#BUT they never actually get along with each other

[agave]

GOTTA add some headcanons to this

laios spends loads of his playtime just creeping along after the big monsters, taking notes like he's studying a real wild animal. he has a dossier on each one and he's well known in the subreddit for being present at the scene every time someone has a question because the wiki is unclear about something

SOME of his dossier is carefully researched headcanon (speculative skeletal structure, mating habits, etc) but he keeps that in a separate notebook

he also has a third notebook that combines canon and headcanon so he can better imagine it being a real organism. everything is hand-copied

loves those youtube videos like "100 things you DIDN'T know about monster hunter" or "I went into the files to deconstruct how rathalos's AI works in excruciating detail, here's EVERY decision tree!" these don't impact his immersion at all

marcille had a phase where she got SO stressed out about having a PERFECTLY manicured, resetted for, time-traveled, villager-cycled town (this is especially a nightmare on the 3DS version because you have JUST enough power over your town layout to make it frustrating) that even playing became overwhelming and she had to stop. but then she also felt bad for not playing, which compounded the stress of going back to playing

eventually falin got the game so she could play with marcille and marcille bought an entire new switch so she could play without going back to her old town (and without deleting all that hard work!)

the old save file is still sitting there and on the new one marcille has vowed to herself that she won't use any manips or anything (it's still bugging her though. but she does genuinely enjoy playing)

marcille also plays fire emblem. both for the strategy and for the visual novel elements. she talks about it as a high level strategy game to anyone who asks. if a character dies she resets

chilchuck has loads of save files and they're ALL stealth archer. he does pretty much the same thing on each one but he has fun every time like it's a new experience

he LOVES survival mode. this guy will fish in skyrim for an hour. sometimes he sets up with a case of beer like he's fishing irl and has his character down an ale every so often as "bonding". if anyone teases him for this he'll kill them but he genuinely finds it relaxing. video game fishing is basically a gacha

don't get him wrong though, most of his time is spent carefully preparing materials, going into a dungeon, checking every corner, and then stealth assassinating the boss from across the room and rendering the whole thing totally pointless. he does not have any sense of clarity about this and just loves the thrill of the chase

he's tried modding but never really found any he liked enough to stick with. his favorite mod was the museum one but he thought it was too much fanfare to bother with. he'd rather it was just a plain house with a million racks and zero quests or dialogue. the real reason he's not into modding is he's just set in his ways (plus if he got used to a mod on PC how would he play switch edition? checkmate. no mods)

slightly interested in TES6 but "will it have the community skyrim has built over the years?" (he doesn't interact with the community that much)

other than cooking mama, senshi really likes wii sports and especially wii bowling and tennis. he's not that interested in the real sports but he'd try them to see how they compared to his game

has watched a million of those "we cooked every dish in cooking mama using exact instructions from the game!" videos and has a ranking of them in his head. his major criteria are how faithful it is to the actual dish, how faithful it is to the game, and how much it infuriates him to watch as a cook ("we can't add salt because mama didn't! :)")

he does EXCLUSIVELY play the wii because he finds the motion controls the most intuitive. he'll push the buttons but his brain just doesn't compute if it's ONLY buttons

has been shown that the switch also has motion controls, but he sees those kids mainly using it as a controller with buttons, you can't fool him, you know he doesn't get that kind of stuff!!

eventually someone sets him up with a capture card and a streaming setup and he's top 10 in the accidental asmr category within a year

Stinky group of gamerz

It came to me in my fever dreams

tag yoself, I’m Chilskyrim

[wordsinhaled]

People call Charles Edwin’s guard dog and Edwin thinks it’s going to offend him, getting more up in arms about it than Charles ever does. But it doesn’t seem to bother Charles at all. And Edwin doesn’t understand, not at first, not until Charles tells him, “So what if they think I’ll bite if they lay a finger on you? Not exactly wrong, are they?”

Suddenly, it makes sense. Why Charles takes the comments in stride. Why he seems to take pride in the suggestion.

Charles feels like Edwin should have someone who is willing to do all that for him, go that far for him—and of course that someone’ll be Charles himself. Edwin reflects that he’d never had that sort of fervent devotion from anyone, certainly not when he was alive, and no one has come close since but Charles. He reflects on how good it feels to be fundamentally seen, valued in such a way.

Still, Edwin worries—does Charles know that Edwin is just as dedicated to keeping him safe, his heart and his spectral body and his soul? That Charles is the most precious gift Edwin never dreamt to be given, and—

Does Charles know that, every day? That he’s more than his teeth? That he’s more than everything Edwin could want? That he’s sweetness and light?

It’s Charles’ loving touch that Edwin yearns for and craves, when he’s laughing harder than he ever has, in the middle of the night when the rest of the world is asleep and it’s just him and Charles in the warmly-lit office, tipping against each other on the tiny sofa that never feels cramped when it’s keeping the two of them near. The actual joke goes forgotten in the self-replenishing haze of their giggles, their shoulders knocking together, Charles’ ankle hooked around Edwin’s.

Edwin’s hand lands on Charles’ jaw, barely-there fingertips turning Charles’ head, easy, so easy, to look at him. To catch Charles’ gaze, deep and shining and—they’re so close to each other, a bit heady with leftover mirth, and Edwin will never forget that it’s Charles who moves first to press his smiling lips to Edwin’s, simple as ever, like it’s the next line in their conversation.

It knocks the breath straight out of Edwin: the breath he hasn’t needed in three-odd decades. But it’s all right because Charles’ mouth is opening against his, so right and inviting, and Charles is gasping too like he’s in the same dizzy predicament, and Edwin never wants it to end.

“Charles,” he says, “Charles, my darling, are you…?”

Charles’ eyes are dark as ink when he pulls back, only far enough to nudge his nose against Edwin’s cheek.

“Yeah,” he says, smile flashing bright like a slice of the moon. He closes his eyes, a flutter of lashes Edwin can feel against his own cheekbone, followed by the soft drag of a kiss. Then another. “Should’ve seen it, really,” Charles goes on, in between still more kisses, words said into Edwin’s skin. “‘Cause you’re it for me, Edwin, aren’t you, love? I just didn’t see. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you when you first—”

“Never mind,” Edwin says, “tell me now,” and then they’re kissing once more. The testing scrape of Charles’ teeth over Edwin’s lower lip, the nibble on his upper, is tentative, too tentative, and Edwin ought to have known, he ought to have suspected… but still he doesn’t, doesn’t expect the keening, tremulous moan that tumbles out of him at the promise of it all.

Charles chuckles, the sound settling in Edwin’s belly, making a home in his chest. “You like that?” he asks. Awed. Still hesitant. The laughter from earlier still layered in Charles’ voice, along with a new sort of hoarseness, a new sort of rasp Edwin could listen to forever. “Don’t wanna put you off, do I, love…”

“I will hardly be put off, Charles. In fact, I—” Edwin swallows, convulsive and wanting, sees Charles’ focus drop to his throat, find the soft underside of his jaw as he tips his chin up. “I would not have you hold back with me. Set your hands where you wish. Your mouth—where you wish. Your…” It is his turn to close his eyes.

“My teeth,” Charles finishes for him softly. “Wherever I…?”

“Yes,” Edwin says. “Yes.”

[madebycloud]

Make it Special

violet "vi" x female reader — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: vi's birthdays are usually quiet, but this year? the whole family is doing their best to make it special. (requested by twinklestarslight) warnings/themes: fluff, birthdays, found family, modern au words: 3.6k notes: THIS IS SO LATE IM SO SORRY BUT BELATED HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THIS WOMAN!!

Vi's birthday was, like most of her other birthdays, uneventful. Vi tended to keep to herself. The day usually passed with more than a quiet “happy birthday” on everyone's lips. However, this year will be different. This year, Vi will find out just how loved she was and just how much she meant to the people she cared about.

“There's streamers in the cabinet, if you could help me hang those up,” Vander says, giving you a nod as you go to grab a chair to reach the ceiling. From there, you make yourself busy decorating—streamers along the walls, lanterns to dim the lights a bit.

“You think she'll like it?” Silco asks, leaning on the counter. He has a cigarette in his hand, but he's doing his best to keep the smoke away from everyone else. “Think she'll be mad?”

“I don't think she'll be mad,” you say, “she'll probably be shocked or confused, but not mad.”

Benzo is setting up the tables around the bar, taking chairs from the barstools and setting them around. He's been helping with decorations since Vander asked him, and he's been trying his hardest to keep the place neat. He even got a box of party hats, hoping to find a way to talk everyone into wearing one.

Claggor and Mylo are messing around with the music, trying to find a station that plays punk rock or heavy metal, which they know Vi likes. The first song that plays when they finally get the right station is punk rock, and the two look at each other, a smirk spreading on their faces.

Ekko is bringing down plates of food from the kitchen. There's cake, which Powder bakes earlier, sandwiches, cupcakes, and various snacks. Anything that can possibly satisfy any of Vi's cravings.

Sevika is at her usual spot by the bar. She's not doing much decorating wise, but she's there, and she's helping with the more heavy things like the tables and chairs.

Benzo nudges you when he's all set up, motioning over to the box of party hats. He's already put his own on. It's black and pink, with hearts on the sides. “You think I could get Vi to wear one?” he asks with a chuckle. “Or y'think she'd try to knock it offa my head?”

“I'll try to convince,” you say, putting down the streamers you just hung. “Maybe if we all wear one, it'll seem more welcoming.”

“Maybe she'll say yes,” Ekko says, passing by and stealing a chip off the plate on the table. “Not a guaranteed one, probably a ten percent chance.”

“But,” Claggor starts, walking to help Ekko with the food. “It is a small chance, so you might be able to get her with it,” he says. “She's a sucker for you.”

—

You still need to get Vi's birthday gift, which, admittedly, should've been done a lot earlier, but decorating the bar had come together so fast, you barely had enough time to think, let alone pick out something for Vi.

Now, you stand outside the animal shelter, shifting nervously as you look up at the sign. Vi has been thinking about getting a dog for a while now, and you know this shelter is one of her favorite places to visit, even though she has never gotten a dog of her own. Maybe it's time to change that.

You push the door open. The shelter is mostly empty at this hour, and you make your way towards the front.

The lady at the desk greets you with a smile. She's an older woman, and she's wearing a jacket with various cat hairs on it. “How can I help you?” 

“I'm looking to adopt a dog, actually.”

“Oh, how nice,” the lady smiles, setting the paperwork she was working on aside and giving you her attention. “We have a lot of dogs available for adoption. Any breed you're looking for in particular?”

“Do you have any huskies for adoption right now?” You look around the shelter, trying to look for any cages that might have a dog inside.

The lady nods. “We do have a few, actually. Would you like to see them?” she asks, standing from her chair.

“I would, yes.”

She leads you down a hall that's lined with cages. Different breeds of dogs of different sizes and coat colors are barking and yelping when you walk by, trying to get your attention. if only you could adopt all of them. Impossible. But still, if you could, you would.

The lady leads you down another hallway after the first, and you stop in front of a cage. Two huskies. They're curled up together and asleep, but they lift their heads when they notice the two of you stop in front of them.

One of the huskies perks up, getting to its feet and moving closer, wagging its tail as it looks up at you with wide eyes. The other follows suit, looking up at you through squinted eyes, as if it has been woken up from a deep sleep.

“They're siblings,” the lady notes, crouching down to pet the closer of the two, smiling as it nudges her hand, tongue lolling out of its mouth. “They're still only pups, about one month old,” she continues. “A young couple dropped them off a week ago. They couldn't keep them. They didn't have the time for them anymore.”

It sucks, people giving up on animals like this. Huskies need a lot of care, a lot of attention, and a lot of time spent training. They're not dogs made to be stuck inside or alone for the whole day. You know most of the people who gave up huskies—or any dog for that matter—did it because they didn't know what they were doing. They couldn't take care of the dog, and they had to give them up. It's hard, for you and for the animal.

The lady continues to pet the puppy in front of you. “Are you thinking about adopting one of them?” she asks, looking up at you.

“They're siblings,” you repeat, looking down at the two dogs. They're still focused on you, wide eyes looking at you. And, god, that look. You can't leave just one, they'll miss each other, they're siblings. “I'll take both of them.”

“Oh.” It takes the lady a second to process that, but then she smiles, standing up to her full height again. “That's… nice of you to take siblings. Not many people want to take siblings,” she says, walking over to the cage door. “I'll get you the paperwork, it's in the back. Make yourself comfortable, they don't bite.”

She leaves you to the cage with the dogs, who seem to have gotten even more excited, their paws scraping against the cage as they stand on their hind legs, putting their front paws on the edge. They're both panting, their tongues lolling in the same way as their tails wag back and forth, hitting the side of the cage. The lady comes back quickly and pulls out a clipboard, setting it on a table outside the cage door.

The lady goes through a bit of paperwork with you, questions regarding whether or not you're able to actually take care of the dogs if you have the time and the money to take care of them. That sort of thing. 

She talks to you a bit, gives you advice on how to take care of them, and then she gives you a crate, one for each of the dogs (but of course, you'll keep them in one crate, no reason to keep them separated), and now, with the crate in your hands and the dogs inside it, you're on your way back to Vander's bar.

You push the door of the bar open, hearing the quiet footsteps of everyone inside, the sound of the music turned off and silence having replaced it. You can hear Vander shushing everyone, and-

“HAPPY BIRTH-” the light snaps on suddenly, and they pause, looking you up and down with confusion... and the crate on your arms. 

��...day?” Mylo continues, awkwardly.

Vander shakes his head. “So, it's not Vi,” he starts, walking closer to the crate. “What's in there?”

“It's for Vi,” you reply, holding the crate closer to your chest. “She's not here yet?”

“Nah,” Ekko answers. “She's still hanging out with Powder. We thought it's Vi when you entered though.”

—

Everyone has their own party hats. The last thing to be done is hide the gifts, and everyone does. Vander puts the presents in the back room. Everyone scrambles for their spots. Mylo, Claggor, and Ekko hide out near the table, while Silco, Sevika, and Benzo are next to Vander behind the counter.

You hear the door creak open, the sound of footsteps entering the bar.

“Thanks powder—oh god, it's dark.”

There's just a moment when everything is silent, the bar silent, and then the light snaps on—all the party supplies go off as everyone around the room yells, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

Vander leads the chorus, with everyone jumping from their spots, some popping the confetti poppers they had, others just yelling the words.

Powder walks to the table, picking up the cake she made. Bright pink frosting and a plethora of multicolored icing dots decorate the cake. Everyone around screams and rushes towards Vi, pulling her in the middle to join them.

You grab another one of the party hats off the table, setting it atop Vi's head, your own hat still perfectly secure on your own. “Happy birthday,” you mutter, pecking a kiss on her cheek. She looks up at you with a smile that makes you melt. The others let out an OOOO sound, clearly trying to embarrass her.

Vi flushes, looking back and forth at everyone. She punches the nearest person (Mylo), telling them to “shut up.”

Vander walks up to her, pulling her into a hug and a pat on the back.

“Happy birthday,” Silco hums, giving her a nod, smirk sitting on his lips.

Everyone else joins in, pulling her into one large group hug, wishing her a happy birthday, and making remarks to tease her. Mylo is getting another punch to the arm.

Powder walks over, carefully making her way through everyone to stand in front of Vi, holding the cake in front of her with a grin. “Make a wish.”

Everyone else backs up some, giving her space to think of one. Vi looks around the room, looking each person in the room in the eyes, everyone who showed up for her, her family before her eyes land on you. When she turns back to the cake again, a smile tugs at her lips, and she blows out her candles.

The group cheers, and everyone smiles. Mylo and Claggor are both nudging each other and whispering to each other, grinning widely. Even Vander's eyes are a bit misty, but he blinks it away before Vi can notice, putting an arm around her shoulder.

“The cake better be good,” Mylo mutters, rubbing his hands together, wanting a piece of cake. 

“Obviously,” Powder tells him, giving Mylo a dirty look. “I made it, the cake will be fine.” Powder sets the cake on the table, pushing it out of reach from Mylo, who tries to get a piece right then and there only to get his hand swatted at by Powder.

“Behave,” Silco scolds him. “It's her birthday, not yours.”

Mylo groans. Vander pulls out the cake knife, looking at Vi. “It's your birthday, you get to cut the cake first.”

Vi takes the knife from him, walking forward and staring at the cake. It's a pretty big cake, enough to feed everyone. 

Mylo stands behind her with his mouth practically watering, looking over her shoulder and trying to get a good look at the cake itself, ignoring everyone's protests and telling him to stop breathing down her neck. Everyone crowds behind Vi as she starts cutting the cake, with Mylo making a comment about wanting bigger pieces than everyone else, which he gets a quick shove and a scolding from everyone.

Eventually, after a bit of bickering, the cake is cut up and everyone gets their piece, save for Mylo, who only gets a small slice. “And you get what you asked for,” Vander says, smirking at his pouting face.

Everyone starts eating their piece of cake, complimenting Powder on how it turned out. It's delicious, of course, and the first slice is always the best. Vi sits beside you as she eats, and she nudges you with her shoulder. When you look at her, there's a forkful of cake up to your lips. “Say ahh,” she teases. You can hear Mylo fake gagging.

“I already have,” you hold up your plate as well as the fork still filled with cake.

“Still,” she says. “Pretty please?” she presses, pushing the fork closer to your lips. You can hear Mylo fake gag again, Powder telling him to shut up.

You open your mouth and let her feed you the cake. She waits until you swallow it before setting the fork aside, and she watches to make sure you like it as you chew.

“Ahhhh,” Mylo mocks. Powder kicks his shin, causing Mylo to yelp.

“It's good,” you hum, earning a smile from Vi.

The conversation continues around you, and while everyone else talks and eats, Vi pulls you closer to her, putting an arm around you and resting her head on your shoulder while listening to everyone, her thumb rubbing against your side.

Mylo and Claggor are now bickering, and you can never really tell over what, so you don't question it. It's not your business either way, and you don't care all too much. Silco is watching the two bicker, rubbing his temple, and Benzo is eating his cake, nodding along. Sevika is watching Mylo and Claggor fight, a smirk on her lips.

