𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 blub blub blub

21 | "when you dive deep underwater, you can hear your own heartbeat. and your own heartbeat is the only thing you'll hear..." | main blog: @strwbrychffoncke

[froggiequarium]

𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼 aquarium rooms ⸺> bakery to the right

sfw

lnds stalker!raf x sick!reader

lnds caleb memorizes barbie songs

lnds rafayel helps you dye your hair

lnds caleb praising you

rafayel makes you a nail set

non!mc reader seen by the li's best friends (series)

interacting w fae (ft. flins genshin impact)

stay a gentleman! (ft. varka genshin impact)

nsfw

lnds caleb puts a collar w a bell on you

thigh riding w lnds caleb

lnds caleb headlocking you

lnds caleb loves your curves

dividers by cafekitsune + anitalerina

[cherryscript]

₊˚⊹ᰔ TOYED WITH EACH OTHER ᝰ.ᐟ

❞ featuring ⠾ gege!caleb

i suggest reading prequel of this fic— SOULMATE? HOLEMATE! —for better understanding.

❞ summary ⠾ You and Caleb reunite at Gran’s house and BOOM—turns out those sketchy toys were secretly linking your dicks and pussies the whole time. Months of ghost-fucking each other? Mutual. Both virgins? Also mutual. Gran leaves for 3 days? → instant horny apocalypse. You two lose your V-cards in the most depraved, “gege/meimei” way possible :3

❞ wc ⠾ 7.7k

❞ content warnings ⠾ pseudocest, heavy og “gege / meimei” / big brother-little sister dynamic, explicit smut, heavy dubcon, usage of toys, toys connected to each other's dick and pussy (portal panties), virginity loss, oral (m! receiving), toy play, double penetration via toy + real cock, squirting, creampie, face-sitting, spanking, cum play, overstimulation, rough sex, voyeurism, theft of panties, reader's a brat, possessiveness, emotional intensity, overall just straight up filth with plot

❞ cherry’s note ⠾ thanks to @kingraspberry12-blog for commissioning this piece. I never thought I'd drag my ass down to actually write a part two but it is what it is. Here's the most awaited part two of soulmate?holemate!. I've lost count of how many times I've crashed out during this fic lol. My brain's so fried actually, need to sleep it off.

The summer drags like molasses this year, thick and sticky, every hour stretching longer than it has any right to. Maybe it’s the heat rolling in off the Bloomshore coast, maybe it’s Gran’s ancient air-conditioner wheezing like it’s on its last legs, or maybe—more likely—it’s because you’ve spent the last two days fucking a perfect silicone replica of your gege’s cock in the room right next to his, walls so thin you can hear the creak of his mattress when he shifts in his sleep.

You’re both on the living-room couch now, same faded floral pattern you used to fight over as kids, same throw blanket draped over your knees like nothing’s changed. Except everything has. The space between your thigh and his feels charged, electric, like the air itself is holding its breath. Neither of you looks directly at the other. Your eyes keep sliding to the TV screen—some mindless rerun neither of you is watching—then dart away before they can land on his profile, on the sharp line of his jaw, the way sweat beads at his temple and trails down the side of his neck.

Caleb breaks first.

He clears his throat, the sound rough, like it’s been stuck there for hours.

“Hey, pipsqueak…” His voice is lower than usual, careful. “How’s life out in Linkon? Big city, more people, all that noise?”

He chuckles, soft and awkward, rubbing the back of his neck the way he always does when he’s nervous. You used to tease him about it. Now it just makes your stomach twist.

“Don’t tell me you don’t miss your gege anymore…”

You glance up—too fast. His cheeks are flushed, a faint pink creeping up from his collar. He looks… shy. Almost boyish. It’s so unfair.

Your own face burns hotter. You look away quick, huffing a breath through your nose like it’ll cool you down.

“How can I not miss you…”

The words slip out quieter than you mean them to. You press your lips together hard, trapping everything else that wants to follow.

You miss him so much it hurts.

You miss you in ways you're not supposed to.

You miss you so bad you shove his dick—fake, warm, veiny, perfect—inside you every night and cry his name into the pillow while you hug that stupid apple plushie he won for you at the fair when you were fourteen. You clamp down around it until your thighs shake and your vision whites out, pretending it’s his arms pinning you, his chest against your back, his breath on your neck. You come so hard you sob, and then you feel guilty for hours, but you still do it again the next night. Because you're broken and you want him and you hate yourself for it.

But you don’t say any of that. You just stare at your knees and let the silence thicken.

Gran’s voice saves you both.

“Kids!”

You jump. Caleb straightens like he’s been caught doing something wrong.

She’s standing in the doorway, dressed in her going-out blouse, small rolling suitcase at her side.

“I’m headed downtown for three days. Something came up. Emergency stuff. You two will be fine, right? Like always.”

She’s said the same thing a hundred times over the years. Back then it meant popcorn fights and falling asleep to horror movies on the couch. Now the words land differently. Heavier.

The front door clicks shut behind her. The sound echoes.

Suddenly the house feels too quiet. Too big. Too empty except for him.

You’re hyper-aware of every inch of Caleb next to you. The sleeveless shirt clings to his chest from the humidity, dark at the collar where sweat’s gathered. His shorts ride up just enough to show the thick muscle of his thighs. His arms—God, his arms—flex every time he shifts, biceps rounding, veins standing out against his skin. He’s broader than last summer, taller, filled out in all the ways that make your mouth dry and your core ache.

You stare out the window at the garden like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. Anything to avoid looking at him.

He notices.

Caleb chuckles again, softer this time, and reaches out. One finger brushes your cheek—light, teasing, the same way he used to when you pouted as a kid.

“Aww, is my meimei sad? Mm… I’m here. We can spend some quality time together—”

The touch is barely there, but it burns straight down your spine. Your whole body jerks away like you’ve been shocked.

Caleb freezes, finger still hovering in the air. His eyes widen.

“Pipsqueak… are you okay?”

You can’t look at him. Your face is on fire, heart slamming so hard you’re sure he can hear it. Your nipples are already tight under your thin tank top, traitorously visible, and you cross your arms quickly to hide them.

“I’m—fine,” you mumble, staring at the floor. “Just… hot.”

He swallows. You hear it—the dry click of his throat. His gaze drops for half a second, catches the outline of your nipples, then snaps away like he’s been burned too.

“Right. Uh… yeah. Hot.” He exhales, rough. “Alright. I’ll be in the kitchen. Lemme know what you want for lunch.”

He stands. The couch dips and rises with his weight. You watch his back as he walks away—broad shoulders rolling under the shirt, the dip of his spine, the way his shorts hug the curve of his ass and the powerful flex of his thighs with every step.

The second he disappears around the corner you clench your thighs together so hard it hurts.

You’re already wet. Have been since he sat down. Since he said your nickname. Since he touched your cheek.

You need a shower. Cold. Now.

You bolt upstairs before you can think better of it, lock the bathroom door, strip in record time. The dildo is already in your hand—pulled from under your mattress like it’s been waiting for you.

The water’s barely warm when you brace one foot on the edge of the tub, line up the thick head, and sink down with a broken moan.

It stretches you open in that perfect, filthy way—veins dragging, curve kissing your front wall, heavy balls nudging your clit on the downstroke. You fuck yourself fast, desperate, water pounding your back, free hand braced on the tile.

“Gege—fuck—gege—”

You don’t even try to be quiet. The house is empty except for him, and part of you hopes—prays—he hears.

Downstairs, Caleb grips the kitchen counter so hard his knuckles turn white.

The second you disappeared upstairs he felt it: that familiar phantom squeeze around his cock, hot and wet and impossibly tight. Then the rhythm starts—fast, shallow, greedy.

He’s hard in seconds, leaking into his shorts, breath coming in short pants.

He glances toward the stairs.

He knows what you’re doing.

He knows because he’s been doing the same thing to your toy every night.

And now you’re both home.

Both alone.

Both breaking.

He doesn’t go upstairs. Not yet.

Instead he leans his back against the counter, the cool edge biting into his spine like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. His cock is painfully erect under the thin fabric of his shorts, the obscene bulge straining forward, tenting so hard the waistband digs into his lower abs. Every shallow breath makes it twitch, every phantom slam of your hips upstairs sends a fresh jolt through him. He moans—low, broken, helpless—each sound punched out of his lungs as your rhythm rocks him from the inside out. His knees buckle once, twice; he catches himself on the edge of the sink, knuckles white, hips grinding forward into nothing like he’s fucking the air.

He reaches down without thinking, palm cupping the thick ridge through the cotton. One rough stroke and his head falls back, throat working on a groan. The wet spot at the front of his shorts spreads fast—dark, sticky, obscene. He grinds harder into his own fist, hips rolling in slow, filthy circles, eyes fixed on the mess he’s making, precum soaking through until the fabric clings transparently to the flushed head.

Upstairs, you stand frozen under the cold spray for a long minute, water pounding your shoulders, doing absolutely nothing to dull the ache between your legs. Your pussy throbs in time with your heartbeat, still fluttering around the memory of double penetration, still greedy for more. The shower did jack shit. You shut off the water with a frustrated huff, towel yourself off in jerky movements, and stumble back to your room naked, skin pebbled, nipples tight from the chill and from want.

You don’t even close the door all the way.

You crawl onto the bed, legs splaying wide, knees bent and feet planted so you can watch yourself take it. The dildo is still warm from earlier, slick with your earlier mess. You line it up, tease the fat head through your folds once—then slam it home to the hilt in one brutal thrust. Your back arches off the mattress with a choked cry, pussy clamping down like a vice, walls rippling around every veiny inch.

Down the hall, Caleb sucks in a whimper so sharp it hurts. His eyes roll back; he has to brace both hands on the banister to keep from collapsing right there on the stairs. The phantom grip around his cock returns—tighter, hotter, wetter than before—and he knows exactly what you’re doing.

He climbs the last few steps on shaking legs, drawn like a magnet. Your door is cracked open. He shouldn’t look. He knows he shouldn’t.

He looks anyway.

And everything inside him fractures.

There you are—his sweet, innocent meimei—legs spread obscenely wide on the childhood bed you used to share during storms, tits heaving with every frantic roll of your hips, pussy stretched wide around a thick, veiny dildo that looks exactly like his cock. Down to the upward curve, the heavy balls slapping wetly against your ass with every thrust, the flushed brownish-pink head disappearing inside you over and over.

He can see the way your walls cling to it when you pull back, the slick strings connecting silicone to your swollen lips, the way your clit peeks out swollen and red every time you grind down.

“Mmhhh gege! Ahhh gege fuck—need you—mmpphhh!!”

Your voice cracks on his name, back bowing, tits bouncing wildly as you fuck yourself stupid, chasing that edge with desperate, sloppy thrusts. The sheets are soaked beneath you, wet patch spreading.

Caleb’s sure he would have moaned loud enough to wake the whole coast if he hadn’t bitten his lower lip bloody. It’s better than any porn he’s ever seen—hotter, filthier, because it’s you. His pipsqueak. His meimei. Ruining herself on a perfect copy of his dick.

The realization hits like a shockwave.

It was you.

All this time.

The ghost pussy milking him dry every night.

The way it clenched exactly when he needed it.

The way it knew his rhythm, his kinks, his breaking point.

And he’s been doing the same to you.

He shoves his shorts down in one rough yank; his cock springs free, angry red and leaking, veins standing out thick and pulsing. He wraps a fist around the base, strokes once—hard—and has to slap his free hand over his mouth to muffle the groan.

“Mmhh pipsqueak…” he whispers, voice wrecked, hips thrusting into his own grip like he’s fucking you through the doorway. “Such a needy little meimei… arghhh—it was you all along, huh?”

He can see every detail from here— the way your thighs tremble, the way your fingers dig into the sheets, the way you arch and sob his name like a prayer while you slam the toy deeper, chasing the stretch he’s been giving you in secret for months.

And he’s glad.

Fucking glad.

Because it’s mutual.

You out-freaked him first—ordered a replica of his dick and rode it until you cried his name—but he matched you, customized a perfect copy of your cunt and fucked it raw while whispering yours.

You’re both freaks.

Two depraved, lovesick freaks who’ve been secretly fucking each other stupid across hundreds of miles, and now you’re under the same roof with no Gran to stop you.

He strokes faster, matching your rhythm—every time you slam down, he fucks up into his fist. Precum drips over his knuckles, slicking the way. His balls draw up tight, aching.

You’re close. He can tell by the way your moans turn high and broken, the way your hips stutter, the way your pussy visibly flutters around the toy.

He’s right there with you.

One more thrust—yours, his—and you both shatter at the exact same second.

You come with a muffled scream into your pillow, body convulsing, squirting around the dildo in messy pulses that soak your thighs and the bed. The toy stays buried deep as you ride the aftershocks, whimpering his name over and over.

Caleb’s knees finally give out. He catches himself on the doorframe, biting his fist as he comes hard—thick ropes painting the floorboards, his hand, his stomach—while the phantom squeeze of your pussy milks him through every pulse.

He slumps there, panting, cock still twitching in his grip, eyes locked on you through the crack in the door.

You’re still trembling, legs limp, toy lodged inside you, chest rising and falling in shaky breaths.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

But the door creaks just a fraction wider under his weight.

And your eyes—glazed, wrecked, still teary—slowly lift.

They meet his.

For one endless heartbeat, neither of you breathes.

Then your lips part on a soft, broken whisper that carries straight to him,

“…gege?”

And everything that’s been building for months finally snaps.

You freak out the second your eyes blink from eye contact.

The sheets fly up in a frantic scramble, bunching around your chest and thighs as you yank them to your chin. Your cheeks ignite—burning, scorching hot—while a high-pitched squeak tears out of you like a startled animal.

“What are you—!”

The door, already ajar, swings wider under Caleb’s unsteady weight. He loses his balance completely—arms windmilling for half a second—then crashes forward with a loud, graceless thud, face-planting straight into the floorboards.

You squeak even louder, the sound shrill enough to rattle the windows.

He groans, low and pained, and slowly lifts his head. Blood trickles from his nose in a thin, bright red stream, dripping onto the wood. He blinks once, twice, dazed, then pushes himself up on shaking arms. His shorts are still shoved halfway down his thighs from earlier, so his dick—half-hard, flushed dark, still glistening at the tip—bobs free with the motion, jumping against his stomach like it has a mind of its own.

Your breath snags in your throat, sharp and audible.

You stare. You can’t not staring.

When you’d scrolled through that sketchy website a month ago, trembling and horny and stupid, you’d picked every detail from memory—the exact length you’d felt pressed against your hip during too-long hugs, the slight upward curve you’d glimpsed once through damp sweatpants, the heavy hang of his balls, the thick veins that stood out when his forearms flexed carrying your luggage. You’d thought it was obsessive fantasy.

But seeing it now—in the flesh, real, twitching, leaking a bead of precum that rolls slowly down the shaft—you realize with dizzying clarity—they didn’t just make a replica.

They made an exact fucking match.

Everything clicks into place like a lock tumbling open.

The “ghost” sensations.

The double penetration every night.

The way your toy always seemed to know exactly when he was close, clamping down harder, milking tighter.

The way his phantom cock always mirrored your rhythm, pounding deeper when you slammed down hardest.

Caleb hauls himself to his feet, swaying slightly. He notices your wide-eyed stare locked on his cock and flushes darker than you’ve ever seen him—red creeping from his collar to his ears. With a rough, embarrassed jerk, he yanks his shorts back up, the waistband snapping against his hips, but it does nothing to hide the thick outline still straining forward.

“Pipsqueak…” His voice comes out hoarse, cracked, half-lidded eyes dark and glassy. A thin trail of blood slides from his nostril, curving over the bow of his upper lip. He doesn’t wipe it away.

You snap back to yourself with a jolt.

“Caleb—your nose is bleeding!”

You scramble forward on your knees, sheets slipping dangerously low as you reach for the box of tissues on your nightstand. One hand presses a wad against his nose while the other clutches the fabric to your chest—but not fast enough. The sheet drops just enough to bare your breasts again, nipples peaked and flushed from everything that’s happened.

Caleb’s gaze drops instantly.

He stares—openly, hungrily—for one long heartbeat before you yank the sheet back up with a mortified squeak. Only then does he drag his eyes back to yours, pupils blown wide.

“It’s not because I fell,” he rasps, voice thick. “It’s because of…”

His stare rakes down your body again—slow, deliberate—taking in the way the sheet clings to your sweat-damp skin, the dark patch between your thighs where you’re still dripping, the toy still half-buried inside you under the covers. You squeak again, smaller this time, thighs pressing together instinctively.

“Caleb!”

“Okay—okay, I want you to stop freaking out and listen to me—”

You look away fast, heart hammering so loud it drowns out everything else. You don’t know how to explain this. How to admit that you’ve been coming undone on a silicone clone of him for months. That you’ve whispered his name like a prayer while your pussy clenched around fake-him, imagining real-him pinning you down. That you’re terrified of what it means now that the secret’s out.

Who fucks a replica of their gege’s dick?

You do.

You really, really do.

Before you can spiral further, Caleb’s hands—big, warm, calloused from flight controls—cup your cheeks. Gentle. Steady. He tilts your face up until you have no choice but to meet his eyes.

They’re soft. Guilty. Desperate. Everything at once.

“We need to figure this out, okay?” he whispers, thumbs brushing your cheekbones. “Wait—I need to show you something.”

And just like that he’s gone—bolting out of your room, bare feet slapping the hallway floor, leaving the door swinging wide behind him.

You’re alone again.

The room smells like sex and shame and him.

Your thighs tremble. The dildo is still inside you—warm, thick, stretching you open—and every tiny shift makes it drag against your oversensitive walls. You clench once, involuntarily, and a fresh trickle of slick leaks out around it.

You can hear him in his room now—drawers opening, something thudding to the floor, a muffled curse.

Your mind races.

He’s going to show you something.

You already know what it is.

A possible pocket pussy.

The one he’s been fucking every night while you rode his replica. The one that’s been milking him dry from three hundred miles away.

And now it’s here in this house with both of you.

You swallow hard, heart in your throat.

The floorboards creak as he comes back down the hall.

You don’t move.

Don’t pull the toy out.

Don’t cover up any more than you already are.

You just wait—sheets clutched to your chest, thighs still spread, pussy still stuffed, pulse roaring in your ears—while the footsteps get closer.

When Caleb steps back through the doorway, holding the black satin box like it’s evidence in a crime scene, eyes locked on yours with something raw and unguarded…

You know.

There’s no going back now.

Not for either of you.

Caleb steps back into your room, the black satin box cradled in his big hands like it’s both a confession and a trophy. He doesn’t hesitate—doesn’t even try to play coy. He flips the lid open right in front of you.

Your eyes blow wide. Your mouth drops into a perfect, stunned little ‘o’.

Nestled inside, glossy and obscene, is the pocket pussy—soft silicone lips parted just enough to show the glistening pink interior. And draped over it, stretched across the entrance like a filthy bow, is one of your missing lace panties. The pale pink ones with the tiny bow at the front. The ones you swore the washing machine devoured months ago.

Caleb—shameless bastard now that the mask is off—hooks two fingers under the waistband and tugs the fabric aside. He drags the pad of his thumb slowly along the outer folds, parting them gently, stroking the slick entrance like he’s petting something precious.

The sensation hits you like lightning.

A surprised, broken moan rips out of your throat before you can stop it. Your pussy clenches hard around the dildo still buried inside you, walls fluttering wildly, fresh slick leaking out around the base.

Caleb flushes darker—cheeks, neck, ears—but his grin is pure sin. He chokes on his own spit when your inner muscles clamp down again, the toy translating every spasm straight to his cock.

“You get it now?” he rasps, voice wrecked.

Your brain kicks into overdrive, thoughts crashing faster than light.

You’d spent months drowning in guilt—convincing yourself you were the only freak here, the only one twisted enough to order a perfect replica of your gege’s dick and ride it until you sobbed his name into your pillow. You’d hated how much you wanted it, how wrong it felt, how right it felt every time you came clenching around fake-him.

But look at him.

Look at your freak of a gege standing there holding a replica of your cunt, wrapped in your stolen panties like some depraved keepsake. He didn’t just buy it—he customized it, scented it, fucked it raw while thinking of you, and then he kept your underwear like a trophy.

“CALEB YOU STOLE MY PANTIES?!!?” The scream explodes out of you, eyes huge, accusatory, betrayed.

He squeaks—actually squeaks—scratching the back of his head with his free hand, sheepish grin wobbling.

“Umm… well… I rescued them to wash but uh… hehehehehe—”

You lunge.

Your fists rain down on his chest, shoulders, arms—smacking him over and over, forgetting the sheet, forgetting the toy still stretching you open, forgetting everything except righteous fury.

“YOU JERK!!! I KEPT BUYING CUTE PANTIES AND YOU STOLE THEM?!??! HOW DARE YOU!!! I THOUGHT THE WASHER WAS EATING THEM!!”

“Ow—ouch—ouch—pipsqueak!”

He’s half-laughing, half-squeaking, trying to shield himself but not really fighting back. The sounds are ridiculous, boyish, so much like the old Caleb that it almost hurts.

Then his arms snap around your waist.

One hard yank and you’re flush against him—chest to chest, hips to hips, the thick ridge of his cock pressing right against your lower belly through his shorts. Your breath punches out of you in a startled gasp.

“I can buy you new ones, yeah?” he murmurs, voice dropping low, rough. “Anything you want. But right now… we need to talk about this, meimei.”

The name hits like a shockwave.

You stop breathing.

His eyes are locked on yours—dark, molten, stripped of every layer of pretense. You feel every inch of him: the heat radiating off his skin, the hard planes of his chest, the insistent throb of his cock trapped between you. And lower—the dildo still lodged deep inside you, making your walls flutter every time you shift.

“Take it out, pipsqueak.”

Your cheeks burn so hot you think they’ll combust. You shake your head frantically—no, no, no—too embarrassed to move, too mortified to pull the replica of him out of your dripping cunt while he watches.

Caleb frowns, impatient.

His hand slides down—big, warm fingers wrapping around the base of the dildo where it’s buried in you. He groans low in his throat at the feel of your walls gripping it—gripping him, then yanks.

The toy comes free with a wet, filthy pop.

You gasp sharply—sharp enough to hurt—your pussy clenching around sudden emptiness. Slick gushes out in a messy splash, coating your inner thighs, dripping onto the sheets, making everything even more obscene.

“Come on,” he chuckles, dark and teasing, holding the glistening dildo up between you like evidence. “I know you weren’t shy fucking this replica in Linkon, huh? No wonder the ghost was so needy…”

His eyes drag over the toy—taking in the way it’s coated in your arousal, veins shiny, base slick—and then rake back up your body, slow and hungry.

“I should’ve known it was my naughty little pipsqueak. After all… it’s only meimei who takes this much from her gege, hmm?”

His voice drops to gravel.

You gulp, panting softly, chest heaving. You pout up at him—bratty, defiant—and smack his chest again, weaker this time.

“But… you had a replica of mine too!”

Caleb laughs—low, rough, relieved.

“In that case… I’m guilty too.”

Then he moves.

One step forward and your back hits the mattress. You both go down in a tangle—sheets ripping away completely, your naked body splayed beneath him, still sweaty, still flushed, still smelling like sex and shame and him.

He braces on his forearms, caging you in, face inches from yours.

“Then we should share this sin together, right?”

His hips settle between your thighs. The hard length of him—real this time—nudges right against your soaked entrance, hot and thick and leaking through his shorts.

You whimper—small, broken, needy.

His mouth hovers over yours, breath mingling.

“Tell me to stop, meimei,” he whispers, voice trembling just enough to betray how close he is to breaking. “Tell me and I’ll walk out right now. We’ll pretend this never happened.”

Your hands slide up—fingers curling into his shoulders, nails digging in.

You don’t push him away.

You pull him closer.

“Don’t you dare,” you breathe against his lips.

And that’s it.

The last thread snaps.

Caleb’s mouth crashes down on yours—hungry, desperate, years of pent-up want pouring out in one bruising kiss. His tongue pushes past your lips, claiming, tasting, while his hips grind forward, dragging the fat head of his cock through your folds.

You arch up into him with a sob, legs wrapping around his waist, heels digging into his ass to pull him deeper.

He groans into your mouth—raw, wrecked.

“Fuck—pipsqueak—been waiting so long—”

Caleb pulls back just enough to drink you in—really drink you in.

You’re sprawled beneath him like a fever dream: lips swollen and glossy from his kisses, chest rising and falling in quick, shallow pants, eyes glassy and half-lidded with want. His gaze drags down slow—over the flushed peaks of your tits, the soft curve of your belly still trembling from aftershocks, then lower, to where your thighs are parted and your pussy is clenching desperately around nothing. Slick shines on your inner thighs, dripping down toward the sheets in lazy rivulets. The toy’s absence has left you empty and aching, walls fluttering visibly like they’re begging to be filled again.

His whole body burns—not just from the heat of the moment, but from the sheer, dizzying reality of it. His wildest, most shameful dream is right here: you, naked and wrecked and his, finally letting him see you like this. Touch you like this. He’s drowning in emotions—guilt, relief, raw hunger—but he forces himself to focus. He wants this to be good for you. Better than good. He wants to feed every filthy craving you’ve both been hiding, satisfy the hunger that’s been eating you alive for months.

“So pretty,” he stutters, voice cracking as two fingers glide down your slit. He parts your folds gently, watching the way your clit twitches under the lightest brush.

You yelp, thighs jerking inward on instinct. “Caleb!”

He shakes his head, firm but soft. His free hand comes down in a sharp spank to the plush meat of your thigh—hard enough to sting, soft enough to make the flesh jiggle.

“Oh no no no no,” he murmurs, eyes dark. “Don’t go hiding from me now. You’re beautiful, pipsqueak. I want to admire all of you.”

You bite your lower lip hard, cheeks flaming, but you don’t close your legs again. You watch—breath hitching—as his fingers continue their slow exploration: tracing your entrance, dipping just inside to feel how soaked you are, then sliding lower. He gropes one ass cheek shamelessly, kneading the soft flesh before landing another weak, appreciative spank. The jiggle makes him groan low in his throat.

“Aw damn…”

You huff, mortified and turned on in equal measure, and reach up to grab his ear—tugging hard.

He yelps instantly. “Ow ow ow—what’s wrong? Did I hurt you—”

You scoff, cutting him off, and slide both palms under his shirt. Your fingers find the hard planes of his pecs, cupping them shamelessly, thumbs brushing over his nipples.

“Take off your clothes too, dummy,” you mutter, voice bratty and breathless. “I don’t wanna be the only one naked.”

Caleb blinks once—then grins so wide it’s almost stupid, ear-to-ear and boyish despite the filthy situation.

“Fair enough.”

He yanks the sleeveless shirt over his head in one smooth motion, muscles flexing under sweaty skin as it hits the floor somewhere behind him. Next come the shorts—hooked thumbs in the waistband, frantic tug downward. The fabric slides off his thighs and his cock springs free, slapping lewdly against his lower abs with a wet smack.

You gasp—sharp, involuntary.

It’s exactly like the dildo. Down to the last detail: the thick veins, the slight upward curve, the flushed brownish-pink head already leaking, the heavy balls hanging low. Your pussy clenches hard around nothing at the sight, a fresh gush of slick trickling out.

“Like what you see, huh?” he smirks, voice hoarse and wrecked. He grips the base and smacks the fat head against your dripping folds—once, twice—coating himself in your mess.

You whine instantly, hips jerking up. “Ahhh fuck—Caleb—mmmpphhh!!”

But instead of pushing in, he pulls back. You frown, confused and needy—until you see him reach for the dildo again.

With a slow, sinful smile, he lines it up and slides it back inside your tight cunt.

“Hai—ahhhh—Caleb!?!”

You can only stare up at his face—pleasure twisting his features, mouth falling open in a perfect ‘o’—as he pushes the toy deeper. A low, rumbling groan escapes him.

“Fuck… exact feeling…”

He keeps going—slow, torturous—watching your face the whole time while he feeds inch after inch back into you. Your walls stretch around the familiar silicone, fluttering, sucking it in greedily until it’s buried to the hilt again: tip kissing your cervix, heavy balls pressed flush against your ass.

Only then does he stop.

But he’s not done.

He manhandles you with easy strength—big hands under your thighs, lifting you like you weigh nothing. You squeak as he repositions you properly on the bed: flat on your back, head near the pillows, legs spread wide. He climbs over you, straddling your chest, knees bracketing your shoulders.

His cock hovers right above your face—hard, twitching, leaking a fat pearl of precum from the slit.

Your brain empties completely. All you can do is stare: at him, at the dick that’s been haunting your nights for months, now real and inches from your lips.

“You’ll suck it, right baby?” he rasps, voice trembling with restraint. “Mmmh… suck gege’s dick while the replica stretches you open.”

He lowers himself slowly. The swollen head smacks against your lips—hot, sticky, salty.

You open immediately.

Your mouth wraps around the tip, tongue swirling, sucking gently at first. Caleb throws his head back with a guttural sound.

“Ohhh fuck—dual sensation—ahhh… shit!”

His fingers slide into your hair, gripping gently but firm. He starts fucking your mouth in shallow thrusts—careful not to choke you yet, but deep enough to make your eyes water.

“Fuck baby… take it deeper. I know you can—ahh… you’ve been swallowing that dick down your throat, haven’t you? Hah…”

You can barely think—pussy stuffed full and throbbing around the toy, mouth stretched around the real thing, taste of him flooding your senses. But you obey.

Your hands fly up—gripping the firm meat of his ass, nails digging in as you pull him forward. You relax your throat and swallow him to the base in one slow, greedy glide.

Your nose buries into the neatly trimmed, newly shaved patch of pubic hair. His scent—musk, clean sweat, him—overwhelms you. Your eyes roll back, lashes fluttering, fingers sinking deeper into the thick muscle of his thighs while tears of effort slip down your temples.

Caleb’s head snaps back, face contorting in raw pleasure—jaw slack, brows furrowed, a broken moan tearing from his chest.

“Fuck—pipsqueak—good girl—fuck—”

He holds himself there for a heartbeat—letting you feel every thick inch pulsing on your tongue—before he starts to move again.

Slow, deep thrusts into your mouth while the dildo stays buried in your cunt, every rock of his hips making the toy shift inside you just enough to drag against your walls.

You’re stuffed at both ends.

Full.

Claimed.

His.

And he’s not stopping until you both break again.

Caleb keeps fucking your mouth with slow, deliberate rolls of his hips—balls smacking wetly against your chin on every deep thrust, the filthy sound echoing in the quiet room. His moans are low and ragged, pleasure ripping through him in waves as your throat flutters around his length, tongue pressing flat against the underside, sucking greedily.

You snap your hips forward uselessly, clenching desperately around the dildo still buried deep in your cunt. The dual fullness—mouth stuffed with real him, pussy stretched by fake him—has you trembling, thighs shaking, slick dripping down your ass in steady rivulets.

That’s when he breaks.

Caleb’s whole body locks up, shaking violently. His fingers tighten in your hair—almost too hard—burying himself to the root until your nose presses flush against his pelvis. A guttural groan tears from his chest as he starts cumming.

Thick, hot spurts flood your mouth instantly—salty, bitter, overwhelming. Your eyes roll back so hard you see stars, throat working frantically to swallow it all, but there’s too much. It overflows the corners of your lips, dripping down your chin in messy strings.

He doesn’t stop.

He pulls out with a lewd, wet pop—cock still jerking—and shoots the last few ropes across your face: warm streaks painting your cheeks, your nose, your swollen lips. You gasp for air, tongue darting out instinctively to lick what you can reach, tasting him everywhere.

Caleb pants above you, chest heaving, staring down at the mess he made. You look wrecked—face covered in his cum, eyes glassy and dazed, lips parted and shiny. He knows he should feel ashamed. He should apologize, clean you up, stop this madness.

But fuck—you look so hot like this it’s rewriting his brain chemistry. Ruining him for anything else.

You flutter your lashes up at him, slow and deliberate, tongue tracing your lower lip to catch another drop. The sight snaps something inside him.

He groans, low and broken, and reaches for the dildo. One rough yank and he pulls it free from your overstimulated pussy.

You arch violently off the bed, hips jerking, a gush of slick squirting out around the sudden emptiness. “F-fuck—Caleb—!”

He stares, mesmerized. “Fuck… you’re so hot, meimei. I think I’m losing my mind.”

You’re panting, trying to catch your breath, body still twitching with aftershocks. Guilt crashes over him like cold water—he reaches for the tissue box on your nightstand with shaking hands and starts wiping your face clean, gentle despite everything.

His cheeks are crimson, burning with embarrassment and leftover heat. “Ah shit—sorry pipsqueak, didn’t mean to… fuck… I’m sorry, okay?”

You just stare up at him—brain fried, body humming—and reach out. Your fingers wrap around his still-hard cock, slick with spit and cum.

He hitches a sharp breath. “Ahhh—oh god—mmhh—”

You give him lazy, teasing strokes, smirking mischievously through the haze.

“I want it, Caleb,” you whisper, voice hoarse. “I want your dick.”

He groans, hips snapping forward into your touch. Hearing you talk like that—filthy, needy—makes him throb harder in your palm.

“Say it again, meimei,” he rasps, voice trembling. “Say it… properly.”

You bite your lower lip, thumb flicking over the sensitive head, circling the slit, smearing precum.

“I want your dick, gege,” you purr, slow and deliberate. “Please?”

You don’t stop. Somehow you sit up—legs shaky—free hand sliding up his arm, over the thick muscle of his shoulder, then flicking his hard nipple. You lick your lips again, eyes locked on his, and climb into his lap.

“Need you inside, gege,” you breathe against his throat. “Not the… toy. Need your dick to fuck this pussy—mmhh!”

Caleb snaps.

Since when did his sweet pipsqueak become this seductive little tease?

He hauls you up the bed in one swift motion—then slams you back down onto the mattress. Not too rough—just enough to make you squeak in surprise, tits bouncing with the impact.

“Fuck—look at that sultry expression,” he growls, voice dark. “You’re such a tease, meimei. Such a dirty girl begging her gege’s dick.”

His palm comes down in a sharp smack against your pussy—wet, obscene. You whine, arching hard, the sting turning into molten heat that makes you even wetter.

“You bought a dildo to fuck this needy little cunt, huh?” Another smack—harder. You sob, mindless, hips grinding back toward his hand. “Used a replica of your gege’s dick to train this pussy?”

You can only nod—whimpering, desperate—grinding shamelessly against his palm.

“Fuck—but who am I to judge?” he chuckles darkly. “I’m a freak too, ain’t I?”

He presses the fat head of his cock to your entrance—hot, leaking, real—and snaps his hips forward in one powerful thrust.

You both nearly scream.

The bed shakes beneath you as he bottoms out—thick, burning, stretching you in ways the toy never could. Your walls clamp down instantly, fluttering around every veiny inch.

Caleb grips the headboard above you, knuckles white, hovering over your body. His other hand slides between your legs—fingers finding your clit, pinching and flicking with his thumb while he watches your face twist in pleasure.

“Good thing is… I don’t have to train you for my dick anymore, hah,” he pants, hips rutting in sloppy, messy thrusts. “You’re nice and ready to take me full… fuck… I never thought—”

He throws his head back, eyes squeezing shut. Tears well at the corners—not from pain, but from too much everything: pleasure, relief, fear.

He’s terrified he’ll cry in front of you. Terrified you’ll disappear when this ends. Terrified he’ll lose you after finally having you.

So he fucks you deeper—hands roaming everywhere: groping your tits, spanking your ass, squeezing your thighs. Rough, unpracticed, desperate. He can’t help it. He’s never done this before—not like this, not with anyone.

Suddenly he stops—mid-thrust, sweat dripping down his chest in rivulets. He looks down at you, panic flashing in his eyes.

“Hey—hey hey hey, pipsqueak… hah… are you like—feeling actually good? Like… or…”

His whole face is on fire. He gulps, vulnerable in a way that makes your chest ache.

Your brain is too fried to process deeply. You just grin—mindless, blissed-out—and grind back against him with a small, innocent smile.

“Mmhh… best big brother ever…”

Caleb’s mouth falls open. He chokes on a laugh—or maybe a sob—then shakes his head and goes back to fucking you.

He’ll ask when you’re sober. Right now you’re too drunk on his cock to think straight.

He finds your clit again—rubbing tight circles—and feels the telltale shiver in your hips. You’re close. He can see the faint bulge in your lower belly every time he bottoms out, and it makes him shy and so fucking turned on at the same time.

The fact that he’s claiming you like this—fucking you so deep you’ll feel him for days—makes his head spin. He prays this isn’t a fever dream.

His own brain is melting from the pleasure, the sensation, the sight of you taking him so perfectly.

He reaches down—presses the heel of his palm against the bulge in your belly—and pushes.

Both your eyes roll back at the same instant.

Broken moans spill from your tongues as you cum together—hard.

You squirt violently—soaking his cock, his abs, the sheets in messy arcs—walls clamping down like a vice around him.

Caleb comes with a shattered whimper—hips stuttering, spilling inside you in thick, endless pulses until it leaks out around his base, dripping down his balls and onto the ruined bed.

He collapses next to you—breathing ragged, eyes half-focused and glassy.

After a long moment he reaches over—gentle now—brushing damp hair off your face. A soft, satisfied smile curves his lips.

“Thank you…” he whispers, voice hoarse and raw.

You turn your head—still panting, still trembling—and press a lazy kiss to his palm.

“Gege…”

He pulls you close—bodies sticky, tangled, hearts hammering in sync.

Caleb’s hand comes up slow—almost reverent—caressing the side of your face, thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone like he’s memorizing the texture of your skin. His breath hitches when he feels the warmth, the realness of you still flushed and glowing against him. A low, stuttering rumble escapes his chest.

“Did you… like it, pipsqueak?”

You’re draped over him now—breasts cushioned against the hard plane of his chest, cheek pressed to the thick swell of his pec, listening to the thunder of his heartbeat slow. You grin lazily, voice cracked and hoarse from all the moaning, all the screaming his name.

“I fucking loved it, Caleb.”

His smirk falters—just for a second—something soft and vulnerable flickering in his eyes. His thumb circles lazy patterns over your hipbone, the touch grounding and possessive at once.

“Me too.” He swallows. “I thought I was pushing things too fast… making it uncomfortable since I’ve never—”

Your eyes shoot open. You half-scream, half-gasp, bolting upright so fast your tits bounce against his chest.

“WAIT—you… YOU MEAN YOU WERE A VIRGIN?!?!”

Caleb’s whole face ignites—crimson flooding from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. He squeezes his eyes shut in pure mortification, but the corner of his mouth twitches upward in a faint, sheepish grin.

“Yeah yeah… first time got my dick wet. Kinda nervous.”

You beam—bright, wicked, delighted—and crash your mouth to his in a messy, giddy kiss. Then you’re scrambling off him, lunging for your phone on the nightstand.

“Wait—lemme take a picture of us losing our virginities together!”

Caleb’s mouth drops open. You were a virgin too. The realization hits him square in the chest—funny, warm, possessive—and a smug grin spreads across his face before he can stop it.

You flip the camera to selfie mode, crawling back into his lap, thighs bracketing his hips. His arms snake around your waist immediately—tight, claiming—pulling you flush against him while you stick your tongue out in a naughty little pose.

“Say cheese!”

He looks straight at the lens—smug as hell, eyes half-lidded and dark with leftover lust—while you giggle and snap the photo.

Caleb huffs softly after, nuzzling into your neck. “You better not show this to anyone.”

You wiggle your eyebrows mischievously. “Oh, I’m gonna show it to any guy who’ll bother me like—you should be scared of my big brother.”

He wheezes—chokes on his own spit—and bursts out laughing, arms squeezing you until you squeak in protest.

“Diabolical.”

His palm comes down in a light, playful spank on your ass—watching the flesh bounce with open delight.

“You’re a menace to society, you know that?”

“I get it from you.”

You bite your lower lip, rolling your hips back slow—grinding your slick folds along his still-hard cock. He groans low in his throat.

“Fair enough.”

He dives back in—kissing you deep, tongues tangling messy and hungry. You both moan into each other’s mouths, hands roaming, relearning every inch now that the barrier’s gone.

“Fuck… I’m gonna miss you when I go back to Skyhaven…”

You grin against his lips, crawling higher up his body until you’re straddling his chest. Your hand wraps around his cock—still slick, still leaking—and guide the head to your mouth.

“That’s what the toys are for, gege.”

You hum as you wrap your lips around him again—slow, teasing—tongue swirling over the sensitive slit. Caleb lets out a low, rumbling moan, hips twitching up into the wet heat of your mouth.

“Ahhh… I almost forgot…”

His fingers slide down—two thick digits pushing into your dripping pussy without warning. You moan around his cock, the vibration making him curse under his breath.

“Three days left… fuck, I can’t get enough of you, meimei…!”

Neither can you.

The next three days blur into one long, feverish haze.

You fuck like rabbits—hours bleeding into hours, positions changing, surfaces shifting—bed, floor, shower, kitchen counter when Gran’s still gone, even on the old couch in the living room where you used to watch cartoons together as kids.

He eats you out until your thighs shake and you’re crying his name.

You ride him slow and deep until he’s begging.

He pins you against the wall and fucks you standing until pictures rattle on their hooks.

You suck him off in the hallway while he tries—and fails to stay quiet.

Every time one of you starts to flag—exhausted, sore, spent—the other just reaches over, touches, whispers filthy encouragement, and the fire reignites.

Even after Gran comes back—bags in hand, cheerful questions about your “quiet week”—you keep sneaking.

Late-night tiptoes down the hall.

Muffled moans pressed into pillows so she doesn’t hear.

Quick, desperate fucks in the bathroom while the shower runs to cover the sounds.

His hand over your mouth while he grinds into you from behind, whispering “quiet, meimei, or Gran’ll hear how much her good girl likes her gege’s cock.”

When the vacation finally ends, you stand on the platform watching the train to Skyhaven pull away.

Caleb leans out the open window one last time—hair mussed, eyes soft and dark—and presses a final, lingering kiss to your lips.

“Be good,” he murmurs against your mouth.

You grin, wicked. “No promises.”

The train starts moving. He disappears down the track.

You stand there until it’s gone, thighs clenched tight—still feeling the fresh load he stuffed you full with this morning before dawn, warm and thick and leaking slowly down your inner thighs under your skirt.

You shift your weight—feel it drip a little more—and smile to yourself.

Three hundred miles apart again. But the toys are waiting. And now you both know exactly what the other needs. You turn toward your apartment in linkon, already counting the days until the next break.

© CHERRYSCRIPT 2026— don't copy translate feed my work to ai.

[cherryscript]

SOULMATE? HOLEMATE!

⚘. featuring Ꮺ gege!caleb

read sequel of this fic— TOYED WITH EACH OTHER

⚘. summary Ꮺ You ordered a custom dildo that perfectly matches your big-brother-figure Caleb’s dick. Caleb ordered a pocket pussy that perfectly matches your's. Neither of you knows the toys are synced to the real thing. Now every time one of you fucks your toy, the other feels it—like ghost sex on steroids. You’ve both spent months thinking you’re being haunted by the supernatural while secretly fucking each other senseless through the wall. The feedback loop goes haywire. No one is surviving this vacation with their sanity intact.

⚘. content warnings Ꮺ pseudocest, og cn gege/meimei trope, heavy dubcon, masturbations, unsolved sexual tension, zero communications, guilt, denial, forbidden desires, sexual frustration, mutual yearning, usage of sex toys, magical sex toys that secretly link to other person's body(portal panties), mutual fucking, semi-public/public, double penetration, extreme tightness + involuntary orgasms, excessive cumming/squirting, porn with little no plot . . .18 + ★ MINORS DNI !

⚘. wc Ꮺ 6k+

⚘. cherry’s note Ꮺ this is probably the weirdest scenario I've written so far... took me some real good TIME to finish...

“And that’s the last box,” you huff, letting the cardboard thud against the scuffed hardwood near the doorway. You straighten up straight, rolling your shoulders, wiping the sheen of sweat from your forehead with the back of your wrist. The tiny apartment looks like a warzone of luggage and flat-pack furniture Caleb swore you “absolutely needed”—his credit card, his orders, his quiet, stubborn way of still taking care of you even when he’s hundreds of miles away.

Linkon City air tastes different. Sharper. Lonelier.

You’ve been here three weeks and it still doesn’t feel like home. Maybe it never will without him barging through the door, scolding you for leaving dishes in the sink or for forgetting to eat again.

A sigh slips out as you kick off your sneakers. Shower first, chaos later.

Clothes hit the floor in a careless pile. The bathroom is barely big enough for one person, but the water pressure is perfect—hot, punishing, exactly what your sore muscles crave. Steam fills the cramped space, fogging the mirror, swallowing every reflection that isn’t you.

You tip your head back, letting the spray pound against your throat, your collarbones, sliding down between your breasts. The heat loosens something inside your chest.

Caleb’s face flashes behind your closed eyes uninvited. Always uninvited, yet always there.

Sharp jaw. Tired eyes that soften only for you. The way his pilot uniform hugs his shoulders now that he’s filling out, taller and broader every time he comes home on break. The way he still calls you “little pipsqueak” even though you’re not little anymore.

You shouldn’t.

You really, really shouldn’t.

But your hand is already moving, gliding over slick skin, tracing the curve of your waist, the dip of your navel, lower.

“You must’ve felt this heavy too, gege…” you whisper to the steam, voice trembling with guilt and something darker. “All alone in Skyhaven… in that big empty house with no one to—”

Your fingers slip between your thighs, parting swollen folds, finding yourself already soaked and it has nothing to do with the shower.

A broken little sound escapes as you circle your clit, slow, teasing, the same way you’ve imagined he would if he ever—God—if he ever let himself unravel like this.

“Mmh… gege, are you worried about me?” The words come out filthy, breathless, wrong in the best way. “Do you… think about me when you’re alone too?”

You press two fingers inside yourself, curling, pumping, thighs shaking. The heel of your palm grinds against your clit and your hips jerk forward like you’re fucking your own hand, like you’re chasing a ghost that wears his face.

You’ve never touched each other. Not once. Not beyond lingering hugs that lasted too long, not beyond his thumb brushing your cheek when you cried after graduation, not beyond falling asleep on his shoulder during long flights home and pretending both of you didn’t notice how neither moved away.

But you know.

You both know.

“C-Caleb—” His name cracks in your throat as you come undone, clenching hard around your fingers, knees nearly buckling. Water pounds over you like it’s trying to wash the sin off your skin, but it can’t reach the stain inside your chest.

You stay there until the water starts to cool, forehead pressed to the tile, panting, ashamed, and still aching for him.

Because even an entire city apart, even with new lives and new rules and the Hunter Academy waiting to swallow you whole tomorrow—Caleb is still the only home you want to go back to.

And you’re terrified he wants to come back to you too.

You step out of the bathroom wrapped in nothing but steam and guilt, skin still tingling, cheeks flaming hotter than the shower ever got. Droplets race down your neck, your spine, between your ass cheeks; every trickle feels like a reprimand. You don’t even bother with clothes. You just belly-flop onto the bed, wet hair fanning across the pillow, and immediately start flailing like a dying shrimp.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” you hiss, kicking the sheets, punching the mattress, rolling side to side until the towel finally gives up and falls open. You lie there spread-eagle, panting at the ceiling like it personally offended you.

You miss your stupid, overprotective, stupidly hot gege this much.

It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic.

You need to do something about it before you lose the last shred of your sanity.

With a groan you drag the laptop Caleb bought you—matte black, way too expensive, has a little fighter-jet sticker he slapped on the lid as a joke— onto your stomach and flip it open. Fingers hover over the keys for half a second before shame loses the fight.

You type: “best sex toys for beginners”.

The screen explodes with color and silicone and words like “thrusting” and “suction” and “10 vibration patterns”. Your eyes go wide.

“Oh WOW…”

You scroll, jaw literally on the floor, until you hit the prices and wheeze. Eight hundred dollars for a rabbit vibrator? Who has that kind of money? Certainly not a broke freshman hunter living off instant noodles and Caleb’s guilt-money transfers.

You slam the laptop shut, fling yourself backward again, and whine at the ceiling.

“Too broke for that… damn, I can’t even get a proper dildo shoved up into my pussy, life is unfair—”

Ding ding.

Your phone lights up on the nightstand. Unknown number. A link.

Normally you’d ignore it. Today you’re desperate and dumb, so you squint, see “70% OFF FLASH SALE!!” in screaming red letters, and click before your brain catches up.

The site that loads is… questionable. Neon pink, flickering banners, probably one virus away from stealing your soul. But front and center is a product that makes your heart stop.

“Feel Like Someone You Love”

100% customizable hyper-realistic silicone sleeve + internal texture mapping

“Upload a photo, choose vein pattern, pick warmth settings; experience the exact cock you’ve always dreamed of.”

Your mouth goes dry.

There’s a little heart icon that says “Most Wishlisted Item of the Year”.

You shouldn’t.

You really, really shouldn’t.

But your finger is already over the “Customize Now” button and your thighs are already squeezing together remembering how your own fingers felt pretending they were his.

Ten minutes later you’ve uploaded the clearest photo you have of Caleb—him leaning against the cockpit of his fighter, flight suit half-zipped, smirk sharp enough to cut glass. You pick the length you’ve definitely never measured in your head while hugging him goodbye, the exact girth your dirty imagination has circled back to for years, the upward curve you’ve caught a glimpse of once through his sweatpants and never recovered from.

Veins: raised, prominent, just like the ones on his forearms when he carries your luggage without breaking a sweat. Warmth setting: “always hot, like he just worked out”. Internal texture: “tight but yielding, the way you bet he’d feel if he ever snapped and pinned you down.

The total, with the sketchy discount, is suspiciously low. Delivery: 3–5 days, discreet packaging.

Your finger hovers over “Place Order”. Morals scream. Pussy throbs harder. You hit the button before you can talk yourself out of it.

Order confirmed. You drop the phone like it’s on fire, roll facedown into the pillow, and muffle a scream that’s half horror, half unbearable anticipation.

In three to five days, you’re going to fuck a perfect replica of the cock belonging to the one person you’re never, ever supposed to want.

And you already know you’re going to call it gege while you do.

Five days of checking the mailbox like a lunatic. Five days of that stupid website 404-ing every time you tried to track the order. Five days of punching training dummies with your entire soul while screaming internally about getting scammed out of your last paycheck for a ghost dick.

“FUCK, IT WAS A SCAM!” you snarl, slamming an uppercut into the dummy’s throat so hard the stuffing starts leaking, “WHAT WAS I THINKING!”. Your squadmates give you a wide berth, whispering. Whatever. Let them think you’re unhinged. You are unhinged.

Then your phone buzzes against your hip. Package delivered.

You don’t even wait for the instructor to dismiss you. You just bolt, boots pounding pavement the whole way back, lungs burning, sweat cooling on your neck in the evening air. The second the apartment door slams behind you, you spot the box.

Plain brown. No labels except your name in printed font. You drop to your knees like a woman possessed, nails clawing at tape, ripping cardboard like it owes you money. The lid flies off. And you stop breathing.

Nestled in black satin is the most obscene, perfect, terrifying cock you’ve ever seen.

It’s huge. Stupidly, ridiculously huge. Thick veins snake up the shaft, only these are flushed dark, pulsing faintly with the built-in warming tech. The head is that deep brownish-pink, flared and glistening from whatever hyper-realistic coating they used. Heavy balls hang low, weighted, shifting slightly when you nudge the box.

You don’t remember setting the length slider this high.

You don’t care. Your mouth actually waters.

“Oh wow…” It comes out strangled. You fall back onto your ass, legs splayed, staring at the thing like it might stand up and walk over to you itself. “Oh my god.”

Your pussy clenches so hard you feel it in your throat.

You haven’t even taken your sweaty training gear off and you’re already dripping down your thighs.

You pick it up with both hands—jesus, it’s warm, heavier than expected and the second your fingers close around the shaft it pulses again, like it knows who it belongs to.

Like it’s been waiting for you just as long as you’ve been waiting for him.

You press the thick head against your cheek without thinking, dragging it down to your lips, breathing in the clean, new-silicone scent mixed with whatever insane tech makes it smell faintly like his cologne.

“Fuck, gege…” you whisper against the tip, voice cracking.

The toy throbs in your grip like it heard you.

You have never sprinted to lock your bedroom door faster in your life.You don’t make it to the bed.

The second the lock clicks you’re already peeling off your sweat-soaked clothes, sports bra flung somewhere, shorts kicked aside, panties dragged down your thighs and left dangling off one ankle. The toy is still in your grip, hot against your palm, veins pulsing faintly with the internal heater like it has a heartbeat.

You drop to your knees on the rug, legs spreading wide without shame, back hitting the edge of the mattress. The thick head nudges your lips and you open instantly, greedy, tongue flattening against the underside as you take the first few inches into your mouth. It’s too big; your jaw aches immediately, drool already spilling down your chin, but you force yourself deeper, gagging softly, eyes watering.

You pull off with a wet pop and a broken moan.

“Need you inside me, gege… please—”

You flip onto all fours, ass in the air, face buried in the sheets that still smell like the detergent he used to buy for both of you back home. One hand reaches back, guiding the fat tip through your soaked folds, coating it, teasing your clit until your thighs shake.

Then you push.

The stretch is obscene. Your pussy flutters, resists, then gives all at once. A strangled cry rips out of you as the first half sinks in, thick veins dragging against your walls, that perfect upward curve kissing spots you’ve never reached with your fingers. You claw at the sheets, hips jerking back on instinct, taking more, more, until your ass meets the heavy silicone balls and you’re stuffed so full you can’t breathe.

“F-fuck—Caleb—”

You pull forward until only the head remains, then slam back. The impact makes you scream into the mattress. Again. Harder. Faster. Your tits bounce with every brutal thrust, nipples dragging against the rug, thighs slapping against silicone like they’re slapping against his hips.

You lose count of how many times you fuck yourself on it. You lose language. All that exists is the wet, filthy sound of your cunt swallowing him, the burn in your thighs, the way your clit throbs every time the base grinds against it.

You flip over, legs thrown wide, knees hooked over your elbows so you can watch. Watch the way your pussy lips stretched thin around his cock, watch it disappear inside you again and again, slick coating everything, dripping down your ass, pooling on the floor.

“Look what you do to me, gege,” you sob, voice wrecked. “Look how wet you make me—how empty I am without you—fuck, I’m such a slut for you—”

Your free hand flies to your clit, rubbing frantic circles, and the orgasm barrels into you like a freight train. You squirt, actually squirt, a gush that soaks the toy and your thighs and the rug beneath you. Your walls clamp down so hard the dildo almost slips out, but you shove it deeper, riding the aftershocks, grinding, crying his name like a prayer.

You don’t stop.

You can’t.

You pull it out only long enough to flip the toy around and shove the slick head against your ass, teasing, not quite brave enough yet, but the thought alone makes you come again, smaller this time, a full-body shudder that leaves you gasping.

When you finally collapse, the dildo is still buried to the hilt, your pussy fluttering around it in lazy pulses. You’re trembling, sweaty, ruined. Tears and drool and cum smeared across your face and chest.

You reach down blindly, fingers brushing the base, and give it one last slow thrust just to hear yourself whimper.

“…come home soon, gege,” you whisper to the empty room, voice hoarse. “I don’t think this is gonna be enough anymore.”

The toy stays inside you the rest of the night. You fall asleep clenching around it, dreaming of the real thing finally splitting you open.

—

—

Skyhaven, DAA parade grounds, 18:47 local.

Caleb is standing at parade rest, flight jacket crisp, medals gleaming, trying to look like the perfect poster boy for the Deepspace Aviation Academy while the brass drones on about honor and vigilance. The formation is dead silent except for the wind whipping the flags.

Then it starts.

A faint tingle at the base of his spine. He shifts his weight, ignores it. Probably just nerves.

Gideon elbows him from the left. “Dude, you good? You’re sweating bullets.”

Caleb forces a laugh, teeth clenched. “Yeah, just hot in this jacket.”

The tingle turns into heat. A slow, syrupy, pooling right behind his balls. His cock twitches once, then again, harder, like someone just wrapped a fist around it and squeezed.

He locks his knees to keep from swaying.

The sensation climbs. Something slick and impossibly tight slides down his shaft, inch by inch, swallowing him whole. His breath stutters. The wet spot blooming at the front of his dress pants is impossible to hide now; he angles his body behind the guy in front of him, praying nobody notices.

Another squeeze. A rhythmic drag. Something soft and spongy kissing the tip over and over and over.

His vision whites out for half a second. He breaks formation without permission, muttering a choked “bathroom” to Gideon’s startled face, and bolts.

He barely makes it to the nearest restroom, slamming the lock, back hitting the door as his trembling fingers rip his belt open. The second his cock springs free it’s flushed angry red, leaking like a faucet, veins bulging exactly the way you spent hours customizing.

He doesn’t even touch himself.

He doesn’t have to.

The feeling slams into him again: tight, wet heat clenching around him, riding him hard, fast, merciless. Invisible hips slam down, grind, pull up, slam down again. His balls draw up so tight it hurts.

“F-fuck—!” The moan tears out of him; he slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes rolling back, hips jerking into empty air like he’s fucking someone bent over the sink in front of him.

Every thrust feels real. Too real. He can feel slick walls fluttering, a cervix nudging the head on every brutal stroke, the phantom slap of skin on skin he’s never actually heard but somehow knows by heart.

His knees buckle. He grips the porcelain with white knuckles, forehead pressed to the cool mirror, panting like he’s running a marathon.

“Ah—shit—stop—please—” he doesn’t even know who he’s begging.

The pace only gets rougher.

He comes without warning, a broken cry muffled against his own arm, thick ropes painting the sink, the mirror, his dress shirt. His cock jerks and jerks like it’s being milked by a throat, a pussy, something greedy and possessive and familiar.

The orgasm doesn’t stop. It rolls straight into another, smaller but sharper, and his legs finally give out. He slides down the door until he’s sitting on the cold tile, cock still half-hard, twitching with aftershocks, cum dripping down his fist even though he never stroked himself once.

Chest heaving, he stares at the mess in dazed horror. “What the fuck was that…?”

Three hundred miles away, you’re still sprawled on your bedroom floor, impaled on the toy, whispering his name like a prayer while it throbs inside you.

Neither of you has any idea the link goes both ways. Yet.

Every night for the past ten days it’s the same ritual.

You stumble through the door still in your sweat-drenched hunter uniform, kick off your boots, and don’t even bother with the lights. The second the bedroom door shuts behind you, clothes hit the floor in a frantic trail. You’re already soaked before you even touch the toy, thighs slick, pussy throbbing like it’s been counting the hours until you get home to it.

You keep the dildo in the top drawer now, wrapped in one of Caleb’s old flight academy T-shirts like a dirty little secret. The moment your fingers close around the warm shaft it pulses, eager, like it missed you just as badly.

And three hundred miles away, Caleb starts sweating through whatever he’s doing.

Day 4

You ride it reverse on the desk chair, feet planted wide, rolling your hips slow and deep just to feel every vein drag inside you.

In Skyhaven, Caleb drops an entire tray of coffee in the cadet mess, doubles over the table with a choked gasp, thighs clamping together while his cock leaks helplessly into his boxers. Gideon has to drag him out by the elbow while Caleb stammers something about food poisoning.

Day 6

You’re on your knees in the shower, toy suction-cupped to the tile, slamming back onto it until your ass is red and the water runs cold.

Caleb’s in the middle of a night-flight simulator run. Mid-loop his whole body locks up; he yanks the stick too hard, fails the exercise, and spends ten minutes curled in the cockpit seat coming untouched while the instructor screams over the headset.

Day 8

You can’t wait anymore the second you get home. You don’t even make it to the bedroom. You drop onto the hallway floor, legs over your head, fucking yourself with both holes now—the replica so slick from your pussy it slides into your ass easy. You scream his name until your voice cracks.

Caleb’s in the barracks laundry room folding clothes. One second he’s fine, the next he’s on the floor, biting his own forearm to stay quiet while his cock jerks and feels violated by invisible forces. He comes so hard his vision blacks out. When he can move again he finds the crotch of his pants soaked front and back and has no explanation.

Day 10

You’re greedy. You strap the toy to a pillow, mount it like you’re riding him for real, hands braced on the headboard, hips snapping down so hard the bedframe slams the wall in rhythm.

“Gege—fuck—harder—please, I need—”

You sob it into the dark, tears streaking your cheeks, pussy gushing all over the silicone balls.

In Skyhaven, Caleb is supposed to be asleep. Instead he jerks awake in his bunk with a wounded sound, sheets twisted around his hips, cock so hard it hurts. The sensation hits like a punch: tight, wet heat swallowing him to the root, grinding, milking. Something inside him —his ass—clenches around nothing and everything at once. He shoves his face into his pillow and comes instantly, whole body convulsing, biting down so hard he tastes blood.

When it finally fades he’s shaking, drenched in sweat, heart hammering like he just ran ten miles.

He drags a trembling hand down his stomach and finds his cock still-hard cock slick with his own release and something else—slicker, warmer, smelling faintly smelling like you.

For the first time, real fear cuts through the haze. Because whatever is doing this to him isn’t random. And it’s getting stronger every night.

Caleb hasn’t slept properly in twelve days. Every night the “ghost” comes back. Every night it rides him harder, tighter, wetter, like it’s learning exactly how to unravel him.

He’s stopped trying to fight it. He just locks his door, shoves his face into his pillow, and lets the phantom cunt milk him dry while his cock leaks and his ass clenches around nothing and his brain short-circuits with the same voice that’s haunted him since puberty.

Your voice.

He’s started jerking off to the memory of it in the showers, biting his own fist so his bunkmates don’t hear him whimpering “pipsqueak” like a prayer.

He’s losing his fucking mind.

So when he’s alone in the dorm common room at 0300, half delirious, cock still half-hard from another unsolicited orgasm, he does the stupidest thing he’s ever done in his life.

He googles the symptoms.

Ends up on the same neon-pink, virus-looking website you found weeks ago.

The banner screams: FEEL LIKE SOMEONE YOU LOVE — NOW WITH REVERSE SYNC!

He doesn’t read the fine print. He’s too tired, too desperate, too turned on.

He uploads the clearest photo he has of you—last summer, you in that sundress, laughing at something he said, hair sticking to your sweaty neck.

He customizes everything with shaking hands,outer lips soft and plump, exactly the way he’s imagined a thousand times when you walked around the house in tiny sleep shorts. Inner walls textured like crushed velvet, tight at the entrance, then fluttering deeper. Clit hood pronounced, sensitive node swollen —because he’s spent years pretending he doesn’t notice how you squirm when he hugs you too long enough. Warmth setting: “always soaked, like she’s been thinking about you all day.” Scent module: the exact peach-and-vanilla body wash you’ve used since you were fifteen.

He pays triple for overnight shipping. The box arrives two days later while the entire barracks is out on a weekend training hike. Caleb locks himself in his room, heart hammering like a jet engine.

He tears the packaging open with his teeth. Inside, nestled in black satin, is the prettiest pocket pussy he’s ever seen.

Soft, dusky outer lips, flushed pink inside, already glistening with the self-lubricating gel. It’s warm to the touch, pulsing faintly like it’s breathing.

He exhales a broken “fuck… so pretty…” and runs two fingers down the seam, parting the lips gently. The toy quivers. A bead of lube rolls out like it’s already wet for him.

He doesn’t make it to the bed.

He drops into his desk chair, sweatpants shoved down to his hips, cock springing out thick and flushed and already dripping. He drags the head through the slick folds once, twice, coating himself, groaning at how realistic it feels.

Then he pushes in.

The sound that rips out of him is inhuman.

Tight, hot, velvet walls clamp down instantly, sucking him deeper like they’ve been waiting years. The inner texture ripples around his shaft exactly the way he’s fantasized your pussy would—fluttering, squeezing, dragging over every vein.

He bottoms out in one brutal thrust and his vision whites out.

“Fuck—pipsqueak—” he chokes, hips jerking helplessly. “Is this how you’re supposed to feel? So good—so fucking real—”

He starts slow, savoring it, pulling out until just the tip kisses the entrance, then sliding back in with a wet squelch that makes his balls draw up tight. The toy makes obscene sounds—soft, wet, exactly like a real cunt taking cock—and every noise goes straight to his spine.

He loses control fast.

Hands gripping the desk, he starts pounding into it like he hates it, like he loves it, hips snapping hard enough to rattle the chair. The pocket pussy sucks him back in on every stroke, walls fluttering wildly, clit hood bumping his pelvis on the downstroke.

“Take it—just like that—fuck, you’re so tight for me—”

He doesn’t notice the way the toy seems to clench harder when he says your nickname. Doesn’t notice the way it gushes fresh slick every time he groans “good girl” under his breath.

Three hundred miles away, you’re in the middle of a lecture at the Hunter Academy when your body suddenly locks up. A phantom cock—thick, burning hot, veiny—slides into you from nowhere. Your pen clatters to the desk. You slap both hands over your mouth to stifle a scream as invisible hips slam forward and bury something huge to the hilt inside you.

Your pussy spasms around empty air. Your clit throbs like someone’s grinding against it. Your chair creaks as your thighs snap together, trying to trap the sensation that isn’t there and is there all at once.

The “ghost” fucks you right there in the lecture hall, in front of thirty other cadets, relentless and deep and merciless.

You cum biting your own wrist so hard you leave teeth marks, tears streaming down your face, soaking through your panties and the seat beneath you while the professor drones on about wanderer migration patterns.

Back in Skyhaven, Caleb’s losing his mind in a different way.

He’s hunched over the desk now, one hand braced, the other brutally fucking the toy up and down his cock, chasing the edge.

“Gonna—fuck—gonna fill you up, pipsqueak—take every drop—”

He comes with a guttural shout, hips stuttering, cock pulsing so hard the toy overflows. Thick ropes of cum spill out around his shaft, dripping down the silicone lips, painting his fist, the desk, his thighs.

