again with more confidence. “Okay.”

It’s better this time. He paces it better and watches your face for your reactions as he slows the timing of his fingers pressing into you, applying pressure with every thrust against a sweet spot you didn’t even know you had. It makes your head feel light and your ears hear things all muffled. You can hear his labored breaths as he watches you, and you can hear your own (almost embarrassing) noises as he works you higher, higher, higher to some invisible height that you can feel yourself slowly become closer and closer to plummeting off of. 

“K-kiss,” you gasp, pleading as you lean closer, and he chuckles before he indulges you.

“Anything you want,” he murmurs, and then that familiar warm pressure of his soft, yet chapped lips is the final push you need to fall off the edge. You whine into his mouth, and he drinks in every sound like he’s parched, swallowing down your noises as your walls flutter around his fingers. 

He works you through it. It feels better when it’s someone else—he’s not distracted by the feeling of being overwhelmed to falter in rhythm or pace. In fact, he’s extra careful as he watches you, rolling his palm over your clit and pressing the tips of his fingers in and out of you as your walls erratically clamp around him. 

“Fuck,” you breathe out, gasping as a particularly harsh wave of your orgasm crashes over you, “Ph-phainon, fuck.”

“Feel good?” he murmurs, kissing your jaw as your mouth parts with a soft, delicate moan. It’s endearing. He’s not even smug anymore—all you do is fill him up with affection as he watches you. 

“Yes,” you gasp, “oh god, yes!”

“Good,” he hums. 

His forehead presses against yours as you finish, letting you calm down and take heaving breaths while he pulls his fingers out of your cunt and rubs the small of your back with his other hand. You clutch onto his shirt, fingers grasping onto the fabric to ground yourself while he admires the glow of your sweaty, damp skin.

“When did things change for you?” you whisper, not meeting his eyes. “Between…between us?”

“Hm…” he hums softly, “Don’t know. I think…I think they never really had to change. I always knew I wanted you.”

“Oh,” you mumble, still nervously toying with the fabric of his shirt. You don’t know what to say, so you say it again. “That…oh.”

He laughs softly, like the idea of things not being the same for you doesn’t bother him. (It doesn’t. He got you, he thinks. As long as it’s that outcome, he could have always waited longer.) 

“When did they change for you?”

“When we were sixteen,” you barely force out, “when you…when you took on those guys. In the parking lot.”

“On your first date that broke your heart?” He gasps, “I owe your heartbreak to swinging things in my favor? That feels a little wrong,” he says dramatically, “I almost feel like I’ve manipulated you!”

“Oh, fuck off,” you roll your eyes, breaking into a small grin. 

He laughs. It’s sweet. He’s always had that charm about him, even when it didn’t make you want him badly. “I think I told you not to fall in love with me, too. Seems like my words had the opposite effect,” he wiggles his brows.

You snort, shoving him lightly as you whisper, “It just felt nice to know you care. Like my feelings were yours, too.”

His eyes soften, and Phainon, you realize, has the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen. So blue, you could mistake them for the ocean and get called over like a siren luring you in, drowning you until your lungs are heavy and filled with something that makes it hard to breathe. 

“I always cared,” he hums, “still do. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” you bite your lip as you fight back a wide, giddy grin. “Yeah, I do.”

And you kiss him. This time, you know it’s you who does it first because he stiffens for a moment with a hitch of his breath before he melts into it. You’ve kissed so many times tonight, you don’t know why the feeling keeps shocking you, but it does. It’s new every time, but never unfamiliar. You know him—you know him like the back of your hand, and you’d know him with your eyes closed. But you’re still learning him. The way he parts his lips and the pattern of how he nips yours. The way he tugs you closer when he’s overwhelmed, so he can squeeze your hips and ground himself. The way he lets out a soft, barely-there whine when you tug at his hair without realizing it. 

“I want you,” he breathes, “i-is that…is that okay?”

“Yes,” you practically beg, “yes—please.”

He clumsily undoes his belt and unzips his pants with shaky hands. You try not to watch and make it awkward. (It is, just a little. But it’s not bad. Nothing ever is with him.) You try to keep your expression neutral as his aching cock is finally freed from its confinements, springing up with a hard, leaky tip as pre cum collects in a small bead. It’s big—it curves a little to the side and the vein is thick along the bottom, and a part of you itches to wrap your hand around it and feel its weight in your grasp. 

He flushes as you stare and breathes heavily. 

“Can…can I…” You hesitate before gesturing at it. 

He nearly passes out from shame when he nods too quickly, forcing himself to slow down and throw on a faux sense of nonchalance as he stutters out, “Y-yeah, yeah that…that’s cool. With me. If you want, that is.”

You nod. Slowly, hesitantly, your thumb smears the leaking pre cum at the tip along the head of his cock before you wrap your hand around him and squeeze slightly. He chokes, gripping your hips tightly as his jaw clenches and his eyes shut tightly while he tries to keep his breathing steady. 

“Is this okay?” you whisper.

“More than okay,” he says, voice strained. 

“Okay,” you nod, and, a little more confidently, you stroke along his length, watching as he melts and the tension leaves his shoulders, his face slackening while he lets out a soft moan. It feels good—you can tell that much as his head falls back and he lets out a soft, throaty sound when you squeeze a little at the tip before stroking down again. 

It doesn’t last long, but you like it, you decide. You like making Phainon feel good. You like the way he looks when you touch him, and you like the feeling you get when you take care of him and give him something without taking anything back. But he stops you before long, and you pause as you raise a brow in confusion. 

“J-just…I don’t think I’ll last if we keep…” 

He’s red in the face when your eyes widen—you can tell even if it's dark. “Right,” you smile softly, “okay. Do you have…”

“Y-yeah,” he nods, “right…right, yeah.” He fishes out a condom from his pocket, and it takes everything in you not to ask the question in the back of your head of why he keeps one. 

(A spark of jealousy clouds your mind for a moment, of whether or not this is something he’s done before with someone other than you to need one, but then you realize that you know Phainon. Better than anyone else, you know him, and you know he’d at least tell you if he’d ever done something like this before. 

Because it’s you—you’ve known for a while now that there isn’t anyone else other than you. 

The jealousy dies down, and all that’s left is endearment—you’ll tease him later about carrying a condom around like he’s preparing. For now, though, you’re grateful.) 

It takes a tense moment of fumbling around with opening and rolling it over his length, trying not to let your hands visibly shake as he makes soft, breathy sound at your touch before gently, you raise your hips, hand still wrapped around his length while you guide him to your folds, the tip brushing along the slick, warm entrance of your cunt and making you both shiver. His hands find your hips, holding tightly as he guides you down, inch by slow inch taken one by one until he’s as deep as he’ll go and you’re sat on his cock, panting and quivering on his lap.

“T-tell me when it’s okay to m-move,” he grits.

“Okay,” you whisper shakily, trying to accommodate his size. It’s a stretch—it burns slightly, but you welcome it wholly. You’ve never taken anything as big as Phainon, and faintly, you hope you’ll never have to compare the size with anything else because you think this is it. This is perfect and what you were made to take. He’s perfect and what you were made to take. You fit like he was tailor-made to fit in you, and you don’t think anyone else will ever replace this. 

This feeling. Him. What he means to you. Everything about Phainon is perfect to you—perfect for you. You don’t think it’ll ever be anyone but him. 

“Okay,” you plead, “you…you can move now.”

With that, he guides your hips up, almost pulling you off of him completely before he brings you down, helping you slam down on him while thrusting his hips up and meeting you halfway. He’s thick, too, girth-wise—stretches you in a way that adds to the pleasure apart from just pressing against a spot your fingers used to never reach. You thought it was good before when he was just using his hand, but the real thing is even better. Everything around you stops. All you know is Phainon. All you ever want to know is Phainon. 

“F-fuck,” he pants, and you barely register his voice cracking as he shoves his face into your neck, “y-you…feel incredible. I’ve always wanted you. You have no idea how fucking bad.”

Something wet hits your neck. You suck in a sharp breath as his hand pulls you down, helping you rock your hips onto him and slam down harder on his cock, taking him deeper inside of you and practically cling to him while he maneuvers your body the way he needs. The way you need. 

“A-are you…seriously crying?” you gasp, “Now?”

“No,” he huffs. As if to distract you, he reaches between your bodies and finds your clit with his thumb and rolls harsh, fast circles while a strong, muscled arm wraps around your waist and guides you along a rhythm that has him nudging the tip of his cock hard and blunt against the back of your walls. 

“You are,” you accuse. “Do you ever quit being a cry—” you moan and cut yourself off when his tip practically bruises the spot it presses against hard and fast, angling to meet exactly where you fall apart.

“Not a crybaby,” he argues, and his pace gets sloppy as he ruts his hips up into you. You can feel it, too—the beginnings of your second high of the night approaching you as you try to snap your hips and bounce along his length to match his pace. 

It’s going to hit you harder this time. You can tell—you can practically feel it as it comes slowly but surely, creeping up on you in a way that makes you anticipate it blindly. 

“M’close,” you pant, “m’so so close, Phai…Phainon.”

“Yeah? You are? M-me too, baby,” he groans. You clench around him at the pet name, and he has the audacity to chuckle about it, murmuring a low, “like being called that, huh? You’re so fuckin’ tight, baby—y’know that?”

“Fuck,” you whine, and with one last roll of your hips that he meets with his own thrust upwards, you fall apart while his thumb rubs its circles along your clit. 

Your orgasm comes harder than you expect it to—it’s different when he’s that deep and stretches you out so well. It’s different when he rolls his hips to continue to fuck into you to work you through your high. It’s not like other times you’ve cum on your own, and it’s not like the time he made you cum on his fingers. This is entirely different. You can feel the twitching of his cock as the thickess bullies into you, splitting you open while you fall apart on him.

He follows not long after you, the tightening of your walls around him in spasms pulling him into his own release. It’s warm—you can make out the feeling of his release through the thin barrier of plastic as he fills it with thick ropes of cum. He pants your name through a soft, breathless voice, and you slump against his chest and lay your cheek on his shoulder as you ride through the final few waves of your peak. 

When he finishes, he slumps back against the seat, chest rising and falling beneath you as he tries to catch his breath. His arms are still wrapped around you, loose and warm, like he can’t quite bring himself to let go yet.

“How was it?” he asks, voice tentative, almost shy.

“Good,” you whisper, still a little breathless. “I-it was… really good.”

“Me too,” he says with a quiet smile. You can hear it in his words. “It was really good for me, too.”

You snort. “Is that why you cried?”

He groans, burying his face against your shoulder as his arms tighten around you in protest. “No,” he grumbles, muffled. “I just… got…”

“Emotional?” you tease, the corner of your mouth twitching up.

“Yes,” he huffs, clearly flustered. “The way I feel about you…” He trails off for a second, like he’s waiting for the right words to show up. “It’s just… a lot,” he says finally, soft and vulnerable. “You make me feel a lot.”

“I know,” you say, muffled by his shirt, “I…I feel it, too.”

“Yeah?” he beams.

“Yeah,” you grin. 

(You want to tell him that night—that you love him. That you have for a while. That you know you always will. You don’t have the courage to, though, but you never bring yourself to regret it. Maybe because it almost feels like he’s always known.)

— — — — — — — — — — 

You’re twenty-three when Phainon proposes. It…doesn’t go how he wants. 

He plans it out—it’s meticulous, and sweet, and it was going to be perfect and everything he’s ever wanted and everything he knows you wanted, too. He takes you on a nice, fancy trip, and you’re by the beach where you can feel the sun kiss your skin along with the warm breeze. On the last day, he can sit and admire you as you enjoy the beach one last time happily, and when the sun gets close to setting, he’ll drag you for a walk along the shore where the tides will come and wash away your footprints as they come. And when the sky is pink and purple and orange and every other color of the sunset that reflects in your eyes, he’ll get on one knee and ask you to be his wife.

And then it rains. 

It rains hard.

You both gather your things as quickly as you can and run for the car—a fancy rental that he spent quite a pretty penny on to get for this trip, because it’s the kind you’ve always wanted to have and you’re still just barely out of college to have enough saved for it. 

You climb into the car, drenched and panting from running, and still beautiful. And he feels his world crumble all at once as he sees that dazzling smile on your face while your hand brushes your forehead and wipes away droplets of water. 

He notices your finger. Ringless. His heart bleeds, and everything around him feels like it's caving in on him, and he can’t breathe.

“My goodness,” you giggle, “who’d have thought the rain had it out for us on our last day, huh?”

He swallows thickly at that. And he tries—he tries so hard to keep on that brave face and act like it’s okay. It’s fine. He can wait and plan something else. He has time to make it better, more perfect for you. That’s what you deserve, anyway. He’ll make you smile bigger, make you want to say yes even harder. 

This is okay. He still has you. He knows you. He knows you’ll say yes. It doesn’t matter if it’s now or a little later—he still has you. 

And yet, when his face crumples and the dryness of his throat is something he realizes he’s not able to control, he understands why you’ve always called him a crybaby. Because that’s exactly what he is. He’s going to cry, and you’re going to be worried, and he’s going to have to explain why he’s upset and ruin your surprise and the most perfect moment of your life. 

“Phainon?” You freeze, noticing the beginning of tears collecting in his eyes that he tries desperately to blink away. He swallows thickly, and your hand instantly moves to cup his wet face. “Baby, what’s happened? Did you leave something? We can go back and look—it’s just some rain, I don’t mind.”

“No,” he croaks, “no, it’s not that. It’s…it’s nothing,” he forces out. 

“It’s not nothing,” you frown, “c’mon, you know I know you better than that. Acting like I don’t is almost insulting,” you nudge his ribs gently. It’s supposed to be good-natured. It’s supposed to be light-hearted and sweet, so he feels safe enough to let down his walls and tell you what’s on his mind because you love him. You do. You love him more than anything, and you make everything better, so he should just tell you.

But the thought of the words coming out feels like he’s a failure. Like he’s taken every ounce of your careful love and not given you what you deserved, even a little. But, as he’s starting to realize after years of arguing with you on it, Phainon is indeed a crybaby. And the tears tell on him faster than the words can, and he knows there’s no hiding anything from you.

So shakily, he grabs something small from his pocket, making you frown as you try to figure out what it is. He brings it closer, and your eyes widen, breath hitching. 

You know what that is. You’d be a fool not to. You’re speechless as he sniffles and looks miserably down at the velvet box that’s tiny in his large hand. 

“I…it was going to be perfect—th-the sun was supposed to set, a-and we’d go on a walk, and then when the sky was pretty I’d ask, and…and…and…” he takes a shaky breath and closes his eyes in defeat. “It was going to be perfect. For you. I had everything planned,” he croaks. 

You soften. It’s quiet. For a moment, he thinks maybe this was all a mistake. Maybe you weren’t going to say yes, and all the marriage talks of the future lately were just talks and nothing more. Maybe it was too early for all this, and those were just talks of something for the distant future. Something he’d have to wait a bit longer for. And that’s fine—he would. He’d wait for you because he always has. He’s always loved you, and he’s always waited, and it’s always been okay. In the end, he’s always had you, and that’s all he’s ever needed. 

Somehow, no matter how many years pass, Phainon stays loving you. At first, he thought it was a crush and that it would be just a phase, but it never went away. It’s just how he is, ingrained into him since he was young—he loves you, and he can’t stop. Somehow, every year, he grows and grows, and all it does is make more room for his love in that stubborn heart of his. He’s twelve, he’s sixteen, he’s eighteen, and he’s twenty-three. Every year he’s older and he changes, yet somehow, every year, it’s still always you. Even when you’re not there, it’s always your laugh he hears in the wind as it grazes his cheeks and leaves him with the ghost of you. 

Loving you comes as easily as breathing. When the air finally settles in his lungs and lets him breathe, he starts to love you even more.

It’s that simple. It always was. 

He lets out a shuddering breath and mumbles, “I-it’s okay. It was probably a bad time anyway—I got carried away. J-just forget I said anything, please. I…we can just forget—”

“Oh Phainon,” you sigh, soft and breathless, “you never change, do you, you big crybaby?”

He pouts. There are still tears clinging to his cheeks, and it only proves your point further. Still, you have enough grace not to point it out as you reach and cup his cheek to wipe away a tear gently. 

“I am not a crybaby,” he denies half-heartedly, “I was just emotional, okay? Being emotionally intelligent is important!”

You smile. It’s warm and bright, and it’s the same smile he’s known for over a decade, but it’s different, too. Every year it changes a little. The days leave their small footprints along your features and carve their paths as you age, and sometimes, he sees it all at once. How much you’ve changed. How your features are a little sharper now that you’ve grown into them. How small, barely-there lines are etching into your skin where you smile the most and by your eyes where they crinkle. You’re older. You’re still you. 

You smile, and it’s like he’s twelve again and nothing has changed, even if he’s twenty-three. 

“Ask me,” you whisper, “I’ll say yes no matter where you ask me. So quit crying and ask, you big baby.”

“What?” he gapes, still sniffling a little. 

“Ask me,” you huff, giving him a soft, impatient shove. Something about you is giddy. It’s raining outside, he’s crying yet again like he always does, while you have to deal with it, your beach day has been cut short, your surprise is ruined, and you’re drenched in the rental car that he’ll have to return tomorrow before you board your flight and go home. But still, you’re giddy. 

And Phainon is in love. It’s nothing new, but it’s different. It’s better. It’s always you. 

“Will you marry me?” he murmurs, “I know you said you didn’t want to be my friend that day, and I was a tiny bit of a crybaby only that day,” he gives you a pointed look as you roll your eyes, “and I know you said you’d move away and never come back and you didn’t need me to be your friend but we were friends anyway. And I was always happy being friends, but changing and being more was probably the best thing ever, so maybe we should just change one more time and be husband and wife, right? We’re not on the beach or under the sun, and we’re soaking wet, but will you marry me, anyway? So I don’t live up to the crybaby allegations?”

You laugh. The sun isn’t there anymore, but light still finds a way to break over your face as you laugh, and you cry, too. You cry with him, tears collecting in your own eyes as you nod frantically and whisper, “Yes, you idiot. Yes, I’ll marry you, of course I will. Is that even a question?”

“You’re crying,” he blinks back his own tears, “who’s the crybaby now?”

“Still you,” you snort. 

He grabs your hand and just like he envisioned to leave this trip, there’s a pretty little ring on your pretty little finger that catches the light and makes you look a little more different than he remembers you, but a little better than before. He didn’t meet you with a ring on your finger, but he knows you that way now. And it’s different. It’s different and it’s good.

“I love you,” he murmurs, “even though you always lie and call me a crybaby.”

“I love you, too,” you sigh exasperatedly, “even though you lie about being the damn crybaby that you are.”

(He kisses you after. Kisses you hard over the center console of the car as your fiance just like the first time he kissed you over the center console of a car as your best friend. As Phainon. As that stupid, annoying, crybaby boy you came across when he was twelve and you were still eleven and younger by only two months, one week, and four days.)

well . i don’t rly wanna talk about it so there you have it folks. do not look at me

[mydeist]

₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎ caleb finding ur gspot <3

💭 : p in v , changing positions, mating press, prone bone, doggy, dumbification, slight degradation with praise

you didn’t know what he was doing. every time you thought he’d stop, he’d settle, he would change positions. acting like he was trying to find something inside of you that you didn’t even know was there. but your body did.

every time caleb thrusted, you clenched around him in pleasure—but it felt like he was missing something. every time he changed positions—from your legs on his shoulders, bending you in a way you didn’t even think was possible, to putting all his weight on top of you as you drool into the pillow—he blubbered something about knowing that it was somewhere inside, that he was so close to finding it.

every thrust was restless, a thrust deep—short, fast, a bit too the right, far to the left—you felt it through the fuzzy haze that muffled your hearing and overstimulating you. you felt your brain turn into mush, seeping past your lips as drool with every buck.

“c-caleb,” you slurred, face pressed against your pillow as he lifted your hips and pressed your ass against his pelvis. “‘leb, what’re you do—hah!” he quickly hushed you, thrusting harshly again, seeking for something—and you thought he hit it before missing it by a fraction. “know it’s here somewhere. fuck, fuck—gonna find it—gonna make you squirt, baby,” he panted.

he moved your hips to the side—thrusted. moved them slightly down—thrust. up again—thrust. until he pressed down on your back, making you arch against the matress and moved his knee—

he hit it and it felt like your brain popped.

you let out a sharp scream (one that your neighbors will probably call 911 thinking you were murdered) and you squirted. loud, wet, and dirty as your jaw dropped. he let out a choked gasp and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. he let out a long groan, head tilting back. “fuckkkk… there ya’ go. all dumb and fucked out for me, huh?”

he drew back, just to slam back, tip pressing against your gspot again that made your legs fly around and hips buck. “as you should, right? you like being so dumb for gege. your drooling your brains out, sweets,” he chuckled, grinding against the spot as you sobbed into the pillow.

[mydeist]

cause I’m cool on my own. but it’s warmer in your arms ꕤ jinu

pairing: jinu x fem!angel reader

summary: Jinu never believed in angels, has his world turned upside down when he spots a breathtakingly beautiful girl. But before he can speak to her, she’s already gone. When fate brings them together again, he discovers she's an angel who was raised to fear demons like him, yet they're both drawn to each other with an inexplicable pull that feels like coming home.

genre: fluff + angst + smut (18+ mdni)

word count: 16,808 (almost 17k bye I need help)

warnings/tags: demon x angel trope, strangers to lovers, forbidden love, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, shy!reader, reader is described as shorter than jinu, meet cute!, emotional!reader, miscommunication. reader saves jinu <3 (no death) but gwi-ma goes down! love confessions. soulmates. corruption kinda? but it’s so sweet. UGH. inexperienced/virgin!reader, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, piv sex, soft!dom jinu, ok… just in overall bye, jinu is soft for reader, sub!reader, vaginal fingering, oral (f!receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie, consent king? hell yes. overstimulation, major size kink, praise kink, dirty talk, oral fixation. breeding kink aaaaa sorry. body worship kinda. one time use of “daddy” I AM SO SORRY. lots of pet names. this is high key sweet and soft and then turns filthy. jinu is worshipping his angel ok! aftercare. reader has hair, no further description though. this is not beta read sorry!

a/n: OH GOD! finally! I am so excited to share this with the world. I love this story sm. so self indulgent. I think this might be oc? or a bit more soft? idk. the timeline of the movie isn’t totally the same as what I’m writing. I absolutely loved this story and the aftercare scene means the world to me. also english isn’t my first language so bear with me. but either way I love this. I hope you enjoy!!! 🩷🥰

this goes without saying, but if you don’t like it don’t read it <3

AO3 • masterlist

Angels were never something Jinu believed in. He couldn't fathom their existence in this reality—the world felt too chaotic, too broken for such pure beings to exist. The idea seemed like wishful thinking, nothing more than fairy tales meant to comfort the naive.

But as he waited for his usual order at the small coffee shop tucked away on the corner of the busy streets of Seoul, Jinu realised he had been wrong all along.

There, standing so gracefully in line, was the most breathtakingly beautiful girl he swears he’d ever laid eyes on. You gazed up at the menu boards with their endless array of drinks, one delicately manicured nail tapping thoughtfully against your chin as you pondered your choice. When your turn came, you approached the counter with a shy smile that made something flutter in his chest.

You weren’t just beautiful—you were breathtaking.

He was completely entranced, utterly captivated by your presence. Jinu stood there slack-jawed and dumbfounded, his heart hammering against his ribs at an alarming rate. Time seemed to slow as he watched you move with an effortless grace that made everything else that happened in the coffee shop fade into background noise.

And he was staring. Shamelessly, helplessly staring.

Yet somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to care. His eyes traced over your gentle movements as you seemed to stumble endearingly over your words, ordering what he was certain must be something as sweet as you appeared to be. He couldn’t understand this magnetic pull he felt toward a complete stranger, this girl who had wandered into his ordinary Tuesday morning and turned his entire world upside down with nothing more than your presence.

Perhaps angels did exist after all, and perhaps one had just ordered a mocha with extra foam.

Jinu released a shaky breath through parted lips as he watched you delicately sip from the straw of your chocolate flavoured coffee, your rosy pink gloss leaving the faintest trace on the white paper.

Then he felt the world stop as you finally looked up from your drink, and your eyes met his from across the crowded room. The coffee shop’s ambient chatter seemed to disappear entirely. Your eyes widened slightly in surprise, and for a breathless moment, you simply stared at one another. A flicker of something like recognition passed across your sweet features before a small, shy smile bloomed on your lips, and Jinu for once in his life was at a loss for words.

“Order for Jinu!” The barista’s voice cut through the spell like a knife, announcing that his coffee order for the Saja Boys was ready and pulling him reluctantly from his trance.

He blushed before moving. His movements felt mechanical as he collected the tray of drinks, his mind still trying to recover from your shared moment. But when he turned around, expecting to find you still there—perhaps to finally work up the courage to speak to you—his heart sank.

You had vanished.

The spot where you'd been standing was empty, leaving only the lingering scent of vanilla and the ghost of your smile. Jinu stood there with a tray full of coffee and a chest full of yearning, wondering if he'd ever meet you again.

.˚ * ꒰ঌ✦໒꒱ * ˚.

Jinu had been replaying that brief encounter in the coffee shop for days. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t quiet his mind. His thoughts constantly drifted back to you—your warm, radiant smile, the effortless kindness in your eyes. He got addicted of the way your presence seemed to quiet the chaos inside him, even if only for a second.

Dark thoughts still curled at the edges of his mind, clawing at old wounds that refused to close. But whenever he thought of you, the sharp ache dulled. The pain didn’t disappear—but it became bearable. Lighter. Like your memory was a balm his soul had long been searching for. The shadows in his mind seemed less suffocating when you occupied even the smallest corner of his thoughts.

He needed to think about you. He craved it, even just to ease the weight pressing down on his chest and soul, even if only for a fleeting moment.

To say that Jinu was becoming obsessed and growing feelings for someone he barely just met was minimising his experience.

He was completely, irrevocably drawn to you, enchanted by someone whose name he didn’t even know.

A quiet pull, a yearning that made no sense. You were a stranger, yet you felt… familiar. As if he had been waiting for you without realising it.

For days, he’d searched for you in every crowd, scanned every café, every street corner, every room and passing face, clinging to the hope of seeing you again. Hoping to catch even a glimpse. To finally speak to you, to hear your voice, to learn your name.

One evening, beneath the velvet sky over Seoul, Jinu was walking with no real destination—his thoughts torn between his mission to take down the Huntrix and the quiet ache you left behind.

He just wanted to try and clear his head.

A strange pull, soft but certain, tugged at his chest—like invisible threads winding around his heart. He didn’t question it. His feet moved on their own, guided by instinct or fate or something in between, weaving through the city until he stopped in front of a quiet, unassuming building.

And though he didn’t know why… he felt it.

You were near.

.˚ * ꒰ঌ♡໒꒱ * ˚.

The rooftop was cold beneath your legs, the concrete rough against your skin even through your jeans, but the quiet was worth every shiver.

You buried your hands deeper into the warmth of your hoodie and gazed out at Seoul's skyline—thousands of lights flickering like bright stars, glittering like precious gemstones scattered across black velvet. Each flicker felt like a heartbeat, steady and alive.

The wind tugged gently at your hair, carrying with it the distant symphony of the city below: the steady hum of late-night traffic, the occasional wail of a siren, and the soft murmur of life continuing in the streets far beneath you.

But up here, it all felt so far away. Muted. Gentle.

This was your sanctuary, the peace you were always seeking. This place had always been your escape. The one corner of the world where the weight of everything seemed to lift. Where silence wouldn’t feel so lonely, but soothing. Here, the stillness wrapped around you like a familiar friend.

Moments later, you felt him before you heard him.

He didn’t make much noise when he appeared on the rooftop. Just a soft thud of sneakers against concrete and a subtle shift in the air around you, as if the city itself paused to acknowledge his presence.

You didn’t turn to look at him right away.

Your heart was suddenly too loud in your chest, as if it knew something your mind hadn’t caught up to yet. The air felt warmer now, more alive, more… aware. Like the space between you had begun to hum with something delicate and invisible, like the start of a song only the two of you could hear.

You bit your bottom lip, fingers curling tighter into your sleeves. He was close. Not too close—but close enough that you could feel his presence sinking gently into your quiet.

And still… you waited.

Because some part of you was afraid that if you turned around too soon, it might all vanish.

The silence stretched between you like a taut string, heavy with unspoken words and the weight of destiny. Both of you lingered in that suspended moment, neither quite brave enough to break the spell. But curiosity and something deeper, something that felt like fate itself finally won.

You turned your head slowly, your heart hammering against your ribs as you looked up to meet his gaze. And just like in the coffee shop, the world stopped spinning. Time became meaningless. The city’s symphony faded to nothing.

A wave of heat crashed over you as you met his impossibly beautiful eyes, your skin burning with a mixture of shyness and something far more dangerous. You knew what he was—his aura sang with dark energy that made your celestial blood recognize him instantly. Demon. The very beings you’d been warned about since you first unfurled your wings, the creatures your fellow angels had taught you to avoid at all costs.

Yet as you gazed at him, drinking in the sharp angles of his face and the way moonlight caught in his dark hair, you felt nothing but an overwhelming magnetic pull. It didn't matter that you were strangers, his energy called to yours like a missing piece of your soul finally clicking into place. Every instinct screamed that this was dangerous, forbidden, impossible.

You couldn’t bring yourself to care or listen to those instincts.

He was the most breathtakingly beautiful creature you’d ever seen, regardless of what his kind was supposed to represent.

You watched, mesmerised, as a blush crept across his cheeks, the tips of his ears turning an endearing shade of red when your lips curved into a soft smile. For a demon, he seemed almost... Vulnerable.

“Hi.” His voice was barely above a whisper, rough with nervousness. “You're the pretty girl from the coffee shop.”

A sweet, melodious giggle escaped your lips before you could stop it, the sound floating between you like music. Heat spread through your entire body as you ducked your head bashfully, then met his eyes again with a warmth that surprised even you.

“I guess I am,” you murmured before biting your bottom lip as you looked at him.

Jinu slowly moved closer, each step deliberate and careful, as if he were approaching something precious and fragile. But he came to an abrupt halt about two meters away from where you sat, his hands fidgeting nervously at his sides. He looked like he was wrestling with himself, words dying on his tongue before they could escape.

Your small, encouraging smile seemed to give him the courage he needed.

“Can I...” he started, then stopped, running a hand through his dark hair. “Can I sit next to you?” The question came out rushed, and he looked away for a split second, vulnerability written across his features. “Please?”

Your eyebrows rose in surprise—not at his request, but at how genuinely nervous this demon seemed. After a moment, you composed yourself and offered him the sweetest smile. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Jinu blinked, clearly not expecting your acceptance. He stood frozen for a heartbeat, looking almost dazed by your response, until your soft giggle broke through his stupor and spurred him into action.

He settled down beside you with careful precision, leaving a respectful distance between your bodies, close enough to feel his warmth, but far enough to maintain propriety. The breath he released was long and relieved, as if he'd been holding it since the moment he’d asked.

Silence enveloped you both again, but this time it felt different. More intimate. More charged. You found yourself acutely aware of his presence beside you. The way he breathed, the subtle cologne that mixed with the night air, the way his fingers drummed silently against his knee.

Your shyness returned with a vengeance, and you found yourself nervously playing with the hem of your hoodie, twisting the soft fabric between your fingers.

You could feel his gaze on you like a physical touch, warm and intent. When you finally gathered the courage to glance at him, you found him already watching you with an expression so tender it made your heart skip.

“I'm sorry,” he said quietly, clearing his throat. “I don't want to make you uncomfortable. It's just...” He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. “I'd love to know the name of the beautiful girl sitting next to me.”

Heat bloomed across your cheeks like sunrise, and when you turned to face him fully, you caught the way one corner of his mouth lifted in the most endearing half-smile.

As you looked into his eyes, you felt yourself getting lost all over again. They were so dark, so deep—like looking into the night sky and finding entire galaxies hidden within. The longer you stared, the wider his smile grew, until you suddenly realised you were gaping at him like a lovesick fool.

“Sorry,” you whispered, looking away in mortification.

His smile only widened, and he shrugged with easy grace. “Don’t be. I was doing the same thing.”

You cleared your throat, feeling braver. “Only if I can know your name too.”

“Deal,” he laughed, and the sound was like music in the quiet night.

You looked at him with a shy smile as you whispered your name, the syllables feeling precious as they left your lips.

Jinu’s entire expression softened as he received your name like a gift. A soft blush painted his cheeks, and he looked away briefly before meeting your eyes again. “Such a beautiful name,” he murmured, his voice reverent. “My name is Jinu.”

You bit your lip bashfully, your heart fluttering at the way he said it. “Thanks. Jinu... I like that. It suits you.”

“Does it?” he asked, tilting his head with genuine curiosity. “What does it suit me for?”

You considered him for a moment, taking in his gentle demeanor despite his otherworldly beauty. “It sounds... warm. Safe.” You paused, then added more confidently, “Not at all what I expected from a demon.”

His eyes widened in genuine surprise, and he whispered, “How...” before looking away for a brief moment. When he turned back to you, he was trying to maintain a serious expression, but you could see right through it. The way his jaw tensed slightly, the uncertainty flickering in his gaze—he was nervous. Vulnerable. Perhaps even insecure.

“And what did you expect?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Something scarier,” you admitted with a small laugh. “My kind always told me demons were... well, terrifying. But you're...” You trailed off, suddenly shy again, your heart hammering as you prepared to voice what you really thought.

“I'm what?” he prompted gently, as he slightly leaned closer to you.

“Beautiful,” you breathed, the word escaping like a confession. “You're absolutely beautiful.”

He looked away immediately, but not before you caught the way his entire neck flushed red, the color creeping up to the tips of his ears. The sight made you giggle softly, a sound like wind chimes in the night air.

When he turned back to you, you quickly pulled the collar of your hoodie up to cover the lower half of your face, suddenly overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze. His eyes sparkled with amusement, and a knowing smirk played at the corners of his mouth.

“You said... your kind?” he asked softly, his voice like velvet in the darkness. “What do you mean by that? And how do you know what I am?”

This time it was your turn to smile, though it was hidden behind your makeshift fabric shield. You lowered the hoodie just enough to reveal your grin. “I’m an angel.”

Jinu’s eyes widened, his lips parting slightly in shock. Everything suddenly clicked into place. Your otherworldly beauty, the way you seemed to glow even in the moonlight, the inexplicable pull he felt toward you. But he knew, deep in his soul, that it wasn’t just your celestial nature that drew him in. There was something else, something that felt like recognition, like coming home after a lifetime of wandering.

“I know what you are because I can sense it,” you continued, your voice growing more timid. “Angels... we feel these things. Supernatural auras, energy signatures...” You paused, then added quietly, “But that’s not all I feel.”

Jinu’s breath caught. He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to an intimate whisper. “What else do you feel?”

You bit your lip, looking away as your fingers found the sleeves of your hoodie, twisting the fabric nervously. The vulnerability in your next words made his heart race.

“I don't know how to explain it,” you whispered without meeting his eyes. “I just know I'm drawn to you. Like... like gravity. Like I don't have a choice.”

Jinu’s expression softened completely, and he inhaled sharply before shifting closer to you on the concrete ledge. The space between you suddenly felt electric, charged with possibility and danger.

Then he did something that stole your breath entirely.

His fingers, warm and gentle, found your chin and tilted your face toward his. Your eyes widened as you found yourself drowning in his gaze—brown eyes that held galaxies and promises and something that looked dangerously like forever.

“I feel it too, sweet angel,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. His thumb traced the line of your jaw with feather-light touches that made your entire body come alive. “You’re the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. The most beautiful thing I never knew I was searching for.”

When his hand finally dropped from your face, you had to bite back a whimper at the loss of contact. The sensation was entirely foreign; this ache, this need, this feeling like you might dissolve if he stopped touching you.

The emotions you were experiencing weren’t the only foreign things you were feeling. Not only did you feel the warmth spreading all over your body, but it also spread between your legs. This was whenever he looked at you as if you were the most precious thing to ever exist.

You barely knew him, and yet every fiber of your being recognised him as if you’d been waiting your entire existence for this moment.

The rational part of your mind knew this was forbidden territory. Angels weren’t supposed to feel anything close to romantic attraction, let alone harbor feelings for demons—the very beings you were created to oppose. This was dangerous, reckless, potentially catastrophic.

But as you sat there in the moonlight, his warmth radiating toward you and his scent filling your senses, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

It felt too right to be wrong. Too perfect to be forbidden.

Too much like destiny to walk away from.

.˚ * ꒰ঌ ✧ ໒꒱ * ˚.

Days melted into weeks, and what had started as stolen moments became a beautiful routine.

Almost every day, you found yourself seeking out Jinu’s presence like a flower turning toward the sun. In the beginning, you’d always meet at your two sacred places-the rooftop where you'd first truly seen each other, or his favorite coffee shop where destiny had first intervened. But as your connection deepened, so did your courage to explore the city together.

Soon you were discovering hidden corners of Seoul side by side. You visited quiet bookshops tucked between bustling streets, met up in late-night convenience stores where you’d share ice cream and whispered confessions, secluded parks where cherry blossoms fell like snow around your intertwined fingers. Each new place became another chapter in your secret and blossoming love story.

It didn’t matter where you met anymore.

Whether it was a crowded subway platform or an empty riverside bench, as long as you were with him, your heart felt complete. His presence had become your home, your sanctuary, your piece of heaven on earth.

The warmth that had bloomed in your chest that first night on the rooftop had never faded.

If anything, it had grown into something magnificent and consuming—spreading through your veins like liquid starlight every time he smiled at you, every time his fingers accidentally brushed yours, every time your phone lit up with his name. Even the simplest text from him could make your entire being vibrate with joy, and the sound of his laughter had become your favorite melody.

You were falling, and you had never felt more alive.

You felt a pang of guilt. Angels weren't supposed to experience such emotions, especially not for a demon. Not for Jinu. Not for anyone at all. Yet, you found it impossible to resist. There was something captivating in the demon’s gaze that drew you in.

Your bright eyes and warm smile radiated friendliness, making you open to everything around you. Each time he playfully flirted, you would turn all flustered, and you would shyly look away.

To say that Jinu was completely and utterly falling for the shy angel would be the understatement of the century.

He reminded himself repeatedly that he shouldn’t let his guard down; his heart was softening for an angel. As a demon, he had spent over 400 years building his walls up. He would often feel like he didn’t deserve anything good to happen to him. Or that he was broken and deserved to live all eternity with this guilt. Yet, every time he gazed at you, those thoughts faded away. There was nothing dark about you. You were pure, far too good for someone as damaged and cursed as him.

Whatever connection you shared, Jinu eventually embraced it wholeheartedly. He enjoyed having you close, relishing the moments of touch, the warmth of hugs, and the intimacy of holding you tight. To him, you were his most cherished treasure.

The care and affection you shared for each other blossomed into something deeper. It blossomed into love for each other. You were in love with each other.

The care and quiet affection you shared slowly blossomed into something deeper—something tender, fierce, and undeniable. It blossomed into love. Real, soul-deep love. You were in love with each other.

.˚ * ꒰ঌ✦໒꒱ * ˚.

You found yourself caught in a reckless fever, heart fluttering like it belonged to Jinu—completely lovestruck.

You never thought you’d feel this way. You never wanted to. You had guarded your heart so carefully, kept the world at a distance to avoid the sting of heartbreak. And yet… here you were, letting someone in. And not just anyone: Jinu. Somehow, impossibly, you had fallen for him. And it wasn’t just a little. You found yourself absolutely and irrevocably charmed by Jinu.

Soft whispers passed between you like secrets shared in a sacred language only the two of you understood. His dark eyes would linger on yours with an intensity that made your pulse quicken, each stolen glance building toward something inevitable, something that felt written in the stars themselves—your first kiss.

It happened during one of those perfect spring evenings when the world seemed painted in gold. You were both perched on your beloved rooftop, the same place where you’d first revealed your true selves to each other, watching the sun begin its descent toward the horizon. The air was warm and sweet with the promise of summer, and Seoul spread out below you like a glittering tapestry.

Jinu had been telling you some ridiculous story about his bandmates, his animated gestures and theatrical expressions sending you into fits of laughter that bubbled up from your very soul. Your giggles were infectious, making him laugh even harder until you were both breathless and giddy, sitting close enough that your knees touched and your shoulders bumped with each wave of mirth.

“You’re such an idiot,” you said between breathless giggles, your shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter.

Jinu gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest as if you'd wounded him. “How dare you! I’m a *cute* idiot—you said so yourself not even ten minutes ago.”

“Hmm, I don’t recall saying any such thing,” you replied with theatrical thoughtfulness, tapping your chin while pretending to search your memory. Your eyes sparkled with mischief as you watched his expression shift.

“What?” Jinu’s jaw dropped in genuine shock this time. “Oh, that’s it!”

Before you could react, he lunged forward with his arms outstretched. Both of you were still perched on the rooftop, the beautiful warm evening shining as a beautiful backdrop, but all you could focus on was the playful glint in his eyes as his fingers found your sides.

“No, no, no!” you shrieked, dissolving into uncontrollable laughter as he tickled you mercilessly. You squirmed and wriggled, trying desperately to escape his grasp while gasping for air between giggles. “Stop! Jinu, please! I’m sorry—I was just teasing you!”

“Oh, now you remember?” he said with a mischievous grin, but his fingers finally stilled against your ribs. He huffed out a laugh, unable to keep up his mock-serious expression when faced with your flushed, tear-streaked face from laughing so hard.

“You’re terrible,” you panted, still catching your breath but unable to stop the residual giggles from bubbling up.

“And yet, you’re still here with me on this rooftop,” he pointed out with a smug smile, settling back beside you. The gentle breeze carried the sound of your shared laughter across the warm spring evening.

