#& by every death i do just mean the MCs | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sitepathos · 3 months ago

Note

Hello (⁠＠⁠°⁠▽⁠°⁠＠ )

What if MC in Gold to mold did kill the kidnappers somehow , and called Alfred all shocked that he just killed ! ?

And now he decided to not wait for his graduation , and just leave, and live in his mother's house.

Thanks for your time (⁠^⁠^⁠)

You were in an extraordinary amount of pain.

The leader of your kidnappers was quite thorough in inflicting pain on you; one eye is swollen shut, your nose is busted, several bones feel broken, and you’re fairly sure you have a concussion (though since you’ve never had one, you’re not entirely sure if it’s a concussion or just a really bad head wound).

“I think he’s had enough, man,” one of the other two men say.

“Yeah,” he says, huffing from the beating he gave you. “You’re right.”

Even while in a world of pain, you can still think about caused it: Bruce Fucking Wayne and his collection of bastards. They spend every night running around Gotham and beating the hell out of thugs and Arkham’s escaped patients, so you would think that they would take the call seriously if only for the sole reason of hunting down ransomers and putting the behind bars.

But no, he’s too busy looking for his psychotic boyfriend to spare this another thought.

And while you’ve always assumed they forgot you existed, that phone call silenced all doubts. They said that no one was missing from the manor and all of Bruce’s kids were with him. And the fact they laughed at your kidnapper, causing him to take his anger out on you.

You would cry about being forgotten by your “family,” but you’re too busy crying from the beating you just took.

“Let’s just take what he has on him and go,” the third one chimes in. He motions to you. “What do we do with him?”

“Well, since he didn’t give us a number to call,” he snarls, pulling out a gun from his pocket and aims it at you. “I doubt he has anyone who’ll miss him.”

You freeze at the sight of the gun. Is this really how you die? Being shot by some lowlifes in some dirty cabin in the middle of the woods?

“What do we do about the body?”

“The fuck do you think,” he shouts at his cohort, turning towards the man behind him. “There’s the pit a ways from here! We’ll toss him in there!”

The two man fall into a shouting match and as they hurl insults, you notice something: the ropes binding you to the chair are loose, most likely due to the man beating you with the pipe. You start to shuffle around, moving your body around as best as you can with your condition, and finally, you feel the rope become slack.

The man with the gun is still busy yelling with his friend, so you take advantage of the distraction and strike, lunging from the chair and kicking the man in the balls as hard as you can. He howls in pain and drops his gun to cradle his wounded manhood, where you quickly scoop it up and point it at the men, who stare at you in shock (with the leader still having a pained expression).

“No one move,” you say, your heart pounding in your chest at the development.

You look down at the weapon in your hands. This is the first time you’ve ever held a gun and by god is it terrifying. You have a real gun in your hands and may probably have to use it, meaning you killed another person.

“Alright, kid,” one of the other men say. “Just put the gun down and we’ll let you go.”

That’s a load of bullshit and you both know it. You’ve seen their faces and they can’t risk you going to the police and reporting them. Plus, after hurting their leader and holding them at gun point is something they won’t let go.

The leader proved you right by lunging for you and in a panic, you fire the gun without properly aiming it. He falls to the ground and doesn’t get up; upon inspection of him, you realize that you somehow managed to shoot him in the head, guaranteeing a death blow.

The three of you just stand where you are, staring at the body of the man lying on the floor. Right now, the the gunshot rings in your head, making it hard to hear anything and your right arm, the one holding the gun, feels like it’s made of lead and you have to fight to keep it upright.

Holy shit, you just killed a man. Granted, he was going to kill you, but he’s a piece of shit while you’re a good person. For fuck’s sake, you’ve never fired a gun outside of a video game before and now you just shot a man in the head!

The other two break out of their stupor and go to rush you. You quickly react by aiming the gun at the one of the men and shooting, the bullet hitting him on the chest, making him fall to the ground with a yelp.

You go for the last man, but he grabs the gun and you fight back as strong as you can, causing the two of you to fall to the floor and wrestle over control of the weapon. Right now, you feel adrenaline pumping throughout your body and you gain the extra strength to flip the gun ever so slightly towards the man and in the struggle, you pull the trigger.

The bang fills the room, once again deafening you, and the man falls on top of you, pinning you to the ground. You use what little strength you have to flip the man on you and when you do, you find a bullet hole in the man’s chest, specifically on his left side, blood pooling from the wound and staining his shirt.

You look at your hands and upon seeing them covered in blood, you scream. A few hours ago, this day was awful because you lost a job you loved and now, it’s gone to rivaling the day you lost your Momma; you’ve never even held a gun before and not only have you, but now three men lie dead thanks to you, their blood literally on your hands.

“Oh my god,” you shout, tears streaming from your eyes like a waterfall.

Seeing the bodies causes your lunch to churn and before you can help it, you empty your stomach contents over the floor, mixing in with the blood, making you even more sick at the disgusting sight and empty everything you have in your stomach and more.

Finally, you stop puking and somehow manage to crawl over to your bag and pocket your Momma’s pen the had fallen next to it. At least your most treasured possession is safe, so at least something went your way tonight.

You unzip your bag and put it in and fish out your phone, powering it up. An eternity passes before it finally turns on, just in time for it to ring, revealing Alfred on your screen.

You sob seeing the picture of the man, wishing he was here right now. Knowing him, he would’ve come in guns blazing and gone John Wick on them, killing them and sparing you the burden of having taken three lives tonight.

“Master Y/N,” the man says when you answer it. Based on his tone, he sounds a little pissed off, probably because he’s tried calling you and since you’ve been kidnapped, you weren’t able to answer his calls.

“Alfred,” you sob back, the dam breaking upon hearing the man’s voice.

“Are you alright,” he quickly responds, his tone now worried and concerned.

“No,” you cry out. “It’s horrible!”

“Where are you? Are you home?”

“No, I’m in the woods. In some cabin.” You want to tell him everything that’s happened to you, but you’re exhausted and all you have the energy to do is cry.

“Can you make it home?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Do whatever it takes to get back home, Master Y/N. I’m on my way back, now. I’ll be back soon.”

“Don’t go,” you cry, not wanting to be left alone, even if he’s just on the phone.

“I won’t,” he reassures you. “I’ll be on the phone as long as I can. I’ll message Master Bruce and have him—“

“No,” you exclaim, using a chunk of your reserve energy to show you want nothing to do with that man. “This is his fault! His fault!”

“Alright,” he says, his tone one that you would use when trying to calm down a startled animal. “Alright. I won’t. Can you make it home on your own?”

“I think so,” you say as you get your feet, throwing your bag over your shoulder before walking towards the door.

It took you two and a half hours to walk from the cabin to Wayne Manor; it probably would’ve taken you half of that, but in your condition, it’s a miracle you’re walking at all. True to his word, Alfred remained on the phone with you, reassuring you that everything would be alright and that he would be home soon.

Apparently, the man is former Special Forces for the SAS and had many favors with both former and current military, one of which he used to get his hands on a military jet that could make the journey back to Gotham in a fraction of the time it takes planes.

Fuck, you should’ve given that asshole Alfred’s number. Then none of this would’ve happened and you could be back in your room and in your bed, trying to forget this night ever happened.

Finally, after walking down the mile long driveway and your way up the stairs and the multiple hallways to your room.

“Master Y/N, I just landed in the years,” Alfred reports as you open your door and fall onto the warn out carpet of your room. “Where are you?”

“My room,” you mutter.

“I’ll be up there in a minute.”

As much as you don’t want to go without the man’s voice, you know that he’ll run up here as fast as possible and be here in a few seconds, so you just hum an affirmative and the call ends. As you expect, you hear running in just a few seconds of the call ending and when you manage to turn you body to face the door, your savior comes to a stop at your open doorway.

“My god,” the man says before kneeling down to you. “Master Y/N. What on earth happened to you?”

You thought you had reached your limit, but seeing Alfred here, what little strength you had finally drains from you and you start bawling your eyes out. The butler holds you tight and you cry even harder.

“I killed three men,” you sob.

“What.” The man pulls you back to face him, but he still keeps a firm, but gentle hold on you. “You killed someone?”

The look on the man’s face makes you fell even worse and you cry even more.

“They kidnapped me,” you say as best as you can. “They tried to ransom me and they were gonna kill me! I got free, we fought, and I killed them!”

“What about Master Bruce? Don’t tell me you didn’t try to get him to help you?”

“I did! But he said all his children were with him and they all laughed and he did this to me!”

“Oh, my boy.” The look on Alfred’s face makes you feel even worse. He looks horrified, and shocked, and angry, and disappointed all at once. “My dear, sweet boy.”

“I’m going home,” you say, standing up and making your way to your dresser.

“What do you mean, Master Y/N? You made it back home, already.”

“No,” you exclaim, looking back at the man. “Home isn’t here! Home is Goodsprings!”

“But Master Y/N—“

“I almost died, Alfred! The one time I ask Bruce for help, and he nearly gets me killed! He proved that he doesn’t care about me, so I don’t care about him!”

“Master Y/N, I understand how you feel. Believe me, I plan on having firm words with all of them as soon as I see them, but you’re in no condition to be going anywhere. You need urgent medical attention! It’s nothing short of a miracle that you’re able to stand, let alone walk all the way here from Gotham Woods!”

You want to argue, really, you do, but you know Alfred’s right. You have so many injuries that you’ll probably die before the bus even leaves Gotham.

“Please, Master Y/N,”. He pleads, taking your hands into his. “Let me take you to the hospital.”

You nod and the man guides you to the garage, taking one of Bruce’s many fancy cars, and slams on the gas, pushing the engine to its limits.

“Mr. Pennyworth?”

Alfred looks up at the nurse in front of him.

“How is he,” he asks, standing up.

“He’s in pretty bad shape and it was touch and go at parts, but the doctors were able to stabilize him.”

“Oh thank god,” he says, holding back a few tears. “Thank you so much. Can I see him?”

“They still have him for tests and scans, but he’ll be done and in a room in about ten minutes. You can wait in his room if you wish.”

He gives the nurse his thanks and walks round your room. It’s absolutely appalling that it takes you getting kidnapped and almost dying to get a decent room. He should’ve tried more to get your a proper room, but after Master Damian joined the family, you insisted on staying as far away from the rest of the family as possible, especially from your brother.

He had hoped that they would finally see reason and realize that you’re a part of this family and should be treated as such, but the time for waiting is long over.

He kicks himself for leaving; he knew he was the only one you could rely on in this damn city and he had to go and leave you, endangering you just to walk around the cloudy streets of his hometown.

“Enough is enough,” he says, taking out his phone and patching it into the Bat comm channel. While he intends on giving all of them a long and stern lecture (while he was waiting for an update on your condition, he accessed the manor’s phone logs and listened to the ransom call and needless to say, it only made him angrier at them) , he knows that the important thing is at least one of them being here and supporting you.

“Alfred,” Bruce asks, clearly confused. “Is everything alright?”

“No it is not, Master Bruce,” he says in a stern tone he only reserves for when they mess up really badly. “I am absolutely disappointed and disgusted by all of you.”

“Allie,” Dick shines in, clearly upset and concerned. “What did we do?”

“It’s about what you didn’t do, Master Dick. Do any of you know where Master Y/N is right now?”

“Y/N,” Tim asks. “He’s… at the manor?”

“No, he’s currently in Gotham General’s Intensive Care Unit.” The channel fills with various gasps. “For years, you ignore the poor boy and the one time he reaches out to you, you prove you don’t see him as family. That ransom call you received? The one you said no one was missing? They were talking about him!”

They say nothing, but Alfred’s known all of them for years ad he knows that right now, they’re all feeling bad about themselves right now.

Good. After all they’ve put you through, they deserve to feel like the scum of the earth.

“He managed to break free and was forced to kill his kidnappers,” he continues.

“He killed someone,” Bruce interjects, but he continues as if his foolish master said nothing.

“He managed to call me and I was able to get ahold of a jet and come home. Imagine my surprise when I saw him beaten, covered in blood, and barely able to move. The doctors weren’t sure if he’d make it.”

“I,” Bruce spits out before falling silent.

“You have five minutes to get here, Master Bruce. And if you’re not, I will come looking for you and you’ll be in the hospital room next to his after I’m done with you.”

“I’m on my way,” he responds, dejected. “I’ll be there soon.”

“Me too,” Dick quickly adds.

“I will come as well,” Damian adds.

“This conversation is far from over, I promise you all that.”

And with that, he ends the call. As he pockets his phone, you’re wheeled into the room by an orderly.

“The docs gave him a ton of painkillers, so he’ll be out for a while,” the man explains as he locks your bed into place.

Alfred thanks the man who nods and leaves. He walks over to your side and takes in the sight of you covered in more bandages than a mummy.

“My sweet boy,” he says, taking your hand into his.

After today, things will change. No longer will you be the forgotten child of Bruce Wayne, but the firstborn he would move the mountains and the stars to make happy. You’ll no longer sleep in a guest room on the far side of the manor, far from the rest of the residents, but sleep in a proper bedroom as befitting your status. And yo’ll no longer tiptoe around the house, afraid of making even the tiniest bit of noise for fear of attracting attention, but you’ll join in on your siblings’ roughhousing and merry-making.

It’s then Bruce, Dick, and Damian walk in, dressed in civilian clothing, and when they see you, he knows they feel guilt.

“So nice of you to join us,” he says, his tone so cold it could give Mr. Freeze frostbite.

Oh yes, things will change.

#asks #yandere batfamily #from gold to mold

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aayakashii · 7 months ago

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I received a super cute ask requesting a hc of the Jabberwock boys getting a plushie from the MC, but tumblr effed up my post for some reason?? So I'm posting again!

ANON THAT WAS SUCH A CUTE REQUEST AND I LOVED WRITING IT!!! ⸜(*ˊᗜˋ*)⸝ Thank you for sending it!! I based each plushie on the animal that's been assigned to their chibis, I hope that's okay!

How Jabberwock boys react after receiving a cute little plushie from MC

Otonashi Towa – bee plushie

Towa is a little bit confused because plushies aren't a huge part of his life and he never really played much with any.

But receiving anything from you makes him very happy because you're one of his favorite people, so he loves it regardless!!

He loved getting a little chubby bee because bees like flowers and he likes flowers so!! They're basically the same!

Towa likes his new little friend so much that he keeps it on him 24/7, even when he's frolicking in the Jabberwock meadows.

Which in turn makes the plushie all damp and dirty, but please don't be upset!

He tries giving it a bath every now and then, but having fun outside is one of the things he loves the most...

So the fact that he takes your gift with him every single time just means he treasures it a lot!!

He keeps on putting dandelions on the bee though, so keeping it clean is a hard task. But it's all because it remembers him of you! He has no regrets.

Speaking of regrets, be ready to get a teary-eyed Towa handing you the plushie, asking you to sew it back together after some bad encounter with an anomaly from time to time...

He will take a lot more care next time!! He promises!

Shiranami Ren – shark plushie

At first, he's gonna look at you like you grew three heads all of a sudden.

Why would you give him a cute gift like that? Do you want something from him???? Also does he look like someone who likes plushies cmon MC-

Yes. Yes, he does love plushies. And he is absolutely in love with your gift.

Ren will mostly keep his new friend inside his room, away from prying eyes (Haru's eyes, he means).

But after a while, he might stuff it inside his backpack whenever he has an exam or something hard he gotta do, because he considers it his moral support (also it is adorable and looking at cute things is great for your health-)

Mostly, however, they'll hang out together inside his room. Ren will hug it while playing one of his mobile games, and he swears the plushie is giving him a little bit more luck when he pulls the gacha...

After a while, Ren might begrudgingly ask you if you know how to sew little clothes, because he saw online how some people buy tons of clothes for their nuis and he kinda wants to do the same...

Don't laugh though! It took him a whole lot of courage to come ask this of you! He'll kick you out of his guild if you laugh!

Please sew clothes for his shark friend. Ren wants little cosplays of his favorite games and you're the only one who gets him.

Sagara Haru – kangaroo plushie

Oh no MC. YOU ARE GIVING HIM A NEW CHILD?????

"Why didn't you tell me you were expecting our kid?! I will take full responsibility, let's get married and take care of him together and–"

"Haru. That's literally just a plushie I sewed for you."

"Haha, I know!! I'm just joking, I'm just joking!! You ARE the other parent, though."

Needless to say, Haru absolutely loves it to death, and he WILL keep making jokes like that forever, even if you two are just friends and never even smooched.

He also takes it everywhere, but mostly because Peekaboo loved the plushie just as much as him and is convinced he is a big brother.

Like father, like son...

Peekaboo insists Haru puts the little plushie right beside him on his baby wrap, just the head peeking out so it can "breathe and watch everything" properly.

With all the hard work Haru does, the plushie also gets a bit dirty, but he cleans it thoroughly almost everyday! Can't have his youngest son dirty, right?

Haru lets Peekaboo keep it during the day, but during the night, he takes it to bed with him, on the rare occasions in which he sleeps for more than 3 hours

He loves cuddling his plushie son and might ask you someday to make more friends for it!

Of course, he does that by joking about how you two are ready to expand the family, and how he would like to have more kids. He's just a silly goofy guy like that.

#tokyo debunker #tokyo debunker x reader #tokyo debunker towa otonashi #towa otonashi #tokyo debunker ren shiranami #ren shiranami #tokyo debunker haru sagara #haru sagara #ask

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dxncingwithastrxnger · 2 months ago

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Lucifer falling in love with an MC who gives all of his bullshit right back to him tenfold. Lucifer is an arrogant, prideful, rude son of a bitch before you really know him and MC will give that right back to him every single time they speak. MC does not feel like putting up with his actions and they will make that very clear until the day Luci starts being a little more honest and a little less i'm-better-than-you-human.

But Luci likes that about them, he finds it intriguing. This random human just shows up out of nowhere and starts sticking their nose up at him and scoffing whenever he demands anything of him and thinks they'll just get away with it? They do but that's besides the point, he still threatens death every time and they just shrug it off as if Lucifer is nothing more than a tiny, little kitten.

Honestly, who does this human think they are? The other brothers always end up astonished whenever they witness a clash between the two, especially because quite often, one of these clashes involves MC defending one of them or scolding Lucifer for their sake.

"What do ya think you're doin', MC!? You're gonna get us killed!!"

"Lucifer's soo mad at you, lool."

"*Scoff* As if I need you to defend my actions to him."

"Oooh, MC, my sweet, little hero! Look at you standing up to big, mean Lucifer! I'm filled with butterflies at the sight! ♡"

"MC, you didn't need to do that, now he'll get even more upset..."

"Woah, didn't know you had it in you. Guess Beel wasn't lying, you really are a pretty crazy human."

Though, of course, MC can be quite sweet to Lucifer when they really wanna be. Most of those times, there's something they want from him, though, mind you. Or, some days that's how dear Luci can tell that something's wrong. A cooperative, listening MC who follows him around and insists on keeping him company is something he quickly learns is a sign that his human needs not their usual banter and dynamic, but kind, gentle words and affection. And on those days, Lucifer never hesitates to let his guard down wherever they're at. Whether they're at RAD, out in public, or just at the HOL, whether there's people around or not, he'll put his pride away just for now and concern himself with nothing but taking care of the one he loves in whatever way they need, that is what will always matter most. He'll take a defiant, snarky human over a watered down, upset one any day.

#purple_strxnger #obey me #obey me!#obey me mc #obey me shall we date #omswd #obey me nightbringer #obey me lucifer #obey me lucifer x mc #lucifer x mc #obey me brothers #obey me headcanon #obey me headcanons #obey me fic

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agustdiv1ne · 1 year ago

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telepathy (m) — cbg

pairing: choi beomgyu x fem!reader

genre: smut, strangers to ???, mind reader/telepathist!beomgyu, funeral home employee!beomgyu (it's for the plot ok???)

wc: 11.7k

synopsis: most people would abhor a packed subway car — but beomgyu, telepathist extraordinaire, relishes in it. with a career in the funeral business, he finds his morning commute to be the only thing that keeps him relatively sane. reading the mundane thoughts of mundane people maintains his tether to his humanity, but when he goes to read your mind...oh, things get a whole lot more interesting.

warnings: mdni!! 18+ only, ageless blogs dni!!!, mentions of dead bodies, embalming, and funerals (though not very descriptive — it's only bc of gyu's profession), reader is a freak that listens to nsfw audios on her way to work!, gyu is a perv so it's a match made in heaven (hell?), gyu's honestly a little strange + obsessive in this...anyways, dom!gyu, sub!mc, solo male masturbation, on my big cock beomgyu agenda, very brief mentions of daddy/sir/master kinks, explicit consent is given before anything happens bc consent is sexy <3, mind manipulation (he makes it feel like he's touching her), exhibitionism in a way (it will all make sense, trust 🙏), degradation, praise, pseudo-fingering (idk how to explain it, f receiving), gyu calls mc: pretty girl, sweetheart, slut, whore, princess, mc calls gyu sir like once...whew! that was a lot, lmk if i should add anything!

note: you know i have a terrible bout of brainrot when the warnings are all nsfw related...yeah. Yeah. *presses post and runs away*

☆ playlist ☆

masterlist

beomgyu’s commute to work is, by all means, uneventful.

the train is packed as per usual, filled to the brim with businessmen and office workers and other miscellaneous passengers on their way to whatever the hell their destination is. like most days, he finds himself towards the middle of the passenger car, snatching a rare open seat between a stone-faced man adorned in a suit — his head buried in a newspaper — and a slumped over college student nursing a cup of coffee. the poor kid almost looks like death itself, sporting dark under eyes, rumpled clothes, and a prominent slouch to his spine. not that beomgyu could really blame him; he remembers how easily college living (if you could call it living) can chip away at a person’s mental well-being.

people-watching like this is what keeps him sane, he thinks. being surrounded by corpses all day, every day is more than draining — it sucks the soul out of him, really, being the only person on shift most of the time that he’s working, having to embalm and clean and pretty up all those cold, gray bodies so that their loved ones can say one last goodbye. it’s quiet in their minds and it’s all too quiet in the funeral home, the only sounds being the clanking of the embalming tools he’s been trained to use, his footsteps echoing down the tiled halls, his sighs of contempt when something small goes wrong — yet the living, breathing, warm people on the train provide a sense of normalcy, something to look forward to every day. to hear their thoughts, as prosaic as they are, has become a sort of saving grace from the lifeless, cold building that he finds himself in five out of the seven days of the week. honestly, if he can maintain a little bit of his humanity via strangers among the subway, even if it’s just by hearing their thoughts, then he’ll take what he can get.

yeah, that’s the thing: beomgyu is a mind-reader, a pretty talented one at that. not that anyone knew, of course — he wouldn’t risk the government finding out. beomgyu is not usually one for promises, but he has promised himself one thing: there’s no way in hell that he will ever become one of the government’s sick little science experiments, even if his life ever hits rock bottom. he has no idea how his powers work — just that they do, and he would like to keep it that way. it’s bad enough that he doesn’t know where he got such abilities; his parents never mentioned anything about it and only ever grew worried whenever he read back their thoughts to them, so obviously the existence of his powers is some statistical anomaly in the universe. normal people can’t read others’ minds. he was forced to learn that at a very young age in order to keep himself safe.