The pocket pussy keeps milking him through it, walls fluttering like it’s trying to drain him completely.

He slumps forward, forehead pressed to the cool wood, panting like he’s run a marathon.

The toy gives one last gentle squeeze… almost affectionate.

And somewhere far away, you’re curled in the academy bathroom stall, legs shaking, pussy still twitching with aftershocks, a flood of cum you didn’t make leaking out of you in thick, warm pulses.

You both whisper the same thing at the exact same second, voices hoarse and wrecked and terrified,“What the fuck is happening to me?”

—

—

The entire summer break is a slow-motion torture.

You arrive at Bloomshore first, two hours early because the Academy let out sooner than DAA. Grandma hugs you so hard your ribs creak, pinches your cheeks, stuffs you full of peach cobbler and gossip. The childhood house smells exactly the same: sun-warmed wood, sea-salt breeze, the faint lavender sachets she still keeps in every drawer. Your old bedroom is untouched, posters curling at the corners, the same twin bed you used to share with Caleb when thunderstorms scared you.

You dump your suitcase, unzip it, and there it is: the dildo, wrapped in one of his old flight-school hoodies like contraband. It’s been two days since you last used it and your body is already twitching, thighs pressing together every time you remember how it feels.

You shove it under the mattress and try to be normal. Then the front door opens downstairs and you hear his voice.

“Gran squeals, “Caleb, my handsome boy!”

You freeze halfway down the stairs.

He’s… bigger. Shoulders filling the doorway, hair longer and tousled from the wind, sunglasses hooked in the collar of a white T-shirt that clings to his chest. He’s grinning at Gran, but the same crooked smile that’s been haunting your wet dreams for months.

Then his eyes flick up and find you. “Hey, pipsqueak… and Gran.”

Your stomach flips so violently you almost trip on the last step. You launch yourself at him anyway, because that’s what you’ve always done. He catches you mid-jump like you weigh nothing, arms banding around your waist, laughing low in his chest as you collide.

“Yup, gege’s here. How’s my meimei doing in Linkon, hm?”

The second his palm settles on the back of your head, petting like when you were kids, every filthy memory slams into you at once—the toy stretching you open, the way you sobbed his name into your pillow, the phantom cum that leaked out of you for days afterward.

Your face ignites. You feel the heat of his body through his shirt, the flex of his biceps as he holds you, the faint cedar-and-jet-fuel scent that is just him. You jerk away like you’ve been electrocuted.

“Huh… me? …oh… uh… good! I’m doing… good!!!”

Your voice cracks on every syllable. You practically sprint past him, suitcase banging against your leg, and disappear into your room so fast you almost take out the coat rack.

Caleb stands there frozen, arms still half-raised, cheeks flushed crimson for reasons he refuses to examine.

Gran raises an eyebrow. “You two are acting mighty strange.”

He clears his throat, grabs his own duffel, and mutters something about needing a shower.

That night neither of you comes down for dinner.

You lie in your childhood bed, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars you stuck on the ceiling together when you were ten, thighs clenched so tight they ache. You can hear him moving around in the room next door, the creak of his old mattress, the low thud of his bag hitting the floor.

You wonder if he brought it too. You wonder if he’s touching it right now. Across the wall, Caleb is wondering the exact same thing about you.

Both toys are hidden under respective mattresses, pulsing faintly like they know they’re finally under the same roof as their match.

The air-conditioner rattles. Crickets hum outside. The house is asleep.

Neither of you sleeps a wink. And somewhere in the dark, two identical warming circuits kick on at the exact same moment, waiting for someone to break first.

The first night back home, the dam breaks at 2:17 AM.

You’ve been tossing in your childhood bed for hours, sheets tangled around your ankles, thighs slick and aching from the constant low thrum of need that started the second you heard his laugh downstairs. The house is silent except for the distant crash of waves on Bloomshore’s cliffs and the faint creak of floorboards in the next room.

He’s right there.

Walls so thin you can hear him breathing if you press your ear to the plaster.

And under your mattress, the toy waits, warm and heavy and calling to you like a siren.

You give in with a muffled curse, fishing it out, fingers trembling as you drag it between your legs. No prep. No teasing. You’re already dripping, have been since that hug, so you just line up the fat head and sink down in one brutal slide.

The stretch is immediate and vicious, your pussy clenching around silicone veins like it’s starving. You bite your pillow to stifle the moan, hips rocking slow at first, savoring the drag, the way it kisses your cervix on every grind.

In the next room, Caleb jolts awake with a strangled gasp.

His cock—already half-hard from dreams of you—suddenly feels like it’s being strangled in velvet. Tighter than ever. Hotter. Wetter. The phantom walls clamp down so hard his vision spots, every ridge and flutter magnified tenfold, like whatever’s fucking him is twice as desperate tonight.

He scrambles for his duffel under the bed, yanking out the pocket pussy with shaking hands. No way he’s enduring this alone. He shoves his boxers down, spits into the toy’s slick entrance, and thrusts in without mercy.

The second he bottoms out, you scream into your sheets.

It’s like a second cock slams into you alongside the first—thicker, hotter, splitting you open from the inside. Your walls flutter wildly, stretched beyond reason, the dual sensations overlapping in a filthy symphony: the toy’s familiar curve grinding one spot while the phantom one drags against another, both pounding in perfect sync.

“F-fuck—gege—what—” you whimper, confused and wrecked, hips jerking up to meet nothing and everything. Your clit throbs like it’s being sucked, your ass clenches around air that feels full. You shove the dildo deeper, faster, chasing the burn, tears leaking down your cheeks as your body tries to process being double-fucked by ghosts.

Caleb’s teeth sink into his own bicep to keep from roaring loud enough to wake Grandma.

The toy is a vice. His cock feels like it’s being crushed in the best way—walls so tight they might snap him in half, rippling and milking with every brutal thrust. It’s wetter than before, slick gushing out around his shaft like the thing is coming alive, and every time he pulls back it sucks him in harder, deeper, the inner texture fluttering like a heartbeat.

“Pipsqueak—shit—too tight—gonna break me—” he growls through clenched teeth, one hand braced on the headboard, the other fucking the toy up and down his length so fast his arm burns. His balls slap against silicone with every snap, heavy and aching, the pressure building so intense he’s terrified he’ll black out.

You both lose track of time, separated by one flimsy wall, fucking your toys in frantic rhythm without knowing you’re fucking each other.

For you, it’s endless—the dildo splitting your pussy while the invisible cock mirrors every move, stretching you to your limits, making you gush so hard the sheets are soaked beneath your ass. You come once with a muffled sob, clenching around both, but it doesn’t stop—the sensations only amp up, phantom veins dragging inside you, a second head nudging spots that make your toes curl.

“More—gege, please—fill me up—” you beg the dark, fingers flying to your clit, rubbing frantic circles while you slam the toy home again and again.

Caleb hears something—a faint, wrecked whine through the wall—and it snaps his last thread.

He flips onto his back, legs spread wide, and fucks into the pocket pussy like a man possessed. The tightness is agonizing now, walls constricting so hard around his cock he swears it’s going to cut off circulation—hot, pulsing, fluttering like it’s alive and greedy and his. Every thrust sends sparks up his spine; his free hand claws at the sheets, hips bucking off the mattress.

“Take it—fuck, just like that—my good girl—” he rasps, voice hoarse, imagining your face, your body, the way you’d look split open on him for real.

The orgasm hits you both at the same instant.

You arch off the bed with a silent scream, pussy spasming around double fullness, squirting in thick arcs that drench your thighs and the toy. The phantom cum floods you—hot, thick, endless—leaking out around the dildo, pooling between your legs, making everything slicker, messier.

Caleb comes with a guttural “fuck—pipsqueak—” bitten off against his fist, cock jerking so hard the toy overflows instantly. Cum spills everywhere—his stomach, the sheets, the silicone lips stretched thin around him—but the walls keep milking, squeezing tighter than humanly possible, wringing every drop until his balls ache and his vision tunnels.

You both collapse in sweaty, trembling heaps, toys still buried deep, aftershocks rippling through you like shared electricity.

The wall between your rooms might as well not exist.

But neither of you moves. Neither knocks. Neither dares whisper the truth.

Instead, you pull the covers over your ruined body, the dildo still twitching faintly inside you, and pretend your heart isn’t pounding loud enough for him to hear.

Next door, Caleb does the exact same, cock softening in the vice-grip of the toy, a single thought looping in his wrecked mind,

Tomorrow night, he’s doing it again.

And so are you.

© CHERRYSCRIPT 2025 — don't copy, translate, feed my work to ai

[kominigiru]

You’re not a knight of the Knights of Favonius, yet nearly everyone in Mondstadt knows your name. Not because of any official title, but because you’re the Grand Master’s closest friend.

The elderly still talk about the two of you like it was just yesterday. You and Varka were inseparable as children—always darting through the streets, wooden swords clashing loudly enough to earn the occasional scolding from passing adults.

You were the one who insisted on stories.

Sometimes you’d be a royal heir kidnapped by a terrible dragon lurking beyond the city walls. Other days you were a wandering scholar who had uncovered an ancient ruin and needed a brave knight to escort you through danger.

And Varka was always the knight.

Even back then he took the role too seriously. He’d puff his chest out, declare some dramatic oath about protecting you, and charge headfirst into imaginary monsters with reckless enthusiasm. Half the time he’d end up tripping over his own feet or crashing into a crate, but he’d still look at you afterward like he’d just saved the whole world.

The people of Mondstadt grew used to the sight of you together. If Varka was getting into trouble, you were likely involved. If you were wandering somewhere questionable—like the outskirts of Windrise or climbing places children definitely shouldn’t climb—Varka was right beside you.

As you grew older, things changed.

Varka joined the Knights of Favonius and quickly proved himself to be exactly the kind of man people trusted in battle—brave, loud, and honest to a fault. Someone who would throw himself between danger and the people he cared about without hesitation.

You didn’t follow him into knighthood, but that didn’t mean you disappeared from his life. If anything, you only became a constant presence around the headquarters—dropping by with food, listening to the knights complain about training, and occasionally helping with things that didn’t require a sword.

Some knights joke that you’re an unofficial member of the order. Others say you’re the only person capable of telling the Grand Master to “sit down and finish all his paperworks instead of giving all the work to Jean”.

And Varka listens to you because you’ve always been the one person who knew him before he became the Grand Master. Before the title, before the responsibilities, before people began looking at him like a legend instead of the boy who used to trip over wooden swords.

With you, he’s still just Varka.

Somewhere along the way, the lines of your friendship blurred for him. He’s not sure when it started.

Maybe it was the first time he returned from a long patrol and you were waiting at the gates for him. Maybe it was the way you always noticed when he was exhausted before anyone else did. Or maybe it was something much simpler: you’ve just always been there.

When people praise him, he looks for you in the crowd without thinking.

When he laughs, it’s usually because you said something first.

And when he imagines the future, you’re always standing somewhere nearby.

The problem is… he doesn’t know if you see him the same way. To you, he might still just be that friend who used to fight imaginary dragons.

Varka can face monsters without hesitation. But risking your friendship? That terrifies him more than any battlefield ever could.

The night before he leaves for his expedition, he asks you to come drink with him.

You’ve gone with him to Angel’s Share plenty of times before; usually with other knights. Sometimes the whole place turns into a loud celebration with stories, laughter, and half the order trying to outdrink each other. You normally just sit there listening, sipping something weak because your alcohol tolerance is terrible. But tonight feels different.

When you arrive, Varka doesn’t head for the counter where Charles or Diluc usually serve drinks. Instead, he leads you upstairs on a quiet table in the corner.

The conversation starts light—old stories, knights’ antics, gossip from the city. You talk about the same things you always do. It feels normal.

At some point between stories and half-finished drinks, your voice gets quieter, your responses become slower, and your head droops slightly before you catch yourself and blink awake again.

“You’re gonna fall asleep on me,” he teases, nudging your glass away from you.

“I’m not,” you mumble stubbornly, though your words slur slightly. He laughs.

You try to keep talking. Something about how you’ll miss him once he leaves with the expedition from Mondstadt. Something about how the city always feels a little quieter without him around.

But halfway through your sentence, your voice fades. Your head tips forward. And before either of you realize it, you’re asleep—arms folded on the table, cheek resting against them.

Varka blinks.

“…Hey.” He nudges your shoulder gently. No response.

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck before leaning back in his chair. For a moment he just watches you, the same way he used to when you both collapsed after running around the streets as kids.

You look peaceful.

“You know,” he mutters after a while, “I figured if I was going to say it, tonight would be the only night.”

You don’t move.

Of course you don’t. You’re completely out.

Varka lets out a small laugh under his breath, shaking his head.

“Figures,” he says.

He rests his elbow on the table, looking at you like he’s trying to memorize the moment.

“I’ve been in love with you for years.”

The confession slips out easier than he expected.

Maybe because you can’t hear him. Maybe because if you could, he wouldn’t have the courage to say it at all.

“Pretty pathetic, huh?” he murmurs.

He studies your sleeping face for a moment, the familiar features he’s known almost his entire life. The same person who used to drag him into ridiculous adventures around the city.

“Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius,” he continues softly, “and the only person who can make him nervous is someone who can’t even stay awake through two drinks.”

Another quiet laugh escapes him.

Then he reaches across the table and carefully brushes a strand of hair away from your face.

“You’re lucky you fell asleep,” he says. “Because I’m only brave enough to admit this when you can’t hear me.”

For a long moment he just sits there with you, the lantern light flickering softly between you both.

Then he sighs, pushing himself to his feet.

“Come on,” he murmurs, gently lifting you up so you don’t have to stumble home alone. “You’ve got the whole city to look after while I’m gone.”

And you never remember the confession he left hanging in the quiet upstairs corner of the tavern.

© 2026 kominigiru.

[lokissweater]

your other half ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

{megumi fushiguro x honored one f!reader}

— “ when i close my eyes, you're standing there in front of me. ” ♬.ᐟ

summary: ever since satoru took you and megumi in at the ages of five and eight, you've been attached to the hip and inseparable— more so on your part, as you stuck to him like glue and never left his side no matter how much he huffed and puffed and yet always pulled you back in, megumi playing a huge role in looking after you, gruffly tending to your scraped knees with fruit patterned bandaids, or scolding you about everything and anything under the sun, you being the next up and coming honored one as megumi is given the doomed task of training you himself by the higher ups, and having to physically restrain himself from ever thinking of you as anything but a nuisance... but he slips up, getting dangerously close to giving in to your obvious acts of affection, thinking he's no good for you and you're better off without. but when a sudden threat to you made by the zen'in clan puts the both of you under pressure, megumi juggles his feelings for you with what he should do... and what he wants to do.

warnings: MDNI. afab!reader, fluuuff, ANGST w/ comfort, mentions of blood and a bit of violence not tew bad tho, mentions of death, mentions of murder, mentions of alcohol and drinking, character development megumi AFFFF, childhood friends to lovers, its an au but it has jjk sprinkled in heh, battle scenes huzzah, SMUUUUTTTT, p in v sex, creampie, DOM AGRESSIVE MEGUMI BRO IM SWEATINGGGG, unprotected sex (wrap it y'all), dirty talk, reader is gojo's niece, cursing, LOWKEY brat tamer megumi just a lil, sexual themes, megumi is older than reader by three years, he's hot and mean but a sawwwftie for reader, all characters are aged up, mentions of reader having ‘pink cheeks’ is only to amplify and over-exaggerate feelings of embarrassment, shyness, and everything in between, and not to be taken literally! this is a work of fiction, and you can imagine many things for yourself :)

word count: 19.7k (I KNOWWW BUT PLEASE GIVE ME A CHANCE PLEEASEE!!--)

authors note: THE FIC IS FINALLY HEEREEE OMGGG i am SOO fucking nervous about this one and what you guys will think of it, but i poured my little heart into this one and WROOTTEEE. 45k words total and splitting it into three separate parts is something i NEVERRR WANNA DO AGAIN BAHAHA I NEED TO LEARN A LIMIT. but more than anything, i hope this story makes you guys so so happy and warm and that you end up liking it :,))) i love you with my EENTIREE being and ty again for all of your precious love!!! MWAHHH <33333

this story is split into three parts with this being the first one!! you can access here parts two and three, which will also be available at the end of this piece! :)

“you’re weak y/n.”

megumi’s never cut you slack. not even once.

“again.”

you huffed out a breath and stood, dusting off your skirt as you looked up at him with a quirk to the brow.

“you literally just taught me this technique and you expect me to pull it out of my ass right now?”

you didn’t know why he was so grumpy all of the time, or why he chose to treat you roughly— especially in the instances of lessons or training.

“you’re a gojo.” he spoke flatly. “are you not.”

but it didn’t mean you disliked him in the slightest… more as seeing him as your guiding key of sorts, and you relied on him in a lot more areas than him just being your mentor— but in everyday life. in social circumstances. in everything.

and you knew that that probably annoyed the shit out of him… but you couldn’t help it. 

megumi was written to be your shadow from the moment satoru took the both of you under his wing, and you looked for him everywhere you went.

“okay…” you pouted. “so are you.”

megumi snorted.

“m’not.” he mumbled, plopping down on a lonesome wooden chair that sat across from where you were standing, where it is every training session, a singular piece of furniture placed specifically for him to watch you fumble techniques, succeed at techniques, or if he was simply just tired and over what you were doing— your practices sometimes set in a dingy basement underneath castle grounds. 

“you know i’m not.”

“what? you are though—”

“does it look like we’re related?” megumi squinted his eyes at you. “the man’s hair is white.”

you pursed your lips and looked to the side, crossing your arms and huffing again.

“so.” you walked a little bit closer to him, defiance evident in your body language. “doesn’t mean you’re not a gojo—”

“you share his blood.” he slumped back against the chair. “i don’t.”

“yeah… but he raised us both, didn’t he?” you tilted your head, peering up at him. “made us both ice cream sundays for breakfast and french toast for dinner?”

his eyes flickered to yours with a blank and unreadable face, the two of you holding eye contact for a moment before he eventually looked away and crossed his arms, giving a singular shake of the head that read a hard ‘no.’

“he’s your uncle. not mine.”

megumi’s always kept you at a distance.

“so are you also saying you’re not my other half and i should scram? hehe?” you gave him a silly grin, one that made his line of sight slowly cross back to you.

you knew in your right mind that he was not a gojo like you were, that he was no where near being anything shared with you… and in moments were megumi denied every aspect of love and care that he received from both you and your uncle, in moments where he tried to keep you at an arms length, and you always stubbornly dodging his attempts to and agitatingly throwing your arms around him, somehow always finding ways to stay by his side like a piece of sticky taffy?

you were grateful to be tied to him still, for you knew that if it weren’t for satoru simply taking megumi in just before taking you in years later… 

you wouldn’t be tied to him at all.

and you couldn’t— wouldn’t imagine a world where megumi wasn’t yelling at you. weirdly so.

“again.”

“man!” you threw your head back and groaned, dropping your arms and letting them loosely swing at your sides. “i thought i was on break megs i thought we were having a conversation—”

“we’re taking this long because you keep blabbering.” he grumbled. “hurry up y/n.”

“can you say please—”

“now.”

“alright!” you spun around and began walking to the other side of the basement. “fuck man…”

“if you get it this time—” he called from across the echoey room, and you turned. “i’ll bring you something tomorrow. from home.”

“yeah like what.” you grumbled while lifting your arms, your fingers folding and hands quickly moving to try at a technique, all of your attempts still failing and ending up with you repeating them over and over. “how about you take me home instead of leaving me here—”

“nope.”

you were currently enrolled in jujutsu academy, a prestigious university that taught their students the academics and skills required to master all kinds of jujutsu sorcery, an institution that’s been around for god knows how long and ran by a bunch of old fart higher ups (as satoru would say) that dictated the future of the school and its students, and it was an absolute requirement that all students dorm on castle grounds for all four academic years. 

they dictated your future in particular because you were a gojo… for you showed exponential mastery in jujutsu sorcery that exceeded the level of skill the rest of your classmates took up until now to learn, when you had it down at the age of fifteen with little to no effort at all, the elders voting unanimously years ago during a hearing with them behind doors and megumi and satoru standing in the middle, that megumi would be the one to train you and bring your gifts up to proper fruition, for he was gifted in adaption and teaching.

because while jujutsu sorcery came naturally to you, megumi’s effort put him to almost the same level you were. 

your grandparents went to jujutsu academy, your parents went there, satoru went there, and megumi did as well before he graduated two years ago, now serving as an assistant professor as well as your private mentor.

“megggssss!” you whined, dropping your arms. “who’s even gonna find out i went home anyways? no one. no one cares.”

“gojo does.”

“just hide me.”

“it’s not even that bad.” megumi rolled his eyes. “i was away from home too.”

and you missed him everyday he was gone.

just like now, you looking forward to holidays and extended breaks so you could just be home again under the same roof as your uncle and megumi.

and you wondered if megumi missed you when you were gone too…

“okay…” you spoke sadly, lifting your arms again to restart the technique megumi taught you today. 

he sighed softly through his nose at your tone and stood, taking slow steps towards you while watching your form with a blank face, arms still crossed.

he stopped right as he got beside you. 

“push your elbows out more.” he tapped lightly underneath your elbow to get you to raise it. “hands closer together.”

you listened, adjusting your stance and trying again. 

“you’ll be home for a week next month.” he mumbled.

“shh megs. i’m focusing.”

the corners of megumi’s lips twitched upwards, his extended arm retracting back and crossing over his chest again with the other, taking large steps back as he watched you repeat the technique a total of six additional times before it finally came into fruition, a gust of whirling wind that damn near replicated a tornado with bright purple electric bolts twisting out from your hands, the cobblestone basement unrecognizable while you were both embedded in the effects of your sorcery.

your techniques were always way bigger and stronger than his… and he preferred it that way, so it would come in handy whenever you needed it.

though he hoped you never would.

you snapped your arms outward and the effects seized, quiet filling your surroundings the moment the wind and lights dispersed from your fingertips, your chest moving quickly.

“good.” megumi walked over to you, his footsteps crunching underneath loose gravel that no doubt crumbled due to the force of not just by todays technique, but previous ones as well. “you’re done.”

the technique megumi taught you today— one you learned and performed successfully in a day, was one that took him three months.

you dropped your hands with an exhale, exhausted from hours of doing the same exact damn thing.

“finally...” you mumbled, your tired gaze following megumi as he crossed you and sat back in the wooden chair, him leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. 

he nudged his head to signal you over, and you listened, happily taking little skips in his direction and stopping once you got in front of him.

“i’ll bring you red bean rice cakes.” he spoke lowly. “i’ll make gojo make them for you.”

you gasped, your eyes twinkling as you thought of your favorite dessert in the entire fucking world, a specific kind that satoru rarely made because each time he did he’d almost burn the freaking house down, but nevertheless came out oh so yummy and delightful.

“yes! thank you!” you gushed with a big smile, and megumi stared. “watch him though megs last time he actually almost set the kitchen on fire even though he’s supposed to just flip the—”

you felt a little tug at the hem of your jean skirt and you stopped, head dropping down to see megumi fiddling with it.

“you’re wearing a skirt.”

“eh?” you spoke softly, stilling once you felt one of megumi’s fingertips poke at your knees, heat rising to your cheeks immediately.

“y—yeah i am—”

“i told you not to.”

the bashfulness dropped from your system and your eyes narrowed, leaning your weight on one hip and crossing your arms.

“but i love skirts megs you know that—”

“your knees y/n…” he mumbled, sighing through his nose as his index finger lightly ran over the skin on your left knee, his eyes trained on your mini scars that you got from all the times you’ve ate shit, or carelessly ran about without any means of protection or awareness. “you keep scraping your knees.”

your heart fluttered a bit, fondness creeping around your insides.

he always did this.

“they’re just little cuts...” you softly spoke, megumi’s eyes switching up to look at you, and you sending him a sweet closed-lipped smile in response. “it’s all good i haven’t fallen recently—”

he poked at a particularly fresh one and you winced, a squeak slipping past your lips as he rolled his eyes and leaned back against the chair, digging in his pockets.

“yeah and what’s that dingus...” he muttered, pulling out a bandaid and proceeding to roll up the sleeves of his white button up, tearing the packaging open after. “stop wearing skirts.”

“no.” you spoke firmly as you watched him peel the backing and carefully stick the bandaid over the new scrape on your knee, stuffing the wrapper back in his pocket once he was done. “take me home today and i’ll consider it.”

“you’re annoying me.”

“you’re annoying me—”

megumi stood, the chair scraping against the ground as he stepped to the side and began walking toward the exit, you staring flabbergasted before you quickly scoured for your bag and ran after him, swinging it over your shoulder.

“heyy!” you pouted. “where are you going?”

“m’walking you to your dorm.” he plainly stated as you both stepped out through the doors, going down the long dark corridor that led to the main grand hall of the school, both of your shoes clicking against the marble flooring. 

oh.

“already..?” you asked disappointingly, walking a few steps behind him. “are you coming tomorrow?”

“it’s my day off.”

“are you coming the day after tomorrow?”

“dunno.”

“wha—” you gawked. “are you not a professors assistant? what do you mean ‘dunno’—”

megumi looked at you from over his shoulder before turning his head forward again.

“when they need it. i’m here every couple of days y/n.”

“yeah well i always have a crap ton of homework to do every time you are here so i don’t even get to see you.” you grumbled, rounding the corner with him and stepping onto the main foyer of the castle, the ambience quiet and dim with only a few students still out and about studying or chatting. “how do you get away with working like— below minimum wage hours? you’re gonna get sacked you know…”

megumi snorted.

“and you’re gonna annoy me again if you’re wearing a skirt next time i’m here.”

“bite me.”

he quickly turned his head to the side and pursed his lips, stifling a laugh as you both walked up the grand rounding staircase that never seemed to fucking end, and one you never got used to either no matter how many times the two of you have trotted up and down these steps.

megumi’s well aware that you’re too stubborn for your own good to listen to him,  knowing that the next time he sees you, you will be wearing a skirt with another new cut on your knee that he’ll need to bring a bandaid for.

“you need to work on your clinginess.”

your jaw ran slack, stopping dead in your tracks on the staircase.

“hah?! what the hell do you even mean?!—”

but megumi didn’t even bother to turn around, you hurriedly hopping up the stairs again to catch up with him, finally arriving to your floor and going down the familiar pathway to your dormitory, several students recognizing their professor’s assistant and greeting megumi as they passed by.

“m’not clingy…” you muttered, looking off to the side as you rounded another corner. “go ahead and go back home. see if i care.”

he peered at you from the corner of his eye, slightly amused.

“i’m joking.” he spoke flatly. 

“you’re not funny.”

“neither are you.”

“hey!—”

he stopped in front of your dorm and you faltered, having not even noticed that you were already there, and kicking yourself for complaining and fighting with him the entire time rather than spending it having actual conversation with him, not knowing when the next time you’d see him would be.

there’s been instances where you don’t even see him for weeks at a time… 

and it was then that you realized that maybe you were just clingy…

“stop.”

you snapped your head up just as embarrassment bubbled up in your cheeks, an evident pinky vibrant shade that only intensified the moment he plopped a heavy hand on top of your head, you flinching a bit.

“you always do this when i leave...” he mumbled, bored half lidded eyes staring straight at you. 

“…do what?” you asked softly.

“get sad.”

“oh—” you felt your cheeks warm up again, you blinking up at him. “s—sorry.”

he huffed a little breath through his nose and looked off to the side. 

“i’ll come soon.” he dropped his hand. “just wait.”

“…right.”

megumi flicked your forehead and you flinched once more.

“ow!—”

“stop.”

“what?!” you rubbed the patch of stinging skin as you peaked an eye open. “what did i—”

“you’re doing it again—”

“bite me!”

he choked out a laugh and you stopped, him covering his mouth with the back of his hand and leaning forward a bit, shoulders shaking and the corners of his eyes crinkling, the vision taking you by surprise.

how pretty…

it was rare when he laughed, and each time you were lucky enough to catch it was like ingesting ample fuel that served to get you through the rest of your damn life.

you giggled softly alongside him, leaning up against the door of your room as your eyes literally glimmered up at him, megumi settling down himself and lowering his hand, meeting your gaze with that same expression of just— nothing, but somehow it being just enough for you. 

because even though those expressions and looks of nothing were grumpy and strict… they were familiar. 

they were kind. 

in his own special way.

you gently leaned your head against the door and gave him a thin lipped smile.

“leave before i cry.”

he rolled his eyes.

“you’re fine.”

you quirked a brow and raised your index finger, wagging it in his face in warning.

“don’t forget my red bean rice cakes okay? whenever the fuck i get them…”

he watched you— the way your shoulders drooped a little more than usual, the way the crease between your brows hadn’t gone away since the end of your training session, and the way you still made no attempts at reaching for the doorknob to go inside for the night, all made his eyes soften ever so slightly and feel a feeling he didn’t want to acknowledge.

“tomorrow.”

your head snapped up from being on the door.

“hm?”

“i’ll come tomorrow.” he spoke quietly, reaching up to absentmindedly move a few strands of hair over your shoulder before retracting his arm, clearing his throat and looking away. “with the rice cakes.”

you stared at him dumbly for a few seconds, doe eyes blinking and cogs turning until your face broke out into the biggest smile he had ever fucking seen, you jumping up and down and squealing and throwing your arms around his neck, him letting out a little ‘oof’ in response.

“yayyyy!” you cheered. “thanks megs! i’m so excited! just text me what time so i can make sure i finish my stupid homework beforehand and also tell gojo i said thank you in advance for the rice cakes—”

“get off.”

a smirk slowly crossed your lips, and megumi swallowed.

“no.”

he placed his hands on your waist, and barely so… just there on the surface like he was afraid of allowing himself to fully touch you for whatever reason, and yet— knowing exactly the reason at the same god damn time, another thing he refused to acknowledge and only triggered irritation towards himself.

“off y/n.”

“make me.”

“i won’t come tomorrow.”

your hands shot out and you pushed him back, your eyes wide and pleading as you knew that whatever megumi decided he was going to say or do, was bible.

“alright i’m off! i’m off...”

you sighed, dropped your arms and reached for the doorknob, rotating it and just stepping inside before turning back around, half of your body behind the door as you leaned your head against the edge of it, peering up at him.

“bye meggy megs.” you spoke gently. “don’t forget to eat a little before bed… i know you’ve been here for a while.”

and amidst megumi’s trial and tribulations about whatever the fuck was going on in his head, and amidst all of his agitating thoughts that were everything just— you… his eyes softened, and he sent you the teensiest little smile that quickly made your cheeks buzz and blush, him giving you a singular nod.

“oh!” you perked up. “and water my plants please i forgot to tell you.”

he had been. 

since you moved into the academy two years ago he’d been watering your plants.

“okay.”

you nodded. “…okay.”

and without another word megumi turned and left, walking down the quiet dark corridor with his hands in his pockets and shoulders tall, his footsteps echoing throughout and getting farther and farther away, you watching him until he eventually turned a corner and left your sight, the familiar feeling of loneliness and missing being anywhere outside of castle grounds creeping up on you like little relentless bugs.

megumi always kept you at a distance for reasons he didn’t want to acknowledge.

and as he grumpily trudged through campus with his head down and mind preoccupied with thoughts that he couldn’t fully register… his annoyance for you only grew.

because it was like a block in his brain— stubborn and angry all of the time, and clogged up with fleeting replayed memories of the way you did your hair everyday, or the way you smelled like strawberry poundcake that was exceptionally intensified during the summer time, all notions that only further solidified his reasons why megumi wanted to stay the fuck away from you.

he wanted to stay away for reasons he didn’t even want to think about, opting instead to snapping orders at you, ignoring you, or just straight up being mean, it always earning him a smack upside the head or a scolding from satoru since he was a kid, and leaving behind a pit of guilt in his chest that he mistook for aggravation.

“how was the little miss?”

megumi placed his shoes on the rack by the front door and nudged his slippers on upon arriving home, eyes bored as he tossed his keys in a fish bowl and began making his way to the kitchen, crossing satoru as he went.

“fine.” 

satoru happily bounded close behind. 

“great! and how was training today?”

“slow.”

“slow?” satoru quirked a brow. “why—”

“because she wouldn’t stop talking and complaining.” megumi mumbled, bending down and opening the cabinets underneath the sink, rummaging through until he pulled out a little green watering can— setting it under the faucet sink and turning the water on.

satoru crossed his arms. “okay… but i take it she got todays technique?”

he nodded.

“you didn’t yell at her?”

megumi’s face twitched but he nodded again, switching the faucet off and trying to ignore that familiar pit in his chest.

“did you tell her she did a good job?”

megumi looked over his shoulder, eyes narrowing at satoru.

“i don’t need to tell her that—”

“okay so you gave her a little hug and a kiss goodbye?—”

megumi whipped around fully, mortified by whatever the hell was coming out of satoru’s mouth as he took a kitchen towel from the counter and chucked it at his face, satoru snickering and dodging.

“what?!” satoru pouted. “i’m just asking… can’t a handsome poor old man ask?”

“no.”

“okay but did you..?—”

“no!”

he sighed heavily and slumped against the kitchen island. “oh gumi…”

“what.” he grumbled, grabbing the watering can and beginning to walk out of the kitchen.

“if you keep being mean to her and treating her the way you do, she’s gonna end up hating you.”

megumi slowed.

should he even care about that? why would he…

why did he.

“let her.” he spoke, voice monotone as he made his way down the hall and up the steps to your room.

satoru sighed again and followed after him.

“i don’t think you want that.” satoru called out. “she looks up to you megumi she loves you and you need to be nicer before she finds herself another megumi.”

he scoffed, stopping and turning slightly. “the fucks that supposed to mean—”

“you’re without a care in the world right now because that girl puts you on a pedestal and you barely have to lift a finger.” satoru scolded, icy blue eyes staring straight at him. “and if you keep pushing her, she’s gonna find someone else eventually who treats her better than you do.”

“i don’t care what she does.” megumi spat, satoru faltering. “and im done having this conversation.”

“meanie…” satoru muttered through pursed lips, looking off to the side. “fine! suffer and lose see how that feels.”

megumi turned his back to him and continued walking when a sudden grab to the ankle staggered him forward, the sound of a loud heavy thump on the ground making him snap his head around to see satoru laying flat down on the hardwood floor, eyes desperate with a quiver to his lips.

“please gumi! let the light in! you’re the only man i’m okay with my niece being with please just give her a little hug—”

“—you made me spill water—”

“— or tell her she did a good job or give her a present for a successful training sesh anything!-”

megumi shook him off his ankle and satoru whined, face dropping flat to the floor as he sniffled.

“it’s no use it’s no use—”

“can you make red bean rice cakes.” megumi mumbled. “the ones y/n likes.”

satoru stilled.

“why…” he muttered, face still down and voice muffled. “you hungry megs? there’s food in the fridge—”

“it’s not for me idiot it’s for y/n.”

satoru’s head shot up.

“you’re going to the university tomorrow?”

“yeah.”

“but it’s your day off?”

“i had to bribe y/n for her to get the technique down—”

“yiiippeeeee!” satoru flew up and stood, arms out and extended as he cheered and bounced up and down on his feet like a madman. “i absolutely can my little gremlin! i’ll get started on it now—”

gremlin?—

“— and when you see her tomorrow and give them to her you’re gonna give her a little smooch and confess—”

megumi choked on his own spit and coughed, fist hovering over his mouth and cheeks burning as he stood there wide eyed.

“gojo what the fuck are you on?”

“oop—” satoru froze, gaze slowly locking on his. “did i say that out loud—”

megumi threw a hand out, exasperated. “yes!”

“who did?”

“you!”

“no i didn’t… heh.”

“yes you fucking did—”

satoru waved him off. “nonsense! go to sleep it’s late megs i’ve got cooking to do—”

“—watch the stove—”

satoru knew deep down that megumi did care.

because although through the years he’s watched megumi yell at you, ignore you, boss you around and sometimes straight up belittle you… he loved you. and satoru hoped he wasn’t mistaken about that.

megumi scolded you constantly but patched up your knees with fruity bandaids whenever you fell, megumi insulted you for being a scaredy cat but held your hand through whatever it was that you were afraid of, megumi huffed and puffed over every request you had for him and yet he’d do it— even if it was asking for a piggy back ride when you were too tired, another cherry bomb pop ice cream when you’d already had three, or taking you to the lake by the train tracks just a block from the house to catch fireflies— all through rolling of eyes and mutterings of ‘you’re stupid.’

he always did it. 

and satoru was a testament to all of it— watching behind cracked doors or hallways or secretly following you both for your safety when you snuck out in the middle of the night to the lake… and yet met with the sight of the purest form of love each time.

megumi keeping you safe.

satoru never had to lift a finger because megumi beat him to it. all of the time.

you: goodnight megs!! :D i hope you ate!! also bring enough rice cakes tomorrow so we can share >:3

megumi stared at your text message before placing his phone on top of a drawer, him stood by the window sill where you kept all of your succulents and plants, watering each of them like he did every night before bed, the sound of trickling water from the can the only thing heard in the room besides satoru’s banging of pots and pans downstairs, him placing the watering can to the side once he was done and trudging over to your desk chair, plopping down on it.

megumi: ok.

your response was almost immediate.

you: DAYUM

you: dry as always meggy megs… <//3 

you: but i still love you HEHEHEH

he swallowed, gaze trained on your last sentence as his thumbs hovered over the screen of his phone, his brain unable to compute a response.

annoying.

his eyes lifted to the picture frames you had next to your desktop then, photos he’s looked at a million times already, and not a single one that was without him as they consisted of the two of you throughout the different stages of your lives— megumi with a blank or irritated expression in all of them, and you with the silliest fucking grin next to him— his mind having difficulty admitting that you were inexplicably pretty and doe eyed and lovely, something that was obvious… but yet blocking each and every thought that tried to slip past the slimy barriers of his brain, him rubbing at his temples as he hunched over on your desk.

you were exhausting to think about, and it was even more exhausting to know that megumi had slipped up during training… when he succumbed to feeling bad for you over him leaving and proceeding to brush your hair over your shoulder— to touch you, the feeling of its silkiness still remembered by his fingertips as he slowly flexed and retracted them where he sat.

he shouldn’t have. 

he should’ve told you to suck it up.

megumi: go to sleep.

you: omg i thought you were ignoring me

you: hi :PP

megumi: go to sleep y/n it’s late.

you: BOO YOU WHORE

you: tell me you love me and i will.

heat rose up megumi’s neck and he rolled his eyes.

megumi: you’re gross.

megumi: go to sleep.

you: brat.

you: okay fine i will. see you tomorrow gumi :) <3

you: goodnight!

megumi stood from your desk chair and snatched the watering can from your window sill, quickly making his way out of your room and slamming the door shut, feeling like he was suffocating in there over his own stupid head.

megumi: night.

even though it was a well known fact that you were extraordinarily gifted and a gojo— something that was a rarity in itself since satoru chose not to pass down his lineage, megumi was the only one who knew that you were actually the weakest fucking person he had ever had to train, and the last person who should ever be put in battle to protect anything.

and that’s what he feared the most.

you were a crybaby, whiny, and too emotionally involved to the point where any time megumi manifested a faux curse to train your combat abilities, you screamed and ran two minutes in without even performing any techniques of your own to try and fight it off, him having to be the one to drag you back or kill the curse himself just to get you to calm down and listen.

your techniques were powerful, yes, but you weren’t— mentally, emotionally, and even sometimes physically, you simply lacked adequate conviction and resilience to be someone worth putting in the front lines, to protect an entire flock of your community and be the saving grace you’d been trained since five years old to be.

but instead of being put on this path of sparkling reputation, your family name had doomed you from the moment you opened your eyes at birth, and again when your parents died by members of the zen’in clan, you cursed with the burden of expectation.

because while everyone else saw you as a golden prodigy— the higher ups, your classmates, satoru himself… megumi saw a girl.

a girl too silly for her own good.

“don’t run!” megumi yelled, his booming voice echoing across the grassy open field as he heard you scream and hiccup, scrambling to your feet just as the curse managed to fling you back.

“kill it! kill it! kill it!—”

“no! i’ve given you enough free passes—”

“—eeeekkk!—” 

you squealed and flew across the lawn again, megumi watching in utter disbelief as anytime you raised your arms to perform a technique, literal pathetic sparks would electrify through the air and fucking disappear just as soon as they came, megumi’s frustration only growing.

at this rate, if the higher ups ever decided to throw you in battle, you’d die.

and the thought only made him angrier.

“y/n!” he barked. “get up!”

“i’m trying!—”

“try harder!” he manipulated his hands and brought out another faux curse, this time in the form of his demon dogs. “get up!”

you shakily got to your feet and coughed, sweat dripping down your face as you raised your hands again to flimsily try to form a technique, your chest erratic and palms trembling.

“megumi please we’ve been at it for hours i fucking can’t!—”

“do it!”

you were completely worn out, panting and stomach aching from all of the running and dodging you’ve had to do, you having only successfully gotten rid of one curse out of the eight that he presented you with, shame gripping your throat as you moved your hands and fingers again and again, dodged every blast again and again, and ran for your life for the millionth time that night.

“stop running!” he yelled. “how many times have i told you never run!—”

“but i’m gonna die if i don’t!—”

“on your left!”

you screamed and threw yourself across the grass, tumbling down a few feet before quickly stabilizing yourself and popping your head up, seeing the curse coming at you at full speed without any means of mercy or pity.

you hated how much you had to train, feeling like the higher ups completely robbed you of your college life as you had to do this almost every night for hours at a time, the only good thing about it being that megumi was your mentor and the one you spent those exact suffering hours with, even if you embarrassed yourself in front of him each time because you just couldn’t do anything right.

and you were scared… so god damn scared and nervous that the day would come where you had to face whoever the fuck in battle, you yourself knowing that you were too much of a wuss and just plain bad at combat to fight off anyone, your mind reeling with the constant fear of death that at this point seemed like a given for you, a lump creeping up your throat everyday that you thought of your sealed fate and leaving this world faster than you could ever think of.

you were ashamed all of the time, especially in front of megumi… knowing he’d put so much time into you just for you to get thrown around like a rag doll by manifestations of nothing.

why couldn’t you do it? why couldn’t you simply be brave? like megumi?

you shot a hand out and tried a technique one final time, the curse closing in on you and lame little sparks of purple emitting from your palms just before the curse suddenly screeched out a roar and flew to the side, disappearing into a mist of black until the air finally settled into silence— your hair brushing through the breeze and the sound of crickets ringing faintly in the distance.

your eyes slowly moved to look in front of you, your gaze met with megumi standing over you with the most pissed off look you’d ever seen on his gorgeous face, his hands balled tightly into fists at his sides that flickered with turquoise blue sparks.

he had killed the curse for you. again.

“get up.”

you sniffled and stood, your knees trembling as you did so.

“m’sorry gumi—”

“why do you keep running.”

you peered up at him.

“…i’ll die if i—”

“then so be it.”

your eyes widened, lips slightly parted in shock.

huh?

“i’ve told you this already y/n.” his voice was clear and stern, a difference from his usual moody mumbling and huffing, and you didn’t like it at all. “even if you get hurt, even if you die, you never run.”

he snatched your wrist and began walking with you across the field, his grip tight.

“it’s pathetic and you’ll die for being a coward and not someone worth remembering.”

you felt a pang to your chest and you looked down, tears brimming your eyes.

“you’re weak and your family name does nothing for you—”

you knew that.

“—you’re too emotionally fucking involved you cry about everything and i don’t know what else to say to you—”

you knew that as well.

and ironically if anyone else ever told you what he was telling you in this moment, you’d laugh and blow a raspberry in their face, not giving a single shit and going about the rest of your day as if nothing ever happened, as if no one ever insulted you.

but it was megumi. and your body stung all over with zero means of relief.

you didn’t deserve relief.

the sound of your little hiccups and sniffles made megumi slow, his long legs gradually stopping as he looked at you from over his shoulder, his eyes met with the sight of you hunched over and silently crying, you quickly wiping your tears but the attempts proving futile as the waterworks kept going, your frame trembling.

his gaze automatically trailed down to your knees, and his eyes widened at the sight of them battered and bruised, more than usual and injuries he knew a simple banana designed bandaid wouldn’t be able to fix.

fuck.

megumi’s shoulders eased from their tense position, and his eyes softened, letting out a little sigh through his nose.

“i’m s—sorry—” you sobbed. “i wish i could fight and— and listen to you but i’m scared all of the time and i don’t know how to— hic! not be—”

“y/n—”

“but i promise you i’m trying and i hate that i keep disappointing you—”

“hey—”

“and i’m so sorry that i can n—never get it right-”

megumi gently tugged you in and you paused, your face colliding softly with his chest.

he wouldn’t allow himself to hug you, as painful as it was. and he wouldn’t allow himself to let you stand there crying when he was the reason for it either.

so he allowed himself the closest thing to it— your face in his chest and the side of his cheek just barely grazing the top of your head, the hold on your wrist gentler… secure as he let his senses be engulfed by the scent of you.

of strawberry pound cake.

“stop crying...” he mumbled. 

you hiccuped.

“s—orry—” you sniffled and wiped your eyes, burying your nose back into his chest after.

he almost never did this— ever. only on rare occasions, and you tried your best to hold onto the moment for as long as you possibly could, committing it to memory and trying to bask in what it felt like to be so close to him, all of it setting a reminder off in your head of how much you actually loved him, as if you already didn’t know.

you loved him so much that it was ridiculous.

the way the two of you stood there in the middle of the open field, unawarely taking in each others scent that had always been achingly familiar to the both of you— 

like summer grass. like playdates by the lake. like melting cherry bomb pop ice creams.

like childhood.

the low ricketing of cicadas and crickets in the distance filled the air around you, light winds that rustled through the grass by your feet, through the strands of your hair and megumi’s, and through your tear stained cheeks, all playing a part in surrounding the both of you with the feeling of each other, of how you grew up as one singular unit, regardless if one was more bubbly and forgiving than the other.

it was always you and him.

“you’re too emotionally involved y/n.” he murmured, and you nodded against him.

“i know.”

“and you’re weak.”

“i know.”

“and you keep running when i tell you not to.”

“yeah.”

“but—” his grip on your wrist tightened a little, megumi’s self control bursting at the seams as he swallowed. “you’re not disappointing anyone.”

“yeah i am.” you pouted, nose digging further into his button up, your voice muffled. “i’m disappointing you.”

“you’re not.” he muttered. “you’re just irritating.”

so completely and utterly irritating that he wanted to keep you locked away— distanced from the higher ups and anyone else who wanted to throw you in battle.

but he shouldn’t fucking care about that he shouldn’t let himself. it was your will and what you were supposed to do and yet— he always ended up caring every time he saw you… one way or another.

“as long as you’re not disappointed in me… i’m okay.” you murmured.

megumi’s heart twisted in his chest then, and he nuzzled his nose further into your hair, eyes closing and heart beating out of his fucking ribcage, allowing himself again to relish in who you were… even if it was just for now.

“y/n.”

you shifted in his hold.

“hm?”

“heal your knees please.”

you laughed softly and went to look up, chin propping up on his chest as he reluctantly detached his cheek from your head.

“heh… you do it.”

megumi’s eyes trailed down to you and slightly narrowed, you giggling at his reaction.

out of all types of techniques there were— defense, combat, stealth, manipulation, it was healing that megumi lacked the most, spending hours of his schooling life studying his ass off trying to get the basics down, spending day after day practicing different restoration rituals and recovery spells, purposely getting paper cuts or bruises to test out his abilities and yet failing every fucking attempt, you stepping in instead regardless of his huffing and puffing to heal his little wounds.

that was the reason why megumi was almost to your level of jujutsu sorcery, because he couldn’t freaking fix shit, and ironically in more ways than one.

“ow!”

megumi had flicked your forehead and you whined, your fingers coming up to rub the reddened irritated patch.

“heal it.”

“obviously i’m gonna heal it megs the ball is tomorrow.”

he quirked a brow.

“the ball?”

“mhm!” you cutely smiled, your own brows coming to a furrow after a few seconds. “what… it’s literally the same every year how do you not know—”

“no i know.” he mumbled. “i never went.”

your jaw dropped. “never? not even once?”

he shook his head and you scoffed.

“laaameee. you’re missing out meggy megs! i heard the junior year ball is the best hehe.”

“i’m good.”

you sent him a silly little mischievous grin then.

“…that’s why you’re coming with me tomorrow.”

his eyes snapped down in your direction, a bewildered expression on his face.

“don’t be stupid.”

“i will be stupid.” you cheesed. “pleeeaaaseee gumi ill be bored without you… and i need a date…”

he shook his head. “you’ll be bored regardless those events are a waste of time.”

you pouted and attempted to pull away, but megumi’s grip on your wrist tightened and you faltered, your eyes locking with his for a moment before you gave him a gradual sweet little smile. 

“you don’t wanna see me in a dress?”

he paused.

“why would i want to see that.”

“it’s dark blue! with little flower beady things on it.”

“so.”

“so?” you pouted, your gaze trailing down to the grass beneath your feet. “i wanted your opinion on it…”

megumi swallowed, silence emitting between the two of you until he hesitantly lifted a hand, his index finger timidly tapping underneath your chin to get you to look up, you complying with wide eyes and a pounding heart.

you realized that megumi lately had been more affectionate with you on multiple occasions, something you immediately noticed anytime he did something that he normally wouldn’t do, tonight being one of those examples where he was kinder with you, more lenient, and cutting you slack over things he absolutely fucking should not.

where before he would put you on a time out for not killing curses like he told you to, or give you the silent treatment if he found out you were skipping lectures to sleep in, now for the past couple of months he was ignoring every sin you’ve committed and instead letting them go, which only made it harder for you to keep your big mouth shut and contain the doomed feelings you had for him locked up— especially when he paired his mercy with little pats of the head, wrist holding, or slight mini caresses of affection that could easily be misinterpreted as two people who were together. in love.

you were convinced he’d bite your head off, chew a bit, and spit you out if you ever told him how you felt.

but maybe… maybe he wouldn’t.

selfishly… stupidly… you hoped megumi loved you just as much as you loved him.

“you shouldn’t care about my opinion.” he muttered. “wear the dress if you like it y/n.”

“but i do care.” you spoke softly. “if it’s your opinion… i want to know...”

he stared down at you with an expressionless face, you unable to read him in the fucking slightest.

“my opinion doesn’t matter.”

“but it does.” you pushed.

his eyes formed into slits.

“ask one of your friends—”

“but i wanna ask you!—”

“you’ll look pretty either way it doesn’t matter what you wea—”

you both stilled and megumi’s mouth snapped shut, pressing into a thin line and stare widening.

god fucking dammit.

“you think i’m pretty..?” you tilted your head cutely, a sugary smile slowly spreading across your lips as you waited for his response.

he bit down hard on his tongue, loosening his jaw once the taste of metallic filled his taste buds.

“not what i meant.”

you quirked a brow.

“gumi you said ‘you’ll look pretty either way it doesn’t ma’—”

megumi mushed a quick hand over your mouth to shut you up, a vibrant pink shade so painfully obvious on his cheeks that you couldn’t help but giggle underneath his palm, him looking away in agitation and his scruffy spiky bangs covering his eyes a little.

so cuuteee!

“forget about it.”

“nuh uh.” you muffled.

“do it.”

you licked his palm and he ripped his hand away in disgust, eyebrows pinched as he wiped your spit on his sweater.

“you said i was pretty.” 

megumi’s eyes flickered to yours before they awkwardly moved away.

“okay.”

you lit up.

“so yeah? you think i’m pretty?”

he looked down and raised his arm to scratch the back of his neck, his mouth physically unable to move and his brain failing to compute how to deal with what he just said, him struggling so much that it felt like his heart was borderline strangling him, frustration filling his every vein as his mind scrambled around trying to figure out how to get you to be quiet.

but there was literally no way. he knew you and your big mouth would never let it go.

“guuumiiii.”

“hm?” he lazily dropped his hand, gaze switching to yours before zooming away again.

you laughed.

“what megs…” you pushed gently. “it’s okay for you to think that if you want to you know...”

was it though?

megumi didn’t think so. 

megumi didn’t think he deserved to think about you like that at all.

but inevitably, agonizingly, and admittedly… you were so fucking pretty to him that it made it hard for him to think about anything else, and any moment that he wasn’t with you… he was thinking of you, and he didn’t know how to stop that no matter how hard he tried.

because god he tried. since childhood he’s tried. he could close his fucking eyes and you’d still be there.

but any idiot numskull could see that you were beautiful.

and megumi definitely could.

“megs…?”

he didn’t need to see you in a dress to know. he didn’t need anything but you standing in front of him in the way that you were now, with your stupid scraped bloody knees and your doe eyes and the way you always looked at him like he created the very air you breathed… like he was everything.

and it made him angry. angry and weak.

he didn’t deserve to be anything to you. 

“so am i pretty or wh—”

“gorgeous.”

you faltered, pupils dilating as you felt your heart physically fucking stop, him looking at you with a blank face and acting like he didn’t just drop something like that on you.

you’d never heard that word come out of his mouth, and nonetheless directed at you, you parting your lips in attempts at trying to respond but your throat feeling too tight to even try and get anything out.

“but you don’t need me to tell you that.” he spoke. “everyone knows.”

everyone…?

your cheeks grew hot, and you quickly dropped your gaze and looked away.

at this rate, if he didn’t quit it, you knew you’d probably end up blubbering that you loved him, and you didn’t know if that was a good idea or the worst possible freaking—

“you shouldn’t have issues with getting a date.” he mumbled. “so don’t waste it asking me.”

you pursed your lips.

“m’not wasting anything.” you replied. “i was asking you for a reason.”

he blinked.

“go with me.”

his fists bawled at his sides and he swallowed, his grip tightening by the second as he looked down at you, afraid that he’d gone too far and maybe— maybe encouraged you—

but his mouth moved quicker than his brain could come up with a way to stop himself.

“why.”

he knew why.

he fucking knew man.

“because i’m in love with you megs.”

and for some reason… he needed to hear you say it. selfishly. just once.

because what he also knew, was that he had to break your heart to spare you from a life of isolation and just— nothing, which was the only thing he could provide for you when you deserved absolute happiness and serenity and bliss…

all things he could kill himself wishing over, spend the rest of his life bargaining with every divine entity just to become someone worth standing by your side… and yet it still wouldn’t be enough.

he wasn’t good for you, he couldn’t damn you and give you a life of desolation he— he couldn’t do that to you.

he loved you too much to do that to you.

“you’ll get over it.”

you stilled, flabbergasted.

what the fuck?

“huh—”

“it’ll go away just give it time—”

“megumi what?” you scoffed, eyebrows furrowing. “what the hell are you saying—”

“i’m saying get over it y/n.” he bit back, and you flinched at his snappy tone. 

“i’m taking you back to your dorm let’s go.”

you physically felt your heart break over his words, anger brewing up in your chest so god damn fast that you didn’t have time to let your mind think rationally over the situation.

“no.”

he rolled his eyes and reached to take your wrist, you instantly snatching it away and taking a step back.

“i said no.”

“y/n—”

“i tell you i love you and you tell me to get over it?” you spoke in aching disbelief. “the fucks wrong with you?”

“we’re leaving—”

“i love you and you know that.”

he wavered, heart beating against his ribcage as he damned himself over the look on your face.

“stop saying that.” he responded coldly with narrowed eyes, and it only made you angrier.

“i love you.”

“what did i just say—”

“i love you—”

“stop.”

you took a step closer.

“i love you—”

“enough!”

megumi’s arms flung out and grabbed you by shoulders, yanking you closer with a tight grip as he shook you with every word that he spoke, stare wild and what looked to you like anger… was desperation from him.

“are you stupid?!” he yelled. “how could you let yourself feel that way about me?!”

you stared at him with blown out eyes as he continued to shake you.

“how could you waste your fucking time y/n?!”

“m—megs—”

“—hah?!”

he pulled you in even closer that the tip of his nose brushed against yours, his hot breath fanning across your face.

“get a god damn grip.” he seethed. “i’m only here to teach you how to not be a nuisance on the frontlines so forget about me y/n.”

he shook his head.

“i’m not your partner, i’m not your friend, i’m a fucking tool the higher ups assigned to you so you could be lucky enough to not die on the field. so forget about me!”

silence filled the air then, his heavy labored breathing loud as his chest rose and fell erratically, his heart throbbing just as much as yours was as you both looked at each other, tears slowly welling up in your eyes that read nothing but betrayal and grief that was tied directly to him.

you always knew that if it wasn’t for satoru taking the both of you in, you had no place in megumi’s life.

and yet you always thought— that after all this time… through every moment he grumpily protected you and looked after you, dried your tears and guided you, made you snacks when you were kids anytime you were hungry, walked you and picked you up from school, tied your shoes and stuck bandaids on your cuts, stayed awake with you when you were too scared to go to sleep at night alone—

that you had earned a place in his life.

but you were wrong. 

so fucking wrong.

“how could you say that..?” you choked out, voice small and wavering. “why are you hurting me?”

he blinked, shoulders slowly relaxing as he loosened his grip on your shoulders, coming down from whatever the fuck he was on that made him lash out without meaning to.

“we’ve— we’ve done everything together since we were kids—“ fat tears continued to drip down your cheeks. “and you’re telling me none of it meant anything to you? that i— hic— i’m not even a friend to you?”

your biggest fear had always been that megumi was only around because he was forced to be.

and now that you knew that it was exactly that, your soul bubbled up with the most intense type of unfamiliar agony and heartbreak you had ever felt in your life— heavy and suffocating and a feeling you never thought would be because of him.

“why couldn’t you just say you didn’t love me back?!” you yelled suddenly, your heartache quickly manifesting into bitter. “why do you always have to be such a fucking dick!”

megumi felt a pang in his chest and he swallowed the lump in his throat, already regretting so much what he had done just because he couldn’t survive his internal strife, wrongfully taking it out on you instead and rejecting you in the worst way humanly possible, when he was supposed to let you down easy, not hurt you, not lie to you.

this wasn’t supposed to happen. 

at least— not like this jesus not like this—

you ripped yourself away from him and he snapped out of it, him blinking down at you.

“i’m sorry i misinterpreted what we were.” you mumbled, quickly wiping away your tears and wanting to just get fucking rid of them. “you don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

what?

“i’ll speak to the higher ups myself and arrange your dismissal so you don’t have to train me.” you met his eyes then and his shoulders dropped in utter guilt over the look on your face. “we can be done from here. i’ll leave you alone.”

he shook his head.

“wait—” he reached out for you and you dodged him. “stop that hold on—”

“don’t touch me.”

you walked past him, your shoulder harshly bumping against his bicep as he staggered back a bit, his mind reeling over what was going on and unable to keep up with the way it was unraveling so quickly.

this isn’t what he wanted at all he— god his intentions were never to lose you entirely.

but what in the fuck did he expect saying those kind of things to you though? that you’d stick around still kissing his ass? how could he possibly and fucking stupidly think some shit like that?

he thought that this was for the best, that this is what was good for you, and yet he pathetically couldn’t stomach the reality of it once he got what he wanted.

“m’going back to my dorm. bye—”

he quickly reached and caught your arm with his hands, pulling you back a bit.

“no.” he breathed out. “no wait—”

you looked at him from over your shoulder and glared through your tears.

“i said don’t touch me megumi get off—”

“jesus listen to me y/n!—”

“what so you can keep telling me how much of a burden i am to you?!” you sniffled. “no thanks i should’ve caught the message years ago every time you called me annoying or stupid—”

“stop—”

“—let go!” you sobbed, more tears flooding in.

“please megumi...” you hiccuped. “let go of me…”

he stared at you then, the devastated and defeated expression on your face that shouldn’t ever be there in the first place, the way your body trembled and the tears on your wet cheeks, the new awful way you were looking at him now, the fucking blood on your knees—

made megumi gently, slowly, loosen his grip until your soft arm slipped from his fingertips and returned to your side.

he’d done what he was supposed to do, but in a way that was at the cost of you.

and he realized that even if you chose to hate him for the rest of your life, he’d force himself to learn to live with it if it meant you were happier somewhere else… with someone else.

living a life with all of the things he wished he could provide for you.

so he chose not to fix it.

“…let me at least walk you to your dorm.” he spoke up, voice hoarse from all the yelling. “there’s been word of the zen’in clan lurking around… whether its true or not i need to walk you back.”

you rolled your eyes and turned away from him, trudging your way across the field and through the freezing air to get back to your dorm on your own.

“fuck off megumi.”

gojo was livid when he found out what happened.

and for a man who never let a crack of anger, or anything else that didn’t resemble bubbling sparkling and annoying joy show through his exterior, something megumi didn’t even know gojo was capable of… was a sight that was odd and daunting.

because gojo resembled him— an expression of nothing, eyes shadowed and blank as the both of them stood in the middle of the kitchen, him having just admitted to gojo of what he had done to you and only met with absolute silence from him, a million words unspoken as gojo simply stepped around him and out of the kitchen entirely, gaze casted down with an aura that seeped utter disappointment.

no yelling. no reprimanding. no scolding.

and somehow that was worse.

you had kept your word and left him alone as well.

where once megumi would be bombarded with texts from you about the most random silliest things, or calls from you begging him to come to castle grounds to hang out with you, or goodnight messages with obnoxious amounts of hearts and smiley faces… were all gone since that night— his phone log empty and the date from your last text to him only getting farther and farther away as the weeks passed, his life so quiet that it tripped him up.

sixteen years of babbling, cherry pop ice creams, cry baby tears, and cheesy smiles over the simplest things, to suddenly nothing… was awful.

it was the first time megumi was experiencing life without your noise, and even though his methods in doing so were utterly unfair to you, he felt they were necessary.

to keep you at a distance that was way beyond an arms length, a distance that allowed you to flourish without the burden of who he was, and a distance that stopped you from going back to him.

“oh no wait!— do this one instead.”

you turned from your vanity mirror and looked behind you, your closest friend sat on your bed and digging through her literal suit case sized makeup bag, eyes lighting up once she found what she was looking for and extending her arm out towards you.

“this one! it’s like a brown glossy color i think it’ll look better.”

you reached and took the little lip gloss from her hand, sending her a grateful smile before turning back around towards the mirror, unscrewing the product and leaning forward.

“what was wrong with the other one?” you asked, being conscious of the way you were moving your mouth to prevent from accidentally smudging the color. “i thought it was cute.”

“it was too pink.” she replied, hopping off of your bed to join you at your vanity, sitting next to you on the bench and watching you blend the gloss. “this one looks better with your dress.”

you had almost ditched the ball tonight entirely, given that for the last couple of weeks you had lost your will do to practically anything, but the relentless harassment from your close friend and the countless times she showed up at your dorm banging on the door and screaming through the other side about how you were giving up on an experience of a lifetime… quickly convinced you otherwise for your god damn sanity.

you sat back to examine the shade and hummed, nodding as you capped the product and handed it back to her.

“you’re right my love! thank you!—”

“has he texted you?”

your face immediately dropped and she laughed.

“i’m sorry! i’m sorry—” she swung an arm around your shoulders and pulled you in a little hug. “i’ve been meaning to ask but i didn’t want you to disown me…”

you huffed out a laugh and shook your head. “it’s okay babe… but no he hasn’t. and i don’t want him to.”

your close friend pursed her lips and pulled back a bit, her arm unraveling from you and lifting a hand to smooth out your styled hair.

“he um… he finally showed up to my defense lecture the other day.”

your quirked a brow and looked at her.

you’d noticed throughout the last couple of weeks that megumi had stopped showing up to the classes he was supposed to assist for, your curiosity getting the best of you more times than you’d like to admit as you physically went to the classes he often lectured to scope it out, only to be met with either nothing, or the professor themselves informing you that he hadn’t been in for the day and were unaware of when he would be back.

“he’s gonna get fired.” you muttered, turning back towards the mirror and snatching the little beady orchards clips you had for your hair from the desk, their color matching your dress. “…but how was he.”

she laughed and shrugged.

“looked the same to me! pale, skinny, mean.”

a small smile spread across your face, your arms coming down as you shifted your gaze to her once more.

“sounds like he’s okay.”

and you were glad to know that, regardless if he had hurt you or not… for a part of you would always care about megumi no matter the distance or circumstance.

“i threw a paper airplane at him during class.” she snickered, and your jaw dropped as she held a hand over her mouth to try and stop her giggling.

“really?!” you asked incredulously, laughing. “oh my god don’t do that babe you’ll get in trouble…”

she snorted. “i could care less what that man does he was awful to you. i wanted him to send me up.”

you playfully rolled your eyes and stood, walking over to your closet to look for your heels. 

“did he do anything about it?” you called from inside, rummaging through your ransacked hazardous fucking wardrobe and remembering how megumi scolded you to clean it just before your fall out with him, your heart aching a little at the thought.

you missed him yelling at you… ironically enough.

“he just grabbed it from the floor and threw it in the trash…” she grumbled. “which is a shame because i wrote him a cute little message inside the plane.”

you gasped and jumped out of the closet with your heels in hand.

“girl— what did you write?”

she crossed her arms and physically turned away.

“…nothing.”

“hey!” you giggled, slipping on your heels and bending down to strap them in place. “don’t be mean to him please…”

she gawked and stood, reaching for her purse on your bed and swinging the sling over her shoulder. “but he was mean to you! i had every right.”

you gave her a look and she rolled her eyes.

“i didn’t even say anything that bad i just called him an asshat and that he should work on his big mouth—”

“hey!—”

the ball was held at the grand hall on castle grounds, the venue completely transformed with aquatic configurations and various spells of manipulation that altered the environment, the techniques used so advanced that it entirely immersed the students into feeling like they were in a literal aquarium, tiny little fishies and eels and jellyfish that swam about throughout the walls and ceiling, the hall lit up in various shades of sea blue that illuminated the floor and the formal attire of the students— an atmosphere that was charmingly ocean-like and moody, with the live band only further adding to the feel of the event.

you noticed too that there was an ample amount of security around, more than usual as rumors just kept spreading about the zen’in clan and their plans to pay a little visit to the university, everyone confused as to why the clan wanted any business with jujutsu academy to begin with, but you had a feeling… you knew deep down… that they actually wanted business with you.

