#⋆ i cherish those little messages

[moxnshxne]

You told me yesterday I'm full of surprises. So here is another!

Good morning babe and have a great start into monday please. May you check your lunchbox at your lunch break? There is a little yummy something packed in today.

I love you and eat well!

You know baby, if I hadn't received any news from you on Monday, that would be a sad surprise. But by now, I kind of expect for you to cutely appear for me and prepare me a little something.

Thank you for the lunch box as always. It's delicious and lovely as always.

[kitsune-kaos]

Finally finished Attack on Titan. My God. Just. Wow.

[mephisto-reporting]

Jealousy, Jealousy with Sylus

Plot: Reader becomes jealous of Sylus and MC's closeness, distancing herself and seeking comfort in another LI. Sylus notices her growing distance and takes action. Based on this request. Pairing: Sylus x Non MC reader Content Warning: Insecurities, injuries, mention of blood, jealousy, angst, hurt/comfort Note: Reader is not the MC of the game. I think I got quite carried away writing this because I am a sucker for angst. [ A disclaimer note - Please be respectful of the request ]

The faint hum of the air condition echoed through the Onychinus base, its opulent, luxurious atmosphere doing little to distract from the knot twisting in your stomach. You stood across from Luke and Kieran, their crow masks tilted slightly as if to gauge your reaction.

"Boss isn't here today," Luke said casually, his hands tucked into his pockets. "He’s in Linkon, Boss man’s got other things to handle."

Kieran, his mask tilted slightly to the side, gave a confused grunt. "But I thought he was meeting with her...?"

Luke raised a brow, correcting him. "No, no, he was meeting with Miss Hunter."

Miss Hunter.

The words hit you like a sledgehammer, even though they shouldn’t have. You were a hunter too, an informant who had been feeding Sylus critical intel on the association’s movements for two years now. But she was different. Special.

Captain Jenna’s star pupil, with her rare Anhaunsen-class Resonance Evol, was someone Sylus had spent weeks trying to connect with, both literally and emotionally. You weren’t blind to the necessity of it; resonating with her was crucial for his goals, ones he hadn’t entirely shared with you but that you trusted him to pursue.

Trusted him. Loved him.

You forced a tight smile. "Thanks for the update. I'll let you two get back to it."

Luke and Kieran exchanged a glance, but you were already walking away, the echo of your boots swallowed by the hum of the base.

The ride back to Linkon was supposed to clear your mind. It didn’t.

The cool wind whipped against your face, but all it did was sting the tears pooling in your eyes. The road stretched endlessly ahead, yet the pressure in your chest only grew. Sylus hadn’t seen you in two months. Two months of unanswered calls and messages reduced to half-hearted responses when they came at all.

You understood why he was focused on her. She was crucial to his plans. She was everything you weren’t: poised, pretty, powerful, and, most importantly, someone he needed.

But understanding didn’t make it hurt any less.

The world blurred around you as your thoughts spiraled. You had always known your place in Sylus’ life. You were the informant, the quiet insider who helped him stay two steps ahead of the hunters. Somewhere along the way, though, you had fallen for him. For the man who wasn’t as cold and calculated as others believed. It had been two long years since you started working with Sylus. Two years filled with secrecy, lies, and hidden truths. But over those years, you'd found yourself tangled in emotions for him that you couldn’t shake. Sylus, with his cold authority, his dangerous smile, his complex nature… He was all you could think about. He wasn’t as dismissive as people thought. He had a way of looking at you when no one was watching—a fleeting softness that you cherished, even if you couldn’t be certain if it was real.

And now, it felt like you were losing him.

Your bike screeched to a halt near Meow’s Café. You hadn’t planned to stop, but the sight of the familiar storefront tugged at you. Perhaps a coffee and a moment to breathe would help.

The glass windows glinted under the midday sun, and your breath hitched as you looked inside.

Sylus was there. With her.

They sat at a small table, a deck of Kitty cards spread between them. He was leaning back, his smirk in full display as she laughed at something he said. It was the kind of laugh that reached her eyes, the kind of moment you had only ever dreamed of sharing with him.

You froze, your hands tightening on your helmet.

For a fleeting second, you wanted to march inside and demand answers. To ask him why he had time to play cards but couldn’t return your calls. To tell him how his absence had hollowed you out.

But you didn’t.

He looks so happy... you thought bitterly, swallowing the lump in your throat.

The truth gnawed at you. Every interaction, every ignored message, every unread notification on your phone—it was because of her. Because Sylus had more important things to do. She was the one who mattered now. She was the one who he had to resonate with, had to bond with, had to make fall for him.

And you? You were just a pawn, a tool—forgotten. And there you were. Alone. Watching through a window, the warmth of the cafe contrasting the cold, empty feeling in your stomach. He hadn’t even bothered to let you know he was back. He was with her. You couldn’t bear to watch any longer, but you couldn’t look away either. It felt like the world was spinning faster than you could catch up, and you were left stranded, dizzy, and abandoned.

Instead, you turned away, your chest tight and vision blurred. The world felt suffocating, the weight of your unspoken feelings dragging you down as you climbed back onto your bike.

It was for the best, right?

You couldn’t keep doing this. You couldn’t keep waiting for him, couldn’t keep fooling yourself that there was something real between you two. He was busy. He had her. And you.. well, you didn’t even know why you bothered anymore.

The ride back to your apartment was a blur of taillights and muffled engine noise. The city’s glow that usually brought you some sense of comfort felt glaring and alien tonight. By the time you made it inside, the suffocating silence of your small space was overwhelming.

For someone who prided herself on being strong and independent, you barely made it to your couch before the sobs overtook you. Hot, angry tears streamed down your face as you clutched a pillow to your chest, trying in vain to keep your cries muffled. It felt as though something within you had been ripped apart, leaving an aching, hollow void that throbbed with every thought of him.

You replayed the image of him at the café in your mind, over and over, as if some part of you wanted to punish yourself further. His smirk. Her laughter. The ease of their interaction. It contrasted so sharply with the heaviness that now weighed on your heart.

Every chime of your phone made you flinch, hope briefly sparking to life, only to be cruelly snuffed out when the screen lit up with messages from others—work updates, pointless notifications, or friends checking in. Nothing from him. Of course, there wouldn’t be.

You wiped at your face, your chest tightening as you scrolled through the last few conversations you’d had with Sylus. They were short, clipped responses. A "thanks" here, an "I’m busy" there. You’d convinced yourself for weeks that he wasn’t brushing you off, that his focus was just elsewhere. But deep down, you knew. You’d always known.

You weren’t as important to him as he was to you.

That realization settled over you like a heavy blanket, suffocating and final. And yet, you tried to convince yourself it was okay. He doesn’t owe me anything, you told yourself, though the thought only twisted the knife deeper. He’s free to choose who he spends his time with.

But it didn’t stop the tears.

The days that followed were a haze of exhaustion and numbness. You threw yourself into your work, spending long hours tracking and confronting wanderers. The physical exhaustion helped, even if just a little. At least when you were in the middle of a fight, the pain in your chest was drowned out by the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Still, the nights were the worst. Alone in your apartment, the quiet crept in like a suffocating fog. You tried to distract yourself—reading, cleaning, even organizing old mission reports. Anything to keep your mind from drifting back to him. But it was impossible.

Each time you saw his name in your contacts, you hesitated. Your thumb hovered over the call button more times than you cared to admit, but the fear of hearing his indifferent voice stopped you every time. What would you even say? That you missed him? That you wanted to see him? That you’d fallen for him, even though you knew it would never be mutual?

No. You couldn’t do that to yourself.

You worked harder, pushed yourself further. Every wanderer you fought became a stand-in for your frustrations, your insecurities. You told yourself that if you could just stay busy enough, the ache would go away. But no matter how many missions you completed or how many late nights you spent staring at your phone, the weight in your chest never fully lifted.

By the end of the week, you were exhausted—physically and emotionally. But you were surviving. Barely. The bell above the door jingled softly as you pushed into the chocolatier’s shop, the rich scent of cocoa and vanilla wrapping around you like a warm embrace. The day had been grueling—hours of chasing leads, a narrow escape from a particularly aggressive wanderer, and not a single bite of food since morning. Your stomach growled in protest, a sharp reminder that you’d been running on fumes for too long.

Rows of meticulously crafted chocolates gleamed beneath the glass counter, their perfect swirls and shimmering finishes almost too beautiful to eat. Almost. You leaned forward slightly, scanning the display, your reflection ghosting over the pristine surface.

Dark chocolate truffles. Raspberry ganache. Caramel hazelnut clusters. The options were overwhelming, and your indecision felt heavier than it should’ve. Your chest still ached from the lingering emotions you’d been suppressing all week. The quiet joy of the shop felt alien, like stepping into a world you no longer belonged to.

Just pick something and go, you thought, your fingers tightening on the strap of your bag. But the choices seemed endless, each one whispering promises of sweetness you weren’t sure you deserved.

"If you’re struggling," a soft, measured voice spoke behind you, "the pistachio crème chocolate is an excellent choice."

Startled, you turned, your gaze falling on a man standing a few steps away. Tall and lean, he exuded an understated confidence that was both intimidating and captivating. Dark hair fell in against his forehead, and sharp hazel-green eyes, softened by gold flecks peered at you from behind thin-framed glasses. His white doctor’s coat was open, revealing a simple black shirt beneath, and he held a small paper bag in one hand.

You blinked, caught off guard by both his suggestion and his presence. "Oh, uh… thank you," you stammered, trying not to sound as flustered as you felt. "I’ll… I’ll try that."

The shopkeeper nodded and carefully packed your selection as you stole another glance at the stranger. There was an air of calm authority about him, a quiet assurance that made you feel oddly exposed, like he could see straight through you.

He waited patiently as the shopkeeper handed you your bag, but just as you were about to leave, his voice cut through the quiet again—this time, more direct. "Chocolates shouldn’t be your first meal of the day."

The statement was delivered without malice, his tone stoic and matter-of-fact, yet it hit like a stone to the chest. Your lips parted in shock, the question forming before you could stop it: How does he know? But before you could say anything, he was already moving toward the door. The bells jingled softly as it closed behind him, leaving you standing frozen in place. The stranger’s words lingered, intertwining with the rest of your messy emotions. Your fingers clenched the small bag of chocolates as you tried to process the brief encounter.

A soft gleam on the floor caught your attention, breaking your spiraling thoughts. A wallet, its sleek leather worn but well-kept, lay just inches from where the man had stood. You knelt and picked it up, your heart thudding as you opened it to check for identification.

The name embossed on his hospital ID was like a jolt: Dr. Zayne. Your eyes widened. Doctor Zayne? The name was familiar—a renowned surgeon whose skills and precision were legendary, often described as a miracle worker. You’d imagined someone older, more weathered, not… this.

For a moment, you stared at the ID, piecing together the puzzle of the composed, enigmatic man who had called you out so effortlessly. You tried the number listed on a card tucked into his wallet, but it rang unanswered, the sterile monotone only adding to your frustration.

"Of course, he wouldn’t answer," you muttered under your breath, chewing your lip as you debated your next move. The idea of keeping his wallet overnight felt wrong, and leaving it here in the shop seemed equally careless.

That left one option.

The hospital loomed ahead as you approached, its towering structure illuminated against the evening sky. Anxiety gnawed at your insides, twisting with every step you took through the sterile white halls. You weren’t sure why you felt so on edge—maybe it was the overwhelming sense of inadequacy that had been haunting you lately, or maybe it was the lingering impression of Zayne’s knowing gaze.

At the reception desk, you hesitated, gripping the wallet tightly as you cleared your throat. "Hi, um, I’m here to return something for Dr. Zayne. He… accidentally dropped this."

The receptionist barely looked up, taking the wallet with a polite but indifferent smile. "Dr. Zayne isn’t in right now. I’ll make sure he gets this when he’s back."

"Oh," You nodded, murmuring a quick thanks before retreating back toward the exit. You thought nothing of this interaction as you left. You did what you thought was right and left the hospital back towards your apartment.

The days blurred together in a haze of work and routine. You buried yourself in assignments from the Hunter’s Association, throwing yourself into dangerous missions with a single-minded intensity. Anything to keep your mind occupied.

Sylus messaged you once during that time, his tone professional as he asked for updates regarding a lead he was tracking. You’d responded quickly, sticking strictly to business. No pleasantries, no banter—just the information he needed. He didn’t press, didn’t call you out for your uncharacteristic coldness. Maybe he didn’t notice. Or maybe he did and chose not to say anything.

That night, you jogged through the dimly lit streets, your breath fogging in the cool air as you tried to exorcise the restless energy gnawing at you. The rhythmic slap of your sneakers against the pavement was grounding, steady. Jogging had always been your go-to, a way to clear your head and silence the endless stream of "what-ifs" and "if-onlys" that plagued your mind.

But no amount of movement could completely shake Sylus from your thoughts.

His voice, his presence—it clung to you, even now.

Why didn’t he ask how I’ve been? Why didn’t I?

You shook your head, annoyed at yourself. There was no point in dwelling. Sylus wasn’t the kind of person to give you what you wanted, and even if he did, could you trust it? Could you trust him?

The sound of skidding tires yanked you out of your spiraling thoughts.

“Look out!”

Before you could process the warning, a cyclist veered wildly toward you, their momentum too strong to stop. There wasn’t even time to brace yourself. The impact hit like a freight train, and suddenly, you were on the ground, tangled with the bike and its rider. Pain blossomed sharp and hot in your knees as the asphalt scraped them raw.

For a moment, you just lay there, stunned. The world tilted unsteadily, the city lights smearing together like a watercolor painting.

“Hey, you okay?” The cyclist’s voice snapped you back. They were scrambling off you, helmet slightly askew but otherwise unscathed. You shook your head to clear it, wincing as you sat up. You pushed yourself up, shaking the dizziness from your head, and checked on the cyclist who had crashed into you. They were already scrambling to their feet, looking slightly dazed but otherwise unharmed, their helmet and guards having done their job.

“I’m fine,” you managed, even as your knees throbbed in protest. “Are you?”

“Yeah, thanks to the gear,” they said, pulling off their helmet to inspect a small crack along its surface. “Guess it did its job.”

Relief washed over you. “Good. Let me just—”

“Wait.” A different voice cut in, firm but calm. You stood there, still trying to regain your bearings when a figure appeared beside you, moving with a grace that immediately caught your attention. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw who it was. Dr. Zayne. The same man who had crossed your path in the chocolatier's shop just days ago. His sharp eyes locked onto yours, and for a split second, everything else seemed to vanish. His expression shifted from mild surprise to something more concerned as he took in your state.

Without saying a word, he immediately began assessing you, his gaze narrowing at the blood now staining your knees. You winced, feeling the sting of the cuts that had begun to bloom with a fiery intensity, but you were determined not to show it. You were used to pain—used to the sharp discomfort that came with being a hunter. You didn’t need help. You could handle this on your own. You’d always been able to.

But Dr. Zayne wasn’t having any of it.

His voice, low and steady, broke through the haze of your thoughts. "You’re bleeding. Those need first aid," he said firmly, his frown deepening as he glanced at your scraped knees. "Sit. Wait here. I’ll be back in a minute."

You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him you were fine, but the words caught in your throat. He wasn’t asking. His tone, though gentle, was authoritative—demanding in its own quiet way. There was something about the way he carried himself, that calm, unflinching presence, that made it impossible to argue.

"I’m fine, I am a hunter." you managed to say, your voice rougher than you intended. "I can handle it at home. Really." You tried to force a reassuring smile

“Is this a hunter thing?” he interrupted, one brow arching skeptically. “Are all of you this stubborn about basic care, or is it just you?”

The words should have been biting, but his tone was almost... patient. Like he was accustomed to dealing with difficult people.

You flushed, suddenly hyper-aware of the sting in your knees and the heat of his gaze. “I’m not being stubborn,” you muttered. “I just don’t want to bother anyone over something so small.”

“Small injuries have a way of turning into bigger problems,” he said, folding his arms. “And I’m not bothered. As a doctor, I’m asking you to wait here. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Without waiting for your protest, he turned and strode off, leaving you no room to argue.

You sat stiffly on the bench, gripping the edge as the minutes dragged on. The ache in your knees was nothing compared to the gnawing discomfort blooming in your chest. Anxiety clawed at you, whispering insidious doubts.

He’s wasting his time on you.He probably thinks you’re pathetic and weak.Why couldn’t you have just gotten up and left?

Your fingers curled into fists, the tension radiating through your body.

The sound of footsteps interrupted your spiraling thoughts, and Dr. Zayne was back, carrying a small first aid kit. He knelt in front of you without a word, his hands steady as he cleaned the cuts on your knees. The gentle pressure of his fingers as he worked felt almost surreal. His silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was just… calm. You found yourself drawn to it, to the quiet that seemed to settle around him.

"You’re lucky," he said, glancing up at you as he bandaged your knees. "That could’ve been a lot worse."

You nodded, the words caught in your throat. There were so many things you wanted to say, things you wanted to ask him, but you didn’t know where to start. So you remained silent, watching as he finished his work, his hands moving with the practiced precision of someone who had seen too many injuries to count.

When he was done, he straightened up and met your gaze. "You should be more careful," he said softly, his voice a little lighter than before, though there was still a note of concern underlying his words. "Next time, don’t run so late at night. You never know what could happen."

You forced a tight smile, the words feeling like they were coming from someone else. "I’ll keep that in mind," you said, your voice quieter now.

Dr. Zayne took a step back after finishing the bandages, his sharp gaze softening ever so slightly as he packed the first aid kit. You glanced at him, your mouth opening to thank him, but before you could get the words out, he said, almost in unison, “Thank you.”

Both of you froze, the simultaneous expressions of gratitude hanging awkwardly in the air. A surprised laugh slipped out of you, breaking the tension.

“You first,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You swallowed, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “I was just going to say thank you for… you know, helping with this.” You gestured vaguely toward your knees, the bandages clinging to your skin. “You didn’t have to.”

The moment stretched between you, awkward yet somehow comforting. Zayne gave a small, almost amused smile at the simultaneous gratitude, but his gaze softened when it landed on you, his concern still present.

"Thank you for returning my wallet," he said, his tone steady but with a hint of appreciation.

His words caught you off guard. “Oh, right! That. It wasn’t a big deal, really.” You fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve, avoiding his gaze. “I found it at the chocolatier shop. I figured it was better to bring it to the hospital than leave it lying around.”

He nodded thoughtfully, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. “I appreciate it. Not many people would go out of their way like that.”

You tried not to let his kindness throw you off, but it wasn’t easy. There was something about Zayne that made you feel... small in a way you didn’t like to feel. He was kind, yes, but that kindness made you wonder if you were deserving of it. Why should you be the one he cared about?

But before you could dwell on that any further, his voice cut through your swirling thoughts.

"Have you eaten today?" His tone was light, but there was an edge of sincerity beneath it, one that made your stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with hunger. It reminded you of that conversation in the shop, of how he had so effortlessly read through your tiredness.

The sheepish look that crossed your face must’ve been obvious, because Zayne sighed, the sound so deep that it almost felt like a reprimand. He pinched the bridge of his nose in a gesture that was both familiar and surprisingly endearing.

