#I kinda love him though and should draw him again

[tearlessrain]

I think my absolute favorite underappreciated horse color is those really intense sooty chestnuts that almost look like a reverse bay. part of the reason it's my favorite is when I was a kid I came up with a horse oc that was that color and I had no idea a horse could actually look like that, I just saw a bay and was like ooh that would look so cool in reverse.

and then I found out real horses can look like that years later.

[cold-neon-ocean]

Posting this by itself because :) I just feel like he should have gotten to wear the mech pilot suit at least once..

(my AU black version and the og green)

[gardensnakie]

How’s life? No pressure question ofc, but if you want to share please feel free to do so with this ask :3

Eh, it doesn't feel all that great right now. I'm tired and hungry a lot, but I just have to get a routine together. My sleep has been wonky, I've been waking up too early, but I feel fine then but it also feels like I can't rest completely- I have dreamless nights mostly. And I also just get annoyed a lot, but it feels better being around people I like.

[always-just-red]

I've been lookin for a writer who takes reqs for lnds 😭 Can i req sfw hcs/one-shot (choose which one u prefer more) for sylus & fem/gn reader?

I remember there was one call for zayne x mc where mc called zayne accidentally because mc was drunk & mc called zayne (accidentally) instead of booking a cab (mc did book a cab but w/ a wrong destination).

Can i maybe req what if the scenario is like that but it's w/ sylus instead? Feel free to tell me if this req is too much or if u wanna decline it, thanks a lot!

My first Sylus fic! Yay! (Don't look at me Rafayel 🥰) Anon your mind is so powerful! This prompt was so much fun to write, so thank you, hope you enjoy!

Wrong Number

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: You're having a bit of trouble getting hold of that taxi you booked, but more trouble help is on the way...

Genre: fluff, kinda ends on an angsty note (sorry 😇)

Warnings/Additional tags: drunk reader, some swearing, humour, uses of 'sweetie' and 'kitten', threat of violence/death at the start, a slight bit of suggestion (it's Sylus, ok? He's having ✨fun✨)

| Word count: 2k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Mr. Sylus, please! It was an honest mistake— almost indistinguishable from a genuine protocore, I swear!”

Sylus is lounging back in a plush leather armchair, feeling thoroughly short-changed as he turns about a fake protocore with his fingers. He’s been listening to this noise for almost a full minute, growing awfully impatient, though he did like the last excuse.

“Say that again,” he drawls with a sinister smile.

“It was an honest mistake,” the black-market dealer stutters, tripping over his words. “It was almost indistinguishable from a—”

“Almost indistinguishable…” Sylus confirms. “Almost. Almost.” He’s savouring each syllable— tasting them like wine.

“It would have fooled almost anyone!”

“Almost anyone?” Sylus laughs, and it’s a wicked, dangerous thing. “Well yes, I rather think that’s the point. But it didn’t fool just anyone, did it? It fooled you.”

His smile is gone in an instant, his hand closing around the fake protocore, splintering it with a crack. He drops bloodied, sapphire fragments from his palm, red and blue, red and blue, and they skitter across the hardwood floor like rain.

“Please, Mr. Sylus!” the dealer pleads, desperate. “I’ll do anything! I will! I’ll make it up to you!”

“No, thanks.” Sylus studies his palm as it heals. “I’ve had my fill of fake protocores.”

“Sylus!”

The leader of Onychinus stands, drawing his gun with a customary apathy. Dark energy manifests, twisting around the dealer’s limbs, holding him still, while a lone tendril crawls around his mouth, holding him silent. He’s struggling, but he should know better. He should have known better from the very beginning. With a wistful smile, Sylus levels the gun with his head, and—

Something rings.

His red gaze shoots up, instinctively seeking Luke and Kieran, but they shrug from their station at the other side of the room. The sound is closer than that, anyway. Glaringly more familiar. Sylus’s spare hand goes to his pocket, and he draws out his phone.

“Mmm?” he greets, thumb sliding across the screen as he puts it to his ear.

There’s only one person who calls him at this time of night.

“Where are you?” your voice echoes from the other side of the line.

“That’s a question I prefer not to answer without knowing what motivates it.”

“Wha— Sylus?”

���Yes, sweetie,” he drones.

There’s a moment of silence. “Shit.”

It’s not the reaction he aspires to, but you sound agitated, so he’s going to let it slide. There’s a loud crackle from the speaker, followed by a few, harsher sounds, and he pulls the phone away from his ear, wincing slightly. His eyes are trained on the man at his feet, but he lowers his gun, distracted.

“What are you—” he begins, but then he identifies the sound. It’s a finger— your finger— jabbing away at a screen. “If I didn’t know any better, Miss Hunter, I’d say you were trying to get rid of me.”

“No…” you deny too quickly. It’s still there: the tapping. Like Mephisto, pecking furiously at a locked window from outside. A few more jabs, and then…

The call cuts out.

Sylus scoffs, looking down at his now silent phone in disbelief. He flops back into his chair, tossing his gun onto a side table before hitting the button to call you back. You know he’s not a patient man, but you don’t pick up the first time, and so he has to try again. He can be patient for you— he tells himself— as he thinks up some creative ways for you to return the charity. Speaking of charity…

His gaze drops to the dealer. “Get out,” he sneers.

The man doesn’t have to be told twice. He scrambles to his feet as his blood-dark bindings retract, practically throwing himself towards the room’s exit. Luke pushes open the door, the intense music of the nightclub beating through the gap, but Kieran’s being less helpful. He steps into the doorway, blocking any escape. He feints right. Then left. Behind the masks, both men are laughing.

Eventually Kieran steps aside. He shoves the dealer the rest of the way through the door as Luke kicks it shut, and they exchange a high-five.

Sylus pinches the bridge of his nose. His call connects.

“Hello?” You’re back. “Finally! Where are you? I don’t see you.”

“Still me, sweetie.”

“Sylus?” you actually whine. It’s adorable. “Why is it you? Go away.”

“No,” he lilts tunefully, and then he’s coaxing: “I want to help you, kitten. Won’t you let me help you? Tell me, who are you trying to call?”

Frustration spills from you— fake, exaggerated sobs tearing themselves from your throat. “The taxi, Sy,” you whine again. “The stupid taxi, okay? It’s not here. It’s meant to be here.”

“Where’s here?”

“Ha!” you exclaim like you’ve evaded a masterplan, and not a casually asked, run-of-the-mill question. “No. Nice try, but no. You wanna help me?”

“Yeah.”

“Then leave me alone!”

With— he can imagine— some sort of theatrical flourish, you deliver your phone a final, decisive tap. It beckons a fateful silence. Sylus brings his phone in front of his face, unmoved by the moment’s gravitas. There’s a pop-up on the screen. Kitten: requesting video chat.

He smiles to himself. Then accepts. “Hi sweetie.”

Your face is lighting up his screen, your cheeks flushed, your brow furrowed, and your eyes sharp with determination. “Why can I— wait, why can I see you? Get out of my phone, Sy!”

“My, my,” he tuts, but he’s smiling still, “look at you— the illustrious Miss Hunter. It is a relief to know the fate of Linkon rests in such… reliable hands.”

“What d’you mean?” you mumble.

“You’re drunk.”

“You’re drunk!”

He chuckles. “And there’s that infamous wit.”

You bite your lip as you ignore him, still fixated on trying to end the call. It occurs to him that you will eventually succeed; even a broken clock is right twice a day. “Listen to me, sweetie. Are you alone?”

His tone is sober enough for the two of you, and your exasperated eyes meet his. “Yeah.”

“Then be a good girl and send me your location. You remember how to do that, right?” He carefully enunciates each word of his plan. “I’ll come and get you, but I need to know where you are. Don’t go with anyone else. Wait for me, okay?”

You’re nodding away, the odd ‘mmhmm’ escaping your lips, but you’re not at all listening. He catches on after a minute. Trails off— realises your gaze is too vacant, and your focus? Wandering. You’re cradling your phone with both hands. His view is interrupted as your thumb passes over the camera; you’re… stroking the screen?

“You’re so pretty, Sy,” you murmur breathlessly.

His gaze softens. He sighs, “You’re pretty too.”

Then you make a sound he’s never heard before: you squeak, the phone’s audio almost cutting out. A blush is spreading through your cheeks, so much darker than the alcohol’s afterglow, and gods he wishes your face was in his hands. The vision is short-lived, however, because suddenly you’re gone.

There’s a circling view of a dark street, split by streaks of white light, as your phone careens through the air. It strikes concrete a moment later, stuttering to a stop, and Sylus’s grimace deepens with each jarring crack. Your screen has gone black, but he doesn’t think it’s broken. He’s face down, apparently— subjected to an unexciting view of the pavement.

“Oh, shit!” He hears you gasp.

Though your voice is far away, your phone is in your grasp again in no time. You’re turning it over, peering down at him, tracing the outline of his face with worry. “Sorry, Sy. Are you okay?”

“I’ll survive.” He raises an eyebrow. “You know, if you wanted to throw me around, you only needed to ask.”

His voice has dropped, and he loves watching you notice. You stand from your crouch with a smirk, bringing him with you— a dark idea in your eyes. “Wanna go again?”

Before he can protest, he’s looking at the back of your head. Your arm is stretched behind you, gearing up to send him on another short flight.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he interrupts, panicking briefly, but you’d never detect it with all your wits about you, let alone none. He’s brought in front of your face again, and you’re frowning oh so sweetly. “I asked you to do something, remember?”

“You told me to do something.”

So pedantic. “What did I tell you to do, sweetie?”

You don’t say anything. There’s a short huff as you blow hair from your face, and then you’re concentrating. You have that look he likes: the one you get when you’re whittling away at your paperwork like a good little hunter. The same stubborn resolve, too, that makes you lean over it when he or Mephisto are conveniently behind your shoulder.

Your location comes through with a ping and his smile widens. He’s up in a heartbeat, telling you he’s on his way— that you did such a good job— and that you need to stay on the phone with him, okay? He spins his fingers as he passes between Luke and Kieran, a gesture they’ve long grown accustomed to and can easily translate.

I'm leaving. Clean this up.

…

“So then Xavier, like— well, you know Xavier— he was all, ‘I’ll tell you later,’ but he never did, Sy! Off he went, leaving Nero and I to do all the paperwork, and I asked Nero, and Nero was like, ‘ask Xavier yourself’, and I was like, ‘I literally just did!’, and he just shrugged, and it’s… driving me crazy, you know? Because where does he even go? Tara and I have this bet going, she thinks it’s because he—”

Your anecdote comes to a sudden stop.

“What does Tara think, sweetie?”

“Shh shh shh! Wait a second…”

You clutch your phone to your chest like it’ll somehow suppress Sylus’s voice. You’re sat, leaning back against a chain-link fence, but you rise as a black car pulls up in front of you. The windows are tinted. You squint, leaning forward to try to look through them anyway.

“I don’t like this, Sy,” you frown as you plant a hand on your hip. “There’s a car here.”

“Oh?”

“Shh!” you hiss again. It’s not the only car parked on the street, but it is the only one alive. The engine purrs and its lights are glowing like angry embers, refusing to be snuffed out by the dark. You take a step closer, then the engine cuts out. You take a bigger step back.

“What exactly are you afraid of?” Sylus asks, his tone so thick it’s practically bleeding through your phone. “Is a big, bad man trying to get you?”

“Well I don’t know what they look like, Sy. The windows are tinted, and I— AH!” you gasp.  

A strong pair of arms wrap around you from behind, lifting you from the ground. “Got you, sweetie,” Sylus chuckles in your ear as tell-tale crow feathers settle around you. His breath is hot on your neck and it tickles, turning your panicked shrieks to laughter.

“Sylus!” you squeal as you attempt to wriggle free. You don’t think you’re trying very hard.

The man lowers you back to your feet, but his arms stay around you and he dips his head, resting his chin on the curve of your shoulder. “Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi.” For a little word, there’s so much fondness.

“Let’s get you home to bed, okay?”

You nod compliantly with a yawn, swaying a little as his arms retract and you’re having to stand on your own again. He chuckles as he steadies you— placing a hand on the top of your head— and you pivot, drawn by the sound. His crimson eyes find yours and they’re dark with something that stirs you, even with your mind swimming and nothing really making sense. You’re not sure of anything at all, except—

No-one has ever looked at you like that before.

