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kingkruell · 3 days ago

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MIDNIGHT ALGORITHMS (DATA SCIENCE AND…DICK)

SUMMARY — you were supposed to be studying for your data science retake. instead, you ended up riding the university’s biggest nerd until he came in his jeans and begged to stay inside. gojo satoru is a virgin, a computer science major, and apparently completely obsessed with you…and your pussy.

CONTENT — nerdjo! x f!reader, p in v, university au, exhibitionism, cunnilingus, overstimulation, sub gojo, virgin gojo, bimbo reader, academic corruption lol, first time (gojo), mean reader, cumming untouched, pussy-drunk gojo, filthy smut with little plot.

[WC 5.164]

gojo fanart credits to @/lemiruu on x

the library at 12:32 a.m is quiet. nevermind the fact that it’s summer, you happen to be one of the unlucky dwindling population of students staying behind during break. still, the dorms are nearly empty now, the halls so quiet you swear you could hear the building itself breathing with lights faintly buzzing overhead and that weird flicker of static in the walls.

this wasn’t how you imagined your summer. you were supposed to be in okinawa, sunkissed and full of grilled squid and mango shaved ice. but that fantasy had dissolved as fast as the email that tanked your plans. failed. you didn’t even clear the minimum requirement for your data science class.

and sure, maybe that was on you. you’d chosen your major on a whim, thinking “business” sounded safe. you figured you’d learn a thing or two about money and come out the other side with a degree and a vague sense of superiority. you hadn’t accounted for things like statistical modeling or working with python. you hadn’t even googled the course description, let alone the syllabus. you assumed, stupidly, that business school meant learning how to make money and definitely not how to interpret scatterplots and write shitty codes. you just signed up because it sounded useful. future-proof or…whatever.

it all came down to this: a midnight lecture from none other than gojo satoru himself.

stuck on campus. in the middle of july. retaking a class you hated.

he was… peculiar. he always sat behind you in class. always with those big, square glasses so out of style that sometimes you had to stop yourself from scoffing because—really, those glasses? is it some weird proclamation that he’s smart? and he is, to be fair, but it somehow annoys you to the bone. and always in the same kind of too-large hoodies (just in different colors), chewed raw at the hem. he’s so aggressively unfashionable you almost thought it was ironic. and he’s fidgety, you noticed. always had the time to raise his hand in class, only to stumble through answers in stutters and incoherent babble, pushing up his stupid glasses with one finger. and yet, he always got a nod of approval from the professor. smart, but weird.

weirder were the random instagram likes—one on a post from months ago, something you’d forgotten you even uploaded. and then, a few minutes later, it’d vanish. like he got caught and unliked it. like it was never supposed to be there in the first place.

by the last day of finals, an email from your data science professor landed in your inbox like a final nail in the coffin.

please meet me in my office. urgent regarding your final standing.

you already knew what it meant.

turns out, you were officially at risk of failing the class. and with it, your chance of graduating on time. the professor didn’t mince words. he offered you a single chance to retake the exam over the summer, provided you stayed on campus.

“but—i have plans!” you blurted, cheeks flushing hot as he raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“well,” he said, voice flat, “that’s on you. and your priorities.”

and just like that, your summer was over before it began.

“to help with your review,” he added, already shuffling through papers, “i suggest reaching out to gojo satoru. i assume you know him. he’s a computer science major. i’ve already contacted him to ask if he’d be open to tutoring. so that much is settled.”

gojo satoru was your only shot.

when you first met up to study, he short-circuited.

“w-what? teach you? i mean—i could, yeah, but like—wow, i mean—not wow like that, i just—yeah.”

‘wow’? seriously?

now you were both here, slouched at the farthest end of the library under a dying desk lamp. the only other people still around in the same miserable predicament were just packing up their tote bags and heading out. it hadn’t even been ten minutes and you were already sighing like this was your last breath.

gojo froze, then turned slightly toward you, hand awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “sorry? am i boring you?”

you blinked. “no. i mean, yes. but it’s not you. it’s the material.” you jabbed your pen at his screen, frowning at the words bayesian inference like they personally insulted you.

“oh—yeah, i mean, totally fair,” he muttered, pushing up his glasses again. “but i’m trying to help you not get held back, so… maybe if you try to—”

you rolled your eyes. “what, you think i’m stupid?”

he sat bolt upright. “no! no, no, no! i just—you asked for help, and i’m just—”

you grinned suddenly, cutting him off. “i’m kidding. relax.”

he let out a strangled laugh, eyes darting to your mouth too quickly before looking away. the poor guy’s ears were turning red. that kind of red you only get when you’re really flustered or freshly slapped.

you leaned back in your seat. “can we take a break? my brain is going to ooze out through my nose.”

gojo hesitated, glancing down at his hands. he was still fidgeting with the drawstrings of his hoodie. “y-yeah. sure. you want coffee or… i have matcha pocky?”

“you brought snacks?” you raised an eyebrow. “you didn’t even bring a charger.”

“i thought sugar helps with cognitive performance,” he mumbled.

you bit back a smile. “you’re such a nerd.”

he opened his mouth to defend himself, but nothing came out.

you inched closer while you look at him struggle to open the box of matcha pocky like it might explode.

“you okay?” you ask

he nods quickly, “y-yeah, just it’s late.”

i raised an eyebrow, biting back a laugh, “am i making you nervous?”

“no.” he swallows. “i mean. maybe a little. but not from—i’m good.”

“mhmm.” you smirk, reaching forward and plucking a stick from the box. you let it hang lazily from your lips, watching him watch your mouth.

you snap it between your teeth.

“so,” he stammers, eyes flicking back to his screen, “when you look at the—”

you laugh. “you’re joking.”

he blinks. “what?”

“you were two seconds from spontaneously combusting and now you’re back with this coding shit?”

he shifts awkwardly in his chair. “i’m just… trying to focus.”

“hmm.” you cock your head, pretend to consider that.“you ever think about me when you’re alone?” the words slip out of your mouth before you even had time to fully register it, but with the look on his face right now, you don’t regret it.

he chokes on absolutely nothing. “what—what do you mean—”

“like… at night.” you lean forward just slightly, elbows on your knees. your voice drops into something almost bored. “you ever jerk off to my pictures?”

he goes rigid.

“i—what—no—i mean—i would never—”

“you would never?” you echo, raising an eyebrow, eyelash battling up so deliberately, “so you haven’t?”

he looks wrecked. completely cornered. cheeks flushed, breath stuttering, hands visibly shaking now.

“i—i didn’t think you noticed me.”

“well…i did.”

his eyes snap up to yours… almost desperately

you smile, lazy and cruel.

“that bikini post? you liked it four times. you probably saved it. pretty sure i saw your username on my views list at two a.m.”

he opens his mouth, closes it, then mutters, “fuck.”

you lean in, just close enough to smell his skin; cheap detergent, matcha?

“you’re cute when you panic,” you murmur. “kinda makes me want to see how messy you get when you’re desperate.”

his whole body stiffens.

your hand moves, slowly resting on his thigh. not too high. not low enough to be innocent either.

“you want me to stop?” you ask

he doesn’t answer.

“gojo.”

his breath hitches. his eyes flick to your hand, then to your mouth, then back to your hand.

“no,” he says. it comes out rough.

“don’t stop.”

you squeeze, just a little.

he’s going to come in his jeans before i even kiss him.

his thigh twitches under your hand. tense, trembling. like he’s trying so fucking hard to stay still, to be good, to not grind up into your palm like a pathetic thing.

and he’s failing. you can feel the heat through his jeans and the he obvious ache he’s trying to hide.

“you seriously never touched yourself thinking about me?” you ask again, quieter this time.

he squeezes his eyes shut.

your thumb drags up the inside of his thigh, just shy of where he’s aching. you can practically see the pulse in his neck.

“don’t lie,” you murmur. “you seem like the type who’d come just from scrolling.”

he swallows. his adam’s apple bobs like he’s choking on the truth.

“i—i didn’t mean to,” he croaks. voice raw.

your lips curl.

“you accidentally came to my bikini photos?”

“fuck,” he whispers.

“how many times?” you press. “once? twice? how often do you stroke your pathetic little cock to pictures of me smiling with a cocktail?”

he looks like he’s going to die. or beg. maybe both.

“i don’t know,” he says. “a lot. too much. i can’t—fuck, i couldn’t help it.”

you climb into his lap slowy and he jolts.

his hands hover in the air like he doesn’t trust himself to touch. you roll your hips forward, drag your cunt over the hard line in his jeans, and the sound he makes is obscene.

“shit—wait, please—”

“you’re hard already?” you coo. “you came in your pants to my stories and now you can’t last two minutes with me on top of you?”

his hands finally land on your waist, gripping tight. too tight. like he’s holding on for dear life.

you grind down again. slower this time.

he gasps— actually gasps, like he’s drowning, his pupils dilates before he throws his head back.

“you gonna cum, satoru?” you whisper, licking into the corner of his mouth without kissing him. “you gonna soak your boxers like a good little virgin?”

he whines.

“fuck, fuck—please—”

“please what?”

“let me—i need to cum, i’m sorry, i can’t—”

“you’re humping me like a dog, baby.”

“not yet,” you murmured, tilting his chin up with a firm grip, fingers pressing into the soft give of his cheeks. “open your mouth.”

his breath caught. “wait—wait, what are you— I, ngh—”

despite the confused protest, he obeyed. flustered and still fucking obedient with his lips parted and tongue out.

then with a filthy ptfffhh—a thick, wet string landed square on his tongue, and the obsecenesound of it filled the space between you. his lips twitched like he didn’t know whether to close them or moan.

and when you kiss him all wet, deep, and filthy, he completely falls apart. his hips jerk up. his entire body shudders. and he cums. in his jeans. like a boy who’s never been touched properly and just had his favorite fantasy spit in his mouth and ride his thigh. because that did happen.

his mouth is open, eyes dazed, and his glasses are fogged now. wetness spreading between you.

you lick your lips.

“pathetic,” you whisper.

“i know,” he pants. “fuck—i’m sorry—”

“don’t be.”

you drag your fingers up his chest, to his neck. squeeze. not tight. just enough to make him stop rambling.

“you wanna make it up to me?” you ask, tilting your head.

he nods, instantly. desperate.

“get on your knees.”

yeah… you didn’t know how a study session turned into this, let alone with him. gojo satoru, the biggest nerd you knew. now he was on his knees, flushed to the tip of his ears, breath hot against your inner thigh, fingers twitching like he didn’t know whether to hold your hips or fold them into an apology.

“didn’t think you’d actually do it,” you muttered, fingers threading into the soft mess of white hair, tilting his head back just enough to see the desperate flicker in his eyes.

gojo swallows hard. his throat bobs under your grip like a silent apology, lips parted as if waiting for permission to breathe. he’s panting already, like just being this close to your cunt is doing something to him. knees planted to the cold tile, thighs trembling, pupils blown wide.

this is what he dreamt of, this is what he shamefully jerk off to. thinking of bending you over in class and ripping away every inch of your clothes— and now your dripping cunt is mere inches away from his face, its slick clinging to the thin fabric of your panties.

“I—I want to be good,” he says, voice low, breaking like a fault line. “please.”

the way he says it, you almost almost moan. fuck.

you shift forward in the chair, spread your knees just wider for him to see the wet line of your underwear, soaked through from grinding on his lap ten minutes ago. he stares like it’s proof that god is real. his eyes licker back up to yours frantically

tongue out, already panting, his hands trembling as they settle on your thighs like he’s trying not to squeeze too hard. his tongue drags up your slit through the soaked fabric and he moans, like you’re doing him a favor.

god, he’s starving. licking through cotton like he’s grateful just to have it in his mouth. you let him mouth at you like that, messy and soaking the fabric further, his nose pressed against your heat like he wants to drown in it.

“is this what you think about in your little dorm bed?” you ask, tone llazy. onehand settles in his hair. “this exact moment?”

he groans in response, and it vibrates against you in a way that makes your thighs twitch.

“i bet you do,” you whisper. “every night. jerk off with your hand wrapped tight, thinking about me sitting on your face.”

his hips jerk against the floor. pathetic.

he adjusts, and fuck, he learns fast. he licks you with slow, deliberate drags now. eye fluttering shut as he lets your taste melt into him. you grind against his face with purpose, shamelessly, slick dripping down his chin, and it’s obscene—he’s obscene. on his knees under you in a university library, face soaked, hands digging crescent moons into your thighs.

and he’s hard again. so hard it must hurt, his cock straining against jeans soaked in his own cum. He’s rutting against the floor now. fucking grinding like it’ll give him relief.

“you gonna come again just from eating me out?” you whisper, breath catching as your orgasm starts to bloom behind your ribs.

he nods frantically, moaning into your cunt like it’s a prayer.

“fucking loser,” you gasp when he hits the spot that makes you squirm. “you’re not even touching yourself.”

“i don’t— i don’t need to,” he pants, lips dragging over your clit in a clumsy, worshipful kiss. “you taste so good—fuck—I wanna stay here—please—”

of course, you obliged, and you pulled his head impossibly closer, grinding into his face harder.

“say it,” you gasp. “say you’re addicted.”

“I’m—fuck—I’m addicted,” he sobs. “I love your pussy—please—please come, I need it—need to taste it—”

and you do.

with a sharp cry, hips bucking into his mouth, thighs clamping around his head like you want to crush the air out of him.

and gojo comes untouched. again. soaking his pants all over again like a high school virgin who just discovered the word “thighs.”

“nghh—satoru—“ you gasped as he suddenly picks you up with such ease just to place you on the table. his hands are already on your thighs, spreading them open with a force that’s barely controlled before you could even catch your breath.

laid out across the library table, the edge cool beneath your hips, legs parted just enough to show him everything. your panties are caught halfway down your thighs, damp and useless, and your cunt’s already shining in the low, sterile light. his spit and your slick still wet on your skin. there’s a mess between your legs and it’s his fault. he knows it. you know it. the air smells like it.

satoru’s breathing like he just ran here.

his hoodie’s rucked halfway up, hair a wreck, glasses crooked on his nose. he’s standing between your thighs like he doesn’t know what to do with himself, fingers twitching at his sides, eyes locked on the place between your legs like it’s gravity.

“i’ve never—” he starts, but his voice breaks off into static. he swallows thickly, still staring, like he’s scared if he blinks you’ll disappear. “i mean, i’ve thought about it. with you. so many times i—fuck.”

you tilt your head, a slow smile pulling at your lips. “stop thinking then,” you murmur, breath warm. “do it.”

and he does.

his hands fumble at his waistband—nervous, fast, like he’s scared of waking up. and when he gets his jeans open and pushes them down, his breath catches. a sharp, startled sound. he drags his boxers lower, and—

oh.

his cock bounces free, flushed dark pink at the head, already leaking, the tip smeared wet with precum that’s dribbling down the length in slow, heavy beads. thick and aching. there’s a soft tuft of white hair at the base, and he’s so hard it curves slightly up toward his belly. his hand hovers near it, like he doesn’t even know whether he’s allowed to touch it now. like it doesn’t belong to him anymore. like it belongs to you.

you stare.

lips parting on instinct, breath caught in your throat. your thighs twitch open wider on reflex.

“…jesus christ,” you whisper. “how the fuck is that gonna fit?”

he blinks at you like he’s never heard you speak before. he follows your gaze and lets out a broken, whining sound, like he’s embarrassed to be seen like this, like being this hard in front of you is humiliating.

“i’m sorry,” he breathes. “i didn’t—i didn’t mean to be this—fuck, it won’t stop—”

you lick your lips slowly, “what? hard? leaking all over yourself?” you drag your gaze down, voice thick with heat. “your cock’s throbbing, satoru.”

he moans and grabs himself at the base with a shaky hand and nearly doubles over. ”f-fuck, don’t say that, i’ll—i’ll fucking cum,” the second his palm closes around his cock, his hips jerk forward like he couldn’t stop himself if he tried.

he groans and rubs his cock through your folds, just once, dragging the head against your soaked slit, back and forth, back and forth—and it punches a sound out of both of you at the same time.

holy shit,” he breathes. “you’re—fuck—you’re so wet it’s all over me—look at it—fuck, fuck, i’m gonna cum just from this.”

he keeps rutting through your slick like he’s lost his mind, his tip catching on your clit, making your hips jerk every time. you feel it smear between your thighs—sticky, hot, messy.

“you like that?” you whisper. “humping my pussy like it’s your pillow at home?”

his hand falters, and his hips stutter.

you laugh, breathless. “you do. you’ve done this before, huh? jerked off to pictures of me and pressed your dick between your sheets thinking it felt close enough.”

he whines—actually whines into your neck—and kisses you like he’s trying to crawl inside your mouth. his lips are hot and wet and frantic, teeth knocking into yours, tongue licking into you with the same rhythm his hips grind against your cunt.

he pulls back, dazed. pupils blown. cock still rubbing sloppily through your folds.

“can i—” he chokes on it, eyes wild. “can i put it in? please. i can’t—I need to—I have to—”

“beg,” you breathe, dizzy with it.

“please, please let me fuck you,” he gasps. “i’ll be good, i swear, i’ll—I’ll do anything—just let me feel it—fuck—please—”

you nod, slow. “do it.”

he grips your thighs like handles and pushes in.

just the tip.

your breath leaves your lungs in a moan so sharp it cuts the silence in half. he sinks into you inch by inch and it’s so hot, so tight, so wet—he starts to tremble.