“be happy y/n!”

your head turned to your close friend, her looking at you with soft eyes and a reassuring smile as you both stepped into the hall.

“at least for tonight! don’t think about him.”

“i’m not!” you waved her off. “i’m okay!”

“you’re lying you little brat.” she scolded, pointing a manicured finger at you. “it’s obvious when you’re sad and you have been.”

your shoulders relaxed a little as you stared at her, swallowing down the forming lump in your throat as you diverted your gaze ahead, unsure how to respond without the fear of accidentally triggering a blubbering wave of waterworks, something that had been a norm for you since that night.

you tried to block it out at first for the purpose of not letting your grades slip… but your attempts pathetically proved futile when you ended up thinking about the things he said to you during lectures or while you studied— his words and the angry expression he had continuously flashing through your mind like a broken record, only fucking torture for you and adding to the resentment you felt towards him simultaneously.

he had looked so done with you… and you hated that he did because it should’ve been you who was done with him.

and you liked to think that you were.

except you continued to wish you never pushed his buttons, or never admitted that you loved him or even— met him that night and just rescheduled the training session altogether… you willing to settle for absolutely anything if it meant you got to keep him, no matter if you had to live the rest of your life biting back your fat tongue to prevent yourself from telling him how much you loved him, or how much the thought of a life without him was worse than the actual thought of demise.

but you knew that wasn’t fair, because regardless of how much you stupidly loved him, he was a dick for disregarding the years you spent together and speaking of it like it was something fleeting, when those exact years were everything and more to you.

“do you want something to drink?!” your close friend yelled over the music, breaking you from your spiraling. “i’ll get it for you!”

you quickly nodded and linked your arm with hers. 

“it’s okay i’ll just go with you!”

“kayy!—”

you both walked across the hall to get to the punch table, weaving your way through several sweaty groups and crowds before eventually reaching your destination, both of you grabbing cups and carefully pouring the beverages of your choice with a ladle.

your friend brought the punch to her lips and took a gulping drink, her faltering a bit before a slow sneaky delighted smile spread across her lips, tossing her head back then and downing the rest of it.

you giggled. “what? you like it?”

she swallowed and wiggled her eyebrows at you.

“it’s spiked.”

your eyes flew open and you quickly took a big ol gulp yourself, your pupils twinkling at the familiar taste of tequila that you hadn’t had in months since your last break back home, the university lamely depriving its students of alcohol during special events as they deemed it ‘unclassy’ and ‘unprofessional,’ though the entire student body knowing that the reason they actually did ban it was because administration got butthurt over a former drunk student vandalizing the school’s emblem, it usually cemented pretty and golden in front of the main castle gates on the ground… only for it the morning after that years ball to have a big fat red dick across the body.

today, the ghost of a fat red dick still remained on the emblem— blurry and faint— but still there.

that student was satoru.

“how did they even smuggle it in?” you asked incredulously as you continued to take sips of your drink, funnily feeling gratitude for the person who managed to do it that unknowingly contributed in the mending of your broken heart, even if it was only temporary.

your close friend shrugged, already pouring herself another cup full.

“probably a repression spell or binding charm.”

you quirked a brow.

“binding?”

“mhm!” she put the ladle down and brought the cup to her lips, drinking a bit before continuing. “like they maybe binded the alcohol with a sugar cube… that’s at least what i planned to do!”

she stuffed a hand into her chest and your eyes followed, her funnily rummaging in there for a bit and you trying not to laugh as she eventually pulled her hand back out and extended it, fingers opening to reveal two little pretty sugar cubes sitting on her palm.

your mouth hung and you both uncontrollably giggled then as you snatched one from her hand to get a closer look, your eyes glazing over the crystallized sugar and amazed at how good your close friend was at binding charms, though it something that shouldn’t have been a surprise to you since sneaky spells like that were her forte.

soon enough word got around that the punch table was spiked beyond repair, and dozens of students huddled around the massive fountain bowl throughout the night to either scope out the credibility of the rumor, or just straight up go for seconds, you being one of them as you had lost count of how many refills you got and instead focused on secretly tossing more sugar cubes in the punch for your friend, her using duplication spells to make copies of as many cubes as she possibly could, gassing up her energy until her creations went from solid squares to literal puddles of sugar water.

and by the time the ball reached its halfway mark, more than half of the student body was fucking drunk with the way everyone was rowdy and loopy and louder than previous years, you and your friend still standing near the punch table acting like silly little body guards— admiring your creation as the beverage went from its usual blood red color to a neon glittering pink, stupidly hoping and praying that faculty wouldn’t notice and you’d both end up successful and unscathed.

“y/n!”

you turned around and watched your friend literally stumble up to you, her hands flying to rest on your shoulders to stabilize herself.

“you know itsuki? from my defense class?”

you tilted your head in thought, your mind a little too buzzed to try and locate what the face of a man looked like that wasn’t one with deep blue eyes and spiky black hair.

“nope!” you cheesed, and she laughed.

“he’s the cutie patootie one! the one that brought us that batch of cookies that one time after finals?”

your face lit up in remembrance.

“oh!” you quickly nodded. “oh yeah him! what about him?”

she grinned. “he just told me that he thinks i’m cuuteee! we’ve been hanging out for a while and i think i’m gonna try and get a little kissy kiss—”

your close friend stopped then, face and body completely stilling as her gaze shifted to something behind you, her eyes widening slightly.

your brows furrowed and you made an attempt at turning around to see what she was looking at behind you, but her grip on your shoulders only tightened, her line of sight shooting back to you.

“what?” you pushed, panic rising in your chest when she didn’t answer. “what?! is it faculty?! are we in trouble?! oh my god did they see what we did to the punch—”

she finally spun you around and pointed up ahead.

it was megumi.

standing there directly across from you at the other side of the grand hall, hands at his sides and staring straight at you with the same alarmed expression you had, your heart making a big plummet down to the pit of your stomach as you stood there, the silhouettes and frames of students fleetingly passing by blocking your view of him from time to time.

it had been three entire weeks since you last saw him, and although the time frame was silly and meer… it was the longest you had ever been apart from him completely.

why was he here?

did he not tell you that the annual ball’s were a waste of time and boring? 

did he not tell you to forget him?

you felt your hands grow clammy as you slowly craned your neck around to look at your close friend, her meeting your eyes with worry written all over her face as she leaned in.

“you okay?!” she asked in your ear, trying to combat the booming noise of the band’s music. “why the fuck is he here?!”

“i— i don’t know!—” you stammered, your head shaking and you physically afraid to look in his direction again. “maybe he got put on chaperone duty?”

“then why is he coming over here—”

“NO!—”

your head snapped ahead to see megumi pushing through the crowd to get to you, awkwardly sliding his way through nooks and crannies and plainly returning greetings to surprised students who recognized him and said hello, you spinning around to face your close friend with wild afraid eyes.

“i have to go i have to go i hav—”

“what?!” she pouted. “why?! maybe he’s coming over to apologize—”

“or he’s coming over to chew me out about the punch!—”

“oh fuck!—” she quickly snatched the cup from your hand and set it down on the table behind her. “you’re right you’re right go!—”

you took a step out before your close friend grabbed your shoulders and wrung you back in again.

“wait! will you be back? are you coming back? are you leaving—”

you frantically nodded. “yes! yes i will let me just lose him really quick i love you—”

“i love you too okay go! go babe go—”

she ushered you on ahead and you sped off through the crowd, megumi’s brows furrowing as he watched you zoom in a different direction, him stopping and blinking confusedly before he backtracked and went the way he thought he saw you go.

fuck fuck fuck fuck—

you didn’t know why he was here. 

but it took literally every ounce of your god damn soul not to give in and walk toward him, especially seeing how he was actually dressed up in a little black tux when he’s never worn something like that before, the closest thing being the white button ups and lazily tied ties he wore to work on campus or your training sessions.

you pushed and slipped through crowds of people in a hurry, spluttering out sorry’s and apologetic looks as you tried to look for any type of leeway, a hiding corner or— or fucking something to get you out of sight and away from the grand hall, your heart beating out of your chest as you suddenly stumbled on the hem of your dress, you just barely balling up the bottom of it and hiking it up before you felt a pair of arms snake around your waist and pull you, your back colliding against something hard.

you didn’t need to turn around to know exactly who it was, you immediately attempting to break free by wiggling and pulling at his arms, you lamely struggling as the grip he had around your waist was solid.

“y/n—”

“let go.” you spat, squirming some more.

“stop moving.” megumi mumbled.

“no.”

“just listen for a second—”

somehow you managed to break free from his hold and you ran, you just getting out of the main entrance of the grand hall and down a nearby solo corridor before you were snatched back again, a surprised squeal slipping past your lips as you felt an arm loop underneath your knees and the other under your back, megumi scooping you up and your arms flying to wrap around his neck for stability.

“the fuck are you doing?!” you kicked and squirmed and he only kept walking, face blank. 

“i need to talk to you.”

“well i don’t want you to talk to me—”

“too bad.”

you gawked. “i’m giving you what you want so piss off—”

“i changed my mind.”

you faltered, eyes blinking at him before your pride quickly simmered up again and you turned your head the other way in defiance.

“bite me.”

megumi sharply turned his head, stifling his laughter as you watched the way his shoulders slightly shook, your own relaxing and your face softening up over the familiar melody.

your stubbornness could only take you so far…

you sighed softly through your nose and accepted defeat, your head gently dropping against his shoulder as he eventually composed himself and continued to walk.

“where are we going…” you mumbled.

“just up ahead.” he replied. “by the courtyard.”

you meekly nodded, your nostrils catching a whiff of his familiar comforting scent that was mixed with a little bit of woody cologne, butterflies fluttering in your chest then as you subconsciously, slowly, placed your nose into the crook of his neck, nuzzling it in a tiny bit as you closed your eyes.

megumi’s grip on you tightened.

“which cologne are you wearing..?” you asked softly.

he looked down at you for a moment before returning his gaze up ahead.

“dunno. i got it from gojo’s dresser.”

you giggled and nodded.

“s’nice.” your arms loosened around his neck as megumi stepped through the entrance of the courtyard. “you smell good…”

and so did you.

like strawberry poundcake.

megumi bent his knees and carefully set you down on the cobblestone paving upon arriving, the night air soothingly warm as the gentle trickling droplets of the courtyards central fountain filled your ears, the two of you standing there in front of each other with rigid postures and avoidant eyes.

you absentmindedly played with the little rich blue flower beads on your dress before megumi spoke up.

“m’sorry for what i said to you.”

your eyes flickered up to meet his expecting ones, trailing back down after a bit and shrugging.

“it’s okay.”

“but it’s not.”

his voice was weirdly firm, and you pursed your lips to try and keep your crybaby tears down.

megumi quickly realized that he couldn’t keep you at a distance that was beyond an arms length.

but that didn’t cancel out the fact that he was shamefully still selfish as fuck. 

because although he couldn’t tolerate you absent from his life in the slightest— him completely agitated and annoyed at literally nothing everyday since the day he yelled at you, skipping out on work and getting an earful from the academy’s administration about it, feeling fucking weird without you talking his ear off, or having you next to him to look after…

missing you…

he still stood by his rotten oath that tormented him every moment he spent with you.

“i didn’t mean anything i told you.” he mumbled, his eyes locked on your dress. “and i’m sorry i hurt you y/n. really.”

his gaze timidly crept up to yours before dropping back down to the cobblestone beneath his feet.

and you noticed then that he looked so— small, the walls you had poorly built around yourself effortlessly crumbling the longer you looked at him.

“you are a friend… and i don’t want you away.”

a sneaky tear slipped down your cheek, you quickly wiping it away with the back of your hand.

“but—”

your gaze moved up, seeing that his were already fixated on you— soft and struggling to continue and tell you whatever it was that he needed to tell you, him fidgeting a bit and playing with the cuffs of his blazer.

but you already had a feeling of what he was going to say.

“i uh—”

megumi swallowed, his throat dry as he physically couldn’t get the words out, him hesitant and afraid and conflicted over what he wanted to say, and what he was supposed to say.

but he had to… he had to man.

“i can’t return your feelings.”

you bit the inside of your cheek.

…of course he couldn’t.

“m’sorry… i just—” he reached up and ran a hand through his spiky hair, looking off to the side. “i can’t…”

you already knew that, since you were a kid you knew that… but a part of you remained hopeful for the infeasible for reasons you yourself couldn’t understand, knowing that you’d end up gutted and borderline ruined in the end.

megumi was unique like that. one of a kind. 

and someone like him, someone as sweet and genuine as him despite his delivery and attitude, those attributes being the very thing you treasured about him, the very thing that was so silly to you and made you laugh all of the time, was a rarity in itself.

megumi was a rarity in itself— a man that wasn’t made for you no matter how much you wanted him to be, and one that you’ve belonged to in a way that he hasn’t to you.

your little hiccup made megumi snap his head up, and his gaze softened, watching you dig the heels of your palms into your eyes with your head down, his battered heart throbbing in utter guilt and self hatred over making you cry again.

that’s all he ever seemed to fucking do.

he took a tiny step forward and gently wrapped his fingers around both of your wrists, carefully peeling your hands away from your face and looking down at you with subtle sad apologetic eyes, you sniffling and trembling as you trailed your gaze up to meet his.

“i’m really sorry sweetheart…” he mumbled, and your bottom lip stupidly wobbled even more over what he for the first time called you, you wishing on every star that it was under different circumstances than the one you were doomed and set to be in now.

through red glassy eyes and tear stained cheeks you gave him a sweet sad smile, you slowly shaking your head side to side and sniffling.

“don’t be sorry gumi.” you quietly replied. “it’s not your fault at all… you can’t help what you don’t feel.”

he set one of your hands on his chest and reached, his thumb wiping under your eye with furrowed brows and slightly down turned lips, his brain scattered and fucking everywhere, unable to decide what to think or do for you that would make you feel a little bit better, for he was dumb and incapable of shit like that to begin with.

“you’re still my other half…” you grinned weakly through your tears, subconsciously tilting your head and leaning your cheek into his palm. “even if it means something different to me than it does to you.”

megumi felt a sting through his chest and he nodded, stiffly as he continued to try and wipe away your tears with the same thumb, his other hand slightly tightening over your wrist.

“stop crying dingus...” he murmured, and you giggled softly through your hiccups.

he felt he wasn’t worth your tears at all.

“do you at least still think i’m prettyyy?” you cheesed lightheartedly, silly and bubbly as you pulled your head up and away from his palm— his hand shiny and wet from your tears as he stared at it.

“i do.”

and you lit up then, expecting him to fully deny it and delighted to hear the contrary, despite the fact that he couldn’t return your feelings— you were satisfied to know that he at least saw you in some form of a different light besides someone he just grew up with.

“kay… we should—”

he suddenly reached out and bunched your cheeks together, bringing your face in and squinting his eyes, sniffing.

“…have you been drinking?”

you stilled, wide eyed as you looked at him.

“no…?”

“you reek of alcohol y/n.”

“…no.”

“who gave you it?”

“um— the punch was spiked… and then i spiked it some more—”

megumi rolled his eyes and released your face.

“you’re an idiot y/n administration is already looking for who did it because the students are being dumb—”

your eyes twinkled as he scolded you, you having missed it immensely as your ears swallowed every jab and reprimand.

“—you turn into a knuckle head too when you drink how much of it did you have?”

“dunno! heehee—”

“oh my god—”

“found you.”

the both of you froze, wide eyed and staring at each other as you heard footsteps inching closer from behind you.

“you’re satoru gojo’s little legacy… right?”

megumi’s face hardened and he slowly lifted his gaze.

“get behind me y/n.”

“what? why—”

“do it now.”

you immediately shut up and listened, scurrying behind megumi’s tall lanky frame and peeking through the gaps of his arms to reveal a man, weird and scruffy looking as he stared at you like a piece of fucking meat. 

“ahh… pretty little thing too… they didn’t tell me that.”

your pupils blew out and you cowered a bit behind megumi, gripping the fabric of his blazer as you dug your forehead in his back in fear.

who the fuck is they?

“how did you get on castle grounds.” megumi pressed firmly, and the man snorted.

“you think a silly tiny sealing charm is enough to combat cursed technique?”

something dawned on him then and his gaze switched from megumi to you, a slow gradual and creepy smile spreading across his face.

“she has that… right..? cursed technique? multiple?”

megumi reached and moved you further behind him, him taking a step to the side and blocking you from the weird man’s line of sight entirely.

“the fuck is it your business?” megumi spat. “it has nothing to do with you—”

“ahh! but it has everything to do with me young man!” he grinned, giddy as he slapped his hands together and rubbed. “and by the way you’re pouting… it is her! ahh… i can’t believe it’s me who found her they’ll be oh so very pleased—”

“shut up.” megumi barked. “leave or i’ll kill you myself.”

you gasped quietly. “m—megs hold on—”

but the man only laughed, sickly and uncontrollable as he took another step forward, you and megumi simultaneously taking a step back.

“you’re dying tonight my boy if you don’t hand her over.” he tumbled out hastily, his dazed loopy demeanor quickly swinging to agitation and urgency. “and quick. they’re waiting. they’re waiting they’ve been waiting—”

“who’s they?” you spoke up, peeking your head out and megumi whipping his back to shoot you a glare.

the man’s eyes lit up upon seeing you again.

“the zen’in clan my dear.” he replied. “where you’re meant to be.”

your blood ran cold, the color completely draining from your face as you stared at him, the rumors and warnings and everything else that you’d heard for the past weeks coming to fruition in this very moment, it staring right back at you and giving you an eerie feeling that scared you shitless, you unknowing of why the zen’in clan wanted you so badly or what they wanted to do with you, the thought only making you uneasy.

and megumi’s suspicions were confirmed with the man’s confession, him having an inkling about it from the way he was desperate to keep his eyes on you, afraid to lose sight and impatient throughout the entire interaction, megumi irritated over some random jackass from that idiotic clan coming over to try and take you away… yet the undeniable feeling of fear still annoyingly evident in his bones, for he knew the zen’in clan was ruthless and merciless when it came to fulfilling their lineage with irrefutable power.

and you were the missing key.

“give her and i’ll spare you.” the man spat, hand extended and expectant.

megumi rolled his eyes. “so what is this then? a fucking ambush?”

“call it what you will.” he replied. “but i’m not leaving without her.”

without another thought the man lunged and reached behind to snatch you, megumi quickly wrapping an arm around your waist and taking a giant leap back, blasting defensive rays of blue towards the ambusher that knocked him off his feet and made him eat shit on the grass.

“don’t run.” megumi warned through batted breaths, and you quickly nodded.

“i know i know—”

“stick to me don’t go off anywhere—”

“i know—”

“don’t try to use your techniques either you’re not ready—”

“megumi!”

he quickly looked behind him and spun back around to grab you by the waist again, him hurling both of your bodies off to the side and avoiding the turbulent blow of the ambusher’s cursed technique, it instead hitting the stone wall behind you and creating a crumbling massive hole, the two of you slamming down on the grass and tumbling over a few feet together until you came to a sudden halt.

“give me her!” the ambusher roared from across the courtyard, his voice echoing. “you idiot boy you’re ruining everything!—”

you felt fucking useless and pathetic.

if you had just tried harder, paid attention more during megumi’s lessons and took it seriously, or actually built yourself up to be someone that could handle a situation like this, megumi wouldn’t have to be the one scrambling around and using part of his defense techniques to protect the both of you— keeping you glued to his side and carrying you everywhere so you could move with him as one and avoid getting hit, being a total fucking nuisance and not being helpful at all in the slightest when you should’ve been.

but the ambusher continued to manifest his techniques and recklessly hurl them at you both, destroying everything in his wake until the courtyard was in complete shambles— scalding flames over areas of grass or parts of destroyed walls, chunks of cobblestone and gravel scattered everywhere, and both men continuing to fight until the courtyard was nearly unrecognizable, you for the first time witnessing the full extent of megumi’s strength and inexplicably amazed at his critical thinking and expertise… yet it unfortunately still falling a few steps behind the advancement of a technique like the zen’in clan’s.

and amidst your aimless bickering with megumi in trying to come up with a plan behind a piece of broken wall, the ambusher suddenly pushed a massive purple flame that caused the both of you to tear apart unexpectedly, the two of you tumbling on opposite sides of the court yard as he quickly ushered forward.

“i need you alive—” he brought his hands together and formed various symbols directed at you, before you felt your body completely cemented to the ground and immobile, fear settling within you as you squirmed and struggled to break free from the gravitational pull of whatever it was that he put on you, megumi’s head snapping up and whipping around looking for you in a panic, scrambling to his feet once you were spotted and making a run for it to you.

“megs no!” you panicked. “go the other way!—”

“and i need you dead—”

you heard it before you saw it.

the familiar eerie buzz of a specific spell that was only taught through textbooks and scriptures, one that straight up resembled russian roulette with its low chances of success, yet nevertheless it still equally terrifying if whoever wielded the spell actually managed to get it to work.

it was death induce.

an old timey spell that’s outdated and outright useless with its supposed mechanisms, the incantation’s purpose represented in the name— to induce death, a spell that instantaneously stops all of your physiological bodily functions upon impact… but with a catch.

the spell only had a ten percent chance of success, with the other person casting the spell dying themselves upon failure, which is the sole reason why no one for the past several decades bothered to use it, and why the total required reading and studying you had to do for it added up to literally thirty fucking minutes, death induce being one of the most pathetic and time consuming spells of all time… and yet often completely overlooked.

because sure, ten percent was funnily low…

but it wasn’t zero. success of it meant death.

and as you looked across the courtyard, the infamously known yellow neon light that you’d seen a carbon copy of in your textbooks, the weird buzzing sound that signified it wasn’t any particular cursed technique or charm, the suffocating heat that radiated and burned your skin even when you were literally way over fifteen feet away, all signified to you that the ambusher was desperate enough to decide and play death induce’s game.

and yet so were you.

for the thought of megumi on the chancing verge of death petrified and nauseated you, the decision to partake in the ambusher’s idiotic ludicrousy one that was ridiculously easy when it came to megumi, regardless if it had to do with putting your life on the line and risking peril, you preferring it to be you knocking on death’s door rather than him.

but funnily, megumi preferred it to be him rather than you with the way he continued to agitate the ambusher, and bark at him anything he could think of that would direct his attention towards him and not you, rapidly pushing manifestations of his technique one after the other without a break just so the ambusher wouldn’t turn his head and see you vulnerable and struggling on the floor.

he needed to get rid of him. he needed to kill him.

because if what he was seeing in front of him in this very moment was true, if this stupid fucking moron was actually using death induce on him— dead or alive the ambusher would kidnap you and take you away, for megumi knew his level of training and technique wasn’t nearly enough for fighting anyone in the zen’in clan, and he wouldn’t be able to hold him off for much longer.

his body was in pain, throbbing and stinging all over with forming bruises on the surface of his skin, sweat dripping from his forehead and him freaking exhausted, his chest heaving as he prepared a defense charm to try and turn those chances of death induce to zero, facing the ambusher and waiting for the impact of scorching heat and blistering skin—

except it never came.

the sudden buzzing blast hurled a whirling wind of hot air that launched him away and across the courtyard, him slamming on the floor and rolling across the grass until his front knocked into a stoney wall and he stopped, a groan slipping past his lips as he rolled onto his back and squeezed his eyes shut, his bones aching and sore as he tried to push down the pain and get up.

megumi was utterly annoyed over death induce and how much of a piece of shit spell it was, but he was thankful that he at least surpassed its chances.

he cursed under his breath and slowly propped himself up on an elbow, one eye peeking open and scanning the destroyed courtyard in search for you, it hard to see through the smoke of the flames and dirt until—

he spotted you. 

on the floor and unmoving.

his face fell and he scrambled to his feet, booking it across the gravel and through the smoke until he got to you, getting on his knees and reaching out to turn you over by the shoulder, a chill shooting down his spine when you remained limp and unresponsive.

what the fuck happened? was the force that impactful that it knocked you away too? 

but— but that didn’t make any sense you were literally far away across the courtyard how the hell did you get over to him so fast—

megumi’s hands shot out and he placed his palms on your bare upper arms, finding that your skin was abnormally warm… and yet you were abnormally sickly looking.

why? why the fuck was your skin warm—

he continued to hurriedly feel across your skin, his palms flying from your arms to your shoulders, your neck and forehead until they settled over your cheeks, his breath quickening as he realized that maybe the reason why he had survived death induce… was because it didn’t hit him at all.

it hit you. 

and you fell under the ten percent.

“y/n.” he firmly called, him going a bit lightheaded when you didn’t answer.

“sweetheart—”

he readjusted his hold on your cheeks and gently shook your head, leaning over you with wide horror filled eyes and parted lips.

“h—hey—” he removed a hand from your face and placed the pads of his fingertips on the side of your neck just beneath your jaw, feeling for a pulse and changing his positioning over and over because he wasn’t fucking getting one.

he carefully set your head down and felt the other side of your neck.

nothing.

“god—”

he moved down and snatched your wrist, hurriedly feeling it around with his fingertips and borderline squeezing the life out of your skin.

nothing.

a low groan from somewhere else caught his attention and megumi snapped his head around, looking over his shoulder and eyes squinting— spotting the ambusher slowly awakening and rolling on a pile of gravel not too far from where he was.

he immediately put your wrist down and stood up, trudging over to the man and kicking him over onto his back once he got there, the ambusher letting out a wail of pain before megumi fisted his shirt and jerked him up.

“what fucking spell was that?! was it death induce?!”

the ambusher only continued to groan, his head lulling around.

“hey!” he barked. “who was it that you hit?! me or her?!”

with his eyes rolling back, the ambusher parted his cracked lips— voice hoarse and barely audible as he spoke, him seemingly dancing with the chances of life and death.

“her…”

megumi saw red then, throwing him back down and reeling his fist back to sucker punch him straight in the jaw, delivering hit after hit without mercy until his own knuckles were achingly torn up and bleeding, his heart pounding through his chest and feeling heat coming out of his ears as he knocked the ambusher out cold.

he didn’t want to believe that this son of a bitch killed you. he didn’t want to believe that you sacrificed yourself for him.

he didn’t want to believe that you were dead.

megumi let go of the man and stood again, running back over to you with his breath caught in his throat, panic ransacking through his nervous system as he reached you and got back down on his knees again, trembling hands gripping your shoulders and shaking you frantically.

“hey—” he wheezed out. “what are you doing huh? why’d you do that huh?”

there was still no response from you and he paled, hands going back to your cheeks and giving them a squeeze, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill as he tried to wake you up.

“please i’m sorry—” he begged. “i’m sorry baby i’m so sorry—”

he sniffed and quickly wiped his nose with the back of his hand, babbling and spewing out pent up feelings and thoughts that he never allowed himself to contemplate or acknowledge.

“i’m sorry i’ve been— i’ve been too mean i’ve always been too mean to you—”

megumi had always been harsh with you.

was this the price he was paying for that? was this the price he was paying for letting himself be blinded by his hardships and the inability to be emotionally and mentally stable, that he let himself just— inflict that and beat down someone as sweet as you?

“i didn’t mean any of it i didn’t mean any of it—”

why had he been so cruel to you? what did he think he was going to get out of it? what was the point when he loved you so much?

and why did you save someone as cruel as him? or forgave him without fail each and every time he yelled at you, insulted you, ignored you, made you cry?

why did you love him?

megumi’s mind went into a spiral as he shakily scooped you in his arms and lifted you up, your body limp and cold now as he ran out of the courtyard and through the halls, looking for some sort of open classroom or space that would allow him to try and bring you back, him ignoring every piercing agonizing feeling that racked through his body as he moved.

he was in a state of absolute denial— refusing to accept you were dead as he jiggled various door knobs or looked through classroom windows, hoisting you up further in his arms as he relentlessly looked, breathing ragged and cheeks flushed and his mind randomly flashing memories of the two of you when you were children, eating ice cream for dinner and collecting lady bugs by the lake.

would he ever get to do that with you again?

megumi turned a doorknob and it clicked open, his eyes widening as he kicked the door open and closed, speedily walking through the classroom and concurring it must’ve been some random botany class with the amount of potted plants and herbs splayed about, him making his way to the largest table in the room and sliding everything off of it— glass bottles and granulated cylinders shattering on the floor as he carefully laid you down, yanking his blazer open and shaking it off before tossing it to the side.

there was no such thing as bringing someone back from the dead, but megumi was delusional and lost as his eyes scoured through the classroom in search for any type of healing textbook, his gaze landing on a tiny bookshelf a few feet away and scrambling to it, pulling every single book out and hurriedly flipping through the pages in hopes of something that could point him in the right direction to fixing you, throwing and hurling any that didn’t help and cursing when he couldn’t find anything.

he ditched the bookshelf and made his way back over to you, megumi realizing then that he had to rely on his own personal knowledge and healing techniques to try and bring you back… when healing was the worst fucking skill he had, failing the class during his time at the academy and having to retake it nearly twice until he finally passed.

you were the one that excelled in it. you excelled in everything.

you were a gift.

with trembling fingers, megumi formed different symbols before placing his hands flat on your chest, a lime green light illuminating through your skin as he stood there hopeful for— for anything, but his shoulders dropping once the light flickered and went out entirely, like it always did when he tried healing techniques.

“please please—”

he tried once more.

and then he tried again and again and again— forming symbols and placing his hands over different parts of your body, him getting progressively more desperate and angry and fucked off that it wasn’t working, the way you increasingly just got colder and stiff— lifeless as you laid there limp, head lulled to the side with your lips cracked and the bags under your eyes sunken, the absence of your bubbly soul profoundly horrific to him as his bottom lip trembled and additional tears blurred his vision.

his healing techniques kept flickering away just as soon as he manifested them, and he kept trying until they were mere sparks of green and blue, him digging his fingers exasperatedly in his hair before reaching out, placing his hands on your waist and gripping at the fabric of your dress— the very same one you wanted him to see, and the very same one he didn’t have the balls to tell you that you looked absolutely gorgeous in the minute he saw you at the dance.

“baby i’m sorry man for— for everything i did everything wrong i shouldn’t have yelled at you i shouldn’t have—”

you had always been the prettiest girl he had ever seen.

“i love you! i— i do! i love you i love you—”

and it had been a privilege to grow up with you.

“come back to me please i’ll do whatever you want—”

tiny blue sparks buzzed from his palms as he continued to babble and hyperventilate, his hands grabbing and squeezing the meat of your skin through your dress, trying to get some type of feel of you that could fulfill his delusions that you were still alive, his mind continuing to torment him by playing different memories of his childhood with you.

“you’re just tired right? you just need to— you just need to lay down for a little bit baby—”

you couldn’t do this. you couldn’t shower him with love and the way you laughed, shape who he was as a human being, be the center of his world, follow him through every phase of his life and then just fucking leave.

megumi had envisioned it all with you.

you by his side, holding you, kissing you, getting the honor to call you his, you being his wife, you being the mother of his children— everything under the sun megumi had envisioned it all with you in foolish shame and resentment when it was anything but.

he was swimming in a suffocating pool of guilt that seemed to grab him by the ankles and pull him further down the longer he looked at you, dead and gone, him muttering nonsense and begging no one in particular for a second chance with you, not wanting you to be the lesson that teaches him to be a little kinder, but wanting you to be the one he comes home to and openly loves because he can.

he was stupid to think that he couldn’t. 

but it was too late, and through his mania of trying to awaken you, he thought about what gojo would do once he found out you were dead, he thought about the guilt he would carry for the rest of his life, and he thought about how he would be able to go on now that he’d heard you tell him once that you loved him.

through his blabbering and sorrow, the blue sparks under his palms increased in size and intensity, him unaware that he was manifesting part of his technique as thundering wind whirled around him, his wide wild eyes locked on you and remembering everything of you, placing his hands back over your chest and begging until—

an electrifying shock sputtered out of his palms and through your chest, the currents visibly twisting around your limbs as your upper body violently jerked up by the voltage, you laying there still for a couple of seconds before your eyelids flew open and you gasped for air, quickly sitting up and breathing erratically.

“oh my—” you placed a hand over your chest and swallowed, trying to catch your breath as your gaze switched to megumi. “what the fuck? wait i think i literally died—”

holy shit.

“i was in like— i can’t even explain i forgot oh my god it was so dark and then it wasn’t—”

…how?

“—and then now i’m here and i feel really funny like my skin tingles what did you—”

megumi let out a choked sob and you stiffened, him taking a staggering step forward and placing his hands at the edge of the table on either sides of you, his head hanging low and part of his spiky hair covering his eyes.

you blinked.

“…m—megs?”

you heard him sniffle and your heart dropped, his shoulders shaking and little hiccups slipping past his lips as he gripped the table, a mass of tears running down his cheeks as he stayed hunched over in front of you, choking and struggling to let it out as he cried.

you’d never seen him cry.

“gumi no hold on…” you put your hands on his shoulders and gave him a reassuring squeeze. “what happened? did you get hurt? what happened to that one guy—”

megumi lifted his head then and smashed his lips against yours, shutting you up completely and you freezing with blown out pupils.

what— what—

he was kissing you. like actually he was kissing you.

slowly, gently, he disconnected from your lips and leaned back a bit, him looking at you dead in the face with blood shot eyes and no expression.

your cheeks burned.

“what— wait i thought— what—”

“i lied.”

your brows furrowed.

“h—huh?”

“i lied. i love you.”

your eyes blew out of their sockets and you stilled, a hand flying over your mouth as you stared at him, your next words muffled.

“like— like as a friend or—”

“i’m in love with you.”

the same hand flew and slapped across your forehead instead in disbelief.

“yeah okay but like as a friend or—”

megumi lifted his hands and cupped your blushing cheeks, bringing you in and locking his lips with yours again— kissing you so deeply and borderline desperate with each mouthful, him swallowing you up as he took a couple steps forward through the kiss and settled himself in between your legs, your hands finding his wrists and gripping for stability as you tried to keep up with him.

oh my fucking god—

he pulled back with a tiny smack! and looked at you, both of you breathless with heaving chests.

“as in i want you for the rest of my life.”

you were at a loss for words, unsure where this was coming from after he had just told you that he couldn’t return your feelings, him looking at you all serious and breathless.

“but—“ you began softly. “but i thought you said—”

“forget what i said…“ he spoke under his breath, and he leaned in again with half lidded ditzy eyes to kiss you, completely enamored and intoxicated off of the way you tasted and the way your soft lips felt against his, his many dreams of getting to kiss you proving to no avail of what the actual thing felt like, and he didn’t understand how he went this long without it or how he could ever possibly prohibit himself from a privilege like that.

he was so fucking stupid.

he deepened the kiss and your hands shot out behind you, palms flat on the table to keep your balance as he pressed the front of his body flush against yours, kissing you so fast and raunchy that butterflies flew erratically in your tummy, this side of megumi completely new and foreign to you and one you thought you’d never get to experience.

and now megumi was a different kind of lost… one he preferred as he pulled away from the suction he had on your lips and dragged his mouth across your cheek, down to your jaw and down to your neck before he sucked and nibbled at the nape of it, his hand cradling the opposite side of it and the other kneading at your waist, drinking you up and giving you no space to breathe as you felt like little birdies were flying over your head, your heart thumping as one of your hands slid up his chest and fisted the white fabric on his shoulders, you licking your lips.

“m—megs—”

“shut up.” he mumbled against your skin, continuing his perverted literal attack on your neck as he slowly pulled the hem of your dress up and slipped a sneaky little hand under, settling on your bare waist and your face going fucking red over the feeling of his hand over the side of your panties.

megumi was a goner now that he knew what it was like to touch you in the way that he’d always wanted.

both of his hands slowly slid down and settled over your soft thighs, squeezing and kneading at them as he sucked on your neck, his lips eventually trailing further down to the plush of your tits and licking them up, your mouth hanging open and eyelids fluttering shut over how good it felt. 

you let out a little mewl of pleasure that snapped megumi from his trance, him quickly pulling his face out of your gorgeous tits and hands away from underneath your dress, his cheeks pink and mind replaying your tiny moan that went straight to his dick, a breathless huff slipping past his lips as he wiped his wet mouth with the back of his hand— the entirety of it coated from shamefully slobbering all over you.

“shit— m’sorry sweetheart i should’ve asked first—”

you pouted and tilted your head, disappointed doe eyes looking up at him. “why’d you stop guumiii?”

megumi’s cheeks turned a more vibrant shade of pink as he stared at your pretty face.

“because i was feeling you up without permission.” he mumbled, arm dropping back to his side and placing his hands on either sides of you at the table again. “i’m sorry.”

you grinned and shook your head.

“it’s okay megs! i—”

“no but…” he sighed softly through his nose and tiredly lulled his head to the side, the close proximity between you two intimate as he fondly looked over your features.

“i’m sorry for everything baby.”

you faltered, heat rising up your neck as your brain started short circuiting over baby.

you had no idea of what you had done that made megumi do a complete one eighty on you, the way he was acting so odd yet so endearing that you couldn’t help but melt at his sincerity… at his softness, your eyes searching his for a moment before you gave him a slow sweet smile.

“what’s everything gumi?” you asked gently, your arms lifting and wrapping around his neck, resting there lazily.

he leaned forward and rested his forehead against yours, eyes closing.

“for being mean to you.” he spoke lowly. “for yelling at you and treating you like shit all of the time.”

you softly shook your head against his forehead.

“you’re so silly.” you whispered. “you’ve never treated me badly megumi… besides that one night hehe.”

he sighed deeply through his nose and lifted his head.

“i’m a moron.”

you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and smiled, letting out a giddy little giggle that made him smile.

“s’okay… don’t be so harsh.” you spoke softly. “you’re kind gumi. you’ve looked after me all my life haven’t you? fed me rice cakes when you weren’t supposed to?”

you leaned forward and placed a soft cutesy peck on the tip of his cold nose.

“no one told you to do that… you have a genuine heart that’s big and full of everything good that you think you’re not.”

god how he loved you.

and for the first time in his life his mind was quiet… serene, now that he’d let himself accept the fact that maybe he could have something as good as you, even if he didn’t truly deserve it.

because he didn’t, he’s awful and selfish for keeping you.

but he didn’t give a single flying fuck anymore, choosing instead to work for the rest of his life to be someone that had the right to have you.

megumi leaned and gave you a quick kiss.

“i really love you...” he mumbled, and you perked up and beamed.

“i really love you too!” you happily readjusted the hold you had around his neck and tugged him in closer, his hands coming up to snake around your waist in response and pull you against him tightly, his nerves officially simmering down once he felt the warmth of your skin and the beating of your heart against his chest again, him actively blocking out the memory of you in the complete opposite state.

megumi still wasn’t sure how he managed to bring you from the dead, but that night he refused to split from you and take you back to your dorm, opting instead to taking you home and you bouncing off the walls over his decision, the both of you moving quickly in your dorm as he helped you pack and gather your things for the weekend (and him giving you a look once he saw your still messy closet…), him looking over his shoulders every five seconds as you speed walked through the castle halls and to his car, interlaced fingers tight and cemented as he guided you, megumi literally traumatized from the events of earlier as he didn’t let you out of his sight— a hand on your shoulder, a hand on your waist, and a hand holding some part of your dress as you both moved.

neither of you were aware of the whereabouts of the ambusher, if he was dead or alive, or if there would be more… 

but megumi didn’t want to take his chances and just go home.

PART TWO | PART THREE

taglist!! <33 (THANK YOU THANK YOU!):

@softbun0 @the-lazyyy-artist @cheeyah @ag-zio @luvvmae @blue-musingss @as1yasss @oporotheca @aqkermxan @cookey-lock @startwithrecords @mayacheiko @ackermanrage @pocoom @nervousshinnie @beekaboi @vickylovesochako @iloveoldermenn @uhnosav @jvpit3rr @monchxriella @slr3v @kissesazula @hqnge @featheryvee @allurearia @haokanie @wwwbriworld @aksqui @dee-writes-anime @floruilaa @skittleluverr @qwicksilver @getosangels @childesblanket @almostdelightfuldragon @spidergirlnr1 @naammiii @evelynxxo @hiithess @sophiejiro @l1v1ngzomb1e

[snowypi]

on the other side |  ZAYNE from lads

summary: you're giddy and reluctant about your crush on zayne. he knows btw. pairing: zayne x reader tags: fluff. a tiiny bit of crack, slightly suggestive, sprinkle of angst, a bit of a reversal in terms of who's usually the reticent one. a/n: pt 1.5 of two halves of a whole. just a small cute interaction before we get to the yearning!! also i fear this is not upto standard.. i think im approaching a writer's block im sorry :( not yearny enough. reader has a crush.. pt 2 will be the yearn version my bad everyone i need to j build up to it... pt 1 (two halves of a whole) here.

╰ ── .✦ masterlist ✦.──

there is a softness in the way you touch zayne.

your fingertips graze his jaw, ever-so-gently trailing down to the slope of his neck. you go low. lower. you trace the veins across his collar, glide your fingers against the swell of his chest. you don't apply pressure. just enough to close the gap between his tight black dress shirt and the calluses of your skin.

you ignore the erratic beating of your heart, the flush of blood rushing to your cheeks. because you want more.

you want to glide your hands up his biceps– want to trace your fingers over his lips, over his cheekbones, slide them into his jet-black hair– no. you pull away. “there. the snow's all off now.”

you've got to step back. you were a hunter, of all things! a glorified monster-killer trained to protect your city from some of the most horrifying anomalies that have come to plague this world. your days are spent with your feet forced into concrete against the recoil of your guns, shrapnel lacerating bits of exposed skin– the air knocked out from your lungs when a mission gets inevitably compromised. you get the job done, every time. you don’t bother to moisturise your calluses– they have better grip– nor do you have the time to indulge in much self-care aside from your mandatory medical checkups and the plethora of hobbies that build up during your breaks. so naturally, you do not have the time or space in your schedule for love of all things. or so you thought, because doctor zayne looks at you like you’ve hung the moon. you don’t miss his gaze. you don’t miss the way he says your name, enunciating each syllable as if calling out to your heart itself. and you definitely don’t miss the way your breathing shallows a little more, warmth that flooding your system when you finally catch sight of him. you can’t help it. zayne was always more than he let on to be. always at the edges of your roughest missions, always the one beside your hospital bed each time you tasted death. he has seen and held parts of you you wouldn’t dare to face in front of a mirror. zayne, your childhood friend, and then your primary care physician– a consistent presence, an unwavering pillar. something without analogies. something sacred. something fragile. and so you were careful, so very careful. you never push, never pull. you do anything to be as steady as he is, anything to be the diamond-strong presence he has consolidated himself as in your life. anything to let him lean on you, too, without making it obvious or leaning back so hard that everything you had carefully preserved would shatter. you've had your fair share of encounters with danger. unfortunately, the hunter manual did not prepare you for this sort of danger.

every time you meet his hazel-green eyes, fresh jasmines seem to sprout around him. when you spot him in a crowd, his silhouette literally glows-- a soft, icy blue mirroring that of iridiscent snow reflecting the aurora. when he spoke, his voice was an dulcet melody weaving through the reticent nature of your own, his gaze piercing through your shallow resolve to melt every wall you had painstakingly put up.

you were convinced that you are suffering the symptoms of something far more fatal than you've let yourself realise. its too late. by the time you spotted the package of pastries from your favourite bakery on his hands and the hand-knitted scarf you gifted him wrapped around his neck, whatever was left of you melted into a gooey pile of mush.

and so you invited him over to your place for dinner without even thinking twice about it. worst of all, he agreed. worst worst of all, you're happy that he did. your voice is jittery when you instinctively respond: “yippie!”

ouch. awkward. zayne seems to have missed it, though. he lets out a soft chuckle of his own, offering a hand as he turns to the direction of the road leading home. you take it tentatively, your roughened fingers brushing against his. his warm hand flattens against yours, grip akin to that of a well-fitting sweater– a stark contrast against your hesitant grasp. you don’t relax your fingers. you can’t. shit. are your palms sweaty? can he feel this right now? please no oh g- “Y/N, are you alright?” zayne gently squeezes your hand. the sensation goes straight to your chest, bubbling up in a cauldron of anxious fire and gentle warmth, fighting, colliding. you part your lips to reply, but let out a small gasp instead. your throat has literally closed up. “Uh…” you feel his fingers slowly pulling away. “Are you uncomfortable? My ap-”

“No! No not at all I’m more than comfortable actually!” you blurt, positively mortified. In a desperate attempt at emphasis, you squeeze his hand a little tighter than you intended before realising and promptly loosening the grip. you curse under your breath. he definitely felt that. fuck.

zayne laughs. he laughs, deep and warm, eyes closed, skin crinkling at the corners, shoulders shaking slightly as his lips part into the prettiest grin you’ve ever had the blessing of seeing.

your heart stutters at the sight. zayne’s expression goes back to his classic poker-face in a split second, the ghost of a smile still lingering. he looks straight ahead as you walk together, the gentle glow of the streetlights bathing him in silver.

your eyes catch the bright crimson dusting his ears, and the way he tilts his head away from your piercing gaze. did you just...make him nervous? you feel your heart beat against your ribcage, harder. harder. a relentless drumming, your body hyperfocused on the feeling of your skin on his. you shift your gaze. your joined hands sway between you two, footsteps falling in tandem beside each other; the proof carving into the sheer carpet of snow blanketing the pavement. you nearly freeze when you feel him pull away-- only to be replaced by the sensation of zayne lacing your fingers together. interlocking them. holding your hand firmly, surely. i'm here, it seemed to say. i'll always be here.

© snowypi 2026 do not steal, repost or translate.

[froggiequarium]

nsfw concept 18+ fem. bodied reader; use of gege/meimei bc calebs involved lols

just had a zayne x reader x caleb thought...........

imagine caleb directing zayne on how to pleasure you.

caleb is so smug about it, having had the privilege of exploring you first, but is particularly watchful of zayne's timid hands as he drags his fingers down your torso.

"massage her boobs, ge. she likes that."

zayne moves his hands up, cupping your breasts gently, causing a gasp from you at the feel of his hands.

"cold!"

caleb coos at your reaction as zayne gives a breathless apology, slowly massaging your soft mounds.

your soft sounds of pleasure make zayne's bulge strain against his pants, yet he's mesmerized by your expression and the cute sounds you're making.

eventually, caleb tells zayne to trail his fingers lower towards your sopping cunt.

"like this," caleb whispers, eyes focused and insert one finger. you let out a soft sound, squirming slightly, wanting more.

"don't be greedy now, meimei, we're teaching, remember?"

you whimper as he removes his finger, gesturing to zayne that its his turn.

he follows the demonstration, inserting a finger and watching your face. you sigh, throwing your head back at the temperature change.

he moves in and out for a minute before caleb tells him to insert another. he does as he's told, and you buck your hips for more friction.

"you're so good with your hands, ge~" caleb teases, palming at his own bulge thats been pressing against his own sweats since this started.

"it must be those— hah— fuck, surgeon skills, huh?"

zayne only hums, ears hot at the tension in the room.

"does he feel good, meimei?"

"so good," you breathe out. "need— ngh— more, please ge."

"calling him gege now?" caleb fake pouts, palming faster. "i'm hurt, meimei."

"please."

caleb turns to zayne, tugging at the waistband of his sweats.

"you heard her, ge," he smirks, noticing the heart eyes in zayne's eyes and the red of his ears at the name.

"i think she's ready for your cock."

-

a/n: one of the few writing ideas that plagued my mind as i took my dog on his nightly walk that stuck.......... i wonder if anyones written a concept like this before?

i remember reading somewhere that said caleb /likely/ also referred to zayne as "gege" or some variation (+ maybe mc did as well?) so i decided to sprinkle that in for more fun LOL

once i beat midterms i shall work on more works............ thank u as always for reading :x

-

[froggiequarium]

the concept of varka trying his hardest to maintain his knightly integrity of being a gentleman.

the first time is innocent. just a passing touch between your hands that make him fixate on them, or better yet, the difference in size compared to his.

he shakes it off.

the next time is when you bump into him. his hands reach out to steady you, and looking at you from this angle, he takes in the full size difference, your eyes as you look up at him, and thinks about if the hands that were holding your shoulders steady lingered lower—

he yanks his hands back, letting you go on your way. your scent lingers around him, and he tries shaking the thoughts for the rest of the day.

another time, you're changing for one reason or another in the knights headquarters, specifically jean's office (after being granted permission).

varka barges in, looking for jean only to freeze at the sight of your shirt lifted halfway up your torso. the door slams shut, his face a red so fierce it puts diluc's hair to shame, thoughts running rampant. you just looked so beautiful, the sun was hitting your figure perfectly, he was able to peak at your bare back, your pretty waist, the smallest glimpse of the curve of your—

his knees give out, hands viciously running through his hair.

stop that right now! you're a knight, the grandmaster for goodness sake!

the last time, you both end up working through a new domain. unfortunately, this one had an unknown mechanic that wound up trapping you two so closely you're chest-to-chest.

he tries to stay casual, he really does!! but from this angle, he can feel the shape of your body against him, can even catch a glimpse of your chest from your low shirt—

his face is red, averting his gaze at anywhere but at you when you begin squirming, obviously uncomfortable and searching for a way out. at the same time, with the positioning, varka has to hold back a groan as he can feel every movement of yours affecting the package behind his belt.

shortly after, you feel yourself fall backwards, varka hovering over you, the blue sky above you once again, a gentle breeze passing between you two.

(varka had used his brute strength to crumble the wall of the domain behind you, lest you be stuck in an even more... compromising position).

he can breathe easier, praising himself in his head for getting out of such a situation.

...he's in trouble.

-

a/n: super big brain dump bc its 3 am but id love to write this into an actual fic bc i love varka hes so lovely and big and endearing and big and i love him and strong omg im so in love........ the last scenario is based on a fanart that i... saw and adore will add later when i find the link but its by @/majunjuu on twt :x

-

[starmocha]

Bride of the Dragon King

[Sylus/Reader ★ 17.3k words ★ Masterlist ★ BOTDK Masterlist ★ AO3] "My beloved, do you still love me?" INDEX — Prelude A/N: 👉👈 Did I write like 80% of this in 2024? Yes. Was I supposed to have been editing it in 2025? Also yes. 🙂

(I am waiting to meet you again, my beloved.)

The morning light streamed into the room, passing the narrow cracks of the wooden blinds. You slowly opened your eyes, hearing birds chirping outside and people bustling around the courtyard. It felt like you had been asleep for a very long time, lost in a dream you didn’t want to leave from.

The dream…

There was a man—or, at least he appeared to be a man. That much you knew. He didn’t seem to be completely human. There was an ethereal beauty about him, a certain grace that you did not see around here—not even from nobility.

His eyes were as red as ruby, his stare so piercing and cold, but the moment they rested on you, his gaze softened, filling you with such warmth and peace. You turned in bed, eyes closed again as you moaned softly in frustration. You couldn’t remember much else from the dream other than the feeling that you may have had similar dreams before. It seemed lately you had been having such dreams and waking up only retaining fragments.

You sighed as you heard your name being called by your handmaiden, Tara. Silently, you sat up just as she entered your bedchamber with a familiar look of frustration etched across her youthful feature.

“Are you still lounging, Miss?” There was a hint of exasperation in her tone, even though she herself should be used to your languidness by now. After all, Tara had been assigned as your handmaiden and companion since you two were just mere children. In all honesty, you viewed Tara as more like a close friend—perhaps, even as sisters—than a servant. She had been by your side for so long, your only companion growing up, and you and she have shared so many secrets throughout the years, it went beyond a relationship between master and servant.

“I’m up, I’m up,” you said, your own vexation heard loud and clear.

“If it were up to me, I would not care if you waste the day away in bed, Miss,” Tara said, tsking, as she rummaged through your wardrobe for fresh clothes, “But Madam has been questioning your whereabouts all morning. I can only fib for so long before she gets wise.”

“Yes, yes,” you said unenthusiastically. You looked at Tara, curiosity brimming in your eyes. “Wait, Grandma has returned from her trip already?”

“She has,” Tara answered, smiling as she pulled out a delicate pink hanfu. “She is running some errands in town for a bit, but she said she will be back this afternoon.”

You frowned. “She’s just got back and she is already busy running around town?”

“She said something about needing some last-minute ingredients,” Tara mumbled offhandedly. “Now, now, Miss, hurry up. I have your morning tea prepared in the garden.”

“Yes, yes,” you answered back half-heartedly as Tara helped you changed.

It was a lovely early summer morning, the weather still in between slowly transitioning from the brisk spring air to that warm summer breeze. You had been idly describing bits and pieces of the dreams you had been having lately to Tara, though the scattered fragments left both of you confused by the meaning or overall picture.

“So, what happened next, my lady?”

You looked to your handmaiden as she set a tray of mid-morning snacks on the round stone table in the garden. You stared into your teacup; the warm floral scent of lotus wafted in the air. You tried to recall more of the dream you were telling her, but it was all just mismatched puzzle pieces. You sighed helplessly.

“I woke up.”

“And you say there is always the same man in your dream?”

You nodded. “I believe so,” you said, “He was… tall, has long white hair… really piercing red eyes… and… and…”

“And?”

“He was so…”

“So what?”

“Ethereal.”

Tara laughed. “Miss, you are blushing.”

“Ah—am I?” You covered your face in embarrassment. You sulked. “I am not. The sun is just a little warmer today.”

“Uh huh,” Tara answered with a disbelieving smile.

Before you could respond, you heard light chirpings in the air. You smiled as you saw two little identical gray sparrows landing on the table. They hopped around, observing the array of snacks with gluttonous interest.

“Oh, shoo—”

You quickly stopped Tara. “Wait. Don’t. It’s alright,” you said, smiling. “They can have a little snack.”

Tara looked puzzled as you broke off small pieces of the osmanthus cake and scattered it on the table. The two birds happily pecked at the crumbs. You laughed.

“I was wondering when you two would show up today,” you teased, reaching out to lightly stroke the top of one bird’s head. It chirped happily.

Tara looked at you curiously. “Miss, have you been feeding these birds lately?”

You nodded. “They have started showing up… I think three weeks ago? Almost always around this time,” you explained. You held out two fingers and the second bird flew up to perch. You gingerly caressed its head with one finger, smiling as the bird seemed to enjoy your gentle ministration. “They don’t appear to be scared of me, or maybe the cakes I have to offer is too enticing to ignore.”

You laughed when the two birds seemed to chirp loudly in indignation at your implied accusation.

“Alright, alright,” you said, smiling, “You two are not little gluttons. Oh—”

You looked up in surprise when the two sparrows took off, flying away from the garden. You smiled resignedly. “I think they’re peeved at me now.”

Tara hummed thoughtfully as she cleaned up the leftover crumbs. “Speaking of sudden arrival… Did you hear that someone has moved into the manor on the lake?”

You looked at Tara with interest. The manor in question, for as long as you could remember, had always been vacant, but peculiarly even without anyone living there for decades, it remained in a pristine state, as if it was resistant to the corrosion of time. Located on the outskirt of town, surrounded by a lake filled with lotus, you rarely ever saw anyone venturing near it. You wondered who the new master of the manor could be.

“Do you know who it could be, Tara?”

“Hmm,” she pondered as she sat down next to you. “I believe Madam Josephine said the young master’s name is Shin.”

“Shin?”

She nodded. “I believe the manor has been in his family’s ownership for generations.”

You picked up your teacup and swirled it around thoughtfully before you took a sip, the warmth and soothing fragrance calmed your nerves. You eyed Tara suspiciously. “Grandma is not planning something, is she?”

“About that…”

You slammed the half-empty cup down on the table and droplets of tea splattered on the surface. “No, I am not going to be part of another matchmaking scheme of hers!”

You stood up and Tara looked panicked. “Oh, Miss, wait—”

“What do you mean ‘Miss’?” you looked at her, tone changing. You feigned confusion, the sudden behavior change making Tara squirmed uncomfortably in place. You continued speaking with a suggestive undertone in your voice, “Miss Tara, are you perhaps, confused? Maybe you should… go inside… and rest.”

Tara frowned at you helplessly. “Miss, I cannot masquerade as you again! Last time, Madam nearly had me beaten!”

“Grandma would never,” you said, scolding her. “Don’t get caught this time then.”

“Wait, wait, Miss!”

Tara followed helplessly after you as you raced for the garden wall. You climbed a plum tree and then over to the stone wall that fenced the property. You sat atop and looked down at your anxious maid with sympathy.

“I’m sorry, Tara,” you said sincerely, “It’s not that I want to put you into this position…”

“Then why are you?!” she demanded, losing her polite demeanor momentarily.

You smiled. “I know Grandma is trying to find me a good husband, but…” You grimaced as you recalled all of the men who had shown up to your home in the last year alone. “I want to be like those two sparrows… and fly away from this place.”

“Miss…”

“I won’t let Grandma beat you,” you promised, adding, “I’ll be back this evening. I promise. Just stay in my room for a few hours.”

“Miss—"

As you started to jump off the wall, you noticed belatedly another figure standing beneath. At this point, you were already falling, and in a panicked voice, you cried out to the person below:

“W-watch out!”

Your eyes squeezed shut, bracing yourself for the inevitable hard ground.

It never came.

Instead, you found yourself landing into a pair of strong arms. You looked up cautiously, gasping when you saw ruby red eyes. You blinked once and looked again.

They were brown.

For a moment, you were confused before you realized what had happened. A blush crept across your cheeks, and your nervous stammer only heightened your embarrassment by the current situation. “I-I’m so sorry! I did not mean to land on you like that—”

You winced when you heard your grandmother yelling your name in frustration as she and a group of house servants raced out the gate to you and this sudden visitor.

The man chuckled and you looked up sheepishly.

“I… can you… let me down?”

He raised a brow at you.

“Please?”

He shook his head in amusement, his chuckles barely restrained. He spoke cordially; his voice deeper than you expected. “Well, since you asked so nicely, my lady.”

As you were lowered to your feet, your grandmother’s approaching footsteps forced you to redirect your attention from the man himself to the current awkward situation. She quickly scolded you before turning to the stranger, bowing and apologizing profusely, “I am so sorry, Master Shin! I had no idea my troublesome granddaughter would do that.”

You blinked.

Master Shin?

You looked at the man in question. Long, dark hair that went down to his waist. He dressed in an all-black hanfu, his appearance and demeanor exuding the grace of nobility.

“Come, come,” Josephine ushered you both into the manor, and as you followed in after Shin, you yelped when your grandmother swatted your bottom. As you rubbed your sore buttocks, she whispered to you harshly, “Do not mess this one up, darling.”

You grumbled in the back of your mind, but outwardly, you gave your grandmother an obedient smile.

As your grandmother and Shin chatted, you sat between them at the low square table, serving tea. You poured a cup and politely offered it to Shin. He smiled as he took it from you, seemingly unable to take his eyes off of you. The complete attention from this stranger made you squirm, but a barely subtle warning cough from your grandmother had you straightening your posture again.

“I am still unfamiliar with the town,” Shin said suddenly, his eyes still hovering on you, “Would the young Miss be so kind as to be my guide and escort and help me familiarize with the place?”

You wanted to protest, but one sharp glare from Josephine had you smiling stiffly and agreeing reluctantly. “I would be… pleased to accompany you, Master Shin,” you said through half-gritted teeth and a forced smile. You noticed out of the corner of your eye your grandmother trying to maintain her composure with even breathing. She gave you another glare and you instinctively straightened your posture once more.

“Splendid. Let’s schedule for the day after tomorrow,” Shin said, apparently not noticing the silent exchange between you and your grandmother. “There are still some businesses I have to take care of around the manor.”

You nodded in understanding. The time passed as Shin and your grandmother made small talks. You took this time to observe him, your head tilting a little in curiosity, feeling a peculiar familiarity about him. Although the hair and eye colors were different, everything else about him seemed to almost remind you of—

“Do I have something on my face, Miss?”

You startled, broken out of your daze. You flustered in embarrassment, realizing you had been staring at him for far longer than you had intended. You heard your grandmother coughing again and clearing her throat. She gave you another barely discreet warning look.

“I apologize, Master Shin—”

“No need for formalities,” he interrupted, smirking, “Shin would be fine.”

“I—I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be proper—”

Your words were cut short as Shin smiled at you. “I think if we are to be wedded, we should familiarize ourselves better, wouldn’t you agree, Madam Josephine?”

Your grandmother immediately perked at his inquiry. To your chagrin, she immediately sided with Shin.

The hours passed with various small talks, though you remained mostly silent, opting out of the conversations almost entirely. It didn’t really seem like Shin or your grandmother even noticed your lack of contribution, their talks continuing merrily despite your glum mood.

When Shin left later in the afternoon, your grandmother pulled you aside. With her arm looped through yours, you walked together through the garden making idle talks.

“Young Master Shin is a good man,” your grandmother commented.

“What do you know about him?” you inquired, unpleased, “We have only just met today. He seems… odd.”

“Darling, do not resist this match,” your grandmother continued, “I will not be around forever to take care of you. I wish to see you married off to a good man. I will not be able to rest easy until I know you will be taken care of.”

You felt an uncomfortable knot in the pit of your stomach. You reached up with your free hand to pat your grandmother’s. You forced a smile on your face. “What are you talking about, Grandma? You are going to live to be a hundred. You’ll probably even live longer than me—”

“Hush,” she chided you, “Do not say such ill words.”

You bit down on your bottom lip, feeling a tightness in your chest. Quietly, you leaned your head lightly against hers, and in that moment, she stroked your hair in comfort, an act reminiscent to many other moments during your childhood under her care.

“I’m sorry, Grandma.”

“Hush,” she said again, “Everything will be alright, darling. Grandma will take care of you.”

You hummed softly, your shoulders relaxing, and the walk continued in peaceful silence.

On the outskirt of town, a large manor stretched far and wide. Its large stone walls fenced the property, keeping trespassers out. Inside the walls, magnolia trees surrounded the property, and only recently did they started transitioning from their pink blossoms to green leaves. In the center of the courtyard, a large pond was situated, and a lone magnolia tree bearing red flowers, stood grander than the others, overlooking the body of water filled with koi fish of various colors and unique patterns. Around the courtyard were different buildings and housing—all vacant.

The manor had long been abandoned with no master in sight and no servants to serve. Decades after decades, the manor stood in silence, appearing just as new as the day it was erected. Not a crack in the buildings, nor corrosion in the stone pathways, the manor remained pristine, as if it was in its own realm.

Today, however, a new master had come to stake claim on this forgotten manor, seizing back what was always his.

“Master Sylus!”

Sylus looked up from viewing the koi pond, seeing two little sparrows descending, engulfed for a brief moment in a black mist. When the mist dissipated, two identical men dressed in all black were knelt on the ground, bowing respectfully to their master.

“Luke, Kieran,” Sylus spoke up, acknowledging the two men, “And where have you two been?”

“We were just returning from the young Miss’ manor,” Kieran answered, standing up alongside his twin.

“Funny,” Sylus quipped, unamused, “I was just there myself and did not see you two anywhere on the property.”

Luke and Kieran froze. Luke cleared his throat and stuttered, “Well, you see—”

Sylus sighed. “I have asked you two to monitor her, and instead, you have been indulging in little cakes these past few weeks.”

“It’s not our fault the young Miss likes to feed us,” Luke protested.

“I mean, I suppose we could visit her when it’s not teatime…”

“Quiet—”

“Never mind,” Sylus interrupted. “In any case, our introduction was made today.”

Luke and Kieran looked at Sylus curiously.

“So soon?” Kieran questioned.

“Not soon enough,” Sylus responded, “I will not let her slip away this time.”

(When this is all over…

Your heart pounded in your chest as you took in the wasteland before you. Your body felt weighed down by the heavy armor you wore and in your hand was a hefty sword, stained with the fresh blood of so many men. All around you was the dying groans and warring cries of soldiers on both sides.

Crimson blood flowed like a river to your feet, the stench of death hung heavy in the air. If there was a Hell on earth, you were sure this was it. You breathed in sharply and then cried out, “Raise the shields!”

Soldiers echoed your cry and in quick successions, iron shields were raised to block the oncoming volley of arrows from the opposite side. You held out under the protective barrier, gritting your teeth as you listened to the successive barrages of arrows hitting metal.

“Move forward!” you ordered, and immediately your comrades followed the command and barreled down the enemies with the shields, crushing them under the weight of heavy boots. As soldiers fell from exhaustion and enemy attacks, you moved forward, your hands gripping your sword and slashing down enemies one after another with quick reflexes.

You panted, feeling your muscles burned and ached, but rest was the furthest thing from your mind in this moment. Your eyes focused on the citadel you needed to seize for your kingdom. You raced forward and struck down many more oncoming enemy soldiers.

“Raise the shields!” You cried once more, and as one by one, soldiers obeyed your command, you leapt atop and ran nimbly across the shields, deflecting the oncoming arrows with your blade. As you closed in on the wall, soldiers beneath you propelled you upward with their shields and you leapt over the wall, determined eyes zeroed in on the opposing commander, his shocked expression reflected in your eyes.

Immediately, you ruthlessly brought your sword down, the sharp blade meeting flesh and a sharp cry ripped from the man’s throat. You inhaled quickly and pulled your sword back out, dodging his retaliation before his own weapon could slice your side. You quickly countered the oncoming attacks, the din of metal against metal reverberated in the air. With each step back, you found yourself stumbling, falling down the wall to the sea of raging soldiers beneath.

“Catch her!” Soldiers below you cried out and you felt your fall broken by your loyal men catching you. You were lifted and you bounced back to your feet, your determination unwavering.

When it is all over… When there is peace again in our kingdom… We will be together again… In this life… We will be together…

The promise you had made to him rang in your mind. His look of resignation was still etched in your memory, as was his voice, so firm and unyielding:

Commander… I will follow you straight to Hell.