And you won’t remember it tomorrow.

“Come on,” he prompts, nudging you towards the car, and you start to walk, though you’re dragging your feet. “I want to hear all of the association’s dirtiest secrets while I still can.”

“Tara has a crush on the new weapon specialist, you know.”

Sylus blinks, then laughs— a tender, comfortable thing. Completely enthralled. “You don’t say,” he beams.

No, you won’t remember it tomorrow.

[sh4nksslvt]

You Punched a Yonko?

In which the reader, quietly trying to study Poneglyphs in peace, accidentally punches a Yonko and ends up entangled with the flirtatious chaos.

PART 2 OF READER WHO CAN READ PONEGLYPH

red hair pirates x fem!reader ౨ৎ💗 ONE SHOT

main characters: shanks, benn, limejuice, hongo

tags: fluff, sfw, harem, soft

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only so expect this ffs cringe and oc

words count: 1.4k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

You really weren’t trying to punch a Yonko.

In fact, your goal for the day was to peacefully study a centuries-old Poneglyph hidden beneath a sleepy island temple. Instead, you were now standing in front of a red-haired man grinning at you with blood trickling from his nose, surrounded by his crew, who all looked one second away from drawing their weapons.

“…Okay,” you breathed. “In my defense, you startled me.”

“You punched him in the face,” a blond man in sunglasses said, his voice straddling awe and amusement.

“Yeah, but like—accidentally.”

Shanks wiped his nose with the back of his hand, still smiling like you’d just offered him a drink. “DAHAHAHA strong punch though! You train often?”

“I didn’t know you were behind me! I thought you were a thief trying to steal the stone!” you pointed at the half-buried Poneglyph glowing faintly behind you. “You snuck up on me!”

Benn Beckman gave an exaggerated sigh from where he was puffing on his cigar. “He always does that.”

“You should wear a bell,” Hongo added dryly, as he examined your clenched fists. “You nearly broke his nose.”

“I think I’m in love,” Shanks muttered, still grinning at you like an idiot.

You blinked.

“…What?” You deadpan at him.

Lime Juice snorted. “I told you not to lean in so close when people are muttering to themselves. She was clearly in the zone.”

“I was reading an ancient, world-changing text,” you snapped, still frazzled. “I didn’t expect someone to breathe down my neck!”

“To be fair,” Benn chimed in smoothly, “not many people can actually read those things.”

That made you hesitate. Your breath caught in your chest. Most people only guessed at what the stones meant. And those who could decipher them—like the Ohara scholars—were erased for it.

The crew noticed your shift.

Shanks tilted his head. “Hey… you alright?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re being very casual about all this.”

“Well, you punched me.” He rubbed his jaw. “That kinda earns you a place at the table.”

“What table?”

“Our lunch table,” Lime Juice said, gesturing broadly to a blanket on the grass behind the trees. “We were picnicking. Captain wandered off to chase ‘Poneglyph energy.’”

“You tracked me?”

Shanks shrugged. “You glow like a beacon when you read those stones.”

Your jaw dropped. “That’s not—?! That’s not normal!”

“Nope,” Hongo agreed. “Very intriguing.”

“And very pretty,” Shanks added.

You turned on your heel. “I’m leaving.”

“No wait!” Shanks called after you. “Join us for lunch! I promise not to get punched again!”

You paused, hesitating. The idea of eating with the Red-Hair Pirates seemed… suicidal. You’d spent years hiding your ability, keeping a low profile, ducking Marines and bounty hunters alike.

But they didn’t look like they were planning to turn you in.

And the smell of roasted fish was really good.

“…I’m watching all of you,” you muttered, stomping over.

“Great!” Shanks beamed. “You can sit next to me! DAHAHAHA”

“Absolutely not.”

Lunch with the Red-Hair Pirates was insane.

You had to admit: they were nothing like you’d expected.

Shanks, despite being a Yonko, acted more like a chaotic older brother than a fearsome warlord. He kept nudging plates toward you like a golden retriever trying to feed its owner, all while regaling you with stories that involved an alarming number of explosions and nudity.

Benn Beckman, calm and poised, sat at your other side. He didn’t say much, but you noticed how his eyes never left you—watchful, calculating, but not in a threatening way. More like… protective.

“You always travel alone?” he asked quietly.

You nodded. “Easier to hide.”

He hummed. “Doesn’t sound easier to live.”

His words stuck with you longer than you cared to admit.

Lime Juice kept trying to impress you with “tricks,” most of which involved lighting things on fire or juggling knives. When he tried to balance a plate on his head and walk backward up a tree, you genuinely feared for his life.

“I’m very flexible,” he claimed proudly as he slipped and crashed into Shanks’ lap.

“Yeah, flexible like a bag of rocks,” Hongo muttered under his breath, flipping through a medical book beside you. Occasionally, he asked you questions about ancient glyphs and your translation methods, clearly more interested in your brain than your punching skills.

Which, okay, was kind of flattering.

You didn’t know when it happened, but by the end of the meal, you were… laughing.

You were laughing with people you’d met barely an hour ago. People who, by all logic, should’ve either kidnapped you or sold your secret to the highest bidder.

Instead, they argued about who could get you to smile the fastest.

“You like wine?” Benn asked, offering you a rare vintage.

“You like beer?” Shanks grinned, popping open a keg.

“You like really strong mystery juice I made last night?” Lime Juice offered, holding a bubbling bottle that Hongo promptly knocked out of his hands.

“Do you guys always compete like this?” you asked, bewildered.

“Only when it’s worth it,” Shanks winked.

You choked on your drink.

The day slipped by quickly after that.

You showed Hongo how Poneglyphs resonated when you hummed certain tones. He looked at you like you were the eighth wonder of the world and scribbled notes furiously.

You sparred—lightly—with Lime Juice, who was surprisingly nimble when not setting himself on fire.

You chatted with Benn about navigation, philosophy, and—when Shanks wasn’t listening—what kind of wine pairs best with sea-king meat.

And Shanks? Shanks hovered. Endearingly. Annoyingly. Constantly.

“You know, I could protect you,” he offered at one point, lying back on the grass beside you with a grin. “If you joined us. Nobody would ever dare come after you again.”

“Why would I ever trust a Yonko?” you teased, resting your chin on your hand.

Shanks tapped his temple. “Because I’m handsome and charming.”

“Debatable.”

“Because I didn’t press you about your ability.”

You paused.

“…Less debatable.”

He turned his head toward you, more serious this time. “I know what it means. What you can do. I know the world will hunt you for it. And I also know—without a doubt—anyone who tries will have to go through me first.”

You stared at him, heart hammering. “That’s very dramatic.”

“Have you met me?” he grinned.

Before you could reply, Benn’s voice called over, “Captain, stop seducing our guest and help clean up.”

“I am helping,” Shanks called back. “With my charm.”

Benn just groaned and threw a towel at his head.

Night fell.

You sat with Lime Juice and Hongo near the fire while Shanks played a drunken game of darts with a tree (he kept missing) and Benn nursed a glass of something expensive, eyeing his captain like a babysitter on overtime.

Lime Juice offered you his coat when the wind picked up. “You know,” he said, voice quieter now, “you’re kind of amazing.”

You turned. “Me?”

“Yeah. Punching a Yonko. Reading the un-readable. And laughing at my jokes. Triple threat.”

You laughed. “Thanks, I think?”

“Don’t let Shanks hog you too much,” he added. “Some of us want a shot too.”

Hongo hummed behind his book. “I’ll second that.”

You looked between them, blinking. “Wait, what?”

Benn walked over, his cigarette glowing faintly. “They’re not joking.”

Shanks stumbled into the circle, arms wide. “Did I hear flirting?! I object! You’re all banned.”

You stared at the four of them.

“You’re telling me,” you said slowly, “that all of you are flirting with me… at the same time?”

There was a beat.

Then Shanks, Benn, Lime Juice, and Hongo all nodded in sync.

You buried your face in your hands. “This is absurd.”

Shanks grinned. “Absurdly charming.”

“I need a drink,” you muttered.

Benn passed you his glass without a word.

You didn’t leave the next morning.

Or the next.

Or the next after that.

Somewhere between watching Shanks get his foot stuck in a barrel, Lime Juice trying to build you a “romance swing,” Hongo diagnosing him with “chronic dumbassery,” and Benn pulling you aside just to ask how you were holding up, you realized something:

You were happier than you’d been in years.

For the first time, you weren’t hiding.

You weren’t running.

You were laughing. Living. Loved.

And sure, maybe the world still wanted your head.

But you had a Yonko, his second-in-command, a chaotic firecracker, and a broody medic wrapped around your finger.

If the world wanted to come for you?

Let it.

You had your crew now.

[fixated-cookies]

im kinda thinkin about.... hypnosis and smilk.... smth abt the process specifically of taking over and invading your mind.. slowly giving into it even if youre resisting the effects its having on your mind, its inevitable that he'll win and you'll succumb to his control and influence over you... your mind may be foggy, but it's so perfectly empty and moldable now... what were you doing again? do you even care?

smth about being unable to look away from his eyes once he starts it; even if you look away, something will draw you back, and it gets stronger as it goes on... at first, you can physically turn away (though you'll get dragged back by some invisible force), but eventually you cant even rip your heard away from his gaze. smth about it being unable to be stopped by anyone other than himself once he starts it... no matter how far from you he is (as long as he's well... in sightline)

honestly you can like. think abt this in any context you want . i just.... really like the concept of hypnosis with him..... its captivating to me (hah) .... sorry for the essay in your inbox damn

Anon the reason why this was rotting in my askbox for so long was because I needed to give it justice hahaha, hypnosis is totally in character for someone like shadow milk cookie, and I love it.

WARNING- slight yandere, hypnosis

Hmm, I'm wondering how it would start, he would obviously make it a game, maybe a game of truth or dare, hm? Just a little bit of lollygagging to get rid of his boredom.

So, when he asked— “Truth or Dare?”—

You made the horrible mistake of choosing dare.

His grin widened, all teeth.“Ohhh, you’re feeling bold tonight! How delightful! Now, let’s see…” He tapped a finger against his chin, pretending to think. You should have been nervous. You should have backed out. But you didn’t.

I dare you… to look into my eyes and not look away.”

Simple, right?

You almost laughed. Thats its? Thats all?

"Ah-ah, don’t look so relieved~! There’s a catch, of course. You must hold my gaze until I say you can look away. Break eye contact, and you lose."

You scoffed. What was he playing at? You weren’t afraid of a staring contest. Getting into position you held yourself steady as he looked overly excited.

For a while, it felt like a normal challenge. You stared, he stared, and time stretched between you both. But then… something changed. The air felt thicker. Your body heavier. You blinked once. It felt like it took longer than it should have to open your eyes again. You swallowed. Something felt off.

Your limbs felt distant like you weren’t quite inside your body anymore. You tried to look away—But your head wouldn’t move. "I...I-" "Tsk, tsk… You’re not trying to look away, are you? Ohh, but I can see that dazed look in your eyes already… how precious!" He started to scoot closer. Not fast. Not abrupt. No, he took his time, savoring the way your body twitched ever so slightly. How your breath caught, your fingers tightening into trembling fists against the floor. Your head refused to move. Your body felt so distant, like a marionette with cut strings, a doll that could only watch as its puppeteer inched nearer.

Your vision wavered, the edges blurring as if reality itself was losing focus. His eyes were all you could see. How could this happen? you were so sure he didn't have...any malicious...intent—huh...? What was going on...?—No, you hadn’t! You had to resist, you had to—"Mmm, that’s a good look on you… so unfocused, so lost…" He suddenly interrupted your thoughts.

You blinked, but the action felt slow, heavy, like your body was moving through water. You knew—somewhere, deep down—that this was wrong. That you should snap out of it. But… that was so difficult. Thinking was… so hard. Your lips parted, but no words came out. Only a quiet, dazed sigh.

Shadow Milk Cookie smiled, only for it to falter as your eyesight ripped away from him violently, a frustrated groan escaping you as you squeezed your eyes shut out of defiance. "Oh? You still have some fight left in you?" His voice slithered through the air, a mocking lilt woven into his amusement. How predictable. How pathetic. Impossibly close now, his presence, looming, suffocating—but when his hands cupped your cheeks, you knew there was no escape. His palms were cool, but his grip was unyielding.