Jinu couldn’t help but stare at you as you continued to giggle softly, your joy absolutely infectious. The way your nose crinkled when you laughed, how your eyes practically disappeared into crescents—he was completely smitten. In moments like this, with your guard down and pure happiness radiating from every part of you, he felt like the luckiest being alive.

“Your laugh,” he said suddenly, his voice soft with wonder. “It’s like music. I could listen to it forever.”

The sweet confession made you pause mid-giggle, warmth blooming in your chest. Warmth and heat rose in your face as you looked at him. “You’re being cheesy now.”

“Maybe,” he admitted with a boyish grin, “but I’m still a cute idiot, right?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips. “The cutest,” you conceded, and the way his entire face lit up made your heart do little flips in your chest.

“I knew it!” he exclaimed triumphantly, pumping his fist in the air like he'd just won a great victory.

And there your laughter mingled with his once again, creating a perfect moment that felt like it could last forever.

As your laughter gradually faded into contented sighs, the sun painted the sky in brilliant strokes of amber and rose. You found yourself mesmerised by the beauty of it all— the way the light caught in the windows of distant buildings, how the world seemed to glow with ethereal warmth.

“It’s so beautiful, Jinu,” you breathed in awe, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” he murmured, his voice thick with something deeper than admiration. “She’s so beautiful.”

The reverence in his tone made you turn toward him, only to discover that he wasn’t looking at the sunset at all. His eyes were fixed entirely on you, drinking in every detail of your face as if he were trying to memorise you. The golden light cast a warm halo around both of you, making the moment feel almost divine.

Heat bloomed across your skin under his tender gaze, your heart beginning to race as he slowly shifted closer until your shoulders pressed together. The simple contact sent electricity through your entire being. His hands rose to frame your face with infinite gentleness, his thumbs tracing the curve of your cheeks as if you were made of something precious and fragile.

Your breath caught in your throat as his face drew closer to yours, the space between you charged with anticipation and desire. His eyes moved between yours and your lips in a rhythm that made your mouth go dry, made your entire world narrow to this single, perfect moment.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice full of wonder and affection, as if he couldn’t quite believe you were real. His thumb brushed across your lower lip, and then he was leaning down, closing the distance between you.

When his lips finally met yours, it was soft and deep and absolutely perfect-like coming home, like finding the missing piece of your soul, like every romantic story ever told suddenly making sense. The kiss tasted of forever and felt like falling into starlight.

You never wanted this feeling to end.

.˚ * ꒰ঌ ❤︎ ໒꒱ * ˚.

But paradise, as you would learn, was never meant to last.

Ever since that perfect evening when he’d first kissed you under the painted sky, you and Jinu began seeing each other less and less. The change was subtle at first—a cancelled coffee date here, a shortened phone call there—but it grew into something that gnawed at your heart like a persistent ache. You found yourself wondering if you'd done something wrong, if something had fundamentally changed in the way he felt about you.

The questions burned in your throat, but you could never quite voice them. Whenever you gently mentioned that you missed seeing him more often, Jinu would offer the same explanation with apologetic eyes: his busy schedule with the band, upcoming performances, endless rehearsals. You tried desperately to believe him, to convince yourself that it was just temporary, but something deep in your celestial intuition whispered that there was more to his distance than he was letting on.

What you didn’t know was that Jinu’s retreat from you was tearing him apart from the inside. He was acutely aware of every missed date, every shortened conversation, every time he saw your face fall when he made another excuse. But he couldn’t bear to tell you the truth about Gwi-ma’s plan for this world—couldn't bear to see the light in your eyes dim when you learned what he’d done, what he’d abandoned, what he was still bound to do.

The weight of his past felt like chains around his soul. He knew that if you discovered how he’d abandoned his own family, how he’d traded their lives for his freedom from torment, you would never look at him the same way. You were pure light, celestial goodness incarnate, and he was darkness masquerading as something worthy of your love.

He didn't deserve someone as precious as you. So he convinced himself that slowly retreating was an act of mercy, for both of you.

The evening everything changed, began like any other, until it didn't. The moment Jinu betrayed Rumi, revealing her secret in the most humiliating way possible, he felt something inside him shatter. It never felt good to crush someone’s spirit, but Gwi-ma’s hold on him left no room for mercy. This was the price of his freedom from endless torment, someone else’s pain.

Meanwhile, you were going about your evening when you noticed the sky beginning to shift. The usual soft pastels of twilight were giving way to something darker, more ominous—shades of deep pink and crimson that made your angelic senses scream in warning. The skies would never paint themselves in such colors naturally.

Your heart hammered against your ribs as you rushed through the crowded streets, following the surge of people all heading toward the massive stadium in the city center. You pushed through the throngs of concertgoers, your celestial instincts telling you that something catastrophic was about to unfold.

When you finally got through the stadium entrance, a song was beginning. The stage blazed with ethereal light as the Saja Boys stood in traditional dark robes, their gat casting shadows over their faces as they harmonized in a way that made your blood run cold. The sound was beautiful and terrifying, demonic in its perfection.

You gasped, pressing yourself against the back wall of the stadium, but you could see and hear everything with crystal clarity. The crowd swayed hypnotically, completely unaware of what was about to happen to them.

They were going to steal their souls.

Tears blurred your vision as you watched, your heart breaking into a thousand pieces. You’d known Jinu was a demon, but you’d hoped—prayed—that he could never be capable of something so monstrous. Yet there he was, his voice weaving the deadly spell that would consume thousands of innocent lives.

You stood frozen in shock throughout their entire performance, your body trembling as the full scope of the horror unfolded before you. When their song ended, another voice rang out near one of the entrances.

Rumi emerged, the crowd parting to make room for her arrival.

You remained paralysed as she and the other huntrix girls began their counter-performance, their voices pure and strong as they fought against the encroaching eternal flame that is Gwi-ma. Demons materialized from the shadows, and the girls cut them down with ruthless precision, their song never faltering even as chaos erupted around them.

Everything raged on until Gwi-ma's voice boomed across the stadium: “Your voices cannot defeat me!” A massive ball of fire erupted from his form, hurtling directly toward Rumi.

As Rumi struggled against the flames, your body moved of its own accord. Light exploded from your skin as you transformed into your true angelic form, wings unfurling as you shot toward the stage like a comet.

But then you saw him—Jinu, throwing himself between the fire and Rumi, sacrificing himself to save her.

“No!” The scream that tore from your throat was raw and desperate. You couldn’t lose him, not like this, not when you haven’t truly expressed how you felt about him.

Moving faster than lightning itself, you channeled every ounce of your celestial power to push back the flames. Tears streamed down your face as the fire finally dissipated, and you immediately wrapped your arms around Jinu's injured form, pouring your healing energy into him until his breathing steadied.

Without hesitation, you took flight, cradling him against your chest as you soared through the night sky. You didn't stop until you reached the balcony of your apartment, a place he’d never seen but that suddenly felt like the only safe haven in the world.

You carried him through the balcony doors into your bedroom, laying him gently on your bed as tears continued to cascade down your cheeks. His face was pale, his body marked with burns and bruises that made your heart clench with pain.

“I’m okay, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice hoarse but tender as he watched you cry.

But he wasn’t okay, you could see the damage written across his skin. Closing your eyes, you hovered your hands over his injured form, channeling every bit of healing power you possessed. Golden light flowed from your palms as you worked to mend his wounds, to take away his pain and make him whole again.

Jinu gasped softly as your power washed over him, his injuries fading under your celestial touch. When you finally felt him completely healed, when the last of his pain had ebbed away, your angelic form dissolved and you collapsed to the floor beside your bed.

Your cries wouldn’t stop—you were overwhelmed by everything that had happened, by the horror of what you’d witnessed, of what could’ve happened, by the knowledge that the man you loved had been capable of such darkness, and by the terrifying realisation that you’d almost lost him forever.

Jinu sat up on your bed, looking down at you as you fell apart before him. His heart shattered as he witnessed how broken and overwhelmed you looked, how the tears streamed down your face without mercy, as if they’d never stop.

He knew he was the reason for your pain, and the weight of that knowledge crushed him. He desperately wanted to fix it, to make things right. He was grateful that his angel had saved him, but now he needed to save his girl—to save what they had together.

Your cries echoed in the silence even after Jinu climbed down to sit beside you. Gently, he moved to wrap his arms around you, hoping to pull you into his lap, into the safety of his embrace.

You pulled away with a sharp flinch.

The moment you recoiled from his touch, Jinu’s heart plummeted. He watched, helpless, as you retreated further into yourself, building walls between you that felt insurmountable.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you finally whispered through your sobs, your voice raw and broken.

“What do you mean, my angel?” His voice trembled with barely contained fear.

“I can’t have a relationship with you when you keep hiding shit from me.” The words came out harsh, angry. You'd always tried not to curse, but you were beyond caring now. Were you still a real angel? After all, you'd fallen for a demon—a demon who kept secrets and had tried to destroy the world. “I can’t keep going if you’re going to hold me at arm’s length... I just can’t.”

Your sobs intensified as the words poured out. “I can’t be with someone who lies to me, who keeps me in the dark.” You didn’t care how devastated Jinu looked. You needed to release this pain from your heart. “I thought we trusted each other.”

“I do trust you—”

“Do you?” you interrupted, your voice cracking. “Because it doesn’t feel that way to me.” Your words came out in broken fragments between gasps. “Was our connection, our relationship, was any of it real?"

“Of course it was,” Jinu said with fierce conviction. “Everything between us was and is still real.”

“Then why—?” Your voice shattered completely, and you couldn't finish the question as fresh waves of grief overwhelmed you.

Jinu sat in the heavy silence, absorbing every word, every tear, every tremor in your voice. He understood now, you weren't just overwhelmed by recent events. You were drowning in the need for truth, for closeness, for the connection you’d thought you shared.

He’d been terrified to reveal his secrets, his past, deepest fears and feelings. But sitting here, watching you break apart, he realised he was even more terrified of losing you. He would do anything to keep you, to love you, to care for you and receive that same precious gift in return.

For the first time in what felt like hours, he couldn't hear Gwi-ma’s voice. A brief glance outside revealed the Honmoon sealed, its rainbow and golden hues glistening with renewed hope. For the first time in four centuries, he felt like he could truly breathe—like he could finally be himself without the weight of ancient curses crushing down on him.

He was going to tell you everything.

Jinu turned to face you fully, his eyes steady and filled with newfound resolve and understanding. “I’m going to tell you everything,” he promised, his voice thick with determined sincerity. “But first, I need you to know… I want to be here for you. I want to be present because you need me, because I care for you and because you deserve that.” His voice softened then, wrapping around you like a warm blanket and embrace. “I’m sorry I shut you out. It won’t happen again. You’re not alone in this, not in your feelings, not in your pain. I’m here for you. I’ve got you.”

The raw sincerity in his voice made your rigid body begin to soften. You’d been so certain he would retreat again, build those walls higher. But here he was, surprising you in the most beautiful way possible. His care, his presence… It meant everything.

He opened his arms slightly, a patient invitation. No pressure, no demands—just quiet understanding. Through your tears, your vision blurred and uncertain, you could still feel the gentle patience radiating from him with a certain warmth.

Slowly, carefully, you crawled into his lap, melting into him the moment you felt his solid presence. He enveloped you completely, his arms a sanctuary as one hand caressed your hair and the other traced soothing circles on your back. You cried into his chest, finally allowing yourself to be held, to be vulnerable in the safety of his affection.

After what felt like an eternity, your violent sobs gradually softened into gentle, shuddering breaths. You buried your face deeper into the crook of Jinu’s neck, finding solace in his familiar warmth. The demon pressed tender kisses against the crown of your head, each one a silent promise, while his hands continued their soothing caresses along your back and arms.

As your breathing finally steadied, you slowly lifted your head to meet his gaze. Your eyes were still glassy with tears, but there was something else there—patience, understanding, unconditional love. That look gave him the courage he’d been searching for.

With trembling hands still holding you close, Jinu began to unravel the threads of his past. His voice was barely above a whisper as he told you about abandoning his family four centuries ago, how that guilt had become a festering wound that never healed. Gwi-ma had weaponised that shame, using his memories and pain like puppet strings, making him dance to every cruel command. The humiliation, the feeling of worthlessness, it had all been carefully orchestrated.

He explained how he and the other Saja Boys had been molded into a K-pop facade, their true purpose hidden beneath the glittering surface: to hunt down the huntrix, destroy the Honmoon, and plunge the world into darkness. His voice cracked as he admitted the truth he’d been running from telling you.

“But the moment I met you,” he said, his eyes finding yours with desperate honesty, “I knew what I’d been trying to ignore all along. Everything I was doing was wrong. You made me remember who I used to be, who I wanted to be again.”

His breath hitched as he continued, “My shame, my doubt... it made me pull away from you. And Gwi-ma’s voice.. it was always there, whispering poison into my thoughts, making me believe I was nothing. That I didn’t deserve anything good. That I didn’t deserve you.”

As you listened, tears welled up in your eyes anew. You could feel his pain as if it were your own, each word cutting through your heart. The weight of everything he’d carried alone, the fear that had kept him from you, it was almost unbearable to imagine. But through it all, one truth remained crystal clear: you couldn’t stop loving him. Every fiber of your being told you that you were meant to find each other, that your souls were intrinsically connected.

You were soulmates.

You could feel his heart thundering against his chest, could see how his hands trembled as he laid his soul bare before you. Near the end of his confession, you reached for one of his shaking hands, interlacing your fingers with his and squeezing gently—a silent reassurance that you were there, that you weren’t going anywhere.

Jinu’s entire body seemed to melt at your touch, the tension flowing out of him like water. He knew then that he was safe with you, that his greatest fear wouldn’t come true.

As he finished speaking, you shifted in his lap, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him close to your body.

“Thank you for sharing everything with me,” you whispered against his ear, your breath warm and comforting. You nuzzled into the crook of his neck, and Jinu felt warmth spread through every inch of his being.

When you finally pulled back—reluctantly, and only just enough to see his face—your eyes were soft with understanding.

“I wish you had told me sooner,” you whispered with a small, tender smile, “but I’m so grateful you’re sharing everything with me now.” Your hands came up to cup his face, thumbs tracing the sharp lines of his cheekbones. “You’re so beautiful, Jinu. You’re everything and more to me. It doesn't matter that you’re flawed… we all are. You deserve love and peace just as much as anyone else.”

Your eyes shimmered with unshed tears as you gazed at him with such gentleness that it took his breath away.

The tears Jinu had been fighting finally broke free, streaming down his cheeks in silent rivers.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, his voice broken with emotion.

“Yes, you do,” you said with gentle but unwavering firmness. Without hesitation, you leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, a kiss that tasted of tears and promises and new beginnings.

As you started to pull away, Jinu immediately chased your lips, capturing them in a deeper kiss that spoke of desperation and love and gratitude all at once.

“God, I love you so much,” he whispered against your lips when you finally parted, his forehead resting against yours.

Fresh tears sprang to your eyes at his confession, your heart stopping for a moment before racing ahead. “Y-you? You l-love me?” you questioned, disbelief coloring your voice even as hope bloomed in your chest.

“Of course I do,” he said, his expression tender but serious, his eyes never leaving yours. “There's no one in this world—in any world—that I love more than you.”

“I love you too, Jinu,” you hiccuped through your tears, your voice thick with emotion. “So much.”

Without another word, you pulled him down to meet you, sealing your mutual confessions with a kiss that tasted like healing and home.

.˚ * ꒰ঌ♡໒꒱ * ˚.

Throughout the evening, neither of you could stop touching, holding, or kissing each other—like two souls trying to memorize every second. You remained curled up on the floor, nestled in his lap, lips moving languidly together in an unhurried rhythm that spoke of longing and tenderness. Every kiss deepened with time, slow and reverent, before turning more fervent—more hungry—as his hands began to explore your body through the barrier of your clothes.

Jinu kissed you with devotion, like you were something sacred. His fingers traced the curves of your form with awe, his lips pressing gentle, lingering kisses to your skin as though he were trying to worship every inch. You could feel your breath quicken as the heat between you bloomed, your body squirming instinctively in his lap, soft whimpers spilling from your lips.

One of his hands rose to your cheek, tilting your face toward his. You met his gaze, those deep, dark eyes made your whole body flush with warmth. There was so much emotion behind them, so much quiet intensity that it stole the breath from your lungs.

“It’s okay to stare,” he whispered with a teasing softness, a crooked smile playing on his lips. “I’m all yours now.”

His thumb brushed gently along your cheekbone. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, voice low and full of adoration.

Without another word, his lips found yours again, this time with less hesitation, more urgency. He kissed you like he needed you, like he couldn’t get close enough. One hand cradled your jaw delicately while his mouth moved against yours, your bottom lip caught between his in a kiss that sent sparks through your spine.

Thoughts scattered in your mind like fallen stars. All that existed was him—his scent, his touch, his breath against your skin.

You pressed yourself closer, arms sliding around his shoulders as you kissed him back with a desperation you didn’t know you had. Jinu’s lips moved to your cheek, then your jaw, and lower still pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses to your neck that made you gasp. Your hands tangled in his dark hair, fingertips lightly tugging, wordlessly begging him to keep going.

He lifted your chin, locking eyes with you as his lips claimed yours again, deeper this time, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with intoxicating precision. The air around you shifted, thick with emotion and unspoken want. His arms wrapped fully around you, one hand at your lower back, the other gently holding the curve of your waist.

You didn’t know it was possible to want someone this much.

A moan escaped you as Jinu dropped his head to your neck again, lips brushing against your sensitive skin, planting soft, claiming kisses. Your hands rested against his chest, feeling the heat of his body through his shirt, his steady heartbeat pulsing beneath your palms. You could feel the tension growing between your bodies, the way your hips instinctively shifted, seeking friction and closeness.

“Jinu—” you gasped as his mouth found a sensitive spot, his tongue soothing where he had just marked you.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his gaze heavy with need but still so full of affection. Then he leaned forward and kissed you again, this time slow, deep, and sweet.

“Your lips…” he breathed against your mouth, “they’re heavenly.”

Your mind was a haze, your heart pounding with a wild, dizzy rhythm. You had never felt anything like this before. It wasn’t just desire, it was love, pure and overwhelming. Everything about him, his voice, his touch, the way he held you, made your heart feel like it had found its home.

You let out a quiet whimper, unable to hide how your body ached for him, how your heart already belonged to him. You moved your hips against him instinctively, drawing a low groan from his throat.

His forehead pressed to yours as he caught his breath, brushing a strand of hair from your face before kissing the corner of your mouth.

“God, I need you so bad, baby,” he whispered, voice shaking with want.

Suddenly his hands grasped your hips, halting your movements. You whimpered as he held you back from rutting your clothed pussy against his crotch.

“Are you sure you want this?” He whispered, his voice sounding deeper.

“Y-yes, Jinu. Please.” You begged and shivered in his arms, breathless and trembling, desire pooling deep within you. You had no doubt now, no fear, no second thoughts. He was the only one who could make you feel this way. The only one who could touch your soul like this.

You were simply perfect. In every way. The expression on your face, the sounds you made, and how your body reacted to his touch captivated him. He was so in love with you, deeply enamored with something so pure and innocent, taking his time to corrupt you gently and lovingly.

Jinu gathered you into his arms with ease, holding you close as if you were something fragile and precious. Instinctively, your legs wrapped around his waist, your body drawn to his like gravity itself was pulling you together. The sudden loss of friction against your aching center left you whimpering softly, your hips shifting needily, grinding against the hardness beneath his clothes in search of more.

He let out a deep groan, his breath hitching as you moved against him, back and forth, slow and desperate. Even through the layers of fabric, you could feel the way he responded to you, the tension rippling through his body like a tightly wound string ready to snap.

With careful hands, he laid you down onto the soft comfort of your bed, his touch gentle as if he were laying down a treasure. He stepped back for just a moment, eyes drinking in the sight of you—the soft glow of your skin, the way your little white summer dress had ridden up your thighs, the delicate lace of your little thong now on full display. You looked like a dream, ethereal and divine, a vision made just for him.

“Fuck…” he whispered, as his gaze lingered on the way the damp fabric clung to your most sensitive parts. He gently spread your thighs apart, his breath catching at the sight.

“So wet already,” he murmured, more to himself than to you, his voice dark and full of awe.

His fingers reached out, barely brushing the soaked fabric. Even that small touch made you tremble, a soft whimper escaping you as your hips jerked involuntarily toward his hand.

Jinu’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, heavy with heat, but there was something else in them too—something tender, reverent.

“Has anyone ever touched you like this before?” he asked, his voice low and rough, tinged with something deeper. Possessive. Protective.

You shook your head, cheeks burning, unable to speak through the haze of sensation clouding your thoughts.

His thumb pressed on your clothed button, slow and purposeful. You gasped, the pressure sending another wave of warmth flooding through you, your body arching into his hand.

“No?” he asked again, a teasing edge in his voice now, though it remained soft. “No one’s ever made you feel like this?”

You let out a trembling breath, too flustered to meet his eyes. Your hands lifted to hide your face as you mumbled shyly, “No… never.”

Jinu stilled for a moment, the corners of his lips curling into a faint, knowing smile. Something in his chest tightened at your answer, part of him had suspected, but hearing the truth made his heart swell. You were untouched, unclaimed. And now, you were here, trembling beneath him, trusting him with something you’d never given anyone else.

He leaned down slowly, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh, just above the lace. You shivered at the contact, your fingers clenching the sheets.

“My sweet little angel,” he whispered against your skin, his voice now filled with something reverent and unshakable. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

He knew then he couldn’t rush this. He didn’t want to. You deserved to be worshipped, cherished—not just touched, but loved. And he wanted to be the one to show you everything, slowly, gently, with infinite patience.

With a breathless smile, he kissed his way up your inner thigh, his hands never leaving your skin. "I’ll take care of you,” he murmured. “I promise. Let me show you what it means to be loved.”

You whimpered softly, your body aching, your core clenching around nothing—yearning, desperate, begging for his touch. For him. The need built like a storm beneath your skin, hot and aching, and only he could calm it.

Jinu shifted, rising slowly as he moved to the foot of the bed. The low light kissed his skin as he shed his partly burned robe and clothes with quiet intention, his eyes never leaving yours. Every motion was unhurried—like he wanted you to feel every second of anticipation.

When he was left in just his dark boxers, your breath caught.

Your eyes were drawn downward—drawn to the thick outline of his cock, straining against the fabric. Your mouth went dry, and then immediately watered with want. Your body reacted instinctively, your thighs squeezing together, your slick heat pulsing with need.

But then, a flicker of nervousness danced in your chest as you looked at him—at all of him.

Your gaze lifted slowly back to his face, the man you loved beyond measure. And there he was, looking at you with a small, knowing smirk that only made the warmth in your cheeks burn hotter.

But then the teasing faded from his expression, replaced with something softer. Something tender.

“Don’t worry, sweet girl,” he murmured as he began crawling up the bed toward you, his voice laced with warmth and unshakable affection. “I’ll take my time with you. I’ll be gentle. I promise.”

His body hovered over yours, strong arms braced on either side of you, surrounding you with warmth and the scent of him. You reached for him instinctively, your hands exploring the planes of his back, the curve of his shoulders, the muscle beneath his skin.

“Jinu… I need you,” you whispered, your voice trembling as your fingers roamed his body.

A deep, guttural groan escaped him, and in the next moment, his mouth was on yours, urgent and burning. He kissed you like a man starved, like he’d been waiting a thousand years just to taste you. You whimpered against his lips as his hands caressed your thighs, slow and reverent, like he was savoring every inch of your skin.

Your mind swam in heat and emotion, lust clouding your thoughts, love tangling itself around every breath you took. You pressed your hips upward, moaning softly into his kiss—hoping, pleading for more.

He pulled back just enough to let out a low, teasing laugh. “Such a needy kitten…”

“Only for you,” you whispered, eyes wide and full of longing as you looked up at him. “Please… touch me.”

He smirked again, his hands continuing to wander over your trembling body. “I am touching you,” he murmured, feigning innocence as his fingers danced along your sides and traced the curve of your waist.

“Jinu,” you whined, voice sweet and desperate as you squirmed beneath him. “Please. I need you…”

His teasing gave way to something deeper, a gaze so full of love and hunger it made your heart stutter. He leaned in, brushing his lips against your temple before whispering, “You’ll have all of me, angel. Every inch. Every heartbeat. I’m yours.”

And the way he looked at you right then—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered—told you that he meant every word.

His thumb runs along your lower lip, tracing it slowly, his eyes lost in wonder. You watch him for a moment, the look in his eyes as he stares at his thumb moving on your lip. He’s looking at you like you’re the most extraordinary thing in the world, touching you so tenderly and with such gentleness, and you never want him to stop.

Jinu leans in then, slowly, watching you with intensity while he moves his other hand to come and cup your face. He leans in until his forehead touches yours, and you sigh softly as you enjoy the closeness again. The tip of his nose nuzzles yours, his warm breath kissing your lips, less than a few millimetres away now, and you move your thumb on his cheek, stroking his skin and making his eyes fall close as he lets out a relieved sigh.

Then, at last, he kissed you again.

The moment your lips met, something in you gave way. The kiss grew deeper, more heated with every passing second. Your hands threaded into his hair, fingers curling around the dark strands and tugging just enough to make him groan into your mouth. One of his hands trailed slowly up your thigh, making you tremble with anticipation.

Your whimpers came faster the closer his fingers crept toward where you needed him most. When they reached the band of your delicate thong and tugged, you let out a shaky, mewl.

Jinu couldn’t help himself. His fingers slipped the damp fabric aside, and he groaned low and rough when they met your soaked folds. His long, skilled digits stroked your slit slowly, purposefully, and you couldn’t stop the soft gasp that escaped you.

“Fuck…” he murmured against your lips, voice hoarse and full of awe. “You’re dripping, baby. All for me?”

You nodded quickly, overwhelmed with heat and need, your voice catching in your throat. “Y-yes… please…”

“What do you need, princess?” he whispered, teasing, even as his breath hitched at the way you writhed beneath him.

“Need more,” you breathed, arching your back and grinding your hips against his fingers, desperate for him to ease the ache inside you.

One of his fingers teased your entrance, rubbing slow circles around your pulsing heat. The slightest pressure from his fingertip had your body clenching, already trying to pull him in.

Your hips bucked as his finger finally slipped inside, and your head fell back with a helpless moan. But just as quickly, he pulled away, leaving you empty—and aching.

Tears welled in your eyes from the sudden loss, frustration bubbling up inside you as he chuckled darkly above you.

“Patience, kitten,” he murmured, brushing a kiss against your cheek.

“Please…” you whimpered, voice soft and pleading. You needed him—his touch, his warmth, him—more than anything.

“For an angel,” he groaned, eyes dark with desire, “you’re so needy. So desperate for me.”

You whimpered again, and his restraint finally snapped.

His hands gripped the hem of your little dress, fingers curling around the fabric as he pulled it up, taking his time. “I love it when you beg,” he whispered. “You’re such a good girl for me.”

He began kissing his way down your body, his mouth worshipping your skin with every pass—trailing heat along your chest, your ribs, your waist. The fabric slowly peeled away from your form, leaving your upper body bare to him. You trembled beneath his gaze, heart pounding as his eyes roamed every inch of you, unable to settle on just one place.

The way Jinu was looking at you, eyes filled with nothing but love and adoration, had you feeling so alive.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, voice full of something raw and reverent. “So beautiful…”

His hands slid over your hips, pulling you closer as he lowered himself down. His lips met your bare skin again, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses to your curves. His fingers traced over your thighs, over the lace of your thong, ghosting across the edges as if memorizing you by touch.

When his mouth returned to yours, the kiss was deeper this time—hungry, passionate, and full of the longing he could no longer hold back. Your hands clutched at him, and you felt yourself slowly, deliciously unraveling.

His fingers traced lightly around the band of your underwear, teasing, tempting, promising. Every movement was slow, deliberate—meant to savor, not to rush. And you wanted nothing more than to let him take his time.

Because this wasn’t just lust. This was love.

And tonight, he was going to show you how both could intertwine.

You don’t know what to do with your hands. They’re trembling so much, and your core is, too, as he begins mouthing along your collarbone with affection.

“You’re so ethereal,” Jinu whispered, voice thick with awe, as his lips traced reverent paths across your exposed skin.

Your bare chests pressed together, skin against skin, heat blooming between your bodies like fire beneath the surface. Your breath hitched as you gazed up at him, your wide eyes locking onto his face while he continued to press slow, damp kisses across your collarbone and shoulders—each one stealing another piece of your breath.

His large hands slid down your sides, resting at the delicate curve where your waist met your hips. He held you there, firm and grounding, as his lips journeyed lower. You trembled when you felt the soft brush of his nose skimming the swell of your breast, his warm breath fanning across sensitive skin. A whimper slipped from your throat, your body responding before your mind could catch up.

Then Jinu stilled.

He leaned down and pressed the softest kiss to the side of your breast—tender, unhurried—before lifting his head to meet your gaze. His forearms rested on either side of you, bracketing your body protectively. Your heart pounded, and he could feel it.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice low and careful, the intimacy in his tone wrapping around you like silk.

You nodded, breath shaky, but he didn’t move, not yet.

“I need more than that, angel,” he said gently, one hand coming up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin with care. “If we’re going to go any further, I need you to talk to me. I need your voice. Think you can do that for me?”

You stared into his eyes—so dark, so full of love—and something inside you softened. The way he held you, the way he saw you, made the fear melt into warmth. You nodded again, this time with more purpose.

“Sorry,” you whispered, barely audible. “Y-Yes, Jinu… I can do that.”

His expression lit with quiet pride, and his lips curved into a soft smile.

“Good girl,” he murmured, the words sending shivers down your spine. The praise felt like sunlight in your chest.

He pressed another kiss to your chest, then continued lower, letting his lips trail gently through the valley between your breasts. Each kiss was feather-light, full of unspoken devotion. Your hands curled into the sheets beneath you as your eyes fluttered shut, heart racing.

“And if you want me to stop…” His voice was rough now, strained with restraint. “You tell me. Right away. No hesitation, okay?”

“Yes,” you breathed, barely able to form words through the heat pooling low in your belly. “I understand, Jinu.”

His mouth hovered just above your skin, breath hot and heavy. “Good,” he whispered.

He breathes in through his nose as he inhales your scent and you shiver when he exhales warmly through his mouth and onto your nipple. “Fuck, baby, you’re so beautiful.”

Then, he wraps his lips around one nipple, teeth just skimming your skin as he sucks and licks with passion.

“Jiiinuuu,” you mewl as you try to grind your hips against something, your cunt seeking friction.

“Good?” he quips back, peering up at you as his mouth curls into a Cheshire Cat smile. You feel your skin flush with heat as you just stare down at him. Lust is written all over your face and he has no trouble reading your expression. So he resumes licking, long, lavishing licks with the flat of his tongue over your pebbled nipple as a hand goes up to squeeze your other breast.

You take it upon yourself to bring the hand that’s squeezing your breast, guiding it down to your heat. As his fingers slip underneath the band of your underwear, down to where you need him the most, his mouth falls open to unleash a loud groan onto your nipple as his fingers slip between your wet lips.

Heat overwhelms you as Jinu litters soft kisses down your chest. Your hands find his head, running your fingers through his dark hair as his mouth continues to wander all over your naked skin.

Jinu’s lips move slowly down your body, kissing every little place he can find on your skin while his hands trace along.

He then leans forward, breathing in your core and running his nose along the patch of dampness. You pull at his hair as he inhales your scent. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he hums as he looks up at you with a dark smile, his hands leave your skin to curl his fingers into the waistband of your panties. “You smell so good. Can’t wait to taste you.”

A shuddering breath leaves your lips as you lift your hips instinctively allowing him to take off your underwear. Once he pushes your legs wide for him, you whimper as the air hits your wet slit. He takes a moment as his eyes take over you, your glistening centre clenching around nothing as he continues to stare at your wet hole.

Jinu licked his lips slowly, his eyes dark and full of reverence as he lowered himself between your thighs. His warm breath danced over your skin before his mouth followed, pressing slow, lingering kisses to the inside of your thighs—licking, sucking, worshipping.

Each touch was purposeful, tender, but it left you trembling. He was so close to where you needed him most, yet still teasingly far away, making the ache within you pulse stronger.

“So pretty…” he murmured against your skin, his voice like velvet.

With gentle hands, he lifted your legs and draped them over his shoulders, positioning you perfectly. Your breath hitched as you watched him settle between your thighs, eyes never leaving yours—dark, intense, and full of want.

You were about to plead, already breathless and aching, when his lips finally brushed against your soaked folds. You gasped, your body jolting as he nuzzled into you, his mouth slowly parting your lips, smearing your slick across his kiss-bruised lips.

Then came the first stroke of his tongue—slow, deliberate, devastating.

You moaned aloud, back arching, hips twitching beneath his touch. The sensation was overwhelming, electric, as his tongue moved expertly, tasting you like he’d waited lifetimes just for this moment. You squirmed at the contact, hands fisting in the sheets, barely able to think through the pleasure building between your legs.

But just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, he pulled back, and a whimper of protest left your lips.

Only for him to return with his fingers.

His hands were so careful, so steady, as he used one to spread you open, exposing your most sensitive parts to his hungry gaze. He groaned low in his throat at the sight of you—wet, trembling, and completely undone beneath him.

“Look at you,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. “So wet for me…”

He slid one long, slender finger inside you, and your body reacted instantly, tightening around him, gasping at the sudden fullness. You moaned into the pillow beside you, your hips shifting instinctively toward his touch.

But his voice stopped you.

“Don’t you dare silence yourself,” Jinu growled, the gravel in his tone sending shivers down your spine. “I want to hear every sound you make. Every single one.”

Your answering whimper only seemed to encourage him.

He watched with fascination as your body clenched around his finger, the way your slick walls gripped him tightly—desperate, needy. His jaw tensed, his desire etched into every part of him.

“Fuck,” he breathed, eyes locked on the way your body responded to him. “Such a tight, perfect little pussy…”

He leaned in again, lips brushing the inside of your thigh as he whispered, “Can’t wait to feel this pretty cunt wrapped around my cock.”

Your breath caught at his words, they were vulgar, yes, but said with such raw admiration, such unrestrained desire, that it made your entire body throb in response.

Your little mewls grew louder, rising with the waves of pleasure that began crashing through you. You could barely breathe through it—through him. The way his fingers moved inside you made your mind go blank. They were thicker, longer, stronger than your own—just one of his felt better than anything you’d ever given yourself.

Your body trembled, clenching around his finger with a desperation that only made you ache more. Your hips began to move instinctively, grinding down against his hand, seeking out more of the pressure, more of him. Jinu moaned low in his throat, the sound thick with desire as he watched you come undone beneath him.

His eyes roamed your body hungrily, unable to settle on one place. The way your lashes fluttered, your parted lips, your flustered chest—he wanted to memorize every part of you. You were breathtaking like this. Writhing. Wanting. His.

You were panting now, lost in the haze of pleasure. And then you gasped, his fingers returning, slipping two more inside your heat. The stretch made you whimper, your tight walls fluttering around the sudden fullness. It was overwhelming, but it was perfect.

“Shh… you’re doing so good for me,” he murmured, his voice low and ragged.

He moved slowly at first, letting you adjust to the added pressure, curling and spreading his fingers inside you as your body began to rock with his rhythm. Every motion, every delicious drag of his fingers left you gasping, trembling, your hands flying to his hair and gripping tight.

Jinu leaned in then, and your lips found his again. He kissed you hard, pouring every ounce of his desire into the way his mouth moved with yours. You moaned into him, helpless against the tide of pleasure crashing through your body as he swallowed every sound you made, like he needed to feel you, taste you, consume you.

Your hips moved in sync with the push of his fingers, and he curled them just right, just enough to make you see stars behind your fluttering lashes. His tongue slipped between your lips, claiming your mouth with slow, searing intimacy.

“That feels good, doesn’t it, kitten?” he rasped, pulling back just slightly to breathe the words against your lips. His thumb slid up, brushing gently over your clit.

You cried out, your hips jerking beneath him. You nodded, breathless—but he wasn’t satisfied with that.

“Use your words, angel,” he whispered, voice laced with heat and command.

“Y-Yes,” you moaned, hands shaking against his skin. “Please, Jinu—please, it feels… it feels so good.”

A groan vibrated in his chest at your response, and his mouth found your body again—kissing lower, slower, with growing hunger. His lips ghosted over your ribs, your stomach, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

And still, his fingers never stopped.

You whimpered softly, unable to contain the way your body quivered with every motion, your hips twitching as he continued to work you open with aching tenderness.

His mouth reached your hips, and you felt your breath catch in your throat, your body already begging for more—silently, helplessly, reverently. Your hands tangled tighter in his hair as he looked up at you from between your thighs, eyes dark, full of love and hunger all at once.

He hadn’t even taken you yet, and still—You had never felt so desired. So adored. So completely his.

Jinu breathed you in the moment he leaned forward, your scent thick in the air—sweet, intoxicating, entirely you. His lips parted, wetting them slowly, as his eyes lifted to meet yours with a smoldering kind of reverence. And then, without hesitation, his head dipped between your thighs.

His warm tongue dragged a deliberate, aching stripe up your folds—slow and firm, stopping only once he reached your sensitive clit.

“Ah—Jinu!” you gasped, hips jolting clean off the mattress as the sensation surged through you.

A chorus of helpless, breathy sounds escaped you—soft whines and broken moans that spilled freely from your throat. Your hips stuttered beneath him, chasing every flick of his tongue like it was the only thing tethering you to earth.

And Jinu? He just sighed contentedly, like he’d found heaven between your thighs. Like this—you—was all he’d ever need. His hands gripped your hips tenderly but firmly, one holding you down to keep you from writhing too far out of reach, the other still buried between your legs, fingers pumping slowly, expertly, curling upward with each thrust.

Your voice dissolved into fragments of his name, repeated over and over in a dazed, breathless chant. A prayer. Your eyes squeezed shut, tears threatening as the pleasure mounted. His tongue flicked and licked over your clit with unrelenting attention, and all the while, his fingers kept moving inside you, finding that spongy, devastating spot deep within.

The tension in your abdomen grew sharper, tighter, each wave stronger than the last. His lips wrapped around your clit again, sucking gently but purposefully, and that coil inside you twisted nearly painfully with how close you were to coming undone.

“A-ah—too much!” you squeaked, voice strangled and thick with desperation. “T-too—Jinu, I—I can’t—”

“Easy, angel,” he murmured, pausing only long enough to press a soft, soothing kiss to your trembling thigh. His fingers stilled inside you, holding you carefully as he looked up, his expression full of mischief and something achingly tender.

“Jinu… baby,” you mumbled into the pillow, your voice muffled and shaky.

“I know,” he cooed, brushing his hand along your hip. “I’ve got you, my sweet girl. It’s a lot, I know… Can I keep going?”

You nodded faintly, then forced yourself to find your voice. “Y-Yeah. Just—just give me a second…”

He smiled, that warm, knowing kind of smile that made your heart ache. “I’ll wait forever for you.”

But the moment didn’t stretch for long and neither of you wanted it to. The seconds apart felt like hours, a kind of torturous pause, until Jinu finally leaned down again.

This time, his tongue slipped between your folds with renewed tenderness, lapping upward in a slow, deliberate motion until it found your clit again. You sighed—high-pitched, broken—at the exact moment he did, his deep, dreamy exhale warming your skin.

Jinu began to lap at you again, this time more carefully. His fingers moved inside you in a slow, steady rhythm, no longer pushing too hard but coaxing you, gently building you back up with a lover’s patience.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, barely able to hold yourself together. Your trembling fingers tangled in his hair, while your other hand covered your mouth, trying—but failing—to contain your cries.

“Fuck… ahhh… d-daddy…”

Jinu groaned deep against you, the word catching him by surprise—but clearly affecting him. His lips sealed more firmly around your clit, sucking in time with the steady pulse of his fingers.

“Fucking hell,” he growled into your heat, voice ragged and full of awe. “You taste like heaven. You feel so perfect. You’re everything.”

The intensity, the praise, the intimacy, it was all too much, and yet, not nearly enough. With every word and every stroke of his tongue, he wasn’t just making love to your body.

He was worshipping it.

“Jinu, oh my fucking— god,” you cry out loud. He sucks lazily at your clit while he curls his fingers into you. Jinu eventually sucks harder on your clit, still occasionally swirling his tongue around your little bud while moving his fingers inside you a bit faster. You keep chanting his name between moans as you now hold onto his hair with both of your hands.

You gasp loudly as your whole body trembles even more, the hot feeling continues to spread all over your body, your body tingling, your hips moving at their own accord against Jinu’s hand and face. Then your body tenses as you come against his mouth. Your whole mind feels like exploding and all you can see is stars. You feel so overwhelmed by the amount of pleasure and emotions you are experiencing. Your body is still trembling as you feel yourself come down from your high.

“You’re doing so well for me baby,” he says proudly as his fingers slow down, slipping out of you to rub your slit softly, while he continues to lick your clit, still helping you ride out your orgasm.

You are a sputtering mess while he teeters you towards overstimulation.

As you come back to your senses, you feel his fingers slip away from your heat. Your pussy clenches repeatedly around nothing, you feel like a hot storm and you’re sopping wet from the waist down and dripping down the poor sheets, as you whimper helplessly.

You need him so bad. Your pussy continues to pulse, begging to be filled all over again. Begging for his cock.

“Taste so good angel, I could eat this pussy all day.” He said as he licked his lips and fingers.

Jinu slowly made his way back up your trembling body, his warmth following the path of his kisses as he climbed. Every brush of his lips was tender—worshipful—as if he was stitching the pieces of your soul back together with each soft press.

When he reached your face, he didn’t rush. He lingered, planting delicate kisses along your jaw, then your cheeks, before nuzzling his nose against yours with a quiet breath of laughter. You giggled, light and breathless, your heart fluttering in your chest.