“how do you know that?” he remembers his mother’s alarmed tone when he first did it unknowingly, repeating back her own thoughts to her without realizing that’s what he had done. he was maybe six at the time — innocent, curious, plagued by voices in his head that he didn’t quite understand. those voices weren’t his. rather, they were his friends’, his family’s, his dentist’s and his doctor’s and his soccer coach’s voices that ricocheted about his mind uncontrollably;it was overwhelming for the young boy’s mind. the day he first admitted that he could hear them was the first day he heard his parents argue, their yelling from downstairs colliding with their internal voices in beomgyu’s mind, their terribly poignant concern for him and this development louder than any of the venomous words that they spat at each other in the living room. all he remembers from that day was himself crying, unable to block out anything that they thought, let alone his own thoughts. too much for his young mind to handle.

he heard their fear when they took him to the doctor for the first time of many, their heartache when the doctor came back and said that he might have psychosis, but more testing was needed. he heard how they started to deny it — their little boy couldn’t have that, could he? no, no he couldn’t. there’s no way he could.

although beomgyu was young at the time, guilt ate at him. he was the one hurting his parents, he was the one making them worry. despite his official diagnosis when he was seven, something inside him knew that the doctors were wrong. those voices weren’t just the result of the machinations of his mind at work — they were voices of the people he knew, strangers who passed him on the street. what they said wasn’t evil, it wasn’t out of the ordinary. usually, it was quite mundane. at some point, he started to practice with it, trying focus on one certain voice out of the buzzing hive in his mind, blocking out the others, switching and focusing and blocking out until the action was as natural as breathing. it took him about five years before he reached that point, and after nearly two decades of living with his abilities, he’s gotten quite used to it. his mind is usually quiet — besides his own stream of consciousness — unless he allows others in. or, rather, they allow him in, which they always do. he sees it like a set of doors; open one, and you can hear that one person’s thoughts. close it, and he no longer hears them. and none of them are ever locked since no one expects to their thoughts to be read, which simply makes his life that much easier.

if he’s being honest, he didn’t used to read minds as often as he does now, but there isn’t much he can do about that now lest he go insane. beomgyu could admit that his habit was a little creepy…okay scratch that, extremely fucking creepy. these people had no idea that their minds were being infiltrated, their mental walls bypassed and their privacy violated like a computer infected with a malicious virus. it’s borderline depraved, how nonchalantly he robs these strangers of their utmost privacy, sometimes of their deepest, darkest secrets that they would never want anyone to find out about. he could sequester quite a bit of money out of some of these people, now that he thinks about it.

and sure, that may sound immoral, but beomgyu has never considered himself to be of particularly virtuous character.

without a second thought, beomgyu taps into the mind of the kid next to him. he’s thinking about how he’s failing his statistics class because he just bombed his midterm. no, now his mind is full of what he’s going to eat after his 8 a.m. class. he shifts his focus on the businessman to his right. stocks, his cheating wife, how he’s considering leaving with his mistress in the coming days…

”what a prick,” beomgyu thinks to himself, smirking a bit. just a few more stops until he gets off, now.

he pulls his phone from his jacket pocket, scrolling aimlessly just to keep his eyes busy. sitting on the opposite side of the college student, an elderly lady walks herself through the stew that she’s going to make for her grandchildren tonight, excitement coloring her words. it’s cute — he loves hearing things like that. wholesome thoughts are not easy to come by nowadays, given the state of the world. exhibit a: a teenager standing on the other side of the train car worries himself into a frenzy over whether the girl that he has a crush on likes him back. exhibit b: a middle aged man contemplates if he should quit his job. for a second, beomgyu thinks that he might be in the same boat as him, before realizing that he has nothing else to fall back on — exhibit c. he could keep going.

a clear, robotic voice overhead announces the subway’s arrival to the next station — his station. sighing, he sits up a little taller, slipping his phone into the pocket of his slacks. a vague sense of dread weighs down his shoulders, knowing that he has a service to set up for the moment he clocks in.

he’s not looking forward to today, and yet the train still slows to a stop, the doors still slide open, and he still grabs his work briefcase from the spot between his feet. like clockwork, beomgyu maneuvers through the crowd, out the doors, and climbs the stairs up to the chilly streets of seoul.

decompressing after a slow-moving shift can take beomgyu’s night in many directions. sometimes, he simply returns home and hops into bed after a long, scalding hot shower that removes the invisible layer of grime that lays heavy on his skin. other times — typically on fridays — he’ll stop by a bar and catch up with his friends, occasionally leaving with a woman hanging off of his arm if he drinks enough to lower his inhibitions. more often than not, however, his excursions at the underground bar that taehyun is partial to end in him stumbling home alone and waking up the next morning with a raging headache. nursing a hangover alone, eating breakfast alone, bathing alone…he has never really become acclimated to it. the monster that festers inside beomgyu’s chest craves for love, for connection, for somebody to hold when the nights are too dark and his thoughts match the shade of the sky. the lack of connection is slowly getting to him. is this what insanity feels like? he wouldn’t know, nor would he like to find out. he’s sane. he’s perfectly sane.

beomgyu understands that his profession can be off-putting to potential lovers, but it’s not as if he had much of a choice in the matter — not when his one shot at the career of his dreams crumbled below his feet when the company filed bankruptcy, sending him tumbling back down to earth, to the reality that his college degree meant little to nothing to the vast majority of employers nowadays. though he applied to dozens of jobs, the only one he ever heard back from was from the listing titled “mortuary assistant,” and in desperation, he accepted the position without much thought. maybe if he had tried a little harder to find a different company where he could apply his skills, maybe if he had pushed himself to make connections in the industry when he had the resources to do so, maybe if he had pursued music production a little harder, had not given up so readily when things grew difficult…maybe things would be different.

beomgyu often thinks about the maybes.

this particular night, he finds himself leaned over a bar counter, a glass of amber-hued beer in hand. he half-listens to yeonjun’s slurred account of his dance crew’s latest win while he stares down at the mahogany tabletop. some condensation has gathered on the wood, and he swipes a finger through it. a slap to his shoulder brings his focus back to his surroundings.

“gyu, dude, y’should totally try out,’’ yeonjun pitches as he sloppily swings an arm over beomgyu’s shoulders. “get out of that. that—” he stumbles over his words for a moment, expression warping into a confused grimace. “that gross ass dead people building.”

beomgyu exhales a laugh as yeonjun’s head lolls against his shoulder, quietly whining about how his head hurts. while yeonjun is substantially gone already, beomgyu is only on his second beer. scanning the spacious, dim-lit room, he shakes his head. it’s times like these where he does not feel the need to slip into people’s minds — being surrounded by his friends is enough. “nah, man. i don’t think i could keep up. it’s been a while.”

“sure y’could! you’re like th’second best dancer here!” yeonjun says as his torso slumps down against the table. the bartender eyes him from further down the bar top with concern, but beomgyu sates the employee with an apologetic smile, ensuring that he turns away before setting his attention back on his friend.

beomgyu scoffs. “and i’m assuming you’re the first best?”

“uh, obviously. i literally run th’thing,” yeonjun retorts as he glares at him with a single eye open, an ear now resting on top of his crossed arms on the counter.

“yeonjun’s right,” taehyun butts in from the other side of yeonjun’s collapsed body. though his glazed over eyes give away his inebriated state, taehyun’s tolerance tends to lean much higher than yeonjun’s; this fact is confirmed by the crystal clear enunciation of his words as he continues, “you’ve been acting differently ever since you started working there. it wouldn’t hurt to try something new.”

great, even his friends have noticed. exhaling deeply, beomgyu nods.

“yeah, i’ll think about it.”

as the conversation meanders off into other topics, beomgyu sinks back into his own little world. curse taehyun and his acute perceptiveness. he knows that he’s been acting off, but maybe his friends are right; he once dreamed of being a choreographer, back when he was a teen, before he discovered his love for music production. perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to try.

unintentionally, he meets the gaze of a girl sitting at a booth with her friends. he quickly averts his gaze, and by the time he looks back up, she has been roped into what seems like a shot-taking contest. six other girls circle the table, one joining the first girl in taking rapid-fire shots, four others egging them on, and one laser-focused on her phone, occasionally sipping water through a straw. from what he can gather, she’s likely the group’s designated driver — though it seems her role has morphed into more of a babysitter. she’s pretty, he’ll admit. just his type. if he was on his third or fourth beer, he’d probably be over there trying to strike up a conversation with her, rather than any of her drunk friends.

as she looks up and throws a cursory glance around the bar, she catches him staring, her kohl-lined eyes meeting his own. an eyebrow raises as her gloss-coated lips twist, as if to say “don’t even try it.”

oh, how terribly he wishes to slip into her mind and let her know that he has no intention to.

the ear-piercing screech of yeonjun’s barstool to his right tears his gaze away from her. yeonjun now stands, one arm around taehyun and the other around soobin, the latter sporting a borderline disgusted grimace directed at the older boy hanging off of him while kai simply stands behind the trio of men. yeonjun’s head hangs low below his shoulders, chin nearly touching his chest, as he emits a pathetic groan. at least he’s not puking this time.

“we’re about to go grab some food. this one,” taehyun’s head nods to yeonjun’s sagging frame. “definitely needs it. you coming?”

unwilling to allow the night to end quite yet, beomgyu hums, quickly pays his tab, and allows the brief, silent encounter with the woman to fade away into the back of his mind.

the rest of the weekend passes without fanfare, and monday returns to rear its ugly head once again. monday is beomgyu’s least favorite day of the week; it brings a raging headache from his 5 a.m. alarm, a bone-deep fatigue that lingers for the rest of the day. it brings grumpy commuters whose knees and elbows uncomfortably bump against his own. it brings people who think that he should give up his seat, and silently tell him so with narrowed eyes and furrowed eyebrows. how selfish, they all think whenever he actually bothers to read their thoughts. what a fucking dick, some of them even snarl within the so-called impenetrable walls of their minds, walls he so easily breaks down. he levels those ones with a half-awake glare, pupils gloomy and lifeless. internally, their uneasy reactions make him want to laugh, hysterically cackle in their faces because wow, is he really that scary? he shouldn’t be, but maybe the dark under eyes are doing something for him.

surprisingly, the subway car he frequents is less crowded than usual. not as many people stand in front of him, and he’s actually able to see directly across the car for the first time in a while. doors shut, and he’s left to look around at the regulars and the new patrons that often don’t show up again. they’re easily less interesting than the regulars. really, what can he say? the daily life updates satisfy his nosy tendencies.

still, he hates mondays. mondays suck. mondays make him want to crawl into a hole and eventually join the bodies at his workplace. they bring out the worst in his mind. all they do is remind him of the neverending cycle that he has trapped himself in — wake up, work, go to sleep, and do it all over again the next day.

mondays bring a lot of things he fundamentally dislikes, but this particular monday also brings you.

it’s split-second eye contact. nothing more, nothing less. your eyes grow wide, your lips parting just the slightest bit in surprise. though he has not invaded your mind (yet), he can already tell what you are thinking. fuck, he isn’t blind — he knows that he is handsome.

your eyes shoot downward, your head hanging low with your phone clenched between your fingers. one of his eyebrows raises while a small smirk plays on his lips — you’re new, and even better, you’re cute. his dark, seemingly bored gaze trails over to the earbuds nestled in your ears, then to your crossed legs. you glance up at him again, eyes blowing wide again as your thighs press together just enough for him to notice the movement. his own eyes narrow slightly, evaluating the sight.

you seem...interesting. prim, proper, sitting in a modest-length skirt and a plain blouse and coat that paint you as an unassuming character, just another random person in this sardine can of a train car. yet there’s this glint in your eyes that tells him there is so, so much more to you than what meets the eye — that the innocent, put-together little front that you display to the world is a complete and utter lie. it’s intriguing. new patrons come and go from this particular subway car every day, but you and your fresh face have caught his interest — and so has your odd behavior.

then, without warning, realization punches him square in the gut.

you were there the other night, with those girls at the bar. the one sitting at the end of the table with the small glass of water as you scrolled through your phone. the one who shot a piercing glare at him as you looked out for your inebriated friends. your current behavior is a far cry from the strong front he first encountered that night, small and oh-so meek and lacking the sharp, piercing edge to your gaze that initially piqued his interest in you. the change, for some reason, intrigues him more. what happened to that feisty glare, that confident air to your posture? he wants to know why you seem so meek, so he taps in to your mind and—

“you’re my dumb little slut, aren’t you? fuckin’ say it—”

beomgyu flinches in his seat, the door to your mind slamming shut as he sits there in shock. did he really just hear that? are you listening to fucking porn on the subway? what the fuck?

he’s never had this happen to him before. he’s accidentally stumbled upon the occasional horny thought before, sure, but listening to porn on the subway? that’s a new one. he decides to give you another glance; your lips are pressed together now, eyes pointed towards the floor as you further shrink into yourself. fuck, you’re so cute, but now he knows you’re also awfully perverted — and for some reason, he feels himself getting hard in his trousers at the thought of entering your mind again.

he should do something about this little development, shouldn’t he?

yeah, he thinks that he should. a sick sort of curiosity wins over the more logical side of his brain, the side that tells him that he should feel guilty for even thinking about what he’s about to do. he can’t, can he? no, he can — he wants to, he really fucking wants to. opportunities like this don’t just present themselves on a silver platter like this on the regular. if he doesn’t take this chance, then he’d be an absolute fool.

the subway slows to a stop, the weirdly cheery, robotic voice calling out another stop. not his, thank god. he takes this opportunity to open that pesky little door to your mind again, now fully expecting the depravity echoing in your brain — and rather than do anything drastic too quickly, he simply sits there and listens. he listens through an entire audio alongside you, ignoring the twitch of his cock as he listens to the woman be degraded and praised, in missionary and in doggy, her moans mixing with the man's in a cacophony of pleasure — he loves the way you jump when the sound of a hand striking flesh sounds through your mind. your fleeting sigh of “god, i wish that were me,” causes him to bite his lip. you like being treated like a slut, huh? like a stupid little whore only made to take cock? that’s music to his ears, really — because he likes treating girls like that too.

as sick and disgusting as it is, he continues to listen as if mindlessly tuning in to a podcast, subtly adjusting himself in his pants as he fights off a raging boner. he wants to be the one to do those things to you. he wants to make you scream and sob and beg for mercy as he completely ravages your body, fuck you until you’re brainless, perfect little slut for him. you’d love that, according to the audios you consume for the remainder of his commute — to be fucked so hard you legs give out from under you, to be owned, fully and completely. he likes that sound of that as well.

a few minutes into the second audio, you take another glance at him, eyes squeezing shut right away once you catch his gaze — and suddenly, your thoughts are full of him. he’s encountered countless strangers who can perfectly visualize their streams of consciousness, and you seem to be yet another one of them. images of you on your knees between his thighs and sucking his cock in the middle of this subway car flood his own mind, switching to one of him fucking you from behind against the wall while everyone else watches, then to him finger fucking you with a hand around your throat…what the fuck. what the fuck? how do you just do that? how do you think of such terribly shameless things while looking so pretty and demure, as if you’re a shy little thing rather than some fucking whore? he shifts his briefcase over his lap again. fuck, he’s so hard it’s starting to hurt. shit, fuck.

he should be appalled by you, but fiery, ardent lust is the sole emotion that floods his veins. would it be a bad idea to talk to you? no, you want it. you want it so fucking bad. just look at your mind — and he can make all your dirty little fantasies come true, if you would let him.

just as he’s about to actually do something about you, the subway slows to a stop once again, the same cheery voice announcing his stop. god dammit. pushing himself up to his feet, he finds that you’re doing the same, wide eyes flitting around nervously as you move towards the door and stop nearly right next to him, those earbuds that hide your biggest secret in plain sight still stuck in your ears. he can still hear those degrading words and moans and slapping sounds that still echo through your mind, loud and clear as if those white earbuds are sitting snug in his own ears.

the doors slide open, and soon enough, he loses sight of you in the surging crowd. stepping out of the subway, he looks around once, twice. you have completely disappeared; nowhere to be found, your mind has grown too far from his own for him to locate nor access, the tether between the two of you frayed to the point of snapping in half. with a brief purse of his lips, he sets off up the stairs. it’s fine, there’s always another day. it’s fine, he tells himself over and over again. there’s nothing he could have done in such a short time, anyway.

the sun sits high in the sky today, but the bone-chilling air cuts through his puffy coat like tiny needles puncturing his skin, or millions of scalpels slicing open flesh nearly to the bone, cold and sterile and far from comforting. autumn shouldn’t be this cold, and his slightly soured mood isn’t helping his case right now. he should have done something back there, he should’ve opened up the channel between the two of you and taken the plunge. it wouldn’t have hurt to try, but no. no, he let that opportunity go like every other one he’s had in his life. with his jaw set, he promises himself that it won’t happen again. it won’t, because if he keeps living like this — allowing all these opportunities slip through his fingers like grains of sand — he’ll never be able to forgive himself.

and honestly, beomgyu is no clairvoyant, and he should brush off the tickle in his brain as a stupid, naive hunch…but he has a compelling feeling that he’ll be seeing you again tomorrow.

when beomgyu returns home, the sun slowly sinking towards the horizon, he doesn’t unwind like he usually does. today’s shift was a slow one, with no bodies to preen and primp and no services to set up for, so most of his time was taken up with cleaning, filing documents, and sitting around aimlessly. no matter how much he tried to fend them off, thoughts of you bounced around in his brain for the entire eight hours he was on shift. fuck, he doesn’t even know your name, much less anything else about you, yet he wishes he could travel back in time and redo this morning all over again. he’s not sure how it would have panned out, exactly, but he has a few tricks up his sleeve that would’ve made it exciting.

he shakes his head. the current moment presents much more pressing matters than ruminating on this morning’s terrible decisions; the strain in his trousers proves to be a pertinent issue, a tent formed in the black fabric and aching to be touched. now that the public eye no longer holds his gaze, his apartment door locked shut behind him, he allows himself to give in to his most base instincts. a hand comes down to cup his hardness as he imagines his fingers as yours, you on your knees below him, those adorably wide eyes staring up at him in desperation. you’d wait for permission, right? you’d beg so prettily like a good little slut should? fuck yeah, you would. you’d be good, you’d take what he would give you — and you would love it.

groaning, he crashes onto his couch, head throwing back against the back cushion as he gropes his cock harder. he’s forgone slipping off his dress shoes and has barely even slipped his coat off before he’s giving in to the pulsing ache in his groin that’s nearly unbearable, the white hot need swirling in his stomach that demands his immediate attention. his belt quickly unbuckled and his trousers pulled halfway down his thighs, he slips his cock from his boxers, gasping at how sensitive he has become.

“oh fuck,” he breathes out into the quiet air, a shuddered sigh following when his thumb swipes over the angry red head, the bead of precum that has gathered there spreading across his skin. he brings his hand up to his lips, gathering some spit beneath his tongue before letting in loll into his palm. bringing it back down, he drags his hand up and down his shaft, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as pleasure rushes through his veins. he pumps his cock steadily, hips rolling up into his hand as if fucking your throat. eyes fluttering closed, his free hand grips the couch, fingernails digging into the worn leather and leaving half-moon indents in their wake. “fuck. god, fuck.”

would you be able to take him? he’s been told he’s big, most women barely able to take him even after extensive prep. he imagines how you’d keen as he enters you, your back arching so prettily and your walls stretching to their limits to accommodate his size. how you’d choke and gag on his cock if he decided to use your throat, tears streaming down your cheeks as you peer up at him pathetically, fingers digging into your thighs as you resist the urge to touch yourself. would you like to be slapped around a little, punished with spankings and little taps to your cheek?

“focus,” he mumbles to no one. to you. “focus, slut. be good for me.”

he’s delirious at this point, has dived so deep into his fantasies that he barely registers that he’s fucking his fist and not your mouth or sweet little cunt. that doesn’t stop his fingers from tightening their grip, squeezing the head before gliding back down again, then back up, the rhythm of his hips growing frenzied as his high inches closer. his free hand smooths up his stomach, taking his button-up with it as he clenches it with desperate fingers. he bites down on the fabric, pumping himself once, twice, three times before his high hits him, his cum spurting out in staccato ribbons. he’s making a mess, but he can’t bring himself to care when this is the best orgasm he’s had in months. the shirt falls from his mouth as he moans unabashedly.

“take it,” he groans, his hips canting upward. “fuckin’— fuckin’ take it. shit. such a perfect little whore for me.”

he cums and he cums, spilling all over himself until he’s milked dry. eyes closed, his contracted muscles melt into the couch, hot pants replacing his moans and groans. a few minutes pass before he fully comes down from his headspace and returns back to earth, only for him to realize just how much he came, staining his clothes and coating his skin in creamy white. he blinks.

reality crashes down on his head.

he just…jerked off to you. he just came so hard he saw stars just from the mere thought of you. oh, he’s in deeper than he first thought. too deep, too quickly, he can barely breathe.

“fuck,” beomgyu murmurs as he stares down at his cum-covered abdomen, his sticky hand. “fuck.”

beomgyu was right: you do come back the next day. and the next. and the next.

over the remainder of the work week, he watches you — well, more so listens to you, but he can’t deny himself the little glimpses he allows himself to take, drinking in how you worry your bottom lip, how the muscles in your throat contract each time you gulp. the poker face that you don crumbles oh so easily whenever he meets your stray gaze. it’s exhilarating, knowing the power he, a complete stranger, has over you. your microscopic slips in expression remain undetected to the rest of the passengers, but he sees every single one. they’re a perfectly entertaining backdrop for your explicit musings.

he knows he could approach you like a normal human being would, but where’s the fun in that? he’s not quite a normal person in his own right, anyway. instead, he’s decided to keep you in his sights, learning what exactly you enjoy, what you like to hear, preparing for the day where he again gathers the courage to toy with you within the walls of your mind. he’s in deep, and at this point, he’s accepted it if only to justify his sadistic obsession with you. actually, on second thought, he wouldn’t quite call it an obsession, perhaps a morbid curiosity more than anything. yeah, that’s all it can be.

it’s almost as if the universe has sent him a little present in the form of you, an apology for the trials and tribulations that whatever is above has rained down on him this past year or so. of course he’s going to savor it. who wouldn’t? so he sticks to his plan, and keeps watching you, listening to you, observing you, identifying your little quirks and deepest, darkest desires. they’ll be quite useful later, he’s sure.

over his…research period, he’s found out a lot about you. you like to be bullied, to be called a slut, a whore, but you also enjoy a little praise mixed in: good slut, good whore, pretty girl is so obedient for sir, for daddy, for master. you’re also not too picky in what you listen to, as long as it contains a male dominant in some capacity. couple’s content, threesomes, gangbangs are all on the table, as are solo audios that usually have some sort of plot to them — coworkers to lovers' first date that ends in sex? check. hot librarian who fucks over a table you after closing? that too. he could go on about what he’s heard in just the solo audios you consume, but even that list would be exhaustive.

by the time friday rolls around, he doesn’t even have to try to search for your mind; call him crazy, but it’s almost as if you, on some subconscious level, know that he wants in and are more than willing to let him. as if you keep the door cracked open just for him.

at least, he likes to think that you do.

staying close, but not too close, to you proves to be difficult today. fridays bring with them a surge of new faces that crowd the subway car, which is generally quite annoying, but at the moment, he also finds it to be frustrating. no seats are open when he boards, he can’t even see you through the dense crowd, but you’re there. your mind is there, open and waiting for him to enter.

though he won’t be able to see your cute little reactions, he steps through that mental threshold.

“it’s okay, baby. shh, don’t cry, you can cum. cum for me, just let go,” a gentle voice coos. aw, you must be having a rough morning, how sad. the only other day you listened to these kinds of audios, you looked absolutely miserable, the corners of your lips pulled down and a deep, pathetic furrow to your brows — it was wednesday, that’s right. two days ago, when you seemed frazzled and completely out of it. a little digging resulted in him learning that you had spilled your coffee all over the concrete on the way here, you thought your hair didn’t look right (even though, to him, it did, it looked perfect — he wished he could’ve told you that), and worst of all, your boss emailed you late the previous night to admonish you for your performance, demanding a meeting first thing that morning.

still, he wishes he could take care of your boss, eliminate that weight off of your shoulders. if it were up to him, your boss would be sitting in the morgue at his place of work, gray and comatose and unable to admonish you for things that beomgyu is sure you had no control over. because that’s how offices work, right? sink or swim, big fish eat the little ones, blaming those below them for everything they should be taking responsibility for. your boss has to be one of those. he was pig-nosed and donning a constant sneer when you pictured the verbal berating you’d be getting once you got to your workplace.

that day, he found himself thinking about how he’s become pretty talented with a scalpel.