“oh my god,” he gasps. “you’re gonna fucking ruin me—i can’t—i can’t—fuck, you’re clenching so hard, i’m gonna cum, i’m gonna—”

you lock your legs around his waist, drag him deeper.

“do it,” you whisper. “cum inside me like a loser.”

and he does.

you feel it, the stutter of his hips, the thick, hot spill of it flooding you, the way he groans so loud it echoes down the rows of bookshelves.

but he doesn’t stop.

he keeps going. cock twitching inside you, fucked dumb, mind blank, still grinding into your cunt like he’s chasing the next high.

oh my god.

he’s tucking into you again, cock buried deep, and he swears he’s never felt anything like this. never imagined anything could feel this good. you’re so warm. so wet. squeezing around him like you don’t want to let go. like your body wants him deeper, even when he’s already pressed as far in as he can go.

he groans, forehead pressed to your shoulder, hips rocking just to stay sane. you moan under him and it makes his knees buckle.

what the fuck are we doing.

this is crazy. this is so, so fucking crazy. you’re in the damn library. it’s open. it’s the middle of the night but not locked. anyone could walk in. some poor TA could be returning a textbook. someone could hear you. the soft slap of skin. the way the table creaks every time he ruts into you. you—breathless and high off it, telling him not to stop.

and he won’t. he can’t.

he’s losing it. actually losing it.

she let me fuck her. she’s letting me fuck her. i’m inside her. right now. my cock is inside her and she’s moaning for more—holy shit—

he bites his lip, trying not to cum again too fast. his glasses are fogged, probably crooked, and he doesn’t even care. all he knows is the tight slick heat of you pulsing around him and the way your nails dig into his back like you’re clinging for life.

“fuckfuckfuck—y/n, i can’t stop—i need to stay in you—feels so good—so fucking good—you’re mine now, right? you have to be—”

“mhhmm—“ you pulled him by the neck and clashes your lips onto his. you’ve broken him. you know it the second he gasps your name like a prayer, or a curse, and drags his cock through the mess he made inside you, still hard, still leaking, like he doesn’t understand what it means to be finished. his hips twitch, rhythm sloppy, hands gripping your thighs so tight it hurts. he’s not even trying to hold back anymore.

he’s still hard.

you feel it inside you, thick and flushed and too much already. twitching like it doesn’t know what just happened. and the way he moans—god—the way he moans, it’s almost unbearable. soft, choked, high in his throat, like he’s been split open by something he doesn’t have a name for yet.

“satoru—” you try, but your voice splinters around the edges. “you—fuck, you already—”

“i know,” he gasps. “i know—but i can’t stop, it feels so good, it’s too much—”

“i-i came,” he stammers, breathless. “i already—I came and i’m still—fuck, i can’t stop—”

he sounds guilty. confused. like he’s doing something wrong. like he thinks you’ll tell him to stop but he can’t make himself do it unless you say the words.

your only answer was the filthy sounds of AH! AH! AH! from your mouth and the way your tongue lols out.

and he keeps moving.

wet, slow thrusts, dragging the head of his cock through the thick mix of cum and slick that’s pooling between your thighs, and he whimpers at the sound of it.

SCHLAP! SCHLAP! SCHLAP!

“is it always like this?” he pants, voice wrecked. “this warm—this wet—it’s so—i-i can’t—fuck, it’s too good—”

his hips twitch, involuntary.

he’s still rutting into you like he doesn’t know any better. like instinct’s got him by the throat. like he thinks he’ll stop breathing if he pulls out. and maybe he would, the way he’s grabbing at your waist, palms pressing so hard into your skin they leave imprints.

“y/n, you’re so tight,” he gasps. “you’re sucking me in like you want more—like you want to keep me—do you? do you want me to stay inside?”

you clench, and he cries.

he actually lets out a sound, desperate and high, mouth falling open in shock, like he’s short-circuiting.

“holy—fuck—you’re doing it on purpose—oh my god—”

he’s rambling. babbling. you don’t think he even knows what he’s saying anymore.

and he just keeps going.

“i didn’t know,” he whispers. “i didn’t know it would feel like this. i didn’t think i’d get to have it—have you—you’re so soft—so hot—i can feel you everywhere—i’m gonna lose my fucking mind—”

he’s shaking now. trembling over you, mouth pressed against your jaw, like he’s trying to ground himself in your skin.

your legs twitch around his waist, overstimulation crackling along your spine, and he feels it.

“wait—are you—? oh my god,” he moans. “are you gonna come again?”

you nod, breath catching, and that’s it.

he breaks.

“fuck—fuck—do it, please—cum on me—use me—i don’t care what you do—just don’t stop—please—please let me make you feel good—”

his hips stutter again, frantic, and your body arches into his, hands scrabbling at his back as the pressure finally snaps inside you again—hot and sharp and clenching hard around him.

“satoru.” you moan out and his eyes rolled back at the way you say his name, “say it again.” he pulls back and pushes in harder.

“satoru.”

you cum.

loud.

clenching down on his cock, tighter than before, and he loses it.

you clench down around him. all tight, fluttering, spasming in waves, and that sets him off.

he gasps like he’s been punched in the chest. like his heart just stopped and kicked back to life. you feel the shift in his body, the way his hips jerk forward, no rhythm left, no restraint—just pure, frantic instinct.

“fuck—fuck—oh god—i’m gonna—i’m—”

he moans into your mouth, loud and cracked open. and then he’s cumming again, deep inside you, hips stuttering as he spills into you all over again, thick and hot and endless. you feel it flood you—heat pooling inside your cunt, filling you up all over again. it’s so much more than the first time. more desperate. more raw. he stays buried as it hits him, jaw slack, eyes squeezed shut, whispering things he probably doesn’t even realize he’s saying.

“so warm—fuck—fuckfuck, i’m sorry—it’s so much—i couldn’t stop—i couldn’t—”

his whole body’s trembling, fingers gripping your waist like he’s holding onto the edge of the world. and when the last twitch of his cock pulses inside you, he lets out a sound so soft, so wrecked, it makes your chest ache.

his forehead rests against yours. you’re both gasping for air. his lips find yours again, slow this time, dragging across your mouth like he’s trying to memorize the taste of you. it’s messy. wet. you both keep moaning into it like it’s the only way you know how to breathe now.

his hand brushes your cheek, trembling. “you okay?” he whispers, breath ragged.

you nod, still clinging to him. “so good.”

he kisses you again. deeper this time. slower. like a thank you he doesn’t know how to say out loud. his hips give a soft, involuntary roll forward, just enough to make both of you hiss at the oversensitivity. and he groans.

“…fuck. i should pull out.”

you nod, legs loose around him now, and he gives one last kiss—wet and sticky—before he slowly, carefully draws his cock back.

you both moan at the drag. it’s too warm, too sensitive, too full.

and when he slips free—soft and still twitching—you both stare.

his cum leaks out of you in thick, creamy strings, dripping from your swollen cunt down to the table. it’s obscene. wet. ruined. a mess of his first orgasm and his second spilling from your folds like you were made to be filled.

satoru sucks in a shaky breath.

“holy shit,” he whispers.

you look up at him through your lashes, dazed, lazy, spread open and dripping. your cunt clenches instinctively, twitching from the exposure.

“you’re leaking,” he says softly. and then, like something snaps in his mind: “fuck—wait—i can’t leave you like that, i made a mess, i have to—”

your chest is still rising in stutters. your thighs ache from how wide he spread you, still twitching from the aftershocks. your cunt’s messy, flooded—his cum dripping thick down your folds and pooling between your legs. everything around you is still: the quiet hum of the library lights, the flicker of a dying bulb overhead, the late hour heavy in the air.

you’re still laid out over the table.

used. ruined. wrecked.

and warm.

so fucking warm.

from the inside out.

you blink slowly, dazed, like you’re surfacing from water you didn’t know you were drowning in.

this wasn’t supposed to happen.

you didn’t mean for this to happen.

you were supposed to review a couple chapters, complain about your professor, maybe tease him a little if he blushed too much. not this. not grinding yourself raw on his cock until he came twice inside you. not the way your body feels now; sore and open, humming with overstimulation, and filled with something heavy you’re trying not to name.

“holy shit,” you breathe, voice barely above a whisper. your limbs feel loose. like you’ve melted into the table. “i just… we really…”

you trail off.

there’s cum on your thighs. on the inside of your calves. your panties are still rucked halfway down your legs and your bra’s shifted, barely covering anything.

you cover your face with one hand. not in even in an embarrassed way, just… stunned.

you feel him shift

and then he’s dropping to his knees between your legs.

“satoru—?”

“let me clean it,” he breathes, already nosing between your thighs. “please. let me.”

and then he licks.

long, slow, and filthy, his tongue dragging through your overstimulated, used cunt like it’s the best meal he’s ever tasted. and when he groans, deep and guttural, it vibrates against you.

“you taste like me,” he moans, tongue pushing deep inside, lapping at the mixture he spilled into you like he’s starving for it. “so fucking sweet—fuck—i made this mess—i have to get all of it—”

his tongue is everywhere. cleaning the slick from your folds, nudging your clit, slurping up the mix of your cum and his with noises so obscene your thighs twitch around his head.

“satoru—fuck—please—”

he keeps going. tongue soft and messy, mouth hot and wet, arms wrapped tight around your thighs like he’s never letting go. your back arches. hands scramble against the table edge, trying to ground yourself, but he wraps his arms around your thighs and holds you there. not rough. desperate. worshipful.

“gonna keep eating you until you stop leaking,” he murmurs, voice muffled against your cunt. “i’ll clean every drop. i’ll be so good. let me be good.”

he’s going to make a mess just to clean you up again.

again. and again. and again.

#jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fic #gojo satoru #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader smut #jjk smut #jjk x you smut #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #nerdjo x reader #nerdjo #gojo smut #smut #x reader #fem reader #satoru gojo

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misscherry-26 · 2 days ago

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The time where you knitted John a sweater... and he hated it.

Pairing: John Price x reader (husband x wife relationship)

Warnings: None

Author's Note: Yes, I saw the most beautiful and cute pair of shark slippers but they weren't on my size... And yes, I started knitting and it was a rough start (I didn't make a sweater, just a scarf that I never finished to be honest) but I thought it could be a good idea to put those details in a story. So here it is. Comments are welcome! I love to talk about my stories, tell me your thoughts on them!

I'm thinking on making another part, maybe the time she made the cherry keychain, and adding a scene with John telling her the truth about the sweater, hahaha. Let me know in the comments if you would be interested on reading a part 2!

~No edited, mistakes to be corrected later.

You've been practicing for a week. You've been doing and re-doing the knots every time you messed up. So far it was going well... Which is why—as you hold it in front of you, now finished— can't understand what happened.

Smiling proudly at it, you hug it, giggling and happy that you made it. Your first big piece. A sweater.

But not just a sweater, this is the sweater.

John steps on the living room, cup of tea in one hand, towel in the other drying his hair after his daily workout session in the backyard—which, by the way, you love to see. He's dressed in a casual navy blue t-shirt and grey joggers. Kind of funny, since you are wearing something similar, with the personal touch of a shark-themed slippers you found in on of those Korean stores in the city.

"watcha got there?" He asks casually as he leans on the archway that separates the living room from the dining room.

You immediately cover the piece behind your body, turning around, an innocent, yet proudly, smile covering you. "Close your eyes!"

His lips curve slightly, as if he wants to laugh, (he can't quite remember at what exactly, your emotion at what you hide, or at your cute cozy outfit) but the gesture vanishes almost instantly as he stands tall and closes his eyes.

You take his tea and place it on the coffee table as you guide him to sit on the couch, he gets comfortable, opening his legs wider, arms stretched out on the curve of the couch.

Standing between his legs, you take out the sweater you had behind, stretch it out and present it.

"open those pretty eyes."

John follows her command, and his expression is... Unreadable— The same one he had when you show him the very first piece you made. A cherry keychain, which he thought you bought it to a kid but then realizing he made a big mistake saying that so he decided to love it, even though it looked like as if his keys had two giant red balls hanging on there. (Note: John grew an unexpected loyalty to it. To this day he still has it on his keys).

He eyes the piece up and down, down and up, left to right, right to left, and he doesn't have a clue as to what he should say right now. But he definitely wants to laugh at it. Thing is... Horrible. Oh god, it's so horrible he hopes it gets lost or worse, it burns on an accident so he doesn't have to wear it— If his able to put it on. The neck looks ten times bigger than any normal size. The left right looks okay, except for the sleeve that it's short. But the right side? Thing looks like it's melting. Sleeve long enough that could fit a leg instead of an arm. What kind of person can make a sweater look like it's melting? My wife, apparently, he thinks. Facial expressions frozen, not daring to move the smallest muscle possible.

Oh and on top of that? Sweater is red. The most brightest tone of red.

He hates it. He doesn't like it.

"it's beautiful... Wow sweetheart."

You throw it at him, plopping down by his side, smile wide.

"Really? I know you wanted to get that one we saw at the store but I couldn't help it and try to make it myself. I know it's red and you aren't a fan of it but please please give it a chance, it will look good on you." You grab at his arm, practically begging at him.

John hesitates for a second before grabbing the... Thing. Taking a closer look at it.

Yeah, no. This definitely can't be saved. He wishes he could just toss it on the bin and laugh at it, or tell you the truth, but he knows he can't do it. It will break your heart. You poured time and love in this, thinking of him all the time.

He is fucked.

"yeah sure, later I will —"

"What do you mean? Silly, try it now." You playfully punch his bicep.

His Adam's apple seems to slash his throat when he gulps. He takes a look at the sweater, then at you, then at the sweater...

"I—."

A day later...

"Oi captain, looking good in the picture." Soap teases him, mouth full of food since it was lunch break.

John stops chewing on the delicious chicken parmesan you made him for lunch, raising an eyebrow at the comment. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Soap shakes his head, laughing at his innocence. Ghost sits down with his food next to him, peeking at it, he is wearing the mask, but even that can't find the fact that he is suppressing a laugh at the photo he is seeing.

"Give me that," he wants to snatch the phone but it's an impossible task, because Soap gets up just in time, moving his arm away. once he makes sure that his captain won't attempt to snatch it again, he shows him the photo. One he knows pretty well, because it's the one you took yesterday. Wearing that damn sweater.

"How did you get that?"

"Well, your wife texted me, asking me for some advice about it, and since I'm pretty good at knitting ... Red suits you captain, aye." He teases John.

In that moment, John couldn't decide what he should do first: Kill Johnny, ask him how you have his number, or burn that damn sweater.

#misscherry 26's writings #john price #john price x reader #captain john price #misscherry 26 #john price x f!reader #john price x y/n #john price x you #cod john price #john price cod #john price call of duty #john price x female reader #call of duty john price

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puriteenism · 2 days ago

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idk what to say abt this, as a poc fan. i believe that her statement is sincere, especially because of her attitudes to social issues now. shes grown eight whole years since then, and while that is not an excuse for the past, she most likely doesnt hold those opinions now. the people exposing her are not doing it out of any good faith. she was 19. thats old enough to know not to do that. keeping it hidden could be seen as her hiding it, but also could be seen as her moving on.

i always feel a bit iffy when white people try to "move on" from their past racist actions instead of at least addressing it a little bit, since its not really your issue to move on from and you have to at least reckon with the harm you caused. a lot of white people tend to see their teen edgy racist eras as harmless or at least not worth digging up, (not saying that shes doing that) but unpacking that and speaking about it is important and can do good. im not saying she has to make a statement like: "I WAS RACIST IN THE PAST" and get flayed in the town square, but talking about it and how she learned and grew from it could provide a good example for her (lets admit it) mostly white listenerbase, as well as being seen as "taking accountability". however choosing not dig it up with how the internet can be is also an understandable choice and i will not hate on her/be hugely disappointed in her for this.

the only other part of the statement worth mentioning (and barely that) is the missing poster promotional, and i can see that as an careless mistake. the rest is fearmongering puriteen slop and/or blatant prejudice wrapped in a social justice coat. the idea that she is "fetishising the female experience" or somehow a zoophile is almost laughably on the nose, the type of critique that my incredibly pentecostal mother would give her, a jk rowling special. damaging and will get spread around and blown out of proportion but bait so obvious you could catch a fish with it. one is blatant TERF rhetoric and the other (while still being terf rhetoric) is practically completely made up.

the incest/CSEM allegations to me are similarly stupid but need to be acknowledged more deeply since there are many who will fall for this.

hayden is allowed to sing about sensitive topics in her art. this includes incest. when she sings about incest she is not required to put a two minute disclaimer at the beginning saying "i understand that incest is wrong. this is a fictitious depiction which is not romanticising incest in any way shape or form". she is not required to intersperse the song lyrics with interruptions to explain how incest is wrong. needing the artist to concretely explain the taboos in their artwork and why you shoudlnt replicate them in the real world is child behaviour. saying that she is not allowed to sing abiut comicated topics because it may trigger someone is disingenuous, since if someone doesnt like something, they simply should not engage in it. some things arent for you, and thats ok. not every piece of art is going to be palatable to everyone, and thats just the way of the world. she is not a bad person for singing about incest, including incest as a topic in her songs. she is not a bad person, invalidating peoples trauma or actively advocating for incest when she does this. i feel like this should be obvious, but here we are.

the shirt (for context there is an image going around of her wearing a top saying "legalise incest) is a bit crude, but isnt the smoking gun people think it is. its just "edgy humor" and if you legitimacy think that it is an actual call to actually legalise incest, then i dont know what to say to you. it also didnt come out of a vacum, being a reaction to the stereotypes of her region and what people were calling her. she doesnt actually want incest legalised, and it isnt a piece of mass merchanise either. its just a shirt she made and posted. not the best, but definitely not a horrible evil bad thing. very obviously a joke.

the csem allegations are completely untrue and pedojacketing. the character was not a minor (19) and the idea that the character was "minor coded" is incredibly dumb. minor coding, in artstyle or personality, doesnt exist. these were also a way of processing her own trauma, and bringing them back up to paint her as a villain is a special kind of evil. also, again, she is allowed to have art that is sad/messed up/deals with hard topics. art is allowed to do that. she is allowed to post that art. you are in charge of your own internet experience, she isnt forcing you to see it. this is another way to paint her as a gross pervert.

as you can see we have 1 actual issue, one sort of issue, a bunch of lies a lot of puritanism and a ton of terf rhetoric! the drivers of this hate train have hoarded this information for ages just waiting for the right moment, which is incredibly messed up and shows they dont actually care, they just want to tear down hayden due to their own predjudice. the racism allegations have been adressed, and while i am not happy with finding this out, know that she was not a child when she said and did these things and wish she talked about this before this all happened, she has moved on. from what i have seen from her current politics, she seems progressive now. to say we should all ostracise her for being racist at nineteen when she is a very outspoken social rights activist now at 27 is probably not helpful. you can choose to not listen to her music or be angry about her racism, that is completely fine, but please do not back the people who made this tweet thread. they have lied, blown things out of proportion, their supporters have doxxed her, her family and are clearly operating from a place of prejudice and hatred.