"Really now, I thought you were smarter than this." His thumbs trailed lower, brushing over your lips with featherlight strokes. "Oh, my dear, sweet fool…" His voice dipped into a breathy murmur, mismatched eyes drinking in every flicker of your resolve. "...I wonder... how long will that last?"

His grip on your cheeks tightened—just enough for his thumbs to press against your skin, coaxing you, urging you—until your lashes fluttered. A sliver of light slipped through.

And the moment your gaze met his—

The air in your lungs vanished. And oh, how he grinned.

"Mmm… there it is."

His voice was nothing but a purr, smooth and saccharine as he drank in your struggle. His grip softened, shifting to cradle your face so delicately—as if he hadn’t just crushed your resistance in the palm of his hand.

"Much easier when you don’t fight, isn’t it?"

His thumbs stroked your cheeks, his tone mocking, indulgent—but there was something darker beneath it. "Go on, little puppet…" His breath ghosted over your lips as his mismatched eyes pulled you deeper, deeper, deeper. "Be good for me, yeah?" He murmurs lowly Before you could even process it, his lips were on yours—slow, deliberate, consuming. A kiss meant to unravel, to claim. His fingers pressed gently into your skin, holding you there, grounding you— or perhaps, chaining you.

And when he finally pulled away, he didn’t need to command you to look at him this time.

Because you already were.

A single finger tapped lightly against your forehead as if to mock the emptiness settling in. His victory.

"See? Much better when you don’t think."

--

you guys, rate my hypnosis writing I need it!! These ideas are just sooo juicy.

[simp-ly-writes]

The First Thing You Hear

─────── · · How Could You Refuse? (pt.4)

Pairing: Jayce Talis x Shy!Assistant!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: quiet morning and lab-time fun, all ruined by the power of one... and Jayce is willing to do anything for everything to go back as things were... anything.

─ · · TAGS: female pronouns used, protective!Jayce, Fluff and angst, suggestive themes, kissing, kinda transitional chapter for season 2 (black outfit anyone?), mentions of blood and death, reader is mentioned to have hair and is shorter than Jayce.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 4,810

─ · · SERIES MASTERLIST

─ · · A/N: I really should be studying but all I can think about is THIS. Love and appreciate you all! *biggest virtual hugs*

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��� · · When you slowly blinked, opening your eyes to the sunlight coming in from underneath the door, you felt a weight on your stomach and looked down to see a sleeping Jayce, back exposed using you as a pillow. His arms wrapped around your waist, hugging you tightly as if worried you would disappear.

You threaded your fingers through his hair, feeling the silky smooth texture mixed with a few dead-ends, I need to book him a haircut, you told yourself humming gently as you debated how to remove yourself from him but as if sensing your thoughts, Jayce stirred in his sleep, mumbling something incoherent before placing more of his weight on you. At the start, it was a comforting weight as if an anxiety-blanket but it soon became unbearable.

You wheezed, "Jayce," you called out softly even though you were struggling to breathe, he did not move. "Jayce," you said a bit louder, watching as he shifted slightly, his head shaking in a "no." You scoffed, "Jayce," you warned, please don't tell me this is going to be every morning.

You watched as Jayce's golden eyes slowly opened and met your own- pleading with a small frown on his face, his hair un-styled and falling over his face. You picked up your hand, moving it back as he leaned into your touch. "morning, Jay," you said.

Jayce smiled, your heart beating rapidly in his chest in how soft he looked, as if about to cry tears of happiness that you were not some dream but physically there with him, laying in bed. "I love you," Jayce said, his voice deep and groggy as you clenched your bare thighs in reaction - hearing him chuckle.

"No good morning back?" you teased, removing your hands from his head to rub your eyes. Jayce picked himself up slightly, leaning in to place light delicate kissing from your collarbones up to your neck and just underneath your chin were he lingered.

"I want the first thing you hear ever day is my love for you, so that you may not question it," Jayce says gently before capturing your lips. You groan, pushing him away. "Morning breath, morning breath," you joke, trying to pick yourself up again but Jayce is having none of it.

"No, please. Let's just stay here for now, everyone else can wait. I have waited a decade for this, don't go now," Jayce says, kissing you once more, "please," another kiss. You fall back with a huff, looking up to Jayce. "Pleased now?" Jayce smiles a wide toothy grin, "very much so."

You watch as he rolls over, blankets exposing more skin for your eyes before Jayce is pulling you on top of his chest, chin on top of your head with a hum, "You are so beautiful." You blush, "you're pretty too," you joke, drawing random patterns on his skin before settling on a tattoo on his forearm you hadn't noticed before with his long-sleeves. You feel Jayce's chest rumble with a laugh, "thanks."

Your fingers dance across the ink before looking down at your blank arm with a contemplative look. "Why did you get this?" You ask, feeling as he shrugs, "Don't really remember but I just wanted a piece of something we all made." we all made... always so quick to be selfless.

You close your eyes with a sigh, wait... what are we? fuck, do I have a job? Yet the feeling of his thumb rubbing circles onto your hip, the soft blankets and warmth of his skin against yours had you forgetting your train of thought and falling asleep once again.

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─ · · You both were rushing around, bumping into one another in the bathroom. Jayce for the last half-hour had been trying to tempt you to join him in the shower but you too busy cursing him out once seeing all the marks running up your sore thighs. "Jayce fucking Talis," you swore watching as he poked his head out with a smirk.

"You were screaming my name quite pleasantly last night, whats the difference?" You shook your head, doing your makeup with the little you has in your purse before tucking in an over-sized button up. "You look so good in my clothes," Jayce murmured, a wet head placing a kiss to your exposed shoulder. "You're getting me all wet, Jay!"

"Oh am I now?" he raises a brow.

"I'll leave now if you don't stop," you threatened, looking at him through the slightly foggy mirror, trying to hide a smile. "You wouldn't dare," Jayce glared at you back, taking your words seriously, zipping up his pants and leaning on the counter. You raised your chin, "I mean, you said it yourself... I do have an officer wanting my-"

The sudden rush to your head as you were picked up and you swatted his back, "We are going to be even more late! The meeting started an hour ago we really have to go NOW!"

"You're officially unemployed now, remember?" Jayce said back, hips pinning you to the bed, your hands trapped between one of his larger ones. "But what about you?" you said, albeit a bit breathlessly.

"You got me caught up yesterday, or did you already forget?" Jayce tilts his head, kissing you in between words.

"You didn't fuck me that good, Jayce," you chuckle before seeing the look that casts over his features before capturing your bottom lip between his teeth and letting it fall. "No? then allow me to try again."

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─ · · You were not leaving unless you ran, and run you did after flinging back on your clothes and dashing right to the lab leaving an angry Jayce back at his apartment. You opened and closed the door before bracing your hands on your knees and intaking deep breaths before looking around the space and finding Viktor asleep at his desk. His cheeks appeared hollowed, his eyes sagging with bags as your heart cried, you hated how he had to get worse before getting better.

You brought a hand up, placing it at his back to feel his shallow breaths before you shook him away feeling him startle and sway. You grabbed his shoulder's gently, keeping the man in place, a frown coating your features, "Viktor? hey, hey, are you doing okay?"

Viktor looked through you with dead eyes. "I have been fine, just need to figure this out." You nodded, removing your touch before moving back to the blackboards. "I got fired," you said with your back turned feeling his wide stare, now fully awake. "He is an idiot, I apologize. Consider yourself hired." You scoffed before sharing a laugh.

"Really?" you turned around with a smile, knowing that this was what you were going to do all along. Viktor rolls his eye before he nods his head once- turning back to his desk and observing the growing plant at his desk with newfound intrigue... as if he could listen to it...

You watched out of the corner of your eye before he snapped his head over and you looked back with a whistle. Picking up a piece of chalk, you rewrote parts with new numbers you had written on your palm. Hmmm, maybe a 4 instead Oh! but what if we... you lost yourself in the maze your text swirling in circles as did your head.

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─ · · Jayce had joined you both later that day after a meeting with the council, tensions appeared as high and tight as his shoulders. You stepped down from a stool, dusting your hands on your pants before waving to Jayce of extended his hand in a silent ask that you followed, sitting on his desk as he placed his head in your lap with a sigh, "All I want is for this to do good, to save people, to protect Piltover... I didn't want all these politics and-" Jayce sighs, "I sound ungrateful, I'm sorry."

"No, Jayce. Don't say that," you said to him, "It's a job that no good person like yourself wants and the kind of job only the worst people strive towards. I may not be able to hold the burden, but I can help ease it," you say, picking his head up as he kisses your palm in thanks, closing his eyes before you both turn once hearing Viktor's scoff.

"I thought you got fired. Now you are a therapist."

"Oh, Viktor," you laugh, shaking your head before shoving Jayce off you as he leans back in his chair, playing with a pencil between his fingers as he looks at your combined work with squinted eyes. You all were so close to finding the answer to all your issues... it would only take a matter of time...

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─ · · When you and Jayce stepped out of the lab and back onto the Piltover streets for lunch, you were shocked just as everyone else was on how excited everyone appeared while looking at you both together.

"See son, I told you so," a parent says to their child groans and rolls there eyes with a huff before smiling at you and looking down at your connected hands. Jayce raises his chin, not even trying to hide his smile as you bury your face into his arm. "Too many eyes," you mumble, cheeks warming in what appears a permanent blush.

Cameras flashed as you walked together, "Why couldn't I just stay back in the lab?" you question, "I'm sure Viktor is lonely."

"I'm sure he is, and is thankful for it. We did spend the afternoon annoying him" Jayce replies with a chuckle, moving you to his other side while walking further away from the street. "You know you can't just pick me up and move me around Jayce," you comment, still looking ahead, feeling his stare, "I just want you safe." The crowd aww's as you slap his arm. "You're doing this on purpose," you glare.

Jayce shrugs, leaning down to kiss your forehead, "I'm just giving the people what they want." And by that moment, a little girl had ran off and hugged each of your legs together before looking up at you both. "Are you alright?" Jayce asked, crouching down, extending his hand as you leaned down as well. The girl only looked at you, eyes wide and mouth agape in awe, "I always wanted to meet a princess!"

Your eyes are now equally wide as you laugh off your shock, "Umm, well, sweetie I'm really not-" She leaps into your arms, hugging you, Jayce looks at the image of you two together fondly and with a certain glint to his eyes, you narrow your own, no, Jayce. The man picks up his hands, showing you his palms before a father is rushing over, apologizing profusely to you both as he unlatches his daughter from your arms.

"I am terribly sorry, she has an overactive imagination and-and loves you two- and I love your both- together I mean and," the father shakes his head as you hold up your hand, "Its alright," you speak softly receiving an appreciative nod.

"Princess?" Jayce tests the name on his lips, looking down at you and you can't look at him in the eyes right now, catching the look of someone in the crowd who gives you a thumbs up, hextech help me.

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─ · · The following days leading up to Jayce's speech were filled with the trio loosing themselves in the laboratory like shadows of their past echoing in the present. You sat beside Jayce, feet swinging back and fourth off his desk as you jotted down findings in your table-charts and journals.

A record was playing in the background as Viktor shook his head gently side to side with the beat, mumbling the chorus as Jayce joined in as the other voice, you laughed, flinging your head back while watching them both share this moment; singing and dancing as you got up, Jayce picking up your hand and inviting you to twirl before pulling you into a kiss.

You pulled away laughing, placing your head on his chest as you stood there looking out to a sunset Piltover, "I have missed this," you say without expecting a response, just voicing out your thoughts as Jayce places a large palm between your shoulder blades, bringing you close before forcing Viktor to join the group hug with a sigh. "I have missed this," Jayce says, squeezing you all together as Viktor groans and gags before removing himself, a smile evident on his features as he casts you a wink.

You playfully fan yourself before exchanging an eye roll, Jayce grunts, "Are you stealing my girl from me Viktor?" he teases as Viktor tenses. "No. I wouldn't do that to you, but she is my new lab assistant," he says as you firmly nod, crossing your arms in a challenging stance as Jayce hums, "You were quick to find work, sweetheart."

You shake your head with a smile, "This was never about work," you repeat Jayce's word back to him watching as his eyes light up, "I love you," he says.