Vi absentmindedly traces her finger on your forearm, the cake in her other hand long forgotten. 

Everyone continues to eat, and the cake gets half eaten until everyone is satisfied and full. Mylo is complaining that he should've gotten more cake, Powder tells him again to shut up because it wasn't his cake to begin with, and Vander is trying his hardest to keep the peace.

Vi pulls away from you as Silco clears his throat, gathering everyone's attention. “Alright,” he starts. “Who wants to give something to Vi first?”

Everyone looks around at each other, as if trying to figure out who should go first. Claggor nudges Mylo into motion, and the two start to banter while Vander walks over to Vi with a box, setting it on the table in front of her.

Vi looks at the box, eyes trailing over the wrapping paper, and then backs up at Vander before taking the box delicately from the table. She takes the time to slowly unwrap it, not tearing into it too quickly, instead slowly taking the wrapping paper off one corner at a time.

Once she gets the paper off, she starts opening up the box, taking the lid off, and looking inside at the contents inside of it. It's a framed picture of the two of you. The picture is of a Christmas party with everyone at the Last Drop. All grouped up in the picture, surrounding her with smiles, and Vi has her arm wrapped around you, smiling as well.

“Oh,” she starts, trailing her finger down the glass, pausing to tap on your face in the photo. “This is amazing.” 

“There's more,” Vander says, “look at the back.”

In the back of the frame, Vi finds a picture. She pauses when she sees herself, Powder, and her parents. Her eyes linger, fingers stroking the picture. She's so much younger, so much smaller. They are smiling so wide as if they didn't know how things would change soon.

Powder sits down beside her. She rests her head on Vi's shoulder, watching her look at the photo, and she reaches out to take Vi's free hand, squeezing it in support.

Vi's eyes are glossy as she looks up, a faint smile on her face. “Thank you,” she mumbles, looking back down at the photo in her hand and at the faces of her parents. “This really means a lot.”

Vander nods, resting a hand on her shoulder. “I know you miss them,” he murmurs, low enough that it's just the two of them. “Thought you might like that.”

“We all love you, Vi,” Powder says, squeezing her hand.

“Yeah,” Mylo agrees. “You're stuck with us forever, don't forget that.” It earns him a jab in the side from Claggor and a look from Silco, but Vi snorts at him.

—

Everyone else has given Vi their presents. Some smaller, more simple, some more pricey than others.

Silco gifted her a few bottles of alcohol, with the advice not to drink it all in one go. 

Mylo gave her a new set of punching gloves that he saved up for, black and pink with ‘VI’ on the wrist. 

Claggor gave a new brass knuckle set, along with a nice pair of red leather gloves and a new beanie for the winter, since he had noticed hers was old and falling apart. 

Sevika gave a new leather jacket, black and lined with deep red, with silver zippers. She puts it on right away, getting some “ooo's” and “ah's” from everyone upon seeing how she looks with it on.

Benzo brought her a blanket. He explained that he didn't know what to get her, so he walked into the store and looked for the softest blanket they had, thinking it was the only thing that made the most sense.

Ekko gave her a painting. On it was a detailed, almost perfect looking Vi, complete with her tattoos and everything.

Powder gave a whole handmade care package. She made her favorite snacks, made her a book full of scrapbooking items and stickers, made her a bracelet with a few different colored beads, and made a cute mini scrapbook of the two of them and everyone else together. She got a few tears for that one and a tight hug.

Now, there's only one gift left for Vi. You hold the crate in your hands, the crate that holds the two sibling huskies.

The dogs are finally awake and squirming around inside, making noises as they try to greet everyone. You set the crate on the floor and let the pups run out, watching Vi stand up to come over to see the dogs. She kneels down to pet them, scratching behind both of their ears. She smiles as tears form in the corners of her eyes. She scoops both up into her arms, petting its fur and burying her face in its fur, just to take in the fact that she finally has a dog herself, and it's with her favorite person.

Powder grins. “Can I hold the other one?” she asks, and Vi nods her head, adjusting the dog in her arms to give Powder a better opening, allowing her to scoop the other one up, which starts nuzzling against her hand.

Vi turns to look at you. “Do they have names?” She strokes the puppy's fur.

“They do not,” you reply. “I figured you should be the one to name them.”

“I'll have to think of a good one.” She looks back down at the pup in her arms. “Maybe a matching name for them?”

“What about Mylo and Milo?” Mylo suggests, earning another elbow from Claggor.

“Ha ha,” Vi jokes back. “No.”

“That's so corny,” Powder mumbles. “How about a matching 'M' name?” Powder suggests. “like Mandy and Mack.”

“A dog should have a more badass name like Spike!” Mylo says.

Everyone throws out ideas. Some are better than others. Some are more serious, some are funnier, but none of them really stick. Vi listens to everyone's ideas, occasionally humming or shaking her head “no” to the suggestion.

Mylo even suggests one named “Mylo Junior” in a desperate attempt to include his own name, but gets shut down once more. Powder is getting annoyed, and even Ekko is trying to get Mylo to stop. 

Powder keeps suggesting names, and while there are some that seem like good suggestions, Vi doesn't quite agree with them. Claggor throws out a few names, each also being denied, though they are much better than the names Mylo suggested. Sevika even pitches in, the names that she suggests are a lot more serious and more mature sounding.

In the end, Vi still doesn't feel 100% on any of the names that have been thrown out, until she looks back up at you. “Any ideas? You haven't said anything.”

You look over at the dog on Vi's arm and the one on Powder's, looking back at your girlfriend. You're silent for a second before you suggest, “Bacon and Biscuit?”

“Bacon and Biscuit?” Mylo groans.

Sevika gives him a look, her eyebrows raised. “Odd but interesting.” 

“It's kind of cute,” Benzo agrees.

“It suits them, actually,” Silco nods next to him.

Vi thinks about it, looking at the pups as if considering the name. “Bacon and Biscuit,” she says, testing out the sound of it. “Bacon and Biscuit,” she repeats, and a smile creeps on her lips. “You guys like that?” she asks the dogs, as if expecting them to answer her.

Everyone nods their heads, even if they find it corny, it suits the puppies—or at least it suits them at that moment.

“Bacon and Biscuit,” Powder coos, scratching one of the dogs behind the ear.

“It's not the worst thing we've heard,” Mylo admits. “But Mylo Jr. is way better,” and this earns him a punch in the arm again.

She looks back up at you. “I love it,” she says, looking back down at the dogs. “Bacon and Biscuit,” she repeats once more, loving the way it sounds.

“The names are set, then,” Vander says. “Now that that's settled, let's continue with the birthday party, shall we?”

notes: i do NOT know how to name a pet so....

[zara-renata]

The Jog | ao3 | masterlist

Summary: You go for a jog, encounter some wanderers, get injured, Sylus helps make you better. You know, a typical Christmas oneshot.

Notes: Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, Second person POV, Sylus POV. Not part of the Sylus series, with a slightly more damaged (haha can you believe it) MC than in the series, with a relationship development that differs significantly from the Sylus series. This story contains: angst, canon typical violence, serious bodily injury, medical intervention, MC with self-destructive tendencies, grief, hurt/comfort both physical and emotional, a (hopefully more sensual than graphic) brief NSFW interlude towards the end, a happy ending.

It was supposed to be a simple job. An alert on your hunter watch. A location near where you’re jogging after work. You’re wearing insulated tights, short swords strapped to your back, an Association standard-issue pistol strapped to your hip. Not an average person’s jogging outfit, but you never know when you’ll be needed. And the weather’s probably not ideal in the average person’s opinion—a misting, gentle rain that creates halos around the streetlamps you pass on the gravel path through the long park along the riverfront on the outskirts of Linkon City. It’s dusk, now, but the rain is drowning the air, and it feels like night already. You love the wet hush, the sweeping shush of dead leaves in the winter wind, the spatter of puddles with each footfall. The poor weather means there are very few people out tonight, and you can let yourself relax in solitude. No one to worry about passing if they’re going too slow, or whether you should smile or just ignore anyone you encounter as you run past in the opposite direction—all the minute demands of being a human amongst other humans, trying to weigh kindness versus available energy, a hunter as a role model versus just a person trying to survive each day.

Just you, your footfalls, your breath. Running used to be meditative to you. One of the few times you could actually get your racing mind to be fully present, shutting out all the noise of worries constantly spinning in your brain like your motorcycle’s wheels— reviewing for exams, then training, the regulations of your job, the code of conduct for dealing with the public as a role model and a public servant. Your latest failed relationships. The embarrassing things you blurted during a meeting, or during obligatory after-work drinks with colleagues. While you ran, you could be mindful, when it was just you, your pumping heart, the joy in the strength of your legs, your even breath and healthy lungs. You could be present in your body, for once, instead of only living in your head. 

Running used to be meditative for you, until it wasn’t. It has been harder to find that calm headspace, every time you lace up your shoes and just go—like so many things in your life now, there is the Before, and there is the After… After Caleb. Because before, running was a joyful indulgence in the power of your body. And it was one of the few things you shared with him, through all the years in which your lives were intertwined, and then through the years in which your lives slowly unthreaded as you grew older and life took you in different directions. You would run with him as a reckless child, exploring parks around your grandmother’s house, playgrounds for tag and cops and robbers, hunter and wanderer. Later, you would run together after school during the off-seasons of track and field or cross country. It was one of the few times you both could fully relax, your footfalls mirroring each other, each of your competitive edges often pushing you further and further, harder and faster. The joy you felt sprinting as hard as you could at the end of a long run, only to collapse in the grass with your chests heaving, laughter spilling out of you like apples falling from a tree during the season of harvest. And you took it for granted—because the one constant in your life was Caleb, your running shoes, his teasing. Even when he was away more and more on flight missions, and you were busy at the Academy and then as a new Hunter, you both would do your best to carve time for each other in your schedules, And those times always included a run. Each time, you were secure in the knowledge that there would be a next time. You thought the laughter would be never ending. If you won that final sprint, you’d taunt him, flinging friendly insults about him getting soft in his job that kept him behind the yoke of the ships he piloted. If you lost, you’d accuse him of foul play as he used his longer legs to reach the designated finish line of that weird tree further up at the corner, doesn’t it kind of look like it has a face? Okay-ready-set-go, ooh you snooze you lose, it’s not my fault you weren’t paying attention and now I got a head start!

“Better work harder if you want to keep up, pipsqueak,” he’d say, reaching over to pat your sweat soaked hair, much to your annoyance. You’d swat his hand away and demand a rematch. He’d just laugh, and say “Next time. Next time, see if you can beat me.”

“Pfft, next time I might be too busy for your ass,” you’d grumble, taking it all for granted. The one constant in the blur of fighting wanderers and mind-numbing paperwork and the compulsive need to get out there and do it all over again, day after day.

That was Before. Now, After, you’d give anything to be able to grab his big hand and hold it to your messy hair. To be able to say, yes, next time. Next time, and the time after that. Until we’re old and gray. And you will carry the memories of what little I can remember of my childhood inside you, and I will carry your own youth in me, and we’ll laugh about the things only we know, about Gran’s cooking, about late nights giggling under a blanket, flashlight in hand and the latest graphic novel issue between you, way past bedtime. About sneaking the cookies Gran had made and told the two of you that you were allowed only one a day—then desperately brushing the crumbs from each other’s mouths and cheeks when you heard her footfalls approaching on the polished but worn wooden floorboards of the only home you can remember. About how quiet she’d sometimes get, as she contemplated you with a faraway look on her face. About how she’d suddenly hug you, out of nowhere, and whisper an apology in your hair, clutching a little too tight. You were too young to recognize guilt, at the time. You never knew what she was sorry for. Not while she was alive, anyway. How cruel, that so often life requires death for answers to ancient questions to rise to the surface—a tectonic shift to crack open the earth and reveal the bones buried below.

All of these memories that you now carry inside you, alone, in this After.

You breathe in. You breathe out. It’s full dark now. The miles are stretching out behind you now. You refuse to look at your watch, and let time pass over, through you. You could have been running for only half an hour, or for two hours. It doesn’t matter. Until you’re utterly exhausted, you won’t quit. You need to sleep.

The river flashes between the trees, blurred, shadowed trunks and the glittering water streaks like headlights on a rainy highway. The more the memories come, unrequested and unwelcome, the faster your footfalls become, as if you can outrun the images, the sounds, the scents. Caleb’s clean sweat. How he tells you to use shorter strides if it ever gets to be too much. Just slow down. You don’t have to stop. Just do as much as you can, allow yourself to catch your breath. But never, ever quit. Little steps, until you reach the end. You can do it. You can do it. He shortens his stride, looking ridiculous as the big body he has grown into moves forward with little bitty strides to allow you space to breathe, to regain your strength and be able to push him at the end in your traditional sprint against each other.

But now that he is gone, there is no end. There is no finish line. In this After, it’s only day after day, and you have to keep running, keep busy, keep meeting wanderer after wanderer, keep staring at your ceiling through your sleepless nights, only to get up and do it all over again. Because he’s gone, and you’re still here. No matter how much you shorten your stride, the small steps you take, you will never be able to rest. He told you that you can't quit. You can never, ever quit. You don’t want to think about the holidays coming up, the first since you lost your family. What will you do, as the snow begins to fall, and Caleb isn’t there waiting behind your Gran’s door, the fire already crackling, the presents under the tree?

Your thoughts drift to Sylus. Sylus, who came into your life like a wrecking ball after Caleb exited like… like a bomb. Sylus, who offered to disappear from your life altogether, if you accepted his bet of surviving the encounter with some business rival. The bet you refused to agree to, and in the refusal left the door open for him to walk through. And he has—he barreled through it, slammed it so hard against the wall that it fell off its hinges. You can’t shut your door on him if you tried, now. Sending you gifts. Showing up when you least expect it—out with colleagues, at the arcade, even on a few jogs. Saying such sweet, straightforward things, all in his teasing, playful, taunting manner. He has invited you to his base, into his world, leaving his own door open for you to walk through. But even though you have come to trust that he is currently interested in you, affectionate toward you, amused by you, you still can’t bring yourself to step over the threshold, from light into dark, from the safe, the mundane, into the intoxicating excitement that his life, his touch, offers you, with each brush of his fingers across your skin, holding your hand, his nose along your cheek as he hugs you goodnight. What happens when he gets bored? What happens when he decides you’ve seen too much, that you’re expendable? What happens when he disappears from your life as suddenly as Caleb did, because of the violence of his existence or because of his low threshold for boredom? You have stopped fighting him, when he sends gifts. When he invites you out to dinner. When he wraps his big arm around you during a film in the theater. When he lays you down gently on the bed, and gives such great pleasure to your body. But you are still waiting for his door to slam shut, to cut you in half in the process.

You haven’t been able to ask Sylus what his plans are for the holidays this year. Every time the thought crosses your mind, your heart hurts at the idea of him responding that he’ll have to be out of town, that he’ll be working as usual, that he never does anything special, so why should he start this year? You’ll be fine. You’ll set up a small tree in your apartment, make a toast to your dead in the soft glow of strings of multicolored lights. Go to work the next day, as usual.

It was supposed to be a simple job. You’re running too fast now, the adrenaline coursing through you as you are chased by memories that you want to erase, memories you’re afraid to forget, when your hunter’s watch, which is measuring your distance and your pulse and your oxygen levels, suddenly trills. A shift in metaflux near your location, a possible wanderer along the river’s edge.

You gulp a big breath, and urge your legs faster, your stride longer.

There’s no one around, thankfully, because the night is dark and rainy, the air cold, only you and your lonely memories and thoughts willing to brave the poor weather. Three wanderers, panther-like, with sharp scorpion tails, immediately hostile. You have to eliminate them, even as you admire their savage beauty. You catch the first one by surprise, your sneakered feet muffled on the wet grass, grabbing it by the tail right under the vicious stinger, slicing through meat to remove the threat. It twists, bucks, but you’re already leaping on it, straddling it like a bucking horse, and you drive your short sword into the side of its skull, right at its tender temple, killing it almost instantly.

The other two turn, tails whipping, and charge at the same time. You ride the falling body of the first one you killed to the ground, use the momentum to sprint between and past them, their tails missing you by inches, but your path between them has one stinging the other, and the accidental victim lets out a scream that hurts your heart with how much pain the poison must be causing it. They can’t help their nature. But you have to live, because Caleb is dead. If you let them kill you, they will kill someone innocent, someone whose existence is worthy, and useful, and then you will have failed to make up for all of your shortcomings. You have to earn your death, in the end, and you feel like what you owe the universe for living while Caleb died, what you owe the universe for still being alive when your parents died or didn’t want you, with your limping heart, still isn’t paid. You have to live, because you don’t deserve death, yet.

The stung wanderer collapses, mouth foaming, and twitches in the wet grass, now churned and slick with mud from your tussle with the first one, with the heavy footfalls of the other two. Now it’s just the one left. A fair fight. You circle each other, the rain misting along its scales, glittering in the light reflected from the river, the haloed streetlamps on the distant path. It moves like the panther it resembles, beautiful, deadly, a low rumbling drifting through the quiet evening, its tail whipping. You wait, slightly crouched, ready to dodge when it inevitably loses patience and charges at you. You’re patient. You have nowhere else to be, no one waiting for you, no one to care whether you make it home or not in the end. You wait, swords drawn, chest heaving from your jog, from the adrenaline, your ears ringing from the tinnitus but still attuned to every shift of the magnificent creature before you that you’re going to have to slaughter.

It finally loses patience, snorting once through flaring nostrils, crouching low, powerful haunches rippling, its tail curled over its back, ready to strike at the same time that it launches itself at you.

You can survive being swiped by claws, being ripped by fangs. You will not survive the poison in its tail. You force yourself to wait until the second millisecond, until it’s already in the air, before ducking and rolling toward its form flying toward you, using the slick mud to slide under it—you skid, scramble, rise behind it as its tail strikes the wet, soft earth instead of your fragile body. You slip in the mud but manage to grab it by its tail, just as you did the first one, to grab it by the tail and slice off the poison bulb attached to the stinger. As you slice, the wanderer screams like its companion, whips its body around, and swipes its vicious claws down your side, not too deep to catch on your ribs, but deep enough to flay you open, for the blood to flow.