His lips touched your forehead next, then your temple, your nose—every inch kissed with love before finally settling on your mouth. He kissed you slowly, smiling against your lips, the both of you laughing quietly between each kiss like two lovers tangled in a dream.

It was sweet. Intimate. A moment you never wanted to end.

He pulls away with a satisfied sigh, he smiles as he reaches to touch the side of your neck, tracing his fingertips up and down.

You sigh as you melt at the feel of his touch and kiss his thumb as it comes to trace across your lips. You wrap your still shaky legs around his hips as you stare into his eyes.

“I need you, Jinu… I’m ready,” you whispered, voice breathless but steady.

His gaze searched your face, his touch soft as ever. “Are you sure?” he asked quietly, his voice holding the kind of tenderness that made your heart ache.

You nodded with certainty, lifting your hand to gently cup his cheek. “Yes.”

Still, Jinu lingered, his concern for you shining in his eyes. “We can stop at any time, angel. If it becomes too much… you just say the word.”

That sincerity—so deep and unshakable—only made you fall harder.

Your fingers reached up to trace his face, your eyes softening. “I know,” you said with a small, teary smile. “I’m nervous… but I don’t want to stop. Not with you.”

His eyes softened even more, if possible. “Angel,” he murmured, thumb brushing your cheek, “I just want you to feel safe. And I need you to know, if you change your mind at any point—tonight, or ever—I’ll still adore you. Nothing could change that.”

Tears stung your eyes at his words. They felt like a warm blanket wrapped around your entire being. You’d never felt more cherished, more seen, more loved.

There was no one else on this universe you trusted more than Jinu. He wasn’t just a demon. He was your safe place. Your heart.

Swallowing the lump forming in your throat, you brought your other hand up to cradle both sides of his face. He leaned into your touch, his deep, brown eyes never leaving yours.

“I want this with you,” you whispered. “I trust you… and I love you with everything I am.”

Jinu’s expression melted, shifting into something so full of awe, so reverent, you swore it reached your soul. He looked at you like you were divine—sacred. As if you were something holy he was afraid to break, but so desperate to hold.

Your cheeks flushed under his gaze, but the warmth it brought made the nerves fade just a little more.

He leaned in slowly, lips brushing yours with such gentleness you could cry. The kiss deepened, soft and full of emotion, as one of his hands cradled your face like you were the most fragile, precious thing in existence. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his hips, pulling him closer until you could feel the full weight of him pressing against your center, straining through the thin fabric of his boxers.

Your breath hitched.

Driven by instinct and longing, your hands slid from his cheeks, down the strong lines of his chest and over the taut muscles of his abdomen. Your fingers trembled slightly as they slipped under the waistband of his boxers. You hesitated only a moment before tugging gently.

Jinu’s breath caught. His gaze locked with yours again, reverent and patient. He leaned back just enough to discard the last barrier between you. The moment stretched, quiet and full of anticipation, as he finally rid himself of his boxers and tossed them aside.

Your eyes widened.

He was beautiful—breathtaking. Long and thick, perfectly shaped, and hard for you. The sight of him sent a wave of heat rolling through your body, tightening deep in your core. The thought of him inside you, filling you, had your thighs trembling.

But the nerves returned, lingering.

Jinu noticed immediately. He always did.

He moved closer, lips brushing over yours again, then your cheek, your jaw. His voice was soft, laced with the gentlest amusement. “What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours, hm?”

You blinked up at him, flustered. “H-how… how will that fit?” you whispered, cheeks blazing.

He laughed softly—warm and affectionate, no mocking—and your pout only made his smile grow.

“I promise,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over your cheek, “it will fit. I’ll take my time with you, angel. You don’t need to worry.” He kissed you again, slower this time, reassuring, grounding. “We’ll go as slow as you need. I’ve got you.”

And in that moment, wrapped in his voice, his touch, his love—you believed him. You knew he meant every word.

Jinu settled himself between your thighs, his body blanketing yours, the warmth of his skin making your own burn with anticipation. You felt him at your entrance, thick and heavy, teasing the place where your need pulsed strongest. He rested his forehead gently against yours, his eyes searching, asking silently for permission one last time.

You smiled and kissed him, soft and breathless, your hips rising instinctively to meet his. “I love you,” you whispered, voice trembling with affection and desire.

His gaze glowed with a warmth that rivaled the stars. “I love you more,” he murmured, brushing his lips over yours in a kiss so gentle it made your chest ache.

The two of you kiss languidly for a moment, treasuring the heat of each other's bodies as your lips slot together with ease, but soon enough the kisses became deeper, and hands started to grip tighter and legs tangled together.

He held his length in his hands as he kept rubbing the head of his cock from your entrance, up to your clit, circling until you squirmed underneath him, and back down. Jinu loved the sounds you made as he spread his precum around your slit, where you were still dripping for him.

The thought of him finally entering you with his cock made you wetter and turned you even more on. Jinu swallowed your whines with his lips against yours, his hips rolling with yours. He kissed you full with fervour, his grip on you intensifying heatedly.

You were trembling against him, full of anticipation. His body covered your whole body with his. You writhe against him, wishing he was just in you already and filling you up and making you see white.

“I’ll try to go slow, okay, angel?” Your demon lover says before leaning back down to kiss your lips again, he reaches down and grasps himself to line up between your lips and slide. He is rubbing the tip firmly over your slit and your mind is all over the place.

“P-please, Jinu,” you stuttered, your body trembled even more underneath him. “P-put it in, please?”

He rubbed himself up and down your slit for a while longer before he moved his dick teasingly around your core. You arched your back slightly and whined loudly out of frustration.

“Relax sweet girl,” he whispered against your mouth.

You whimpered in anticipation as his forehead touched yours. He nudged the tip of him against your hole, still slick with arousal. Your legs trembled underneath him, a mix of nerves and excitement. Once he notched himself inside of you, a gasp elicited from the both of you.

You knew it was just the tip of him, but you couldn’t help but feel the stretch already. Jinu slid in so slowly it was agonising. He was careful, like he was afraid you might break. You let out a long broken whine as he gradually pushed more of him inside you. He was so big.

You tangled your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling slightly as you whined underneath him. He panted along with you, his warm breath fanning over your face while he kept his forehead pressed against yours. The stretch stung, but his pace kept it bearable. He guided himself a centimetre further, then another, another, until you were digging your nails into his scalp, a gasp spilling from your lips.

His hips stilled instantly once he heard the pained noises falling from your lips. Tears began to prickle at your waterline, a combination of discomfort and the overwhelming feelings coursing through you.

“Doing so good for me baby,” he praised as he peppered your face with soft kisses. “You’re doing amazing.”

“Please,” you whimpered as your eyes fluttered close.

He continued to move almost painfully slow, letting you adjust to every centimetre of him. After a couple of seconds you were able to relax more into it. You whimpered, clutching his shoulders at the stretch, the heat in your abdomen grew as your walls fluttered around him, pleasure beginning to bloom in your stomach.

“Such a good girl,” he grunted softly. You think there isn’t a possibility to get more wet but as he utters those words you feel your heat get even more wet.

Once he bottomed out, a soft gasp slipped past your lips as his tip kissed your cervix. The tears that lingered at your eyes fell freely down your cheeks. You felt so full and relieved as he stilled against you. Your walls involuntarily fluttered around him, getting used to his size. Jinu’s soft lips were on your forehead, leaving soft kisses and whispering sweet nothings and words of encouragement.

You took your time, letting the moment wash over you like a slow, rolling tide. When you finally opened your eyes, blinking through the heady haze, Jinu was already looking down at you, his expression clouded with concern.

“I’m fine,” you whispered between shallow breaths, giving him a small, reassuring nod. “It’s just… a lot.”

And it was. The way he filled you—completely, utterly—made you feel like your body had been waiting for this moment, for him. Like he had been carved by the universe to fit only you. The sensation wasn’t just overwhelming—it was otherworldly. You swore you could see stars behind your eyes, constellations drawn in the shape of his name.

You shifted slightly beneath him, adjusting, and your body instinctively clenched around him. A low groan rumbled from his chest, and you caught the flicker of restraint in his features—the way his brow furrowed, the tension in his jaw. He was holding back for you.

“Jinu,” you breathed, reaching up with a trembling hand to brush the curls from his forehead, your fingers lingering in his hair. “You can move.”

His eyes locked onto yours, and something in him softened. There was devotion there. Worship. Love.

When you gave the slightest tilt of your hips, inviting him in further, his restraint cracked—just a little—and he moaned your name like a prayer. His lips parted as he wet them, and then, slowly, he began to move.

His thrusts were deep, slow, and deliberate—like he wanted you to feel every inch of him, every breath between each connection. He never pulled back too far, never rushed. Just the rhythmic rock of his hips against yours, grounding you both in the moment.

The initial sting began to melt away, like ice thawing under the sun, giving way to something softer… warmer. You sighed, breath catching in your throat as pleasure bloomed gradually inside you, slow and bright. He watched every reaction on your face, his hands holding your hips, his body covering yours with reverent care.

“Jinu,” you whimpered, your fingers curling around the back of his neck.

Slowly, you were getting used to his girth, anticipating it every time he pulled out of you before moving forward again. Your legs were splayed open on either side of his hips as he grind his cock into you. The angle was so good, gradually he picked up his pace, leaving you a whimpering mess underneath him. As Jinu fucked into you in languid strokes, the sound of slick skin was being heard in the room.

Every time he thrust into you, his pelvic bone dragged along your throbbing clit, making you cry out his name in pure ecstasy.

“You’re doing so well for me, sweet girl,” he whispered against your skin, his voice husky and warm. “Taking me perfectly.”

Soft grunts fell from Jinu’s lips whenever he hit a specific deep spot inside you. You whimpered as his lips moved back up to your lips, enveloping them in a heated kiss. His hand found its way between your bodies to gently circle over your sensitive clit.

At a certain point you felt him slide into a pressure point in your core, coupled with the way his fingers circled your clit, it had you clenching like a vise around his dick. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head from the pleasure he was providing you. The whimpers that fell from your lips became higher pitched as he picked up his pace.

“Feeling good kitten?” He moaned, as his lips curled into a soft smile while he couldn’t help but admire the way your face contorted in pure pleasure. Too overwhelmed by the new experience. Filth and praise continued to come out of his mouth as he fucked you. “This pussy was made for me.”

His mouth captured yours in a desperate kiss, swallowing every soft whimper and breathless moan you gave him. The world around you blurred—reduced to nothing but the sound of your mingled breaths and the electricity sparking between your bodies. That familiar tightness coiled low in your belly again, growing tighter with every careful thrust and whispered touch.

Your whimpers, gasps of pleasure and pants increased as ecstasy and warmth overwhelmed your senses.

Jinu’s hands were everywhere, grasping, caressing, exploring as if he still couldn’t believe you were real. His palms skimmed your hips, your waist, your spine like he was trying to memorise every curve, every inch of your warmth.

The rhythm of his body against yours grew more urgent, his movements more focused. He could feel it, that you're on the edge, and he adjusted his hips slightly, searching for the perfect angle that would blow your mind. When he found it, the sound you made had his breath catching in his throat.

Your legs locked around his waist as the wave built, and your arms wrapped tighter around him, trembling from the sheer intensity. Your nails dug gently into his back, and he groaned at the feeling—at the knowledge that you were falling apart for him, and only him.

The pressure in your belly burned white-hot now, every nerve ending lit aflame, every second bringing you closer to unraveling completely beneath him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, cursing under his breath when you purposefully tightened your walls around him. “Bet you’d look even prettier with my cum inside your pussy. All full and messy.”

“Please…” you moaned as you thought about him filling you up. “Please Jinu, baby, fill this pussy up.”

He grunts as he buried his face into your neck as he fucked into you, making the whole bed rattle at his force.

“You want to cum sweetheart?”

You nodded frantically at his words while your eyes fluttered close as you bit your bottom lip harshly. You were bucking up beneath him, nails digging into his skin even more as his hand moved back to your clit as another came to intertwine your hands together, pinning them to the bed. He rubbed your clit with enough pressure to ensure you’d cum around him.

“Cum for me, angel.” Jinu demanded softly.

And when he finally nudged against that spot inside you coupled with his deep voice–your body broke into waves of pleasure, trembling violently as your climax crashed through you like a storm, all heat and chaos and light. His name tore from your lips, wild and raw, before his mouth found yours again—urgent and tender—swallowing every sob, every gasped breath, as if he needed your pleasure like oxygen. Your head lolled back, your back arching violently as you twist and contort in pleasure underneath him.

Jinu groaned in your ear as your walls spasmed and pulsed around his cock, begging him to cum inside, desperate for him to fill you up the way he promised.

“Fuck,” he moaned, pushing himself up as he thrust deeper into you, the head of his cock hitting your sweet spot repeatedly. “You want me to fill this pussy up? Make it all messy?”

You were still in a daze but you were still able to understand him so you nodded vigorously at his words, whining even more at the sensitivity. Your pussy squeezed around his cock in anticipation. “Please…”

He moved his hips sloppily before he groaned loudly, as he finally came inside you. The warmth of his seed filled you up and spread within your walls. You whimpered at the feel of his cum dripping out of you once he pulled out.

It was a blurry haze when you came back to your senses, your whole body was aching whilst simultaneously feeling the most relaxed you've ever been, equally as exhausted as it was energised, and you didn’t bother trying to question why. Just pure contentment.

Once both of you caught your breaths, Jinu pressed his forehead against yours before kissing you tenderly.

“That was…” He breathed, smiling tiredly at the complete dopey mess he had made of you; hair all over the place and eyes lidded heavily, heated skin glowing and your lips looked swollen from all the kisses you’ve both shared.

“Oh yeah, that was everything.” Your voice came out hoarsed, still recovering from the height and volume it had gone, and you cleared your throat gently before you smiled up at him.

Your skin was damp with sweat, sticking softly to his, but Jinu didn’t seem to care in the slightest. If anything, he only pulled you closer, like the thought of distance between your bodies was unbearable. His hands roamed slowly, reverently—gliding over your sides, your back, your arms—touching you as if he was still in awe, still stunned by how beautiful you looked falling apart beneath him… all because of him.

You looked up at him, completely overwhelmed with love, with wonder, with something impossibly soft blooming in your chest. Both of your hands came up to cup his cheeks, your thumbs brushing gently over his flushed skin. Then you pulled him down into another kiss—slow, warm, and full of emotion. A kiss that said everything you couldn’t quite put into words.

He smiled against your lips before pulling back just enough to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. “We have to clean you up,” he mumbled, his voice low and slightly hoarse as his fingers trailed gently down your sides, making you shiver and close your eyes in blissful exhaustion.

“Later,” you murmured with a whine, already sinking into the post-lovemaking haze. “I’m tired.”

Jinu chuckled quietly, the sound low and fond. In one swift movement, he slipped his arms beneath you and lifted you into the air, drawing a surprised yelp from your lips.

“Up you go,” he said, smirking as your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck.

You opened your mouth to protest—something about being perfectly capable of walking to the bathroom—but the soreness settling into your legs betrayed you. The moment you shifted, a dull ache pulsed through your body, and your words died on your tongue.

He raised a brow knowingly as he looked down at you with amusement. “Thought so,” he said with a wink, holding you like you weighed nothing and walking toward the bathroom with you nestled safely in his arms.

He reached the bathroom and gently set you down on the edge of the bathtub, his hands lingering on your waist as he leaned forward to turn on the water. To your surprise, he grabbed a familiar container and dropped your favourite bath bomb into the filling tub. The fizzy swirl of scent and colour blossomed through the water, and a smile curled on your lips as you watched it bubble. The fact that he knew which one you loved most tugged sweetly at your heart.

Once the bath was warm and the water had risen just enough, Jinu turned off the tap and stepped toward you again. Without a word, he scooped you back up into his arms and carefully lowered you into the tub. You let out a soft sigh as the warmth of the bath enveloped your tired body, relaxing your sore muscles and calming every last nerve.

You leaned your head back, eyes fluttering closed as you soaked in the comfort and tranquility.

“Jinu?” you called softly, hoping he hadn’t left.

“Yes, my princess?” he answered immediately, voice gentle.

Your eyes opened to find him still beside you, sitting at the edge of the tub. You reached toward him with a timid smile. “Can you... please join me?”

Jinu’s lips quirked into a mischievous smile. “Of course, my angel,” he said as he rose to his feet.

You scooted toward the center of the tub, making room for him behind you. He stepped in carefully, the water rippling with each motion, and then slid in beside you. Almost instantly, his arms wrapped around your middle, pulling you back into his chest.

You sighed contentedly, melting against him as you rested your head on his shoulder.

“I love you,” he whispered near your ear, pressing a trail of featherlight kisses along your neck. His voice was low and sincere, like a sacred vow only meant for you.

A soft, blissful smile played on your lips. You shifted slightly, snuggling even closer to him in the warm water, letting your bare bodies press together under the bubbles. Your legs tangled effortlessly with his, and for a moment the world faded away, leaving only his breath, his warmth, and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“I love you too,” you whispered back.

And that was how the rest of the night passed—wrapped up in each other, in soft touches and lazy kisses, the quiet intimacy of shared space and tender silence. In his embrace, you felt safe, adored, and deeply, utterly at home.

Jinu caught your heart, so effortlessly, as if it had always belonged to him. Promising to hold onto it forever.

thank you for reading <3

[mydeist]

🜼 ⋆ as if the car ride wasn’t filthy enough, freak choso’s now got his fingers buried deep in you with the whole friend group just feet away.

you can feel the fire on your face, warm and flickering, but all the heat’s behind you.

not from the campfire—the one everyone’s gathered around, cross-legged on woven mats and camp chairs, passing around cheap wine in tin mugs, laughing too loud at inside jokes that barely land. the heat you’re feeling is the kind that pulses at your core, spreads up your spine, and makes your thighs twitch just to keep still.

because choso’s behind you, thighs spread wide, legs caging you in like a trap—and he’s got his hand buried under the hem of your sweatshorts. fingers inside your panties. slow. deep. moving like he’s got all night and no shame.

you’re sitting in his lap like it’s innocent. like you’re cold and he’s being generous. but your face is too flushed for that, and your breath’s too shallow, and choso’s mouth is right at your ear when he speaks.

“breathe through it,” he whispers, and his voice is thick, almost drunk-sounding. not on alcohol—on you. “don’t let your legs close, sweetheart. let me feel all of it.”

you suck in a shaky breath, pretending to sip from your cup as you nod along to something someone said. you can barely hear them now. it’s all distant, muffled by the thump of your heartbeat in your ears. because choso’s fingers are slow and deep—hooking up every time he pushes back inside, hitting that sweet spot with the kind of precision that says this isn’t his first time making you struggle to stay silent.

he’s not trying to make you come. not yet. this is about control. about power. about watching you twitch in his lap while he presses his middle and ring fingers deep and curls them just so, dragging against your walls, slick sounds muted only by the crackle of the fire and the chatter around you.

you try to shift, but his free hand wraps around your thigh, holding you down—thumb pressing into your inner thigh, skin-to-skin, reminding you exactly who’s in charge.

“don’t squirm,” he says, soft but firm. “you’ll make a mess on the seat.”

his raspy voice makes your pussy clench, hard.

he feels it. laughs under his breath. his lips drag over your ear, breath hot, voice dipping lower.

“god, you’re soaking for me,” he murmurs, almost reverent. “this little pussy loves the risk, huh? you wanna get caught?”

you shake your head, chest rising too fast—but your cunt tells a different story. you’re dripping, panties plastered to your folds, his fingers pumping into you slow but firm, just enough pressure to make your stomach tense, your thighs start to shake.

and he knows. he fucking knows.

you try to breathe evenly, try to pretend like the stretch of his fingers doesn’t make your walls flutter, like you’re not aching for more, like you’re not already clenching every time he says good girl under his breath.

“if i spread these fingers, wanna see how messy you get?” he whispers. “gonna have you leaking all over my hand, and no one will even notice.”

you want to cry. you want to moan. you want to grind back against his palm until it makes a mess so obscene someone has to notice. you want the humiliation. the thrill. the heat.

instead, you nod again. obedient. mouth closed. eyes wide and glassy and full of need.

choso grins. it’s lazy, cocky, filthy. his hand shifts. his palm presses against your clit, fingers still deep inside you, rubbing slow circles like he wants to break you with just two fingers and a mean whisper.

“you take it so well,” he mutters, jaw against your temple. “pussy’s fuckin’ squeezing me. like you’re trying to suck me in.”

your legs jerk and he tightens his hold—his arm now looping around your waist, pulling you closer until you’re damn near molded to his chest. he’s rock hard behind you. you can feel it—thick and heavy and pressed against your ass—but he doesn’t even try to grind. doesn’t need to. this is about you. about watching you squirm and shake and drip while you pretend you’re not five seconds from soaking his entire fucking hand.

you’re right on the edge now—vision hazy, cunt tight, hips twitching in tiny, shameful little thrusts you can’t stop. your stomach’s tensed, thighs trembling, eyes glossy. you need it. and he hears that need in your breath. feels it in the way you arch, the way your walls grip, the way your whole body silently begs him.

his hand rises. not the one inside you—the other. it ghosts over your throat. gentle. careful. until his thumb and fingers rest along your jaw, tilting your face toward the fire again like he’s redirecting your focus.

“smile, baby,” he murmurs. “they’re lookin’.”

you blink. your lashes flutter. and when your eyes finally land on your friend across the fire, they wave at you—like nothing’s wrong. like you’re not sitting on choso’s cock with his fingers deep in your soaked little pussy.

you force a smile. small. tight. trembling.

he licks your neck.

and then he hooks his fingers deep, presses down on your clit, and says: “good girl. now come.”

and you do. silently. violently. your cunt clamps down, soaking his fingers, whole body twitching as you shiver in his lap—legs locked, jaw clenched, eyes wet with the effort of not screaming. your orgasm hits like a wave, crashing into you so hard it punches the breath out of your chest. you convulse once, twice—and choso’s got you. whispering praise. licking his lips. rocking his hand just enough to fuck you through it without letting up.

you slump forward, dizzy, thighs slick, brain gone.

and he just wipes his hand on your inner thigh, leans in again, and hums:

“y’did so well.”

[mydeist]

fav caleb xia fics bc im a lover girl ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

art is by 绝世西瓜 (xhs id 117998996) ˚ . ⊹ ⋆

im a certified baby apple girl Ok i know what i like & whats good so i will kindly share these to the world!! this is for my caleb lovers and pseudocest enjoyers

psa i refer to caleb w nicknames like colonel silly / silly / apple boy etc !! in case ur confused lol ,, ♡ are my absolute favs !! ,,

(,,>﹏<,,) ao3 fics

sugar pit by knightjpg

9.6k words, pseudo-incest, more sex leaning, angry angsty mc at caleb & colonel silly cant bring himself to get angry (i love him)

rotary devotion by kirketeer ♡

35.1k words, very poetry esque, my kind of devotion (aka kinda scary type!!! wanting to live in his skin, being near him/skin touching not being enough etc), sooo angsty from silly’s pov, dont read this if u dont want to be hit with an intense amount of sadness and worry (affectionately)

he ain’t heavy (he’s my—) by kirketeer ♡

8.3k, REALLY poetry esque (so my fav fic by default!), dunno how to explain but the metaphors towards caleb & reader being synonyms + antonyms is making my head spin, dynamic is sooo sweet! kirketeer is a rly good world builder so ure immediately in it all the way (which i love)

the taste of a forbidden fruit (i offer you my heart, bruised and bitten) series by luvl3ss ,, my favs below

> ikaw lang: 1k words, caleb is still caleb, reminds me of this one quote abt how loving someone is having to grieve every version of them :’)

> extra thin!: 0.5k words, apple slicing prefs, really short but its just as sweet as that first bite of a perfect apple slice :P

origin: sine qua non series by tinylethologica ,, favs below

> footprints underneath a pulse storm ♡ 11.111 words (i HAD TO !!! its perfect), based off his deceptive solitude card ^__^ aka the gun cleaning one w the towel barely hanging on around his waist and his v line showing mmmmfffppjhhhh, dynamic is so good they banter SO YUMMILY, caleb and reader being panty sniffers i know thats right!, the sex is a bit milder — it focuses more on dialogue and thats exactly my kind of smut i love it so bad, also um um gun play Nods head. sucking the gun … him fucking reader w the gun uh huh okay that says enough right

> calomel in libation: 4.1k words, caleb knows u better than anyone else (even urself), he eats u out, kinda crazy how he just knows that reader needs to be eaten out after all the stress…. ugh such husband material wheres the ring!!

drive you insane by soarinapple

10.4k words, IM SHAKING omgomgomg SPANKING fic!!!!!! oh hell yeah, he spanks her she counts and thanks him and it goes on sooo long u almost feel it on your bum too </3 oh i wish that was me, aftercare scenes included too ! its so good

(..◜ᴗ◝..) tumblr fics

quick psa i read more incestuous things / heavy topics here so be warned! pls ignore or dont interact if u dont like <3

my love, my alibi by prettyboykatsuki

23.3k words, pseudocest (HEAVY. if u dont like it dont interact!!), im gonna be so real rn and just say this has to be my fav fic w the incestuous theme cause this is just ALL about that dynamic between them. growing up together but the lines blur as you grow up and suddenly someone youve always seen as ur brother is hot and u realise he takes care of you more than a brother should, caleb knows u but also. not? idk all i remember is that him cumming in you felt more romantic than it should be

spilled sweetness by piroulinewafers

2k words, pseucocest (heavy), watersports!!!!!!! this is piss focused lol!!! he checks ur bladder thru ur meow meow..... (yummy), kinda crazy kinda not . its kinky for sure esp w the pseudocest theme ...

drabbles by piroulinewafers

> married reader & caleb + jealousy (from reader) 2.4k words

> vv submissive reader & the sweeeeeetest dom caleb ever. he takes care of u when u cant do it urself 1.5k words

drabble (1) by yukinohiko

0.3k words, caleb faking his amnesia (hes so silly), reader/mc being a freak ofcourse and immediately taking advantage of it LOL but the dialogue is the most important part of this fic!!!, analogies of their love bla bla bla, gege & meimei use <3

drabble (2) by yukinohiko ♡

0.5k words, apple boy just loves you so much. it doesnt matter if u hate him or get angry hes so patient sobs, baby (reader) doesnt mean it!!!! she gets so sad when she realises what she did, gege usage, very sweet reader shes so cute in this...

the colonel's saint (part 2 of the colonel's keeper) by saintobio

9.8k words, im not even gonna sugarcoat it part one made me so uncomfy after reading it cause it was GUTWRENCHING in the best way possible!!!!!, the writing was superb but the entire situation made me feel so icky... i cant reread it like i usually do but i could w the second part!!! reader kinda gets her redemption, the last bits were so bittersweet im happy but also not

so fucking domestic by kutepik

1.2k words, hes so cuuuuteeee!!!!! theyre both cute icl, sex whenever and wherever in the house is soo domestic, just very adorbs im gonna eat them Both

[mydeist]

zayne x non-mc!fem reader -- married, but you worry it's only because mc (emcee) had left and was never sure on when she'd return. six years later, emcee moves back to linkon, and you feel your worst nightmares start to fester. self-indulgent angst (tw: miscommunication) wc: 3.2k

In a fantasy-like dreamscape, with petals painted in hues of ivory and rouge, you amble down the concrete trail that loops around the park.

You ignore the feeling of being out of place – after all, you’re still in your work blouse, skirt, and heels that are very impractical for a long walk. But in your numbing haze and cloudy mind, you’re welcome to any ache and sore that could keep you grounded to this forsaken planet. The music from your earbuds rings with melancholic songs from some movie soundtrack, though coincidental and fitting for the situation at hand. Eyes glassed over, steps slow and laborious, and shoulders slumped, you walk defeated.

A gust of wind releases the petals from their branches and blooms, a flurry scattering into the open air before flitting, twisting, turning, and gradually falling to the ground beneath your feet. They make you remember a happier time, one that seems to be a waste after all these years. When you look towards the sky, you recall a similar view when you were snug in a wedding dress while making your way down an aisle, your lips curved in a smile as onlookers threw white rose petals into the air. But when you tilt your head down to look in front of you, there is no man in a tailored, pressed suit waiting for you.

He settled by marrying you, a faint whisper reminds you in the back of your mind. You did this to yourself.

Perhaps you did.

There was always the chance that she would come back – you had always dreaded the day, but Zayne was adamant that there was nothing to worry about. He had moved on, and he loved you. There was nothing you needed to fix about yourself, he insisted. He loved you for who you were, and you were grateful – grateful that he still thought of you late at night when stuck in emergency surgeries, that he would buy you pastries anytime he visited the bakery, that he would welcome you into his office during lunch breaks when you had time to step away from your desk.

You were happy to be on his arm at awards and annual galas. You would bask in the moments when you would come out in a new dress and he wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off you. “You look beautiful,” he would say with reverence and adoration, and it was those moments that led you astray from your worries and insecurities. He chose you, and you could tell he didn’t regret choosing you.

That didn’t change until after a few months she returned.

The reason she had been gone for so long was because she had been transferred indefinitely to a remote city that had a massive shortage of Hunters and way too many Wanderers to deal with. From the get go, she had been advised to officially move out of her apartment and was even given a stipend to help with relocation costs. It was for a good cause, and she had always wanted to travel and see the world. Zayne, in all his infinite charity and kindness, made sure to discuss every detail possible with her new physician that would be looking after her and her heart condition. He even went as far as having her sign a release of information to him specifically so that he could access her records remotely.

You understood. Really, you did. She had even made it out to the wedding and stayed afterward to help with cleanup efforts.

But after her return, the more you fell asleep in and woke up to an empty bed, the less sleep you were getting.

How do I bring this up without sounding like a clingy partner? You had wracked your brain for weeks. Zayne was stressed enough as it was, and you really didn’t want to add to it. You had vowed to be the solid ground beneath his feet – to support and keep him stabilized – and not the storm that could topple him over.

But it was so hard.

Fewer texts, fewer check-in’s, fewer notes left behind reminding you of the little things. Fewer reminders that he was ever a tenant in this house – much less, your husband.

Zayne ran on a routine and schedule, but so much spontaneity happens in his daily life that he probably wouldn’t mind a surprise visit for lunch from you. You had picked up his favorite lunch set from the cafe down the street, as well as one for you, and walked towards the hospital. Familiar nurses and doctors greeted you as you did them, quick hello’s and slight nods of the heads. Yvonne recognized you without missing a beat and flashed you a small, but tired smile.

“Long day already?” you softly asked when you stopped at her station.

“Unfortunately, but nothing uncommon,” she joked before taking a look at the brown paper bag in your hand. “Good timing actually, he’s in his office and is free for the next 30 minutes. Dr. Grayson is in there, but it shouldn’t be a big deal.”

“Thank you,” you said in a grateful tone and smiled before rounding the corner to your husband’s office.

You slowed and softened your steps to minimize the noise from your heels, wanting to maintain the element of surprise. From down the hall, you could see that his door was cracked open just the slightest, both his and Dr. Grayson’s voices muffled but much clearer once you were in front of it. Just as you were about to push it open, you heard her name and froze.

“--she comes by a lot.”

You heard Zayne reply, “It’s been good catching up with her and being able to check on her condition. Her doctor from her time away should’ve done a better job, but at least nothing major happened.”

“I haven’t seen your wife in a while. More often than not, I’d see her here on your lunch breaks, but it feels like forever.”

Keyboard clicks fill the brief silence. “She’s been busy.”

Have you now?

“You know,” Dr. Grayson starts before pausing. “Wasn’t Emcee your first love or something like that?”

The keyboard clicks stop. “Why do you ask?”

You could hear the shrug in Dr. Grayson’s voice. “I just wonder if anything has changed now that she’s back permanently.”

“...I don’t follow.”

“Do you think anything would’ve happened between you and her had she stayed six years ago?”

A beat passes. Two. Four.

“Perhaps, but there’s no point in dwelling on the what-if’s.”

Your heart sank.

In the very next second, the panic began to course through you, your heartbeat dangerously high. You had a moment of clarity – a miracle, honestly – to step out of your heels and let them hang from your fingers as you walked back to where Yvonne was at a brisk pace. Hospital floor, dust, and infections be damned. Otherwise, the clacking of your heels would’ve alerted them, and that was the last thing you needed. All you thought of in that moment was the need to get out, away from this hospital, away from your husband.

Yvonne had no time to question your sudden return – she hadn’t expected to see you again for at least another 30 minutes – before you set the bag in front of you.

“They seem to be having a really important conversation,” you started, clenching your fists to stop the tremble in your body and trying to maintain a calm voice. “C-can I just leave this here for you to give to him later?”

“Yes, of course,” Yvonne said, picking the bag up to put behind her. Her tone was agreeable, but you could practically feel her confusion between the syllables. “But are you sure you don’t want to wait? Dr. Grayson should be out in a few minutes, if that’s the case.”

“Oh, uhh, I actually just got a text from my boss,” you lied and held up your phone, though it was still a dark screen. “He needs a document at the last minute, so I have to head back anyways. Thank you though!”

With a quick wave goodbye, you left Yvonne no chance to respond and disappeared towards the elevator. Every second that passed was too long, and you almost tripped while trying to slip your heels back on. Your steps were shaky, your frame shuttering with each step, and you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. You should be stronger than this. You should be strong enough to hold yourself together and make it home before you absolutely break and burst at the seams.

Your hands wrung together as the elevator descended towards the ground floor at a snail’s pace. Luckily you were the only one in the compartment, so as soon as the doors had opened, you bolted out of there like someone was chasing you. And in a way, something was chasing you – one of your worst nightmares: the realization that Zayne felt he had no choice but to settle for you.

You crossed the lobby as fast as you could, blinders on and narrowed to nothing but the main doors. They couldn’t slide open fast enough for you, but it granted you a second to call your boss.

“Yes, (Y/N)?”

“I know this is really sudden, and you know I never do this, but I really, really need to take the afternoon off,” you begged, words rolling off your tongue a mile a minute.

“Is everything okay?”

“Not really,” you said with all the bluntness in the universe before you could say anything better. “But it’ll be fine, I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

“Very well. Call me if you need help with anything.”

“Thank you so much. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good night.”

“See you tomorrow, and you, too.”

Your thumb jabbed the ‘end call’ button as you stared at the street. Where should you go? What should you do? Do you go home?

And that’s how you ended up here, at the park, the skin on the back of your heels chafed horribly, and your brain at a complete loss of what to do now. You haven’t even cried yet because you were still in a state of shock, disassociation.

Aimless, unaware, and lost, you continue your endless journey and are unable to find it in yourself to even sit on one of the many park benches stationed around the path. Because if you sat, you would cry. And if you cry, you would think. And if you think, you would spiral. You would spiral down the black hole of questioning every single thing Zayne has ever done with you, if Zayne ever truly loved you.

Something in the universe says you’re not ready for that yet.

Your phone vibrates from your purse. You take it out with limp hands, slowly and unsure in every way possible, your heart pounding against your chest, as you read the notification on your lock screen.

Husband 💙:

Thank you for lunch. I’m sorry we couldn’t eat together.

Your feet scream in agony as you increase your pace in the direction of the main road. They were probably bleeding at this point, but that was an issue for another time. You flag down a taxi as soon as one appears, and you ask the driver to take you to that 24 hour bookstore-slash-library with the comfy chairs and a cafe attached to it. After all, if you couldn’t stand to be in this world, at least you could escape to another for a little bit of time.

Husband 💙:

Yvonne said you had some type of work emergency. Is everything okay?

-

Several hours passed, in which you were able to acquire a couple of bandaids and alcohol wiping pads, nibble on a biscotti, and dive into a book that you had been putting off for months. Unwillingly, you hear your phone vibrate in your purse. Based on the pattern alone, you know it’s Zayne calling. During your years of dating, you had assigned custom vibrations and ringtones for him and him only. That way, no matter what, you would know it was him calling without having to look at the screen. If this were a normal situation and a normal day, you would’ve picked up without missing a beat. Unfortunately, today has been anything but normal.

You press one of the volume buttons to stop it from vibrating, though his contact information is still splashed across the screen. Your infinite wisdom advises you to let the call run, make him think that you were simply too busy to pick up. Again, an ultra rare occurrence, but not impossible. Your phone screen switches back to your lock screen with a notification of a missed call, and you watch it with wary eyes to see if there would be any follow-up.

There is one in the form of a text.

Bzz-bzz. Make that two.

Husband 💙:

I called to see if you wanted to have dinner together. But as soon as it went to voicemail, we had an emergency surgery come up.

Are you evil to think that the universe has kindly granted you more time to not talk to your husband? It would be appalling to be thankful that someone was hurt enough to warrant an emergency surgery that required your husband’s skills, therefore buying you more time to get your shit together. Diabolical and heartless, someone would probably describe you.

Husband 💙:

Won’t be home til late. Don’t wait up.

But you could only be in a blouse and skirt for so long, and as much as you want to spend the night here, it’s time for you to go home.

At 11PM, there is still no other text or call from Zayne. The house is empty and quiet, much to your relief. His shoes are nowhere to be seen on the shoe rack, so you must be safe. You should have enough time to change, brush your teeth, go to bed, and either actually fall asleep or pretend to be asleep when he eventually makes it home. His messages have been left unread, his call not returned. Once you’re ready for bed and tucked under the covers, the exhaustion of everything pulls you into a deep sleep in record time.

-

You’re practically dead to the world when Zayne comes home, slinking in like a thief in the night. He knows you’re usually asleep at this time, and he doesn’t want to wake you. Perhaps it’s his imagination, but in the few minutes that he can see you, you seem more tired, more haggard. It seems like you’ve lost a little weight, too, but he just doesn’t have the time to ask more about it. All the things that were changing seemed like it’d be best to have a sitdown conversation on a day off, but he’s been so bogged down by work and the return of Emcee that a day off seemed impossible.

As he slips his shoes off, he glances at your heels positioned astray from the shoe rack. The work emergency must have been bad for you to leave them that way. It takes nothing to bring them together and put them away himself, but then his eyes catch onto something that makes him freeze.

Why in the world is there that much blood on the back of your heels?

Were you hurt?

What happened that made you walk around so much to the point that you would let yourself bleed without any attempt to cover them up, or at least put a bandaid over them?

Why would you neglect yourself like that?

Had you already been bleeding when you dropped off his lunch? And if you had, why hadn’t anyone noticed, much less done anything about it?

The bedroom door creaks the slightest bit when he pushes it open, the force behind his fingertips so soft, so afraid to wake you. His eyes cannot help but travel to the foot of the bed where one of your feet sticks out. A small sense of relief fills his chest when he spots the bandaid stuck to the back of your left heel. The closer he gets to you, the more he sees that the bandaid wasn’t applied carefully enough based on the gap between the cotton pad and your wound. Gently, he lifts the blanket up to get a look at your other foot. A matching bandaid is present on your right heel. But at second glance, any relief he had felt disappears into thin air.

He sees the faint indentations of where the leather of your high heels had dug into your skin, a subtle arch decorating the space at the base of your toes. The beginnings of blisters have formed on the side of a few of them as well. It’s no secret to anyone how worn out they seem, that they’ve seen a harder day than usual today. He doesn’t know the cause, and he doesn’t understand why you didn’t even tell him. Zayne fishes his phone out of his pocket and stares at the empty lock screen, showing that you had never responded to his earlier messages. That, in and of itself, was already highly unusual.

He shifts the blanket back over your feet, making sure to cover them both before retreating into their bathroom. Brushing his teeth, rinsing his hair under the sink faucet, and washing his face all feel so mechanical as his mind refuses to turn off, the growing worry spreading like spilled cabernet on a white tablecloth. As he slides into bed, he suddenly feels like a stranger in his own home – like he’s not supposed to be here, to consider this bed as his safe space.

He’ll ask you in the morning, Zayne decides as he falls into a fitful sleep. No surgeries had been scheduled for the morning, which meant he could finally wake up with you for the first time in months. You two would get ready together – you’d tie his tie, he’d help dry the ends of your wet hair fresh out of the shower, you’d pack his lunch, he’d make sure that you leave with a fresh coffee in hand – a routine he has learned to love. The thought of that helps him settle into the sheets, and they feel soft and familiar again. Yes, everything would be fine.

But Zayyne gets a call an hour before your alarm goes off, and is, once again, robbed of one of his most cherished routines. He can’t help but look at your heels again as he slips into his dress shoes. They must be a sign of something to come, something that he may need to be afraid of. He’s not ready for what that may be, but inside, he knows that there’s a countdown.

Zayne doesn’t want to think about the stakes, or the fact that his first prediction – fresh horror and torture – is you leaving him. He cannot let it happen.

[mydeist]

maybe a turtle

— Kyros thinks his papa is a ghost, but he's not afraid. Wherever Sylus runs, his son will always follow.

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: it's kyros's turn!! sylus & kyros!! >0< just wanna say thank you so much for all the love and enthusiasm youve been showing the little twins. theyre so so fun to write about, and im glad there are people out there who enjoy reading about them too. i hope you enjoy this one! ❀-urs

important heads up for context of this story: kyros is (my headcanon) 1/2 of sylus's twin boys. also around 4 years in this one! ᡣ𐭩 read kyros's twin's chapter here ᡣ𐭩

sylus & kyros | sylus x reader | angst, fluff, comfort, sylus's son showing him that there will always be people missing him, dad!sylus, mom!reader

Kyros is scarily quiet. With everyone’s world so bustling and busy, he is often overlooked when he is just standing there. Walking so slowly, his footfalls were silent on tile and carpet. Each step is planted on the ground with care and patience.

Dark crimson eyes open for observing rather than knowing. Still trying to learn the earth beneath his feet and taking his sweet, mellow time with its wonders. 

In his world: his brother Lucian is a fluttering bird, always moving, above the ground, and looming larger than his size. Coming down to make sure to tell Kyros all he sees. 

His big brothers Kieran and Luke are music, loud and harmonious. Bounding around him when they play, moving him and carrying him like a melody. Making him feel an immense joy knowing they are around. 