“good girl. doing so well for me, pretty girl,” the same voice soothes, soft cries and sniffles from the submissive mixing with the gentle words. he could treat you all sweet too. he could be anything you want, if only you knew him.

he wants you to know him — needs you to, really.

there’s no clear cut reason for your current sour mood, your thoughts too jumbled together for him to properly decipher. are you picking apart your appearance? did you wake up late? is this all because of your boss again? he might just kill the bastard if that’s the case…if only he could approach you, tell you that everything will be okay, but he doesn’t want to knock down the house of cards he’s spent such precious time building over the course of the week. you’re too special for that. it’s the very reason why he tries to blend into the crowd, why he tries to keep eye contact to a minimum. the last thing he needs is for you to run away from him when you’re one of the only things holding him together.

when the car slows to his and your stop, disappointment nips at the space between his eyebrows. he didn’t even get to see you today, and the end of the work week means that he won’t be seeing you for two entire days. sighing, he falls into his typical routine: move towards the doors, wait for them to open, and follow the other exiting passengers out. where could you be? you’re still here, he knows that much since he’s still connected to you, still hears those soft words and moans, but where the fuck are you? you, as in your body. that you.

with a single cursory glance around, he swears he catches a glimpse of your figure before the crowd swallows you whole. as he’s shoved towards the stairs by the crowd, his chest grows heavy.

friday has just begun, but monday couldn’t come any faster.

“so, are you gonna try out?”

yeonjun is far more sober compared to last friday night, his eyes lacking that fatigued droop they always get whenever he’s had too much. beomgyu tears his glazed-over gaze away from the television screen to look at the yeonjun, sinking further into the couch below him. he points to himself. “me?”

yeonjun rolls his eyes, a knee swinging over the arm of the armchair he sits in. “who the fuck else would i be talking to?”

scoffing, beomgyu shoots him a glare. “i don’t know, man. y’don’t have to be a dick about it.”

the open bottle of beer in beomgyu’s hand chills his fingertips, so he switches it to his other hand before taking another sip. meanwhile, soobin plops down next to him with an already open bag of chips, offering some to him. he shakes his head, and soobin shrugs, beginning to munch on them by himself.

“i’m serious though,” yeonjun continues. “you should really try out. there’s not much to it, just dance to one song and you’re done. i’d probably pass you even if you sucked.”

“that’s nepotism,” taehyun chimes in from the floor, eyes trained on the screen as he shoots a player down in the game him and kai are currently obsessed with. the sound of gunfire fills the living room of soobin and yeonjun’s apartment, the murmurs of the two boys a low drone beneath it as they figure out their best strategy to win.

he almost wishes he lived here with soobin and yeonjun, or with the other two. yeonjun and soobin, taehyun and kai — only beomgyu lives alone. alone doesn’t necessarily mean lonely, but in beomgyu’s case, it does. maybe that’s why he’s latched onto you so hard: to cure his loneliness. he swats that thought away like one would a pesky mosquito. he hasn’t latched onto you, he admonishes himself, he’s simply curious. yeah, curious.

just a little innocent curiosity.

disregarding taehyun’s comment, yeonjun raises an eyebrow towards beomgyu. “i know i was drunk when i said that shit last week, but you really have been acting weird since you started at that job. we’ve all noticed.”

“yeah, it’s like you’ve gotten more reserved, or something,” soobin says, words muffled by his chewing. beomgyu grimaces, shifting closer to the arm of the couch.

“you’re the most introverted one here, you can’t say shit,” kai snorts. soobin throws a chip at his head.

“anyway,” yeonjun butts in with a scalding glare before an argument can begin. soobin and kai blanch, mouths closing. “we’re just…concerned about you.”

“is this some kind of intervention?” beomgyu laughs, disbelief apparent in his tone. he’s fine. he has you now.

“no, we just want you to know that there’s other things you could do that would make you happier than work at a fucking funeral home,” taehyun says, eyes still not straying from the tv.

“like joining my dance crew,” yeonjun tacks on.

beomgyu sighs. they’re kind of right, if he’s being honest with himself, but is he ready to put himself out there again? is he ready to face the potential of rejection, of failure? he’s had his life fall apart in front of his eyes once already, what if it happens again?

“...i guess.”

“c’mon.” yeonjun shifts around until he’s leaning on his elbows, focus solely on beomgyu. “tryouts are next saturday. i know how fast you can learn choreography. hell, you could probably learn something in a couple hours and be fine.”

“honestly, you’ll never know if you don’t try,” soobin chimes in. “it might end in something good.”

“yeah,” beomgyu says before taking another large swig of beer. “yeah, i know.”

and so another weekend passes, and monday returns once again.

soobin’s brief, sage advice plays through his mind again and again. although he understands that soobin meant for it to apply to his current career situation, beomgyu has adopted it for his situation with you instead. he should try, he’s going to try, eventually.

it might end in something good, he tells himself over and over again. he has to try.

mondays are a bit less excruciating now that you’re around. he has only known you for a week, but it’s been long enough to know that you make his day-to-day routine bearable — hell, he’ll stay at his terrible job as long as you keep showing up each morning. the day that you don’t will be the nail in his coffin — he chuckles at his stupid joke. yeonjun is rubbing off on him too much.

the sky is overcast today, and endless expanse of gray that contrasts the warmth of the changing leaves that line the sidewalk. it might rain soon, he surmises, but he hopes that it won’t. he’s forgone an umbrella today. digging his hands further into his coat pockets, he ducks into the subway station, descending the stairs and weaving through the crowd until he finds his usual platform. when he gets there, you’ve already arrived, ears vacant of those white earbuds, but it’s not a foreign sight to him. you typically put them in once you sit down. the fact that you get on and get off at the same stop as him…he almost likes to think of all of this as fate.

maybe the universe really is trying to apologize.

the subway arrives at the platform a few minutes later — minutes in which he tries not to stare at you. he’s not a creep, he swears that he’s not. he’s not a creep, he’s not a creep — he repeats this to himself as he follows behind you into the subway car the two of you frequent, he finds a seat across from you a few feet to your left. he can’t be too obvious.

and most importantly, he’s not a creep.

you dig around in your bag. ah, here come those infamous earbuds, he’s sure of it — but then they don’t, and then the digging through your bag grows a degree more frantic, your lips parting as you continue shoving whatever is in there aside in search of your most precious possession.

you feel like crying as panic surges through your veins. oh god, you forgot them. how could you have forgotten them? what are you going to do now?

beomgyu decides to tap into your mind in that moment, finding you in an unbelievably frazzled state. his heart clenches in his chest, he wishes he could help somehow…

wait. he could…oh my god, he could. no, that’s sick, he’s not a creep — well, no, he could. he definitely fucking could, and you’d probably end up liking it…

he could be your temporary replacement for today — no, he could become your constant source, the one you need to get through the day. he could become your audios. he wants to. they’d be far more…interactive, if he did, after all. you’d love what he could do to your pretty fucking body just with access to your mind. reading thoughts isn’t the only thing he can do — and soobin’s right: he’ll never know if he doesn’t try. how could he sit here any longer and not give in to his burning desire to ravage you? you know what? fuck it. this is the perfect opportunity, served up once again on a silver platter, waiting for him to take. he’s not going to let it slip away again — and oh, you just look so devastated right now, how terrible would he be if he didn’t help you?

in a split-second moment, beomgyu decides that today is the day. deep breath. focus. okay, he can do this. one, two, three…

“hello, pretty girl.”

you flinch before you look up and around, only to find no one is looking at you — well, he is, but through his peripherals. wouldn’t want to get caught, would he? suppressing a smirk at your reaction, he shifts in his seat.

“was someone just talking to me?” you ask yourself, brows furrowing as your eyes continue to dart around. your hand comes up to your ear to see if you accidentally remembered your earbuds, your frown deepening when you register that they are, indeed, not in your ears. glancing around again, your eyes skirt over his form. he shivers at the thought of what’s to come, biting his lip as he avoids your gaze. “is this some sort of prank?”

“calm down, sweetheart, this isn’t a prank. now, stop looking around, you’re the only one who heard me.”

your brain flits from thought to thought so quick he can barely keep up, the volume of them rising as you panic. your fingers clench the strap of your purse as if to ground yourself. “am i hallucinating right now? what the fuck? this has to be a prank. should i go to the doctor’s? no, my boss would kill me if i called out, but fuck, i should really go if i’m hearing things—”

beomgyu chuckles, the sound echoing through your mind as well. freezing, your muscles lock up as you look around again. your distressed stream of consciousness stops for a moment, before resuming at a much more rapid pace. “what the fuck, i need to call out right now, where’s my phone—”

sighing, he leans back into his seat and closes his eyes. so cute, how easily you spiral. “quiet that pretty little head of yours, pretty girl. you’re not hallucinating, this is all real. very real.”

a few moments pass before your internal freakout quiets down. for once, silence fills your mind…and rather than him break it, it’s you: “someone’s…talking to me through my mind? this is real?”

“such a smart girl. you figured it out so quickly,” beomgyu taunts, resisting the urge to coo again. adrenaline rushes through his veins, urging him to continue. you need him. he can make you happy. he just needs to hear you say it.

your thighs press together at the praise, fingers digging into the trousers you had chosen to wear. you shouldn’t be feeling like this. this is strange, terribly strange, and even a little frightening, now that you are aware that someone — that a complete stranger, at that — has full reign over your conscious. yet, at the same time, you’re curious to see how this will play out.

“and you can speak to me, too, if you focus hard enough…” his voice trails off. okay, you can do that. allowing your eyelids to flutter shut, you begin to breathe deeply until even the mechanical noises of the subway and the murmurs of passengers vacate your senses. mind empty, you exhale a shaky breath. focus. stay focused.

“hmm, impressive. you’re a natural at this.” god, he needs to quit praising you like that with his deep voice. by the way he laughs, you know he heard that too. fuck.

“who are you and why the fuck are you in my brain?” you decide to ask. straight to the point, no fluff to it, it’s reminiscent of your attitude at the bar where he first laid eyes upon you. this is the wall you put up towards strangers and any other threat to your life, but little do you know, beomgyu’s breached that wall already. this is just a little front. “answer me, you fucking asshole—”

“woah, woah, watch the language. why would i tell you who i am? it’s much more exciting this way, don’t you think?” the smile in his voice is unmistakable, but he purses his lips to keep them from curling upward.

you start to gnaw on your bottom lip, biting hard enough for pain to bloom across your nerve endings. this is stranger you’re talking to right now, a stranger who you’re talking to through your fucking thoughts. this is weird. you never signed up for this. “get the hell out of my mind before— before i—”

“before you what? can’t kick me out, you don’t know how to do that, pretty girl.”

fuck, he’s right — wait, if he’s in your mind right now, can he also control it? is he going to hurt you? is he going to make you his puppet and go on a murder spree? is he in this car with you, or somewhere else? what if…what if…

beomgyu can almost feel your panic swelling in his own chest. fuck, he needs to put a stop to your spiraling before it gets out of control. if you freak out now, then all of his work over the past week will be for naught. after all, he’s not going to do anything without your permission. the last thing he wishes to do is scare you off completely before he can have his fun. with great urgency, he cuts off your ramblings, “hey, now, relax for me, princess. i’m not going to hurt you. i’m as human as you are, just a bit…different, i guess. and i am in the same car as you right now.”

rather than respond, you look around again, eyeing every single man around you with suspicion, even him. he stares at the floor, maintaining what he hopes to be a neutral, borderline bored, expression. he needs to keep it together. he’s gotten this far, he can’t ruin this. “looking around again, huh? if i were that easy to spot, then this game wouldn’t be very fun, would it?”

“game? fucking with my mind is a game to you?”

the corners of his lips twitch up before he’s forcing them back down. this is it, the moment he has been waiting oh so patiently for. keep it together.

“well, not really — i actually have a proposition for you, if you’d hear me out.”

scoffing, you urge him along. “just get on with it.”

“so impatient. that’s okay. i can work with that,” he smirks. “i know what you listen to every morning, you know.”

your heart drops to your stomach. he what? oh god, you think you’re going to be sick. your arms wrap around your stomach, squeezing hard. this is bad, this is really fucking bad. “do you want money, or something? are— are you trying to blackmail me right now? i’ll have you know, i’m actually kinda broke right now. i really don’t wanna end up homeless, can you just. pick someone else to fuck with? there’s like twelve different businessmen in this car, i’m sure they’re rich and corrupt—”

beomgyu’s brows raise imperceptibly. jesus, are you always this flighty? “woah, chill. i’m not here to judge you — or blackmail you, for that matter. i’m not evil. aw, don’t look all shameful now. i told you i’m not here to judge — i actually wanna help you, if you’d let me.”

“help me?” you dumbly echo. “help me how?”

“well,” he starts. “i noticed you forgot your earbuds today, and you just looked so sad and lost without them. how else are you going to get through your commute? and then i thought maybe i could do something about that. y’know, help you out, get you through the morning.”

“so you invaded my privacy just to tell me that you wanna dirty talk to me for the rest of my commute? is that what you mean? ‘cause if so, that’s pretty weird,” you reply, though your stray thoughts that dart around tell him that you’re actually considering his offer — it’s tempting, isn’t it? to give in, to let his deep voice get you all squirmy and needy, knowing he could be anyone in this subway car. still, your words make him laugh, because of course you’re deflecting right now. it’s okay, he hasn’t given you the full story quite yet.

“that’s only part of my offer, princess,” he starts. “i can read minds, yes, but i can also do…other things.”

oh, you’re really considering it now. maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to let him. his voice is nice, and maybe, just maybe, it’s kind of making you horny. after a deep, long breath, you gulp once, then, with curiosity dripping from your tone, you ask, “...like what?”

jackpot.

beomgyu’s high on a mix of adrenaline and dopamine, utterly giddy because he’s got you right where he wants you, where he needs you. he’s played his cards just right, shoved your worries to the side and drew out your curiosity enough that you’ve taken his bait. perfect, oh, this is perfect. he knew you’d be good for him.

“it would be much easier for me to show you.”

“then show me,” you immediately reply, heat flooding your cheeks at the sheer desperation in your voice. god, calm down. he hasn’t even done anything yet.

chuckling at your internal conflict, he decides not to comment. “tell me if you don’t like something. i’ll stop.” he watches as you slightly nod to yourself, a soft “okay,” echoing through your head and into his — thus, he sets his plan into action.

something warm caresses your calf, but when you look down, there’s nothing there. your eyes widen — was that a hand? it definitely felt like one, the way it creeped up the back of your leg, calloused fingertips pressing into your skin. a shiver races down your spine. that had to have been him.

“it was,” he confirms, then his voice is growing impossibly deeper, adopting that gruff edge that you love so much. “you want more, princess? i can give you more.”

another phantom hand skirts over your waist, dragging down over your hips to your right thigh, just to stop there. biting your bottom lip, you nod, hoping that whoever is in your head right now sees it, wherever he is. the hand moves to your inner thigh; despite how tightly pressed together they are, it skirts over your skin with ease, seemingly beneath your trousers. “i need words, pretty girl, or i might just stop right now. and we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

no, you wouldn’t, not at this point. the unbearable ache currently building in your core makes you want to cry; you haven’t felt this level of desperation in a while, and you need to be touched. you need it so fucking bad.

“please.” the single word comes out meek, quiet. shame flushes your face, a fiery heat that spreads up to your ears and down your neck.

you hear the way his breath shudders, causing your own hitch. “fuck, you’re so cute, but i need more than that. beg. beg for me to touch you.”

his voice — fuck, his voice is so deep, so dark and wanton. you wonder what he sounds like when he’s moaning, how he would sound if he fucked you, pounded you into the mattress so hard you saw stars. the image of a faceless stranger fucking you from behind, your back arched behind you and your face buried in the sheets, as he holds your wrists behind your back flits across the big screen of your mind. you shake it away, but the man in your head is already tutting. “use your words, sweetheart, not pictures — though i’d love to do that to you too. you’ve got quite the imagination on you.”

beomgyu’s cock twitches in his boxers as you whine, frantic pleas bubbling up from the deepest, darkest recesses of your mind once he takes the sensation of his hand away from your thigh. you sound halfway dumb already, begging for his hands, his cock, his tongue — anything. you’ll take anything just, “please, sir. please touch me. need you to touch me so bad.”

you don’t even know who he is, yet you’re being so obedient, calling him sir, begging so sweetly for him — it’s like you’re begging straight into his ear. his heart swells at the thought, as does his cock. you sound so pretty, but he finds himself wishing he could hear these words come from your lips instead.

“yeah? my little slut needs more?” he prods, laughing meanly when you whimper out a yes. “aw, ‘course she does. desperate whores always need more, don’t they? so greedy.”

you have to swallow down a whimper at that, focusing so intently on keeping quiet that your nails have dug into your palms deep enough to almost break skin. the pain seems to help keep you grounded — that is, until you feel the sting of a palm against your backside. you flinch in your seat, gasping sharply. the man sitting next to you glances over, but you only hang your head and shrink into yourself. he looks away.

“focus, whore. you’re drawing too much attention to yourself.”

two hands are touching you now. one cupping your pussy, the other wrapped around your throat, pressing into the sides of your neck so you start to grow dizzy. the hand on your throat releases its grip to slide down to your chest, circling around one of your nipples before a thumb swipes over the pebbled flesh. your back arches off of your seat when the sensation morphs into that of lips, plush warmth enveloping your tit before the sharp bite of teeth interrupts. you inhale a shaky breath from your nose as lips return to soothe the sting. despite the hard press of your thighs, the hand on your pussy drags up and down your folds, dipping down to your entrance before dragging up to your clit. a tiny squeak sneaks up your throat before you’re masking it with a cough.

“aren’t you just a sensitive little thing? so wet too,” he coos, shifting his briefcase over his lap to gain some semblance of friction. his fingertips tingle as if your wetness coats them right now. fuck, he’s hard. if it were up to him, you’d be taking his cock right now, moaning so prettily as he presses you up against the wall and fucks up into you, your legs giving out from under you because he’s just making you feel so good, isn’t he? never mind that, he has a job to do. “how about i just…”

two lithe fingers breach your walls while a thumb continues to slowly circle your clit, barely brushing over the sensitive bundle of nerves. you feel like you’re going insane, trying your best to hold still as his fingers begin to move inside you, curling up into your walls. searching, he’s searching for that spot inside you that will get you crying—

then he finds it.

your knee jerks up, your legs falling open slightly before you’re pressing them closed again as he abuses it over and over again, crooking his fingers just right to find it with each thrust. your hips roll up into the sensation, stilling as soon as you realize that you’re squirming too much, being too obvious. people are starting to stare, calm down. calm the fuck down.

god, you don’t think you can. it’s too difficult to keep still with the way he’s finger-fucking you right now. with the way there’s lips suddenly circling your clit, sucking the pearl in so that his tongue can play with it. little kitten licks that make you want to scream and cry and beg for mercy because you don’t know if you can keep up this front of normalcy with the way he’s touching you.

it’s like he’s speaking directly into your ear right now, warm breath fanning over your earlobe, your cheek. “wanna see you fall apart, wanna see you lose it in front of all of these people, baby. bet you wanna cum right now, yeah? just wanna feel good, don’t even care if you quake and cry in public? you’re that fucking desperate for it?”

you nod to yourself, eyes squeezing shut. you’re so close. oh god, you’re going to cum. you’re going to cum like a brainless whore in the middle of a fucking subway car. you’re sick. you’re fucking sick for enjoying this.

you’re just as bad as him, beomgyu decides. he knew you’d like what he could give you, he knew you needed him. it was just a matter of time before you realized that fact. that’s okay, because he needs you just as badly. it’s a carnal need, white hot in the center of his stomach — fuck, he’s obsessed with you. he wants you to be his forever.

and beomgyu knows you’re close, but he’s not quite ready to give you what you want.

“please, oh god. please let me cum. fuckfuckfuck— no, please don’t stop!” you cry as he slows the pace of his fingers. “please no, ‘m so close! no no no—”

“you drive me crazy, it’s only fair if i return the favor. makes it more fun.” ripping the sensation away from you completely, he watches you bottom lip tremble as you blink back tears, your body melting into your seat as the pleasure fades away. “now, now, don’t cry, sweetheart. i have something even better for you.”

a few seconds pass before something breaches your entrance, your walls stretching to their limit, yet the sting of pain never arrives. filled to the brim, you throw your head back against the window behind you. to others, you seem to just be resting your eyes, but the way your mouth falls open is not lost on beomgyu. he knows you can feel him everywhere, knows you can feel the way the head of his cock nearly touches your cervix, how it presses into every single sensitive spot inside you. he knows he’s big, but you take it like a champ, your hips grinding down into the seat, as if to bring him deeper inside you. what a little whore, his little whore.

“y’feel that, pretty girl? feel my big fucking cock inside you?” he asks as your chest heaves, a feeble attempt in holding yourself together. “calm down, now. i’m gonna start moving, okay?”

he doesn’t wait for your response before he’s spoon-feeding you the sensation of his cock pulling out until nothing but his cockhead remains within your walls. a few seconds pass, then your begging returns. tearful, this time, fucking pathetic. he basks in the power that rushes through his entire being. you need him. you need him in order to feel good, and he loves that you do. he brings a hand down to adjust himself in his pants, hissing quietly at the ache that the action brings. he needs to fuck you right now. physically fuck you, none of this thought manipulation bullshit — but no, he has to be patient. he can be patient as long as it’s you.

the subway is slowing down again, and he comes to the gross realization that he only has a few minutes before both of you must depart. dammit, he has to make this quick.

meanwhile, you’re already halfway to your high just at the mere feeling of him inside you. as soon as his cock begins to move again, you’re choking back moans, head hanging low as your muscles tense and your hands press into your lap. you can feel him in your throat each time he thrusts back in, his thrusts growing faster and faster until he’s pounding into you.

“fuck fuck fuckkkkk!” you wail, encouraging him to continue. in reality, your walls clench around nothing, but your mind paints a different picture. you almost beg for him to cum inside, but you cant find the words, too fucked out to think about anything else but the knot in your stomach that grows tighter with each passing second. “fuck, please. please, fuck i’m, nghh—”

imaginary fingers swipe across your clit, and you’re a goner.

thighs quaking, your release coats your panties, walls fluttering, but the movement of his cock doesn’t stop until you’re begging for mercy. beomgyu almost cums in his pants at the depraved wails you emit, half-baked sentences pleading for him to “s-slow down, please. i can’t, no, i can’t — shit!”

finally — finally — he grants you reprieve from the onslaught of pleasure. your body slumps into your seat, your eyes shut as you begin to float back down to earth. the clack-clack-clack of the subway slows until it stops completely. the usual robotic voice announces his stop, but you seem so out of it that you don’t even register that you need to get off.

“good job, baby. you put on quite the show for me,” he praises as he rises to his feet. luckily, he decided on wearing a longer coat today which he uses to cover up his raging hard-on. this has to be fate.

no response. with an excited gleam in his eye, he disconnects from your mind and moves towards you. looming above you, he drinks in the beads of sweat that have formed along your hairline, the wrinkles in your trousers where you gripped the fabric a wee bit too hard, your dreamy eyes and how they blink down at his black loafers before raising to meet his own. concern has painted itself across his features, his head tilting as he holds your bleary gaze.

“are you alright, miss? you look a bit ill.”

you blink once. twice. god, how are you so cute even after getting fucked so hard? he can barely control himself from blurting out who he is.