"If you two are going to be acting like this, I might have to fire you both," Viktor says, half mocking, half seriously. You and Jayce look at one another before looking back at Viktor, "we love you too, Viktor!"

Viktor pinches the bridge of his nose cursing you both out.

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─ · · Later that day, you all sat in front of the blackboard in your respective chairs, Jayce's arm around the back of yours as you all ate together, the conversation taken away from scientific's as you all catch up with one another.

"Jayce and I are... together now," you say. "I couldn't see that," Viktor firs back, fork pointing at the arm around your shoulder and the hand that twirls your hair in between his fingers. Your cheeks warm as you look away from them both and stare straight at the board.

Viktor leans forward into your vision, "I am happy for you both, truly." You smile as does Viktor before leaning back. You lean your head back on Jayce's arm, closing your eyes. "Don't fall asleep on me, will have to carry you back," Jayce says, your eyes open, head turning to look at your boyfriend. The term has your heart pounding to admit it to yourself.

"Like you would hate to do that, Jay," you retort with a snort. "You caught me there."

─ · · Jayce ended up carrying you to your bed, helping you out of your boots, putting down your hair as you leaned subconsciously into his touch, hands pulling to bring with warmth into your embrace as he chuckled and crawled in beside you before pulling over the covers.

You felt around with a frown before rolling over into his side and finding a smile. Jayce looked down at you resting on his chest, his heart aching with deep affection as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear with a sigh, "I love you," he whispered to himself before looking up at your ceiling. and I hope that its enough for what it to come...

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─ · · You stood behind the curtain, watching off to the side as Jayce presented his second Progress Day speech. You didn't want to be in the crowd for his speech this time, a little selfish you knew but you didn't do well with crowds, happy to recite his words as he spoke them to everyone for the first time, you? the thousandths time.

You look to Viktor standing by yourself as he grips your hand, eyes scared yet proud of Jayce just as you were. "Thank god its not us speaking," you joke as the crowd cheers. Viktor laughs, squeezing your hand, "You know, I think we would put them to sleep." Its your turn to laugh before a voice shushes you and you both stand tall. Eyes gleaming in silent humour.

─ · · But with progress came set backs as you all stumbled back, a load distant bang rumbled through the backstage, you looked catching a glimpse of blue, but maybe it was just the fireworks? You told yourself feeling unease. Viktor tensed, dropping your hand and taking a step forward, he looked through the darkness while Jayce was finishing up his speech.

Your hands were shaking, you knew something was not right but you could not put your hand on it. So lost in your thoughts, you didn't realize Jayce was back, he grabbed your shoulders, shaking them slightly, "sweetheart? come back to me, whats wrong?" he asked, looking around the dark space to Viktor who just shrugged.

You looked up, a wary smile, "I-It's nothing Jayce," you told both him and yourself before reaching up and placing his hand on your cheek. "I'm alright... let's go and-" a scream sounded and you could smell smoke but by the time you looked back, the gemstone you all were saving was gone, shit, shit, shit, fuck, fuck, FUCK!

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─ · · The next series of months that lead into years were from hell. Those beginning quiet mornings with Jayce were now all-nighters as you both pulled your hair out and fell asleep atop one another, too tired do anything else, minds racing with work and endless life-altering decisions.

─ · · You could feel how much pressure the council was putting on Jayce, how this missing gemstone in the wrong hands was only going to be the first card falling in a series of failed hands you would be forced to play. And just when you thought yourself to be out of politics, that Viktor was doing okay, that your relationship was going alright. It all came slamming into you.

─ · · You and Jayce were without sleep, you nearly in tears from stress as Jayce yelled out his frustrations to you but it felt like at you by how stressed he was. You gripped your head, knees being pulled up into your chin as you rocked yourself for comfort. Someone just made a threat on our lives, someone wants to-to kill me! was all you could think and Jayce was already loosing his mind long before you were at the news he did his best to hide from you... people knew how much you meant to the councillor, how easily he would crumble without you. How did this all happen so quickly? You asked the sky, blinking away tears... how did warm mornings and long days in the lab result to this? The sky said nothing in response, just staring blankly back in its blue hues, crying at the loss of innocence alongside you.

─ · · You watched Jayce in the forge, sweat dripping down your back even when you stood far away from the fire. You would think your partner to be highly attractive in the current moment if you were your younger more clueless self as he worked himself to the bone, making what he promised never to do before... weapons. You hated that your combined life's work was not working out, that Viktor's health was failing and that Hextech was to be used this way but what little choice did you all have? The gates were up, your time was limited and being peacekeepers didn't work in the past... you felt disgusted with yourself as did Jayce, the tattoo burning against his skin, the embers hotly kissing your cheeks- burning into your skin like freckles. past self, please forgive me... for I am not the person I want to be...

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─ · · One night when you sat alone in your dark apartment besides a singular lamp, tea in hand as your floor was covered in a carpet of blueprints, a sudden knocking at the door had you grabbing a knife from the kitchen as you shook before seeing a broken Jayce at your doorstep, not speaking a word. You opened the door, allowing him to fall into your arms- his hammer leaving a permanent mark on the tiles in your entry-way. You didn't ask what happened, you didn't want to know. You had visited Viktor earlier that day in the hospital, your heart couldn't take much more and as Jayce kissed you for the first time in months, emotions overcame you both with a need for comfort in one another, in a remembrance of a past time where the stresses were at least manageable. A time where it was easy to love one another.

Your hands shook as you exposed skin, you sobbed against his shoulder as he silently cried into your own. His hand gripped your hips, pleading as you bit your quivering lip, listening to his whispers near your ear as he repeated, "I love you, I'm sorry," endlessly as if to repent. And that night you left permeant marks on one another as others would fade over time.

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─ · · You and Jayce held one another in the morning, the light appearing cold as the breeze as you thought of an empty lab, a sense of deja vu washing over you both. You grasped his hand, closing your eyes again to keep in the moment, to keep the tears at bay, you were going to lose a friend today, slowly you would watch him fade away as you have been but this time... there was no hope.

Viktor would take his last breath, he would solve his last equation with you by his bedside, crack his last insult in your face and then... nothing. You felt sick, a hollow feeling in your stomach, your blood cold.

Today you would watch from the corners as Jayce spoke with the council in a desperate attempt for solution; something you both always used to be good at... cracking numbers, drawing diagrams, you could smile, cry, laugh, plead- with your past self yet they were never returning back to help you now.

You thought back to your first days working alongside Jayce, just how scared you were then as you were now. You remember meeting Jayce's mother, her cooking on your tongue and her sweet and welcoming words in your ears as she hugged you dearly, as if one of her own. You think of Jayce drawing on your skin, whispering into his ear during early council meetings, of the passion that burned in his eyes as he pulled you down the hall and the love in his eyes as you screamed and yelled at him.

You don't realize yourself to be silently crying as you think about the first night you shared together. His touch, body draping over and protecting your own while bruising your skin with his love before kissing over the marks. You felt as Jayce's chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, he too was struggling as he pressed his head to your shoulder.

"I love you..." I want the first thing you hear ever day is my love for you, so that you may not question it... you thought back to his past words, "...It'll all be over soon," Jayce whispered seemingly to himself as you nodded along. You hated every string attached to those words, you were not ready to say goodbye just yet to it all but it was what had to be done to save so many...

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─ · · You both slowly got dressed in separate corners of the room and walked side by side, un-touching on your way to the council room where Viktor stood waiting for you both. Guards nodded towards you all before opening the doors to the room already in shambles. Fingers were being pointed, hair pulled, wine spilled over the stone like blood dripping off the jagged edges.

You and Jayce looked at one another, foreheads pressing together in a lingering kiss of minds but just as you took a step back, watching as Jayce began to walk up the steps, the room stirring to silence. Jayce paused, hand extending and flexing in a silent ask, and how could you refuse after it all?

You took small strides before grasping his hand in the support he needed with his head hung low. You reached your hand out to grasp Viktor's as you all moved towards to the head of the table and took your seats. The words were spoken to yells and shouts. It was war, the screaming, the stares and then the peace as hand by hand rose and just as Jayce moved your connected hands up... the last thing you could hear was a scream.

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─ · · Jayce woke up, his arm killing him as he quickly turned around the room, hearing vicious laughter echoing in the back of his mind. He was in hyper-drive, hands shaking as he faced the broken window at his back before feeling something roll down to touch his foot, half of a spray-painted broken smile mocked him on a piece of metal that he kicked aside with a shout before looking at the rest of the destruction and corpses before him.

Floodlights entered the space, enforcers yelled for support and to lock down the city as Jayce staggered seeing his old mentors, peers, Viktor... all dead but still no sight of you. Mel shook herself, shoving a scrap piece of metal off her body with a shout before standing with a wobble, she looked towards Jayce as the man looked to be loosing himself.

Jayce started to laugh, tears streaming down his face as he searched desperately for you, I was supposed to protect you, Jayce felt besides himself in sickness, no, no, no, you could not be dead- he wouldn't allow it, he refused.

"(NAME)!" Jayce shouted in a panic before feeling a hand on his arm, his head snapped over, eyes hopeful before disappointed that rocked Mel to her core. "Jayce," she said softly before Jayce was ripping her touch off of him and shouting your name again and again.

Mel cupped her hands to her chest, her heart aching for her friend and peer as he gripped at his hair, he started to smile, turning to face her with wide eyes, "she's not here," Jayce laughed having officially lost it, "She-she's not here," he laughed so hard, falling to his knees before crying and rocking himself. I need her, I need her, my girl, mine, where are you? Please, you are all I ask for, ever have, I never wanted any of this...

His head flicked back over to Viktor's lifeless self as he felt numb, just staring blankly as Mel knelt in front of him, tears streaming down her own cheeks as she didn't know what to do, how to help. "Jayce, he's gone, Viktor's gone... please, we have to get to safety." Jayce shakes his head, "No, she deserves to be here with us, she did nothing wrong! It should have been me!" Jayce shouts, the cold touch of morning air caressing his cheek.

"You can't save her if you are still here, Jayce. Please, we can go find her right afterwards, we just have to leave now," Mel's words appear to knock sense back into the man before her as he picks up Viktor's hand one last time, pressing it above his heart, his eyes widen feeling a light pulse and next thing he knows... he was running

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─ · · The first thing you could hear was a chainsaw that had your brain and heart kickstarting away. Your eyes opened, hissing from the swinging light above your head. A green goo slipped down your cheek and onto your pant legs. You could feel their heavy breath on your head as they yelled into your ear, "I can't wait to watch the life slip from your eyes so that he knows what he took from me, he feels my pain."

You shook in your seat, trying to escape your bindings but with no use. You cried, trying to shake the chair side to side yet it was welded to the floor. "Jayce!" you called out begging, their cackles carved out your heart as they mocked you, "Jayce! Jayce!" they wined and pleaded in your face, the moving blade catching a part of your shoe as you screamed.

"Save your voice for the show, little one. You are going to need it for when every topside member see's there beloved (first/name) (last/name) die right in front of them. Oh what a show it will be!"

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─ · · JAYCE TALIS TAGLIST: @sseleniaa @sunshiines-stuff

─ · · A/N: please don't hate me! I gave fluff right... right?

─ · · SERIES MASTERLIST

[seungcheorry]

morning after with svt.