His mama is apple juice, sweet and comforting. Arms ready to take him in her embrace and sprinkle kisses over his cheeks like the sparkling bubbles in his sippy cup. Kind eyes and a pretty smile, enough to calm big feelings in his little heart. Make him feel safe.

And his papa is a ghost. 

Papa’s presence is carefully threaded into the tapestry of his day. When his eyes open, Sylus is already there to lift him out of his crib for breakfast. When he waddles up to his papa’s bedroom or office door, without so much as a knock, Sylus is already opening it and lifting Kyros up in his embrace. When he’s out of the house— papa’s music plays in the study, papa’s food is in the fridge, papa’s scent is on the couch. 

But papa has been busier these past few days, leaving early in the morning, returning too late at night for Kyros to run up to him at the door anymore. Although Sylus never leaves without sneaking into his bedroom to say goodbye with a kiss on his pudgy cheek or his hair, Kyros just thinks he’s hiding somewhere he cannot reach. 

And each day, he feels that absence. 

For the past few days, he’s asked, “Mama, where papa goes?” 

And mama says the same thing, “On a mission, angel.” 

So he pads over to the couch, on papa’s spot and waits. He wanders by his dizzy-spinning-CD’s and listens to his music. He nibbles on the cookies and crumbs he left in the meantime. Until he comes back. Until Kyros can find him again. 

Papa is a ghost and Kyros is constantly trying to catch him. 

But Sylus isn’t running away. So when he is caught, he submits to the whims of his little hunter.

“Got you.” Sylus startles at the voice. It was too late in the night for anyone in his family to be up still on a quiet weekend. He’d just gotten home from a mission across cities, ones that left his neck with a crick and his head aching with the incompetence of the people he was with. 

So it was a surprise to find Kyros out of the blue, in the dead of night, waddling into the study. Soon, he is climbing up on Sylus’s lap, slowly grabbing a crease in his shirt, hauling his body up the legs, and wriggling to right himself to sit upright. Wedging himself between his papa and his papa’s work. 

“Hello, Kyros.” Sylus says, lips already drawn to his head in a tender kiss. “‘Got’ me?” 

Kyros clasps his hands together, clapping like he was catching a bug. “Like dis.” 

“Mm.” Sylus pushes away from the desk and curls his arms around his son’s body, unconsciously drawing him against his belly. “Papa is a mosquito?” 

Kyros smiles a little, releases a breezy little giggle like wind chimes on a warm summer day. “No. Papa not mosquito.” 

Sylus’s heart flutters at the sound. “Then why did you catch me—“ he imitates the catching with one large hand. “—like this?” 

Kyros lingers on the metaphor a little longer. Watching his own hands open and close, distracted by how they move. Sylus notices and imitates the movement with him while he waits for a response. 

Finally, it comes when Sylus closes his hand around Kyros’s little fingers, drawing him back to the conversation. “Gotcha.” 

Kyros laughs again, prying large fingers off his hand and then patting them. Sylus asks again, wriggling his fingers over his happy, squeezed-crescent eyes. “Why did you catch me, angel?” 

Kyros catches his hand and hugs it to his chest. His tone is patient, like how you would explain how soup is meant to be cooled down before you slurp, but with the hint of you should know obviousness. “Is i’cause you quick, papa.”

“I’m quick.” Sylus nods, affirming his ideas. “Papa has long legs.” 

“I haves tiny-tiny legs.” Kyros runs with the thought. “And i’cause Kyros is slow.”

Sylus’s lips quirk. “Slow? My Kyros?” 

“A-huh. Like turtle.” he’s moving again, small hands petting against Sylus’s chest, head bobbing side to side to imitate a turtle’s scooting on the sand. 

“I see.” Sylus has seen you read the boys that book before bedtime. Lucian asked all the questions and acted out all the running. Kyros always just sat there and blinked like he was downloading your voice. “And is papa the hare?” 

He thinks a little, looking up at Sylus like he was picturing him with big ears and buck teeth. He shakes his head at the image. “No, papa is papa.”

“Ah,” Sylus tilts his head, considering. “I mean, is papa like the hare? Fast?” 

Kyros nods then, getting the semantics now. “Papa like’a hare. And— and like a horse. And a race car. And flyin' ‘Pisto.” 

Sylus chuckles something sincere, finds rest in his son’s voice listing the many fast things he is like. His presence was a calm rush of fresh water over his aching bones. It doesn’t even cross his mind that he snuck out of his bedroom past his bedtime. He just listens, breathes him in, grateful. For being a tether to follow back home from being someone other than papa. 

He’s here, he promises, he’s listening. Despite the way his arms begin to slacken around Kyros’s body. Despite the way his eyes droop slowly, and the voice he listens to sounds like it’s wandering further down a tunnel he cannot see the end to. Slowly being engulfed by the crackling fire in its hearth. He takes a deep breath, he’s listening… so close to sleep— 

“… and leave Kyros behind.” Ice runs through his veins. 

Bleary eyed, but alert, he blinks at Kyros in confusion. “What… what was that, Kyros?” 

Kyros is already staring up when he peers down. There’s a look on his face that resembles when he is about to get in trouble. He’d heard the tone of Sylus’s voice, and if his children are anything they are incredibly perceptive. 

So Sylus breathes, meets him where he was and tries again. “You think papa leaves you behind?” 

The look of guilt on Kyros’s face remains as he nods. He doesn’t know just why he feels bad for telling Sylus the truth, only feels that something has changed. The quiet isn’t so warm anymore, and papa is taking careful breathing breaths like he does when he’s a little scared. 

And Sylus slips, fall headfirst down a mudslide of his own painful thoughts. Suddenly, every moment with Kyros leading up to now is a focal point— why did he stay awake until he got back? why would he say these things if he did not feel it so strongly? why would he look so sad, so betrayed at the thought if it weren’t true? 

And the truth— Sylus is so used to being a shadow if not the wind, of smoke and feathers, of disappearing without notice, of leaving no crumbs to follow. Of being alone. 

Even after all these years, he still fails to remember that he is no longer who he was. No longer a beast in isolation, no longer a monster that is feared. 

Now, he is a partner, a father. And the people who look for him aren’t always trying to kill him. And the people who witness his absence do not celebrate it, but miss his presence. 

The people who need him now need him not for his wealth or his power or his influence— they just need him. To be present, to be loving, to be here.

And now he knows, he is told, that he might be failing at that too. He opens his mouth to speak— apologize, explain, fix, something—but Kyros beats him to it. 

“Papa,” Kyros says carefully. He’s sensed the turmoil. The way papa, again, has disappeared despite being here in front of him. He rises to his knees, reaching up to plant his hands on Sylus’s cheeks— just as mama does— and ushers him back. “Papa, wait for me.” 

Sylus is thrown another blow to the gut. Another world-shattering glimpse into the true meaning of his son’s presence here now.

Sylus doesn’t just disappear physically. He runs, sprints, shoots off emotionally too. Leaving his family for the tide of shame that consumes him. Leaving his son to wonder what he said wrong that made him drift away once more. 

“Kyros…” he swallows, voice so soft it breaks at the edges. Chooses words carefully. His large hands come up to cradle soft cheeks back as he whispers, “Papa is here. I’m here, angel.” 

Kyros’s face brightens at the touch. The way Sylus squeezes his face fondly. “Hi, papa.” 

His poor heart shatters. His eyes prickle and his nose burns. He overturns all the memories and things he's done in his life to deserve this— and helplessly finds nothing. And yet, here he is. He rasps, “Hello, Kyros.” 

“Papa waiting?”

“Papa waiting.” 

“Papa wait and—and Kyros catch.” Kyros pats his hands gently on Sylus’s cheeks this time, literally catching father’s rough edges in his soft, tiny palms. Unknowingly catching his unwinding sanity, his breaking heart, and his fraying soul too. 

It floors him, drives him into the ground in a harsh wreck. How once he held Kyros’s newborn frame in a cradle of his two hands. And now, somehow, Kyros holds the entire weight of him. 

And to Kyros, it feels like he weighs nothing at all. 

Sylus watches fondly. His son, with his eyes and his hair, but your determined expression. Your patience. Your understanding. Your forgiveness. Your love.

This gift, you’ve carefully poured into this boy, who now generously douses him with it. 

“Kyros will always catch papa?” his voice shakes when he asks, deft fingers brushing messy hair away from sparkling eyes. A hope. A wish. 

Kyros takes a while to answer questions only because he likes the thinking part of it all, but for this one, he answers immediately. “Yes. I good at it.” 

His eyes close and his breath returns to him. He bows his head in his hold; a dragon succumbing to his hunter. He agrees. 

Kyros is always looking enough to see, smart enough to notice, patient enough to understand, and slow— devastatingly and achingly slow enough for Sylus to realize and do the same, to feel the same. To be pulled into his orbit as a planet to the slow burning sun. 

The lump in his throat melts and trickles away. Feels a wound once poorly stitched—reopened, disinfected and bound together again with better trappings by smaller, gentler hands. 

Of which their owner is trusting because he knows nothing else. And his son proves time and time again that his failures in this life and the last or any other life before, does not equate to the man they see now. Does not carry over to his papa. 

Kyros asks for nothing, but for him to wait. To be caught. To slow down. To stay.

The tears fall before he even takes notice. He doesn’t pull away or hide. He practices what he is asked for. He keeps still, and tilts his forehead to make contact with his son’s. “Thank you, Kyros.”

Kyros presses back, unsure why papa is crying, but happy with his touch. His presence. Clumsy fingers wipe away salty tears, which Sylus’s lips chase with kisses. “You welcome, papa.” 

He vows then, in the tranquil bubble his son has created for them, that he even when he cannot figure out what he did to deserve him, he will be what he deserves. A ghost that can be caught. A hare that celebrates the turtle’s wins. 

“What can papa do for you, my turtle?” he scoops the little boy up by the armpits and lets him rest on the crook of his elbow. 

Kyros presses his nose to Sylus’s jaw and hums. An all too familiar action again from a bigger, more motherly source. “Apple juice, pease?”

“Before bedtime?” Sylus asks, voice lilting in amusement. Though he’s already pushing his chair back and standing, with every intention to deliver. 

Kyros blinks back, eyes mirthful and sparkling. Sylus’s chest caves, he is brought to his knees at the sight. His fingers come up to pinch full cheeks, having a mind of their own.

“Ma bub, pease?” Sylus laughs, loud and resonant, at your tactics of persuasion making their way to your children now. My love’s lips press adoring kisses to his temple. 

Kyros wounds his short arms around Sylus’s neck, giggling like he knows he is his powerful and untouchable father’s weakness. Ever grateful for his presence, a too big feeling for his too little body to make sense of for now. But it is there. 

The halls echo the sound of humming, deep and rusty— a practiced lullaby whose notes are bent and twisted, but perfectly aligned to the little ears that listen.

And Sylus walks slowly, his footfalls muted against the tile and carpet. Memorizing the current weight of his too-quickly growing baby against his chest, the warmth of his breath against his collar and the tenderness of his embrace. Ceaselessly chasing these moments so as not to miss a single one. Remembering to be still once he is there.

He clings just as much as Kyros does to this love— gentle, quiet, here— if not more.

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ��� ࿔*:･ﾟ

“Hate ‘ishuns!” Kyros’s voice pulls you from the trenches of sleep. You make a tired, inquisitive sound like you were simply lost in the conversation.

“Hmm?”

“Shh,” he is scolded. For a moment there is quiet again, and just the static in the air, and so you start to drift once more.

“No more ‘ishuns, papa,” Kyros harrumphs and now you open your eyes to the dim light. Beside you, Sylus is seated up against the headboard with Kyros on his stomach— both wide eyed and guilty.

You release a deep breath. “Apple juice, Sylus?”

Sylus winces at your tone. “He said ‘my love’.”

“and pease.” Kyros adds.

“We’ll go, sweetie,” Sylus offers, moving to scoot off the bed, bring their little late night conversation elsewhere.

He plants a kiss to your forehead, and so does Kyros. But neither gets far, for despite your sleep laden haze, your grip is strong on Sylus’s arm. “No. Stay.”

Kyros clears his throat.

You sigh fondly. “Please.”

And so they do.

✧˚ ⋆｡ prev: maybe a dragon (lucian) || read more with the little twins here || more sylus thoughts ✧˚ ⋆｡

thank you for reading!

[mydeist]

wasteland

decades after the destruction of judgement day, you return to the abyss meadow—now an empty wasteland. a painful walk down memory lane has you remembering all the sinful things sylus did to you on the day he’d brought you to the blooming field of blood-red datura.

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: dragon!sylus x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ GENRE: smut, porn with plot, porn with feelings/angst, angst with slight/no comfort (depends how you want to look at it), fluff, continuation of myths

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 15.9k

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, dragon!sylus, two dicks!sylus, dom!sylus, monsterfucking, HEAVY SPOILERS and references to sylus’s lore/myths (beyond cloudfall), themes of depression/trauma/loss of a loved one, marking (scratching and biting) and possessive behavior, implied virginity loss (both mc and sylus), slight BARELY coercion (trust me mc is more than willing), p in v, fingering with claws, eating out, face riding, horns as handlebars, belly bulge, belly swelling from cum, double penetration (in v), slight bondage with sylus’s tail, no protection, breeding kink, talks of mating and pregnancy, multiple orgasms, somewhat angst no comfort (depends how you look at it), has some comfort, some fluff, lots and lots of smut, knotting, fucking with knot, lots of overstimulation, boobie play, lots of making out, lots of biting, use of Y/N, use of petnames (sweetheart, little dragon, dove, sparrow, love, sorceress), slight references to ‘please & thank you’ fic (easter egg dialogue hehe), will add more warnings as needed

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: wasteland song - has arcane spoilers (please listen to before reading) | wasteland song - no arcane spoilers | beyond cloudfall myths | ao3

━ ✧.˖ A/N: helloooooo she is finally here jfc. first and foremost PLEASE listen to the song linked above before reading as it was a HEAVY inspiration for the angst portion of the fic, as well as parts of the fluff. of course it’ll still make sense without watching and listening but i think it’s much more impactful with, otherwise the lyrics are whatever haha. 

the song is wasteland - royal & the serpent from the netflix series arcane by riot games! highly recommend watching if you haven’t :) 

secondly, this fic contains HEAVY HEAVY spoilers and references to ‘beyond cloudfall’ - sylus’s second myth set, which i’ve also linked above. if you haven’t done those and care about spoilers, i would not recommend reading this. also it won’t make as much sense if you don’t know what happened in those myths, but the smut still makes sense re: sylus is a dragon. 

please enjoy <3 i will admit this was really difficult for me to finish, i don’t know what it was, i lost steam half way through and really had to force myself. i am not 100% happy with the way it turned out, but i also did really enjoy writing it! i think i cried multiple times writing this lmao

will likely be on a writing hiatus. if i do write it will be for caleb :D until next time friends. i love you <3

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

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

♫ I've held on for as long as I can, For the ones that I had to defend, I've been strong every day of my life, If she wants, death could take me this time. ♪ 

♪ This world is a wasteland where nothing can grow, I used to have strength, but I ran out of hope, I know it's my fault that I'm here all alone, This world is a wasteland, Please let me go, go, go, go, go, go, go. ♫

♫ If I could just lay my head down and rest, If there was nothing to fight or protect, Maybe then I could finally be free, Maybe death is like falling asleep. ♪

Hollow requiems echo in the recesses of your numbed soul, overtaken by the howling of the violent wind. Your heels crunch against barren ground, covered in fragments of basalt and granite, a speckled sea of death. 

It was hard to imagine that this very valley was once covered in countless blossoming blood-red datura, peppered across the vast green fields of the meadow. Like the twinkling stars in the open night sky you’d spent many hours staring up at, atop the cliff top lair you briefly called home, years ago. 

The memory of the blooming flowers, nestled against the stark contrast of those powerful ebony horns, the faint notes of requiems once sung under the gleaming moonlight, taunt you as they resonate in your aching mind. Your tail flickers, soul clenching in distaste. 

Or perhaps it was your fragmented, barely-beating, heart. It was hard to tell these days.  

You draw a shaky breath, willing your body to continue forward. It’d been decades since you’d last come here. After the events of the last Doomsday, events that you were all too familiar with, Philos had fallen to chaos and ruin. Tarus City was no exception.

And of course, the meadow had not been spared. 

Guilt gnaws at you, clawing deeper than any beast ever could. The meadow–the resting place of your beloved. Your dragon. 

Sylus.

Of course, it looked a little different now. Nothing like the day he’d pressed his lips to your forehead for the last time, his soul returning to the clouds above.

You stare out into the rolling hills of charred forests, the arid rivers snaking through the canyon like a dragon’s spine. Flecks of ember from the destruction of Doomsday still flit against the winds around you like dancing midnight petals. But there’s no flowers in sight. Not a single one. 

The endless crimson mountain range stretches around you like an aegis, almost as if trying to protect the innocence that was once kept hidden here. A lifetime ago.

What a joke. 

Everything you had ever held dear, ripped from your hands. Flaunted before you, reminding you of how helpless you’d been to fate’s cruel whims. 

♪ This world is a wasteland where nothing can grow. ♫

“What I desire is to live freely and die without regrets.” You’d said that, once upon a time. 

Did you?

If you died tomorrow, could you say you had no regrets?

Your fists clench at your sides, your claws digging into your palms, sure to break skin and draw blood. You knew the answer to that. 

You’d devoted your life to filling countless troves with what treasures remained on the empty husk of Philos and enacting revenge on the members of the Sanctuary and Legion that’d survived Doomsday. Revenge and plunder, just like old times.

The day those horns had dawned from your head, your tail descending from your spine, you’d become one with Sylus. He gave you power; he gave you freedom.

So why now, when you’d accomplished everything you’d always wanted, did your life feel anything but free? 

Everything you thought you’d wanted.

So what did you want now?

“You know, Tarus City can have flowers that bloom everywhere, as far as the eye can see.”

Your breath catches in your throat, the sound of his voice in your mind is as clear as the first time you’d heard it in the obsidian chapel. The same moonlit chapel in which you’d promised your souls to one another.  

Lead weighs on your chest as you gaze out at the desolate fields, once a spiritual sanctuary for Sylus and you. Could it ever return to the way it was? Could flowers really bloom here again?

You’d give anything to see just one of those ruby moonflowers again, petals the same shade of scarlet as the eyes you’d dreamt of, time and again. 

But like those beautiful eyes, you knew deep down. You’d never see those daturas again. 

♫ I used to have strеngth, but I ran out of hope. ♪

You resolve yourself to go numb, as you had countless nights before, when dreams alluded you and nightmares sought you. Your body moves mindlessly on its own, your eyes glazed as you watch the cloudless sky above. 

Would Sylus be disappointed if he saw you now? An empty shell of the sorceress that’d unsealed him from the Abyss and freed him in more ways than one. 

Once upon a time, you could put on a brave mask in the face of losing your dragon. 

But over time, the memory of his body, heavy and whole, fading in your arms, the petals of his soul slipping through your trembling fingers, etched itself into your soul. No matter how hard you tried to forget, you’d always remember. And because of that, your courage quickly turned into a searing rage that consumed every fiber of your being.

What would he think?

Well, you’ll never know will you? The voice in your head taunts, unmistakably yours, yet foreign and faraway. 

Since you’re the one who plunged that sword into his heart.

♪ I know it’s my fault that I’m here all alone. ♫

Eventually, you find yourself atop a small clearing overlooking the entire valley. An eerie sense of familiarity grapples at you as you stare out into the horizon, feeling nearly as empty as the land before you. 

You’re not sure when it started to happen. The days started to feel longer. You could no longer hear the melody in songs, see the beauty in patterns, taste the flavors in fruits you once loved. 

All things unnecessary to a dragon’s survival.

Were you surviving? Your heart was beating, blood coursed through your veins, air traveled through your lungs, and yet…

You didn’t feel alive.

♫ This world is a wasteland. ♪

The wind howls on, the swirling ash making your eyes prickle. You turn on your heel to leave. There’s nothing left for you here. Nothing but fragments of the life you could’ve had, with Sylus. 

But as the sun melts into the sky, descending into the crimson expanse of mountains, your soul is hit with memories so clear you double over, clutching your shoulder as it throbs.

“Only you and this flower…can touch me here.”

You stifle a sob, your other hand coming up to cover your mouth as you stare out into the bittersweet dusk. The way the waning light descends the scarlet contours, perfectly framing the once picturesque grove. And then it hits you, all at once like a wave crashing against you, pulling you under, until you can’t breathe. 

This is the exact spot Sylus had taken you to the first time he’d brought you to the Abyss Meadow. After the night you’d promised your souls to one another.

The exact spot he’d let you weave those same delicate daturas into his horns, grimacing adorably the entire time as you did so. Where you rolled around the meadow grasses in his willful arms, revenge and the Sanctuary a long forgotten thought, just you and your dragon. 

The spot he’d kissed you for the very first time. The first of what you’d thought would be a lifetime of kisses shared with him. 

Where you’d shared yourselves wholly, bodies and soul, every touch a promise, every kiss a vow. 

The mark on your shoulder burns, your vision hazing with tears that you’re not sure you can blame on the ash anymore. Clenching your eyes shut, you blink them away, trying to steel your resolve and push the memories back down, where you’d kept them hidden for decades. 

♪ I'm not ready to face it. ♫

But they rattle violently in the cage you’d built for them, your spirit is unrelenting. Or perhaps, it’s the remnants of his own soul etched into yours that refuse to let you fade completely into the darkness. 

♫ Don't go saying goodbye. ♪

Eventually the branding waves of agony that radiated from the bite thrum to a pulsing halt, replaced with a heat that was all too familiar. You finally crack open your teary eyes, your vision filled with the breathtaking canvas of sunset. 

The colors cast the withered meadow in the same breathtaking glow from that day.

♫ There's a beauty in changes, and I wanna try. ♪

–

Red.

Growing up in the Ivory City, you were surrounded by nothing but the blinding incandescence of white marble that was said to symbolize purity and prosperity. On the other hand, the children of the Sanctuary had been conditioned to associate the color red with Doomsday, the Fiend, and death.

But as the flecks of vermillion heat sparkled in Sylus’s eyes, his sultry gaze flickering to your lips, you knew you’d never known a color so beautiful.

“But only for one person,” he murmurs, claws gently gripping your neck, his other hand stroking the datura he’d placed behind your ear. Sylus takes a second to admire the delicate flower, imagining Tarus City covered in them. And you, among them, serenading those familiar requiems for him. 

His hooded eyes meet yours again, and a low growl elicits from his chest as his body is overcome with a burning need to claim you. His beloved.

“Sylus…” you plead breathily, squirming under his gaze and shifting atop him, still straddling him in the field of blooming red moonflowers. Sylus hisses, his slackened jaw twitching and his claws digging into your chin, bringing you closer.

“You had better watch yourself, my little sorceress,” Sylus purrs dangerously, fighting to maintain control, “I should warn you–”

Your heart hammers, pounding audibly in your ears, as Sylus pulls you the rest of the distance in. His bottom lip grazes against yours as his eyes flutter shut, his breath hot and sweet, “I don’t have the patience to wait any longer.”

He wastes no time before furiously crashing his lips to yours, claiming what was his. His claws are deliciously possessive as they trace your racing pulse, savoring the way your body  trembles under his touch. 

You moan into his open lips when his fingers softly wrap around your neck, the tips of his ebony talons tracing soft patterns into your skin. He smirks against your lips, taking the opportunity to push his hot tongue against yours, tasting every inch of you.

The world around you fades away, your senses filled with only him. You can vaguely feel his tail wrapping around your thigh, the tip stroking the bare skin of your calf as you tightly clutch his hips. 

The raw passion of his tongue against yours makes it feel as if he’s nearly breathing fire into your soul, his body growing more demanding as he feels your heat pulse against the growing bulge in his pants. The intoxicating smell of your arousal nearly sends him into a frenzy, and it takes everything within him to not throw you under him right then and there. 

When you finally pull away to breathe, you’re a panting blushing mess. Sylus on the other hand only smirks up at you, his frustratingly beautiful face lightly dusted in a peachy sheen. Overcome with the urge to wipe the smug look off his face, you brush your thumb across his kiss-bitten bottom lip, forcefully resituating yourself on his lap. You bite back your grin when he hisses, his claws digging into the fat of your hips.

“What did you mean, when you said ‘you couldn’t wait any longer’?” you tease, fueled with confidence as you watch his vermillion eyes darken, the muscles of his abdomen tensing as your hands trace their way down his body. When your fingers graze the blood-red gem embedded in his chest, Sylus’s hand catches your wrist, his grip firm yet tender.

He brings your hand up to his mouth, pressing your palm into his lips, “Do you really need me to say it?”

You bat your eyelashes innocently at him, pouting, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Sylus’s chest rumbles as he chuckles, his eyes gleaming mischievously. His eyes never leave yours, the heated desire in them making the arousal between your legs increase, as he kisses your fingertips one by one.

“Dragons are solitary,” he says, kissing the pad of each finger. His tail uncoils from your thigh, only to loosely wrap around your waist, reminding you of how the mountain cat would twist its tail around your ankle.

“We grow up together, in packs,” his words are melancholic, as if remembering a painful memory, but when his ruby eyes return to yours they shine as bright as the waning sun above you, “But when we reach adulthood, we tend to go off on our own.” 

You pondered his words, waiting for him to go on and doing your best to swallow the lump of emotions that’d formed in your throat at the thought of Sylus, alone for centuries. He nips at your fingers, his tongue coming out to lick tenderly at your skin. 

The swirling heat in his crimson orbs are shadowed under his thick eyebrows, the very eye you’d been so drawn to boring into your newly intertwined souls. 

“Can you recall what that human said that day at the market? The merchant?”

You nod curiously, biting back the shiver as Sylus continues to lick at your skin, daring further and letting his canines graze you, “Yes. That the Fiend would meet his destined archnemesis once more.”

His hands abandon yours, settling instead around your waist. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your hips as he beckons you down towards him, the corners of his lips quirking upward as he watches you squirm, a faint gasp escaping your parted mouth when his claws inch their way up your exposed back.

“Archnemesis…” he scoffs cryptically, pushing your body down against his chest, wrapping his thick arms around your smaller body, “Such a foolish human concept.”

Sylus shifts so that you’re lying completely on top of him, his tail securing you against his heavy abdomen, the unmistakable outline of something large and terrifying pressed against your core. 

“Fate binds souls together–it’s written in the cosmos far above the clouds before the existence of time. Two souls that are a reflection of each other, in enmity and devotion. It’s much more than a mere destined archnemesis. This is the way of the world.”

The weight of his words begins to dawn on you, the meaning of them pressing heavily on your thundering heart. Sylus presses his lips to the mark he’d left on your shoulder in what felt like a lifetime ago.

“Ngh–!” you cry, Sylus’s teeth sinking into you. He bites down, tail constricting around you, wanting to hold you closer–tighter. You squirm against him, fingers pulling at his silver tresses, nearly seeing white as the pleasure and pain simultaneously shoots out from the crook of your neck, ebbing into every nerve of your body.

You can feel Sylus’s smug smile against your throbbing skin, his own hips coming up to grind torturously against you. He’d grown painfully hard, his cock unbearably hard in the restraints of his pants, fighting its way to get to you.

“Dragons live in solitude for the remainder of their lives,” he continues, his lips suddenly at your ear as you’re panting into his hard chest, trying to control your pathetic moans, “But some are fortunate enough to find–what you humans might call–their soulmates.”

Sylus grabs your jaw, forcing you to focus your hazy eyes on his. Though his grip is bruising, his thumb strokes soothing circles into your skin.

“A dragon mates for eternity, in this life and the next. There is only one–if even that.”

“Archnemesis, soulmate, mate. Call it what you will,” he whispers huskily, the desire in his voice palpable as he brings your chin in, his eyes darkening with a mix of lust and adoration. Your chest flutters as you take in the implication of Sylus’s words. The puzzle pieces of your fractured life began to fall into place–the Sanctuary, the weapon inside you, the golden lamp you’d treasured. Everything.

“I have known your soul was destined for mine, long before you pulled that Gods-forsaken sword out of my chest,” Sylus growls, nearly feral as the last of his patience snaps. You dissolve into a fit of squeals as Sylus effortlessly flips you under him, his hands cupping the back of your head and your lower back protectively as your body hits the plush meadow grass. 

“And I can’t wait a moment longer.”

He wastes absolutely no time in bringing your lips to his once more, swallowing your moans and replacing them with his own heated breath. Your hands claw at any part of Sylus they can reach, nails leaving behind a red trail of passion that makes him groan with excitement. 

Possessed with the need for more, you wrap your thighs around his waist, using your legs to cage him against you. Sylus’s grip in your hair tightens as he pulls away, a string of saliva  connecting your feverishly panting lips. His other hand comes down to clutch your thigh, his fingers crawling under your dress. 

“Y/N. Do you know what you’re doing?” he pants, chest heaving, pupils blown with a lust so dangerous that your instincts are screaming at you to run. You bring your hands up to cup his face, mustering up all your courage.

“Why don’t you enlighten me?” you whisper, your eyes fluttering as you trail your fingers down his chest, resting them right above his belt and letting your fingernails delicately stroke the hair that leads to his pelvis. 

A primal snarl erupts from Sylus’s chest at your blatant teasing, and in the blink of an eye you find your wrists bound above your head, his thick tail wrapped around them like a rope, his knee forcing your thighs apart.

“Just so you know, my love,” he leans in, face inches from yours, his arrogant smile hauntingly beautiful and terrifying all at once. He dips into the crook of your neck, heated breath washing over your mark, “Dragons are not known to show mercy.”

“I can handle it, Sylus,” you retort defiantly, though your trembling voice almost betrays you. Sylus only chuckles, his eyes glinting wildly at you, swirling with the darkness of all the things he wants to do to you.

“That’s my girl.” 

You’re unable to speak further, crying out when Sylus’s fingers, that’d found their way under the skirt of your dress, demandingly cup your leaking sex, his lips latching onto the burning mark on your shoulder once more.

His tongue on your neck alone is enough to have you writhing under him, begging and pleading for more. The pleasure is so overwhelmingly blinding that your eyes are squeezed shut, body convulsing involuntarily to even his gentlest touches. You’d surmise that it must’ve had something to do with what he’d said about your fate bonded souls, that made your body react so violently to his. 

Unfortunately, he doesn’t let you ponder it further, his finger dipping in between your dripping core to snap your attention back to him. 

“Are you still with me, sweetheart?” he coos, brushing his middle finger up and down your weeping slit, careful to only brush against you with his calloused skin, keeping his claws tucked away. You glare up at him, weakly slapping his forearm that was wedged between your shaking thighs. You open your mouth to snark at him, but Sylus uses that moment to stroke your clit with the pointed edge of his talon. 

“Sylus!” you cry, halfway between a moan and a scream, “Ahhngh–p-please!”

“Mmm? What’s that?” Sylus murmurs, twitching his fingers to ever-so-slightly caress your aching clit with his claws. “Begging for more already?”

Your back lifts off the ground, the feeling of his fingers on your cunt so sharp and dizzying that your mind is caught between wanting to squirm away but needing to chase more. But it seems your body knows exactly what it wants, arching further into his hand, forcing his fingers further into you.

Your hands come up to grasp the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair and gently stroking the base of his jagged ebony horns. Sylus freezes, his jaw tightening, a choked grunt escaping him, despite how badly he tries to hold it back. It doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Sylus?” you whisper incredulously, your fingers pausing, “Does that hurt?”

Sylus doesn’t answer, his breath coming out in shallow and needy pants, eyes shut as he hovers above you. His fingers have stilled, though still between your folds. Your worry dissipates when your eyes drift down, trailing down his trembling abdomen, all the way to the lump in his lap that ruts desperately against your thigh.

It’s then you realize that your formidable dragon does indeed have a weakness. 

How adorable.

So with Sylus’s finger still parting your soaked lips, you use one hand to tenderly grab one of his horns, the other hand coming down to palm his bulge. His reaction makes you bite your lip with satisfaction, as his knees nearly buckle, still hovering above you, and his eyes filling with a volatile hunger. 

“You never learn do you?” he bites out, but he doesn’t pull away, his body only leaning further into your touch. His head nuzzles ever so slightly into your fingers that are still intertwined into his hair, stroking his horns.

“I would say I’m faring quite well, wouldn’t you agree?” you croon, emboldened by the way his hips thrust down into your open palm, even if only imperceptibly. 

At your adorably bold words, Sylus smirks at you, head cocked in amusement. His red eyes glimmer, a thick cloud of predatory desire swirling in the pools of garnet.

“You shouldn’t taunt a dragon, my love.”

You shriek when Sylus’s finger enters you, claw and all. You’re so wet that the brief sting of his lethal talon only serves to intensify the overwhelming waves of ecstasy he’s so deliberate in giving you. His finger moves so intentionally inside you, careful to only use the tip of his claw in ways that will have you clenching him for more. 

Sylus swears under his breath as he watches the way you writhe against the ruby flora, his erection growing unbearably painful and wet within the constraints of his pants. 

Dragons may not have the ability to recognize beauty. But as you clung to him, nails digging into his skin, sweet voice only capable of calling out for him, your wide eyes fluttering open and shut in overwhelming ecstasy…

Sylus knew there was nothing more beautiful in this world.

“Sy-Sylus,” you cry, “It’s t-too much. C-can’t–!” The dangerous feeling of his claws inside you is starting to make you delirious, your head dizzy with the need to come undone all over his fingers. The foreign pressure in your abdomen scares you into trying to scamper away from his hand, finger flicking inside your constricting walls

“Hm? Don’t you trust me sweetheart? I know exactly how much my little dragoness can take,” he murmurs gruffly, his thumb pressing harder into you. It seems Sylus knows exactly what he’s doing to you, because his tail wraps firmly around your waist, locking you in place, demanding you receive every bit of him. 

“You can take another, hm?” he asks, but his tone all but commands it. 

Your eyes widen; honestly you don’t think you can. Just one of his fingers has you feeling like you might pass out from the unfamiliar feelings of pleasure. Just one of his fingers has you feeling so full you might combust. 

He’s on his knees between your legs now–the juxtaposition of such a formidable being kneeling before, pleading for your pleasure, makes your body clench with even more anticipation.

“D-don’t know if I ca-aan,” you whimper brokenly, body still pathetically arching into his hands, chasing an ecstasy you don’t even know if you can handle. 

Sylus tuts gently, “Tch–you can. I need to stretch you out here before anything else can happen.”

You shiver at his words, trusting the foreboding warning wholeheartedly. Sylus was a dragon, after all, and you had no doubt he would be well-endowed, like everything else about him. Probably much more than your poor human body would be able to take. 

And the thought of that alone makes you crave him like nothing before.

So you nod slowly, and Sylus smiles, the pride evident in his eyes. 

“Good girl.”

Sylus tips your chin up towards him with the tip of his claw, capturing your lips into a kiss that steals your breath away. At the same time, he slips another finger into you.

He swallows your cries, and your fingers frantically grab hold of the grass around you, tearing and shredding at the green blades. If it weren’t for his tail wrapped around your waist, holding you in place, you’d be thrashing wildly, the ecstasy of his two fingers and claws inside your plush walls nearly unbearable. 

Sylus’s nips at your lips, before his tongue replaces them and stakes claim to every inch of your mouth. He groans into you, using his spare hand to palm his painful erection, still restrained in the confines of his pants. When he pulls away, saliva dribbles down your chin, his lips trailing kisses down your jaw and to the shell of your ear.

“So tight around just my fingers,” Sylus seethes hungrily, his hand moving faster now, breath coming out shallow and hot against your ear, “I’m the only one that’s ever been here, hm?”

He curls his fingers inside you, his claws grazing just slightly against the spongy surface of your walls, demanding a verbal response from you. His voice drips with a possessive intensity that makes your entire body throb. 

“Of course,” you whine, slightly embarrassed as your body arches up to meet his hand's ministrations, close to coming undone, “Wh-When would I have…at the Sanctuary…?” 

A deep and satisfied rumble of satisfaction comes from Sylus’s chest, as he buries his face into your neck, inhaling your scent. Almost like a purr.

“Mine.”

With two of his fingers scissoring in and out of you, stretching you out to your max, you quickly feel like you’re about to absolutely burst, the edges of your vision turning white, stars clouding your sight. 

“Ngghnh–Syluus…” you slur, your eyes watering, slightly terrified, “C-can’t anymore. Feels like m’gonna explode–!”

Sylus growls excitedly, fingers moving more insistently, literally trying to pull the orgasm out of you. The sounds of his palm slapping against dripping pussy grow louder and louder, all your senses overwhelmed until you’re on the verge of losing consciousness to it all.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Sylus praises, his canines at your earlobes, his own voice tinged with a primal hunger that’s barely held back by a thin string of restraint, “Cum for me, just like that.”

Though his words are simple, there’s an underlying command that lies just beneath the surface. Sylus would never stoop as low as to beg for anything, dragons were incredibly prideful beings after all, but more than anything he needed to see you cum, right now–for the very first time. Something he’d imagined more times he’d care to admit, on the many late nights you’d shared looking up at the moon after a journey of ravaging and plundering treasures. 

So instead of begging, Sylus sinks his teeth into the brand on your shoulder, once again laying his claim on you. Your sweet taste fills his mouth and he can’t stop the muffled moan that escapes him, devouring you to his absolute content, fingers never faltering once. 

Your eyes roll into your head at the indescribable sensation of pain and pleasure that surge from your neck, the shockwaves connecting with the same spasms of ecstasy that emanate from his fingers buried in your cunt. 

“Sy-Sylus—! Ngh–It’s c-coming!” you can’t stop yourself from screaming unabashedly, though it didn’t matter as Sylus made sure there wouldn’t be anyone for miles and miles, for this very reason. 

He doesn’t respond, alternating between biting and licking affectionately–aggressively–at the place he had marked you as his. His tail tightens around you, making you feel so deliciously suffocated, in the best ways. Making it feel like your very life depended on him.

Your next breath of air, your unrelenting pleasure, your soul. 

Sylus, Sylus, Sylus. 

With a strangled cry of his name, you feel the foreign sensation of a tension cord snapping in your gut, followed by a warm gush of mind numbing euphoria that consumes your entire quivering body.

Sylus swears under his breath, his fingers slowing but not stopping, helping you ride out the lasting waves of your very first orgasm. He releases your tender skin from his teeth, his hot breath blowing against you. His claws capture your chin between them, gently pulling your head back down to meet his eyeline. 

“Look at the mess you’ve made, Y/N,” Sylus hums, slipping his fingers out of you and lifting them so you can clearly see the way they’re dripping with something clear and wet. Your cheeks burn in embarrassment. 

“It’s not m’fault,” your voice comes out annoyingly shaky, still recovering from the earth-shattering experience. You swat his hands away weakly, “Stop. S’embarrassing.” 

Sylus chuckles, letting you push his hands back towards him. But he tenses suddenly, the thick muscles of his arms locking. The planes of his sharp jaw twinge, his entire body rigid, like he’d just been struck by lightning. 

“Sylus?” you whisper, sitting up and cupping his cheek into your palm, “What’s wrong?”

Sylus’s eyes are locked onto his fingers, his nostrils twitching. You’re mortified when Sylus brings his fingers to his face, his movements almost trancelike. 

“Don’t do that,” you protest, eyes wide, moving to grab his wrist. But Sylus dodges you easily, swiftly removing his arm from your grasp, the smell of you on his fingers intoxicating him to the point of madness. The sheer primal hunger in his blood-red eyes is so far away, you almost don’t recognize him. 

You’re acutely aware that you’re currently no more than a little rabbit trapped in a lion’s den. If it weren’t for the way his tail still wrapped around your waist so tenderly, you’d think he was the same Fiend that nearly lost himself and killed you that day. 

Sylus doesn’t speak, his chest heaving erratically as he brings his fingers up to his lips, tongue catching every rivulet of your slick. His pupils dilate, locked onto you, a storm of emotions brewing beneath the carmine pools, his primal instincts nearly taking control. One thing swims to the surface above them all. 

Hunger.

In a fraction of a second, you find yourself pinned to the grassy floor again, your head thudding to the ground against Sylus’s protective hand. Your wrists are bound above your head, with one of your thighs held open by Sylus’s tail and the other with his knee. His lips are everywhere, first at your neck, then down your shoulder, lingering at your mark, then trailing down your collar, to your breasts. 

“Mm–ngh! Sylus?” you can hardly speak as he lingers at the swell of your chest, “What are you doing?” 

“I can taste you,” he hisses, reaching your naval. You can vaguely recall the conversation you’d had with him awhile back–that dragons couldn’t understand a song’s melody or see the beauty in patterns.

Taste the flavors in food.

“More,” is all he’s capable of biting out, before prying your thighs apart. Of course, Sylus had no idea what it meant for something to taste sweet, how the burgundy jewels of the pomegranates you loved so much tasted. But if he had to take a guess…

They’d be nothing compared to the honey he had found between your legs. 

“But–I thought dragons c-couldn’t…ah–!” you trail incredulously, yelping as Sylus hooks one of his arms under your knees, sweeping you briefly off the ground so he can yank your skirt off in one swift motion. 

You’re left in only your drenched undergarments, skirt thrown somewhere to the side as Sylus resumes his relentless journey into your inner thighs, leaving a trail of angry hickeys in his wake. 

“We can’t,” Sylus pants into you, suckling on the soft plush of your thighs, eyeing the glistening folds of your cunt that peek through your sodden panties like his next prey. He’s so close that you can feel his hot breath against your core, and it only makes you wetter. 

“But apparently I can taste this.”

The moan you let out is more beautiful than any melody you could ever sing for him, as his mouth closes over your clit, tongue wedging between your slicked lips.

“W-Wait Sylus, m’sensitive!” you protest, still coming down from the way he’d just made your body explode minutes earlier, your core quivering against the heavy demand of his lips. But as you sit up on your elbows and peer down at the silver-haired dragon between your legs, taking one look at Sylus, you know there is absolutely no getting through to him. 