“You’ve got to take care of yourself,” he said, his voice almost too gentle for the weight of his words. “It’s not healthy to go without food, especially if you’re going to keep running around like you hunters do.”

You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him it wasn’t a big deal, but Zayne didn’t give you the chance.

"There’s a diner close by. It’s the least I can do to thank you for returning my wallet."

You shook your head instinctively, trying to backpedal. "It’s really not necessary," you said, but Zayne wasn’t having any of it. His eyes were firm, and there was an undeniable warmth behind them that almost made you feel guilty for refusing.

"Yes, it is," he replied, his tone steady but with a hint of finality. "Now, come on.”

You hesitated for a moment, the unease building in your chest like a brick wall, but the thought of Zayne’s calm, commanding presence made it impossible to say no. So, with a quiet sigh, you relented.

"I’ll pay," you muttered as he led the way, the words almost reflexive. You always felt like you had to pay your way—like it was your responsibility to do so, especially with someone who had helped you, even in the smallest of ways. You were used to standing on your own two feet.

Zayne only gave you a side glance, his lips quirking up in the barest of smiles. "No, you won’t. It’s my thank you, remember?"

The diner wasn’t far from where you had been, a cozy, low-lit place with a soft hum of quiet conversations and the clink of silverware against plates. The familiar scent of warm food—steak, mashed potatoes, and the unmistakable aroma of fresh bread—immediately filled the air as you stepped inside. You followed Zayne to a small booth in the back, the vinyl seats creaking under your weight as you slid in.

You wanted to say something—thank you, maybe—but the words felt stuck, trapped somewhere in the pit of your stomach, along with everything else that had been piling up for weeks. Zayne didn’t seem to notice, his focus already turning to the menu as he gestured for you to pick something.

You wanted to ask him more, to understand him in the same way you understood the empty streets you ran through, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d just end up looking foolish. So, instead, you stared at the menu in front of you, unable to focus on the choices, as your mind churned with questions that had no answers.

Zayne ordered for both of you, his voice low as he made his choices, and when he looked at you, you caught a flicker of something—perhaps curiosity, or was it concern? It was hard to tell.

"You should eat more regularly," he said again, as though the words were a reminder he had to repeat for his own peace of mind. You nodded, letting the silence fill the space between you for a moment.

The food arrived, warm and satisfying, and you took a bite, surprised at how hungry you were despite the earlier denials. Zayne watched you for a moment, his gaze softening as you ate, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet it. His concern, his care—it felt too much. You weren’t used to people worrying about you.

But as the meal went on, you found yourself starting to relax, the initial tension loosening from your shoulders. Zayne was easy to talk to, his calm, steady presence settling you in a way you hadn’t expected. By the end of the meal, you felt... lighter.

"Call me Zayne," he said when the check came, his voice quiet but sincere.

You blinked, a little caught off guard by the request. "Zayne?" you echoed, testing the name on your tongue.

"Yes," he replied with a small, patient smile. "It’s easier than 'Dr. Zayne,' don’t you think?"

You blinked, taken aback. “Are you sure? I mean, you’ve earned the title—”

“And I’ll still have it in the hospital,” he interrupted, amusement flickering in his eyes. “But here, it’s just Zayne.”

You nodded slowly, testing the name in your mind. It felt strange, almost too personal. But there was something grounding about it, too.

By the time dessert arrived, the knot of anxiety in your chest had loosened considerably. The warmth of the diner, the steady cadence of his voice, and the shared laughter over a poorly made joke had a way of pulling you out of your own head. For the first time in what felt like weeks, you weren’t obsessing over your failures or doubts.

As you finished your meal, Zayne pulled out his phone and slid it across the table. “Here,” he said simply. “Add your number. In case you ever need anything.”

You hesitated, the gesture feeling far more intimate than it probably was. But his expression was patient, expectant, and you found yourself entering your contact information before you could overthink it. When you handed the phone back, his lips twitched into a faint smile.

“Thanks again for returning my wallet,” he said, his tone lighter now. “And for the company.”

You felt your cheeks flush, but this time, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “It’s not a problem,” you murmured, a small smile tugging at your lips.

As you stepped out of the diner and into the cool night air, a strange sense of calm settled over you. Zayne walked you to the corner where your paths would diverge, his presence steady and reassuring.

“Take care of yourself,” he said, his voice softer now, almost intimate.

“You too,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

The diner’s warmth lingered even as you stepped into the cool night air. For the first time in what felt like weeks, your chest didn’t feel as tight, the oppressive weight that had been bearing down on you now lifting slightly. You still felt the ache of Sylus’ absence—a hollow, gnawing sensation that seemed to creep in whenever you let your guard down, but it wasn’t as suffocating as it had been. Instead, a new sensation fluttered in its place, tentative and fragile: excitement. It was strange to feel this way, to look forward to the possibility of a friendship formed under such unlikely circumstances. Zayne’s calm demeanor, his steady presence, had surprised you.

As you walked, the sound of fluttering wings caught your attention. Instinctively, your heart skipped, your mind jumping to Mephisto. You tilted your head to the dark sky, half-expecting to see the telltale silhouette of his familiar. But it was just a cluster of pigeons, their wings catching the faint glow of the streetlights as they soared away.

Right. Of course. It was unlikely that Sylus was watching you tonight.

You exhaled, a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and forced your thoughts away from him. Zayne had offered you a rare moment of normalcy, and you weren’t about to let your memories of Sylus overshadow that.

------------------------------------------------------------------

The following weeks were a blur of activity, and before long, you found yourself stationed at an outpost on the outskirts of Linkon. A metaflux surge had disrupted the area, and the temporary makeshift hospital was bustling with injured workers, hunters, and even a few civilians caught in the chaos. The air was thick with tension, the metallic tang of metaflux faint but persistent, a reminder of the unseen dangers that lurked just beyond the safety of the encampment.

Zayne was assigned as the doctor for the outpost, and you often found yourself crossing paths with him. At first, your interactions were brief—a nod here, a shared glance there—but over time, you began to talk. It started with simple pleasantries, discussions about the metaflux readings or the influx of patients, but it wasn’t long before the conversations deepened.

You learned that Zayne had a dry sense of humor, his sharp wit often catching you off guard. He’d tease you about your stubbornness, and you’d retort with a quip about his overly serious nature. Despite his professionalism, there was a warmth to him, a quiet compassion that made him easy to trust. And though you’d never admit it, you found yourself looking forward to those moments of shared laughter, those fleeting glimpses of something lighter amidst the chaos.

But even as your friendship with Zayne grew, Sylus lingered at the edges of your thoughts, a shadow you couldn’t quite shake. The conversations you had with him were sparse and strictly work-related—updates from the Association, bits of intel you passed along to him. It felt transactional, a far cry from the intimacy you once shared. Yet, every time his name appeared on your screen, your heart still raced, betraying the fragile boundaries you’d tried to set.

One evening, a message from Sylus broke the monotony of your routine.

‘Come over tomorrow night, Darling. I have an exquisite wine I’d like you to try—procured it during a recent deal.’

The invitation was simple, almost casual. For a moment, you imagined it—the rich scent of wine filling the air, his sharp yet alluring gaze fixed on you as he poured you a glass. But reality quickly crept in, dragging you back to the present. You couldn’t go. You couldn’t risk it. Not when your heart was still so fragile, still aching in ways you didn’t want to admit.

You stared at the screen for what felt like an eternity, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as your mind raced. The truth was, you wanted to see him. But you knew better. You had to keep your distance—for your own sake, if nothing else.

‘I’m tired..'

You typed, the words feeling hollow as they formed.

'Busy day tomorrow. Maybe another time.’

You hesitated before hitting send, the weight of the message pressing down on you. When his reply came, it was as simple as his invitation.

‘Okay.’

The finality of it hit you like a brick, and for a moment, you felt like your breath had been stolen away. He didn’t push. He didn’t argue. That empty “okay” hung in the air, leaving you with the quiet realization that, once again, you had lost yourself in the haze of someone else’s world.

You tried not to read too much into it, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he had already moved on. That he didn’t care enough to fight for your attention. Instead, it felt like you were just a passing thought, like an aftertaste that wasn’t worth savoring.

Miss Hunter. The words echoed in your mind. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the tears to stay behind your eyelids, but they pressed hard, a sting that never seemed to fully fade. You rubbed your forehead, trying to push away the thoughts. But even as you did, you couldn’t escape the suffocating feeling in your chest—the one that always came when you were reminded of how little you meant to him. You felt foolish, but you couldn’t help it. It was like you were always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to come back, to pull you back into his orbit with that practiced charm, that voice that made you feel wanted, if only for a little while.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The dinner with Zayne had been a welcome reprieve. It had been two weeks since you last saw him, the demands of work pulling both of you in different directions. But tonight, seated across from him in a small, cozy bistro, you found solace in the familiar rhythm of your conversations. The mellow lights softened the sharp angles of his face as he recounted a mishap earlier in the week involving a particularly irritable patient.

His dry humor, paired with the subtle lift of his brow, drew a laugh from you—a genuine, light sound that felt foreign after the weight of recent days. For a while, the world outside blurred away. You weren’t Miss Hunter; you weren’t anything other than a person sharing a meal with a friend.

As the meal wound down, Zayne looked at you over the rim of his glass, his expression calm. “You’re doing better than when we first met.” he remarked softly.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Am I?”

He nodded. His calm demeanor always had a way of grounding you, and tonight was no exception.

The meal wrapped up with the two of you trading small updates and light banter. You paid for your half of the meal, Zayne insisting it wasn’t necessary, but you’d insisted back. There was a sense of normalcy here, something you weren’t willing to let go of easily. When you parted ways outside the diner, the night air was cool and quiet. Zayne’s warm farewell echoed softly in your ears as you waved goodbye and headed back toward your apartment.

As you walked, you felt lighter somehow. The stress of the past few weeks hadn’t vanished, but Zayne’s steady presence had reminded you of something important—moments of peace still existed, even in the chaos.

The faint scent of lavender greeted you as you unlocked your apartment door, a hint of the candle you’d left burning earlier. The lights were off, and the air felt too still—unnaturally so. Your heart skipped, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. A lump formed in your throat, panic curling its fingers around your chest.

You flicked the light switch, and the sudden brightness flooded the room, revealing the figure sitting on your couch. Sylus.

You froze. Your body stiffened, caught between fight or flight.

Your yelp of surprise filled the space, your pulse racing as you clutched the doorframe for support. “What—Sylus? What are you doing here?”

He was sitting on your couch, one arm draped casually along the backrest, his other hand resting on his knee. The dim light of the room softened the sharp edges of his face, but his expression was anything but gentle. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, tracked your every movement as if he were dissecting you with just a glance.

“How—what are you doing here?” you stammered, your voice shaky as your pulse raced.

Sylus didn’t respond right away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his gaze dragging over you slowly, deliberately. His silence was louder than any words he could have spoken, and it made your skin prickle.

“Darling,” he finally murmured, his voice low and smooth, laced with something you couldn’t quite name. “You look… exhausted.”

You blinked, still standing frozen by the door. His tone was soft, almost tender, but it was the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers tapped against his knee, that betrayed his underlying tension.

“Y-yeah,” you stammered, your voice wavering as you took a cautious step forward. “It’s been a long day. What are you doing here?”

Sylus leaned back, the leather of the couch creaking faintly under his weight. “A long day,” he echoed, his lips curving into a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yet you had time for dinner.”

“I…” you faltered, scrambling for a response. “It was just…”

“Just dinner,” he interrupted smoothly, his tone unreadable. “With… someone else.”

The air felt thick, charged with a tension that made your skin prickle. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words stuck in your throat. His eyes narrowed slightly, his expression still calm but his body language telling a different story. The way his fingers drummed against his knee, the slight clench of his jaw, the flicker of something dark in his gaze.

Your heart pounded, your thoughts racing. Why was he here? What did he want? And why did his presence—his very existence in your space—make your chest ache in that familiar, suffocating way?

“I didn’t think…” You stopped yourself, your voice trembling. “You didn’t say you’d be coming by. You can’t just—”

“Can’t just what?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft as he rose from the couch, his movements fluid and deliberate. “Show up to see what’s wrong?”

Your breath hitched as he closed the distance between you, his height and presence suddenly overwhelming. “Nothing’s wrong…”you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Is that so?” he murmured, tilting his head slightly, his eyes boring into yours. “Because from where I’m standing, it seems like you’ve been avoiding me, Darling.”

The accusation hung in the air, sharp and unyielding.

“I’ve been busy…” you said weakly, your voice lacking conviction.

“Busy,” he repeated, his gaze flicking over you again, this time with something close to disdain. “Too busy for me, but not too busy for… him.”

Your hands fidgeted at your sides, your breath coming in shallow bursts. You wanted to move, to put distance between you, but your legs felt rooted to the spot. “I didn’t think dinner with a friend would..”

“Friend?” he interrupted, the single word slicing through your sentence. His lips curved into something that might have been a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Your heart pounded painfully against your ribs, the anxiety swirling in your chest mixing with something else—something raw and painful that you didn’t want to name. The memories of your last exchange with Sylus came flooding back—the curt messages, the unspoken finality of his “okay.” You had tried to convince yourself that it didn’t matter, that you didn’t need his validation. But standing here now, under the weight of his gaze, you felt every crack in the fragile walls you had built to keep him out.

“I don’t understand what you want from me,” you said finally, the words trembling as they left your lips.

His eyes softened slightly, but the tension in his posture didn’t ease. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something, something important, but the moment passed as quickly as it came. Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a gesture so gentle it felt almost foreign.

“Don’t make me feel like I’m a stranger to you.” he said quietly, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability that made your chest ache.

Don’t make me feel like I’m a stranger to you. The words echoed in your mind, repeating, twisting, until all you could hear was the raw edge of betrayal laced in his tone.

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and bitter, a little too loud in the quiet of your apartment. Your chest tightened, and for a moment, you felt the space around you grow smaller. You couldn’t breathe—couldn’t think. All you could feel was the heat of anger building inside of you, raw and unrefined.

“That’s rich,” you scoffed, finally managing to find your voice. “That’s really rich, coming from you of all people.”

Sylus blinked, a subtle flash of surprise crossing his face, but it quickly masked over. His lips tightened, his brow furrowed ever so slightly, but it wasn’t enough. You had to push, you couldn’t hold back now. The words were tumbling out before you could even stop them. Your breath hitched, a strangled sob lodged somewhere in the back of your throat, but you refused to let it spill. You wouldn’t let him see you break—not like this, not in front of him. You knew the truth. He knew the truth. It hurt, yes, but you weren’t the one to blame.

“You've been treating me like a stranger for months,” you continued, your voice trembling with anger you hadn't fully realized was there. “Barely responding to my messages, not answering my calls, and when I do see you, it’s like you can’t be bothered. You don’t even see me.” You felt the weight of every unreturned message, every unanswered call, every promise left in limbo. “I’ve had to hear from Luke and Kieran that you’re in Linkon. But you couldn’t even make time to see me.”

You felt the ache deep in your chest, that familiar, suffocating knot forming. He didn’t deserve your pain. Not anymore. You wouldn’t let him have that. Not this time.

You took a shaky breath, suddenly feeling raw, exposed. “You don’t have to feel obligated to check on me, Sylus,” you said, your words clipped and cutting through the thick silence between you. “You don’t have to feel pity for me. I know where I stand. I know my place in your life.”

His expression, that unreadable mask, cracked for the briefest of moments. His lips parted, his gaze flicking to your face, then back down to the floor. His jaw clenched. But his eyes… They weren’t the same as they’d been earlier. The hardness was gone, replaced by something far more dangerous, something even more intimate. The storm was gathering, but it wasn’t just in the air—no, it was inside him too.

“You know where you stand?” His voice was quieter now, but there was an edge to it, a slight tightness you hadn’t noticed before. He took a step forward, his body closing the space between you, like a wave of raw energy crashing toward you. His proximity only made your pulse race faster, but you couldn’t back down. Not now.

“I’m just an informant, right?” you bit out, every word feeling like it sliced through the night air, cutting through the tension like a blade. “You don’t have to pretend you care, Sylus. So don’t stand there with that look on your face like I’m some important thing you need to check on.”

The air between you grew heavy, thick with unsaid words and stifled tension. Every inch of your body was telling you to get away, to shut down, to stop this before it tore you apart. But your feet felt heavy, stuck in place. Sylus’s presence was like gravity, pulling you toward him.

"You think that's all you are?" he murmured, his voice dangerously low, like the calm before the thunder. The way he said it made your heart stutter in your chest. It was both a question and an accusation or a challenge.

But there was something else in his voice. Something you couldn’t quite place. His eyes were intense, too intense, and they searched yours like he was looking for the answer. The truth.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he continued, his words clipped, as though they were difficult for him to say. “But I couldn’t....couldn’t make sense of it. Of you.”

It was the first time that he seemed genuinely vulnerable, and it left you breathless and confused. You had always wondered if there was more beneath his cold exterior. You had always told yourself that he cared. But you had never dared to confront him.

His hand was close enough now to reach out, his fingers barely brushing the edge of your wrist. The air between you was still thick with everything unsaid, everything unhealed. And yet, despite the words that had been thrown between you, there was something undeniably magnetic in the tension. The ache in your chest, the rawness, the feelings of betrayal—they didn’t wash away just because you said them out loud.

God, you hated him for this.

But part of you yearned for him. That part that still felt tethered to him, despite the distance.

Sylus’s fingers hovered over your wrist, his touch like fire against your skin. For a moment, the storm between you calmed, leaving only the faintest echo of it behind. The weight of his gaze, the force of his presence—it seemed to drown out the rest of the world.

He said nothing for a moment, his lips parting as though he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. His eyes darkened further, not with anger now, but with something you couldn’t quite define.

You took a breath, your body suddenly feeling too small beneath his gaze. The storm was still inside. You had to move away. Your heart pounded as if it were trying to escape your chest, desperate to flee from whatever was stirring inside you. You couldn't—no, you wouldn’t—let yourself get caught up in whatever this feeling was. You were not some fool, ready to throw everything away for the temporary pull of his presence. You knew better than that. You had to.

Every instinct screamed at you to retreat, to put some distance between you and the mess of emotions bubbling under your skin. His sharp gaze was enough to make your knees tremble, and it took everything in you not to look back, not to let him see the quiet devastation that flickered inside you.

“You need to leave… Sylus.” You whispered. You staggered back a few steps, your breathing shallow, desperate. Your feet felt like lead, yet you forced yourself to walk away. You turned your back to him, willing your legs to move, hoping to escape before you got sucked into whatever dark vortex of feelings he was drawing you into.

He didn’t move. Instead, you heard the familiar click of his boots against the floor as he took a single, deliberate step forward. “Why?” His voice, low and curious, sent a shiver down your spine. It was almost too intimate, as if he were searching for a piece of you, trying to understand what you couldn’t explain.

You didn’t want to look at him. Didn’t want to see the quiet confusion on his face—the faint flicker of disappointment that stung like salt in an open wound. You couldn’t let him see your weakness, couldn’t let him know how badly it hurt to be around him, how badly it hurt not to be around him.