“what—what stop is this?” you ask him, eyes wide and red-rimmed from your earlier tears. he tells you, and he watches those same eyes widen. “oh shit, this is my stop!”

attempting to stand, you stumble straight into his chest. he catches you with gentle hands before he’s helping you steady yourself. your legs tremble like those of a newborn fawn, sexy yet terribly adorable. he gulps at the image of you unable to walk, legs so sore that you’re forced to let him dote on you, that forms inside his mind. later. that can come later, don’t get too hasty.

“oh, you’re a bit shaky there,” he murmurs, a hand curling around you elbow when you stumble again. “are you sure you’re alright?”

“i’m f-fine, sorry for the trouble,” you reply with a polite, yet jittery, smile, stepping away from him. he wants to tell you to come closer again, he wants to smell your sweet perfume again, feel your warm skin beneath his fingertips.

but good things come to those who wait.

“no worries.” with a charming smile, he shuffles beside you, until the two of you have exited with the rest of the crowd. he catches your wrist before you can get too far, and you turn to face him once more. afterglow looks wonderful on you. “it looks like we’re getting off at the same stop today, so would you like me to walk with you until you’re feeling a bit better? i’m sure some fresh air will do you good.”

you pause for a moment, hesitating. have you seen him somewhere before? you feel like you have. “i…that would be great, actually. thank you.”

“of course,” he nods, holding back a smirk. he can’t help the words that escape him next.

“lead the way, then…pretty girl.”

the way you look back at him with alarmed realization — even a hint of fear — causes a grin to split open his lips. you begin to sputter as you back away, but he merely follows with light, casual steps. “w-what, who—who are you—”

his smile grows knife-sharp. the door opens — it always does.

“aw, c’mon, sweetheart,” he coos inside your mind, biting his lip as he watches your knees buckle. “who else could it be?”

#txt smut #beomgyu smut #txt x reader #beomgyu x reader #txt imagines #beomgyu imagines #txt x you #txt x y/n #beomgyu x y/n #beomgyu x you #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #💌 — gyu #agust.nsfw

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zara-renata · 2 months ago

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The right hand, the left hand, the heart of Sylus Qin | ao3 | masterlist

Summary: Sylus meets with his legal counsel while the twins give you a tour of the base, you wake up from a dream, Sylus wastes some eggs, you attempt to get to know Sylus better, and you have your first 'date' with Sylus Qin. Part 16 of the Sylus series. Notes: Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, second person POV, some Sylus POV They/them pronouns used to describe reader, meant as a placeholder for your preferred pronouns. slow-burn friends-to-lovers. This story contains: a lot of fluff and patient, tender Sylus, despite the following: MC questioning their sanity, MC with self-esteem issues, MC in the death-throes of fear-driven denial regarding the possibility that maybe, just maybe, Sylus has been interested in them this entire fucking time, Aidan antics, twin antics, a little self-induced MC angst, mentions of violence, profanity, alcohol use, discussions of gray morality.

Sylus lets his bedroom door shut behind him, leaving you to dress, preparing to leave you in Luke and Kieran’s hands. His heart—so long an empty cavern, echoing the rapid-fire rhythm of its beat—clenches, jams. You’re just on the other side of the door, and you’re already too far.

The twins are leaning against the hallway wall on either side of the door. As he steps out, their heads snap up.

He pauses. “Show kitten around the base, wherever they want to go. Finish the tour with the guest wing.”

Kieran straightens. “Why the guest wing? Is your hunter not staying in your room?” He’s still hoarse from the previous night, and Sylus makes a mental note to get him some throat lozenges. It was your feral kitten who hurt him, after all, although it’s arguably also Kieran and Luke’s own fault for approaching a seasoned warrior in a notoriously dangerous area like a couple of serial killers. Which the twins are, but not in the typical sense of the term.

“Kitten hasn’t decided where to stay yet,” Sylus answers, secure in the knowledge that you will choose him. But he is serious about wanting to at least offer you the choice—of rooms. Because even if you choose another room to stay in, he intends to find his way there at the end of every day. You sleep much better when he’s around, after all. Even then, you’ll still have a choice—you can always try to kick him off the bed again. He’ll just sleep on the floor.

“Do you want us to fix that?” Luke asks hopefully. “We can flood that floor if you want. Whoops, all the rooms are out of order!” he feigns surprise, poorly.

Sylus snorts. “I have a feeling that if you tried to flood only the one floor, the whole base will end up underwater.”

“Is that a no?” Luke looks disappointed.

“That’s a no,” Kieran answers for Sylus. “Understood. We’ll show them all the entertainment options we have to incentivize a long stay, before we show them the guest rooms.”

Sylus nods. “Call me, if it looks like kitten is getting overwhelmed. Their last stay here… had unintended consequences.”

“Oh you mean when you starved them and forced them to resonate with you and threatened to leave them to die?” Luke asks, counting on his fingers and tilting his head.

Sylus sighs. “Yes, Luke. That’s what I mean.”

“Okay, then we’ll tell them all about how awesome you are so that they forget that you can also be a massive asshole,” Luke perks up.

Sylus just looks at him for a moment. Even with his aether core, it took him a while to get used to Luke’s particular brand of practical, blunt straightforwardness. So few people speak to Sylus with such raw honesty and fearlessness that spending time with Luke is always a refreshing palate cleanser after enduring meeting after meeting with intimidated, simpering fools who would turn around and slit Sylus’s throat if given half a chance. He tells himself that’s the only reason he tolerates such insubordination from this half of his right-hand man.

“Oh, that’s a sound plan Luke, well thought!” Kieran agrees, pleased with his other half.

“Just give them the tour and keep them company until I’m done.” Sylus learned long ago that attempting to corral the twins’ machinations is usually fruitless, but clear instructions tend to keep the fallout from being too disastrous.

The young men nod in unison. Sylus considers continuing to take his sweet time to get to his office, just to further infuriate the undoubtedly seething Aidan who is waiting for him. But then he remembers the last time he had to wade through a bunch of barking human beings at one of Aidan’s munches. He sniffs. He’d much rather get business over with and get back to you as quickly as possible. If Sylus wasn’t already keenly aware of how much your presence in his life is already changing him, he’d realize it now as he swallows his pettiness and teleports to his office, instead of making Aidan wait out of principle.

As he re-materializes in his office, Aidan turns from looking at the wall where a majority of Aidan’s fountain pens have ended up embedded, forming the image of a large happy face.

“How surprising that you didn’t throw them in the pattern of a skull emoji—” Aidan begins, until black-red tendrils materialize around his ankles and sweep him off his feet. They hold him dangling, headfirst. He lets out a little delighted squeal that makes Sylus wince.

“If you’re trying to discourage my insubordination in front of your paramour that you’re undoubtedly about to ream me for, I’m afraid it’s having the opposite effect,” his legal counsel grins happily, wriggling against the evol restraints.

Sylus comes to a stop in front of him so that they’re face to upside-down face, his thumbs hooked casually in his sleep pants pockets.

“Oh, I am aware,” he says in disgust. “But despite your interrupting a very pleasant moment with kitten, I feel that I owe you an apology for making you miss knitting club. So enjoy my mercy before we get down to business.”

“And people say you’re a monster,” Aidan continues grinning dopily at him.

“People are fools,” Sylus tsks. “Oh, before I forget. Speaking of interrupting my moment with kitten… they say that if you ever call them kitten again, they’ll tear out your tongue and make you eat it.”

Aidan’s eyebrows shoot up… or down, depending on your perspective. “They said that?”

Sylus considers lying, but he doesn’t want to mischaracterize you or your words to anyone. “Not the part about forcing you to eat it,” he admits. “But if kitten doesn’t, I’ll make you.”

Aidan just laughs. “I don’t believe your empty threats. My tongue’s too expensive for you to waste like that. Still… removing my tongue, huh,” he continues thoughtfully. “No wonder you’re so obsessed.”

Sylus turns, leisurely making his way to his desk as the evol tendrils bind Aidan’s wrists behind his back, jerk him upright, and then toss him onto one of the black leather couches in the office’s sitting area. They dissipate as Aidan snickers a little breathlessly.

“First the happy face. Now giving me a little treat instead of a lecture. I’ve never seen you in such a good mood.” Instead of sitting up like a proper employee showing deference to his employer, Aidan just stretches languidly across the couch and props his head up on a fist. “Although I’m still pissed that this is how you treat my pens,” he frowns, jerking his head back toward the impaled wall.

“I pay you enough to purchase all the pens you could ever want, plus the factory that makes them.” Sylus sits down at his desk, slouching behind the paperwork still strewn haphazardly over it that he abandoned after receiving the call from Luke informing him that you were running from him again.

“But what you do not pay me enough for is missing knitting club. The grandmas are going to give me hell the next time I go,” Aidan grumbles.

“I’m sure you can handle it,” Sylus drawls. “Now, if you’re done whining, let’s get through this so that I can get back to kitten.”

Aidan lets out a dramatic sigh and sits up, as if the effort is utterly exhausting. “Have you had a chance to look at the latest draft?”

Sylus flicks the messy stack of papers with his fingers and they go sailing with his evol to Aidan’s lap. Aidan lifts one page, a look of disdain on his face as he holds it so that he can look at Sylus through the neat hole punctured in it as a result of Sylus’s boredom with the pen.

“That’s what I think of the latest draft,” Sylus says.

Aidan tsks. “Good, that was my feeling as well. But you didn’t have to mutilate the damn thing.” He gathers the pages, trying to put them in order. “After I’m finished reprinting it,” he sighs dramatically again. “I’ll redline it and get it to them this week.”

Sylus just nods, staring out into the night through his office’s wall of windows. It’s not too foggy, so the N109 Zone’s skyline glitters menacingly, an undersea predator luring prey in the dark.

“Next order of business: FJB group’s CEO is hounding me again to arrange a face-to-face with you. He’s getting… aggressive.”

“Hardly surprising, considering the type of entitled scumbag he is,” Sylus scoffs. “I’m not interested in his offer. Keep ignoring him.”

“Sylus, I don’t think he’s the type of guy who will simply get the hint and slink back to his hole. Doing nothing will only embolden him.”

“Embolden him to do what? If he doesn’t get the message and tries to approach you directly, just eliminate him. I do not have the patience right now to play games with him.” He has much more interesting things to focus on, now that you’re in his bed, in his home, just down the hall. And this time he’s certain you’re right down the hall, and not sprinting through the night like a panicked deer. A deer capable of taking down wolves, but still, a deer all the same.

“That’s a bad call, and you know it,” Aidan argues. “He is strong enough to have an exclusive grip on the flesh trade. If you remove him, ten other would-be heads of the hydra will sprout and it will destabilize the Zone.That means more collateral damage.”

“An exclusive grip that he has only because I allow it,” Sylus snorts. “And what, more collateral damage than the people he traffics?”

Aidan gapes at him. “What has gotten into you? This is the reality of humanity. People are not going to stop exploiting each other, no matter how much of an iron fist you wield. The only thing you can do is ensure that you think strategically enough to minimize the inevitable harm.”

Sylus frowns. That is indeed what he has always thought. The depravity of humanity is such that eradication of human suffering is impossible, and no one person can save the world. People can hardly save themselves. Sylus himself has learned that lesson the hard way, over and over. It’s not his responsibility to save everyone. That is something that this version of you simply does not understand, and you’re vulnerable because of it. Someday, if Sylus doesn’t stop you, you’re going to get yourself killed because of your misguided sense of duty to strangers whose fate is being born to suffer. But knowing this version of you… thinking about how hard you take every loss, the way your already broken heart is chiseled further with every person you can’t save… his own assault rifle heart jams again.

The CEO of the FJB Group is just the type of person Sylus thinks you’d like to bathe your feet in the blood of, even if you hate admitting that to yourself. Sylus would happily string him up, field dress him like the pathetic prey he is, and let his corpse drain for your bathing pleasure.

But since you’re still having a hard time admitting that yourself, he’s worried that if he does, you might get mad. And Aidan’s right. If he kills this fuck, ten others will try to claw their way up to take the empty throne.

“Noted. Just keep ignoring him. If he still won’t take no for an answer, let me know.” Aidan looks relieved, until he continues. “But I’m going to rely on you more for the next few weeks. Handle everything you can without bothering me, unless you want to contact me in a personal capacity. Things are settled enough after cleaning house—I want to focus on personal matters for the foreseeable future.”

Aidan jerks to his feet but takes a deep breath. He begins to pace, hands folded behind his back. Sylus appreciates his self control, as he knows that his litigator’s instinct is to immediately counter-argue his disagreement.

He stops, turns to Sylus, huffs.

“Speak,” Sylus orders, lifting an eyebrow. Seeing Aidan flustered is always amusing, but Sylus is impatient to get back to you. Maybe he’ll be done quick enough to take over the tour himself.

“Are you sure this is a good idea? The risks…” Aidan begins, uncharacteristically hesitant.

“Whether it’s a good idea or not, it’s happening. The whole reason I’m here is finally in my bed. Everything else is secondary.”

Aidan looks pained. “I still don’t understand your single-minded fixation on this one person. This one person who happens to be a Deepspace Hunter, whose job mandate is to hunt you, in particular, and bring you down. There are literally thousands of other people in the world who would probably be thrilled to be in your bed. Why limit yourself to one, and to one who poses such a risk to everything you’ve built? To your very life?”

“Not all of us have such a low threshold for amusement that just anyone in their bed will do, like you,” Sylus clicks his tongue.

“It’s not about a low threshold of amusement. It’s being open to the possibility that each person you meet is a gift, containing an entire world, and the pleasure is opening the box to see what’s inside,” Aidan retorts, “You’re just a snob, and refuse to acknowledge that other people have rich inner lives, just like you do.”

“Save me your idealistic speeches about free love and the beauty of the human spirit. How you can come from where you’re from, handle the shit you handle in your line of work, openly acknowledge that humans are scum, and yet still enjoy them like little snowflake gift boxes, is simply beyond me.”

“I’m full of imagination,” Aidan sniffs.

‘You’re full of bullshit. You’re just easily bored and like to fuck,” Sylus baits him, knowing that Aidan is actually sincere.

“Excuse you!” Aidan does not disappoint. “How dare you—and what an accusation, coming from you, the man who can get bored in the middle of murdering someone. How do you even know that your obsession can retain your interest in the long run?” Aidan lobs back.

Sylus just smiles, with teeth. His fascination with you was already gigantic before he laid eyes on you again. It has only grown, the longer he gets to spend time with you. Your mix of strength and fragility. The unpredictability of your pleasure and your anxiety. Your blood thirst and your compassion. How can he ever get bored, when he has no idea what the next expression on your face will be? When he has no idea how you’ll manage to misinterpret the obviousness of his devotion to you, his endless patience, his worship?

“Oh god, never make that face again. I’m going to be sick. You’re so in love and I hate it,” Aidan gags exaggeratedly, like a cat hacking up a hairball.

“Then don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to,” Sylus advises.

Aidan hangs his head for a moment, hands on his hips. When he lifts it, he looks more serious than Sylus has seen him in awhile. “Joking aside, Sylus. How do you know that if things go south between you, the hunter won’t turn on you? This is a huge risk not only to you, but everyone you care about in this organization if you’re taken out.”

Sylus sits heavily back in his chair. He spins it a little, from side to side, as he thinks of how best to answer in a way that Aidan can understand. “I won’t let things go south between us. I will do whatever it takes to make my kitten happy, so that they’re never tempted to turn on me.”

“Even you can’t guarantee that. Love is messy, and it’s so close to hate. Especially when you begin that love with torturing them and using your evol on them without their permission,” Aidan says, wincing, as if he’s regretful about being so brutally honest.

“I have plans in place to protect the people who need protecting, in case I fuck up so badly that my beloved is driven to taking me out. And if it comes to that, I’ll deserve it,” Sylus sighs. He appreciates Aidan’s concern, but every minute he spends expressing that care is another minute that Sylus is kept from being near you. “Let me worry about the risks. Your job is to keep the empire running while I fortify the foundation that will prevent your worries from coming to pass.”

Aidan looks like he wants to say something else, but after a moment, his shoulders slump. “We just got you back. Don’t get yourself in trouble again. And of course. You don’t have to worry about the rest.” He straightens. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some puppy tails to pull.” He flicks a little wave in Sylus’s direction. “I’ll see myself out. Toodaloo!”

Just as he’s reaching the door, Sylus remembers the last thing he wanted to ask of his left hand man.

“Aidan.” Aidan jerks to a halt, and turns around, eyes narrowed, as if he can sense that whatever Sylus is about to ask will be a huge headache. “Set up a meeting with my architect, and get me a list of names.”

Aidan just stares at him for a beat. “Do I even want to know what type of names?”

“Experts in wildlife conservation. Particularly of the sealife variety.”

“You want a meeting with your architect and a sealife conservationist.” Aidan says flatly.

Sylus just stares at him.

“May I ask why?”

Sylus shows his teeth again. “I’ve been informed that the base needs an aquarium for orphaned and injured fish.”

Aidan gapes, but then rolls his eyes so hard that Sylus is worried they’ll get stuck. “I’m thrilled that your hunter makes you so happy. Really. Just thrilled. But I’m starting to get the feeling that they’ll also be the death of me, whether they take my tongue or not.”

“Spare me your editorializing and just get it done,” Sylus forestalls further whining. He’s getting increasingly impatient to get back to you.

Aidan groans, because he views it as a moral imperative to always make sure that everyone within a five kilometer radius understands the terrible sacrifices he must make as Sylus’s lawyer. “Fine . You’ll have your list by the end of the week. But I’m leaving before you can transmit any more demands from your kitten.” He sweeps out of the room in a huff and the door slams behind him.

Sylus sits for a moment as the door swings shut. He takes Aidan’s concern seriously, but even his furiously spinning mind has a hard time planning for a scenario where you turn on him. Not in this life, at least. He doesn’t want to dwell on the past when the current you, so utterly sweet, so pliant in his arms, all of your spikes withdrawn for him and him alone, is walking around in his lair, with no plans to leave for the foreseeable future. He wants to rest too, while you’re here. He doesn’t want to think about the past, or a future he has yet to secure. He simply wants to be with you.

He doesn’t want to waste another minute. He stands and heads to the door.

You wake up.

All at once, on a gasp. Your heart is pounding. You’re aching, aching, because you just woke up from a dream you can’t remember and the only things that remain are the feeling of pleasure, of security, of desire reciprocated.

You lie there, eyes still closed, hoping that you’ll be able to re-access the dream—maybe if you can fall back asleep quickly enough, you can pick up the severed thread again, return to whatever was giving you that feeling of a feast when you’re famished, a waterfall when you thirst, the weight of another’s body on you, in you, filling you so completely it eclipses that constant emptiness you carry with you through all of your days.

But despite all of your yearning, all of your effort, you can’t return to whatever you were dreaming about. Only that feeling remains—safety. The certainty that you’re utterly cherished. That all of your worries from last night were simply little nightmares, extinguished upon your waking.

You remember where you are. Who you’re staying with. Who you were anguished about as you imagined him taking another to his bed. It all seems so silly now—you talking yourself into being sad, with no reason at all to believe that he would do so, when you’re the one he has invited into his home, you’re the one he wraps himself around at every opportunity, you’re the one who he insists he wants in his bed.

What a strange sense of double vision, or cognitive dissonance. Wishful thinking. Delusional fantasy. You know that there was a reason you were worried that Sylus would be seeing other people while you stay with him. But you’re now utterly convinced that such a worry is completely unfounded, so absurd as to make you laugh out loud. But you have no idea why you have this certainty now. It feels like someone reached inside your brain and flipped a switch, and though there was a logical reason to worry, you can no longer bring yourself to believe that Sylus would ever want another in his bed.

You feel insane.

You open your eyes, expecting to see the white canopy of the swinging garden fuck-bed above you, but you see the black, ornately carved ceiling of Sylus’s bedroom instead. You are certain you fell asleep in the greenhouse. How the hell did you wind up back in Sylus’s bed? The feeling of unreality intensifies.

You turn your head and feel an immediate sense of calm wash over you as you see Sylus sitting next to you, his glorious chest no longer bare, but clothed in a simple black sweater, his gold-rimmed reading glasses perched on his sexy hooked nose. He has his tablet in one hand. He looks down at you, one corner of his mouth lifted, and you have the most intense sensation that you know what his lips feel like. That you could map his tongue, recognize it by the feel of it in your mouth if you were blindfolded, its heft and insistence between your lips.

You feel insane.

“Finally awake, kitten?” he asks, nonchalantly. He reaches down and brushes his fingertips along your cheek.

“How did I get here?” you ask, trying desperately to push the feeling of being pressed beneath his beautiful body into something soft out of your mind. Of soft silver fur under your hands. His voice— Yes, Beloved?

“The better question is why weren’t you here to begin with?” he snorts softly.

“What?”

He continues to look at you with that amused, barely-there smile. “Not fully awake, huh. Why did you go to the greenhouse when you were tired, when you had assured me that you would stay in my bedroom while you're here?”

You look away, back to his ceiling. The elaborate moulding is as extra as the rest of his place, but it’s so beautiful, you can hardly fault him for his preference for lovely things. If you can afford it, why not surround yourself with beauty? You just wish it wasn’t such an oppressive black. But it belongs to Sylus—he chose it, so you think you could tolerate it forever, given the whisper of a chance.

You don’t want to answer his question. But that sense of security, assurance, safety , remains with you, even as you fail to comprehend where the fuck it could have come from. You feel brave enough to ask the question that was torturing you before you fell asleep. “Can you give me plenty of advance warning if you’re going to invite someone over for…” you hesitate, trying to think of a more mature way of saying “sexy fucking fun times.” Nothing comes. “For fucking? I don’t want to get in the way,” you finish, lamely. But the thought of him actually wanting to fuck anyone else strikes you as so absurd that it doesn’t even hurt to say it out loud. You don’t think you even need to ask this question anymore, because you already know the answer.

But that’s insane. And you’re a lot of fucking things, but you think you’re pretty well-grounded in reality. You’re hyper-aware of reality—the reality of being you, with all of your flaws, your broken pieces barely held together, which is part of your whole goddamn problem. If you were oblivious to your own weaknesses, to the reality of living in such a cruel world while being a walking open wound, you could strut around like a mediocre white man and feel entitled to everything, including Sylus’s exclusive affection.

“Is that why you snuck off to the greenhouse, instead of coming to nap in my bed like we agreed?” He sets his tablet aside.

“I never agreed,” you mumble, thinking about how he had said that if you found a room you liked better, you had a choice of where to stay. That conversation was left open-ended. There was never a deal.

“A technicality,” he dismisses your protest. “Unless you found a room that you like better?” he asks archly, setting his glasses on top of the tablet and leaning down, running his nose along your cheek.

Nothing has changed. No room, not even the greenhouse with its life and relief from the oppressive marble halls of his base, is more appealing than any room where Sylus is. You shake your head, and his lips brush the edge of your mouth.

“But you were worried about me bringing other people to my bed, even though I have everything I want right here already,” he murmurs.

You close your eyes against the onslaught of sensations—his warmth, his scent, the feel of his skin on yours. You don’t want to admit it, but now that your bizarre certainty has been confirmed, it feels silly to pretend otherwise. “Yeah. I didn’t want to… I didn’t want to get in the way.”

“So that’s the reason you ran, again?” he asks, sinking lower, getting comfortable on his side facing you.

You just nod instead of answering, and it’s not because you want to feel his lips on your skin again.

“Come to me next time, when you’re worried about something like that,” he demands, but it feels like a plea.

That sense of safety is filling you, making you brave. You want to bottle it so that you can drink it every time you feel insecure in the future, despite how nuts it’s making you feel. “Okay,” you agree quietly.

“Thank you, darling,” he smiles fully, and it’s so soft, you could die.

But hearing him say “darling” is like a gunshot next to your ear while you’re sleeping—you’re slammed into another reality, the sensation of Sylus’s hands on you, gripping your waist—his heavy body pressing yours into warm sand, sucking on his tongue, reveling in the feeling of a part of him filling you up—

You can’t. You can’t. You’re delusional, no matter how real the memory feels.