COLLABORATION WITH @kozukensgf 🎀

suggested by anon, i wrote these drabbles and the amazing hazel wrote the texts. read these first, and then the texts. (:

texts with svt (morning after ver) can be found here.

seungcheol is too soft for his own good. whether he has feelings for you or not, he's the type to stay around for a bit and wait until you wake up so he can say goodbye properly. will probably decline your offer of breakfast though (politely, of course).

jeonghan likes to watch you sleep, so of course he stays around too. if he's not that busy, he will also wait until you're awake to leave - but differently from cheol, he will accept your offer to eat first. now, if he has schedules that day, he'll be out the door as soon as you open your eyes.

joshua is a cutie, so he stays too. he actually wakes up after you, chasing after the sounds you're making around the house. he will be the one to offer to make breakfast or take you out to eat. it doesn't matter if he has feelings for you or not, he considers you a friend? so of course he'll treat you right (the sex is just a plus).

junhui feels kinda awkward once he wakes up. he knows he doesn't like you enough to have romantic feelings for you, so the intimacy of seeing you sleep or taking a shower with you is too overwhelming. he leaves before you wake up, but makes sure to leave a little something for you before he does.

hoshi is a heavy sleeper after sex, so chances are you'll wake up first. he's more than happy to see you still beside him scrolling through your phone as soon as he wakes up. he's the type to run his mouth about anything and everything, bonding with you beyond your steamy times. he's such a darling, he just wants you to be comfortable around him.

wonwoo is quiet, the morning after. he isn't sure if he likes you like that, but he does like your company, your body, the way you make him feel... so it always hits him, after he has sex with you, that he should figure his feelings out. he stays with you for breakfast too, grateful for the way mornings are usually quiet around you. he leaves with a heavy heart before lunch though, but knowing damn well he'll come back to your bed soon.

there's no morning after with woozi, as he leaves in the middle of the night, both because he can't sleep and he doesn't know how to deal with the "aftwards", especially if he doesn't love you. he's not an asshole though, so he texts you an apology when he knows you're awake and tells you that it was fun seeing you again, and that you should definitely go visit him on his studio sometime.

dokeyom is similar to hoshi, i think. he just wants you to be comfortable around him, so he's just his sunshine form when he's around you the morning after. he also stays, for as long as he can/you will have him, but always tell you "hey, i can go whenever you want" - no, dokyeom, you can't. you want to stay. you know you do.

mingyu is the type to wake up earlier than you, take a shower (because of course he already feels at home with you), and then proceed to make you something to eat. he shyly smiles when you come find him in your kitchen. even though the relationship he has with you is mainly sexual, his mom didn't raise a player - so he'll pay you back for having him on your bed somehow.

minghao stays with you. there's this spoken thing between the two of you, where you're not truly fwb but also you're not mere acquaintances - so he's comfortable enough to sleep next to you, but draws the line when it comes to breakfast together. he's out the door as soon as he has taken a shower (alone, of course).

seungkwan leaves as soon as he wakes up, not because he wants to, but because he's most likely late for something. he definitely texts you later, thanking you for the night and promising to see you soon. might also send something to your house, like your favorite dessert or something, since he couldn't stay as he usually does.

vernon doesn't stay. if he doesn't have feelings for you he's more than grateful that you let him have his way with you and always make sure to not be a player, and that includes leaving (it's not right after though, he takes his time to calm down and if you are already asleep by the time he decides to leave, he wakes you up. he will never leave without telling you so).

dino stays because he wants to be with you. i can't see this sweet boy not falling in love or getting obsessed with you, so deal with it. will crack jokes just to see you smile in the morning, and already knows how you like your coffee/tea. his smile falters when you tell him you have plans for the day, a polite way to tell him he can't stay for too long.

[nastybuckybarnes]

Mouse Trap

Pairing: Ghost X Reader

Summary: Ghost's little mouse finds herself stuck in a trap. Who better to save her?

Warnings: Violence, Language, Angst, Fluff, kinda unhinged Ghost?, Torture ig, murder, Injuries, self-hate kinda i guess

Word Count: 2.5k

A/n: I'm literally in love with this little series, i think it will forever have a special place in my heart

~*~

Days go by since Ghost last saw you, since he fucked you, and the skulls seem to disappear once again.

His little street mouse has disappeared without a trace.

Ghost is a man of logic. A man who can use the information at hand to come to the most realistic conclusion.

And, in this case, you've realized what a fucking nutcase he is and have decided you never want to see him again.

I mean, what else could it be?

His sour mood is taken out on anyone and everyone unfortunate enough to get in his way.

And today is no different.

His brows are permanently furrowed and his grip on his riffle is unwavering as he and Soap do their rounds.

The Scot is quiet for a long while before deciding to try and poke the bear.

"Still nothin from yer mouse?" He asks, knowing damn well the answer.

Ghost says nothing, doesn't even address the fact that the man has spoken.

"You ever think of... lookin for her? I mean, she doesn't exactly spend time in the safest areas," he presses.

If Soap hadn't spent as much time with the bigger man as he has, he wouldn't have noticed the slight falter in Ghost's steps.

Sure, he'd looked for you, but the idea of you being hurt or even killed wasn't one he entertained.

In his mind, no one would be stupid enough to touch what's his, but people have certainly tried before.

His world shifts slightly, the tension in his shoulders changing. He's no longer worried that you're hiding from him, no. Now he's wondering who would take you and where they'd hide you.

Those are the thoughts that occupy his every waking moment for days, until he finally gets his answer.

While combing the streets for any sign of you -or the hostiles he's supposed to be looking for- there's a gift from God.

On the ground, in what looks alarmingly close to blood, is a skull drawing. And a trail of the same blood-like substance leads him better than breadcrumbs.

"Soap, on my six," he murmurs into his radio, carefully following the blood trail as it leads deeper into the city, into enemy territory.

Soap is quick to meet up with the Lieutenant, eyes and ears peeled as Ghost comes to a halt outside of an old office building.

"Wha're we doin' here, Lt?" He asks quietly, watching his back as Ghost picks the lock.

"Savin' my mouse."

The lock opens with a soft 'click' and he shoulders the door open, staying low and scanning the first room quickly.

He motions for Soap to follow and the Scot does, sticking close as the slowly sweep room after room.

As they go up the stairs, Ghost slows, tilting his head to the side as he hears the sound of muffled voices not far away.

He follows the sound, being extra careful as the voice gets louder and louder, until he can make out the words.

His stomach drops the tiniest bit as they approach the third floor.

He's done this countless times, this should be no different.

But it is different.

You're in there. He has no room for error. Not when your life could be on the line.

A man is speaking, and Ghost takes that as his cue to creep into the hallway.

Soap grabs his shoulder, giving him a strong look.

"This could be a trap. We should call the rest of the team."

The skull-faced man only stares at him for a long while then tugs out of his grip.

"S'not a trap, Johnny. She's in there. You wanna leave, go. M'not leavin without her." With that, he turns back to the hallway and moves forward.

Though he has his doubts, Soap follows closely behind, staying silent as the voice gets louder.

Other sounds are able to be heard now, too. These ones confirming Ghost's suspicions.

Feminine grunts, groans, and cries of pain.

At the sound of your voice, a switch flips inside of the large man and he's quickly and silently moving forward, taking down any hostiles in his path. Anyone that stands between him and you is promptly killed, dropping to the ground with quiet 'thud's.

The man that's been torturing you drops his knife onto the table and yanks your head back by your hair, forcing you to look at him again.

"I'm gonna ask you one last time, doll face: who sent you?"

Your eyes roll in your head for a moment before finally focusing on him.

It's been several days of this, if not longer, and you're starting to worry that your Ghost, that Simon, isn't coming for you.

You still stay strong, saying nothing.

This only seems to aggravate him further. He drops your head and walks back over to his table of torture toys, looking for something suitable for what he has planned for you.

Your eyes flutter to a movement in the doorway of the room, and you feel your heart fill with hope as one of the guards gets yanked into the hallway.

Familiar eyes peer into the room, immediately locking on yours, and you feel safe.

He's here. He came for you.

You knew he would.

He presses a finger to his lips, urging you to stay silent, and you give him a soft nod of understanding. Your eyes flutter back to your kidnapper, and you watch as he picks up a pair of pliers.

He clicks them together a few times then turns to face you, a wicked grin on his face.

"If you're not going to use that tongue, there's no sense in having it, is there?" He asks rhetorically.

He steps forward, grabbing your jaw roughly, and then he's collapsing on top of you, his blood spilling across your face.

You let out a startled scream, jerking your head back as he rolls onto the floor.

The room is suddenly filled with chaos.

A gun is pressed to your head, and Ghost has another man in a headlock, his eyes on yours.

"Keep those eyes on me, Mouse," he orders, making sure your gaze is locked on his as he snaps the mans neck.

"Don't come any closer!" The man holding the gun to your head warns, pressing it against you harder.

You wince but your eyes never leave Ghosts. Not even when he produces a small blade and whips it at the man beside you.

Ghost steps toward him as he writhes on the ground, yanking him up by the collar of his shirt and ripping the blade out of his eye socket.

"That's for lookin' at her. Imagine what m'gonna do to you for touchin' her," he snarls, big hand nearly crushing the man's windpipe.

You stare at them as Soap comes to your aid, freeing you from the rope binding you to the chair.

"Maybe, if you apologize nice and proper, I'll let you live," Ghost whispers, his eyes empty and hard as he looks at the man.

"Look at her with your good eye and tell her how sorry you are."

The man's head whips around to you and he stutters out an apology.

"Now, tell me how sorry you are."

He turns back to Ghost with his mouth open to apologize and you flinch as another gunshot rings out, and then he's crumpling to the floor in a heap, blood pouring from both eyes.

You stare at his corpse, at the dead man who threatened your life, then slowly bring your eyes up as the man who saved you approaches.

"How's she lookin', Johnny?" He asks, crouching down in front of you as Soap presses some gauze to your thigh tightly.

You whine at the pain, and Ghost gives one of your hands a squeeze.

"Not great. Bleedin' real heavy. We can drop her off at one of the med tents and-"

"Not happenin'," Ghost interupts.

He pulls you from the chair and carefully lays you on the floor, working with Soap to try and slow the bleeding as much as possible.

Your head spins as the adrenaline slowly leaves you, and you lift a hand in search of your big soldier.

"Simon," you whisper, vision going blurry.

Soap's eyes shoot up to you, shocked that you know the Lieutenant's real name. He can't help but wonder what exactly would happen when Ghost would go on patrol alone. How many nights were spent with you if he's trusted you with his name.

Ghost grabs your hand in an instant, his eyes over yours.

"M'here, Mouse."

Your bottom lip quivers and tears streak down your temples into your hair.

"Tired... so tired," you whisper.

He shoots Soap a worried look then gives your hand another squeeze.

"I know, but you can't sleep yet, Mouse. We'll stop for a coffee on our way back to base, how's that sound?"

You frown, edges of your vision slowly going dark.

"Simon," you whisper once more, pushing your hand up to dust over his masked face.

Soap watches, eyes full of wonder as Ghost, the man who just murdered over a dozen people, is soft and gentle with you.

Your fingers smooth over his masked lips, and then your hand is tumbling down beside your head and your eyes are falling closed.

"No, none of that. Eyes on me, Mouse. On me."

You try, you really do, but you just need a moment to rest. That's all. Just one moment.

~*~

You're in and out of consciousness from that moment forward, finally fully coming to in a dimly lit room.

You're groggy and confused, blinking several times to get the fog clouding your vision to go away.

When things finally clear up, your heart jumps in your chest and you look around frantically.

This isn't familiar.

None of this is.

"Easy, Mouse. You're safe. M'here."

Except that.

Your eyes dart over to the source of the sound, finding those familiar piercing eyes.

Instinctively, you relax and reach for him, stopping with a hiss when something tugs at your arm.

"Easy, love," Ghost murmurs, reaching out and taking your hand in both of his.

Tears well up in your eyes and you look away from him, shaking your head.

"'S'alright, little one. M'here. Not goin' anywhere anytime soon."

It's true. He has no intention of leaving your side until you allow it. Something he has made explicitly clear to the members of his team.

You look up at him with big teary eyes and his icy heart cracks in his chest.

"Don't make me go. Not back to city, please," you beg quietly.

His gaze softens and he shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut for a brief moment before tugging his mask up over his lips and leaning down to kiss your knuckles.

"You're not going back there. Not if I have any say in it."

Your breaths start coming in faster, more shallow, until you're hyperventalating, one hand grasping at the gown on your chest.

Everything is too much. Too constricting, too enclosed.

You can't breathe.

"Hey, hey! Eyes on me."

You obey, your eyes finding his once more, and he nods encouragingly.

He brings your hand to his chest, flattens it against the thin shirt, and you can feel his heart beating against your palm.

"I want you to breathe with me, Mouse. In... and out."

You slowly copy him, slowing your breathing to match his and keeping your hand against his warm chest the entire time.

Eventually, the feeling of his skin only one layer away is too distracting. You slide your fingers up to the small area of skin between his shirt and his balaclava, stroking it gently.

Your breath hitches at the feeling of his flesh against yours, and you lean toward him, desperate to feel more of him.