“Is it so you can run back to your precious ‘friend’?” The words dripped with something unspoken, something that made your stomach twist.

You couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t. Not when his voice—that voice, the one that threaded through the air like silk—was digging into your mind like this. The word echoed in your ears, almost mocking you, and you felt something fragile snap inside you. The weight of the years you’d spent keeping distance, of guarding your heart against him, against whatever he made you feel, started to unravel. But you couldn’t let it.

You took another step away from him. One more step, you told yourself. Just one more. You didn’t need this.

Dark tendrils wrapped around you as you move, pulling you back. He was using his evol to pull you back. You didn’t need him pulling you in again. But then it came. That touch. He pulled you to him, forceful yet intimate, and your breath caught in your throat. You were too close. Too close to the edge of losing yourself, of falling into his presence.

His hands...no, his fingers—snaked around your waist before you even knew what was happening. You gasped, body going stiff in surprise, but his grip tightened, pulling you back into him. You tried to keep moving, tried to pull away, but it was useless. His hold was ironclad, his presence consuming. His grip tightened slightly, but there was an almost comforting pressure there, a subtle reminder that despite the dispute between you, there was something undeniable between the two of you.

“Why are you running?” His voice was a whisper against your ear, the words smooth like silk, but there was something jagged beneath them—something urgent, raw.

You struggled to hold yourself together, but the more you fought it, the more it pulled—this unbearable need to lean into him, to give in to the chaos that his proximity stirred in you. You knew you shouldn’t, but everything in you wanted to. You felt the ache of wanting something you couldn't have, the sting of the distance you had put between you and the thing that was somehow both poison and relief.

His hands tightened slightly, his thumb brushing over your ribs in a movement that sent a jolt through your entire system. The words you wanted to say, the reasons you needed to get away from him, all felt so small and pointless now. How could you possibly explain this? This tension, this pull? How could you say that being near him felt like the most excruciating thing in the world, but also the only thing that made you feel alive?

“You’re not just an informant to me,” he breathed, his words slipping under your skin, curling into the tight spaces of your chest. “I didn’t realize I was hurting you this much. That you’d want to distance yourself from me...” His tone softened at the end, but it only made everything worse. The tenderness in his voice—his tenderness—was like a dagger in your side, making the blood in your veins freeze. You wanted to say something, anything, but all you could hear was the deafening rush of your own heartbeat. You tried to stay composed, but the words were caught in your throat, and your body was still pressed so tightly against his, your breath shallow, your pulse thudding painfully against your ribs.

Why was this so hard? Why couldn’t you just say it—say that you couldn’t let him get close again? That you couldn’t survive another wound, another aching, empty feeling in your chest because of him? But the way his hands tightened, the warmth of his body against yours, made everything you were feeling a little too real.

You could feel his heartbeat against your back, the rhythm in sync with your own, and the pull of him was growing stronger. You could feel your anxiety bubbling up, the gnawing fear at the pit of your stomach. Was this just him toying with you? Was he trying to pull you into his world of darkness and manipulation? Or did he really care?

Your head was spinning. The emotions warred within you—anger, confusion, guilt, and something else. Something that made your heart race faster and your thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind.

“Let me go,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the storm that raged around you.

But you didn’t pull away. You didn’t push him off.

Sylus' grip on you tightened, his arm like a steel band around your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. His chest rises and falls against your back as his breath brushes against your ear, warm and heavy. It’s as if he’s afraid, like if he lets go for even a second, he’ll lose you forever. You can feel the tension radiating from him, but also something softer, something desperate.

“No, Darling,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with emotion, his tone possessive, as though the very idea of you slipping away shatters him. “You’re not going anywhere and neither am I.”

"You’re going to stay," He pulls you even closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he speaks again, quieter this time, but laced with something raw and vulnerable. "...and you’re going to listen to me. I won’t let you walk away from this."

You can hear the flicker of something beneath his words—regret. And then, his lips ghost over the sensitive skin of your neck, lingering just a little longer than necessary. He slowly spins you around, to face him. His voice softens, almost apologetic. “I know I was a dick. I know I didn’t respond to you, and I’m sorry for that. I didn’t know how to handle it… handle us. It confused me, and instead of facing it, I pushed you away.” His breath catches slightly, and you feel his chest tighten against your back.

His hand moves to cup your cheek, tilting your face slightly toward him, his thumb brushing over your skin as though it’s a promise, an apology. The weight of his gaze is intense, but there’s also something tender there, something that wants to pull you back in, closer. “I know you’re still hurting, darling. I see it. And I... I’ll spend a lifetime making up for it, because that’s what I want. A lifetime. With you. Not as some informant or some... thing, but as my beloved. You. By my side. Always.”

He pauses, letting his words hang in the air between you. His voice drops, the quiet sorrow of his confession sending a twinge of guilt through you. "I don’t have the right to ask this of you, I know," Sylus continues, his voice thick with emotion. "But seeing you push me away… It’s harder than I ever thought it would be. Harder than I want to admit." He presses his forehead lightly against your temple, his breath shaky. "I’ve never needed someone the way I need you, and I didn’t know how to tell you that. But I do. I need you."

You can feel him tense slightly, the shift in his demeanor telling you that his thoughts have turned darker. His voice lowers, the jealousy evident in the way he speaks, though it’s wrapped in a softness that almost makes it harder to bear.

"And Dr. Zayne... I can’t stand the thought of him being so close to you," Sylus adds, his voice low and thick with a possessiveness that unsettles you in its intensity. "It kills me, you know? Watching him with you, hearing you laugh like that with him, as if I don’t even exist." His arm tightens again, almost painfully, as if he needs to remind you, remind both of you, where you truly belong. "I know I have no claim on you... but... I can't help but feel like there’s a part of you that wants him in a way that... I can't compete with." His voice hardens, jealousy dripping from every word. "It eats at me, knowing he has a part of you that I’m fighting for."

"Sylus..." Your voice cracked slightly as you repeated his name, your breath hitching, caught in the tension between you. His name felt heavy on your tongue, like it was both a question and an answer. You had never said it so quietly, so vulnerably. The memories of earlier came rushing back—him with her, that delicate smile he gave her, the way she leaned into him just a little too comfortably. It had burned in your chest, the jealousy creeping in with a venomous ache.

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, too fast to gather, too painful to hide. "I felt the same... when I saw you with her," you confessed, swallowing thickly. "I felt so... so useless, Sylus. When I saw you with her, it felt like... like she was everything you needed. Better than me. And that... it broke me, Sylus. I felt like I wasn’t enough, like I wasn’t... worth it.”

The words stung, bitter and unrelenting, but the weight of them was finally lifted as you let them spill out. You felt exposed, naked in your insecurity, but somehow, it was all you could do to stand there and wait for him to respond. You could feel the weight of it, of how small you’d felt in that moment, how unworthy you had become in your own eyes. The self-doubt gnawed at your insides, each thought of her with him twisting like a knife in your gut.

Sylus’s expression softened, his features melting into a tender sadness, as though he were seeing you for the first time, truly seeing you. His hand reached out slowly, almost hesitantly, as if afraid to shatter the fragile space between you. His touch was a gentle comfort, his fingers brushing against your cheek, his voice a low whisper, "Darling, you're none of that... none of it, I swear."

You shook your head, feeling the tears threatening, but you couldn’t let them fall, not yet. His words were kind, but the ache in your chest was still there, an unhealed wound.

He continued, his voice steady but thick with something deeper. "I didn’t know you felt that way... about her, in the same way I feel about Zayne." His gaze met yours, and for the first time tonight, it wasn’t uncertain. It was so gentle, so soft, tender. "But you need to know, you're it for me, Darling…" he murmured, his fingers curling around yours, grounding you in the quiet storm of your emotions. "Yes, I want help from her, but..." He paused, as if weighing his words carefully, "...I need you more." His words were a balm to the wounds that had festered within you, but the tenderness in his eyes was what finally reached you. His hand slid down to your shoulder, his thumb grazing the skin there. His warmth surrounded you, and you let yourself sink into the comfort of his words. The jealousy, the insecurity that had burned so fiercely in you when you saw him with her, melted in the face of the tenderness he was offering now.

You swallowed, trying to steady yourself as your heart raced, the intensity of the moment almost overwhelming. “Zayne… Zayne’s just a friend,” you said, your voice fragile but firm, “someone who helped me... helped me see past the stuff in my head. After everything, I just... needed someone to remind me that I’m not broken.”

Sylus's eyes softened even more, the depth of his gaze sending shivers down your spine. He nodded slowly, his expression filled with understanding. The tension between you didn’t disappear entirely, but it was now laced with something more tender. More real.

“You’re not broken, Darling.” he repeated, and there was a quiet strength in his voice, something that made you believe him more than you ever had before. “You’re everything I’ve ever needed... and more.”

"I... I’m sorry," you whispered, a lump in your throat as you looked up at him. "I never wanted to make you feel like I didn’t care. I just... I was afraid you’d choose her over me."

Sylus’s fingers brushed against the nape of your neck, pulling you closer, his forehead pressing gently against yours. "You never have to apologize for that, Darling." he murmured, his voice warm, his breath mingling with yours. “It was my fault and I accept that.”

The room was quiet, save for the soft sound of your breathing, as Sylus stood before you, his face drawn with intensity. The flickering light from the lamp cast soft shadows across his features, but his gaze... his gaze was sharp, focused entirely on you.

"I love you, Darling" he said, his words lingering in the air as though they were the first time he had allowed himself to say them out loud. "I’m in love with you," he confessed, his voice steady despite the raw emotion that tinged it. "I’ve been in love with you for a while now, and I’ve tried to deny it. Tried to hide it from you and myself, but I can’t anymore. I won’t. I love you, and I need you to know that."

The breath you hadn’t realized you were holding caught in your throat. Everything in you froze, then splintered. The confession, so pure, so vulnerable, hit you with a force you hadn’t been prepared for. You stood there, unable to move, a mix of surprise and relief flooding your chest.

He loves you. Sylus. The one you had longed for, yearned, and hoped for in silence. Your heart stuttered in your chest, the world around you growing impossibly still.

"I…" you whispered, voice trembling, and you had to stop, had to steady yourself before the words could spill from your lips. "I’ve love you too," you said, your voice barely more than a breath, but it carried all the weight of everything you had kept inside. "I’ve loved you, and I never told you because I was afraid. Afraid that I was asking too much. Afraid of the rejection. Afraid that I wasn’t enough."

Sylus’s expression softened, his lips curling into a frown as he stepped forward, closing the space between you. His hands reached for you, but not in the way you had feared or expected. They were gentle, his touch a plea for understanding. "Oh, darling," he whispered, shaking his head slowly. "I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you ever felt like you needed to hide it from me."

He reached up, brushing his thumb along your cheek, and you flinched slightly, your emotions suddenly overwhelming you, raw and untamed. "We’re both idiots," he continued, his voice almost tender with the weight of the admission. "We’ve been skirting around each other, afraid of saying the one thing we both needed to say."

Your laugh came out soft, almost fragile, the tension in your chest breaking for the first time since Sylus had walked into your home. It was a quiet sound, but it was the first time you’d laughed all night, the first time you’d allowed yourself to feel something other than fear or uncertainty in the past few weeks with him involved. But that laugh didn’t last long. As soon as it came, the tears followed, the ones you had been holding back for so long, finally slipping free. The dam you had built up crumbled, and before you could stop them, hot tears streamed down your face. before you could even reach up to brush them away, his hand was there, steady and warm against your cheek.

"Don’t," you whispered, your voice thick with the ache you could no longer hide. "Please, don’t look at me like this. I’m—"

"Stop," Sylus interrupted softly, his hand holding yours gently, his gaze unwavering. "Don’t hide from me. I want to see all of you… everything you’ve been hiding. I know you think I don’t see it, but I do." His eyes locked onto yours with such intensity that you couldn’t look away. "I see it when you think I’m not watching. I see the way you pull back, the way you hide the parts of you that you think I can’t handle. But I am looking. I’ve always been looking. And I don’t want you to hide anymore. Not from me. And I’m here and I want all of you."

His words were a medicine to the parts of you that had been bruised, the parts that had feared being exposed, vulnerable. But in his eyes, there was only love. No judgment. No pity. Just... love. And it was enough. It was more than enough.

The tears that had slipped down your face slowed, but they didn’t stop. You didn’t try to wipe them away this time, allowing yourself to be seen for the first time in ages. The sobs that followed were soft but trembled with relief, with something finally breaking open inside of you.

Sylus’s arms were around you in an instant, pulling you close, holding you in the kind of embrace that made you feel as though you could finally breathe, as though the weight of everything you had been carrying could finally be set down.

"I’m sorry," you whispered, almost broken. "I’ve been so scared, Sylus. Scared of this, of being cast away... of losing you."

"You’ll never lose me, Darling." he murmured, his voice firm and unwavering as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

You tilted your head back slightly, your face still damp with the remnants of the tears that had fallen, and through your wet lashes, you searched his face. Sylus held you close, his arms wrapped around you in a way that made you feel safe, even as the doubts lingered in your heart. You wanted to believe him, but the fear, the uncertainty, was still there, buried deep beneath the surface.

He must have seen it in your eyes, the way you still hesitated, the uncertainty you couldn't quite shake. Sylus made a half-frustrated sound in the back of his throat, his hands tightening around you for a split second, before they slid up to cradle your face. His thumb brushed against your cheek again, a tender, pleading touch, before he leaned in, his lips finding yours in a sudden, urgent kiss.

The kiss was unlike any other. It wasn’t slow, it wasn’t soft. It was intense, filled with desperation, as though he needed you to understand just how deeply he felt for you, just how much you meant to him. His hands cupped your face, holding you as if you were the only thing that mattered in that moment, as if the world had stopped turning just for you. His lips pressed against yours with a kind of fire, but it wasn’t angry, no. It was passionate, desperate in its own way, like he wanted you to feel how important you were to him, how much you had been wanted, loved.

Your hands trembled as they reached up, gripping the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer, wanting to bridge the distance between you, as though the kiss itself could erase every lingering doubt in your heart. Your breath hitched when you felt his pulse quicken under your touch, his heartbeat matching the frantic pace of your own. Each breath you took seemed to echo in the stillness of the room, mingling with the heat of his kiss, our lips moving together with a quiet urgency, the world beyond the two of you fading into a distant blur. You felt everything—every brush of his fingers, every subtle shift of his body against yours, the way his chest rose and fell beneath your palms, how his breath felt against your lips as if he couldn’t get close enough to you.

Your chests rose and fell together, the world spinning around you. You could feel the heat of him, the urgency that still lingered in his touch, the way he kept you close, almost as if he were afraid to let go.

Breathing became an afterthought, both of you gasping for air when the kiss broke, but neither of you pulled far enough away to lose the connection. Sylus’s forehead rested against yours, his breath hot against your lips as he whispered, voice still heavy with emotion. “Every day, from henceforth, I will work to make sure you never feel the need to doubt yourself. Not in my life. Not with me." His words, slow and deliberate, sank deep into your heart like a promise he would keep.

The intensity of the moment hung between you both, the room still, save for the soft sound of your breathing as you both slowly came back to reality. But in his eyes, you saw nothing but certainty—certainty that you were enough. That you always had been.

His hand found yours again, fingers weaving with yours, and he gave it a gentle squeeze, as if the simple touch was a quiet reassurance.

"You are everything to me," he murmured, his voice steady now, grounding you as much as his embrace. "And I’ll make sure you never forget that.”

Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, absorbing his words, his warmth, his certainty. In his arms, you could feel the truth of his promise, somewhere deep inside, the doubts began to fade.

For the first time in a long time, you believed him. And when he kissed you again, this time softer, it was like the beginning of something new.

[ A disclaimer note - Please be respectful of the request ]

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

[auragasmics]

HE LOVES IT WHEN I...

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° ˚ ₒ synopsis! sugar daddies just love their sugar babies. but for you, these rich dilfs have a soft spot for your antics!

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° ˚ ₒ pairings! sugar daddy iwaizumi hajime, kuroo testsurou, oikawa toru x fem!reader

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° ˚ ₒ cw! 1.3k, drabble + headcannon format, age gap (hq men are early 40's, reader is late 20s), fingering, cl♡ t slapping, dom!iwa is a little mean, spoiled!reader, daddy kink (sry not sry, let's grow up ://) phone sex/video call sex, vouyerism, exhibitionism, mutual masturbation, pillow-tribbing

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° ˚ ₒ xoxo, chris! love hq men...love and cherish them!

Sugar Daddy!Iwaizumi loves it when you throw tantrums!

He finds it all the most alluring, fueling the dominance within his veins. Whether it’s Every bit of attitude, pout, and sass you give him, he absorbs it, keeping careful count of each occurrence. 

Unbeknownst to you, Iwaizumi finds such joy in your little tantrums, especially right now. He knows how you’ve been crushing on some new bag, he still remembers your presentation of the newly released collection you swiped through a few nights before. To keep his precious girl happy, he’s taken the day off just to court you himself. 

But all that comes crashing down when the heel of your pearly white stilettos threatens to pierce through the glossy white floor of the boutique when he denies you of that purse you claim to need —oh so— much. He chuckles intently, guiding his pouty princess back out to the car with the driver waiting patiently. 

He gives you a few minutes to calm down, soothing you with soft pecks along the crook of your neck. He knows exactly what gets your legs spreading and those curvy hips bucking in the air. 

His girthy digits drift down to your panties, ripping the gossamer material to the side. Iwaizumi toys with your clit for a while, sighing at how easily the tender bud slips against his calloused pads. It’s satisfying to both of you, giving birth to the arousal brewing at the pit of your belly. 

“You must hate me, I know, I know. But y’re makin’ such a mess you’re making on my fingers, baby. So fucking cute,” he grins, teasing the slit of your cunt with pulsing fingers. Just when you prepare yourself mentally for the delicious stretch, an abrupt jab of pain distracts you—the fresh sting of Iwaizumi’s thick fingers crashing against your clit. 

“Hajime, wait!” His name comes flying from your gaping mouth. Your eyes peer down at Iwaizumi’s hand reeling back to land another slap. But there’s a certain detail that makes this little session of punishment even worse.

What makes it worse is how Iwaizumi’s display of dominance turns you on and the proof decorates his calloused hand. It’s disgusting how the flat of his palm glimmers in your slick—almost like the gems from the handbag you wanted so badly. 

Before you could even think, Iwaizumi laid his lips along your ear, his warm breath nipping at the flustered shell. He had a message for you and he thinks that this time, you’ll get it loud and clear.

“Don’t you ever embarrass me in public like that again, or else I’ll fuck the reminder into that thick skull of yours.”

Sugar Daddy!Kuroo loves it when you call his name!

He swears it fills his stomach with those innocent butterflies, hearing his bubbly muse coo his name. It’s a cute purr, flows right off your tongue, and ends in a smile that could make Kuroo empty out his bank account right at that moment. He likes to play dumb sometimes, claiming his hearing fades in and out from time to time. Yet, Kuroo always stands tall and giddy with perked ears, waiting for you to repeat yourself.