You rushed forward, yelling until your throat was raw. Adrenaline masked your exhaustion as you struck down men after men, the number of lives you had taken rapidly climbing higher. Closer and closer, you could feel victory within your reach. You would bring honor to your men, to your emperor, your kingdom—your family. The future you yearned for, the peace you wished for the children you would have, the life with him—everything you had ever desired would be yours after this day. Almost… Almost—

You staggered, choking.

“Commander!”

“She’s been struck!”

“Commander, watch out!”

You looked at the arrow that pierced through your deteriorated armor and into your chest, and before you could even register what had happened, you felt a deep, sharp pain, feeling a sword plunging straight through your stomach. You gagged and then choked out some blood. Your scream resounded in the barren land as the sword was pulled out without mercy.

As you fell, you heard your name screamed out. You lay on the ground, bleeding out and panting, your vision growing weaker. Through your blurred vision, you could see the enemy sword about to be swung down again. You closed your eyes, and waited.

You heard another scream, and then a dull thud and the clatter of a sword hitting the ground.

You slowly opened your eyes, your heart pounding as you saw a head laying opposite of you, the man’s eyes still wide open in horror. It was an enemy soldier. It was… your attacker.

“Stay with me. You will be alright.”

You felt your body lifted, pressed closer to another’s. You looked up and you whimpered, scared. You didn’t think you had ever felt fear before in your life. You were always so reckless, so headstrong, so bold, but now… you felt fear. Felt remorse. Felt… ashamed.

“Sylus…”

He stared back, his breathing heavy. “You will be alright,” he repeated, almost sounding more like he was speaking to himself.

You shakily reached up and touched his cheek. “I’m… I’m sorry…”

He looked shocked. “What?”

“My… promise…”

He shook his head. “This time it will come true… This time—”

Your breathing was ragged and you felt trickles of tears flowed down your marred cheeks. “…I… you…”

“Stay with me, stay with me—” he said vehemently.

“I’m… I’m… sor…”

As your eyes closed, your breathing slowing and consciousness fading away, you heard a deafening inhuman roar and the terrified screams of men on both sides.

Long after the battle ended, silence followed the annihilation.

Within the wasteland, the wind whistled, and one lone man sobbed as he cradled his fallen lover—his screaming curse ignored by the heavens.)

You woke up screaming, your face covered in cold sweats. You felt your body shaking, your heart pounding against your chest. Fresh hot tears ran down your face as your mind was still reeling from what you had just dreamt. This was the most lucid dream you have had yet, and for once, you wished you could forget this vision.

Shaking and gasping, you could hear that damning whistle of the wind piercing through a silenced battleground. Eyes closed, you heaved, trembling almost as if you could feel that sole surviving soldier’s arms around you.

You had not expected Shin to arrive at the house so early in the morning. After the dream—nightmare?—you had, you could barely fall back to sleep. Or rather, you were afraid to fall back to sleep, too scared that you could revisit that same dream all over again. Even now you could still hear the deafening groans and cries of dying men.

You could even… see him.

Sylus? You repeated the name experimentally in your mind. It seemed so foreign, and yet, very familiar, as if you had said his name so many times before in your life. How peculiar.

“Miss, Miss, please wake up! Master Shin has arrived and is awaiting you.”

“I don’t care,” you mumbled back sleepily, still caught somewhere between dream and reality. Your mind continued to wander back to that soldier. That man who cradled you in his arms, his face etched with utter despair and… anger.

Barely conscious, you were dragged out of bed by Tara, who fussed and chided you nonstop as you continued to sleep. You allowed her full control over your morning grooming, her personal compliant doll to dress and style as she saw fit.

“Honestly, Miss, will you continue to laze like this after becoming Master Shin’s wife?” Tara sighed as she brushed your hair.

Eyes still closed, you mumbled sleepily, mildly irritated, “Who said I was marrying him…”

“Madam Josephine,” Tara answered, not missing a beat. She rolled her eyes and intentionally brushed your hair harder, stirring you awake when she yanked out strands of your long hair.

“Ow!” You looked behind you, glaring. “Whose side are you on?”

“The one that feeds and houses me,” she continued with a smug smile.

“Hmph, some friend.”

“I am merely concerned about your future, Miss,” she said, brushing your hair more gently again. “Miss…”

“What is it?”

“Will…”

You looked behind you expectantly, sensing Tara’s hesitancy. “Go on,” you urged with a gentler smile.

“Will you allow me to continue serving you after you become the young master’s wife?”

You were shocked by Tara’s words, taking a few seconds longer to process them. Slowly, you smiled, your hands gripping hers. “Is that even a concern?”

She smiled. “You best hurry along, Miss. The young master is waiting.”

You rolled your eyes. “Then let him wait—”

Your grandmother’s voice rang from across the manor, and you winced at the sound of your name. You looked up just in time to catch Tara stifling her snickers. “Yes, yes, Madam Josephine,” you half-muttered as you stood up, straightening your clothes. You didn’t get far from your room when you heard Tara’s cheerful voice behind you:

“Miss, have fun with your future groom!” Tara teased with a wave, and you turned around, shooting her the dirtiest look you could mustered.

It was nearing midmorning when you and Shin walked through town together. You showed him the local businesses and eyed the many stands and stalls that lined the streets. The current situation had you feeling a little unnerved, unused to being alone in a man’s presence for this long. You could feel your throat drying, sure that your voice was trembling and cracking as you spoke. It didn’t help that you kept catching him staring at you with such keen interest, and instead of looking away in embarrassment at being caught, he smirked.

This bastard…

You wondered if all men were as shameless as him. To freely gaze upon a maiden, and in public no less.

“What’s going on over there?”

“Huh?” You looked in the direction Shin was gesturing and noticed a large crowd had formed. You perked up. “Oh, there is a performance happening. Let’s go watch.”

You and he walked over, joining the excited crowd. Shin stood a head taller than everyone, easily seeing the performance from his vantage point while you yourself was struggling to glimpse in between shoulders of the people in front of you. You gasped suddenly when you felt a hand on your arm, grabbing and pulling you to the side. You looked up in annoyance, freezing when you realized it was Shin. He motioned back to the play with a tilt of his head, and you realized he had found you a spot to comfortably watch. You smiled sheepishly, but nodded in gratitude.

The performers were acting out a story: Long ago, the mortal realm was ravaged by a monster—a dragon, to be precise. He ruled without remorse, demanding fair maidens to be his brides. Villages in the surrounding areas offered their most beautiful maidens in order to appease this beast. Once spirited away to be brides to the Dragon King, the young maidens were never heard from again.

One day, a young warrior decried the atrocities, unwilling to see the maiden he loved betrothed to a monster. He traversed alone up the mountains to where the Dragon King lived and with his wit and bravery, he plunged his sword into the dragon’s chest, carving out the heart to bring back to his village as proof of his heroics.

The crowd watched with rapt attention, gasping as they watched the hero slay the dragon and witnessing the beast succumbing to death. Loud cheers erupted and applauses sounded as the hero was praised by the onlookers.

You yourself cheered with glee, clapping and laughing in joy at witnessing such a moving and heroic act. Expecting the haughty young master to be impressed with the play, you wanted to catch Shin in a moment of defenselessness, so you stole a glance. You paused mid-clap, startled to see his expression blank, almost icy even. He wasn’t moved by the storyline of the hero wanting to save his lover. He didn’t seem impressed by the hero’s act of bravery. There was no emotion on his face, and yet, you wondered if you were misreading him, but you were almost certain, you could discern a gleam of complete contempt in his eyes.

You barely knew Shin, but in the hours that you had spent listening to him conversed with your grandmother so politely and jovially, and the entire morning spent making idle talks, you had only seen this carefree and affable side of him. This sudden demeanor change was unexpected. You wondered what could be going on in his head—wondered why this mere performance could evoke such a feeling of disdain from the young man in your company.

From the corner of your eye, you could see staff members from the acting troupe walking around holding out a woven basket to receive money for their performance. Coins jingled as people deposited their money into the basket, praises for the play heard all around. Children were already laughing and reenacting the scene of the hero slaying the dragon.

As you were reaching for your own coin purse, Shin immediately grabbed your wrist, pulling you away from the crowd. You gasped from the feeling of his large hand wrapped so tightly around your wrist. “Do not waste your money on such lies, Miss,” he said calmly, but the edge in his voice was palpable. He dragged you away, not looking back, and you struggled with his quick pace. You stumbled along, your eyes staring at his tensed, broad back. His grip tightened even further.

“Sh-Shin! You’re hurting me!”

He stopped suddenly and you nearly collided into his back. Slowly, he turned around, offering you an apologetic look.

“My apologies, Miss,” he said, letting go immediately.

You rubbed your sore wrist, unsure if you should question his sudden demeanor change. He appeared distracted, his body still tensed, almost as if he was trying to stay in control of his emotions. You wondered why he was so provoked by such a harmless play, but you decided it didn’t seem appropriate to question someone you barely knew with such curiosity.

In that moment, you caught sight of a vendor selling confections on the side of the road. Delectable little treats lined his quaint stall as he tried to entice passersby.

“Let’s… let’s eat some mung bean cakes,” you said instead, hoping to return to the earlier light atmosphere you had shared with Shin that morning before the play.

“Mung bean cakes?” He looked down at you, his head tilting in confusion. It seemed this worked, you thought with relief, sensing his mood was already more relaxed than it was seconds ago.

You smiled and nodded. You dragged him over to the vendor and ordered several. You paid and thanked the seller as you receive your paper bag of sweets.

As you walked down the busy street with Shin, you reached into the bag and pulled out one little round cake that was formed in an intricate mold. Some had delicate filigrees impressed atop as a pattern while others formed a fully blossomed flower.

You handed one to Shin, smiling. “Look. This one is so pretty. It looks like a flower.”

He took the offered confection. He held the little cake in his hand, confused. You frowned.

“If you don’t want it, then I’ll eat it—” As you attempted to swipe back the cake, Shin easily held it above you out of your reach. You cursed his astounding height. A futile attempt, but you still tried to jump and grab it back.

“I never said I didn’t want it,” he argued, poking you in the forehead.

“Ah—what was that for?!” You placed a hand over your forehead, glaring at him.

“How dare this greedy young miss tried to take back what she had given away,” he said teasingly. He leaned his face in closer to yours, his smirk returning, his voice carrying heavy shades of mischievousness. “Once you give someone something, there are no takebacks.”

You huffed, and he laughed, taking a bite. “Delicious,” he said, his deep voice making your heart quickened and your belly flipped and flopped. You could almost feel your cheeks warming up at the sound of his laughter. He held the half-eaten confection toward you. “You should try some, Miss.”

“This isn’t proper,” you scolded him, reaching into the paper bag for a new cake as he finished the one he held. You continued, “There are many more in the bag. We do not need to share—”

You gasped when his large hand wrapped around your wrist again, and with one firm tug, you were pulled to him. Before you could react, Shin took a bite from the mung bean cake you held in your hand. Your face really did burn up this time as you looked at him, shocked. Meanwhile, Shin responded with a playful grin, licking his lips. “Just as I had thought. This tastes even more delicious from your hand, Miss.”

“Young Master!”

“Shin,” he corrected you, “I want you to use my name, Miss.”

You gritted your teeth, glaring at his face still so close to yours. You could almost sense the scandalized eyes on you both and it just made your face burned hotter. “Shin,” you said slowly, annoyed, “This isn’t proper behavior for a young man and woman to display in public.”

“Why not?” he challenged you with a smirk, “We are to be wedded, are we not?”

Not! you held the word back, almost certain that the moment you spat that in his irritating face, your dear grandmother would appear out of thin air to make you grovel for her mercy before she sent you to meet your maker.

“Nothing has been determined,” you said as evenly as you could.

“Yet,” he said, adding haughtily, “Miss, I always get what I want.”

You gasped as he held your chin, pulling you closer to his face. His voice grew softer, more alluring, “And what I want is you.”

You weren’t sure why, but you instinctively squeezed your eyes shut, nervous and scared. A moment passed, and nothing happened. You slowly opened your eyes, your cheeks now red with mortification, as Shin laughed and reached into your paper bag to retrieve another mung bean cake. He took a bite, smirking in amusement at the rather pathetic sight of you.

“Y-You…!” You unconsciously raised your fist at him. Politeness be damned, you thought in that moment, not caring if Grandma Josephine did appear from around the corner to hurl a sandal at your head. You were going to give this man a piece of your mind!

“Ah—Shin!”

You fumbled, not expecting him to suddenly grab your face in his large hand. Shin held your face, squeezing tightly. He laughed. “It is like two little baos,” he teased, gesturing to your round cheeks.

You gripped at his arm, whining, “Shin, it hurts! Stop it!”

He gave you another squeeze before letting go, amused by the glare you directed at him. He dragged you into his arms, his cheek nuzzling against yours. “You are so cute,” he murmured, his breathy voice making you shiver. “I feel like I just want to eat you up.”

You felt your stomach doing flips again, his tone while still playful had heavy seductive undertones. You inhaled sharply. “Don’t tease me like that,” you said, pulling away, embarrassed by his behavior and mortified that passerby kept whispering and eyeing the two of you in disapproval.

He looked amused, not caring about others’ reactions like you were. His eyes only saw you. “Why not?”

You blushed and looked away, feigning annoyance. “It is indecent.”

“Improper… impolite… indecent…” he said almost mockingly with a laugh, “My, my, Miss, you are much more of a prude than I would have expected.”

You glared again. “Or rather than me being a prude, you are too much of a scoundrel.”

“Is that so?”

You started to walk away with a huff. “I have never met a young master as ill-bred such as you, Shin.”

You paused, startled when he easily caught up to you. He stood before you, his smile unwavering. He leaned down and reached for your free hand. He held it to his lips and with a tilt of his head, he whispered, “Then I am honored to be seen as unique in your eyes, my bride.”

You could feel your cheeks turning pink. You tried to act indifferent, scoffing, “Delusional.”

He laughed, and you wondered why it warmed your heart so much to hear such carefree joy from him.

(Win the Emperor’s favor and you will know of riches beyond your wildest dreams.

At merely eighteen, those were the final words your mother had said to you before you departed for the Palace alongside many other maidens within the country who wished to be chosen as the Emperor’s concubines. Within your town, you were regaled as the fairest. Men sweettalked, unashamedly placing you within the same plane as celestial maidens and fairies. Women eyed you with envy, their compliments like acid, but you always smiled back, matching poisonous wits with even the greenest of them all.

You would have no problem surviving within the dark, manipulative royal court, and you would certainly have no issue stealing the Emperor’s heart.

Or so you thought.

The Emperor did not deign choosing concubines as worthy of his fleeting, precious time. Lined up outside the Royal Palace in the courtyard, young maidens from all regions stood tall, dressed in the finest of silk and groomed their absolute best, as they waited with bated breath as eunuchs walked down the line, surveying the young women, looking for ones to fit their unknown list of criteria.

You stood near the end, and you had seen many women—all graceful beauties—passed with a look of disdain. You held your breath, feeling doubts settling in, your confidence shaken for the first time in your young life. When the eunuchs stopped in front of you, their eyes traveling up and down in observation, you felt your heart stilling, waiting.

It could have been merely a few seconds, but to you, it felt like time had stopped. When one of the eunuchs nodded in approval, noting your name on the scroll he carried, you let out the breath you held. You bowed in respect.

“It will be my honor to serve my Emperor,” you said, keeping your voice steeled and steady, though inside you could feel your heart pounding.

Time passed since you were chosen. You received your own quarter in a forgotten area of the palace ground. For an inexperienced concubine, it was a comfortable living quarter with plenty of foliage to keep your mood uplifted as you waited for the Emperor to call upon you.

There were many maidens chosen that day to be part of his harem. It wasn’t unusual that he did not call you your first night.

Or the next.

Or even the following.

You had enough servants to tend to you. You were dressed exclusively in finery and served delicious food prepared by the royal cook. You told yourself that this was a good life. You knew no hardship and you were expected little. Your days were filled with idle entertainment as you waited.

You played the guzheng, or rather, you played one song on the guzheng, over and over again. A melody had come to you in your dreams. It was melancholic, bearing the heavy weight of loss, yearning, and desperation. You could never finish the song, having always woken up before you heard the ending, but you still played day after day, night after night. In a forgotten corner of the palace, beneath a magnolia tree outside the sleeping quarter, a guzheng could be heard, the song playing calling out, a plea to be seen and heard.

You waited.

Some days you would pick up a brush, your graceful inked strokes always creating the same image, or to be precise, the same person. You didn’t know why, but your chest tightened with pain as you stared at the man on paper. You didn’t know him. He was merely someone from your dreams, but oh how you yearned to stay in the land of unconsciousness, where this silvery-white haired man embraced you like a lover, showered you with kisses, and lavished you with sweet murmurs of affections.

Next to his portrait, you carefully wrote out the characters, My beloved.

You stared at the delicate characters, chest throbbing, your breathing coming out in short gasps. Droplets of tears fell on the paper. You could hear his voice, so rich and passionate. Your name always sounded so heavenly when he said it, always spoken with such revere and devotion.

You yearned for him. For a man who didn’t exist.

You crumbled the paper, like you always did. The Emperor could come at any moment. It would be indecent and punishable to find another man’s portrait in your room. You crumbled the paper even further, and threw it into the hearth, watching with pain as it burned and turned to ashes.

You waited.

You had your maids bring you books, anything to fill your endless time. Your eyes skimmed over the characters one word at a time, reading of handsome heroes who saved fair maidens from demon kings or of star-crossed lovers who only have one night together before they were to be separated by the heavens, completely at the mercy and manipulation of the cruel hands of fate.

As you lounged beneath the magnolia tree, your mind wandered. You always pictured the man from your dreams. It was never intentional, and the first time it had happened, you had felt embarrassed by your foolish behavior. When it happened again, you allowed yourself this little indulgence. You let him filled your fantasies as you read your books, let him become the dashing hero who would whisk you away from this isolating life of monotony.

Sylus.

The name had first come to you in a recent dream, and from that moment on, you let it consumed you. You tested the syllables on your tongue, felt your heart skipped and your cheeks pinked as you heard his name spoken by your voice. You felt happy.

And then you remembered. The Emperor could seek you out at any moment. Any day now. It would be indecent and punishable to have a concubine call out the name of another man.

So, you closed your books, and you buried his name deep in your heart.

And you waited.

You waited.

And you waited.

And you waited.

It would be a year since you arrived at the Palace before you stole a glimpse of the Emperor on a morning walk. Your maids had always made sure you were presentable. Dressed in the finest silk and hair brushed and styled with beautiful ornate decorations and flowers, you were like the celestial maidens and fairies men from your town would often say.

You bowed respectfully, your head remaining lowered as the Emperor paused in front of you in question.

Your heartbeat skipped. You had powdered your face, painted your cheeks rosy and your lips scarlet. You were so sure your beauty would ensnare the Emperor now that he had laid his eyes on you.

He acknowledged your presence, a courteous nod and a polite expression.

And he moved on.

In the distant, you heard the callous giggles of the other concubines who had witnessed your shameful encounter. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, but you steeled yourself as you straightened your posture. You maintained your grace, your expression unreadable, and you continued your walk with your faithful maids trailing behind.

You heard their comforting words, listened to their reassurances, but they mattered little to you.

Perhaps you had always known, always suspected, but this humbling experience forced you to face reality: you were just one pretty flower among a meadow of others.

You returned to your quarter, to your secluded little haven within the palace ground.

Your days returned to lazing under the magnolia tree. You would play your guzheng, always chasing after the ending that would never come. You would paint the same portrait again and again, and you would burn it again and again. You read books after books, fantasizing the same man who would spirit you away, to free you from the confines of this lonesome palace life, but you would always cry when you reached the last page.

Sometimes the lovers would be together, and you envied them, wishing for this fantastical romance you could only dream of. Other times, the lovers were separated, and you empathized, feeling a hollowness inside you, wishing for the tender touch of someone who didn’t exist.

You dried your tears, and chided yourself once. You were still the Emperor’s concubine. He could still call for you whenever he desired. It wouldn’t do to have a pitiful maiden longing for another man.

So, you waited.

And waited.

And waited.

You watched the seasons passed, stealing your youth first, and then before you knew it, your beauty.

One day, many, many hollow seasons later, the Palace fell into mourning. The Emperor had passed in his sleep. He was seventy-four.

You sat under your magnolia tree and you cried. You didn’t cry for the Emperor. You mourned him as was expected, as was the custom, but you grieved for your lost life. You had witnessed over half a century of the magnolia tree blossoming, always hopeful, always loyal. You had waited, as patiently as you could, and now that he was gone, now that you were grayed and wrinkled, you realized everything was for naught.

You never learned of the riches your mother had so long ago described. You never even learned the touch of a man—of a lover. You did everything you had thought was right, practiced patience and grace rivaling monks, and you were rewarded with nothing.

A life unlived, you stayed in your corner long after the Emperor had passed and his successor had risen. You would always have a place within the Palace, but few would even remember you.

The seasons passed. You watched the magnolia tree blossomed in spring, the delicate pink flowers promising youth and innocence. When summer arrived, the green leaves offered shelter from the hot sun. Autumn ushered in a feeling of nostalgia and melancholy, and winter stripped the tree bare.

You watched this cycle happened year after year until your mind was no longer quick. You were forgetting things more often now. You made many mistakes. Sometimes, you couldn’t even discern reality from the dreams you longed for.

One late night, the moon was bright and full, looming high in the dark sky.

You opened your eyes when you felt an extra weight on your bed.

A young man sat near you, his long hair as silvery-white as the moon in the sky cascaded down his back. He looked so regal and elegant, more ethereal than the Emperor ever was, and more divine than any of the royalty that had visited the Palace over the years. The young man cupped your cheek, his smooth, youthful skin a stark contrast to your wrinkled, leathery flesh.

“I am sorry, my beloved,” he whispered, his deep voice so familiar. As they should be, you thought, having heard it in your dreams every night for the last decades.

“You are late,” you said. You didn’t even know if you were dreaming at this point, or perhaps your mind was wandering again. You had loved this man from your fantasy for all of your life. You had painted his portraits so many times, memorized his features by heart. His very being, his entire essence, was engraved into your soul.

This was him.

“Sylus.” You hadn’t said his name in decades. Your voice no longer carried that youthful lilt. You were too old now. It seemed so shameful to even speak his name. You cried.

He wiped your tears away, his apologies filled the silence, but it did not ease your heartache.

“Stay with me,” you pleaded, voice weak and gravelly, “I’m scared.”

“Don’t be,” he said, brushing the gray strands out of your face. “It will be over soon.”

You believed him. He held your hand in his, the soft, sweet murmurs you had always longed to hear lulled you back to sleep.

You knew when you closed your eyes tonight, they would never open again in the morning, but you were no longer scared. You let go of the regrets that weighed you down. Nothing else seemed to matter in this moment.

Only him.

As you closed your eyes again, your breathing steadying, the warmth of life slipping away, you heard a cry from a beast. It was low and sorrowful, carrying a heavy weight of remorse and despair and anger.

Just as you had lived, even in death, no one remembered the elderly virgin concubine. After that night, the kingdom fell to ruins. The ground shook with an unearthly force and houses tumbled, crushing and claiming thousands of lives. Lanterns had fallen, flames erupting, setting the once peaceful capital ablaze and lighting the night sky in a crimson glow. Entire family lines were wiped out, new brides were widowed, children orphaned, and parents grieving for surviving as they cradled their dead child—young and old.

No one left unscathed. Fate could not discern from hungry beggars or the gluttonous wealthy upper echelons. The capital burned, lives ruined and taken freely, the screaming cries unheard by the heavens.

The ones who had managed to survive spoke of seeing a white serpent-like creature moving in the night sky, its scales glimmering in the moonlight before it disappeared within the clouds. Many believed it was a dragon, but rather than bringing fortune to the mortal realm, they wondered if their empire had incurred his wrath.)

You sat in bed, your knees pulled to your chest as you heaved and sobbed. You felt like your heart was ripping, unable to stop shaking as the fragments of your dreams lingered, forming this heartbreaking image of loss.

It was the same man from your previous dream. It was the same look of despair.

“…Sylus, Sylus…” you sobbed his name over and over again, wondering why the dreams all ended the same way: you forsaking him.

“…I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

In the middle of the night, in the dark silence of your room, you continued crying out his name, every utter tearing you apart inside.

In the following days, extravagant gifts were sent to your manor. Luxurious jade, aged liquor, finely crafted porcelain potteries, and the finest fabrics in all of the lands were brought in one by one to awed delight.

“It seems Master Shin is smitten with you, Miss,” Tara teased as she held out the beautiful crimson fabric with golden embroidery of cranes and magnolia flowers. She sighed blissfully as she felt the beautiful silk. “None of the previous suitors had ever sent gifts as fine as these.”

You tried to appear indifferent, but even you couldn’t help but felt flattered by such attention. “Well, now, perhaps I could entertain the thought of being the young master’s wife if this is how I will be treated.”

“Oh?” Tara eyed you with suspicion. “You are suddenly compliant. Are you feeling unwell, Miss?”

“How rude,” you quipped. “Grandmother had just… asked me to consider this match, so I am.”

Truth be told, you haven’t been able to shake Shin’s expressions from the other day out of your mind. He was attentive one moment, listening intently to your explanations as you guided him through town. After watching the play, he seemed to have shut down completely, his expression cold and full of contempt. You had thought it was a sweet storyline—feeling admiration for the hero’s bravery—but Shin seemed irked by it all.

You had managed to turn his foul mood around. Just as quickly as he had changed, he had returned to his earlier soft demeanor, and it was puzzling how you had witnessed the two sides of the same man in such a short amount of time.

Shin was such an enigma. The man left you with more questions than answers, and you wondered what his intentions could be. He seemed particularly keen of you, his eyes seeing only you, his attention devoted to you. Just you.

You knew nothing of him, and he of you, but the way he behaved would have one thinking he had fallen in love with you so many lifetimes ago.

You blushed, and chided yourself. Enough silly thoughts, you silently reprimanded yourself again.

“Oh, Miss, we have guests!”

You looked up in surprise when Tara called out to you from the courtyard. Curious, you walked outside, surprised to see two young identical men dressed in black, waiting with even more gifts. You greeted them politely.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, young Miss. My name is Kieran,” the man greeted you with a bow and then gestured to his companion, who responded in the same way, “And this is my twin brother, Luke. Our master has asked us to make sure his gifts have arrived safely to you.”

“Master?” you questioned with confusion.

“Master Sy—Master Shin,” Luke clarified. He quickly added, “As you will be our master’s wife, we are to serve you as well, Miss.”

“Please use us as needed,” Kieran added.

You smiled uncomfortably. “Thank you, but that will not be necessary.”

Luke and Kieran exchanged looks, appearing startled and confused. Luke smiled at you, his expression coming across as roguish. “Miss, the Master insists. We are under orders to serve and protect you.”

“Protect me? From what?”

“Just in general,” Kieran explained vaguely. “Master Shin values your safety. You do not even have to consider us bodyguards.”

“Whatever you need, we will serve you, Miss.”

“But—”

“Oh, Miss, quit acting so modest,” Tara cut in with a grin, “You need to get used to this kind of treatment since you will be Master Shin’s wife!”

You glared at Tara.

“Weren’t you the one who said earlier how you could get used to the Master’s attention and care?”

Luke and Kieran seemed to exchange another look, grinning in amusement, while you flustered and stammered, “N-not in those particular words…”

“Besides, it would be nice to have you boss someone other than me around,” Tara added with a feigned pitiful look.

“Hush,” you scolded her with a light glare. You sighed, and turned back to Luke and Kieran, conceding, “Very well. Send your master my thanks. These are lovely gifts.”

“And, Miss…” Kieran approached you with a small lacquered wooden black box that had magnolia flowers painted in gold on the exterior. You eyed the box with curiosity, watching as Luke approached and helped his brother open the top. Nestled on a plush brilliantly red cushion was a round gold pendant with an outer border made of jade. The characters for ‘beloved’ was carved in the center, and when you picked it up, you realized on the back was an engraving of an ascending dragon with wisps of cloud beneath him.

“How… exquisite,” you gasped, mesmerized. You were almost afraid of holding it, for fear that you could damage this beautifully crafted piece of jewelry. There was a peculiar familiarity as you caressed the pendant, your expression thoughtful as you admired the beauty in your hand. It was almost akin to a feeling of déjà vu, as if you had seen this pendant somewhere before.

“Miss, that will look lovely on you,” Tara said with admiration, unknowingly breaking you out of your spell. You smiled back.

“There is more jewelry in these boxes,” Luke explained, gesturing to the array of unopened gifts in the courtyard, much to both yours and Tara’s shock. “But it is the Master’s wish that this particular one reaches you personally.”

“Do not feel pressured to wear it, Miss,” Kieran added, “The Master simply wants you to hold onto this.”

“I…” You looked down at the pendant in your hand, your finger tracing the characters thoughtfully. You smiled serenely. “Please let Master Shin know… I will cherish this gift from him with all of my heart.”

(Deep in the mountains, away from the lively towns, there was a quaint village. Once able to boast of a small but respectable, population, its now lone occupant was a little girl, no more than seven. Silently, a deadly plague had snuck in, taking down one villager at a time. It had started with a cough. Very innocuous, very deceiving. Within a few days, a fever would break out. Burning flesh and violent chills would take over, and by this point, it was too late. The one physician in town had already worked himself to death trying to save everyone.

There was no medicine. There was no cure. The only relief from this unknown illness was death’s cold embrace. One by one, men, women, and children succumbed to this plague until there was only one person left waiting.

“Sylus, I’m cold,” you told him, shivering. You looked at the man in front of you, face feverish.

He placed a cooling hand over your forehead, his lips hardened into a straight line. He retrieved a wooden cup and knelt next to your bedside. “Little one, drink some water.”

He helped guide the cup to your mouth, and as you drank, water dribbled down your chin. You started coughing, choking on the liquid. He immediately patted your back gently before helping you lay back down in bed, the cover pulled up to your chin.

“Sylus… am I going to die?”

He inhaled sharply, and paused, unable to answer your question.

“I’m not scared…” you told him. “Mama and Papa are waiting for me, right?”

He was silent, unable to fathom the brave smile on your face.

“Mama… and Papa… sent you to find me, right?” you asked him with a trickle of hope in your young voice, “So I wouldn’t be alone…”

He lowered his head, a soft chuckle escaped, but there was no joy in his laughter. He nodded once, and whispered softly, “Yes, little one, I am here so you would not be scared and lonely…”

You started coughing again before you looked back at this man next to you. “Will you tell me a story?”

He smiled helplessly. “I don’t know any stories.”

“Not one?”

He shook his head. “What if I am bad at telling stories?”

“I won’t mind… I think you would be good at telling stories…”

“You have such confidence in me, little one.”

“Please?”

He relented, unable to deny you this simple request. Not when he knew you did not have long left in this world.

“There once was a dragon,” Sylus began hesitantly, “He fell in love with a beautiful mortal maiden.”

You smiled, and that seemed to have given Sylus the confidence to continue.

“They were deeply in love… until one day the woman stopped loving him.”

You frowned, your voice soft with worry. “Why?”

Sylus smiled sadly, and brushed his hand over your hair in slow strokes. “Because she had forgotten about him,” he said, “It wasn’t her fault, but it happened anyway. And then one day, she was gone from this world, and the dragon grieved deeply.”

Tears started falling down your eyes. Sylus immediately brushed them away with his thumb, shushing you gently.

“He would find her again when she is reborn, but it would never be like before.”

“Sylus…” Your breathing started to get shallower, your body weakening with each passing second. “…Sy…lus…”

He held your hand in his, his caresses tender. As he spoke, his deep voice held a tinge of nostalgia, a glimmer of a memory seemed to reflect in his eyes, “Sometimes he would find her too late…”

You closed your eyes, your breathing gradually slowing, your hand in his growing limp. Sylus watched, seeing you take your final breath. Resigned, his own scarlet eyes closed, his heart dropping, and he continued, hushed, to the silent room:

“…and sometimes he would be too early.”)

“Miss? Are you alright?”

Your head snapped up when you heard Shin’s voice calling for you. “I’m sorry,” you apologized, realizing you had fallen behind him as you two were walking through town together again.

Shin walked back to where you stood. He looked at you with concern before responding, “It’s quite alright. Is there something on your mind? You seemed distracted since we departed earlier.”

You shook your head.

“Liar,” he said, pinching your cheek.

“Ah—don’t!” You whined, swatting at his hand, annoyed.

He smiled, amused by the glare you directed at him.

“You are such a… a…”

“A…?” he prodded you with another insufferable smile.

You opened your mouth to speak, but then you saw Grandma Josephine’s glare in your head, hearing also her firm scolding echoing. You clamped your mouth shut, swallowing the particular words you wanted to call him.

“What’s this? The young miss is silent again.” He lightly tilted your chin up, making you meet his gaze. His thumb barely brushed against your lips, his eyes lingering where he had caressed before he looked up. “Speak. Why are you so despondent today?”

You pulled back. “It’s nothing,” you said, “I’ve just been… having some bad dreams.”

“Care to talk about it?” Shin walked over closer to you, but he did not touch you this time. “It might help to relieve your burden.”

“I don’t know…”

“What? You don’t trust me?”

“Not one bit,” you answered, not missing a beat. He laughed.

“Fair,” Shin conceded. “What can I do to make the young miss more trusting of me?”

You crossed your arms, seemingly in deep contemplation as you pondered his inquiry. His eyes seemed to twinkle with amusement as he watched you.

“Maybe I could entice her to like me more if…” His eyes wandered to a nearby vendor on the street. “Perhaps some warm roasted chestnuts… there’s also some roasted yams…”

You smelled the roasted treats from the seller, your interest piqued, but you shook your head firmly. You tried to ignore the slight grumbling in your belly.

“Maybe some steamed dumplings?”

You frowned. “Am I a glutton to you or something?”

He grabbed your hand, already leading you away to a nearby tea house. “It is almost lunchtime,” he quipped, “A good meal should put you into a better mood.”

“Ah—” You stumbled along, barely able to keep up with his easy long strides as you protested, “but what about—oh!—your calligraphy brushes you wanted to find?”

He paused and you fell into his embrace, blushing crimson as you looked up, meeting his fond smile.

“I lied,” he said, leaning down, his face closer to yours, “I just wanted an excuse to be with you today, Miss.”

You frowned, face still red.

“As red as a tomato,” he teased.

“As vexing as a fly,” you bit back.

“A fly, am I?” he questioned, amused. His eyes drifted lower, and you gasped when his finger trailed along your neck, gently hooking under the chain you wore. He raised the necklace, his eyes resting on the jade pendant. He smirked as he tilted his head, his eyes focused in on your rapidly reddening cheeks. “This vexing fly’s gift looks lovely on you.”

You couldn’t seem to stop blushing now. The effect he was having on you was unlike any other man you had met in the past. He seemed to be the only one capable of making you flustered.

“I—that is…”

“Have you accepted my engagement then?”

You sulked at him. “Grandma has a say in this. Not me.”

“I suppose,” he answered noncommittally, “However, I will not force you into marriage, Miss, and also… I seem to recall specifying to Luke and Kieran to make it clear that you are not required to wear this necklace if you do not desire.”

You looked embarrassed.

“I ask again,” he said patiently, letting the necklace fall. He tipped your chin up with one finger, his face close to yours.

“Have you accepted my engagement then?”

You thought of your grandmother once more, remembering your previous conversation with her. You didn’t realize your face had dropped as you remembered the worried creases on the elderly woman’s face. You quietly answered him, “…Yes…”

You had expected Shin to look pleased, but there seemed to be a flicker of dissatisfaction in his eyes. You looked at him questionably.

“I said yes…”

“I heard,” he answered. He cradled your cheek with one hand, but it was only for a brief moment before he pulled his hand back to his side, and you felt oddly saddened by the sudden loss of warmth. He just nodded once and turned away, resuming the walk through town. “Come then… Those calligraphy brushes…”

You looked at his back confused, recalling his earlier words that this was just a ploy he had come up with to invite you to town. His mood seemed to have changed again, but rather than anger or disdain like before during your first visit to town, he seemed dejected.

Shin turned around, looking at you pointedly as you remained in your spot. You fumbled, embarrassed that you had gotten distracted by your own thoughts. You quickly walked forward to his side. As you continued through town, the once amicable, joking atmosphere disappeared, being replaced by an uncomfortable silence.

You guided Shin to a vendor specializing in the art of calligraphy. An array of brushes from cheaply-made to the most prestigious lined his shop, along with ink bottles and papers readily available for sell. You stood quietly near the entrance, watching as Shin conversed with the seller. As expected, Shin sought only the highest quality of tools and materials. You watched as he tested out a brush, his profile startling you briefly as you noted a sudden familiarity that you hadn’t paid heed to before.

You fingered the pendant around your neck, your mind drifting back to earlier.

I said yes…

He had looked sad when you had said it. You looked down at the pendant, and caressed the characters with your thumb.

Beloved.

You had agreed to marry Shin for your grandmother’s sake. To most, it was astounding you even had a voice in the matter, but Josephine, as scheming as she was when it came to her granddaughter’s future marriage, was also empathetic. To be shackled to a man who would only beat and berate you was a fate she did not want to inflict on her one and only granddaughter.

So, she had allowed you the freedom to reject any suitor you found unfit.

With Shin, however, Josephine seemed keen, patiently but also strongly encouraging you to ponder more deeply before you rejected him. So, you had.

He was charismatic, able to charm your grandmother during that first meeting. The way he had conversed with her was lax but also respectful, his quick wit a refreshing change from past suitors whose arrogance or passiveness made the conversations felt like torture.

He was attentive, you recalled. When he was alone with you, you were the only being in his eyes, almost as if you were the only person in his world. You had never been treated with such regard. Other suitors viewed you as more of a decoration, something to have as an accessory to show off to other affluent men, hoping to fill their hearts with envy.

You exhaled slowly.

I said yes…

“Miss?”

You looked up, surprised to see Shin staring down at you confused.

“I had called you four times,” he said, brows furrowing, “Are you alright?”

I should be asking you the same thing, you thought. You forced a smile and nodded. “Sorry, I was… remembering something.”

“I am finished here,” he said, “Let us leave.”

You departed the shop with Shin, and that earlier stifling silence returned, but this time it was only brief. You tried speaking with him again, making small talk.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” you asked, though again, you couldn’t help but silently quipped to yourself about how he had mentioned he was lying earlier about needing new calligraphy brushes—only to then lie about… not lying? You mentally groaned, confused by Shin’s behavior.

“I did,” he answered, seemingly unaware of your internal struggle.

You swallowed, bracing yourself before you blurted out, “Did I offend you somehow?”

You both stopped in the middle of the street. He turned and looked down at you, puzzled.

A wave of embarrassment washed over you, but there was no retreating now. You continued in spite of the growing warmth in your cheeks. “I… I thought you would be happy if I had said yes, but… Shin, I don’t understand you.”

“I am happy,” he answered calmly, “I am very, very, very happy.”

You hesitantly looked up, meeting his gaze. Your voice was barely audible as you spoke, “You are not acting like it…”

“Because I had wondered if maybe you would be unhappy with me?”

You stilled. You felt like you needed to look away, but your eyes remained locked on his, peering deeply into those earnest orbs, seeing yourself reflected back, face shocked and confused. “Shin…”

Before you could even speak further, there was an eruption of applauses nearby. You both turned in the direction of the explosive noises, hearing cheers and praises resounding in the square.

Shin tsked, annoyed.

It was the same performers from your previous visit to town, and just as before, they were finishing that very same play from that day. The same old story about a tyrannical oppressive dragon stealing away young girls to be his bride, only to die in the end, slain by the heroic man who wanted to save his lover from her fate.

It was a timeless tale among the villagers. A fiendish dragon slayed by a hero. The hero worshipped for his valiancy, and in the end, peace was restored to the land.

How tiring.

Shin’s eyes followed a group of children who mimicked the performers, reenacting the climatic scene of the sword plunging into the dragon’s chest, its beating heart carved out as proof of the killing.

“Where I am from,” Shin murmured quietly to you, his tone neutral, “dragons are revered.”

You both continued to walk through town. There were many shops and vendors hawking their wares, but you both continued to pass on by, unswayed by the attractive items displayed. You observed Shin’s demeanor, noting he wasn’t as impish as before, but he also didn’t seem to be in a foul mood either. It was almost as if he was apathetic, a bit condescending even toward this town.

You frowned.

“Where is that?” you asked as you both passed by a vendor selling wall scrolls depicting dragons as ominous demons. You were used to such imagery, but that didn’t mean you held the same belief as your fellow townspeople. Shin’s words had piqued your interest.

“A land far from this place,” he answered vaguely, making your frown deepened, more annoyed this time. Shin huffed in amusement at your vexed expression. He continued, unperturbed, “You would love it, Miss.”

There was a curved bridge looming over a tranquil river that separated the town with the nearby forest. You and Shin paused at the center, the two of you leaning over the railing and staring at the water below. Occasionally a fish would bob its head up in an attempt to catch passing insects.

“The flowers are always in bloom,” Shin continued, clarifying, “My hometown.”

“Surely you jest,” you responded, doubtful, “How can flowers always bloom? Do you not have autumn or winter?”

He smiled, shaking his head. His expression and words were cryptic. “They always bloom,” he insisted, adding softly, “Especially for their queen.”

Your face softened. You smiled at his wistful expression. “How poetic,” you murmured, “Does this kingdom of yours revere their queen deeply?”

It wasn’t long, but there was a noticeable pause before Shin spoke again. “She has been gone for a long time,” he answered, his smile looking bitter. “The kingdom mourns her absence, as does its king.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

Shin shook his head, interrupting you, “You didn’t know.”

He looked down at the river below, both of your reflection rippled in the water as a family of ducks swam through down the center between you both. He huffed in amusement when a lone duckling straggled.

“The queen will return,” he said, hushed, “Her king will bring her home.”

You were confused now, not understanding Shin’s words anymore. You wondered if the two of you were even having the same conversation anymore. Although there were people bustling and passing by behind you both, heading to and from town, it didn’t do anything to ease the persistent stifling silence that returned once again.

“Tanghulu,” you said suddenly, surprising Shin. When he looked down at you, confused, you quickly clarified, pointing down the road to near the entrance into town. “There’s a vendor who sells tanghulu over there. They’re quite good. You’ll enjoy them.”

“Doubtful,” he responded with a soft snort. His lips quirked in amusement. “I don’t particularly care for sweets.”

“You’ll like this one,” you insisted, beaming brightly at him. “If you have a little something sweet, your mood will be uplifted.”

“Is that so?” he laughed. “Then I must follow the young miss’ words of wisdom, shouldn’t I?”

He let you guide him, your small hand barely wrapped around his much larger one, but it was only for a few steps from the bridge before he paused, making you stopped as well. Confused, you were about to look behind you when he tugged gently, easily pulling you back up against him. Your back rested against his chest. Shin leaned down, his warm breath tickling your ear as he whispered:

“Maybe there is some truth in your words, Miss, because this sweet young miss does lift my mood tremendously.”

You blushed, reaching down to touch his arm as you stammered, “Shi-Shin…! I had meant…”

He laughed and kissed your cheek. “I know what you had meant,” he interrupted with a roguish grin, “but I think I would find you more delectable than these confections.”

“Always teasing me…” you murmured, sulking.

He laughed again, delighted. “Do I displease you?”

You remained silent.

“If you do not answer me,” he continued, his tone light and flirtatious, “I might accidentally believe you have grown fond of me.”

You opened your mouth, but no sound came out. You moped.

He turned you to face him, peering down at the sweet pout in front of him.

“Sincerity is hard to come by,” he murmured, letting his hand gently cradled your chin. His thumb glided over your bottom lip, the faint tingle lingered, extending to your cheeks. Unwittingly, the softest of gasps managed to slip through, your heart beating faster.

“You must know, Miss, I adore you,” he said, “There is no love purer than mine.”

“How can you love someone you’ve only just met?”

His head tilted a little in amusement at your inquiry. His eyes drifted down to the pendant around your neck.

“Only just met,” he repeated your words thoughtfully, “It seems like it’s been several lifetimes.”

Baffled, you didn’t even get a chance to respond when Shin continued almost immediately: “Tanghulu.”

“Tanghulu,” you repeated after he had let you go and started to walk back to town. You stared after him, watching his figure grow smaller the further he walked away from you. You peered down at the necklace you wore. You touched it, tracing the characters, a habit that had formed when you least expected.

Several… lifetimes…?

Weeks passed and it seemed every other day you were accompanying Shin either on walks or through town for errands, though you wondered if these supposed ‘errands’ were just little ploys he used as an excuse to see you. You had questioned what he did for a living to maintain the luxurious lifestyle he seemed to have, but all you received were cryptic words and vague smiles.

As it were, you also learned that Shin was fond of gifting you presents for no apparent reason. It had started out small with a flower here and a poem there, but in time, it was common to receive jewelry and other luxuries from your betrothed. You suspected that if you asked him for the world, he would give you the universe instead.

You couldn’t help but felt flattered by such attention, but more than that, you also couldn’t help but noticed how Shin often looked at you with such devotion, his attention completely yours. You found yourself growing curious of him, perhaps even fond of his presence, as he seemed to see you as a person rather than an accessory to be had.

Without realizing it, you had begun to look forward to the days when you would see him. You hid your growing fondness for him behind a mask, allowing the familiar banters to cloak your feelings.

It had started as another normal stroll through town, passing the same merchants hawking their wares as before, but on this day, you couldn’t help but picked up an unusual energy in the air. It made you uneasy, though you could not pinpoint the exact reasoning or cause. Instead, you found yourself gravitating to Shin’s side, his presence calming your nerves.

“That’s strange,” you said softly, eyeing the woman who had just glared at you. “She’s normally very sweet to me. Maybe she’s having a bad day—Shin?”

You were surprised when you noticed his glare. He seemed to be scrutinizing something. He pulled you by the waist closer to him, murmuring softly, “Stay close to me.”

“Is something the matter?” you looked at him worriedly.

He inhaled sharply, seemingly hesitating about how he should answer you. At the sound of your voice again, he sighed. “It is nothing,” he said finally, though you couldn’t help but felt that he was withholding certain details. “I just had an uneasy feeling.”

“Uneasy?” you wondered aloud, looking at his profile. Like you, he seemed troubled, but almost as quickly that instance of anxiety disappeared, his features returning to normal.

“Come,” he said calmly, his hand held out for yours, waiting. “We still have to pick up a few items for your trip in three days, correct?”

The inquiry startled you. You wondered if this was his attempt to distract you from the seemingly ominous aura looming over the town, but rather than addressing his deflection, you looked at his hand, unsure at first, before you took it willingly. You smiled and chatted with him again, the moment calm and peaceful just as before, though Shin’s earlier words remained lingering in your mind.

A distant relative was to be wedded within a week. Alongside your grandmother and faithful handmaiden, Tara, you had departed town early in the morning to start the lengthy four-day trip via a horse-drawn carriage.

It was supposed to be a normal trip—like many others you had taken in the past—passing through dense forests and unfamiliar towns, but some hiccups along the way interfered with the plan to make it to the closest town before nightfall, and now it was completely dark outside, the only lights were from the two lanterns on either side of the coachman.

Strange how this first day seemed counterproductive—as if you had been lost in a labyrinth making no progress on your trip.

The steady ride through the late night, and the rhythmic trotting of the horses had long lulled you to sleep, but it didn’t take much to stir you out of your light slumber. Disoriented, you yawned, your head raised from resting on Tara’s shoulder earlier. She, too, also perked up as did your grandmother on the opposite side.

The three of you heard unusual sounds from outside the carriage, and a feeling of dread reflected on all of your faces.

The carriage had suddenly stopped, and you heard the horses acting restless and uneased. The driver could be heard trying to calm the animals, but then you heard many other unfamiliar voices outside. Josephine had already peeked outside, her face paling.

“Whatever you do, do not come out,” Josephine ordered you before she exited the carriage. You started to protest, but Tara pulled you back in.

“Miss, we have to stay quiet!”

“But Grandma—”

Your eyes widened when you heard a scream, the voice you recognized instantly. “Grandma!”

You pushed Tara aside and rushed out of the carriage, covering your mouth in terror as you saw your grandmother laying on the ground bleeding out from her neck. You rushed to her, but was grabbed from behind by a man. Before you could react, you heard Tara screaming, seeing men dragging her out of the carriage.

“T-Tara!”

“Miss, Miss, help me!”

You struggled against your attackers.

“Feisty, pretty little thing, isn’t she?” one man sneered, grabbing your face. You spat at him and was immediately slapped across the face, the sting immediate.

“Mi—”

You screamed out Tara’s name, watching in horror as blood seeped through her clothes. She clutched her side, her eyes glazing over. “Miss… I… I don’t want to… die…”

You started screaming again, feeling a large hand covered your mouth. You immediately bit down, bracing yourself for the inevitable retaliation, but it never came.

Two little gray sparrows flew past your attacker, distracting him. As the birds turned around and began to descend, a black mist enveloped them, taking shape. When the mist cleared, the birds were gone and in their places were two identical men.

“Luke…? Kieran…”

Within a flash, Luke and Kieran silently dispatched all of the surrounding bandits, their movements faster than your eyes could follow. Your heart stilled as you heard another voice from behind, the growl unlike any beast you had ever heard.

“Let. Her. Go.”

Before you could look to the owner of the voice, Kieran intervened, prying you from your attacker. He turned you and pressed you to his chest. “Just close your eyes, Miss,” he said softly, “It will be over soon.”

Your breathing ragged, your heart pounding, you felt a chill ran down your spine as a blood-curdling scream was ripped from the man’s throat. You squeezed your eyes shut, hot tears streaking down your cheeks as you trembled in Kieran’s arms, a desperate prayer repeating over and over again in your mind.

Please wake up. Please wake up. Please—!

(A vicelike pain gripped your heavily rounded middle and you screamed into the folded cloth shoved in your mouth.

“Quiet, quiet, child,” you could hear a woman whispering to you frantically.

Sweats dripped alongside your face, and you sobbed, the hot tears rushing down your cheeks as you held onto the rope made of thick cloth suspended from the ceiling. You pulled harder when the pain returned tenfold.

“On the next pain, push, child,” the woman urged, “It will be over soon.”

Your heart pounded. You could feel something dropping lower in your pelvis. You screamed again and bore down.

“Almost, almost,” the woman whispered frantically.

You didn’t know for how long you were pushing, but eventually you felt relief, felt a heavy weight exiting your body. The cloth was taken out of your mouth, and you stared at the woman with more sweats running down your reddened face. You panted, your heart pounding.

“…The… baby?”

“It’s for the best,” the woman said solemnly, and you watched as she carried a wrapped bundle away. You had never heard a cry.

You let go of your hold on the rope and collapsed on the bed, exhausted and lightheaded. You felt so sore, too weak to even sit upright.

“…For… The best…” you repeated, shutting your eyes in pain. You could barely stay conscious.

That was right. It was for the best. You were never supposed to have fallen pregnant with this child, this unwanted babe.

You didn’t want this baby.

Neither did your master. Nor his wife.

“Child, let’s get you cleaned up—child? Dear god…!”

There were frantic voices. What were they saying? The voices slipped in and out of your consciousness, your breathing growing more ragged.

“She won’t stop bleeding! Call for a physician!”

“Just let her die then. It’s for the best.”

“Mistress, Mistress, please, she’s just a young girl!”

“She’s a harlot. This is her punishment for seducing my husband.”

“She was raped!”

There was a piercing slap, the sound echoed in the room, and mere seconds later, a shaky sob followed.

“She is just a servant girl. No one will miss her.”

“Mistress…”

You felt relief. Just let go. It would be over soon. You were safe now…

“Know your place, or do you wish to follow her in death as well?”

“…Yes, Mistress…”

A flash of lightning startled the two women.

“Now dispose of this wretched whore—”

Bloodcurdling screams traveled across the manor, sending chills down the two women’s spines. They looked at one another in shock, unsure and fearful.

“An intruder!” a man cried out.

“The master has been killed!” the words of another made the women paused, horrified.

Thunder rumbled in the sky, shaking the ground. Another flash of lightning made the women flinched. When they looked up, a man in black stood at the door, expressionless. He was covered in blood, but they quickly realized it wasn’t his.

“Who—who are you?!”

The man looked at the young girl bled out on the bed. His crimson eyes narrowed.

A gust of wind wiped out the lamps, extinguishing all of the flames in the manor. The ground continued to rumble, and when lightning struck again, the women screamed in terror, the shadow of a draconic beast was the last thing they witnessed before everything turned dark, their cries drowned out by thunders and a wrathful roar.)

You awoke, gasping and crying.

Another… dream?

“Easy, easy now,” you heard Shin’s voice and you realized he was sitting next to you.

You stared at him in shock, your mind clouded as you slowly took in your surroundings. You gradually realized you were in an unfamiliar room… in an unfamiliar bed… with… this man seated by your bedside. You looked at him again, eyebrows furrowing in complete confusion as you attempted to recall your last memory, but your mind was still clouded by the recent dream you just had.

The dream—

Your hands flew to your middle, feeling flatness. You started to calm down.

“Miss, are you alright?” Shin looked at you questionably, confused by your behavior just now.

You struggled to find your voice, hearing an unfamiliar hoarseness as you attempted to speak. “Why… Why are you here… Shin?”

“This is my home,” he explained, “You have been unconscious for four days, Miss.”

“F-four days?”

He nodded. “Merchants had found you in the forest and they had brought you to town,” he continued patiently, “I was in town when I saw you being carried to a physician, so I intervened and had you brought here instead.”

You took in his words, mulling over his explanation, but in your weakened, distorted state, you didn’t know whether to believe him or not. You looked at Shin again, meeting his patient gaze. “You… have been watching over me?”

“I have checked in on you from time to time,” he clarified, adding, “I was beginning to worry you would never wake.”

“Never… wake?” Your eyes widened as pieces of that night started to come back to you. “Grandma! And… and… Tara…”

You froze at Shin’s solemn expression. He apologized softly, “I am sorry, Miss. You were all attacked by bandits. You are the only survivor.”

You sat there in shock, your mind going over his words again. You suddenly laughed, the sound bearing more resemblance to crying. “That is a lie,” you said, “Shin, why are you lying to me? I… This is a joke. This is… This is…”

He stared back at you, his expression unwavering.

“…not true.”

“I am sorry, Miss,” he repeated. He handed you a handkerchief, but you swatted it out of his hand in anger. He remained unaffected by your hostile action. Instead, he spoke calmly, “I know this is a lot to take in. I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”

Your chest tightened and your head lowered as tears fell one by one onto the comforter. You were barely registering his words as pieces of that horrific night started to come back to you with disturbing clarity. You wondered if you had taken one single different action, would the course of that night had changed? Would Grandma be here right now scolding you for still lounging as lunchtime rolled around? Would Tara sneak you an extra tangerine and share secrets with you after dark?

“When can I go home?” you asked suddenly, not looking at him.

“This will be your home,” he answered. “It is best you stay here instead.”

“What?” You looked up shocked, not expecting his words. You shook your head. “N-No… I have to go home. Grandma’s manor will need to be taken care of… I have… my belongings… and… Grandma’s… and—”

“I will send for your things,” he said patiently, “But it is best you do not return to that place.”

You glared at him, angry by his callous words. “Who do you think you are telling me I can’t go back to my home? I am leaving now—”

Shin immediately pressed you back into bed, gently but still firm. He stared down at you, his expression hard but not heated. His voice was even, but there was an icy edge to it. “It is best you listen to me, Miss. I am merely looking out for your wellbeing.”

You glared up and shoved his arm away. “I didn’t ask you to!”

“Hn.” He looked at you unaffected, and then said calmly as he walked to the door, “Miss, I will have a servant bring you a meal.”

“I am not hungry!” You couldn’t stop yourself from lashing out at him. You felt so many tumultuous emotions raging inside you. Shin didn’t do anything to you, but right now in this moment, he was the only person available for you to direct your anger. Your anger at the bandits who murdered your family, your anger at the heavens for forsaking you, your anger… at yourself. For your incompetence… For… surviving.

“You have not eaten for four days,” Shin said calmly from the doorway, unaffected by your outburst. “It will be a light meal. Easy on your stomach. Try to eat a little.”

“Shin…” You felt angry… at yourself. He was still so calm, so patient with you, and you were behaving like a petulant child. Fresh tears fell, and in your heart, you knew Shin did not blame you for your hostile actions and words. Your whole world was stolen from you in one night, and now you were alone. You behaved in a way only to be expected.

“I will also send a servant girl to assist you,” he continued, “Her name is Simone. I will have her prepare you a bath and some fresh clothes as well.”

“Shin—”

He paused and looked at you patiently.

“Can I… bathe alone?”

He looked at you confused.

“It’s just… I have only ever been used to having Tara assist me…”

“I understand,” he said, nodding, “Simone will still be yours. Use her as needed.”

As the door closed, you lay back down in bed staring up at the ceiling in quiet contemplation. After a brief moment of reflection over that night and your conversation with Shin, you allowed yourself to cry and grieve freely.

For as long as you could remember, Tara was your only friend and companion since childhood. She didn’t deserve what had happened to her. She didn’t deserve to have her life taken like that.

I’m sorry… you thought, remembering all of the instances where your mischievousness had gotten her into trouble. You remembered all of the times you made her follow along to your shenanigans and foolishness. You mourned for the life she would have lived.

I’m sorry…

Simone was a nice girl, albeit, very chatty. You had mostly tuned her out, your thoughts still lingering on your slain family and the state of your home.

“Master Shin had explained what had happened, Miss,” Simone said, leading you to a bathhouse. “I am truly sorry for your loss.”

You followed behind her down the veranda, your eyes scanning the surroundings of the property. It was the first time you were able to lay sight on the interior of the mysterious manor, but your curiosity and excitement were long gone. You were only interested in finding a way to escape so you could return home.

“Miss, we are here.”

Your head snapped up, and you smiled politely at Simone. “Thank you,” you responded, “I can bathe myself. Do not trouble yourself further.”

“It will be no trouble to me, Miss,” Simone said, smiling, “Please do not hesitate to seek my assistance.”

You simply nodded and entered the bathhouse. There was a large wooden tub filled with warm water, the steam coming from it created such a humid atmosphere. You breathed in slowly and waited for the sound of Simone’s footsteps leaving.

When you were sure you were alone, you opened the door a crack, peeking out to glance around for signs of people. It was daylight, but the manor was quieter than you were used to from your own home. Perhaps it was because the manor was only recently occupied, there hadn’t been many people staffed other than the few you had met.

You exhaled again, calming your anxious heart. This worked out well for you then, you noted, as you left the bathhouse, feeling a little bolder now that you were certain there wouldn’t be many people around the place. You quietly retraced your steps from earlier, ducking and hiding in unoccupied rooms when you heard voices.

Eventually, you found yourself in a vast courtyard where there was a large magnolia tree looming over an equally impressive koi pond. You didn’t have time to admire the beautiful landscaping. Your only thought was on the large door that led to the outside world.

Before you could make a dash for the door, you heard voices, and you quickly backed up against the wall, hiding in the shadow. You saw Luke and Kieran walking across the courtyard conversing quietly. Their voices were low, but you heard a few words here and there:

“…tree…”

“…wine… almost ready…”

You didn’t pay heed to their conversation any further, waiting instead with bated breath as they disappeared into one of the buildings. You glanced around again, making sure there was not another person nearby before you made a run for it, your heart pounding with every footstep until you made it to the door. You panted softly, your hand holding onto the heavy iron door handle as you took one last glance at Shin’s manor.

You quietly apologized to him, feeling a brief moment of guilt for dismissing his generous hospitality. You made a decision to apologize again more formally once you had settled things at your home. For now, you quietly slipped out and made the trek back to your own manor.

As you made your way down the familiar road, passing through town, you couldn’t help but sensed eyes on you. You subtly glanced around, noticing townspeople were looking at you before turning away. You could hear hushed whispers all around.

That girl is still alive?

Why is she still here?

Don’t go near her. She’ll only bring misfortune to you.

Your steps slowed briefly, your brows furrowing in confusion. Were they talking about you? None of what you had heard made sense.

“Ah-!”

You cried out when someone bumped into you.

“Oh, I’m sorry—oh, it’s you. Watch it, wench.”

You stared in shock at the man who passed by, confused by the rude attitude. There were more mutterings here and there.

She should have been the one who died, not Josephine.

Your breath hitched. Grandmother…

Thunder rumbled in the distance. You looked up, seeing dark clouds passing by. You flinched when you felt the first droplet of rain. Getting to your feet, you winced at the sharp pain from your scraped palms and the dull throbs in her knees.

More droplets fell from the gray sky.

You quickened your pace, hurrying back to your home. You tried to tune out the callous words, tried to ignore the disdainful glares. Why was there so much animosity? You knew these people. These people knew you, so why did it seem like they now hated you so much? It was like something had changed in the last couple days while you were unconscious.

Rain poured down and you tried to shield yourself the best you could as you ran faster.

“H-hey! What are you doing?! Put those back!” You yelled out as you approached the entrance of your manor. You gasped as you watched unfamiliar men hauled out items from your home. Furniture, pottery, clothing, everything was being taken away before your very eyes.

“Hm? Oh, Josephine’s granddaughter, I presume?” A man appearing in his fifties approached you. He held up a scroll. “We are here to collect Josephine’s debts.”

“D-debts? What debts?” You took the scroll from the man, your eyes rapidly going over each word. “When did she… Why didn’t she… tell me…”

“Listen, girl,” The man started, taking the scroll back from you, “I’m truly sorry for your loss. We are just following orders.”

“But… this is my home,” you protested feebly. “The—the other servants—”

“They’ve all left. There are other homes willing to employ them.”

“N-No, you can’t take those! Put them back!”

You tried to push your way into the manor, but the man blocked you, his demeanor worsening.

“Girl, don’t make this any harder than it needs to be,” he warned, but you stubbornly continued to fight back. Annoyed, he shoved you, showing no remorse when you landed in a puddle. He turned away, mumbling, “Tsk, that’s what I get for trying to be nice to a cretin like her…”

Grandmother was… She was trying to…

All of those men that came to the house. All of those prospective matches, Josephine had laid her hope on securing her granddaughter’s future. She had wanted to make sure her granddaughter would be taken care of, cared for when the old woman would pass and everything would be gone.

“But… This is… my home… Mine… Mine… Grandmother’s…”

You sat up, sobbing as you furiously wiped the mud off your face. Everything you knew—or thought you knew—came to a grinding halt. The people you loved—Grandma, Tara—were all slain in cold blood before your very eyes, and now, you had no one left in the world and no place to call home.

The world was cruel indeed.

The rain stopped, or so you thought. You opened your eyes and stared at the pair of men’s shoes before you, your eyes slowly lifting to meet the owner’s gaze.

Shin?

He stood there, holding an umbrella over you, shielding you from the cold rain. His other hand was held out to you, his expression sympathetic. He didn’t appear angry at you for running away. He had every right to be upset with you, after all, to be offended by your lack of respect for his gracious hospitality. He had sacrificed so much of his time and resources for you, and you had left without a word and now he had found you alone in the rain, muddied and disheveled. No longer a refined maiden of class, you looked like a pitiful homeless peasant, a sore sight to be seen.

You almost wanted to laugh in defeat at the cruel joke only you could understand. You didn’t look like a pitiful homeless peasant. You were one. Your home was taken, your wealth gone, your title meaningless. You wished Shin would avert his eyes, to turn away, like everyone else had.

The whole world was against you, and yet, he wasn’t.

“Let’s go home,” he said, voice low enough for your ears only.

“I don’t have a home,” you answered back, looking behind you at the closed door.

“My home,” he clarified with great patience.

You looked down, unsure. You wondered if you were embarrassed by your pitiful situation, or perhaps if you were in vain trying to hold onto the last shred of your pride, but you spoke feebly, “I… I’m not a charity case.”

“Good,” he replied evenly, “I am not offering charity either.”

He knelt down to your eye level. He used his sleeve to wipe your face clean as he spoke, his words careful and measured, “I am here to take my bride home with me.”

You stared into his eyes, confused. “I do not have a dowry to give you anymore.”

“I do not desire a dowry.”

“I… have no honor to my name.”

“I am not seeking honor.”

You teared up again. “I… will only be a burden.”

Shin shook his head, his smile gentle. “I do not view you as such.”

You looked around, seeing scornful eyes from passerby, all glaring at you, looking at you with utter contempt and disdain. Such hatred. Did these people always hate you? Did Grandma shield you from this cruelty, raised you in blissful ignorance so that you knew no pain or heartache?

You felt fresh tears streaming down your cheeks. You heard the similar hushed whispers as before.

Josephine was a fool. Look where it has gotten her.

She should have sold that girl to a whore house the first chance she got.

Is it any surprise? She was the reason her parents died.

That girl will only bring misfortune to our town.

She should have been the one killed.

Your breath hitched. Shin appeared to grasp the handle of the umbrella tighter, his breathing sounding stiff and forced.

“Let me take you away from this place,” he murmured, “My bride.”

Nothing left in this world, no one holding you back, you took his offered hand without another thought, gasping as he dragged you to your feet and straight into his arms. You stuttered, embarrassed, “My clothes are dirty—”

“I do not care,” he answered, his grip tightening around you. “Stay close to me.”

He led you into the waiting horse-drawn carriage, shielding you from the scornful stares. You closed your eyes once the carriage began to move. You didn’t even resist when Shin wrapped his arm around you, pulling you back into his embrace.

He feels familiar, you thought, the heat of his body warming you through your wet clothes. You unconsciously leaned closer, a heavy fatigue washing over you as you allowed yourself to lower your guard around him.

As you doze off, you thought you heard a pleased hum from him.