He leans forward and takes your other hand in his and you stare in awe, pressing your palm against his. His hands are rough, calloused and hardened, but they feel so good, so right against yours.

You slide your fingers up his forearm, tracing the scars, veins and tattoos while your other hand wraps around the back of his neck, slipping under the back of his balaclava and tangling into his hair.

"Simon," you whisper, tugging him closer by the nape of his neck.

He leans in, scarred lips tilting up in a soft smile at the sound of his name on your tongue.

He presses his forehead to yours, his eyes falling closed a moment after yours.

Carefully, he nudges his nose against yours, then tilts his head to slot his lips against yours.

You kiss him back softly, tugging away after a moment and drawing your brows together.

"What?" He asks softly, his free hand coming up to stroke your cheek.

"Where do I stay? Here?"

He shakes his head, pulling back a bit more after pressing one more kiss to your mouth.

"You'll stay with me. Unless you'd prefer your own room."

You're shaking your head before he's finished speaking, and he nods knowingly.

"Then you'll stay with me. We should only be here a few months longer. Then you can come home with me, if you'd like."

He'd be lying if he said he hasn't given much thought to the future. But after this? After nearly losing you before he truly got to have you? He's not willing to let you leave his side.

You only nod, eyes full of awe and adoration.

He gives you one more kiss, then gets up to get a med officer to check on you.

~*~

You spend a few days in the medical wing, and then, once you're given the go-ahead (under the ever-watchful eye of Ghost), you're changing into military-grade pants and a black t-shirt, and sitting patiently while Ghost laces up your boots.

"We match," you say proudly, beaming up at him when he rises to his full height.

He grins down at you through his mask, his eyes crinkling around the corners, and presses his forehead against yours sweetly.

"That we do, Mouse. Now, lets get you on your feet again."

He takes your hands and gently helps you to your feet, steadying you when you try to put weight onto your injured leg.

Your face screws up in pain, but you push through it, taking a few careful steps with his help.

"You sure you're ready?" He asks warily, watching you intently until you glare at him from the corner of your eye.

"Ready. Want to leave."

He nods, wrapping an arm around your waist and all but lifting you off the ground every time you try to step with your injured leg.

He leads you through the base, his glare sharp enough to have the onlookers scurrying out of sight.

Ever since he brought you back, bloody and wounded in his arms, you've been the talk of the base.

Who are you? Why does the Lieutenant like you so much? Can you be trusted?

That last question has plagued even some of his closest friends.

But as he helps you to the barracks, you lean further into him, you trust him at your most vulnerable, and he knows deep in his soul that you are someone he can trust.

Finally, after what feels like forever, he unlocks the door to his quarters and pushes it open.

The trek took far more energy than you'd like to admit, and you eagerly take a seat at the desk against the wall.

"You hungry?" He asks after a moment of silence, watching you as you look around curiously.

You nod, glancing up at him when he takes a step to the door.

"I'll be back in a minute. Try not to get into any trouble while I'm gone." He can't help but grin when you cross your arms over your chest.

Without another word, he exits the room, leaving you alone to explore.

You do exactly that, carefully taking in your surroundings.

There's a bed, a real bed, against the far wall. Across from that is a small wardrobe.

On the opposite side of the room is a door, and you find yourself limping over to it curiously.

You push it open and flick on the light, your eyes widening when you see the bathroom.

A proper bathroom, with running water that probably gets warm.

You turn the faucet on, watching in awe as it takes only a few moments for steam to start billowing. Your eyes follow the steam until they meet your own reflection in the mirror.

An audible gasp leaves your lips, and you lean forward, staring in a combination of disgust and horror.

You've seen your reflection since hiding out, but never quite so clearly.

The stitches at your hairline are crusted with blood, and you have bruises all over your face. Dark splotches that paint your skin in a way that makes your stomach churn.

How could Simon stand to look at you like this?

You splash some of the water on your face, hissing when it's a little bit too hot. Not a problem you thought you'd ever have.

Turning it down, you wait unti lit cools slightly to try and scrub your face clean, to make yourself more presentable for him, to look pretty.

No matter how hard you try, however, you can't clean the evidence of the torture from your face.

Hot tears streak down your cheeks and you turn your back on your reflection, angry that you ever dared to look at yourself.

At least before, you didn't know what you looked like. You didn't know what your Ghost had to look at, to touch, kiss.

"Mouse?"

You sniffle and wipe your cheeks quickly at the sound of his voice, opening the bathroom door a crack.

He takes one look at your face, at your red eyes and tear-stained cheeks, and he's pushing his way into the bathroom and inspecting you for injuries.

"What happened?"

You shake your head and tug on his balaclava gently.

"I want one."

His brows furrow and you can almost see the gears in his head trying to process what's going on.

"What?"

"Please. Want one... like Ghost."

He cups your cheek gently, big warm hand soothing your aching skin.

"Why? I like seeing your pretty face. Dont want you to cover it up if you don't need to."

This makes you tear up once more and you tug out of his grip, turning your back to him and hiding your face in your hands.

"Need to," you whisper thickly, "not pretty. Not now."

He's appalled by your words, stepping in front of you and gently pulling your hands away from your face.

"Where'd you get an idea like that?"

You sniffle and shake your head, avoiding his eyes.

"Broken... ugly..." Your eyes catch your reflection in the mirror and you glare at what you see, your bottom lip quivering as you try to hold back your tears.

A surprising rush of emotions floods him and he takes a few moments to breathe and steady himself.

He's not used to this whole softness thing. Not great at it, either.

"You think I'm ugly? I've got more bumps and bruises than you can count, little one. Scars, too. Does that make me ugly? Should I forever keep my face hidden from you?"

You frown up at him and shake your head quickly.

He could never be ugly, not to you.

"Then why are you any different? I see these," he strokes the mark on your cheek gently, "and it makes me want to protect you. It reminds me that you're fragile. Delicate. It makes me angry that someone would put their fucking hands on you, but thats it."

He pulls you into his arms and lays a few kisses on the top of your head.

"You're precious, Mouse. So very special, and so beautiful. M'more than happy to prove it to you if you don' believe me."

His voice drops a bit lower, as do his kisses, and you can't stop the smile that tugs at the corner of your mouth.

"There she is, there's my pretty girl," he whispers, kissing your lips briefly then pulling back once more.

"Now, you need to eat something and I need to debrief with Price. Rest while I'm gone, because you're not gonna be doing much sleeping when I get back."

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

“Well, you’re extra cuddly today.”

Steve chuckles and cradles his lover’s face in his hands, leaning in to kiss the bridge of his nose. Below him, Billy simply hums. Smooths his hands over Steve’s thighs and drags him closer in his lap.

Like he didn’t just manhandle the brunet on top of him mere moments ago with a scowl on his face.

“Mhm,” Billy sighs softly.

Closes his eyes as his face is peppered with more kisses.

“What’s up, hm?” Steve wonders. Smooths his thumbs delicately from side to side over Billy’s cheekbones, tracing over the shape of his Cupid’s bow with his eyes. “Feeling a little touch-starved? Do I not pay enough attention to you?”

Billy pulls him closer.

“Miss you.”

“Miss me? You see me every day.”

When Billy grumbles wordlessly, brows drawing together, Steve snickers. Dips in to press a long, long kiss to the blond’s lips.

Billy instantly melts under him, going slack and earning a muffled giggle from Steve’s lips.

After a few moments, Steve leans back. Chuckles again when Billy whines at the loss and gently pushes his hair out of his face so he can better admire it.

“I miss you too, sweet boy.”

“Yeah?”

Steve grins.

“How could I not when you’re being a big baby after not seeing me all day?” He bites his lip when Billy pouts in an attempt to suppress his amusement. “It’s pretty stinkin’ cute. Kinda makes me never wanna leave ever again.”

Billy’s eyes peak open. He grips Steve’s thighs, smoothing his hands up to his hips.

“You should probably stay with me, then.”

“All the time?”

“All the time.”

Steve sucks in a breath when Billy pinches his ass, and the blond smirks. Interlocks his fingers over the small of Steve’s back thereafter.

“I’ll try my best,” Steve muses. “God, you’re pretty. The air must be agreeing with you or something today because I can’t stop looking at you.”

Billy chuckles, low and rumbly, and his eyes linger on Steve’s lips.

“Thanks.”

“You agree with me? That’s new.”

The brunet blows a raspberry with his lips, brows raised comically high as he tucks Billy’s hair behind both ears with his fingers.

Billy simply shrugs.

“You make me feel pretty,” he says. “Plus, I’m in the mood to believe you today.”

“You’re gorgeous every day, I can’t even look at you without getting kinda sweaty and weird.”

Steve bites his lip when Billy laughs.

“Think you’d still be into me if you were blind?”

For a moment, Steve purses his lips.

He’s been asked questions like this before, strange hypotheticals that he used to assume Billy would ask for the ego boost. Or to make Steve laugh.

Now, though, all he really hears is a different version of would you still love me if I wasn’t attractive?

And it plucks a faint little note on one of his heartstrings.

So, he closes his eyes.

He hones in on all of the points of contact, noticing the warmth of Billy’s body seeping in through the layers of clothing between them. Then he focuses on his hands, still cradling his lover’s face.

On Billy’s arms, stretched around him and holding him so close.

Billy hums amusedly when he carefully touches his skin, tracing his fingers over the curve of his cheekbones and the scruff on his jaw.

Kisses the pad of Steve’s thumb when it brushes over his lips.

“Mm, I’m not really getting a good feel…” Steve murmurs.

He feels the slight puff of air when Billy huffs through his nose, and the way his throat bobs when his chin is tilted up.

Steve leans in close and presses their lips together, smiling when he feels their shared weight sink further into the cushions as Billy slouches more heavily into them.

The blond cranes forward whenever Steve begins to pull away, effectively drawing him back in until he finally has to take a breath.

Steve opens his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says, admiring the subtle flush to Billy’s complexion. “You’re too lovable, even when I can’t see you.”

“Lovable,” Billy repeats, no louder than a whisper.

Steve bites his lip and nods, shuffling impossibly closer in his lover’s lap.

“You’re warm, and you smell good,” he says. “You like being kissed, which makes it pretty damn hard to not wanna kiss you, and you’re grabby in my favorite kind of way.”

“Grabby, huh?”

There’s a smirk playing at the corner of Billy’s mouth, and Steve snickers as he rests his arms around his neck, still close.

“Well, yeah, every cuddle session we have starts out like a damn wrestling match.”

“You’re never where I want you,” Billy huffs. “Should I start telling you to move instead?”

Steve ghosts their lips together, chuckling again when Billy cranes forward eagerly just before he pulls out of reach, denying the blond the kiss he so desires.

“I said I like it,” Steve muses.

Billy’s brows furrow and he pulls Steve forward, pressing their abdomens together and locking him in close.

They’re near enough that he could steal a kiss, but he doesn’t.

“Figured,” Billy murmurs, relaxing his hold just enough to smooth his hands up the length of Steve’s back. “You never really put up any resistance. If you were any daintier, I’d probably just carry you everywhere.”

Steve closes his eyes again and nuzzles their foreheads together.

“How could I resist you? I’m practically wrapped around your finger with those watery blues and tiny freckles.” He loops his finger around one of Billy’s curls, twirling it and letting it slide free. “Also, fuck you, I’m not dainty. We’re like the same size.”

Billy chuckles, soft and sultry, and Steve peaks his eyes open just in time to see a smug grin spread across his face.

“No we’re not.”

“Yes, if anything, I’m taller than you.”

“I’m not talkin’ about height, sweetheart, I got you beat by two pants sizes at least.”

Steve snickers and tilts his head to the side.

“Is this you trying to delicately let me know you’re getting chubby? ‘Cause I already know that.”

The blond scoffs and pinches Steve’s side, which earns a little yelp as he squirms in Billy’s lap.

“I’m just saying if one of us is the man and one of us is the chick, I’m obviously the man.”

“Oh, sure, and does the man always like it up the ass or is that just a you thing?” Steve teases. Snorts when Billy’s face flushes the slightest shade of red. “Y’know I was only half kidding about the chubby thing, right? If anything, you’re just… grabbable.”

There’s a beat of silence. Steve chuckles again when Billy begins to pout and leans in to share another kiss.