Sylus has his mouth latched onto you, like he’s trying to drink your essence right from the source. His nose is buried right beneath your clit, every slightest movement causing the strong ridges to brush against the taut bundle of nerves, making it difficult for you to think straight.

You try to sit up further, but Sylus’s large palm comes up to flatten against your stomach, forcing you back down. He looks up at you, eyes dark and eyebrows furrowed, practically glaring at you.

“Don’t deny me of this,” he growls pleadingly, the sheer need in his voice making your toes curl against the grass.

The strength of his hand has you flopping back down, your body already succumbing to Sylus, yet again. You want to curse your traitorous body as it grinds into his greedy mouth, your mind battling your body’s instinct to chase the feelings that only Sylus can seem to give you. 

Why not just give in? That’s what Sylus had been teaching you, right? 

Live freely and die without regrets.

You grab two fistfulls of Sylus’s soft silver hair, pulling him impossibly closer to the apex of your thighs, shivering as he moans into you. His thick arms wrap around your thighs, holding on greedily, claws digging in.

“I should punish you for keeping this from me,” Sylus pants, pulling away for a brief second, giving you a pointed smirk. He uses his thumb to wipe the sheen of your arousal from his bottom lip.

“You can’t always get what you want Sylus. Sometimes you have to work for it,” you quip breathlessly, reeling from the sudden lack of his warm and wet tongue. 

Sylus chuckles, dark and rich. The dangerous glint in his ruby eyes is one that is all too familiar to you. Your skin crawls, pebbling with goosebumps, and before you can scamper away from him, his fingers come down with a resounding wet ‘smack’ against your unsuspecting cunt.

“Sy-Sylus!” you cry, halfway between a screech and a moan, your body convulsing into a painful arch as it reaches up to meet his palm. Sylus uses that moment to hook his other hand under your back, lifting your body up with one arm, and hoisting you into the air.

You flail as he swings you around, pulling at his hair until you grasp his horns. Sylus hisses, and you find yourself back on the soft grass matted floor. But this time you’re on your knees, straddling Sylus’s face.

“Sylu–ngh!” your eyes widen when his tongue licks at your slit, “P-Please! This is embari-ngh-sing!” It’s impossible to get your words out coherently when his tongue is moving so insistently, trying to drain every drop of your essence.

He digs his claws into the tops of your thighs, trying to pull you down, despite the way you fight to keep yourself propped up on your heels.

“Don’t resist,” he tuts, his voice muffled and rough, “Sit, love.”

”No!” you protest petulantly, sobbing in ecstasy as he sucks down hard on your clit, as if punishing you for your disobedience, “I’m heavy. Don’t wanna squash you.”

“Do you truly think so little of me?” he scoffs, positively offended, his breath warm against your core, “Sit. Now.”

You bite your lip in uncertainty as you stay hovering above him. Sylus remains patient, indulging himself instead by sinking his teeth into the soft skin of your inner thighs. You tremble, nearly doubling over as he suckles on your leg, biting a trail of flowery bruises leading up to your core.

You remain stubbornly, but shakingly, upright. Sylus sighs, losing his patience completely and yanking you down by your thighs, leaving you with no choice but to completely fall onto his waiting mouth.

Your eyes roll back, knees buckling entirely, when Sylus’s tongue enters you, stretching you out over his overeager lips. Your entire body nearly gives out, as you fall forward, your hands barely coming out in time to catch you before you collide with the meadow floor.

But when your palms are supposed to meet the grassy floor, Sylus catches them instead, your fingers intertwining desperately. The tips of his claws stroke your burning skin, terribly soothing compared to the way his tongue was ravishing you so filthily.

Your body reacts to him so readily, your hips starting to grind down almost instinctively, much to Sylus’s satisfaction. His cock twitches, heart nearly pounding through the veins that bulge along the sides, at the idea of you using him for yourself. He hums in pleasure, pressing a teasing kiss to your clit and whispering, “That’s it sweetheart, take what you want from me.”

His words make you squirm. Your hands card through Sylus’s soft silver locks, grabbing hold of his ebony horns for leverage. Sylus growls at your core, the vibrations of his low rumble making you writhe and grind harder onto his lips, your body being pushed toward another explosive release. 

“Hah, c-can’t anymore!” you cry, gripping his horns tighter, riding his face for dear life. Sylus doesn’t speak, but his enthusiastic tongue wordlessly conveys his words for him.

You might not be able to, but you will.

Your thighs cling to him, hips rolling into him with wild abandon. Everything about him, his honeyed words, his expert tongue, his possessive fingers make your body desperate for more, to take everything it wants. You’re so lost in your own pleasure that you don’t notice the way Sylus is likewise losing his mind beneath you. 

The way you grip his unbearably sensitive horns makes him jerk with need, the taste of your arousal a never ending drug on his tongue. Above all, the way you rode him, the way your body sought exactly what it desired, the way you surrendered to desire, to him, in this moment. 

You truly were the other half of his soul.  

“O-Oh go–od Sylus!” you moan brokenly, your voice hoarse from the incessant cries, bordering on screams, for him. Your thumbs dig into where his horns meet his scalp, your chest heaving violently as you try to stay upright on his tongue, coming undone across his eagerly waiting lips.

Sylus growls in relief, his enthusiasm bordering on obsession. His tongue laps up every honeyed drop, savoring a taste he knew he’d become all too addicted to. Luckily for him, he’d have you for the rest of eternity. And he fully intended on tasting you, devouring you, every day of his life. 

As you start to climb off his face, Sylus grabs you before you can crawl onto the floor, away from him. He carries you as delicately as he would the blooming daturas that surround you, laying you before him, settling between your parted thighs. 

“Sylus,” you murmur breathlessly, looking up at him. The waning sun peeks out behind his head, the sky a sunset sorbet that is beginning to melt into the indigo of approaching night. With the fading sun behind him, he is an utterly devastating sight for sore eyes. 

You loop your arms around his neck, dragging him down to you. He grunts, letting himself be pulled down to you, a ghost of a smile on his kiss bitten lips.

“I want…” you murmur hoarsely, trailing off as you let your fingers fall, tracing the muscles of his chest, drifting further south until they are grazing the defined contours of his abdomen. 

Sylus’s fingers grasp your chin, bringing your eyes back up, where you meet his fiery gaze. His thumb presses into your bottom lip, prying your mouth open gently. 

“Go on, my dove,” he hums, his voice practically a purr as he presses the lethal tip of his claw onto your tongue, “Tell me what it is you want.”

You open your lips to speak but between your sore throat, parched from your incessant moans, and the foreign desire still growing in both your gut and your heart, you were far too ashamed to speak further. But with the way Sylus was staring at you, his right eye flickering dangerously, you knew he could see right into your soul. 

Sylus’s lips turn up into an absolute shit-eating smirk, his beautiful deep garnet irises gleaming with a rich amusement. 

“Can’t speak anymore?” he chuckles amusedly, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“That’s alright,” he murmurs, his voice taking on a snarl that’s simultaneously dangerously edged yet velveteen. The ends of his claws trace your pulse as his fingers venture down, making your breath hitch. You shiver, giddy at the idea that those very talons, that were capable of such destruction, were now caressing you with so much tender passion.

“All you’ll need to be able to say is Sylus, hm?”

You light absolutely ablaze at his filthy words, your stomach churning in anticipation at what you know is coming. What you want more than anything you’ve ever known. 

His fingers, that’d found their way to the swell of your chest, shred the delicate straps of your corset with the slightest flick of his claws. You squeal as your naked body is exposed to the elements, writhing as the wind nips at your bare skin.

“Hey!” you protest hoarsely, sitting up, your arms darting to wrap around your chest, “Was that really necessary?!” But of course, Sylus is far quicker than you. He catches your wrists easily, holding them in his hands, leaving you beautifully exposed before his hungry eyes.

“No,” he smirks cheekily, face coming inches from yours, his breath fanning across your lips. You glare at him in annoyance, which only makes his grin widen.

“Now it’s my turn to take what I want,” he murmurs, pushing you flat against the grass. With your hands still restrained against his palm, he kisses down your neck, leaving a trail of claiming bruises along the way. 

“Beautiful. The truest treasure,” he rasps between kisses. He lingers on the mark on your shoulder, not being able to help but to indulge himself there.

A stream of unabashed moans escape your lips as Sylus bites down, hard. So hard you think he might draw blood. His canines are so close to your pulse; your instincts scream at you to flee, but your soul forces you to stay. 

Pain and pleasure, it was all the same. If Sylus was giving it, you wanted it.

This is the man fate had destined for you. Your dragon.

And you fully intended to show him that as well. 

With his head at your shoulder, his own neck exposed to you, you couldn’t help but press your lips into his pulse. Sylus tenses in surprise, unwittingly sensitive, but he doesn’t pull away. In fact, his body bucks into yours, his pelvis pressing into you, as if desperately seeking something from you.  

“You never learn do you, my little sparrow?” he bites out, his voice rough and raspy. Despite his words, he doesn’t pull away in the slightest. You smile into his neck and gently sink your teeth into his soft skin, desperate to mark him in the same way he’d marked you.

Sylus's breath grows erratic against you, his chest heaving unsteadily. His hands come up to hold you possessively against him, his powerful tail coils around your arched waist, like you might disappear at any second. Your fingers thread into his hair, hooking onto his horns again, as you continue to kiss into his neck. 

But suddenly, Sylus is yanking himself away from you, his tail prying you off of him. 

“Too much?” you mumble apologetically as you watch him straighten up, waiting for him to settle back down. 

But he doesn’t. Instead, he props himself onto his knees, focussed and dangerous. Like a predator before the hunt. 

“No. It’s not enough.”

With that, he’s undoing the buckle of his belt, his darkened eyes never leaving yours. You can’t help but bite your lip as you watch the bulging veins of his forearms, his hand reaching into his undone pants. Sylus looks devastatingly handsome as he undresses himself before you, eyeing you like his next meal. 

You don’t get to see him pull himself out before Sylus is back on you, his lips fervently attacking yours. You don’t know what’s changed, because the Sylus that’s kissing you right now has completely thrown restraint to the wind, like he’s trying to claim every fiber of your being with this one kiss.

His body is so imposing atop yours that, even naked, you feel nothing but warm and safe in the evening breeze. He’s so close, you can feel his eyelashes on your cheek. But you can’t stop pulling him closer, moaning in satisfaction when he holds you bruisingly tighter. 

Still, you want more of him.

Your hand inches down to grasp his manhood in your fingers, pulling away from the kiss with a choke. Being a dragon, you had no doubt that Sylus would be larger than what you’d been told was average from the other women at the Sanctuary. As soon as your fingers make contact, Sylus’s tail is roped around your wrist, the thick scales digging into your burning skin, his eyes filled with a volatile hunger. 

He doesn’t pull you away. His tail wrapped around your wrist seems to be more of a silent warning.

If you continue, there’s no going back.

Sylus’s eyes follow you carefully, his right eye shining as he seems to read your every whim and wonder. Every doubt, every fear, every fantasy. 

“You can take it, sweetheart,” he coos reassuringly, reading your mind like the back of his hand, thumb catching a stray tear you hadn’t even known had fallen, “I’ve more than prepared you.”

You eye him skeptically, taking a deep breath, peering down at where your bodies are firmly pressed together. Your breath hitches at how pathetically small your hand looks wrapped around him, his erection as beautiful as it was terrifying.

How many fingers had you been able to take earlier? Two?

You were fucked. Literally. 

“Y/N,” Sylus calls, his voice taking on a tender warmth that you rarely heard from him, clearly able to read your nervousness. 

He grips your chip and tilts your face back up to meet his eyes. Hoisting you up by your waist, he sets you on his lap so that you’re straddling him, wrapping your legs around his hips. His cock stands proudly, arousal smearing all over your bare navel, brushing against your clit as he presses you so deeply into his body that it rests between your leaking folds. Fitting like a puzzle piece. 

“I have waited over a millennium for this. For you. I can wait a millennium more, until you’re ready.”

Your body immediately reacts to his profoundly heartfelt words, your chest constricting and your core fluttering. It’s not hard to decide what you want, right then and there.

“I trust you, Sylus,” you say firmly, voice still raspy and hoarse, “I want you. Please.”

Sylus curses under his breath. One forearm wraps around your ass, lifting you and his other hand angling himself so that his thick leaking head is nudging right at your entrance, begging to be inside you. You writhe at the friction, your hips rocking onto him on instinct. 

The silver haired man growls, arms tightening around you like a vice, “You drive me insane, Y/N,” he rasps into your ear, his breath hot and heavy.

At long last, he presses himself into you. Crying out, your nails dig into his shoulders, sure to break skin. The discomfort was immeasurable, your body wildly confused by the intense pain but the strange feeling of intimacy. 

“I don’t think I can–I can’t!” your hips locking, eyes welling with tears. The stretch was beyond anything you could have ever fathomed, and you were almost sure he would break you.

“You can, you can,” he soothes, almost desperately, like he was terrified you might ask him to stop. Every muscle in his body was locked and tense as he fought the urge to ram right into you, ravaging you like every instinct was telling him to do. 

With even just the tip barely inside, he knew this was far too dangerous. The feeling of you wrapped around him was far too addicting, one of few things that threatened to make him lose all humanity to the untamed dragon blood flowing through his veins. 

You always were his one weakness. 

The urgency, the desperation, in his voice makes your tummy flutter, your body tightening in response to him.

Sylus hisses, his tail constricting around your waist, claws digging into the fat of your hips, “Don’t tighten up. Not if you want me to be gentle.”

“Am I?” you moan as he shifts, sinking slightly more into you, “M’sorry Sy. D-didn't mean to.”

A low rumble ripples from his chest as he does his best not to slam you down the rest of the way down onto the hilt of his cock. Which was nearly impossible because every time he moved at all, he swore your pussy was trying to choke him out. 

“Is it all the way in yet?” you whisper, fighting to keep your voice level. You had never felt more full in your life, your gut on the verge of splitting. The pain and since dulled into a somewhat bearable ache, but it was by no means comfortable. 

“Half way, love,” he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. 

Your eyes widen in shock, “W-What?!” You look down between your bodies, and sure enough, Sylus was still hoisting you halfway above his impossibly massive member. There’s a faint smear of red across the sheen of your combined arousals. Your blood. 

Before you can speak further, Sylus presses his lips to yours, stealing your breath as his own. He swallows your moans, his tongue and cock simultaneously sinking further into you.

A string of saliva connects your lips when he pulls away, his fingers tenderly holding your chin, his darkened scarlet eyes piercing into yours. His right eye glimmers with a dangerous edge. 

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he rasps, still hanging onto his last thread of his control, “You can take it all, can’t you? Perfect little mate.”

Your chest and core simultaneously flutters at his words and you’re fueled with a newfound confidence and an overwhelming wave of lust. It really seemed that Sylus knew exactly what to say to you to have you wanting more. 

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you roll your hips, trying to inch your own way down him, practically able to feel his pulsing veins throbbing against your gummy walls. The pain from the stretch was still there, but Sylus had prepped you so thoroughly that it was beginning to be difficult to feel anything but good.

“I can take more Sylus,” you murmur into his ear, pressing a wet kiss into his throbbing pulse, “I want more.”

An animalistic snarl rips out from deep within Sylus’s chest. His fingers squeeze literally bruises into your hips as he whispers back into your ear, breath hot and heavy.

“Yeah? That’s my girl,” he rasps, trying to contain his hunger, before lowering you the rest of the onto his cock, seating you entirely on his lap. 

He gives you a second to adjust, licking the tears that had started to stream down your cheek. It quickly feels unnatural, and you’re desperate for some friction, the pressure of him at your cervix too intense. 

“Ngh–Sy-Sylus,” you moan, “Please, move–do something.”

Sylus twitches inside you, your words fueling him with the desire to breed you full of him, “You’re playing with fire, my little dragon.” 

He wraps his thick arms around your body and begins to bounce you up and down on his lap, trying to keep a slow and gentle rhythm, doing his best to ensure you’d be in as little pain as possible.

Of course it didn’t matter, with his sheer size alone, pain was inevitable.

But so was pleasure.

Your body had begun reacting to Sylus all on its own, your hips rolling into Sylus’s sculpted abdomen, trying to pull him deeper into your saccharine heat. 

“Ngh–haah…Sy-Sylus!” you splutter, fingers clawing deep red welts into the ropes of muscles on his back, “Feels…”

His tail tightens around your waist, the tip stroking along your thigh, almost affectionately. His pace grows increasingly more vigorous, more excited, as he watches your face contort in different phases of pain and pleasure, “You feel incredible.”

His words, the feral rasp in his voice, so animalistically raw and primal, makes your entire body clench with excitement. And Sylus can feel all of it, every quiver, every twitch.

“You’re so damn tight,” he bites out, rutting up into you, “Trying to break me?”

“You’re–ngh–s’dramatic,” you tease, weaving your fingers through his hair and stroking his horns. 

Sylus’s tail grips you, his body tensing as you gently provoke the sensitive ebony spurs. You can swear his rhythm falters, but he composes himself instantly. The rough scales lining his muscular tail sink into your skin, leaving beautiful little crescents behind.

“Am I now?” Sylus smirks, his tone warning you that you’ve used up all his mercy. Your cries amplify as Sylus’s intensity picks up, his pelvis slamming into your cheeks. You’re so caught up in the borderline violent thrusts that you don’t notice when Sylus’s head dips down, his lips latching onto your breast.

“Oh Gods,” your voice is hoarse and broken with desire, nearly drowned out by the wet slaps of his body pounding into yours. On the other hand, Sylus’s mouth is deceptively tender, suckling so gently, teeth grazing so intentionally. His coarse fingers pinch the nipple that he can’t attend to with his tongue, all the while still driving himself deep into your gut.

His free hand comes down between your bodies, the slick that had smeared there coating his fingers as he finds your clit, sending your eyes into the back of your head. The valley echoes with a broken record of your combined cries of pleasure and the lewd sound of wet skin colliding.  

“Does every inch of you taste this damn exquisite?” Sylus demands breathlessly when he pulls away from your breasts. The way you felt wrapped around him was making it difficult to control his instincts, needing to remind himself that he needed to be careful with you.

“Hah…only t’you–! Only for you,” you can barely register the words coming out as your ears pound, your vision starting to blur as the same tension you’d felt twice earlier starts to build in again. 

A possessive growl erupts from Sylus’s chest, unable to contain his instincts. But the corners of his lips quirk, a pleased smile gracing his features. 

“Only for me, hm?” he licks a stripe from your neck to the mark on your shoulder making your entire body shudder.

Sylus’s talons dig into your thighs, now using both the strength of his thighs and arms to fuck you relentlessly onto him. Your back arches backward at the sheer force of his body and you use your palms to catch yourself on the ground behind you. Sylus’s tail steadies you, but at this angle he reaches a new depth inside of you, his impossibly thick cockhead roughly caressing a sensitive spot inside you that has you seeing stars.

“O-Oh Gods, oh Go-ods! Sylus–!” you chant like a broken prayer, your lower half rolling into Sylus’s lap impulsively, like it was the most natural thing in the world. You use your hands that are planted on the ground behind you to give you leverage, just letting your body do whatever feels right, feels natural.

With every roll of your hips, your clit brushes against the silvery mat of wet hair painting Sylus’s pelvis, making your eyes gloss over with a fucked out bliss that has Sylus nearly coming undone himself.

His eyebrows furrow, red eyes swirling with shadows as he watches you atop his cock, his mate. The distinct outline of him strains against your delicate skin every time he thrusts into you, bulging against your naval. 

Did you have any idea how insane you were driving him right now?

He hooks his hand behind your waist, just one palm enough to cup the small of your back and pull you back to him. He pulls you flush to his body, your bare chest pressed against his, your hearts pounding against one another.

“I’m a selfish man, Y/N,” he rasps into your ear, fighting to not explode into your gummy walls. 

“S’okay,” you cup his face in your hands, pressing your lips to his in a chaste kiss, “I love that about you. I love you.”

Sylus’s tail tenses, still wrapped possessively around you, your proclamation making him snap. Before you know what’s happening, you find yourself being thrown back onto the grassy floor, Sylus’s hands cupping the back of your head as he sets you on the ground. Somehow, he still finds a way to keep himself snug inside you, unwilling to pull away for even a split second.

“Sylus!” you cry out, half in surprise, half in excitement, as his heavy body presses down onto you, his lips less than an inch from yours, cock nearly in your throat.

“Sweetheart,” he groans, voice coming out unusually…frenzied. 

He truly was a selfish man, in every sense of the word.

“You can take another for me, right?”

“Another?” you squeak when he licks your cheek playfully, tenderly. 

“I’m pretty sure I can…cum–” you flush at the word, still slightly reserved with your newfound sexuality, “–again.”

Sylus chuckles huskily, pressing a soft kiss into your lips, “That’s not what I meant.”

Though he keeps his voice level, he couldn’t keep his heart from hammering erratically in his chest. You felt so indescribably perfect wrapped around him, he couldn't even fathom that it could get better than this.  

You were everything he imagined, and then some. 

You groan when he shifts to his knees, repositioning himself. Sylus moves his hand to grab the base of his length, and you’re about to protest, not wanting him to pull himself out of you. 

But he doesn’t. 

Instead, you feel the odd sensation of something else poking at where he had already had you completely full with his ridiculously thick cock. Something that was grinding against your clit, like he would with his thumb, toying with you as if also trying to get inside you. Something equally, if not more, massive than what was already nestled inside of you. 

There was no way he thought he could possibly fit more inside you.

With your eyes wide, you shakily, address the silver haired man hovering above you, “H-How did I not see that you have t-two?!”

Sylus throws his head back with a breathless laugh, his entire body shaking. He strokes your cheek with the tip of his ebony claws, staring wryly at you with his sparkling crimson eyes.

“The same way I can hide my wings.”

He strokes the leaking tip of his second cock along your clit, making you shiver. You can’t deny how good it feels, and how exhilarating the thought of it is. The way he looks at you, desperate, feral, and with all the intensity a hunter would stare at its prey. 

It makes it impossible for you to think coherently, the lust overpowering all sensibility.

“You can take it,” he coos encouragingly, using his second tip to smear your combined slick around your taut opening, as if preparing you to take him. 

“You could–ngh– barely get one in, what makes you think I’ll be able to take two–!?” you writhe, forcing the words out as Sylus continues to slowly rock into you.

Your squirming only makes you tighten further on Sylus, working him up further. His second cock had hardened to the point of pain, no matter how firmly he stroked it. It needed you, and nothing else could satisfy him. 

The desire on Sylus’s face, on his body, is palpable. You can see the beads of sweat gliding down his sculpted face as he restrains himself, his chest heaving as he tries to lock his instincts away, a dark storm of frustration in his eyes. 

“Oo-kay, I’ll try,” you murmur, hoping to the Gods you’ll live to see another day. Sylus’s carmine eyes light up, a proud grin donning his devilishly handsome features. 

“Good girl.”

He forcefully pounds against you, still only letting his second cock grind against your clit. Every thrust causes it to glide against you, rubbing against the sensitive bud, like he was fucking the lips of your cunt with it.

Your fingers claw at the ground as the anticipation boils, waiting for him to just put it in. 

“Sy–ngah–just do it alr–”

He presses his thumb into your lips, interrupting the beginnings of your frantic rambles.

“Breathe out.”

Just as Sylus’s hips are about to snap against your cheeks again, you feel him finally push himself into you. 

Your eyes go wide, mouth agape, as he stretches you until you fear you may actually pass out. You’re so wet that it doesn’t take much to coax it through the initial stretch. But it still hurts, far worse than when he’d initially penetrated you. 

However there is also far more pleasure than before. The two sensations tug at one another, making your mind reel with tumultuous chaos. A tormenting mixture of ecstasy and torment, threatening to shatter your mind.

“S-Sylus, I-I can’t, s’not gonna fit,” you whimper when the stretch becomes too much. Peering down, you see that you’d taken the entire head of his second cock, and you don’t think you can take any more. 

Sylus groans, his eyes squeezed shut, a storm brewing within him. The feeling of your perfect cunt wrapped around both of his cocks was unlike anything he could have ever imagined, and he was at war with the feral part of himself that was threatening to break free and take you like he was in rut. 

“It will fit, my love,” he soothes tenderly, his fingers rubbing soft circles into your hips.

He bends down, taking your chin in his fingers to pull you in for a kiss. But before your lips meet, he whispers heatedly, eyes overcast with a swirl of inexplicable emotions.

“You were made for me, Y/N. Of course it’ll fit.”

His eyes flicker to your lips, before coming back to your eyes, silently asking for your okay before proceeding. As much as he wanted this, more than anything he wanted you to want it too. 

Your heart swells, core fluttering at his words. Sylus hisses when he feels your walls clenching against him, inadvertently sinking further into you.

Gasping, you pull him the rest of the way towards you, circling your arms around his neck, and pushing your lips onto his. You take that moment to arch into him, letting him push deeper into you, biting down on his lip as he sinks further to the hilt.

Sylus kisses you so fiercely that you don’t even notice that he’s fully inside you, both cockheads pressed as deep as they will possibly go. Just as he claims every inch of you with his tongue, his arousal coats every part of you, marking you from the inside.

He pulls away with a snarl, his entire chest shuddering, a visible sheen of sweat glistening on his muscled body, “Sweetheart, I need to move.”

You nod, eyelashes fluttering as you fight to keep your eyes open, “Mmngh–you can move, Sy. I-I want you to.”

Sylus’s eyes darken, his palm slamming down on the ground beside your head. He’s completely hovering over you now, his lower body pressed so deliciously into you. Like he owned you.

Laid out against the tapestry of blooming datura, you made his heart stutter, his right eye twinging with inexplicable desire. You were more magnificent than any work of art. After 1,600 years walking these lands, Sylus finally knew what beauty was. 

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, slowly pulling out of you before rolling his hips back into you. He’s so deep, stretching you so full, body so heavy on top of yours. You can’t feel anything but him, and it makes you want to come undone all over him again. That sensation in your gut, that you had become all too familiar with, had already built to a near bursting breaking point. 

“Soo deep–angh–s’fuuull,” you slur, graspingf his horns again, stroking them affectionately, letting the rough ebony edges ground you.

“Fuck,” Sylus curses sharply as you grope his sensitive horns, barely able to contain his own moans. His knees nearly buckle, using only his arms to keep him propped up over you. Squeezing his eyes shut, he takes a deep breath, forcing himself to regain his composure.

His hips roll into you like the tides of the ocean, his pace smooth and rhythmic. There’s a filthy wet ‘smack!’ every time his pelvis hammers into you, the ecstasy your bodies create together makes you leak uncontrollably, even so tightly plugged up by both his lengths. 

“Feel me right here, love?” he grounds out, using one hand to press down firmly on the soft plush of your stomach. You squeal when you feel him pushing down on you, forcing your sensitive spots to clamp down on him. With two of his cocks inside you, there’s absolutely no space for that, the pleasure it brings you sharp and overwhelming. 

“Yes-yes—! Please!” you plead, hoping he’ll have mercy on you. He’s driving you closer and closer to another orgasm, and you don’t know if you’ll survive this one. 

Sylus can feel it too, the way your saccharine walls begin to squeeze him so sweetly, your beautiful starry eyes hazing over—too fucked out to focus, your clit hardened to a pebble against the slicked mat of silvery hair dusting his pelvis. 

With you like this under him, mercy is not something he’s interested in. 

In fact, Sylus had never felt like more of a beast than he did now. And the only thing he had an appetite for was you. The only thing that could sate his hunger was feeling you come undone so exquisitely for him again.

He plants one foot on the ground to give him more leverage, letting him thrust down into you more powerfully. Your thighs were spread so widely to accommodate him, your feet swinging wildly as he rolled his pelvis so deliciously into you, his entire body cascading like tidal waves.

“S-Sylus–ngah!” your relentless moans for him would be embarrassing if you weren’t so deep in the hole of lust, “Soo full–ngh–feel s’full–!”

“I know, love,” he purrs, “You’re so beautiful, with me inside you.” He softly strokes the bulge in your tummy, sending shivers down your arched spine, the sensation so otherworldly. 

He delicately, but firmly, grabs the back of your neck, his fingers long enough to enclose over your entire throat. Gently, he pulls you forward, forcing you to look down at where he’s palming your stomach.

“Taking me so damn well,” he growls, his fingers threading into your hair now, gripping with just enough tension to make you tremble with excitement. Your forehead knocks against his, his damp bangs fluttering against your eyes. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, nails clawing into the thick ropes of muscles there. 

“Mngh–Syluus, I can’t take much more. M’close again–!” 

His hand forces you to watch where he was literally rearranging your insides and has you teetering off the cliff of climax, hanging on for dear life. Sylus’s pace only quickens, his hips pounding into you with reckless abandon now, unable to stop himself, any previous gentleness long gone. 

As a Fiend who’d spent his entire life plundering the world of its treasures and riches, he’d come to know insatiable greed. Dragons inherently took and took, feeding off the gluttony of the human soul, unable to quench their own need to acquire. 

He’d spent a millennium acquiring the most exquisite jewels, extravagant weapons, rarest heirlooms–what he wanted, he took. And yet, every waking day was the hollow echo of a broken harmonium. 

But now, with your angelic little cunt wrapped so perfectly around both his cocks. Your nightingale voice that so often innocently serenaded him, moaning his name like a prayer, greedily begging for more. Your fluttering, doe eyes, glimmering back at him with an entire universe of emotions–desire, anticipation, greed, love.

Sylus realized he’d never known true desire. Not until he’d met you. Nothing he’d ever experienced compared to what it felt like now, to want you–to need you.

And he’d desire nothing, now and forevermore, if he had you. 

Sylus’s fiery breath fans across your lips, his hand holding the back of your head demandingly, voice raspy with an unyielding desire, “I can feel it, sweetheart.” 

“Don’t make me beg, hm?”

His heat fueled words, all but a demand, make you shake to your core. Your body’s perfect reactions to him only make Sylus more vigorous with need, growing impossibly harder inside you. One leaking tip brushes relentlessly against your g-spot, the other bullying into your cervix, damn near trying to find its way into your chest. 

“Sy-Sy–ngh–m’cumming–! Please–!” your neck is hinged back in an ear splitting cry, your hips arched so deeply into Sylus that your spine feels like it might snap. 

“Sh-shit–just like that,” Sylus grits, groaning as your cunt tries to wring him dry, “Just like that, sweet girl. Cum for me.”

Your body convulses, goosebumps littering your skin, as Sylus continues to fuck you through your orgasm, your vision blurring and tears seeping out from the corners of your eyes.You don’t know if it’s because you’ve cum three times already, or because he has you absolutely speared on both his massive erections, or maybe because he looks down at you with all the adoration you think one could hold for even the stars. But this orgasm is far more explosive than the previous ones, and it makes you scream into the night.

You release fiercely against Sylus’s body, the wet gush of release simultaneously erotic and strange. The muscles of your thighs trembled viciously. Your cries of complete and utter pleasure are strangled, your voice nearly gone now. Sylus is cooing sweetly into your ear, but you can't hear him through the blood pounding in your head, your eyes having a hard time staying focussed. 

You don’t even notice when Sylus shifts, now on his knees, his fingers grasping the plush of your hips. Your back now rests against the matted meadow floor, your vision filled with the sky that was slowly filling with stars. 

But your sight is incredibly shaky, Sylus’s grip on your hips bruising as he pulls your body into his relentlessly, still chasing his own release. 

Your senses slowly start to come back to you, the feeling of his cocks still rutting deeply into you sobering you up. The feeling was strange; it was by no means painful, but it was sharp and made you wince.

“Ungh, Sy–s-sensitive,” you whisper, your throat scratchy. Though his thrusts are rough, possessive, he’s somehow still careful with your body, making sure you’re not a complete ragdoll against his demanding pull. You crane your neck slightly and see that, during your momentary orgasmic state of incohesion, Sylus had placed his pants under your head, and what was left of your clothing under your naked back. 

The simple gesture makes your heart skip with inexplicable happiness as you gaze up at him, admittedly growing aroused again, watching him. 

His sweat matted silver bangs had been tousled back, as if he had run his fingers through them. Thick eyebrows, arched downward, darkening his already smoldering irises, watching you like you were the reason the sun rose every day. His entire body was layered in a thin sheen of sweat that made him appear as if he was chiseled from marble, like the sculptures you’d see in the Ivory City. 

“You know, dragons like to mate in the sky,” Sylus groans, a near ramble, delirious with desire, clearly near his own release. His tail flickers wildly behind him, and you use your calf to rub against it. He tenses with a strangled moan, snapping his hips particularly harshly into you. Your eyes roll back as he bruises against your cervix, your sensitivity at an all time high.

“Sylus!”

“One day, hm? Right now, there’s nothing I want more than to see you spread out amongst these flowers.”

Another series of desperate ruts that have you writhing at the intensity.

“We have all the time in the world.”

His honeyed vows have you keening, your body reacting viscerally. Sylus reels when you clamp down on him, doubling over with a strangled groan.

“Not gonna last much longer if you keep doing that,” he pants into the crook of your neck, chest heaving. You loosely wrap your weak arms around his neck, nipping at his earlobe, enjoying the way he flinches.

“Please,” you beg, knowing how much he loves your greed, “I want you to, Sylus.”

A rumbling growl emits from Sylus’s chest, still pressed against yours. Your brain is far too exhausted to register how quickly he moves, maneuvering your thighs until they’re pressed against your breasts.

“Yeah?” Sylus snarls, his entire body caging you in, thighs closed over yours. You swear you can hear your muscles groan in protest, not meant to be this flexible. He’s practically sitting on you, except he keeps most of his weight off of you. From this angle he reaches the deepest he’s been able to, locking you in a mating press that he’s determined to breed you full in. 

“You want me to cum in you, sweetheart?” he rasps, completely feral–too far gone. He’s ramming down into you now, using the strength of his thighs and gravity to knock the air out of your lungs, cocks reaching deep down your throat.

“Too-nghn–too deep!” You don’t know how it’s possible but you feel the coil in your core building again, and you’re certain you won’t survive it this time. It’s too fast, too sensitive, too taut.

Sylus groans, the sound of his pleasure making your mind spin. His rhythm stutters, and you swear you can feel him pulsing inside you, literal vibrations rocking your core. You’d like to think he was as close as you were, again.

“Needs t’be deep, love. If you’re going to give me an heir, hm?”

Your eyes widen at his words, heart skipping a beat. Sylus falters again, feeling you tighten at his words, before smirking crookedly at you.

“So damn tight. Does my sweet girl like that idea?” he croons, almost condescendingly, but threateningly serious.  

Your vision is blurred with euphoric tears, but you can clearly see Sylus’s enchanting eyes looking down at you as they had many times before. They were always intense, the carmine hues able to peer right into your soul. But the heat in them now, as he watched you writhing in ecstasy under him, would put a wildfire to shame. 

You look up at him through your dewy eyelashes, grasping his shoulders, and nod wordlessly, unbelievably aroused by his lewd words of passion.

Storm clouds swirled in his scarlet eyes and he leaned down impossibly closer to you, pressing your bodies tighter together, forcing himself deeper.

“You’re going to take my knot like a good little mate, hm?”

You weren’t entirely sure what that was, but the way Sylus said it just dripped with a possessive sensuality that made you want to submit to his every will. Your stomach flutters at the thought of it, and so you nod eagerly.

“Ungh–anything, Sy–! Anything for you.”

Sylus snarls, nearly baring his teeth, unable to contain the sheer primal joy he felt from your sinful words. He was already having a hard time keeping his instincts at bay with how you felt wrapped around him, underneath him, but now you were on the verge of making him snap entirely.

Did you have any idea what you were doing to him?

“The world needs more dragons, don’t you think?” he snarls, his hand pressing down roughly on your stomach where his two cocks threaten to erupt inside you. The implications of his hand cupping your stomach send you over the edge once more.

Gods, you’d be so beautiful carrying his brood. 

“C-Cumming Sylus!” you whine, voice pathetically broken, body spent beyond belief. Your nails drag through his shoulders, piercing his skin and spilling blood, as every nerve in your body lights ablaze under his touch.

Sylus sinks his teeth into the sensitive spot on your shoulder, needing to claim you as he pushed himself to the edge. Your cunt convulses viciously against him as you cum, the feeling of your perfect heat milking both his cocks pushing him to cum with you.

“F-Fuck, Y/N–!”

Sylus explodes in you with a strangled groan of your name, his release thick, plenty, and scalding. It sends a claiming heat from your core all the way to your fingertips, making you shiver as you shudder with the waves of your climax, crying repeatedly for him.

You feel like you might burst, your stomach swollen with not only his cocks nestled in you but the sheer amount of cum he was still spurting in you. If you weren’t so blissfully fucked out, it might’ve been a bizarre sight, your tummy bulging with the weight of his unending seed painting your walls cream. 

“Mine,” he groans into your neck, sinking himself back into your mark, still rocking into you, still spurting white into you. There’s far too much, leaking out of where he was still connected to you, rutting into you. 

It quickly becomes too much; you’re not sure if you’d become too raw or if you’d simply had enough, but a strange pressure begins to build. And soon that pressure becomes a stinging, painful stretch. 

“Sy-lus,” you whisper, tapping at his chest frantically, “W-Wait please. Something hurts.”

Sylus affectionately licks at the mark he’d branded you with, releasing your legs from the mating press he’d held you in. You whimper in relief when the tension in your hips finally releases. Sylus gently wraps your legs around his waist, but the growing pain between your thighs doesn’t subside.

“It’s my knot, love,” he growls, his voice gruff and gravely. His entire body trembles at the sensation of his knot swelling–filling you, the idea of his seed being stuffed deep inside you making it difficult for him to calm his raging instincts. 

His hand palms where your thighs meet the plush of your rear, kneading into your ass and gripping you closer to him. You instinctually squirm away, the stretch becoming unbearable. But you quickly realize that you physically can’t. You’re literally locked onto him. 

Sylus hisses, holding you in place, desperately trying to get you to stop moving.  

“Please, sweetheart.”

From the sweat dripping down his brow, his jaw clenched so sharply it could cut stone, you realized his knot must’ve been incredibly sensitive. If you weren’t the one getting stretched out onto it, you might’ve even teased him. 

“Just so big, t-too much,” you squeak as he swells further inside of you, not sure how much more you could take. You look down at where his abdomen is pressed into you, the area a pearly mess of your coalesced spend.

You could vaguely see that Sylus had in fact slipped one of his erections out of you, occluded by the sight of the other still engorged and locked inside you. You briefly wonder if the other one is also swelling with a knot. Had he pulled it out for your sake?

“How–nghah–how much more?” you pant, trying your best not to clench down. 

“Almost. You’re taking me so well, Y/N,” Sylus murmurs, deceptively sweet, when all he wanted to do was ram his second knot into you. The battle between his innate draconic instincts, wanting to claim you full force like a beast, and the dual need to protect and cherish you, the last bit of his soul that was untainted.

You squeeze your eyes shut and nod, burying your face into his neck. His scent invades your senses, and you can’t help but moan, lips latching onto his racing pulse. Sylus groans, fingers grasping the back of your head and pressing you deeper into his chest. His tail wraps around your waist again, needing to be closer to you, deeper in you.

“Look at you,” he groans breathily into your ear, the swelling finally seeming to finish, “Taking my entire knot, hm?”

With his entire knot wrapped in your perfect heavenly cunt, Sylus can’t help but start rocking into you again. He’d cum so thickly inside you that his knot actually begins to thrust ever so slightly, the friction sending his eyes reeling backward.

Your eyes blow open, wincing at the feeling of prickling overstimulation. But when you see him, you find yourself not wanting to tell him to stop. 

Sylus’s pearly white canines have dug into his kiss bitten lips, a rosy blush dusting his sharp cheeks. The emerging moonlight makes his argent hair even more ethereal, mussed back in an adorably messy way. His breath is heavy–desperate, face contorted in pure euphoria as he slowly thrusts into you again. 

When you look up at him, you catch him watching you, his eyes overcast by the furrow of his thick eyebrows. 

Reflected in the sea of searing vermillion, the adoration and worship burning brighter than the moon that illuminates a halo behind him, you see your soul reflected back at you. A soul that had been burned black, a puppet without a heart, consumed by revenge and contempt. 

Until a fiendish dragon had plucked her out of the Abyss, and breathed fire back into that very hollow vessel of hatred, illuminating her spirit golden with greed. 

That very greed not only saved your life, but showed you what it meant to be alive. 

You let him slowly fuck his knot into you, whimpering as he stretched you to the point of breaking. Oddly enough, you didn’t hate the feeling, even though it stung. In fact, your body seemed to crave it, crave his body claiming yours. 

“You feel so fucking incredible,” Sylus growls, his movements growing more and more insistent with every passing moment. From his gravelly voice you can tell he’s quickly losing control. Your eyes flutter upward, becoming overwhelmed, your poor body unable to take any more. 

“Syluus, no more,” you grip his forearm, voice weak. Sylus stills when he hears the genuine pain in your voice. His lips are instantly at your temple, pressing kisses into your damp skin.

“Apologies, my love. I got carried away.”

Sylus shifts, cradling you so that you’re now on top of him, his strong arms holding you protectively. His knot, still swollen, rests tightly inside you, plugging you full of his thick seed. You listen to the thrum of his heartbeat, the two of you laying there in a serene silence that nearly lulls you into sleep. 

“You are my fate,” he murmurs imperceptibly, pressing a soft kiss into the claim on your shoulder. His tail has found itself wrapped around your body again, the thick and cold scales digging pleasantly into your burning skin. 

“Hm?” you mumble, sleep creeping in on your consciousness like a thick misty fog. 

Sylus’s chest rumbles with a deep chuckle, his fingers carding through your hair. He can feel his knot slowly beginning to subside, though his body still rides high from the passion. 

“Nothing. Sleep, my little dragon.”

–

“Sing for me.”