Kuroo especially loves when you call out to him in grace for his services, ranging in a multitude of forms. His favorite one, of course, is when your orgasm hinges at the tips of your freshly manicured toes, the nerves prickling at the surface of your supple skin.

With his cock buried so deep inside your—his—cunt, it drags along your walls with such intensity. But Kuroo doesn’t dare to increase the pace, his hips lagging behind a languid drive. Not as it matters, even without using a pummeling force, Kuroo still manages to have your body on edge. 

“Aww, what’s wrong, Angelface? Use your words, what do you want from me?” He’ll tease, using those thick fingers of his to squeeze your cheeks together, forcing out a wet pucker from your drooling lips. It’s all just overwhelming, the heat of the room, his hunkering frame shadowing above your own. 

Your hands claw at his forearm, proving his resolve to be stronger than your own. It wasn’t your fault, it was Kuroo’s stubborn ego, acting as the driving effort to see that his needs are met. Kuroo lays a trail of pecks up to your neck, lingering along your jawline and ending at your cheek, each one dressed with apathy.

His words are just teasing, the only solace being his hitching pants warming the shell of your ear as he spoke smugly. 

“Say it with me now, Te-tsu-rou…c’mon Baby, say it for Daddy. Tell me just how you wanna cum all over my cock.”

Sugar Daddy! Oikawa loves it when you send him pictures!

It’s a boost of confidence, sending the man photos whenever you decide to frilly yourself up for the day. Even if it’s just running to the store, Oikawa wants it all. 

He loves to have a collection of his precious baby looking her best, making up for all the times he couldn’t join you. Whether he’s away for work or tucked up inside a stuffy hotel room, he’s swiping through his file of photos reserved just for you and that gorgeous smile. Yet when it’s the ungodly hours of the night, he’s upping his game from pictures to full-blown videos, even video calls to please his fancy. 

Each one of these calls consists of you dollied up and dressed in his favorite set of lingerie. And with what he likes, it barely leaves anything to his imagination. To have those sheer panties hanging around your waist, just for the inner seam to leave you crotchless. What's better than getting straight to the chase? 

That’s what he likes and that’s what has your phone propped against the headboard, giving his heavy tourmaline hues the scene of you desperately rutting into his pillow on the bed. The satin pillowcase dragged along your clit, taunting the sensitive bud with its smooth material. 

Your inner thighs scrape along the plush fabric, your hips rocking into the cotton. Keeping a constant pace is key to your impending high, the soft moans flowing from your mouth like a crystal clear stream of the purest water. Oikawa had his sights pinned on you, watching your desperate search for a climax unfold before him. 

“Feels good, right Princess?” He’ll ask with a heavy chest, Oikawa wincing at how rough the palm of his hand was. It was nothing like your touch, the plush skin of your digits that would struggle to hold his length.

He was struck by an off sense of nostalgia, memories of his salacious youth being re-lived with each uncaring stroke of his fist. Just to even come close to your touch, Oikawa removed bits of his barreling strength, the pad of his thumb swiping at the blushing head of his dribbling cock. He bit his lip greedily, his ears piqued for your reply. 

You hum in response, clutching the puffy mass in your fist. It did feel nice, working yourself into an orgasm underneath Oikawa’s watchful eye. Knowing that he’s on the other side, stroking that fat cock of his with his rough hands, and wishing he had your sputtering pussy instead is all the motivation you need.

“I-I’m so close, wanna cum with you, ‘Ru,” you mew out, increasing your mere nudges to erratic bucks of desire. Oikawa could only growl in return, the frustration of his inadequate touch pitting him against time. Tossing his head back, the apple of his throat bobs at his staggering pace. At the final moments of his stability, Oikawa groaned out his final request of the night, something you couldn’t attempt to defy.

“Cum for me, Pretty. You better make a fucking mess for me to come back to, got it?”

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° ˚ ₒ xoxo, chris! a repost from my old blog, but i hope you still enjoyed!

[cxffecoupx]

cheol as a girl dad

girl dad! seungcheol fluff, a little smut (i tried) warnings: reader has a womb (obviously), mentions of pregnancy, body insecurity, sex (only a little) word count: 747 author's note: a little late but I had to do it for daddy cheol😔✊ very self-indulgent, not proof-read, made very hastily cause again, daddy cheol😔✊ hope you enjoy!! do lemme know what you think of it :) check out 'cheol as a boy dad' here.

girl dad! cheol who absolutely melts in the hospital room when he sees his baby girl. who combusts into a puddle when he gets to hold his beloved baby in his arms. who pats your head and kisses you in your tired, exhausted, post-delivery state, murmuring how proud he is of you and how thankful he is that you gave him his most precious baby.

girl dad! cheol who whenever she cries at night, calmly tells you to go back to sleep and rushes over. you think he's allowing you your rest, and while that's true, it's mostly cause he gets to spend more time with his baby.

girl dad! cheol who spends so much time with his baby, it's concerning. you end up wondering if you even exist, but the simple truth is he just can't get enough of his babygirl.

girl dad! cheol who you find making out with you at the most random of times. when you're in the kitchen, cooking dinner. when you're working from home. when you're folding your baby's clothes. you both end up all over yourselves, he's kissing every inch of your body. the same body you cried over during and after your pregnancy. the same body you'd end up being so insecure about, about the belly, the extra fat, the breasts and hips, the stretch marks and the mood swings.

he kisses you to make up for all the time you couldn't because you both were taking care of your beloved baby. he kisses you to let you know how much he still loves you. he kisses you to tell you how he still finds you attractive, even with the stretch marks and extra fat and the lot. he kisses you, and you feel every emotion and every message of his that's being communicated silently yet surely.

girl dad! cheol who loves and hates it when his little babygirl starts to grow. watching his daughter start crawling, then standing and later walking, it suddenly dawns on him that she's growing up fast and isn't his baby anymore. that doesn't stop him from smothering all his love though.

girl dad! cheol who loves loves LOVES to tie your child's hair in ribbons and dress her up in cute dresses and make her wear sparkly shoes. who accidentally ends up taking away from you the joy of dressing up your child, but you don't mind as long as you get to watch them giggling and joking during those times.

girl dad! cheol who comes up to you at the most randomest of days and continues to thank you for bringing into this world someone who he cherishes so much. and although he apologises for not spending as much time with you, he promises to make sure you realise that there's no one else he'd rather do all this with.

girl dad! cheol who cries when your daughter has to go to school for the first time. probably more than the girl herself. you end up having to kiss his pout away. whether things escalate from there is upto how he feels at the moment.

girl dad! cheol who fucks you dumb some nights, a desparate need to put another baby in you. he moans stupidly about how proud he is of your first pregnancy and how he'd love to see another one too. you definitely don't mind cause the sex is obviously too good.

girl dad! cheol who swears he heard his heart shatter when his babygirl tells him about her crush. sure he understands, but to realise that she now has another man in his life??? he's speechless (and dramatic).

but he's also the one who loves to hear the little tidbits and gossips about her school, and who gets giddy along with her when she tells him how her crush finally noticed her. he's also the one who buys a tub of icecream in the middle of the night, when she's heartbroken. her best friend and her protector, all in one.

girl dad! cheol who's happy whenever he thinks about his two favourite girls. who's thankful for all that him and you went through, and for his little bundle of joy, who made him a thousand times happier, if that was even possible. who's forever proud of you for your struggles and of your daughter for basically everything. who realises with every father's day wish by his daughter and his partner that he wouldn't have this any other way.

[insomniadreamzz]

Hiiiii! Could you write G!P councilor Sevika x fem reader? Where Sevika comes home to her wife after a council meeting and she is frustrated so reader offers to help her with it and Sevika has her way with reader? Resulting in her getting pregnant.

Thank youuuuu xoxo

Alrightyyy!~ Another G!P Fic

This time Sevika x Fem!Reader

Mentions of G!P, pregnancy, smut

———

You are my world

Sevika just arrived home after the council meeting, not looking very amused as she stomped into the kitchen, making herself a drink and heading to the living room, sitting down on the sofa before taking a sip from her drink and putting the glass down, letting out a annoyed groan.

You heard her being finally home again as you just got out the shower, feeling so happy to see your wife being back home again. „Hey! You’re finally back.“ You cheered happily, walking towards her but her expression made you frown as you sat beside her. „Is something wrong?“ You asked with a tilted head, making her sigh before she answered. „Being a Zauntie member in the council is just frustrating. They don’t really trust me, I get weird looks and-…ugh.“ Sevika groaned, rubbing her face with her hand, you hated seeing her frustrated like that.

„Sevika…give them time. You are the most loyal and kind Zauntie I ever met. You have a heart of gold and they will notice it sooner or later.“ You tried to calm her down, your hand gently caressing her muscular arm, finally she looked at you with a more softer expression and a little smile. „I just know why I made you my wife…you are just so good to me. You don’t know how much you mean to me.“ Sevika responded and you smile brightly before leaning in to press a kiss on her lips. The kiss got returned by her, ending up into a deep and passionate kiss, she really loved you and you loved her.

You soon pull back, both of you catching your breath before you got an idea to make her relax. „You know I do have a idea to get your frustration off…if you like to.“ You said with a teasing voice and Sevika got the message quickly, how could she deny you? She simply couldn’t. „Oh baby I would love that.“ She said with the same lustful voice before picking you up, carrying you to the bedroom.

You moaned softly as Sevika put kisses on your neck, you laying underneath her, being fully exposed to her, you just loved how much affection she shows you, loving and cherishing every inch of your body as she worked her way down to your chest, leaving marks all over your chest and neck so everyone knows you belong to her. She was also fully exposed, her cock rubbing against your wet folds. Your hands are placed on her strong shoulders, whining softly when she started to play with your nipples, arching your back. „Ughh…stop teasing…“ You mumble and she looked up at you with a lustful gaze. „Impatient?“

You just let out a little grunt in response. „Fine fine. I won‘t let my wife wait for longer, after all I am still frustrated and I want to get it all off of me.“ She leaned up as she adjusted herself between your legs, your gaze fixed on her beautiful strong body, your hand moving down along her muscles on her stomach before you let out a moan once she slid inside of you.

„Fuck!…“ You moan out, hands trying to find something to hold onto and they found your pillow, grabbing it tightly as you let Sevika thrust into you. Her size was just perfect for you, filling you completely up and stretching you so good, the first thrusts making you already go crazy. When her hands held your hips you felt a shiver go down your spine because of the feeling of her metal hand on your soft and warm skin. You bit on your lip, trying to hold back your moans.

„Oh no I want to hear those. Don’t you dare holding back.“ She grunted, thrusting harder inside of you and with every thrust, feeling her rubbing your insides and hitting your sweet spot, you moaned louder. „A-Ah! Yes! Yes right there!“ You moaned out, not feeling embarrassed anymore about your lewd moans as the pleasure was taking over, your legs squeezing around Sevika’s hips.

„Damn…that’s right. Give me those sweet sounds of yours.“ Now she was moaning too at the good feeling, filling up the room with lewd sounds of your moaning, whining and the sounds of yours bodies clapping together. You felt close but you didn’t even think about wanting her to stop and pull out like usually.

„C-cum inside me. Please do.“ You begged her and that made Sevika‘s expression softer. „You sure??“ She asked in between her gasps and moans and you nod at her. „Yes. Yes please do. I want it. I want it with you.“ You whined, feeling your orgasm getting closer and your words made her feel even more aroused, Sevika‘s hips now moving almost automatically as she literally rammed her cock inside of you. Making you moan even more lewdly and making you roll your eyes back as you felt a wave of electric shocks through your body, legs shaking as they clenched around her hips. The feeling of your pussy clenching around her cock made her reach her orgasm too, making Sevika moan out and groan as she granted your wish, not pulling out as she came inside of you, filling you with her cum. „Oh fuck! I am cumming“ She moaned out, cock twitching inside of you as she let it all go inside of you, making you feel all warm. She kept on thrusting slowly until she pulled out, watching a little bit of cum getting out of you, she really filled you up with a lot of cum.

After both of you reached your orgasms and calmed down, Sevika laying beside you in bed as she caressed your hair with her human hand. Slowly realising what you just did. „We…are going to be parents.“ She said with a soft whisper and you moved your gaze up to look into your wife’s eyes with a soft and happy eyes. „Yes. That’s all I want. Because you are my world.“ She smiles and you could see her eyes being teary, you didn’t see her being emotional that often but you loved it every time you saw her being soft with you and before she could say anything, she kissed you deeply and passionately. Sometimes actions are more than words and you both were happy to become parents.

[woozivrse]

ways you show love to svt

it's always ways svt shows love to you, so i decided to do this! wrote it in 40min with some help of a friend :) thank u pooks!

cheolie— you indulge him

❣︎ okay that may sound weird but, when he's feeling a little whiny? you coddle him and kiss him better. he's dressing up kkuma and calling her his pretty princess? you agree and buy some lil accessories for her! you get the idea.

hannie— opening a bottle for him

❣︎ whether it be a water bottle or some other drink, these things can be a lil tough. it's a cute way to care, opening a drink for someone before handing it to them. he’ll always give you a cute smile when you do, thanking you with a kiss on the cheek.

shua— trying new hobbies with him

❣︎ we’ve seen how much he tries new hobbies, so you join him! he's making beaded bracelets and jewelry? you make some too! trying out air dry clay? you make a lil pinch pot to join his own. whatever it is, you're sitting there with him trying it out and laughing with him at any small mistakes you two make.

junhui— sending him messages throughout the day

❣︎ you know he's busy most of the time, but you want him to know how often you think of him. it could be a small thing, a picture of a flower you saw, or even just an emoji, you'll still send it to him, hoping he can feel all the love you're trying to convey. good morning and good night messages are sent daily, and a “hope you're eating well!” whenever you update him about your own meal is expected.

soonyoung— tucking him in when he falls asleep

❣︎ he's tired from his various schedules throughout the day, so sometimes he just falls asleep on the couch or on the bed, so you tuck him in! you’ll turn off whatever he was doing– watching tv, scrolling through his phone– and pull a blanket over him with a kiss to the forehead, hoping he rests well. it's likely you’ll wake him up within the hour too, just so he can get more comfy, doing his nightly routine with you and also getting into bed. even then, you tuck him in, hoping he knows how much you love him.

wonwoo— you game with him

❣︎ a lil cliche? yes, but i think he enjoys playing calmer, simpler games with you, like animal crossing new horizons or similar co-op games. maybe you two will even play a puzzle game together, as two minds are better than one and he enjoys doing these types of exercises with you.

jihoon— bringing him food

❣︎ he's busy and maybe a lil forgetful at times, so you take it upon yourself to make sure he's eating well. he might be locked up in the practice room– and if so, you’ll bring food for all the members, not just him– or in the universe factory so you bring him some food and company! you're there so often that those working at the company recognize you and give a friendly greeting.

minghao— you watch his little fashion shows

❣︎ with how well this man dresses, i have no doubt in my mind that he likes to create outfits at home and try them on, and whenever he does, you watch him! he’ll put together an outfit and walk out into the living room where you give him your compliments and tell him what you do and don't like, i think he’d like your honesty with it too. shower him in praise, yes, but give him your honest opinion on the outfit along with it.

mingyu— you'll keep him company while he's cooking

❣︎ personally, i don't cook, but i feel like it could be lonely? at times, doing it on your own. so, you decide to sit in the kitchen with him while he cooks! or if you can't be in the kitchen due to its size, you sit near it so you can talk to him comfortably. he likes having you taste test things, trying to make it perfectly to both of your tastes.

seokmin— you write things to him

❣︎ it's usually little notes, stuck in with his lunch or somewhere in his bag, but sometimes you like to write love letters to him. you could be the worst writer out there, or the best, and he'd keep and cherish every single one you give him. maybe this is how you show your affection best, as saying things to his face might make you shy.

seungkwan— peel oranges for him

❣︎ it's boo seungkwan we’re talking about here, so ofc i have to give him a peeled orange hello? it's a small gesture, peeling an orange for someone, but i think it's cute! you care for this person enough to get some orange peel under your nail and give them the fruits of your labor.

vernon— you listen to his music

❣︎ when i say this, i don't mean svt’s music or music he's personally taken part in, but his music taste. he’ll talk about an artist he’s recently been listening to and if you have the time, you'll immediately pull them up on your phone, ready to try them out. if you don't have the time, you note it down so you can listen to them and tell him your thoughts!

chan— you watch him dance

❣︎ yes, this could go for all of them, but i think since chan has spent most of his life dancing, it's a bit more meaningful for him. maybe you even join him sometimes! it doesn't matter either way, just you being there, enjoying the music and his dancing is enough for him. whenever he finishes a routine and you clap for him, he can feel his love for you grow more and more.

[hoshigray]

hmmmm, chosuki both "marking their territory" after one of reader's friends gets a little too touchy?

Love your work <3333333

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: when i tell you i was grinning once i saw this in my inbox, lol, finally chosuki yessss!! ty for loving my stuff ☆

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Choso + Yuki x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - threesome - oral (m! + f! receiving) - fingering (f! receiving) - anal (f! receiving) - anal fingering (f! receiving) - cowgirl 69 + missionary positions - breast fondling + nipple play + sucking - biting/marking - unprotected sex (psa: wrap it up or get tf up) - pet names (baby, cutie, honey, sweetie, sweet pea) - mild possessive behavior.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.2k

“Damn, Y/n, you’re so lucky to have such eye-catchers fawning over you!”

“Pfffthaha, oh, stop it! You’re drunk; stop swinging around!”

There’s one thing in this world that both Yuki and Choso don’t play about — you.

You are the sweetest and most prized treasure they cherish with their very hands. Being in a poly relationship tends to be a hard thing to manage for Yuki and Choso. The two lovers were never in luck to find the right person who didn’t match their vibe or wanted to change the dynamic they were going for. But with every dark tunnel, there’s a light on the other side. And thanks to the blonde and dark brunette’s stars, you were their saving grace.

God, they adored you very much — the best partner they could ever have. The way you’d wake up to them and give them a kiss with a soft ‘good morning,’ how you make lunch for Choso before he goes on his way to work, or texting sweet messages to Yuki to check how she’s doing or telling her about this new place that opened around the area for all three of you to explore. Blind by your smile and caring charm, Yuki and Choso live in eternal bliss and happiness, knowing you have blessed them with your presence to return home to.

Their love for you is mutual and genuine, authentic in that they wish to spend their days — no, their entire lives! — being with you. They see you as their muse, as theirs. So, it’s predictable that they’d be secretly jealous when they’d have to share their piece of heaven with others.

Especially now when all three of you had been dragged by some of your old college buddies for a night out at the pub. Figuring this would be a perfect opportunity to introduce your friends to your lovers, Yuki and Choso were invited over to enjoy the merits of this occasion. What the two partners hadn’t expected was how close you all were — albeit a little too close for their liking. 

You all sat at one big round booth table, Yuki and Choso being separated from you as your friends wanted to have you by them for just the night. Again, it made the two lovers feel uneasy. Even when a girl friend grabs your hand and intertwines your fingers with hers enthusiastically, the blonde can’t fight the twitch of her ruby eyes. The friend goes on to say, “Nah, are you kidding? I think those two are the ones who are lucky to have Y/n! They’re such an angel; anyone would feel like they’ve won a million dollars if they got with someone like them.”