You’re so high on adrenaline that the pain isn’t immediate. There is only you, the still living wanderer, your life balanced on the edge of your swords, your blood splattering over the muddy ground. You twist, drive both swords into the beast’s vulnerable flank, where its leg connects to its torso. You twist them, doing as much damage as possible, slicing through major arteries, rendering its leg on this side useless. It screams again, your heart squeezes. You’re sorry. You’re so fucking sorry that even in this, you have to live when this creature, doing what its nature tells it to do, has to suffer and die under your bloody hands. The wanderer half-collapses, but still tries to bite you with its gaping jaw, its glistening fangs. You dodge backwards, just out of reach, and then shove one of your swords into its maw, up, up, through the soft palate of its mouth, directly into its brain.

It collapses against you, head still pinned on your sword. You fall backwards underneath it, landing on your ass in the squelching mud. There is only the sound of your panting breath, the softly falling rain. You curl over it, rest your cheek on top of its magnificent head, regaining your breath, honoring it and the companions you were forced to exterminate. 

Passing out from the blood loss is like falling asleep, before Caleb died. A pleasant feeling of exhaustion, of having done your best to earn your rest, and then slipping under, the peace of the deep, deep black.

Sylus is exhausted. Meeting after meeting, shipment inspections, having to explode one supplier to teach other fucks a lesson for trying to pass off counterfeit protocores Sylus needs for modifying a shipping container of Hightowers. He’s finally done, after working through his ‘night’ to secure alternatives to the fake protocores so that other contracts could be fulfilled on time. Sylus always keeps his word, after all. He’s exhausted, and now it’s his version of dawn, but he’s not willing to go to sleep until he checks in with his beloved. He’s in the middle of the N109 Zone, ready to return to base, but he’s impatient and pulls up Mephisto’s app on his phone before settling the helmet on his head and getting on the road.

Mephisto is in your bedroom. Your room is empty, and the windows are shut tight. There’s just your verdant houseplants spilling out of their pots, the plushies tumbled on the floor, the city’s lights filtering through the windowpanes exposed by your open curtains. 

Sylus pinches the bridge of his nose. He has scolded you about this before—sometimes you forget that Mephisto has been programmed not to cause any damage to your place, so if you leave without letting him out the window or the door, he’s stuck. And if he’s stuck, he can’t serve his purpose, which is to keep an eye on you. 

“I survived long before I had you or Mephisto to stalk me. I don’t need him to follow me everywhere I go, running down his battery so that when you actually need him, he won’t be unavailable.” You had scoffed, completely missing the point.

As far as Sylus was concerned, Mephisto’s sole purpose was to be of use to you when Sylus is unable to be there in person to be of use to you. What part of Don’t be shy when using me did you still not understand? “Have you considered that I need him to follow you everywhere you go? That I specifically upgraded his protocore so that his battery can survive a thousand trips a day between Linkon City and the N109 Zone?”

You had just patted his chest indulgently, with a strange, sad little smile on your face that he didn’t like. He opened his mouth to continue, to make sure you understood—it was important to him for you to understand this, but you had moved your hand from his chest to his throat, running your fingertips along the tender skin at his clavicle, palming the side of his neck. He couldn’t help himself—he leaned into your touch, lost his train of thought. Your other hand joined your efforts to distract him, to soothe him, to make him forget what he was just talking about, and then you were cupping his cheeks, smoothing your thumbs under his eyes. It felt so good, to be touched like this by you. For your hands to be on him, for you to be looking at him with such quiet affection. He couldn’t help himself—he leaned down and kissed you, the conversation submerged in the feeling of being treasured by you, of you touching him like he was the fragile one, like he was the precious one—submerged, but not forgotten, because you were the precious one, the one who could be hurt, who he wanted to kiss like this, softly, meeting your lips with his, over and over, gentle presses, nudging your nose with his, until you slid your hands from his cheeks into his hair, kissed him a little harder, with purpose, and he slipped his tongue between your lips like he knew you wanted, and you sucked, sucked, sucked.

He let the conversation go. Later, while you were sleeping, the silken sheets he had replaced your own crappy cotton ones with draped over your hip as you lay on your side, facing away from him, he ran his finger thoughtfully down your spine, admiring its curve in the moonlight through your bedroom window, lower, lower, until he slipped that finger between your legs and pressed back into you, where you were still soft and wet from his earlier efforts. He thought about that strange sad smile, your refusal to let him fully look out for you. He thought about how he always came to you, and you had never once taken him up on his invitation for you to come to his base. To make use of him whenever you pleased. You would accept him when he came to you, ‘ran into’ you, kissed you, but you never initiated. It was like you were still afraid to accept everything he was offering you as unconditional truth, irrevocable once offered. You shifted in your sleep, made a pleasured noise in your throat as he slipped another finger inside you, as he scooted closer behind, spooning you, filling you, as he let his mind wander back to that terrible smile of yours. 

He hated that smile. A smile that isn’t a smile—a hollow mask, containing none of the joy you deserve to feel, all the time. A smile that says that you don’t believe that anyone will care if you don’t come home, now that your family is gone. A smile that says that you can’t conceive of a world in which Sylus’s entire existence revolves around you, your genuine smile, and his utility to you. That if anything were to happen to you, he’d burn down the world and fall on your sword after he had ensured that no one else survived your death. 

Even though you let him in. Even though you let him touch you, you still can’t seem to understand the depth of his devotion to you. He’s been forced to live so long without you. He’s not going to endure that hell again now that he's found you.

Now, he pulls up the app that tracks your hunter watch. You’re along the river, moving faster than a walking pace, but not fast enough to be on your motorcycle. You’re… going for an evening jog? What the hell are you doing, running by yourself after a long, exhausting day in the dark? No matter how strong you are, no matter how skilled a warrior, you should take at least the most basic of precautions and let him know where you’re going if you’re going to behave in such a reckless manner. You’re just one person, against a sea of cruel humanity, against the ever present threat of wanderers.

He wants to pull you into his arms and squeeze you, to press into your skin his worry, his care, his love, to squeeze you so hard that you finally get it through your ridiculous, beautiful, anxious, clever brain that even if you don’t have a care for your own safety, your own value to everyone in your life, but most of all to him, he cares, and if you get hurt, so does he.

This won’t do at all. Sylus is exhausted after being awake for twenty-four hours, but he will always, always have time and energy to spare for you. If you want to go jogging at night so badly, he’ll fucking join you.

The winter night is cold, the gentle rain almost sleeting, billowing curtains turning the streetlamps into something soft, muted stars that Sylus’s sensitive eyes can tolerate. He enjoys the dark, the rain, the cold, as he steps out of the tank parallel to where it looks like you’ve paused to take in a view of the river. Luckily this park, though long enough to enable running enthusiasts a long, uninterrupted stretch of path to run, is narrow, so Sylus could park relatively close to where you’ve stopped and jog to you easily in a few minutes. He doesn’t need to stretch, or warm up his muscles. His body is primed, at all times, for physical action. It’s a perk of the monster within. He shuts the tank’s door and jogs to where his phone indicates you are.

Before he sees you, he can smell it. Blood. Yours. A lot of it. His heart stops beating, his mouth goes dry. On instinct, he presses Luke and Kieran’s contact in his phone. He doesn’t remember everything he says or how he says it. He gives your location, orders them to bring the bags of blood he keeps at the base, the bags with your blood type in them, just as a precaution, the bags you don’t know about, along with all of the other contingency plans has in place that you don’t know about in order to prevent his worst nightmares from coming true—of you dying before him, this time. Of him being forced to live without you, again, as he has through lifetimes already, where he never even found you. He has you now, in this life. You let him touch you, you touch him in return. This time, no matter what fate, or destiny, or any gods have to say about it, you’re both going to live. Together. He has finally found you, and he’s not going to let you fucking die on him. When he’s done with the call, he dissipates into red and black mist.

He re-materializes a few feet away from you. There you are. Two huge wanderer corpses in a muddy clearing where a vicious fight clearly took place, and you, cradling the third wanderer’s head in your lap, slumped over its impressive form. The rain falls softly over you both. Your hair is soaked through, tendrils winding down your cheek, droplets falling from the ends like dew falling from a petal. One of your lovely arms curves around the wanderer’s head, almost as if you’re hugging it, while the other is limp at your side, resting in the bloody mud, your palm relaxed and open to the falling rain. 

You look dead.

You look dead, but Sylus can smell you, your life, your sluggish heart, he can hear your faint breath. You look dead, but you’re still alive.

Although you’re alive, Sylus feels like he’s going to die. He’s died before. Many times. He dies every time he receives a wound that would be fatal to anyone else. It hurts, every single time, because Sylus isn’t the type of man who dies peacefully, in his sleep, at the end of a long, placid life. Each death is violent, frightening, and deeply, deeply painful. His first death, the most painful at all, simply because he knew he was leaving you behind, leaving you alone. The most painful, and yet the least. He could tolerate the sword through his chest, knowing that you would be free from his curse, that you were already on your way to growing your own horns, your own tail, weapons against a world that could not stand against you. It hurt, but he was at peace with his decision to die for you, that first time.

Sylus knows very well what it feels like when he’s going to die. But he doesn’t remember feeling the kind of fear he feels now. A terror that he can’t scream through, because his throat won’t work. He can’t make any sound at all, as he stands frozen for a heartbeat at the entrance to the clearing, only a few feet from you, as his eyes are forced to look at your slumped form, the deep gashes along your side, partially hidden by your arm as it hangs limply, lifelessly.

You look dead.

“No.” He doesn’t recognize his own voice. No. No. No. No.

He has not come this far with you, he has not started all over with you again, from absolute scratch, from your blank memory, fear and hate written all over your face, spilling out of you, so thick her could taste it over the taste of you, your scent, the scent he had been craving for lifetimes, when he found you again—he has not painfully, slowly, rebuilt your trust in him, lured you in like the feral kitten you are, leaving crumbs, treats, tricks, toys, feathers, patiently coming to you and leaving again, instead of doing what he wanted and dragging you with him to his lair, smothering you, shaking you until you remembered his face, his heart, his love. He has not gotten you to the point that you let him touch you, run his fingers along your skin, and you do the same. That you look at him, eyes soft, with affection, with laughter on your tongue, even if you still don’t quite understand the depth of his want for you, his servitude, how utterly you own him, all of him, and always have. He has not come this far with you, only for you to die before he does, from something so mundane, so pedestrian and anti-climactic as a wanderer attack—from just doing your job, and one day, you just don’t come home to him.  He refuses to accept this. This is not the death you deserve. You deserve a death at sunset, entire armies turned on each other, blood like rivers across a ravaged plain, a death by Sylus’s side, as you both fight and maim and kill, the flesh of your enemies between your teeth, each of you crazed with bloodlust for your foes and lust for each other.

Or better yet. You deserve a death at sunset, in Sylus’s arms, when you’re old and gray, and you’re simply a little too tired to keep going. And Sylus will hold you in his arms, and he will press his forehead against yours, your skin paper thin and wrinkled, still perfect, still beautiful, your hair wisps of cotton around your head, and as you close your eyes for the final time, Sylus will close his, and your hearts will stop beating at the same time. A peaceful death, after a long, simple, happy life together, with flower crowns exchanged on anniversaries, your friends around the table, the wine generous, your hand in Sylus’s through all the long years that will never be long enough for him.

You’re not going to die here, under the soft, cold rain, from blood loss after a victorious battle in the dark.

All of these thoughts swirling through Sylus’s nimble mind take only a heartbeat to complete, to bring him to his resolution that he’s not going to let you die here, whether you like it or not. He kneels in the mud next to you, covers you in his leather jacket, slips your phone from your pocket and calls your doctor, holding the phone between his ear and shoulder. As the phone rings, he gently, so, so gently, slips his arms behind your back and under your knees, lifts you in his arms. Your blood is still flowing, and it seeps into the tight athletic tank he had put on in anticipation of jogging with you. He turns, running shoes squelching in the mud, and begins walking back to the tank.

“It’s never good when you’re calling me this late,” comes the crisp, even tone of your primary care physician’s voice. But Sylus can hear the slight smile in his tone, even if you fail to hear it every time.

“You’re right, it’s not good. If you want to see your patient alive again, then you need to come to this location,” Sylus bites into the phone, rattling off the closest address, explaining how to find your and Sylus’s tank.

“If this is a joke, it’s not funny,” Zayne answers after a short silence.

“This isn’t a joke. Wanderer attack, too much blood loss. I already have the right blood type being brought as we speak, but you need to get here, now, for a transfusion.”

“You need to bring them to the hospital—they need proper medical facilities and treatment if they’re to have any chance to survive,” Zayne argues, his distress starting to bleed through his even tone.

“What they need is for you to stop fucking arguing with me, and do as a I say. If you care about them at all, trust that I care more, and I’ll explain when you arrive.” Sylus doesn’t even bother to hide his own agony. He needs your doctor to stabilize you, because you need to be conscious for Sylus to save your life, but Sylus doesn’t have the expertise of a medical professional to get you to the point of surviving long enough to wake up. “Now, are you going to stop wasting time, or not?”

“You have no idea how much I care,” Zayne retorts icily, and ends the call.

Sylus takes his answer as acquiescence to what probably seems like insanity to your doctor.

Sylus walks through the rain, crosses the running path, the expanse of grass and trees, until he’s back on the quiet Linkon City street where he parked the tank. His evol opens the back passenger door and he maneuvers you inside onto the middle bench seat. He strips his now bloody shirt and ties it around your torso, tightening it, trying to stem the flow of your bright, precious blood. He grabs his athletic hoodie from where it was tied around his waist that he brought in case you got cold and hadn’t properly geared up and repeats the motion, trying to create a tourniquet as he waits for Luke and Kieran to arrive, as he waits for Zayne to arrive. He pulls you back into his lap, torso elevated, presses his palms to your wounds through the fabric, orders the SUV to crank the heating to full blast. He busies himself with phone calls, arranging for medical staff to be waiting at the base.

Finally, after what seems like multiple lifetimes—he would fucking know what that feels like—the twins come screeching to a stop in front of the tank at the same time that Zayne’s low-slung, understated but very expensive sedan pulls up behind it.

Zayne drags out a large medical bag from the passenger side of his car as the twins pile into the front seats of the tank, Kieran clutching a medical grade cooler with the blood in it. Sylus’s evol throws open the tank’s sliding back passenger door, and your austere doctor manages to fold himself inside the cramped space.

“I need more room if I’m to do this. Move,” he orders in quiet disdain.

Sylus doesn’t argue. This isn’t a dick-measuring contest, this is your life or death. As gently as possible, he slides out from under you and lays you onto the long bench seat. He teleports to the third row of seats at the back of the vehicle.

Zayne doesn’t even flinch, just flicks his eyes to Sylus’s re-materialized form, from his face to his bare chest, and then turns his attention back to his medical bag without comment. He gets to work, unwinding the makeshift bandages of Sylus’s athleticwear, cleaning your wounds. He sutures the open gashes, stemming the blood flow. After it appears that your bleeding is somewhat under control, Sylus and the twins watch in tense silence as he orders Luke to hang the bag of blood from a hook on the oh shit handle above the passenger door after he has placed an IV line in the tender skin of your inner elbow and connected the tubing.

After he’s done, and the blood is sliding from the bag into your arm, he sits back against the tank’s door, arms crossed.

“Explain why you refuse to take them to a hospital.”

Sylus can’t take his eyes off you as he answers. “While I’m sure you would do a fine job of finishing stitching them up and preventing infection, I can heal them completely. I just need them to resonate with me.”

Zayne’s voice grows sharper. “Who are you?”

“You can call me Skye.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Sylus finally tears his eyes away from you, lying there, blood drained from your beautiful face, deep bruises under your eyes, hair still soaked and matted from the rain and mud. His heart, bleeding and broken.

He looks into Zayne’s pretty hazel eyes. “That’s all I can give you.”

Zayne stares in return, looking for something that Sylus can’t give. Sylus isn’t sorry for the fact that he carries half of your soul, and that you carry half of his. That in this universe, you belong to him, and not to anyone else. But he knows what it’s like, to live lifetimes without you. To look, and never find you. He’s never been in the position of finding you, only to find you bound to another. He doesn’t know what he’d do, if such a thing were to ever happen to him. He likely would not be able to look so calmly into the eyes of the person who had your heart, as Zayne is doing now. After tonight, Zayne has Sylus’s gratitude, and also his respect.

“What I can give you is a promise that you will see our hunter again, healthy and whole, because you helped tonight without asking too many questions.”

Zayne snorts softly through his nostrils. “You didn’t leave me much choice, did you?”

Sylus shrugs. “Even so. You could have stood on ceremony, insisted on going by the book, and likely killed your childhood friend.”

“No, your insistence on doing something incredibly reckless and demanding that I come to you, instead of bringing them to me at the hospital, would have killed them.”

Sylus lifts an eyebrow, enjoying the subtle spark underneath your doctor’s icy exterior. He has a backbone, and Sylus likes that. “Oh, I still would have brought them to the hospital. You just would have had to explain to your board how your heroic hunter patient disappeared on your watch after the blood transfusion without anyone seeing them leave. Because I can guarantee you that the first thing kitten would demand after waking up would be to get the fuck out of there.”

Zayne’s lips part slightly, apparently the good doctor’s version of gaping in surprise. “Kitten?” he asks, bewildered, until he sighs, looks incredibly tired for a moment, and then says, “Never mind. I would rather not know.”

He pulls a prescription pad out of his white lab coat and scribbles on it with a pen. A pen that has a cute little seal on the cap. Sylus has the strangest feeling that he knows where your fucking doctor got such a pen. He makes a mental note to remedy this injustice when you wake up later and are feeling better. “These are the antibiotics they’ll need for the next week, even if you’re convinced that your evol can fully heal them through the resonance. I’m assuming that wherever you’re taking them will have medical expertise on staff?” he asks, ripping the prescription off the pad in one decisive stroke and holding it out between his index and middle finger to Sylus.

Sylus takes the paper, letting his fingers brush against your doctor’s, just to vex him. He does not disappoint as he scowls and jerks his hand back, shoving it into his pocket of his labcoat. “If anything happens…” Zayne’s voice trails off as he returns his gaze to your still form. “Call me. I’ll come, no matter the time, no matter the place.”