#ethel cain #nvm i knew what to say #blackposting #long post #discourse #purity culture #hayden anhedönia #mothercain

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librarygarten · 2 days ago

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Saja Boys - General Headcanons

I’m trying to figure out how to write these guys. I’ve been rewatching the film and studying every scene they’re in because we literally have NOTHING about these guys.

Jinu

He gets the fewest headcanons because we know the most about him lol

I know a lot of people like to theorize that he somehow recruited a failing K Pop band from the present day (because of the doctor’s office pictures), but I 1) don’t think any new demons were created after the creation of the Honmoon and 2) think’s it’s way funnier if he recruited four random demons to his boy band

With that last point, I think he was one of the last demons created, as we can see his mom and sister present when the Honmoon was created. This also technically makes him the youngest in the group.

Also, Jinu fully expected to die and never come back when he gave Rumi his soul. It was his first (and last) selfless act.

HOWEVER, I hate that. So, after the movie (maybe a week) Rumi summons her sword and instead of her weapon, Jinu just poofs into existence near her and faceplants onto the ground. Hooray :D

Abby

Look at that face. That is the face of an asshole.

He’s the cockiest of the group members.

Like, some of the other Saja Boys aren’t fans of the way they need to pretend to be K Pop stereotypes, but Abby is 1000% down to be fanservice material. He likes being looked at.

I think his deal with Gwi-Ma had something to do with becoming more attractive. Perhaps in his past life he had insecurities about his looks, so he made the deal to fix those perceived flaws. He DEFINITELY enjoys how he looks now (at least in human form).

As for what Gwi-Ma whispers to him about, I can see it going one of two ways:

Option One: Making himself more conventionally attractive did not actually get rid of Abby’s insecurities. He still dislikes how he looks, but he’s just insecure about different things, particularly the demon marks. He hides his true feelings behind a massive ego

Option Two: He feels lesser for ever being unattractive and Gwi-Ma makes fun of him for being so pathetic as to need demon magic to fix everything that was “wrong”. It’s a massive hit to Abby’s otherwise incredibly large ego.

Personally, I like option one for story reasons, but option two fits his character better.

As for his fate after the movie, he is the only Saja Boy we saw disintegrate away during the battle. He is back in the demon realm, sealed behind the Honmoon.

(LONG theory time): I saw that the directors called making the Honmoon golden “evil” in an interview, as it would be forever trapping demons to suffer despite their capacity to be redeemed. The Golden Honmoon also represented repressing and hiding flaws, when the movie’s whole message was that vulnerability and openness are a good thing, actually. Given this, I think the new Honmoon that Huntr/x made at the end of the movie acts the same as the original blue Honmoon, but stronger. Abby can’t get through it until he undergoes ✨character development✨

I also think he enjoys physical contact, as he is very touchy with the other Saja Boys. It’s not just for the camera.

What WAS just for the camera? Him being shipped with Mira. He liked flustering Mira and Zoey with his abs, but it was just to get in their heads and to feed his own ego.

Romance

Of all the Saja Boys, he is the most on-board with the whole “demon boy band” idea. Besides Jinu, he knows the most about this type of work.

He also has an eye for details, so he helps Jinu keep the other Saja Boys in line and in character (like how during Soda Pop he subtly pulled up Abby’s pants)

I lowkey think that he isn’t actively trying to fulfill a stereotype. Boy is just Like That.

He actually finds Mira attractive, given how he was just full on staring at her during the fan signing. Sure, he could have been trying to fluster her or get in her head, but Mira only seemed mad at him, so if that’s what he was going for he was not very successful.

While I do think he found Mira attractive and would have asked her out if circumstances weren’t what they were, he also falls in love (and out of love) pretty fast. For him, it’s more about the chase, the tension, the will-we-won’t-we. Boy has a long way to go before he’s ready for a committed long-term relationship, and Mira won’t be the one to give it to him.

I think his deal with Gwi-Ma involved some type of lover. Perhaps there was a woman he wanted to pursue, but was unable to due to social status, marital status, or some other barrier. The deal made it so he could court her (extra points if he had to leave behind his partner/someone who was interested in him to do so), but because he’s him, he got bored and left.

Gwi-Ma won’t let Romance forget his habit of leaving people heartbroken after having his fun with them. He does genuinely care about them, and the fact that he keeps doing this to people he loves tears him up inside. He just can’t seem to keep his heart from wandering to the next “conquest”.

In the final battle, Mira pushes him away and then he just doesn’t show up for the rest of the film. I think this means he didn’t get sent back to the demon realm like Abby, so he must have run away when he realized he was not winning against Huntr/x

Mystery

My man. Why do you bark at people?

I think the whole “mysterious” cover was partially forced onto him by the rest of the group because if he was allowed to speak outside of scripted videos, he WOULD blow their cover by biting someone.

I also like the theory that the reason he has those big bangs is because his disguise couldn’t fully hide all his demon traits (and given that the whole two times we see his eyes they’re yellow demon eyes this might just be canon. Yes this would also make Zoey’s “type” slightly demonic don’t @ me).

Speaking of Zoey, I think Mystery did like her back and enjoyed having her attention, because he smiled at her when she greeted him during the fan signing. He still had a job to do, which is why he attacked her in the final battle, but he was not trying that hard.

That being said, he absolutely does not know how to show affection. Man is awkward as hell (see again: barking at people).

To parallel Zoey’s struggles with being “too much”, I think Mystery is aware that he can be… kind of weird, and he’s a little self conscious about it! Gwi-Ma probably won’t LET him forget how weird he is.

As for his demon deal, I think Mystery was a social outcast and wanted to fit in more. (Him and Jinu are the only two Saja Boys that don’t reek of rich kid energy, so perhaps there was a monetary element to it as well).

Listen to me. LISTEN TO ME. We literally SEE Mystery teleport away from Zoey in the final battle. He’s out there somewhere I SWEAR.

After Jinu’s sacrifice, the camera cuts to Mystery and Baby looking absolutely shocked. I think that moment was them realizing that there was still a chance for them. That’s why Mystery just kind of ran at Zoey and then left. He WANTS to escape Gwi-Ma like Jinu did

On an unrelated note, he also really likes puns. (His one line is "We really feed off your energy"). He thinks the double meaning in Soda Pop's lyrics is hilarious.

Baby

Out of all the Saja Boys, Baby hates the “mission” the most.

He is a fully grown man. He does not want to act like a child. But he needs to so he can appeal to the fans and destroy the Honmoon.

I think Jinu might have just told him to “act like a baby” because we see him suck on water bottles like baby bottles and the only time he speaks is to say “goo goo ga ga”.

He’s the opposite of what his assigned “role” was, which is why bro always looks so pissed. Instead of being a sweet widdle uwu child, he’s sarcastic, scheming, and often stand-offish.

I also think it would be really funny if he was the “oldest” in the group, as in the first of them that was turned into a demon.

Given that a good third of his lyrics are in Korean, him being the oldest also makes sense as he would be the least likely to be open to learning English. He looks down on K Pop artists for incorporating a foreign language into their songs, and hates that he has to copy that

He was probably the most well-off back when he was human, perhaps even being in a position of power somewhere in the government. He was the youngest member of whatever court he was serving in, so he was constantly overlooked and underestimated.

Gwi-Ma promised to make him be taken seriously. To finally move up in the world and get what he “rightfully deserved”. What followed was a series of schemes Baby created to get rid of and undermine everyone in a position above him.

Gwi-Ma whispers to Baby about the innocent victims of his climb to power and mocks him for still not being taken seriously due to his youthful appearance

In the final battle, Baby is last seen reacting to Jinu’s sacrifice, realizing that there is a way out. There is redemption. He doesn’t even try to attack Zoey. He just leaves.

(I saw one person say that you can see Baby running away in the crowd of the stadium, which is just so funny. He can teleport but he chose to sprint.)

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bambiettte · 1 day ago

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I just want more love from Torres

Like joaquin would just about do anything for you and even beyond and hes constantly watching over you to protect you

joaquin torres needs to protect you

WARNINGS: DARK CONTENT AHEAD - suggestive content, masturbation (F), stalkingish, joaquin kinda being a pervert, fem!reader, established relationship (newish relationship, they don’t live together yet)

A/N: thank you for requesting!! i took most of my inspiration from ‘he’s constantly watching over you to protect you’ and i made this a bit dark so sorry if you didn’t want it to be!

─────────── ୨ৎ ───────────

joaquin torres always needs to look out for you. it doesn’t matter if you're just walking down the street or curled up on the couch. joaquín’s eyes are always scanning, always calculating. his mind doesn’t turn off, not when you're near. he’s always watching out for the next threat, the next risk, even when you tell him everything is fine. it’s not that he doesn’t trust you, no that’s not it at all. it’s that he knows the world isn’t always as safe as it seems. and if there’s even the slightest chance something could go wrong, he won’t let it. sometimes it’s sweet, the way he’s always there to shield you. the way he instinctively steps between you and any potential danger. but other times, it’s suffocating, the constant weight of his need to keep you safe. there are moments when you just want him to relax, to let you handle things, to let you stand on your own two feet.

it was late and joaquin was out on patrol, flying around the city when he landed near your neighborhood. it wasn’t unusual. for weeks, he’d be doing the same thing. watching you through your windows from the rooftop of the apartment complex across the street. he keeps insisting to himself it’s just for you safety but his heart wouldn't let him pretend otherwise, flying in the rain, in the cold. lying and manipulating when you tell him you swear you saw him one night.

you’re in your bed; the very same bed joaquin has laid in, sleep in, fucked you in. you’re laying down, joaquin is just close enough to see that you’re wearing an oversized shirt (most likely his) and he can see the tv glowing against your skin. he has to move closer. has to be able to see you more. it’s times like these he’s grateful for the falcon suit and its ability to fly.

he moved to the top of a lamppost so he can see you clearer now. you’re definitely still laying on the bed. but this time, he can see the way your (his) shirt has ridden up and he can see the way your fingers are moving, little circles over your clit; soft at first, barely there. he gasps when he realizes what you are doing and he hates it. because that should be him there. he should be making you feel good. he watches as the pads of your fingers speed up, circling your clit hard and fast.

and then he gets mad. you left the curtains open. you’re practically opening yourself up for any stranger, allowing anyone to see you. this is exactly why he has to protect you, why he’s on edge constantly. you just don’t get it. it’s not your fault, no he’d never blame you. he’s blaming the perverts who would watch you threw the windows. and now he has to stay here, to protect you. to watch out for those dirty people. you’re making him do this. and you’re making him stick his hand down his pants.

#joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres blurb #joaquin torres imagine #dark content #dark themes #bambiette #marvel mcu #mcu #marvel #captain america #the falcon and the winter soldier

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sunsetbois · 13 hours ago

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Fic The Art of Playing Wifey Headcannons - Kinks

Basically again- inspo when I am writing, read at your own riskkkkk NSFW :) Happy Weekend my loves

Emperor- Mark:

Authority kink. Calling it now.

Top unless he is making you ride him wether that be for punishment or wanting to feel served.

Cum play - as in painting your panties and having you wear them, but likes seeing it swallowed. he is such a dick when he talks to you and after sex too, like it's a duty.

Free use- wants access on demand. Saves it when he gets you alone.

Viltrumite- Mark:

Basic ass bitch.

Really likes a good old mating press, nice and deep.

Despite the stoicism and emotional range of a teaspoon, secretly likes being called pet names when you ride him hard.

No condoms

Cum play, really likes watching it drip out just to rub it into you.

Sinister- Mark:

😭

Blood and gore is enough to get this one going.

Predator play

Cum play (you may or may not choke on something in a chapter down the line) likes his smell on you, in you...

Bondage- self explanatory. The dude is unhinged for that hole.

Spitting kink. Hope you are ready to swallow 💀

Leaves bruises you will find and most definitely feel days later.

Omni- Mark:

Sensation play

Absolute dom, will not bottom for you unless it's your birthday and even then the rules are strict and no you cannot call him "Baby boy"

Prefers you visible, but secretly likes the thought of you walking around- cum dripping- like a little naughty secret.

Cum dump nonsense ensues.

Knows a thing or two, loves that he can bring you to your knees more times than you can stutter his name.

Low key has a bit of a pregnancy kink- or atleast has a weird fixation on your stomach, mainly just the thought of filling it.

Has code words he usesi.e. "Bite the pillow im going in raw" Quickie - "Give me your hands" - You ain't walking for a while.

Lenseless/No Goggles- Mark:

Blood and gore is enough to get this one started too.

Sensation play.

Pain play. Mh- does accidently hurt you a lot but likes whatever you can do to him- hell even spurrs you on with "Pull harder!" or "I've seen you hit harder, is someone trying to tease me?"

Voyeur- does not give the singlest of shits who sees what. Like reallly doesn't care even if someone gets a swatch of nut sack.

Cock Warming (more to tease himself)

Mohawk- Mark:

Canonically has a harem so... be prepared for your pick of lingerie.

Eats like it's a buffet.

Oral kink- both ways ♻️

Watersports.

If you have tattoos he will cry if he gets to see them, has a thing about licking/sucking hickeys over any work you might have.

Likes seeing how far and deep he visually gets in your guts when you go invisible- only perk aside from the ridiculously naughty thoughts when he knows you have to be naked to do your thing. Dude turns himself on. Likes watching the odd bend in his dick if you throat him.

Flaxan- Mark:

Repressed to an extent- has some experience maybe kinda- like those two times not counting the other you. Nothing more than a quick fix in a time he just needed it.

Spitting kink.

Has all sorts of tech, likes to watch how hot he can make you.

Has help in the form of alien vibrators should it get that tragic.

Low key into tying you up.

In a weird situation considering his viltrumite and flaxan blood are constantly at war. it's a murky mix when he has you bent over the ceremonial bed, fucking you like he hates you, when you both know that's not the case.

Prisoner- Mark:

Into dirty talk. but unlike most of the others- the less the better- it's like a slow tease the way he likes. Being couped up in a viltrumite cell for so long and enduring what he had made him more soft when it comes to the flesh.

Cumming at the same time is a must. He will cry steam (those lenses are part of him now 😭)

Fucks you like he's trying to merge.

Power bottom or straight up makes you bounce on it.

Prefers to see you when he makes you cum. Likes it better if you are wearing something of his.

Likes it when you calls him names. He's no choir boy.

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lorelei-larai · 2 days ago

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I want to start by saying that Sylus is so weird and I love him. On the other hand, I would bite him for the same reason. He really had to tell the whole neighborhood he came to stay.

"You've met five drama queens in your whole life — Sylus was four of them." LMAO. Also, Rafayel mentioned 🫶🏻.

The pink suitcase is so cute. The guy wanted to impress his daughter. I bet he just didn't bring a bunch of rabbits because he couldn't find one and was too excited to move to look for more.

Sylus expected Elea to greet him; that must have been a huge disappointment. Besides, I'm not surprised he knows her daughter's schedule. It makes me question how long he's been watching again.

"I wanted to stay so bad—if not for that rat." Dealing with some shady business, huh. I wouldn't want to be the man who came between Sylus and his daughter. Whoever it is, he's probably at the top of Sylus's list. I find it so funny how he puts all that aside just to flirt with Y/N so blatantly. The man is really starving, but for something that isn't exactly a meal. It's absolutely shameless, and it makes you want to bite him because he's so charming.