Then, a guy who was visibly buzzed joined the praise fest. “You’re so right! I’d do backflips every day if I scored someone so gracious and sweet as Y/n,” the drunk man brings a hand on your shoulder and nestles his cheek to your shoulder. Choso attempts to keep a neutral expression, but caramel eyes carry a tiny hostile aura. “I’d make sure to love on them every single day, kiss their feet when they walk, wash their hair when they ask—“

“Okay, lover boy,” you stop him before your drunken friend digs his foolish grave even further, and it’s hard to hide your giggles. “I think that’s enough Crowne and tequila for one night.”

You and your friends laugh and continue to strike up a conversation to catch up on material. However, you’re so engrossed in the others’ talk that you can’t sense the tension that’s brewing from the other side where your lovers sit. The two survey the scene with silent eyes, with Choso hitting his leg to stop the bounce of his knee and Yuki tapping her fingernails on the table surface.

All they could do was watch you, their treasured partner, share your attention with those who cherish you. Although, internally, they wanted you all to themselves. Yes, it was selfish; however, you can’t blame your lovers for being a little protective of you. Specifically when it seems your friends don’t appear to respect your boundaries when in their company.

So for that, it’s no surprise they instantly pull you into the bedroom once you three return home. Hungry kisses are exchanged between three pairs of lips, lustful hands stripping you of your clothes and throwing you onto the bed, where they meet in seconds to feast upon you.

“Hahhh, fuck…Hmmm, yeah, lick right there, honey.”

“Mmmm…Mmahh!! Choso, your tongue—Ohh! Feels so good…”

The brunette man is lying down on his back with you straddling above him, his face and mouth buried into our folds, licking around your labia and sucking your essence that seeps out from the pleasurable motions. His hands knead the flesh of your inner thighs as you hum along to the touch. Simultaneously, you use your tongue and mouth to give pleasure to Yuki’s slit, the blonde releasing shaky moans as she rides on Choso’s length with her ass.

The tall woman peers down to watch you orally please her. She strokes your head with a pleasant hand and sends praises. “There you go, cutie,” she bites her lip. “Lick it real good.”

Her commands egg you on to keep going, using the motion of her hips to your advantage to predict how far in you can keep lapping her chasm. Your hands crawl to her waist to massage, using the leverage to keep your lips on her at all times. And to your effort, she is sighing happily at the gratification you give her. It has her rock her hips ever harder, taking in Choso’s long shaft with hunger.

The man below you grunts at the motion, stuffing his face more into your cunt to suck harshly. And you can’t help but jolt, muffled squeals vibrating to Yuki’s core — and she relishes the feeling.

“Look at you, baby,” Choso slowly licks your chasm, sending shivers up to your shoulders. “You’re all wet and ready for us, huh? So good for us,” He kisses your clit and places lazy licks, and you fight to lose your balance.

“Hmmm, yeah, so good for us…Although—mmahh,” Yuki throws her head back at Choso’s dick scraping her insides at the right places. “Can’t say you were good when we were…Hohhh..at the pub.” You bat your eyes towards her in confusion, yet your tongue and lips remain busy. “Letting those people touch you in front of us; what were you thinking?”

You remove your mouth from Yuki to explain, her slick connected to your bottom lip. But before you could utter a word, your body jerked to the sharp instance of pain on your inner thigh. Choso had bit you, licking the place his teeth sank in before throwing in another nibble. You shriek, turning to plead to the man to be easy; however, the woman grabs your head and brings it back to where it’s supposed to be. “Don’t forget about me, sweet pea,” she chuckles at your feverish laps on her wet folds. “Give me my attention…”

She moans to your work, satisfying her with the flick of your tongue on her delicate clit. She rocks her hips even faster, prompting Choso to groan and buck his pelvis to her puckered hole, and his mouth remains glued to your chasm. He then sneaks a finger to toy around your asshole, and a sharp gasp erupts from your figure when he inserts the digit inside. 

“—Khhaaa, oooohmy fuckin’—Gaaahh!” Flicks to your clitoris tag along with the push of his finger inside your ass, playing with the texture by scraping the walls. And when his tongue goes inside your vagina, you clamp onto him with vigor. Fuck, I’m so close…! “Yukiiii, pleaseee, can I cumm?”

“Aww, why should I let you,” her sweet tone distracted you from the sneaking bit of the man’s teeth on your thigh once more. “Do you deserve to cum? After letting other people touch you like you forgot you had your lovers present?” 

“Hahhhnn, I’m sorry; I—shit… didn’t mean to upset you both…Ooof!” Choso switches his finger with his thumb, pushing it to and fro inside your tight entrance. Your eyes screw shut, “Please forgive me, you two are the only ones I love…”

“You swear on that, honey?” A glint shines in her magenta orbs. 

You nod hurriedly before placing kisses on Yuki’s thighs and trailing them back to her vagina, “Yessss, I love you both so much, no one knows how to love me as you do…” Your hips sway involuntarily — not a problem for Choso, who sticks to you no matter what. “Mmmm, only you two know my mind and body, and I wouldn’t want it any other way…”

Blonde brows eyebrows screw together; fuck, you knew what to say to make Yuki fall for you all over again. Her cunt clenching on nothing but the love your words carry. Jesus, you were too much. Without a word, she gently withdraws your body from her body so she can lift her body off of Choso. She then flips you over; now you’re the one lying on your back, with the tall woman stationed behind to snake her hands to your breasts.

Choso’s pigtails have long been drawn down for his hair to fall to his nape, and strands of his walnut-colored hair stick to his forehead. Maneuvering to his knees, he examines your anticipated expression, shaky wails coming out your puffy lips as Yuki places soft kisses on your neck. She also places bites wherever her mouth can reach, her hands busy cupping your mounds, groping the mounds, and tweezing your nipples. With how hard she was sucking your skin, you’re sure there’d be hickeys when you wake up in the morning. The man strokes his dick at the sight before him, inching closer to be between your legs.

“Choso…” The way you said his name made him feel warm; the mark across his nose exuded streaks of his blood that threatened to fall. His ears and shoulders get pinker, and your breath hitches when he slaps the tip onto your saliva-coated slit. 

“Who do you belong to, Y/n?” He says it low to your ear, and you chew on your lip when he licks your lobe. His mouth travels down, leaving harsh sucks on your neck and clavicle along with Yuki. Two mouths on your body have you whimpering like a fool, so sensitive to their touch that you could wither away. “Hmm? Who loves you most, sweetie?” He comes down to your chest that’s occupied by Yuki’s worshipping hands, popping a nipple into his mouth to suck with care.

“Hahhh, you, Choso, my darling…” you sigh into the sense of his mouth licking diligently around your bud. Your face turns in Yuki’s direction, smiling at the golden-haired woman before claiming her lips. “And Yuki, my love…”

The two of you kiss slowly yet maintain the same passion you have for each other, noses brushing against each other and tongues swirling before smacking lips together. The brunette lifts his head from your chest, straightening his posture to insert his cockhead inside your vagina. You mewl into Yuki at the insertion, and it doesn’t stop as the woman slithers a hand to your clit to swipe. You break the kiss in a huff, making the blonde snicker. 

“Mmmph…Jesus Christ,” Choso trembles at the warm snug of your cunt as it accepts his length, pushing in for every inch of him to be swallowed in. When his base meets your southern lips, you hiss at how full you feel from his size. “You know how much we love you, right, baby?”

You nod to him, Yuki placing another hickey-worth kiss on your shoulder. “Your love makes me full, honey…Ohooo…!”

“And don’t forget that…” Choso snaps his hips, drilling his long dick into you and making precise hits to the walls of your chasm. You squeak beneath him, the tip of his cock poking your sweet spots with ease, and you’re gripping the sheets to keep you steady along with Yuki’s hold on you.

The blonde woman flickers her ruby eyes to Choso and beams, “You know you’re hot as hell when you’re all possessive, right?”

“Shut up,” he shushes her with a kiss, humming to her lips that reciprocate his feelings as lovers. The only noise that fills the room is your whines and wails from the hands fondling your body and the shaft plunging so far inside you that you can’t contain the ecstatic screams originating from your inner being. Good God, this felt so fucking good; being wanted and loved by these two is a sensation incomparable to anything. You want to drown in it, be immersed within it, have your senses be robbed of their very being until you fall deep into sleep in their embrace. This feels so worth it, so satisfying…

…Until you look at yourself in the mirror and find so many fucking hickeys all over your body, all the way from your neck to the grave of your thighs. This was not a sight to see after waking up, especially on the morning your friends from last night invited you over for brunch. 

Needless to say, you pulled your lovers aside and gave them an earful. The two nodded to your words, saying “Sorry…” throughout your rant as you tried to find an adequate outfit to conceal their markings, feeling a little bad that they got carried away with you last night.

All is good, in any case. Because now they know that you are theirs both in mind and body.

requests/thirsts are open hehe~ 🧸

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header edit done by me + dividers by @/benkeibear.

[juletheghoul]

Grown

AN: I am sort of going through a writing bender? A manic episode? I don't know, I just know that if I don't get it down I will lose my mind. I have been wanting to write an age-gap fic for Joel (aside from LMF) for a while but I couldn't really find the format or the idea that I could sink my teeth into. There are SO MANY good ones out there, I even had a whole other thing started but it got too intense, and making it sexual wouldn't have been true to that version of Joel, so here is what I came up with. (I kept Tess out of this story) Big thank you to @foli-vora for letting me exorcise this demon, and to @frannyzooey for putting up with my endless messages and voice notes through discord, love y'all! (this is unbeta'd and barely proofread, any and all mistakes are mine)

Joel Miller x F!reader (sex worker) (Joel calls you ‘Pretty’)

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.9K

Warnings: (18+ NO MINORS) , language, Smut 18+, PIV sex (wrap it up), fingering, cream pie, one lonely little lick of his cock👅, come play sort of? dirty talk, age gap (legal), feelings of guilt, talk of sex work, some of it traumatic (no details, no violence)

Let me know if I missed anything!

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist 

He was a risk, calculated but definitely worth it up close. He fidgeted, flexing and unflexing his hands as you moved around the tiny studio apartment. Your home, and ‘office’. You’d searched long and hard, and paid a hefty price for the soft lamps, the newish linens for your bed, the homey touches.

He shifted his weight as you put the quilt down, separating the outside world from the privacy of your sheets. Easier to clean up after too. 

“Boots off, please.” You gesture to the place by the door, and he nodded with a frown. 

“Sorry.” He groaned as he brought his foot up and for a moment you saw his age, through the pleasant features. 

“No problem, how do you want me?” You stand at the foot of the bed, naked under the well-worn, but cherished robe and for a moment he gawps. You don’t laugh, men don’t like it when you laugh. “On my back?” 

“Wait- how old are you again?” He pads over, tall and broad, obscuring the light source when he walks past it. 

“Old enough.” You smile, “come, why don’t you sit here with me?” You hold out your hand to him, and after a tense glance, he takes it and sits where you gesture. His grip is firm, but soft, years of hard work rooted in the calluses that meet your significantly softer palm. It isn’t a turn off though, he’s a man, men work hard. The real ones do, or did anyway.

“How long do I have? S’there anyone else…?” He trails off, his voice cutting off and you smile, placating. 

“You have as long as you need, tonight's all yours.” You sit beside him, and put your hand tentatively on his arm, channeling every single ounce of calm you have and pouring it into him. He’s warm and alive beside you, heat radiating off him under the soft pass of your thumb against the skin peeking out under the denim sleeve, you let the soft light, the light patter of rain outside your window work on him. He surveys the area, learning the layout of your space and you don’t interfere, you follow his gaze and try to see it all from his point of view. 

It's small, but comfortable. It’s exceedingly clean, you’d spent hours and hours making sure, back breaking hours on your hands and knees scrubbing and washing and it had paid off, no matter how sore you’d been after. There’s a little table, with two chairs, a big lumpy chair near the window, where you spent most of your time not working curled up with one of your precious books. He noticed the tiny chest of drawers, the top of it clear except for a half-full glass of water. He saw the baseball bat leaning against the wall tucked just behind it. 

“Can I get a little closer?” You scoot a little, pressing your thigh to his, turning to hold his restless arm between your breasts, your fingers intertwining with his while he got accustomed to your own warmth. Those big, callused, hard-working hands wrapped up in yours. Invitingly warm.

Some people needed a little push, sometimes they were nervous on how to start and they needed someone to get them out of their heads. Some wanted to talk, to sprawl out naked with you and get all of their thoughts out. 

Loneliness is the main malady you alleviate. 

Some didn’t want to talk at all, some just wanted you to open your legs and take, and that was okay too. Everyone had their thing. 

“This okay?” You put your linked palms on the little bit of skin poking out through the gap in your robe, your skin surrounding both sides of his hand. 

“Yeah, s’okay.” He watches the robe slip open, and his other hand joins the fray, pulling it apart to see more of your thigh. He licks his lip as more of you is revealed and you artfully let the shoulder slip, drawing his eye up to your cleavage. He pats his leg, and you get a genuine thrill, sliding over and up onto his lap. He needed no further guidance after that, now that he had permission, his body was taking over. 

His eyes were dark, focused, tracking the line of your throat when you swallowed thickly. He watched the way your breath hitched when he slid his hand up your inner thigh and found you bare underneath, his fingers slipping through the silky hair at your mound, his fingers parting your lips softly to find your slick folds. He lets out a shuddering breath at the same time you do, when his finger slips over your clit. 

“I’m too old for you, pretty.” He watches his hand between your legs, using it to spread your thighs enough to see your pussy dripping for him. 

“You don’t feel too old.” You hold onto his neck, giving him more access and your stomach drops to feel him hardening under the swell of your ass. You pull his hand from between your legs, and dip his fingers into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks around them before pressing them back against your achy clit. He pulls a genuine moan of pleasure at the extra slip when he swirls around your clit nice and slow. Tortuous, and talented.

“So fuckin’ soft,” He glides his fingers down, circling your entrance but his eyes are focused on your mouth now, “bet you’re tight as a fist, aren’t you baby?” He slides two thick fingers inside and you clutch at him, more turned on by him than you’ve ever been doing this line of work.

It’s a stretch, but he works them in, pressing against your upper wall, looking for something and when he finds it you whimper in his arms. 

“Do you kiss?” You barely hear him over the blood pounding in your ears, his fingers curling inside you, and he puts more pressure on the button he’s found and you moan, lost and mindlessly enjoying the fullness. 

He presses devastatingly soft, tender kisses to your throat, completely at odds with the wet sounds of his exploration between your legs. 

“Baby, can we kiss?” He repeats it, this time with his fingers still, but stuffed deep. You press your mouth to his, humid and hot and he tastes like the good alcohol you have stashed in your cupboard. He groans and his fingers scissor inside you, squelching between your legs with every lazy pump. He traps your bottom lip between his, alternating a teasing bite to the plump of it, with deep licks into your mouth. You’ve never been kissed like this. 

“You just gonna use your fingers?” He pulls away to skim his nose down your neck, bunching the top of the robe in the splayed hand at your back to pull it down from where it hangs on your shoulder. His mouth engulfs your nipple when it falls and any thoughts that he may be too old for you seem to slip his mind because he doubles down, moaning obscenely into your skin as you leak onto his lap. 

“No, just wanna open you up, I wanna make sure this little pussy can take me.” Arousal and excitement pools in your belly. 

“What a gentleman.” You laugh, half crazed with lust for this man who just might be old enough to be your father. He smiles, drunk on the way your pussy clenches around his fingers, his spit still shining on your breast. He has a dimple, so boyish in contrast to the grey in his beard and in his hair you can’t help but love it, it suits him.

“Spread your legs a little more for me darlin’,” one hand is heavy on your hip, holding you so you can drop one leg and open up a little more, “I wanna see you come,” he speeds up, his thumb now doing tight little circles against your clit and you moan, unabashedly, “look how wet she is,” he stares between your legs “I just wanna see her come.” He hooks his fingers again and the pressure is almost too much. It only takes a few moments, his fingers pet, pet, pet and then you clench, the pleasure going off in your belly like a bomb, radiating out through your breasts, into your hips, all the way down to your fingers and toes. 

A universe contained within your body, borne of his hand.

“Fuck.” Your legs close over his hand, and he slows down but doesn’t stop, a softer, slower stroke while you catch your breath. “Let's get you outta these clothes.” you start undoing the buttons to his shirt, admiring the breadth of his shoulders, the smattering of freckles littered along his skin. He pulls his fingers out from between your legs, shiny and dripping in you and sticks them into his mouth, moaning at the tang of you. 

Undressing him is like opening a gift. His arms are strong, his biceps flexing when he all but lifts you up to stand, pulling your robe off and away from you like it’s on fire. His midsection is soft, but you can feel the strength underneath when you undo his jeans, tensing in excitement the closer you get to the considerable bulge in them. You curl your fingers around both his jeans, and his boxers, impatient to get him naked. You crouch as you pull them down, mouth watering at the size of him, hard and bobbing in front of you. The muscles in his thighs are firm, his skin so warm and you can’t help but lick a stripe up the underside of his cock on the way back up. 

He lets out a sound like he's been punched in the gut and you take it in like sustenance. 

“Don’t–I’ll come too fast if you put it in your mouth.”

You reach up to wrap your arms around his neck, just as he reaches down to grab and spread the cheeks of your ass, stomach full of butterflies at the feeling of him hard and leaking against your belly. 

“But I wanna swallow it, I wanna feel it in my throat.” You pout and he lets out a shuddering breath, “Don’t you wanna fuck my mouth?” You press your lips to the hollow of his throat, your fingers slipping through the unruly, grey strands at the back of his neck. 

“Not now baby, I’m barely goin' to last as it is.” He turns you, pressing you to lay in the middle of your quilt and he’s quick to follow, fitting himself between your legs, leaning on one arm beside your skull and when he grabs his cock and gives it a few strokes, you almost can’t watch him. It’s too erotic, it looks so big in his hand, too big to fit but you know it will, he’ll make it fit. 

“Jesus Christ,” He whispers as he feeds himself inside you slowly, an inch, before pulling it out, then a little more, until he’s fucking you a little deeper each time. 

There wasn’t enough air in the room to fill your lungs, he took up every fucking drop. You’d been with other men, you’d been with women, all of them taking their pleasure from your body and most of them giving pleasure in return, this was something else. This was almost scary, the way the vision of him above you made your brain buzz and your nipples hard, made your cunt leak all over him. 

He moves up onto his knees, those big hands pull your legs up and apart, pressing the backs of your thighs into your chest, practically folding you in half to slide his cock deeper still.

He snapped his hips hard, pulling a sound you’d never made out of your mouth, again, and again, until it was a continuous babble. He watches the way his cock disappears inside the tight clutch of your cunt with every dirty roll of his hips. He sinks a little further down, and adjusts his stroke, until just the tip of it stays inside of every heavy push forward. 

This isn’t some desperate, lonely old guy looking to get his dick wet, this is a grown man, fucking you like a grown man does and you feel like a grown woman taking it. 