Sylus can hear the plea in his words formulated as an order. He is glad you have people in your life who care for you. He makes a note to arrange more opportunities for you to play with your doctor, so you will come to realize that Zayne cares for you as well, as more than just your primary care physician. Another person in the threads of your life, woven together to form the safety net you don’t even realize you have, even without Sylus. Not that you ever have to worry about being without Sylus, ever again. But Sylus has read that it’s apparently healthy for people to have more than one anchor, more than one source of comfort. Friends. People who love you and who take joy in your presence in their life. He wants to give you that. He wants to give you everything. You belong to him, but he can’t begrudge others for wanting to bask in your light—he’ll allow it, as a side effect of you having a healthy, rich, full life. And it doesn’t hurt that it looks like the doctor will be hilarious to torment.

“Deal,” Sylus says. Zayne breathes again, a sharp exhale through his nose, and then extricates himself, along with his medical bag, from the tank, shutting the door decisively behind him.

“Whoa, boss is learning how to play well with others,” Luke says, probably wide-eyed underneath his mask.

“The hunter truly is a miracle worker,” Kieran agrees, sounding pleased.

“Enough. Kieran, drive us back to base. Luke, follow us in the other vehicle.”

They nod, understanding that now is not the time for silly banter, that underneath their boss’s calm exterior is a very worried, frightened man.

As Luke clambers out of the tank and Kieran settles himself into the driver’s seat, Sylus makes his way from the backseat to where you’re lying and lifts you gingerly, settles himself onto the seat, and gently lays your shoulders and head back onto his lap. His eyes do not leave your face, his hands do not leave your hair for the entire duration back home. On the way, he soothes himself with memories of your face, blooming with color, health, your eyes bright, the teasing curve of your lips after saying something mean to him. He soothes himself with plans upon plans about how to finally convince you that you have someone waiting for you now, someone who will not recover if you don’t come home. That you’ve always had people waiting for you, worrying for you, loving you, even without Caleb and your grandmother in your life.

Before Sylus came into your life, waking up was always something you did reluctantly, a slow drag from the peaceful dark to the painful light, something to fear, something to resist, heart pounding with the shrill noise of your alarm in your ears, jerking from a calm numbed sea into the chaotic storm of emotions, of wakefulness, of being back in your body where everything hurt.

Now, something inside you whispers that it’s safe, even as you know the pain is coming. That beyond the pain, the first gasp of breath as your face breaches the tranquilizing ocean of unconsciousness, waiting on the other side is a pair of warm ruby eyes, big hands, soft despite their callouses, a heartbeat that should be a little too fast to be calming, yet soothes you all the same. That waking up has a purpose, beyond your penance, your self-imposed sentence of surviving despite everything, in order to earn your rest when something finally, mercifully kills you. Now, there’s something to wake up for besides guilt, even though you fear it will be snatched away without warning.

You open your eyes slowly. Your body feels heavy, but for once you’re not in pain, as if from the neck down you’re still in the ocean of sleep. You blink, eyes focusing on the ornate crown molding of Sylus’s dark bedroom ceiling. You haven’t been in this room since you searched his beautiful body for the brooch, right before the auction. But you’d recognize his ceiling anywhere. You turn your head on the soft, silk-covered pillow, and just as you knew you would, you’re met with the warm glow of Sylus’s eyes. You wonder how you got here. You’ve never before taken him up on his countless invitations to visit him at his home.

He doesn’t say anything. He just reaches over and palms your cheek, fingertips sliding over your ear, thumb stroking under your eye.

“Hi,” you say, smiling at him. Because you always smile at him, no matter how you’re feeling. You smile at him when you’re happy, when he has said something hilarious, or sweet. You smile at him when he surprises you, when he teases you, no matter how hard you try to keep a straight face, to scowl at him in mock anger for his mischievousness, his intentionally trying to get a rise out of you. You smile at him when your heart is hurting, because no matter how in pain you might be from grief, from worry, from missing him when he’s right there, you care for him so much already, and you can’t help but smile when he turns to look at you.

“Don’t smile at me like that,” he says, dark silver eyebrows drawing together. “I hate that smile.”

You stare at him, feeling the joy of seeing him drain from you like he’s just shoved a knife in your stomach. He hasn’t said something so cruel to you since your first few days of knowing each other.

You swallow. 

It has finally happened. He’s finally sick of you. Whatever pedestal he has had you on this whole time has finally toppled.

“Okay,” you whisper, giving him what he wants. Because what else can you do? You stop smiling. You turn your head away from him again, from his beautiful, wine-glow eyes, his soft silver hair falling over his forehead, and stare at his ceiling. You’re thankful for the strange numbness in your body. It makes it easier to breathe. To tolerate the pain washing through you. You gather your resolve. All you have to do is roll over, sit up. Put both feet on the floor. Get dressed, in your own clothes. You hope you didn’t arrive in any of the clothes he has bought for you over the past few months since he started playing the game of keeping you. The game he apparently never had any intention of finishing.

You try to do what you just imagined, but your body doesn’t listen. You just lie there, like the useless sack of shit you often feel like.

“Fuck,” he says, strangely. He must really, really want you gone.

You laugh a little breathlessly, because what else can you do? “Sorry, I’ll leave as soon as I can. I must have had too much to drink.” Because what else could explain this paralysis? Why else can’t you remember how you got here in his bed again? The last thing you remember is lacing up your running shoes for a run after work.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he says, tone dark. Which doesn’t make any sense at all. 

Oh.  

He’s not only bored with you, but he’s finally decided to kill you. You had wondered, at the beginning, what it would take for him to finally get bored. What he would do, when he was ready to cut his losses. If he would feel compelled to get rid of the now useless witness to so many of his secrets. But you had trusted him enough to keep accepting him when he came to you, when he told you how much he cared for you. When he had told you he wanted you, and that wouldn’t change. You must have let yourself believe him, based on how deeply hurt you feel now. This shouldn’t be a surprise to you, after all. This is why you never took him up on his invitation to come deeper into his world. 

You always have been so fucking gullible.

You suppose that you deserve what’s coming, the fool that you are.

It’s a relief, really. Maybe now you can see Caleb again. See Gran again. Maybe if your parents are dead, you’ll finally get to meet them.

Or, if the universe is actually kind, maybe dead is just dead, and at least you won’t have to hurt anymore.

Part of you thinks that you’re a fucking coward for taking the easy way out. For giving up without a struggle. You thought you could survive anything. That you needed to survive everything, to finally earn your death. But losing Sylus’s affection must have been the last straw for you, because you’re so fucking tired. You could fight an endless amount of wanderers, and still keep dragging yourself back out to do it all over again. But after having Sylus, and then losing him… turns out, that’s the one thing you can’t survive.

“I know it doesn’t mean shit, but I want you to know that I love you. It felt really good, being your toy for a while,” you say.

“Toy?” Sylus asks, voice strained. 

You wonder how he’ll do it. “Just, if you ever cared about me at all, make it quick.” You close your eyes. It’s so strange. You could fall asleep again. You’re so, so tired. You suppose, in a way, you’re lucky. Not everyone gets to die by the hand of someone they love. Who they’d die for anyway. It’s better than bleeding out alone after fucking up against a wanderer.

You feel his fingers on your neck. How poetic. How we met is how we’ll end. Sylus has always been strangely poetic.

“Will you resonate with me?” he asks through the waves that you’re letting yourself sink back into.

Why is he bothering to ask? He could just try to force it, like the first time. It would probably work, since he succeeded in making you love him. You wonder why he wants it now. You’ve only ever resonated during fights. Gun battles. Being caught by surprise by wanderers between Linkon City and the N109 Zone. He’s never asked you for it, outside of the context of violence. But then again, maybe putting you down is just another quick little conflict. If his evol is strengthened with yours, so much the easier to snap your neck. He’s such a big man though. He could do it so easily, even without his evol. Does it really matter why he wants to resonate with you now though? You would give him anything, for any reason, the fool that you are.

“One for the road, huh?” you ask. 

His fingers tighten on your neck. He wants to strangle you so badly, it’s almost funny.

You lift your hand, and it feels like a 16 kilo kettlebell. You sigh as you rest it over the back of his hand, resting at your throat. 

“You can have whatever you want, Sylus Qin.” 

“And so can you, my beloved,” he says, and he sounds so sincere that you’re reminded why you believed his lies in the first place. Anyone, not just your idiotic, desperate, lonely, gullible self would have believed the sweet words coming from his beautiful mouth. Cold comfort, but comfort all the same.

He lifts your hand, turns it, threads his fingers through yours. You summon the very last bit of energy you have, all of the love you carry for him, and let your evol flow through you and into him.

It’s the weightlessness of sleep, of falling, of flying. Floating in a vast ocean of stars, the night sky as it actually is without light pollution, so bright that the word ‘night’ loses all meaning. As your gold waves flow into him, his scarlet and ink tendrils flow into you. Power, strength, the exhilaration of wild, unchecked energy, possibility, coiled to explode into action at the slightest twitch of your fingers or his.

The boundaries between you, between him, your minds, your bodies, thin, dissolve. The resonance has never been like this, before. Every time before, you could sense where he was on the battlefield, anticipate his movements. You could work in sync, powering his punches, increasing the speed at which he gathers energy, charging the storm that would unleash and ravage the hostiles arrayed against you. But you were still you. He was still him. Now, his heart beats in your chest. When he swallows painfully, you feel it in your throat. You are big, strong, powerful, and exhausted.

With your eyes closed, you see him. With his mouth closed, he speaks.

When you smile like that, you look so sad, I can’t bear it, he says. His arms gently curl around you, pull you into his chest. Relief floods through you, holding the person you cherish most in the universe in your arms again. And unlike the past two days, they’re awake.

Your mind is overwhelmed, the disparity between what you thought he was feeling just moments ago and feeling his actual emotions now large enough to make you feel insane. You breathe through the disorientation, focus on the words that just flowed through your mind.

Smile like what?

He doesn’t answer immediately. You just see yourself, like looking in a mirror, but from a greater height. You see your upturned face, your lips curved in the idea of a smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. Like a sketch by a skilled artist with their eyes closed. It’s a smile, but it’s wrong. Sylus, the intuitive creature that he is, can sense the disparity, the disconnect, between your smile and your heart. But he doesn’t understand that underneath the sadness, you are actually happy to be looking at his face, to be the object of his focus, to be able to hold him and laugh with him. That even if your heart is hurting, his mere presence can still bring a smile to your face. He said he hated your smile not because he is finally bored with you, but because the heartbreak in your smile broke his own heart.

He finally answers you with words. Like you did when you woke up. You smiled even though I know you’re exhausted. When your body has been through hell. You smiled even after almost dying two days ago.

You open your eyes, turn your head on the silk pillow to look at him. I almost died?

Sylus scoots even closer, and you realize that he’s holding his body away from your torso, even as he rests his head on the same pillow as you, runs his nose along your cheek. I found you bleeding out after killing three wanderers by yourself. You had already run eight miles before your hunter watch alerted you to their presence.

You stare at him. Notice the deep, dark circles under his eyes for the first time. The exhaustion drawing his mouth tight. Through the resonance, impressions of sour terror, heart-palpitation-inducing anxiety, clenched-teeth determination, refusal to sleep blur together. Sylus hasn’t slept since he found you. He has been lying here by your side, watching your face as you slept, for the past two days. You get the impression that he was already exhausted before he even found you.

But why?

How do you expect me to sleep, when I’m not sure if my beloved is ever going to open their eyes again?

You’re reeling. You just thought he was done with you, that he was about to end you. Your beloved?

You feel a pulse of disbelief, incomprehension, dawning understanding, and heartbreak, as all of the tangled feelings you just went through flow through the resonance from you to him. He had no idea that you have been fearing the end like this, somewhere deep inside yourself, all along. This fear, based on how you began. Based on all that you know about him, the way he lives his life, conducts his business. How easily bored he becomes playing simple games, listening to other people talk. Fear based on your own view of yourself, what you perceive as the value you have to offer other people in your life. He knew you were reluctant to come to him, yes, but he thought such reluctance was rooted in him being a criminal and you a deepspace hunter, that you didn’t quite understand how much he cares for you, and that in time, he’d be able to prove to you just how much he cares through his actions alone. Through his consistency in showing you his love. 

His hatred of your sad smile compounds, grows, as he realizes the depth of the hole inside you.

Now that he can see everything, you’re so scared. You don’t want him to see, to finally realize how disposable you are, even to yourself. Your parents, Caleb and your gran leaving you behind, the association once your heart finally gives out. How you’re only surviving until you receive a sign from the universe that you’ve finally earned the peace that you believe only death can offer you.

But instead of withdrawing, instead of dawning disgust in his heart, your heart, you feel determination rise in you, in him. A firm rejection of everything he just felt from you. An efficient, resounding no. If you don’t fucking believe it yet, he’ll just work harder until you do. He’s been too cautious. He’s been so busy trying to give you time, trying to lure you in like a scared kitten, that he has inadvertently let you believe that you’re ultimately disposable to him, when you’re the one thing he can’t bear to live without. No. No. No.

But why? You can’t help but feel, ask. Why you? When the world is so vast, full of people who are so much more interesting, competent, true equals to the man now running his fingers so gently along your cheek, staring into your eyes, sending wave upon wave of wordless, overpowering love through you.

Along with the warmth, the affection, the gentle amusement, the lust, the endless fascination that Sylus is sending along through your connection to him, you start seeing visions of your own laughing face, your lips curved in a scowl or a mischievous smirk, the few times he’s managed to instigate a big belly laugh out of you, squeals of delight at the claw machine, your competitive smugness following a motorcycle race that ended in a tie, and afterwards your lips bathed in moonlight as the both of you lay in a field of flowers, staring up at the night stars on the side of the road. Your mouth, as a metaphor for every reason he loves you so much. Your thoughtful frowns, betraying your clever mind, your bloodthirsty snarls, revealing your righteous fury when engaging in battle, your grin, telegraphing your dark sense of humor, your ability to laugh in the face of the horrors of humanity, existence, the constant plague of hostile wanderers. Your mouth, slightly open, panting, little noises of pleasure escaping your lips as Sylus makes you feel good with his body, as you make him feel like a king with every satisfied whimper out of your mouth.

You had no idea. All this time, you had no idea the depth of his feelings for you. When he is away on business, how his thoughts return to you, over and over again. When he is here at his home, how he intricately plans the ‘happenstance’ encounters with you. His joining you on jogs, because he’s so afraid something may happen to you when you’re exhausted and alone.

Do you understand yet? He’s pressing his forehead to yours, still being careful of your torso, breathing you in.

You feel his heart, and he feels yours, and you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins, as the connection loops through you, a closed circuit, infinity entwined. You understand that when you’re in pain, so is he. That by doubting his sincerity, his love for you, your own self worth, you’re hurting him too.

I’m sorry, is all you can think. You didn’t know, before. You may never have believed him, if he hadn’t opened himself to you like this, through your resonance. 

He silently rejects your apology. Relief unfurls through you, as he realizes that you’re finally understanding. That now you and he can finally begin.

But now you’re curious about what led you to being here, resonating with him, in his bed.

If I was hurt so badly, why don’t I feel any pain?

There is the feeling of a sigh, of tension released. Like he’s finally breathing after being underwater the entire time you were unconscious, and then worried that he was done with you. The painkillers that I’ve had the doctor pumping into you via the IV since I got you back to base. They’re pretty strong.

You smile. Thank you.

His face grows serious, his red eyes troubled again. Don’t thank me yet. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up, so that you could resonate with me. I need to heal you.

Heal me? You look down at yourself. The bandages wrapped tightly around your torso, the IV in your arm. Don’t I just need time to heal? You can dump me at Akso and Zayne can—

No. Sylus is scowling, full lips turned down like he smells something unpleasant. I can heal you better than your accomplished doctor. Under his thoughts snakes a winding thread of possessiveness, of pride that he can’t quite contain, even under these circumstances.

You’re bizarrely pleased with his jealousy, unfounded as it is. He’s the only person you’ve been able to see, from the moment you looked up into his disdainful face for the first time. Then why shouldn’t I thank you for it, if you can do that?

He brushes your cheek with the back of his knuckles. It’s going to hurt, my love.

You snort softly. I’m used to pain. You turn your head, feel brave enough to kiss his knuckles.

He licks his lips, briefly, uncharacteristically nervous. Not like this.

And when you’re done?

You’ll never forget the pain, but you’ll be fully healed. As if you were never injured at all.

You watch his face thoughtfully, thinking about all the times he has been injured since you’ve known him. And all the times the wounds have closed up right before your eyes. His stone-cold face, as blood turns to ash, as flesh is re-knit.

Is there any way you can heal me now, without feeling the pain yourself?

He shakes his head, as if he can’t quite believe you’ve just asked that. Still only worried about me, when you’re the one who almost died. He's incredulous.

I don’t like it when you’re in pain. You’d suffer a million injuries, to spare him one.

The feeling that fills you is his heart, mirroring yours. He takes the injuries every time, to spare you getting hurt.

When you hurt, I hurt. As I heal you, we’ll hurt together. When it’s over, we’ll be relieved, together. That’s what I’ve been offering, all along. Will you say yes?

You search his eyes, and you want to drink them like the sun-filtered wine they resemble.

Only if you promise me that you will stop taking hits meant for me. That if I’m not fast enough to get out of the way, we’ll heal together, but you won’t hurt twice because of me.

He laughs, low, breathless. He can’t believe you’re trying to bargain on his behalf in the state you’re in. I can’t promise that. Especially after the past few days. I can heal. You almost died. You don’t understand that terror.

But a part of you, deep inside you, does understand that terror. You don’t know how, but the thought of losing him makes you want to rip off your own skin, tear out your own lungs, set the world on fire. You scowl at him. He just leans down, licks your lower lip. I like it when you look at me so meanly. You deserve to be a little meaner, sweetheart.

Not towards you. 

Especially towards me. I can take it. If it’s from you, I can take anything.

But that won’t do, not at all, not for you, not for what you want to give him, especially now that you know how much he cares for you in return. Sylus.