WIFE- He said it. Okay. The man doesn't want to waste time; he's wasted too much already. And he wants—husband: God, it's suddenly hot in here. He's a pretty good flirt, I'll give him that.

That boss needs a kick in the ass. By the way, Jenna was there. It's the Hunter's job to save people, and she's great at it. I adore her.

Ough, Sylus is infuriatingly charming. Although the abandonment thing is a blow to the bottom, I understand that he's hurt by all those lost years, but, well, it was so sudden that you don't expect it. It's like playing tug-of-war with a man and then he steps on your toe.

Currently, Sylus paying for an apartment so they can both have their own space is so nice. I imagine neither of them knows the other's house, and therefore they don't demand what they can't give, so they looked for common ground to meet.

It feels like they're both married. Both shopping and cooking for this little love nest? I know where Elea was conceived. They were hungry for each other. I'd call them tender, but they're the other extreme of a loving couple: Absolutely lustful for each other.

And that car, mmm, nothing is a coincidence, everything happens for a reason in this life. It's better to carry a gun on the waist from now on. I also doubt Sylus will just let that slip go; he's unfortunately too smart to let that go.

And Elea, my sweet girl, is so innocent. How can one say no to her? Sylus isn't helping either. I give in to Elea, but not to that idiot just out of spite. Besider ... And he has the nerve to walk around shirtless, Sylus, please, not with the kid there.

Y/N tries so hard to deny Sylus. She's definitely weak against Elea, but at the same time, I feel like it's an excuse for herself. She enjoys Sylus's company, but she'd probably rather die than admit it.

"Yeah, well, you married me, didn't you?" Okay—that's probably going to bite Y/N in the ass later.

And the twins arrived in just as disastrous a way as Sylus. If Elea was spoiled with Sylus there, now she has two fun uncles who will definitely teach her to be as unruly as them. They're so insufferable, I love them.

And the little game of tag at the end, with Sylus carrying Y/N in his arms—the claim of hating each other, which they both know is a lie, meaning the opposite. Ough.

I find it so funny that you added a fourth chapter to the series, so the characters took on a life of their own uh

CHAPTER 3

— Onychinus Leader!Sylus Qin X Mother! Female Reader

She Ran To Protect Their Child. He Built A Kingdom To Bring Them Home.・₊﹆ɞ‧₊

*⁠.⁠✧ SYNOPSIS : She was the daughter of his enemy. He was the king of a criminal empire. They fell in love, but when she found out she was pregnant, she vanished-fearing the life their child would inherit. Seven years later, Sylus finds her. And he's not here for revenge. He's here to take back what's his.

*⁠.⁠✧ WARNINGS & TAGS : Dad! Sylus, mom!reader, mafia, rivalry, second chance, secret baby, exes, time skip, past lovers, alternate universe, break in, angst, fluff, romance, love, mature language, stalking, threats, run away! y/n, mentions of pregnancy, blood, gore, dark romance, lovers to strangers, enemies to lovers, their daughter Elea, kiss, break in 9.2k words.

*⁠.⁠✧ LOTUS NOTE : Took me so long to write this chapter. Assignments burnt me out tbh 😭 Tumblr did it again. Posted without my consent. Honestly, I don't have the time to copy paste, organize and edit again so this chapter is shorter than the previous one 😮‍💨

*⁠.⁠✧— NAVIGATION // LOVE & DEEPSPACE MASTERLIST

➥ KISSED IN POISON : THE SERIES

➥ CHAPTER 1 // CHAPTER 2 // CHAPTER 3 // CHAPTER 4

➥ Heart Divider's By @/cafekitsune

DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU ARE NOT COMFORTABLE. MINORS DNI, IF YOU DO THEN IT'S YOUR OWN RESPONSIBILITY.・₊﹆ɞ‧₊

[PRESENT TIME, LINKON CITY]

Sylus is a dog. A mad dog. It all started this morning.

He moved in — or rather, invaded — in that flashy black car of his, the engine purring loud enough to turn every head on your street. He didn’t even pretend to be subtle. No, Sylus Qin made damn sure every nosy neighbour, every early jogger, and every curtain-twitcher knew exactly who he was.

He leaned one arm on the open car door, sunglasses perched low on his nose, lips curled in that smug, territorial grin of his as he caught Mrs. Young from next door peeking through her blinds. He didn’t just unload his bags — he practically marked his territory right there on your front lawn.

You hissed under your breath, arms crossed tight over your chest, “Sylus, can you not announce it to the entire postal code?”

He just tilted his head, mouth brushing the shell of your ear.

“Sweetheart, let them know now — so they don’t get any funny ideas later.”

You could only roll your eyes. You have met five drama queens in your whole life — Sylus was four of them. The fifth one was Rafayel, Elea's arts teacher, who’d probably be next on Sylus’s hit list if he so much as smiled Elea's way again.

Ignoring your annoyance, Sylus took out a large trolley bag out of the dickie. Wanna guess the colour? The same soft pink as the Tulips he gave Elea. Of course, your that mad dog of a man — ruthless, possessive, all shadows and knives — was dragging a pastel pink suitcase up your front steps like it was just another day in paradise.

Sylus left the suitcase by the sofa, giving it a dismissive kick into place before his eyes swept over the living room — like he was already hunting for something. He pivoted back to you, brows lifted, mouth quirking in faint annoyance.

“Where’s my baby?” He asked, voice all soft and dangerous like he was about to rip the walls apart if she didn’t appear in the next breath.

“Elea already left for school.” You said, arms crossing as you braced for the dramatics.

Sylus’s eyes narrowed behind those stupidly expensive sunglasses, his head tipping to one side, “What? Elea’s school starts at 8:30. It’s barely seven.”

You blinked. Did he really memorize her entire schedule? A sigh slipped past your lips before you could swallow it down. Why am I even surprised…

“They’re doing a field day today.” You explained, flicking his forehead lightly as you stepped past him, “So she went early with the teachers.”

Sylus’s head snapped back to you so fast you almost heard something crack.

“What? Why didn’t you tell me before?” His voice dropped into that deep, accusing rumble — like you’d hidden classified intel from him instead of, you know, letting his child go play tug-of-war with her friends.

“I didn’t even get to see my baby off.” He added, his hand sweeping through his hair like the drama king he was.

You swear you could see the faintest ghost of a pout trying to form on his mouth — a pout. Sylus Qin, the infamous leader of Onychinus, the entire underworld flinched to stood in front of — looking like he was about to sulk because his daughter left before he got here.

You raised both brows at him, arms folded, “She’ll be back in a few hours, mad dog.”

Sylus’s scowl only deepened, his mouth pulling tight like he was two seconds away from tearing the front door clean off its hinges and sprinting down the street after the kindergarten bus.

“That’s not the point.” He bit out, pacing a slow, restless line behind the couch, “She cried so much last night. You know that, right? I wanted to stay so bad — if not for that rat.”

You blinked at him, folding your arms, eyebrows shooting up, “Rat?”

“Nothing.” He said, voice clipped. Then, just like that, he cut his eyes to you — and the switch flipped, all that snarling protective edge slipping into something smug, dangerous, annoyingly charming.

“Anyway.” He drawled, stepping closer, crowding your space like he always did when he wanted to win an argument by sheer proximity, “What's for breakfast?”

You blinked up at him, “Excuse me?”

Sylus’s eyes glinted — that wolfish tilt of his lips said he was already three steps ahead of whatever protest you were about to make. He leaned in, one arm braced on the back of the couch behind you, boxing you in like he owned the air you were breathing.

“Breakfast.” He repeated, voice low and warm, like he was making you an indecent offer instead of a perfectly normal question, “You know — the meal a devoted wife makes for her hardworking man?”

You snorted, “Devoted wife? In what twisted fantasy are you living, Sylus?”

He just hummed, nose brushing your temple, “The one where you feed me before I starve to death in your kitchen. Or… are you offering something else to keep me full?”

You swatted at his chest — but he caught your wrist midair, pressing a quick kiss to your knuckles, eyes glinting mischief and heat all at once.

You jabbed a finger into his chest, voice dripping with exasperated sweetness.

“I’m not your wife, Sylus. The only reason I’m putting up with you is Elea. Remember that.”

His eyes glinted, the corner of his mouth twitching like you’d just handed him his favourite toy, “Mmm. Sure, sweetheart. You are not my wife. Yet.”

Before you could fire back, he dipped in closer — so close you could feel the smug laughter rumble through his chest as he nipped your earlobe.

“Lucky for me, Elea wants me here forever. So… better start practising that ‘husband’ word.”

You shoved him away with a huff, but your pulse was already traitorously fast. Sylus just laughed, backing you up toward the kitchen like a big, smug shadow you’d never shake.

“Now, come on.” He teased, brushing past you to fling your fridge open like he owned it, “Be a good fake wife and feed your starving man, hm?”

You crossed your arms tighter, jabbing your chin toward the kitchen, “The kitchen is right there, Sylus. Go make it yourself. I have work to get to.”

His grin widened — that slow, dangerous curl that always made your stomach flip even when you wanted to smack him. He cocked his head, leaning just close enough for you to smell that infuriating cologne.

“Oh? So heartless. Sending the poor man who moved mountains just to be with his family to starve on his first morning?” He clicked his tongue, mock disappointment dripping from every word.

You just raised your brows, “You moved a trolley bag. Congratulations, Hercules.”

He laughed, low and warm, then reached past you like he might cage you against the counter — but at the last second, he plucked a mug off the shelf instead.

“Fine. But next time, sweetheart, I expect pancakes. Or I’ll eat you instead.”

You smacked his arm with a dishtowel, ignoring the way your heart was hammering, “Get out of my way, Sylus.”

“Try and make me.” His grin was pure devil.

It was hard — getting Sylus off your back. Like trying to shake off a big, smug, six-foot-two barnacle with a criminal empire and an ego the size of Linkon City. But in the end, you managed to slip out the door, leaving him with nothing but his pastel-pink suitcase and a fridge he was perfectly capable of raiding himself.

You had bigger things to handle today anyway. Like convincing the Hunter’s Association to let you work from home for a while — because like hell you were going to leave Elea alone with that mad dog unsupervised. Not yet. Not when you still didn’t know exactly what went on inside that thick skull of his, behind that easy grin and those predator eyes.

Sylus Qin could play house all he wanted — but you weren’t stupid enough to forget who he really was and what went down seven years ago. And no matter how many pink suitcases he dragged through your door, you’d be damned if you let your guard down completely. Not when you had Elea to protect. Nothing was worth risking Elea.

Asshole.

A word you’d proudly dedicate to your boss. That man knew exactly how to dig under your skin, flick every last nerve raw, and then sit back and watch you twitch for his own amusement. He hadn’t even bothered to look up from his paperwork when you stepped into his office that morning.

You’d tried — you really had — to explain it calmly. The need to work from home for a few weeks. You’d laid it out like a rational adult: your daughter’s daycare was closing for renovations, so you needed to be remote for a while.

Your boss, though? He’d barely glanced up from his precious stack of files.

“Work from home? What for? So you can slack off in your pyjamas all day? I know your type.”

Your type.

You’d almost vaulted over his desk right then and there.

Instead, you bit down so hard on your tongue you tasted copper while he shooed you out with some half-baked lecture about “discipline” and “face-to-face accountability.” Before you could say something that would definitely get you fired, you turned on your heel and stormed out of that office like your shoes were on fire.

The door slammed behind you.

“Asshole.” You muttered under your breath, “May every cup of coffee he ever drinks be lukewarm for the rest of his miserable life. May his ancestors rise from their graves just to smack him upside the—”

“Whoa, whoa — who died?”

You skidded to a halt, nearly crashing into a familiar figure just outside the strategy wing. Jenna. Leader of UNICORNS — the Hunter’s Association’s fiercest elite unit. Perfect posture and that signature half-smile that said she’d heard every last word.

“Jenna…” You breathed out like a prayer, then scowled, “My boss is a—”

“Asshole?” She arched an eyebrow, “That's old news. Tell me something new.”

You deflated, shoulders sagging, “I just… I asked to work from home for a bit. Elea’s daycare is closed for renovations, so I needed to stay home. He shot me down so fast I nearly—”

“He did what?” Jenna’s tone went razor-sharp, “You’ve been carrying this branch for how long? No infractions, overtime banked for weeks, and he won't grant you one short WFH stint?”

Your mouth popped open, “Well… yeah. That’s exactly it.”

She gave you that feral smile that had made rogue wanderers cry for mercy more than once, “Consider it done. You’re remote for two weeks — minimum. If your boss has a problem, he can take it up with me.”

Relief — thick and grateful — bloomed under your ribs, “You’re an—”

“Don’t say angel.” Jenna cut in, rolling her eyes, “I’m no angel. I’m a hunter. Now get out of here before he drags you back into his bullshit.”

You ran back to your desk like the boss's office was on fire — which, in your head, it practically was. You didn’t even bother glancing back at your boss’s door, half-expecting him to come stomping after you with another “face-to-face accountability” sermon.

You fumbled for your phone with half-numb fingers, silently praying Sylus hadn’t turned your living room into his new throne room yet. Just then, the screen lit up with the one number you hadn’t even bothered saving.

Sylus.

You stared at it for half a second, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, before you swiped to answer.

“Hello?”

His voice came through warm, velvet-dark and smug enough to crawl straight under your skin.

“Good to know.” He cut in smoothly, his tone dipping into that playful, dangerous rumble that made you want to strangle him and melt for him all at once, “But I’m not asking about my baby. I’m asking about my sweetheart. When will she be home?”

“Sweetheart. When is my sweetheart coming home?”

“Elea will be back by 5 o'clock. Her school bus will drop her off.”

Your breath hitched. You hated that it hitched, “Sylus…”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

You shut your eyes, fighting the heat in your cheeks, “Stop.”

He chuckled — low, pleased, like he could hear every bit of your resolve slipping through the line.

“Can’t. I missed you. Now tell me — should I come pick you up? Or will you come running back to me on your own before I turn your living room into a bird's nest?”

You pressed your thumb to your temple, squeezing your eyes shut for a beat. Focus. Do not fall for this. Not again.

“I won’t be back until three.” You said finally, trying to keep your voice flat, unaffected. But of course, he caught the slip — that faint waver when you said back — and you could practically hear his grin stretch wider through the line.

He hummed low, the sound brushing heat across your skin despite the bitter morning air, “Mmm. Three. That’s so far away, sweetheart. How am I going to survive till then?”

You forced a dry laugh, biting back the dangerous flutter in your chest. Don’t give him an inch.

“You’ll survive just fine. Try using that big, terrifying brain for something other than—” You bit your tongue before the rest could slip out like a secret.

“Other than what, sweetheart?” He purred, his voice a warm, lazy curl around your pulse, “Go on. Be honest. You know how I love your honesty.”

Your eyes snapped open, gaze darting around the parking lot like he might somehow be leaning against your car door — sunglasses low, smile sharp enough to cut you open.

“Other than driving me insane,” You snapped, yanking your bag higher on your shoulder, “Try washing the dishes. Or, I don’t know — folding your own damn laundry for once. Did you even unpack yet?”

He gave a soft, mocking gasp, “You wound me. First, you abandon me, and now you insult me?”

“Abandon—?” You sputtered, throat tightening, “I didn’t—”

The silence on the line felt like a bruise spreading under your ribs. You almost forgot how sharp his words could be when he wanted to remind you who you were — who he was.

“That’s not—” You began, but the words died on your tongue.

What would you even say? I did what I had to do? You deserved it? None of it would matter. None of it would change that look in his eyes when he first found you again — part hunger, part accusation, part something you were too afraid to name.

“Anyway.” He said suddenly, tone shifting so fast you nearly stumbled. That bright, taunting sweetness was back in a heartbeat, smoothing over the crackling static between you, “You’ll be back at three. I’ll be waiting.”

“Sylus—”

He laughed — soft and pleased — and you could almost see that wolfish grin behind your eyelids.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll keep the house nice and warm for you.”

The line clicked dead. You stared at your phone like it might bite you — your heartbeat a traitorous drum in your ears.

[8 YEARS & 7 MONTHS AGO, CHANSIA CITY]

You’d long since lost count of how many nights you’d sneaked out of that cage you called home. Before, your destination had always been the library — its warm, hushed corners where no one could find you — or the tiny market two blocks away where you’d linger over fresh bread and cheap flowers, pretending, just for a moment, that you belonged to yourself.

But now? Now you had somewhere else to go. Somewhere that felt like hope stitched into four walls.

A cozy little apartment, right across from the library — the one Sylus bought just for you. A place you could run to in the dead of night, curl up safe in his arms, and pretend the world outside didn’t exist for a few stolen hours.

He called it your escape zone — like it was a secret between just the two of you. Sometimes, you’d slip in to find him already there, stretched out on the gray sofa with his shirt half-undone, papers scattered across the coffee table like fallen leaves. He’d glance up, that lazy grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, and just like that, every piece of you that felt frayed would knit itself back together.

But there were rare nights — precious ones — when you got there first. Nights when you could greet him at the door with a shy smile — a hug that lingered a beat too long, a kiss pressed to the corner of his mouth just to see his eyes darken like a storm rolling in.

Tonight was one of those nights.