“Joel, baby that’s so fucking good-“ you press your hands to his chest where he leans against you. He’s focused, eyes glazed over, sweat dripping down his nose in his efforts. He shuts his eyes tight for a moment, his pace stuttering slightly and you know he’s not gonna last.

“I wanna see her come with me inside,” he whines, and you don’t want him to stop what he’s doing so you reach down and swirl your fingers around your clit while he watches, “that’s it baby, that’s it, fuck, I’m close-“ he somehow spreads you wider, the wet suck of your pussy is louder, more obscene, more erotic. 

“I’m gonna come, I’m gonna-“ the orgasm strangles the words in your throat, pulsing him out but he pushes back in and you feel it all the way in your toes. 

“Fuuuuuckkk—“ he pulls out and pumps himself furiously against your mound, covering the soft patch of hair in spurt after milky spurt. It’s a lot, some has splashed onto your hip, your belly, you feel it slipping down to where you clench, empty and gaping without him filling you. 

It’s quiet for a moment after, while your blood cools, and he milks himself dry, pumping a few more times despite the over-sensitivity. 

“You got anything for me to clean you up with?” He rubs at the indents he left on the back of your thighs before unfolding you. 

“There’s a little pile of rags in that first drawer behind you.” You point to the tiny chest of drawers, and he groans when he moves up and off of you. Now that he’s emptied his balls, the signs of his age rear their heads. He groans, wincing as he bends forward to carefully wipe everything away with gentle hands. 

It’s nice to see him walk around naked, welcome, you wouldn’t mind seeing it more often, if he came back that was. 

“That was-“ he scratches at the back of his neck, passing the cloth over your belly, “that was really good.”

“I’ll say, it was better than good.” You stretch out and luxuriate like a cat in warm patch of sun, seriously debating offering him time to recover so he could fuck you again. He quirks his lip, the ghost of a smile, the confidence dulled to shy, awkward fumbling. He tosses the rag into the little basket you point to, and he begins the process of getting dressed. You get up when he’s almost done, your thighs, and what’s between already sore and pick up your robe. He’s putting his neat little stack of ration cards on the table when you finish tying it up. 

“Thanks.” He pulls his boots on, opening your door before turning back to find you right on his heels. 

“Anytime.” You smile at him, hoping it won’t be a one-time thing. He moves to step outside but you pull him back, wrapping your arms around his neck and taking something for your own. He kisses you back when you press your mouth to his, it's softer, his tongue sweet when it tangles with yours and you smile into the kiss when he reaches down, and grabs your ass. 

“Bye, Pretty.”

“Bye Joel.”

-

You hadn't fallen into the work, so much as slowly slid into it. The first time had been almost a dare, a challenge to yourself, a proposition made by someone and maybe your own foolish, naive need to prove that you weren’t some stupid baby. A man, an older man that had shared cleaning duty with you had come right out with it, saw you bending over to pick something off the floor and told you that he’d pay every ration card he had for a taste of that ass, as he so eloquently put it. 

At first you’d been shocked, he seemed like a perfectly bland, run of the mill survivor making his way in the QZ, but he’d been serious. You’d asked him to clarify, to repeat his words, and he had. He’d shaken his hands of the dirt and dust of the job, produced a tiny stack of much needed ration cards from a hidden pocket and held them out for you like a cold glass of water in the desert. Something inside you had recoiled, he wasn’t repulsive, but he wasn’t exactly the object of your late night fantasies. Another part though, a hidden little sliver of something jumped at the chance to have some power, some semblance of control and so without much thought to consequence, you’d taken him up on it. 

An uncomfortable fifteen minutes later, he was grunting behind you, stroking himself furiously to paint the cheeks of your ass in his come. 

Once it was done, the little part of you that had welcomed the challenge was curiously absent, and the part that had recoiled was bigger, swelling like some awful, infected limb. But you had rations enough to stop working for a few days, and that took some of the repulsion away. 

It was a while before you did it again. It was a while before you saw the man again, maybe part of you, that ever-present bit of self-preservation urged you to avoid him but he eventually found you again. This time you turned him down, and he hadn’t pressed, but he’d told others. Other men who seemed to sniff you out, some of them older, and less diplomatic and those you told to fuck off. Some of the younger ones though, closer to your age looking for the experience, some of them you took in, with the strict promise to never tell anyone unless they wanted to never see you again. Those experiences were better, less traumatic. 

After that it seemed like things came together, you had a steady string of people who took you seriously and paid up front. 

The first woman had been a girl of around your age, she’d heard from a friend of a friend, carefully and strategically keeping the source to herself. You’d never really given it much thought but once you did it seemed only natural, women got lonely too, and there was nothing about her that you didn’t understand. So you accepted her, took her rations and gave her as much of yourself as you gave the men. 

It’d taken time to establish yourself, to find the regular people you let into the circle, it was all much easier now. With the exception of Joel, you hadn’t taken on someone new in a while, but he made you glad you did.

-

His hands always shake before it starts. 

It’s a light tremble, a couple of fingers in his left hand and you aren’t entirely sure if it’s an injury, or a sign of nerves. He’s hard of hearing in one ear too, his right. You hadn't picked up on it at first but once you do, it makes sense. He tilts his head to the right a tiny bit, turning his good ear towards your mouth. It doesn’t bother you. 

He was older than the rest, that did bother him, but never enough to stop visiting. He dragged it out sometimes, made himself wait, avoided you, but whether it took him a week or a month, he came back. 

“Hi Joel.” You smiled to see him standing at the threshold, fingers twitching by his side, his hair a mess, a small bundle in his grip.

“Hi.” He doesn’t smile back, he’d waited too long, the frown practically tattooed on. He puts the bundle down on the dresser after kicking off his boots, and doesn’t mention it. 

It’s dark outside, later than you usually let anyone come see you but for him you make exceptions. His hands keep rubbing at his thighs, his eyes darting around, you let him settle for a moment, get his bearings before jumping into anything, it’s a dance and you both have your steps. 

“How do you want me?” You finally break the silence once he sits on the quilt. He looks up at you, but doesn’t answer right away, his eyes fall to your cleavage, then down to your waist where the robe is cinched, then further still to your hips. You move closer, until you stand between his spread thighs. 

“Hm? Wanna fuck me on my back? Or should I get on my hands and knees?” You thread your fingers through his hair, slicking it back as best you can, he shudders at your words and at the feeling of your hands on him, putting up his usual show of shame at being here with you, at being older. “Should I get on my knees right here and suck your cock?” His hands land on your hips, his face pressing against your sternum, robe parting enough for him to press his lips to the valley between your breasts.

“You’re too fuckin’ soft, way too fuckin’ pretty to be lettin’ me touch you.” He always does this, has to make it known that you shouldn’t let him do this, that he shouldn’t want you like this. It never stops him, he opens the robe and pushes it off to fall on the floor regardless of his words and moans into the skin of your breast where he nuzzles like a cat.

“Prettiest thing I ever saw.” His mouth laves at one pert nipple, then the other, leaving them hard and shiny when he trails his kisses down to your belly. 

All day you’ve thought about him here, getting to have him to yourself, opening you up and molding you to fit him like a glove, making you see stars like he always does. And all day you’ve felt that slow simmer of arousal, that steady ache to bloom and gape for him, both soft and obscene. The constant excitement of anticipation. His mouth on your nipples only served to turn it up to an inferno, turning you to liquid for him. 

“But I like when you touch me.” You scratch at his scalp, pressing his face into your skin, “I like it when you fuck me, you make it so good, much better than anyone else.” You flatter him, but you don’t lie to him. You’ve learned to be impartial to your experiences, sex is work. As fun as it can be with some of them, it’s all a means to an end, you need to eat and so you do what you have to do. You are also realistic about him, he is not your boyfriend, he’s not your partner, he barely gives you a second glance on the street but in here, he’s your favourite. He fits you better than anyone and anything, and as much as you hate to admit it, you need him as much as he needs you.

He takes in the words, believes them and relishes them. 

“How do you want me, Joel?” You pull his face up, bending down to kiss him before he can answer and his desperation comes through. His tongue is insistent, his kiss almost violent. 

“I want you here-“ he pats the bed, before getting up to take his clothes off. You help him, both of you working efficiently until he’s as naked as you are. His cock is already hard, the tip of him pearly with his own want despite any and all notions of impropriety. 

His body always betrays him. 

He gets you on your back, but he doesn’t lay on top of you, rather beside you. He doesn’t let you turn to face him, he wants it like this, his body curling around yours to be able to see it spread out for him without himself in the way. 

“Open up for me, s’good, just like that.” He takes the thigh closest to him and drapes it over his hip, positioning himself to enter you from underneath. He lifts his head, showcasing his core strength to watch as he brings his cock to the open mouth of your cunt, sliding in without so much as a warning. You feel exposed, spread open and bare under his eye and it only heightens the experience, cracking something open inside of you. 

His hips push and pull slowly, lazily at first despite how fucking hard he is but doesn’t last. The sight in front of you there, breasts bouncing with every snap, is too much for him. With one hand free, he strums and plucks at your nipples, opening up the dam between your thighs to ruin the quilt underneath. 

His other hand isn’t idle though, it slips down, grabbing onto the plush of your ass, holding you in place hard enough to bruise. 

“That feel good?” He watches you leak all over him, and knows it does but he wants to hear it anyway. 

“Yes- Yes Joel–” You moan, turning to watch his face. 

“This little cunt goin' to come for me? I wanna see her come, I wanna feel her choke my dick.” He surges forward, swallowing the moan from the source before speeding up. His cock strokes, strokes, strokes and you feel the warmth blooming in your core, spreading like a wildfire through your hips, the release so close you can almost taste it, you whine and he shushes you, his voice soft despite how depraved you feel with his cock kissing something sacred inside of you. 

You roll your hips to meet his thrusts and sweat builds in your hairline and at the back of your neck, collects and slips where your skin and his meet.

“I know baby, I know, I can feel her, she wants to come doesn’t she?” His lips press against your cheek, his words warm against your skin. His lips are so soft, so plush as he pants into your face, goosebumps cover your body. You nod against him, mouth open in a silent scream when he adjusts his angle slightly. 

He’s no longer able to form complete sentences, his words are reduced to a repeated chant of yeah baby, yeah baby, right there, right there huh? Barely formed questions for the answer you know he already knows and then his fingers are in your mouth, stretching out your lips, holding your mouth open in a filthy, yet pale imitation of what his cock is doing.

You drool, and you don’t care but it’s what he wants, he takes it from your mouth and slides it over your clit and it’s like he’s pressed the nuclear codes in your body. 

You want to curl into yourself, but you can’t, his grip tightens, painfully, holding you to take and take and take his cock until he bursts inside you like a ripe berry. His groan is almost more obscene than the act, his groin pressed up against you tight, pressing himself deeper than ever to paint your cervix in his come. 

“Fuck–” He presses the word to your cheek, sliding his sweat soaked face down your neck, to your shoulder. He pulls out after a moment, and you feel him leak out of you. He moves to hover over you, pulling one nipple into his mouth to taste before the blood has cooled, and then the other. He isn;t done yet though, he kneels between your spread legs, inspecting the mess he’s made of your pussy, a self satisfied look on his face. 

“Gonna dream about this, while I’m gone.” He lifts your legs, pressing them up and open and slips two fingers deep inside to push his come back in and as you moan at the act, you cannot help but wonder where that worried, too-old Joel is right now. 

“Prettiest little cunt.” He says it to himself, rubbing his mess into the sensitive walls of your sex like a balm. 

He licks his fingers after, tasting the combined flavours of both of you. Your heart almost can’t take it. 

Once he’s dressed, and you have gained enough strength to get up and put your robe on he’s almost back to his shy self. 

“I have the rations here, but I brought somethin’ else.” He gestures to the little bundle he’d left on your dresser, “I found it, thought you might like it.” He opens it, and it’s a can of peaches. 

“Oh!” You’re genuinely taken aback. 

“You ain’t allergic right?” He frowns, and you smile, something soft spreading through your chest that has nothing to do with the sex you just had.

“No, I’m not allergic. Thank you Joel, I am really excited for this.” You ignore the soreness between your legs and close the gap between you, pressing a soft kiss to his lips in thanks. 

“Well alright then.” He frowns again, and it’s not shyness you see on his face now, it’s awkwardness, it’s a man who doesn’t know how to be soft, but is trying his hardest. 

“Bye Pretty.” He lingers at the door, devouring you with his eyes and even though he was still dripping out of you, you felt naked and exposed, open and spread out for his gaze. 

“Bye Joel, don’t wait too long to come see me again okay?” You press yourself against him, the soft lines of you tucked tight against the hard angles of him. He gifts you with a rare smile but doesn’t respond, save for a toe curling kiss at your threshold before he’s gone. 

Hours later, when your body is truly sore and spent, you lay in bed with a book, eating the peaches he brought, and wonder idly what he’ll bring next time. 

-

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Code of Conduct 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as cheating, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your boss has a difficult time keeping his personal life from bleeding into his work. 

Characters: Steve Rogers, this reader is known as Rosie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

“Mr. Rogers’ office. This is Rosie, how can I hel--” 

“Where is he?” Peggy’s voice cuts over your own. 

“Oh, hello, Mrs. Rogers, he’s currently in a meeting--” 

“Get him.” 

“Mrs.--” 

“Don’t argue with me. Go get him. Are you not his assistant?” She challenges brusquely. 

Her accent adds to the sharpness of her words. Her curt demeanour is a stark contrast to her husband. Your boss is always amiable, accommodating even, but the few times you’ve dealt with his wife have been similarly tense. You put a smile on so she can’t hear your anxiety. 

“Of course, Mrs. Rogers,” you preen, “I’ll put you on a quick hold.” 

“No, you will get him. No hold.” 

You suck in a sigh and hold your breath in your chest, “of course.” 

You set the phone down. You don’t see how her hearing your desktop will be any better but you wouldn’t want to irritate her further. It must be urgent. 

You stand and smooth out your dress. You step out from behind your desk, digging your nails into your palms as you ball your fists tight. You get nervous about most things. Answering the phone took your months to get used to and even now you tend to fumble over your words. 

You go to the door and brace yourself. You don’t know why you expect Mr. Rogers to be upset. He’s never been anything close to rude. Maybe short in times of stress but not unpleasant. You knock and wait as you twiddle your fingers against your striped pleats. 

It isn’t Mr. Rogers who answers by Mr. Barnes. You give a sheepish smile, “excuse me, doll.” 

He steps past you and you bid him a good day. He leaves without further courtesy and Mr. Rogers calls your name from within, “need something?” He asks. 

“Oh, yes, Mrs. Rogers is on the phone.” 

He doesn’t seem happy about that. His cheek dimples and he nods, wiggling his pen at you, “patch her through.” 

You go back to your desk and pick up the receiver, “hello, Mrs. Rogers, he’s available now--” 

“I don’t want to talk to you, honey. Where is my husband?” 

You transfer her without another word. Phew. You almost feel bad for your boss as you hear him pick up in his office. His tone is low and dull. 

You try not to overhear, letting his conversation drone into a buzz. There’s enough work to be done without worrying about his personal life. Your own afterhours concerns are more than concerning. You wouldn’t say you have much going on and that’s the problem. It’s moment like those that ease your envy of others’ full plates. 

You haven’t seen the girls lately. The group chat’s been quiet but you suppose you could go ahead and say hi. Your weekly cocktails petered out to biweekly, then monthly, and now you can’t remember the last time you let go with a mimosa. 

You peek over your desk and back at your screen. It’s not only on them to keep things going. You pick up your phone and open the chat. The last message is a meme Elfie sent about printers. You shake your head and send a little waving sticker, keying in a message. 

‘Long time no see! I’m in need of drinks. Anyone free? When’s best? Hope you’re all taking care.’ 

You’re professional tone shines through even on WhatsApp. It’s a bit lame but you’re an entirely different person in text. Most people are surprised to meet the mousy secretary hiding behind her screen after the lively back and forth in Outlook. 

You set your phone down and try not to stare at it. A reply never comes while you’re waiting for it, nor does water boil when you’re watching it. As you click around and try to remember where you were, the silence sinks in. Your realisation brings your eyes up as quickly as Mr. Rogers shadow. 

You bat your lashes at him in surprise, “need something, sir?” 

He gives a half-smile, the type weighed down by disappointment. He sighs and crosses his arms, leaning on the door frame, “you hungry?” 

“Um, well, it’s only eleven,” you shrug. 

“Mm, yeah,” he unfolds one arm to rub his neck, “I’m restless. You feel like getting lunch early?” 

“Sure, I can run out and grab you something,” you stand eagerly. 

“No, uh,” he drops his arm back over his other, “together. I had a reservation for me and Peggy but she canceled. I’d hate to inconvenience the restaurant and I just can’t sit and mope in my office.” 

“Oh, okay, I guess that works...” 

“Do you need to ask your boss?” He scoffs. 

You laugh at his joke, “do I?” 

He smiles, a real smile and drops his arms, “my treat. You know what, you earned it. You work so hard around here, a little employee appreciation is overdue.” 

“That’s so nice,” you chime, “uh, sir, I... I should leave an away message, should I?” 

“Oh, who cares, come on.” 

“Well, I mean...” 

“Ah, I get it, boss is a real hard ass,” he winks. 

“Sir,” you giggle nervously and teethe your lip. He watches your mouth. 

“You can catch up later. Come on, I haven’t played hooky in years.” 

“Hooky?” You stammer. 

He laughs, “a goody two shoes. It’s why I hired you but it’s okay to let loose once in a while.” 

“I know, Mr. Rogers, it’s just... it’s work.” 

“Too much of it and you’ll turn into me,” he huffs. “Please, I’m sure your husband would hate if you were never home. Never answered the phone.” 

“If I had one, probably,” you blurt out then look away shyly. 

“Really? I thought...” he begins and shakes his head, “doesn’t matter. I’ll grab my jacket and we’ll go. I missed breakfast.” 

“Um, sure, sir,” you agree and put your hand on the phone. 

When he turns, you look down. Missie sent a reply; ‘please, drinks are required!’ Ooh! Yay. 

[fallatyourfeet]

Unbroken (Jon Snow x Reader -One shot)

Summary: Shortly after the Battle of the Bastards, Sansa discovers some unexpected news regarding YN. Jon is thrilled to hear you're alive, but unfortunately, the news is bitter sweet.

Word count: 3234 Sorry (This is a super long one shot for me, I usually try to keep them under 2000 words. But I guess this one got away form me)

Warnings: It's pretty dramatic and angsty. YN has been mistreated by Ramsay. I'm sure you know what that means!

Please feel free to send me a message/comment/ask, I would love to know what you think.

A/N: This fic was a request from @automaticpandadreamer Hope you like it. God knows you've waited long enough

Hello I love your book Northern Light so musch I'm still reading it three years after discovering it. I was was wondering if you could do like a Jon Snow x reader who is from a warrior house that the Starks have known for a long time. Her house get attacked by the Boltons and Ramsy does....Vile things to her as his plaything and she helps Sansa and Theon escape but not before Ramsay lays a huge whipp across her back giving her a scar but after that she meets Jon and she is happy to see jon .