Yes, beloved?

That’s not the kind of love I want to give you.

I don’t know any other kind, darling.

Then I’ll allow you to heal me, if you allow me to teach you that love isn’t something you should have to endure. It shouldn’t hurt more than it heals.

There you are. His smile is soft, dark, welcoming like night after a long day. My sweet, master negotiator. That’s a deal I can accept.

Then heal me. Quickly.

My demanding kitten, he thinks, his affection, admiration, gentle amusement warming your exhausted heart.

He gives you what you ask for, As I will always try to do, as he clutches your cheeks in his big palms, rests his forehead against yours. The pleasant numbness is slowly burned away by an inexorable, excruciating heat along your ribs. It is like having your flesh threaded, jerked, drawn together with a blunt needle, rough twine. You can feel your sundered cells re-merging, the scuffed bones filling in, veins, arteries tugged, braided, pulled tight. The pain is much worse than any injury you’ve ever suffered, including broken bones, a bullet through your muscles, your broken body thrown to the ground in the shockwave from the bomb that killed Caleb and your grandmother.

Through it all, Sylus grits his teeth, holds you, absorbs your pain. Your ribs, his ribs, your flesh, his flesh, fused, whole.

The physical pain fades, but not its memory.

You start to cry.

A feeling of alarm ricochets between him and you. What’s wrong?

I hate that you feel this, every time. I’ve dug bullets out of you, just for you to have to go through this. Every time. You have to be more careful, from now on. I can’t bear you hurting like this, now that I know what it’s like for you.

Now that your wounds are healed, your body whole, Sylus throws his arms around you and pulls you close, crushing you to his chest. I’ll be more careful, if you never doubt again that I feel the same for you.  When you come home from a mission exhausted and bleeding, I feel the same way as you do now, imagining the times I’ve been hurt. You have a reason to come home, even with Caleb and your grandmother gone. Don’t leave me alone. Don’t go and get hurt, when I’m not there to heal you again.

You laugh through your tears, so relieved that you’re no longer in pain. That you can move freely, the numbing effects of the pain medication seemingly gone along with the physical trauma on your body. Who’s the sweet master negotiator now?

You feel your own relief absorbed, rebounding, returned to you in an echo. Relief that he really could share his own healing abilities with you through his evol and your resonance. Relief that he won’t have to call your doctor again. That you are going to be fine, now. That you finally understand how much he cares for you, now. The relief morphs into something else. Something hungrier, more demanding.

He rolls you, settling his big body over yours. His agile, calloused hands yank at the bloodstained bandages wrapped around your torso. He leans down, licks the tears at the corner of each of your eyes, salt on your tongue, on his. He kisses your temple. Your forehead. Your nose. Your lips. Licks you, until you open your mouth, and he’s kissing  you so hard, just shy of rough. Tasting your tongue, the slick softness of your inner cheeks, his entire being radiating a question, May I? May I? And a demand, Let me, let me. I was so frightened, holding your chilled body in my arms, your hot blood soaking through my shirt.

You send your wordless Yes, yes, of course, yes through the resonance. He lifts a hand, snaps his big fingers, a gunshot in the quiet room. The IV in your arm dissolves into scarlet and black ash, drifts into nothing. He leans down, laps at the blood trickling from where the needle was just embedded with his tongue. You taste iron as he tastes iron, and you shudder. He has succeeded in yanking your bandages from your body, and you lie underneath him, chest exposed. He moves from your inner elbow to your ribs, where you were just gravely injured, and licks long swipes across the muscles of your side, across the bone underneath. A beast, nursing a mate’s wound the best way he knows how.

His hunger, his desperation to feel your body against his body, to feel good after so much physical pain, fills you. You reach for his evol, pull it into yourself, snap your fingers, and rejoice when his soft shirt and sleep pants, his underwear, dissolve into colorful ash. He hovers naked above you, a look of surprise on his beautiful face. Perks of the resonance, you smirk. He grins, and it’s lethal to your heart—his canines sharp, his dick hard. He snaps his own fingers again, and you’re suddenly naked as well. You laugh, delighted. You grab his cock and pump it, and he groans, twisting, repositioning himself a little clumsily in the tangled bedsheets so that his cock is now hovering over your mouth and he’s trailing open mouthed kisses along your upper thigh, up to where you legs meet, before sinking his mouth over your most sensitive parts.

You gasp, bucking up into his mouth, wanting more of his tongue, his lips, his saliva dripping onto, into you. He feels your pleasure in his own body, and accidentally bucks himself against your lips. Before he can feel sorry, or regret, you tighten your hold around his big dick and open your own mouth, tonguing his soft skin, inhaling the scent of him. You stuff your mouth with him, your jaw wide open. Through the resonance, the closed circuit fires, sparks. You can’t tell where you end, where he begins, the pushing, the pulling, the taste of him, of you, the saliva dripping out of both of your mouths as you feast on each other, as you choke a little on the size of him, as he swallows, again and again, everything he is sucking from you, the wet sounds of your shared pleasure loud in the room.

When you finally come, he follows, and you swallow as best as you can. Salt, warmth, and musk. He rolls to his side, his still-hard dick leaving your lips with a wet pop, and he uses his evol to lift you—you yelp as he spins you, drops you next to him. You roll, throw your arm around him, and kiss him. He kisses you back, tongue sliding back into your mouth, and you taste yourself, and he tastes himself, through the resonance, through your messy, wet mouths combined.

Sylus. His name is a sigh, a talisman, a comfort, a treat in your mind, on your tongue.

You feel the pleasure course through him, hearing his name in your mind. He answers in kind. Beloved. 

Sylus. You repeat, just to feel the spike in his enjoyment again.

He shudders a little. Never stop saying my name.

That’s an easy demand to indulge from your sweet lover, as far as you’re concerned. Okay, Sylus. You smile against his lips. He snakes an arm around you, pulls you tighter.

You enjoy each other quietly, as you each regain your breath, as you revel in the feeling of being whole, unharmed, finally understanding where the other is coming from, the depths of your mutual devotion.

I want to fuck you again, but it's already taken you longer than I expected to wake up. We’re going to be late.

You pull back a little, look at him questioningly.

I arranged a Christmas party at your place. Well, he thinks, gemstone eyes sparkling in mirth. Your boyfriend Skye arranged a Christmas party at your place. I was afraid I was going to have to cancel, and I can if you’re not up for it. But your friends will miss you.

You gape at him. My friends?

Tara, Nero, Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, the twins—who are Skye’s younger cousins. Through the resonance, you receive an image of your apartment, half the small living room taken up with the biggest Christmas tree the twins could stuff in there, decorated with big gold glass ball ornaments, as well as a hilarious assortment of mismatched crow ornaments. Fairy lights strung over your windows. Pine-scented garlands hanging over the sides of your kitchen island. Big, pretty red and black wrapped presents under the tree, each with one of your friends’ names on them.

You stare into your boyfriend’s smiling, lovely eyes. But why?

Did you think I couldn’t tell how sad the idea of the first Christmas without your family was making you? He tsks, a low disgruntled sound in his throat. I’m insulted.

You hug his big body tighter against your own. You did all that for me?

This is nothing, compared to everything I am willing to do for you, darling.

You bury your head in his big, pillowy chest. Breathe in the scent of him, run your hands through the soft silver hair along his skin. He shudders. Keep doing that and I’ll definitely make us late, kitten.

You laugh, filled with such warmth. You can’t believe how wrong you were, about him, about how much you mean to him. You make the decision to live for more than just the day you can die. To live, instead of just survive. This is Sylus’s Christmas gift to you. You send the thought through the connection to him, and he palms the back of your head, gently presses your face deeper into his chest.

And what do you want for Christmas, Sylus?

You don’t know what you expect to hear as a response. Something expensive, or outrageous. Your soul, which you’re pretty sure he already has at this point.

I already have your soul. Now I just want your company. And... you receive the image of a set of pens with little cute crow figurines on the caps. You look at him in confusion. I want my own pens from my sweet little hunter. It’s only fair, since I’m the one who healed you.

You have no idea what he’s talking about. He already has your soul? Now he just wants pens because he healed you? He huffs a little, feeling your confusion. Don’t overthink it. But that’s what I want.

You decide to let it go. Like Sylus, you’re willing to give him so, so much more. But if goofy, cute pens are what he wants, you’re happy to find some for him, or have them custom made if necessary. A pulse of smug satisfaction fills you through the connection, as if Sylus just won a competition that only he knows is happening.

You drift in peaceful, satisfied silence with him. You think about how you felt when you woke up, versus how you feel now. Settled. Completely reassured. Hopeful, even. You want him to know that you're grateful, for not giving up. For insisting that you resonate with him. For showing you his true feelings when he saw how much pain you were in. Thank you.

He just hugs you, radiating contentment. There is no thanks between you and me. When you’re happy, I’m happy.

Fine, no thanks to you, you tease. You listen to his heartbeat. Think about the Christmas tree, and your friends, waiting for you, arranged by Sylus and the twins. Then Merry Christmas, Sylus.

This, he accepts. The first of many, he responds.

It was supposed to be a simple job. It was supposed to be a simple jog. There was a Before, and an After—Caleb, your gran. Small steps, each one more exhausting than the last, but you couldn't quit. You couldn't ever give up, even though there wasn't a finish line in sight, without the guideposts of your family guiding you home, without anyone waiting if you ever made it back to something resembling home ever again.

But the job almost killed you. The jog ended in Sylus opening himself to you completely, healing you in more ways than one. Now, there is a Before, and an After. Not replacing, but parallel to the Before and After of your family. Before Sylus, After Sylus. The small steps suddenly don't seem so exhausting, anymore. Maybe it's not surviving till the welcome end, but trying to live while you're alive. Maybe you have to create a new home, when one is lost to you. You nuzzle into Sylus's chest, ask a question.

The answer is so sure. So matter-of-fact. So Sylus. Of course I'll shorten my stride for you, beloved. Until you feel strong enough not only to sprint, but to fly again.

[reignpage]

Hiii, I hope you're doing well. In your eden AU, who do you think would be more likely to get a divorce? And the least likely?

Great question!!! I love this (not necessarily the direction I’d go with but if I were to be brutally realistic)

Most likely:

Toji and reader

He’d fold under the pressure of peaking in college He’d be insecure about the fact that he’s going from job to job, settling as a coach, teaching and never doing Whereas reader would succeed in her field It’d become a strain on their relationship And god forbid they have a child together Yeah, they wouldn’t last past the age of 35

Geto and reader

Perhaps too controlling He's around hot clients all the time She'd be insecure He'd do a poor job of reassuring her Also, he might be plagued by his depression and lack of faith in humanity He'd dim her light Make her feel bad for being optimistic

Nanami and reader

Might be a bit of a stretch but it's possible He's around intelligent and successful people She could end up as a housewife, no particular passion or talent She'd be insecure about that Accuse him of cheating or thinking she's stupid They'd divorce because of her insecurity and not for his lack of trying He'd give her the divorce because he thinks it'll make her happy Neither of them are

Least Likely:

Gojo and reader

He's whipped. But also social conventions and the world that they live in Gojo's the type to bend over backwards to keep the people he loves in his life If it ever becomes a failing marriage, he'd lose himself trying to keep her But they wouldn't give up

Choso and reader

Also whipped full stop Thinks she created the moon Needs her for his art And I just can't see him developing a flaw that would make her go ew She's very optimistic and cheerful but also smart She'd know how to handle any angst Choso comes under as a tortured artist

Sukuna and reader

They might divorce but I think it's unlikely for different reasons They need their picture perfect marriage for political reasons They're the only people that'd ever understand and accept each other It's the kind of bond you couldn't ever lose Also, I feel like they'd have dirt on each other lol They're also the type to utilise divorce against each other So every time they have a fight and one brings up divorce to make the other cave (depending on the situation, they'd both be likely to actually succumb) The other would say, serve me the papers and you'll see your name on the NEWspapers along with the words 'drugs' or 'murder' or 'bribery' etc etc

[wndrhyuka]

thoughts about fwb wonu who’s down baaaaad and you might never know if not for the little things he does to show you ☝️😩

this is so clear to me too anon because wonu can’t help but show affection, it will show somehow fr

warnings: nsfw college au! rough wonu fem reader

wonu and his 12 other frat brothers love to host parties, which is actually how you met.

that night he took you upstairs to his room, flashing a filthy smirk at whichever frat bro saw him guiding you upstairs.

he fucked you with the least amount of intimacy or gentleness, leaning towards being rougher with you. doggy on his mattress, palm pressing your face into its softness, spanking you until your ass was red for his pleasure only, and finishing on your back.

your pussy alone was the best he’d ever had. tight, slick, gummy walls engulfed his length completely and he was an utter mess above you. he wouldn’t let you see it, of course, having to maintain his reputation of casual hookups meaning nothing and never craving a previous partner after already fucking them.

after that party, it was only then he realized how often he saw you in his day to day life. three times a week in one of his classes, on the same routes to nearby buildings, in the campus cafe around the same times. it was you all along that he’d seen around.

so he gains the courage to “formally” introduce himself, still keeping up his nonchalant manner, and ask for your number. “if you ever need some relief you can just text me, yeah?” he spoke a simple code you understood. and you agreed.

after each hookup, he got more intimate. switching from doggy to cowgirl to missionary. going from spanking you to leaving hickeys to kissing while fucking you. it used to be you asking when to hookup until he started asking too, but more frequently.

you didn’t even bat an eye at his shift in behavior, only seeming to notice that the sex was just that much more enjoyable.

poor wonu wondered if he went too far when he bought you a drink, unasked for, and gave it to you in class.

“got this for you,” he’d mutter offhandedly while placing the cup on your desk.

you quirked a brow and saw his expression turn defensive.

“i-i mean you were just saying how late you’d been studying so… i figured i might as well get you a coffee while i was getting one too,” he spits.

“but you don’t have a coffee?” you spoke, noticing his bare hands and desk.

his eyes widen before saying, “i… finished mine already, hah,” he coughs and faces forward in the lecture, realizing he was caught slipping.

the careless seeming frat boy had a little crush on his fwb and knew he would get teased if any of his bros heard about it so he kept it a secret. but he simply couldn’t hide just how much he craved you. he might not have been dating you, but being with you in any capacity was enough for him.

(sorry if this isn’t what u were aiming for anon i think i got carried away T^T)

[pinkyqily]

Lauren James x reader

Lauren spots reader at every game and every time before final whistle reader leaves, one time she tries to approach reader because that one time reader had stayed till the end of the game but when she approached the seats where she was sitting reader had disappeared, the girl's thinks she's making thing's up because they've never seen someone of the discription until the last game at Stamford Bridge...

(my thought process ran out so the ending is up to you 😭)

𝙄𝙉 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘾𝙍𝙊𝙒𝘿 - laurel james x reader

Summary: in which your girlfriend teammates think she made you up until recent games were they finally meet you.

Contains: fluff, suggestive

A/n: Sorry it took me so long to complete your request, and hopefully you enjoyed reading as much i did writing it, my request are opened so if you have any send em'. And as always feedbacks,reblog,likes,comments are always appreciated as they motivates me 🫶🏿

You and Lauren had been talking to each other for over a year now before she had asked you to be her girlfriend.

It was a heartfelt proposal, the moment you walked in your favorite coffee place that she had reserved just for the two of you made you speechless from the luke warm lights to the well homemade pastries and drinks along with the beautiful garden view.

Which was one of your favorite things about the cafe. Everything felt perfect at that moment. so when Lauren asked you to be her girlfriend even before she could get those words out, you immediately connected your lips to hers.

Which brings you to now every time Lauren would try and introduce you to her teammates something always happened that makes you leave early than expected. You would be in the stands wachting your girl and her teammates play, but every time before the final whistles blows you had to leave because something was always coming up.

The first time that it happened, you were at chelsea home game but had to leave due to someone breaking into your house as you had gotten a notification. from your homes alarm system indicating unknown activity.

which was a false call, It was your neighbors cat that had gotten through using the kitchen windows. Which lj understood, but that didn't stop her from all the teasing you'd get from her.

The second time, it happened you had to leave early around halftime because of a wardrobe malfunction and getting called back into work as you worked for a high journalism company.

Your girlfriend understood, but when she got home, she was the reason for a full wardrobe malfunction with your clothes,body, and bed.

And we'll today would be the third time that you had disappeared and Lauren's teammates had been giving her a hard time telling her that it was okay if she had an imaginary girlfriend even though you were hundred percent real to lj.

Why wouldn't you when she would come home combine her body heat to yours.

But that was not the case with lj and her teammates because after searching for you in the friends and family section, it was a no go as you had already left.

You on the other had had to leave your section because of the nois as you couldn't hear the other end if your cellphone call. But you were able to make it onto the field with lauren's brother reece, who had been waiting for you.

Seeing lj getting picked on her teammates and her about to head inside you quickly called out to her.

"Lauren baby wait up". You said loud enough for heads to start turning your direction.

Millie was the one with a shocked face following in the others who had a huge look of disbelief.

"Hey there, you thought you left me."She told you

"Office called, and it was getting way too noisy, and I had to move it outside."You told her.

"Wait, so you're actually real, and this one right here wasn't lying all this time when she told us you were coming." Sam voice spoke up.

"Well, I was at your last two games but had to leave due to technical emergency, so it definitely wasn't a lie, and I'm as real as it gets."You told her.

[impsandstars]

Communication through dance

One of my absolute favorite tropes is when some form of dancing is involved between the main characters.

Moments where one of the main characters has to watch their love interest dance with someone else (looking at you Apology Tour).

Moments where the main characters dance but they are currently on rocky ground, unsure of where they stand with the other person (looking at you Sinsmas).

Dancing is one of those socially acceptable forms of prolonged touch that always create great moments of revelations or moments of connection; newfound potential or reaffirming something that has been there all along.

The scene of them dancing at the end of Sinsmas is much more than just their verbal exchanges. First and foremost the fact that Blitz asked Stolas to dance at all instead of going back inside (even when Stolas was like it’s okay, I’m good, go enjoy the holiday) says a lot. Blitz cares about him so much, wants him to be happy even though he knows life is a dumpster fire for him right now. And maybe he is also making up for the fact that he didn't get to dance with Stolas at Verosika's party (and saw Stolas react as if he had never been asked before). It's a relatively safe way to show his affection for Stolas without it being taken as too intimate or sexual. Stolas could back down if he wanted to, say no thank you, which allows him to have some agency.