You’d stopped by the little market two blocks down, basket swinging from your wrist, pockets stuffed with whatever your coins could buy — eggs, fresh bread, a handful of tulips bruised at the edges but beautiful all the same. You wanted to surprise him. Do something small. Something normal. Something that made you feel like this fragile thing between you could really be yours to keep.

By the time you got to the apartment, your fingers were numb from the chill. You juggled the grocery bag on your hip as you slipped the key into the lock — heart fluttering when you found the lights still off. He wasn’t here yet. Perfect.

You padded inside, kicking off your shoes. The room smelled like him — warm leather and aftershave and that faint metallic tang you could never quite place. You pushed that thought away, humming under your breath as you unpacked your little treasures: the greens, the eggs, a tiny jar of honey.

He’d stocked the fridge with everything you could possibly need, of course. Top-shelf wine, expensive cheeses, organic herbs. But you’d gone out anyway — just to feel normal, just to feel like you could still do something for him.

You’d even splurged — spent the last of your coins on a small bouquet of white roses, each bloom so pale they looked carved from moonlight. Tiny sprays of baby’s breath nestled between the petals — fragile and fleeting. White roses always reminded you of Sylus — on the surface, all restrained grace and cold beauty, but you knew better: every soft petal hid thorns sharp enough to draw blood. Just like him — a promise of devotion that could protect you… or ruin you, if you weren’t careful.

You’d changed into one of Sylus’s sweaters — a big, warm, black thing that hung off one shoulder and smelled just like him. The sleeves draped halfway over your hands as you moved around the kitchen, humming along to the quiet music playing off your phone.

The lasagna bubbled away in the oven, filling the air with warmth and garlic and the kind of comfort you could never find in that cold house you called home. You were just mixing the side salad, swaying a little in time with the music, when you heard it — the faint click and rattle of the front doorknob.

You nearly knocked over the salt shaker in your rush to wipe your hands on a dish towel. Your feet carried you to the entryway before you could even think.

And there he was. Sylus, standing in the open doorway like he’d stepped out of one of your midnight dreams — coat hanging loose, hair tousled from the wind, eyes finding you the second he crossed the threshold.

You didn’t wait. You launched yourself at him, arms looping around his neck so fast you heard his low laugh rumble against your ear. His hands caught you easily, one braced under your thighs as you wrapped your legs around his waist like you’d done this a thousand times — like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He murmured, voice muffled as he pressed his nose into your hair, “Missed me that much, huh?”

You mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like shut up but he just chuckled, walking you back inside without ever putting you down. The door thunked shut behind him, sealing you back into this small world that belonged to nobody but the two of you.

His hand slipped up under the hem of his own sweater — your sweater now — fingers brushing your bare waist like he was reminding himself you were really here, warm and soft in his arms. He carried you the few steps to the wall by the hallway, your back pressing against the cool plaster.

“Say it.” He murmured, voice dark silk as his breath fanned your cheek.

“Say what?” You breathed, pretending not to know, but your fingers were already tugging at the hair at his nape, urging him closer.

“That you missed me.”

You let out a soft huff — half a laugh, half a curse — and rolled your eyes just to be difficult, “Shut up—”

“Not good enough.”

And then he kissed you.

Not soft. Not sweet. He kissed you like he was starving for you — like he’d tear the world apart with his teeth just to taste you again. Your back thudded harder into the wall when he pressed closer, hips slotting against yours like they were carved to fit there.

You gasped against his mouth and he swallowed it whole, lips dragging down to your jaw, your neck, biting just enough to make you whimper before he surged back up to claim your mouth again.

It was messy. Desperate. All teeth and tangled tongues and the faint, sweet taste of the honey you’d dipped your finger in just before he arrived. One of your hands fisted in his coat, the other scrabbling at the hem of his shirt like you needed more skin, now.

When he finally pulled back, you were both breathless — your lips swollen, his mouth pink and glistening like sin. His thumb brushed your cheek, eyes so dark they were nearly black in the low light.

“Fuck, sweetheart…” He rasped, forehead pressing to yours, “Keep looking at me like that, and I'm not letting you leave tonight.”

A soft laugh bubbled up in your throat, breathless and a little shaky as your fingertips traced the line of his jaw.

“Good.” You whispered, pressing a small kiss to the corner of his mouth, “Because I wasn’t planning on leaving.”

He stilled — you felt it, the way his whole body went taut, that carefully leashed wolf under his skin going deadly quiet. His eyes flicked over your face like he was trying to memorize every word, every twitch of your smile.

“What?” His voice was low, cautious, like he was afraid to break whatever spell you’d just woven.

You ducked your head, the heat in your cheeks warming you more than the oven in the kitchen.

“My father’s out of town for the week.” You murmured, fingers playing with the soft hair at the nape of his neck, “And my brother couldn’t care less where I am — or if I’m even alive, really.”

You felt him tense again, a dangerous glint flashing behind his eyes at the mention of your family. But you pressed a finger to his lips before he could snarl something you’d both regret.

“If — if — anyone bothers to wonder where I am, Sara will cover for me. She always does.”

A grin — wicked and boyish and entirely Sylus — broke across his lips. He nipped at your fingertip, catching it between his teeth before pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“So…” He drawled, leaning in, nose brushing yours, “what you’re telling me is… you’re all mine tonight.”

Your laugh turned into a soft gasp when he pressed you tighter against the wall, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs.

“And tomorrow.” You breathed, kissing the tip of his nose, “And the day after that.”

A low rumble of approval vibrated in his chest, “Careful, sweetheart. Keep saying things like that and I’ll keep you here forever.”

You buried your face in his shoulder, giggling into the fabric of his coat, your laughter muffled against the scent of him — leather, musk, and that sharp edge that was all Sylus. For one perfect second, the rest of the world felt like it didn’t exist at all.

You pulled back just enough to press your lips to the corner of his mouth, your fingers tracing the collar of his shirt.

“Go freshen up.” You murmured, brushing a bit of imaginary lint from his chest, “Dinner will be ready soon… and I got you something.”

His brows arched, amusement flickering in those crimson eyes as they flitted to the grocery bag still half-unpacked on the counter.

“Something for me?” He echoed, the grin curling slow and dangerous over his mouth. He leaned in, the tip of his nose brushing yours again — a gentle tease that made your stomach flip, “You’ll spoil me, kitten.”

You huffed, giving him a playful shove on the chest that didn’t budge him an inch, “Spoil you? Hardly. Now go — before you charm me into forgetting the lasagna and burning it to ash.”

He chuckled — a low, pleased rumble in his chest that you felt more than heard — before pressing one last, soft kiss to your temple.

“Yes, ma’am.” He murmured, voice dropping into that smooth, obedient lilt that made your heart stutter, “Don’t take too long, hmm? I don’t like waiting for my rewards.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a grin as you watched him saunter off toward the small bathroom down the hall, peeling off his coat and tossing it carelessly over the back of a chair.

You turned back to the kitchen, a soft hum slipping past your lips as you checked the oven. A little longer — just enough time to set the table, light the cheap candle you’d snagged from the market, and tuck the small bouquet of white roses into a jar on the counter.

Something normal. Something yours. Something that felt like hope.

[PRESENT TIME, LINKON CITY]

It was already half past three by the time you were driving home. God knew what kind of tantrum Sylus would throw when you got back. Sylus — you still couldn’t figure him out. To an outsider, he looked like the perfect husband and father. And while you didn’t disagree with the father part — not when it came to Elea — husband? That was another story altogether.

Sylus was your whole world once. You never doubted he would have set the world ablaze for you — made it rain in the middle of the Sahara if you’d only asked. Back then, every soft touch, every stolen night in that little apartment, every promise whispered against your lips made you believe he was your Prince Charming. The kind you read about in secret under your blanket — the kind who’d love you so fiercely nothing could touch you.

But that was the lie you clung to when you didn’t know better. Because at the end of the day, you were nothing but a pawn to him. Just his enemy’s daughter — a pretty piece on his chessboard, a means to an end, while he was your whole life. It was stupid. So stupid — but you’d loved him with every bruised piece of your heart, even when it cost you everything.

The blood, the fear, the betrayal — you’d paid for every moment you let yourself believe that fairytale. You couldn’t afford to do that again. Not now. Not when you had more to lose than just your own heart.

Because Sylus Qin was still the same man underneath all those soft words and easy smiles. A cold-blooded mob leader, ruthless and unrepentant — willing to break the world and you right along with it if it got him what he wanted.

And you’d be damned if you let yourself fall for that sweet poison twice.

You let out a slow, shaky breath and forced your hands to steady on the wheel. Just keep driving. Get home.

But the hairs at the back of your neck wouldn’t lie flat. A flicker in the mirror made your pulse spike. A dark car — unfamiliar, a little too close, keeping just enough distance to look innocent.

You told yourself you were being paranoid. Sylus’s shadow always had a way of crawling up your spine — seeing threats where there were none. Still… you needed to be sure.

You turned off your usual route, taking a winding back road through an old neighborhood. No reason for anyone to follow you there — not unless they were actually following you. You checked the mirror again. There it was — still behind you. Tight in your lane, slowing when you slowed.

Your heart drummed hard against your ribs. You took another random turn — then another. The car stayed with you like a ghost, its headlights a cold promise in the rearview.

But just as your skin started to crawl for real — just when you reached for your phone, thumb hovering over Jenna’s name — the car suddenly veered off down a side street. Gone. You forced out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. Maybe you really were imagining things. Or maybe you’d just gotten lucky.

You barely managed a shaky exhale, fingers still clenched white-knuckled around the wheel, when your phone lit up again — that same unsaved number that made your pulse skip for an entirely different reason. Sylus. Of course.

Your thumb hovered over the screen. You could almost picture him now — that careless grin carved across his mouth like a threat and a promise all at once. He always called at the worst possible time — like he could smell the crack in your armor through the line.

You answered on the second ring, voice rough at the edges, “What now, Sylus?”

He didn’t bother with a greeting. Just that one word, careful and too knowing, “You sound… wrong. What happened?”

Your fingers tightened around the wheel. Damn him for hearing it in your voice — the panic, the suspicion you were still trying to swallow down.

“Nothing. Just… traffic.” You forced a scoff into your tone, “Why? Don’t pretend to care. What is it, Sylus? I'm driving.”

Silence pulsed on the line. You pictured that glint in his eyes — the one that always made you feel like he was peeling your ribs open, looking for the parts of you that still belonged to him.

Then, like a switch flicked, his voice dipped into that sickeningly warm purr that always made your traitor heart skip.

“Mmm. If you say so.” You heard a crayon roll across the floor, “You know, I was thinking… maybe I should pick up my little angel today. Give you a break, sweetheart.”

A bitter laugh slipped out before you could stop it, “Don’t start. You’re not on her school’s pick-up list. And you won’t be. Not yet.”

He let out a soft, dramatic sigh — you hated how you could hear the smile behind it.

“So cruel. You’d keep me away from my baby girl? I’m here, moving to a whole new city — for you. For her.”

You bit down on the ugly knot in your throat. You hated him — you wanted to hate him. And yet some treacherous warmth still prickled under your ribs, stupid and soft.

“Don’t act like this is for me.” You snapped, cutting him off, “This is for Elea. It’s always for Elea.”

A pause. Then that dangerous, lazy laugh that made your skin crawl and ache at the same time.

“Of course, sweetheart. For Elea.” He drawled, “Drive safe. Wouldn’t want you getting all worked up when I’m not there to calm you down.”

You hung up before he could say more, jamming your thumb against the screen so hard it almost cracked. You wanted to hate him. God, you needed to. But your stupid heart…It never listened.

By the time dusk draped itself over the house like a velvet blanket, you were just bone-tired. Whatever tension lingered from the afternoon was buried under Elea’s chatter, the soft clink of plates, and the strange domestic calm that settled around the dinner table.

Sylus had insisted on helping you finish up dinner — if you could call leaning against the counter, watching you with that infuriating half-smile helping. But you’d let it be. For Elea’s sake.

Now the three of you sat together like the world hadn’t ended seven years ago. Like he hadn’t broken you so thoroughly that you still found splinters in your chest every time he smiled at you like this — warm, doting, and too close.

Elea kicked her tiny feet under the table, swinging them as she stuffed another spoonful of mashed potatoes into her mouth. Her pink tulip hair clip bobbed with every bite. You’d just taken a sip of your water, finally letting your shoulders relax for the first time that day.

That was your first mistake.

“Mommy?” Elea piped up, voice all sugar and bedtime sleepiness. She dropped her spoon and pressed her little hands together like she was about to make a wish.

“Hmm? Slow down, baby. You’ll choke.” You leaned over to wipe her mouth, but she caught your wrist in her tiny grip.

“When can I sleep with you and daddy?”

You choked — the water hit the wrong pipe and you coughed so hard you saw stars. Sylus, the bastard, didn’t even hide his grin. You could feel his eyes slide over to you, slow and deliberate, like a hand slipping up your bare spine.

“Lea,” You croaked, pressing your napkin to your lips, “What… what do you mean, sweetheart?”

Sylus leaned back in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, watching you struggle like it was his favorite sport. He tilted his head toward Elea, voice so soft you wanted to smack him.

“Yeah, baby. Tell mommy what you mean.” He was smirking. You could hear it. Feel it.

Elea beamed, “Back at school, Becky says she sleeps with her mommy and daddy in their big bed all the time. I want that too! I wanna sleep with my mommy and daddy.”

You opened your mouth, closed it, then glared at Sylus like you could set him on fire with your eyeballs alone. He just raised his brows at you, like he’d been handed a gift.

“See?” He murmured, reaching out to tap his fingertip under Elea’s chin, “Our little angel wants what she wants. You gonna say no to her, sweetheart?”

Your throat burned from the coughing, “Elea, baby, our bed isn’t… it’s just…”

Your daughter’s lower lip wobbled, eyes huge and watery, “Please? Pretty please? We can all cuddle! And daddy can tell stories — the scary ones with the dragons.”

You shot Sylus a look. Don’t you dare encourage this. But he only shrugged, eyes glinting like a wolf who’d found a hole in the fence.

“Well, mommy?” He asked, voice velvet-smooth as he leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm, “You heard her. Are you really gonna break her little heart?”

Your whole chest squeezed — with exasperation, fear, and that dangerous warmth that came crawling back every time he did this. You hated how easily he slipped into that empty space beside you. How he made you want things you’d already lost.

You drew a shaky breath, looking at Elea’s bright, pleading eyes.

“Fine.” You sighed, pushing your plate away, “But just tonight. One night.”

Elea squealed, clapping her hands together, “Yay! Best day ever!”

Sylus’s smug grin didn’t fade for the rest of dinner. Every so often, he’d brush his knee against yours under the table — so fleeting you almost thought you imagined it.

It was bedtime now — or at least, that sweet pocket of quiet right before it. The house was calm, the dishes done, the soft patter of the shower running in the background. Sylus had disappeared into the washroom ten minutes ago to clean up, and you were half-tempted to lock the door behind him just to buy yourself some peace.

You sat cross-legged on the bed, Elea giggling in your lap as you helped her wiggle into her favorite bunny pajamas. The tiny ones with the floppy ears on the hood that made her look like an escapee from a fairytale.

Your mind, traitorous as ever, drifted to Sylus — that sly fox. You could feel him seeping into every corner of your life again. His crisp shirts now hung on your side of the closet, his toothbrush sat snug in the washroom container right between yours and Elea’s, his phone rested on the nightstand like it had every right to be there.

You huffed out a half-laugh, brushing Elea’s hair away from her forehead

“Your daddy is so annoying, you know that?” You whispered conspiratorially.

Elea just blinked at you with those big eyes — Sylus’s eyes — and beamed, nodding far too enthusiastically for your liking.

“Daddy not annoying.” She echoed, then broke into a fit of giggles when you poked her belly.

Outside the bathroom door, you heard the shower shut off, pipes rattling as the water drained away. You sighed, pressing a soft kiss to Elea’s temple. Maybe you were doomed. Maybe you’d always be doomed when it came to him.

But for now — for tonight — you could pretend it was just this: bunny pajamas, bedtime giggles, and your little family stitched together under one roof. Just for now.

The bathroom door creaked open just as you finished smoothing Elea’s bunny hood over her wild hair. You didn’t have to look up to know Sylus was standing there — you could feel his smug heat from halfway across the room. You forced yourself to look. Big mistake.

“Liking the view, sweetie?” His voice came lazy, all velvet and amusement, like he could read every thought racing through your head.

He’d come out only wearing a pair of gray trousers, droplets of water still sliding down the slope of his collarbone, disappearing beneath the faint trail of hair at his abdomen. His hair was damp, dark strands sticking to his forehead, and he raked a hand through it like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

You scoffed, a little too sharp to hide the sudden burn in your cheeks.

“Your shirt’s right there. Use it.” You gestured to where his shirt was resting comfortably — the shirt he’d smugly unpacked and arranged in your closet, like he belonged there.

He didn’t bother. Of course he didn’t. He padded closer instead, like a big, lazy cat with claws hidden behind that soft grin. Elea squealed when she saw him, throwing her arms out.

“Daddy, story! Bunny story!”

“Oh? You want Daddy to tell you a bedtime story?” Sylus purred, sinking down onto the left side of the bed, ignoring the way you tried to scoot back just an inch. He swooped Elea right onto his chest.