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【 request to be added 】

[ Prelude ★ BOTDK Masterlist ★ AO3 ★ Part 2 ]

[mewnbuns]

NIE WYWOŁUJ WILKA Z LASU ( DONT CALL THE WOLF OUT OF THE FOREST ) | BLADE

⸺ ⟢ the winters are harsh in your hometown, so you know it’s never wise to venture into the wood before a storm, especially knowing that whatever inhabits there is known to be even harsher.

pairing. wolf hybrid! blade x fem reader | wc. 13k. | genres. hybrid au, slight horror / folklore themes, eventual smut, minors do not interact. | warnings. hybrid x human. blade’s speech is broken at points. kidnapping (blade doesn’t see it that way). blade has ears, fangs, claws and a tail. animal death + associated themes such as blood etc. eventual knotting. blade saves reader from a harsh storm + keeps her in his nest. lots of drool, teeth, a bit of rough play. tongue baths. I return to masterlist.

notes. i am apologising in advance for the ending of this …. i have slaved over this for the greatest part of two weeks so please give me grace my friends ily all! i hope someone out there enjoys this :-)

The winters are cruel and unforgiving in your village. And along with the season comes its own special set of superstitions. You’ve heard about them since you were a child, warned of them, the things that live in the woods. The things that monitor the edges of the forest in the hopes of luring an unsuspecting child or lone civilian too close to its domain.

They’re never seen again should they fall for it, or so you’ve heard. The ones lucky to survive such encounters have described their own personal run ins with such things, no one story ever the same as the last; voices that mimic loved ones, already years dead, luring you onto foliage or bright eyes honed on you from the shadows, lurking. A body far too big and tall to be an animal ever sighted before, but the sounds they make… the throats bitten out from your village’s goats or the claw marks found decorating the bodies of the fiercest of wolves… far from human.

"That’s what happened to a girl around two streets over." The store assistant says from where she sits at the table across from you, swallowing the remnants of her breakfast before tapping on her temple. As if reciting the rumour from memory. "Her parents were never quite right after that. Driven a little mad by it." 

"They never found her?" You ask. 

"No part of her," She says, "Not even her body." 

"But what if she's still out there?" 

"Nobody's stupid enough to go looking." She shakes her head, matter of fact. "Not in the woods." 

There's a stillness to the atmosphere after that. And you take that as your opportunity to finish packing the last of your groceries. Non-perishables are favoured around this time of year, things that will last indoors without waste— to keep you fed, lest you risk venturing out past the woods more than necessary.

It's not that you're afraid of it, just wary. Raised to be that way more than anything because you learn fairly quickly that being reckless is for the stupid, and not many stupid people tend to make it the whole season. 

You refuse to be stupid. 

Even when your cabin in stashed somewhere a bit further away from town, thirty minutes walk without the storm— fifty if you're unlucky. But you've made this trip enough seasons for you to lose count and you're not one to start acting out of character and taking chances now. 

It's just you out there after all, enjoying the serenity of your own company. So you tend to stock up on what you can before the real, harsh part of it hits. Firewood, food, blankets. Things to see you through and keep you from having to pass by places that may have you seeing things in the storm. Especially when the odds are something is staring back. 

But thankfully, most things tend to stick to their side of the road.

Most. 

You finish packing up the rest of your groceries into your bag pack and secure it over your shoulder, along with a few extras in a grocery bag and give the assistant a curt nod as she passes you your change before finishing off the rest of her breakfast. You refuse it with a wave, and she shrugs before pocketing it. 

"You should be careful, stick to the path, no shortcuts. Not in winter." She says, emphasising the advice following your previous conversation. 

"I know, my cabin is hardly far. I was just picking up the last of my supplies before heading back." 

"It may not seem it but in the cold," The store assistant appears to ponder, then shakes her head, ridding herself of the thought. "Things have a funny way of getting into your head, be wary." 

"Got to be." You reassure her with a knowing smile, and the assistant gives you a nod that's equal parts sympathetic and understanding. But then as if she can pick up on her own softening of heart, she rolls her eyes at herself, scoffing. 

"You better be. I don't want all my goods going to waste," She says, folding her arms over her chest. "I'll replenish them by the end of next week, best stop by early before they're all gone and then you'll have more important things to worry about when you're starving. Nothing in the wood will want you if you're just a pile of bones." 

I better see you here and alive by the end of next week, is what she probably means to say, but that's not quite the reputation she likes to keep around here. So you simply turn around to give her another reassuring smile, and the bell above the store entrance rings as you push yourself out of it. 

"Thank you. I'll see you next week then." 

Her words make you feel a lot better than she probably thinks. 

— 

When you take your first step out of the generously warmed village store, the frost in the air immediately steals your breath, catching in your throat as a bone-chilling gust rolls over your padded jacket. 

It makes your face pinch up, hugging your arms around yourself like you're manually trying to keep your body heat intact and you bury the lower half of your face into your scarf with a huff. But once you're adjusted, you dig your feet into the snow and begin your journey back home. 

You've still got a few hours of daylight, and considering how easy this walk is for you, and how many times you've made it, you wouldn't consider yourself to be particularly worried or needing to rush.

Your first mistake perhaps. 

The town feels most alive at this time of the day, the bustling of people preparing for the storms, families reinforcing their homes and bringing in as much supplies as their hands can carry. Here, the sky is bright and blue, scrubbed clean of clouds and the snow that coats the gravelled dirt beneath you glitters. 

But you're not from here. Not from the heart of the village anyway, as often as the atmosphere of it all makes you wish you were. 

The bare-branched trees look soft and friendly as you continue to walk towards the parting in the wood, like something out of a winter postcard. Still. Inviting. 

But as soon as you cross that threshold, when the bustling of the village dies off into an eery, misplaced silence and you're only left with the sound of your own bated breaths and your steady footsteps, you know it's all a careful illusion. 

You keep your eyes forward as you begin the quick, easy route back to your cabin just off of the path. To either side of you is a sea of black branches, the dark woods beckoning in whoever of those are easily swayed enough to give up their sanity to explore it. 

There's always a feeling that comes with this trip. Even now as you bury your face deeper into your scarf and try to ignore it, you can never quite shift the feeling that you're being watched. From between the humps of hedges and the skeletal trees, that something is waiting for you to take a wrong turn or lose your edge for a second too long for it to be forgivable. 

You shift your extra bag of supplies onto your forearm so that you can stuff your hands in your pockets, and you keep your eyes straight ahead as you venture deeper down the marked path. 

You're only half paying attention. You want to keep yourself calm, the people around the village know that whatever lives in these woods is known to be able to smell fear and unease, like they're not the masters of creating it. 

But in the silence, in the wake of the winter hum, you can hear something breathing. 

The dark wood to your sides looks deeper than it should— a shadow that's not a shadow. A crack of a branch, an odd shift of greenery and bushes, like something is mimicking your pace and journey. Like something's watching and following you from over that unmarked territory, simply out of sight.

You can feel your teeth begin to chitter, and you blame it on the weather. On the bone-splitting cold. Not whatever you're convinced you can hear. The desperate pant of breath, the feeling of something behind you. The fog is too thick for you to be able to see your cabin from where you are, and you can feel yourself beginning to panic— like you're being made to feel that way, convinced you've taken a wrong turn and you should turn back. But which way is back? Which way is left and right? Are you lost? 

No. It's the woods. They're trying to get into your head, they're trying to convince you that's the case. But by the time you realise this, you don't know where you are, the snow is so thick beneath your boots that the threshold to the wood is no longer marked by the indent of gravel and greenery. It's just white, soft, all-concealing snow. 

So instead, against what you know, you begin to run. 

And you hear something behind you begin to do the same. 

The wind is harsh against your features as you take off, every inhale feels like it coats your throat in ice and your eyes are beginning to grow wet as they bare the brunt of the cold. You squint, trying to peer into the fog, hoping to catch even a glance of your cabin in the distance, willing yourself not to look back to see what's chasing you. Afraid you might lose your edge.

There's a fork in the path infront of you, one you don't remember from all of the times you've taken this route, so you know you're lost. You let your will take you, taking off to the right and losing yourself in the thick, dark trees. You're too desperate to think sense, and your mind keeps flickering back to the store assistant words; Things have a funny way of getting into your head, be wary. 

You're not wary. You're not smart. You're as good as dead. 

You half-stumble over a rock, losing your footing for a second when it's concealed by the snow and those footsteps behind you grow closer. The sound of breathing picks up, the branches feel like they're grabbing for your legs and arms, like they wish to hold you in place; string you up for your massacre like an animal to slaughter.

You squeeze your eyes closed as you find your footing again, running with your head tucked beneath your scarf, your groceries tight in the crook of your elbow and your backpack bouncing on your back, hoping that the next time you open them you'll be at home. You'll be in bed, infront of the fire, your feet tucked into a warm blanket and hot cocoa in your lap. 

But before you even have the chance, your body collides into something solid and hard— the impact sending you off kilter and flying onto your back. Your head smacks against something blunt as you fall, blurring your vision, your body in the snow, freezing aside from the thick, tar-like warmth that now trickles down your temple. Red over white. 

Everything hurts. You can't move. Can't run anymore, and when you open your eyes and squint up at whatever you just knocked into, there's something staring back. Something tall and brooding, leaning over your body— bleeding into the snow. With devouring red eyes, the bleary swish of a tail; a mixture of midnight and crimson, a guttural sound— a growl perhaps.

And then suddenly, everything goes black. 

— 

You wake with a sudden start, flopped on your back, squinting up at the sharp edges of a roof with a thumping headache. The ceiling is stripped in shadows, and it only takes you a few steadying blinks to realise it's barely a ceiling at all. Not the type you're used to; it's made of rock, damp and cracked, and the hard winter sun from what you can only assume is the opening to a cave makes you wince when you roll onto your side and push yourself up to sit. 

That's when the panic begins to set in. Because you're not alone. 

There's someone, something opposite you. On the other side of a makeshift fireplace, poking at the embers with a long stick as those same deep, red eyes rove over you. He's huge, occupying space like he owns it, every muscle broad and strong and cut like stone. 

But then you look harder, and you see the scars on his skin, the bandages wrapped around his exposed midriff and huge arms. A long tail rests by his side— those same bleeding notes of crimson and midnight, matching the fur along two pointed ears that twitch and peek out from long, shiny hair. 

Your heart begins to rabbit in your chest and immediately, you lunge your body back— kicking at the pelts of fur that have been tucked over top of you with a shriek. And your back collides with the cool cave wall behind you until you can't shift back anymore, all while he watches you. 

Whatever he is, it is— isn't human. Not as you know them atleast. He doesn't move, doesn't shift. He's too still, like a creature hunting, and you can sense the violence in him waiting. Like he's moments away from lunging over the fire and ripping out your throat with his teeth.

"Hello?" You say, your voice a breath. Weak. Scared. 

He doesn't respond. His slow blink like a countdown. 

There's another surge of pain in your head and you wince, your hand rising up to press against the throb but then you notice there's fabric there. You thread your fingers at it, realising that it's a bandage similar to the ones wrapped over your company's body, messily—and a little too tightly—knotted around your head and seemingly soaked in what you can only assume is your own blood. 

What the heck happened? Fear grips you, the scent of uncanny radiating off of the man opposites you's body in waves. Where even are you? Had he brought you here? Bandaged you up? But why? 

Suddenly, the man across from you pushes to stand and you notice that he's dressed in only black pants and those bandages when he immediately crosses the space between you both in three big steps. His presence makes you cower, his sheer size more obvious now that he's standing upright and you squish yourself back against the cave wall like it'll let you sink into it. 

But then he leans his huge body down, snatches your hand from your head and glares at you. 

You feel like you want to cry, ensnared in his gaze. 

"Why… why are you doing this?" You say, his fingers digging into the skin of your wrist, and you can feel claws at their tips. "Please, let me go." 

"Hurt." Is the first thing he says, his voice like gravel. Broken and growling, but his eyes motion to your head and his huge tail swishes behind him. "Heal first." 

"You did this?" He ignores the question, but he lets you go and his wolf-like ears turn out like he's listening to something. For something. The hackles of his tail stand to attention as he offers the entrance to the cave a glance. Like he's aware of something you're not. 

You're frozen rigid, going through the notions of convincing yourself he's only patching you up because nobody likes their food to be bruised and bleeding out, and then half slipping into insanity and thinking this is just a dream. You rub your hand over the skin of your wrist, soothing the part that's now free from his tight grip and only then do you realise that you've been stripped of your winter layers, leaving you in just your pants and shirt. 

“Where are my things? My clothes, my…. my supplies. Where are they?”

You panic again, try to push yourself up to stand but then he's whipping around to glare at you once more, growling when you almost stumble off of the pile of pelts you've been placed upon. And you easily crumble back down onto your knees when he storms over towards you again, scaring you into submission when you see a glimmer of his sharp canines. 

"Please…" You try to reason, beg. 

He doesn't use words to respond to you. Doesn't say anything at all, his hackles still raised and shuddering. But his ears twitch at the pathetic sound of your voice. 

"Can I go home? I won't tell anybody I saw you, you'll…" You swallow, "You'll be free to stay here. Just please let me go, I can leave and I—"

"Stay." He growls, cutting you off. His frown right now feels much harsher than winter. 

Your lips open then close again, your words failing you. Maybe you're afraid, maybe you've lost too much blood. Your head still thumps, the pain making you feel dizzy and your ability at making a sound argument feels lost with the dryness of your throat. 

"Do you have a name?" You say, hoping your wavering voice and a little faux-friendliness may save your life— it being the only survival instinct you're left with out here. 

It atleast settles the raised hackles on his tail, "Name?" He mimicks your cadence, chewing on the words, like it's a language unknown— or long forgotten. 

"Yes, a name. How others may refer to you? Should I call you something in particular?" 

"I go by… many names." He says, turning his back to you and trudges back over to his spot by the fire with a low grunt. His tail thick and swaying behind him.

"Well you either tell me one of them or I make something up on the spot," You say with a dry laugh, feeling bold with your own fear— half lucid from your injury, "And considering my circumstances I can't promise you'll like it." 

"Careful." 

"You haven't killed me yet and that counts for something." You mutter beneath your breath, not sounding nearly as confident as you wish to. "Unless you plan to eventually." 

"Blade." 

"Blade?" You tilt your head and he huffs back, affirming you heard it right, "very fitting." 

You wonder if Blade, considering what he is, can pick up on your almost sarcastic tone and maybe that's why he half growls at you. Just enough to get the whisper of a smile wiped off of your lips, and you pull your knees up against your chest as you attempt to get comfortable. 

The conversation dies after that, and you don't attempt to get it going again. You stare at the embers of the fire infront of you, Blade tending to it with that same stick from earlier. A quick glance towards the front of the cave shows you the depth of the thick snow that's fallen since you've been out cold, and the storm is wailing and loud, obscuring your vision and any plans of escape. 

You won't get far without freezing to death, but then again, maybe that would be better than being stuck in the den of a half-wolf hybrid, who no doubt will soon have you roasting on a spit in preparation for his next meal. 

And there, in that damp, forgotten cave in the middle of the thick wood that surrounds your village. You rest your bandaged up forehead against your knees, and you finally begin to cry. 

— 

In the days you’ve been here— how many exactly, you’ve lost count, the passage of time seemingly creeping by in odd turns of the sun that you’ve fallen out of habit of tracking— you’ve learned a few things.

First, you’ve learned that Blades not much of a talker. 

His grasp of the human tongue is sparse or mostly forgotten, something you can only assume is due to his still unknown origin, but you think he has the ability to atleast understand some of what you're saying. Even then he chooses to leave you with little response, or ignore you entirely. Sometimes he'll do you pleasure of grunting out a "No." his favourite word, you've come to learn considering how often he uses it. 

So youve spent most of your time in his abandoned and damp nest catching up on sleep, finding it the only thing you're left with, considering he's also not letting you leave here either. You're only ever roused when it's time to change your bandages and even then, you find yourself being manhandled like an exhausted child being dressed for school by their mother. 

(If your mother was a half-wolf, half-man monster who was holding you hostage in his nest for the winter that is).

Secondly, you've learned that Blade's fast, faster than most men— which better emphasises the point that he’s no normal man. As if the wolf-like features were already anything to go by. 

You’ve tried to escape on days where you've managed to scavenge up what's left of your bravery, more times than you could count on one hand— you’ve went from trying to race right past him on unstable legs to trying to sneak out while he’s hunting, both opportunities have ended the same way. The outcome is Blade’s always been there, to race up right behind you and snatch you by the collar of your shirt before dragging you right back to where you started.

He doesn’t use force with you—not more than necessary anyway—he doesn’t hurt you or threaten you past the odd guttural growl or the show of his canines when you’re acting out. But that alone doesn’t make for a happy existence, and you’re not happy here because this isn’t where you belong.

But no matter how often you scream, cry and beg for Blade to take you home, to show you the way or else you’d rather take your chances and die out in the wood, he doesn’t, and you've given up hoping he ever will. 

Third and last, you've accepted that he has no intention of eating you. Not yet anyway. He hunts twice a day, returns back to you with pelts to keep you warm alongside a bloodied mouth and hands. 

You can't remember your last meal, can't remember the last thing you tasted that wasn't water he brings you from the lake or the taste of your own saliva, but you won't eat what he brings back for you either. Raw meat, massacred carcasses of forest dwelling animals and your lack of appetite for his kills has become apparent in your increasingly weak state. 

But you won't eat it, even when the stench of rot from what's offered to you begins to settle in the atmosphere of the cave, turning your stomach, leaving his efforts to go to waste. You refuse to lose the parts of your humanity that you desperate clutch to. 

Blade's noticed it too, and his temper has become increasingly thin in response to your stubbornness. 

Today, he returns back to you with the small carcass of a rabbit, his huge hands making the meat look much smaller as he holds it by its feet. You're a lump in his nest, exhausted, starving, buried beneath the numerous pelts of fur and kills— yet still unable to keep yourself warm. 

There's a thump at the edge of your makeshift bed, and when you weakly roll onto your side you notice that Blade's shrunk down to his knees opposite you. His mouth is red and bloodied, the crimson trailing down the length of his chin and neck as his devouring eyes hold your bleary gaze. His thick arms are much the same; deep, thick blood extending from palm to elbow, he truly is the picture of the creatures you once heard about in those village stories, the ones that you're taught to avoid. 

He's placed the rabbit on the floor between you both, the blood beginning to pool on the rock. 

“Eat." Blade says, the first word he's spoken in days. 

You give the corpse a glance, feel bile rise in your throat at the rancid, metallic smell, and then turn back to face the wall again. 

“No.” You say, "I’m not hungry.”

The growl that Blade responds with is low and fills you with dreaded unease, though before you can turn back around to speak again, you're already moving. His huge hands grabs roughly at the back of your shirt, staining it red, and he drags you back over towards the corpse on the ground, shoving you above it with an easy force that makes the whole word feel like it shifts. 

"Eat." Blade growls again, louder, forcing you to hold your face above the kill that he's so graciously offering you. 

"I'm not eating that," You spit, desperately trying not to vomit. "I'm not some animal like you are, so unless you're going to feed me something edible I'll sooner starve." 

“Foolish girl.” He barks at you, and then with one final shove on the back of your neck, he lets you go. Leaving you to crawl back beneath your pelts, in favour of walking back over to his own space by the fire. “Starve then.”

"I will!" 

And at this rate, you actually might. But atleast now you're too weak to keep running. 

— 

You don't know how long passes before you wake up again, but when you do, you think that you might actually be dead. There's a pleasant scent in the air, one of cooking meat— similar to the foods you would enjoy during breakfast at home or bbq's in the village. 

You really must be dead, or hallucinating atleast, because when the delightful smell urges you to push your weakened body up from beneath your warm shelter, the sight your met with is surely unreal. 

Blade's still there, in his usual spot by the fire, his ears twitching and tail swaying in big back and forth swipes behind him. But infront of him, rests meat, cooking and sizzling upon a makeshift hot plate of iron resting atop the flames. 

Blade watches you rise, what's left of your energy being used to drag your body over to the edge of the bed as drool begins to collect in your mouth. A meal, something edible, assuming he even offers you any of it considering how you've treated him. 

But still, you're far too hungry to be stubborn right now. You even consider beginning to beg, but before your mouth opens to begin your pathetic little pleas, Blade points to a pile of already cooked meat at the edge of your bed and you're too quick to grab at it. Like you're afraid he'll change his mind and snatch it away. 

All of this time you've been so concerned with losing your humanity, but right now you probably look more animal than ever, shoveling still warm— perfectly cook rabbit hide into your mouth. You're not quiet about it either, too hungry to remember manners or etiquette; it's delicious, tender and juicy. Blade just watches you, and you wipe your mouth on the back of your arm before finally talking. 

“You can cook?” You ask, swallowing a mouthful. 

Blade huffs in response, poking at another piece of cooking meat on the fire before leaning over to add it to your plate again, and you accept gratefully. You assume his answer to be a yes. 

“Then why do you eat them as they are?” You continue, watching Blade add another strip of raw meat to replace the last. His huge muscles flex with every movement as he carefully tends to your meal and you think he looks more man now than he ever has. 

But you can tell he's sifting through his vocabulary in his head, reminding you of the reality— chewing on his words before deciding on how to respond. 

“Convenience.” Blade eventually says, shrugging. "It makes no difference to me.”

You shove another freshly cooked piece of meat into your mouth and moan at how good it tastes, the sound makes Blade's ears turn out. His tail swishes behind him, that same hue of midnight and crimson catching your eye before he tucks it away behind him when he notices you staring.

"Where did you come from?" You ask, seemingly more talkative now that you're eating. 

Blade glances between you and then the meat, “My origin,” He pauses, thinking, “It has no story.” then shaking his head, he shrugs, “No satisfaction.”

"You don't know?" 

Blade grunts, meaning no. 

"And you're okay with it?" 

He shrugs again, indifference. And you stop asking questions after that, not wanting to lose out on your delicious meal knowing his unwillingness to talk. So you sit and eat in a comfortable silence, Blade filling your plate back up with an easy motion everytime you get close to finishing and you take what he offers you, until you're completely full and satisfied. 

He continues to cook for you after that, and you decide to stop being as difficult as you have been, blaming your prior attitude on not only being kidnapped but also being hungry (which you would consider to be valid reasons worthy of a little troublemaking). But now, you've atleast stopped complaining nonstop about it, learning quickly that it will change nothing of your circumstances. 

Your priority is just to survive the winter. 

There's still times where you and Blade have the odd disagreement, but now that he's got you eating and the wound on your head has healed, there seems to be an unspoken agreement between you both. 

One that says, do not make my life any harder than it already is. 

But now that you're eating, you've begun to focus on the rest of the problems that had been drowned out before by your once overwhelming hunger. 

The most important of those being: your embarrassingly sparse collection of clothes, the wood unfortunately not homing any boutiques amidst the array of wolf-hybrids and other monsters it seems. But also, you have become hauntingly aware of just how long it's been since your last bath. 

Unfortunately, going off of Blade's appearance and the fact that he only ever seems to wear black pants and wrapped bandages as a makeshift shirt, you think borrowing something to wear is out of the question. But, everytime you've tried to convince him to atleast take you back to your cabin, you're either met with silence or silenced by the loud rattle of a growl in his chest as a response. 

Which is no surprise, considering he barely lets you go to the bathroom without him standing a few feet off to make sure you don't make a run for it. (The last time you tried this, he barely let you fasten your pants before dragging you back to the cave, and almost didn't let you go again for a whole day afterwards— so it's safe to say you learned your lesson). 

But even with your growing desperation, and your now prickling unease when it comes to being in such close proximity to Blade given your current state and his strong sense of smell. Nothing could have ever prepared you for how your day begins this time around. 

You're still wrapped up in the thick layers of pelts that Blade had collected for you previously, enjoying a dreamless slumber considering there's not really much else you can do around here. Not without your own doggy chaperone anyway, and you don't really have plans to try running from him again anytime soon, lest you end up ripping the only shirt you own with how roughly he picks you up. 

But you find it strange when you're awoken suddenly, considering how comfortable you are in your current position and with the still thick dark of night outside the cave, you assume it can't be anywhere close to sunrise. The fire is out, and Blade's not at his usual post— leaving you to assume he's perhaps out hunting or doing whatever else half-wolf hybrid men do around the forest at night. 

You'd rather not know now that you think about it. 

You stretch your arms over head in a yawn, and then you feel something tickle just above your hip as you begin to drift off again— one of your hands shoving it away while you get comfy. Your feet kick out a bit, hit against something hard but you don't think anything of it. 

Until again; that sensation comes back. It's almost relentless, repeated; a wet lap at your hips, travelling across your lower stomach and up beneath your ruined shirt. It tickles, making you half-giggle in your still drowsy state of mind. You're barely awake, not fully aware of what's going on but your hands shove at it again and you begin to laugh. 

But there's a growl that follows this time, low and long, snapping you awake. And you feel a squeeze at your hips, something rough and unrelenting and it jostles you slightly— wakes you up a bit more, squinting into the darkness as you try to wriggle away out of instinct. Your heart begins a pace as if out of habit, rapid in your chest and by the time you realise what's happening— you're horrified. 

Blade's huge body is looming over yours in his nest, his hands keeping you pinned to the surface beneath you as his tongue laps and licks big, long stripes across your skin. You watch in utter shock at first, at the way he frowns up at you before returning back to what he was doing— pushing more of your shirt up so he can reach more of your body, drooling all over you as he cleans you up. 

Maybe it's because you're half-awake, and that's why you don't push him off immediately, maybe you're scared at how easily this huge man is pinning you to the bed, or maybe you just don't want to admit how good it feels.

It's gross when you think about it. Pinned to the surface of a nest of skinned animal pelts, Blade— a half-wolf man bathing you with his tongue as he holds you down. Your breath stutters when his mouth rolls over your ribs, and you accidentally arch up into the next wet, lap of his tongue as he shoots you a curious look. 

"That…. that tickles. That's all." You say, trying to play off your reaction. 

"Filth." Blade grits back, his lips at your abdomen, teeth grazing the skin as he begins to lower himself down again. You're still drowsy, but find enough energy to push yourself up on your forearms— eyes widening as you watch Blade's form press down lower on your body. 

You can't help the way your mind begins to drift off, the delightful feeling of Blade's hot, wet tongue on your bare skin already feeling like too much at once and the bleary drowsiness that still blankets you only makes it feel so much better. You begin to think of how the sensation would feel in other places, swiping back and forth over the perk of your breasts, the inside of your thighs, over the fabric of your panties. 

It makes your body begin to twitch and heat, your breathing coming faster than you'd like to admit and when you cast Blade a glance, you notice his tail has taken a wide sway behind him. The colour of crimson and midnight wagging back and forth as he cleans you with his mouth. 

His hands are still at your hips, squishing the skin there as he noses at the waistband of your pants and without thinking, your hips try to rise to the touch. Your mouth drops open to gasp, and then suddenly, Blade's fingers begin to yank down the fabric— making you squeak out of surprise as his movements suddenly freeze and you come to your senses. 

"Wait! What…" You jolt up, coming face to face with Blade— making his ears twitch. "What the hell are you doing? Get off of me!" 

"Clean," Blade growls, as if it's obvious. "Which other way?" 

You kick your feet out from beneath him, shoving at his heavy hands on your body. "Surely there is something other than this, I'm not letting you undress me naked and lick me clean. What the hell is wrong with you?" 

You eventually manage to rid yourself of Blade's hands, but only because he wills you to by pulling them back. He doesn't move though, he stays hovering over top of you, his ears turning out as if to make himself look more intimidating. And you're not sure if you're just seeing things but he does look much larger than usual, more animal and wild— his earlier efforts leaving drool dripping from his chin. 

He begins to growl, like you're some disobedient pup. Like he's sure that'll work. 

"I'm not scared of you." You say, hoping your voice doesn't betray you with a waver. But then Blade's eyes glint, and you think the racing of your heart might, because he leans in like he can hear it, like he's going to reach right into the hollow of your chest and rip it out for himself. 

The guttural sound of his voice makes it skip over the next beat, "You should be." 

It's tense inside of the cave. Blade hovering over top of your body as you rest on your forearms, your body coated in drool and spit from his earlier grooming. The silence is chilling, dangerous— if you were to look at your hands you're sure they would shake.

Until suddenly, Blade lunges for you. His hands drag you across the mattress until you're completely beneath him, and you're unable to do anything but scream when you feel his claws tease at your supple skin. His teeth are by your throat now, his jaws snapping— serving as a reminder. 

"Soft skin…" Blade growls, bearing down on you. "Easy to slice." 

"G-get off of me!" You shout, pushing at his chest with little pay off. He doesn't shift. "Get off! You stupid hound!" 

"Hm?" He drawls again, and your blood runs cold. The tone is dripping with something sinister, his tongue licks a warm stripe beneath your ear and you feel your body begin to tremble. "Fear, I smell?" 

You take a breath. Hold it for one second, then two. Then you stop your struggle. 

"All of this to prove a point? You're a monster." You respond this time, voice carefully neutral. And Blade draws some of his weight back from you— not entirely, but enough for you not to feel the sharpness of his claws so much. 

"Monster?" He hums, "Am I?" He seems to think on it. Taps one sharp finger on your hip as if to punctuate the thoughts. "Maybe." 

But then suddenly, Blade's off of you again. And for the first time since you've woken up, you feel like you can finally breathe. You will yourself to begin to move away, keeping your eyes on his form while you inch yourself further towards the wall incase he comes back, thinking that will save you— but he barely casts you a glance. 

Speaking to you over his shoulder with a low, "Rest." and it takes everything in your body to settle your heart rate before you reply. 

"Don't clean me without permission next time." 

Blade doesn't respond to that, he goes to the edge of the cave and takes a seat there instead, curling his tail beneath his form in one swift, fluid motion. And you tuck your still quivering form back beneath the pelts of fur as you try to settle back down. 

You lie facing the entrance, like you're afraid he's going to come back— wait until you're asleep before coming to wrap his jaws around your throat and rip. But he doesn't move and he doesn't speak, leaving you to stare at his shadowy silhouette and admire the broad, cut muscles of his back with nothing else to do. 

You try to swallow down the memory of his hot tongue on your body, and for a moment how good it felt. Blaming the fleeting moment of pleasure on your sorry circumstances and the fact it's the only affection you've been shown since you got here. 

It makes something between your thighs begin to burn, a trick of the mind perhaps or even a lack of sleep. As soon as you begin to think about what would've happened if you let him yank down your pants you know you've gone too far, and you breathe out a long sigh before closing your eyes. 

The sound makes the shadow of Blade's ears twitch, once then twice. 

And you barely sleep a wink for the rest of the night. 

— 

It's been awkward between you both since then, to no fault of Blade's and entirely you're own, but who can blame you? You can barely look him in the eyes now without thinking back to that night; how his mouth felt on your body, the weight of his hands on your hips. 

It's humiliating. Not only that, but this is still the man who kidnapped you, you shouldn't be thinking such unsavoury things about the very person who's condemned you to a winter under his consistence watch. Without even offering you a say or a choice. 

Even Blade's been doing his own part at avoiding you, opting to spend most of his time curled up at the opening of the cave, like he's keeping watch or keeping distance— you're not quite sure which one. And as much as you know that most people would probably be happy about that fact, it's hard to ignore the perpetual, unsavoury feelings of lust and disappointment that still coil inside of you. 

You put it down to the simple fact that you're used to his company by now, you're sure there's a name for it. It's simple human nature to crave the touch of another person, especially when you've spend the most part of recent days living with him, but then again you're not sure if Blade would even be considered that… 

A person. 

He's humane in some aspects, yes. But he's still animal at his core. Not only in physical traits but in instinct, the way he lives, the way he hunts, kills. So why do you find yourself yearning for someone who is only half man to keep you company? 

You assume that you must lose yourself to the tendrils of sleep again while thinking about it, exhausting your mind while trying to justify your distasteful feelings for a man who is denying you of your humanity. 

But when your eyes next open it's brighter than usual. Cold. Strange. 

It takes you a few moments to realise what you're looking at before you're pushing yourself up with a jolt, realising that your mind is indeed not playing tricks on you, but you're really looking at it. The sky, clouds, those same bare, frost-covered trees that once marked the entrance to the wood that you'd grown so familiar with. 

You're not under your usual pelts, instead curled up in the snow— like a baby lamb abandoned by its mother. All alone as your body shifts against the thick layer of white that's began to blanket over top of you. But for some reason, you don't feel particularly cold. 

"Blade?" The sound of your own voice surprises you, not because you're surprised you can still talk but because your first instinct is to call out for him. Of all people. 

You cast a glance over your shoulder, examining what feels like the endless stretch of woods that surround you; like you're trying to make rhyme of their pattern, piece together where you are and how to find your way back. Did Blade leave you here? Did he finally grow tired of your discontent and give up trying to take care of you? 

But why would he drop you in the middle of the wood with no survival instinct? A mere human without a place, no food or warm clothes. He would have been better slaughtering you himself; he atleast owed you that much. 

Then again, did he really owe you anything at all? 

The thought makes something in your gut turn, and it's sooner replaced with a familiar feeling of unease and dread when you realise just how quiet it is. There's no subtle gusts of wind or sounds from the animals you would expect to hear, there's nothing but a stillness that feels manufactured and deliberate, like the wood itself is afraid of something. 

Which is why the distant crack of a branch is so startling. 

Your head whips around to look for its origin, and you can see your own breath given the low temperature. The small clouds come fast from between your lips as something settles, and you feel that same ill-realisation return to you in a wave; the feeling of being watched. 

You open your mouth to call out again but then something smart inside of you decides against it. 

Your lips form a name but they don't speak it aloud, Blade? Your eyes try to narrow in on what you believe you can see, a shadow behind a particular thick tree or a body crouched behind a stretch of shrubbery. 

The snow crunches when you push yourself up and take a step back, and then you hear something move with you, towards you. Another shift out of your peripheral vision and another grating, subconscious order from your own mind. 

Run. 

And so you do. You feel right back to where you started again, all those weeks ago as you try to manoeuvre your body through the unending twists of trees and branches. It feels like they try to reach out for you, snagging at your cheeks and ankles; making you trip and stumble over your own feet in an attempt to stay upright. To stay moving. 

You offer a glance over your shoulder this time, and part of you wishes you didn't— you catch a fleeting, fast glimpse of something in the shadows following you. Limbs too long, faces contorted and inhumane. You see eyes in the trees, teeth in the bushes, a presence on your heels. 

But then you turn back to continue forward and you see him. In an opening of the woods, a stretch of white snow littered with red. There's a deer by his feet, a gutted and slaughtered carcus as he stares at it unwaveringly. 

Blade. 

"Blade!" You call out shrill and high, and your joints feel like they scream along with it. His ears twitch and immediately he's able to find you, his heckles raise and his lips draw back to reveal sharp, blood-stained teeth. Yet, you don't falter, you should, but you don't. You run straight for the predator in the woods until you're slamming against his warm, broad chest. Much like you did that day. 

"Blade? Somethings out there," You say, desperate as you cower into his chest. Clawing at the bandages in his skin. "S-save me, take me back please!" 

"Foolish girl." A voice responds, masculine, slippery—poisonous—speaks straight into your mind. "You’re prey." It ricochets in the trees, as if there were many voices, not his alone. 

You snap your head up, and you quickly come to realise that this isn't Blade. Not as you know him anyway. 

As he is now, he appears much more than just half-animal. His mouth remains covered in blood, but to an extent you've never saw it before. The crimson drips and seeps into the bandages on his chest, turning them a deep shade of red and his eyes bore an emptiness that you would consider unfamiliar. You feel your hands begin to shake. 

"What? Blade it's me." You try to reason, voice meek and small. But when you try to pull away you feel claws on your back, close to puncturing the skin. 

"Me?" Blade—The wolf mimics. His voice like a serpent slivering over grass. "A girl who has lost her way?" 

Alarm bells begin to go off in your mind, but gaining distance is impossible. You push at his chest, instinct screaming at you to get away. Your chances were better when you were running. 

"Sto—stop it! I'm sorry, I'll go back. Just…" You try to reason, but those same claws clack at the base of your spine. Taunting you. "Stop!" 

"Now you listen?" Blade's laughter twists through your mind like a ghost combing a corridor, near and far at the same time.

"Take me back." You say, voice shaking. The smell of rot from the corpse at your feet beginning to make you feel sick, but when you step back your legs catch in it's hooves. It sends you to the ground, right at Blade's feet as he stands above you. 

"Fear," He drawls, teeth clacking. Eye's honed on you before he lowers himself down to your level. His heckles stand up and your body turns rigid. "It suits you." 

"No! Wait." You cry as Blade suddenly lunges at you, jaw at your throat, sinking into flesh and bone like it's made of silk. 

And then suddenly, you snap awake. 

You're covered in sweat when you do, clutching at the base of your neck like you're surprised to still find it intact. Your chest rises and falls desperately, and you swear you can still feel the pressure of teeth on your jugular. But when you pull your hand away to make sure— you're clean. 

There's no blood. No sign of anything. 

Your eyes quickly adjust to the darkness in the cave, finding the familiar cracks and dampness of the ceiling to be strangely comforting. But you only find yourself to be truly awake when a looming shadow at the edge of the nest startles you back, and you gasp at the crimson gaze that pours over you.

"Danger?" Blade asks, voice boreing the depths of dark water, smooth, unwavering. 

For some reason, you find the tone settling, much different than it was moments ago as you examine the relaxed lines of his face. "Nightmare." 

"Hm." He hums, like he's unimpressed or maybe even disappointed. He even turns to leave, no doubt to return to his usual post but before he can travel too far your voice brings him back, and his body stills. 

"What else lives out there?" You ask, hand still at your neck. "In the woods. It's not just you, right?" 

"Curious girl." Blade doesn't turn, but his tail swishes. As if suddenly amused by the question. "It's best you don't know." He says, unyielding. "For both of us." 

"Is that why you've kept me here?" You press regardless, remembering those figures from your dream. Wondering if that's what he's protecting you from. "Atleast answer me that." 

"No." His voice is slow, idle. 

"What other reason would you have then? Why can't I go home?" 

"Mate." Blade says, and his voice clings to you, as if made of wax. 

You stiffen. Overfilled with a fleeting, momentary pause of dread and you feel your body flush. 

"What?" 

He goes to walk away. 

"Wait." 

You don't know why you say it. But Blade turns this time, and in the moment his gaze meets yours, you realise his eyes are full of you. The pelts, the hunts, the tongue baths. It suddenly makes sense; he wasn't protecting you in the humane sense, but he was preparing you in another. He has no intentions of letting you leave this cave. Ever.

Blade looks at you like he can read you, and he takes a step forward, bringing him back by the side of the nest. And the tendrils of heat begin knotting themselves over and over deep within you. 

"Blade?" You say again, tasting his name as you push yourself up to your knees and even now he towers over you. But still you reach out, and for the first time since you've been here, you willingly touch him. 

Your palms press into Blade's cheeks and his ears appear to flatten themselves against his hair, your fingers stroking at his jaw while his eyes remain fixed on yours. It's strange to consider, such a gentle touch being used against a wolf's best weapon for killing. Such a place that's honed for hunting, ripping through flesh, grinding through bones. It leaves a silence between you.

But maybe this is your instinct, that of survival. The only chance you've got. 

You guide Blade's face down towards you and you lean up to meet him, your lips sliding against his in a gentle, first caress. He doesn't respond to it at first, and you wonder if it's because he doesn't know how to, but he seems to pick up on what you want easily enough when you part his lips with your tongue.

And then suddenly, it comes all at once. Blade's hands are on your hips within the next second and he begins to lap at your mouth with little rhythm. It's messy at first, slick with drool and teeth but you simply let him; opening your mouth wide to allow him the space to taste and he groans like he's pleased with it. 

Blade bares more of his weight down on top of you, and it's enough to send you back onto the plush surface of pelts as he follows you down. His hand slides over your jaw to the nape of your neck, and the lick of fear that the touch ignites in your stomach makes you feel even hotter. 

Your mouth opens wider and Blade's tongue touches yours, hot and unfamiliar, tentative at first, then greedy. And you try to meet his pace, his drool on your lips; dripping down your chin as he presses you into the nest and his huge body weight squishes you beneath him with ease. 

"Is this what you wanted?" You say through a gasp for air, Blade's mouth leaving you little room to breathe. 

"Mate." He mutters again, and this time, you press up into him. 

"Take it then." 

And Blade does. You feel a small pressure on your chest, a ghost of a touch before it's replaced by the sudden brush of cold air; making you gasp when Blade carefully slides a sharp claw along the front of your shirt. The fabric parts for him easily, and your now bare breasts quickly find purchase against his own half-bare chest, making him groan against the warmth of your mouth. 

"More." He says again, continuing to drool and lap and lick into your mouth. And then suddenly, he pulls away, making you gasp for breath and sanity alike. 

Blade's eyes appear wicked as he lowers himself down to his knees. The position feels familiar, much like how it was the night he bathed you with his own mouth, but you're much more agreeable this time when his tongue curls around the base of your jaw. 

You ease yourself up into more of Blade's kisses, making space for him to mouth at you, the tips of his teeth edging over your skin. The pleasure it brings you is rampant and unending, it feels like you've not been touched like this in decades and the same as it was that night, his tail begins to sway again, his ears standing upright and attentive. 

With a sharp breath, you feel Blade push your thighs open, wide enough to accomdate his huge size before his weight is pressing down between them. 

His mouth trails lower at the same time, tongue and teeth giving attention to your breasts as he bathes them in dizzying lavs of his tongue. Your hands grab at his hair, feeling him suck one of your nipples into his mouth while the other falls victim to his palm, and you arch yourself against those same soft pelts as he flicks them back and forth until they're raw and hard. 

You feel far too hot, already feeling absolutely ravaged beneath Blade's animalistic urge. You feel like he's feasting on you, in all of his rough intimacy— pouring his instinct into the promise of ruining you in a way no man ever could. 

"Too much?" Blade's word hum against your intimate skin and you shake your head faster than you should.

"No," You gasp, "Not enough."

"Very well," His ear twitches, and his tail takes a sway so harsh you hear it begin to clap. "More then." 

Blade's mouth trails down your stomach, leaving a trail of drool and spit in it's wake. You're soaked in more ways that one, discarding the ruined fabric of your shirt until you're left in just your pants and even then, there is little they can do to keep you from Blade's touch. 

Just like your shirt, the fabric gives to him so easily. His claws slice through the seams, disappearing in shreds with one sharp tug, and you should feel dread—terror even, realising what would become of your skin should he turn himself on you. But instead, you're helping him pull down your ruined underwear and finding yourself wanting him even more. 

"Scared?" Blade hums after a second, teeth clacking over the trembling and now bare inside of your thigh. It's like he can smell it, fear radiating from you in waves, but you don't falter. Not when your brain is so fuzzy with something else. Even when he presses his nose up against you and inhales, long and loud, before exhaling along the glistening sight of your bare pussy. 

Right now, lust is much stronger a feeling than fear will ever be. 

"No," You say, because in this moment it's true. "Something else."

And your answer makes Blade's ears turn out, his hands squeezing at your hips. "Still such a foolish girl." But then he buries himself between your thighs and you can't focus on anything else but that. 

His mouth is hot and rampant, drool dripping down his own chin now as he smears it along the warm spread of your folds with animal eagerness. There's no rhythm to Blade's movements, just big, long laps of his rough tongue splitting through your pussy while his tail swings wildly behind him. 

You feel every pant from his mouth buried straight between your thighs and there's an inkling of shame swirling in your gut when you let your eyes flicker down to watch him. It's like the realisation comes over your suddenly, his tail and ears, his drool and teeth and claws, and you're just letting him lick and kiss at your cunt while wrapped up in his own nest. 

You should feel ashamed of yourself, disgusted perhaps— imagining what the other people in the village would think. But then Blade cuts through the glistening petals of your pussy with his tongue and your mind goes blank, the damp, quiet cave suddenly filled with the overwhelming sounds of his suckles and smacks at the mess he's already made of you. 

"G-good boy, good wolf." You try to praise him, shaky hands petting at the sharp ears on his head, and you're not sure if the growl it earns you means he likes it or not.

But it feels good buried in your cunt so you can't find it in yourself to stop, and to your delight Blade doesn’t either. You scratch at his ears, pet at his hair and he drools even more spit all over your pussy— drawing circles with his tongue, pressing it in and out of your sweet hole. 

His hackles raise as you get wetter and wetter, and it's like Blade can pick up on the inklings of your orgasm, like he can taste it on your folds or feel the way your walls are beginning to squeeze and tremble. 

You feel so pliant beneath him, completely nude and exposed, and your cunt continues to squelch lewdly as Blade slurps and laps at the slick his movements seem to press out. He's pushing himself so close against you, you're almost curling in on yourself; his body so big and brooding it feels like he's weighing down on your chest. 

"I'm gonna cum," Your lips part, moaning beneath another big, strong lick of Blade's mouth and you feel his ears begin to twitch beneath your pets. As if he can tell something changing, something's coming. 

"Cum?" He asks, as if he doesn't understand it, but every syllable gets buried into the place where his mouth wraps around you and it makes you keen. 

"Y-yes. That means it's— it's good," Your voice shakes when his movements don't stop, "So, so good." 

"Do it then." Blade murmurs before busying himself with you again, lips mouthing at your clit in a way that's similar to how he was kissing you earlier. He suckles at you, drools and growls and rolls his tongue all over you until you're soaked and within the next few seconds your back arches, and your thighs begin to clamp tight around Blade's cheeks. 

Your orgasm makes your whole body shake, but it takes Blade little strength to hold your thighs open for him; growling at the idea that you'd try to take his meal from him as his mouth moves hungrily against your pussy. Every swipe of his tongue is greedy, slurping up the cream that your clamping walls push out of you and you're just left to lay there and take it. 

Your body feels under fever, overheating and warm beneath Blade's palms and he only pulls away when you begin to twitch, your breaths coming in a frantic pace. Your eyes are bleary when you peer them back open, barely able to make out the looming silhouette of Blade as he pushes himself up to kneel between your thighs. 

You can still make out the glow of his gaze, his ears perked up and watchful of you, leaving your sticky hips alone only to haphazardly rip at his own pants. 

You're too slack and limp from your orgasm to realise what's happening, even when Blade's now free, hard cock swings between his legs with the force of his wagging tail. It paints the fat of his scarred thighs with leaky precum, and you're next full breath is interrupted when his huge frame leans over you again. Closer this time. 

"Good—" Blade clicks, "good mate." His teeth at your jaw again, and you feel the weight of his palm bare down on the top of your head in the moment. Like he's mimicking your praise from earlier, he noses at your cheek. "Breed."

"Wait… I'm still sensitive, just give me a second." You say, eyes widening at the realisation when his arm reaches down between your bodies. Blade shakes his head, baring his teeth at you. 

"Mate, now." He says, absolute and you suck in a frantic and panicked breath once he finally brings a wet and sticky head to you. 

Blade keens, tail wagging in a wild sway behind you and he begins to pant at the way your pussy feels along the swollen, thick ridge of his cock. Your body jolts when the head meets your twitching clit with every sticky pass, swiping back and forth before he finally lines himself up and begins to push inside of you. 

He's so thick and long it makes your legs kick out, your body almost denying him out of fear you won't be able to take it. Too human to take an animal so big, not made for the weight or the push of a cock like his. 

But Blade goes against all of that, and it makes your eyes roll back at his insistence, feeling his teeth catch on your jawline when he's finally able to push the head inside. His hips jolt suddenly, frantic and unpracticed and you realise that wild animals are never really taught the act of patience. 

You realise a bit too late to stop him, because Blade's already giving you weak thrusts to ease his cock down, and your body is already clamping up and seizing in pleasure. Every inch he forces inside of you makes your mind go slack, the slow sinking torture aching in a way that makes you cry and grab for him. 

But Blade doesn't relent, he licks at you again— long stripes up the column of your throat, leaving you with growled words of "Good," and "Take." high and eager, as drool already starts to form and drip down his chin. 

You can imagine how this must look, were it not winter and some innocent hiker were lost out in the woods, they'd surely be horrified to see you. Your body buried beneath Blade's larger one, human cunt stretched to it's limit around his huge cock as he fucks you atop the pelts of his previous kills, buried in his nest with his nose on your pulse. 

But why does that make you feel even better? Blade's cock fights to fit inside of you, nearly obstructed by the way his fat balls are already twitching, squeezing up into his body with what is most likely his own eagerness. His instinct to breed and mate is encompassing, and you can feel your own slick begin to dribble down your ass, soaking the fur that he's got you spread out on. 

He's almost got you split in half, but you can just keen and whine, feeling Blade's hand turn harsher and rougher the more he sinks inside of you. His teeth are so close to your throat, his claws at your stomach and the slight tendrils of fear make your cunt squeeze around him, a shiver of pleasure running all the way through you. 

Until finally, Blade bottoms out and you can't believe how full you feel, you cling onto his large shoulders, his wet, drool-slick lips pressing into the muscles of your neck and then there's a shift. 

He doesn't wait like most humans would, and maybe it's because he can't. 

Not when he's so deep inside your warm cunt, and he's spent so much of his efforts on opening you up for him— he can't help but rely on the more animal part of him. So he does, he suddenly draws back and then without so much as a breath, Blade swings his hips down onto you over and over again. 

He's gives you no time to adjust to his cock as you’re suddenly made to take the force of him so ruthlessly, and for a second you even try to push him off. To let yourself breathe and give yourself some air, but the moment that your arms come down on his chest and try to push; Blade's lips peel back on his teeth, fangs bared and he dares you to try. 

Even when his hips are still messily pumping in and out of you, you feel that fear begin to trickle its way back into your gut. You shouldn't feel yourself getting wetter, but when Blade's gaze flickers with something dangerous, you feel your thighs begin to twitch. 

Quickly, the fleeting expression of dread on your face quickly turns slack with pleasure, and Blade's ears twitch back with every rushed snap of his hips. His cock buries itself into you even deeper each time, slamming down into you with growling, ineligible sounds of ecstasy. Your hands claw at his back, musing the bandages wrapped around his chest and tearing them from his skin but not even this causes his pace to falter. 

"Y—you're going too fast," You try to gasp, voice almost lost beneath Blade's heavy weight. "slow down! I…. I can't take it all at once." 

"Learn to." He says, sharp at your throat. "Good mate. Soft and warm. Wet." 

"B-Blade…" Your fingers dig into every bulging muscle made available to you as you try to grip onto some level of semblance. But it doesn't last long until your voice is lost to high and messy noises of pleasure, your pussy meeting the cushion of Blade's heavy balls slapping down on your ass. 

It makes your thighs twitch even more, spreading wider to allow him a harder thrust and it almost makes your legs thump down onto the bed with his near viscious pace. It's like your body is begging for more despite the way your mind dreads the idea of taking it. 

Blade's soaked your throat in drool now, his lips hanging open to smear it along your chin and jawline and his tail is wagging behind him in large swings. 

It all feels so messy and hot, and you're so consumed by Blade and his being that you can't help but try to drag him closer. He's lost control by this point, and you're in no position to try and slow him down. Like you ever had any power over him to begin with, like you weren't the one at his disposal, wrapped up in his nest while he waited for his opportunity to breed you. 

And now you've never felt better, you're letting Blade lap and lick at your pulse, panting heavier the closer to your scent he gets and your fingers dig into the fevered shake of his marred shoulders. His sharp nails pinch at your skin to keep you pressed beneath him, and it feels like there's no stop to his movements. 

It's like there's not even a hint of tiredness to Blade's body, and perhaps it's the hunting or mating instinct that allows him to barrel through exhaustion but it keeps his hips fast and unrelenting. His ears pin back onto his head as he tilts more of his weight forward onto your chest, and your cries turn even sweeter as your human body fights to keep up with him. 

But it's impossible, already you can feel yourself get closer to the edge again, your body still clinging onto its earlier sensitivity as you're thrown into another mind-bending orgasm. And your eyes squeeze closed momentarily as you will the tears that gather along your lashes not to fall, pussy fighting every single unending thrust that Blade buries past the squeeze. 

But Blade doesn't relent, even when he can feel your body growing limp and tired; instead he reaches for your thighs and he picks them up. He bends you so easily with his strength, barely faltering in pace as your muscles contract and squirm, right up until he's got them pushing up to your chest and you feel like you can barely breathe with how deep Blade feels like he reaches. 

You can't even speak now, you're just left to gasp and scream and cry, you're so full and spent but Blade's cock continues to bury itself into you— thoroughly fucking and molding your cunt to his shape as pure instinct takes holds of him. 

"So easy to break," Blade grits his teeth, nipping at your cheek before pushing even harder onto your legs, and it makes you yelp. "More." 

You nod, nod— despite the way he squeezes all the air from your lungs, cock driving into the swollen walls of your pussy as it wets itself in cream and cum. And Blade's growling at how small you must look under him, legs dangling limp in his hold until his cock begins to swell. 

You feel it, the way it begins to grow thicker, heavier. Even when you think you're already stretched to your limit, he pushes even more inside of you, his hips snapping down harder as he begins to growl and huff. A mantra of "breed-mate-more-soft-break." as he gives way to his own pleasure. 

“Take more of it.” Blade huffs, leaning his chest forward against the weak pushes of your hands. But your voice betrays you, a meek and raw sound.

"O-okay." 

Blade's movements begin to turn frantic at your permission, his cock swelling almost painfully at the base as his sloppy mouth attempts to kiss you again. You open your mouth to let him, clashing teeth and spit meeting your lips as he drools between them and you whine out at the desperation of it all. The movement only suddenly overcome by the warm rush of him creaming inside of your cunt over and over and over as your legs shake and tremble at the way you struggle to take it. 

Blade's nose presses into your cheek when those tears finally break and trail down the skin, and he laps at them, body grinding with yours as he breeds you. The swollen base of his cock grinds hard into your tight walls as you cry out soft words, and your hands feel weak on his shoulders as his cum stretches you out.

By the time Blade finally stops, your body can barely move, and he does most of the work after that, or as much as he can while still being stuck to you. It takes you a while to realise what's happening, the acceptance that comes with your body realising it's being bred- unable to move with his weight pinning you down. Leaving you to just take it. 

But again, your own instinct to survive answers. Your hands move to Blade's hair and you pet there, watching his ears twitch as he turns to lap at your sticky hands. 

"Good, good boy." You say, voice breaking with exhaustion. "Is that what you wanted?" 

He just huffs at you, doesn't answer, like his display has reverted him back to being more animal than human. But then with a small twitch of his nose, and a full wag of his tail— it's like he remembers. 

"Good?" Blade asks, more of a question to you rather than an acknowledgment of your previous compliment. 

"Mhm," You say, "It was really good. But now I really need that bath." And then you giggle to yourself, Blade doesn't seem to know how to respond to it, but as if driven by the sound he reaches back down for another round of sloppy kisses. 

His ears begin to twitch excitedly as he bathes you in his scent, already drenched thanks to the heavy cum he's plugged you up with, but he claims your mouth in a thanks. And you lie there until he's satisfied, allowing yourself to take it until you both fall asleep on the warm surface of pelts. 

— 

The next time your eyes open, it appears to still be night going by the darkness that greets you outside the opening to the cave. And it almost scares you when you feel the unfamiliar heat of Blade's body wrapped up by your side. It seems now, he's taken to sleeping beside you, given the fact he's already mated and bred you- this is probably the tamest of things that could follow. 

You turn around to give his body a look, and you admire the strange, handsome appearance that greets you. In sleep, he appears to be much more gentle than in wake. Even by human standards, Blade was beautiful; if it weren't for the ears and the tail, you're sure he would be quite popular in the village. You're sure the others would swoon over him given the chance, the long length of his hair and the colour of his eyes, his strength and reliability were other unmistakably valuable qualities. 

Ah, the village. Your village.

There's a heavy weight in your chest as you remember it, you wonder if the shop-keeper has been wondering where you've been, if she's already signed you off as another missing girl or if she's still waiting around for you. Supplies stowed away in wake for your arrival. 

Instinct is a funny thing. In the same way animals must feel that same longing to hunt and kill, there is something they still have in common with humans.

Survival. 

Maybe that's why you think about killing Blade as he rests by your side, you didn't think for a moment that he even slept to begin with. So you think it's an unfamiliar sight, and you almost feel guilty for even considering taking advantage of it. But even now, you still toy with the idea of being misplaced, your inability to settle and commit your life to the damp corners of a cave is not what you want for yourself. 

You cast your eyes towards the entrance of the cave again. And then you remember your dream, those other things from the woods, the things that were everywhere but nowhere at once. Blade isn't the only thing that inhibits these woods, but he's the only thing that will protect you in them.

Then why are you thinking about how far he’d be able to track you, how much of a head start you’d gain if you left right now? 

You cast another glance at his hulking form again, this time to the muscles in his legs that would send him barrelling behind you, honed from years of hunting in these same woods you’ve avoided for probably only half the length of time that he's lived in them. The twitch of his ears, the way they’d surely hear your escape, your feet slapping against frozen rock, the crack of a branch beneath your bare sole.

Not to mention, your body aches from his earlier efforts and your clothes are shredded, you'd sooner die from the cold and the elements before making it a few metres and that's assuming that the world would do you the kindness of taking you out that way. Before something else finds you and draws out a more terrible, horrifying demise. 

But before you can think more on it, before you can weigh up your possibilities of success and consider the idea that you would be betraying the loyalty, the kindness that you have earned over these past few days, weeks with little chance of pay-off….

You’ve already started running.

[chuluoyi]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐋'𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄

- caleb x reader

they did say not to mess with a man in uniform. your husband is loving and always gives in when it comes to you... but until when will you believe he is always the kindhearted boy from your childhood and will hesitate to lay claim on what's his?

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—possessive & protective!caleb, fluff, explicit smut, fingering, rough sex, fluff again, overall very self-indulgent, taking elements from caleb's secret times verdant wetlands

note: *takes a deep breath* the very idea of doing that in his uniform... that sex tape verdant wetlands... is so unhealthy for me asdfhgkl jp dub caleb is just built different :')

“Execute him.”

Farspace Fleet is a filthy business—and the deeper Caleb was pulled into it, the darker his mood became with each passing day.

His eyes gleamed in the light as he coldly stared at the mole who shook like a leaf at his order. “You sealed your own fate the day you decided to cross the Fleet.”

“Nooo—!”

The plea was cut short as guards seized the man by the arms, hauling him away. His screams echoed down the corridor, growing fainter with every step until only silence remained.

Caleb didn’t even flinch. Mercy is a liability, hesitation a death sentence— such was his the rhythm of his existence here.

Just as he turned to leave, a sharp ringtone tore through the silence. He paused, reached into his pocket for his phone—and there it was, your name glowing on the screen. He answered immediately.

“Caleb! I’m here~!”

Ah. Just like that, the frost in his gaze melted. And he remembered.

To protect you— this was the path he had chosen.

In this holiday season, the two of you were staying in Skyhaven.

You had an entire week off for New Year’s and did your best to keep yourself busy—baking, cooking, even catching up on the latest fashion. But it wasn’t enough. You were becoming lonely, and you lamented how Caleb wasn’t given the same courtesy for New Year.

So you resorted to the next best thing to chase away your boredom—paying a visit to your husband at the Fleet’s headquarters.

The building loomed cold and imposing as ever, all steel and glass, utterly indifferent to the holidays. You were directed to the lobby to wait—

“That’s her… The colonel’s wife...”

And it didn't take long until you became the object of their newest chatter.

Hushed conversations, eyes flicking your way... You pretended not to notice, gaze fixed on your phone. Being Caleb’s wife meant not blending into the background—especially in the heart of the Fleet, where his name carried authority and fear in equal measure.

There was a certain pride and satisfaction in this though. You savored the attention as you crossed your legs, the hem of your sundress fluttering with the movement. The whispers didn’t stop— if anything, they grew more animated, even as you sat unbothered and unapologetic.

“Y/N.”

You only looked up when you heard the familiar light tone. Caleb stepped into the hallway, tucking his hat away as his gaze found you—

You beamed at him with the brightest smile, sauntering towards him in hurry. “Caleb!”

You failed to notice it, but just as quickly, his expression shifted. He frowned, fixed on your outfit. A flowy, sleeveless yellow sundress, baring far too much skin. He’d loved it on you, the way it wrapped your body was just perfect.

But here? Too revealing. What were you thinking?

“Have you had lunch yet?” you queried, lifting the lunchbox you’d packed. “If not, then let’s eat together!”

Caleb slipped an arm around your back, deliberately pulling you closer as he cast a pointed glance at the subordinates who had been watching the two of you.

“Yeah,” he said coolly. “Let’s eat in my office.”

You caught the coldness in his voice then, but brushed it off, never thinking it would amount to much.

“Look—look!” You waved your phone excitedly in front of your husband’s face. “Do I look good in this? I want to buy it because of the cutting, but I’m not sure if—”

Caleb watched you with quiet amusement, leaning back in his chair as he munched on the apple you’d packed for him. He smiled, eyes warm, clearly adoring the way you rambled on, brows furrowed in earnest concentration over something so trivial.

It felt almost out of place, this domestic little moment unfolding in his bleak office. In this uniform, he was usually issuing orders, deciding fates, plotting his next move—not listening to you debate dress designs.

Your husband chuckled under his breath as he ruffled your hair. “If you can’t even pick a dress, how do you plan on surviving out there?”

You pursed your lips. “Hey! I’m telling you, I’m a very capable hunter on the field!” you protested, jabbing a finger at his chest. “I just earned a recognition recently, thank you very much!”

“Hmm? Is that so?” Caleb scooted closer to you, his amethyst-like eyes twinkled. “My cute wife got an award… then we should celebrate properly.”

"Yes, yes~! I want to eat at that new hotpot restaurant!"

He laughed softly, shaking his head as he rose from his chair. “I’ll be right back,” he said, heading for the restroom. And as the door shut behind him, his mind was already made up.

Hotpot was fine. But you deserved more than that.

By the time he washed his hands, he’d already decided—he’d take you somewhere fancy. Somewhere worthy of celebrating you. He would make the reservation, find you a little gift too to commemorate and—

“Such a sweet little thing… isn’t she, Colonel?”

Caleb stilled.

The voice came from behind him, smooth and unmistakably familiar. He lifted his gaze to the mirror, meeting the reflection of the man he least wanted to see—Professor Lucius, wearing that infuriatingly relaxed smile.

“Your wife, I mean,” he added, as if rubbing his face.

Whatever ease he’d carried moments before was gone, replaced by the guarded edge befitting the Farspace Colonel. Caleb's posture shifted at once, shoulders squaring, jaw clenching.

“Watch your words,” he said evenly, turning to face him.

The Ever researcher only chuckled, eyes gleaming with provocation. “Relax. I’m merely observing. Hard not to notice someone like her in a place like this.”

“She’s off-limits. In every sense. We had a deal.”

The smile on his enemy’s face widened. “If you said so, Colonel,” he drawled in an implication of mocking his title. “I’d hate for anything to befall her pretty face too.”

No storms should ever touch your life. That was the principle Caleb had always lived by. The politics, the blood on his hands—those were burdens he chose to carry alone. You were never meant to be part of that world.

He had drawn that line long before the day he married you.

But the world was cruel—especially to him. His knuckles tightened as the man leaned in, voice a whisper against his ear:

“Just be careful, Caleb. You have far more to lose now than you ever did before.”

. . .

When your husband returned from the restroom, his posture was stiff—yet you were still all smiles.

“Caleb, I found it!” you turned to him with a wide grin. “The hotpot place is just a few miles away from our condo—”

But unlike you, Caleb just stared at you in complete silence. His gaze on you darkened, heavy and unreadable, as a forlornness flickered beneath his violet eyes.

You blinked, unsettled by the sudden shift. “Caleb…? What’s wrong—”

His next word cut through you without warning.

“Leave.”

“Huh?”

“Go back home. I’ll see you when I return later.”

The words stung and didn’t register at first. “What? Why?” You frowned, instinctively reaching for his sleeve. “Caleb, you’re being weird. Did something happen?”

He remained quiet, and it made you even more agitated and irritated all of a sudden. You grabbed him, forcing him to face you. “Caleb—!”

That was when he moved.

One hand grasping your waist, the other lifted your chin without hesitation. His lips then crashed against yours—brief, commanding, stealing the air from your lungs and every protest from your tongue.

“Mmmph!” The kiss burned with urgency, a wordless demand rather than comfort. His hands then ran up and down your back, slipping inside your revealing dress, hot against your skin. You gasped, clutching the chain on his uniform as your breaths mingled together.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours. “Please,” he said quietly, voice rough. “Go home. For me.”

Your resistance wavered. Heart lurching and racing, breath shallow, you felt the way his hands held you—reluctant, aching—as if sending you away cost him more than he was willing to admit.

Something happened and sooner or later, you had find out what it was.

It was well past midnight when Caleb finally returned home.

He was exhausted, and the last thing he expected was to find you curled up on the sofa, fast asleep—far too lightly dressed for January’s cold.

For a long moment, he simply watched. The slow rise and fall of your chest. The way your hair spilled messily against the cushion. How utterly unguarded you looked in the safety of his home. The soft purple nightgown clung to you, its hem hitched up just enough to reveal your knees.

Caleb grunted, realizing how it was too similar to the sundress you’d worn earlier. Too tempting.

Dangerous thoughts stirred, unwanted and unbidden—his gaze lingering longer on your bare skin than it should. He clenched his jaw, keeping his breath even.

You were too precious. Treasured. Something the world had no right to touch roughly.

And yet—

Desire curled low and insistent, restrained but unmistakably alive. He wants you—your warmth, your softness, the closeness he so often denied himself in the name of restraint.

Caleb turned away with a slow exhale. Apparently, protecting you from himself was another kind of challenge.