Then we get to the actual dancing. It’s not just swaying back and forth, head on shoulders so they can’t see each others faces. They are moving as if they have done this dance before. Seamlessly changing hands, twirling, steps fluid (Blitz doesn’t even once miss his footing on the thin railing) and staring right into each others eyes.

They fall back into a routine, semi-flirting, touching and holding each other because they are familiar with the others body and how it moves.

And the dip! Stolas laughing! His little leg lift!! It was a moment of connection for them, soft, transcending them to a moment where all their worries have been swept aside and they just have each other. A subtle reminder of the way they were before, of the ease with which they work together.

Then, THEN, we get to the end, breathing slightly elevated, eyes widening and staring at each other lips (this is my favorite moment of any dancing trope, the realization that 'woah now, there is something here; I can’t stop gazing deeply into your eyes'). They both realize at the same moment that that spark between them hasn't fizzled out just yet. The potential for more is still there.

But Blitz, my beautiful lizard man, knows that he needs to take this slow, that jumping into anything more right now is moving too fast. There is still so much that needs to be figured out and healed. So he ends their dance with a hug. Comfort and love. Ugh these two.

And all of it is done under the warm glow of a full moon. (Or is that the portal to heaven?) Either way it’s implied that they are dancing under the full moon. And of course the lyrics (Sam Haft I see you) "truer love is hard to find".

[xiaomainlmao]

Genshin characters and S/Os with similar personality- Childe, Kinich and Ganyu x gn! reader

A/n: it's been over 2 years since I last wrote something like this, it feels almost nostalgic to revisit my old ideas

----------

Childe

Sparring sessions

Lots of teasing

PDA

People genuinely thought you guys were joking at first, but when they realise you were actually dating, they weren't too surprised either

You both give off power couple vibes, so people don't approach you unless necessary

loves flirting and loves it even more when you flirt back

competes to fluster you out of your wits (if you manage to absolutely break him down first, then he's going to fall in love all over again)

you guys discuss the fights you get into while tending to each other's wounds

"Did you win?"

"Who do you think I am? Of course I did."

modern au? sends you a bunch of memes, reels and is updated with all the modern slang words ("hey pookie *with rizz* 😋" is his favourite conversation starter phrase with you)

Kinich

major acts of service and quality time kind of guy

subtle flirting

people don't realise you both are together for really really long

they probably never would've found out until someone heard you both discussing your "mora-less transactions" while standing a lot closer to each other

the people in tribe were probably first curious about how you both even got together, before realising you're both straightforward asf

if someone comes up to either of you to ask if you're together, they get a very curt reply. "Yes."

he likes taking you along for his commissions

he feels like he can depend on you to catch on in difficult situations due to your similar thought pattern

casual little strolls, with little to no exchanged words

holding hands as you both walk, because with him, even silence is comforting

shopping sprees!! but you only end up buying essentials

you have to remind each other that buying non-essential items just because of urges is fine

Ganyu

you have to remind each other to eat

first you both over-work, and then over-work to reduce the other's work so that they don't over-work

it becomes a vicious cycle and Ningguang has to give you both the day off for you to actually spend time with each other

herbal tea dates!!

you both probably have a little garden with all sorts of herbs and flowers growing there

she loves to sit there and just gaze at your combined efforts in maintaining the plants

you both probably end up finding a new hobby such as crocheting or knitting together, and it ends up being a destressing activity

Xianyun (mama bird and her motherly instincts) never knows whether to be happy that Ganyu found someone she loves, or to be annoyed because now she has to make sure that both of you take care of yourselves

----------

[thewertsearch]

pipefan413: The children pledged to each other that one day they would run away together. pipefan413: They followed in the footsteps of the dear colonel, in defiance of the old batterwitch. They studied his every jape, and practiced them in secret!

She could have left, then. Planned to leave, even. Grandpa didn’t abandon her, like I'd originally assumed – he always intended to flee alongside her.

pipefan413: But as they grew older, their interests drifted apart. The boy developed a passion for adventure and put aside his study of practical jokes. He dreamed of wealth and fame and discovery and swore he would wander the world. pipefan413: One day he decided to run away with the loyal dog he inherited from their father. He asked the girl if she would come along, but she was too scared of the retribution that might follow.

But I guess the adolescent Nanna didn’t have Grandpa’s confidence, nor his fearlessness. Left alone with a witch of a woman, her childhood was probably not dissimilar to many other children in this sad saga.

pipefan413: The boy scoffed at the danger, and assured his sister there was nothing to worry about. But he had not seen first hand what the baroness was capable of!

It sounds like Nanna directly witnessed some specific evil act. The woman did run a corporation, though, so that was probably just a typical Tuesday for Betty Crocker.

pipefan413: He told his sister that he believed in her, and that she could handle whatever the witch could throw at her. [...]

Those are some pretty harsh words for a girl destined for a lifetime of abuse - but at the same time, he did openly ask her to run away with him, and she couldn't do it. What was he meant to do, kidnap her?

I don't blame him for leaving alone, either. Grandpa was also an abused child, and it would be asking a lot of him to remain in an abusive household to defend another child. He needed to leave that situation for his sake, just as Nanna needed to leave it for hers.

Pipefan413: [...] And with that, he was off, and she would never see him again.

But, all that said, he should have come back eventually. He didn’t need to abandon her for an entire lifetime.

Whatever extenuating circumstances there may have been, it can't be denied that he started his life as an adventurer the same way he ended it - by leaving someone who loved him behind.

pipefan413: One day, the girl was able to gather enough bravery to mention her brother to the baroness, and her desire to see him again. With contempt, she guaranteed that this could never happen. When the girl asked why, that is when the baroness began to reveal to her more than just her baking secrets. pipefan413: [...] The colonel was not their father, nor was the baroness their mother. They in fact had no father or mother at all, nor were they ever actually born. They had both fallen from the sky! They were not actually brother and sister as they had been told either. Again like in many fairy tales, the truth was that they were always destined to become married one day. They were to have two children, a son and a daughter, and these children were meant to save the world! […]

Wait, what? Betty Crocker knew Sburb lore?

...I think it says quite a lot about the Homestuck experience that I'm not even particularly surprised. Of course Betty Crocker knew Sburb lore.

It’s clear that she didn't know everything, though. She was aware that John and Jade would eventually happen, but assumed they’d be born naturally - which makes it sound like she was just getting fragments of future events, much like a Prospit dreamer’s visions.

...or, like a wielder of the Cueball, which we already know was in her family’s possession. It’s sounding a lot like even Betty fucking Crocker was a Scratch pawn all along.

[stayteezdreams]

Ghost of Christmas Past

Plot: Due to circumstances neither of you could control, you and your first love were forced apart, never to see each other again. Or so you thought. Until one Christmas, years later, when fate decided to cross your paths again.

Pairing: Kim Hongjoong x Gn!Reader *no specific age is mentioned but the reader and Hongjoong are referenced to be within the 26-29 age range.

Warnings: Shitty parents, mainly shitty father. Both on Hongjoong's side and readers side, but Hongjoong's father gets better in the end.

Words: 4.5k

With all the strength you had, you tried to pull yourself away from your father's grip. You needed to get to Hongjoong, you knew you couldn't stop them from taking him away, but you needed to try.

At the least, you needed to say goodbye. To tell him you loved him one more time.

Seeing him being forced into his father’s car, your chest ached painfully as tears poured from your eyes.

"Hongjoong!"

As Hongjoong struggled with the man forcing him out of his home, his head snapped in your direction at the sound of your voice.

You were trying to get away from your father, who was holding you back. Your eyes were desperate, as tears streamed down your face.

Hongjoong pushed the man in front of him as he called out to you. "Y/n!"

"Hongjoong!"

Almost getting away, but being pulled back again, he cursed at the man, "Let me go! Y/n!"

As Hongjoong was forced into the car, he pushed and kicked, calling out for you again and again. His eyes burned as his heart broke. The car sped away, and he could do nothing but press against the window as he got one last look at you as you finally slipped from your father’s grip and you ran after his car.

You chased after the car until your lungs burned and your legs gave out. Watching as it disappeared, taking Hongjoong with it. His desperate pleading eyes from the back window being the last time you saw him.

As your alarm blared, your eyes shot open, the memory of Hongjoong being torn away from you fading as you rubbed your eyes. A familiar ache sat in your chest as you let out a sigh and turned off your alarm.

Sitting up on your elbows you thought back on your dream, well, it was more of a memory. In your dreams a few things often changed, sometimes your mother was there, sometimes Hongjoong broke free from the bodyguard and ran towards you, but never reached you. Sometimes you caught up with the car, but Hongjoong was no longer inside.

This time, it was almost exactly as you remember, though it had been nearly ten years since it actually happened, so it was all a bit fuzzy, though the pain of the moment forever remained.

Climbing out of bed you wondered why you dreamt of it, of Hongjoong. Maybe because it was nearing Christmas. It was around this time of year that he was taken away. You had a lot of plans for that Christmas, but you were torn apart instead.

As you slowly made your way through your morning routine, you couldn't help but relive the past. Your dream bringing forward the familiar ache of heartbreak.

You and Hongjoong were like a modern-day Romeo and Juliet, with a little less death of course.

Your parents hated each other, well, your fathers hated each other, your mothers were just along for the ride.

You and Hongjoong were taught from a young age that you were rivals, enemies, that you were to never be in the same circle. But that didn't last long. The second the two of you were able to think for yourselves, you realized just how stupid their rivalry was. Based solely on business and money.

In Middle School, you and Hongjoong ended up bonding over your annoyance at your parents. It turned into a friendship, which turned into a relationship a short time later.

By the time you were in High School, you and Hongjoong were in love, planning to run away together as soon as you were old enough. To live your lives together, away from your father's control.

Your relationship was held a secret until your third year of High School, when one of your fathers’ colleagues saw you together on a date. Once your father found out, all hell broke loose. You were forced to change schools, but that didn't keep you apart.

So lost in their own rivalry and hatred for one another, Hongjoong's father, when learning that you two would not be easy to separate, and growing more irritated with your father’s anger, decided to send Hongjoong away to attend school abroad.

That was the day you lost him once and for all.

One day, Hongjoong and his friend Seonghwa went back to his house after school. They were blind-sided when they arrived, finding all of Hongjoong's possessions packed up.

After learning what was happening, Hongjoong told Seonghwa to come get you. He wasn't sure he would be able to stop his father from sending him away. But if he failed, he needed to see you, he needed you to know he wasn't giving in without a fight. That he didn't want to leave you. He knew it would be his father's intention to make you think he left you.

You tried to get to his house to see him in time, but your father chased after you, stopping you just before you got there. So, all you saw was Hongjoong being shoved into a car and whisked away to who knows where.

For months you hoped you would see him again, find out where he was so you could call him, write him a letter, anything to get in contact. But your father's made sure no information about Hongjoong got to you.

Eventually, your father made a deal with another company and got transferred to another city. So, your whole life was packed up, and whether you wanted to or not, you were forced to leave the one place Hongjoong would know where to find you.

You spent hours trying to find where he ended up. Finally contacting Seonghwa, but learning his father even kept him in the dark. So, you never found him. Eventually, as time passed, the heartbreak faded into a dull heaviness in your heart.

When you eventually moved back to Seoul on your own, you found yourself outside of Hongjoong's childhood home. You weren't sure what you were really doing there. Nothing good could come of it. But you thought, maybe, just maybe, Hongjoong might be there.

But he wasn't.

The man living there ended up coming out to see what you wanted after he saw you staring up at his house from the road. He informed you that the family that had lived there before had moved a few years earlier, to where he had no idea.

Without any hope left, you gave up on ever seeing Hongjoong again. But Hongjoong was, and would always be, your first love. And whether you knew it was there or not, the hope that you might cross paths again one day would remain with you forever.

You had been in relationships since then, but none ever lasted very long. Even though you were an adult now, and knew your relationship with Hongjoong was founded out of childhood friendship and bonding, you didn't ever doubt, had you not been separated, you would have been together forever.

Stirring your coffee, you smiled softly as you looked out at the cold winter sky. Ever since you moved back here after college you had been alone. Your father remained harsh and mean, your mother uncaring. So, you spent most Christmases alone.

A familiar sense of melancholy and loneliness rested in your chest as you finally shook yourself from your thoughts to get ready for the day. Getting dressed; your eyes kept drifting to a red scarf in your closet. Giving in, you pulled it from its hangar and wrapped it around your neck. You ran your hands over it as you smiled at the memory it came with.

A scarf given to you by Hongjoong during the first Christmas you were dating. Yours and Hongjoong's initials were embroidered onto the ends. You wondered if he still had the matching one, he got himself.

Did he still think of you? Did he try to find you?

You sighed as you allowed the melancholic nostalgia to take over, knowing it would sit with you all day, just as it always did when you thought of Hongjoong.

As Hongjoong walked down the once familiar streets of the city, he felt an odd sense of melancholy. Many of the buildings and shops he knew were changed or demolished. The faces he once saw every day were replaced by strangers.

Stopping by the park he used to frequent; he looked around with a nostalgic warmth washing over him. He smiled as he saw the snow-covered roses. The snow was sudden, catching everyone, even the flowers by surprise.

He wasn't sure why, but they reminded him of you.

Beautiful, bright, but repressed under something so cold.

A melancholic yearning filled his chest as he thought of you.

A couple years after he was sent abroad, his father began to relax in his stubbornness. Maybe it was because he was aging, or the way Hongjoong shut him out after he sent him away, but he started to regret hurting him.

After he saw how heartbroken Hongjoong was, how distant he became after he lost you, he finally saw he was wrong. He apologized for forcing the two of you apart. For forcing a petty rivalry that went too far onto the two of you.

As a way to make amends, Hongjoong was allowed to return home when he wished. But unfortunately for him, it was still too late. You were gone. Your father whisked you away one summer, moving you to another city, and ending the connected rivalry between your families.

By the time Hongjoong's father found out where you were moved too, another way to try and make amends, you were gone. You had moved out of your family’s home and gone off on your own to only God knew where.

As sad as this made Hongjoong, he was also glad. Glad you were able to escape, glad you were able to be brave enough to leave. You deserved to be free. He only wished you found happiness along the way, even if it meant he wasn't a part of it.

Recently, he got a job back here in his hometown. Even though his family moved out of his childhood home some years ago, the area still felt like home.

Though he had no idea where you ended up, he had a hope that one day he might run into you on the streets you used to stroll down together.

You might not have any feelings left for him, you might be in a relationship, you might even be married. But he still hoped that he would find you again, if only to learn that you were happy. That would be enough for him.

No matter who he dated or for how long, you seemed to be the only one who would ever hold his heart. And he knew it would remain with you forever.

As Hongjoong looked across the park, his breath caught. He must be imagining it. It must be because he was thinking of you so much that he imagined it.

Even with this thought, Hongjoong's legs moved without hesitation. The hair color, the height, the scarf, the scarf. His quickened pace turned into a run as the figure disappeared into the crowd of passerby’s.

Your name was on the tip of his tongue, desperate to be called out, but forced into silence out of doubt. His eyes darted from figure to figure, but you were nowhere in sight.

He let out a shaky sigh filled with an ache he didn't know he still held so deeply.

"Y/n." Your name left his lips like a fading dream he was desperate to cling to.

It wasn't you. It was just his imagination. You weren’t here.

Taking a few deep breaths as he tried to get rid of the painful ache in his chest, he crossed the road, aware his eyes were still searching for you, though he knew you weren't there.

Absentmindedly he grabbed onto the embroidered scarf around his neck, gripping the soft fabric tightly as he walked down the sidewalk. Not knowing that if he had just looked back one more time, a familiar face would be turning back at that exact moment.

A tingle on the back of your neck told you to look, though you weren't sure for what. You had the most peculiar sensation that there was someone behind you, someone you knew. You turned expecting to see a friend or coworker, someone whose familiar presence you sensed. But none of the faces behind you seemed familiar.

Furrowing your brow, your eyes cast over the people walking around you, your eyes lingering on one figure for a moment longer than the others.

Shaking your head and deciding it was nothing, you turned back and continued to head to work, forgetting about the feeling almost as quickly as it crept up.

No matter how hard he tried to distract himself, Hongjoong's thoughts kept finding their way back to you. So lost in these thoughts, he continuously zoned out instead of working.

Jumping as someone smacked his shoulder, his eyes met Seonghwa's as he chuckled. "Why are you so distracted today?”

Hongjoong sighed as he spun back and forth in his chair, "I thought I say Y/n earlier, but I think I just imagined it."

Seonghwa let out a soft sigh, the memory of the day you last saw each other passing through his mind. He was just an onlooker, a friend with no power to intervene, but the scene hurt him. He knew how in love the two of you were, seeing you forced apart stuck with him all these years. Ever since he and Hongjoong agreed to work together here in their hometown, he knew Hongjoong had been looking for you.

He wished he knew where you ended up, but it was a mystery to him as well. "Are you sure you imagined it?"

Hongjoong leaned his head back, "I think so. I was thinking about them right before it happened. And I didn't see their face, I think they just reminded me of Y/n."

Seonghwa nodded softly as he gently patted Hongjoong's knee, "You're still in love with them, aren't you?"

Hongjoong looked back at Seonghwa and nodded, "We never had an ending. We were forced apart, the pain of that never allowed the feelings to die naturally. I can't help but hold onto them."

"Who knows, maybe Y/n will make their way back home one day. You did." Seonghwa said somewhat passively, not sure if the comment would help or not. He turned back to his own work, leaving Hongjoong to wonder if you hadn't already returned.

You stretched as you finally finished work, looking out at the soft falling snow. Taking out your phone to order an Uber, you hesitated before putting your phone back in your pocket. You would walk home. A walk in the snow might do you some good.

Your feet took you down a once familiar path as you set your eyes on the park you used to frequent. The slide and swings were covered in snow, no children in sight. It was out of the way, the opposite direction of where you lived, but you frequented this path on purpose many times. Just to remind yourself of the past.