“Yes!” Elea bounced excitedly, tugging at his damp hair, “Mommy too!”

Your eye twitched. God! You wanted to just throw out of the window. Is falling from the second floor enough to kill a man?

Elea was already snuggling into his chest, bunny ears flopping over his forearm. Sylus cleared his throat dramatically, brushing a kiss to her hair — and then shot you a sly look that promised you were in for it.

“Once upon a time…” He began, voice deep and rich, “There was a clever little bunny who liked to sneak into a big bad wolf’s house every night. She’d tiptoe past all the other hunters and curl up right in his den, where it was warmest.”

Your jaw dropped, “Sylus—!”

It was the same damn story he’d told you that night you’d woken up crying from a nightmare, voice trembling when you’d asked him for a bedtime story to calm you down. You didn’t need to be a genius to know exactly where that tale came from — or who the big bad wolf was.

“But the wolf…” Sylus continued smoothly, ignoring your glare, “…oh, he loved his little bunny so much that he let her nibble on his tail whenever she wanted. And when the hunters tried to take her away, the big bad wolf swore he’d tear the whole forest down to bring her home.”

Elea let out a dreamy little sigh, oblivious to the heat creeping up your neck.

“Bunny happy?” She asked sleepily.

Sylus’s eyes flicked to yours, smirk curling devilishly, “Very happy, princess. Because the wolf always takes care of what’s his. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

You made a strangled noise, throwing a pillow at him — which he caught one-handed, never missing a beat as he dipped down to brush his lips over Elea’s brow.

“If you don’t stop—” You hissed.

“Or what?” He tipped his head, the wolf grin sharp and beautiful, “You’ll chop my hands off? Then how would I hold you at night?”

He leaned in like he might actually kiss you next, your breath tangling with his. Elea giggled sleepily between you, completely unaware she’d just given him every excuse in the world to lay his claim bare.

You jabbed a finger at his temple, “If you try anything funny, Sylus Qin, I swear to God I will chop your hands off in your sleep for real.”

He looked at you, all faux-wounded innocence, eyes glittering with something that made your spine tingle.

“You wound me, sweetheart. I’m just telling our little bunny a bedtime story. What could possibly be funny about that?”

You narrowed your eyes, “Everything. Especially when it’s you.”

You hadn’t meant to sleep so deeply. Or so… peacefully.

But for the first time in years, there were no shadows clawing at your dreams. No waking up with your pulse thrumming like you’d been chased through every nightmare you swore you’d buried. Just warmth — a steady heartbeat under your ear, the slow rise and fall of someone breathing who wasn’t going to vanish when you opened your eyes.

When the soft, sleepy fog finally lifted, the first thing you heard was Elea’s giggle — the sweet, bubbling sound of a child with no idea she was sitting in the middle of a loaded minefield of secrets and half-healed wounds.

You cracked one eye open. Sunlight spilled through the half-drawn curtains, dust motes drifting in the glow like tiny fireflies. And there she was — your daughter perched by Sylus’s head on the pillow, tiny fingers scrolling your phone, showing him something with an excited squeal every few seconds.

And Sylus? That bastard looked unfairly good in the morning light — hair mussed from sleep, shirt collar rumpled, one arm draped possessively around your waist like it belonged there. Like you belonged there. He was half-listening to Elea’s chatter, his eyes flicking to you with that slow, dangerous smile when he felt you stir.

You realized — really realized — that your cheek was pressed against his chest. That your leg was thrown over his hip like you’d done this a thousand times. That his thumb was stroking lazy circles over your back, grounding you in a way that made your throat tighten.

You jolted back so fast you nearly knocked yourself off the bed.

“Mommy!” Elea giggled, completely oblivious, the phone still clutched in her tiny hands, “Look! Look at the picture I took!”

There, crystal clear on your screen, was a photo: you curled up against Sylus’s bare chest like you’d never left — hair spilled all over his collarbone, your lips parted on a drool-damp patch of his skin. His arm locked tight around your back, his face buried in your hair, that infuriating smug smile half-there even in sleep.

You could practically feel the heat crawling up your neck — so high it stung behind your eyes.

“Elea…” You rasped, reaching for the phone, but Sylus was faster. He plucked it from her hands, his grin the definition of sin at dawn.

“Mmm, look at that.” He drawled, like he’d been waiting his whole life to gloat, “Don’t we look perfect, sweetie?”

You snatched for the phone again, “Delete it. Now.”

His free hand — the one that had been tracing circles on your spine all night — came up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb grazing your cheek like he owned you.

“I’m thinking we frame it.” He murmured, low enough that Elea couldn’t hear the dangerous purr in his voice, “Perfect for the nightstand, don’t you think?”

You hissed, smacking his chest, “Sylus Qin, I'm gonna kil—”

But your threat crumbled when Elea giggled again, snuggling into your side and resting her tiny head on your arm.

“You looked so pretty, Mommy. Don’t be mad.”

And just like that — you were ruined all over again.

That one night didn’t stay just one night.

Every night after that, somehow, impossibly, the three of you ended up tangled together in the same bed — Elea snuggled like a little starfish in the middle, Sylus draped around you both like he’d decided this time he wasn’t letting go.

You told yourself it was just for Elea. She wanted it — and what were you supposed to do? Break your daughter’s heart just to protect your own?

So you lay there, night after night, wrapped in the warmth of him — the way he’d bury his nose in your hair when he thought you were asleep, how his hand always found your waist under the blankets like his body just knew where yours was.

You told yourself you could handle it. That you were above it. That you wouldn’t let your heart get dragged back into the place you’d bled so hard to crawl out of.

But every morning, you’d wake up in his arms. And every morning, your resolve would crack a little more.

Tonight, you jolted awake to the sharp crack of glass shattering downstairs. For one dizzy heartbeat, you couldn’t tell if you were dreaming — but then you felt Sylus shift beside you, his arm tightening protectively around your waist as his eyes flicked to the door, all warmth gone, replaced by that ice-cold focus you remembered too well.

He didn’t say a word at first — just raised his free hand, and with that quiet flex of power that always made your breath catch, a sleek black gun seemed to melt into existence from the shadows under the bed. His evol — you’d seen it enough times to know he could pull blades and bullets from thin air like a magician conjuring death.

“Stay with Elea.” He whispered, voice low and deadly calm, eyes hard on yours, “I’ll handle this.”

You bristled immediately, “Like hell you will. I know this house better than you do. I'll get this done within minutes."

“Sweetheart, no—”

“No, Sylus.” You were already slipping out of bed, bare feet hitting the cool floor, “I’m not playing with my daughter's life.”

His jaw twitched — frustration, fear, and that deep, resigned fondness that always carved itself through his mask, “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, well, you married me, didn’t you?” You shot back, crossing to the closet.

You punched in the code on the hidden locker panel and pulled out the cold, familiar weight of your own pistol. His lips curled faintly, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to kiss you or drag you back to bed and chain you there.

He grunted, flicked the safety on his gun, “Stay close. If I say run, you run.”

“We'll see.” You fired back. He didn’t argue this time. He knew better.

Sylus slipped out into the hallway. You paused only long enough to lock the bedroom door behind you, pressing your palm to the scanner until the reinforced bolts slid into place with a heavy thunk. No one was getting to Elea tonight. Not even a s-level wonderer.

Step by careful step, you and Sylus padded down the staircase, the shadows swallowing you both like ghosts. The faintest noise drifted up from the kitchen — voices — hushed, sharp whispers and the clatter of something falling.

You stopped at the last landing. Sylus shifted forward just enough to peek around the corner — and without even thinking, his arm went out, pushing you gently behind him, a living shield between you and any threat. Some things never changed.

You leaned around his shoulder, gun raised. And what you saw nearly made you bark out a laugh that would’ve gotten you both killed if the situation had been even remotely real.

In the soft glow of the kitchen pendant light stood Luke and Kierran — two very familiar boys — both still fully suited up in their tactical black uniforms, masks perched on their faces like a pair of overgrown crows. Luke was waving a half-eaten carrot like a sword, while Kierran was hurling slices of tomato at him across the counter. Veggies littered the floor like battlefield shrapnel.

And on the kitchen island, between the scattered chaos, sat a single slice of leftover chocolate pastry — the clear source of their vicious quarrel.

“You literally shoved a whole pizza down your throat not even an hour ago, you donkey! I saw it first!” Kierran hissed.

“You ate the last one last week!” Luke shot back, flicking a slice of bell pepper at Kierran’s mask, “You owe me, you traitorous trash crow!”

Sylus let out a low growl that did absolutely nothing to hide the disbelief in his eyes. He lowered his gun with a soft click, then gave you a look that was equal parts are “you seeing this shit?” and “I swear to God I will murder them both”.

Sylus didn’t even bother to lower his gun all the way. He just stalked forward like a predator, boots silent on the kitchen tiles until he was right behind them — then smack, he cuffed Luke upside the head with a flat palm. Kierran got the same treatment a second later, yelping when Sylus’s hand collided with the back of his skull.

“What the hell are you two doing here?” Sylus hissed, voice low and dangerous in that way that usually made grown men piss themselves.

Luke spun around, mask askew, mouth dropping open like a scolded puppy, “Boss—”

Kierran popped his head up from behind the fridge door, clutching the pastry plate to his chest like a puppy with a bone, “It’s not what it looks like!”

“Oh, really?” Sylus’s tone went razor sharp, “Because it looks like you broke into my house, trashed my kitchen, and—” His eyes flicked to the pastry, “—stole my daughter's dessert.”

Luke puffed out his cheeks, offended, “We didn’t steal it, we— we liberated it.”

Kierran nodded so earnestly you almost choked on a laugh.

“Yeah! And anyway, we missed her!” He jabbed a thumb in your direction without shame, eyes wide behind the mask, “We haven’t seen her in years! And you said we couldn’t drop by! You said we’d freak her out!”

“You did freak me out.” You muttered, lowering your gun with a sigh.

Luke perked up, bright eyes peeking over his mask, “But you missed us, didn’t you, miss boss?”

“Don’t call me that. What do you think you were doing — breaking into my house in the middle of the night?” Your voice was firm, but you felt your lips twitch. God. You really had missed them — these two reckless idiots who’d wormed their way under your skin back then.

Kierran sniffed, clutching the pastry slice like it was a shield, “But we wanted to meet our precious niece too! Boss won’t let us— he’s so stingy!”

Luke nodded, scowling at Sylus, who looked one heartbeat away from committing an actual murder, “Yeah! All we want is a little peek at our niece and maybe a hug from miss boss. Is that so unreasonable?”

You pressed your palm over your face, torn between relief, exasperation, and that sharp ache in your chest that said these idiots used to feel like family, “You’re lucky I’m not shooting you both.”

Luke’s eyes went wide and shimmering — pure puppy dog eyes, “You wouldn’t! You love us.”

Kierran leaned around him, poking your shoulder with a gloved finger, “Say you missed us, miss boss. Or we’ll keep coming back. Every. Night.”

Sylus pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand, teeth grinding, but there was a ghost of something softer in his eyes when he glanced at you — because he saw it too. The part of you that was relieved they were still the same. Still your two annoying little shadows.

You let out a long, exhausted sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Alright. You two man-children — listen up. You want to see Elea? You come back tomorrow. In broad daylight. Like normal uncles. And you knock. You knock like civilized people — no more of this—” You waved a hand at the flour-dusted floor and the busted vegetable bag, “—ninja break-in bullshit.”

Kierran's whole face lit up behind the mask, eyes going wide like a puppy given permission to come back inside, “So we can meet her?! Really?!”

Luke squealed — actually squealed — hugging the pastry plate tighter, “You’re the best, miss boss! The best!”

Sylus glowered at them both, looking like he might snap their necks just for the principle, “If you wake her up—”

But Luke and Kierran ignored him, already shuffling to the door — which they’d apparently unlocked on their way in. They were still bickering about who got to hold Elea first when Luke shot you one last puppy-eyed grin.

“Love you, Miss Bunny! You’re prettier than ever— oh, and this is ours now—” He gestured to the half-melted chocolate pastry still clutched in Kierran’s hand.

“Hey—!” Sylus snapped, but the front door swung shut behind them before he could finish.

Silence fell, broken only by your sharp exhale. You leveled a dagger glare at Sylus — who, to his credit, looked only mildly murderous but also… faintly amused. That did it. Your hand flew up, finger jabbing his chest.

“I’m going to kill you.”

Sylus blinked, head tilting with mock innocence, “Me? What did I do?”

“Oh, don’t you dare—!” You snapped, poking him again, “You — you and your damn pet wolves — you’re dragging Elea into this world of yours. Slowly. Do you realize how dangerous—”

Before you could finish, Sylus leaned in with that devil-may-care grin, “You’ll have to catch me first, sweetheart.”

You barely had time to let out a strangled growl before he spun on his heel — all six feet of smug mafia prince bolting around the kitchen island like a grown man-child.

“Sylus Qin, I swear to God—!” You tore after him, but you were half laughing now, frustration mixing with exasperation and that stupid flutter in your chest that always, always made you forgive him too easily.

It lasted all of five minutes — both of you circling the couch, your threats turning into breathless curses while Sylus just laughed and danced out of reach. In the end, you dropped onto the couch, chest heaving, too tired to keep the anger burning. Your eyes fluttered shut, every bit of you sinking into the cushions.

“I hate you.” You mumbled into your sleeve, voice already slurring with sleep.

Sylus’s chuckle rolled over you like warm honey. He knelt down, pressing a soft kiss to your temple — his shadow falling over you like a shield.

“I know, sweetheart. I hate you too.”

You felt his arms slide under your knees and shoulders, the effortless way he scooped you up like you weighed nothing at all. Your head lolled against his chest as he carried you up the stairs — back to the bedroom, back to the warmth you told yourself you didn’t need.

Maybe you really did hate him. Or maybe… You just hated that you still loved him this much.

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woundedsoul12 · 2 days ago

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Thursday Bangers 7/10

Thank you so much @brennacedria for hosting and the tag. If anyone wants to host in the future just DM me. It's fun spreading the love and takes some pressure off me (plus I love being surprised and seeing people pick songs I would never pick!)

Rules for your Copy and Paste: Free form a blurb or drawing based on the weekly lyrics prompt. It doesn't have to include the prompt just whatever you're inspired to write, write it! Then tag some friends so they can play as well. It doesn't have to be finished on Thursday just post it whenever you can (you have a whole week between Thursdays).

Anyway gotta go more NeveWeek2025 for this one. Yall should be able to figure out who mystery Rook is after today. And while I have been really hating my writing lately I actually love this and didn't struggle too bad so maybe the old Beasty is back (or I'm going to have a mental breakdown and delete my ao3 and disappear. Who knows). Maybe these lyrics knows

Baby, you're all that I want When you're lyin' here in my arms I'm findin' it hard to believe We're in heaven –Heaven, Bryan Adams

No pressure tagging @himluv @thedissonantverses @mythals-whore @serensama @whispersleo @tarasmom @hedwigoprah @becausedragonage @kindlyfeline @davrinsleftpectoral @fenrelmercar @plasticfreckles @kai-dimir @teamtakagi @a-mumbling-nerd @fiberpunk027 @larknnightingale @jenn2d2 @tkwritesdumbassassins @feelslikepants @trash-nerd @cute-ellyna @brennacedria @lottiesnotebook @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @operative-arrow @librivore42 @obsessed-with-book-boyfriends @fireheartedpup @mikylechase @bonesandivy @vime5 @notyourmamasdeerbat @griffongrey @master-of-the-elements @chaoslifeforme @carrieing0n @serstolas @beachhotdog @nirikeehan @basedonconjecture @bygonesigh

And if you are reading this...

You

There were a few facts that Neve Gallus was coming to accept with glaring certainty.

Firstly, she was tired of the elven gods and their bullshit. She was going to kill Elgar’nan herself if Rook didn't do it first. And Solas… well she had something special planned for him. Especially after the last two weeks. Days stretching into eternity without her love at her side. Only recently returned from the Fade and to the safety of her arms.

Secondly, Rook was the most handsome man she had ever met. Generally dark hair and eyes were more her thing. Maybe a lifetime in Tevinter had skewed her perspective. But she was definitely starting to understand the Ferelden appeal. Especially when those golden orbs blazed heat across her skin. That scar on his lip quirking up in a grin as her fingers ran through his golden curls.

And lastly, that she was truly and deeply in love this time. A feeling that seemed to be returned as Rook leaned up to capture her mouth with his own. Pulling her down onto the chaise as she tumbled into his arms. Resting against his bare chest as she melted into him.

“I knew I had to get back,” he whispered as he ran his nose down hers in that most intimate way. Stopping to brush a stray hair from her cheek that he tucked behind her ear. Savoring every touch. Every breath. Her heart stuttering when he added, “Of all the regrets I faced in that prison, there was nothing I could have grieved more than never seeing you again.”

#dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #da: the veilguard #da4 #dragon age rook #datv rook #thursday bangers #rook x neve #neve x rook #neverook #neve gallus #neveweek2025

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xyrescape · 2 days ago

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☆ BAKIT MAHAL PA RIN KITA— profiles (1) !

yn ln — ◎ yn ln, musicophile

main drummer of their school's music band. used to be known as sophia's best friend, now? ‘sophia's ex’. the same one who always tries to get her attention by her tweets even after they broke up, as she claims those tweets ‘aren't’ directed to sophia and are just for fun. biggest yearner in the friend group, her mission impossible? get sophia back. a real loser in reality. loves her pet dog and snake as much as she loves sophia.

huh yunjin — ◎ huhyunj, jst_kirin

the child opera singer turned to the school band's main singer, definitely not forced by her great friend yn. always tries to bear with yn and her daily yaps about how she could always treat sophia better if she came back to her. honestly, she's secretly a book nerd— she says she hates twilight but you'll catch her reading every book in the middle of the night. their group's ball of sunshine.

ning yizhuo — ◎ yizhuong, gisellegf

model of the group, who actually hates her company. why? well, let's just say her company doesn't like to their models to have relationships— and ningning isn't happy about that. she claims her face is the only thing that's saving the company from being bankrupt. the one who always encourages yn to make a move, since yn may or may not helped her bag giselle.

choi beomgyu — ◎ benchoi, benotwink

actually the one who formed the school's band, been friends with yn since they were in elementary. the bassist and the only male in their friend group, who definitely isn't madly in love with taehyun from the photography club. will always be there for yn, even if he annoys her a lot. addicted to league of legends, the only friends he has are all girls.

kim minji — ◎ minmin, kim_chick

one word, youngest. probably the only one who is actually normal and sane, but she didn't get dragged into the chaotic friend group at all— sometimes she regrets accepting yunjin's friend request back then. she does love them a lot though, sometimes gets babied by her friends. they claim she ‘must be protected’. both friends with yn and sophia.

masterlist ◎ next

#★ xyrescape's works #★ xyrescape #katseye #katseye x reader #katseye smau #katseye x female reader #wlw #smau #gxg #katseye sophia #sophia laforteza #sophia x reader #sophia x female reader

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bpenn · 2 days ago

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Nothing like some prop-related details to start the day

• Little Natalie flipping the finger will never not be funny.

• For anyone wondering what the house on Walton Way looked like pre and post fire.

• The Goodmans are definitely middle class to upper middle class. I mean look at that new house (that they built on land they both chose).

• I don't care what you say Dan, the photoshopping is hella obvious.

• Hi, Aunt Rhonda!

• They've got adorable pictures of young Natalie. That ginormous cup! And the bike riding!

• That father-daughter hug is cute too. But none of only Diana and Natalie...hmm, I wonder why? 🤨

• Might be just me but I love it when I can see the spike tapes.

• Can I just say that Baby Natalie's things are so cute? The tiny shoes and the tiny mittens 🥺

• Not hating but that doesn't look appetizing at all. I'd eat it but I'm definitely hitting up a drive through right after.

• Also, just noticed that my parents have that same exact bowl and pair of salad servers. And cups...the ice cold carbonated drinks hit better in those plastic things imo.

Oh, and as a little extra...here's the non-blurred out photo of Little Nat giving us all the one-fingered salute:

#next to normal #next to normal west end #props to the props department #they're simple but very easy to overdo...which they didn't #diana goodman #natalie goodman #dan goodman #also many thanks to the master of this particular slime #as much as i love a full wide shot #the close ups are fantastic #blurry zoomed in photo captures notwithstanding #this was my go to video prior to the proshot

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poietaes · 2 days ago

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only one

summary: the one where toru's heart is struggling with his first love. warnings: fluff; some bad words i guess? wc: 2.8k a/n: i made a quote from “emma” by jane austen at the end of the story; as that specific part is not mine, i'm letting you know..

Toru met you at the beginning of high school. Usually, he didn’t make friends with girls, because eventually, they’d end up confessing their feelings to him — and he hated turning them down. Of course, he felt flattered; knowing he was desired was like a massage to his ego. But that didn’t justify getting involved with every girl who had a crush on him, right? That would be just plain scummy. So, he kept a considerable distance from them — smiled and waved, like one of those Penguins of Madagascar.

Until you showed up.

You two didn’t have much contact until you were paired up to write a literature assignment. Toru wanted to complain about the teacher’s decision and even considered asking to switch partners, but he didn’t want to embarrass you. Thank God he didn’t go through with it — otherwise, he might’ve never found the counterpart to his soul.

Toru didn’t believe in love at first sight. Love couldn’t just show up out of nowhere, like a stray bullet. At the time, romantic love was still a bit of an incomprehensible feeling to him, but he had a vague sense that it had to be built. A first impression could certainly help, but it wasn’t all that mattered. Maybe passion came before love? He even asked his mother something about it once. She answered with another question:

“Are you into someone, Toru?”

Into someone. No. It wasn’t that. What he felt for you couldn’t be summed up as a simple crush.

The truth is you caught him off guard.

Toru didn’t have high expectations regarding you. He just planned to analyze the damn book, write the essay, turn in the assignment. Nothing more, nothing less. Oh — and he also hoped you wouldn’t look at him with sparkling eyes at the end of the process and ask, “Oikawa, can I tell you something?” Maybe he was being too presumptuous? Definitely. But it had happened so many times… It was almost automatic to think that way.

However, by the end of the project, the one with sparkling eyes and a question on the tip of his tongue was him. Not just a question — several.

He wanted to get to know you. He didn’t want to just smile and wave when you crossed paths in the hallways. He didn’t want the two of you to act like strangers after the assignment ended. He wanted to sit down and talk to you — for you to tell him about all the books you had read and connected to the one you analyzed together; he wanted to know when you read them, where, and at what age; he wanted to know how they had affected your life. He wanted to know about your life.

Toru found himself looking up everything that made your eyes sparkle. Because you didn’t talk much about yourself — your introverted, elegant personality was a charm in his eyes. So, he clung to the things you liked in a desperate attempt to learn more about you. And, in the end, he grew genuinely interested in classical literature, bossa nova, and literary adaptations — especially ones based on works from past centuries. He learned the names of the actors and actresses you liked, bought merchandise from your favorite artists, discussed your favorite books with you and, eventually, started to discover more than just surface-level things.

He started visiting your house. Met your parents and your younger brother. Once, he even met your grandparents. He became familiar with your family as if they were an extension of his own. He cooked with your mom, talked sports with your dad, and taught your little brother how to play volleyball — much to his dismay, you turned down the offer when he offered to teach you too, saying you preferred to just watch him teach your brother. Toru still remembered the wild euphoria that surged through him when you said you’d be watching him.

In the same way he found a place for himself in your life, you found one in his. Mrs. Oikawa loved the moments when you and your little brother dropped by for surprise visits, usually at the end of the day. Toru found out that sometimes your parents got home late from work, and he suggested that whenever that happened, you should stay at his place for a while so you wouldn’t be alone — your neighborhood was kind of sketchy at night. No one disagreed with the offer. And every time he welcomed you into his house, he felt ecstatic — as if he were opening the doors to his heart, not just the little gate outside.

Sometimes, he wondered if you realized what was happening between the two of you. Because, clearly, something more than friendship was forming there. Your families knew each other. They even started planning things together, as if they were one — not two. The scent of your peach shampoo had settled into the Oikawa couch. There was a pair of slippers for Toru at the entrance of your house. You both picked up your little brother from school, and Toru carried him on his shoulders. Several elderly ladies and gentlemen had already stopped you on your walks to tell you how lovely you looked as a couple — and Toru withered a little every time you corrected them. You two started hanging out so often that people began asking one about the other:

“Hey, ____, have you seen Oikawa?”

“Oikawa, is ____ coming over today?”

The situation started eating away at his brain. You knew, right? You had to know! He looked at you with nothing but adoration in his eyes. At any moment, he’d turn his chest inside out and hand it to you, for you to do whatever you wanted with it.

Because he was in love.

No — he was loving you.

Sound the alarm! Flee to the hills! Take cover! Oikawa Toru had met his first love — and honestly, he hopes it’ll be his only one.

Admitting to himself that he was in love with his best friend was one thing. Confessing, however... Toru had spent long hours reflecting on the matter. When he spoke — he didn’t consider an “if,” because he was certain he would speak — it would have to be serious. No jokes or ambiguities. His feelings had to be expressed clearly and cohesively. But that didn’t mean turning his confession into an essay response. Yes, clarity was important — but so was softness. His confession needed to touch her, to wrap around her like that summer breeze they enjoyed on the last day of the trip their families took together.

He already suspected that his actions revealed much of what he felt — his teammates teased him about it often — but he wasn’t sure if you understood them, or if you saw them as anything beyond simple acts of kindness. Besides, he didn’t want to create an uncomfortable situation between the two of you — it would be like turning a field of flowers into a minefield.

So, even though he was certain he would tell you something — he had to, or he’d lose his mind — he decided to be more intentional with his actions, and more attentive to your reactions. He could still, of course, talk to you. Listen between the lines. By combining gestures and words, he might be able to deduce something about your feelings with a certain degree of certainty — based on the intimacy you had been building — and then, voilà: the perfect moment for a confession would arrive.

The plan was to become a spy.

But Toru wasn’t exactly discreet.

Nor was he patient.

And he failed spectacularly at the most unexpected moment possible.

Seijo was playing a simple practice match against the team from a neighboring school. Toru had returned to his position as the main setter after some time off due to a sprained ankle — he told everyone he got injured while training alone at the Kitagawa gym, but in truth, he’d twisted his ankle while playing tag with your little brother at the city park.

The opposing team wasn’t exactly strong, but they were pretty fast. Even so, the first set was relatively smooth, and Seijō won by a wide margin. In the second set, however, that bottom-tier team somehow seemed to have adapted to their style of play — even to his serves, what the hell! Suddenly, Seijō found itself up against an opponent that was perceptive, reactive, and receptive — those mediocre players receives had been bland in the first set! Damn it! Were they faking it?

You arrived at the gym halfway through the third set. Toru didn’t notice your presence until he heard your soft voice whisper to the team’s assistant:

“I thought it was going to be just one set.”

“They got carried away. Also, there was a tie in the second set.”

“Oh.”

For a few brief seconds, he forgot about the game and looked toward where the voice had come from. He wanted to look at you more, but the team was in a... critical situation? He was being dramatic, obviously, but all the players needed to stay focused and turn the score around, so his eyes couldn’t linger on you — even if he really wanted to.

You settled next to the assistant — which made Toru make a mental note to encourage you to apply for the open assistant position; you might not know how to play, but you understood the game and the club’s routine from hearing him talk about it so much — and as soon as you caught his gaze, you gave him a small wave.

His heart melted.

He almost begged for someone to call a timeout.

No one did. And the game continued, stretching everyone’s nerves in the gym, both on the court and off it.

When the final point was scored, after a nearly endless rally over the net, and Seijō’s victory was confirmed, a vibrant joy spread through the place, flooding everyone’s hearts. Even the losing team looked reasonably pleased — after all, they had given the fourth-best team in the prefecture a hard time. But out of everyone in the gym, the happiest one was Toru.

He was the one who set up the final point. And when the ball hit the ground and the gym exploded in cheers, one voice rang louder than the others: yours.

You were naturally a quiet person, and the few times he’d seen you a little too loud had been within the walls of his house or yours. You were the kind of person who expressed yourself more as you grew more comfortable with the environment — and, especially, with the people. And there you were, laughing and bouncing with joy alongside his teammates — people you barely knew — celebrating a win in a simple friendly match.

And you were talking about him while you celebrated. He could hear you loud and clear because you weren’t whispering. You told the people around you how the last play had been beautiful — yes, that was the word you used — and how he and Iwaizumi had executed everything with admirable precision. And your eyes... Oh God! Were your eyes sparkling? Sparkling while you talked about him? Ah, his heart was going to explode. Definitely. He wouldn’t survive if you looked at him with those sparkling eyes now. He’d been waiting to see them for months. He could die happy. Somebody calls the hearse, please.

If the joy that spread through the gym was vibrant, Toru’s was insane, completely uncontrollable. Because it didn’t come from the sweet satisfying feeling of making a good play and securing a win. No. It flowed directly from that stream of emotions that had been flooding his chest ever since he opened it to you.

Seijō was celebrating in a corner of the court. Someone from the team called his name. Another gave him a pat on the back. He nodded vaguely; his eyes finally fixed on you. His feet moved quickly, as if that moment were a ball that absolutely could not fall out of bounds. Within seconds, he was standing in front of you, lifting you into the air, his arms wrapped firmly—but gently—around your waist, like someone holding the most fragile treasure.

You screamed in surprise, then burst into laughter right after, the sound echoing so close to his ears it felt like your lips were pressed against them.

“That was amazing!” you said between laughs. “My heart was racing so much in those last few minutes. I thought I was going to die! But then the ball went up, and you made the set, and Iwaizumi spiked it with all his strength, and suddenly — bam! We won!”

Since you were so close, he could confirm his earlier suspicion: your eyes really were sparkling. In fact, your whole face looked golden, radiant with joy. You started babbling. Your voice filled the entire space as you poured out compliments about him, about his performance in the game. You were so excited, more excited than he was — and he was the one who had played.

And you didn’t pull away when he set you down.

In fact, it seemed like you didn’t even realize your feet were back on the ground, such was the euphoria that took over you. Your heart was pounding just as fast as his — your chest rising and falling like you’d run a marathon —, your words broken by heavy breaths, your hands waving in the air in a burst of energy that needed somewhere to go.

And the only thing Toru could think about, while watching that little force of nature wrapped in his arms, was: It’s mutual. It’s mutual. It’s mutual. The phrase echoed through his mind and heart. He couldn’t even imagine another explanation for the way you were reacting.

All that joy was because of him. He had made you jump and scream with happiness — just like you made his heart jump and scream with happiness every time you were near.

He knew what it felt like to love out loud, because he learned to do it by loving you. And there you were, in the middle of a simple volleyball practice match, expressing all your love for him for anyone to see.

And no, Toru didn’t think you just liked him or had a crush on him.

Those feelings usually came from people who knew him from the outside, from those who admired his appearance more than what was behind it.

No — you trusted him.

He was sure of it in that moment: in the way your fascinated eyes looked at him, in your ecstatic voice, in the way your body rested against his without fear or shame, in the way your spirit revealed itself to him in its most genuine form — even in the middle of a reasonably crowded gym —, creating a space just for the two of you, in full view of everyone.

You loved him enough to trust yourself to him.

And Toru felt like he was holding the entire world in his hands.

The kiss was practically a side effect.

The hands that had been on your waist moved up to your face, holding it gently. Cutting off whatever you were saying, his lips found yours. The world, which had seemed to spin in slow motion, came to a complete stop. There was only the soft touch of your lips on his. His heart imploded when your arms wrapped around his waist.

It’s mutual! It’s mutual! It’s mutual!

“I love you so much,” he whispered against your mouth, breathless.

You smiled and ran one hand along the side of his back.

The other came up to the left side of his chest, right over his heart, and gave two light, harmless taps — like you knew you had done irreparable damage to his heart and were trying to fix it.

Your cheeks were warm beneath his palms, and your eyes sparkled even more than before. Suddenly, there were no more words in your mouth. You just stared at him, like you didn’t know what to say. But the smile remained, wide and contagious, making him smile too because — holy shit! — he hadn’t been rejected!

But he needed to be sure.

“Say something, please, or I’ll die right here in front of you.”

You laughed loudly, throwing your head back.

Someone yelled for the two of you to get a room. Toru flipped them off.

“My dear Toru,” you began softly, just for him to hear, after your brief fit of laughter, “If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.”

His face turned completely red. Every single logical thought vanished from his mind. He rested his head on your shoulder, refusing to look at you again.

“Don’t say anything else, please. I think I’m having a heart attack.”

english is not my first language.

don't copy my work.

#haikyuu #toru oikawa #oikawa x reader #haikyu x reader

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miainbetween · 15 hours ago

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F - FAVOURITE THINGS, assigned to my s/o ALPHABET SOUP LIST MAX TAYLOR

#001 ✿ flowers

idk what it is about me and flowers but they always make me happy. max knows that and buys me flowers every week so we can decorate our space with fresh ones. he found out how excited it made me after he saw me get like that over a bouquet he got me for a date and he’s been surprising me with a different bouquet every week ever since. he says he doesn’t need a reason besides every day with me being special.

#002 ✿ ghibli movies

I grew up with those movies and get emotional when I watch them to this day. he might tease me about watching children’s movies but if I’m feeling down it’s one of the first things he’d play … if before that he doesn’t go with …

#003 ✿ romcoms

that’s another safe one for bad days. I rewatch these too. a lot. also he loves my commentaries sometimes because for some reason when watching a movie I cannot keep my mouth shut. we’d sometimes play some really bad ones only so we (mostly me) can hate on them. like, I like romcom but the too cheesy with I-knew-the-whole-plot-two-minutes-in predictablity are a pet peeve. and I get so irritated sometimes. it’s his own source of entertainment.

#004 ✿ books

it’s not the first time I have said it (hopefully I mentioned it somewhere on tumblr too) but he is my forever book boyfriend. like the definition of one!! he’d basically let me talk his ears off about books and plots and characters sometimes even comparing him for fun then he’d get irritated ask how they’re better and suddenly we’d be reenacting a scene and I’d be flushed and pinned somewhere.

#005 ✿ writing

he’s writing songs and I’m writing books. just like with regular books he listens to my ramblings. every. single. time. and he is always engaged and attentive and supportive. what more can a girl ask for? he’s my number one fan.