“Y/N… why are you sleeping out here?” His voice was low as he finally reached for you, brushing your arm gently. “Hey…”

You stirred faintly, a soft sound leaving you. With a quiet sigh, Caleb decided to carry you to the bedroom instead. He slid one arm beneath your knees, the other supporting your back—

And froze.

His gaze caught on the loosened buttons of your nightgown, the fabric parted just enough to reveal the swell of your breasts... Why on earth aren't you wearing bra at all..?

His throat tightened.

“Caleb…?” you murmured drowsily, lashes fluttering as you shifted against him, utterly unaware of the storm raging beneath his calm exterior.

He swallowed, jaw tensing as he forced his eyes away, but the damage was done. Your weight in his arms, the heat of your body, the sight of you—it all struck at once.

Your hand reached out to his chest, clawing his uniform. "You just came back?"

And lord, the way you yawned, bleary-eyed and soft—

He wants to see that precious face of yours contort in pleasure he brings you.

He wants to ruin you.

The image of earlier that day flashed through his mind—his subordinates’ eyes lingering where they shouldn’t have. The thought burned.

Before you could fully register what was happening, you stirred—and suddenly you were upright, settling onto his lap. The movement startled you awake that you nearly yelped, hands gripping his shoulders as your eyes flew open.

“Caleb…?” you murmured. “Wha—”

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he murmured against your ear, husky and accusing. “Do you really think I can’t tell what you’re thinking?”

His eyes, the violet ones you had adored so much, seemed to shine with a gleam you'd usually see during your nightly wonders.

Ah... so this trick works after all. Your husband had always seen through every scheme you tried to pull.

You couldn’t deny it—being awoken by a husband who’d just come home was one thing, but being awoken by a husband wanting a thirst was something else entirely.

Caleb's pensive gaze on you made your heart skip a beat. “Open up.”

“Uh…?”

“Your legs.”

But you were a touch too slow, and his hand slipped between your legs, tugging at your panties. You gasped, feeling his cool fingers feeling your entrance.

“C-Caleb…” you stuttered at the ticklish sensation. “You...”

“What?” A roguish smirk curved his lips. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” His voice dropped. “From day to night… you did all of this on purpose, just to get to me.”

You felt yourself getting warmer, and the coil in your lower belly had started to burn. Your husband's eyes twinkled at your agitated response, and then he started his play.

He kissed you slowly, one hand cradling the back of your head to draw you closer, while the other still pecking the space between your thighs, trying to make you wetter and wetter.

“Mmm...” You sucked his dry lips, clinging to his neck. Dazed, you watched his Fleet uniform wrinkle beneath your grip, and it somehow turned you on even further.

You were losing it to the heat when suddenly his two thick fingers slid in at once, slowly and deeply, curling inside your sticky folds— making you cry out.

“Oh? What is this?” Caleb broke the kiss and sneered. “Surprised now, are we?”

You barely had time to breathe when he pushed deeper again. You glared up at him, “C-Caleb... you're so foul...”

“Foul, hmm? What's foul is you showing off yourself to everyone to see.”

His fingers dragged in and out of you relentlessly, drawing moans from your throat as your hips bucking helplessly. The sensation left you breathless, unconsciously grinding against his fingers.

“Ahh... Mmm, ah!”

Watching you fall apart under his touch only fueled him further. You were totally trying to restrain yourself, and it wouldn't do you good.

And so, on his whim, he picked up the pace, and you threw your head back, a scream finally slipped from your lips.

“Yeah... just like that...”

Your thoughts scattered in an instant the moment you let yourself drown in the heat of his fingers scissoring you. You mewled nastily, fingers digging into his neck as you tried to pull him closer, closer—

“A-are you in a bad mood—ngh—” your back arched sharply, “—because o-of... the Fleet?”

“Ha...” Caleb scoffed softly. “Do you really have the energy to think about them still?”

His eyes locked onto yours, that slow, dangerous smirk returning.

“Right now,” he said quietly, “the only one under the colonel’s command… is you.”

Afterwards, incoherent moans came out of you in breathless babbles. His fingers were merciless, driving you to tears—

And then, your climax hit you hard, his name tumbling from your lips as your whole body shook, cumming all over his fingers.

“Ah... aah...” You were helpless against him, feeling the knot inside you finally melted, legs parted even apart. His fingers then pulled out of you, glistening with the evidence of your release.

“Good girl…” he murmured, bringing them to your lips, smearing the juice there in a slow stroke.

Yet even then, your husband wasn’t done. Before you could even catch your breath, he pushed his pants aside, intent clear in his darkened gaze.

“Get on top. Let me see you better.”

You obeyed like a dutiful wife you were, yielding as he guided you down onto him. He proceeded to bury himself inside you, and your breath broke into uneven gasps, body trembling as you struggled to take every inch of him.

He was still in his uniform, stretched beneath you now, looking up at you with raw, unrestrained lust burning in his eyes.

“So damn pretty...” he breathed, gazing at you as if you were a wonder. A wanton who is his wife... flushed cheeks, clouded eyes, the bulge right where your flesh joined together...

His tone shifted, low and unmistakable as he issued his order:

“Now... move.”

Again, you yielded to his will. Your movements were slow at first, your breath catching as you rolled your hips against him. Each motion drew a quiet hiss from your lips.

Caleb watched you closely, eyes darkening with every hesitant movement, every small sound you made. This won't do, he thought, even more so when your pace faltered, pleasure stealing your control.

“That’s enough.”

In one decisive motion, he shifted you, turning the tables with effortless strength. Suddenly he was above you, braced and steady, taking control completely.

His gaze locked onto yours, intense and unyielding, as he set the rhythm himself. And damn, he set it fast.

“C-Caleb… please…!” Your voice broke, tears slipping free as the pressure inside you began again, tight and merciless. You were spent, overstimulated, yet your body still arched helplessly with every movement, betraying you all over again.

He didn’t slow. Didn’t soften. Instead, his hand came up, fingers firm at your jaw, forcing your attention back to him.

“Answer me,” he said, voice low and absolute. “Who is the colonel?”

The question left you reeling, but then you screamed when he hit that one spot inside you.

“Y-you…” you sobbed, breath shaking.

His eyes narrowed. “Who?”

Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. The pace didn't relent. If anything, it sharpened, deliberate and punishing, as if he were wringing the truth from you one heartbeat at a time.

You could barely think—only feel him, how overwhelming and inescapable he was, until the answer was the only thing left in your mind.

“Caleb…! i-it’s you!”

The moment you said it, something in him snapped. A low, broken sound left his throat as he penetrated you harder, deeper—

“A-aah...!”

Your body trembled violently in response as you chanted his name. Your second release followed and it was cresting too high, too fast—white-hot and all-consuming. The world blurred at the edges as your strength gave out, your thoughts dissolving into darkness as Caleb filled you full with everything that he was.

There was this indescribable sense of safety in the way you clung to each other in mornings.

Caleb woke first, and the first thing he saw was you. You were nestled against him, warm and serene, as if that was where you belonged. For a moment, he just stayed still, drinking in the sight.

His chest tightened. Too precious. Mornings like this reminded him how beautiful life could be still.

Slowly, carefully, he lifted a hand and brushed a few loose strands of hair from your face. His touch was feather-light, fingertips lingering as he smoothed your hair back again, unable to resist doing it once more.

“Mm…” However, the motion made you stir, and he almost regretted it.

You shifted closer, brows furrowed faintly, before your eyes fluttered open.

“Morning,” he whispered, offering that gentle smile you had seen countless times since your childhood. Your limbs were stiff, and still hazy with sleep, you looked up at him, blinking once… twice...

Then, on the third blink, you shot him a sharp, cranky glare— “Hmph!”

—before turning away and presenting him with your back.

“Huh? Why?” Caleb frowned, caught off guard. He reached for you anyway, instinctively wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you back against him—

Only for you to whimper softly. His arm froze as you curled in on yourself, one hand clutching your abdomen.

“Hey,” Caleb said at once, confusion giving way to concern. “What’s wrong?”

You didn’t answer right away, shoulders tensing as you breathed through it.

“Cramps?” Understanding dawned, and his expression softened immediately. He adjusted his position, moving closer without pressing, one hand resting warm and steady over yours.

“Easy,” he murmured, voice low and gentle. “I’ve got you.”

Honestly, he was this close to laughing—but seeing you like this softened even his steel-hard heart into something tender and full.

Just like this. All he needed to stay sane was this.

A determined vow made a carve in his chest. He would protect you with everything he has.

“Stupid, stupid Caleb...” you grumbled under your breath, and he finally giggled, kissing your neck in adoration. “How could you be so rough with me…”

“Yeah, yeah...”

His name, his rank, his strength—none of it mattered if it meant keeping you like this. He would not allow the world, the Fleet, or anyone else to lay a finger on you.

“Don’t talk to me. I’m angry.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“As punishment… you’re on bathroom-cleaning duty for the whole month!”

“Alright—”

“And laundry. Oh, and dishes too!”

“Wait, isn’t that too much...?”

His eyes crinkled despite your grumbles. Caleb grinned, his melodious chuckle filling the air, tugging you closer so you couldn’t squirm away.

No matter what happens, he would be there for you, always.

And maybe, it's because... he just loves you a little more than you realize.

[froggiequarium]

i just read the Lis being jealous of non mc and i can’t wait for the second part of them. i love it when men don’t get what they want lololll let them suffer hehehe

thank u so much for reading and liking !

my first thought when i read this after i laughed was "i love you." LOL rest assured ,there WILL be suffering

actually, i started to feel a little bad for them while writing the next parts, and wondered if i should give a "happy ending" the non-mc + the LIs ,though the point of this series is non-mc finding loyal & deserving love in the LIs friends ,right ? so i decided against it :p

i havent quite decided if i want the non-mc in sylus/raf's parts to find another love interest (would be mentioned/implied) or if it should be another one of the LIs though? or maybe that non-mc just takes time to reflect on their own and realize what they deserve ?? still deciding !

sorry to turn this into a short ramble :x thank u again for reading and please look forward to the future part(s) !!

[meowdei]

godslayer — ft. mydeimos

your husband is a king who knows little else outside of being a warrior. that is the truth you cling to until slowly, month by month, he makes his way into the cavity of your chest and refuses to leave

word count. ❤︎ 18.2k words — i know, i know. but plssss give it a chance plsss

before you read. ❤︎ female princess/queen reader ; crown prince/king mydei ; arranged marriage ; NOT canon universe + NOT canon compliant - royal/historical au ; mentions of war and politics ; slow burn + falling in love ; lots of bickering LOL ; reader has a (king) father and is implied to no longer have a mother ; sexual harassment but mydei saves reader ; reader drinks alcohol + gets drunk in one scene ; jealous mydei ; fingering ; nipple play ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie ; hand jobs ; cockblocking LOL sorry ; blood and injuries (mydei gets stabbed) ; love confessions and cheesy bantering

commentary. ❤︎ IT IS FINALLY HERE MY GOD. my god. BIG THANK YOU TO @osarina for not only beta reading this fic and fixing WAY too many grammar errors (LOL) but for literally listening and helping me work through every struggle i had with this fic and being 70% of the reason i even finished it. you are my biggest inspo forever ily dearly

You do not remember most of your wedding to Lord Mydeimos. 

On the day of your wedding, the beginning of your ceremony goes by like a blur, and you pay little attention. It’s not until Kremnos’s royal advisor steps forward does your reality sink in. You watch wearily as he faces the crowd of people—enough of the Kremnoan commoners have gathered to witness the ceremony, and you feel more like a spectacle than a bride.

“The son of Gorgo shall be crowned in blood!” The Advisor chants. 

“The son of Gorgo shall be crowned in blood!” The people of the nation bellow in tow. Men and women—even young children who cannot understand fully what is happening—scream in sync for your union with Lord Mydeimos.

You realize quickly, by just a glance, that your nation of Janusopolis is everything his nation of Castrum Kremnos is not. 

Janusopolis is a wealthy land built on the industry of gold. Beneath your fertile soil is the precious metal, and the mines stretch from one side of the border to the other. Trade is easy when you hold such a luxury beneath your soil, and the people of your land have never known what it means to be hungry. But for all its riches, your nation is fragile—small, with a military force that pales in comparison to the other armies of Amphoreus.

Castrum Kremnos is filled with warriors—people who are bred for battle as though they were handpicked by the Gods themselves to fight. There is not one nation in all of Amphoreus that stands a chance against their strength, and yet, the people die of starvation every day. The streets are filled with mothers and fathers who feel the despair of poverty, feeding every small morsel to the hungry mouths of their children before themselves. 

It is little surprise to anyone that you form an alliance. Now more than ever, when there are rumors that a war is coming—a war that you cannot fight and Kremnos cannot afford. They linger in the air, thick and heavy, carried through the wind by whispers that slip from court to court. The rumors are not just rumors—you know it by the deepening creases in your father’s brows, in the way his advisors speak in hushed, urgent tones. 

Should war come, Janusopolis will not endure on its own for long. And should war come, Castrum Kremnos will not survive on just its strength. 

So, when your father offers your hand to Lord Mydeimos for a union, you are not shocked when the crown prince agrees. You have heard rumors of him often, the hushed whispers of a man who is a warrior first and an heir second. A man whose bones are built for battle before his blood runs from a lineage of royalty. He sits beside you now, silent and brooding—in fact, he’s spoken not one sentence to you. 

Good, you think to yourself as you glance at him from the corners of your eyes, he does not seem like a man who knows how to speak to a lady. 

You’re broken out of your thoughts quickly as a shadow covers your face—the Advisor has returned from facing the crowd, standing over you as you listen to the shouting behind his figure. The son of Gorgo shall be crowned in blood! The son of Gorgo shall be crowned in blood! The son of Gorgo shall be crowned in blood! It’s all you hear. Shouted over and over like a prayer to a God of a land you are unfamiliar with.

Lord Mydeimos’s advisor hands you a blade. The marriage rituals of Kremnos, you find, are as brutal as war itself. You hesitate for a moment before glancing at your father. He stares at you—his precious daughter, whom he loves more than his own life—with eyes filled with sorrow that he does not dare voice. You can practically hear his plea:

If not for Janusopolis, then for me.

Numbly, you take the handle, your fingers tightening around the cold metal. You steal one last glance at your father. The man who has always treated you like a delicate flower, as if you are to be carefully shielded from the harsh storms of winter until spring could smile upon you once more. The man who spoiled you as a princess should be, yet shaped you with the discipline of a future ruler. The man who, until now, has never let the weight of his crown come before his love for you.

But today, he has no choice. Today, he is a king first and a father second.

You carve his face into your memory. You’ll miss it—the days when he was your king, the time when heir to the throne was your title. You are just the Lady of Kremnos now, bound to share the burdens of a new nation alongside a new king. An heir that is not you. You wonder how you will cope with that fact, how you will learn to accept that your birth rights mean little in a new set of borders. 

But you give your father a nod, as firm and convincing as you can muster, before gripping the blade tightly and dragging it across your palm.

It stings. You don’t flinch.

Blood wells instantly, deep red against your skin—the same palm that has never known violence, never held a weapon, never bled for anything, now spills heavily on your first night in the strongest nation in Amphoreus.

How ironic, you almost want to say.

Instantly, Lord Mydeimos takes your wrist—he wastes little time. (You’re not sure why you expect it, but a small part of you is disappointed he shows little care for the wound on your palm.) His hands are rough and calloused like you imagined they might be. They feel like the hands of a warrior. You wonder if this blood spilled across your palm is laughable to him. Surely, with a man as strong and fierce and accustomed to battle as he is, he must have felt the warm spill of life across his skin countless times. Whether his own blood or that of others, surely he must know the feeling familiarly enough that this is nothing to him. 

He dips his thumb into the dark crimson of your hand and smears a stripe along his forehead. His advisor, slowly, with eyes that do not leave yours, lowers the crown onto your husband’s head. No longer a crowned prince but a king. 

The nation cheers. “The son of Gorgo shall be crowned in blood!”

Such a brutal man, you think as you stare at your husband, to have his fate sealed through nothing but bloodshed.

—————

Lord Mydeimos is quiet during your trek to your now-to-be-shared chambers. His first words to you are far from romantic. 

“You are not happy with this arrangement,” he says, and for a moment, you think perhaps he is offended by the fact. You realize only a second later that he has little care. He is merely making an observation. 

“Unhappy is not exactly the correct term for it,” you mumble, “However, it is no lie that all envision their marriage to be one of love, not political convenience.”

“Then you should have married for love,” Lord Mydeimos responds blandly. 

You raise a brow, staring at him as if he has grown two heads. (Surely, the man you just witnessed willingly take your hand in marriage while he becomes king for the sake of his nation could not possibly think you could marry out of love. Surely, he is not so naive when he bears the responsibility of his people entirely on his shoulders.)

“That would not be possible,” you furrow your brows, “I have always prepared myself for a marriage of alliance.”

“Then you should not have such fickle dreams.”

Oh. 

Some part of you is more shocked than it is outraged. But then the better part of your emotions takes over completely—how dare he have the gall to tell you what your desires should and should not consist of? You wonder if all warriors are cold-blooded in Kremnos—if they only know their ways around the heart when it is to pierce a blade through the delicate tissue and nothing else. Perhaps to expect Lord Mydeimos to understand the ways around emotions and desires is to lead a blind man into the dark, bare room. 

There is nothing for him to grasp his footing and find his way around. 

“Forgive me,” you spit bitterly, soured by his dismissiveness, “I did not realize accepting my circumstances meant I could not wish for things to be different.”

“You can,” he says, still infuriatingly detached, “But it would be a waste of energy.”

You have a sharp retort ready on your tongue. Perhaps it’s unwise to speak to a newly crowned king in such a manner, husband or not, but you are too used to the way your father tolerated your every thought. Welcomed them, even. You were never raised to hold your tongue, and the habit will be a hard one to break. 

But before you can hiss out your reply, you are interrupted by a maid. 

“Your chambers are ready, My Lord,” she tells Lord Mydeimos, bowing slightly before taking her leave. She avoids your eyes entirely, blush dusted across her cheeks as though she has stated a scandalous fact. You realize rather quickly why.

Lord Mydeimos, apart from the stiff nod, seems mostly unbothered—but the tenseness in his neck and shoulders is enough to tell you that even he is not unaffected by everything. You almost want to tease him, but your words die on your tongue as the large doors to what is now your shared chambers are opened by two guards. You follow him inside, and the doors are quick to shut behind you before hurried footsteps echo down the corridor. 

There is no one nearby, you realize. You expect as much, of course, but it doesn’t make your skin feel any less hot. 

“Well…” you start awkwardly. (You are certain there is a ghost of an amused tug at his lips at that, but before you can properly look, it is gone.) 

“Well…?” he repeats, raising an eyebrow. 

“I suppose it is customary that we…” You don’t want to say it. What would you say? It is customary that we fuck on the first night of knowing each other so our marriage is properly completed, My Lord? You have little interest in consummating a marriage with him. 

But you are not above your duties, and you’re positive that neither is he. Of course, he isn’t, in fact. With an attitude as uncaring and bothersome as his, he sees no issues with doing what is expected of him. He would probably finish with that stupidly straight face of his, too, you think somewhat bitterly. 

“Do you not wish to say it?” He finally cracks a small grin as though watching you squirm under his gaze is entertaining to him. You scowl. He has enough tact to go back to looking serious as he continues: “We do not need to do anything.”

“But—”

“Unless that is your wish, of course,” he adds. 

You sputter. “I do not care regardless,” you huff, pretending to be as unbothered as he seems to be. (You know, as well as he does, that neither of you are unbothered at all.) “If you wish to complete our marriage, then I will do as you wish.”

“Even if that is not what you wish?” He cocks his head to the side. 

“It matters little what I wish,” you say darkly, narrowing your eyes as you pointedly add: “And, I suppose it is a waste of my energy to hope for what I wish, is it not?”

He eyes you for a moment. Something about his gaze makes you feel more bare while being fully clothed than if you were to strip yourself in front of him. He turns abruptly, leaving you to blink in shock before you watch as he begins to pull off his armor, one piece at a time. 

Oh. You swallow thickly, realizing what is happening. 

“The least you could do,” you start as you walk over to the bed, “is to pretend to be interested in bedding your wife if you are to do so.”

He looks at you, carefully laying his armor on the wooden stand by your bed, before humming, “I will not bed anyone if that is not what they wish. It is distasteful.”

You gasp, offended. “I should have you know many noblemen would not find me distasteful by the slightest—”

“You are not distasteful,” he interrupts. “But taking you against your will would be. We can be husband and wife without such outdated customs.” He pulls back the covers and prepares to settle onto the mattress. “Now, I am off to bed—I have training at sunrise. Which side do you prefer?”

You blink, still processing. He stares expectantly.

“The left,” you murmur.

“Good.” He nods, lying on the right. “I prefer the right. How agreeable.”

With that, he turns and settles under the sheets, leaving you with the privacy of getting ready for the night yourself. You stand there for a moment, utterly shocked, before you collect yourself and despite still being in your wedding robes, slip under the sheets and stay as close to the edge of your side as you can. (There is little need for that, of course—the mattress is large enough that you could fit two more bodies between yours and his, but you spitefully cannot help but leave as much room between you as you can.) 

“Goodnight,” he mumbles. 

“Goodnight,” you huff in return. 

“Do let me know if I hog the blankets—I have never shared the sheets with someone before.”

“No need to fret,” you say matter-of-factly, “If you do, I will simply pull them back.”

He chuckles. You almost wish you could see a proper smile on his face, but you don’t dare turn. “I have no doubts about that.”

────────────────────────

One month into your marriage, you learn that the palace is a lonely place in Kremnos. 

At least, it is for you. 

You are still learning who your husband is, so he offers little companionship to your lonesome heart. And more often than not, attempting to understand him leaves you with a headache. You still hardly know Lord Mydeimos—in fact, only yesterday, you learned that despite his robes and attire strictly following a red scheme, his preferred color is actually yellow. An absurdly preposterous revelation, you think—you have no understanding of why he would dress the way that he does if he prefers a color so…opposite, but only Lord Mydeimos knows for certain what goes on in his head. 

The first person you can consider as proper company is an attendant called Agnes. She is your personal attendant, and her days are reserved strictly to cater to your every need should you require it. Lord Mydeimos has made it very clear that she is to be nearby in case you are in need, and she follows his orders strictly. 

Agnes is wonderfully kind. She is skilled in many arts—stitching and embroidery, cooking and baking, and even music. In a few weeks, you have learned the basics of the harp, her best instrument, and she teaches you fondly as she tells you about your husband. 

“He is just so stubborn,” you huff, stretching out your sore fingers. “And he has an attitude I cannot even begin to describe—I am certain children must cry at just the sight of him.”

“Actually, they do quite the opposite. Lord Mydeimos enjoys playing tag,” Agnes says as she applies balm along your tender fingers after a lengthy harp lesson, “He does not seem like it, but he does. He is fond of the children who play by the ponds outside of the palace gates.”

“And are they fond of him?” You raise an unconvinced brow, wincing as the blisters on your fingers sting. “He does not seem like someone who knows how to converse well with children.”

“That is partly true,” Agnes chuckles thoughtfully. “He is a tad bit stiff with his words. But the children are indeed fond of him nonetheless, yes. He brings them treats from the palace bakery.”

“Well, at least I can trust that he will not lock me in the dungeons for one wrong move,” you break into a teasing grin. “They say children are a good judge of character. I suppose he has passed that test.”

“What test?” You and Agnes straighten at the sound of Lord Mydeimos’s voice as he enters your chambers, exchanging looks before she clears her throat.

“Nothing, My Lord,” she says evenly, standing up as you follow. “I was simply telling My Lady about what a seasoned warrior you are.”

Your husband does not look particularly convinced, but he nods politely as Agnes excuses herself, leaving you and Lord Mydeimos alone. He walks up to you, glancing quickly at your fingertips as you rub them and wince. 

“What has happened to your fingers?” he asks with a frown. 

You look at them sheepishly, murmuring quietly, “I have been learning to play the harp from Agnes. My fingers have blistered against the strings.”

“Ah,” he nods, holding up his own gauntlet-clad hands and mumbling, “Perhaps you should consider armory. They are most useful for shielding simple pains. In any case, I have come to speak to you about our trip.”

You blink. Once, then twice, and then finally, you ask hesitantly, “…Our…trip?”

“Yes. We will be departing in two days' time for Styxias to negotiate on military affairs. Should this go successfully, that is one more ally we can tally in case war breaks out. You are to accompany me, of course,” He raises an eyebrow, surprised by your confusion. “Have they not told you?” 

“No, they have not…but regardless, you are king,” you point out. 

This time, he blinks, unsure exactly what point you are trying to make at all. “Yes…” he says carefully. “And you are queen, which is precisely why you shall accompany me. It is only four nights.”

“I have never had to accompany my father in official matters when I was princess.” You furrow your brows, creases forming in your forehead that he almost instinctively reaches out to smooth. Almost.

“That is because you were a princess,” he muses. “If your father had a queen, it would be customary for her to travel alongside him to the kingdoms of his dealings. It is seen as the polite thing to do, to have both rulers make an appearance.”

“But you will speak on military negotiations. I am of no help in those matters, you know.”

“I am aware,” he says patiently. “That is why you will not accompany me to the negotiations. You will only attend the social gatherings—as I mentioned, it is simply for appearances. However, it would be greatly appreciated if you could glean a piece of intel or two about other nations from the mingling.”

That puts you in a sour mood. Not only will you join him on a four-day trip for no other reason than existing as a sight to bear witness to by the other nobles, but you will be in a nation yet again where you are a stranger to everyone. Lord Mydeimos, the only person you even somewhat know, will be busy with official matters, and that will leave you with nothing to do. 

And Agnes has promised to teach you how to sew in the coming days. 

Unhappy, you bargain, “Alright, then perhaps Agnes can join us to keep me company while you are busy.”

“That is not necessary.” He waves a hand and denies your request. “Agnes is an attendant, so there is no need for her to join. She shall remain in the palace where she belongs.”

“I’m sure it will be of little difference if the palace is missing just one attendant,” you reason, “And besides, Agnes is my personal attendant, so I’m sure the other nobles will think nothing of it. My father would often be accompanied by his own attendants to make matters simpler for him in regards to—”

“Well, that is the way of Janusopolis,” he interrupts, patience wearing thin. Strictly, Lord Mydeimos adds, “You are in Kremnos now. And in Kremnos, we do not allow our maids and attendants to neglect their duties to join pointless expeditions that they have no concerns with.”

His tone is clipped. Firm. A touch reprimanding like that of a parent scolding a child, and some part of you, underneath the hurt, simmers in rage. One attendant, among hundreds, will make not the slightest dent in the palace’s operation. More frustrating still, Lord Mydeimos leaves you with little say in anything regarding this trip—not whether or not you will go, not what you will do, and now, not even who you will be accompanied by.

Stubbornly, you refuse to accept his terms. 

“If you will not allow me the company of Agnes, then I will be most troublesome. Mark my words, Lord Mydeimos,” you warn, “If you do not wish for me to make a fool of this kingdom, then Agnes and I will both join your senseless journey.”

His lips take a dangerous shape, morphing into a hard line that you fear could cut you with how sharp it is. “Is that a threat?” he questions.

“It is but a mere promise of an outcome,” you reply smartly, as though he is dense in the head. (You think he might be, just a tad. To ask a lady that question is to only ask for trouble.)

“Agnes is an attendant,” he says exasperatedly. 

“I do not care,” you bite back. “She is also the only one I have befriended in this kingdom, and her position as attendant should mean little compared to the wishes of your wife.”

“She is meant to stay behind palace doors and do her duty. Just as you are to do yours and accompany me as my wife and as Queen. You cannot bend such rules just because you simply wish to do so.”

“And who is the one who set such standards in the first place?” You challenge, “Do not tell me that as king, you do not have the authority to undo the regulations that only a king can put in place? How laughable.”

Lord Mydeimos is becoming impatient. You can tell by the twist of his features and the blazing fire behind his eyes, the light shade of his amber deepening into a dark honey. He is not happy—not with you, not with your attitude, and not with your tendencies to question everything. 

And you like it that way. If you do not get your way, you sure as hell will make sure that his way is difficult to enjoy. 

“You are your father’s only daughter,” he says through a grumpy snarl, “It is as apparent as the tide’s ebb and flow. Only would a woman who has never known the word no be so maddening.”

“I am simply highly revered where I come from,” you shrug, giving him a purposely haughty smile just to get on his nerves. 

It seems to work as he grits, “You are spoiled beyond reason. It is ill-suited for one who carries the burdens of duty.”

And with that, your satisfaction is short-lived—you sputter at his insult, doing a double take while his eyes lighten with amusement at your reaction. He is enjoying this, you realize—enjoying denying you of a simple pleasure all for the sake of his petty, twisted desire for authority. And to question your devotion to your duty, too, is an outrage. You, who married a stranger who knows little outside of bloodshed and brutality, all for the sake of your people, being accused of putting your own pleasure before your duties.

You will have nothing of the sort.

You glare at him, ferocity in your gaze as you huff, “Do not speak to me of duty and obligation when I have left all that I know for the sake of my nation and for the sake of yours. I carry the burden of sacrifice for two lands, not just one. It is not out of line, I believe, to wish my husband would indulge me in a harmless request. But if you must deny me, then so be it. I will pack for our departure—”

He catches your wrist just as you turn to leave. It’s gentle. He’s gentle. You cannot wrap your head around how quickly Lord Mydeimos is able to switch between a stubborn mule and a gentle doe, but carefully, he pulls and spins you to face him, taking a step closer as he studies you thoughtfully for a moment in mild fascination. You do not like it—you feel like an animal under his gaze, cornered in a cage and waiting to see what fate his cruel hands may hold for you. 

Except, never do you face a cruel fate. Instead, after a painfully silent moment of being scrutinized under his gaze, he lets out a defeated chuckle—almost a snort, you could even say. Equal parts tired and equal parts amused. 

“No need,” he hums. “The attendants will see to it that your belongings for the trip are packed. As for your request…I suppose I could make an exception for my wife. Do not make a habit of thinking you shall always get your way, though.”

You relax in his grip for a moment, staring into his eyes carefully to decipher if he is lying. He is not, you conclude after a moment—and just like that, your anger washes away as fast as it came. You perk up, excitement gracing your features and brightening them. 

“Agnes will join me?” You ask to double-check.

“Agnes will join us,” he corrects, exasperated. 

“Oh, wonderful,” You bring your free hand up and clap, your other still in his grip. He stares down and watches the motions of your hands, and by extension, his, as it moves with the flow. “I am most grateful, Lord Mydeimos.”

And just to be devious, you lean up, planting a small, mischievous peck to the edge of his jaw before promptly pulling away and brushing past him, excitedly on your way to find Agnes and tell her the good news. Lord Mydeimos stands, paused and tense from shock. After a moment, he shakes his head and rubs his face tiredly, ignoring the heat blooming across the swells of his cheeks and spreading as far as the tips of his ears. 

“That woman is a most wicked thing,” he grumbles to himself. “A most wicked thing, indeed.”

—————

Just as Lord Mydeimos had promised, Agnes joins your carriage as you take your leave to Styxias. She is thrilled to leave Kremnos for the first time—it’s abundantly clear by her expression alone, even if she maintains a humble mellowness in both of your presence. 

Lord Mydeimos looks tired after all of ten minutes of being stuck listening to the two of you as you converse and giggle endlessly. 

“I hear the waters are beautiful in Styxias,” Agnes murmurs. “I am most excited to see if that is true.”

“Oh, they are,” you nod eagerly. “Father had taken me for a ball many years ago. I still remember the water lilies like it was just yesterday that I had witnessed them bloom. They are the most breathtaking sight I have yet to see.”

Lord Mydeimos scoffs. You throw him a withering glare. Agnes sighs as she predicts the argument to come. 

“I’d consider them to be mediocre among flowers,” your husband says roughly. “Clearly, you have yet to see the blooming of the flowers that stem from Kremnophilas.”

“Perhaps I  have yet to see them because clearly nothing that could make an impression on me has bloomed on the dry soils of Kremnos. There is nothing but cliff and rock here,” you retort. 

Lord Mydeimos’s lips press into a firm frown, clearly displeased with your assessment of his homeland. (You are correct, of course. Kremnos is not known for its botanical splendor, and part of the reason for its financial struggles is its dependence on imported crops rather than growing them on its own soil. Something tells you, though, that voicing that particular fact would sour his mood even further.)

“Kremnophila flowers bloom once a year,” he grunts. “They are beautiful. And they were my mother's favorite. There is no sight quite like it.”

“They are rather beautiful,” Agnes nods earnestly. “Lady Gorgo would wear the blooms in her hair during the spring. She was known for being quite a beauty across all the kingdoms.”

You have heard about Lady Gorgo. Lord Mydeimos’s mother was a cherished Queen—your father had spoken highly of her in passing. You know little of the woman who raised your now husband, but the tragedy of her death spread across nations like wildfire. 

She was murdered in her own chambers, poisoned by an attendant who had been bribed by a rival kingdom seeking to invade Kremnos. They found her lifeless body on the floor the next morning, and the attendant had vanished without a trace.

(“Truly a shame,” your father had muttered once the news had spread. “Betrayed by her own trusted maid for the sake of another nation. Such an awful way to go. Her son is utterly alone now. May the Gods bless him to be a formidable king some day.”

You don’t even remember the name of the nation that harbored the assassin—it no longer exists. The palace was burned to the ground by Lord Mydeimos’s army, and rumors claim he had been the one to behead the king himself. He was only fifteen at the time. In an act of mercy, he spared the commoners, allowing them to flee to Kremnos. But not a single noble was left alive. Some whisper that he keeps the severed head of the fallen king somewhere in his palace, both as a trophy and a warning: no one is a match for the Kremnoan army.

After his mother’s death, Lord Mydeimos was to take on the nation’s affairs officially. Most believed Kremnos would crumble under a young, inexperienced ruler—that the kingdom would soon fall, an easy target for invasion.

“Perhaps we could acquire Kremnos, Father,” you had said once. “With an unfit future king, surely the kingdom will fall. We would benefit from such a strong army, no?”

“Do not be so quick to gamble on such matters. He is brilliant,” your father had murmured, “Even our best knights were no match in a duel with that boy—he may be young, but he is a godslayer of a warrior. He will make a fine king, I am certain.”)

In the end, your father was right. If not for the raging battle against poverty, Kremnos could easily be the fiercest nation of all.

Godslayer. You still recall the title he’d given your now husband, and you wonder if your father would still call Lord Mydeimos such a title now, or if he regrets handing over his daughter to such a fierce man.

Perhaps not even the Gods know. Not when faced with a man who could slay them in a heartbeat.

“I’ll believe in their beauty when I see them for myself,” you hum. Lord Mydeimos scoffs yet again. Agnes rubs her temples, exasperated by the bickering that seems to follow you both wherever you go. 

It is several more hours before you finally arrive in Styxias. You fall asleep midway through the journey, and you’re startled awake by a cool, pointed piece of metal to your ribs. You shriek, flinching away as your eyes fly open. 

“We are here,” Lord Mydeimos states in amusement. You realize quickly that the object that assaulted your ribcage was one of his gauntlet-covered fingers—he has enough wit to at least try to hide the smile on his face at your moment of panic. 

“You saw no better way to wake me than with such a sharp piece of armor?” you hiss, rubbing your side

He grins, holding out a hand for you as he says through a cocky voice, “No. You are a deep sleeper. Agnes could not wake you after countless attempts—therefore, I took it upon myself.”

“Do not lie to me,” you scold accusingly. “I’m positive you did not even give Agnes the opportunity. Surely, you saw your chance to get under my skin, and you took it.”

“I do not lie,” he hums. “Nor do I need to. The evidence of your deep slumber is written clearly in the drool on your chin.”

You quickly wipe at your chin. There is nothing. 

Before you can scowl and scold him further, he chuckles, yanking you by the wrist and tugging you to exit the carriage. You gasp, hardly managing to make sure your clothes are neat and orderly before you are dragged to come face to face with Styxian nobles. 

The introductions are boring. Lord Mydeimos holds you delicately by the hand and leads you down an endless line of nobles, their names blurring together as he introduces each one. You smile, bow your head politely, and offer the right words at the right moments—years of royal training make your social skills effortlessly polished. At least this part is not complicated.

It’s not long before your husband escorts you to your shared temporary chambers and murmurs, “I will be back before sunfall to collect you for dinner. The maids have packed your finest robes, and Agnes will know which one to prepare tonight for you to wear. Do not be shy to call for the maids of this palace should you need something—they are accustomed to aiding us when we visit.”

“How long will this dinner last?” you pout. 

He fights the urge to roll his eyes, sighing before he murmurs, “Long enough that you should have no trouble making acquaintances with such a dazzling personality. Now, I shall be on my way, wife.”

With that, Lord Mydeimos leaves. 

You are bored within the first hour. After sifting through the books and trinkets in your guest chambers, you have little to do—and Agnes, who came with the purpose of keeping you company, is too busy steaming and preparing your robes to pay you proper mind for the moment. 

So you do the only thing you can think to do: wander the halls in search of something, anything to keep you entertained. 

That was your first mistake. Your second was to wander to the gardens where no one would hear you at this hour if you were to scream. 

“Why hello, my lady,” comes a voice. You flinch in surprise, turning quickly to meet the gaze of a young man, clearly a noble of sorts—he’s too old to be a teenager but too young to be a proper man. You can’t help but feel put off by the glint in his eyes.

“Hello,” you blink, “W-who are you? I believe all the nobles are to discuss important matters at the current moment, yes?”

“Ah,” he hums. “That would be correct. But I am not here for such matters—the king of Styxia is my cousin, you see, and it seems I timed an impromptu visit rather poorly. My cousin has banned me from entering the chambers where they hold such important negotiations; thus, I am left bored with nothing to do.”

“I see,” you nod slowly, offering him a small smile. “I suppose we are in the same predicament. Lord Mydeimos has also abandoned me for the moment as he discusses away.”

“You came here with the king of Kremnos?” the young man asks, lips curling into a wider grin—you cannot help but feel unsettled by the way it curls happily at the news. A shiver runs down your spine as he walks closer. And closer. “You must be exceedingly special to have caught his eye.”

“N-no, it is not like that,” you try to explain—

He cuts you off, humming as he murmurs, “I have yet to see a lady who has earned the attention of the great Mydeimos for courting. Tell me, what is it he is fascinated by?”

“We are not courting,” you try to correct. “He is my—”

“Ah, no need to be so shy.” This stranger, who begins to make the hairs stand at the back of your neck, seems hellbent on cutting you off at every sentence. By now, you have stepped backward from him enough times that a cold stone hits your back, and you are left nowhere to go, pinned in place by his body as it hovers over you. 

Your hands sweat. Something is not right about him. 

“I must go,” you smile shakily. “The attendant who is meant to look after me must be worried, so—”

He cuts you off again. 

“What is the rush? Surely, they are aware the palace walls are safe. We’ve only just begun to know each other.” A hand reaches over to trace your jaw, making you stiffen as he hums at the touch of your soft skin. “Well, you’re certainly a sight. I suppose that is what might have caught the attention of The Great Mydeimos,” he muses mockingly. “But I wonder…perhaps there is something…dare I say, more tantalizing about you, My Lady?”

His hand trails from your jaw to your collarbone, wandering lower, lower, lower—

“Enough,” you hiss, shoving his hand away, but he is fast. He catches your wrist and pins it above your head. The glint in his eyes is no longer playful—it is hungry, dangerous. Panic grips you. No one can hear you from here, not when they are all busy preparing the grand feast. Not even Agnes. “Unhand me this instant, or Lord Mydeimos will hear of this, you know!”

“Ah, I wouldn’t bother,” he hums. “You wouldn’t want to tell him you wandered to the gardens alone, would you? He might get the wrong impression of your intentions.”

The meaning is crystal clear—no one will believe you. Not even Lord Mydeimos. 

And perhaps he is right. Why would Lord Mydeimos believe you? You, who have done nothing but push against your husband’s will since the moment you arrived? Who forced him to bend the customs of his own kingdom? Who argues with him at every opportunity, simply to watch his lips curl into a frown? Surely, of all people, Lord Mydeimos would be the first to assume you had done this to humiliate him—flirting with the first man you could find, just to make a fool of him before royalty and nobility alike.

A sob breaks through your throat, and you wrestle to free your wrist from his grasp. 

“Unhand me,” you spit. “I won’t say it again!”

“You heard her.” The voice is low. Dangerous. “She will not say it again. Unhand my wife.”

You stiffen. So does the wretched man pinning you. His face drains of color as realization dawns on him.

“Wife,” he echoes weakly. Then again, as if he cannot believe it: “His…wife?”

“That would be correct, Albus,” Lord Mydeimos says, his voice eerily calm. “Have you not heard the news? Surely, you could not have been dwelling beneath a boulder for this long—I have wedded the princess of Janusopolis to form an alliance. You do recognize her, don’t you?”

“P-princess…” the man—Albus, repeats, hands trembling as he pulls away from you quickly, recoiling from touching you as if your skin burns him. 

“Well, a princess no more,” Lord Mydeimos corrects. “Queen is the title you should use now. Queen of Castrum Kremnos. And I trust you, of all people, understand the proper way to address a queen.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Albus chuckles nervously, turning to face Lord Mydeimos with tense shoulders. 

You watch as your husband closes the distance in a single step, gripping Albus by the collar and yanking him close. Lord Mydeimos whispers something—something too low for you to hear. But you do hear the strangled whimper that escapes Albus before he stumbles back, tripping over his own feet in his haste to flee. He does not look at you again.

With that, your knees give out. You are certain you would fall if not for the steady arms that catch you, pulling you against a firm chest.

“Are you alright?” Lord Mydeimos asks quietly. You say nothing, only letting out a soft sniffle. A bare fingertip—one not covered by armor, you note—gently captures a tear from your lash line before it can fall down your cheek. “Agnes nor the other attendants could find you, so they alerted me. I thought perhaps the gardens would capture your attention, so I came to look. Lucky I did, I suppose.”

“Lucky me, indeed.” You give a forced, watery chuckle. “Good thing My Lord knows just where I might be causing trouble.”

He frowns, tightening his grip around your waist. “Do not say such absurd things—the only trouble is that shallow vermin of a man. I shall see to it that he is properly dealt with.”

“No need,” you sniffle, not meeting your husband’s gaze. “He was right about one thing: people might get the wrong impression by my wandering—”

“If my wife were to desire wandering the streets under the moon’s light, then she should be able to do so. I will tolerate none who take advantage of her moments of indulgence. Believe me,” he says fiercely. 

You swallow, and something—an odd, warm, and fluttery thing, forms in the pit of your belly at his words. A small smile forms at the edges of your lips as you nod slowly. “I shall hold you to such a vow, My Lord,” you murmur. 

“Good,” he nods, satisfied. “Come. I will escort you to Agnes. Do not leave her side until I return, understood? It would seem your stubbornness to bring her paid off in the end.”

By the end of your trip, Lord Mydeimos is able to negotiate an alliance generously in favor of Kremnos—a little too generously in favor, in fact, that you wonder if part of it is so that Styxia can escape the wrath of your husband’s rage. You even run into Albus briefly before your departure, not a long run-in by any means—he hurries off as soon as your eyes meet—but you are happy to find out that he is nursing a broken nose. 

Oddly enough, the skin looks torn as though sharp metal dug into it upon impact. You eye Lord Mydeimos’s gauntlets as he carefully holds your hand and helps you into the carriage. 

“Ready to return home?” He asks. 

You hum, smiling knowingly to yourself. “Yes, Lord Mydeimos,” you say softly.

Agnes, to her surprise, is able to return home the entire journey alongside the both of you without the headache of witnessing a petty back and forth. 

────────────────────────

After four months of marriage, you believe it is safe to consider yourself and Lord Mydeimos as companions. You suppose, under the indifferent brutality of a warrior, that he can be quite good-natured. And when you are not feeling especially argumentative, he is easy to get along with. You fall into a comfortable routine of addressing your husband and sharing your life as good friends. 

That is how you like to view it. He is a man who you share your life and duties (and perhaps bed—in a literal sense) with, and he is a companion whom you have put your trust in. It’s an easy routine:

Good morning, wife. I am off to official matters—I shall see you in the evening.

You have returned, Lord Mydeimos. The evening is still young—shall I have the maids draw you a bath to ease your aches from training?

I have finished my bath, and the attendants will see to cleaning the bathhouse, wife. Have you eaten? Join me for dinner. 

Lord Mydeimos, you must rise before the sun tomorrow. Shall I prepare our chambers for you to rest? 

Wife. Lord Mydeimos. It’s what you know each other as. You prefer it this way—you are just that: his wife, and he is just that: Lord Mydeimos of this nation of Castrum Kremnos. You are bound through marriage on parchment by duty and nothing else. For four months, that is the truth you cling to, and you find it comforting this way. 

It takes all of four months before he decides otherwise. 

“From now on, you are to call me Mydei,” he commands one day in your chambers. He sits in his chair, polishing his armor, while you sit nearby on the bed, practicing the stitching Agnes has recently taught you. 

You pause, furrowing your brow in confusion. (And honestly, you are a little bit unhappy with his tone—he should not get used to making his desires be known through such demanding manners. You will not stand for it.) “And why is that?”

“Because I have asked it of you,” he replies plainly. And, as if sensing your irritation (which he has gotten very good at through practice), he adds an earnestly mumbled, “Please.”

It surprises you sometimes—Lord Mydeimos seems brutish by his exterior, but he is unpredictably perceptive at times. And, more importantly, he is shockingly gentle by nature. He is not above a please or a thank you. It is just that he happens to never need to use those phrases, you suppose—but he tries. (For you—your heart suggests. Only because he is cunning when he wants something—your brain counters.)

“But your name is Mydeimos,” you say stubbornly. (In truth, calling him by a nickname feels a touch too intimate than you are willing to admit. You are not yet prepared to accept that you are approaching intimacy in this…well, whatever your circumstance with Lord Mydeimos is considered.)

“Are you now attempting to teach me my own name?” His brow arches, a look of mild amusement flickering across his face.

At this, you crack, unable to resist a playful quip. “If I must educate you on something as fundamental as that, perhaps you are not as suited for the role of king as everyone seems to think, Lord Mydeimos.”

“Mydei,” he corrects gruffly. “Do not be so stubborn all the time.”

“But I quite like Lord Mydeimos,” you insist. “Your title is important, is it not? And besides, it would be strange for me to address you with such familiarity while you continue to call me simply… wife.”

His expression shifts, darkening slightly, his lips pressing into something dangerously close to a sulk. He is pouting, you realize, amused by the notion. Or, at least, as much as someone with such sharp features can pout. He looks more childlike than usual like this, and there is something undeniably endearing about the way it softens his rough features. Oddly enough, you find him almost...charming. 

The thought unsettles you deeply, but you bury it quickly.

“Mydei,” he pushes once more. (There is an undeniable, almost spoiled edge to his tone, as though he is unaccustomed to hearing the word no. You find that somewhat ironic, considering he had teased you himself for being spoiled not too long ago.) “I shall call you dear wife.”

“You do call me wife,” you point out blandly.

“Yes, but now I shall call you dear wife,” he corrects. “There is a difference between simply being a wife and being a dear one.”

“And what would that be?”

“You are dear to me,” he says simply. As though it is obvious. (Perhaps it is.) 

And you cave. 

Not because the curve of his lips as he all but pouts is undeniably charming, not because being called dear causes a strange flutter in your heart, and certainly not because the sight of his frustration is in any way captivating. No, you only concede because you have no desire to deal with a grumpy husband who might make your life far more complicated than it needs to be, all over something trivial. That is the only reason. 

“Fine. I suppose Mydei is easier on the tongue,” you huff. 

You ignore the way you feel oddly lightheaded when he smiles the tiniest, yet softest, of smiles at your agreement. He is undeniably handsome, you think—and that thought, too, scares you.

—————

It is only a few weeks later when you start to question if you and Mydei are two people who have married and become friends or if there is more beyond your carefully strategic union.

You and Mydei share a bathhouse. It is reserved strictly for the two of you, though Agnes has informed you that before your arrival, it had been Mydei’s alone. (He is quite fond of baths, you come to realize, and is rather particular about them. Only a select few attendants are permitted to prepare the bathhouse before he bathes, solely because they are the few who meet his standards. Some part of you, if you are honest, feels just a bit flattered that he allows you to share a space he holds with such high importance.)

Sharing the quarters has always come with an unspoken routine: you bathe at separate times, preserving the polite distance you have managed to keep yourself from him.

“Lord Mydeimos is finished with his bath,” one of the maids tells you, handing you a large, fresh towel as you smile. “I delivered him freshly laundered robes just a bit ago.”

“Thank you,” you smile. 

With that, you undress, wrapping yourself in nothing but the warm towel the maid has handed you before you make your way to the bathhouse. You knock once and wait, just to be sure he has left before you enter.

Silence. Perfect. 

Humming to yourself, you step inside, the thick steam curling around you instantly, enveloping you like a warm blanket against your skin. The scent of the lavender and cedar Mydei uses lingers in the air, the water still gently rippling from recent movement. Mydei’s fondness for this space is easy to understand—it is grand, carved from marble and stone, with towering pillars and vines that decorate the delicate interior. It is extravagant, built lavishly for comfort.

But before you can fully take it in, you notice a figure.

You barely manage to stifle a squeal as you snap your eyes shut and immediately turn away, your face burning. Mydei stands near the water’s edge, a towel slung low around his waist that he is still in the process of tying in place, droplets clinging to his skin. His hair is damp, pushed back from his face, and when you dare to glance his way again, he is watching you with a knowing look.

“The attendants had told me you were done,” you squeak, quickly turning away again as he finishes wrapping the towel around his waist. 

He looks amused when you finally have the courage to turn and look at him properly, lips curled into the faintest yet most obvious smirk as he runs a hand through his wet hair and brushes it further away from his face. 

“I am done,” he agrees. “Just that I did not leave.”

“I knocked! And no one had answered so…so I assumed…”

“I did not hear,” he replies, entirely unbothered by the predicament. 

“W-well, my apologies, My Lord—”

“Mydei,” he corrects. 

“Mydei,” you huff in exasperation. “I did not mean to intrude on your private moment. I apologize.”

“It is our shared bathhouse,” he points out. “You are allowed to be here as you please.”

“But you are using it,” you all but whine. 

“There is plenty of room,” he shrugs, looking at the large, very large bathhouse. 

That much is true, but that is not why you are horrified. And he knows it. Mydei, you have learned, has a penchant for casually being a nuisance. He purposely evades the true meaning of your words often, and it is for no other reason than to tease you. You are aware, of course, but still—you cannot help but feel frustrated that he is missing the point. 

He is nude, just as you are under the towel. And neither of you have so much as let your lips touch, let alone seen each other so bare and vulnerable. Sure, you pecked his jaw that one time to be teasing. And, of course, for appearances, he spares you a small kiss on your cheek or your knuckles, but neither of you shares affection for the sake of being affectionate. 

Seeing him bare just feels like a sin when there is the absence of even the simplest forms of intimacy. 

“You are teasing me,” you frown, hugging your arms tighter around your chest as if the towel is slipping. 

“I am not,” he says simply. He walks, and your gaze follows him as he makes his way to the neatly folded pile of clothing, freshly washed and dried for him to wear. Without warning, he turns his back to you—then lets his towel drop.

You shriek, whipping around so fast you nearly trip over your own feet, one hand flying to cover your face. But not before you catch the briefest glimpse of his entire backside—of bare, toned skin and the unmistakable curve of his ass. (It is a nice ass, you would think later when you are less horrified by the situation. Round and firm, sculpted in a way that is almost unfair. But for now, you are simply horrified.)

“Mydei!” you hiss, refusing to turn around. He chuckles. You can hear it. And by the name of the Gods, do you want to kill him. “Honestly! Have you no sense of shame? Letting yourself be so immodest in front of—”

“In front of who? My wife?” he snorts, completing your sentence. “Ah, yes, how improper of me.” The bastard, you think—he knows exactly why this is not ideal, wife or not. “But you were the one looking.”

“Wh-what ever do you mean?” You sputter at his nonsensical accusation. You would not look on purpose. “I did not think that you would….that you would….”

“That I would remove the towel and begin to dress myself before I exit the bathhouse? It would be immodest to leave that way, wouldn’t you say?”

“Do not jest at my expense,” you huff, feeling the tips of your ears get hotter by the second. “You could have warned me.”

“You were the one looking,” he reminds you once more. And suddenly, he’s in front of you, leaning so close, you can feel his breath fanning across your lips as he bends eye level to you and stares directly into your face. It’s maddening. You feel sick. You can feel him so close, and it takes all of your efforts not to turn your head and look at him. “But I do not mind if my wife looks.”

“Enough,” you bite weakly, “Are you decent?” You don’t dare to look for fear of….of an entirely different view than just his ass. 

And you swear you can hear the smirk in his voice when he speaks and says, “Yes, you may turn now. I am decent.”

You hesitate, suspicious. “Are you certain?”

“I would not lie to you, dear wife.” 

You take a breath and look—and just as he had said, he is decent. With a huff, you shove his chest and scold, “Then out! Out! Off you go,” you usher. “You have matters to see to, and I have a bath to finish myself before the water cools. Out!”

He laughs—not his usual soft, low chuckle, but a boyish laugh straight from his belly. It is as charming as a small, young lion cub as it prances about. “As you wish, my dear wife.”

He leaves. Not before he grabs one of your hands clutched to your chest, which makes you gasp and clutch the other tighter to keep the towel from slipping. He does not break his gaze as he brushes his lips against your knuckles before standing to his full height and walking past you. 

You exhale shakily as soon as you hear the door close. 

“I have married an absolute shameless buffoon,” you shake your head, “Completely mad in the head, that man. Unreasonable beyond comprehension.”

────────────────────────

In the seventh month of your marriage, you meet Mydei’s childhood friend for the first time. It is by accident, of course—he comes to surprise Mydei in the gardens in a short visit while he passes the area, and you just so happen to enter the gardens to read under the sun for a bit at the same time. It is most unfortunate, you think, because had you known that you would meet him, you would dress a bit less comfortably and a bit more exquisitely and have the maids prepare tea and pastries. 

But Lord Phainon is charmingly easy to get along with—he insists there is no need for such formalities, and you find yourself happily conversing with him as you wait for Mydei to arrive. 

“Ah, such a beautiful garden, isn’t it, My Lady?” Lord Phainon asks, lying on the grass with his arms behind his head. “Very few places in Kremnos are not just rock and soil. It comforts me that you can enjoy the feeling of grass between your toes, at least somewhere.”

“Yes,” you snort. “There is very little to see in Kremnos. Do not let Mydei hear you say that, however—he is still in denial. I’m afraid it puts him in a very sour mood when—” you cut yourself off with a gasp. 

“What’s wrong?” Lord Phainon asks in concern, “Do tell me, My Lady—if Mydei were to know you are troubled in my presence, he would surely see to my death himself.”

He moves to sit up, but you quickly hiss, “No! Do not move—there is a bee.”

“Where?” he asks in panic, eyes flashing in alarm. “Where? I do not see it! Where is it?”

“Lord Phainon, you mustn’t move,” you warn in panic, “Otherwise, you will startle the bee, and it will sting.”

“Sting?!” he gasps, quickly sitting up to move away from the small threat as it buzzes nearby. “How can you expect me to be still near such a beast?”

It happens all too quickly—just as you reach a hand forward and take a step toward him, he jerks away, and the startled bee, caught in the sudden movement, changes course. You barely register the sharp, sudden sting before you yelp, instinctively flinching as pain blooms across your palm.

Lord Phainon gasps. “My Lady! You’ve been struck by the bee!”

And, as if perfectly timed, you hear a deep voice call: “Ah, I see the two of you have already been introduced—” Mydei’s voice is behind you in the distance, and before you know it, you turn to find him. 

You stumble towards your husband, tripping on your feet, and before you can react, you find yourself falling directly into his arms. Mydei is quick to catch you, of course. He looks at you in confusion, entirely calm and unbothered by the proximity. You are so near hysteria that you hardly register the position you’ve found yourself in: pressed flush against his chest, his strong, armored arm securing your waist with careful authority to keep you balanced.

“What happened?” he asks gruffly. Once upon a time, you’d mistake his tone for coldness. Now, you can hear the underlying concern.

Sniffling and utterly distraught, you lift your palm toward him with wide, teary eyes and a trembling lip. “I have been stung! By a bee,” you say, offering your hand closer in a pitiful attempt to prove your claim. “See?”

He gently takes hold of your wrist, inspecting the large welt on your skin. After a moment of silence, he hums disapprovingly. “Unacceptable,” he mutters, his voice softer now, attempting to soothe you, “I cannot stand idly by while the bees of my own gardens turn their venom upon my dear wife.”

“And it hurts!” you wail miserably as a single delicate rivulet of misfortune—a tear—slips down your cheek. He frowns at the sight. “My dominant hand is stricken! I am useless now!”

“You are not,” he fights back a smile at your borderline theatrical sorrow. You’re past the point of holding onto your composure enough to even notice his amusement, so you say nothing. “I shall have the court’s healers prepare a salve for this at once.”

“It should have been Lord Phainon,” you continue to sniffle, ignoring the offended gasp in the distance, still not keen on moving past such a tragic turn of events, “Not me! Why must the Gods turn their back on me in such a cruel manner?”

This time, he chuckles softly. You pout at the gesture but say nothing else, too exhausted from the whole ordeal to put up a proper fight. He makes up for it, though, and raises the wrist in his hold, bringing your hand up before gently pressing a kiss to your swollen palm. 

You blink in surprise. 

“Were it possible, I would have every bee in the kingdom executed for such a treacherous offense,” he mumbles quietly. 

“But then we’d have no flowers,” you frown. “I favor the flowers, you know.”

“Do you?” he grins. And before you can register what is happening, Mydei has leaned down and pressed his lips under your eye, kissing away the offensive stain of your pain. Your tears on his lips feel like a terrible burden to bear—he does not like the taste of your unhappiness. But you are his wife, and he is your husband. Kissing away your tears is but one of his many duties. 

“I do,” you nod, looking away bashfully at his rare act of affection. “The bees are the reason the flowers bloom. But the bees have been unjustly harsh to me today.”

“They have,” he nods, agreeing.

Suddenly, the world is moving, and it’s moving fast. The ground is lower than you remember, and the gentle breeze of moving through the air kisses your face against your will. You let out a small squeal, unsure of why the world seems to be moving in such a sudden motion, and the only thing you can think to do is hold onto Mydei’s shoulders—which are a lot closer than they usually tend to be, given your height difference now that you think about it. 

It hits you when you’ve finally stilled that it is because he has you hoisted in his arms, holding you easily as though you weigh nothing. You suppose for a man who trains as tirelessly as he does, very little is difficult for him physically. 

“Mydeimos,” you gasp his full name so that he is well aware that you are scolding him. You look around frantically for potential witnesses of such a scene—it seems your husband lacks the sense of tact you tend to hold onto so dearly. “What in the Gods’ names are you doing?”

“I am bringing my dear wife to seek medical attention for her current ailment,” he says simply, “It would be careless of me to allow you to walk under such circumstances.”

“It is a bee sting, not a stab wound!” you scowl. He fights back a smirk at your remark.

“Ah,” he nods slowly, “Forgive me, my lady. Your tears persuaded me to believe it was more grievous than it perhaps truly is.”

“You are amused by my misfortune,” you accuse, pouting once more. You give up on caring who sees you in his arms like this, deflating in his arms as he tightens them around you. You curl into his chest—if he is carrying you regardless, who is to say getting comfortable in the process is a crime?

“I am not,” he insists, “I am offering you care, am I not?”

“Do not think a kiss or two to my injury will distract me from your mischief,” you warn, though your tone holds little conviction. You settle into his arms more willingly, one arm wrapped around his neck while the other rests carefully against your chest to protect your wounded palm from further harm.

“Then, in that case, I shall offer you a kiss or five,” he declares with a devious grin. And with that, he leans and presses a peck to the tip of your nose before straightening and looking ahead once more. Only the slightest tilt to the edges of his lips hints that he heard your breath hitch in your throat. He turns over his shoulder and adds causally, “And I will deal with you later, Phainon.”

Lord Phainon sputters, calling out in a wail, “It was not my fault, you know!” 

—————

Despite your horribly tragic injury, you are fond of Lord Phainon. (Just call me Phainon, he tells you sheepishly, gesturing to your hand before he adds, I have caused you as much trouble as I do for Mydei. I am sure we can be familiar enough with each other.)

You enjoy his company at dinner, giggling through wine glass after wine glass as he tells you tales from Mydei’s childhood. 

“Did you know Mydei’s robes are only red because his father did not allow them to be pink when we were children?” Phainon chuckles, sipping more of his wine. “He favors pink far more than yellow—he simply won’t admit it. And he cried terribly after he was denied pink clothing, too.”

“What?” You turn to Mydei, raising a brow as you ask through a small giggle, “Is that true?”

“No,” he grumbles. But his ears are turning pinker by the second, letting you know that it is, indeed, the truth. 

“Oh, how adorable,” you whine, reaching to pinch Mydei’s cheek. He frowns deeply at the way both you and Phainon chuckle drunkenly at the gesture. “Who knew you could be so fragile, Mydei.”

“I am not fragile,” he clicks his teeth, unhappily nursing a glass of pomegranate juice. (He does not drink wine, which you suppose you understand. Even after placing such strict precautions after his mother’s death on all food and drinks that reach nobility in Kremnos, Mydei is still unable to bring himself to stomach a glass of wine.)

“He is very fragile,” Phainon chuckles, rising as he downs the last bit of his beverage, “Be careful with his little heart. He is a delicate one, you know.” That earns him a glare from your husband, and Phainon skillfully dodges a cup thrown at his head before he laughs and stumbles his way toward the door of the dining hall. “Goodnight, My Lady, and goodnight, Mydei! I’m afraid I am feeling the effects of such a long journey. It is well past the time for me to rest.”

“Goodnight, Phainon!” You wave cheerily, hiccuping through your laughs as you murmur, “Do tell me more stories of Mydei at breakfast, won’t you?”

“No more stories,” Mydei groans. “Now come along. You should start preparing for bed as well.”

“Noooo,” you whine, slumping against his chest as he wraps an arm around you instinctively, keeping you in place as you lean your weight on him. “No bed.”

“It is getting late—”

“Mydei, you are very handsome when you’re shy, did you know?” You hum, leaning up to get a good look at his face. This, of course, makes him just a bit shy as blush dusts over his cheeks. You beam, poking his cheek with a finger as you murmur, “Such precious cheeks that redden at small praise. I could eat you, you know.”

He clears his throat, clearly unused to your behavior being so…well, forward. “You are intoxicated,” he mumbles. 

“And you are intoxicating,” you retort, giggling, “And so, so, so, so handsome! Have I ever told you that?”

“I…well, yes—you just have,” he stumbles over his words. (You are easier to deal with when you are stubborn and argumentative. This side of you is far too much of an uncharted territory for him to properly know how to handle.)

“Mmh,” you hum, leaning in to press a kiss to his jaw, trailing your lips along his skin until you find his lips—and you kiss him. His breath hitches in his throat at the move. Never, in your seven months of marriage, have you shared a kiss like this with Mydei. Sure, you have afforded him a peck here and there, just as he has with you—but you have never kissed him plain and simple. Lip to lip, mouth on mouth. 

He melts for a second, on instinct alone. 

And then, as soon as realizing, he stiffens and quickly pulls away. “You are inebriated,” he reminds you, gently pushing you away. “We mustn't—”

“No,” you whine, wrapping your arms around his neck as you whisper huskily. “Come back. Kiss me, Lord Mydeimos—I cannot believe I have wed the most handsome man in all of Amphoreus. What a waste it would be if I did not properly appreciate my husband!”  

“You are mad,” he croaks, tiredly eyeing you in alarm. “What has gotten into you?”

You press a litter of kisses everywhere you can reach—his jaw, his neck, even down to his collarbone. Something stirs in him, something that Mydei is ashamed to admit and even more ashamed to even dare to act on. 

“Won’t you kiss me, Mydei? In fact, let us do more than kiss! Bring me to our chambers and take me, won’t you? I want you to fuc—”

“Enough,” he says through a cracked voice, pressing a hand to your lips before you can finish being so…vulgar as he closes his eyes and breathes. (Mydei is unsure what is worse: the fact that your words actually have such a…physical effect on him or the fact that he has no choice but to ignore his desires because yours are only built on intoxication.) “You need sleep.”

“But—”

He kisses your pouty lips with a brief peck, silencing you before you can finish. “If you awaken in the morning, and you remember what you wished for, then I will give it to you. Whichever way you want it. Fair?”

“Fine,” you huff, slumping against him unhappily. “Being a warrior has disciplined you too much, Mydei. It is such an unfortunate thing.”

He chuckles, easily lifting you into his arms, murmuring, “I am unsure if you would agree with yourself while sober, my dear wife.”

—————

In the end, you awaken with nothing more than a pounding headache, latched onto Mydei’s figure with your cheek resting on his chest. (You insisted on sleeping this way, and no amount of compromising could sway you on the matter. He gives up soon enough and allows you to have your way when he notices the developing tears in your eyes at your emotionally heightened state.)

You meet his amused gaze, heat blooming on your face as you whisper, “I–I must have rolled over in my sleep. My apologies.”

“No need to apologize,” he hums, pulling you in closer as soon as you try to put a gap between the two of you. “If not your husband, who else will hold you while you sleep?”

“Such a cheeky bastard, aren’t you?” you huff, but you relax into his chest once more. “Are you sure holding me is all you did last night?”

“It is,” he says quietly, rubbing the small of your back. He gives you a knowing look of sorts—you don’t quite understand it. 

“Well, good,” you huff, “At least you can be trusted to be quite the honest man.” 

(You do not remember your wishes from the previous night, and he does not remind you, keeping the events a close-kept secret in his heart. A small part of him is disappointed, but the larger part of him is more endeared than ever with you.)