Sylus’s wings are cocooned protectively around your naked body, seeing as he had absolutely shredded your clothes earlier. The two of you sat against the trunk of a large willow, with Sylus’s back pressed against it, and your back pressed against his chest, his thighs caged around yours. His tail rests on the ground, coiled around your feet, flickering every so often.

You’d awakened to a moonlit tapestry of stars and had stayed to admire them in the serenity of the valley, instead of heading back to the chapel. 

You crane your neck to look back at him, “What, no please?”

Sylus arches an eyebrow at you, “Were you always this cheeky?”

You can’t help but let out an amused snort, “Were you always this demanding?”

Sylus grimaces, bordering dangerously close to a pout, “Will you sing for me?”

“My throat is sore,” you whine. It was wholeheartedly the truth; your voice was raw from your prior vigorous…activities. But the adorable sulk on his face has your resolve slipping away.

“Just a little,” he murmurs, his bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly. You don’t even think he realizes he’s pouting.

You turn your eyes back to the night sky with a giggle. He always demanded you to sing for him, especially when you’d watch the moon together. It was almost a ritual for the two of you. And you rarely denied him.

♪ “This world is a wasteland where nothing can grow,” ♫

Sylus’s wings tense around you as you start singing, his chin resting on the top of your head. The gentle lilt of your voice sent a shiver down his spine, as he tried to recognize the lyrics. But he realized you hadn’t ever sung this one for him before.

♫ “If it weren't for you, I'd be here all alone,” ♪

You keep your voice low and steady as you sing the melody, staring up at the moon in the cloudless sky. It shines even brighter than it had that night in the chapel. 

♪ “I know in my heart this is where we belong.” ♫

The next lines get caught in your throat when a droplet of water splashes on the crown of your head. 

Odd. There hadn’t been any clouds in the sky.

You tilt your head all the way back, trying to get a better look at the sky, “It’s starting to rain.”

Sylus’s upside down face blocks your view, looming over you. He gently grasps your chin and brings your lips up to his, capturing you in a slow and tender kiss. 

A few more raindrops fall onto your cheek, making you shiver. The valley rain is strangely warm.

When he releases your lips, Sylus wraps his arm around your chest, holding you to him. His heart pounds so heavily you can feel it thrumming against your naked back. 

“Oh! I think the rain stopped Sylus!” you gasp, holding out your palms and extending your arms beyond the shade of the willow to try and catch some falling rainfall.

Sylus’s chest vibrates with laughter. He presses his lips into your hair, taking a deep inhale of your scent. Your pheromones nearly have him throwing you under him again, blood rushing south. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice muffled against your head, shifting so his erections aren’t pressing into your spine. 

Turning to look at him, you giggle in surprise. The silver-haired dragon was not typically a man of many ‘thank yous.’

“For what? Singing?

Sylus doesn’t answer immediately, staring up at the silky glow of the full moon. His normally shadowed irises glisten unusually bright under the radiance of the stars. 

He’d always wanted someone to watch the moon with. 

Sylus looks at you. The corners of his lips are curved in a barely-there smile, but his crimson eyes behold you such devotion that your breath catches. Deep inside the recesses of your consciousness, you can feel your soul tremble, as if being caressed by the claws of another. 

“Yeah. For singing.”

–

A drop of water splashes against your cheek, shaking you out of your reverie. 

You frantically wipe the tears from your cheeks away with your fingers, but the water only continues to fall.

Looking up, you realize the sunset had faded into night. In your reminiscing, clouds had overtaken the sky, crystalline raindrops starting to cascade from the heavens. 

It’s…raining. 

It hadn’t rained for decades in Tarus City, not since that day atop the Highest Court of Justitia. 

Not until now.

♪ This world is a wasteland. ♫

You reach your hand out to catch some of the falling water in your palm, enjoying the sensation of the droplets splashing against your tepid skin. 

A fleck of ebony ash drifts into your palm, the lingering orange ember fading away like a melting sunset when it meets your wet skin, tragically beautiful. 

Like a body fading into crystals of midnight, getting swept up into the clouds.  

♫ Don't let me go, go, go, go, go, go, go. ♪

The raindrops mix with your tears. You’re not sure how much time passes with you standing there in the rain, a mess of silent sobs. Seconds, minutes, hours, you’re not sure how long. Time seems to lose meaning as you stand there, your emotions coming out in an endless stream of tears. Eventually your eyes dry, your body dehydrated with nothing left to shed. 

But the rain doesn’t show any signs of relenting.

When your bloodshot vision focusses just enough for you to regain your sight, you watch as the rainwater seems to melt away the thick layers of soot that had caked the meadow floor for decades. 

The rain was pouring down like silver threads now, gathering into the streams in the depths of the meadow. The way the water trickled down the spine of the empty riverbanks almost made it seem like the valley was alive again.

You look up at the sky. Darkness had come quick, especially with the amount of rain clouds that had surfaced. There weren’t many stars visible, the twinkling lights hidden by the smog and the clouds. 

But as you watch the billowing storm clouds, the wind picks up, parting the column of clouds into two, allowing the glow of the moon to illuminate through. 

Your breath catches as you behold the sight of the moon. It was a full moon tonight, a halo of argent brilliance. 

The same moon you’d watched together here, on that night. 

You couldn't recall the last time you'd allowed yourself to gaze at the moon like this. It felt wrong–to watch the night sky without Sylus. Or maybe you were just too much of a coward. 

Wherever he was, was there a moon for him to gaze up at too? 

Standing here in the valley, under the bask of the moonlight, you feel closer to him than you had in a long time. There’s so much you wanted to say to him, to apologize for–to explain. But you struggle to find the words, your voice caught in your throat, drowning in unrelenting rain and inexplicable emotions.

Your heart drops when the light wanes, the moon getting swallowed up by the unending storm clouds, the moment passing as quickly as it had come. 

Some words are like the moonlight hidden by the clouds. Once the moment passes, there’s no need to say them anymore.

The rainfall drizzles to a stop, leaving you a soaked and shivering mess in the creeping darkness. Though the rain has stopped, the clouds remain. They blanket the entire sky, reaching towards the valley. They trickle over the tops of the scarlet mountains, spilling down like a waterfall.

You’re about to turn to leave when another falling fleck of ash flits in front of your face, tickling your eyelashes. 

You catch it in your open hand, waiting for it to dissolve into the dewiness of your palm. But it just lays there, whole and unyielding. Picking it up, you examine it carefully, before tentatively twirling it around between your fingertips.

What you thought was a fleck of ash wasn’t actually, but a midnight datura petal. 

Your eyes widen in shock, cradling the fragmented bloom in your palm as if it were a newborn hatchling. Whirling around, you search for any possible signs that there could be flowering daturas in the valley. But the ground is covered in nothing but melting ash, as far as your eye can see. Surely nothing could have survived here. 

But the flesh feels healthy and supple as you pinch it gently between your fingertips, as if it’d just been freshly plucked. 

Wrapping your arms around your soaked and shivering body, the petal tucked in between your fingers, you look out one last time into the vast expanse of ashen scarlet hills. 

Somewhere out there, there is a blooming datura. If even just one. 

“Tarus City will bloom once more–as far as the eye can see.”

You let the wind carry your voice off, louder and stronger than you’d intended. The meadow listens, your words echoing into the heart of the valley.  

“But only for you, Sylus.”

You bring the datura petal to your lips, pressing it tenderly there. For a second, you contemplate holding onto it. Taking it with you. 

But perhaps that’d been your mistake all these years.

Holding on when you should’ve been letting go. 

You unclasp your fingers, and the wind lifts the petal from your hands. As it flutters past your shoulders, there’s an inexplicable warmth that emanates from Sylus’s mark–the faint traces of the bittersweet scent of cindered blossoms tickling your nostrils.

It drifts higher, towards the call of the wild–the mountain ranges beckoning it toward them. Higher until you can barely make it out from the expanse of the twilight sky. 

Higher, until it disappears beyond the cloudfall.

♪ Don't let me go. ♫

© aeyumicore 2025.

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

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

[mydeist]

ceaseless

Pairing: warlord!sukuna x courtesan!reader

Synopsis: A lot can be said about Sukuna. He’s a true warrior. Beastly. A man fully capable of overthrowing the current regime if he wanted, but chooses not to because he’s lazy. He’s also irritatingly persistent, that much is known with how many times he’s come into the brothel demanding your presence rather than going with all the other courtesans he’s been offered… for free, thanks to the power and status that comes with his name.

It's been years now. You can’t hide from him forever, especially not when your mother, the Madame herself, is starting to grow tired of turning him down.

Cw: explicit smut, profanity, alcohol and tobacco use, historical au, loosely inspired by apothecary diaries and demon slayer, sukuna's a menace, the emperor's afraid of him, readers an oiran (highest rank)

chapter one

chapter two

notes: lol nvm about the hiatus thing, off we go to delulu land

All rights reserved © 2025 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform

[mydeist]

LAY DOWN THE LAW — 五条悟 GOJO SATORU

PLOT 𐙚 Gojo Satoru is the city's hottest attorney and your maddeningly smug boss. Ten years of will-they-won’t-they office tension come to a head when a late night at the firm finally pushes you both over the edge, right onto his desk, and then some. You might be the secretary, but tonight? You’re the one running the court, with your hand shafted around a very big . . . gavel.

FEATURING Gojo Satoru x Reader

CW 𐙚 afab!reader, MDNI, Workplace AU, Boss x Secretary, Suits!AU, Lawyer!Gojo, power plays, possessive language, desk séx, couch séx, semi-public, oràl (f), cowgírl, swítch!Gojo, líght restraínts, praisé kínk, bíting/màrking, mànhandling, unprotected séx, GOJO IS A YEARNER

WC 𐙚 5.1k

NOTE 𐙚 one of my friends started watching suits for the first time and it got me thinking of the good old days...

The firm's office was quiet. Eerily so. The sterile kind of silence that only settled after sunset, when the junior associates had scurried off and the city skyline outside blurred into a sea of flickering lights and taxi horns.

Nights like this always felt heavier somehow, thick in your chest like an aching, hungry fog. Not because of the overtime, hell, you practically lived in this building and wore your stellar competence like a badge of honour, but because after hours meant only one thing.

You were alone. With him.

Satoru Gojo.

Senior partner. The best closer in the city, a hotshot lawyer snug in designer suits. A certified dream and nightmare wrapped into one tall, toned package.

And the worst part? You didn't even mind craving his presence, like a moth to a sparkling, blue flame.

Your gaze always lingered past the edge of your desk when Gojo strolled by in the mornings, leaving you with that casual wink as though gravity bent around him, and you just happened to be in its pull. His stupidly expensive Armani suits, his smug, whiny quips and that sharp-fanged grin that made you want to slap and straddle him in the same breath.

Which is exactly why your heart stuttered when the intercom crackled to life, and his voice slid through, smooth as a neat pour of whiskey, "Doll, can you come in here for a second?"

You knew the drill. Some last-minute filing. A deposition draft he suddenly had to review. Gojo would pour you a crystal glass of scotch, pretend to talk business, and shiver when you leaned in far too close behind his oaken desk, eyes lingering on the swan-curve of your neck.

And like always, you would pretend not to notice, pressing your thighs together to relieve the wayward tension he wrought in you.

But tonight? You were in no mood to play the pretty secretary as diligently as you had been for the past few years. You grit the tips of your heels into the soft carpet to heave open the heavy glass door to his office, not bothering to knock.

Gojo glances up from a stack of clean paper, leaning back in his pristine chair with the ease of a man who brought in millions upon millions of dollars in merger deals each year for the firm. His navy tie was loosened, top button of his starch-white shirt undone.

White hair tousled as though he had run a frustrated hand through it one too many times, and judging by the way his blue eyes greedily dragged up your frame and snagged on your collarbone, you were the reason.

"Late night?" You ask, tone clipped as you watch how the city lights spilled through the high-rise windows behind him, painting him in gold, and blue, and deep, dangerous shadow.

"Thought you could help me with something," Gojo tosses a crisp folder your way, and your nails snag into the thin cardboard without blinking, "Couple of items that needed sorting."

"You couldn't have done this tomorrow? This is just copy-room administration."

Gojo tilts his head, lashes pale as snow, and unfairly long, "You were still here," he shrugs with a casual indifference that doesn't match the tension gnawing at his jaw, "Figured I'd make use of your talents."

The bob of his Adam's apple clearly gave away the flimsy excuse, for Gojo Satoru has always been hungry for the sight of you, even when he was pretending otherwise.

Tonight, though, that smug smile and velvet tone hits different, like a match dragged too slowly across the box, and your jaw clenches.

Gojo had always hovered right there, just shy of indecent in the silent hours of the night. Just enough innuendo to make your thighs clench, but never enough to tip over.

Like he got off dragging the two of you to the edge, and then walking away.

No more.

You step forward, scuffing your heel into the soft weave of the floor, and slapping the folder flat on his desk, "You always do this."

Gojo blinks, jewel-blue eyes owlish and flicking innocently, "Do what?"

"Treat me like I'm yours. Flirt with me. Buy me expensive shit, –" You lean in, meeting the defensive scowl in his eyes, "You took me shopping privately for a Hermès bag this morning, apparently just because."

You know Gojo Satoru enough to recognise the twitch in his expression, the flicker of something real and not cloaked in his endless bravado.

You refuse to let up, "So tell me, Gojo. Are you ever actually going to do something about it?"

"I thought you were seeing that investment banker from the 46th floor," Gojo mutters, jaw tight as his eyes tear themselves away from you, the swell of your chest with considerable effort.

Ah. Nanami Kento.

That fling was brief, for while you liked your men strong, you didn't quite like them silent.

No hard feelings, of course.

"That ended six months ago," you say coolly, "And when I first told you about him, you didn't speak to me for a week. What was that about?"

Silence. You can't hear anything else but the hard, pounding beat of your pulse, and the faint hum of electricity running in the background, keeping parts of the office lit.

Gojo stands, not abruptly nor angrily. Just deliberately, like a man who already made up his mind long ago.

You inch back automatically, the edge of the desk pressing against the small of your back, below the crux of your spine. Gojo follows, close, too close. Heat radiates off your boss like static, and his scent, mint and cedar, curls in your lungs.

A large hand cups your jaw, and his touch isn't rough. Gojo uses just enough pressure to make you tilt your chin up to meet those storm-blue eyes. Darker now, dilated and devouring.

"Say the word," Gojo murmurs, voice thick with something you could even mistake as longing, "And I'll show you that I'm yours right here."

Your throat bobs, a hot flush beginning to kiss the tips of your ears, "What? Here, Gojo, –" You're hissing, even though you knew the building was entirely empty, and it was well past midnight.

Gojo's index finger is pressed to your lips, "You want me to be an honest man?" A wicked but almost bashful smile ghosting over the mouth of the most confident and self-assured man that you know, "Fine. I want to kiss you."

You don't give him the chance to ask again.

Grabbing the finely tailored lapels of his suit, and pulling the attorney down into you, kissing him hard. Tasting mint, coffee and the ghost of lemon candy on his tongue as his hand slams back against the desk, and you can swear he whimpers.

Gojo chases after you like a man starved. The press of his lips both hot and urgent, his clever tongue teasing until you groan, biting his lower lip hard enough to taste the tell-tale tang of iron.

That earns you another sound from deep in his throat, something that sounds almost grateful, and he pulls you closer. Looping a strong around your waist, already tugging at the hem of your top.

You think that the only downside of having Gojo Satoru like this, is the human need to pull back for oxygen.

But he seems almost magnetically drawn to you, eyes lingering on the glossy sheen coating your mouth, his breath shallow as he heaves a sharp breath, "Always wanted to know what you would taste like."

"Oh, yeah? Got your answer?"

"Well, one part of my answer," Gojo's large hands are running along the silky seam of your stockings, and you involuntarily shiver as you push against the firm planes of his chest, snaking your manicured hand lower.

"You're already hard."

Gojo gives you a faintly embarrassed, dull look, but it's true enough. There's a rock solid tent in his dark slacks, aching for friction against your thigh, as he murmurs against your jaw, "What, you think if I put my hands up your skirt, you're not gonna' be wet?"

What use is there in denying cold, hard facts?

Gojo's hands run down to your waist, spinning you around so fast that your palms slam against the hard surface of his desk for balance.

The wood is cold beneath your skin, spotless and severe, and each pen on his desk is lined up with military precision, not a page out of place.

For now.

You can feel the white-haired man behind you, his body heat pressing into your back as he leans over, pink lips brushing the delicate shell of your ear, "This desk's seen a lot of action," he murmurs, "But nothin' like this."

Your heart is thudding as soft, suckled marks are bruised gently into your neck, "You ever bend a client over it?"

"No," Gojo scoffs, dragging his hands up your sides once more, slow and reverent as though he wants to commit your form to memory, "Only ever thought about my favourite secretary."

You're gasping, lips slack, as he kicks your legs slightly apart at the knee, and then, fuck — his fingers are sliding up your inner thigh. Bold, skilled and confident.

When he find the wet heat, slick and searing between your legs, Gojo groans against your neck, "God, you really are mine, huh?"

"Check the paperwork, then, S-Satoru," You're hissing, trying to stay snide, even as your hips hungrily rock into his touch. Ensuring that you grind your dripping, plump folds against his fingers, coating his knuckles with your arousal.

"Oh, I will," Gojo purrs, "In fact –"

Gojo keeps a solid arm snug around you, holding you up as his other hand reaches for something on the desk, and before you can question what on earth he's doing now, you hear the rustle of paper.

He's got your file, that faded résumé that you had dropped in his lap when you had first demanded he hire you. You twist your head to blearily glare at him just as he flips it open.

"You had excellent references," Gojo muses, as though he's reading aloud to a jury. Meanwhile, two long fingers are filthily sliding into you, slow and deep, curling just right in pursuit for a sweet spot, "Punctual. Detail-oriented. Loyal. Mhm, tight too. Didn't see that in the résumé."

"S-Satoru," You choke out, nails already curling half-crescents into the polished wood. His palm now roughly angled so you can drag your throbbing cunt over his hand, and still catch enough friction to soothe your aching clit.

"Ah-ah," The white-haired man clicks his tongue, hooking his middle finger so a fresh wave of slick clings to the fine dusting of pale, white hair on his hand, "That's Gojo during business hours."

"It's past m-midnight."

"Heh, you're right," Gojo snickers, battering his fingers against that roughened, sweet spot, "In that case, call me whatever ya' want, doll."

You arch into his tender touch, breath hitcing as his fingers fuck you with the kind of steady rhythm that says he's had this moment planned, fantasised and rehearsed.

His other hand warmly slips under your top, pushing the fabric side just enough to tug your bra down, and palm your breast, thumb brushing your pebbled nipple as you whimper.

"You like this?" Gojo asks, the liquid-smooth tone of his voice now tinged with a hungry rasp, and his lips continue to delicately press kisses over the nape of your neck, "Letting your boss finger you over his quarterly earnings report?"

You try to respond, but your pleas come out more as a garbled moan, stifled as he probes his fingers against the elastic walls of your cunt.

Gojo grins, "Didn't catch that, sweet girl. You're gonna' have to say it like you mean it."

"F-fuck, yes, yes," you gasp, back arching as your thighs strain with the most delicious ache, "Want more, p-please."

Gojo stills, not all the way, just enough to make you squirm, hips rolling helplessly into the hand that no longer moves, breath catching in your throat as the heat and rhythm disappear.

His touch lingers, taunting, maddening, and you whine before you can stop yourself, the sound slipping past your lips like a plea you didn’t mean to give him.

He huffs a quiet laugh, the kind that curls down your spine like smoke, "More?" he echoes, faux-innocent and infuriating, his voice that same low, slick tone he uses when convincing clients to sign over the promise of ten million dollars, "You think I just give it away, doll?"

Your response is instant, breathy and heated, punctuated by the steady drip of your slick against his desk, "I earned it, didn't I?"

And that, that does something to Gojo. You feel the change. Like a muscle coiled too tight finally snapping loose.

It's in the way his warm grip tightens on your hips, the way he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years, the guttural sound he lets out as he drops to his knees with a heavy thud, slacks creased, like a man possessed.

In one fluid motion, your translucent, sopping panties are around your ankles, torn down so fast the elastic snaps, and Gojo's murmuring a kiss of apology against your thigh, and his broad hands are dragging your thighs apart like he's carving out space for worship.

"Consider this your bonus," Gojo murmurs, voice dark with promise, ruined at the mere sight of your glossy, winking pussy, and then his mouth is on you.

Your gasp punches out of you like it's been yanked from the base of your spine. His tongue is hot and wet and obscene, sliding through your folds with the kind of deliberate slowness that makes you tremble. He licks you like he's determined to learn you, like he's done the theory, read the case notes, and now it's time for oral arguments.

And God, he's good at it. Gojo is really good at it.

He flicks his tongue over your swollen clit with practiced ease, teasing little circles that send white-hot pulses of pleasure through your gut. Every time your hips buck, he anchors you tighter, one arm locking around your thigh while the other drags you closer by the small of your back, forcing you to stay still and take it so perfectly for him.

"You're so w-wet," Gojo groans into your cunt, lips slick and voice reverent, like he’s drunk off the taste of your sweet pussy, "What's the matter, baby? Can't focus when someone's actually giving you what you need?"

Your fingers scramble for purchase on the desk’s edge as he sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue rolling against it with maddening rhythm. Your eyes flutter, head tipping back, your entire body buzzing with pleasure.

Your knees nearly buckle when he hums, hums, as though he's tasting vintage wine.

When Gojo pulls back at last, his mouth is shining, and he looks positively wrecked in the best way. Flushed cheeks, jaw damp, pupils blown wide. The front of his suit is creased, rumpled beyond salvation. His deep-blue tie's hanging off one shoulder. And his blinding grin is nothing short of smug.

"Gonna' bend you over this desk now,” Gojo says casually, like he's scheduling a client call, "Heels on. Hands flat. Keep your voice down unless you want HR to catch the encore on security footage."

You barely hear the rest of the sentence, you're already moving, limbs moving on instinct, spine arching as you brace yourself against the desk.

And you don’t even realise you're obeying until your palms hit the polished wood and you feel the weight of Gojo behind you again, hot and solid and absolutely unrelenting.

And when he finally pushes into you, all thick, hot, and utterly unforgiving inches upon inches, it knocks the breath straight from your lungs.

There's no teasing now, no soft wind-up or slow drag. Just the blunt, overwhelming stretch of his fat mushroom-tip probing and filling you in one deliberate thrust that has your back arching and your mouth falling open in a wordless moan.

You gasp, the sound stuttering against your forearm as you brace yourself on the desk, eyes squeezing shut from the sheer intensity of it.

Gojo's big. Oh, he knows it's big, and he fucks like he's trying to remind you of it with every single stroke. Ensuring that you never forget the sticky slap! of his thighs tacking against your own, dribbling with arousal and the prelude to his seed.

The white-haired man's hands clamp down on your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh there with a bruising grip as he snaps his hips into yours, relentless and smooth, like he’s been waiting years for this.

The desk jerks with every thrust, drawers rattling. Loose pages scatter to the floor. Gojo's gilded nameplate goes flying with a clatter, landing somewhere near your pricey heels, and the coffee mug you brought him earlier tips over, soaking a stack of contracts you'd spent the whole afternoon organising.

Neither of you care.

"Fuck," Gojo groans, whiny voice fraying at the edges, rough and low and needy, "Look at you. Taking it so f-fucking well. Like this pretty pussy was made to be bent over my desk."

You let out a strangled moan, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the slick wood surface, the edge biting into your hips with every push forward. Your legs are trembling, heels still on, body taut with sensation, overstimulated already and aching for more. And you try to speak, to respond, but the words break apart in your dry throat, "Y-you are so –"

"Charming?" Gojo grits out, breath hot against the back of your neck as he leans forward to press his chest to your spine, one hand leaving your hip to curl around your throat, not tight, just enough to tilt your head up, "Devastatingly handsome? Ridiculously good at fillin' you up? You're gonna' have to be more specific, doll."

You let out something between a sob and a laugh, even as your eyes roll back at the next thrust. And Gojo's voice lowers to a murmur, but there's nothing soft in it, just heat, possession, a hint of desperation bleeding through the snark, "C'mon, baby. Say it. Say you're mine. Please."

You manage it on a gasp, voice wrecked, pleasure-drenched, "I'm —f-fuck, I'm yours."

That does it. Gojo groans like you just handed him a verdict in his favor, like your words scratched some raw, aching itch inside him that nothing else could reach, "Y-yeah, you are,” he growls, "All f-fucking mine."

He fucks you harder after that, messy, frantic, a little feral. One hand back on your hip, the other dragging down your back to press between your shoulder blades, holding you down, keeping you right there as he takes you like a man who’s been dreaming about this for far too long.

You can feel every solid, veined inch of him. The way he stretches you open, the obscene slick sounds between your thighs, the way his cock hits deep and perfect on every roll of his hips. His pace is devastating, measured and punishing and so fucking good it sends white sparks bursting behind your eyelids.

You must be drooling into the desk, heat curling in your belly, orgasm building again, fast and dangerous and unstoppable. And behind you, Gojo's voice breaks on a groan as he mutters against your ear, "You gonna' come for me again, pretty girl? Wanna feel you s-squeeze me while I fill you up. You gonna' let me, yeah?"

Your answer is a breathless, wrecked moan, because yes, fuck, yes —

And that’s all he needs. You barely manage to stay standing.

Your legs are jelly, trembling under the weight of overstimulation and everything he's just done to you, your thighs slick with him, your blouse clinging to sweat-damp skin, buttons half-torn and collar askew. Your breath comes in short, uneven pants, chest heaving against the edge of the desk like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

Gojo's still behind you, spurting cock slowly being dragged out of your puffy, twitching folds, not touching, but there, looming, panting, shirt untucked, white hair wild and matted with sweat. He looks ruined. Flushed. Like he’s just sprinted all sixty floors of the high-rise with you on his mind.

And then Gojo sees it.

The faint red imprint of his hand blooming across your hip. The angry mark his Prada belt buckle left above the curve of your ass. The glimmer of your slick smeared across his cock, still hard, twitching against his abdomen, and soaking into the fine dusting of white hair crawling over his groin, glistening like proof of what he just did to you.

Gojo's pupils dilate, and whatever blue was left in his eyes vanishes beneath the darker, more reverent hunger, "Mine," he murmurs, half to himself, voice hushed and hoarse, like he has to say it out loud to believe you're real, "You're mine."

You twist to look at him, wobbly on your heels but a faint ghost of a smile paints your lips all the same, "Yeah, Satoru?" you say, voice still a little wrecked, "Then sit down."

Gojo blinks, stunned for just a second, the most in-demand lawyer in the city whipped into flushed silence from the command. But you just jut your chin toward the couch, charcoal-grey leather, sleek and smooth.

"I said sit."

There's a pause. A flicker of something wild in Gojo's incredulous expression, like he wants to fight it. But then his lips part into a grin that borders on worshipping, like he's never been bossed around in his life and is so damn into it, "Yes, ma'am."

Gojo drops onto the couch, milky and muscular thighs spread wide, weeping cock hard and glistening and flushed an angry red from base to tip. White-haired head lolling back against the cushions as he exhales like a man undone. His tie is half-off, collar loose, suit beyond salvation.

You straddle him before he can get cocky again, knees pressed into the cushions, ruined skirt hitched around your waist, heat still pulsing between your legs as you slide over his broad lap. Gojo's hands fly to your hips automatically, gripping tight, like his body's already memorised every inch of your skin like a precious canvas already.

"I'm still ya' boss, you know," Gojo says, looking up at you through those sinfully pale lashes, trying for cocky and failing, it comes out breathless and wanting.

You roll your hips down slowly, grinding against Gojo's lap, until the head of his spurting cock slips against your entrance, snagging against your walls, and his head thunks back with a guttural groan and a raspy, "Fuck."

"Don't think so, 'Toru," you murmur, voice low, syrupy, and you can feel his cock twitch against your inner thigh, jumping at the abbreviated name, "Right now? I wanna' be in charge."

That does it. Whatever minuscule control Gojo had snaps.

He grips the plush flesh of your ass, and yanks you down as he thrusts up into you, burying himself to the hilt in one sharp, perfect stroke that leaves you gasping and mewling at the tip of his cock swabbing deeply within you.

It's so utterly messy and wet, and filthy, your bodies crashing together with the raw sound of sex, of urgency, of months, no, years of restraint finally shattered.

Gojo's hungry mouth finds your neck, open and greedy, licking and biting like he wants to leave a roadmap behind, a pattern he wants to follow forevermore. You gasp, manicured nails clawing down his chest, raking through the remnants of his tailored dress shirt.

"You like that?" You're whining, voice catching as your hips start to rock once more, adjusted to the sheer girth of him, pace steady and punishing, "Getting m-marked?"

"Fuck, yeah," Gojo groans, snapping his hips up so hard your breath stutters, and a steady plap! plap! plap! echoes in the empty office. "Want you to w-wreck me, doll. Wan' the whole d-damn firm to see I belong to you."

You're certainly not gentle when you kiss him again. You slam your mouth to his, teeth and tongue and something that tastes like vengeance and victory. He kisses back like he's still starving, like he hasn't eaten in weeks and you're his last meal, what he's been craving the most.

Somehow, somewhere in the chaos, his silky tie ends up wrapped loosely around your wrists, a makeshift restraint anchoring your hand to the back of his neck, keeping you steady as you bounce in Gojo's lap, feeling him sway the thick bulge of his cock in and out of you. You can feel the thrum of his pulse there, frantic and wild, syncing with yours.

"I dream about this, you know?" Gojo mutters against your mouth, nibbling on your glossy lower lip. "Y-you. Riding me and using m-me. Fuck, I wake up hard just thinking about your voice."

Your pussy must be drooling all over his lap, and your walls tighten around him and Gojo chokes, his blue eyes rolling back for a second as his chest flushes a pale shade of strawberry red.

"Then wake u-up, 'Toru," you whisper, lips brushing his jaw, gently nipping at the soft skin, "And t-take it."

And Gojo does. He thrusts his cock up into you, hard and deep, pace brutal and beautiful all at once. His hands are everywhere, gripping your hips, palming your breasts, fingers sliding down your spine to hold you in place while he slams into you with the rhythm of a man unhinged.

Gojo's mouth latches onto your collarbone, biting down hard enough to bruise, and when you do the same to his shoulder, he whines, "More," he begs, "Give me more. F-fucking ruin me. Leave your teeth in me, I'm yours."

His hand slips between your bodies, calloused thumb rubbing tight, fast circles over your clit as you ride him, and the pleasure builds fast, white-hot and sharp, until you're shaking with it, your moans dissolving into ragged gasps.

"Gojo, –" you breathe, barely above a strangled whisper as his cock carves out loud squelches and leaves you both boneless and breathless. Jewel-blue eyes snap up to yours like you’re divine.

"That's it," Gojo growls, lower lip slack as he watches the sticky, gluey strands of your arousal cling to his thighs, "C-come for me. Come allll over my cock n' be a good girl and fall apart, my girl."

And you do.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, sudden and seismic, your whole body spasming, thighs locking around him as you cry out his name. Gojo watches, utterly spellbound, as you unravel, sweat-slick and stunning and trembling on his lap.

"F-fuck, fuck, sweetheart," Gojo gasps, hips stuttering, and soft strands of white hair falling over his eyes, "Holy shit, gonna come, fuck, I'm c-coming, –"

He spills inside you with a ragged moan, all thick, pearly seed and the rhythmic pulse of his cock's release as he thrusts deep, clinging to you like he never wants to let go. The aftershocks roll through both of you, sticky and breathless and all-consuming.

You collapse against his chest, both of you panting like you’ve run a marathon. Gojo's arms wrap around your back immediately, hands splayed across your spine, holding you like something sacred.

"Don't you dare quit on me," Gojo murmurs, voice hoarse and broken, "Swear to god, if you hand in your resignation, I'll follow you into retirement and eat you out every morning like it’s my full-time job. We can get a nice, shiny penthouse and, –"

You snort, still dazed, chin tucked into his shoulder, enveloped by the sheer, searing exertion rolling off him, intertwined with his signature, smoky scent, "You're insane."

"What?" Gojo breathes, that indignant tone creeping back up into his voice, as he trails long fingers up and down your back with slow, reverent strokes, "I'd make a hot trophy wife."

[mydeist]

cw: fluff, mention of wife a lot, fem reader.

Broody husband Sukuna, who always looks like he does not want to be there when he's beside you. He's scoffing, looking away, hand in his pockets, murmuring things to himself—probably cursing, people think—and showing no displays of affection towards you. No one has ever seen him kiss you, even on the forehead or your cheeks.

So everyone assumes there's tension in your marriage. That probably he is one of those husbands who casually joke about hating their wives like it's the most normal thing ever. Or that he is probably cheating on you with someone. Because why else would he act like being around his own wife would incinerate him?

What they probably don't notice is his fumbling hands, trying to discreetly and smoothly land on your shoulder or waist while you two are walking together. And he accidentally slaps his hand into a random pedestrian's face. Or when he is standing behind you at some random party your neighbors invited you to, and he is looking at you all awestruck, not listening to whatever the fuck his annoying white-haired neighbor is yapping about. One too many times when you two are taking a walk at the park, he has attempted to hold your hands and then backed away and pretended like he was checking his nails or something. Let's say he is sitting beside you on a couch, and you are talking to your friends, and he goes to put his arms around you, and then when you lean back into the sofa, he is suddenly stretching his arms.

It is all very silly. How whipped he is for his wife when he looks like he could not be bothered with anything to care about shit. The funniest part is that you are aware of it all, what people think, and his little attempts at trying to be more affectionate in public and failing miserably. You intentionally freeze up when you notice them so he would not get scared off. But it is also extremely hilarious when he frowns, gets all grumpy, and sulks the rest of the time when he fails to be more husbandly to you in public.

Because he also hears stuff, and he does not like it. If it were in his power, he would kiss the shit out of you in front of the entire world. But he is just a very big guy who happens to be a very big loser for his wife. 

Because he also hears stuff, and he does not like it. If it were in his power, he would kiss the shit out of you in front of the entire world. But he is just a very big guy who happens to be a very big loser for his wife.

a/n: dividers by @/cafekitsune

[mydeist]

nanami kento couldn't help but be left speechless when gojo all of a sudden asked "ass, thighs, or tits?" during a night out at a bar.

"and here i thought you've finally matured." he murmured, taking a sip of his drink to avoid answering gojo's stupid ass questions. he was clearly intoxicated at this point of the night and kento has honestly had enough. kento began to shuffle in his seat to get out of the booth he was in and stood up.

"leaving so soon?" shoko inquired, taking a drag of her cigarette before stubbing it on the ashtray beside her. nanami cleared his throat and nodded, "it's been a long day and i need to go home."

throughout the train ride back to his shared apartment with you, the question played through his mind like a broken record: ass, thighs, or tits? kento frowned. it was such a trivial question; he’s not trying to flatter you or anything because you’re his girlfriend, but you're just so perfect.

everything about you was so perfect; he’s completely sure of it. even more so once you greeted him by the door in nothing but his trench coat as a “joke”.

what a joke that was, as before you knew it, you were pressed against your shared bed with your ass up. nanami licked his lips at his sight; your ass really was a sight to behold while he thrusted into you. his calloused hands gripped on it, massaging it as if it was dough while he was absolutely ruthless to your pussy.

"ngh-fuck, kento!" you screamed, gripping at the bedsheets of your shared bed. his thick cock was practically splitting you open with the pace he decided to take, ever so excruciating on your poor cunt and practically jack-hammering into you as a milky while ring formed around his cock ever so slightly.

no matter how many times you fucked him, you could never seem to get used to his size.

the way he filled you and kissed at your cervix with every thrust left you speechless. even more so when he maneuvered your ass moved with every thrust, hitting his thighs and making such an addicting sound.

the question came back into kento's head when you sucked him off, your breasts between his cock. your pretty and perky tits moved so enticingly, squeezing him in such a manner.

"fuck, beautiful," he groaned, "you're so good to me."

your lips kissed at his tip softly while he fucked your breasts fast. they were so soft and lush against his throbbing cock, taking him so well at the pace he took and making him feel so good. even more so, when you kept constant eye contact with him.

when he finished, your chest was painted in a milky white and so fucking pretty.

then again, when you were held in a mating press-your body stretching out— your thighs were so soft and nice to hold as he ate you out. at this point of the night, you felt yourself fucked dumb that you couldn't even make a prope sentence rather just mumble.

"aah-shit..!" you felt tears brim at your eyes from the overstimulation your boyfriend gave you. his tongue worked wonders as his thumb rubbed in your clit simultaneously. he couldn't help but love the way your thighs got out of his grip and then clung onto his head in reaction to him using his tongue to fuck you, like he was insatiable.

he could be in this position all day and die a happy man with how your beautiful pillowy thighs were wrapped around his head. that and how sweet you were; sweeter than his favorite candy.

it was just too fucking good.

so when you finally had enough and laid there, handmarks on your ass and cum on your thighs and chest, even then nanami couldn’t choose between all of them.

because you were too perfect.

[mydeist]

⊹₊⟡⋆ gravity hurts (you made it so sweet) 🤍 caleb 以昼.𖥔 ݁ ˖

⋆˙⟡pairing: caleb x nonmc! reader

⋆˙⟡word count: 17.3k (i wrote a book lol)

⋆˙⟡summary: the three of you have been the best of friends ever since you remembered, and although your love for Caleb wasn’t exactly the friendly kind, you were more than happy to have him close. But who would’ve thought that one night by yourselves would end this way? The warmth of acceptance and the sting of the heartbreak that came after, and among all of it—a lost boy desperate to make it right.

⋆˙⟡tags: 18+, mdni!!! NOT a love triangle!! mc is treated as a caleb’s sis in this one, the reader and mc and caleb are friends!! best of friends!! unrequited love!! but not really, angst, angst with happy ending, misunderstandings, or more like lies, love confessions obsessed caleb, kinda pathetic caleb, insecure caleb, he cries, we cry, everyone literally cries, first times, but the scene is quite short, they love each other so much, my babies, please read it.

⋆˙⟡writer’s note: my first ever commission for my wonderful stella 🥺 i hope you like it baby and i hope all of u will like it too, despite the length. i wanted to stretch it in time so that the reconciliation at the end wouldn’t be forced. i hope you’ll read it and like it, i loved writing for caleb 🤍

!!likes, reblogs and comments, pls comment, would be appreciated ♡ let me know what u think!

ᯓ ✈︎

* 20+ unread messages from [ my miss hunter!<3 ]*

✉︎ baby what happened, where are you?

✉︎ you don’t pick up and even read my messages, i don’t know what’s happening, are you okay?

✉︎ caleb’s going totally ap(pl)eshit pun intended god i hope if you’re reading this you laughed at least. PLEASE write back or i’ll join him.

✉︎ he’s actually going insane, does he know something? he refuses to tell me anything, what happened between you guys? i was absent for literally one meeting, did you throw hands or something? he seems really unstable, like, much more than usual and he already had issues before, that’s for SURE.

✉︎ i’m so sorry for joking. i’m just really worried. it’s been a week. please respond to me, i don’t know what to do. i need to know you’re safe.

✉︎ what did he do? now i know that he’s at fault here, he’s acting insane.

✉︎ he’s not sleeping. i don’t think he’s eating either? he looks like a walking corpse and he’s still looking for you everywhere. i’m not sure who’s managing the fleet now but for sure not him.

✉︎ he’s not saying a single word. i know now that he must’ve done something, he’s not just worried, he’s fucking terrified and to be honest i am too. it’s been almost two weeks now, please answer me.

✉︎ i swear i won’t tell him anything. just please respond.

ᯓ ✈︎

It was supposed to be a day like any other.

You, her, him—sitting together, eating your favorite food, maybe watching one of the movies MC somehow always managed to convince you to watch. Such nights always ended in the same way: with you sleeping next to her, right on Caleb’s bed. The gruesome scenes replayed behind your closed eyelids, your body nearly sprawled on top of your friend, your hand gripping hers—too tightly to just be affectionate. Caleb’s laugh echoed through his apartment, jokes and jabs aimed right at you, spoken in soft tones from his usual spot on the couch, where he always slept during your sleepovers.

And while you were pouting and trying to defend yourself from his absolutely false accusations of being a scaredy-cat, it was always his little sister who defended you like a lioness. Her clever comebacks always softened his teasing nature towards you. But it was all just a silly little game—the truth was you didn’t mind being teased, you knew Caleb long enough to realize that it was just the way in which he showed affection. It just so happened that MC showed hers by protecting you and attacking Caleb right back, every time his teasing seemed to be endless.

“Easy, pip, I’m just tryin’ to get her mind off of that spoooky imitation of a movie.” He answered between quiet laughs, and a quiet scoff left your mouth, quickly followed by a small smile. “Besides, if she really was scared, she would sleep here with me. She would be much, much safer, right?” His question followed by your name, and you immediately sprung upwards to sit on your legs.

“As if! You would probably maul me in your sleep before any monster would even get a chance to reach me.” You answered quickly, your body turning toward the salon where he slept, your eyes meeting MC’s, shining with mirth in the darkness. You heard an exaggerated gasp from him, and you imagined how he probably looked right now: gripping his shirt right on top of his chest in a gesture feigning hurt.

“You wound me. I would protect you with all I have, my Evol, my Fleet, my annoying little sister—”

“Jerk!”

“—From any harm the flying sharks would want to cause you.” You laughed quietly, and you felt the tension in your shoulders slowly dissolving. MC’s faux-offended expression, along with his soft voice were doing a great job at melting the irrational fear you felt in your chest after the movie.

A second passed; then two, maybe three, while your eyes were looking through the huge glass walls, following the clouds that were drifting languidly outside. A sigh left your lips, and your hand squeezed that of MC, who was laying beside your sitting body, her eyes already closed. And when their laughs died down entirely, their breaths slowly evening out, preparing for a good night’s sleep, that’s when you decided to add one more thing.