“Darling,” you choke, trying so hard to sound unaffected. “That’s new.”

“Do you dislike it?” he asks, brushing some hair from your cheek, resting his hand on the side of your head, thumb drifting along the line of your jaw.

You love it. You want him to repeat it, over and over, until you forget your own name. “I suppose it’s better than ‘kitten,’” you grumble.

“But I thought that you were okay with being called kitten, as long as it was me doing the calling,” he teases.

You scowl at him.

“Then, darling,” he pauses dramatically, like the big drama queen he is. “Was the only reason you ran, again, because you were worried I wouldn’t warn you if I had a guest? Nothing else was distressing you?”

No matter how safe you feel, no matter how assured you are now that for as long as you’re in his home, he doesn’t want anyone else around but you—you can’t bring yourself to admit this to him. You can hardly admit it to yourself. Not wanting him to be with others implies a sense of ownership, and you know that he is not yours. In any way, shape, or form. How can you be possessive of something that doesn’t and never will belong to you? It does not matter how much even thinking that he doesn’t belong to you sends a feeling of wrongness through you that is almost physically painful.

You shake your head.

“No, nothing else was bothering you? Or no, I lose this round of the guessing game?” He watches you for a few moments, the movement of his thumb so soft against your skin.

“I win,” you say, feeling wobbly, feeling safe, feeling unhinged, feeling invincible. He doesn’t belong to you, he wants you and only you, As if I would ever want anyone else in my bed, now that you’ve been in it. You can hear his voice in your head, saying things that you don’t dare dream of him saying.

“Not ready yet, then,” he says, and it almost sounds sad. But his face doesn’t change. “Well, there will be other rounds of our game,” he says lightly, a clear transition. He’s letting it go, and you are relieved. “In that case, are you hungry?”

Hell, if you’re in the process of losing your mind, you might as well do it on a full stomach.

“I could eat a horse,” you answer, trying to match his light tone.

“That can be arranged. But I’m rather attached to the ones in my stables, so we’ll have to outsource your request,” he says, one sharp canine peeking from behind his top lip.

“Sylus!” You’re horrified. “It’s just an expression.”

“I told you that you could have anything. You have only to ask,” he shrugs.

Now you’re horrified and curious. “Have you eaten horse before?”

The canine gleams in the dim light of the lamp on his nightstand. “There are few things that I haven’t eaten, darling.” His hand moves from the side of your head, down, until he slips one long finger between your throat and his tie still secured there. He tugs, gently. You remember that you don’t have any of your own clothes, and you’re still wearing his. “There are places where eating horse is as customary as eating beef. But I never really cared for it.”

“That’s a relief, somehow,” you say, even though it’s ridiculous to mourn the horses that fed him, when you ate the steak he served you earlier with such enjoyment. It’s all cruel, in the end—the necessity of survival which depends on another’s suffering. Your heart hurts, so you reach up and rub it. His blood-bright eyes follow the movement of your hand.

“My tender-hearted kitten,” he whispers, with that same strange sad tone in his voice. “Sometimes we must do things to survive that deprive another of life. Do you also mourn the wanderers you have to kill?”

You look down at his strong throat, the pale, soft skin there. So thin, fragile, with his fast pulse beating beneath. “Sometimes, when they’re particularly beautiful. When it’s so obvious that they’re only following their nature, and that their violence isn’t a result of cruelty, like people. They’re just made that way.”

“So you don’t regret the people you have to kill?”

You would like to lie, and say that you regret it deeply. That you’re as generous toward your fellow humans as you are toward wild beasts, to the beef on your plate. But you promised Sylus you’d be honest with him, if to no one else. You shake your head.

“Sometimes, the sense of satisfaction I get when I’m forced to put down someone I know who has done horrible things—” you whisper, closing your eyes. “It’s frightening.”

“Kindred spirits,” Sylus’s deep voice, the warmth of his breath, envelop you.

Are you and he really so alike? You had snarled at him, when you first met him, that you and he were not the same, that you would never be the same. You had snarled it at yourself, as much as at him. You open your eyes, and his eyes are all you can see. He looks so happy, hearing you admit the worst of yourself. You realize that you hardly know anything about this man. His past. His family. What he was like as a child. His hobbies, if he even has any. All you know is that he is a killer, a businessman. And that he touches you with the tenderness of a man handling something priceless. That’s all. Yet here you are, his hands on you, still gently tugging on a tie wrapped around your throat. Here you are, so attached to him already that the thought of him bedding another feels like your aether core mutilated heart is shredding itself. How did this happen?

You want to know everything about him. You tell yourself that it’s not because you’re ravenous to unravel his mystery, to be sated from the knowing, and cherish him the more for it. You tell yourself that maybe, the more you learn, the more your heart will ease, and familiarity will breed contempt. Maybe you’ll be able to let him go when this is over, if you know all the ugly parts of him, all of his annoying traits like everyone has. You decide to ask him about when the fake dating will start, so that you’ll have an excuse to ask him to share as much as he’s willing about himself with you, as he practices sharing himself with his beloved.

As if I would ever want anyone else in my bed, now that you’ve been in it.

You shake your head. You’re not his beloved. Why wouldn’t he just tell you, if you were?

Would you have believed me, if I had told you that I wasn’t behind your family’s murder?

You close your eyes again. You feel insane.

I expect you to remember what you just said, when this is over.

You can’t. You can’t. If you’re wrong—

You open your eyes again. You’re here now. You’re here now, and he has the tail of the tie clasped softly in his palm, and he’s gently pulling it so that it tightens on your throat, a hair’s breadth, and then releases. It feels good. You want him to pull harder. You want to know everything about him, and forget everything else. You’re in a dream, and you don’t have to wake up yet. You’re not insane. It’s just the certainty one sometimes has in a dream—you know something to be true, even though you don’t know how you know. Sylus wants you, and only you with him right now. You’re going to indulge.

“To be clear, I don’t want you to serve me horse,” you tell him, pulling back a little so that the tie tightens against your throat again. He inhales sharply, but the corner of his mouth lifts.

“As you wish. Let’s go to the kitchen. You can choose something that you do want me to serve you.” He pulls a little harder on the tie and you let out a soft gasp.

You want him to curl it around his fist, pull you to him, devour you in a way you feel like you know, with a strange certainty, that he would. But you can’t tell him that. Not yet. If you’re wrong—

You open your eyes. Sylus’s face is flushed, his bright eyes narrowed on the tie, on your throat.

“I want to go to the kitchen, but I don’t have any of my own clothes,” you say softly, needing desperately to break this spell before you do something that you can’t take back.

Sylus looks confused for a moment. “Do you need your own clothes?”

“Do you want me to walk around in your oversized clothes the whole time I’m here?”

“I wouldn’t mind at all, but I don’t need it. Did you not find anything to your liking from the selection of clothes in your size in the dressing room?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow. “I know you’re spoiled, but I didn’t realize to this extent,” he says, not sounding displeased at all.

“What clothes?”

Something in Sylus’s face changes. “Did you not… explore the dressing room?”

You shake your head. “Mephisto was watching me, and I didn’t want to upset him by touching anything I shouldn’t,” you shrug. “So I just grabbed what I could see.”

Sylus laughs softly. “Why would Mephisto get upset by you touching anything in this house?”

“Because it’s your house, and I’m an interloper, and he squawked at me when he saw me touching your ties.”

“And yet you’re wearing one.” His eyes flick down to your neck again.

“Okay, so I was being petty after he squawked.”

Sylus pinches the bridge of his nose. “So you thought I didn’t arrange for you to have clothes you’d be comfortable in. And you thought that Mephisto was… surveilling you.”

You’re confused. “Um, is that not the case? And then you sent the twins to show me around to make sure I don’t go anywhere I’m not supposed to.” At his pained look, you rush on. “I get it. You probably have a lot of valuable stuff in here, and just the intel about the layout of your base is probably even more valuable.”

Sylus sighs and drops his hand. “Do you trust me?”

You stare at him. Do you trust him? You let your eyes drift from his beautiful eyes, to his regal nose. His soft silver hair sweeping messily over his forehead. Would you be here, lying in his bed in his criminal headquarters at the pinnacle of the N109 Zone, if you didn’t trust him? He apologized for hurting you when you first met, and promised never to do so again. He’s been nothing but kind to you since those first long days with him. He’s promised never to use his evol on you without your permission. He said that once given, he never breaks a promise. And you believe him. Of course you trust him.

“Yeah, Sylus, I trust you,” you say softly.

“Okay,” he says, sitting up, pulling the tie gently with him so that you come too. You sit, legs tucked under yourself, as Sylus sits on his own knees, and very gently begins to untie the tie. The silk whispers along your skin as it falls away from your throat. He then lifts it slowly, watching your reaction. But you just sit still, letting him sweep it across your eyes as he blindfolds you, securing it at the back of your head. It’s comfortable.

You feel him take your wrist and tug softly, and you go with him. Your feet hit the soft rug, and you follow where he leads, enjoying the warmth of his calloused hand on your wrist, enjoying the mystery of where he’s leading you.

After an unexpectedly short amount of time, he stops. You feel cold as the warmth of his body disappears, and you hear what sounds like doors opening, or cabinets. He returns to you, and his delicious scent fills your senses. He undoes the knot, and the tie falls away.

You’re in his dressing room, towards the back where you didn’t venture earlier. Door after closet door is open, and you see rack after rack, shelf after shelf—clothes that look like the ones you have at home. Athletic wear. Hoodies. Comfortable clothes you would wear on your days off. But also clothing that you don’t have in your own closet—formal wear. Club clothes. Expensive fabrics. Pair after pair of a variety of sneakers, boots, dress shoes.

“New rule. The next time you are faced with two possibilities—when you think that what you perceive could be negative, but could also be positive, try to consider that the positive is true,” he says gently, placing his big hands on your shoulders and leaning down a little to meet your gaze. “I had Luke and Kieran fetch some things from your home that I thought would make you feel at ease here. The earring. The plushie you hug the most often. Your phone charger. Your laptop is in my office. But I didn’t want them to go through all of your things, and they have no interest in invading your privacy. I was hoping you can make do with new clothing that I thought you’d like, as well as your own care products while you’re here. If you’re missing anything, just tell me, and I’ll arrange for it to be sent.”

As he speaks, you feel your eyes getting hot—in dawning horror, you realize that you’ve started to cry. Why the fuck are you crying? You don’t want him to see, but you’re helpless under his big hands keeping you grounded. You take a big, shuddering breath. All of this kindness hurts. But Sylus isn’t done hurting you.

“And Mephisto isn’t following you to surveil you. He’s programmed to greet you, and to follow you in case you need backup and company. If you don’t have your phone on you, you can still reach me, wherever you are in the house, through him. There’s also an app on your phone for you to change his settings if you want. If you don’t like his voice module, you can make him meow.” Sylus slowly pulls you to him, looking down into your face. He thumbs the tears from your cheeks, brings them to his mouth, and rubs the moisture across his bottom lip. He then pulls you closer, hugging you tightly to his chest. “And I sent Luke and Kieran with you to see the house because the last time you were here, you were really scared. Since I had to meet with Aidan, I didn't want you to be alone, but also didn’t want to force you to sit caged in my room until I could show you around.”

You press your face into his chest, breathing against his rapid heartbeat, feeling all the anxiety and sadness of the tour and return to the greenhouse draining out of your body.

He leans down and presses a kiss to your bowed head. “If you’re unsure of my intentions, even after all this—if you consider the positive possibility and can’t quite believe it, then just ask me,” he says softly into your hair. “There’s no need to torture yourself with me.” He lifts your chin, and his barely there smile lifts his mouth. “That’s my job. And there will be no doubt when I actually intend to torment you.”

You smile through your stupid embarrassing tears, laugh a little wetly. “It’s true. Subtlety isn’t your strong suit.”

“You know that much, at least.”

“How could I miss it?” you ask.

“Good fucking question. How could you possibly miss so much?” he nudges your forehead with his forefinger.

You scowl at him. You feel light. And with the relief, comes the hunger. “Didn’t you promise to feed me? I’m starving,” you gripe, refusing to think about what else you’re missing.

I can promise you that whomever you’re thinking my 'crush' is, it’s not the person you're thinking of.

The only way he could have promised that is if he knew that you’d never consider yourself a possibility.

And Sylus says he always keeps his promises.

“Well, I can’t let my spoiled kitten get any more hungry,” he interrupts your thoughts.

You shake your head. “It would be terrible if I end up having to eat you because I’m so hungry,” you tease, but he just lifts his eyebrows as if intrigued.

“Would it be so terrible though?” he asks. You pull back and gently push him toward the door.

“Go, make me something delicious while I get dressed,” you order him with a laugh.

“I see how it is— just a little reassurance, and suddenly you’re bold enough to give me orders." He tucks his thumbs into the pockets of his black, worn looking jeans. “Finally,” he says, looking incredibly satisfied, before disappearing in a whoosh of air, scarlet-ink mist, and feathers that float gently toward you before falling to the floor.

You turn, sighing happily at the sight of all of these new clothes stretching before you. You don’t deserve this. You’ve never been a big shopper. Budget too tight, too much ammo and manga to buy instead, when you practically live in your hunter uniform. But you spotted some yoga wear from a brand that is wildly expensive but makes the softest, best fitting shit you’ve ever put on your body. You shake yourself. Indulge. Indulge. Indulge.

After you’ve checked your bandages and cleaned up a bit in the bathroom, you drift through the base and find Sylus in the kitchen, as promised. Soft lighting from floor lamps and recessed fixtures hold back the N109 Zone’s night stretching beyond the kitchen’s large windows. Soft classical music accompanies the sound of Sylus digging around in the huge fridges, the clatter of a pan placed on the gas burning stove.

“So you’ll be cooking personally for me today? Not your chef?”

“Not my chef,” Sylus confirms. “I’m the the chef today,” he smiles slightly. “Sit.” He points to the bar stool on the other side of the massive kitchen island.

“I can cook,” you protest. At Sylus’s doubtful look, you defend yourself. “It’s true. I can cook. Xavier loves it when I have the time and energy to make something and invite him over, because it’s fucking hard to cook for only one person,” you say mournfully, suddenly worried about how Xavier will feed himself while you’re not there to ensure he eats vegetables along with his ramen. But he survived long before he became your partner. He’s a big boy, you tell yourself.

“Oh, I bet he does,” Sylus says under his breath. “And I am cooking because I thought you would want to give your abused feet a break.”

You squint at him. “They hurt, but they’re still functioning.”

“Again, just because they’re functioning doesn’t mean you have to use them more than necessary. And I believe you when you say you can cook. But do you actually like to cook? Or do you feel like you have to, because it’s cheaper than delivery?” Sylus asks, breaking an egg into a bowl. “While you’re here, I don’t want you to do anything that you don’t actively enjoy doing. You’re not here to survive. You’re here to recover.”

You’re so touched by his words that it takes a moment for you to get your mouth to answer him. Something’s wrong with your eyes again, and your throat is suddenly tight. You clear it. “Definitely the latter,” you admit, thinking of a million other things that you’d rather be doing than cooking yet another meal. You often wish you could just slurp all your nutrition from a pouch and be done with it. “But I do like baking. That doesn’t count as cooking, because the result is fun.”

Sylus laughs softly. “Then when you feel up to it, you can teach me how to bake your favorite things, because that’s something I never really do. In the meantime, when chef isn’t here and whatever she’s left behind in the fridge for heating up isn’t to your taste, I’ll cook for you. Deal?”

You watch Sylus’s big hands gently crack more eggs, grind some salt and pepper in the mixture, fling a little bit of butter onto the now hot pan. You could get used to this beautiful creature preparing meals for you. And you could get used to baking delicious things, and feeding each bite to him by hand. You’re here now. You’re going to indulge. “Deal,” you smile. “But while you’re doing that, I need coffee. Can you point me in the direction of your coffee shit, coffee maker, and mugs?”

Sylus pauses. “I don’t have a coffee maker.”

You stare at him. “What do you mean you don’t have a coffee maker.”

“I mean, I have a french press. But I don’t have a drip coffee maker.”

You squint at him. “You have a fucking ice rink in your villain HQ, and you don’t have a coffee maker? You make your coffee, by hand, every morning? Do you also insist on hand grinding the beans with a mortar and pestle every time you want a cup? Are you as much of a coffee snob as a wine snob?”

“Aren’t you sharp-tongued for a kitten who is depending on me for its caffeine fix.” Sylus sounds infinitely amused.

“I’m just consistently in awe of all of this means you have at your disposal, and yet you do nothing with it. And I’m assuming that since you don’t have a normal coffee maker, you’re also too much of a snob to have one of those fancy as fuck espresso machines that can make whipped foam, along with an entire fleet of flavor syrups on tap.” As you talk, you become more distressed. “Oh my god, Sylus. You’re a hipster billionaire. You’re like, the worst of everything wrong with our capitalist society,” you say forlornly. Why can’t you be nuts about a normal man? What’s wrong with a guy with a tidy little flat and a drip coffee maker? A nice accountant whose only crime is jaywalking, maybe a little tax evasion, for a treat, every year when filing. But no, you want to have the stuck up edgelord who can explode people with his mind and who thinks even professional espresso machines are too plebeian for his refined taste buds.

Sylus is just staring at you, an eyebrow lifted. “What I hear you saying is that you want a fancy as fuck espresso machine. Is that correct?”

You sigh in resignation. Your heart wants what it wants. “What you hear me saying is, okay, Sylus, where is the french press, the coffee beans, the grinder I’ll no doubt have to grind them with, and your mugs?”

“The espresso machine will be here when you wake up tomorrow. As for the french press, beans, grinder, and mugs…” he smirks at you as he points to one of the cupboards over the long, black marble kitchen counter.

You slip from the stool and go to open the indicated cabinet, finding the promised french press and tasteful glass jar of whole coffee beans. Of course even his storage containers are fancy and pretty. But you stop short, as you notice Caleb’s gift and the CUNT mug sitting on the shelf next to the coffee supplies.

You blink. You blink, and turn to look at Sylus, who is now busy scrambling the eggs. “You brought Caleb’s mug,” you breathe.

“I told you, I wanted you to have the things here that make you comfortable,” Sylus shrugs, not turning away from the eggs.

You could cry again. The thoughtfulness of this asshole takes you by surprise, every single time. But you don’t want to cry. You want to enjoy. You whip around and march over to Sylus, who is still serenely stirring the eggs. You peek around to catch his eye, ensuring that he knows you’re there. His red gaze flicks to you for a moment, returns to the eggs. You then step behind him and wrap your arms around his waist, resting your head against his broad back.

Your warning must have been successful. He doesn’t throw you to the floor, or even stiffen—his shoulders seem to relax, and he leans back a little, as if trying to sink into your hug. He puts the hand not stirring the eggs on your forearm, as if to hold you there.

“Thank you,” you whisper, squeezing tighter.

“It’s nothing,” he says, as the scent of butter and eggs, the soft sound of cellos, the dark night and warm lamplight surround the two of you.

“It’s everything,” you counter.

“You deserve to be harder to please,” Sylus grumbles, turning off the burner. He turns, and you try to step away, but he keeps his hold on your forearm until he’s fully facing you. He leans down and scoops you into his arms, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist. He then just stands there, hugging you tightly to him. You hug him back, resting your chin on his shoulder, eyes closed to better soak in the feeling of just holding him, of being held.

“Your eggs will get cold,” he says after a while, regretfully.

You just squeeze him harder. You’ve eaten worse.

You feel him laugh softly, your chest vibrating with his amusement. “As you wish."

Suddenly, the moment is shattered with a ruckus like a herd of elephants pounding down the hallway, along with a crash, gleeful laughter and yelps.

“Cheater, tripping is cheating, cheater cheater cheater!” Luke roars.

“The first rule of race club is there are no rules in race club,” Kieran bellows, voice closer to the doorway, until suddenly it’s filled with two grown, grappling men, big biceps straining as they each try to prevent the other from entering the kitchen first.

“No… you… don’t!” Luke pants, wrapping his arm around Kieran’s neck in a chokehold and trying to drag him back into the hallway.

“Oww, my throat, Luke, my throat still hurts,” Kieran whines. Luke looks stricken and immediately lets go, only to find himself shoved back further into the hallway as Kieran cackles and comes careening into the kitchen, socked feet sliding along the smooth, marble floor until he crashes into the kitchen island. He lets out a loud whoop, throwing his arms in the air. “Kitchen-race champion, kitchen-race champion,” he chants as Kieran scowls at him from the doorway.

“That was a dirty trick,” he seethes. “You know I wouldn’t ever want to really hurt you.”

“I keep telling you that you’re too gullible,” Kieran smiles at him fondly. “You know all is fair in love and the kitchen race game.”

“Some love,” Luke snorts, and then his eyes widen as he seems to notice you and Sylus behind the kitchen island for the first time. You turn to look at Sylus, but his eyes are on your face, as if he hasn’t stopped looking at you the entire time you’ve taken in the twins’ skirmish, as if what just occurred is daily life at Onychinus HQ and not even worth looking at. You glance back at the twins.

Kieran turns his head to follow Luke’s gaze and then straightens as if at attention. “Oh, apologies boss! We didn’t know you were…” he takes in how you’re attached to Sylus like a koala. “You were preoccupied in here.”

You look back at Sylus, but he just stares at you. Okay, if he’s not going to say anything, you will. “We’re not preoccupied. Sylus was just making eggs.” You cough a little. “Sylus, you can put me down now.”

He just hugs you tighter.

“Eggs? Oh, can we have some? I’m starving after my big stupid cheater of a brother scared the shit out of me by acting hurt,” Luke grumbles, sending Kieran a dirty look. Kieran holds out his hand, and despite his indignation, Luke slides into the kitchen on his socks like an ice skater and takes Kieran’s hand, who then wraps his brother’s arm around his own shoulders.

“Let that be a lesson. How to fake out your opponent, and how not to be so gullible, even with me.” Kieran reaches over and rubs his fist into Luke’s bouncing curls. Luke ducks his head and sweeps Kieran into a chokehold again, who just laughs. “That’s it,” he crows, and the two tussle like a couple of puppies.

“I can’t make coffee if you won’t let me go,” you say softly to Sylus amidst the racket the twins are making.

“Do you really want to make coffee now?” he asks, turning, setting you on the counter and simply standing between your legs. You’re getting the feeling that he likes this position, because it puts your face a little closer to his if the surface you’re sitting on is high enough.

“Why wouldn’t I?” you ask curiously.

“It’s getting late again. Between the tour and your nap, it’s closer to the time I go to bed now. You’ll be up all night if you have caffeine now.”

“Then why didn’t you say so when I first asked about the coffee?” You tilt your head.

Sylus just looks bored. You’re learning that he does this when he isn’t interested in answering you, when you’re most interested in the answer. Suddenly it dawns on you. “You wanted me to see the mugs.”

He just lifts his hand and fiddles with the hem of the soft long sleeved shirt you’re wearing. “Now you know where they are, in case I’m not around,” he shrugs.

You lean forward, placing both of your palms on his cheeks. He sucks in a breath, but stays still. “Thank you,” you say.

“You’ve already said that, and I’ve already said it’s nothing,” he answers, his stubble shifting under your hands.

“If we’re not going to have coffee, and it’s almost time to go to bed again, what did you have in mind for after we eat?” you ask, running your thumbs under his lovely eyes, indulging, indulging, not worrying about anyone else, not worrying about tomorrow or the day after. There is only today, every day, until this is over.

“What do you want to do?” he asks, leaning in, letting you pet him.

You think about it. You’re still so tired. You think you’ll probably be tired for weeks, until you’ve slept enough to make up for your enormous sleep deficit of the past year, however long that takes. Your feet hurt. You just want to be near Sylus. He’s asking you what you want to do like he intends to do it with you. So instead of worrying if that’s the case, if you’re misunderstanding something, you say what you want.