Billy’s lips are soft. Plush. He parts them easily and Steve slides his tongue briefly over his bottom lip, and Billy keens under him. Sets his hands on his waist and rubs, keeping him locked in close.

When they part momentarily, Billy sighs, looking on with his half-lidded eyes while Steve hums. Almost swoons before leaning back in and earning a small noise from Billy’s lips.

“Would you be mad if I said I loved you?” Steve mumbles against him.

Then, there’s a chuckle.

“What, like, past tense, or…?”

“Yeah.” Steve bites back on his laugh when Billy’s brows furrow. “I did, y’know… back when we used to wear the same pants size.”

Billy scoffs and Steve cackles before he brings his hands forward to cup his lover’s cheeks in his palms again.

Smooths his thumbs over his skin and watches the offense bleed from his expression.

“That’s unfortunate, I was kinda thinkin’ maybe we were starting to get a little serious.”

“You’re pretty but you’re not very bright, huh?”

Billy’s smile comes back full-force.

“Thanks.”

“Oh, now, that’s something I never wanna hear you agree to,” Steve tuts. “I do love you, though. Right now. Very much.”

Billy shifts beneath him, settling deeper into the sofa cushions, and lets his hands move down to Steve’s thighs again.

“Just right now?”

Steve blows a raspberry and shakes his head.

“Yesterday, too. And tomorrow. And every day after that.”

“What if you decide you hate me in ten years? You never know what’s gonna happen.”

“I’ll love you forever, baby, I promise,” Steve coos. Leans back in to seal Billy into another kiss. “Now say it back.”

Billy hums against his mouth, going slack when Steve squeezes his thighs together at either side of him.

“I love you too,” Billy mumbles between kisses.

Steve keeps one hand on his cheek while he smooths the other down to his chest, pressing his fingers under the collar of his shirt and over his skin. Billy huffs a fussy sound and shifts, bumping up into Steve briefly while they’re apart, and then they’re melting together again.

A large hand palms at Steve’s ass. Then, he feels a sudden pressure underneath him that says that maybe Billy isn’t only looking for cuddles tonight.

And Steve’s never been one to deny his sweetheart anything he wants.

[hazbinshusk]

huskerdust x fem!reader. a birthday present for the wonderful, inimitable @mckeeks. if anyone deserves to be lovingly spoilt (and dicked down) by this duo, it is unequivocally her. ❤️ happy birthday, babe!

when you reluctantly reveal to the other residents of the hazbin hotel that you're still a virgin, angel graciously offers up his and husk's services in rectifying that condition for you. and how could you turn down such a kind offer from hell's best couple?

(as always, the dynamic here is one in which husk serves as the hinge between the reader and angel). way longer than I thought it'd be - 7.8k.

featuring: afab/fem-presenting reader, established!huskerdust, polyamory, soft!dom angel dust, voyuerism/exhibitionism, praise kink, lowkey daddy kink, oral sex (reader receiving), handjobs (husk receiving), masturbation, facials, husk has barbs (and you're into it), unprotected sex (it's hell so who cares), gendered petnames, the hotel rooms have cuck chairs (sorry).

“Sooo…” Angel draws out liltingly, his glass clasped between two hands, and you immediately regret accepting his invitation to join him at the bar. His voice isn’t teasing – just curious – but you can still feel your face begin to burn before he even gets the question you know is coming past his lips and into the air between you. “…A virgin, huh?”

Dear God or whoever is listening, if there is any chance that the ground could open up and swallow you whole, you really needed it to happen right about now.

“Angel.” Husk says from his usual position on the other side of the bar. He has his back to you as he sorts the bottles back into their designated positions after a long night of ‘family bonding’ with the rest of the residents. You’re grateful, for once, that his eyes aren’t on you. Husk’s voice is edged with a gentleness you think might be reserved just for the spider. Still, there’s a warning there, too. “Leave it.”

Where he’d usually make some teasing or sarcastic remark, Angel’s silent for a moment. When he speaks again, his voice stays gentle, still curious. “You one of those god-fearin’ types or ya just never had the opportunity?”

You loved Charlie, you really did, but right now…

Right now, fuck her and her bonding activities.

“I just…” you swallow the knot sticking in the middle of your throat, keeping your eyes trained pointedly away from Angel’s face. You notice that maybe Husk’s hand pauses for a moment, as though he’s waiting for an explanation too. Well, who wouldn’t? You might have died younger than most, but not young enough to just chalk up your inexperience to the innocence of youth. “I just never met anyone I liked, I guess. And Hell’s not exactly lousy with decent men.”

“Huh.” Angel says simply, finishing his drink. He sets the glass back down, stretching one pair of arms above his head, the other two behind him. He settles all four of his hands in his lap as Husk refills his drink. And then,

“You should get Husk to help ya out with that.”

Your cheeks flame, and Husk chokes on the drink he’s just taken. Eyes watering and his throat burning with the whiskey that sticks in it, he coughs his admonishment. “Angel!”

You grope for a response, for a joke that’ll get the conversation away from your sex life… or lack thereof. Before you can find one, Angel continues, ignoring the way Husk is still hacking up the last of his drink. Even as mortified as you are, you feel your lips quirk upwards slightly in amusement as Husk reaches blindly for a new bottle before he’s even done coughing up the remains of the first.

“Look at you two, blushin’ like some kinda…” Angel smirks as he glances pointedly at you. “…well.”

You frown. “I really don’t need you mocking me, Angel.”

“I ain’t mockin’ ya dollface,” he replies, raising two hands in surrender. Still, that placid note stays in his voice, something that could be read as sincerity if what he was offering wasn’t such a ridiculous notion. “I’m bein’ serious here. Huskie’s downright godly in the sack.”

Husk finally turns around to face the two of you properly, bright pink staining his muzzle. You notice his eyes dart towards you, and you could swear the blush deepens. The idea that it does sends a thrill through you, and you clutch tightly at your glass as though it could somehow stem the feelings churning inside you.

Husk was Angel’s. You’d accepted that, you had. You’d written off your attraction to the bartender as some silly crush. You didn’t think about him like that anymore.

You didn’t.

“Legs, I’m beggin’ ya,” Husk says, even as he refills the spider’s glass, “For the sake of whatever you believe in, please shut the fuck up.”

“What?” Angel protests, waving a hand almost dismissively. He actually looks confused by the objection. “I ain’t got a problem sharin’ if it’s with a friend.”

Husk sighs, directing his eyes towards the ceiling. There’s a tightness to how he stands, in the way his tail is switching back and forth behind him. He’s still avoiding your eye, his face still warm with colour.

“That ain’t the—” he breaks off, taking a deep pull from the bottle in his hand. He grimaces, tilting the bottle to read the label – watermelon vodka of all things – but shrugs and takes another drink as though it helps him gather his thoughts. Or his nerves. “She ain’t a toy, Angel. You can’t jus—”

“You tellin’ me ya ain’t interested anymore?” Angel interjects pointedly, raising a brow.

Husk stiffens, his ears dropping back against his skull. “I—”

“What?” you finally find your voice again, straightening slightly in your seat. You turn your attention fully to the bartender, and he meets your gaze with equally wide eyes. “You… you were interested? In me?”

“I…” Husk seems to struggle for words for a moment before he sighs, an almost sheepish, self-deprecating smile touching his lips as he exhales. “C’mon, doll. I’d have to be blind not to notice you.”

Something warm and wonderfully light settles in your chest, and Angel’s smile widens as he takes in your reaction. You jump as you feel one of his hands touch your arm.

“Told ya so,” he says, skimming his hand up along your arm as he stands. He continues to caress across your shoulder blades, moving to stand behind you. “Shoulda seen it, baby. How he’d bend himself all outta shape feelin’ guilty for feelin’ all warm and gooey over ya.”

“Angel, I didn’t—”

“’s okay,” he assures you gently, his hands taking your shoulders and waist. He leans against your back, meeting Husk’s eye as he speaks in your ear. Angel’s voice is low; his warm breath against your neck makes you shiver. “Like I said, I don’t mind sharin’.”

Your eyes flick back to Husk.

“So, why not get somethin’ out of it? Huskie here can be real romantic about it… he’ll make ya feel so, so good…”

You can feel your breath leave you unsteadily. Husk’s pupils all but eclipse the gold of his eyes, and his gaze falls to your mouth for a moment before he meets your eye again.

“There’s no pressure, baby,” Angel assures you, and you can tell he means it. “I’m jus’ sayin’, we’d have a lot of fun together.”

“‘We’?” you repeat, surprised enough to turn and face him. Angel wears his pride like a second skin, and as far as you were aware, he never swung back the other way without being paid for it. You try to find the right words as Angel beckons Husk to join the two of you, and heat pools in the small of your back as you hear, feel, the bartender round the bar towards you slowly. You choose the words carefully. “I didn’t think you were…”

Angel smirks, lifting your chin with two delicate fingers. That same heat burns in the pit of your stomach at the gentle dominance of the action. “Don’t panic, dollface. I ain’t joinin’ in the ride. It’s your show; yours and Husk’s.”

He leans down, bringing his face so, so much closer to yours. You feel Husk’s presence beside the two of you, and Angel reaches out to take his hand. Husk takes it wordlessly; he’s so close you can feel the soft fur of his stomach brush against your knee as he breathes. It puts images in your head of him stepping between your thighs, taking hold of your hips… trapping you between his body and the bar…

There’s a heat in Angel’s eyes that makes it impossible for you to look away; one that floods through every inch of you. It makes your entire body tingle with need for connection, for touch. Angel seems to recognize this; he reaches up with another hand to brush hair behind your ear and his smile twitches wider when you shudder.

“I jus’ want a front row seat.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Nerves war with the excitement that has bloomed in the very centre of you, and you feel alien and out of place sitting on the bed, one knee bent against the mattress, the other leg hanging off the side. Husk sits in a mirrored position, wings tucked tight against his back. He’s so close that his knee bumps against yours.

The lights are low, but his eyes still glow as they study you. Your eyes keep falling to your hands where they tangle in your lap before they find his again, and you can feel just how flushed your cheeks are under his gaze. The feathered end of his tail twitches back and forth slowly beside the bed, and he clears his throat.

“We don’ have to do anything you don’ want to, sweetness.” he says in a low murmur, his voice all warm velvet and silk. The pet-name makes you press your lips together, the tip of your tongue darting out to wet them. Husk’s gaze falls to follow the movement, and he inhales sharply. “We… I don’ want you to feel like we’re forcin’ you into anything y—”

You lean forward and press your lips to Husk’s impulsively in a brief, fleeting kiss. You hear, feel, the quiet mrrp of surprise he makes, his wings fluttering and relaxing behind him. You can feel the softness of his lips before you pull away again, your face aflame. He blinks at you before his lips curl into a smile, and your breath catches in your throat as he closes the distance between you again.

Husk’s hand cups your cheek in the same moment his lips meet yours. This time the kiss lingers, and your nerves give way to desire as you feel his other paw touch your knee. Husk kisses you softly, searchingly, his lips brushing gently against yours. Your own lips part, his nose bumping against yours as you take a breath. Then he’s kissing you again and you whimper as you feel his tongue touch your bottom lip, begging permission.

God, the way he groans quietly when you part your lips and meet his tongue tentatively with your own.

Husk strokes your cheek with his thumb, the pad of his palm soft against your skin as he slides his claws carefully into your hair. It makes you shiver and you lean into his embrace, reaching up with uncertain hands to card fingers through the fur of his chest. A rumble sounds from deep within him, a rusty purr that you feel as a light buzz under your fingertips.

You can’t help the light, breathless laugh that leaves you as you realise that’s what it is – you’ve made the bartender purr – and Husk smiles into your kiss as he pulls you back to him, catching your lips again. His touch on your knee becomes more confident as you relax into his embrace, and he ghosts the tips of his claws up over your inner thigh, teasing just under the hem of your dress.

“Husk…” you breathe his name against his lips and he chuckles, eyes closed as he presses his forehead against yours.

“Fuck, it sounds so pretty comin’ from you…” he murmurs, his nose cold against your heated skin as he moves to kiss you again.

Your hand journeys up from his chest to slide through the fur of his neck and up to his cheek, and Husk leans into your touch with a soft smile. His paws close around your thighs and he tugs you closer, your legs unfolding to rest on either side of his. Husk’s touch moves to your hips and he kisses you again, guiding you gently back against the pillows as his body covers yours.