The sky was a dark grey, the sun hidden behind sheets of clouds and snow. Kicking the snow from one of the swings, you sat down, swaying gently as you looked around the park.

You and Hongjoong had come here often in the past, it was your hide out spot to be together in secret. Youd bring snacks and stare up at the sky for hours.

'Why am I thinking about him so much today?'

You had an odd feeling in your gut ever since you had woken up from your dream this morning. Assuming it would fade you continued on with your day, but it only got heavier. Did something happen to him? Was your connection still so deep that you felt it?

Your wandering thoughts caused the pit in your gut to grow as you began making yourself worry about something you couldn't know the answer to. Sighing as you looked around, your eyes paused on the snow-covered roses. You smiled at the sight, finding it both sad and beautiful.

Hearing footsteps crunching in the snow, you began to look for the source of the sound, your heart leaping as a voice called out right as you spotted the person approaching you.

"Y/n."

He hadn't imagined it, it was you.

After work, Hongjoong declined Seonghwa's offer for a ride home, deciding he wanted to walk back home for some reason.

Wanting to walk through the park again, maybe to bring back some fond memories of you. The last thing he was expecting was to actually see you.

But there you were, sitting on the same swings the two of you used to frequent years ago. Your scarf wrapped tightly around your neck as you swayed gently back and forth.

As he approached you, his heart was pounding so heavily he feared it might stop all together. You were older, obviously, but he could tell it was you from a mile away. You were the same, you were Y/n, his Y/n.

Your name left his mouth like an unspoken secret desperate to be told. "Y/n."

How was it possible? How could he be here? Right now, at the same time as you? Was it really him? Of course it was, he looked the same. It couldn't be anyone else.

"Hongjoong?" His name was barely audible, but just loud enough that the sound of it made his heart jolt painfully in his chest. He had dreamt of hearing you say his name again for so long.

Suddenly, standing from the swing, your heart was beating wildly as your stomach fluttered nervously. The two of you stared at each other, as if afraid you might disappear with the slightest movement.

"How- Why are you- What?" Your voice was bewildered as you tried to put together what was happening.

Was this why you were thinking of him so much today? Could you feel that he was close by? That he was here. Was that even possible?

He took a tentative step towards you, his breath shaky. "I thought I saw you earlier today, but I convinced myself I imagined it, but you're here. You're right here."

He seemed just as perplexed as you, as if seeing you was the last thing he expected, but far from the last thing he wanted.

Thinking back to earlier in the day when you felt as though someone was looking at you, you wondered if that was what you felt. Had he been so close without you knowing?

"How long have you been back?"

You asked, nervously filling the silence as a thousand questions and words filled your brain.

"A couple weeks. You?"

"A few years."

He let out a sigh, he should have come back sooner.

His eyes scanned over you as familiar emotions washed over him again. He let out a soft chuckle as he couldn't help but grin. He met your eyes, and you saw them shining a bit brighter as so many emotions passed through them.

"You look good. Are you? Doing good, I mean?"

You nodded softly, letting a smile form on your face as well. "I'm..." you hesitated, even after all this time you felt like you couldn't lie to him, you never could. But you should. This wasn't the same anymore, was it? "I'm good."

Hongjoong's heart dropped at this. The tone of your voice so familiar to the childhood sweetheart that hid all their hardships as to not worry him.

His smile turned sad as he walked closer to you, stopping a few feet away. "Liar."

Taken aback by the sudden familiarity of his reaction you let out a sharp chuckle before covering your mouth. His smile turned into a grin again as his heart fluttered. Your smile was something he feared he would never see again.

Before you could speak, his arms were suddenly engulfing you. You caught your breath as you froze in his embrace.

As the smell of his cologne washed over you, you felt a familiar warmth and comfort you had long since forgotten.

"I missed you." His voice was soft, but burdened with emotions you felt the familiar sting of.

It had been ten years, but he still felt like home.

Slowly, you wrapped your arms around him, tears stinging your eyes as you whispered back. "I missed you too."

Hongjoong felt a heavy weight in his chest disappear as he tightened his arms around you. He finally found you again, he finally found his way home.

You weren't sure how long you stood there in each other's arms before you finally pulled away from each other. You swallowed nervously as he stared at you, studying your features.

He placed his gloved hands on your cheeks as he wiped away a stray tear. "We have so much to talk about."

You nodded in agreement, excited that so many questions could finally be answered.

"I have a question first though." He said softly and you rose your brow. "You aren't dating anyone are you?"

You paused for a second before you laughed. That was not what you were expecting his first question to be. You shook your head. "No, I'm not."

He grinned, a familiar mischievous twinkle you used to swoon over. "Good." Taking your hand in his he squeezed it before he met your eyes again. "Come with me."

Taking the lead, he led you out of the park and down the street. Even though you didn't know where he was taking you, you didn't care. In the past you would have let him lead you to hell and gladly follow him, and you learned quickly, those feelings hadn't really changed at all.

Sitting at Hongjoong's kitchen counter, you held your hand up, "Okay so, basically, your dad felt bad about what he did and let you come back home, but by then I was gone. Then, he tried to find me, and when he did, I was already gone again. And then by the time I came back here, you had left again??"

Hongjoong nodded and you let out a soft sigh as you spun your mug of cocoa around in your hands. "I wonder how many other times we missed each other that we don't know about." You mumbled and Hongjoong huffed softly as he sat back down in the chair beside you.

“Considering what happened today, probably a lot.”

You chuckled, "It's like fate was playing with us."

As you took a sip of your drink, Hongjoong admired you. You were still you, he was still him, it still felt the same, though the feelings in his heart weren't so childish anymore.

You and Hongjoong had spent the last couple of hours talking about what happened since the day he was sent away. And just as quickly as you met again, any awkwardness between you seemed to fade away.

Leaning back in your chair you let out a soft sigh, "I'm glad your father changed. He always seemed to love you but had such a weird way of holding it against you."

Hongjoong nodded with a soft smile, glad too, that his relationship with his father had changed for the better. He couldn’t help but wonder how he would react to learning the two of you had been reunited.

"What about your father? What's he like now?"

You shrugged, "No idea. When I chose to go to university for what I wanted instead of what he wanted, he basically disowned me. The last time I talked to him was about a year ago, and all he said to me was 'Don't spend all your time with friends, do your job since you were so determined to leave for it.'" You scoffed after you mimicked your dad’s tone.

Hongjoong frowned at this, "And your mother?"

"She texts me occasionally asking how I am, but I don't know how much she actually cares. I was in the hospital a couple months ago and when I told her she just told me to be careful not to miss too much work."

Hongjoong sat up quicky, "You were in the hospital, why? What happened? Are you okay now?"

You stared at him with mild shock before you laughed and waved your hands, "I'm fine! I just had a really bad fever and passed out at work."

His eyes widened even more, "'You just had a fever and passed out'? 'Just?!' That's not fine!"

You laughed again before you felt a sudden wave of emotion causing you to look away from him. You giggled softly, and Hongjoong heard a hint of sadness behind it.

"You needed me, and I wasn't here."

You looked back at him with a questioning gaze, and he looked at you with a sense of guilt.

"I was the only one who made sure you took care of yourself. You always get so caught up in what you are doing and trying to be what your parents told you to be, that you forget about your own health. And your parents still don't give a damn. You needed me, I'm sorry."

You tilted your head as you smiled softly at him, "It wasn't your fault Hongjoong. And besides, it was just one bad moment. I'm a lot better at taking care of myself, you'd be proud of me!"

His frown became a smile at this. Reaching out he gently caressed your face. "I am. I'm proud that you didn't let them tear you down. That you didn't give into your father's wishes. That you took your own path even if you were alone on it."

Turning in his chair so he was facing you, he gently grabbed your legs and turned you to face him as well.

"But you aren't alone anymore. I'm here now. And if you want me, I'll stay. I'll be by your side again. There's nothing that could take me away from you now."

Memories of Hongjoong leaving flashed through your mind. Mixtures of hurt, relief, heartbreak and joy washing over you.

"Of course I want that Hongjoong. You were my first love, my home, and those feelings never went anywhere. They were still here, in my heart. They were just staying dormant until we found each other again."

He cupped your face again as he smiled, his voice was a soft whisper "My first love. My only love. I'll stay with you forever this time."

You felt tightness in your chest as your eyes brimmed with tears. "Promise?"

Leaning closer, he nodded softly as he whispered "I promise" just before his lips met yours in a kiss both of you had been waiting ten years for.

No matter how long you would have had to wait, ten years, twenty, fifty, your heart would always belong to Hongjoong. Even if the wait was painful and long, fate was kind enough to bring you back together. And nothing would separate you again.

xx End xx

I'm pretty happy with how this one came out, even if I couldn't get it down exactly how I wanted.

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[hbyrde36]

Love, Lies, Bleeding

Steddie | R: Mature/Teen | One-shot | WC: 2122 | AO3

When Vecna was defeated and the Upside Down was dead and gone as if it had never existed, and all their various wounds were well on their way to healing, the in-the-know citizens of Hawkins who’d fought for its future set to the task of learning to live a normal life again. A life unburdened by savage monsters and the dark force that had toiled beneath their feet for so many awful years.

It was less of a surprise and more of a surrender to the inevitable when, in the midst of all that living, Steve and Eddie finally fell into bed together.

It happened on a night like many others, after the pair had spent a full day running the kids all over town, to the movies, the arcade, the diner, with Steve still playing chauffeur to a group of teenagers who were a few years away from getting licenses of their own. 

And jobs. 

And money.

He didn’t really mind, if he was honest, and he minded even less now that Eddie often tagged along too. The dark haired boy had a way of making any situation fun, no matter how dull and mundane.

After dropping off the last rugrat, they stopped to pick up a six-pack, and on Eddie’s suggestion drove out to the old quarry to enjoy a few beers under the stars, and some time together away from the watchful eyes of the party.

It wasn’t the first time Steve had felt the pull of Eddie’s unique charm, or noticed the way his eyes shined bright under the full moon, or the way his plush pink lips looked so inviting as they wrapped around the tip of his beer bottle, but it was the first time that he felt brave enough to do something about it. To lean in and take those lips with his own, to lick into Eddie’s mouth and taste the cheap beer on his tongue. 

It was divine.

They didn’t actually make it to a bed that first time, both of them too pent up from weeks of denials and pining, leading to quick and dirty shared handjobs in the backseat of Steve’s BMW.

Eddie assured Steve that it was fine, better than fine, that it fulfilled a long held teenage fantasy that he’d never in a million years thought would come true.

They made it to Steve’s bed the second time though, later that same night, and the third and the fourth times, and within a week they were officially a sickeningly sweet couple who couldn’t keep their hands off each other and spent every spare second together.

The first time Steve saw it happen, was by pure chance.

After Eddie had sucked his soul out through his dick yet again, and he’d happily and eagerly returned the favor, they’d both dropped off into a deep, contented sleep.

Or so Steve thought.

He’d jerked awake not long after passing out with a charley horse in his calf, clamping his mouth shut against the yelp of pain that was desperate to escape. There was no need for Eddie to lose sleep too over a stupid cramp. 

Except Eddie was in no danger of being woken up, because he was nowhere to be found. His still-warm side of the bed was empty and the bathroom door stood wide open revealing it to be vacant as well. If not for the soft footsteps on the roof just outside his window Steve might have thought Eddie was downstairs getting a drink of water, but one peek through the curtain confirmed his fears.

With a pit in his stomach Steve climbed back into bed, and stared at that window into the wee hours. 

He never did find out how Eddie got back inside in the morning without alerting him. Despite his confusion and heartache at seeing his boyfriend slink away under the cover of darkness, Steve had eventually fallen back asleep, too exhausted from speculating and crying to stay awake. All he knew was that when the sunrise greeted him through the open curtains, the warmth on his face was mirrored by the warmth on his back, where Eddie was pressed up against him, holding him close like he always did, as though everything before had been nothing more than a bad dream.

The next night, and every night after, Steve would pretend to be asleep, listening and watching in secret as Eddie slipped from the bed and tiptoed over to the window, opening it as carefully and quietly as he could before crawling out onto the flat part of the roof, jumping down to the concrete below.

For weeks Steve said nothing. He didn’t know what to think, or how to confront Eddie without running the risk of ruining what they had with any kind of accusation. 

Apart from Eddie’s nightly escapades, and the fact that Steve was starting to suffer from some serious sleep deprivation, things were good—great even. Steve had never felt so seen and supported by a romantic partner before, and the sex was hands-down the best he’d ever had.

They were happy.

So happy, that if Steve were a heavier sleeper, if he didn’t know what he knew, he’d think he was in love, and that Eddie was too.

He didn’t want to believe Eddie was cheating on him, but there were limited reasons he could come up with as to why a guy would sneak out of his boyfriend’s bed in the middle of the night without wanting said boyfriend to know. 

And the longer it went on, the harder it became to pretend nothing was wrong.

“Where do you go at night?” The fateful question, which had to come eventually, fell unbidden from Steve's lips one morning the moment he opened his eyes, before he could so much as think about talking himself out of it.

Eddie was out of bed and halfway to the bathroom, his bare back to Steve. At the words, he froze, body stiffening, but he didn’t turn around.

“I know, Eddie. I’ve seen you,” Steve went on in a whisper, when Eddie continued to be silent and unmoving. “I’ve known for a while now. I must have watched you crawl out my window a dozen times or more and it’s—” his voice cracked as he choked back a sob. “It’s breaking my fucking heart.”

Eddie bowed his head, his shoulders dropping heavily in defeat, but still he refused to turn and look Steve in the eye. 

“I don’t understand. Is there someone else?” Steve asked, finally giving voice to his greatest fear.

That at least seemed to finally snap Eddie out of it. He whirled, turning horror-filled eyes to Steve that glistened with unshed tears. Rushing back over to the bed, he threw himself down on his knees in front of it, where Steve sat half-hidden beneath the covers.

“I would never. Sweetheart, you mean everything to me. I swear to you, that’s not—” Eddie trailed off with a shake of his head, his voice lowering to an almost imperceptible whisper when he spoke again. 

“It’s so much worse.”

Steve begged to differ. 

He could feel the sincerity in Eddie’s words and his body instantly sagged in relief at the confirmation that his boyfriend, the person he already thought of as the love of his life, wasn’t about to shatter his heart. In his mind, nothing could be worse than Eddie cheating on him.

“Eddie, whatever it is, I can handle it. It can’t be any worse than what I was imagining.” Steve reached down to pull Eddie up onto the bed with him, coaxing him into his lap.

“You say that now, but you don’t know!” Eddie wailed, hiding his face in Steve’s chest as his body shook. “What I’ve done—what I am? You’ll hate me. I hate me.”

Steve wrapped his arms tightly around Eddie as he broke down, rocking him back and forth and kissing his hair over and over again until he calmed.

“Oh, baby,” Steve cooed softly. “It’s alright. Whatever’s wrong, we'll deal with it together.”

“Don’t call me that. I’m a monster,” Eddie said through a sniffle.

“You’re not—”

“No, Steve, you don’t get it. I’m…” Eddie sat up abruptly, wiping his face hard with his hands. “Well, I don’t know what I am exactly.”

Steve’s brows drew together in confusion. “What are you saying?”

“I think… I think I’m a vampire. Or at least vampire adjacent?”

Steve cackled, unable to hold it in.

“It’s not funny!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Steve said, quieting himself, and reached out to cup Eddie’s cheek. “Really though, what’s going on? Are you sleepwalking? Do I need to start tying you down to the bed at night?”

Eddie stared off into space for a moment as though the idea had possibilities, but he quickly shook it off.

“I’m serious, Steve. The bats, I think they changed me.”

“That can’t be right,” Steve argued. “I got bit too, remember?”

“How could I forget?” Eddie smirked. 

Warmth bloomed in Steve’s belly, but there would be time to deal with that later, for now he had to keep them both on track. “Eddie, focus.”

“Right,” Eddie sighed. “I’ve thought about that too and I think—don’t freak out—but I think the difference is, you survived their attack.”

Steve wasn’t following. “But… So did you?”

“Did I though?” Eddie asked gently, reaching up to cover Steve’s hand with his own, where it was still holding his face. “Dustin couldn’t find a pulse. Even you said I wasn’t breathing when you found us.”

“I said I thought you weren't breathing, but I'm not a doctor. Obviously I was wrong.” Steve bit at his bottom lip. “Baby, please tell me I was wrong.”

“It wasn’t obvious at first. My heart beats, I’m still warm, I still eat food and all. I didn’t even realize anything was wrong until a few weeks after everything went down. I was so tired all the time and there was this… thirst, that I couldn’t seem to quench. Then one day Wayne had a couple steaks thawing on the counter, just sitting there in a pool of red juices and I couldn’t look away from it. My mouth started to water and somehow I knew that was what I'd been craving, what I needed. The raw steak milkshake didn’t tide me over for long. I needed something fresher, warmer.”

“Why didn’t you come to me?” Steve blurted out, finding the whole idea was anything but a turn off. “You know I would have—”

“I know,” Eddie breathed, another small smile briefly playing on his lips. “Believe me, I thought about it, but we weren’t together yet, and you have no idea how grateful I am that I didn’t come to you for help.”

“Why?” Steve was almost afraid to ask, but he had to know.

Eddie looked down, letting his own hand drop and throwing off Steve’s touch. “I didn’t know. I swear to you Steve, I didn’t know.”

Steve wanted to scream but he kept his voice even and calm. “Didn’t know what?” 

“I didn’t know that when I bit down on that poor homeless man’s neck I wouldn’t be able to stop!” Eddie shouted, raising his head to reveal fresh tears streaming in rivulets down his pale face. “I killed him.”

Okay. That certainly would put a damper on things. Steve quickly moved the fantasy of Eddie feeding at his neck as he fucked him, back in its box, and cradled his boyfriends face between both of his hands. 

“I love you,” was all he could say. 

“Didn't you hear what I just said?!” Eddie asked, defiantly. “I’m a murderer!”

“It doesn’t change the way I feel about you.”

“B-but, Steve, I—” Eddie sputtered, trying to look away again.