“I want to start fake dating you,” you say. His eyes widen a little, and then he frowns.

“Fake dating?” Kieran’s voice cuts through your thoughts, and you realize that the twins had stopped roughhousing enough to overhear your conversation.

“What do you mean, fake dating?” Luke asks, looking between the two of you.

“Oh, your boss just asked me to help him practice dating so that he can successfully woo the person he’s in love with,” you say, the picture of cheerful helpfulness. This is already enough. You’re happy to help. And you’re going to indulge the fuck out of pretending that he’s looking at you, instead of imagining the other person he’d like to have in his bed more than you. Because you can’t imagine it’s you. You can’t. Because if you’re wrong—

Kieran and Luke’s mouths drop open. They look at each other, and then look at Sylus.

“What the fuck, boss—” Luke begins, as Kieran says “For someone so intelligent, you can be so stupid—” before Sylus cuts them both off.

“Take some of the prepped meals that chef left in the fridge and then leave us.”

For a second, they both look like they want to argue, but then they dutifully snap their mouths shut in unison, and you get that strange feeling of uncanniness again, like they’re just one person who happens to have two bodies. They efficiently go to the fridge, grab some containers of what must be the prepped meals, and leave you and Sylus alone in the kitchen, now with only classical violin filling the silence.

“Was that a secret?” you ask, feeling bad if you just made Sylus lose face with his employees.

“I have nothing to hide when it comes to you,” he says. “But they don’t need to know every detail of my personal life, even if they may disagree with that statement.”

“Okay,” you say, still feeling bad for some reason.

He touches your chin, lifts it. “What did you have in mind when you said you want to start fake dating?”

“When we talked about me helping you, you seemed to be okay with the idea of practicing sharing parts of your life with your crush. I was thinking maybe while I’m staying with you, you can already start.” You smile at him, hoping he can’t tell how much you want him to say yes.

“Am I not already doing that?” he asks.

You tilt your head. Okay, so he has invited you into his home, showed you around. But you still know so little about him. “I guess so,” you say. You feel a bit silly now. Maybe you were hoping for too much. Maybe he’d rather get on with his normal routine, and isn’t interested in any usefulness you have to offer at the moment.

You’re suddenly really tired again. You want him to back up, to stop looking so closely at your face. “The eggs are cold now,” you say, trying to keep your hand still, trying to resist the urge to dig your nails into your thigh. He’s right there. He asked you to hurt him instead. You can’t hurt him, so you can’t hurt yourself.

“Then I’ll make new ones,” he says, still watching you like a hawk eyeing a mouse about to bolt from hiding.

You’re not hungry anymore. You hate the yo-yo of your emotions. You want to be as unruffled as the man in front of you. You’re hoping that the more rest you get, the longer you have to recover, you’ll regain some semblance of equilibrium, some resistance to the rawness of the feelings hemorrhaging from your heart. But you know if you won’t eat, your blood sugar will crash and you’ll be left feeling faint.

“No worries. Do you have string cheese or something? Just something to keep me from feeling lightheaded?”

“I'm not feeding you logs of trash cheese while you're a guest in my home," Sylus tsks, probably affronted at the mere suggestion that he would have string cheese in his house. "What else do you want me to share with you about my life?”

“What?” You were just talking about cheese. Now you're being interrogated.

“You said you wanted to start dating. That you were interested in me sharing parts of my life with you. What else do you want me to share with you about my life?” he says slowly.

“Oh. It’s really nothing. You’re right, you are already sharing a lot by having me here.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Huh?”

“I didn’t say I’m already sharing a lot, as if you were asking for too much. I said, ‘Am I not already doing that?’” because I thought I was sharing my life with you by inviting you here and hoping to spend time with you. So now I want to know what else you want me to share.”

“You want to spend time with me?” you ask.

“Why else would I ask you what you would like to do until it’s time for bed?” he asks, gently flicking your forehead.

“Maybe you wanted to occupy me so that you would be free to do whatever you really want to do,” you say, wincing a little.

Sylus hangs his head. Huffs a little laugh. “Your mind is incredible.”

You scowl at the top of his stupid, pretty head. “Okay, if you’re going to mock me—”

“I mean it. Your imagination is impressive if there is any ambiguity in a statement. We've been over this, and you promised to try to choose the positive interpretation over the negative."

You look away, feeling shitty for already breaking your promise. Sylus lifts his head and guides your gaze back to him with his forefinger on your jaw. "Habits are hard to break, I know. So let me rephrase. I would like to spend time with you until bed. How would you like to spend that time?” He places his palms on your thighs and smooths them soothingly up, and down.

The soothing gesture works. You feel the impending withdrawal into yourself, into your protective, sad little shell, reverse at his words, at his touch. You think about all the things you were shown today, and what the two of you could do for a little while together. You’re too tired to read, so the idea of visiting his library is out. You don’t want to work out, obviously, so the gym, the ice skating rink, even the pool—no good.

“You have a home theater. Do you like movies?”

He perks up. “Yeah, I do.”

“Wanna show me what movies you like? Maybe we can watch one?” You’re casual. The absolute definition of chill.

He eyes you for a moment. “When you say practicing to ‘share my life,’ is this your way of asking to know more about me?”

You shrug like it’s no big deal. Like you’re not terribly eager to know every single thing about him. “If you want.”

“If you wanted to know more about me, you could have just said so. No need to frame it in fake dating.”

“But we made a deal. You wanted to practice—”

He interrupts you. “All right, we can date. But just ask if you have questions. And just assume that I want to spend time with you.”

“Our deal was fake dating,” you try again, because he keeps dropping the ‘fake’ part and it’s doing things to your heart.

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, darling,” he lifts one corner of his mouth.

“But that’s the deal—”

“Uh huh,” he says absently, lifting you from the counter with one arm, turning to the fridge, and rifling through it with his free hand. He manages to agilely balance a stack of containers. “There’s a bar in the theater room, so we can get something to drink there,” he happily informs you.

“Of course you have a bar in there, you alcoholic.”

“Now, now, no need to call names,” he says serenely, carrying you and the food into the hall and heading towards the theater room.

Once there, he tosses you gently on one of the super soft, overstuffed in contrast to other furniture in the house, and of course ubiquitously black, leather couches that sits in front of a huge screen on the far wall. The couch is so soft you hardly bounce, just sinking into the cushion with a laugh. He sets the food containers on the low table positioned in front of the couch, between its two chaise lounge sections that stretch out on either side.

He sits down next to you, so close that his big thigh is squished against yours. “The dvds are in the cabinet over there,” he says as he opens one of the container lids. “You wanted to know what movies I like? Knock yourself out.”

You don’t have to be told twice. You excitedly make your way to where he pointed and throw open a dark paneled cabinet door. Shelf after shelf, going all the way up to the high ceiling where you’re certain Sylus can’t even reach, full of dvd after dvd. You run your fingers along their edges, reading titles silently as you go.

It appears that Sylus is a fan of classic films. You see titles that you’ve never watched, but have heard in passing from cultural references or watching annual movie awards when you’re lucky enough to not be working through them during a particular year. Black and white films. Foreign films with directors you’ve never heard of. As your gaze drifts over his collection, sounds of cabinet doors opening on the other side of the room serve as background noise. The clink of plates, of glasses, liquid being poured.

You don’t think you see one film from the last decade in his collection. But maybe they’re higher up.

“How do you get up to the top? I don’t see one of those fancy library ladders on a wheeled track anywhere. Does the great Sylus Qin resort to using a step stool?” You ask absently, still scanning the titles. He appears to be a big fan of horror movies. You’re also a huge fan of horror, but you can recognize that you’re a bit of a barbarian in that you’ve never watched the true classics. Maybe you can expand your cultural horizons while you’re here. Knowing more about classic film could come in handy while working undercover at pretentious wealthy bastard functions.

Your thought is interrupted as you yelp, having been lifted into the air by scarlet-ink tendrils and carried swiftly toward the ceiling, where you’re now hovering, eye level with the upper shelves of Sylus’s dvd collection. You look back down at him, where he isn’t even looking at you as he is artfully arranging your movie snacks in little bowls and plates.

“A little warning would be nice,” you say drily.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he teases. “Can’t have you getting bored with me.”

You snort. “That’s my line.”

One moment you’re floating leisurely near what looks like his Russian film section of his collection, and the next you’re being deposited onto his lap as he sinks back into the soft couch.

“The presumption of people insinuating that even the possibility exists that I could ever be bored with you is astonishing,” he grumbles, and your heart hurts a little. Even other people can see how ill-suited you are for this mercurial, privileged man—a man who could have anything and anyone he wants, and has the propensity for boredom that goes along with it. “I don’t like it.”

You just smile at him, because what can you do? “People are wise.”

Sylus scowls like he just sucked on a lemon. “One other person, and he is a silly deviant and has been corrected, just as I’m correcting you.” He places his hands on your shoulders, thumbs smoothing over the skin of your throat. “In no universe could I ever be bored with you.”

“You don’t even really know me,” you say gently, letting your head fall forward under his soft touch. He slides one hand around and palms the back of your neck, squeezing gently.

“Don’t I?” he asks.

“You may know the ugliest parts of me because of your aether core. But you don’t know my daily habits. My annoying quirks. How I brush my teeth. My favorite foods. My fondest memories. My pet peeves when it comes to lovers.” You lean your head back now, baring your throat to him, letting his big hand keep you upright. “And I don’t know yours, either.”

“I know the most essential parts of you to be assured that I’ll never tire of learning about the details,” Sylus answers, shaking you gently.

You open your eyes, lift your head. “But I don’t know the essential parts of you, let alone the details.”

His wine dark eyes look so soft as they meet your gaze. “Don’t you?”

You remember the feeling when you first met him. The voice in your head, urging you to devour him. Insisting with a violence that scared you that he was yours, to consume, to swallow, to feast. The recognition in you when you resonated the first and only time, when you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began. You might not have an aether core in your eye, but maybe you do know the essentials of him. His cruelty. His violence. His single-minded pursuit of his goals. His steadfastness as he chases you, over and over again, as you run, over and over again.

I expect you to remember what you just said, when this is over.

You do remember what you said at Amnesia. And you remember a kiss that never happened, the taste of his tongue on yours that you can’t possibly know. You feel insane.

“Do I?” you echo him.

“Mmm,” he murmurs his confirmation. “And now we have all the time in the world for you to satisfy your kitten’s curiosity regarding the details.”

Maybe it’s okay to be a little insane in a dream.

“What movie do you want to watch?” you ask, leaning forward, running your nose along his, inhaling the scent of his skin.

He exhales, his warm breath soft and carrying the scent of some smoky liquor. “Why don’t you choose?”

“What if you’ve seen it before?”

He turns his head a little, so that his lips brush the edges of your mouth. “I’ve seen all of the films I own.”

“Won’t you get bored rewatching?” You resist the urge to turn your own head, to meet his mouth— you can’t, you can’t, not yet. What if you’re wrong—

“I won’t get bored. I’ll be watching through your eyes this time.”

“You have so many, how can I choose?”

He smiles faintly against your skin. “What kind of movies do you like?”

You think for a moment. “I like all kinds of genres. Horror is probably my favorite, but only when I’m in the mood. I think the movies I like the best tend to be character driven. When I care about what is happening to the people, what choices they’re making—when I want them to prevail over the conflict. Not just gritty and dark for the sake of being edgy. And I like happy endings unless it’s a horror film. Life is hard enough, without spending it watching depressing Russian films,” you smile against his cheek in turn before sinking into him, resting your chest against his, tucking your face into his neck. His hands drift up and slowly caress your back.

“So you like fairy tales,” he says, but not dismissively. An observation.

“No, you’re the one who likes fairy tales—the original versions. Grim, unlikable characters being taught a lesson. Sad stories where no one wins, to confirm your cynical outlook of an unsalvageable world.” You’re teasing him, a little. But you also think it’s true.

He huffs a laugh. “Judging my taste in films, just as you judge my taste in coffee, wine, home decor, occupation—the list goes on. I’m the one who should be worried that my darling will grow bored with me.” He pauses. “You actually know quite a few details about me already, don’t you think?”

Your mind drifts to all the time you’ve shared with him, all the things you already know about him. Maybe he’s right, and you know more than you think. He has been showing you himself, every minute you’re together. Maybe if you manage to stop navel gazing and wallowing in insecurity, you’ll learn even more.

“In no universe could I ever be bored with you,” you echo him again.

“I'll hold you to that promise,” he sighs, wrapping his arms around you, hugging you tightly. You’re getting so sleepy. If you don’t start the movie, you’ll be asleep before the opening credits are over.

“So pick your favorite movie, Sy. I want to watch it through your eyes.”

His arms tighten even further, forcing a puff of breath from your lips. “In a minute, darling. Stay like this, for a little longer.”

You nod, feeling his rapid-fire heartbeat under your own, slower heart. It’s soothing, in a way that firing a real gun no longer is for you.

“If you don’t start it now, I’m going to fall asleep,” you mumble, sinking further.

“Then sleep,” he says. So you do.

Sylus holds you in his arms, and for once, his mind is quiet—no churning plans, no tweaking the spiderwebs of action and reaction, force and counterforce, push and pull, either for his business or to draw you ever closer to him. He’s just a man, sitting with his heart in his hands—safe and calm. He misses you, as he always does, when you’re so close but asleep. He considers joining you in your dreams again, just to make sure that they’re as peaceful as you deserve, but decides against it. He skirted the edges of his promise to you by doing it once, even though he remains convinced that it was necessary. You were willing to share your fears with him after you woke up—he just mixed up the order a little bit by reassuring you first and then asking questions second. But he’s unwilling to risk it again.

This is enough, for now. He feels the steady beat of your heart against his own submachine gun rhythm, and his pulse slows, slows, until for once, he feels like he can breathe fully without having to check behind himself, check the exits, check contingencies and backups, check the pulse in your throat to make sure you’re still here, you’re still real, you’re still letting him so close he can taste your skin when he inhales the scent of your neck. You’re in his home, and you just had your almost-first, definitely not fake despite what you tell yourself, date. Watching a movie together, the most cliche, boring date of all, and you fell asleep before it even started. You called him something other than his full name for the first time, and not in a teasing way like crow man or good boy—an endearment, something no one else will ever have the privilege of calling him. It takes him a little while to figure out the feeling that has been spreading through him since you hugged him from behind in thanks for the lousy gift of a couple of mugs you already owned—a feeling like how he has always imagined sunshine would feel on a mild summer day for a normal person.

Oh. He laughs a little breathlessly. He’s happy.

If he wasn’t aware of how much you’re already changing him, he’d realize it now, as he hugs you as tightly as he dares without waking you, feeling as foolish as Aidan waxing poetic about every new person being a gift with a surprise inside. Sylus doesn’t need any other people to maintain his attention—you are the gift, a nesting doll puzzle box, a gift within a gift within a gift, and he’s so fucking happy you’re letting him open each of your secrets, one by one, that he’s dizzy with it. The ratatat of his heart fires, and fires, and fires. For the first time that he can remember, he’s looking forward to tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that.

end note: My dear readers, once again I have failed to deliver big toys and action, but the plot has inched along very slightly with Sylus's conversation with Aidan, and hopefully the next part will contain MC having the run of Sylus's place and getting into some trouble with the twins and Noah if I recover from real world events and don't just crawl into a hole and hide for the next four years.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #l&ds sylus #lnds sylus #lads sylus #my fanfic #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #i hope this is enjoyable after today

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laurentdirosetti · 9 months ago

Text

"Support character" [part 2]

{Idia Shroud x gn/MC}

Tags: playing videogames together, competitive, bet, smut...

Idia’s room was just like you imagined it would be, an otaku’s room —books scattered on the floor, open boxes in every corner, merchandising from different animes and games, posters on the walls… Also, the air in the room is really heavy, why is it so hot in here? Is it because of the computer or-

MC: ARE YOU ALRIGHT?

His hair was bright red, redder than when we were in the storage room, and not only the color was hot red, but the temperature too.

Idia: so-sorry, this is the first time a girl has entered my room (anyone other than Ortho or me for that matter).

That was the issue, haha… now I’m nervous too. I should do something to break the ice in this situation, or rather cooler the temperature. I think I recognised one of his figurines on that shelf…

MC: Isn’t that Ruri-chan from “The Magical Ruri Hana: Demon Girl”?

I was staring right at Ruri-chan when I asked him, so it was a surprise when I turned around to look at his face and saw his expression. For a few seconds the time stopped and he gave me a death stare. Why is he so scary all of a sudden? Did I mispronounce her name? Impossible, I’ve been watching that series since I came to this world, mostly because it was the only serotonin I could find after nearly dying over a kid’s tantrum.

Idia: you know Ruri-chan?

Maybe because you were nearly as introverted as Idia or because you were nervous, the only answer you could find to his suddenly cold attitude was that this was the beginning of the typical “man interrogation over a common interest to prove your authenticity as a fan”. So before he could start making you questions about the show, you blow out all the lore of the series.

Idia’s face was as rigid as a rock until you finished your monologue on Ruri-chan’s journey. You stopped talking to catch a breath when he grabbed you by the shoulders and suddenly snapped.

Idia: ARE YOU TELLING ME THERE WAS ANOTHER OTAKU IN THE ACADEMY AND I DISCOVER IT NOW? Why did it take you so long to talk to me? How is it possible that I didn’t know about this before? I mean, I have control over all the technology and internet connection here. I should’ve been notified if a student was watching anime, how is it possible I didn’t know about you till now? What did you do? What kind of firewall did you use?

MC: I just watched it on Ramshackle’s TV…

Idia: ah… that explains everything, that TV probably doesn’t even have an HDMI port, let alone Internet…

MC: Idia… my shoulders are starting to hurt.

He sure is strong, it's hard to tell by those baggy clothes he's always wearing. He instantly opened his hands to let me go as soon as he heard me. He looked troubled he might have hurted me.

MC: don’t worry, I may not have “mana”, but my HP is full.

He couldn’t help but smile at my dumb -almost cringe- comparison. I think my “break the ice” mission was successful. Idia is very expressive, he snapped from nervous, to surprised, to confused, to happy in the the blink of an eye. I wish he stopped using that floating tablet of his to attend classes so I could see more of his expressions.

As soon as he released me he went to pick something from his wardrobe, a pair of controls apparently. The controls in my world were less complex than this ones. Idia handed me one of them and I began to study the buttons. It would be a lie to tell I knew how to grab it, clown music is playing inside my head. I wanted to play videogames with him, but truth be told I don’t have money to fix Rammshackle’s sink let alone buy a videogame or a console.

Idia saw my troubled grin and step towards me, shadowing my entire persona.

Idia: Is there a problem? You don’t like the color or something? Is it the brand?

MC: well, you see, the thing is…

This is gonna be so embarassing. First, I ran into problems trying to defend him against nothing, cause he wasn’t even hearing those jerks. Second, I made him hide with me in the storage room and now I have to tell him I wanted to play videogames with him but didn’t even think about the possibility of the controls being different from my world. Defeated, I lower my head to evade his soon to be inquisitive gaze.

MC: …I don’t know how to use these controls, they are different from the ones in my world.

Silence was so loud I couldn’t take it anymore and looked up. He was trying so hard not to burst out laughing at me his cheeks were red and his jaw was so tense I could see his neck muscles contracting. Finally, he let out a little pfft and grabbed his mouth and chin with his hand, pressing his cheek with his index.

Idia: I’m sorry but, you went through all that trouble to play together and you don’t even know how? Cute.

Lucky for me I don’t have magical hair that turns red when I'm flustered, but I’m sure it’s not hard to guess just by looking at my face.

Idia: don’t worry, guess I’ll have to teach you as I did with my little brother, come here.

He sat on a visible comfortable plush sofa, big enough for him to open his leg and ask me to sit between them. Funny, when we were in the storage room he was so nervous and now he openly asks me to sit on top of him, hasn’t he noticed?

Dumbfounded, I did as he requested and sat on the gap between his thighs, creating a space between us as a way to surpass the embarrassment. Unfazed, he glued his chest to my back and slipped his hands around my body. As if I was walking on thin ice, I slowly rested my arms on top of his. Then he moved his hands on top of mine on the controller, guiding my fingers on top of the buttons. My ears were bright red as I could feel his breathing chilling my neck, whispering a slow pace explanation on how to use the controller. His fingers moved mine slowly over the buttons, his hair fell as a cascade over my shoulders sliding between my legs. I don’t know what is happening and I would swear neither does he. He’s so focused on explaining the lore of the game and controls he hasn’t realized the hot mess he got cuddled beneath him.

Idia: Did you get that?

He asked, suddenly making me snap out of my cloud. Even though it was difficult, for many reasons, I caught a glimpse of his monologue while trying to survive my ocean of hormones.

MC: Well… It seems quite complicated to be honest. Maybe I can understand it better once I play the game.

Idia: Great, let’s play. I’ll connect the other controller so we can multi-play this.

The controller was right next to us, already plunged, so he didn’t move an inch and his arm were still surrounding me. The soundtrack of the game started playing and far too late I realized he meant to play in this position, basically cuddling each other, with our arms tangled, his body temperature on me and his breathing on my neck. We haven’t even started, but I can tell I already lost.

Unfortunately for him, after playing for nearly an hour, I tried my best to give him a hard time beating me. I lost all the matches anyway, but at least I could hear his groans all along, echoing in my ears.

Idia: SO much for being a snob, you are tougher than you look. But rest assured, I would never let a newbie beat me at my favorite game. Ortho has tried many times and I should give him a pass -you know the whole “Idia let your little brother win once”- but as a weeb I have a reputation yk.

That smirk on his face… he’s sure full of himself. I have almost grasped the dynamics of this game, maybe I could beat him. I’m a pretty competitive person and that arrogance only ignites something dark in me, something stupid.

MC: I bet I can ruin that reputation of yours in our next round.

Idia: Are YOU implying YOU can win? LMFAO, if delulu was a sport you'd have a gold medal. If you beat me on this round I’ll be your chair or whatever -not that it’s even a possibility.

MC: Do you mean I can ask you anything if I win? It’s this one of those anime situations in which the winner can order the loser around the whole day?

Idia: Yeah, that kind of shoujo stuff. Afraid?

MC: Mmn… Well, you’re already quite the comfortable chair.

That came out of nowhere, but I decided to keep my cool and rested my weight on his chest even more, looking up at his melted honey eyes now widening from sudden embarrassment. His peachy cheeks are so cute. Plan complete: this may be considered cheating but the only way to win is to distract him and by the discontrolled beating of his heart reverberating on my back I can tell it already worked.

We began playing, in the game we were two characters fighting each other in a 2D horizontal landscape. I didn’t learn all the combos, but I mastered the parries and evasions, so it was nearly impossible for him to even scratch me. He was focused on attacking while I was determined on defending, a never ending match it seemed. In real life it was the other way around, I continued non-stop “attacking” him while he tried his best to “defend” himself. Each time I evaded one of his attacks my butt moved against his lower body. From the corner of my eye I enjoyed his leg contraction at every “unintended” pound I gave him. After almost an hour of playing him, and the game, his breath was a mess, he was trembling all over and his dick was rock hard between my ass cheeks. My intention was to win the game, but I’m not quite disappointed with the actual development of the situation. I could take this as a win already.

Then I felt a thrust, his body rested on top of mine and I swear I can almost tell his longitude just by the pressure on my lower back. He snapped, his fingers were moving so fast on the buttons I had to make an effort to see them, he left me no chance to defend myself neither in the game or reality. As my character fell to the ground completely defeated, my head stumped on the floor as his hands pressed my shoulders to the ground.

Face to face, among the darkness of his room I could only differentiate two golden orbs and his face lightly illuminated by the gentle blue of his hair.

Idia: I won.

My whole belly was on the palm of his hand as he slowly lifted my shirt all the way up, until he grabbed my neck under the clothes.

MC: Wh-what are you doing?