────────────────────────

It is ten months into your marriage when the first time you are intimate with Mydei comes, and you realize that he has fallen in love with you. 

He does not tell you, but you know. And you are grateful for the fact that he does not utter the words because, in your heart, you wonder if you could truthfully whisper them back. 

You care for Mydei. That much is as true as the sun’s promise to rise from the east and set in the west. When he rises from bed beside you with a low groan and moves tiredly to put on his armor, you know you care because tiredness in his face pulls a frown onto yours. And when he looks at you with a fond, exasperated look as he ushers you to fall back to sleep, you know you care simply because the stretch of a smile on his face is enough to soothe you back to slumber.

It has been ten long months since your marriage. You have not seen your father since the day he handed you over to your husband, but you would tell him now not to worry. 

He is a good man, father—you think you would say—he drives me mad and is as stubborn as a stone unmoved by the river’s current, but he has never let me want for anything since the day the duty of caring for me became his. You need not worry. 

Mydei is a soft man who was molded into the role of a warrior early on. Like the finest of silk, he is delicate to the touch but most durable for the wear and tear of everyday use. He is used to training every day, to putting his needs last and his duties first. He is good at wearing a face of indifference and masquerading through his day as though he cares little for the fact that he is still in his youth, shouldering the burdens of the previous generations and their mistakes. And, as a husband, he is the same. Soft and gentle as he holds you, but firm and unmoving in his principles. He indulges your whims and silly requests with patience and little bickering (apart from the kind that is simply meant to poke fun at you, of course), but he does not let you forget that you are the queen of this land and that your duties come first. 

He is the perfect example of discipline and patience—you did not expect it, but he is. He is not the cold warrior you had believed for so long—and sometimes, you are reminded that he is very, very human. It is a rare reminder indeed, but every once in a while, the young boy in him breaks free and makes his emotions troublesomely apparent. 

At least, they are troublesome for him. Not for you, however.

“Mydei, do not sulk because I was friendly with other nobles,” you chuckle. 

He sulks harder at that, curling a deeper frown on his lips before he stubbornly mutters, “I do not sulk.”

“But you are sulking right now,” you poke at his cheek, earning a huff from him. “Jealousy is unbecoming of a king as mighty as you.”

“Nothing is bothering me,” he says. A lie. “I am perfectly fine.” Another lie. “I do not get upset by these petty matters you accuse me of.” By now, you would say he has mastered the art of fibbing better than wielding his lance.

“It would be impolite of me not to treat our guests with friendliness, you know.” 

“Friendliness does not need to consist of laughing at such horrible jokes,” he bites, crossing his arms. “Those were terrible jokes.”

“They were,” you nod along, stifling a giggle as he remains with crossed arms as you boldly seat yourself on his lap. “My poor husband. He is pouting.”

“I am not—”

You kiss his (pouty) lips gently, cupping his cheeks. He stills, pausing before letting out a shuddered breath and letting his arms uncross to hold your hips. 

“You live just to drive me mad, don’t you?” He breathes, rubbing up and down your hips as you move up, sitting closer to him as he grunts. 

“You do not seem to hate it,” you whisper, glancing down at the bulge in his pants. He does not even try to hide it—has no shame and does not even try to hide the arousal between his legs that stands fully erect, hidden from your view by nothing else but cloth. (Why would I feel shame in finding my wife alluring? you can practically hear him ask. You are almost certain that is what he would say if you teased any further.)

Mydei’s jaw tightens, his hand gripping your waist tighter as he tries to maintain control. “No,” he finally grunts after a few deep, labored breaths. “I do not. I could never hate you.”

“Really?” You hum, pressing a hot, open-mouthed trail of kisses to his neck as he shivers. “Perhaps you should prove it.”

For a moment, his hands grip your hips tighter—almost enough that you believe he’ll give you what you want. But he’s quick to let go of them just as fast, sighing as he whispers, “No. Intimacy simply to ease my bad temper is not what you deserve.”

“And if I want it?” You raise a brow in a challenge, making him study you closely. Mydei, as you have heard, has the eyes of his mother. They are the color of truth dipped in gold honey—his eyes cannot tell lies. They hide nothing, bearing everything to you with sun-soaked flecks that bore into your own gaze. 

You tell him your own truth with your own gaze: I want this. I want you. 

And he accepts. With a shaky breath, his body presses against yours as he traps you against the wall, filling any and all space that offensively keeps you away from his touch. The heat that radiates off of his skin is palpable even through the cold metal, and when he leans down, lips brushing just barely over yours, the warmth of his breath sets you ablaze—starting from your lips, making its way down to your fingertips. 

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he rasps, voice just barely above a whisper. 

“Yes. It occurred to me the other day that we have never completed our marriage, you know,” you breathe. “Shall we be husband and wife tonight, Mydei? 

Mydei’s hands shake as they rub your hips slowly, his body trembling slightly at your words. In excitement, maybe. Or perhaps impatience. His control crumbles little by little, and when your lips brush against his with a teasing, phantom touch, he lets go of his resolve entirely and lets out a guttural sound—something crossed between a grunt and a moan. “Yes,” he murmurs. “Tonight you will be mine.”

“I have always been yours. So take me,” you goad, “Take your wife and mark me as yours.”

His control snaps at that. Cradling your cheeks in large, cold gauntlets, he angles your head up and kisses you deeply, hungrily, desperately. It’s warm like his touch but burning like his desire. It does not take long before it turns into a needy, impatient kiss, the two of you pressing into the other harder as if trying to melt into each other’s skin. 

“Take off that wretched armor,” you huff, “Touch me.”

He groans, quickly slipping off the gauntlets and tossing them to the floor. “As you wish,” he murmurs, and before you can stop him, he tears your robes open from your chest, pulling the fabric away as if unwrapping a present impatiently and catching a glimpse of your bare chest. 

“Mydei!” you shriek. “I liked those robes!”

“You act as though I cannot have the seamstresses replicate it as many times as you want,” he snorts. He doesn’t slow down—not in his persistent trail of kisses along your collarbone and not in his wandering hands that feel every inch of you and your curves. “They were in the way. The only thing that suits your skin is my touch.”

You whimper as he quickly moves, tossing you onto the mattress and hovering over you, shedding himself off his own clothing as quickly as he can—nothing left but his underwear, the thin cloth doing little to hide his thick, bulging erection. You eye it, half-lidded gaze falling hungrily over the trail of blonde hair at his navel and the thickness of his hidden cock. 

“They will question what happened when you present the torn ones to replicate,” you huff. “Have you no sense of shame?”

“Why does a king need to find shame in desiring his wife?” Delicately, his finger traces along a breast, mapping along your skin until it circles your nipple, making you gasp as you arch into his touch. “Why would I find shame in wanting to rid my wife of what separates her from me? Anyone who tries to shame me for it will come to find a rather undesirable fate.”

“You are impossible,” you breathe, gasping when he leans down, latching his lips onto one breast and rolling his tongue around the pebbled nipple, the other traced by his thumb and pointer finger as he rolls and tugs at the skin. You mewl, grasping at his shoulders as you mewl, “M-Mydei—”

“Yes,” he hums, interrupting you. “That is my name. Say it a few more times, just like that.” 

His lips move off of your breast. The string of saliva that connects him still to you is a scene that is utterly vulgar enough to make you shiver as he moves to the other breast, giving it just the same amount of attention. Except his fingers…well, they wander further down your body, trailing over your belly and moving until they find the hem of your panties. You gasp as he tugs them down, exposing your wet, needy cunt to him before he teasingly moves to feel at your entrance, collecting your slick between his pointer and middle fingers. 

He pulls away, bringing his hand up to stare at his fingers, separating them so a web of your wet arousal connects the two appendages. 

“Mydei,” you whine. “You scoundrel!”

“What?” he chuckles. “Can’t a man appreciate the wonders of his dear wife’s beautiful body?”

“You are filthy and obscene,” you hiss. “Hardly a respectable trait for a king.”

“Then I will be an improper king,” he decides. “If that is what I am considered for appreciating my dear wife.”

His fingers are back in an instant, plunging into your entrance and prodding at your walls as if to find something— “Fuck,” you wail, body spasming as he hits a particularly sensitive spot in your walls. 

“Ah,” he grins, “I found it. The place that makes you sing.”

“Horrible,” you sob, whining softly as he thrusts his fingers back and forth, back and forth inside of you over and over and over—until your nails leave crescent-shaped indents into his shoulder where you grasp onto him. “You are horrible!”

“But you do not feel horrible, do you?” he hums, and his thumb moves to roll over your clit, his eyes admiring the sight of the sensitive bundle of nerves as you quiver at the sensations.

You don’t—that much is obvious when, in a sudden crash of waves, your orgasm washes over you, and you gush around his fingers, wet, messy slick coating them as your walls suck him in and spasm around him tightly. Tight—you’re so tight around his fingers, he can’t help but groan from that alone, envisioning the way you’ll squeeze around his cock. 

“Gods,” you whimper, clinging to his shoulders as he helps you ride through the waves of pleasure. “Feels…feels—”

“Good, doesn’t it?” he finishes for you, grinning to himself at the way pleasure breaks over your face like light. “It will feel better—I had to prepare you. Cannot risk hurting my precious, delicate little flower, can I?”

You watch it in a trance as it happens: his fingers leave the warmth of your pussy and leave you unbearably empty, but you watch with wide, entranced eyes as he rids himself of the last remaining piece of cloth, bearing his painfully hard erection to you fully. You gasp at the sheer size of him, and he chuckles at your expression. 

“We will make it fit,” he hums, leaning to press a kiss to your lips. “Not to worry, my precious lady. You’ll take me, slowly, and soon, we’ll carve this pretty cunt to fit around me like it was made to take me, hm?”

“Yes,” you whisper, nodding like the idea is the only thing you care for. (And in the moment, it is.) “Yes, yes, yes,” you say greedily, pulling him closer and closer until your chests brush and his forehead is against yours. “Fuck me, Mydei. Take me and make me yours—now, please.”

He groans at the words, eyes fluttering shut before he loses all little traces left of his self-control. Instantly, his mouth is on yours, teeth clashing against teeth as he kisses you harshly, hungry nips at your lips and starved tongue on yours, tasting you as much as he can savor. The tip of his cock presses against your entrance, slowly intruding past your folds and sinking into you inch by agonizingly slow inch.

He’s patient. Even when he is on the brink of insanity, Mydei is patient about taking you. 

“You are mine,” he says possessively, and a part of you knows he is still speaking from jealousy. “You feel it, don’t you? The way you take me in? The way you squeeze around me? How your body responds and yearns for me—just as I yearn for you. You’ll never yearn for another, will you?”

“No,” you sob, shaking your head, tears of pleasure coating your lashes as you blink up at him. “No—give me more, Mydei. More. Harder.”

And he listens. Because you are spoiled. You came to him spoiled, and against every bone in his body initially, he could not help but indulge your sweet, needy whims. Every argument, every back and forth, every moment of bickering, you never let him win—not truly. And he spoiled you. He continues to spoil you. When you ask for more, he gives you everything. 

“Okay,” he grunts, panting as he rolls his hips and slams into you as you suck him in further into your tight little pussy. “But just be warned that you asked for this, dear wife.”

With that, one leg is hoisted over his shoulder, giving him better access to drill his thick girth into you, pistoning his hips as the tip of his cock kisses perfectly against the sweet, spongy spot in the back of your walls. He angles so perfectly inside of you, it’s like he carves himself into your hole and molds the shape of himself into your folds. So that only he fits. So that only he can take you. So that only he can be the one you take. 

“Yes,” you whine. “Like that M-Mydei—please. Please.”

“You drive me insane,” he mutters, gritting his jaw as he groans lowly when your walls hug around him tightly, squeezing him as his arms quiver and barely hold him upright over you, “Since the day you came to my world and became half of my soul, you have driven me mad. You must take responsibility for that.”

“You should take responsibility for driving me horribly mad first,” you say stubbornly, still so fierce even as you are split open on his cock. He chuckles, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

“You’re right. Let me make up for all the trouble I caused you, hm?”

His thumb latches onto your clit, rolling harsh, quick circles as your body arches up into his touch, responding to every sensation he pulls so easily out of you. One thrust, and then a second and third, and by the fourth, you come undone once more, walls erratically squeezing around him. 

“Fuck, Mydei—you…you feel so good.”

“And so do you,” he murmurs, moaning softly as he turns his head and presses a kiss into the skin of your leg where it’s hooked over his shoulder, “So, so good—you were made for me. Made to take me. Made to drive me wild enough so that only you can tame me. You wicked, beautiful thing.”

When you sob his name once more, he comes undone himself, spilling hot, thick ropes of his seed into your abused cunt and painting your sensitive walls white. They welcome him, sucking him in deeper, letting him succumb to his pleasure and fuck his load deep into you. 

And when he collapses over you, you’re too numb from pleasure to protest at his weight, wrapping your arms around his sweaty body and holding him tightly. “It only took ten months,” you whisper, “But we are officially husband and wife, according to the customs.”

He chuckles, nipping at your shoulder as he buries his face. “I care little for the customs. You are my wife if I say you are—and you have been mine since the day you agreed to take my hand. It is as simple as that.”

“Go to sleep, you fool,” you groan, rolling your eyes as you fight back a smile. 

Sleep comes easier than it ever has—you fall asleep against him, fitted where you most belong.

────────────────────────

The night of your anniversary, Mydei is having a bad day. 

You are unable to do much but watch from the sidelines as he enters one chamber after the other, meeting with advisors and council members left and right until even you grow weary of how burdensome his schedule is. 

After a year of marriage, you are used to his daily matters not allowing him time until later into his day, and you have never been a stranger to the busy demands of political affairs. Your father is a king himself, after all. You were once a princess, and now you are a queen. Therefore, you know, without doubt, that your husband—who is no less consumed by responsibility than your father—will return to you in a foul mood. And it will be yours to contend with.

“You have returned,” you say quietly as soon as he enters your shared chambers. He drops his armor to the ground, one piece at a time, uncaring where they fall. Any other day, you might scold him for such untidiness (though, really, he is not untidy at all. You would not have to scold him on any other day). Today you choose to bite your tongue and focus on his face instead of the misplacement of his garments. 

“I have,” he says plainly. Mydei stands. For a long, agonizing moment filled with deafening silence, he stands, and he does not say one word. It makes your skin pinprick with an uncomfortable feeling, making you want to crawl into yourself and hide. His gaze feels scrutinizing. Always. Something about the piercing, golden amber of his eyes staring into you makes you uncomfortably exposed. 

Then, he walks. 

As if a moment of clarity has struck him, he sets his shoulders back like he’s made up his mind, and he walks. To you. Before you can react, he collapses himself on top of you, draping his weight like a blanket over your unsuspecting body and pressing you down onto the silken sheets. 

“M-mydei,” you gasp, glancing at him in confusion as you shift under him. “What are you—”

“No more words,” he huffs, voice heavy with exhaustion. His arms curl around your waist to keep you still. “I have exchanged enough of them for one day. I request but one simple thing—silence.”

“A most impossible request,” you scoff indignantly. “You know well that you provoke argument from me unlike any other.”

“Mmh,” he hums, whether in agreement or mere acknowledgment, you are unsure. Regardless, you frown petulantly at it and expect more—he is meant to persuade you otherwise. (No, my dear wife. You are as gentle as the breeze through the valley, ever soothing, ever constant. That is what he ought to say to you.) “You say this as if I am to find displeasure in it.”

That only seems to irk you more. 

“You take pleasure in getting a rise out of me?” You narrow your eyes, glaring down at him as you watch the way he presses his lips to fight back the oncoming smile. 

“You put words in my mouth, dear wife,” he murmurs. “I merely meant your spirit is endearing. The…complications that come about it are tolerable at best.”

“So you find me only tolerable?!” you ask in disbelief. 

Fondness, as clear as the warm light of the Kremnos sun, settles onto his face and softens the sharpness of his eyes a hue lighter, the amber now glazed in a honeyed glow. He lets out a low chuckle in amusement, and it is softer than anything you have ever heard. Not just from him—no, you have never heard a gentler sound through the entirety of your life. It is as though the Gods have decreed that the first time you listen to something so tender will come from the man they have handpicked to be bound to you. 

“Do you willingly choose to hear only the unsavory parts of what I say? If so, then it is a talent I am most impressed by,” he murmurs. “You do not challenge my tolerance. I am unable to find faults when it comes to you, even when you drive me mad.”

“Such a romantic. Have you been spending time with poets recently? You speak as charmingly as one,” you chuckle teasingly as you shift under him, and your leg brushes accidentally against the innermost part between his legs. It brings him to shiver and let out a low grunt, but you do not realize. Not for a while as you try to get comfortable under his weight. 

Not until he stops you with a nearly painfully tight grip on your hips as he grits, “Be still.”

“What?” You tilt your head. “Why? If I am to lay under you like your personal mattress, then at the very least allow me to—”

“You torture me,” he says, voice strained. 

You blink in confusion. And then—

Ah. You realize soon enough that there is a hardness poking at you. You only now feel it, but it’s been there for some time. Throbbing against your thigh is his erection, separated from you by the fabric of your robes and pressed as tightly against you as possible, and you have been rubbing against it this whole time. The thought should horrify you, but all you can focus on is the way his cheeks take on a flushed hue.

Pretty, you think. Mydeimos is pretty. Just like his name, just like his throne, just like his nation, everything about Mydeimos is pretty. (Mydei—you can hear his grumpy voice correct you in your own mind—you are to call me Mydei.)

“What is that?” you ask through a cheeky, whispered breath.

He exhales shakily, looking at you unamused. “If I have to answer that, I am unsure if you are old enough to be wedded to me.”

You giggle, rubbing a hand along his back as you murmur, “Indulge me.”

“If I must,” he grumbles tiredly. “It is proof that you are what I desire. Does that satisfy you?”

“Exceedingly,” you nod. “Shall I now offer you the satisfaction of fulfilling your desires in return?”

“You do not need to,” he mumbles quietly. Mydei is an honorable man—he is kind to women and children, and he does not see himself above other men simply because he is king. He is a man of principles, if nothing else. Stripping him of his principles is not a simple task.

“And what if I want to?” you pout. “Will you indulge your dear wife?”

“Devious,” he hisses, stiffening when you flex your leg to press more pressure against his hardened cock. “You are a devious, dangerous thing.”

Your hand slips between your bodies at the same time as his lifts up, held over you by two muscled arms that cage either side of your head. You stare up at him, watching the flickers of his expression as your hand carefully untucks his hot, lengthy erection from the confinements of his pants and gives a small squeeze to the shaft. 

“Today is a rather special day,” you murmur, “Wouldn’t you say?”

“Of course,” he chuckles breathlessly, groaning as your thumb strokes along his slit, gathering pre cum and carefully smearing it along his tip. “I have survived the wicked schemes of my wife for an entire year.”

“And I have survived the brutal warrior that is my husband,” you grin. “My father will be relieved to hear I am still alive.”

“You mention him while you have me like this?” He grins wolfishly, shivering as you slowly stroke his cock. His eyes flutter shut, and for a moment, his arms waver as they hold him upright above you. “Fuck,” he whispers, “Do not tease.”

“Tease?” you gasp, stopping at the base of his cock and giving him a small squeeze. He grunts, cracking an eye open, displeased. “I would never.”

“Then don’t,” he says roughly, his voice a gravelly sound that shoots an ache straight to your cunt. 

“Only because it is our anniversary,” you murmur, leaning up to kiss him gently between his furrowed brows. 

Your hand drags along his thick girth, stroking it quickly as he lets out low groans, burying his face into your neck. You can feel him—pulsing in your hand, hot against your neck, heavy over your weight. His breath fans against your skin as he makes pleasured sounds into your ear, making wetness stain between your own legs. And he knows it, too—you’re certain because otherwise, the bite to your earlobe wouldn’t be so tantalizingly slow. 

“Happy Anniversary, my dear wife,” he murmurs. “It has been a year of enduring your madness. Won’t you drive me just a little more insane?”

“Happy Anniversary, my darling husband,” you breathe, stroking him faster as he moans into your ear and shivers. “If you are not already insane, I have yet to properly fulfill my duties.”

He makes a sound at that—a cross between a chuckle and a low groan, and with just a few more careful strokes of his aching cock, he spills into your hand, painting your delicate fingers and the intricate stitching of your robes white with his seed. You feel every twitch of him, every rope he spills of thick, warm cum that spills from his reddened tip, and in a daze, you imagine it to fill you to the brim. 

And you’re certain he will, too, by the hungry look in his eyes as soon as his blissed-out expression dies out. He opens them, eyeing you like you are the first meal presented to a starved man—and perhaps he is. He is always starved of you, no matter how often you let him get his fill. 

“One year since I have had such a beauty to call my dear wife,” he whispers. “How unfortunate it is that you will never get to see the sight of yourself. But I am too selfish to allow anyone but myself to witness it.”

“You talk most when you are feverish,” you tease, pressing a hand to his forehead. “Are you feeling well, Mydei?”

“Not until I have you,” he responds cheekily, grinning in amusement as he leans in to kiss you hungrily. You gasp against his mouth, hands instantly traveling to his hair. “Won’t you look after your sickened husband?”

“If I must,” you sigh playfully. (The slick wetness between your legs almost screams at you to quit your agonizing schemes and simply give yourself as quickly as he wants to take you.)

His fingers tease along your collarbone, trailing just between your cleavage as you shiver. Just as his hands reach for your robes, ready to expose your breasts, a knock disturbs you as you both stiffen—

“Lord Mydeimos,” calls a guard, “There has been an ambush on our patrolling troops outside of the border. It is urgent.”

Mydei stills. You glance at him worriedly. 

“Of all times,” he grunts, cursing under his breath.

“There will be plenty of time later,” you soothe, tracing the angry creases in his forehead, “Duty calls.”

He glances at you miserably before sighing, rising from atop your body. But not before planting a soft, lingering kiss on your lips that he reluctantly pulls away from. “Wait for me. I will take care of it quickly and return to you to finish where I have left off.”

You giggle, poking his cheek as you murmur, “I have no doubts.”

———————

Mydei does, in fact, return to you. 

Except, it is not in the condition that he left. 

He comes back carried by four men at once, ushered quickly into the healer’s wing, and stripped of his armor quickly. You follow along, stumbling over your feet and heart beating in your throat. 

“What hap—” You are carefully tugged to the side before you can even utter the words, moved away from the grotesque scene before you can properly get a look at the stab wound in his chest. The blade has missed his heart by just a hair, you hear one healer mumble. It is a miracle that he has lived long enough to be brought back, another whispers. 

You hear him groan unconsciously as they clean at the torn flesh, and your knees buckle at the sound. 

“My lady,” murmurs an attendant. “Perhaps it is best if you do not witness such a scene—”

“That scene is my husband,” you cry hysterically. “Who else is to witness it? My husband needs—”

“He needs the healers, and they cannot do their duty with your hovering.” You’re cut off firmly. You blink, and even without the tears in your eyes, you’re certain you would look pitiful as you sniffle. 

“He promised he would return to spend the night with me,” you croak. “If he does not live to see through to his promise, I will kill him myself.”

“I am certain he fears such a fate more than anything else,” whispers the attendant, gently tugging you along and supporting half your weight. “Come, I am positive My Lord will appreciate a properly tidied chamber to recover in, wouldn’t you say?”

You let yourself be dragged away, turning to glance at Mydei one more time—just in time, in fact, to catch a glimpse of a bloodied rag tossed to the floor by a healer. More blood than you have ever witnessed spilled from Mydei before—if at all. 

———————

It takes hours before there is a knock on your chamber’s door, and before you can even rise from your bed, a handful of guards enter one by one, carefully carrying your husband on a stretcher as he unhappily lays with his arms crossed. 

“I could have walked myself,” he grumbles bitterly.

“The healers would have my head if I allowed your stitches to be torn, My Lord.”

“The healers could not do anything if I had ordered—”

“Mydei,” you sob, throwing yourself into his arms as soon as they lay him on your shared bed. Your arms wrap around his neck as he cuts himself off and lets out a low grunt of surprise. 

And then, he beams. So smugly that even the guards eye each other warily. “Did you miss me, dear wife?”

One by one, they quickly file out of your chambers as your head shoots up, and you glare at him. 

“You leave me on our anniversary night to fight an ambush, promise to return to me only to come back bloodied and half alive, and your first words to me are to ask such an arrogantly tasteless question?” 

He chuckles, cupping your cheek as he murmurs, “I am fine. It’s just a small cut—”

“They missed your heart by a hair! I heard the healers myself!”

“You know how they are,” he all but huffs petulantly, rolling his eyes as he complains. “I would have been fine to walk myself back, but they insisted that the guards escort me by stretcher—”

“And a good thing they did,” you spit. “If your injury did not kill you, then your ego surely would have finished the job.”

You have never considered the possibility of losing Mydei. Not once in your marriage. Not when you felt no tug for him in your heart, and not even when your heart began to yearn for him more than anything else. A naive little thing you were, you think to yourself—to think your husband is invincible just because he is as strong as he is. Your father’s words had made you think of your husband as nothing more than a warrior at times—a godslayer, a man not even divinity could stand against. 

But he’s painfully human. Painfully just a boy who grew into the body of a man and nothing more. Strength means little in the face of chance—and it occurs to you now, as you eye the bandages wrapped tightly around his chest, that by chance alone did a blade pierce through his skin, and by chance alone did he survive and come back to you.

And you will never risk a chance to lose him again without telling him what your heart knows after a year of marriage. 

“Do you not have any faith in m—”

“I love you,” you sniffle, the words wobbly and wet like your tear-stained lips. They cascade down your cheeks and collect pitifully at your chin, but you care little for your appearance as you let out an ugly sob and cradle his cheeks. “I love you, and it is the worst fate you have cursed me with. I despise you.”

“That is a rather contradictory statement,” he says quietly as he processes your words. But the tips of his ears are red as his lips fight to stay still at the corners. “Could you repeat that first part without that latter one?”

“You are insufferable,” you glare, still blinking through tears. He chuckles, pulling you closer as he carefully thumbs away the wetness of your cheeks. 

“And I love you, as well,” he says gently, “Even though you have possessed me and changed everything as I know it, I love you.”

“Do not scare me like this again,” you command. 

“I won’t,” he agrees. With enough conviction that you believe him. For now. For now, you believe him, and little else matters. You let him pull you against his side, curling an arm around you as you reach over and brush hair from his face. 

“Did you know that my father called you a godslayer once?” you hum, tracing his cheek softly and wiping away the sweat that lingers on his skin. “I wonder what he would think now if he were to see you.”

“Did he, now?” he asks in amusement. “Far too high of praise, isn’t it? I’m afraid he’ll only be disappointed—I do not know if I could slay a God.”

“What if my life depended on it?” you pout. “Wouldn’t you at least try?”

He chuckles, grabbing your hand from his face and pulling it to his lips, kissing your fingertips slowly, one by one, before he says thoughtfully, “I suppose your father was not wrong then. For my dear wife, I would slay even the divine.”

“In that case, he will be most pleased to know Kremnos and its king are taking such great care of his daughter,” you finally, finally smile, giggling softly, much to Mydei’s pleasure as you lean up to press a kiss to his cheek. He hums, happily accepting your affection as he relaxes further into the bed.

“After a year spent on this land, what is your favorite part of Kremnos?” he asks. And you know—better than anything, you know what he wants you to say. 

“The sun,” you murmur. 

He frowns. You bite back a smile. “The sun,” he repeats, dry and in disbelief. “The unchanging sun that is the same no matter what nation you travel to? Why not your husband?”

Chuckling, you cup his cheeks once more, leaning to kiss over his eyelids one by one. He closes his eyes and lets you as he relaxes under your touch. When he opens them, you are reminded that the Kremnos sun is the warmest you have ever felt. 

“The sun does not shine the same in other nations, Mydei,” you whisper. “In Kremnos, you can find its warmth in not just the sky.”

“And wherever else, pray tell, would you find the sun’s warmth in Kremnos?” he asks, his voice husky as he leans closer. 

You smile, and for a moment, you consider giving in and telling him what he wishes to hear. But you decide to tease him for a bit longer, in retaliation for what he put you through, as you pat his cheek before pulling away. You walk to leave your chambers, but not before you say over your shoulder, “I believe I should fetch more supplies from the healers. Your bandages will need to be replaced soon.”

He gapes, watching your retreating figure in shock before he slumps back and chuckles, sighing before shaking his head as he mutters under his breath, “Utterly wicked. Such a wicked, beautiful thing I have married.”

WOW THIS FIC IS FINALLY DONEEEEE.

It was a 23 day wip to a lot of you guys bc a lot of you guys follow me and saw me posting about this fic during the writing process. So you probably know that royal au’s are very hard for me. I find the dialogue to be difficult to get right and I can’t crack the same jokes I normally would through the character’s lines and I also have no idea how royalty would go about filthy talk LOL. So that’s rough. But also world building and handling the political atmosphere in these sort of settings is just. Complicated to me. But royal au’s are also some of my favorite to envision and think about, so these scenes in this fic have been a COLLECTION of scenes that I’ve had from many, MANY attempts at writing a royal au. I’m talking years worth of attempts and compiled scenes that I abandoned and brought back to get added into this fic.

It may have been a 23 day wip to everyone who followed along with my writing updates on this blog, but this is technically a longgggg 5+ year journey that FINALLY saw the light of day, and went through soooo many characters.

First it was for Miya Atsumu from haikyuu.

Then it became a Bakugou Katsuki fic from bnha.

Then it became a Gojo, then Sukuna, then back to Gojo fic from jjk.

Then I was like no no trust me it’ll make for the PERFECT Alhaitham fic from genshin.

Now, FINALLY, it has seen the light of day after maybe 5 ish years as a Mydei fic from hsr.

Would you believe me if I told you I’m hardly an hsr player and I’ve met him for approximately 2 mins total in game? 💀 LOL. I am not really sure why he managed to make me finally really take all these half written scenes from over the years, polish them up, and finally finish this fic, but I did and I am proud of myself.

For my first proper attempt at a royal au fic, I don’t think it’s the worst thing I’ve written. Are there some parts that I wish were executed better? Yes for sure lol I’m just a failgirl writer who is honestly her own biggest hater. But that being said, I really think that I did not fail at my attempt and I think that’s a really big step for me in my silly hobby that I take a little too seriously sometimes.

Anyway, if you read this note, and you read this fic, thank youuuuu for reading all my words lol I know sometimes I have a lot of them. And thank you to miss Carina—if you don’t know her, that’s tumblr user @osarina and she’s really talented and she probably is 70% of the reason why this fic exists. Thank you for hearing me whine about this, and for literally forcing me to finish it. And also for beta reading it and for helping me polish up my sophisticated royal dialogue. AND for helping me figure out scenes when I was stuck. Aka thanks for being my inspo and museeeee hehehe ily

[calebsdamsel]

「 IT'S YOU 」

SELF-AWARE!LADS BOYS X F!ISEKAI'D!READER

★ SYNOPSIS: Lately, Caleb has noticed a change in the MC. Her eyes seem more lifeless, like the soul behind them has been sucked right out, and her movements—mechanical. She feels more shell than human. Pair this with how one of her usual 'entourage' members, the painter, has seemingly withdrawn from her, spending more time with another woman instead, one Caleb has never fully gotten view of, and the Fleet Colonel can't help but feel the need to investigate.

★ TAGS: suggestive themes, romance, kind of dark!LADS boys, self-aware!LADS boys, isekai'd!reader, possessive behaviour, jealousy, like crazy amounts of jealousy sometimes, gaslighting, they want you and they are not afraid to fight for you

CHAPTERS !

01. no one looks like you

02. no one walks that way

03. no one smiles quite nice (coming soon!)

04. no one stares so long

05. no one stands so close

06. no one leans like that

07. no one waits that long

08. no one shines so bright

more TBA...

[theliving-radio]

The Winner Takes it Takes it All!

…

NOT!

Continuation of this, and this.

——————

Upon the events of the failed dates from months ago, you start to become insecure of yourself.

From the way you talk, how you present yourself, what you like… you kept nitpicking every part of yourself. The cause of all of this? The 5 failed dates.

You thought back on them, how the first and second date wouldn’t have bothered you… but it was 5 dates in a row. 5! And in a row!

Today, you’ve decided that’s it! You’re gonna stop sulking away in your apartment and go and improve yourself! Make yourself happy! Who needs love? You can love yourself!

What you weren’t expecting was for the universe to say “Let’s unleash something on her”.

Good luck.

Xavier

Xavier was trying to find a way in order to talk to you.

Every opportunity that was given to him, he would chicken out last second. What would he even say to you? “Hey, sorry about our date. I thought I was going out with a mutual friend of ours, and that’s why I acted like a dick.”

Yeah, that can totally get you to go out with him again.

Xavier was making his way towards work though the park when he saw someone sitting on a bench. You.

He paused in his tracks as he stared at you from a distance. You were currently writing something in a small journal with a focused expression. Your brows scrunched up in concentration as you erased a few lines.

You looked troubled. Could he help? Was this another chance for him to try and talk to you? He knows you work as a researcher for the Hunters, and maybe you were writing notes down.

This time he wasn’t backing out.

“Hey.”

His soft greeting caused you to jump just a bit, startled from someone suddenly approaching you. When you looked up, you saw it was Xavier. One of your failed dates.

What was he doing here?

“Oh um. Hi?” You wave up at him, feeling awkward.

Xavier flashes you a gentle, soft smile. He couldn’t help but stare you for a little while longer before having to clear his throat, realizing that what he was doing would look creepy.

“I noticed you looked like you were having trouble with something, and wanted to know if I could help.”

You were just writing in a journal to maybe help with your self improvement and self love. You thought writing your plans out along your goals would be a good start to help with what you want to achieve. 

And was this guy seriously asking you if he can help add to that? One of the people that are the reason WHY you’re doing this in the first place?

“Oh um… this is a personal thing I’m working on.”

“Ah, ok.”

Awkward silence falls over the both of you.

“Hey, I- I wanted to apologize for my behavior during our last date. You didn’t deserve that.” Xavier confused, his voice soft as he spoke to you.

You couldn’t help but blink up at him with wide eyes, surprised he even said anything. So he knew the way he was acting was uncalled for? Was there a true reason on to why he acted that way? Maybe he really was tired that day? He was a hunter after all, and you’ve heard things about Xavier in the office gossip… how he would mostly be resting during a hunt.

It would make sense…

“I also want to ask you… that maybe we can do a do-over. A date where I don’t… fall asleep.”

Rafayel

Inspiration was hard to come by now.

Rafayel kept thinking over and over again about the date he had with you and kept coming up with different scenarios on how he could have made it better.

It all started with him.

Yes he was the main cause of the dates downfall, but he promises he can be better! He realized your type of style suits you, and how colorful you truly are!

Rafayel kept thinking up on other date ideas and how to win you over. Throughout his walks in Linkon he would occasionally see you, dressed in something that usually wasn’t your style. It pained him every time because he felt like he was the cause of someone loosing their own color.

He was. And you were losing you color.

He was currently walking around the Linkon Park, clearing his head as he was looking for inspiration…

That’s when he spotted you on one of the parks bench.

Your head was tilted up, allowing the light to catch your hair in a way that made it glow. To anyone else you might just look like a normal person.

But in this moment, Rafayel thinks you’re simply beautiful.

He takes his phone out and quickly checks himself out, making sure no hair is out of place. Rafayel wanted to look his best if he was going to talk to you, hoping to charm you. Once he was happy on how he looks he began to make his way over to you.

“Hi, Cutie~”

You nearly jump off from the bench when someone greets you from the side.

“Aw, sorry I didn’t mean to startle you.” Rafayel smiles down at you, but that smiles falter as you just blink up at him. He clears his throat.

“It’s nice seeing you… um…” shit, he should have thought this out… apologize! Yes! He should apologize!

Rafayel steels himself as he regains his composure. “I’m glad I was able to run into you, I wanted to apologize for-,”

“AHEM!”

The merman groans as he looks over to the person that interrupted him, only for his eyes to widen to see a familiar ashy blond male.

“I believe you’re interrupting us.”

Space Cadet vs Megalodon

You sat there on the park bench staring at both men, not understanding what was going on.

Truly, what was going on???

You were just writing in your journal when one of them showed up, and then the next!

“Oh? Was I truly interrupting? I’m glad I did since she didn’t seem all that comfortable talking to you.” Rafayel smirks at the man in front of him.

“Oh, and you think she’ll be with you?” Xavier practically growls out to the fish.

You sat there as both men bicker at each other. Rafayel was throwing insults toward your co worker, while Xavier threw jabs at the the artist. And they were fighting over you.

“Hey, Starlight, let’s go find a quieter place and away from this Primadonna.”

Rafayel stutters from the insult as he watches Xavier lean down and offer his hand to you. “Primadonna?!” The artist dramatically places his hand on his hip and points his finger at the hunter while looking at him. “Don’t listen to this uncivilized urchin, Cutie. He clearly doesn’t know anything about the arts and good fashion sense. I say you and I should leave him.”

Rafayel walks in front of Xavier and bumps him in the shoulder, shoving him to the side and offers his own hand. You hold your journal close to your chest as you watch two grown ass men shove at each other.

“Wasn’t the whole reason why you lost your chance was because you kept judging her on her tastes?” Xavier words caused you to pause, your face scrunching up in a confusion.

“Oh we’re bringing up our mistakes? Well didn’t you sleep through the whole date? I’m pretty sure she would feel better to someone who actually listens.”

Did… did they know each other?

At this point they didn’t seem to pay you any attention anymore as all they did was fight each other. You huff and grab your bag and journal before getting up and silently walked away from the two.

They didn’t even notice you left.

“-and another thing, CUTIE? Really, that’s the same nickname you gave MC and now giving it to her? Clearly it shows you haven’t moved past her,” Xavier practically growls out as he motions to the bench where you once were. “She is not a second option for you because you didn’t get what you wanted.”

“Oh, you’re one to talk. You were the first date she had and what from MC said- you slept through everything! Even in mid-conversation! Who does that?!” Rafayel was offended on your behalf.

Xavier scoffs, crossing his arms. “You say you’re an artist, at this point I think you’d just a liar. You couldn’t even see her true beauty.”

“Yeah- well-!” Rafayel was turning red in the face as he thinking of another come back.

“Cutie, you seriously believe what this fool is saying right?!”

“Starlight, we should leave this area.”

Both men turn to the bench you were currently sitting at… only to see it completely empty.

“Cutie?” “Starlight?” Both men start looking around for you, wondering where you could have went. Xavier grits his teeth as he saw no sign of you while Rafayel runs a hand through his hair in annoyance.

“Great, thanks for scaring off my muse.”

“ME?! She was fine before you showed up!”

“Pu-leaaaase, she clearly needed an escape from your dull small talk.”

Both men begin arguing once again, their shouting starting to become louder and louder. Passerby’s at this point couldn’t but look while also calling for law enforcement, scared a fight was gonna break loose.

You escaped successfully.

Somehow.

That was an hour ago as you found a better place to write down in your journal.

A small ma and pop own cafe.

You were just about to walk past it, right until you saw a cute menu displayed outside about the types of drinks and treats they sell. At first you were hesitate on getting yourself something to eat, but then you saw a small caption at the bottom that said “All Sugar Free”. All guilt and hesitation faded away as you skip your way inside the shop.

Zayne

Zayne felt like the universe was testing him.

Any chance he was given to go and pick up a dessert that wasn’t sugar free to deliver to you, he was pulled back into work.

What’s worst? He never learned about your days off.

He wanted to surprise you at work with a box of macaroons as an apology. Zayne called in from work just so he wouldn’t be called in, but he failed to check if you were available.

Now he walks the streets with a bag filled with cutely decorated macaroons. He could always try and hope to give them to MC, but she is still giving him the cold shoulder so that was out of the question.

It would also be very depressing if he took them and ate them at home alone.

Zayne lets out a sigh as he suddenly shifts his gaze up from staring at his feet and looks across the street, pausing in his tracks.

He sees you just outside a cafe sitting on their patio, surrounding yourself with different desserts to try while writing in a small journal.

You were sitting under one of the many tables that had an umbrella, the shade covering your figure from the harsh sun. But even then, the light all around you makes you glow, and Zayne would be lying if he said you didn’t look beautiful.

Not beautiful… Divine.

Zayne inhales and exhales as he tries to calm his nerves while finding the closest pathway across the street. He held the box of deserts close to himself, afraid that in this once change he sees you they’ll be destroyed.

As the doctor got closer and closer to where you were, he started to become nervous.

“Excuse me.”

His voice startled you as you were in the middle of mid chew of a strawberry tart. You almost choked when you noticed it was one of the men from the failed dates, Zayne.

He looked down at you, a smile forming on his face as he noticed some cream stuck to the corner of your mouth. Though that smile dropped as you squinted your eyes at him, as if him standing here was disturbing your peace.

It kinda was.

“I- ahem. I was going to stop by your work but I don’t know you weren’t working today. I’m glad I was able to run into you… uh, here-,” you weren’t able to question him as he shoves a bag in your face. You blink in confusion as you hesitantly take it and look through it, pulling out a box of macaroons.

“They are… an apology gift. For treating you so rudely on… our date…” Zayne was nervous. He’s never nervous, not even when he’s doing surgery. But because he was trying to get another chance with you, it felt like there was even a slight chance he wouldn’t succeed.

Sylus

He should have sent Mephisto to check if you were home first before he showed up.

Sylus was driving through Linkons streets on his motorcycle, a large bouquet of roses rests in a neatly decorated box in his storage compartment on the side. He was hoping to drop by your place and hand them to you as an apology. Then perhaps ask you himself on a date, he wanted to bring you back to that restaurant where he rejected you.

Clearly the plan didn’t go through.

The light turns red as he slows his bike down to a stop. Sylus grumbles under his helmet while he looks at his watch, trying to see if any new notifications from the twins or Mephisto popped up.

Nothing.

A sigh escaped him as he puts his hand down and watch’s traffic in front of him. Sylus begins to tap on his thigh, inpatient for the light to turn green. He was staring straight ahead as the cars move by, but then as a large truck moves, he sees it…

Well, you, more precisely…

You were sitting peacefully outside of a cafe just at the corner of the street, currently writing something down while stuffing a tiny tart into your mouth. Sylus couldn’t help but chuckle, you looked so cute to him, even if you were far away.

It was fate. It had to be.

As soon at the light turned green, Sylus kicks off the stand and begins to weave through traffic, trying to find a way get to you. He eventually had to do a U turn at the next light. He could have easily drove across the street to get to you, but he’s in Linkon, Sylus could not afford to get pull over now after he found you.

He was able to find a place to park and quickly takes off his helmet. Sylus started getting nervous as he gets the bouquet of flowers. He’s never nervous. Why was he nervous? Is this was being nervous feels like???

Sylus takes a deep breath as calms himself down as he begins to make his way over to you.

“Well, I’m glad I was able to find you, sweetie.”

You jump at the voice as you see Sylus approaching you, your eyes bugging out as you see the large bouquet of the flowers in his hand.

“I’m lucky I was able to come across you after a short ride. (Lie) I want to give these to you.” Sylus hands you the flowers as you stare in shock.

You stared at the roses and turned to him, then back towards the roses. “Take them as an apology gift. For the way I reacted when we first met. I was hoping maybe this time I can-,”

“Ahem.”

Sylus clicks his tongue in annoyance and turns to see Zayne, the doctor from the meeting with MC and the other men.

Frosty the Snowman vs Dragon Tales

Both men stare at each other.

In one hand you had a beautiful array of macaroons, and the other was a gorgeous bouquet of flowers. You look up at Sylus and then towards Zayne, getting a sense of déjà vu from the events that happened a few hours ago.

“Well, what a surprise to see you doctor…”

“I should say the same to you… ‘Skye’.”

Both men glare at each other while you just sat there confused.

What was happening???

First it was you co worker Xavier, then it was Rafayel the artist that started fighting for your attention…

Now it’s Zayne the Doctor and Skye the Fruit Vendor fighting for you. What is everyone’s deal???

Zayne crosses his arms, tilting his head up just a bit to look Sylus in the eyes. “What do you think you’re doing here? From what I know, you would rather spend your time somewhere else.”

Sylus lets out a dry chuckle as he squints down at the doctor. “Oh? And what about you? Being a hypocrite for gifting her the very thing you told her to stay away from? What, had a change of heart or is it just the guilt?”

‘Skye’ turns to you and gives you a million dollar smile. “I am truly sorry for rejecting you. It was rude of me to do so when I never gave you a chance. I-,” the smile drop as he looks at you with a sincere expressions. “I wish to take you on an actual date.”

Zayne couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the way Sylus shamelessly tries to gain your favor. You were about to respond to the silver headed male until Zayne spoke up first. “You wish to ask her out just so you can abandon her once again? Absolutely not.” You whip your head to face Zayne as he goes to step in front of you, shielding you away from the ‘fruit ventor’. “After all, you’re one of the worst ones from the group.”

Did they also know the other guys too?

Zayne turns to you and gives you an apologetic smile. “Come, I’ll take you somewhere more peaceful so you can eat your desserts. I know a nice restaurant around that serves fruity boba drinks.”

“Oh, trying to whisk her away for a meal just so you can nit pick her eating habits? And I thought you were more professional doctor.”

Both men turn away from you, just to glare at one another…

And you didn’t feel comfortable.

You place the bouquet of roses and macaroons onto the patio table as you begin packing up all your desserts in their To-Go boxes, placing them in your bag along with your journal. Both men were so focused on each other that they didn’t even notice you cleaning up your space.

You went back inside the cafe and thanked the owners and praise them how good their desserts were. You also gave them a heads up on the two men arguing outside on their cafe patio.

The elderly couple were thankful for you telling the and waves you goodbye.

Meanwhile both Zayne and Sylus were still at each other’s throats.

“-it’s also very hypocritical for a doctor to tell someone, not even their own patient, to eat healthier when he is the one who is eats sugar like a glutton.”

“I was not in the correct state of mind when that occurred and I acknowledge the issue I have created. You on the other hand have done nothing. And I actually mean ‘nothing’ at all. From what MC said, you just saw her and walked away.”

Zayne steps forward, practically chest to chest with Sylus. “You simply walked away because she wanted what you wanted.”

Sylus couldn’t deny that. He didn’t want you, but he’s seen you now. He sees what you do and wishes he could go back and change how he responded upon that first meeting.

You didn’t deserve the cruel way of rejection.

Just as Sylus was about to respond-

A broom was slapped into his face.

Zayne jumped a bit by the sudden action, then flinching when the broom hits his own face.

“Both of you take your possessive asses somewhere else! You scared off that sweet girl!” The one with the broom was an older gentleman. He was the owner of the cafe with his wife who was standing by the front entrance.

Zayne and Sylus stared in shock at the man before turning to where you were sitting. Just as he said, you were gone.

Both men look in every direction to see where you could have gone, but you were nowhere to be found.

“Now begone with you! Shoo!” The older man uses the broom to ‘sweep’ them away, causing Zayne and Sylus to trip over their own feet. They end up all the way where Sylus parked his bike. Eventually the old man goes back to his shop and grumbles about young people.

The doctor and mafia leader just stand there next to the motorcycle awkwardly. Neither one of them spoke as they just stood on the sidewalk.

“…”

“…”

Zayne coughs in his fist while Sylus brushes some lint off his shoulder.

Both men knew what the other was going to do, but they didn’t want to do make the first move due to not wanting to follow the other…

They wanted to go and look for you.

Today has been really weird, too weird in fact. Not only did four of the guys you went on dates with showed up, but all four of them were practically fighting over you.

Not only that but they all seemed to know each other too, which is just as strange.

They all knew MC too, so maybe they did know each other?

You begin to take your phone out of your bag, digging around with frustration on not being able to find it. At that point you weren’t looking where you were going and tripped over a stray rock.

You tried to regain your balance but only stumbled forward as you saw the concrete ground getting closer, preparing yourself for the impact…

Only it never came.

Your body jerked as you stared at the ground in front of you, blinking in confusion as you hovered…

Hovered???

“Wow, I’m glad I was able to catch you in time.”

You turn your head to see a brunette with the most beautiful violet eyes. He smiles down at you and he moves his hand to position you back up, it took you a moment to realize he was using his Evol.

“Can’t have my Guardian Angel falling on me now.”

Caleb

After the drinking incident, Caleb decided to stop. He should have known better then to go out after getting drunk and almost endangering himself in that situation, but he doesn’t regret having you run into him again.

From there he’s been looking more into who you were, what you do for a living, how you knew his Pipsqueak, anything related to you he looked into.

The colonel was trying to convince himself that it wasn’t because of guilt, no… it was because you took care of him and so he decided he should treat you back.

Yeah, that’s what he’ll do!

It was totally the reason why he stalked your Moments page to try and get a pinpoint on your location. It was TOTALLY the reason why he’s in Linkon now so he can reward you.

It’s totally not because he wants to ask you out on a date. Maybe to give you an actual chance instead of just abandoning you.

He’s been walking around the area for a while now in hopes to run into you, and thankfully he did.

You were walking towards him on the sidewalk, not really paying attention while you were digging through your bag. Caleb was able to get a good look at you now instead of looking through camera feeds, photos, and memory…

You looked like a breath of fresh air. Like the first flowers in bloom in the Spring time.

Majestic, he thinks.

Caleb stops his walking, to caught up in watching how the sun makes your hair glow like a halo around your head. You truly did look like an angel.

He saw how your foot seemed to have caught on something, making you stumble forward. The colonel didn’t hesitate and quickly shoots his hand out to use his evol, saving you from falling on the hard concrete sidewalk face first.

Now, after saving you from your face meeting the sidewalk, Caleb sits with you at the bus stop bench’s.

“You look… familiar.” You squint at him, looking over his features while trying to recollect where you could have seen him before.

“You probably would remember me better if my face was wet and I was drunk,” Caleb mentions as he awkwardly scratches the back of his neck.

You blink at him for a second before gasping, remembering now. “You’re the puddle man!”

Caleb turns to you with wide eyes and lets out a breathy laugh. “Uh yeah. I’m the Puddle Man.”

“Oh my gosh! It’s so nice seeing you! I’ve been worried about you since I dropped you off in your apartment.”

You were worried about him? You didn’t know him at all. You didn’t know this was the same guy that left you all alone at that restaurant. Yet you were still worried over him?

Caleb felt something stir in his chest, something he never felt towards anyone else besides MC. Was it guilt? Yes, but there was something else.

He continues to stare at you as you fret over him, asking if he’s been taking care of himself after that event. Caleb started to believe you were an actual guardian angel.

“Let me take you out on a date.”

“What?” You let out a confused laugh as you stared at the brunette in shock. Was… was he really asking you out?

A blush spreads over Caleb’s face. Even he was surprised by his ow words! He didn’t mean to out right ask you on a date, he was hoping to maybe get to know you better before popping the question. Usually he’s much smoother with his words, but he guesses your a different case.

“Uh yeah! I- well after what happened, I wanted to try and find you and maybe take you out. It doesn’t have to be a date! Just to… thank you…” and sorry.

You look at Caleb, truly look at him. You were about to give him an answer before you were interrupted by loud yelling.

“Cutie! I’m here to save you from that desperate idiotic man!”

“Sweetie please step away from that man.”

“Starlight are you ok? We need to get away from him.”

“Miss, I’m sorry for the rude behavior… let’s go somewhere else away from him.”

Colonel Sanders vs The Karens

Caleb watches in horror as every man that you went on a failed date with comes speeding towards the two of you.

Xavier and Rafayel were neck and neck, running towards you both while trying to trip the other. Meanwhile Zayne was getting off Sylus Motorcycle, along with him.

Caleb quickly stands up and tries to shield you away from the other males. You only turn your attention up towards Caleb, noticing the glare he was giving all of them.

Did he also know them?

“Just stay behind me Pipsqueak.”

Pipsqueak? That’s… really weird name to call you.

Once all four of them got closer, you noticed how they all looked like they were ready to fight Caleb. For what reason? You don’t know.

Sylus and Zayne were the first ones to appear before the both of you, Xavier and Rafayel were too busy with their childish behavior.

“Caleb.”

“Doctor Zayne…”

“Colonel.”

Sylus doesn’t get a greeting from Caleb, he only turns to you. “Do you feel uncomfortable with these men, Pips?”

You only stared up at him, subconsciously nodding. He couldn’t help but give you a gentle smile as he offers his hand towards you, one that you were willing to take-

“I find it very interesting how it’s now that you’ve decided to come for her Colonel. I was told that you abandoned her, leaving her all alone on that first date.” You hand paused mid air as you turn to what Sylus just said.

You didn’t miss the way Caleb flinches as his hand drops to his side as he looks away from you to glare at the Onychinus leader. “I dont know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb, Caleb. We all know that out of the four of us, you were the worst. You never showed up.”

The fifth date. The one that never bothered to show up at the restaurant. The one where he made you think you weren’t worth it.

You slowly look up at Caleb where he was trying to avoid your gaze. Instead he tries to deflect it by lying.

“You don’t actually believe them, do you Pips?”

“Pips? As in Pipsqueak?? That’s so insulting towards her!” Rafayel finally made it over as he glares at the brunette. “You’re seriously calling her by someone else’s nickname.”

“And what about you, huh? Weren’t you just calling her ‘Cutie’?” Caleb fires back.

Is this your time to escape?

You couldn’t run this time unfortunately. You had five men now fighting for you and each one seems to keep glancing in your direction, just to see if you were still there.

You were getting tired of this though.

As the men argue around, you begin to take your phone out and text MC as fast as you.

‘By chance you can you bring a distraction at this location? Thanks’

“You left the most emotional damage towards her.”

“If I remember correctly, you’re the one that slept through everything.”

“I’m pretty sure out of all of us, your the least on to be qualified to be fighting for her.”

“Says a crime lord. Shouldn’t you be out making illegal deals or something?”

“I would feel better if you weren’t here at all, Caleb.”

“I could say the same thing to you Doc.”

“Think it’s about time you see yourself out now, Sky boy.”

“Oh shut your fish mouth.”

With every comment thrown at Caleb, he fired back with his own. You couldn’t help but watch as each insult was thrown at him.

All five men were now focused on one another that they didn’t notice the bus pull up to the stop.

This is your chance!

While they were all distracted you quickly sneak on, telling the bus driver that the five men don’t need a ride.

And with that said, you disappear once again.

MC thought you were joking when you sent her that text. But when she finally showed up to the location, she had no words on what she saw.

All five men that she was ignoring for a while were at the bus stop yelling over one another. As MC stood there, she listened from their conversation.

All of it was about you.

Al these men were fighting over you.

All of them fighting over you after breaking your heart.

“What the hell is going on here?!”

All five of them turn their heads to her, surprised to see MC there. They all turned their heads back to the bench you were sitting at, only to see you weren’t there.

“Well??? Can anyone explain to me what’s going on and why are you all fighting?” MC crosses her arms and begins to tap her foot, waiting for an answer.

Nobody was able to give one.

MC rented out the office room once again. All five men sat at the table in silence… once again. MC was currently on the phone talking with you about the events that have happened today.

“Uh huh… yeah that is strange… no I didn’t get them to act like that, why would I?… how funny. Anyway I’m gonna let you go, get some rest, I’ll see you at work. Right, love you too bestie.” MC turns her phone off as she turns and faces all the men.

“Ok… let’s start on why you guys are harassing my friend.”

“Harassing? Did it truly look like that?” Zayne scrunches his face in thought as he tries rethink the events that occurred.

“Well let’s be honest, I was the first to approach her, but then all of you followed along when I was just trying to help her.” Xavier points out.

Sylus scoffs while crossing his arms. “Really? Because kept pushing to get to her. Don’t lie now, your princely-ness.”

“Oh I was trying to save her from him, but when I looked to where she was, she disappeared!” Rafael defends himself. “I was even offering to take her out!”

Caleb only grumbles with his arms crossed. “She was fine with me until all of you showed up…”

“Oh don’t start now.”

“You don’t deserve a chance!”

The room blows up with all of them arguing once again. MC rubs her temples in thought.

“Are you only trying to date her because of guilt? Or because of another reason.”

All of them turned towards MC, the looked away.

None of them can deny it was front guilt, but there was something else to it. They see you now as a person, a human being and someone who deserves to be treated better.

And they wanted to be the ones to treat you.

“I… saw the error on how I treated her. And I wish to correct it. She’s been only all sugar free desserts and I find that to be unfair, since I pushed her to do that.”

“You think you’re bad? I judged her on how she’s dressed and the things she likes. She actively stays away from those things now.” Rafayel mentions.

“I notice her at work and how quiet she’s gotten. I’ve seen how she wishes to talk to some of the other hunters but stays quiet.” Xavier confesses.

Both Sylus and Caleb don’t say anything as they only stare at the table. MC lets out a sigh as she rubs the bridge of her nose.

“If this is some fucked up way to get me to talk to you guys-,”

“Absolutely not.”

MC blinks as she looks over at Sylus who interrupted her. “I dont know about the others, but I know for a fact that I’ve made peace with it. I’ve always told you sweetie that if you wanted me gone from your life, you just tell me.” Sylus leans back in the chair, folding his arms. “I’ve always had my eyes on you Kitten, but now I’m looking at those around me and I’ve seen what your friend can do, and who she is. For me it’s nothing about guilt, but for trying to fix something that never had the chance to grow.”

MC stares at Sylus with wide eyes. That… that was actually really sweet of him…

“Puh-leeeease, he just pulled that out of his ass.” Rafayel ruins the moment.

“Oh? Then I’m guessing you don’t truly wish to get to know Ms Researcher then, do you?”

Rafayel scoffs at Sylus claim. Of course he wants to get to know you! He also wants to fix what he said to you, he just doesn’t want this asshole to be the first to say it.

MC watches once again as all five men go back in arguing and insulting one another. It dawns on her that these guys serious about you.

She won’t be able to stop it. She prays for your sanity now.

——————————

@quill-for-glory , @animegamerfox , @chocochip-gaia , @ghost-of-the-firefly993 , @commissionersass , @tartartagliaboo , @jaiahquqii , @young-adult-summer , @harmlesscouch , @ceoofvillainmc , @uruhali , @edenrainns , @moonjellyfishie , @shippingtara , @dwuclvr, @potania , @eeriepromis , @whatdoesthesenpai ,

[chaacoonnee]

eight seconds — sylus

“You lasted eight seconds on that bull...and I’m wondering if you can last longer.”

“Longer on the bull?” you ask carefully.

His smile is wicked. “Sure. Let’s start with that.”

synopsis: you think conquering a bull looks easy, so rodeo champion sylus decides you need a lesson in riding—in the backseat of his pickup truck

tags: nsfw, explicit sexual content, cowboy!sylus x city girl!reader, lust at first sight, riding, teaching, kissing, car sex, size difference, cowgirl position, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, sexual overstimulation, creampie, fluff + smut

wc: 13.2k / ao3

a/n: save a horse, ride a qin che ;)

The rodeo smells like dirt and beer and bad decisions.

You’re wedged between Tara and some guy in an absurdly oversized cowboy hat who keeps whooping like he’s personally invested in watching men get concussed by livestock. The stands are packed, the sun is setting, and you are profoundly, deeply bored.

“Isn’t this AMAZING?” Tara shouts over the announcer’s voice.

“It’s definitely something,” you say, taking another sip of overpriced beer.

“Come on! Live a little!” Tara hits your arm playfully. “You said you wanted adventure, didn’t you?”

What you actually said three days ago was that you needed a weekend away from your suffocating corporate job and your mother’s passive-aggressive texts about your biological clock. Tara—your chaotic, impulsive, rodeo-obsessed friend and coworker—interpreted that as “drive three hours into the middle of nowhere to watch men cosplay as cowboys.”

“I said I wanted a spa weekend. With wine. And no animals.”

“This is way better than a spa!”

“Tara, I’m watching a man get thrown off of a bull into a literal pile of shit.”

“That’s the best part!”

You’re starting to regret every choice you made that led you here, mentally drafting escape strategies: sudden vague illness, a family emergency of unclear nature, alien abduction—

“Next up,” the announcer booms, “give it up for Sylus Qin, folks! Undefeated this season, riding Wild Cherry—”

The crowd absolutely loses their minds. Apparently this guy is famous. Or infamous. It’s hard to tell.

Tara is suddenly sitting up straighter. “Oh my god, it’s him.”

“Him who?”

“SYLUS. The Sylus Qin. He’s only the best bull rider in the circuit right now. Undefeated. Gorgeous. Thighs that could crush your skull and you’d say thank you.” She’s practically vibrating. “This is why we came.”

“We came all the way out here for one specific cowboy?”

“We came for THE cowboy.” She looks at you like you have brain damage. “He has entire fan accounts dedicated to him, y’know. Sychos, we call ourselves. Get it, like psych—”

“Yeah, I got it,” you cut in. “Naming yourselves after men who sit on angry animals for prize money. Very adult behavior.”

“Adult behavior is overrated.” Tara waves you off. “And just you wait, babe. You’ll be calling yourself one by the end of the night.”

You snort. “If that happens, I give you permission to euthanize me.”

“Fine, but I get your closet.” She bumps your hip with hers. “I’d grieve, obviously. But in designer.”

A group of girls in tight denim shorts and matching red bandanas suddenly flock to the rail below you, phones out, glitter letters spelling STAY ON, SYLUS across posterboard. One of them whispers something to the girl beside her that makes her giggle and bite her lip.

“Those are the Sychos, huh?” you say, like you’re confirming a wildlife sighting. “You count yourself among the faithful?”

“Please. Me? I’m not here to worship him.” She tips her chin toward the girls, sliding her sunglasses into her hair. “I’m here for his disciples.”

You shoot her a look. To Tara, men sit in the same category as traffic cones—loud and in the way, only tolerable when directing her somewhere else.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably efficient, you mean.” She tosses her braid over her shoulder and checks her lipstick in the reflection of her phone screen. “They convert easily.”

Before you can respond, the PA system crackles in a sharp burst of static that jolts the arena to attention. Everyone shifts at once, boots scraping against metal as the crowd angles to catch a glimpse of the rider. Someone whistles. Dust stirs around the chute like it’s coming alive.

The girls below you erupt first, phones snapping up, posterboards rattling against the rail.

The announcer’s voice rolls through the speakers—a slow country drawl that buzzes through the bleachers, through your ribs, through the stupid can of beer in your hand:

“Competitor twenty-two…Sylus Qin.”

Tara exhales like she’s been waiting hours for this exact moment. “Showtime.”

“—ain’t nobody lasted more than six seconds on this beast all year—”

“That’s what she said,” you mutter into your drink.

Tara doesn’t hear you. She’s too busy screaming with the rest of the crowd as the gate slams open.

The bull explodes into the ring—twisting, bucking, trying to murder its rider with pure muscle and chaos. The man on top is already locked in, one hand high, the other on the rope, body rolling with each violent buck like he’s done this a thousand times. Because he probably has.

You’ll admit—objectively, technically, it’s impressive. In the same way watching someone juggle chainsaws is impressive. Impressive and dangerous and stupid.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t wobble. Doesn’t even seem winded. Just rides the beast like it was born to be beneath him.

Six seconds. Seven. Eight.

The buzzer sounds. He dismounts smoothly, landing on his feet while the bull handlers rush in. The girls below you are shrieking like someone won the lottery.

You finish off your beer.

“...That’s it?” you mutter.

“That’s it?” Tara whips her head toward you so fast her sunglasses nearly fly. “He just survived a demon with horns and you’re bored?”

“Looked like…balance,” you say with a shrug. “Core strength. Decent stance.”

Tara opens her mouth, ready to annihilate you, but the crowd erupts again as the rider approaches the bleachers—a frenzy of camera flashes, dads slapping shoulders, girls crying.

You glance up just in time to see him.

Sylus Qin. Helmet off, silver hair tousled, sweat darkening the collar of his shirt. A handler says something to him, but he barely responds. His red eyes scan the bleachers, not searching the crowd—hunting through it.

And then they find you.

Not the screaming girls pressed against the rail. Not the sign glittering under the fluorescent floodlights.

You.

His gaze flicks over you once, slow, like he’s taking note of every inch. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t wave, just assesses you in a way that makes your pulse jump.

Tara gasps like she’s witnessing a miracle. “Oh my god,” she hisses, shaking your arm. “He’s looking at you!”

“He’s looking in this general direction,” you correct, throat suddenly dry.

“General direction, my ass.” Tara’s voice is wild with victory. “He’s staring at you like you just spit in his drink. And he liked it.”

You’re about to argue when Sylus drags the back of his glove across his mouth—still looking up at you, the stranger with crossed arms and a steady, blank stare. His eyes narrow, heat flicking to life behind them. Interest. Curiosity. Challenge.

You tilt your head, like you’re still trying to figure out what the fuss is about.

The gesture lands like an insult.

He holds your gaze for a beat too long, tips his hat directly at you with what can only be described as spite, and saunters out of the arena.

Tara explodes beside you the second he disappears through the gate.

“WHAT WAS THAT?” Tara is practically screaming in your ear. “What just happened? Did you see that? He looked at you like—like—”

“Like nothing.”

“Like EVERYTHING.” She grabs your face, turning it toward hers. “Do you understand what just happened? Sylus Qin just acknowledged you. Personally. In front of everyone.”

“He probably does that for lots of people—”

“He doesn’t.” A girl in front of you turns around, and she looks furious. “He literally never does that.”

She’s wearing a crop top with “Qin” bedazzled across the chest and more makeup than seems practical for an outdoor event. Her friends beside her look equally angry.

“Excuse me?” you say.

“You heard me.” She looks you up and down with obvious disdain. “We’ve been coming to his rides for months. Months. And you—you didn’t even cheer! You just sat there like you were bored!”

“I mean...I was?”

Tara makes a sound like she's trying not to laugh.