“Laugh at me all you want, but it’s your fault for living so high up in the clouds, where all the flying sharks in the world have us literally handed to them on a silver platter. But fine, I don’t care anymore, eat up you little motherfu—”

“Oh my god—”

His bubbly laugh echoed loudly, bouncing off of the walls, filling the rooms, breaking the tranquil atmosphere that had fallen not so long ago. His sister’s body shook with laughter right next to yours, wide smile now present on your lips. Your silly joke landed exactly how you wanted it to land—concealing the fear still nestled inside you, simmering delicately just beneath the surface of your smile. Which was, despite their assumptions, not only caused by the abominations presented in the movie.

The enormous clouds, surrounding you from everywhere—that was what truly bothered you. The vastness and uncertainty of the sky which stretched out before you, visible through the glass walls, its eerie silence making the little hairs on your nape stand straight.

Sleepovers at Caleb’s place, which had happened occasionally ever since he moved to Skyhaven to study—and continued even after he became a Farspace Colonel—were something you had already got used to and looked forward to. But the location of his apartment, the surroundings and their quietness, the strangely uneasy privacy and stillness, especially at night—that was what made you so scared every time you were here.

You never told them about your little fear; you didn’t want to cause problems, especially when they were both so happy whenever the three of you found enough time for a sleepover, and Caleb’s place was perfect for accommodating all of you. Besides, you had your best friend, a literal Hunter, close to you, and Caleb’s presence right behind you, just a wall away. Your mind knew that you were safe, it was just your body that was having second thoughts in a form of occasional shivers and quickened heartbeat.

That’s why it always striked you whenever he seemed to notice your concealed discomfort, which this time happened an hour after you said your good night’s. Mc’s breath was already calm and steady, yours far from it, unwanted thoughts and the feeling of uncertainty making you lose your precious hours of sleep.

You heard him first: his calm steps, quiet breath. You saw him second: his head peeking through the door frame, eyes wide open, not clouded with sleep, landing straight on yours. His body approached the bed frame, and he crouched slowly by your side, a small smile adorning his lips. And you felt him at last: his huge, warm hand searched for yours under the covers, and proceeded to hold it gently, his thumb caressing the back of your knuckles in a comforting gesture. You were familiar with such touches, both him and his sister were touchy-feely ever since you remember. So you reciprocated his smile, tiredness clutching to your lashes, yet mind still refusing to rest.

“Are you okay? I heard you tossin’ and turnin’.” He whispered, whether to avoid waking his sister up or to not disturb your precious moment, you weren’t sure. You met his beautiful, sparkling eyes, which always made your stomach twist with longing, and you already started to feel better. His gaze was so gentle, so earnest that your heart decided to switch the reason of its rapid beating from fear to a complete adoration.

You were laying on your side, a pillow warm underneath your cheek, and your hand squeezed his in an answer to his worry. You noticed that his hands were dry and rugged, but so pleasantly warm. And so were your cheeks, their color fortunately hidden from his watchful eyes behind the curtain of the darkness.

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’m just a little uneasy, that’s all.” Which wasn’t exactly a lie, but his eyes were giving you skeptical signals as if he knew exactly what you were hiding.

The truth that the sky and space scared you, when he was the one who was constantly covered by the clouds, was always embarrassing to admit out loud. And thankfully, he never pressed you to do it.

Instead, he hummed, his chin resting on the edge of the bed, his eyes landing on your clasped hands, thumb sliding through your fingers back and forth. You knew he had no idea, but that slight touch was enough to make you shiver, your heart filled with unspoken, overwhelming emotions towards the one who was supposed to just be your best friend.

“But you know you can always come to me, right? The couch is really cozy and maybe you would feel safer there, somehow. Aaand, I’m much bigger than her. More comfortable too, I’m sure.” Your lips turned up in a smile, and your eyes closed for a second, trying to focus on calming your heart down. When you finally opened them, he was looking right at you with an unreadable expression. His face seemed to get closer to yours too, most likely unknowingly.

From such proximity you could see the freckles that covered his face like small specks of cosmic dust, that you have always longed to trace with your fingers. His eyes were also a sight to behold, even in the darkness they shined so brightly, violet mixed with a hint of a sunset, always so full of wonder and awe, looking right back at you. He was so handsome, even covered only by the moonlight, when you always thought that a warm sunlight suit him best.

“We’re not kids anymore, Caleb. Sleeping in the same bed would be a little bit weird, don’t you think?” He scoffed under his breath, and you bit your lip, not wanting your true emotions to appear on your face. Desperate to not let him know how much you’d like to join him, to fall asleep resting in his embrace.

“I don’t.” His reply instant, a sure whisper, accompanied by a slight shift of his head. His hair looked so soft, the strands falling into his eyes, making you want to reach out and fix them. His faint freckles seemed to flicker, once again catching your attention, teasing you to give each one of them a small kiss. But you knew that you didn’t have the right to. “Besides, we’re friends. You know I would never touch you or anything. You’re safe with me.”

These exact words echoed through your mind months later, a memory fresh and vivid, the only one you could think of when your heart wanted to beat straight out of your chest.

I would never touch you.

You remembered him saying, on that day that was supposed to be like any other, yet MC cancelled on you at the last moment. You were already drinking boba next to the relaxed Caleb, leaving you two alone for the first time in what felt like forever. An emergency mission, was her excuse, and although you were upset that she couldn’t make it, the happiness of finally being able to spend some time with Caleb, whom you missed just as much, was enough to raise your mood back up.

I would never touch you.

That sentence swirled inside your head, hours after you both went out for a hotpot, sharing a meal filled with laughter, catching up on nothing and everything all at once. You always had fun together, the years of friendship formed thanks to MC made you comfortable with one another, the banter teasing but affectionate, the atmosphere warm and familiar. Later you went for a walk in the park, searching for squirrels, and sending MC pictures of every single one you managed to spot with a short caption ‘You’. After that, you also stopped at the arcade to play with claw machines for some time: you managed to win a small cat plushie for MC, while Caleb gave you a similar one he got for you when you weren’t looking. And then, after the sun had long since set, you went back to his place—in the same way you always did when meeting up in Skyhaven. But this time, you two were completely alone.

I would never touch you.

And yet, by heavens, you thought that after that night there wasn’t any place on your body he left untouched. Not when he was paying such a close attention to you, his hands wandering absolutely everywhere, accompanied by his shaken breaths and whispers full of worship and wonder.

You weren’t sure who kissed whom first, your mouths connecting unexpectedly, meeting right in the middle, the movie you put on a while ago still playing in the background. The flakes of popcorn scattered everywhere around you; the bowl had fallen from your hands, so desperate was he to pull you to himself the moment he dared to push his tongue past your lips—uncertainly at first—only to feel how quickly you accepted him.

You were almost dizzy with happiness of finally having him this close, touching at his hair, neck, shoulders, waist. He was holding you in his arms tightly, squeezing your waist, while you sat comfortably on his crossed legs, lips sealed to his. But suddenly, your head became heavy the moment the gravity of the situation pulled you down. You pushed him away, pressing your hands to his broad shoulders.

You parted with a gasp, your breath uneven, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

He didn’t look any better, if his equally red cheeks and tousled hair were any indicator. His slightly chapped lips chased after yours, eyes lidded and brows furrowed when he felt the loss of your warmth.

“C—Caleb, wait, stop, what on earth are we doing—” You tried to reason, your legs struggling to stand, your heart uncertain what it truly meant to him. A panic overtook you, your true feelings suddenly out in the open, composure lost in a moment of weakness. You remember meeting his eyes in the room lit only by his TV, his head already turned your way, closer than it ever was before. That’s all it took; the sudden closeness, his intense, lingering gaze and hand reaching your way, for you to start making rush decisions.

He didn’t let you escape. In one quick motion you were grabbed by your arms and pushed back into his chest. His hands softly squeezed the flesh, his head fell onto your shoulder listlessly. Dark hair brushed at your neck when you heard his shaky breaths, his body trembling under the touch of your fingers, which now rested on his torso. They were the only barrier keeping you from melting entirely into his embrace.

“No, please—please. Don’t go.” He choked out, his voice pained, his forehead nuzzling up to the juncture between your shoulder and neck. His lips touched your neck, and you gasped. “Don’t go. Don’t run away from me. Please.” A quiet plea, which made you close your eyes in an attempt to finally think; think of the reason it happened, think of the ways in which it would affect your friendship, think of what it truly meant for him.

Afraid that the answer would hurt you.

Your head suddenly felt too heavy for your body, mind spiraling with possible answers, when you heard his voice once again, loud and certain against your heated skin.

“I dreamed of this—Of you—” He nuzzled at your neck, sending a shiver throughout your whole body, your chest squeezing, the implication slowly uncovering into something crystal clear. “Of holding you. Touching you, like this—” His fingers started a gentle trial up your spine and you pressed your body closer to his on impulse. His left hand buried in your hair, softly touching your scalp, and he finally lifted his head to meet your gaze. He looked ruined; eyes glossy and eyebrows scrunched in an image resembling an anguish. His eyes were shifting between yours and your lips, which you were biting in uncertainty. “For so, so long, you have no idea how I—”

“Caleb—”

“Let me. Let me kiss you one more time, just once.” The last word a desperate whisper, his eyes stuck on your lips, his head getting closer and closer with every second, as though he psychically couldn’t help himself. He cupped your cheek and placed his thumb on your bottom lip, pulling it from the confines of your teeth, his touch feather-light. A quiet grunt left him and he met your eyes again, your hands going to grab him by the shoulders to gain more balance. You were getting dizzy, his proximity maddening, his touches and honeyed words overwhelming. “I was always scared to be alone with you like this, and this is the reason. I knew that the moment you let me, I will continue to take, take, take…” He closed his eyes, his forehead falling onto yours, your heavy breaths already mingling. The hand on your cheek started shaking, but a calloused thumb never stopped caressing your skin. “You can say ‘no’ to me. You can say ‘no’ alright? Just—please. Please say somethin’. Anything. You’re so quiet and it’s killin’ me here—”

“I—I want the same thing. Caleb, I—” You finally breathed out, your eyes half opened, lowered to look at his chest, where laid a necklace you and MC gave him quite a while ago, before his first trip to Skyhaven. That memory appeared behind your lashes, along with MC’s face, the image making you halt momentarily. “Oh God, but what about MC? Wouldn’t she be weirded out when we suddenly—” You flinched again, and this time he caught you instantly, his big hands reaching for yours, pressing them into his forehead like a prayer, then huffing out a low laugh.

“She knows. She figured me out ages ago.” You didn’t hide your surprise, your heart beating so quickly you thought it will beat straight out of your chest. “You don’t have to worry about anythin’, alright? If only you feel—You fell the way I do, then I—”

“Ages…?” The word stuck inside your head, the implications making your eyes sparkle. He lowered your hands to rest flat on his chest, and you felt it—the thump of his heart matching yours, a rapid, uneven beat that could only mean one thing.

“Ages.” He answered surely, his violet eyes glued entirely to yours, his hand covering your palms. And when he nudged your nose with his, silently asking for permission, you found that you didn’t have any reason to refuse him anymore.

Not when you wanted him just as passionately.

Your lips met his again in a kiss so intense it was nearly bruising, your hands going over his neck, your mouth swallowing down his sigh of contentment. His hands quickly found their way under your t-shirt; grabbing and holding, caressing and squeezing everywhere he could touch.

I would never touch you.

And yet he did. He did and continued throughout the whole night, his hands never leaving your body, his lips almost permanently sealed to your soft skin, the quiet laughs and whispers of reassurance filling the entire room, your body almost floating even without his Evol, lifted by the feelings of finally being accepted. Of loving and being loved in return.

“You’re perfect. Perfect for me. I have seen countless sunsets above the clouds, and you are far more beautiful than any of them. Absolutely—” He choked out, his slow thrusts making you see stars, his sculpted body covering yours completely, mindful not to crush you in the process. His movements slightly awkward at times, totally inexperienced but you didn’t mind—it was your first time too, after all.

You had boyfriends before, but the relationships never lasted long. He was the first one you managed to open up to. The first one you were able to trust fully, the only man you ever loved. So how could you ever think of doing it with someone else?

“—magnificent. I can’t believe I get to have you like this… I—Ah—I still think that I must be dreamin’, what if I wake up and you’ll disappear? That’s how it always was. A lucid dream, a cry for even a scrap of—of your attention, and now you’re—” Your hands were gripping his biceps, leaving half moons in the glistening skin. Soft sighs were escaping your lips, along with the tears streaming down your cheeks, whether from the intensity of your feelings or the tight way he fit inside you, you weren’t sure. You closed your eyes and let him press more kisses along your shoulder and neck, cheek and lips, the very same ones to which he continued to speak his praises. “And now you are beneath me, f-fuck—Utterly beautiful. The best thing that ever happen’ to me, I knew that I was doomed ever since I met you—” You moaned his name and he smiled, his lips landing on your wet eyelashes, kissing the tears that had yet to come out. His lips were softer now, entirely covered in your chapstick, tasting of sweet apples and something that you already recognized as undeniably him. There was a hand placed under your back, bringing you even closer to his body, his hips moving more steadily, mouth attacking your breasts, making you shiver in pleasure. His hands were going up and down the sides of your body, a gentle touch, meant to bring comfort.

“Caleb—please. Faster, I can’t, I need—” Your hands went to grab his hair, pulling at the strands, making him moan, his body shaking. He looked at you as with so much adoration you thought you were dreaming.

“Okay, okay—Mmm—I got you. I—I got you, darlin’, I always got you. But if it was up to me I would have you like this the whole night long.” He lifted you up in a way that you were now straddling his thighs and sat down, not stopping his thrusts, his hands resting on your waist. Every single indication of inexperience he made up in passion, desperation and enthusiasm, always putting your pleasure above everything else. You opened your mouth in another gasp, his hips rutting into you without stopping, his arms circled around your body, refusing to let you get away even for a second. Not that you ever wanted to leave the safety of his hold. “I got you, my sweet girl. And will never let you go, never. You’re so adorable, so clever, so so kind and precious, you are—”

ᯓ ✈︎

“—Annoying and too clingy to be honest. When you get to know her better, that is. Sooo, going after her would be a total waste of time, then.”

A quiet gasp, torn out of you suddenly, violently.

Unexpectedly.

You froze, your heart stopping, along with your hand which was already raised to push open the door to Caleb’s room. His voice, even though muffled by the door, was still perfectly distinguishable to you, having heard it even in your dreams by now.

You only came back for your makeup bag, which you had hastily left at his place this morning, the night after your moment of closeness, having overslept for work. You only managed to kiss his adorable sleeping head goodbye, wear the clothes from the day before and run through his door, smile not coming off of your face the whole day long, despite the slight soreness in your limbs.

It was reminiscent of your night together; that’s why it didn’t bother you. The night that was supposed to change everything for the better, the night that your feelings turned out to be reciprocated.

Or so you thought.

You knew that he was having a boys’ night—he told you during your hangout the day before, how excited he was to finally reunite with some of his college friends, after Gideon managed to get a hold of everyone. But you still hoped to quickly collect your things, maybe steal a small kiss or two.

You just hoped to see him again, even for a moment.

A second, nothing more.

You only wanted to—

“And she’s kinda afraid of flying, sooo not exactly a good girlfriend material for a pilot, guys.” His laugh, although a little nervous, made the crack in your heart spread further. “If she weren’t my lil sister’s friend, I wouldn’t wanna pay her any mind—”

Crash.

Loud and echoing, pierced through the living room where you were standing, your hands shaking. One hand went straight to cover your mouth, which opened in utter disbelief.

At first you thought it was the sound of your heart breaking; exploding into millions and millions of pieces, from the way it squeezed painfully in your chest upon hearing the words undoubtedly coming out of his mouth. You nearly screamed in anguish, the scenes from the night before appearing in your mind, the wonderful things he said to you reverberating inside your ears, the ghost of his touch still lingering on your skin—his rugged hands so soft, so gentle, the touch loving, worshipping so why—

“Who’s there?” His uncharacteristically harsh voice reached your ears but you had no idea what was happening. You felt as if you were underwater, all sounds quieted down, your body moving in slow motion.

You looked at your feet and saw your makeup scattered before you, the actual source of the crashing sound, coming from the small bottles hitting his apartment floor. Your hands apparently too shaky, too numb to hold the makeup bag after hearing his words. A dagger to your heart would hurt less, you thought, your vision getting blurry, your legs taking a few steps backwards, the movement awkward, your body suddenly too heavy for you to move.

Why did you come back? Why were you here? Why did you need to hear such things coming from the same mouth that had whispered sweet nothings to your ear for hours on end, not even a day before?

You raised your head abruptly, tears staining your cheeks now, when you heard rapid footsteps coming from the other side of the door. The ones you would recognize absolutely everywhere.

You choked down a sob and bolted straight for the door, your shaky hands fumbling with the lock for a second—enough to give him time to process the situation at hand, to connect every single dot, to notice your makeup sprawled on the floor and maybe your pathetic little teardrops lying among it.

That’s what you were. That’s who you made yourself to be. A pathetic little fool, for kissing him, opening up to him, giving so much to him in such a short amount of time when in reality all he thought of you was—

“No. No. Oh, no, no, no, no, fuck, fuck, please, wait, no!” You heard him shouting your name the moment you opened the door and bolted for the elevator. You did not bother closing the door, he already knew that you were there just a second before. He already realized what you heard, even though the true meaning of his words still felt like a fever dream, a nightmare that was unfolding right before you, painful and so, so, unbearably cruel you feared you will pass out the moment your eyes met his face.

You needed to get out of there. You needed to go outside, to breathe, to find the air he stolen from you so suddenly.

Fortunately, the elevator was waiting for you, a spec of light in the darkness of the situation, and you jumped right in, your hand frantically pressing the close button over and over again, even faster now that you heard him running down the hallway to reach you.

Ironically, this time, the luck was on your side.

His shadow was the only thing you could see before the door closed, cutting him off completely. The echoing thump of his fists hitting the surface of it made you flinch.

“No! Fuck! No, no, please!”

Your name reached your ears, desperate, panicked.

But you were already on your way down, tears falling freely, your hands squeezing at your collar, at the material covering your chest, at anything you could reach just to lessen the pain of your heart breaking. Your knees shaky, threatened to give out but you were holding onto the knowledge that he was still following you, and you absolutely couldn’t let him catch you. That’s why, you refused to let yourself break before you were sure that you were somewhere safe.

And it paid off. You miraculously managed to ascape from him, that day.

And many, many days after that.

ᯓ ✈︎

* 50+ messages from [ ur caleb!<3 ] *

✉︎ please, let me explain myself. I can only imagine what youve heard and I need you to listen to me, please.

✉︎ what I said wasn’t true. everything youve heard was a big fucking lie and I need to tell that to your face, you have to believe me.

✉︎ please don’t do this to me, I know that I deserve it but you have to hear me out, please.

✉︎ answer me.

✉︎ I beg you, give me anything. I need to know youre safe. I can’t locate your phone is it turned off? I don’t know if youre safe. please.

✉︎ its torture. its my fault I need to see you and tell you everything just let me see you. let me find you.

✉︎ I need to find you.

✉︎ I miss you.

✉︎ I need you, don’t leave me in this loneliness any longer, I will do anything. anything to earn your forgiveness, even if i have to work my whole life for it I will, even if you say that you don’t ever want to see me anymore I will stay out of your sight, I just need to tell you the truth, I need to see you and tell you what I really feel, not that awful lie youve heard me saying I wish I could turn back time and scrape these disgusting words out of my mouth.

✉︎ I will do anything for you. I will do anything for only a second of seeing you, I will fulfill your every wish, every desire and unspoken craving just for a second of your time, for a chance to say that I’m sorry.

✉︎ It ruins me, the thought that you may still think that what you heard me saying was true, you are not reading my messages and you probably still think that I meant it. I’m going insane, I’m losing my mind, I need you. I need to see you.

✉︎ I searched for you everywhere and I still haven’t found you, but I won’t stop, I will never stop searching for you even if it kills me, even if you will be the last thing I see, I will find you.

✉︎ baby, please. sweetheart. my treasure. please let me explain myself. where are you? where haven’t I searched yet? how did you manage to escape me?

✉︎ you know me too well, that’s how. you knew where I will be looking for you and you took advantage of that, my smart girl.

✉︎ but this one time, I wish you made a mistake. even a small one, a millisecond long. because I’m waiting and I’m ready to find you. and I will find you. you know me and how stubborn I am. I will never stop looking, you have to come back at some point. and i will get to you before that. I promise. wait for me.

ᯓ ✈︎

Three weeks have passed since you last saw Caleb—the memory of his betrayal still fresh, and the wounds he inflicted on your heart with his cruel words still open and bleeding.

But the tears were no longer staining your cheeks, and a mere thought of him didn’t make you panic anymore. At least, not when you knew that he wouldn’t be able to find you here.

After you left his apartment that day, you knew that he would search for you, taking into account his desperation to catch you when you were running away. Yet you couldn’t bear to look him in the face, not after what happened between you, and how humiliated he made you feel.

You thought that he felt the same, that maybe he loved you, but it seemed that he was just playing with your feelings. That you must’ve been an easy target. And you just couldn’t believe it, no matter how frequently you repeated the things he said in your mind, both to you during the night and the to his friends during the day. You knew him ever since you were children, his presence constant in your life, even if you were not seeing each other that often after he relocated to Skyhaven. He was always there for you, and for MC, no matter what happened, his care and friendship something you got used to long time ago.

If she weren’t my lil sister’s friend, I wouldn’t wanna pay her any mind.

Was your friendship always only a huge lie? Were you unknowingly only a burden, a nuisance that he had to put up with, because of your friendship with his sister?

And that night, when he was holding you so gently, treating you with such kindness and devotion, whispering the things you dreamed about hearing from him for so long, was it also something he did just because you were easy to manipulate? The easiest choice, a familiar body to satisfy his needs with?

And God, did he know about your true feelings before all of it went down?

You shook your head, trying to stop another train of thoughts, fighting with yourself not to break down in tears again. You came here not only to temporarily run away from him, you also wanted to take your time and relax, to calm the storm brewing inside your head, to survive that heartbreak and breakdown on your own terms, without anyone’s nagging or judgmental stares. Without others telling you what you were supposed to feel.

You fixed your sunhat, the slight wind making your hair gently caress your face, and you went down from the ladder, a basket full of fresh cherries hanging from your arm. You sighed, the fresh air and the smell of fruit filling your nose trills, reminding you that you were far, far away from Skyhaven and Linkon, the places that held too many painful memories.

Here, you were safe, because no one knew about your little, peaceful gateway, which was long ago introduced to you by one of your distant cousins. It was a peaceful little plot of land, belonging to one of your family members, a place they visited occasionally, usually in the summertime. And now, that small house in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by the trees of fruit, fields of flowers and tranquil atmosphere were exactly what you needed to get back on your feet.

You took a sick leave from work for a whole month, and you were planning to use that time to soften your dark thoughts and harden your skin before the gravity of the situation and its consequences met you upon your return to Linkon. Before you would have to inevitably face Caleb—the one you were trying to avoid at all costs.

“Here you are, auntie.” You approached her crouched figure, her hands paused in their strawberry picking, and she looked up at you with gratitude in her eyes.

“Thank you sweetie, you helped me so much.” She answered and stood up, taking off her gloves and stuffing them into the pocket of her baggy jeans, covered in strawberry juice and grass. A huge smile lit up her face, and you couldn’t help but return one just as bright, shaking your head.

“Oh, please, that’s the least I can do. I should be the one thanking you for letting me stay here.” You fixed your hat once again and went up to a bucket filled with rainwater, so that you could wash the cherries from your skin. “I haven’t known such peace in a long time, really. The air is so refreshing, the scenery so beautiful, and I’m visiting the orchard everyday. I probably ate half of your crops by now, like some kind of a pest.”

“Oh, stop it!” She playfully swatted your butt with a rug, and you giggled, snatching it from her to use it to dry your hands. “You’re always welcome here, you know that. Besides, you are a huge help with harvesting fruit each week. I always bring my boy with me, but as you can see, he’s nowhere in sight.” You laughed and picked up the basket with cherries again, as well as the one she was holding before. You peaked inside it and noticed that it was filled with strawberries and raspberries, a perfect amount for a snack. You opened your mouth and let her place one small strawberry inside it, the sweet juice filling your mouth, making you momentarily forget about your worries.

Everything here was just so peaceful and easy.

“It’s that age. He’s more interested in exploring than in sitting around and picking fruit. I was a chaotic kid, too.” You answered and she sighed, your walk to her truck much shorter than you wanted it to be. You placed the baskets inside the vehicle and saw the boy’s hair from where he sat in the passenger seat. You ruffled his hair, and he appeared startled, his hand immediately reaching up to fix it, a blush spreading to the tips of his ears.

“Chaotic and addicted to gaming, that’s what he really is.” She answered as you stepped back from the truck to hug her goodbye. She offered you a ride back to the house but you decided to stay in the orchard. The sun was still far from setting, and you wanted to read under the tress and snack on the fruits for a while longer.

You also remembered to thank her for delivering your letter to MC last week, in which you told her that you were safe, and apologized for not reaching out to her sooner, explaining that you will be back after some time alone. You decided to restrain from mentioning that you had to turn off your phone the moment you escaped from Caleb’s apartment, knowing damn well that if you didn’t, he would be able to track your location without any issue. You knew him and his little tricks like the back of your hand, or at least, that’s what you thought before everything that happened recently.

You were already waving goodbye to them, when it happened.

The boy opened the car door and handed you something, his small hands quick and secretive. Your eyes opened wide, and your smile faltered instantly, recognizing the weight.

“Sorry for taking it, mom never lets me take mine and I get so bored here… But I charged it for you!” He said your name and looked at you apologetically, his round eyes shining excitedly. You gulped, your mouth opening slightly, struggling to find your voice. “You can delete the game now. Oh, and you got a loooot of messages, are you, like, famous?” He asked in a hushed tone, then flinched when the aunt called out to him. He hugged your waist tightly, clearly thankful for your unintentional lending of possession, and went back to the truck, his small hand waving at you through the window until they disappeared from sight, turning onto the main road.

Leaving you by yourself, speechless, your hands full of something you avoided like fire throughout your stay here. The only thing that could betray your location.

A phone.

The one you intentionally turned off and left on the bedside cabinet inside the house.

Your phone.

A device that was Caleb’s only way of tracking you, now lit up after weeks of lying unused, for the purpose of your escape.

“No way, no, no, no, no.” You mumbled, your shaking hands going straight to turn it off, the device turning black again, your panicked gaze staring back at you from its small screen. You closed your eyes and hugged the phone to your chest, praying that it hadn’t been turned long enough for him to track you. For him to notice. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Not now, please. Not yet.”

You weren’t ready to face him yet. You didn’t know if you ever would, but you definitely weren’t ready right this instant, your heartbreak still fresh, your heart too weak to feel this much again.

You looked around slowly, taking in the the sight of the orchard and the endless expanse of the field, calm, steady and sunny, just the way it was during the weeks you’d been here. A gentle wind carried the strands of your hair behind you, the sunhat protecting your head from the light of day. You put the phone slowly inside the pocket of your shorts and began the long path back to the house, your plans of a leisure reading session long forgotten.

It was completely quiet, almost too quiet, but there was no one in sight. You had no idea if he had managed to track your location, or if he was even still looking for you. Maybe he decided to let go, you comforted yourself, even if you knew him well enough to realize how stubborn he could be. You just hoped that maybe if he truly didn’t care for you, he would leave you alone.

The wind intensified, and so did your steps. The house still not yet visible, the long way back made you anxious. You wanted to be inside already, lock yourself up, just in case he really waited for your slip up.

You huffed a small, nervous laugh under your breath the moment you felt the wind biting into the exposed skin of your arms, the temperature dropping, making goosebumps appear on your skin. You bit into your bottom lip and quickened your pace, your heartbeat already pulsing inside your ears, your mind trying to convince you that it was just a coincidence.

But when the wind blew away your hat, you didn’t turn back to fetch it.

Instead, your stride broke into a full-blown run, your legs moving in a panicked frenzy, your hair flying behind you freely. Your lungs and eyes already burned the moment the aircraft appeared in your peripheral vision, its shape and size so unmistakably matching those from the Farspace Fleet that you wanted to laugh at your brain for still hoping is wasn’t.

You heard it now—the deafening roar of it descending onto the field not far from you—and you cursed under your already ragged breath, knowing he must’ve already seen you. There was no one else in sight, after all.

You hadn’t stopped running. The house was twenty minutes away on foot, and if you were fast enough, you could make it before he caught up with you. The plane had already landed, and you didn’t have the courage to look back to see if—

“Hey! Wait!” The shout of your name pierced the wind in your ears, and a weak groan escaped you. He was close, too close if you were able to hear him, his voice bringing back all the memories from that day. Of comforting closeness, then cruel confession said so surely behind your back.

Every single muscle ached, but you didn’t stop running, you couldn’t stop running. The house was already there, peeking from behind the trees, and if only you could reach it in time, you would just lock the doors and regain your false sense of freedom for a while longer.

“Stop runnin’ away from me! Please!”

“Stop—Stop chasing me!” You screamed, the emotions built up inside of you finally having their outlet. “Leave me alone, I don’t—I don’t want to see you, I—I don’t—”

“Just talk to me! Let me explain—” He was getting closer, and your body was growing weaker, your legs moving seemingly only by the sheer force of your will.

“I don’t want to talk to you!” A sob almost escaped your lips, the knowledge and fear that he was this close to you again making panic squeeze at your chest. You were not ready to see him yet, not ready to look at that irritatingly handsome face of his, and hear him lying without batting an eye.

“Baby, please—” Closer. He was so close, just a couple of steps and he wouldn’t have to shout through the wind anymore, but you didn’t stop, couldn’t stop.

“Oh, fuck you!” You shouted right back, tears already forming in your eyes, your legs burning with extortion. How dare he call you this way, as if there was something between you, as if he cared about what happened, about the kiss, your first night, you. “Don’t call me that, don’t chase me like some kind of an animal—Ah!”

Your run stopped abruptly, your chest heaving as you desperately tried to catch your breath. Sweat stuck to your forehead and neck, your limbs tensed, grasping for something, anything, to keep your body from floating up in the air.

Naturally, you failed. His Evol too powerful, holding you gently up in the air, your body too weak to fight back against the invisible force, so you did the only thing you could do at that moment.

You took off your shoe and threw it at him, groaning pathetically when you heard it landing in the grass.

“Let—me—go!” You shouted, your breath heavy after the run, body refusing to calm down. You kept your head turned away from him, unable to look even at his shadow. The knowledge he was this close to you was enough to fill your eyes with tears.

You heard his footsteps close now, his breath heavy. You closed your eyes, tears instead of falling down your cheeks, drifted away from you, the temporary lack of gravity around you taking them away.

First your heart, then your sorrow—what else could he steal away?

You didn’t see how he stood below you, only few steps away, still wearing his Fleet uniform, looking up at your struggling frame with awe and relief. His hand reached out to catch your teardrop with his hand, the sign of your pain staining his fingers now. He brought it to his lips slowly, itching for any part of you, his brows furrowing with anguish.

“I can’t. I let you escape from me once and I won’t make the same mistake again.” His breath was already calming down as he crouched to pick up your shoe, not expecting the other one flying his way, catching it with his Evol right before it hit his head. He scoffed, his laugh sad and full of disbelief, as he let it fall right in front of his face.

“You coming here was a mistake.” He grit his teeth as he heard your poisonous words, spoken in a teary tone. He looked up at you again and his breath hitched. Your drifting body was surrounded by your teardrops, swirling around you and reminding him just how much pain he caused you by his own selfishness. “Me believing in your sugary words was a mistake. Me kissing you was a mistake, God, our whole night together was a—”

“Don’t.” His harsh voice cut through the air, silencing you at once. “Finish that sentence. I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Why? You said you wanted to talk so let’s talk.” With your back still turned to him, your hands swatting at your flying teardrops, his audacity to use his Evol on you making you see red. “Let’s talk about how you tricked me. How you made me believe that we were friends, that I could count on you—”

“Please—”

“That I maybe, maybe meant something more to you. Because it turned out that you were feeding me lies for years—”

“That’s not…”

“You—You made me believe you liked me, and then you… You took advantage of—”

“Quiet!” He nearly growled, his harsh voice echoing in your ears, the tone unfamiliar, instantly making you flinch. The Evol with which he held you up faltered, shaking your body, making a quiet squeal come out of your mouth. For a second there, you thought that he will let you fall right into the ground, but the impact never came.

You finally looked at him, scared and stunned by his outburst. He stood there, eyes clouded and distant, arms hanging loosely at his sides— one hand gripping his hat—both of them shaking equally.

And just when you thought you had imagined his expression darkening, you noticed the clouds shifting faster, the sky growing darker.

A thunder stroke in the distance, forcing the hair on your nape stand straight.

“T-That’s how you think you’ll solve this? By force? By scaring me?” Your voice wavered, your fear slipping right through your confident facade. “I—I don’t take orders from you, Colonel. You will not intimidate me into anything. I don’t—I don’t—” More tears floated around you, your vision blurred, fear mixing with the feeling of helplessness.

He whipped his head, finally grasping the reality upon hearing how you addressed him. And when your eyes finally met, both equally red-rimmed, tired and pleading, he felt as if something in him broke.

Because while he was pleading for a chance to be redeemed, you, on the other hand, for him to stay out of your sight.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have raised my voice. Please, don’t be scared, I’m—” Another plea, another apology, another way for him to mess with your mind, you thought. And you were scared, tired and hurt, lacking the energy for that conversation. Not knowing how to go about this, not being sure if there was anything that he could say that would fix this.

You were too shaken to listen—let alone react logically. Too unprepared to see his familiar face again so soon, to hear the voice that once offered you refuge for years, but now hurt you more deeply than you ever thought it could. Even the touch of his Evol—once used to help you, to ease your burdens, to cheer you up with his silly little teasing—was now a weapon. A way to trap you. To make you feel small. Helpless beneath the weight of his power.

It was not going well at all, both of you clearly too emotional, incapable of having a normal conversation. You weren’t prepared, but you noticed that he wasn’t either, his mental state unsteady, mind locked on one thing and one thing only—to catch you and never let you out of his sight again.

It was no way of resolving anything. And you really didn’t want to get hurt even more—not by his words, nor by the things you wanted to scream at him, rage tangled with fear, creating a poisonous mix that placed the most hurtful of things at the tip of your tongue.

You didn’t want to use them. Saying them out loud to him would break your heart in the process too.

“Let me go. Please. I’m not ready yet, I—” You closed your eyes, and the first drops of rain fell onto your warm skin. “I don’t want to talk. I can’t talk. Just—let me be. We will have to have this conversation at some point. And I know that. B—But for now just. Please, Caleb.” Your eyes full of tears met his, and he opened his mouth just to close it again, the sight of them rendering him speechless. The pleading, hurt look in them seemed to get him out of the trace. “Let me go.”

His breath hitched when you didn’t break eye contact. There was pain in your eyes, but also unwavering resolve. You kept looking at him with those radiant, exquisite eyes of yours, and that’s when he knew: he had lost this battle.

He slowly lowered you down, holding back tears when you refused to accept his hand to steady yourself. Then he bit his lip, his hands shaking, clenching into fists while he was forced to watch you run from him again, battling his desire to chase after you.

You said that you will have to talk at some point, and he believed you. He took your words and cling to them like a lifeline, a reason for him not to lose his hope. He would be patient, he could be patient, he had already waited for you for so long, he didn’t mind waiting some more. At least now he knew you were safe. Now he could protect you.

And he knew that the war to win you back had only just begun.

ᯓ ✈︎

The heavy rain spattered against the windows, its sound echoing through the house, easing your shaken nerves and slowly lulling you to sleep.

A lightning struck in the distance, brightening the whole room. You rose quietly, waiting for the sound of thunder. Eyes closed, breathing evened out after what felt like eternity.

More raindrops hit your window, pushed violently by the wind as you stood, wrapping yourself in your huge, knitted cardigan, sinking your cold, shaking fingers into the thick, soft material.

He came here, for you.

A fact that you couldn’t shake for hours now, the weather outside an embodiment of what was happening inside your head. He came for you, the moment he managed to get your location, desperate, oh so desperate to talk, to explain, to repent, and you were left absolutely torn.

Because in your mind, you had already started seeing him as the bad guy, that thought a constant companion through these long weeks, your main coping mechanism. And now? He came here, looking anguished and miserable, his face thin and eyes red—a picture of a man in despair—and he was ready to drop everything just for a second of your time.

Which you didn’t give him. And that’s what kept you awake.

Your hand reached for the light switch but in vain. The storm that had lasted for hours must’ve cut the power some time ago, and you accepted it quickly. Your eyes had long since adjusted to the darkness, and you didn’t want to give any sign that you were awake either. You didn’t want to give Caleb false hope, knowing his aircraft still stood on the empty field, exactly where he had landed it hours ago.

You knew he wasn’t asleep either, not if he was as apologetic as he seemed to be. You should’ve listened to him, maybe. And if he hadn’t scared you so much, if he hadn’t used his Evol or raised his voice, maybe you wouldn’t have been so afraid, so defensive. Despite everything he said that fateful night, a large part of you was still curious about what he wanted to say and how he intended to explain himself.

Your deep infatuation with him, your huge soft spot for his expressive puppy eyes, his gentle, playful voice and soft dark hair, were his real weapon. You saw him, looking so devastated and your first thought was to comfort him, despite everything he had done. And you hated yourself for it, hated how much power he held over you unknowingly.

Because was there anything to explain, really? The things he said sounded pretty self-explanatory, and even the simple recollection of them made your heart squeeze painfully.

You knew you’d have to have this conversation sooner or later. He was your best friend’s brother, he used to be your best friend and you had to return to Linkon soon. He would find you then, and the conversation would have to happen either way. So wouldn’t it be easier to just get it over with now and try, slowly, to move on? If moving on from that kind of heartbreak was something you were even capable of.

That was what scared you most about all of this. Caleb had been your friend—the man you loved more fiercely than life itself—and it had taken everything in you just to get out of bed after what you heard from him that day. And now? He had shattered your precious, tranquil solitude so suddenly, and even though you knew that you were supposed to hate him—you should hate him, because that was the easiest way, the only way to survive the heartbreak and reclaim the part of your soul he’d so cruelly taken when he betrayed your trust—You also knew, the moment you saw him running after you like his life depended on it, that what you felt deep inside wasn’t even close to hate.

It was relief.

That he searched for you, after all. A longing, for him to somehow fix this, to tell you that it wasn’t him who said these things despite the fact that it was indisputable, because you would recognize his voice everywhere, even from thousands of miles away you once thought, because of how his timbre made you feel inside. When you saw him, dressed in that stupid, stupid Colonel uniform you felt nothing but love. Love, excruciating love for someone who did not deserve it.

You were stupid, so stupid for being like this, so stupid for still thinking so fondly over the man who lied to you for years, who created a false safe space for you to drown in, who slept with you, even though he thought you were not enough for a wonderful pilot like him.

A sudden crash came from the window downstairs, making you jump in place.

You quickly ran down the stairs, your fingers brushing the wooden railing, your footsteps blending with the sound of falling rain. A cold breeze seeped through the widow, now flung wide open. The wind must have been strong enough to burst it open, and as you rushed to close it, something outside flashed in the corner of your eye.

And your heart almost stopped at the sight.

Your head turned, leaning from the window, the cool droplets hitting your skin harshly, reminding you that you were still awake, and that your eyes didn’t deceive you.

Caleb was sitting right there, on the porch, leaning against the wooden beams, his head hung low, arms crossed on his chest.

And he was soaked to the bone.

Rain dripped from his hat onto his crossed arms, his posture nearly curled in on itself. His body trembled every few seconds from the cold, and the moment you realized he must’ve been standing there ever since you left him—hours ago, just before the storm rolled in—you felt the blood rush into your head.

You left him, but he stayed right there, sitting, waiting patiently for you to come out, not knowing when it will happen. He let you go, but he never left.

“Caleb!” A sudden shout tore from your throat, laced with dread and disbelief, your hands instead of closing the window, reached for one of the blankets lying nearby. “God, Caleb, you—” The front door bursted open and you reached him in no time, falling onto your knees before him, taking off his hat and throwing it to the side in an attempt to wake him.

He wasn’t asleep. Startled, his head shot up the moment he saw you, alarmed by your sudden appearance. His eyes immediately fell to your bare legs, your sleeping shorts far too thin and short to stand against such weather, and he reached for you in a rush of panic.

“What are you—go back inside, you’re goin’ to be sick!” He said alarmed and you scoffed in answer, taking notice of his wet uniform, clinging uncomfortably to his glistening skin. His hair was completely soaked too, streams of rain tracing paths down his temples and nose, the sight making you furious.

“You—absolute—hypocrite!” You barked back, your hands tugging at his wet arms in an attempt to make him stand. You threw the blanket over his head first, his hand grabbing at the material, and then you began pushing him into the house. “I had no idea you—Why did you—?!” He raised quickly, letting you push him past the doorway, and you already felt the cold biting at your skin, the seconds spend outside enough to make you wet.

And he was sitting there for hours.

“I—” He started, but you didn’t let him finish, his posture slightly slumped under the weight of the drenched uniform.

“You—you have a literal plane nearby, why didn’t you hide in there? It’s been raining for hours.” Words escaped you faster than you were able to form them in your head, your hands already working to remove his soaked clothes hastily. He fell completely silent, letting you ease your frustration, his eyes glued to your face. “I thought you were safe in there, I thought you already left, I—I thought—” The heavy material hit the floor with a loud thud, your shaking hands trying to take off the shirt he had underneath, horrified by how cold his skin was underneath your palms.

You bit your lip and sniffed, tears already streaming down your face, whether from the cold piercing at your skin, the thought of him sitting for so long, freezing outside, or from his closeness, which you were deprived of for these weeks, you weren’t able to tell.