#006 ✿ nights out

I AM an introvert but I do love clubbing and my nightlife overall. so does he. he was lowkey a little wild before he met me. bars every night, most of which were spent on the dance floor. now we do that together sometimes. and he’d be so touchy again. yet, when he goes to get us drinks and girls surround him I’d get jealous. then because he knows me he’d look at me smiling and completely blow them off.

#007 ✿ my sony xm4s / headphones

he’d steal them. I’m 100% sure of that. and for no other reason than them just being mine which made them better. yk like the lame yours is better excuse? but in this case it’s even more lame. but he is a music guy so I kind of get it but if he has a more modern, better pair and still tries to use mine, I’ll strangle him.

OMG I ALMOST FORGOT:

#008 ✿ plants

after I move in, his apartment will become a jungle. he’d tease me for that too. but even more when I’d talk to and name the plants. I’d also scold him if he forgets to water them. even if I am the biggest threat to the poor things.

tags: @easyboyrecliner @shiftesque @rumitome @avelineshifts @floreils @spellboundscorpio @d0llygor3

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gumcatbd · 2 days ago

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If I can hop into the chatting, since I love this sorta thing: As someone with chronic pain due to a disability, I would definitely say that Rocket probably has chronic pain just due to the way he's forced to move for certain, and I think it's really interesting to explore what living with that chronic pain is like for him!! I love thinking about ways the guardians might adapt to that pain, and the ways he himself might deal with it. Like what times does he push through it for lack of options, and what times does he just give up on doing something because it's not worth it?

If Rocket's always in pain, it's most likely worst at the joints, as tends to happen, and given the alterations to his body, that seems feasible. However, I also think his spine likely has a ridiculous amount of pain as well, so jumping around and climbing would be the worst on him, might be why we don't see him do it THAT much even though he CAN be incredibly agile. (Some people conflate people with chronic pain as being immobile, but I'm one of the fastest people at my work despite my pain)

I picture things like kitchen cabinets, something so small so daily Fridges, tall and full of important to reach stuff.

When Rocket's having a lot of pain, is it worth hopping up to the counter, or climbing up? Is it worth the pain? The shame of asking for help reaching those things? On days like that, does he just skip whatever he needs up there?

Is that why he was putting everything low, and on the floor in Volume 1? Because he simply didn't wanna have to reach high up for anything? Even if it technically made it more of a problem for the others

and speaking on the metal thing

It's said he has a "Cybernetic Skeletal Structure" in volume 1, does this mean his entire skeleton is made of tech and metal? Does this mean his whole flarkin' skeletal system's been REPLACED????

that would suck like crazy. A whole skeleton that absorbs hot and cold like crazy. He'd feel temperature twice as bad as the others. I had a whole thought process about how he'd need to create a perfectly temperature regulated environment just to exist comfortably

Winter missions would suck

Summer missions would suck

poor flarkin' dude would hate all of these, and before they learned, I can totally imagine the others just thinking he's grouchy and annoying for always getting mad that they gotta do that stuff, because he would do it anyways

Now switching to thinking about Rocket's first days out of the lab because you mentioned it

Why does Rocket Steal

This is an important question

Would anyone spare food or money for a tiny 'animal' that could talk? Would anyone even give it a shot to work for some cash? Would anyone extend it kindness or treat it's wounds?

Chances are: No

So what do you do? You need to survive?

You steal, you fight, you try to do anything you can to keep living, because you pushed yourself to run, you already failed to get them out, you can't fail at the thing you got them killed trying to do, is what he'd think

And it's the only real option besides dying, anyways

Eventually you live like that for long enough that you get good at it

And you find out you can make money not-so-legally, and you can hunt 'bounties', and turn in jerks who deserve it, and some who maybe don't. But it's finally something new

So you keep at that, you make a buddy somewhere along the way who's been through stuff like you've been through, and you just try to keep living still

And eventually, you have a plan!

Make enough money, and you two can both go far, far away, somewhere no one's gonna hurt either of you anymore, and you can build a new, peaceful life. No more stealing. No more fighting. Just you two, and the endless green, and the endless sky.

Then you get roped into a whole mess, meet people who will eventually treat you better than you've really had before, except from your buddy who's dead now

You get to raise his kid, too. His kid's never gonna feel what his dad did. Or what you did.

You don't have to steal anymore. Still gotta fight but you aren't fighting alone anymore. You even get a place to sleep every night.

Then you do a job, helping out these guys who were made by the same guy as you were made by, who look down on you so much, which you've dealt with before, but they look down on your buddies too, and that strikes a nerve, always has. And just like when your buddy'd get bullied, you make a mess, you go for a trick to get back at 'em, and you steal some batteries

You steal to survive

Then you steal to fund your dream

Then you steal out of revenge

That's why I think Rocket steals

Honestly I think I lost the plot a little got too into the rant but hope you two don't mind, I love y'all's thoughts and these were what were coming to mind from my brain

Been thinking about Rocket’s cybernetics lately, and how he probably has to make adjustments to his clothes so that nothing abrasive rubs up against the metal in his back. I imagine that all of his jumpsuits probably have extra padding back there. I wonder how they affect him in different temperatures too, like if they ache more in the cold. Or do they ever get hot? Some clothes I have with metal buttons heat up in the sun and it feels hot to the touch. Since the implants are metal would the same thing happen? Also would he avoid lying down on his back because it would put pressure on them? I feel like they probably hurt him pretty often, but it’s something that he’s lived with for so long that he almost pays no mind to it unless he gets a particularly bad flare up.

I can’t remember now if we see it on the Nova Corps body scan or not, but are the visible implants more surface level or are they actually connected directly to his skeleton/muscles? I’m guessing the back implants are part of how his skeleton was rebuilt to stand upright and how his spine’s shape was changed and his shoulders were broadened.

I headcanon that he’s had to perform maintenance on his cybernetics, including self-surgery. I was talking about this with someone else on Tumblr a while ago and the one thing we ran into is the issue of the kill switch. If changes were to be made to his cybernetics it would undoubtedly set it off, so what we came up with is that while Rocket was unable to deactivate the switch he was able to temporarily stall it, allowing him to do the work he needed, albeit under a very limited time frame.

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into-fiction · 2 days ago

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KPDH x Gelphie

So. I wrote a thing. Glinda is a demon hunter and somehow still….my Glinda. lol.

TW for panic attack!

///

It happens in less than a second. Just a slip of her foot, a flick of her sleeve, and a shimmering golden mark that catches the light. At exactly the wrong moment, ShenShen looks down at Glinda’s exposed arm.

“Wait-- what was that?” she asks, casual and curious as she reaches for Glinda’s arm. “Did you get a tattoo?”

Glinda jerks away. The sound she makes isn’t a word, choked and high and way too obvious. Pfannee turns, attention drawn, and ShenShen’s eyebrows furrow together. Heat building in her face and panic growing in her chest, Glinda slaps a stage smile on her face, sharp and fake.

“No, no, of course not! I-It’s just my makeup. One of those new body shimmer, uh, thingies. I haven’t showered since stage rehearsal earlier.”

“You sure?” ShenShen presses. A teasing smirk plays on her lips. “I could’ve sworn I saw---”

“Nope!” Glinda’s voice is two octaves too high. “Definitely nothing! I’ll be back in a second-- I just-- need to-- freshen up!”

She bolts before they can say another word. But not before she hears ShenShen whisper to Pfannee, “She totally got a tattoo. Some sort of weird lightning mark.”

“Oh man. Morrible will hate that,” Pfannee answers, and both girls giggle gleefully, like they can’t wait to see their manager’s reaction.

Glinda doesn’t stop for the elevator. She sprints up the stairwell to her room, gasping for breath by the time she slams through the door and locks it behind her with trembling hands. Her legs give out, and she crumples to the floor, cold tile kissing bare knees, and it’s only then that she lets herself look down.

Underneath her sleeves, her skin nearly glows. The golden-pink patterns on her arms are pulsing, no longer faint, no longer delicate. They throb with light and panic. Crawling up her forearms toward her shoulders. Glinda rips her jacket off, her shirt next, and stares at the web of demon marks etched into her skin like she’s some kind of cursed stained glass.

“No no no no no---”

The room is too bright. Her chest is collapsing in on itself. She can’t get air. She can’t breathe. She curls in on herself, half-naked and glowing and wrong, nails digging into the skin of her arms as if she can scrub the patterns away.

They saw. They saw.

She’s going to lose everything. ShenShen and Pfannee will hate her. Morrible will find out. Glinda will be punished. Her secret will be exposed. Her fans will be disgusted, they’ll turn on her, they’ll see the truth of what she’s been hiding all this time. She’ll be ruined.

You’ll never be good enough! A voice shouts through her head. You’ll never be loved.

Tears blur the lights into stars. Her breath hitches, cracks. She sobs into the crook of her arm, her lungs working desperately to suck in air that never seems to come. She suffocating, gasping desperately as the panic washes over her in tsunami force waves, growing by the second, leaving her ears wringing and her hands tingling and her legs too weak to move.

She feels like she’s falling, sinking beneath the icy water, feeling it fill her lungs and spill through her veins and freeze her in place, a trembling, shaking mess that will surely split apart at the slightest touch. She’s drowning. And she can’t breathe.

She doesn’t hear the knock. It’s too gentle, coming from all the way on the other side of the room instead of pounding on the door behind her like Pfannee would. She doesn’t hear anything as footsteps pad closer, as someone else’s breath catches, as a figure squats down in front of her.

“Glinda?”

The soft-spoken word is what finally pulls her attention, her head whipping up to take in the sight of a person in front of her. A person. Here. In her room. While Glinda is crying and panicked and doesn’t have a top on.

Her adrenaline peaks so high she thinks she must black out for a moment, scrambling away with a broken cry, diving for the first thing she can find to throw over her arms. She can’t see, can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t be.

Her world narrows to the heat of her skin and the rush of her pulse and the burning pain in her chest. She’s clawing at some sort of cloth---a blanket? her shirt?---and can feel her nails digging into her skin, pinpricks of grounding sensation, before there’s a sudden hard pressure all around her, something clamping down on her flailing limbs and locking her in place.

For just a second-- the panic surges. But it’s…oddly comforting, even as she heaves with the effort of breathing, to feel like all her shattered, spinning edges have been shoved back into place, caught from flying away, trapped in a warmth that feels almost like a hug.

Slowly, she realizes the pressure is a hug, someone’s arms wrapped around her, holding her tight to a firm body. There’s a voice by her ear, though it takes several more seconds for Glinda to able to process the noise into something resembling words.

“It’s okay, you’re okay, it’s just me,” the voice is saying. “It’s Elphaba; you’re okay.”

Elphaba.

Elphaba, the demon Glinda was supposed to kill.

Elphaba, the main vocalist of Glinda’s biggest rival group.

Elphaba, the girl she’d been meeting with late at night for the better part of a month.

“E-El-Elp---”

“Shhh. Don’t try and talk. Just breathe.”

The chest against Glinda’s back pushes out in a deep inhale, holds it, then slowly exhales, long and low. She does it again. And again. And again. Breathing in a steady rhythm that Glinda aches to follow. She chokes on it, the air catching in her throat, her limbs tensing and pushing instinctually against the demon’s hold.

But Elphaba keeps breathing. Talking to Glinda in gentle whispers, telling her she’s doing great, just keep breathing, slower, easy, that’s it.

“Good,” she says, voice ghosting past Glinda’s ear. “I’m here. Just me. No one else.”

Glinda shakes her head, starting to come out of it enough to remember what’s going on. “They saw-- Shen and Pfannee-- they saw it, they’ll tell her, she’ll-- she’ll kill me---”

“No one’s going to hurt you. Not while I’m here.”

“I can’t-- I c-can’t breathe---”

“Yes, you can. With me.” Elphaba’s voice is a lifeline that Glinda clings to. “In. Out. That’s it.”

They keep going, Glinda’s ragged attempts failing and falling short at first, but slowly, the tight band around her chest loosens. Her hands ease their grip on her arms. She’s still trembling. Still glowing. But her breath is back. She sags into Elphaba’s hold, eyes slipping shut.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“What? Don’t apologize, Glinda, you have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I-- I didn’t mean for you---”

“I don’t care about that,” Elphaba interrupts. Her voice is firm. “All I care about is that you’re okay.”

A pause, long enough that Glinda wishes she could see Elphaba’s face. “Are you okay?”

No, Glinda thinks immediately. “Yes,” her voice says anyway, practiced and fast.

Another pause, and this time-- Glinda turns around in Elphaba’s arms, wiggling until she’s practically straddling the demon’s lap, the both of them still on the floor just a few feet from Glinda’s door. There’s a shawl draped over Glinda’s shoulders, and she clings to it, twisting the fabric between anxious fingers.

“You don’t have to lie to me,” Elphaba whispers. She meets Glinda’s gaze, her emerald eyes steady and sure, her brows titled in concern.

Glinda swallows hard, chin dipping. She grips the shawl even tighter, even though she knows Elphaba has already seen. Already knows. That Elphaba can’t exactly judge-- not when she has patterns of her own.

“I-- I---” Glinda tries, but the words never come.

Slight shivers still wrack through her frame, aftershocks that match the still too-fast beating of her heart. Her ears and cheeks feel hot with shame. Her body aches, sore and exhausted. She wants nothing more than to crawl in a hole and sleep for a thousand years. Or better yet-- just never wake up at all.

“Stop,” Elphaba says. It jerks Glinda’s head up, the demon jostling Glinda where she sits. “I know that look. Don’t even think it. Don’t go there.”

“What?”

Elphaba shakes her head. Her eyes glow fiercely. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Glinda. You-- I hate that you have to hide; I really do. But that doesn’t-- You shouldn’t hate yourself.”

And-- Glinda can’t help what tumbles from her lips next. “Easy for you to say,” she snaps. It takes Elphaba aback, and Glinda feels new guilt join the shame in her gut.

“I-- Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. It…it probably isn’t easy hearing that from someone like me.” Elphaba gestures down her body, her demon skin exposed so her dark marks mirror Glinda’s golden ones.

The breeze blows in from the open balcony door, tugging at clothes and hair, cooling Glinda’s overheated skin. She’s still on Elphaba’s lap, the demon’s green arms still looped loosely around her waist, holding her just inches away. She knows she should move, that she’s recovered enough to compose herself, but something inside her keeps her frozen.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Elphaba asks, voice faint as the moonlight.

Glinda’s throat is still clogged with words unsayable, so she just nods.

Elphaba sighs, pulling one arm free to look down at, turning it side to side. The green tint looks strange in the light of Glinda’s pink lamp. Next to Elphaba’s arm, Glinda’s own marks shine even brighter.

“I-- I was born green,” Elphaba confesses softly. She doesn’t look at Glinda, still staring down at her skin. “Not just as a demon. As a human, back-- back before.”

How? Glinda wants to ask. Elphaba seems to hear her, gaze flicking up briefly to catch Glinda’s expression.

“I’m not sure exactly why. But my father hated it. Everyone did. I was…wrong. Unnatural. Disgusting. A monster.”

The words ring through the air, far too familiar to the walls of this room.

“I used to want to carve the green from my skin,” Elphaba continues. “I thought if I could cut it off, maybe people would love me.”

Glinda stares.

“I wished and prayed every night for it to go away. I tried everything I could think of to get rid of it, to be good enough that I would wake someday and it would be gone. I hated myself. Hated her-- the girl I was.”

“Elphaba…” Glinda’s words crack, her eyes large and wet as she stares down at their arms, both of them the wrong color.

Elphaba reaches out slowly, giving Glinda the chance to say no before she pulls the shawl from Glinda’s shoulders. In the darkness of her lamp-lit room, Glinda’s patterns shine like fireflies, lighting up her pale skin as they stretch all up her arms and across her shoulder blades. They’re jagged, striking like lightning, the sharp points reaching around her collarbones, aiming for her heart.

Elphaba’s fingers are cool and gentle when they meet Glinda’s skin, gently tracing down the length of a mark. It makes Glinda feel breathless again, this time for an entirely different reason. Green fingers glide up her arm, deliberate and soft. Moving from one mark to the next, taking them all in, never shying away.

“They’re beautiful,” Elphaba says.

Glinda flinches. “Don’t lie.”

“I’m not.”

Elphaba looks up, and her eyes hold something Glinda doesn’t know how to name. Something real. Something genuine.

“I would never lie to you.”

It-- it feels like a promise. One that Glinda falls for, hook line and sinker, curling until her forehead bumps into Elphaba’s own. They sit there, pressed against each other, Elphaba’s hands still holding Glinda together, still brushing down her arms with care.

In another universe, a different Elphaba would make a similar statement. A promise not to leave her Glinda behind.

In both universes, these promises end up being lies.

But in the moment they’re said, neither Glinda knows that. So she breathes, and she breaks, and she breathes again. And she tells herself the fluttering warmth in her chest has nothing to do with how much she aches for the girl in front of her, how much she wants to tell her how she feels.

She tells herself they have time…and she doesn’t know how wrong she really is.

#curtesy of EaManning and my newest Netflix obsession #yes I did think of Glinda as the demon at first but I like this too!!#wicked #gelphie #drabbles #kpdh #gelphie fanfic

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