Steve didn’t let him, keeping his hold firm. “Do you love me?”

“More than anything,” Eddie replied with zero hesitation.

“Okay.” Steve grinned, leaning in to press a kiss to Eddie’s lips, tasting the salt from his still drying tears.

“O-okay?” Eddie asked, when he pulled back. “Steve, it didn’t stop with one homeless man. I tried animals but it wasn’t the same. I’ve killed, like, a dozen people by now.”

“I understand,” Steve said, because he did. 

And he knew exactly what they needed to do now. 

First, and most important, order of business was keeping Eddie out of jail. They needed a system, some way to find victims who wouldn’t be missed, people who had it coming, bad guys who deserved justice that always seemed to elude them.  

“How do you feel about vigilantes?”

Many thanks as always to my amazing besties @penny00dreadful and @pearynice for the encouragement and beta work! 😘

Permanent taglist(open): @penny00dreadful @pearynice @sidekick-hero @firefly-party @bookworm0690

@wonderland-girl143-blog @goodolefashionedloverboi @themagicalari @awkwardgravity1 @rocknrollsalad

[tiredsmashbros]

i can't believe your teasing me with smg8 its actually joeover for me with this crazy maniac music man x burger twink i can't escape it's all i've been seeing now WHY MUST YOU ALL BE FREAKS- /j

but gUH getting to read everyone and seeing the illustrated pieces tagged with each creator is just so sweet of you <3. and i'm honored to be featured along side other cool folks QwQ ,, n i just love making fanarts for silly aus and renders i see browsing around my fyp - its honestly a nice warmup / break uwu

thank you micheal 💛🍔

anyways the one perk of getting to reblogs late is when folks create a stay tuned post i never have to wait for it and i get to be so fashionable late jajajaj /j /silly

ALRIGHT LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!!!!

IT'S ABOUT TIME I GIVE SOME LOVE TO MY FAVORITE CREATORS!!!

And by love I mean scream my lungs out-

@strange0-0storm

Bro your character SMG8 has me in a chokehold!

He had me with music. I mean hell I'm listening to music right now while writing this (Digital Hallucination by OR3O) and was when drawing this. I listen to music constantly for inspo. I can imagine sitting and vibing with SMG8 just sharing music together.

Your art style specifically is a big love of mine. I very much envy how you draw SMG8's teeth-

@ominus-potato

BRO....

I literally originally started lurking around your page just finding Marware a fun crack ship but at this point you've dragged me into this ship full on. I'm a sucker for idiot with a charismatic partner. Will always remind me of Roger and Jessica Rabbit.

I continuously look forward to any post of yours! <3

@purpdrawsthings

WHERE TO EVEN START WITH YOU BUDDY-

BRO I SWEAR EVERY TIME I WAKE UP AND SEE A MENTION FROM YOU I GET A GOOFY ASS SMILE ON MY FACE! YOUR ART IS CONSISTENTLY AMAZING!

Your love for all my Aus and me and my friends au brings a smile to both our faces!!!!

@misskamilyvision

YOU.

WHEN I FREAKING GET YOU!!! YOUR LITTLE LORE BITS HAVE BEEN DRIVING ME INSANE!!!

I SWEAR ONE MORE AND I MIGHT COMBUST!

STOP BEING SO GOOD AT SAYING SO MUCH AND SO LITTLE IN ONE POST!!!

Not to mention but the fanart you have done for me in the past still brings a smile to my face whenever I find it in my fanart folder!

Never stop being so dang creative!

@grinnames

Hhiiiiiiiiii buddyyyyyy~

Fun tid bit about God Box AU Michael.

They know we exist.

They can see us.

Past the screen.

Teehee! But that out of the way your GodBox AU posts are always a pleasure to see! As someone who loves some good horror I lovingly enjoy each post!

I look forward to another lore drop on those bois. Especially maybe more of Mario as I'm intrigued about our spaghetti loving Italian.

@its-a-me-mango

Aye it's the doc!

The one and only Mango!

Your art is consistently just great eye candy for me.

Though I must repeat as I did to KamilyVision....

STOP DROPPING SUCH VAGUE LORE WITH LITTLE CONTEXT!!!! /J

IMMA FUCKING LOSE IT WITH THIS SHIT!!! WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU MAN?! FMSKKDNFBDKWLKJFOSLWJBD

@tiredsmashbros

YOU....

I GOT A BONE TO PICK WITH YOU BUCKO!!!!

STOP JUMPSCARING ME WITH FANART MAN!!! YOUR GONNA FRY MY DAMN CIRCUITS!!! YOU MAKE IT SEEM LIKE ITS NOT A BIG DEAL!??!!?! AND YOUR MOST LATEST ONE BEING FOR PRACTICE?! FUCKING HELLO?! LOOKS LIKE A FULL MASTERPIECE TO ME!!!

SO IN RETURN IM GIVING YOU FANART OF YOURSELF WITH ME FUCKING TEASING YOU!!! BITE ME!

@coralalala64

Youuuuuuuu........

Your damn angst almost every FREAKING TIME feels like you are personally putting your hand through my chest and yanking out my heart and squeezing it like it's a damn squeaker from a squeaky toy!

STOP BREAKING MY DAMN HEART!!!!!

YOU ARE SO STUPIDLY TALENTED AND ITS DRIVING ME INSANE WITH ALL THE WORK YOU DO!!!!

Keep up the good work but if I see another angst post anytime soon I'm going to implode and I'm taking you with me. /J

Okay that's all of you!

But yeah, hi all you lovely creators! You all are big inspirations of mine and I adore all your works in a unique way. Plenty of the things you all create have inspired me within my own art and series Change in Script! You guys are honestly amazing!

I can't wait to see what you all continue to create within or outside of the SMG4 community!

[jakekazansky]

More thoughts for my juvenile delinquent turned fighter pilot Jake au

Previous post

Jake finishes high school in juvie at 16 cause he was bored and getting his GED was easy

He’s 17 when he starts at the academy cause that sounded better than sitting around juvie for a year til he turned 18

Due to his history and being 17, Jake is assigned to an admiral to go stay with on breaks and check in with since they couldn’t put an ankle monitor on him

The admiral is Sam “Merlin” Wells who over time becomes like a dad to Jake along with his husband slider

Jake isn’t allowed to drive until he’s 18 cause they think he might try to run if given the chance

Before stealing that high performance car at 16, Jake hid his own car at a friends uncles junk yard and paid him all the cash he had and promised to pay him another significant sum of money when he comes back to get the car

The car is a skyline (like Brian drives in fast and furious)

Jake goes to pick it up when he’s 26 (in this au police can no longer search a vehicle after 10 years after a crime is committed (so if he committed the crime in March 14, 2006 he would have to wait til March 15, 2016 to be able to drive the car again without the police being able to search it for evidence) (no clue if this is how crimes and evidence works irl but it’s how it works in my au

So in my mind the ship for this is Beau/Jake cause I imagine Beau being a car guy

They meet at a car meet when Jake is in flight school (Jake is like 21-22)

They end up getting married 3 weeks after meeting (neither knows the other is in the navy but they told each other they both travel frequently for work)

They only find out cause beau is in charge of all the squadrons on the ship doing carrier training and Jake is on that carrier doing carrier training after flight school

Javy and warlock were both at the courthouse as witnesses when Beau and Jake get married

So the big crime that Jake actually does to get arrested at 16 is to steal a prototype car from an event where he pretended to be a valet

What attracts the navy to Jake, is that during the chase Jake uses a homemade EMP device to disable police vehicles en mass which has never been done before as the ones at that time required you to basically ‘lock on’ to another vehicle and could only be used on one vehicle

Essentially, the military want Jake to teach them how to replicate the one he used since Jake destroyed the one he used during the police chase

Jake would roll up to dagger family dinner (mav has the daggers over for dinner every other week or more, sometimes ice is there sometimes he isn’t) with his skyline once he could drive it again, running late

Mav doesn’t allow phones at dinner cause it’s “family time” which is fine by Jake but Jake makes a comment about ‘ how being phone free means his husband can’t bitch about Jake spending $$$$ on new tires’

Ice getting home and laughing cause the neighbors are bitching about Jake’s car cause it’s old and is bringing down their property value

This is the first day Jake is driving his skyline again after getting it back

No one knows about Jake’s history at this point, not even Javy, he just thinks Jake is super in to cars

Thinking about having it be a slight crosser with fast and furious where Brian and Jake are friends but idk for certain yet

[dollieseo]

01. PAINT IT BLACK ⸻ DECEMBER 12TH, 2017

now playing. paint it black (epic trailer version) by hidden citizens

chapter summary. you’ve always avoided the world your father built. meeting minjeong, or winter, is the last thing you want. she’s cold and calculated, and she’s there to make you know that there’s no such thing as running forever.

chapter warnings. none

word count. 1.3k

you met kim minjeong officially when you were sixteen years old. everyone in and out of the organization know her as winter. she’s supposed to be “cold as ice” or some shit like that. honestly, you don’t care what her name is or what it means.

she works for your dad, apparently as an extremely skilled swordswoman, efficient enough in other aspects to be highly respected too. you try to stay as far away from your father’s work as possible. the only reason you were at his office that day was because you, in a rush this morning, forgot your keys at home before you left for school. until you get his set, you're locked out of the house. you’re expecting to get in and get out; take two minutes to pick up the keys, go home and take a goddamn nap. already feeling uneasy in the building of his workplace, your nerves intensify when you notice the figure sitting at your father’s desk isn’t your father in his office.

you pause when you see her, caught off guard by the unexpected interaction. you’ve never actually spoken to winter, but because of your father, you know about each other. you know her as your father’s second in command, despite being only sixteen herself. minjeong knows you because—well, everyone in the organization knows you. all your father ever talks about, that isn’t work related, is how much of an amazing addition to the organization you’ll be once you finally come around.

you won’t. you and him both know that.

clearly, your entrance catches her attention, her dark eyes piercing through yours. though you’re still caught in a moment of surprise, you don’t fail to notice how cold her eyes are. fitting for someone named winter.

you’re not at all surprised by her demeanor. you expect nothing less from someone your father views so highly, even while being a teenage girl. she, for sure, looks the part of a mafia executive.

you regain your composure, remembering your original task. standing straight, you break the sharp silence, “what are you doing in here?” you ask, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorway.

“i should be asking you that,” winter retorts, “considering you just barged in.” her voice was laced with snark and curiosity. your father never mentioned anything to her about calling you in. assuming you willingly came here on your own, she wonders why, knowing of your disdain for this “business”.

you shrug, simultaneously scrunching your face, “don’t think i really need to give you an explanation.” of course you don’t. you could basically run this place if you wanted to. “where’s my dad?”

winter watches your reaction with a quiet amusement, her eyes narrowing just slightly, as if she’s trying to analyze you. everyone she comes across is intimidated by her, but not you. maybe that’s what she finds so fascinating. the way you’re not playing along to whatever game she’s used to.

“he’s in a meeting, should be back in an hour.”

fucking great.

you shift your weight from one foot to the other, trying to hold back an exasperated sigh. there’s no way you want around here for sixty minutes. hell, even thirty would be pushing it. but, with no keys, it’s either wait here or wait outside in fifty degree weather.

your eyes flicker towards the door, then back to winter, who's still lounging in your father's chair like she owns the place.

"just my fucking luck," you mutter, voice dripping with sarcasm. "all i wanted to do was go home and sleep, but of course, here i am. stuck in this shitty building, waiting for my piece of shit dad, while his right-hand girl..." you glance at her pointedly. "...plays executive."

you don’t expect her to react, but she does. her lips curl into a faint smirk, just enough to let you know she’s listening. she doesn’t look offended, or even upset. she seems more... indifferent. like she’s used to people throwing jabs her way. the young brunette crosses her arms, leaning back in the chair. "it’s not as bad as you make it seem, you know," she says, her voice low. "boss man expects you to be here eventually. whether you want to or not."

you freeze, the words catching you off guard. not because of what she said, but because of the way she said it. you can feel her eyes drilling into you like she’s dissecting your every move, reading something deeper than just your actions. it's unsettling, to say the least.

"right," you mutter, suddenly feeling the weight of the situation settle deeper in your chest. "and you expect me to just... sit here and play nice? like this is normal?" you gesture between the two of you.

winter’s eyes shift towards the clock, then back at you. "i’m not asking you to do anything," she says calmly. "but you don’t really have much of a choice, do you?"

you open your mouth, but the words don’t come right away. you want to protest; snap back, to say something—anything that could shatter this strange assurance she’s has.

“get up,” you gesture with your right hand. winter cocks her head like a lost puppy, an eyebrow slightly raised. you can’t help but roll your eyes, feeling as if you’re speaking to a small child.

“out of the chair,” you growl, frustration with her shining through.

winter doesn’t move for a long moment. her eyes narrow slightly, studying you as if she’s trying to figure out whether you're serious or not. you stand there, waiting, arms crossed, refusing to back down. the air between you is thick with a strange kind of tension—like there’s a game being played, but neither of you knows the rules.

finally, with a faint sigh, she spins the chair back around, facing away from the desk. "you’re incredibly stubborn for someone who claims she doesn’t belong here," she mutters tiredly, no real malice in her voice. it’s more like an observation. you take a step closer, dragging your feet just enough to make the silence feel even more awkward. her body language is stiff, controlled, but you can’t help but notice the slight tension in her shoulders.

you slide into the chair, deciding not to comment on her conclusion about you. instead, you pull out your phone, checking the time. the silence between the two of you grows for moments way too long for your comfort, but you can feel her eyes on you, watching you with that cold, calculating stare that seems so in character to her.

that’s what winter seems like to you; a character.

“i don’t know why you think your father’s world is some sort of... inconvenience to you. you think you can just avoid it, pretend like it won’t eventually pull you in? that’s not how it works.” she watches you closely as she speaks, her eyes dark with something like amusement or pity—maybe both.

winter’s lips curl into a small as she goes on and on, recounting her experience in the organization like it’s something to be proud of, speaking about how she’s earned every inch of respect and every piece of responsibility. how she’s built a reputation that’s both feared and admired, how she holds power in ways most people don’t even understand. it’s sounds almost rehearsed, like she’s replayed every moment that got her here in her head every single day.

“you aren’t special yn,” winter continues, voice cutting through your silence. “you can’t just stay on the sidelines in a world that your father created, whether you asked for it or not.” she pauses for a moment, letting the words hang in the air, her gaze unwavering.

the casual way she speaks makes it all feel like a warning, but not the kind you expect. she’s not threatening you—she’s just telling you how it is.

you can’t tell if she’s trying to convince you to join her side, or if she’s just giving you a reality check. either way, it’s starting to feel a lot less like an innocent conversation and a lot more like a negotiation.

the air in the room feels heavier, like the walls are closing in, and you’re just one bad move away from being swallowed up in this twisted world you’ve been trying so hard to stay away from.

you think waiting outside might be a better idea.

[thebroccolination]

STOLAS AND BLITZ'S CURRENT RELATIONSHIP IS A TREASURE TROVE

Helluva Boss is the ideal source material for fanworks in so many ways. Especially because of where Blitz and Stolas's relationship is right now.

One of the show's more obvious issues is the pacing, and while I don't know a ton about animated productions, it's always seemed to me like they're creating an enormously ambitious production on a pretty limited budget, so they kind of have to power through these episodes at a hundred miles an hour without the luxury of going at the slower, more nuanced pace they deserve. But that's where fanfiction and fanart can really elevate what canon gives us, because the show is creating so much potential to explore, and we have time in between episodes to play!

Basically: I love it here and this episode was a buffet of goodness.

Following Mastermind, Stolas and Blitz are discovering that despite their physically intimate relationship and their feelings for each other, they don't actually know each other.

In Sinsmas, we see Stolas and Blitz discovering so many new things about each other, to the point where you wonder what they ever talked about until you remember: sex. When they reunited as adults, they never re-learned who each other is now. Instead, they jumped past personal intimacy to physical intimacy.

And now that they're working on their personal intimacy, I love that Blitz has flipped completely from acting cold to Stolas out of uncertainty and self-defense to committing to him, unrelentingly loyal and affectionate. The way he is with Loona.

So we have them learning each other in doses:

• Blitz's horse thing

• Stolas's secret medication

• What Stolas eats

• Social norms Stolas didn't have to know when he was part of the wealthy ruling class

• Hellborn culture

• Blitz's genuine love for the company he built, not just pride

• Just how different Blitz's way of life is from the one Stolas is accustomed to

• And the real Blitz as opposed to the idealized version Stolas invented in his fantasies

In Mastermind, Stolas has that line, "Why am I throwing my freedom away for this idiot?" in part because he was still mad at Blitz, but also because Blitz has been knocked off his pedestal, and Stolas has to relearn him from nothing.

But the thing is: this idiot loves Stolas.

He's not ashamed to eat with Stolas in public, not ashamed to protect him from the other Hellborn who hate Stolas because of the trial.

He's genuinely delighted spending his time with Stolas.

He'll hunt rats in an alley just to make sure Stolas is eating what he likes.

And he champions Stolas's very first secretarial attempt in very characteristically giddy flavor.

He risks his life to save Stolas's, a flip from Mastermind.

He wraps Stolas in his own jacket to keep him warm, even though Blitz just complained about Earth's winter topside.

And he wraps Stolas in a blanket, then eats hot coals/brimstone(/whatever those rocks were) to become a hot water bottle for Stolas.

Because ultimately, what Blitz wants and perhaps realizes he wants in this episode is that he wants to be a complete family with Stolas and their daughters.

And they'll get there in part by talking to each other about what matters.

Not fighting, not yelling, not walking away, just talking to each other. About their vulnerabilities and their fears and what hurts. About their past hurts and their worries for the future.

And they've never done that at length before.

The trial gave Blitz the wakeup call he needed, and now the season is ending with Blitz completing another curve of his character arc. Does he believe he deserves Stolas? No. Does he have the family he wants? Nope! But to get there he has to make things right with Stolas, and he's (mostly) done that.

What comes next for them in season three will be up to Stolas.

Blitz has embraced Stolas, but it's not quite reciprocal yet.

So I look forward to aaaaaaalllllllllI the fic and fanart along the way. :>