“This is bullshit.” Bedazzled stands up, and her whole group follows. “Come on. We’re going to the back. Maybe if we’re there when he comes out—”

They file out of the row, shooting you looks that range from annoyed to homicidal.

The moment they’re gone, Tara turns to you with the biggest grin you’ve ever seen.

“Oh my god.”

“Don’t.”

“You made enemies in under eight seconds. I’m so proud.” She’s bouncing on her heels now. “Did you see their faces? They looked like you personally victimized them.”

“I didn’t do anything—”

“You existed while looking unimpressed. Apparently that’s a crime here.” She glances toward where the group disappeared, then back at you with a gleam in her eye. “God, they’re going to be so upset when they find out he—”

“When they find out he what? Looked at me for two seconds?”

“That man tipped his hat at you like a declaration of war. That’s not nothing.” Tara is still grinning. “Anyway, I need to pee. Come with?”

“Yeah, sure.”

You both head toward the bathrooms, navigating through the crowd. The line is mercifully short.

“I’m calling it now,” Tara says as you wait. “Something’s going to happen.”

“Nothing is going to happen. He probably tips his hat at people all the time.”

“Sure, babe. Keep telling yourself that.”

You roll your eyes and head into a stall. When you come out to wash your hands, Tara is leaning against the sink, scrolling her phone.

“You go ahead,” you tell her. “I’ll meet you back at the seats.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m going to fix my hair. I look like I’ve been at a rodeo.”

“You have been at a rodeo,” she confirms, already heading out. “Don’t take too long! Next round starts in ten!”

You’re willing your last few flyaways into place when your phone buzzes in your back pocket.

Unknown Number: Tell me.

Unknown Number: Did I disappoint you, or are you always like that?

Your stomach drops.

You: who is this?

Unknown Number: Take a wild guess, sweetie.

Unknown Number: Here’s a hint: silver hair, red eyes, just gave the performance of the night to the most unimpressed audience member in rodeo history.

Fuck.

You: how did you get my number?

Sylus: Your friend. The enthusiastic one in the seat next to you.

Sylus: I asked one of the staff to track down “the girl in section B who looked like she’d rather be getting a root canal.” She was very helpful.

You’re going to murder Tara.

You: that’s borderline stalking

Sylus: It’s resourceful.

Sylus: Also, your friend gave me your number with the promise that I would “show you a good time.” Her words, not mine.

Sylus: Though I’m not opposed to the prospect.

You: you’re insane

Sylus: You’re texting back awfully quickly for someone who thinks I’m insane.

Sylus: So. What’s your damage?

You: excuse me?

Sylus: I just rode 2000 pounds of rage that hospitalized four people this season. People are losing their minds. There are women in this crowd who would commit felonies for my autograph.

Sylus: And you looked like you were waiting for a bus.

Sylus: I need to know what your problem is.

The audacity of this man…

You: maybe i’m just not impressed by men showing off

Sylus: Showing off implies I did it for attention. I did it because it’s my job and I’m good at it.

You: i don’t cheer for men who do their jobs. sets a bad precedent

Sylus: You’re cruel.

Sylus: I like you.

Sylus: Gate 7. Twenty minutes.

You stare at your phone. This cannot be happening.

You: why would i do that?

Sylus: Because you’re curious. Because I’m curious. Because you clearly have opinions about my performance that you’re dying to share.

Sylus: Or are you scared?

You: of what? you?

Sylus: Of admitting I was more impressive than you’re letting on.

You: you’re delusional

Sylus: Gate 7. Twenty minutes. Prove me wrong.

You should block this number. Should go back to Tara. Should absolutely not go to Gate 7.

You: ...i’ll think about it

Sylus: Clock’s ticking, sweetie. Gate 7. Don’t make me come find you.

You pocket your phone and find your seat beside Tara in the stands, heart racing.

“Your cowboy texted me,” you inform her flatly.

“HE DID?!”

You wave your phone in her face as evidence.

“When were you planning on telling me you gave out my phone number to the man who looked ready to challenge me to a duel?!”

“He was asking around for it! What was I supposed to do, say no?” She looks absolutely delighted with herself. “Shit, what did he say? Is he asking you out? Please tell me he’s asking you out.”

“He wants me to meet him at Gate 7.”

Tara screams. Actually screams as she rips your phone out of your hand. Several people turn to look.

“YOU HAVE TO GO.” She’s reading the messages, scrolling rapidly. “He’s obsessed. He’s one hundred percent obsessed with you.”

“He’s not—”

“‘Don’t make me come find you’?” She looks at you with her jaw dropped. “That’s obsessed behavior. When are you going?”

“I’m not going—”

“You ARE going. This is Sylus Qin. Do you understand how many people would kill for this opportunity?” She’s already pointing you to the aisle. “Those girls down there are going to lose their minds. This is the best night of my life.”

“You’re a little too excited about this.”

“Are you kidding? You’re about to go meet the hottest bull rider in the circuit, and his entire fan club is going to implode when they find out. This is peak hurt-comfort material.” She pauses, eyes lighting up with realization. “I’m gonna try to console them afterward. The blonde one is kind of cute when she’s angry.”

“Tara.”

“What? You get the hot cowboy, I get to make the heartbroken rodeo girls feel better. Everybody wins.” She grins. “Especially me.”

You roll your eyes. She physically shoves you toward the exit.

“Now go. Before he changes his mind.” Tara looks down toward the rail where Bedazzled and her friends are still trying to get Sylus’s attention. “I’m going to go offer emotional support. Wish me luck.”

You’re going to strangle her. After you maybe, possibly go to Gate 7.

Just to tell off the cowboy.

Obviously.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

—

Gate 7 leads to a restricted area—trailers, practice equipment, and cowboys in various states of undress. You’re about to turn back when you see Sylus.

He’s leaning against a fence, hat tilted back, stripped down to a white t-shirt that clings to his muscled frame in ways that should be illegal. There’s dirt on his jeans, and a dark bruise blooming on his pale forearm that he doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by.

He’s taller up close. Broader. And those eyes are definitely, unnaturally red.

“You came.” He sounds genuinely pleased.

You nod, keeping a careful distance. “You’re very pushy for a stranger.”

“Sylus.” He pushes off the fence, extending a hand toward you. “Now I’m not a stranger.”

You take his hand, large and calloused and scarred along the knuckles. His grip is warm and firm, and he holds on just a second longer than necessary.

“And you are?”

You tell him your name, and he repeats it slowly, like he’s testing how it feels.

“Pretty. Doesn’t match the attitude, though.”

Your eyes narrow immediately. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You looked miserable up there. Bored. Like you were mentally filing your taxes.” He tilts his head, studying you. “City girl?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Sweetie, everything about you screams ‘I don’t belong here.’” His eyes drag over you slowly—your designer boots, your expensive jeans, the way you’re standing like you’re afraid of getting dirty. “Your boots cost more than most people make in a month. You’re holding yourself like someone might brush against you the wrong way. And you’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“The one people get when they’re critiquing something they’ve never done themselves.”

“I don’t need to ride a bull to recognize—”

“Recognize what?” He’s close enough now that you have to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. “Go on. Tell me, princess. What did I do wrong?”

Princess.

He says it like he’s daring you to get offended. You want to hate it. But your pulse clearly didn’t get the memo.

“Second buck,” you say before you can stop yourself. “You held center. But you should’ve leaned into it.”

His eyebrows raise slightly. “Should I?”

“The bull was digging left. You stayed neutral. If you’d shifted your weight—”

“Show me.”

You blink. “What?”

“Show me.” He gestures to the fence rail beside him. “Up. Show me what I should’ve done.”

“I’m not getting on a fence—”

“Ah.” He crosses his arms, stance relaxed like he’s already won. “All that mouth was just for show. My mistake.”

Your jaw tightens. You step forward and grab the top rail.

His hand closes around your wrist before you’ve even set your weight.

“You’ll slip like that.” He adjusts your grip, thumb dragging across your palm. “Fingers here. Wrist locked. Unless you want to fall.”

“I wasn’t going to fall—”

“Show me, then.” He steps back, waiting.

You haul yourself up onto the rail, boots wedging between the crossbars, steadying your weight to keep your balance. You settle there, stable, and you know you’ve done it well because he pauses in that particular way men do when they realize you’re more capable than they assumed.

He moves closer slowly, until he’s standing right there, palm coming to rest lightly on your ankle.

“Your eyes weren’t on the rider,” he says.

“They were on the bull," you tell him. “The rider’s posture only matters relative to momentum. The animal is the variable. You were just—compensating.”

His thumb shifts against your ankle bone, pressure increasing the slightest fraction.

“Compensating for a thousand pounds of rage isn't ‘just’ anything.”

You meet his eyes. “It is when you’re supposed to be good at it.”

He doesn’t smile. He steps between your legs, looking up at you with that unreadable expression.

“Show me,” he says, unhurried. “Show me where you think I should’ve shifted.”

You swallow. “I’m not a professional—”

“That didn’t stop you from having an opinion, did it?” He tilts his head. “You’ve been judging me since I got off that bull. So judge. Show me what I did wrong.”

You lift your hand, pointing to where you’d seen the bull dig in. “Second buck. Right there. If you’d leaned into it instead of holding straight—”

His hand comes to your knee. Not grabbing, just setting the angle. “Like this?”

Your breath catches.

His other hand settles light on your hip—the kind of touch that’s functional, yet makes your skin burn through your jeans.

“Or here,” he asks, voice dropping lower, “if you want to keep your spine neutral?”

The air shifts between you.

“You’re—” You have to clear your throat. “You’re mocking me.”

“I’m learning.” His thumb brushes a slow circle against your knee. “You sat above me for eight seconds looking unimpressed. Now you’re above me again.” His eyes hold yours. “So teach me. What should I have done differently?”

It’s not about the bull anymore. You both know it.

“You should’ve—” Your voice is unsteady. “Weight forward. Hips angled—”

“Show me.” His hands are still on you, patient and sure. “Don’t tell me. Show me where.”

You shift your hips forward slightly to demonstrate and his grip tightens, subtle yet unmistakable.

“Like that?” His words are rougher now. “That’s what you wanted to see?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting.” He steps back finally, hands dropping away, and you hate that you immediately miss the contact. “Get down.”

“What—”

“Get off the rail. I’m going to teach you something.”

“I don’t need—”

“Yes, you do.” He’s already walking toward the practice area. “You know the theory. Now let’s see if you can execute. Come on, city girl. Time to back up all that criticism.”

You should refuse. Should go back to the stands. Instead, you climb down from the fence and follow him.

Because he’s right. You’ve been judging from a distance. And something about the challenge in his voice makes you want to prove him wrong.

Or maybe prove him right.

You’re not sure which would be more satisfying.

—

The mechanical bull sits in the empty practice area like a challenge.

“Absolutely not.”

“You just spent ten minutes telling me what I did wrong.” Sylus is already at the control panel, adjusting settings with casual confidence. “Now you get to prove you understand what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t need to ride it to understand—”

“Talk is easy. Execution’s different.” He doesn’t look up. “You can critique all you want, but until you feel it, you don’t actually know anything.”

The dismissiveness in his tone makes you tense. “Fine. Start it up.”

“Not yet.” Now he looks at you. “Get on first.”

You approach the bull, eyeing it skeptically. It’s wider than it looked from a distance.

“Problem?”

“No.”

“Then stop stalling.”

You grab the rail and try to pull yourself up. Your boots slip on the metal and you barely catch yourself.

“Easy, princess.” He’s beside you instantly, hands on your waist. “Step on the platform. I’ll lift.”

“I can do it myself—”

“I know you can.” His grip is firm. “But this is faster. Up.”

He lifts you like you weigh nothing, and suddenly you're straddling the barrel, thighs spread wide, hands scrambling for the rope.

“Don’t.” His voice stops you cold. “Hands off.”

“Then how—”

“You were very confident about hip positioning a minute ago.” He walks around you slowly, assessing your form. “So use your hips. Thighs tight. Core engaged. That’s all you need.”

“That’s not—”

“It is.” He stops in front of you. “You’re trying to hold on because you don’t trust your body. But I watched you on that fence. You’ve got the strength. You just don’t know how to use it yet.”

His hand slides up your outer thigh—not suggestive, testing muscle tension. Your body doesn’t seem to know the difference.

“Squeeze.”

You do, and his hand presses back, checking your stance.

“Harder. You’re holding back.” His thumb digs into your quad. “I can feel it. You’re stronger than this. Show me.”

You squeeze harder, and he makes an approving sound.

“There. That’s what I want to feel.” His hand stays on your thigh, warm and grounding. “When this starts moving, that tension doesn’t drop. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll see.” He moves behind you, his hands settling on your hips. “Lean forward. Hips first.”

He guides your position—forward, tilted, adjusted until you’re perched in a way that feels both vulnerable and powerful.

“This feel unstable?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Good. It should.” His hands don’t leave your hips. “That instability is what you work with, not against. The bull moves, you move. Simple.”

“Nothing about this is simple—”

“It is when you stop overthinking.” His breath is warm against your ear now. “I’m starting it slow. Just feel it. Don’t try to predict or control. Just respond.”

The bull lurches to life.

Your instinct is to grab, to tense, to fight it.

“Breathe.” His voice cuts through your panic. “Hips loose. Let them move.”

You try to focus on your hips, on moving with the gentle rocking.

“Better. But you’re still thinking too much.” The bull bucks slightly harder, and you gasp. “Stop planning your next move. There is no next move. There’s only now.”

“That’s not helpful—”

"No?" He kills the power suddenly. “You want helpful?”

Before you can process, he’s swinging up behind you.

The barrel was already small. With him on it, there’s no space left. His chest is solid against your back, his thighs bracketing yours, his presence overwhelming every sense.

“What are you—”

“Teaching you the difference between knowing and understanding,” he says, like it’s obvious. Like this was inevitable. “You can tell me what I should’ve done. Now I’m going to show you why it works.”

His hands settle on your hips again—firmer this time, fingers splayed wide.

“This is your center.” His fingers press into your hip bones. “Everything starts here. When I move, you’ll feel it here first. Pay attention.”

You can’t do anything besides pay attention. Can’t think about anything except the heat of him, the firm weight pressed against you, the way his voice seems to resonate through your entire body.

“Ready?”

You nod because words are impossible.

The bull starts again, and this time it’s completely different. You feel how his body moves—the subtle shift of his hips, the roll of his spine, the way he absorbs each movement and redirects it. His hands guide you through it, showing you without words how to respond.

“Feel that?” His voice is low against your ear. “That’s what you were trying to describe. The lean, the shift, the weight distribution. It’s not about thinking. It's about feeling.”

His hips roll against yours, demonstrating, and your brain short-circuits.

“Breathe.” His hand spreads across your lower stomach, steadying you. “You’re holding your breath. Don’t. Breathe with the movement.”

You try to breathe, but it’s difficult when you’re this aware of every point of contact.

“Now you.” His hands loosen slightly. “Match my rhythm. Show me you understand.”

You focus on his movement, on the way his body guides yours, and you start to match it. Your hips roll with his, following his lead, and suddenly the movement makes sense.

“There she is.” The satisfaction in his voice goes straight to your core. “Knew you could do it. You just needed to stop thinking you knew better than your body.”

The bull bucks harder and you move with it, your hips rolling, your thighs squeezing, and his hands tighten on you.

“Atta girl.” The words come out rougher. “That’s exactly right. Keep it up.”

You do, and you feel the moment something shifts—the moment it clicks, the moment you stop fighting and start responding.

“You feel that, sweetie?” His voice is strained now. “That’s what eight seconds feels like. That’s what I feel when I ride.”

“Sylus—”

“I know.” His hands slide to your waist, holding you steady as the bull spins. “You’re feeling it now.”

The intimacy of the statement, combined with the movement, the heat, the way his body fits against yours—it’s overwhelming.

“This is—”

“Intense.” He finishes for you. “That’s the point. That's what you were watching from the stands and didn’t understand. The rush. The focus. The way everything else disappears and it’s just you and the movement and eight seconds of pure instinct.”

The bull bucks hard and you gasp, but his grip keeps you stable.

“I’ve got you, princess. You’re not falling. Just stay with me.”

And you do. You stay with him through every twist and buck, your body learning the rhythm, responding to his guidance, until you're not sure where your movement ends and his begins.

When he finally kills the power, you’re both breathing heavily.

“You got it. Eight seconds,” he announces after glancing at his watch. “Not bad for someone who’d never done it before.”

“You were helping—”

“I was teaching. You were learning.” His hands are still on your waist, and he hasn’t moved away. “Big difference. That was all you at the end.”

You’re painfully aware that you don’t want him to let go.

“So.” His thumbs stroke once across your sides. “Still think a city girl knows better than a cowboy?”

Your mouth is dry. “Maybe we’re even.”

His laugh is low and pleased. “Maybe.” He dismounts finally, fluid and controlled, then reaches up for you. “Come here.”

He lifts you down and your legs immediately betray you, shaking and unstable.

His arm wraps around your waist before you can fall. “Easy. Adrenaline drop. Give it a minute.”

“I’m fine—”

“You’re not.” His hand finds your pulse at your neck, pressing lightly. “Heart rate’s still elevated. You’re shaking. When’s the last time you ate?”

“Lunch. Around noon, I think.”

“Hours ago.” He’s already pulling out his phone. “You need food. There’s a diner close by. Best pie in the state.”

“I don’t need you to feed me—”

“Maybe not. But I’m doing it anyway.” He pockets his phone, arm still around your waist. “You just burned through all your energy, and I’m not letting you back out there until I know you’re steady. So. Diner. My treat.”

“This feels like a scheme to keep me around longer.”

“Is it working?” He holds you tighter against him, almost automatically—like his body recognized you before his mind caught up. “Because if it is, I’ve got a whole list of other places I could take you. Hardware store. Feed supply. This town is full of exciting places I could take my time with you.”

Something in the way he says it sends heat down your spine.

“You’re not subtle, you know.”

“Never claimed to be, sweetie.”

Before you can respond, your phone vibrates.

Tara: where ARE u???

Tara: DID SYLUS THE STALLION KIDNAP U???

Tara: if u are in danger pls respond

Tara: if u are having a good time ignore this

You swipe the notifications away.

Sylus watches your thumb move, red eyes half-lidded with amusement. “Emergency?”

“No. Not yet, anyway.” You slide the phone into your pocket. “But if you murder me, my friend knows your name. And your face.”

His laugh echoes across the arena. “Noted.”

You try to step out of his hold, but your legs have other ideas—immediately crumpling under you like two pieces of wet spaghetti.

Before you can hit the dirt, his hand flashes out, hooking a finger through your belt loop and yanking you back against him.

“Careful, city girl. Told you. Adrenaline crash.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to argue, just scoops you up with one arm and settles you against his side.

“Sylus, I can walk—”

“Clearly not,” he counters, but he’s grinning as he starts toward the parking lot, carrying you with ease. “Stop squirming. You’re only making this harder on yourself.”

You’re acutely aware of several things at once: his arm banded around you, the heat of him, the way his shoulder is right there. And—

Oh god.

The group of girls from earlier. Bedazzled and her friends—minus the blonde. All staring as Sylus walks right past them, carrying you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He doesn’t even glance their way, completely oblivious. But they notice. Oh, they notice. If the looks they shot you were bullets, you'd already be bleeding out on the dirt.

You bury your face against his shoulder, trying to make yourself smaller.

“Cold, sweetie?” His voice rumbles through his chest.

“No,” you mutter into his shirt. “I’m trying not to get shanked.”

He pauses mid-step. “What?”

“Your fan club. They look like they want to murder me.”

He glances back, finally noticing the group of glaring fans, and laughs like you told him a bad joke.

“Oh, them.” He adjusts his grip on you, hauling you higher. In one smooth motion, he tosses you over his shoulder.

You shriek. “What are you doing?! Put me down!”

He dips you, slow, like he’s genuinely about to release you. “If you insist."

Your legs are dangling, the Sychos are staring, and you’re suddenly very aware of the distance between your boots and the ground.

“No—no, I don’t insist—!” You clutch at his shirt, holding onto him for dear life. “Don’t you dare put me down—”

“Thought so.” He straightens, one arm locking securely against you as he keeps walking. “See? Now they can’t reach you. Problem solved.”

“Sylus!”

“You’re the one who said they looked dangerous. I’m just being practical.” His hand settles firmly on the back of your thigh, patting it gently. “Now stop wiggling before you fall.”

“I’m going to fall because you just—you can’t just throw people over your shoulder—”

“Just did.” He heads straight for a massive black pickup, tall enough you’d need a running start to climb in. He pops the door open with one hand and deposits you in the passenger seat. “And you’re still in one piece. I’d say it all worked out.”

Your hands are still fisted in his shirt, arms locked around his shoulders. He notices immediately.

“You can let go now, sweetie,” he says, amused.

Your brain registers that you’re sitting. That you’re safe. That there’s no reason to still be holding on.

Your hands don’t get the message.

“I—” You look down at where your fingers are twisted in his shirt. “My hands aren't listening.”

“I can see that.” He’s trying not to smile. “You need a minute?”

“Shut up.” You force your fingers to uncurl, releasing him. You sink into the leather, groaning into your hands. “My dignity is destroyed.”

“Your dignity was already questionable after that bull ride.” He leans against the doorframe, eyes glinting with mischief. “Besides, it could've been worse.”

“How could that have possibly been worse?”

“I could’ve set you down and let them watch you try to stand on your own.” He’s smirking now. “Would’ve made my point even clearer.”

Your cheeks burn at the implication. “You’re impossible.”

“You keep saying that.” He closes your door and walks around to the driver’s side, sliding in with easy grace. “But you’re still here.”

“Maybe I’m waiting for the right moment to escape.”

“Good luck with that. Your legs still work about as well as a newborn calf’s.” He starts the engine, eyes flicking to you with amusement. “Give it another ten minutes. Then you can make your dramatic exit.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“I’m enjoying you. The entertainment is just a bonus.” He shifts into drive. “Seatbelt. Then you're going to tell me what possessed a city girl to spend her hard-earned money watching idiots wrestle with livestock for sport.”

—

The diner is exactly what you’d expect—vinyl booths, checkered floors, jukebox blasting something twangy, and a waitress who looks like she’s been working here since the dawn of time.

“Sylus, honey!” She’s got a thick drawl and a smile that crinkles her whole face. “Didn’t expect to see you tonight. Thought you’d be celebratin’ with the boys.”

“Had better plans, Dolores.” He gestures to you.

“Well, ain’t that somethin’.” Her eyebrows shoot up, looking between you both with obvious interest. “The usual for you, sugar?”

“Please. And whatever she wants.”

You order coffee and pie because apparently that’s what you do now. Follow strange cowboys to diners and eat pie at ten PM.

“I’ll get that right out.” Dolores pats Sylus on the shoulder as she leaves, but not before giving you a very obvious once-over that feels almost approving.

“So,” Sylus says once the waitress leaves. “Eight seconds.”

“Are we really doing this?”

“We’re absolutely doing this.” He leans back in the booth, looking insufferably pleased with himself. “You lasted eight seconds on that bull. With my help, admittedly, but still. Eight seconds.”

“And?”

“And I’m wondering if you can last longer.”

The way he says it makes heat crawl up your neck.

“Longer on the bull?” you ask carefully.

His smile is wicked. “Sure. Let’s start with that.”

Dolores brings pie—massive slices that look homemade. You take a bite and it’s unfairly delicious.

“Okay,” you admit. “This is really good pie.”

“Told you. Dolores doesn’t mess around.” He takes a bite of his own, watching you. “So. What do you do? When you’re not being dragged to rodeos, that is.”

“Marketing. Corporate.” You make a sour face. “It’s as boring as it sounds.”

“Can’t be that boring if it pays for those boots.”

“The boots are the only good thing about it.” You take another bite. “What about you? Is bull riding actually lucrative, or do you just like getting thrown around for fun?”

“I don’t get thrown, sweetie. That’s the whole point,” he corrects you with a grin. “And yeah, it pays well. If you’re good at it.”

“Which you are.”

“Which I am.” There’s no false modesty to it, just fact. “Been doing it since I was seventeen. Worked my way up. Now I’m ranked second in the country.”

“Second?”

“For now. I’ll be first by the end of the season.” He says it with absolute certainty.

“Confident.”

“Realistic. I know what I’m capable of.” His eyes meet yours. “And I know what I want.”

The weight of that statement sits between you.

“And what do you want?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

“Right now? To figure out what it takes to actually impress you.” He leans forward slightly. “Because I don’t think anyone’s managed it in a while.”

You open your mouth to respond when Sylus’s phone rings. He glances at it and sighs.

“Give me a minute. I need to take this.” He slides out of the booth. “Stay put.”

You blink up at him, chin tilted just a little. “Yes, sir.”

He stops, eyebrows lifting, then gives a soft, incredulous shake of his head.

“Cute.” He’s walking backward toward the bathroom, phone angled away from his mouth, still looking at you. “But if you’re trying to draw blood, sweetie, you’re going to have to put your jaw into it.”

You’re left alone with your pie, trying very hard to pretend your heartbeat isn’t pounding in places it has no business reaching.

“Can I top off that coffee, sugar?” Dolores appears almost immediately, like she was waiting for him to leave.

“Sure. Thanks.”

She pours slowly, then glances toward the bathroom. “He’s a good one, that Sylus.”

“I just met him like, two hours ago.”

“I know.” She’s smiling. “That’s what makes this excitin'.”

“What do you mean?”

Dolores leans in conspiratorially. “Honey, I’ve been workin’ here for fifteen years. This is the spot all them rodeo fellas flock to after. I’ve seen Sylus in ‘ere dozens of times—always with the boys, always alone. Never once brought a girl here. Not one time.”

Your heart flips. “Maybe he just—”

“Trust me, them buckle bunnies try. Lord, do they try. That boy has more women throwin’ themselves at him than I have napkins in this diner.” She shakes her head. “He’s always polite about it, that sweetheart. But he never takes ‘em up on it. Too focused on riding, he always says.”

“Then why—”

“That’s what I’m wonderin’, honey.” Dolores sets the coffee pot back on the counter, wiping her hands on her apron. “But whatever you did, you got his attention. Really got it. I can tell.”

You notice his hat sitting on the seat beside you—the black cowboy hat he’d tossed there when he sat down. On impulse, you pick it up and settle it on your head. It’s too big, sliding down slightly, and you have to tilt it back to see properly.

Dolores notices and her eyes go wide. Then she grins. “Oh, honey. Do y’know what that means?”

“What?”

“Wear the hat, ride the cowboy.” She’s trying not to laugh. “That’s the rule ‘round here.”

Your face heats. “That’s not a real—”

“Realer than them nails on your hand.” She eyes your manicure with a shake of her head, still grinning. “Cowboys don’t play pretend.”

She walks away, leaving you sitting there in his hat, suddenly very aware of what you’ve just done. You consider taking it off. Handing it back when he returns. Playing it safe. But something stubborn and reckless in you keeps it on.

You take a sip of coffee, trying to look casual, when the bathroom door opens.

Sylus walks back toward the booth, phone in his hand, looking slightly annoyed. “Sponsors. Kept going on about—”

He sees you and stops dead in his tracks.

His eyes go dark—pupils blown wide, that red almost glowing in the diner lighting. His jaw tightens, and you watch his throat work as he swallows.

“What do you think you’re doing, city girl?” His voice has dropped at least half an octave.

“Drinking coffee.” You take another sip, holding his gaze, heart hammering. “Why?”

“You know why.” He slides back into the booth, but there’s tension in every line of his body now. “Take it off.”

“Why?” You rest your chin on your hand and blink up at him. “Does it not look good on me?”

He goes quiet for a moment, just looking at you. He closes his eyes and shakes his head, almost laughing. “It looks perfect on you. That’s the problem.”

“I don’t see a problem.”

“Of course you don’t, princess.” He leans back, arms spreading across the back of the booth. “You put on a man’s hat and think it’s just a fashion statement.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No.” He’s studying you now, that intense focus that makes you feel pinned in place. “It’s a claim. One I don’t think you intended to make.”

You adjust the hat on your head, tilting it back slightly so he can see your face better.

“That depends on what I’m claiming.”

His gaze traces your mouth, your throat, the line of brim shading your eyes. When his attention finally returns to yours, he drops the word between you like a coin:

“Me.”

You open your mouth, but nothing actually comes out. He smiles like he knew that would happen.

“You publicly claimed a cowboy. Impressively reckless move, by the way.” He leans back, legs stretching under the table like he’s getting comfortable. “So now I have two choices: ignore you, or teach you what you started.”

“And which are you choosing?”

“What do you think?”

Your eyes narrow. “I think you’re enjoying this too much.”

“I am. You’ve been pushing me all night. Looking unimpressed, critiquing my ride, now stealing my hat.” His eyes scan your face. “Now you’re sitting there wearing it like you’re innocent."

“Maybe I just like the style.”

“Maybe. Or maybe you wanted to see what I’d do. How I’d react. Whether I’d actually follow through.” He cocks his head. “So. How am I doing? Meeting expectations?”

Your mouth is dry. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do.” His voice drops lower. “You’ve been testing me since the moment I met you. Before that, even. Every word, every look.” He leans forward slightly. “This is just you pushing harder. Seeing if I’ll push back.”

“And will you?”

“Absolutely.” He doesn’t waste a breath. “Question is whether you’re ready for it.”

“I can handle it.”

His laugh is quiet. “Can you, sweetie? Because that hat says you want something specific from me. Something I’ve been holding back on all night.” His red eyes are dark now. “And once I stop holding back, I don’t do things halfway.”

The promise in his voice makes heat pool low in your stomach.

“You’re very confident.”

“I know what I'm looking at. Someone who’s been playing it safe. Someone who wants to stop overthinking.” He pauses. “Someone who put on my hat because she wanted me to do something about it.”

“That’s a lot of assumptions.”

“Then take it off.” He gestures to the hat. “Right now. Prove me wrong.”

Your lap with a single shake of your head—no.

His smile is absolutely feral.

“We’re leaving.”

You blink up at him. “Maybe I’m not finished.”

He tosses way too much cash onto the table—enough to pay for the coffee, the pie, Dolores’s retirement, and the entire county fair.

“Yes, you are.” He stands, extending his hand. “Come on, city girl. Time to see if you can back up what that hat is promising."

You look at his hand. At the challenge in his eyes. At the way he’s smiling like he already knows exactly how this is going to end.

And you take it.

His palm is warm against yours as he guides you to the door. As you pass the counter, Dolores calls out: “You take good care of her now, y’hear?”

Sylus doesn’t break stride. “Oh, I intend to.”

Outside, the night air hits you, cool and dusty. Gravel crunches beneath your boots as you approach his pickup parked at the edge of the lot. He opens the passenger door, but before you can climb in, his hands are on either side of you, caging you in. One is pressed beside your head against the metal, the other settling on the open door, his body a wall of heat that’s too close to ignore.

“Last chance,” he says, like a warning. His fingers toy lazily with the hat. “You take this off, I drive you back to your hotel. Wish you good night like a gentleman.” His thumb pauses at the curve of the brim. “And the next time we see each other, we’re back to being strangers.”

It’s a terrible idea. You know it’s a terrible idea. But he’s looking at you like he’s already imagining you in his lap, and you’re looking at him like you want to see how good he is without the bull.

You reach up and adjust the hat, making sure it’s secure.

“I don’t want to be strangers.”

He doesn’t respond with words. Instead, his hands settle on your waist as he lifts you effortlessly, taking his time settling you into the passenger seat. He reaches for your seatbelt, pulling it across your body slowly. The click echoes in the quiet of the cab.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Because I couldn’t forget this—”

Only then does he lean in, forearm braced against the doorframe, his face inches from yours. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear with an affection so unexpected you forget how to breathe. For a second, you think he might kiss you.

Instead, he flicks the spot he cleared on your forehead.

“—if I tried.”

—

Sylus doesn’t drive back toward town. Instead, he heads in the opposite direction—away from the arena, away from the lights, into the dark stretch of highway that leads to nothing but open land.

“Where are we going?” you ask.

“You’ll see.”

His hand rests on the gear shift, close enough to your thigh that you’re acutely aware of it. The radio plays something slow and country that you don’t recognize, and the silence between you isn’t uncomfortable—just charged. Waiting.

You watch the landscape change outside your window, buildings giving way to fields, streetlights disappearing until there’s nothing but darkness.

“This is very serial killer of you,” you say finally.

He glances over, amused. “Having second thoughts?”

“Just making an observation.”

“For the record, if I wanted to murder you, I wouldn’t take you somewhere this obvious.” He’s smiling now, thumb tapping against the steering wheel in time with the music. “Besides, you're still wearing my hat. That implies a certain level of trust.”

Your hand goes to the brim automatically. You’d almost forgotten it was there.

“Or a certain level of stupidity.”

“Maybe both.” He turns off the highway onto a dirt road, the truck bouncing slightly over the uneven ground. “We’re almost there.”

“Almost where?”

“Patience.”

The road winds upward, climbing steadily. Trees give way to open sky, and then suddenly you’re at the top of a hill and he's pulling over, killing the engine. The entire valley spreads out below—a sea of twinkling lights in the distance, small towns and scattered ranches creating constellations on the dark earth. Above, the sky is filled with stars, more than you’ve ever been able to see in the city.

“Oh,” you say quietly.

“Yeah.” He’s watching you instead of the view. “I like to come up here after a ride. Bulls fight back, fans scream—up here, no one asks anything of you.”

You tear your eyes away from the sky to look at him. “It’s beautiful.”

“It is,” he agrees. But he’s still looking at you, not the landscape.

“Pretty stars,” you say, but there's a challenge in the words. “Shame you haven’t looked at them once.”

“If you want to talk constellations, sweetie, I’ll play along.” He shifts in his seat, angling toward you. “Or you can admit you didn’t climb in my truck because you're fond of astronomy.”

“First of all, I didn’t climb in your truck.” You manage to find your voice. “You picked me up and put me in it.”

“Correct.” His mouth curves slow. “And then you latched onto me like a kitten falling out of a tree and said, and I quote, ‘don’t you dare put me down.’”

Your face heats. “My legs weren’t working—”

“Your legs were working just fine once we got to the truck.” His eyes hold yours. “You just didn’t want me to stop touching you.”

The tension in the truck is suffocating.

“Get in the back,” he says quietly.

Your stomach flips. “What?”

“The backseat.” He says it simply, nodding toward the leather bench seat behind you. “Go on. I’ll give you a head start.”

“A head start for what—”

“For getting comfortable before I join you.” His eyes are dark now, heated. “Unless you’d rather stay up here and stare out the windshield?”

You should probably ask more questions. Should probably think this through. Instead, you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn toward the back.

The console is in the way, making you climb over the seat awkwardly. You brace one hand on the seat back, getting one knee up on the console—

“Keep it moving, sweetie.”

You shoot him a look over your shoulder. “Make me.”

The crack of his palm against your ass is immediate, sharp enough to make you gasp. Then his hand is rubbing the spot gently, soothing.

“Consider it done."

“You just—”

“Helped you along. You asked for it.” He sounds completely unrepentant. “Would’ve been inconsiderate of me not to oblige.”

Your face is burning as you scramble the rest of the way into the backseat. You turn to glare at him through the gap between the seats.

“Comfortable back there?” he asks smugly.

“You’re an asshole.”

“And you like it.”

You settle into the backseat, heart pounding, very aware of how spacious it is. How the tinted windows make it feel private despite being parked on a hilltop. How he’s still in the front seat, just watching you squirm.

“Are you coming back here or not?”

“Depends.” He’s taking his sweet time, the bastard. “Are you going to keep that attitude when I do?”

“Probably.”

“Excellent.” He shifts, and you hear the driver’s door open. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

He gets out and you hear his boots on the ground, coming around to the back door. It opens and suddenly he’s there—too big for the space, filling the entire doorway as he climbs in with easy confidence.

The door closes behind him, and suddenly the truck feels very small.

He takes a seat, legs spread, one arm along the back of the headrest, and just looks at you.

“Come here.”

You move toward him and he guides you with hands on your waist until you’re straddling his lap exactly like you straddled the bull earlier. The position is familiar now, but infinitely more intimate. His hands settle on your hips, thumbs pressing into the hollows.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi.”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “Still wearing my hat, I see.”

“You told me to keep it on.”

“I did.” His hands slide up your waist, then back down. “Looks good on you. Better than I imagined.”

“You imagined this?”

“From the second you put it on.” His eyes hold yours. “Imagined you exactly like this. In my lap, in my hat, in the back of my truck. Reality’s better, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His hand comes up to adjust the hat again, tilting it back slightly so he can see your face better. “Because now I get to see if you can follow through on what you started.”

You swallow. “And what did I start?”

“Everything.” His hand moves to cup your face, turning it toward his. “You sat up in those stands looking at me like eight seconds was nothing. Critiqued my form to my face. Then had the goddamn nerve to put on my hat in front of witnesses.” His other hand presses against your ribs, palm warm and steady through the thin cotton. “And for someone so unimpressed, your heart’s about to beat right through your shirt.”

You glance down at his hand on your ribs, then back up at him, tilting your head with mock innocence. “If you wanted to get your hands on me, you could’ve just asked nicely.”

“Is that right? Then allow me to ask you nicely.” His fingers curve around your jaw, thumb skimming your bottom lip. “Can I kiss you? Can I put my hands on you? Can I make you forget every reason you think this is a bad idea?”

The directness of it steals your breath.

“That's a lot of questions.”

“One word answers all of them.” His eyes search yours, glowing a deep red that’s almost otherworldly even in the dark. “So what's it going to be, sweetie? Yes or no?”

You want to make him work for it more. Tease him, push back, see how far you can take this.

Instead, you hear yourself say: “Yes.”

His smile is devastating. “Say it again.”

"Yes."

Then his mouth is on yours, and every thought evaporates.

The kiss isn’t tentative or testing—it’s all-consuming. His tongue slides against yours with clear intent, his hand tightening in your hair to angle you exactly how he wants you. You make a sound that’s embarrassingly desperate and feel his mouth curve against your lips.

“There it is,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to speak. “Knew you’d make those pretty sounds.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

You kiss him harder, fisting your hands in his shirt, and his laugh vibrates through you. His hand slides from your jaw to your throat—not squeezing, just resting there, feeling your pulse race under his palm.

“You taste even better than I thought you would,” he says against your mouth, kissing you again before you can respond. “Been thinking about this since you looked at me like I was wasting your time in those stands.”

“That was barely three hours ago—”

“Three hours too long.” His teeth catch your bottom lip, tugging gently. “Could’ve done this in the parking lot. In the diner. Hell, I thought about it on the practice bull when you were sitting in my lap, acting like you didn’t know what you were doing to me.”

You roll your hips like you did on the bull, teasing, feeling exactly how hard he is through the denim.

He hisses through his teeth.

“That's how we’re doing this, hm?” His hand slides from your throat to your hip, holding you still with effortless strength. “You want to play, princess? Fine. Let’s play.”

His mouth finds your neck and you gasp at the heat of it, at the scrape of teeth followed by the soothing stroke of his tongue. He’s marking you, and you both know it—intentional, claiming, leaving evidence that you were here, that you let him do this.

“Sylus—”

“I know. I can feel you shaking. You want more.” His hand slips under your shirt, settling at your low back. “You’ve been worked up since the bull, haven’t you?”

Heat runs up your spine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Liar.” His teeth graze your earlobe. “I felt how you were shaking. Saw how flushed you got. And I’d bet my prize money that if I touched you right now, I’d find you soaked.”

Heat floods through you at the accusation. “You’re very sure of yourself.”

“Am I wrong?”

You don’t answer, which is answer enough.

“Thought so. You want something? Then ask nicely.” His smile presses against your throat. “You made such a point of it earlier. So ask.”

Your pride wars with your need. “I don’t beg—”

“I didn’t ask you to beg. I asked you to ask.” He pulls back to look at you, and there’s heat in his eyes, but something patient, too. “What do you want?”

The way he’s looking at you—like he’ll wait all night if that’s what it takes, like he’ll give you anything you ask for as long as you just ask—makes something in you soften.

“Touch me, Sylus,” you say quietly. “Please.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard.” His hand slides higher up your shirt, fingers tracing your stomach, your ribs, the underside of your breast. “And since you asked so nicely…”

His thumb brushes across your nipple and you gasp, arching into the touch.

“That’s what I wanted to see.” His voice has gone dark, satisfied. “You, letting go. Not thinking so hard about your next smart comment. Just feeling.”

His thumb circles again, slower this time, and you bite your lip to keep from making another embarrassing noise.

“Don’t.” His other hand finds your chin, pulling your lip free with his thumb. “I want to hear it. Every sound. Every breath. No one can hear you out here but me. So let me hear what I do to you.”

He rolls your nipple between his fingers, and you can’t stop the moan that escapes.

“Perfect.” He sounds wrecked. “Do that again.”

“Sylus, please—”

“Please, what?” His mouth finds your jaw, kissing a path to your ear. “Use your words. Tell me what you need.”

“More—I need more—”

“More of this?” His hand moves to your other breast, giving it the same attention. “Or more of me?”

“Both—” Your hips rock forward on instinct, and this time he doesn’t stop you. Sylus lets you grind against him, his free hand at your hip guiding the movement.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Take what you need.” His breathing has gone rough. “Show me how badly you want this.”

You rock against him again and feel him twitch beneath you, hard and hot even through all the layers of clothing.

“Fuck.” The curse slips out raw and unfiltered. “You feel what you do to me? How hard you make me when you move like that?”

“Yes—”

“Good. Because I’d like to return the favor.” His hand slides from your breast down your stomach, fingers playing at the button of your jeans. “Say yes.”

“Yes—god, yes—”

Your yes barely lands before his mouth is back on yours, hot and wet and relentless as he flicks the button open and slides the zipper down with ease. “Lift up for me.”

You do, bracing your hands on his shoulders, and he helps you shimmy out of your jeans and underwear. They get stuck on your boots, and you both fumble with them, laughing breathlessly until you’re finally naked from the waist down.

“Leave them. Boots and hat stay on,” he decides, eyes dragging over you. “I like the look.”

“Of course you do.”

“City girl spread out like a cowgirl in the back of my truck?” His hands are on your thighs, spreading them wider. “That’s a fantasy I didn’t know I had until right now.”

He’s still fully clothed, and there’s something obscene about it that makes you squirm—you half-naked in his lap while he’s still in his jeans and t-shirt.

“Don’t get shy on me now.” His thumb brushes your inner thigh, dangerously close to where you need him. “You’ve been pushing me all night. Testing me. And you’ve been so damn good at it, too.”

He glides a single finger through your center and you gasp at the contact, your body curving into his touch involuntarily.

“Christ,” he groans. “All this for me?”

You can’t form words.

“Since the bull?” His fingers trace through your wetness, maddeningly light. “Since I had my hands on your hips? Or before that—since you watched me ride?”

“All of it,” you manage.

“All of it.” He sounds way too satisfied with himself. “So you were impressed. You were just too stubborn to admit it.”

“Your ego—”

“Is about to get a lot bigger.” He finds your clit and circles it slowly. “Because I’m going to make you come for me at least twice before you even think about taking my cock. Understand?”

Your breath catches. “Twice?”

“Minimum.” His hand slides higher, cupping you fully now. “You’ve been wound up all night. I’m not rushing this on account of your impatience.”

“Don’t—ah—” Your protest dies when his finger circles slowly. “Don’t be smug about it—”

“Too late.” He watches your face with wicked eyes as he touches you, learning what makes you gasp, what makes you grind down against his hand. “But I like that you’re still trying to tell me what to do. Keep it up. See where it gets you.”

His finger slides inside and you cry out, head falling forward to rest against his shoulder.

“That’s it. Take what you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

He works you slowly, adding another finger when you’re ready, his thumb finding your clit with devastating pressure. And all the while he’s murmuring praise against your temple—telling you how perfect you are, how good you feel, how beautiful you look falling apart for him.

“Sylus—I’m gonna—”

“I know. I can feel it.” His fingers move faster. “There. Right there. Come on, princess. Let me see what happens when you finally stop fighting it. Make it count. I've got you.”

The command combined with his fingers and his voice and the heat of him beneath you—it’s all too much. Your orgasm hits with a cry, clenching around his fingers as pleasure crashes through you. He works you through it, drawing it out until you’re trembling and oversensitive, and only then does he slowly withdraw his hand.

You’re still catching your breath when he brings his fingers to his mouth.

Your eyes go wide. “Sylus—”

“Shh.”

His own eyes close as he tastes you, tongue dragging over the pads of his fingers. When his lashes lift again, he looks wrecked in a way you've never seen.

“That,” he murmurs, lips closing around his knuckle, “is going to be a problem.”

You can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but stare at his mouth.

“A...problem?”

“For me. And now for you,” he says, hand already sliding up your thigh once more. “That’s one. Now let’s get you the second one before I lose my mind.”

You shake your head. “I can’t—I’m too—”

“You can. You will.” His two fingers slip inside with little resistance, fucking you slowly but without mercy. “I need you ready for me. Need to make sure your body can handle what it’s begging for. Understand?”

Your hand flies to his wrist—not to stop him, just to hold on.

He looks down where you're holding him, lips brushing your cheek. "Oh? That bad already?"

Your head falls to his shoulder. “This is torture—”

"Maybe." His thumb presses against your clit again and you jerk. “But you’ll thank me for it later.”

His fingers work you back up, and despite the oversensitivity, despite thinking you couldn’t possibly—

“That's it.” His forehead presses against yours, breath hot against your lips. “Feel that? Let it build. Don't rush. I want all of it.”

You’re climbing again impossibly, every nerve ending screaming, and when his fingers curl just right—

“Fuck—already?” He increases the pressure, and you cry out. “Greedy little thing. Go ahead. Give me another one.”

You do, less intense than the first but somehow deeper, clenching around his fingers while he murmurs approval.

“That’s two.” He slowly withdraws his hand, and your breath hitches at the loss. Before you can process the movement, his fingers are at your lips. “Open.”

You do, and he slides them into your mouth—the same fingers that were just inside you. The taste is foreign and intimate and when you automatically close your lips around them, his breathing goes ragged.

“Look at that.” His eyes are locked on your mouth. “So obedient when it suits you, hm?”

You swirl your tongue around his fingers deliberately, and his hips jerk beneath you. Then you bite down lightly and he laughs.

“There she is.” He pulls his hand away, already working his belt. “Now help me with this before I lose what’s left of my patience.”

Your fingers join his at the buckle. “Didn’t know you had any patience to begin with.”

“I’m a very patient man.” He gets his jeans open just enough to free himself. “Just not when it comes to you.”

There’s a moment where your brain can’t connect the visual to reality.

His cock sits in his palm, thick and heavy, already flushed and glistening with precum that's slowly swelling under his thumb. A single vein runs along the shaft, steady and pulsing with each heartbeat you can feel through your own.

You felt him earlier—broad and unforgiving, even through denim, against the curve of your ass every time your hips rolled back into him on the practice bull. You’d convinced yourself it was just the momentum. Coincidence. Adrenaline.

You look up at him. Then down. Then up again.

“Show-off,” you scoff, but it comes out thinner than intended.

He huffs out a laugh, low and disbelieving. "Sweetie, if you're going to bluff to my face, at least don't drool while you do it."

You try for nonchalant, rolling your eyes and straightening your spine. It does nothing to hide the tremor in your knees.

“You’re shaking. Relax.” Before you can protest, he’s already cupping your jaw, kissing you slowly, deeply, thoroughly, in a way that says slow down, you’re okay, I’m right here. He pulls away only when he’s sure you’re not trembling anymore. “You can handle it.”

He positions you over him, hands on your hips, guiding you onto the blunt head of his cock.

“Slow,” he instructs. “Take your time. Let your body adjust.”

You sink down slowly and the stretch makes you gasp. He’s patient—letting you control the pace, hands steady on your waist.

“That’s it. Breathe. You’re taking me so well.” His voice is strained. “Almost there. Just a little more.”

When you're fully seated, you’re both breathless.

“There,” he says roughly. “That’s one.”

Understanding hits you through the haze.

“You’re counting,” you say.

“I’m counting.” His hands squeeze your hips. “You lasted eight seconds on that bull. Let’s see if you can make it to nine on me.”

“And if I can’t?”

“Then we keep trying until you do.” His teeth scrape your collarbone. “I’ve got all night.”

You brace your hands on his shoulders and start to move, rolling your hips the way he taught you earlier.

“There you go. Just like that. Find your rhythm.”

You do, and his hands help guide you, help you find the perfect angle.

“That’s two,” he says when you rock down particularly hard.

When you really start to ride him it’s not pretty, not practiced, but instinctive and desperate. The stretch, the fullness—it's almost too much, the way every shift of your hips makes him groan beneath you. His hands slide up your back, threading into your hair when your rhythm stutters.

“Three.”

You’re already nearing the edge of release again—oversensitized and overwhelmed but chasing that feeling anyway.

“Four.”

“Sylus, it’s—too—too much—”

“You can take it. I know you can.” His fingers circle your clit slowly, and you can't help the way you clench around him. His jaw flexes, eyes closing for half a second. “Not yet, sweetie. Give me five more. I know you’ve got it in you.”

“I can’t—”

“Yes, you can. You’re tougher than you think.” You slam down hard, chasing that feeling, and his control visibly cracks. “Five—fuck—”

Your thighs are burning, your breath coming in gasps, but you don’t stop. Can’t stop. You sink onto him once more, inch by inch.

“Six.”

“Sylus—”

“I know. I can feel it. The way you’re clenching around me.” His other hand tightens in your hair. “But you don’t get to come until we hit nine. Think you can hold it?”

It’s torture. Exquisite torture.

You ride him in one long stride, hips lifting until just the tip holds you, then sinking back down until he fills you to the base.

“Christ—Seven—”

Your thighs are shaking now, barely holding on, and he knows it.

“That's it. Take it.” The words are hot against your throat. Everything else fades. “Eight.”

“I can’t hold it—”

“Yes you can. Give me one more." His hands tighten around your hips, holding you steady. "One more, and it's all yours.”

You slam down hard, and he groans your name into your mouth.

“Nine.”

You shatter, clenching around him, and suddenly he’s moving—flipping you both so you’re on your back across the seat, legs spread, boots planted on either side of him as he looms over you.

“My turn.” He pulls almost all the way out, your walls still fluttering around him as you chase the end of your third orgasm. "Unless you want me to stop?"

“Sylus—please—I need—”

He pushes back in, driving deep into you in one motion. You wait for the rhythm, the thrust, the relief. He doesn't give it to you.

“I know what you need.” Your hips twitch once, and his fingers tighten around them in gentle warning. “But I need to hear you say it.”

You clutch at his forearms, nails digging into the taut muscle. "Sylus—move—"

"Move how?" He stays infuriatingly still. "Faster? Harder? You're going to have to be more specific than that, sweetie."

"Harder—I need you to—god, just fuck me, Sylus, please—"

"Finally."

It sounds like relief, like hunger, like he's been holding himself back as much as he's made you wait.

Then he moves—hard and fast and exactly what you asked for—and your back arches off the seat. His hands shift to your thighs, spreading you wider, holding you open at an angle that hits deeper, more intense in all the places you’re already trembling from before.

"Is this what you needed? This what you've been trying to say?"

"Yes—ah—yes—"

One hand slides between you, finding your oversensitive clit, and you nearly sob.

“Wanted this since I saw you—” His hips snap forward harder. “That bored look on your pretty face—wanted to fuck it right off you—”

He’s not counting anymore. Not teasing. Just taking what he needs, and something about the raw desperation in it makes you clench around him.

“Jesus—” he groans, head dropping forward. “—do that again.”

You do, and he’s on you, mouth on your shoulder, teeth catching skin—not to mark you this time, but to survive you. His hand leaves your thigh to brace against the window behind you, giving him more leverage. The truck rocks with the force of his thrusts and you don’t care, can’t care about anything except the feeling of him inside you.

“Too much—”

“Not enough. One more,” he says, and it’s not a request. “Give me one more and I’ll give you everything.”

You’re wound up impossibly again, every inch of you too sensitive, his fingers and his cock and his voice still pushing you higher, higher, higher—

“That’s it. You feel that?” His thrusts get harder, more erratic, fingers circling your aching clit as he pounds into you. “You've got me. Fuck—I'm right there with you, okay? Right there—stay with me. Take me with you. Now.”

You clench around him helplessly, so tight that Sylus feels every pulse, every aftershock, every sensation of your orgasm wrapped around his cock. He follows immediately after, burying himself deep with a sound that’s almost pained, spilling the heat of his release inside you, holding you like he's afraid you'll disappear. His hand grips the leather seat like he might rip it out of the truck, and you feel the way his whole body goes taut before collapsing against yours.

For a moment he stays frozen like that, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard. Then he carefully pulls out, and you both wince. His hands are immediately around you, pulling you up and gathering you against his chest as he shifts to sit back against the seat.

You end up curled in his lap, dazed and spent, his arms wrapped around you like he's not quite ready to let go yet.

His mouth finds your temple in a single, unhurried kiss. Another follows just under your jaw, then another on your shoulder. He doesn't speak, just holds you while your breathing slowly evens out.

“Holy shit," you finally manage.

“Yeah.” His laugh is breathless against your neck. “Holy shit.”

He shifts you carefully in his lap, pulling you tighter against his chest so you're tucked under his chin, legs draped over his thighs. Your body feels like liquid, every muscle completely melted, nerve endings still firing in aftershocks. His hands are gentle now—one rubbing slow circles on your back, the other reaching for tissues from the center console. He takes care of you with surprising tenderness, his touch soft where moments ago it was demanding.

“You with me, city girl?” He speaks quietly into your hair, pressing a kiss on top of your head. “How are you feeling?”

You lift your head to look at him. “Like I just got thrown off a bull. Except better.”

“Mission accomplished.” His smile is relieved, then turns knowing. “You’re going to feel this tomorrow. Fair warning.”

“Is that supposed to scare me?”

“It’s supposed to prepare you.” He glances down at you, hand tracing patterns against your hip. “Every time you sit down in those bleachers tomorrow, you’re going to remember exactly what happened in this truck.”

“Bold of you to assume I’ll be in the bleachers.”

“You will be. Front row, sweetie.” His voice is confident but not cocky. “So I can see the moment you stop pretending I don’t impress you.”

You could play it cool. Noncomittal. Hedge your bets. But the way he’s looking at you—hopeful and honest and maybe a little uncertain underneath all that confidence—makes you want to be honest with him, too.

“Yeah. I’ll be there.”

He goes still for half a second, just long enough for you to catch the spark in his eyes. He looks at you for a long moment like he's trying to memorize something, then clears his throat.

“That's good. Really good,” he says it low, fighting a smile and losing. One hand squeezes your hip while the other reaches for your jeans. “Here. Lift up. Let's get you dressed before I say something that makes you reconsider.”

You do, and he helps you shimmy them back on. They get stuck on your boots—again—and you’re both laughing together like a shared secret by the time you finally get them past your ankles.

“These damn boots,” you mutter.

“Careful." His tone is almost protective. "Those boots are innocent. They stayed on like they were supposed to. That's what matters.” He helps work your jeans over them carefully. "In fact, they're the only thing that behaved." His eyes land on something near his feet as he's tucking his shirt back in. He picks up his hat, holding it between two fingers. "This one apparently couldn't handle the ride."

“When did that happen?”

“No idea. I was distracted.” He settles it back on your head like it belongs there, adjusting the brim. “There. That’s better. That’s the look I wanted.”

“What look?”

“City girl in a cowboy hat looking like she just got thoroughly ruined by a bull rider.” His smile is pure satisfaction. “It’s a good look on you.”

“Your ego is showing again.”

“Can you blame me?” He cups your face, eyes warm as he leans in to kiss you, softer now, but no less intense. “Now. Where are you staying? I should get you back before your friend calls the cavalry.”

While he’s focused on finding the location on his phone, you glance around the fogged interior. The windows are completely opaque—condensation covering every surface, hiding the world outside. On impulse, you reach back and trace your name in the moisture on the back window.

You’re halfway through when you catch his eyes in the rearview mirror, watching you with an expression you can’t quite read.

“Hold on.” He sets his phone in the cupholder and twists around, reaching back to add his name right next to yours in the condensation, then draws a heart connecting them.

“There.” He settles back into his seat, looking pleased. “Now we match.”

Your heart does something complicated behind your ribs. Before you can respond, your phone erupts with buzzing from somewhere in the passenger seat.

Tara: GIRL WHERE ARE U

Tara: are u ALIVE

Tara: send proof of life IMMEDIATELY!!!

“Your friend thinks I've got you hogtied behind the barn,” Sylus says, reading the texts over your shoulder. “Funny. I haven't even gotten my rope out.”

"Yet?" The word slips out before you can stop it.

His laugh rumbles through his chest as he pulls you back against him, like the sound is something you're meant to feel, not hear. “You're unbelievable. Now give me the phone.”

“Why—”

“Proof of life. Come here.”

He pulls you against him with one arm, holding your phone up with the other. You’re both completely disheveled—his silver hair a mess, your face flushed, his hat crooked on your head—both grinning like idiots.

He takes the photo and hands your phone back.

“There. Send that. Should ease her concerns.”

You send it.

The response is instantaneous.

Tara: OH MY GOD

Tara: OH MY GOD

Tara: U LOOK SO HAPPY

Tara: IS THAT HIS TRUCK???

Tara: THATS MY GIRLLLLL

Then another message pops through. A photo.

It’s Tara—equally disheveled, equally pleased—with her arm around a blonde girl. The blonde girl, the one who'd been glaring daggers at you earlier. Both of them look extremely satisfied with themselves.

You stare at your phone. “Oh my god.”

Sylus leans over to look, and his laugh is genuine.

“Looks like you and your friend both got your money's worth out of the rodeo.” He starts the engine, hand immediately returning to rest on your thigh. “You ready, sweetie?”

“For what?”

“The twenty-minute drive where I try very hard not to think about pulling over and seeing if you can make it to ten.”

“Ten?” You blink at him. “That’s…ambitious.”

He doesn’t miss a beat.

“Tomorrow, then.” He says it with such certainty, like it's already decided. Like there's no question you'll both end up here again.

He shifts into drive, thumb tracing lazy patterns on your leg. The radio plays quiet jazz. The world outside is dark except for passing streetlights and the occasional glow of distant houses. You settle back into your seat, watching the open road unfold ahead of you.

Then you catch it in the side mirror—the back window of his truck, still fogged from the heat you created together. And there, illuminated by the moonlight, you can just make out the shapes: your name and his, connected by that careful heart he drew.

Your heart stumbles in that way that always means trouble.

His hand squeezes your thigh once, like he knows exactly what you're thinking.

You look over at him—at his profile in the dim light, at the small smile playing at his lips, at the way he glances over at you like he can't help himself—and cover his hand with yours.

"Tomorrow."

[miyaz6ki]

hi, do you do reqs atm? If so, may i request a pent- up smutty 3sum breeding kink fic w/ phaidei? tysm!!

phainon x mydei x gn! afab! reader || cw: NSFW CONTENT AHEAD, threesome, breeding kink (yes, from both guys), you guys are all in adult life already, college mentions here n there, me hooting and hollering i guess

part 2 here

neither of them made it known, but phainon and mydei both shared interest in the same person, not to mention they kept an eye on the weeks where you'd feel... a little less than just under the weather, and more over the moon (with lust).

i mean, you three have been friends since forever, although their friendship started first, you joined a little while later when your families knew theirs.

you've been to their rooms almost billions of times by now, yet it was your first time walking in on them confronting each other about... well you.

you just didn't expect this to end up where it did... which was in phainon's bed, in between both of them while they argued.

"you two have to calm down! i came here to hang out with you guys... not to hear you two argue!"

they both sighed and look opposite from each other—clearly not wanting to face each other, not at all.

"please, come on, just for one day, let's just please be the people we were a little while ago... what are you guys even arguing about?"

neither gave an answer, of course they both didn't want to admit it was about who could fuck you better. i mean come on, they don't want to be as shameless as that—not right in your damn face, not when in you three are all in the damn bedroom.

"...is anyone going to answer me?!"

...

"mydei's trying to say he could fuck you better than i could." — "why the fuck would you tell them? shameless bastard."

both rolled their eyes in unison as you tried to slowly process the white-haired man's statement. you could feel your own cheeks darken at the sudden thought of getting dicked down by your best friend, mydei.

"...just saying i would definitely do a better job at eating them out, waaay better than you would."

"fuck you, mydei."

"how 'bout we let angel decide, huh? you're always so quick to decide on this."

...

well.

"c'mon, pretty... just choose one." they both were laughing a little, deep voices from your left and right, phainon playing with your hair mindlessly while mydei rests his head on your shoulder. you were still stuck in an awkward place between them.

the blonde hums into your skin, his eyes "who would you want to touch you, beautiful?" his fingertip starts to trace up your thigh, and tapping right into your collarbone.

it was the first time you had seen both of them relax (in a while anyways), it was also your first time in a long time that you all got to hang out altogether. maybe it was mydei's band schedule that was almost all month 'till november, or phainon's business that took up his time all year three-sixty-five days.

even so, they both had their own pros and cons—like your favorite blonde's way of showing affection, cooking you meals when you black out from too much wine, or the way those blue eyes cuddles you when you cried over that same guy again.

they both were there separately during the same time, and they both equally hated your ex, absolutely disgusting man who couldn't tell the difference between yes and no.

you still remember when you still dated the men, they showed the exact same reaction; they both hated him, and both hated the way you just let his unexcusable behavior slide, because what? you loved him? bullshit.

"i- err.." "take your time, no hard feelings to you on who you choose." "—or is it that you want us both, hmm?"

mydei's smirk widened at this revelation that just came across his mind, "so?" you were left speechless; i mean, what were you going to say anyway? it was the truth in the end.

the tattooed hand of mydei slowly caressed up from your knee towards the fat of your thighs. wherein phainon took your palm in his instesd, maintaining eye contact with you whilst mydei slowly let his fingers delve underneath your shorts.

you jolted in surprise, but you simply had your cheeks darken at his sudden cockiness to do so—

"fuck, phainon, eat at them faster. look at you..." the blonde grinned with a large smile, thumb parting your lips, while the pale-haired man lapped and sucked at your thirsty cunt. legs shaking around his head, squeezing him tight as you had your hands buried deep into the strands of your hair.

you felt embarrassed at how loud your moans would get whenever his nose bumped into your clit. in your peripheral vision—you could spot the businessman's eyes wandering to yours, groaning into your pussy at just the right speed, you couldn't help but let your back arch against his mouth.

"o-ooh, nnh! f-fuck, r—ight there 'non...!" you placed a hand over your mouth, trying to quiet yourself down before mydei refused that, his mischevious sneer crept up onto his cheeks, "we needa see ya, beautiful. don't you fucking dare cover that pretty face."

you felt a hand sneak up your shirt again—you felt your eyebrows knit in a mix of fear and pleasure, you didn't know what the fuck would happen next, but shit, everything these two would do, it would turn you on. cold fingertips roam your stomach carefully; the temperature making your moan's volume spike, because why were his hands so cold, and when did goody two shoes phainon get a tongue piercing.

"ah, you noticed. told him to get it for your birthday, feels nice right? mmhmm.." his head nods with yours as you try to slip away from the tight hold phainon had on the plush of your hips, he could care less how hard your entrance would clench around his tongue, he didn't even have to touch any other body part on you- cause god he knew exactly was he was doing.

you were so wet it felt illegal how easily the pale-haired man could switch his mouth with his fingers, and the only difference would be the fact the temperature of his metal bud faded away slowly. his speed was still relentless when his fingers would hit your spongy lil' sweet spot.

"fuck, c'mon, phai'—my turn... m'thirsty." - "nnh- not yet—mmn..." the khaslana only dove his tongue deep into every word he uttered, your clit enjoying every single fucking second, a messy squelch whenever your hand would assist him in going down on you.

it was only a matter of time when they had you on both their cocks in different holes- "ssshit, beautiful—taking us both s'fuckin- hah! well!" a firm grasp placed themselves on your hips as the guitarist-band leader started to hit your gummy walls from behind. phainon on the other hand? couldn't say that much, his cock speaking more than him the way your mouth was so warm, and you could literally see the way his length imprint inside your cheeks.

"ah- uhuh, y-you're adorable, y—you know..." he continued, phainon was still very much so speechless. you couldn't say too much, only your cries of pleasure would bite out in the atmosphere, not that they could understand much. they had spent so much time imagining what you'd truly feel like, and oh were they both glad that this exceeded their expectations by millions of miles.

crowds, and clouds of pleasure cover up any rational thoughts in phainon's mind, was it dirty how his fingers buried deep in your strands while ramming your mouth onto the base of his shaft.

only getting time to breath when phainon finally finishes in your mouth, swallowing all of him right in his face—nothing turned him on more to see both the people he was in love with being pleasured by him. even if it wasn't directly, he knew that when both of you roll your eyes back, his contribution was there and present.

when your mouth had been freed of some of the aftermath, the sun-eyed man held your hair back, forming a somewhat ponytail as he pulls your face closer, bringing your back against his chest, and with one swift movement, he already had you into a full nelson.

"you don't know how fuckin' bad i been wanting this." — "we. we've been needing you."

a strong bicep locks around the behinds of your knees, planting them onto your chest effectively while his large cock was still inside you, covered in glistening juices of white descent—

his tip stayed grinding against your spongy spot, phainon lowered himself down onto all fours, going right in between mydei's legs to lick and suck at both of your genitals at once. earning him two long groans as a side dish while he sucked the come off the guitarist's dick.

"fuck, you want both of us, don't you?" the blonde forces you to face the sun pupils in his eyes, his free hand tilting your cheek the other way to maintain eye contact. making it hard for you to look away, you couldn't help but feel compelled to nod.

"such a cute little doll you are..." mydei hums, "what do you want to do with 'em, phai?" his head turned to the white haired man who was licking his lips clean of the taste of both of you on them.

"ever heard of double penetration?"

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