Jon assumed you were dead. It hurt to even think it, but surely Ramsay would never have allowed you to breathe another day, once you helped Sansa and Theon escape. Never for one moment, did he believe he would return to his childhood home, after all these years and hear Sansa speak the words. “She’s alive, Jon… YN’s alive.” Standing in the middle of the courtyard, his knuckles still covered in Ramsay’s blood, Jon found himself overwhelmed by the unexpected and welcomed news, his mind racing with cherished memories.

During his childhood, you were a regular visitor to Winterfell, accompanying your parents for feasts and celebrations and usually staying long after they returned to Bear Island. And they were some of his happiest memories. Wherever you were, Jon was never far behind. The two of you were all but inseparable.  

You were not like other girls. Strong, fierce and surprisingly unpretentious for a highborn. Memories flooded back. Watching you shoot bow after bow perfectly into its target, while his fell uselessly to the ground. Could still remember how quickly you could saddle a horse then tease him playfully for being so slow. How many days had he spent sparring with you in that very courtyard? Snapping and splintering countless wooden swords trying to get the better of you, but you were far too quick for him. And how vividly he could recall Catelyn’s disapproving stares. Never knowing if it was the fact that, you, a trueborn lady of House Mormont was allowed to train as a warrior. Or the fact that you were allowed to train with him, a bastard. Maybe it was both. Or maybe it bothered her to know that you enjoyed his friendship, maybe even valued it above her own children. Whatever the issue, Jon refused to acknowledge it, even as a little child. He would not allow her disapproval to spoil his time with you.

And when you returned to Bear Island the letters began. Parchments covered from back to front in your handwritten script. Sharing your stories, hopes and dreams, filling the void between your infrequent visits. Miles and miles may have separated you, but those letters brought you closer than ever. You were his best friend. No. You weren’t. You were more than that. Much, much more. And up until now he thought he had lost you.

“Where is she?” Jon barely breathed the words, his voice caught with fragile hope… hope that he was not dreaming.

Sansa answered with hesitation, “The Maesters’ Turret.” And when Jon made a move to leave, she grabbed him by the arm, her eyes filled with concern for both YN and her brother. “She’s not in a good way, Jon.”

Jon was silent a moment, unsettled by his sister’s expression, “What do you mean… is she going to be okay?” He was eager to pull away, to see your face, but Sansa didn’t loosen her grip.

Looking across the courtyard Sansa took a breath, her eyes settling on the spot where less than an hour ago Ramsay laid in an unconscious mess beneath Jon’s fists. Turning back to her brother she replied, “Yes. She is going to be okay… but Ramsay he…” Sansa struggled to find the right words, “He has left his mark on her…”

Jon didn’t quite know what she meant, but he knew it wasn’t good. Pulling away from his sister, he wasted no further time, heading straight towards the maester’s turret. He needed to see YN with his own two eyes… needed to see her alive and breathing. Moving through the courtyard his eyes caught sight of Ramsay’s blood, his lips tightening into a hard line as his feet kicked through the crimson dirt. Part of him wishing his fists had drawn Ramsay’s final breath. That man… no… monster, did not deserve to live another day. And if both Sansa and YN didn’t want to take it away themselves, he was more than willing to do it for them

Reaching the turret Maester Wolkan greeted him, but Jon had no time for pleasantries, coming across rather abruptly to the new master of Winterfell, though Jon paid it no thought at all. “Lady YN, how is she… where is she?” Jon’s eyes searched behind him, seeing nothing but a dimly lit room and a shelving unit crowded with apothecary bottles.

Stepping outside the turret doorway Maester Wolkan closed the door behind him, speaking in hushed tones, confirmation that YN was inside.  “Lord Snow, Lady Mormont is currently resting. I have given her milk of the poppy. Lord Ramsay he… he left her in a bad way… this time.”

Jon’s face contorted at the maester’s words, as if the sound of them physically hurt his ears. “What do you mean, this time… what did he do to her?” Jon asked with hesitation, not sure if he was equipped to hear the answer.

Maester Wolkan was a little surprised. Sansa had not long left to find Jon and inform him. Not realising he had given her little chance to explain before leaving her standing in the middle of the courtyard. The maester shifted apprehensively on his feet, not feeling threatened by the former Lord Commander, but rather ill at ease by the intensity of his concern. “Ah… Unfortunately, Lady YN has been here far too often these past months.” Taking a deep breath he continued, “Lord Bolton did not take kindly to her aiding Lady Sansa’s escape.”

Clearing his throat, he grew even more uncomfortable… how was he going to explain the extent of the torture inflicted upon this poor woman, when it was clear the man before him cared deeply for her. “It began with a single lashing the night Sansa escaped,” (leaving out the detail of how brutal that single lashing was; it tore her back wide open), “Ramsay would send her here every day so I could treat her wound, only for him to whip her again the very day it healed.”

Jon’s stomach churned, but he could tell the maester still had more to say. Trying to prepare himself for the next onslaught he took a deep breath, before Wolkan continued, “Every time I would heal her, he would whip her again… but last night, he… he could have killed her… I’ve never seen injuries like it.”

Burning rage twisted at Jon from deep within his core. This animal of a man had repeatedly defiled his sister, murdered Rickon before his very eyes and had been torturing the woman he loved, for months. Not even daring to imagine what other unspeakable things he probably inflicted upon her. Jon could barely think, he needed to see her. Stepping forward he reached for the cast iron latch, the urgency in his features alarming Wolkan, “I’m sorry Lord Snow, she needs to rest… please… come back tomorrow.”

Shaking his head, Jon replied, his hand already opening the door, “No Maester… I’m staying with her until she wakes… I’ll be quiet.”

Entering the turret, it was difficult to see, the room kept dark by heavy drapes drawn across the windows. And yet, immediately Jon felt some relief. He could hear you breathing. It was dry and raspy, but at least it was steady; it was strong. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim candlelight tucked away in the corner. But it was the glow of the hearth flickering around the stone walls that had the air twisting in his chest. It illuminated your form, the shadows rippling across blood-soaked bandages wrapped loosely around your torso. Resting on your stomach, you were so still, eyelids heavy with induced sleep, your hair pinned to the top of your head to keep from interfering with your injuries. The table beside you was a mess of strong-smelling ointments and bandages, while the discarded ones sat overflowing in a bucket underneath, soaked red with your blood.

A wooden chair sat in the corner, but it was not close enough, he needed to be beside you. Moving to grab it, he stopped short when he reached out and noticed his hands. They were covered in dried blood and mud, remnants of the battle that took place outside the castle walls just a few hours earlier. With a deep breath, he realised he needed to clean up just as Maester Wolkan walked in, clearly thinking the same thing.

With fresh towels under his arm and a jug of hot water in his hands, he looked to Jon, “If you’re going to stay, Lord Snow, you’ll need to clean up. Lady YN can’t afford to be exposed to any contaminants.” Putting them down on a table behind a screen, he added, “Your sister is bringing you up a fresh tunic.”

Nodding his head, Jon smiled softly, “Aye. I just realised that myself.” And no sooner had Jon disappeared behind the screen, came the quiet knock at the door announcing the delivery of his tunic.

Settled in the wooden chair beside you, Jon had time to think. The milk of the poppy had given you much needed hours of rest. He could tell you were heavily sedated because you barely murmured or moved when Maester Wolkan changed your dressings. And he thanked the gods. Never had he seen injuries like it. Any previous scarring left behind by Ramsay was indistinguishable, your poor back… it was… it, it didn’t look like a back at all. In the end he had to turn his head away, unable to imagine what anybody could have done to deserve such treatment, let alone you. Jon sighed heavily, if only he had arrived a few days earlier, then maybe he could have saved you the suffering.

Jon thought about everything that brought you to this very room, forever scarred. It was your loyalty to the Starks, his family. When Robb called his banners, you marched beside him into every battle, leaving him thinking you had died along with his brother at the ‘Red Wedding.’ But in the middle of his grief came some sunshine in the form of a letter. It was sealed in the familiar wax stamp of House Mormont and addressed to him in your beautiful script. Yet, clouds quickly swallowed up the sunshine when he took a moment to breathe, his heart sinking as quickly as it had soared. What if the letter had been sent before that fateful night at The Twins? Though his concern was short lived as his shaking hands unravelled the parchment. Your words making it clear that you were alive.

Dear Jon,

I’m sorry to be writing under such dark circumstances, wishing I could fill this page as I did when I was a carefree child, to fill it with stories born of joy and hope, and memories to make us smile, but life hasn’t followed our childhood dreams. Instead, we are faced with grim reality, leaving us feeling hollow and betrayed. Losing Robb at any time was going to be painful but losing him in the manner we did is incomprehensible. The betrayal and disloyalty that took place at The Twins that treasonous evening leaves me enraged.

Somehow, I was sparred. Sheer luck saved me, after leaving the hall just moments before they locked the door, managing to find my horse amongst the slaughter and escape. Our poor men stood no chance, murdered as they sat around fires drinking the very ale offered by their killers. It was an unforgivable and cowardly act that the North will never forget.

Now that I’m home, I pray for days that begin and end with no discernible events, but I fear harder times lie ahead, much harder than I can fathom. The number of Wildings reaching Bear Island increases every week. Not to raid, but to seek refuge, and the stories they bring keep me awake at night. As a brother of the Night’s Watch, I’m sure you’re no stranger to these stories and the fear I see in their eyes troubles me deeply.  

Please know that I think of you often. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been receiving the news of your father’s death and then Robb’s while sworn to the Night’s Watch. Every day, I pray for the safe return of Arya, Bran and Rickon and hope Sansa finds protection under her new Lannister name.

Take care Jon. I will write again soon, hopefully bringing more light in these uncertain times.

Yours 

YN

And your letters continued. Just as you promised. Words reliving cherished memories, furnishing his thoughts with new stories, providing much needed smiles for trying times. Until your final letter arrived. It’s content still as fresh as the day he read it, ‘At first light I will be leaving Bear Island. The Baratheon Army is marching on Winterfell, and I intend to help them take it back from the Boltons.’ And that was the last he heard of you. Leaving him with no other conclusion, than believing you died alongside Stannis’ army when Ramsay defeated them in the Wolfswood. All until Sansa showed up at Castle Black and told him all you had done for her.

Jon had held no hope for your survival, sure that Ramsay would make you pay with your life. And yet, Jon had underestimated the cruelty of the beast, could not comprehend the lengths Ramsay would reach to punish your unyielding loyalty. Realising as he stared at the blood-soaked bandages which held your back together, that the sick monster had taken pleasure in the process. He enjoyed both the physical and mental damage he wreaked.

But here you were, still alive and fighting, defying Ramsay in the most determined and tenacious way. It was almost worth letting Ramsay survive if only to see you grow healthy and strong. To see you unbroken. To see the strength in your eyes as the life disappeared from his.

Pulling Jon from his darkening thoughts, came the soft whisper of his name, “Jon?”

How long had he been sitting there? Jon had no idea. Somewhere amongst his thoughts he must have fallen asleep, noticing the first light of dawn creeping in around the edges of the drapes. Announcing the arrival of a brand-new day.

Fully alert now Jon slid to the edge of his chair, his heart pounding heavily in his chest, reaching out he gently took your hand, his thumb running back and forth across your knuckles. “Yes, YN. It’s me.”

You winced, as you made a move to sit up, though you tried to hide it.

Wincing in sympathy Jon carefully brushed the hair from your eyes, responding tenderly, “Please, don’t move. Stay there. Maester Wolkan has already tried sending me away. He’s worried I won’t let you rest. Don’t give him an excuse to try it again.” Giving your hand a comforting squeeze, he leaned over, his face just a few inches from yours, his voice barely a breath from cracking, “It’s good to see you YN… I’m so sorry I wasn’t here sooner, before…” Jon’s eyes betrayed him, involuntarily lingering on your back.

Cutting him short, your words were a little groggy, but clearly, your mind was not, “Hush Jon, it wouldn’t have mattered when you arrived. He was always going to react like this.”

Without thinking, Jon asked the question he never meant to ask, at least not for some time, “Why did he do it?” Upset with himself, he tried to take it back, “Sorry YN, I didn’t mean to ask, don’t answer, I don’t know why I- “.

Cutting him short again, you answered without hesitation or regret, “I provoked him when he said he was going to take pleasure watching the bastard of Winterfell die.” Anger flashed across your features as you recalled the moment, defiance rooted deeply in your voice, “I told him this battle would be his last… That you may be a bastard by name, but he is a true bastard in every other sense of the word.”

Jon thought he saw a smile touch your lips, not sure how you found amusement in your current condition, “He didn’t like it when I told him he was going to lose, that soon the flayed banners will be lying in the dirt where they belong.”  You cleared your throat, the action causing you to wince again, “I can still see his rage, him waiting for an apology, for me to beg for my life… But I couldn’t… I just stared back… said, kill me if it makes you feel better… But it will not save you.”

Jon’s heart broke, his guilt intensifying. His lips started forming an apology, but you refused to let him speak the words, knowing exactly what was running through his mind. Despite your discomfort, you took your hand from his, reached for his cheek and spoke, “Stop Jon, don’t you dare apologise. It’s not your fault… he’s a monster. I don’t regret it and if I had the chance I would do it again.” Jon shook his head in disbelief, no one would willingly endure your suffering if they had the choice, but here you were speaking the words. Never had he been more in awe of you.  “I would. I had control in that moment… I won the battle. He didn’t break me, Jon. He couldn’t. I wouldn’t let him. Not once… Not ever.”

Struggling to ignore the heavy lump forming in his throat, he swallowed thickly, forcing himself to remain strong, if only for you. “I don’t know how you did it, YN. You’re stronger than any woman I’ve ever known. Ramsay will pay… pay for everything he has done to you and Sansa. What you did for her, I can’t… I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

Moving your hand from his cheek, you rested your head against the bed, taking his hand your expression softened, your beautiful eyes trying to disguise their pain. Tears gathered behind his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. With a deep breath, you somehow found the strength to smile, “Remember the blue lake I used to talk about when I was little. The volcanic one my father would take me to?”

Jon nodded, a soft smile warming his features, “Of course, you used to talk about it all the time.” Pink touched his cheeks when he recalled, “I still have the picture you drew of it. And the letter you sent it with.”

“Yes, I remember asking if I could take you there one day.” Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, your eyes searched his, looking for something. Something to grab on to or hope for. Something to look forward too. And as you spoke again, he knew he would do everything in his power to give you what you needed. “I know defeating Ramsay Bolton is only the beginning. We have many battles left. But promise me, when we come through the other side of them, you will let me take you there.”

Moving closer, he knelt beside you. You looked so tired and drained and somehow even more beautiful than he remembered. With the greatest care he took your face between his palms, placing a feather light kiss to your forehead, his reply more sincere than any words he had ever spoken. “I promise. But for now, you must rest. Sleep… I’ll still be here when you wake.”

[fuckmymunson]

eddie who has a reputation to uphold, the weird and scary freak who wears chains and big metal rings and always goes on tangents about his hatred for the popular kids, not a sliver of fear or weakness in his eyes. eddie who at the same time never leaves his house without the light yellow scrunchy with daisies on it that you gave him, always on his wrist or wrapped in his hair.

eddie who’s sweet n soft on you in a way he never is with anyone else 🥹

💌 a/n: Oh god, this, this, this, this. Please, I don’t ask for much. I’m so happy to get back to writing! Hope you like it!

🪷 Check my recent poll ¡! 📌

“I lost it” His voice sounded almost defeated, and quite inopportune.

“Eddie!” You jolted in your place, closing the light green locker door. Behind it, there he was, the big, scary, mean freak of Hawkins High. Covered from head to toe in chains, leather, ripped jeans, black, black, all black. With dark, unruly hair and a chunky rings.

But also, with puppy eyes, and a quivering lip.

“You scared the shit out of me, Eds” The frown on your pretty face made his heart jump inside his chest. You were an angel, a sight for sore eyes.

“I lost it” He repeated.

“You lost what?”

“I’m sorry” Eddie looked down, apparently now his Reeboks were the most interesting thing.

“Care to explain what is missing and why are you apologizing?” Crossing your arms over your chest, you waited, for almost three minutes.

“I lost the scrunchy you gave me” He finally admitted, like a criminal at trial.

Eddie heard you sigh, to his ears, was a sigh of disappointment. In reality, it was a sigh of relief. Only Edward Munson knew how to make a simple thing as a scrunchy into a faithful message.

“That’s it? Eddie, it’s just a hair tie” You shook your head, still not comprehending the dimensions of his problem.

“It’s not just a hair tie!” He exclaimed, now almost offended, of course only he could switch mood that easily. A few curious students looked at your way, still wondering how did an adorable piece of cotton and sunshine like you, was dating the metalhead, three-times senior freak of not only high school, but of the whole town.

“Yes it is, love. I can just give you another one, don’t worry— Look, I can give you the one I’m wearing…”

“I don’t want that one” He said, his words sounding almost like a tantrum. “I want the one you gave me on our first date, the yellow one with little sunflowers”

“Daisies, Eddie” You corrected him with a smile. Only Eddie was able to remember such a tiny detail and forget a crucial detail.

Only Eddie was able to make you feel loved, cherished and appreciated. He was so different from every other person you have dated before. He snatched your heart from the very first day and it’s been a daily occurrence for almost a year. The scary, weird freak, the person considered a devil worshipper, the mean senior who had the admirable (or idiotic) courage to stand out against others who felt like they had the right to humiliate and ridicule those who weren’t like them. Your Eddie, the one who broke a jock’s nose one time for slapping your ass walking through the halls. Your Eddie, who waited patiently until every extracurricular activities you were into were over, so he could drive you home and hold your thigh and listen to you throughout the whole ride. Your Eddie, who loved Saturday night because it meant movie night, cuddles and kisses. The mean freak who let you braid his hair, paint his nails, sew his old t-shirts.

The Eddie Munson who was scared of spiders but wasn’t scared of a hundred people crowd. The boy who initiated a food fight at the cafeteria and had to go to the nurses office because an orange hit his eye and he realized he was allergic to them. The man who every Friday made fairy tales, knight stories and evil monsters come true and walk this very earth with just his voice and his imagination at his D&D club. Your Eddie, who on your first date, dropped a chocolate milkshake on top of your white dress, forgot to fill his fuel tank, and had to push his van all the way to the nearest gas station.

That’s how the bright scrunchy ended up in his hair, in a makeshift ponytail that you made by running your delicate fingers through his tangled hair.

That was your Eddie.

Your Eddie. Yours. Yours.

“Fine, let’s go find it” You said, grabbing his hand and kissing his knuckles. “Tell me what you did today…”

Sorry for any mistakes! English is not my first language. Thank you for reading!˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

[tiamathh]

METAMORPHOSIS - CHANGES IN YOUR LIFE

Note: Hello! Thank you for waiting! I hope everyone's doing well, stay hydrated loves 🤭 <33 Check out my Masterlist for more! <3 LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE V APPRECIATED!!

1 -> 3

Do not plagiarise, reword, steal, repost or replicate my work!