You grunted quietly, your fingers slipping from one of the buttons of his shirt, shaking too violently to take it all off. Suddenly, through your blurred vision, you saw his hands reaching for you. You felt their warmth the moment he covered yours, pressing them against his chest. His heart pounded so violently you could feel its rhythm through the wet fabric, sending a shiver down your spine.

A broken sob escaped you, the weight of reality pressing you down hard. His hands stroked your trembling arms, trying to soothe you; but it wasn’t working. The stings or remorse cut through you one by one, haunted by the image of him sitting there, drenched, and cold, and shaking—

“I didn’t want you to—to—I had no idea you were there this whole time, I thought you left t—to sit in your—” Another sob came out stifled, because he brought you in for a hug; his hard, wet chest strangely warm and comforting. You didn’t return the embrace, but stayed there, sobbing quietly, letting him drape the blanket over you both, the material somehow still dry enough to bring comfort.

“Shh… Easy. Don’t cry, okay? It was my decision to stay there.” His soft voice reached you, and another sob came out, this time right into the shirt still clinging to his chest. “I had to stay there. I couldn’t leave you again. I didn’t want to leave you. I’m sorry.” He leaned down and rested his chin hesitantly on top of your head, bringing you even closer to himself. He released a long, heavy sigh, followed by a whisper of your name and another apology.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered right next to your ear, and you trembled in his strong arms.

“I’m sorry.” His hold tightening, and you hated how good it felt to have him this close again.

“I’m sorry.” His words no longer held just one meaning, and you shook your head as best you could, restrained by his tight embrace. Yet you stayed, your eyes closing, heart heavy with the knowledge that you were too weak to run away from him anymore.

The sound of the rain intensified, a thunderstorm still raging outside, and you both stayed close, Caleb cradling you to his chest, swaying gently side to side, almost lulling you to sleep. You took a deep breath, the scent of rain and him washing over you, and realized that you were ready to at least hear him out.

After you both calmed down your breaths and beating hearts, and after your bodies started warming up again, that is.

Because how can someone so warm have bad intentions? The feelings inside you were messing with your head again, and you let them, hoping you won’t regret making that decision.

Wishing, that this love won’t bring you to ruin.

ᯓ ✈︎

The kettle began to whistle the exact moment he stepped out of the bathroom, candlelight casting his shadow across the room. Every movement danced on the walls, creating the illusion of him surrounding you from all sides. Ironic, because that’s exactly how you felt ever since you let him back in. Your body cautious not to relax in his presence, caged by the unfamiliar weight of broken trust.

You bit your lip and began pouring hot water over the tea, waiting for the pleasant scent to reach you, hoping that it will calm your racing heart—if only for a second. Its rapid beating didn’t slow down since you brought him in here willingly—the very man you’d successfully avoided for a whole month, dreading your next encounter, having no idea how you should act upon seeing him again.

And now there he was—standing behind you nervously, thinking so loudly you were almost able to hear it. Yet you stayed silent, believing that you had every right to. The awkwardness in the air wasn’t your fault, after all.

Letting him inside, not being able to stand the thought of him sitting out there in the storm—that was your doing. And you hated yourself for how easily you let your guard down, and for failing to hide the pathetic trace of love you still carried for him, even after he hurt you so deeply.

Your first encounter several hours ago didn’t exactly end in the way you wanted it to: him using his Evol on you and you breaking down in tears could hardly be considered a peaceful reunion. You were both not ready to talk yet, too shaken by being in each other’s presence after all this time. You, stubborn in your hatred. He, desperate and unraveling at the thought of loosing you again. An explosive combination, a disaster waiting to happen.

So you ran, as fast as you could from him.

And now, because you couldn’t stay indifferent to his discomfort, you had nowhere to hide.

“The clothes fit. They’re even a bit loose.” Caleb’s light tone finally broke the silence, though the slight tremble in his voice betrayed his stress. He was as nervous as you were. “Phew, I’m lucky your uncle isn’t here today, he would totally take me in a fight. To him I would probably look like… a walkin’… A walking stick.” Voice grew quieter with every word he spoke, and once he noticed he was rambling, he clamped his mouth shut, cussing internally.

He had always made a fool of himself when you were near, ever since the day he met you, all those years ago. Even just the sight of your turned back, the knowledge you were listening, made his head heavy with the need to impress you, and now, to make things right. He was terrified that at any moment you might lock yourself away in one of the rooms, somewhere he couldn’t reach you again—and he had no idea how he’d handle it if that happened.

Suddenly, you turned to him, your eyes glued to the mugs of tea you were holding. You placed them carefully on the table in front of you—the only piece of furniture that provided a bit of a distance you so desperately craved to have. From the corner of your eye you noticed he wasn’t exaggerating—the black sweatpants and a white shirt seemed to be a bit loose, and you realized that his homely appearance actually made you feel a bit more at ease. Now, without his Colonel uniform to hide behind, he seemed more approachable, if not more lost.

The air of authority vanished the moment his wet suit hit the floor, leaving only an uncertain man in its wake, one who knew he’d been walking on thin ice the moment you let him into your space again.

And you just couldn’t bring yourself to make him feel more welcome—the words he said still ringing in your ears, despite the time you spend to forget about them entirely.

“Thanks for letting me stay here. And for the clothes.” He was still standing in the same spot and you still refused to meet his eyes. Your hands grabbed one of the mugs and you started blowing air to cool your tea down, thankful for that little distraction, for something warm to hold when your heart was freezing cold. “And I wasn’t sitting there to make you pity me. If you were wondering. I wasn’t tryin’ to manipulate you into anything, I just—”

“I know.” Your voice rusty from the uncontrollable sobbing from before, hands gripping the mug harder. The light from the candles was too low for you to see your reflection on the surface of the drink. Maybe it was for the best, you must’ve looked like a trembling mess, eyes puffy and lips bitten red, still shaken by the storm of emotions that had torn through you during the day. “That, I know.”

You slowly sat on the nearest stool while he processed the meaning behind your words, still standing motionless few steps before you. You took a sip—and the warmth of the drink did nothing to soothe your nerves.

So, you waited. For something. Anything. Feeling his intense gaze on your frame, almost drilling a hole in your head, a silent prayer for you to look back at him.

You couldn’t, and that broke him all over again.

“You run away from me.” His voice trembled and your hands grabbed the mug tighter, the rain outside intensifying—or maybe you just became aware of its sound again. “I’ve searched for you everywhere. Every day. And I was loosing my mind every minute I couldn’t see you.”

“Did you?” You couldn’t help the venom spilling out of you, the tone mocking if it wasn’t so weak. “Why? Because of guilt? Pity? Out of obligation for—”

“Guilt? Pity? Is that what you think?” He took a step forward, and you didn’t move, head held high, still not meeting his eyes. “Everything I did for you, everything I ever said to you was out of—Shit—” His hands ruffled his hair, tugging at the strands. A pause, heavy, followed by a thunder, and then—“Out of love!” The last word nearly a growl, ripped out of him suddenly, as if holding it inside brought him pain.

You froze.

A thunder roared in the distance.

And the tears filled your vision once more.

You stood abruptly, putting down the cup on the table with a loud thud, its contents spilling out, nearly burning your head. His voice calm and sure now, so sure it almost made you choke.

“Out of overwhelming love, that I have felt for you for as long as I can remember—”

“Stop.” You choked out, your head dizzy, hands shaking in fury. What was he saying? What was he even—

“—Out of desperation to make things right, because I couldn’t bear the thought of you sitting somewhere alone, and hurting because of me, the things I said, the things I fuckin’ despise myself for—” He heard you, so he spoke much quicker, words spilling one after the other, hurting you more than you could imagine. He was getting closer to you, and you flinched, one leg already taking a step back.

He wasn’t serious, he couldn’t be. If he were, he wouldn’t have said those things, especially not after he got to have you. It wasn’t what you were prepared to hear, he was surely just messing with—

“Caleb, please.” Not more than a whisper, a calm before the storm, your head shaking, legs feeling weak.

“I lied. I lied that day and you need to believe me. I lied because I was a coward, and I didn’t know what to do, I panicked and I lied, because I love you, and they—”

“No, please, stop, I—I can’t listen to this, it was a bad idea, I—” With tears in your eyes you turned away and passed Caleb quickly, wanting to go back upstairs and hide: hide from his lies, from the hurt of his sudden confession, and from the way his voice sounded, so anguished and outright mad.

He didn’t love you, he couldn’t love you, because if he did he would’ve told you that night, when he held you so close and whispered broken praises into your ear. He would’ve said it then, not now, when you’d already made up your mind to cut him off, to forget the warmth of his body and the cold sting of the words you overheard.

You expected an apology, not a confession, which made and your whole facade crumble with his every word.

“No! Please—” He grabbed your hand, his touch frantic and secure, the contact and the memories it reignited made you gasp. And before you could realize what was happening, he fell down on his knees in front of you, his hands grabbing your arms, the hold strong but gentle, meant to slow you down, rather than cage.

You looked at the bare skin of his back, sticking out of the shirt, speckled with faint freckles, and noticed he looked thinner than you last saw him. Then your eyes landed on his dark hair, falling into his face freely, strands damp after the shower, but still looking so unbelievably soft.

“Please, I’m not lying, I’m—You have to believe me. You have to—Fuck—”

You eyes met and the time seemed to slow down.

Because you saw his beautiful, violet orbs, that always made you feel as if you were looking at the eight wonder of the world, flooded with tears for the very first time in your life.

His lips were trembling and you noticed how chapped they were, his teeth biting into them to stop himself from sobbing. You could hear the humming of your heart in your ears, your whole body shocked to stillness.

He looked absolutely torn.

And you couldn’t look away; your eyes traced the path of the first tear that slipped out of his eye, down to his chin, landing in front of your bare feet.

Like an offering. A statement. The last prayer of a man who lost hope.

“I’m not—I’m not lying to you. You have to believe me, please, please.” Tears. One after the other, tracing paths on his flushed cheeks, eyes burning with sincerity, lashes wet and shiny.

You nodded slowly, a lump forming in your throat, eyes filling with tears upon the sight, but you were trying so hard to keep them at bay.

And after a sniffle, he continued, warm hands stroking your shaking arms, eyes glued to yours like a lifeline.

“I lied that day. Everything I said was a fucking lie, okay? A big, pathetic lie to save my skin, to buy me more time. I said the first things that came into my mind—”

“But I heard you, Caleb.” You cut him off, your brows furrowing, unable to contain your confusion. “I heard you. If you really didn’t mean it how could you sound so sure? You said these things without even a single thought, and you expect me to—”

“I didn’t have to think! I just twisted—I think I just twisted the truth—”

“Wow. T—That’s low Caleb. That’s really, really low—” And when you started to back out from his hold he grabbed you harder, his arms going to circle around your waist, his face pushing into your stomach. You gasped and before you managed to push him away, his next words made you stop.

“No! Wait, shit, that’s not what I meant. Don’t go.” A sob escaped his lips and you took a deep breath, your hand almost reaching to caress his head. You’ve never seen him so broken and the need to comfort him was overwhelming. The sight of his tears excruciating. “I said you were clingy and you are—” Another sharp tug, but he refused to let you go. “You are. You are clingy and that’s okay, that perfectly fine, that’s perfect. And I love that about you. Every time you were holding my sister’s hand, I wished, God—How I wished you would hold mine instead. I wished, I prayed you would cling to me instead. Just as much as I wanted to cling to you.” He raised his head and you saw that he was telling the truth in the way his eyes gleamed, and his cheeks burned red, body trembling against yours.

And you felt your legs nearly bucking under your weight, his words making your head spin, not knowing whether you should stay offended or let him take your breath away once more.

“But—but what about me being annoying? You said—”

“You loved to push my buttons ever since we were kids, you are trying to annoy me all the time, just how I try to annoy you back. But for me, every jab, every joke, it was always to catch your attention. A pitiful attempt for you to just look at me, even for a fleeting second. And it worked—MC always called us annoying because of it, remember? That’s why it came to me so quickly. That’s the only reason I said it so surely.”

He was talking so fast he nearly lost his breath, his chest heaving against you, arms still holding you close to his chest. You took a deep breath and wanted to think, to have a second to process it, the burn in your cheeks intensifying, his words actually starting to make sense, because of your usual dynamic.

But it wasn’t all. It wasn’t what hurt you the most.

“You told them about my fear.” Caleb’s huge, red-rimmed eyes never left yours, and you fought with yourself not to fix the strands of hair that were slightly blocking his vision. His lips formed a straight line and turned slightly downwards, making him look like a kicked puppy. And you felt your anger slowly slipping, hope filling the hole in your heart. “And you listed it as my fault. You took my biggest fear and embarrassed me for it, made me feel like I wasn’t enough. I didn’t even—I didn’t even know you noticed how scared I was when—”

“I did. I notice everything about you. Of course I noticed.” His strong hands hugged you tighter, and a single tear slipped out of your eye. He was still kneeling before you, showing no signs of raising. “Just how I noticed that it didn’t keep you from visiting me at my place, even though the stillness of the clouds terrified you to the point of loosing sleep. But it’s okay. It doesn’t change a single thing for me. I only dreamed of showin’ you the view from the clouds, I hoped that I would take you up there with me one day, to show you that it doesn’t have to be scary. That it’s actually beautiful, and freeing, and calm up there. Cause I would protect you, always. And if you didn’t change your mind it would be fine—It would always be fine. I would just share with you the stories ‘bout the things I saw. And I would be the happiest to do it.” His shaking hands reached to touch your face and wiped the tears from your cheeks, ones that you had no idea you even shed. “I never thought about it as your flaw. Never. For me, you are nothing but a wonder.”

His touch was feather-light and comforting, his hands warm and so painstakingly familiar, bringing you back to the night that changed everything. How he held you back then, as if you were something fragile, something precious.

A wonder.

A sob tore through your body and he shook his head, hushing you quietly, his hands taking a hold of yours, bringing them to his lips, pressing a kiss to every single one of your knuckles.

“Then, why? Why did you list it as one? I just—I just don’t understand why, Caleb.” You cried out, one of your hands leaving his to cover your face from him. The past month of running away flashed before your eyes, making you even more tired. And although you wanted nothing more than to believe him and let yourself be held, he still didn’t give you the reason for saying such things. “Why did you even say that? If you lied, why did you do that? Why, Caleb, why did I have to hear—?”

You were crying again, and Caleb looked at you from his knees in panic, his hands caressing your arms, spine straightening so that his head could rest against your chest. The way he hugged you so tenderly made you want to hug him back, your head fighting with your heart. Yet he still didn’t give you all the answers, no matter how better the situation seemed now. You still had doubts about believing him at all.

There was a beat, or two, and he let out a deep sigh, hands gripping you tighter.

You sniffled, the word around going completely quiet, just to be disturbed by his quiet groan.

“I’m even—I’m even embarrassed to say.” He stood up slowly, and you gulped, his size all-consuming, making him be the only thing you could see. You took a careful step back, and he took one of your hands in his hesitantly. From this position he was too stressed to hug you, opting for less intense contact, especially when your hand was still limp in his, not reciprocating the hold. He scratched at his neck, his eyes meeting yours, an anticipation visible on your features. “And I know that won’t make the situation better.”

“Caleb—”

“Yes. Yes, I know—They—” A squeeze of your hand, the orange spark in his eyes shining beautifully, making your breath hitch. His hand went up to gently touch your face, fingers tracing patterns along your cheek. “They started talkin’ bout girls that day. The boys, my friends from college.” His brows furrowed, eyes looking at your face as if searching for something there. You listened patiently, his earlier words still ringing inside your head, the gravity of them almost crushing you. “Asked me if I knew someone they could go out with. I said ‘no’. They didn’t believe me, though.” His eyes narrowed, chin went down slightly in annoyance while recollecting the conversation. “They started teasing me about MC first. Asking if I would like to have a brother, too. But then one of them mentioned you.” His eyes darkened, the hand on your cheek stopped its caress. “Said he liked you. And that he already had your number. He was pretty confident, said something ‘bout you two having a connection. He said he talked with you that one time you and MC were visitin’ me in my dorm, and I—I started sweating right then and there.”

Your frown deepened but you already knew where this was going. You closed your eyes and swore under your breath, one hand covered your mouth in shock. You couldn’t even remember the guy.

“And—And we just slept together that night, and I finally got to hold you, caress you, kiss you—I was on cloud nine. Wasn’t thinking clearly. And I wanted to tell him about us, that you were mine, but I realized that we haven’t talked about it. And you weren’t there when I woke up—”

“Caleb, I overslept for work, I had to leave quickly—”

“I’m so, so sorry, but I wasn’t sure. I haven’t confessed to you either, I was just too—too overwhelmed, I felt too much, I thought too much and I realized that I couldn’t tell them you’re mine because you weren’t. Not yet.” You bit your lip and looked at him in disbelief, his face getting closer. He put a strand of your hair behind your ear, and his jaw tightened. “And when he asked me what I thought ’bout you I couldn’t tell him the truth. If he knew what I felt he wouldn’t let you go. They wouldn’t let you go, it would only make them want you more.”

You felt your hands shaking, your mouth opening and closing, not knowing what to say. His hands were still holding yours, feeling the tremble, caressing them with his thumbs in an attempt to bring you comfort.

“But you knew that what happened between us wasn’t a one time thing. You knew how I felt about you, and if you felt the same why didn’t you just—”

“I wasn’t sure if you’d pick me, if you had a different choice. And at that moment, I wanted to make sure you would. That they wouldn’t take you away from me. And that they would never want to again.” His hands cupped your cheeks, and you felt how rough and warm they were, your hands immediately going to hold at his wrists. He closed his eyes for a moment and you couldn’t believe what he was saying.

It was all a misunderstanding. And all of this happened because he was jealous? He hurt you so much just because he didn’t want others to reach out to you?

“So you had to say all these things about me? And that was supposed to be a better alternative than lying about us being together? Caleb, it really doesn’t sound—” You pushed his arms away, legs taking you further away from him, craving some space to think things through, but he followed suit, hands already reaching for you again.

“I panicked. I’m so, so, so sorry, I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t know where we stood, and I had no idea if that would make a difference for them. I had to say something to discourage them. So I did.” His hands went to tug at his hair and now he was the one who took a step back, breathing louder, obviously distressed. “And I hated myself for it. It felt so wrong the moment it came out of my mouth and I wasn’t even sure if they even believed me. And then I heard you. Fuck, when I heard you—”

A loud crash, making every single doubtful look from the boys leave Caleb’s face. Grateful for a distraction, his head heavy, heart burning with the weight of his lies. But when he opened the door and noticed your makeup scattered across the floor, his heart sank to his stomach. A wave of terror froze his body for a short while, until he heard you fumbling with the front door.

He didn’t even think about using his Evol, your beautiful frame running away from him enough to make him panic, the things he said hanging above his head, the knowledge that you had heard them becoming his worst nightmare.

And later, when he returned to his empty apartment after hours spend searching for you, calling you in hope you’d pick up, even by accident—he finally broke down. He screamed, throwing his phone against the wall, making it shatter. His Evol spiraled out of control, shifting the furniture, crashing the plates, the entire place left looking as if it had been broken into.

He lost you on the day he finally got to have you. And ever since that day, he hadn’t known peace, until your phone lit up again, a single red dot glowing on his device, revealing your location.

He left the Fleet right then and there in the middle of the meeting, everything else forgotten. Every duty postponed, every shout of his name ignored.

There wasn’t anything more important than you.

And now you were standing before him, as beautiful as the day he lost you, with tears in your eyes and your heart no longer open for him to take solace in. The eyes which used to look at him with mirth and affection—now uncertain, scared of him hurting you again.

And he felt that he was at his limit—one more second away from you and he thought he’ll burst into flames, the intensity of his feelings will turn him to ashes.

So, he begged.

“I’m so sorry. Please. Believe me. Take me back. Give me one more chance. I’m so sorry I hurt you. I swear I will never to it again, as long as I live.” You flinched when he fell onto his knees again, your arms trying to catch him before his knees hit the floor, but it was useless, his body too heavy for you to hold.

“Caleb! Caleb, stop doing that—” You grabbed his arm in an attempt to pick him up, but he was too strong, his bicep not even tightening. Goosebumps appeared on his skin under your palms and his head fell onto your arm pathetically.

And you just couldn’t look at him when he acted this way, your anger dissipating, the situation although still not ideal—him lying, then saying such things behind your back, whether he meant them or not, wasn’t something you could forgive him after one conversation.

Yet you couldn’t bear to look at him like that—on his knees, begging for forgiveness, crying and shaking, words slipping uncontrollably from his lips. In all the years you’d known him, this was the most vulnerable you had ever seen him—and the sight made your eyes sting. The image of the man you loved—once an unshakable, controlled pillar of strength—reduced to a broken mess before you.

You now knew why he did it. And that he didn’t mean it, not in the way you thought he did.

And you understood the jealousy, the anger, and the selfishness, because you had times you felt such way about him too. The image of him with another making you nauseous, the possibility of him loving someone else like a dagger cutting through your chest.

You took a deep breath, and glanced at him again. His shaking back, hands clinging to your body in an attempt to keep you close.

And you had made your decision.

“Oh, Caleb…”

To believe him.

“Caleb, please stand up!”

To build your relationship back up again, no matter how long i’ll take. And you just hoped you were making the right one.

“N—No, you have to understand. Please. I love you. I’m sorry. And I’ll do anything to earn your forgiveness, no matter how long it takes.” He breathed into your arm, his face snuggling into it, his head slowly rising, eyes meeting yours.

And you gasped at the anguish displayed all over his pretty eyes, two eternal sunsets clouded with misery.

“I love you. So much. I am in love with you, and I’ll do anything to prove it, I’ll spend my whole life trying to make it up to you. You want me to give you more space? I’ll do that. I will try to do that. You want me to leave the Fleet? Just say a word. I will. I will follow you to the end of space and time. You like it here? I can build you the exact same house with my own hands, brick after brick, and it would be the most beautiful, peaceful of places, you own private sanctuary. I will—”

Your knees hit the floor, joining him and you grabbed his wet cheeks in your hands, yanking his head down to meet your lips, effectively shutting him up.

And he melted.

Putty in your hands, leaning into your touch instantly, his chapped lips warm against yours, his soft sigh vibrating between your mouths. And when you broke the kiss and met his sparkling eyes, round with surprise and hope, you send him a small smile, holding back the tears that threatened to fall.

You wouldn’t let them. Not anymore. Not when for the first time in weeks you finally believed that you will be okay.

It was all a huge misunderstanding. A big mistake, fueled by insecurities, secrets kept for far too long, his desperation to keep you near, no matter the means. When he spoke so rapidly, afraid you’ll leave him again, you realized that wanting to keep you to himself might have been one of the few times in his life he had ever done something purely for himself—even if his methods were far from right.

You could see now, that behind his thick skin, and the air of countless of responsibilities, he was still just a boy that had to grow up too quickly. For MC. For you. For all of you to live as comfortably as you could, the burden of all your issues and failures always spoken to him, knowing that he will be able to help and find a solution for all of them.

And yet, he never confessed when something bothered him, his feelings and desires always bottled up inside, kept hidden and threatened to spill when it got too much for him to handle.

And that one time, when faced with the threat of someone taking you away from him, the threat of loosing you, the one he loved, he acted on instinct. He chose the option that wasn’t fair, and certainly wasn’t healthy, but he truly believed it could work to keep you beside him for a while longer.

He wasn’t used to being selfish, so he had no idea how to start, and how to do it right.

He looked down at you through half-closed eyes, taking you in and memorizing your small smile—one he felt he hadn’t seen in ages. Then he dove in for another kiss, his arms wrapping around your frame, pulling you tightly to his chest. He couldn’t believe that you kissed him, his brows furrowing, wanting to make this moment last forever.

And you reciprocated every single one of his hasty kisses, your head finally freed from the questions that dragged you down.

You will work this out. You will fix this, together. And you will make sure he’ll know how you feel, so that he could finally realize that he doesn’t have to fight dirty battles just to keep you close. Because you would never want anyone else who wasn’t him.

“Caleb-mmmh. Caleb, oh God, wait.” He reluctantly let your lips go, your lungs filling with a deep breath, and you hugged him around his waist, feeling the fast beating of his heart under your ear. He placed his shaking hand on your head, stroking your hair, placing a chaste kiss on the crown of your head.

“Sorry, can’t stop. Come back here, you kissed me first.” And he took your cheeks in his palms and dived in, wanting to capture your lips in his again, but you blocked his mouth with your hand, making him frown.

You giggled softly, eyes still teary, making his eyes sparkle—mesmerized by the happiness finally breaking through the walls you’d build around yourself over the past month. He kissed your fingers once, twice, his arms resting at your waist as he lost himself in the warmth of your body, and the pleasant fragrance of your skin.

He felt as though he had returned to where he truly belonged. He had finally come home.

You opened your mouth, your cheeks flushed and eyes sincere, and nothing could prepare him for what you said next, your tone soft, slightly unsure, a melody only for him to hear.

“I believe you, Caleb. But you hurt me that day so badly, I thought I would never get over that heartbreak. I thought I lost you, my best friend, the only boy I ever cared so deeply for. I thought you really hated me all this time. And I couldn’t face it, couldn’t even think about it, that’s why I fled.” He nodded quickly, eyes holding so much hurt and regret. You slid one of your hands into his hair, stroking the soft strands gently. And thats when you both sat down on the warm floor, bodies relaxing, hearts slowing down. “But it’s okay. I understand you now. And I’m sorry too, for not letting you explain yourself sooner. I was just so focused on trying to hate you to somehow cope with what I’ve heard—”

“Stop, it’s my fault, don’t—”

“I shouldn’t have run away. I should’ve faced you, even if I was scared of what I’ll learn. But it will take some time for me to forget about it, okay? It really—It really messed me up. The thought you put up with me only because it was convenient.” You bit your lip and he groaned softly, his head lowering, a symphony of apologies falling from his lips once again. You hushed him gently, taking his cheeks in your hands and wiping away the wet trails of his tears. He sniffed quietly, making your heart squeeze. “But it will be okay. Because I believe you. So you don’t have to be scared anymore, I won’t run away again.” His body shook as he kept nodding, biting at his lips, trying so hard not to interrupt you. You leaned over him again, the movement slow, and you looked deep into his eyes, silently asking for permission. Once his eyelashes fluttered, eyes looking at your lips expectantly, you placed a soft kiss on his swollen ones, red from his constant biting, still salty from the tears he shed. “And you have to promise to be honest with me. No more tricks. No more lies.”

“I promise.” Your name escaped his lips like a prayer. “I promise. I will never hurt you again, I swear. I promise. I love you more than you could ever realize.”

He groaned into another kiss, a quiet “mmm” followed by the touch of his hands on your cheeks. He brought you to himself closer, one kiss turning into three, four, five and still counting, yet all of them gentle and reassuring, meant to anchor, not escalate. One of his hands landed on your hip and tugged, touch meaningful—he wanted for you to sit in his lap, and although you were still shaken, you craved the closeness as much as he did.

You climbed onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his hips as he deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing at your lower lip.

You let him in, slowly, unhurriedly, your ears catching the sound of the falling rain, the storm coming back with the same intensity as before—but this time, it didn’t feel like a bad omen anymore.

You parted with a quiet pop, Caleb’s head instinctively following yours, unwilling to let the distance linger. His large hands caressed your arms and thighs, his expression love-drunk, looking as if he couldn’t believe you were really here with him again.

His eyes met with yours and you swiped the pads of your fingers below his under eyes, tracing the faint freckles.

A whistle of the wind, a spatter of rain against the window, the sound of your beating hearts, and then—

“I love you too, Caleb.” His breath hitched, hands clenching on the material on your shirt, eyes big and shining with disbelief. “I love you. So much. You’re the only boy I’ve ever loved.” His eyes closed and he rested his forehead against yours, the tips of your noses touching in a gesture so gentle your eyes stung.

“Again. Repeat that for me.” He whispered in awe, and you obeyed, another confession spoken into the night. One of the candles burned out, marking the end of a chapter, and, hopefully, the end of your separation. “Hmm, again.” He probed and you did, watching as a soft smile spread on his lips, his thumbs swiping circles into the exposed skin of your thighs. “Wanna hear it again.” Caleb’s voice unbearably soft, his touches even more so, and you put your hands on both sides of his neck, putting more distance between you. “And again. And again. I never want you to stop saying it.”

He opened his eyes and studied your face, eyes closing when you pressed a lingering kiss on one of his eyelids, his breath shaky, hands warm against your skin.

“I love you. Have been for so long I lost count ages ago.” His lips formed a line, happiness squeezing at his chest, and he nodded once, eyes opening slowly to bore into yours and don’t stray.

“Ages?” He repeated, partly mimicking your words from weeks ago, but still visibly shaken, chest filling with the warm ache of being accepted. Of loving, and being loved in return.

He cursed himself internally, eyes nearly filling with tears, dread rising in his chest at the thought that he had almost lost you, because of his selfishness and insecurities.

You kissed his lips again and he almost sobbed right into yours, his head falling onto your shoulder, kissing the soft skin, feeling the way in which it warmed up under the contact. He hugged you to his chest, kissing your neck, wanting to be even closer, to get under your skin, to merge with you for evermore and never let go.

“Ages.” Your answer sure and final, your arms returning his embrace, hands tracing patterns into the skin of his strong back. His necklace rested right next to your heart, where it should always be.

You began to hum a lullaby,letting your soft voice replace the harsh sounds of the rain and thunder. The melody drifted through the house, seeping into the walls, and into Caleb’s memory.

And when he whispered more confessions, his lips marking your skin with them, you exhaled a long, steady sigh, marking the end of this cruel storm.

And later, as you fell asleep in a tight embrace, listening to each other’s heartbeats and imagining the life ahead of you, neither of you noticed the objects gently floating around the room—silent signs of Caleb’s excitement. The heavy stone of guilt had finally lifted from his chest. He had won you back, and he wasn’t going to let you get hurt again—not by him, not by anyone else. He swore to protect you, and he would keep that promise for as long as he lived.

And if the sound of plant pots shattering, books tumbling, and your things scattering around woke you up from your slumber hours later, his puppy eyes, a kiss to your cheek and a promise of a breakfast in bed was enough to make you melt. You could always clean it up later.

This time, together.

*bonus!*

3 years later

* 15+ unread messages from [ my miss hunter!<3 ]*

✉︎ hii babey, why is caleb being so weird today??? he literally called me earlier, asked me to freaking pray for him and hung up on me that menace.

✉︎ did u like fight or smth? u never fight what did he do this time

✉︎ the last time he acted so weird was when he ate his bday cake day early cause he didn’t realize what it was for, remember that? what do u see in him i cant quite understand we’re like, losers trapped in hot bodies istg

✉︎ wait he just send me a pic

✉︎ OH MY GODDDSSG???? BABY CONGRATULATIONS!!!!! THIS SECRETIVE LITTLE SHInzsn

✉︎ you look so happy in that picture!! im literally bawling, the ring’s so pretty and you both look gorgeous. im so so so happy for you (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)♡ ♡ ♡ i love you guys sm please INVITE ME TO THE WEDDING IN CASE CALEB FORGETS TO TELL HIS SIS SOMETHING THIS IMPORTANT AGAIN

✉︎ im so happy for you, can’t stop looking at ur lil happy faces. U both deserve the world. NEXT UP!! picking a wedding dress!!!!! Im already on it, you’ll look like a PRINCESS!!! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ gorgeous little b caleb’s a lucky maaaaan

✉︎ call me when you’re done with kissing!! or u know, other stuff. u guys can be pretty gross.

✉︎ i love you. both. can’t wait for the wedding!!!!!! AHH!!!

ᯓ ✈︎

thank u for reading!! 🤍 if u managed to that one’s LONG. I hope it was worth ur time 🥺

if u want to support me, u can do it here!!: https://ko-fi.com/kitimeq

every like, comment and reblog would mean the world to me 🤍

[mydeist]

hello! just wanted to say I LOVEEE the way you do non-mc content. that being said could i request a headcanon on: lets say non-mc and the LI’s broke up because the dudes were still hung up on MC (they end up regretting it lol). then later on see non-mc in public who has moved on to someone else who is doing everything they guys failed to do.

The One Who Never Got It Right

Pairing: LADs x Non-Mc reader Genre: Angst (Breakup regrets) Writer's notes: Thought I could be getting more fluffs to do, but instead I got slapped in the face with this one, welp, no rest for the wicked, I guess 😅

He sees you across the bustling Skyhaven terminal—laughing, radiant, clinging to the arm of someone who isn’t him.

The man by your side is kind-eyed, attentive. He holds your bag, listens intently, and actually smiles when you talk. He doesn’t look distracted or distant—he’s there. Present.

Caleb halts mid-stride, fingers curling around the edge of his datapad. For a moment, it’s like the mission debrief in his hand doesn’t even exist.

He remembers every time he cut conversations short, gave you half his presence, let you walk beside him in silence because his mind was always elsewhere—on MC.

He thought you didn’t notice. That you’d wait. That maybe you’d always be around until he figured himself out.

Now you’re smiling in ways he never earned.

The worst part? You glance his way. See him. Then look away just as easily, returning to your conversation without missing a beat.

He used to be the safe place. Now, he's just a distant name in your past.

Later that night, he types a message to you. Deletes it. Writes it again.

In the end, he just stares at your contact photo for hours, then shuts off the holoscreen. And for the first time in a long time, Caleb can’t strategise his way out of the ache in his chest.

Mission Log 6.14.3A — Deleted Draft I saw her today. Not MC. Her. The one who asked me to be present. To try. To stop living like the past was all I had left. I thought letting her go would make me noble. Thought I was sparing her the weight of being second to a ghost. But maybe she wasn’t second. Maybe I just never gave her the space to be first. And someone else did. I hope he keeps holding her the way I never learned how to. I hope he never makes her feel like a placeholder. …I hope she never looks back.

He saw you at a gallery opening.

You're dressed in something elegant, arm-in-arm with a gentle-faced man who looks at you like you're art incarnate.

The moment hits him like a palette knife to the ribs.

You’re glowing—not in a spotlight way, but in a quiet, contented kind of joy he never could give.

He flashes his usual grin to the crowd, but his fingers twitch at his side.

Because of that new guy? He’s whispering something in your ear. And you’re laughing. That laugh used to belong to Rafayel, once.

But he made jokes about still missing MC. Let you hear silence when you needed security. Let you fade beside someone else’s memory.

Now?

Someone else painting you with attention. Frames you with love.

He downs his champagne and pretends to care about the next exhibit, but he draws you three times from memory that night.

None of them capture your smile the way he just did.

He doesn’t stop drawing until dawn. Each page is more desperate than the last.

 Sketchbook Entry — Page Torn Out She asked me once what I thought love looked like. I told her it was impossible to capture - always shifting, always out of reach. But she caught it. She was it. And I? I framed her in glass and called it finished. She wanted a mess. Partnership. Splattered hands and stained shirts. I gave her monologues and empty wine glasses. I thought she was a phase. A warm red before I returned to ash. But she was permanent. I saw her smile today. It wasn’t for me. And for once, I couldn’t paint a damn thing.

He was leaning on the railing of a shadowed walkway, scanning the crowd below on a recon run, when he spotted you.

You're tucked into the side of someone unfamiliar—someone laughing with you, their hand laced with yours, feeding you a bite of something sweet.

The softness on your face is devastating. It used to be his. It was once the only softness he’d let himself keep.

He stays hidden, watching.

That guy kisses your knuckles. And you smile like you trust him completely.

His chest tightens, fingers twitching. He almost drops the comms unit in his hand.

You’d begged him once to try, to stop comparing you to MC. To see you. He hadn’t known how to let go back then. Now?

He’s thinking about how that man just wiped whipped cream from your lip without flinching—and how he never even learned your coffee order.

“Idiot,” he mutters to himself, pushing off the railing.

But he doesn’t go down there. He’s already done enough damage.

And this time… someone else didn’t waste the chance. He hates it. He admires it.

Mostly, he regrets that it wasn’t him who made you stay.

Encrypted Voice Log – Never Sent SYLUS.ENTRY_097.BURNOUT Timestamp: Corrupted “She looks better without me. You’d think that’d piss me off, wouldn’t you?” “It doesn’t.” “Not really.” “He holds her like he’s not afraid she’ll disappear. Like he’s not too busy sharpening knives to hold her with both hands.” “I didn’t know how to do that. Couldn’t stop chasing shadows.” “I told myself she was a game. A way to forget.” “But she was never small. Never temporary. She waited for me to look up. I never did.” “He did.” [long pause] “She’s not coming back. Good. Let her stay gone. Let her stay whole.”

It’s late in the museum observatory, and Xavier’s here to recalibrate a projection model—until he looks down from the upper dome and sees you.

You're walking hand-in-hand with someone else through the starlit halls. Laughing. Calm.

The person beside you spins you under their arm, and you twirl without hesitation, radiant under the artificial cosmos.

He stands frozen in the upper dome, unseen.

You once asked Xavier to dance. He hesitated, too quiet and too caught up in thoughts of MC to say yes.

But that stranger below? He didn’t hesitate at all.

And you look so light in his arms. So free.

Xavier leans his forehead against the glass, breathing deeply.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, even though you can’t hear him.

His star map reboots beside him, scattering constellations. But for the first time, he doesn’t reach out to correct them.

Because he knows now, you weren’t meant to orbit him forever.

And you didn’t. You became your own universe. One that he was never brave enough to explore.

Private Memoir Entry – Unpublished I was always afraid I’d look at her and see someone else. So I never truly looked. Not the way she deserved. She asked me once if I was choosing to heal with her or without her. I said, “Without.” She nodded. Didn’t cry. Just left. And now I’ve healed. Or so I pretend. But sometimes I think healing isn’t a choice. Sometimes it’s a cost. I gave up the one person who saw me in the shadows and stayed. And someone else saw her light and danced into it.

You’re seated in a corner café with a man Zayne doesn’t recognise—easy smiles, shared laughter, his coat wrapped around your shoulders.

Zayne was on his way to deliver lab files to the main district med unit but now… he can’t move.

His gaze locks on the way the man leans in to tuck your hair behind your ear. How your eyes crinkle with joy.

It’s the kind of comfort Zayne never offered you—not because he didn’t care, but because he was too distracted chasing clarity with MC.

You once told him you felt like his second choice. He never answered that. And now, someone else treats you like you're the only choice.

He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t approach.

But that image burns in his mind for weeks. It replays in the sterile quiet of his clinic, on late nights when no one needs stitching up.

And when he returns home, he finds one of your old letters still tucked inside his medical textbook.

He rereads it, fingers trembling, and realises too late—he could’ve loved you right, if only he’d let himself try.

His next patient finds him staring into nothing, stethoscope in hand, utterly elsewhere.

Medical Log – Never Filed Patient: N/A Status: Unreachable Treatment note: Emotional detachment leads to unintentional abandonment. Prognosis: Permanent loss. Notes: She used to come into my clinic with little things. Fake injuries. Paper cuts. Just to be near me. I knew. And I let her pretend. I let myself believe I had time. That once I stopped thinking about MC, I could finally give this girl the pieces I hadn’t sealed away. But healing is slow. And people… they don’t always wait for your hands to stop trembling. She’s warm now. She’s whole. And I still wear gloves to hold my regrets.

[mydeist]

kento nanami fic recs - pt. 1

[anime fic rec m.list]

· · ♡ · · tysm to the amazing creative minds of the writers for giving me sevaral moments of joy reading your creations

these are my personal favs so pls reblog if you like any of them, and don´t forget to support authors!❤️

losing his mind - ( @daisynik7 ) smut, dom!reader, hubby!kento, sub!kento, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, WHEEEEEEEEW, 10000/10, now this is new

his protégé - ( @augustinewrites ) fluff, slice of life, fiancé!kento, dinner time with yuuji, it´s so wholesome :´)

edging - ( @pseudowho ) smut, pwp, fluff, this,,,,this is one the BEST nanami smuts out there, i just know the description of the whole thing is 100% accurate, the details, the way this is written, the visuaLSsss ldskjfhjsalfh go read it pls

riding - ( @screampied ) smut, hubby!nanami, "riding nanami so good that it makes him want to propose", LASJHLSFJH THIS IS SOME GOOD STUFF, the ride was so good he had to propose.. again

my wife - ( @chastiefoul ) FLUFF, period. married!nanami and his obssession with the word "wife", I WANT TO KMS HE´S SO :((((((

husband vibes - ( @rayveneyed ) nanami fluff. read it, just do it, YOU NEED THIS POV IN YOUR MIND I PROMISE

forgotten lunch - ( @nanaslutt ) SMUT, fluff, possessive husband!nanami. RAAAAAAAH ( insert picture of that one werwolf ripping his shirt) this is crrraaazzzyyyyYYYYYYYYYY, nanami makes me go fucking FERAL

dorm room escapades - ( @satoruhour ) smut, dad´s bestfriend!nanami, age gap, GAWWDD DAMNNNN, daddy kink, this is some good stuff

swear it´s just right for you - ( @slttygeto ) smut, fluff, hubby!nanami, I´m weaaaak, he´s so husband material

stressed after work - ( @arminsfavoritepookie ) boyfriend! kento, a cute lil drabble bc he loves your mere presence

labour of love - ( @s4lv4tions ) fluff, vanilla smut, lowkey angst if you´ve been keeping up with the manga/anime, loving hubby!kento, SO DOMESTIC, love making, :(

tie my tie, marry me - ( @kenananamin ) fluff, slice of life, "the moment nanami knew he never wanted to tie his tie by himself ever again and wanted to spend the rest of his life by your side" please just do yourself a favor and READ THIS

nanami drabbles - ( @sugurizz ) pwp, pls yall readdd part 2 and part 3, its crazyy

fifteen minutes - ( @roseglazedlens ) nanami smut. “Say that again. Louder. Can’t hear shit with the sound of my dick slapping into your cunt.” that´s all I have to say, your honor