Idia: I won, so the loser must do whatever the winner demands, right?

MC: Bu-but you haven’t say anything yet.

Idia: Oh, then I want the loser to fix my joystick.

What? Oh…

As I stupidly tried to understand that I noticed his hard-on pressuring my lower belly, near to my intimacy.

Idia: you see, a certain snob player broke it mid-play. Any idea on how to fix it?

He completely snapped, I almost can’t recognize him. Where is the shy boy I was messing with? The situation has escalated more than I would have imagined, but this doesn’t put me off in the slightest. Seeing Idia all hot and bothered surely is rare enough and I want to push that dominant side of him a bit more.

MC: maybe… It just needs some cleaning?

I questioned opening my mouth and letting out my tongue. His sigh was filled with excitement and anticipation, I could catch him bitting his lips for a moment.

He moved his knees to the sides of my head and lowered his zip and trousers. My eyes, now more used to the low illumination of the room, enjoyed the view of his thighs, pale as porcelain. He looks so fragile and slim, or that was my line of thinking until he uncovered his dick. Hard, veiny and leaking precum on top of my forehead; the length was the size of my face. This was going to hurt.

I accepted my destiny and kept my mouth open for him to enter mercilessly. But, that wasn’t the case. At a slow pace he started going down on my mouth, he filled my cavity with just the tip and almost the middle of his length. Then, he took my chin in his hand and caressed my cheek, pressing it on his dick and slowly massaging it from outside. I didn’t know what to do with my tongue so I tried to lick his dick and press it more against my cheek. His eyes glittered from a moment and he let out a soft chuckle.

Idia: seems you’re really eager to clean it, babe. But this much won’t do I’m afraid, you need to get it all wet enough.

Instantly, he continued letting down his hips until all his dick was in my mouth and throat. He was so deep in me my lower lip was touching his balls. Strange enough, this wasn’t as painful as I imagined it to be, I wonder how can my throat be twitching around him and I’m so calm? Maybe, his sweet expressions are keeping me from gagging. His mouth is a little open, from this angle I can only see his tongue moving above his pointy teeth. His eyes are locked in my throat, probably a bulge has formed, his fault after all. He’s been so long in this position I could possibly draw his dick by having it inside me.

When I thought he would start moving, his balls twitched against my lip and his cum flooded my mouth non-stop. When he released everything in me he fastly got up, letting me catch a breath. He cumed so much there were lines of cum running down my cheeks to the ground. I coughed a little after drinking all.

When I sat on the floor and looked up I could feel his gaze contemplating my whole display, heavy breathing and a surprised expression.

MC: that was fast.

Idia: I endured playing in hard mode, literally, a few minutes ago. Thank me I didn't finish by just seeing your ahegao face. Also …you didn’t need to drink that.

MC: I told you I would clean it.

Idia: quite the awful job, It's all sticky and twitching, maybe you can clean it better down here…

To be continued...

Part 1

#twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland smut #twst smut #twst idia smut #twst idia shroud #twst idia #idia shroud smut #idia smut #twisted wonderland idia #idia shroud #idia x reader #idia x mc #twisted wonderland idia smut

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blaire-apricity · 3 months ago

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Hi! So I would like to request the LaDs boys or just Sylus honestly lol. What they would do if mc got kidnapped, possibly kidnapped for their aether core and experimented on. I imagine it would be quite interesting to read. Thank you for your writings!

Blood-bound Retribution

sʏʟᴜs x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᯓ❅ ┆ synopsis┆ : They had dared to touch what was his, he'd make sure they pay for that mistake—

ᯓ❅ ┆ tags┆ : short fiction, slight gore & possible OOC

──────────────── ˗ˏˋ ❅｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽ ˎˊ˗ ────────────────

Normally, missing Sylus' calls would mean you were ignoring him out of some petty reason or spite. But when his third call went unanswered and your phone showed as out of service, he knew instantly something had gone wrong.

Without a moment's hesitation, Sylus barked orders to his loyal henchmen, Kieran and Luke, commanding them to scour every CCTV feed and dig through records to find your last known location. Sylus had connections everywhere—an underworld network of people ready to act at his whim—and he wasn’t shy about using it, especially when it came to you. He would burn the city down if that’s what it took to keep you safe.

It didn’t matter if his own life was on the line—there was no hesitation in his mind when it came to saving you. No second thoughts, no doubts.

It took him less than five minutes to locate you, he almost admired the audacity of your kidnappers. Whether they were stupid or simply suicidal didn’t matter. Regardless of what fueled their recklessness, they would soon regret kidnapping someone who belonged to him.

He didn’t need backup for this—no, he wanted to personally deal with these fools. He relished the thought of their faces when they realized the depths of their mistake.

Kicking down the warehouse door, Sylus shattered the warehouse door, splinters flying as his imposing figure stepped into the dimly lit space. His crimson eyes swept the space, taking in the twisted array of scientific equipment, confirming what he suspected—they knew about the aether core within you.

The dozen or so people in the room—some in lab coats, others armed to the teeth—stopped their work, all turning to face him as he strode inside. “Who are you? Leave now, this area is restricted!” one barked, the group tightening around him, guns pointed directly at his chest.

Sylus chuckled darkly, tilting his head as he adjusted his gloves with a practiced calmness. “You really don’t know who you’re dealing with, do you?” His voice was low, amused.

“I’ve got to say… the sheer audacity it takes to try something like this is almost impressive.” He shook his head, still unfazed by the guns trained on him, his eyes glowing more intensely.

In the corner of the room, you stirred. Your vision blurred from the blow to your head, but the sight of that familiar silver hair pierced through the fog. “Sylus…?” you croaked, barely able to form the words.

You hadn’t been harmed—yet. Had they gone further… well, death would’ve been a mercy compared to what he had planned for them.

In the blink of an eye, Sylus was at your side, effortlessly tearing the restraints from your wrists. You collapsed into him, your trembling arms wrapping around his back, and he returned the embrace—briefly, but firmly.

The kidnappers, clearly on edge, turned their guns toward you both, and you braced yourself for the sound of gunfire.

Sylus leaned in, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “Close your eyes for me, sweetie.”

The next few moments were a whirlwind of screams, then deafening silence. The metallic tang of blood filled the air, warm splatters dotting the floor. You didn't dare to open your eyes knowing the gruesome scene he left.

Limbs were strewn across the floor, blood pooling beneath the mutilated bodies—there wasn’t a single one left whole. He had torn them apart as if they were nothing but paper.

Sylus held you tightly, unbothered by the carnage around him. Gently, he lifted you into his arms and carried you out of the blood-soaked room as if it were just another day. Opening your eyes, you saw Kieran and Luke waiting outside, as if nothing had happened, completely unfazed by the massacre that had just unfolded inside.

"Investigate the warehouse," He ordered, his tone icy. "I want to know who was behind this." Without a word, the two men moved into the now deathly quiet space, ready to uncover whatever secrets the kidnappers had left behind.

As Sylus carried you away, his hands tenderly soothing your wrists, his mind was already racing ahead. Whoever orchestrated this would pay, no matter where they hid. They had dared to lay hands on you—his, and his alone. They would learn the true meaning of suffering.

──────────────── ˗ˏˋ ❅｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽ ˎˊ˗ ────────────────

To anyone that's interested, I've actually started a mentioning list. ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

╰｡ Author's Note: I actually meant to post this way earlier but I messed up the queue so I had to manually post it. (╥ ω ╥) I apologize for taking long to fulfill this request-

Thank you for requesting this prompt! I actually enjoyed writing it, I hope it's up to your liking!

╰｡ Tagging: . ݁˖ . ݁ slitheringwaves

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midnight-bay-if · 10 days ago

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Hi! :3

What if MC had to break up and marry that new person? Maybe it was blackmail, maybe it was political threat or something. So, for many years MC had to live with this lie and abandon the person they truly love? But somehow RO gets to know about it??

(It took me a long time to figure out how to answer this; I hope these are okay!)

S: They hear the rumour through the grapevine; a coerced marriage, heartbreak, fear, all leading to sombre acceptance. It's everything their parents wanted for them, but somehow the fate has become yours. It all balls up inside them; the anger, the hurt, the sadness for you... it's overwhelming. Why would you choose to settle? Why would you not come to them for help? These are questions they are desperate to ask but can do nothing until they have looked you in the eye and seen the answers that lie within. This time, they promise, they will not look away.

Too many years wasted already, they refuse to waste a second more. Now, they will do what they do best; concoct a plan, arrange a meeting, coerce their way to your side. Nothing is off the table. They are prepared to bet it all to see you returned to a life of happiness.

They made a promise to you, after all.

Rain: S tried to protect them from any news of you, knowing how much it hurt. But once they hear the truth, it tears them up inside. Had the roles been reversed, would they have done the same? The thought they might have shames them. They do not blame you. Your desire to protect was just one of the beautiful shades of your mosiac they fell in love with. So much of their colour dulled when they lost you. They fear the same may have happened to you. They want it back; they want you back.

So, they will find you. They will stand firm, steady. If you tell them you are unhappy, if they see it within you, nothing in this world could prevent them from pulling you free. Even if it means dragging the ugliest parts of themselves from the deepest dredges they drowned back to the surface, they will. For you.

Taj: Taj doesn't remember the exact moments that followed being told the news, only that the room was turned over, furniture clawed into, and ornaments shattered on the ground. Their heart thunders against their ribs; their bones rattle with the uncontained fury as their hands shake. Anything is preferable to the stinging sensation of tears they desperately try to abate.

They are pissed at you. How could you decide this all on your own? Why? Did you think they would feel sorry for you? Not even a little bit. You should have come to them, trusted them. Did you think your act of self-sacrifice would ease your fuckin' ego? Well, since you took the choice from them, they will take it from you. They will find you. Get you back. Pull you into their arms, and never fuckin' let go.

Your spouse is going to feel every ounce of pain they suffered without you.

N: How you continue to surprise them is a mystery all on its own. They never believed you were the type to just roll over. They still refuse to believe it. It would be easier for them to think you had truly changed your heart and fallen for another who wasn't riddled with their cruelty. But no. You had given yourself over to someone just as cruel. It infuriates them, the rage tearing in their gut, burning through the magical disguise they once wore so easily.

Who did you think you were protecting? Clearly not yourself.

Well, perhaps they will find out why while squeezing the life out of your spouse; they can explain it all through the gurgles of their death rattle. As far as they are concerned, the demon they buried for you deserves some play time.

Umbra: They do not hesitate. All the pain, the discomfort, the fear; they shove it all down, pushing their body past its limits to find you, to reach you. They never should have let you go. They should have been there. It's all their fault. Useless. Pathetic. Worthless.

It's been a long time since they thought to press a dagger to a man's throat without your say so, but they regret not doing so the moment your spouse thought to snatch you away. They wanted to be the person you saw in them; they did. But in the end, they were always this. If you tell them to stop, they will consider it. They promise.

But they would be lying to themselves if the thought of letting their hand "slip" wasn't ever so sweet. They may be a monster, but so are those who dared force this on you.

#ask answer #taj #umbra knight #nazu raumon #naera raumon #simon selby #rain #simone selby #interactive fiction

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forcebewitht · 10 months ago

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Hey, since book 6 has been out in English for a while, could we possibly see an Overblot!Idia x reader? I really love the idea of him dramatically taking off the mask he has on to kiss the reader.

A Dance With Death (Overblot!Idia Shroud x MC!Reader)

(Artwork by: Trashochist on Deviantart, X (Twitter), and Instagram)

(Possible TW: Slight yandere implications, stalking, manipulation, branding)

…The time had finally come. All of the trials and tribulations that you had gone through. The pain and strife that had overtaken you in just a few short days. It had all led up to this. The kidnapping of your beloved companion, Grim. The destruction of the Ramshackle dorm. The kidnapping of those who had Overblotted that you had helped through their trauma and developed bonds with overtime. The kidnapping of even the Headmaster of Night Raven College himself. The entirety of these events had thrown Night Raven College into turmoil.

And that was just what excited Idia even more. He had been watching curiously since the very first moment you had arrived at the institution. I mean- a student that didn’t have any magic? Yet arrived within a coffin here to a school of magical students? It was unheard of- and just that alone excited him. This excitement only grew once the Overblots started. His family and organization, S.T.Y.X., had been all over the research of Overblotting for years. But now, after all of this time, someone so close to him (in the school, that is-) was at the forefront of a handful of Overblots? It was far too perfect of a chance to pass up with that new Ramshackle prefect. The plan was sprung, footage and data gathered. He knew that they were going to come for their beloved friends- they were just so cool like that. Literally a superhero in disguise, an underdog that soon had risen to be one of the top dogs within the school. There was a lot of promise with them- no. Not a promise. This was the work of the Fates themselves, he believed. The Fates themselves had led someone to him. Someone powerful. Someone strong. Someone capable of protection. Someone…that could get him back what he had lost all of those years ago.

There they were. Descending down to the depths of Hell that he himself had wrought. They looked horrible- worn for wear, really. To think, these oh so powerful figures from Pomefiore, Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw, Scarabia, and Octavinelle, alongside the hero of the school themselves, would be bashed and broken already from mere secondary bosses? They wouldn’t stand a chance against this final boss. Idia grinned beneath the mask that he wore, his arms folding over themselves as the Blot around his figure billowed with every breath he took. He could feel the immeasurable power coursing through his veins- and the normally pessimistic male found himself growing rather cocky the more they walked forward. His golden gaze soon landed upon his hero- his knight in shining…well, uniform. He soon was speaking, his arms outstretched as the flames protruding from his figure began to blaze brighter- hotter.

“Bum bum buuummmm~! Our heroes have finally arrived to the final boss battle! But uh ohhhhhh~ looks like they didn’t level enough, now did they~?”

You found yourself gritting your teeth at Idia above. Already, Vil, Rook, and Epel were readying themselves at your side. The rest soon followed, the weapons they had gained during their prior fights with the Overblot Beasts being raised and ready to overwhelm Idia’s Blot. Idia began to cackle, raising his hands in mock surrender.

“Uh ooohh~! Eheheheheheheeeee~! They found the special gear~! But that’s really not gonna do much, you guys! Totally on top of my game, y’know~? These HP and attack stats are through. The. ROOF!”

With his words, Idia’s Overblot Beast, Ortho, began to unleash a flurry of attacks upon you and your party, forcing all of them to scatter across the area. The Beast seemed to know precisely what to do- orders most likely given before this entire fiasco began. You began to find yourself being slowly but surely separated from everyone else thanks to the Beast’s targeted attacks. This separation was key- this was what Idia wanted. He watched as you eventually were cornered entirely, exactly where he wanted you. Once more, a grin spread out under his mask. You looked so cool and tough despite all of this neverending pressure, still shouting out commands for the others to work together to defend themselves, each other, or deflect the attacks his Beast was allowing itself to barrage them all with. He soared downwards until he was finally just before you. You had jumped back slightly upon noticing him approaching, but there truly was nothing that you could use at this time to defend yourself with. He leaned forward, his clawed hands now pressing themselves to either side of the wall beside your head.

“There you are~! The hero themselves~! The shining star of the hour- no, the entirety of Night Raven College~! This is our final stage, (Y/N)! Isn’t it thrilling~?”

“Idia, this is absolutely crazy! You are going to wind up killing us all with thi-”

A clawed finger pressed itself against your lips as he shifted, shushing you gently as he rolled his glowing amber eyes.

“Okay, listen- babe. (Y/N). Baby. Babycakes. Sweetheart. Sweetie pie. Wonder Student. I’m gonna stop you riiigghhtt there, actually- because I know. I know about the whole thing. But you’re gonna be my hero, you know~? You are going to save a life- just like you’ve been doing! So, it’s all good, ‘kay~?”

You began to attempt to protest, but you soon found yourself being swept into Idia’s arms and pulled about. The crazed Overblotted Idia now began to waltz with you despite all of the destruction around the both of you. He sighed blissfully, his eyes burning ablaze with a fiery passion- it was unnerving. He leaned forward once more, now beginning to hush into your ear through that glowing mask he wore.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this moment, (Y/N). The countless hours I have spent watching and studying your damn near every move…I know your exact schedule bit by bit, y’know, ehehehehee~ I mean, with you and your coolness, you never know when you’re gonna stop another Overblot, honestly. But that coolness that you have doesn’t matter down here- and y’know why~?”

Your eyes soon widened considerably as you felt Idia grab onto your arm. One of his clawed fingers now was set ablaze with a small, blue flame. His grip was tight- commanding in every sense of the word. The flame began to trace itself upon your flesh as he continued to speak- ignoring your cries and attempts to struggle away from him.

“I know everything about you. I have seen your struggles. Your pain. I mean, separated from your home, whatever friends and family you had before…and thrust into a world of magic without any magic yourself. You have been left in the cold by the Fates themselves to fend for yourself. You struggle simply to survive from day to day without any money here…you struggle to maintain your cool and calm composure and keep people like those Heartslabyul first years and the little guy in line…and you then have to deal with the rantings and ravings of spoiled brats like those that Overblotted and, despite wanting for it all to just end, have to buck yourself up instead and keep them from ending it all? It is just an endless cycle of pain, regret, and a loveless life that you have fallen into.”

The more Idia spoke and you felt that flame burning upon your arm, the more you found yourself getting lost into the swirling golden pools upon his sleek, pale, oddly handsome face that were his eyes. For the first time since you had arrived here…you actually genuinely felt seen. You felt heard. Oddly enough, from someone that you had truly rarely seen outside of his own room within the confines of the school itself. Your own gaze finally shifted down to your arm as his finger retracted. He had burned the insignia of his family’s company, S.T.Y.X., onto your flesh. He blew out the fire on his finger, now grinning once more wickedly beneath his mask as his clawed hands now seized you by the waist once more, pulling you into his deadly embrace.

“I know, I know. I know it hurts. All of that going on and absolutely nothing to ever truly be gained from it all…well, my Wonder Student…that’s gonna end for you right now. With what I just gave you…you are mine. And when you’re mine, you have a purpose. You will be protected, provided for. No longer shall you be within the confines of a cage and hidden away in the shadows- you shall be the bright and shining star in our tale- and properly get those monetary stats and all of that raised~!”

Idia’s hand whisked over his face- where that mask was nestled. The mask faded away, revealing his pearly white, razor sharp teeth. They glistened at you as it felt Death was grinning at you- which it essentially was. His royal blue lips curled upwards into a wicked grin as he tugged you even closer to himself, now leaning all of the way forward towards you.

“C’mon~”

He began to pull you with him once more, twisting and turning your body with himself. His clawed hands trailed up and down your figure within your shared dance of destruction, his thoughts split between what he would do with you now that you belonged to him…and that of his brother’s life that you soon would pull up from the depths of the Underworld for him. You all would be a family together- and that only seemed to excite him further as his motions grew swifter, yet sly. He soon had you dramatically dipped, and his lips captured yours in a warm, passionate kiss…thus beginning your true dance with death.

~End~

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #disney #twst #twistedwonderland #twst x reader #twst idia #idia shroud #idia shroud x reader #twst overblot #twst idia x reader #idia x reader #overblot idia #overblot idia x reader #yandere idia shroud #twisted wonderland yandere #yandere idia x reader #yes i gave him a few more hades-like vibes #force writes

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iz-star · 5 months ago

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About Zayne's loneliness.

Sometimes I wonder what an angry Zayne looks like? I mean, NOT angry at MC/you but maybe angry at Astra and/or his fate for putting him in such difficult and unfair situations.

Zayne loves MC deeply, with his whole being, but loving her makes him be 'selfish', to want something for himself, to seek his own happiness alongside MC when it seems that his fate was always to serve others before looking after himself.

It's like he himself said in Master of Fate's Myth: "When emotions and desires are involved, selfishness is bound to exist".

In Master of Fate, he's deemed as a Siming which in Chinese mythology, is a kind of deity in charge to allocate humans' life spans, and according to Wikipedia:

"Siming's special concern (and power) is the balancing of yin and yang (Hawkes 2011 (1985), 109). Of particular relevance here is the relation between yin and yang balance and human health, and the importance to individual human health of such balance, as articulated in traditional Chinese medicine. Siming has the power to balance or unbalance yin and yang, and thus to lengthen or shorten human lifespans, or to provide health or prolong illness".

Siming could decide to provide health to a person or to prolong illness, in that way, having an important role into deciding people's life spans. It's interesting cause Dr Zayne and Dawnbreaker pretty much do the same.

Dr Zayne does his best to cure and take care of people, thus stretching out their life span, while Dawnbreaker gives them a merciful death to avoid them to live as walking corpses, thus shortening their life span.

Unlike Master of Fate or Foreseer, at first glance it could look like Dr Zayne and Dawnbreaker have no God-like power, thus have no control over destiny or fate, yet they still do.

It's actually Foreseer the one who lacks some kind of jurisdiction about people's lifes and fates; he could still glimpse at their destiny, being aware of what awaits people but wasn't allowed to intervene in any sense and most of all, he wasn't allowed to glimpse at his own fate.

In any case, until now, all Zayne's lifes have always been about taking care of other's destiny but what about him? When describing gods, Zayne is actually quite humble, saying that gods maybe are just like humans, except that they had the chance to do a bit more.

Zayne is quite selfless. He's not the kind of man who would blame his destiny for all the things that have happened to him and yet... They're still unfair.

Foreseer once said: "My destiny is to disappear from the annals of history... For someone who wants to remember me, it certainly feels wonderful".

At some point, Zayne's duty isolated him in every life time. He lived alone and caged in a Tower in Foreseer's Myth, he lived alone in the Mountains as Master of Fate, and he lived totally alone as Dawnbreaker. His only companions were Jas/Bai but no other human being.

Dr Zayne is actually the only one whose duty has brought him some kind of recognition, admiration and appreciation (and well deserved, of course), and hasn't isolated him from society, but funnily enough, he has this condition with his evol that sometimes turns him into a treath, which makes him keep others at arms length, especially MC. As for Master of Fate? Foreseer? Dawnbreaker? They all have to move the threads behind backstage in a lonely duty, being Foreseer the most severe case. It doesn't help that in the Foreseer timeline, Zayne is even explictly prohibited to be with MC.

Zayne's fate was always to look after other people's fate but like I've said before, MC was always the exception of every rule in his book because she was the one who made him yearn for human warmth and closeness with someone else and because of that, he'd break the rules to ensure she lives a long happy and safe life, even if is not at his side... Unironically.

In Foreseer's Myth, it is said that Astra prohibited him of being with MC in this and his other lifes because Zayne was a tool. At first, Astra's severity at punishing Zayne looked more like a senseless tantrum of a prepotent god and while that might be true, it seems that Zayne not being able to be with MC in every life time is simply because she would never allow him to fullfil 'his destiny' and to make matters worse, she's a "variant" (We don't know exactly what this entails, we just know that is something threatening, I have some assumptions about it but let's keep it like this for now) . That's why, unlike Rafayel and the other LIs, it seems that he doesn't keep memories of his previous lifes or previous experiences with MC, yet he said once that if souls truly existed, then he was sure that his soul recognized MC before his memory did. MC is this person that always reminds him that he's not just a "tool", a means to an end, but an individual being that is also deserving of something better.

Zayne's love for MC often reminds me of that Córtazar quote: "You were always my mirror, what I'm trying to say is that, in order to see me, I had to see you"

I wonder if there's one life time where Zayne will be allowed to have happiness and company without having to pay a high price for it.

#love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #zayne #lads zayne #l&ds zayne #l&ds #lnds

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caelisblade · 5 months ago

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– FORGET ABOUT US | SYLUS

sylus is the god of death, the underworld, hell. as if that wasn‘t enough, he appears to be your husband whom you have forgotten. and as it turns out, there‘s even more to the story — and about you.

wc; 5.3k

cw; a persephone and hades retelling (kind of), reader is not mc, n/sfw, unprotected s/ex, c/reampie, o/verstimulation, r/iding, a little bit greek mythology inspired, angsty ending

a/n: part of this story was inspired by a fic i read a long time ago. unfortunately, i don‘t remember who it was by, otherwise i‘d obviously give credits.

something was wrong.

you felt in your whole body, it felt like someone was watching you but looking around, you simply were unable to spot anybody. it was weird.

this feeling didn’t leave for days on end. yet, the feeling of being watched, somehow, felt so familiar, too. oddly enough, you didn’t feel like you were in imminent danger. in fact, you felt safer – even slept better at night.