Masterlist | Paid Readings | Tip 🍯

Pile 1

The next phase in your life is going to include you moving away from home. This can either include you moving out of your actual house and living independently or you distancing yourself from the familiarity of what feels like home and trying to step out of your comfort zone. You are supposed to be going on a journey or a trip and this is actually going to be life changing for you. If you have a trip marked on your calendar let me tell you something, you're going to be feeling very in touch with your emotions, if you've built walls around you or are someone who frequents the phrase "why am I supposed to care?" etc to protect yourself from caring too much because you think it's cringe or it makes you uncomfortable, times are changing finally. You're going to be owning the way you feel, you're going to be more open about how you feel and give yourself space to be more vulnerable around the people you love and cherish, not feeling like you have to keep up the "tough" image and truly letting yourself live laugh love.

You are entering a time where your relationships are going to be flourishing, some of you have been through a rough few months when it comes to the people around you, you may be feeling used, betrayed, cheated or even sidelined by them. However new people are coming into your life, they're not only going to be on the same level as you but they'll also be people who will be a little contrasting personality wise like they'll fill the gaps for example if you're not good at communicating but they are and if they're not good at being vulnerable but you are, there's going to be a very healthy exchange of energies and it will help you maintain a sense of self without being overly dependent on them or developing a codependent relationship. Also I have to mention you're finally going to be getting a break, you'll get time to rest and relax and just take a seat because a lot of work you may have done in the past, and this I'm getting could be referring to the past few years related to academics or career, is going to be bearing fruit, making life feel more easy breezy for you lot!

Pile 2

Really good messages coming in for you pile 2! To begin with you may have been feeling a little stagnant lately, not in a bad way, just in a "stuck in a monotonous routine" kind of way, where there's nothing wrong but it just feels full and unexciting. That's changing for you, you're going to be entering a time of your life where things will still be peaceful and calm just slightly more fast paced so that you have to work harder to keep up. Anyone that you haven't moved on from in the past, or even anything maybe people maybe situations, you're going to be shedding off that old skin and almost starting over, there will be a new chapter which will be making you feel more enthusiastic about life. You're realising that you don't need to carry the weight of your past around and are going to be putting yourself out there more, you'll be healing and maybe working with balancing your energies. During this time it would be good for you to engage with energy healing or chakra work as well as soundbaths.

After a long while, you'll be more comfortable being alone, you won't be feeling lonely when you're alone but rather use that time for introspection and working on yourself. This time alone will give you a lot of insight about what you actually want when you strip away everything that society or societal norms tell you you need to achieve. Who would you want to be in life if you didn't have any obligations to anyone? Those are the kinds of questions you will be answering and it'll make you more confident in your skin as well, because you'll truly realise who you are and what you want. I keep seeing the fool so this also shows to me that there's a new chapter opening for you, one where you can make mistakes, you SHOULD make mistakes so that you can learn and grow without dire consequences looming over you. Fresh starts are great for that <33

Pile 3

Hi Pile 3! I feel like with this pile, some of you may be struggling a LOT with breaking past patterns, you may be unable to get out of bad habits because you feel comfortable in that pattern of predictability even if it's bad for you, even against your good judgement. For some of you this could be addiction, which is very difficult to deal with and I'm sorry if any of you are going through that, addiction doesn't necessarily have to be related to substance abuse (even if it could be) it can also be related to shopping or escapism and you will be finding yourself being free of it soon. World has been feeling too fast for you as opposed to the other piles, so for you things are finally slowing down, you're nowhere near the completion of a cycle, in fact you may have started one the end of this August/start of September, so you still have a few months for the cycle to end, it'll probably end somewhere next year around February or March (probably March end though). You need to realise that this is the phase of your life you should focus on, going slow is a good thing! It means you can check yourself and your surroundings, that you can be more present in moments in your daily life, that you can cherish the people and situations around you.

This is a time in your life where you'll be celebrating your wins a lot more, you'll be building your wealth and earning, also a lot of savings! You'll be saving money, bringing down your spending and truly deciding what you need to buy and what you will use if you buy it, so a lot more thought will go into where you're putting your money.

Lastly, if you feel like you've been wronged recently, don't worry, divine justice is in the works, you were "betrayed" or "misled" by someone so that you could be removed for a situation where you had no growth potential, doesn't mean it was right though, neither was the gaslighting that came after (ultra specific) and the person or people who did this will get theirs in due time and you may be present to witness it front row!

All Rights Reserved tiamathh©® DO NOT PLAGIARISE, REWORD, STEAL!

[indecisive-capricorn]

Small Headcanons to Miguel O'Hara After Pregnant Wife Reader Gives Birth:

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I miss reading and writing Miguel O'Hara fics so muchhhhh!! But yeah, my schedule lately has been so hectic and busy, I wasn't even sure if I would be able to finish this in time for the 2nd of June. I will probably just post shorter contents instead of my usual ones.

MASTERLIST & REQUESTS: Before you go, have a glass of wine or better yet, recommend a good bottle. any kind of message is always a delight.

First and foremost, Miguel is in absolute awe when baby Benjamin entered the world. He feels a sense of pride and protectiveness bloom in his chest over the little infant. And when Miguel held him for the first time- oh, he was so close to crying right then and there. Miguel could never understand how people could love within a few seconds of meeting them, but he was immediately proven wrong by his tiny son who was quick to steal a spot in his heart.

Miguel is constantly raining you with love and affection after you had given birth. He couldn't think of how he could ever repay you, the love of his life, from bringing your baby into this world, and he is forever grateful for the second chance you had given him, especially since the journey before is a hard one too.

However, if you think for a second that Miguel will leave your side for missions, then you're sorely mistaken. Miguel has a duty being the head of Spider Society, but he also has a duty as a husband and father. Also, there is in no hells way Miguel is letting you or Benjamin out of his sight while you're both at your most vulnerable states. He specifically restricted Lyla to not give him any assignments throughout the next month after your birth, only telling her to give him occasional updates and to assign his missions to either Jessica or Peter.

You know those husbands who does all the work after their wife has given birth? Like, literally everything and anything their heart wishes? Yeah, that's literally Miguel. He's the one constantly taking care of you and Benjamin all the time, from changing his diapers to making sure to order your favourite food, especially the ones you weren't allowed to eat during your pregnancy. Miguel is very active, always using every one of his minutes doing something, and he enjoys it.

MIguel sometimes fear that he might have neglected you during your pregnancy, which wasn't the case, but he felt as if he could have spent more time taking care of you. That's probably why he enjoys spending each moment with you and Benjamin after taking the two of you home. Time was very precious to him and Miguel had learnt to cherish it after years of experience. It could be an ordinary day with a slightly fussy Benjamin and a moody you, but he would still embrace it with open arms and love the time spent together.

Miguel has always been protective of you and Benjamin, there's no doubt on that, but there is this deep fear in his heart that something might happen to Benjamin the same way something had happened to Gabriella. Due to it, he has a very hard time falling asleep most nights, often choosing to not sleep at all and would use the excuse that he was merely tending to Benjamin. You knew the truth, of course, and you had a long talk with your husband about it, assuring him that nothing will happen to Benjamin and managed to get him to sleep for a few hours.

That is until Benjamin woke the two of you up with his cries of hunger.

[spidrgirl]

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RANDOM MILES MORALES HEADCANONS:

Masterlist: here ➼

Pairing: Miles Morales x fem friend he has a crush on! ᥫ᭡

Synopsis: headcanons of Miles and a girl he's friends with, but also has a teeny tiny crush on.

Genre: fluff/friends to lovers (lol, can you tell that this is my fav trope 😜?)

Word count: idk

Authors note: I made these headcanons with a fem!reader in mind, but I think most of these are gender neutral.

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➳ Miles texts you throughout the day, even about the smallest details, needing to feel connected even when you're apart. When you don’t respond immediately, he starts second-guessing himself, checking his messages over to see if he said something wrong, worrying you might be upset with him.

➳ Every time you two part, he lingers, hands fidgeting or glancing back at you with a soft look. Sometimes, he even comes up with the smallest excuses—"I forgot to tell you something" or "Do you need help carrying anything?"—just so he can stay a little longer.

➳ Physical touch is everything to him. Even the lightest brush of your hand is enough to set his heart racing. He quietly aches for you to touch him more, but he's too nervous to ask, scared of seeming too needy or crossing a line.

➳ No matter what he's doing, if you call or text, Miles immediately stops and responds. He could be in the middle of training or just trying to relax, but your messages are his priority. You can't help but remember that one time when he was texting you back while mid-mission, and it just proves how much he needs to feel close to you.

➳ After a late-night patrol, he often lies awake, replaying the last time you were together in his mind. He wishes he could talk to you, even if it’s just in comfortable silence. Sometimes he even imagines what it’d be like if you were there, lying next to him, sharing everything he’s been holding inside.

➳ Sitting in silence next to you on lazy afternoons is one of his favorite things. He’s content just being near you, but the urge to confess his feelings bubbles up more strongly in these quiet moments. He bites his tongue, afraid that telling you might change what you have.

➳ When you’re talking, he holds your gaze, completely captivated. Even in casual conversation, the way you look at him grounds him. It’s like he's the only one you’re seeing in that moment, and he feels an overwhelming warmth from it.

➳ Miles checks in with you constantly. Even if it’s a small “you good?” or “need anything?” he wants to know you're okay and feels a sense of purpose in being there for you.

➳ He loves catching subtle traces of your scent on his clothes after you've been together—it makes him feel closer to you when you're not around, like he's carrying a part of you with him.

➳ If you’re watching a movie or sitting together, he’ll lean in closer than necessary, just to be in your space. There’s a comfort he finds in those moments that he can’t quite put into words.

➳ Miles remembers even the smallest kind words you say to him, and they replay in his mind like a cherished memory. When he's feeling low, he holds onto those words, letting them remind him of his worth in your eyes.

➳ Every accidental touch—your hand brushing his, your shoulder against his—he holds onto them, wishing they’d last just a little longer. Sometimes, he leaves his hand where it is, silently hoping you'll reach out again.

➳ As much as he admires your strength and independence, there's a part of him that yearns for you to need him, even if just a little. It’s not that he wants to change you, but being the one you rely on, even briefly, fills him with a quiet pride.

➳ He's always seeking your validation, not only because he values your opinion, but because your approval brings him a sense of security. He might even agree with things he doesn’t totally believe in, just to feel more connected to you.

➳ Even though he tries to play it cool when you call or text, his heart races. He'll act casual, but deep down, your attention is everything to him.

➳ Sitting close to you feels like it's never enough. He wants more time with you, more connection, but he’s scared of coming on too strong and pushing you away.

➳ He loves those rare, late-night conversations that go on until the early hours. When they end, he’s left with a quiet longing, wishing he could hold onto those moments forever.

➳ Sometimes, without realizing it, Miles can be a little overbearing in his need to help you. He’ll offer to carry your things, walk you home, or do tasks you didn’t ask for, just to feel useful to you.

➳ His biggest fear is that one day you’ll move on, and he’ll just be a memory in your life. It’s a thought that keeps him awake some nights, silently hoping he’ll always have a place in your world.

➳ If he senses you’re upset or distant, he tries even harder to be there for you, even if it’s just in small ways, like sending a meme or giving you a small gift. He wants to remind you that he's still around.

➳ Miles asks you questions about your day, your thoughts, your feelings—he just wants to know you better and to feel closer to you.

➳ Arguments or disagreements with you make him uneasy. He’ll often apologize first, even when he’s unsure of what he did wrong, just to make sure things are okay between you.

➳ If he notices you’re upset, he goes into “protector” mode, wanting to fix the situation and be the one to make things better, even if it’s beyond his control.

➳ If a day goes by without seeing you, he’ll often send you a random meme or a quick message, just to re-establish contact and let you know he’s thinking about you.

➳ He subtly frames conversations in ways that might lead to you complimenting him or showing him affection. He craves your reassurance but tries not to make it too obvious.

➳ When you’re together, he unconsciously leans into your space—his knee brushing yours, his arm near you. He might not ask for more, but his body language shows just how much he wants you close.

➳ If you start talking about someone else, especially another guy, he’ll find a way to steer the conversation back to the two of you, needing your attention on him, if only for a moment.

➳ There are times he feels so vulnerable around you that he wants to confess everything, but he holds back, afraid of losing what you already have. Instead, he stays quiet, holding onto those feelings in silence.

[nebuladreamerrr]

Love in words| Kylian Mbappé x Fem Reader

Summary: Kylian wins your heart with a charming routine of leaving little love notes in French. Unbeknownst to him, you’ve been secretly learning French just to understand his sweet messages

Warnings: English is not my first language. I don't speak Dutch or French, so if there's any mistake, I would appreciate it if you let me know :)))

You couldn't help but smile when you noticed the little envelope next to the breakfast on the counter, certain that your boyfriend had prepared it before leaving for training. It was these small gestures that made you fall more deeply in love with him each day.

The past few months hadn't been easy. In fact, your relationship hadn't followed a "normal" trajectory at all. Just a year ago, you had left your beloved Netherlands to advance your modeling career. Many saw it as a leap into the unknown, predicting you would return with less than you left with. Fortunately, you proved them wrong. It was at a serene evening event under the moonlight, hosted by a brand to showcase their new perfume, where you first met your current partner.

From the moment you met him, you felt a connection. However, you rarely recount your first conversation because it embarrasses you, despite it being one of Kylian's favorite stories. To Kylian's surprise, you didn't recognize who he was, leading him to initially disbelieve you and playfully ask what profession you thought suited him. Without hesitation, you said "architect," which amused him greatly.

Luckily, it turned into a humorous anecdote, and the following week, the handsome Frenchman seized the opportunity to take you on a date where you could savor authentic French cuisine. It was during this date that your mother called you, causing you embarrassment as you excused yourself briefly to the bathroom to speak with her. Uncertain of how to ensure you didn't return with a negative impression of him, Kylian took a lipstick from your bag and wrote on a napkin, "Meeting you was a nice accident." This gesture deeply touched your heart, and since then, you've cherished that napkin, hoping to one day share it with your future children as a cherished memory.

When your relationship began, you faced a series of challenges. First, Kylian got injured. Although it wasn’t a severe injury, he was quite moody since his whole life revolved around football. Luckily, your arrival in his life cheered him up, and he used that recovery time to get to know you better. However, the main issue in your relationship was the language barrier. After moving to France, your French was not very good, and after some bad experiences with a few French people who got offended when you mispronounced words, you decided to communicate mostly in English. Additionally, Kylian didn’t know any Dutch, so your conversations often felt monotonous or a bit awkward, requiring a translator to express your different points of view.

Kylian was quite concerned when you told him about the "trauma" you developed due to those few rude individuals who belittled your efforts and preferred to ridicule you rather than help you improve. To encourage you, Kylian came up with a plan involving leaving little notes in French to motivate you to learn the language. Of course, he understood that you could easily use your phone to translate them, so the first letter he gave you was on your birthday, hoping you’d understand how much he wanted it to come from you and not from a simple translation app. Therefore, on your birthday, he left this letter along with a bouquet of blue carnations:

“Bonjour à l'amour de ma vie,

J'espère que tu as très bien dormi aujourd'hui comme la princesse que tu es. Tu n'as aucune idée de combien je suis fier d'être ton petit ami et d'avoir comme petite amie une personne si gentille et noble, quelqu'un qui se soucie des autres et qui n'a pas peur de tout risquer pour accomplir de grandes choses.

(Y/N), en seulement vingt-quatre ans, tu as accompli tant de choses, et j'espère que tu es fière de chaque réussite car je ne peux m'empêcher de sourire comme un idiot amoureux quand j'entends ton nom mentionné dans une émission de télévision ou que je vois que tu as posté une nouvelle photo sur ton profil.

Je sais que tu vas me tuer pour avoir tout écrit en français, mais j'espère qu'un jour tu liras et comprendras tout. Je ne veux pas dire que j'espère que tu seras ma femme et la mère de mes enfants parce que je suis sûr que cela arrivera; nous sommes destinés à être ensemble.

Merci de me supporter, et s'il te plaît continue de cuisiner; je ne sais pas ce que je ferais sans ta nourriture. Je t'aime tellement, mon amour, profite de ta journée.

P.S. Please, princess, don’t translate anything, and don’t ask anyone to translate it for you. I love you, my queen."

("Good morning to the love of my life.

I hope you slept very well today like the princess you are. You have no idea how proud I am to be your boyfriend and to have such a gentle, noble person as my girlfriend, someone who cares about others and isn’t afraid to risk everything to achieve great things.

(Y/N), in just twenty-four years, you have accomplished so much, and I hope you are proud of every achievement because I can’t help but smile like a love-struck fool when I hear your name mentioned on a TV show or see that you’ve posted a new picture on your profile.

I know you’re going to kill me for writing this all in French, but I hope that one day you’ll read and understand everything. I don’t want to say I hope you’ll be my wife and the mother of my children because I’m sure it will happen; we’re destined to be together.

Thank you for putting up with me, and please keep cooking; I don’t know what I’d do without your food. I love you so much, my love, enjoy your day.

P.S. Please, princess, don’t translate anything, and don’t ask anyone to translate it for you. I love you, my queen.")

When you read the letter, you couldn't help but feel a bit shocked because you didn't expect to receive a handwritten letter from Kylian, especially not one written in French. Although it frustrated you that you couldn't understand what was written, you were sure it was all kind words. From that moment on, you had a new goal: to decipher everything the letter said.

Your motivation grew with the increase in notes that Kylian left everywhere: in your car, your apartment, and even in your purse. His messages varied—some shorter, some longer—but they all had one common factor: they were all written in French.

“Mon cœur, les gars me taquinent parce que je veux aller voir Vice Versa 2 avec toi. Est-ce bizarre ? » "Sweetheart, the guys are bullying me because I want to see Inside Out 2 with you. Is that weird?"

« Hey, je n'aime pas que tu prêtes plus d'attention à mon frère qu'à moi. Rappelle-toi, j'ai une Coupe du Monde, et lui non. » "Hey, I don’t like that you pay more attention to my brother than to me. Remember, I have a World Cup, and he doesn’t."

« Pendant l'entraînement, je n'ai pas pu m'empêcher de penser à toi et à comment nos enfants vont me taquiner parce que je ne parle pas néerlandais. Pourquoi tout le monde se moque de moi ? » "During training, I couldn’t stop thinking about you and how our kids will bully me because I don’t speak Dutch. Why does everyone make fun of me?"

All of this motivated you to sign up for classes with a private tutor to learn the language. You often surprised her by asking about the meaning of specific words to slowly decipher the meaning of your boyfriend’s letters. When you finally succeeded, you couldn’t feel more satisfied with yourself. So, you decided to write Kylian a letter in French and slip it into his training bag, hoping to surprise him. You also had a little revenge planned.

"My love, I hope training went well, and you had a great time with the guys.

Remember to behave, and there will be a delicious meal for lunch.

Overigens, ik denk dat het tijd is dat jij ook mijn taal leert, dus ik hoop dat je veel plezier hebt. Onthoud, als je opgeeft, zal mijn vader een slechte indruk van je hebben.

Ik hou van je, mijn kleine schildpad.

(By the way, I think it’s time for you to learn my language too, so I hope you have a lot of fun. Remember, if you give up, my father will have a bad impression of you.

I love you, my little turtle.)

P.S. Don’t use the translator either."