“hello, sweetheart”, the lurker finally revealed himself.

you shrieked in shock as someone suddenly stood before you, a gorgeous, strange man.

“goodness, you scared me. do you normally approach women like this?”, you said, a breathy chuckle leaving you.

“just the prettiest one. and you are the most gorgeous woman i have met in my entire life”, he replied, a gentle smile dancing around his lips.

“uh huh… that’s interesting”, you laughed. “now, tell me, how did you even get into my home? isn’t that… creepy?”

“maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. i couldn’t care less. i’ve come to bring you home.”

“what do you mean? i am home”, you laughed, yet the confusion was incredibly evident in your face.

“this place? no, y/n. this isn’t your home. well, it is for six months of the year but your real home… is someplace else. and i want you back there with me”, he explained, yet so much wasn’t cleared up still. who was he? how did he know your name? he seemed so comfortable just barging in here like… he was someone you had forgotten.

“with you? you’re a total stranger to me. why would i go anywhere with you?”

“because you know me. i’m sylus. you always knew me and you always will. yet, there is a bit of a hindrance between us – you always forget me until it’s time for me to bring you back. i promise, sweetheart. you know me. and i know you. better than anyone else in this world and every other world that exists”, he explained. “i swear, it all will make so much more sense once you come home with me.”

it was weird, but… you felt like he was telling the truth. it was this feeling etched deeply within you, the trust you felt for this man was enchanting and before you even realized it, you were slowly stepping to him.

“i don’t know why, but… i believe you. i don’t understand, but i do”, you softly said.

“because deep down here”, he started, slowly closing the distance between you two and pointing at your heart, “you know i’m telling the truth.”

a loud rumble echoed through your apartment, you looked around in panic as you felt yourself literally being sucked into the ground. “w-what’s going on?!”, you exclaimed, fear enveloping your body.

“we’re going home, sweetheart”, he said with a chuckle and within the next second, just another blink of your eyes, you were someplace else.

confused, you looked around, taking in your surroundings and noticing the gorgeous garden. flowers were one of your most favorite things in the world and you quickly went to the garden, taking a breather of the fresh flowers.

“they’re not real, unfortunately. not a single living thing can survive down here”, sylus explained with a sad tone in his voice.

“what do you mean with down here?”, you questioned. despite him saying that the flowers were not real, they sure as hell smelled real.

“hell. hades. whatever you’d like to call it”, he said, shrugging.

“you brought me to… hell?!”, you asked. “that’s what you called my true home? why would i…?”

nothing made sense. you felt like, nothing would ever make sense to you right now, no matter how clear and understandable the explanation was.

“i promise, i will explain everything to you”, sylus said once again. “come with me, sweetheart.”

he raised his hand, holding it out with an inviting smile. and you took it, curious.

sylus slowly took you around the area. “this is hell?”, you questioned, confused at how it looked all… normal. although the furniture was mostly in black and red, the area was still… giving a certain happy, exciting energy. it definitely didn’t feel like the burning, scary place you were always told the stories about.

“well, it’s a part of it. hell is… not as bad as everyone pictures it. most souls finding their ways here are surprised as well – the burning in hell jab was never a thing. i don’t even know where that came from. yes, hell is a place in which you get punished for your wrongdoings. but… in a way, you punish yourself for those. you know that saying ‘your own personal hell’? that’s exactly how it is for the souls that come here. they relive sins over and over again, with the difference that they experience what they made others experience.”

“that makes sense”, you concluded.

“and being the god of death and the guardian of hell… of course, i’m going to live a lavish life, am i not?”, he laughed softly. “i can literally just snap with my finger…” a little snap with his fingers, and suddenly, a candle-lit table filled with your most favorite meals and dishes appeared in front of you. “and i will have it. this is my world, after all. well, i took over control of it once my brothers and i banished our parents, the titans, to tartarus.”

“i’m so sorry to say this, but… this just feels so surreal. deep down, i know you’re telling the truth, yet some part of me is refusing to believe this is real”, you said.

“as always, sweetheart. you’ll need some time to remember. but that’s okay, i promise”, he comforted you and gently nudged you to take a seat at the couch next to the candlelit dinner table. “take all the time you need, dearest.”

he snapped with his fingers once again and a little plate with different fruits appeared on his hand. “here, eat a little. you must be starving”, he mumbled, taking a few pomegranate seeds and feeding them to you.

“how did you know i like pomegranates?”, you asked.

“i just do. like i said. i know everything about you. and you know everything about me. just give it another two days, maybe three. that’s usually how long i need to feed you pomegranates until you remember. it’s not my first rodeo of this, sweetheart. you’ll understand soon, i promise.”

you nodded, still confused about everything before you just ate the seeds of the delicious pomegranate with excitement. and sylus watched you munch on the seeds so carelessly, so happily. he was so in love with you, his heart jumped as you licked over his fingertip to taste the delicious juice.

“you’re so pretty”, he mumbled. “and so, so adorable. let’s see if i can make you remember me faster this time.”

before you could ask why he kept on repeating that, you suddenly felt his hand on your chin, turning you around before he kissed you. your eyes widened in shock, but you felt yourself melt into it quite fast, eyes slowly fluttering shut and you started to kiss him back. he slowly buried his hand into your hair, his kiss intensifying with every moment.

an image of this exact thing happening flashed before your eyes for a split second, before it vanished again.

he broke off the kiss, breathless from how desperate, longing the kiss was. “i missed this in the past six months”, he mumbled softly. “i missed the way you feel against me, the way you taste. i’m going to make you remember everything. just keep on munching those pomegranate seeds, yeah? they always helped you remember.”

“pomegranate seeds helped me remember? that’s… odd”, you commented, but didn’t complain because you loved them anyway. you grabbed the table with the fresh seeds and kept on eating them, happy about the sweet and sour taste of them. “they’re delicious.”

“of course they are. i got them for you”, he laughed softly. “you get the best of everything. you deserve it all.”

the first day spent in hell with sylus passes with you munching all the delicious food he snapped into reality for you and then slowly falling asleep in his arms.

sylus stayed awake for the entire night. he watched you sleep so comfortably, a soft smile on your lips as you dreamt of various things. he couldn’t know what those things were, but they were beautiful dreams that he knew. that smile on your lips was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen.

slowly, with the comfort of having you in his arms once again, he fell asleep, for the first time in six months, so relaxed and happy. and he actually slept an entire night without being plagued by the memories he had with you before the curse happened.

you woke up with a sigh, eyes finally opening and you stared right into sylus’ sleeping face. you couldn’t help but look at him, he looked so peaceful, and he was probably the most gorgeous man you had ever met in your entire life.

“good morning”, sylus grumbled, eyes still closed, yet he was awake. “did you sleep well?”

“mhm, surprisingly, considering i just spent the night in hell”, you joked, earning yourself a tickle attack from him.

despite him being a stranger, you had no problem sleeping in the same bed as him.

though, something has changed now. you were sure you remembered splits and bits of what he was talking — or more like, hinting — about.

“i remember a few things, i think”, you mumbled. “it’s weird. i remember you and i kissing, every chance we got. i remember you and i sleeping in this bed like tonight. but i can’t remember what our relationship was. were we boyfriend and girlfriend? were we… married?”

“we were — or more like, still are — actually married”, sylus revealed. “we had the most lavish wedding known among every god in our history. you looked so gorgeous in your dress. i remember the night of our wedding day in its greatest detail, too.” a little smirk danced on his lips at that memory.

“it was probably one of the longest nights we spent entangled in bed together. something i plan to reenact once you remember me”, he laughed softly, and that laugh intensified when he saw how shy you got when you heard that. “and then… followed the war. and the curse.”

his tone got more serious once he got to that part of the story.

“the titans – our parents – challenged us olympians. and we did our best to overthrow them, and finally did it. but before it was finally time and we had banished them to tartarus, my father put a curse on us. we are never able to be together as we wished to be. you disappear back to earth like clockwork around april. i will come and bring you back to me in winter. your mother gave me her blessing for it. i get to spend those six months with my wife. though, i have to make you remember every time anew. i have to make you fall back in love with me again. now, i finally figured out how to make you remember the easiest – pomegranate seeds do the trick best. i don’t know why and i can’t explain why, either. it just works.”

you listen to him intently. he had such a calming storytelling voice. you loved listening to him.

“i mean, after centuries of doing this, i should know how to make my wife fall in love with me every six months, don’t i?”, he chuckled, but there was no sort of emotion in his laugh.

“is there no way of getting rid of this curse?”, you asked. he shook his head.

“not that we know of. nothing we tried ever worked”, he replied.

“i’m sorry”, you said, choking up on your sobs. “i’m sorry i have to make you feel this lonely for six months every time.”

“shh, princess, it’s okay. i’m okay. and as long as you are okay, i will be okay.”

you hugged him immediately, trying to bury your tears. it was clear he loved you and you could feel it by the way he embraced you as well.

“i still don’t remember everything. but i’m willing to try, sylus. i swear. i want to remember everything. i want to remember you and me”, you whispered against his neck.

“and you will. i will do anything in my power to help you remember me. and everything about us. like every year. and then we will spend the most amazing six months of our lives once again. you will forget about them but i will lock them in my memories like every year. and then we’ll meet again in six months. i will be yours forever. no matter how much it breaks my heart to know i have to make you fall in love with me again like clockwork.”

he reached to the nightstand and grabbed a box. as he opened it, he revealed a ring. “this was our wedding ring, sweetheart. i keep it with me. can i put it back on your finger?”

you nodded, your eyes still shimmering from the tears you tried your best to contain as you held out your hand. he carefully slipped the ring onto your ring finger, smiling at you.

“i love you. you don’t have to say it back. do it when you’re ready, pretty”, he whispered and kissed your forehead gently.

you nodded only as you inspected the ring, the diamond etched into it shining brightly in the light of the room. “it’s beautiful. thank you, sy.”

as you called him by your usual nickname, there was yet another memory unlocked. you saying this exact nickname before, sitting in this exact bed before. “i- i remember this exact thing. we did this before, didn’t we?”, you asked. “you give this ring back to me every year. how do you have the patience to wait for me every year, sy?”

“i don’t know. i just do. the thought of being reunited with you at some point gives me the energy to wait and be patient.”

“that must be so painful every time i just… disappear, right?”, you said, hugging him a little tighter.

“it doesn’t matter. what matters is that you are with me again, sweetheart”, he replied. “i love you. i will love you forever with my immortal life. i don’t care that you will leave me every six months, even if it’s involuntary. i will get you back when i can and have you fall back in love with me every single time.”

“you must be the most patient man on earth… well- in hell”, you joked, giggling. “this is so weird. i never pictured hell to look this… beautiful.”

“because this isn‘t the part of hell that‘s the horrible one. this is our home. that we built together. i never changed a thing about the furniture you chose.”

“me? choosing black and dark red furniture? i must‘ve been out of my mind”, you grumble. “are you sure?”

he laughed, his laugh so deep and the way you looked at him was the most adorable thing he saw in his life. as you looked at him questioning his sudden burst of laughter, he slowly stopped laughing and started explaining.

“it‘s funny because… you react like this every single year. and once you remember, you also remember why you chose these specific colors.”

“well, then let’s see what my reasons were for these abominations of color schemes”, you giggled and finally stood up from bed, stretching your body to get rid of the last bits of sleep still lingering in your body.

“i‘m hungry. can you snap your fingers and make me breakfast?”, you yawned, turning back to face him.

“why don‘t you try it yourself?”

“h-huh? myself?”, you ask, the previous confusion making its way back onto your face. “how am i supposed to-?”

“just try. you are a goddess, sweetheart. you don‘t remember anything, but i do. i remember it all. just try”, he encouraged you, standing up to go behind you and he took your hand into his, entangling your fingers with his. “just think of the most lavish breakfast table a person could ever prepare. and focus only on that.”

you closed your eyes, picturing a table with your most favorite items to eat for breakfast and within the next second, that exact table appeared in front of you.

“i did this?”, you asked, looking around and finally looking up to face him. “you‘re not playing around with me, are you?”

“no, of course i‘m not, sweetheart. go on, try making something appear without telling me what it is. go ahead”, he said, letting go of your hand.

you closed your eyes as you tried to think of a bouquet of white roses and winced as you felt a stinging pain in your hand. you opened your eyes again to see that exact binding of white roses in your hand and dropped it as the thorns stabbed into your fingers. you watched a little bit of blood trail down your skin before it vanished just a second later.

you looked at sylus who smiled at you proudly. “see? sweetheart, you are the queen of the underworld. you are my queen. you are the goddess of the dead, the underworld and nature. of course, you can do everything i can do, too.”

with that revelation of your true identity, it was like, everything that was locked in the smallest corner of your brain suddenly unlocked. you remembered everything. you remembered him kidnapping you many centuries ago. you remember eating six pomegranate seeds which is the reason you have to stay six months of the year in the underworld.

you remember the first time you realized you genuinely loved him.

and you remember the gruesome war. you remember the curse sylus’ father had put on you before he was banished to tartarus.

“i remember”, you whisper. “i remember it all.”

“what?”, sylus blurted out, as if in disbelief.

“i remember everything. i remember the first time you brought me here. i remember how i fell in love with you. i remember how we got married before your father put the curse on me”, you said, eyes tearing up.

he quickly grabbed your hands and intertwined your fingers. “i think this is the fastest i was able to make you remember”, he laughed, the brightest smile on his face. before you could do or say anything, he kissed you. it was the most intense, passionate and breathtaking kiss you ever shared before.

your arms wrapped around his neck as he held you tight, and when he broke off the kiss, he didn’t go far away, his forehead pressed against yours. his red eyes bore into yours as you sobbed, tears rolling down your cheeks as he wiped them all off gently.

“shh, don‘t cry, princess. there‘s nothing to cry about”, he whispered gently, planting a soft kiss on both of your cheeks, tasting the dried up tears on your soft skin.

“sylus, i love you. i love you, i love you, i love you”, you repeated like a mantra, kissing him over and over again. “i love you. i’m so sorry for making you go through all of this every single year. let’s try to find a remedy, baby. i don’t ever want to see you in pain again.”

“it’s okay. i promise. it’s okay. i will wait for you every single time”, he replied, hugging you tightly as he comforted you. “don’t cry, my love. don’t cry. let’s just spend these six months together… until it’s time again.”

just a few more moments later, you slowly calmed down and just stood there in his arms. “i love you”, he whispered before he placed his fingers underneath your chin and lifted your head. “i can’t help but say it over and over again. i missed you so much, baby.”

you gave no response – instead, you just kissed him, wrapping your arms around his neck once again, the kiss slowly turning from tiny, gentle pecks, into something more intense, passionate.

“missed kissing you like this”, he whispered against your lips. “remember our wedding night?”

your cheeks heated up and you wanted to turn your face around in embarrassment. “no, no, sweetheart, no need to get shy”, he whispered. “i want you to remember that night. because i swear to you, that is what i’m going to reenact once you give me your okay.”

you felt something in your stomach turn, in the most positive way possible. the memories were now etched into your brain and although there were thousands of moments you spent with him.

“sweetheart”, he grumbled, voice having an edge of desperation in it. “you drive me crazy.”

he slowly leaned down to kiss down your neck, he was leaving soft bites over your skin and you shuddered, a feeling of sudden need surging through your body. “please”, you whined, not even knowing what you were asking for.

“please, what, sweetheart?”, he grumbled against your neck. “you know i love to hear your words. you remember now. do it, then. tell me what you want.”

“i want you”, you softly breathed out. “i want you to fuck me.”

“such a dirty mouth. i’ll never tire from hearing you say this, sweetheart”, he chuckled before he kissed you again, this time more desperate, slowly pushing you against the nearest wall and he lifted one of your legs to wrap it around his waist. “i’m going to fuck you so good, you’ll lose your damn mind, sweetie.”

“i know you will”, you whispered softly with a grin.

he was about to carry you back to bed before you stopped him. “take me up against the wall first”, you mumbled, cheeks heating up. “i don’t know why. i just want this. you can make love to me later.”

he chuckled softly before he nodded. “as you wish, milady”, he said with a grin and pulled off your clothes with swift, quick movements. you were unable to move a single muscle, just watching him undress you and looking at you with a hungry gaze.

he slowly let one of his hands trail down your body and you shivered. before you knew it, you felt his fingers slowly circle your clit. even with the tiniest touch, sparks shot through your body, eyes fluttering shut as the first smallest bits of pleasure coursed through your body.

“ah- sylus”, you whined, softly. “i- i need more.”

“you’ll get more, sweetheart. don’t you worry. i’ll take care of you.”

he pushed a finger inside of you, making you moan softly. that sound was one of his favorite sounds on earth. “you’re so wet already. i bet you could take me without a problem, too.”

“please, sy, fuck me”, you begged softly. “please.”

he smirked, his red eyes watched your every move and reaction. “take my clothes off, then, sweetheart.” he pulled out his finger and licked it clean with a smirk. you quickly got to work, pulling off his shirt and the joggers he was wearing.

“never in my life did i imagine the king of hell would wear joggers to sleep”, you laughed but he cut off that laugh rather quickly by wrapping his hand around your neck.

“what’s so funny, sweetheart?”, he grunted with a smirk. “am i not just a person, too? can’t i wear joggers just because i’m the king of hell?”

“of course, you can. i’m just joking around.”

sylus was a rough man, especially in bed. after all, that was a requirement for being the king of hell, the person who rules over the people who passed and punish themselves for their sins, for their crimes.

and he showed that roughness through his actions. because the moment he lifted your leg and wrapped your naked body around his body, slowly pushing in his cock inside of you, he was whipped yet again. he loved being buried in you, fucking you until you were a breathless, overstimulated, yet so beautiful mess.

sylus increased his pace, bouncing you on his cock and making you cry out in pleasure. your body shook, tears slowly forming in your eyes and rolling down your cheeks as you felt your body convulse, a tight knot forming in your tummy.

“i’m- i’m gonna cum!”, you whined. you shrieked when you felt your back on the bed, he suddenly had you thrown onto the bed.

“can’t fuck you properly without laying you down on our bed”, he grunted, “need your legs around me, need you as close as possible to me.”

he fucked you with passion, watching your face contort as the knot in your tummy snapped and you climaxed, back arching into him. you were feeling so great, too, the pleasure making your body tingle and you smiled in your post-orgasmic haze.

“feels good, sweetie?”, he asked, brushing a strand out of your face. “you sure look like it feels absolutely amazing.”

“it does. i feel so.. good”, you whispered, looking up at him with teary eyes. “i need you, sy. i need you more.”

“and you’ll get it all, baby.”

he was ravaging you in the best way possible – he had you buried in the many pillows on his – your shared – bed, fucking into you, your bodies both covered in sweat and dried up tears were coating your cheeks.

“ah- sylus! slow down!”, you cried as overstimulation wrecked through your body, but everything in your body screamed that he shouldn’t stop or slow down. the way he was rutting into you like a man starved was turning you on beyond imagination.

“no, no, no slowing down”, he grunted against your neck, delivering a particularly hard thrust into you, making you jolt up in surprise. “i’m going to fuck you and you’re going to take it all like my good girl.”

“uh-huh”, you whimpered, nails scratching over his back and leaving all kinds of marks. they would heal in a short time, but sylus loved feeling the slight pain of your nails digging into his skin.

your cries intensified when you felt his thumb circle over your clit, along with his relentless thrust into your weeping pussy. “come for me, baby. come for me”, he whispered into your ear, his deep voice sending a powerful shudder through your body and you ended up coming just a quick moment later, the post-orgasmic shocks going through your body.

he held you tight, watching your face contort as your husband gently caressed your skin as he waited for you to calm down. “shh, princess, i’m here. i love you.”

“i still can’t believe you do this every single year”, you whispered once you calmed down, placing your hand on his cheek. “i hate to break your heart like this.”

“it’s out of your control, sweetheart. it’s okay. let’s not focus on that, right now. i just want to be buried in your sweet cunt and feel you as close as possible.”

you laughed softly. “you’re impossible.”

“you love it”, he smirked before he moved once again, watching your face contorted in pleasure and overstimulation. “you love me anyway.”

“that i do. that i really do.”

before you knew it, he turned you around so you were on top of him – he wanted you to watch you on top of him. “ride me, baby. take what you deserve”, he grunted. “let me watch you.”

“you just want me to do all the work, don’t you? so lazy”, you giggled before you started to move up and down his cock, soft whines and moans escaping your throat. his hands were latched onto your hips, guiding your movements and leaned down, laying on top of him and peppered kisses over his neck.

“i swear, your sweet pussy is going to kill me one day”, he groaned. “i’m so close, fuck.”

“then come in me, sy. come in me”, you cried out, overstimulation making your thighs shake but you couldn’t find it in yourself to stop. you just needed to feel this, you needed to feel as close as possible to him. because you wanted to give him all the memories you could until the day you’d be gone again for six months and forget about him once more.

“fuck, sweetheart”, he grunted into your ear. the noises he let out were like music – and you never wanted it to stop. “you take me so well. i’m so proud of you, baby.”

sylus knew there was no way in hell he could hold back after feeling you wrapped around him after such a long time. so when you squeezed around his cock once again, close to your own high again, you felt the spurts of his cum burst into you, filling you up in the best way possible.

he made it to his mission to make you finish again because even though his body was screaming for a break, he had to make you cum so he just guided your hips up and down his cock until you screamed his name and creamed around his cock again, the white ring of your mixed releases so visible on the base of his cock.

“fuck, baby. i sometimes don’t know how i manage to wait six months to feel this again”, he groaned, keeping you on top of him as he softly brushed through your hair. your body was still buzzing from the constant highs and orgasms and you just lay on his chest, trying to calm yourself down.

his gentle strokes through your hair, over your back made you so drowsy, sleepy from exhaustion. “i love you, sy.”

“i love you, too, sweetheart.”

six months passed with a blink of an eye. you spent most of the time eating all the foods you could think of and just spent the time walking around hell. it was ironically romantic, despite it being literal hell. you’d hold his hand, walk around with him as he showed you the river in the elysian fields, which was the river of happiness.

he let you taste a little drop and you just felt like you were floating on air.

you and him spent a lot of time entangled in bed, fucking each other’s brains out, making love, kissing and making out and you just… loved it all.

the moment you realized that your memory started to blur and you had no idea where you were anymore, you quickly took off the ring on your finger and gave it back to him for safekeeping.

“i’m so sorry, sy. i’m going to miss you. i love you”, you whispered before you disappeared without being able to hear his ‘i love you, too’. you were unable to watch his eyes tear up in pain, his heart breaking. you were back on earth, not remembering anything that had happened in the past six months.

“see you in six months, sweetie”, he whispered, holding the ring tight in his hand and sylus cursed out his father for the pain he made his son experience every single time.

sylus swore that he’d find a remedy one day, but he never was able to.

until then, he’d spend his six months a year with you in your home and wait until it was time to bring you back home. despite the pain, he was happy he was able to spend time with you at all.

he carefully placed the ring back into its box and smiled with teary eyes, starting the countdown of days until he’d see you again.

a/n: i really hope you enjoyed this! it was my first time writing after ages so i might be a bit rusty, so sorry about that. this one is one of my most favorite writings in a long time so i really hope you love it just as much as i do!

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace fanfiction #love and deepspace smut #love and deepspace angst #sylus #sylus qin #sylus x reader #sylus smut #lad #lad sylus #sylus fanfiction

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