Winding your arms around his neck, you feel his feathers tickle at your knees as you bend them to rest against his hips. The move brings him flush against you, and Husk breaks away from your lips with a breathless sound halfway between a groan and a disbelieving laugh.

“Fuck…” Husk lets his head fall forward, his forehead bumping against your collarbone. You feel his hips rock into yours before he can stop himself, and you whimper as you feel his arousal press up between your thighs. He exhales shakily, brushing his lips against your shoulder, your throat, your cheek before he meets your eye again. “’s this okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod, carding your fingers through the fur at the base of his ear. Husk shudders against you, eyes rolling back slightly at the touch. A crease forms in his brow as he forces himself not to move, not to grind himself down against your warmth. Your dress is bunched up around him, baring your inner thighs to his tickling fur, his breath warm against your cheek. “Yeah, please… do it again, Husk.”

“Christ,” Husk mutters as you tease at his ear again, knocking his hat off his head. He kisses you firmly, deeply, one paw taking hold of your thigh and squeezing the soft flesh in a way that you could almost call possessive. “You got no idea how dangerous you are…”

“Holy shit, you two are cute.”

Angel’s voice breaks through the haze between the two of you, and you pull away from Husk slightly as you’re suddenly reminded that the spider is there. Your cheeks flush with heat; you’d been so wrapped up in the man in bed with you that you’d almost forgotten your friend was watching. Instead of being cowed by his interruption however, you’re almost taken aback by how much it excites you, knowing he’s watching.

Husk presses another kiss to the edge of your jaw before he turns his head to roll his eyes and smile at his paramour. “You plannin’ on jus’ addin’ colour commentary here, legs?”

“For now, yeah,” Angel replies with a grin, lounging comfortably in the armchair in the corner. He’s watching the two of you with hooded eyes, and there’s something almost sensual in the way he strokes a hand lazily back and forth along the velvety fabric of the arm of the chair. “I’m jus’ waitin’ for ya to do that thing with your tongue that’ll make her go blind for a second.”

Husk snickers and, feeling daring, you lean up to tease the side of his throat with your lips. You feel him groan as your teeth graze over his pulse point. The bartender’s hand tightens on your thigh, hitching it higher against his hip. “Fuck…”

“Ooh, she’s a quick study,” Angel coos, and you thrill under the praise as Husk turns his head to catch your lips in another kiss. “Think you can keep up with her, kitty?”

“Don’ call me that,” Husk mumbles without breaking the kiss, and Angel giggles. Husk dusts kisses down over your throat, and you feel him grin against your neck when he sucks a bruise into the curve where it meets your shoulder and you curse. The sound of it is low and throaty and begs for more, and Husk rewards it with a louder purr and a trail of kisses that teases down along the neckline of your dress. You arch up into his touch as his lips brush over your sternum, his whiskers tickling at the swell of your breasts.

His paw continues its journey up your thigh, taking the skirt of your dress with it. His tail sways back and forth behind him, and when he reaches your hip, he pauses, pressing one more kiss to your chest before pulling back to meet your eye. A smirk plays over his features, eyes half-lidded and pupils blown wide with desire.

“You got me at a disadvantage here, sweetness,” he murmurs, lips catching yours again briefly. “You’re a little overdressed for the occasion.”

You giggle. “Well, of course you’d think that; you’re the one who walks around the hotel half-naked all day.”

Husk chuckles, and you hear Angel hum a laugh, too. The cat kisses you, his thumb hooking in the band of your underwear and snapping it tauntingly against your hip. “Cheeky girl.”

You sit up and Husk helps you tug your dress up over your head, and God the way he looks at you…

Pulling him down into another kiss, you massage your fingers against the base of his ears and Husk moans, rough and worn and needy. He retakes your hips as you buck up against him, eager to feel him again with one less barrier between you. Husk snickers, kissing your cheek.

“Slow down, princess,” he tells you gently, claws tickling against your ribs as he strokes them soothingly. He hooks them in either side of your underwear, and you whine. He draws them down your legs slowly, pulling away from you long enough for you to kick them away. “I’ve got you, baby. One step at a time.”

You hear Angel shift in his chair and look towards him automatically. The spider smiles and winks, still watching the two of you with that same addictive intensity. You hold his gaze as Husk kisses his way back down your chest, sliding your bra strap down your shoulder gently. You gasp, arching up under Husk at the first touch of his tongue to your nipple. Angel’s smile widens.

Husk’s tongue is warm and wet and deliciously rough, and you moan as he sucks a teasing pressure around the hardened point. It makes your fingers tighten in his fur, and his other paw comes up to brush is claws over your other nipple. He pinches it and tugs, and the sudden pain makes you jump, and Husk snickers into your chest.

“Fuck, Husk…” you whine, eyes squeezed closed. You shift long enough to reach behind yourself and unclip your bra, tossing it aside as Husk immediately returns his attention to your breasts, paw kneading into the soft flesh. “Shit…”

“Ain’t he jus’ got the most magic tongue:” Angel coos, standing slowly. He makes his way towards the bed slowly, focused intently on how Husk’s back arches as he grinds himself into the mattress between your thighs. “Oh, he’s gonna make you feel so good, baby…”

Husk lingers at your breasts a moment longer, still purring deeply, before he continues lower. He dusts soft, teasing kisses down over your belly, paws smoothing down over the curve of your waist. He pauses just above the apex of your thighs, pressing the cold heart of his nose hard against your skin and inhaling deeply, his eyes closed.

“Christ…” he mutters, running his paws down over your hips and over your thighs, pressing them gently apart. His back arches in a long, fluid motion as Angel scratches his fingers through the fur along the cat’s spine. The spider’s touch lingers between his wing joints, and Husk groans, bumping his forehead against your thigh. “Fuuuuck… you smell so good, baby…”

“Husk…” you murmur, an ache throbbing between your thighs. You press your hips up, desperate for him to bring his mouth lower. “Please…”

“Oh, don’t you sound so pretty when you beg?” Husk rumbles, pressing an infuriatingly chaste kiss to your inner thighs, first one, then the other, his eyes watching your face hungrily. The smirk he wears is maddening, as is the snicker you hear from Angel. The spider sits next to you on the bed, stroking his fingers through your hair. You lean into the touch, eyes closing, a frown tugging at your lips as your impatience grows.

“Don’t she?” Angel agrees, nails scratching pleasantly against your scalp. “Be a nice kitty for her, baby.”

Husk’s smirk widens and Angel slips behind you, lifting you gently just long enough to fold his legs under you so your head is in his lap. The spider winks at you again, upside down, just as Husk finally slides his tongue slowly up over your clit.

“Oh, fuck!”

Angel giggles at the way you gasp, your hips rising off the sheets. Your eyes roll back as Husk flicks his tongue over your clit and the cat groans into your cunt at the taste of you. His paws clutch at your thighs, pinning you against the mattress, and while he planned on taking you apart slowly, the taste of you is already too addictive to let him pace himself.

Angel keeps stroking your hair with two hands, and your own reach down to grab at fistfuls of the fur between Husk’s ears. The bartender’s wings quiver as your nails scratch at his scalp.

Grinding your hips up against his mouth as best you can under his hold, you bite your lip against the downright pornographic sounds you can feel catching in his throat as Husk tortures your clit. Angel smirks, another hand coming up to glide over your chin, gently unhooking you lip from beneath your teeth. He giggles as you wrap your lips around two of his fingers blindly, curl your tongue against them and suck.

“Fuck, that’s hot.” he sighs, and Husk moans between your legs as he watches. “Oh, you’re in for a fuckin’ treat if you get her on her knees, Husk-baby.”

Husk chuckles, fangs grazing your inner thigh for a moment before he slides his tongue over your clit and down into your dripping cunt. He fucks you with his tongue eagerly, pressing the pad of his thumb against your clit. When your fingers brush against the shell of Husk’s ears he purrs again, and you moan, loud and broken and keening as the sound vibrates up into your pussy.

Angel hums approvingly, withdrawing his hand to slide it down around your throat. He cups it, squeezes it just a little, and you cum with a hoarse cry of Husk’s name. There’s no doubt you’re being loud enough to be heard in the hallway but you don’t care, not with the way Husk’s tongue feels inside you, the way his claws are digging into the flesh of your hips.

Husk doesn’t stop until you’re shaking, your thighs clamping around his ears, one hand clutching at the fur between them. You can feel a wet patch on the comforter beneath your ass, and Husk’s expression is decidedly smug as he climbs back up your body, one suspender hanging off his shoulder. Angel intercepts him before you can kiss him, and you whimper as they kiss over you, Angel cupping the bartender’s head with two hands. You can see their tongues sliding against each other and when Angel moans at the taste of you, you whimper, grinding your hips up against Husk’s clothed erection.

He groans, breaking away from Angel with a breathless chuckle. “Needy little thing…”

Husk leans back down to kiss you, and you can taste a heady mix of the sweetness of Angel’s last cocktail and your own arousal on his tongue. When you reach between you to fumble with the fastening of his pants, he closes a large hand over both of yours, stilling you.

“Slow down, pet. I’ve…” he kisses you gently again, steadying his voice. “Hell ain’t exactly left me with the anatomy you’re expectin’…”

“Say it like that and you’re gonna scare her,” Angel teases, reaching out to rub his fingers against the base of Husk’s ear. The bartender purrs, leaning into it instinctively. Angel looks down at you, giving you a smile that’s somehow both reassuring and downright lascivious. “You’re gonna love it, aren’t ya, babydoll?”

You nod, and there’s a surprising thrill that’s curling inside you at Husk’s warning. Or maybe that’s the way his claws trail lightly up over your hip. He swipes his thumb over your clit again, and you jerk under the touch.

“Angel…”

“Look at her, Huskie,” Angel coos, giving his partner a teasing pout. “It’d be cruel to deprive our sweet girl now. She’s about thirty seconds away from beggin’ ya for it. ‘Sides,” he shrugs. “I got lube if she needs it.”

Husk raises a brow. “You’ve got lube?”

“What d’ya take me for? Some kinda amateur?” Angel says, affronted. “Course I’ve got lube!”

The bartender chuckles, rolling his eyes and apologising by pulling the spider into another kiss. You feel his paw loosen its grip where it still holds your hands against his zipper, and you palm his erection through his pants. Husk moans, shuddering under the touch as he pulls away to meet your eye. “We… we take it slow, alright?”

You nod, maybe too quickly from the way Angel smirks, but Husk accepts it and releases you. You make quick work of his fly as he slips off his suspenders, and your eyes widen as his cock is freed from the fabric. It’s tapered slightly, thickening to the base, and along the length of it are small, pointed barbs. Angel brushes hair away from your face, cooing softly. “They’re gonna feel so good inside you, baby… you’re gonna take his cock so good for us…”

You exhale shakily, a sound echoed by Husk as you wrap your fingers gently around the base of his cock. You stroke him experimentally, and the way the barbs feel against your palm… Husk moans as you squeeze him, stroke your thumb over the tip of his cock. He peppers kisses over your forehead, your temples and your cheeks, catching your lips again and kissing you deeply as you pump his cock slowly. Angel hums his approval and when Husk kisses your brow Angel hooks his fingers under the cat’s chin, bringing him up for another kiss of his own.

You can hear every reaction Husk makes to your touch, the way his breath catches, the way he moans into Angel’s mouth. He thrusts himself into your hand, and you stroke your other hand through the fur over his ribs. When Angel reaches past him to massage the base of Husk’s wings the cat gasps, jerking away from the both of you. “Christ, fuck, you two are gonna kill me here.”

You giggle, and Husk grins, leaning up to kiss Angel’s cheek before he settles himself back between your thighs. Your breath catches as the head of his cock presses up against your cunt, and Angel strokes your cheek as Husk slides an inch slowly into you.

“Oh, God, Husk…” you whine, hips shifting as you feel his cock stretch you open. “Fuck…”

“Look at you,” Angel whispers sweetly as Husk pulls back and presses into you again, sliding another inch into you. The bartender groans as you flex around him, his paws tight on your hips. “Look at how pretty you look like this...”

You reach up to clutch at the pillows and Angel wraps his hand around yours, interlacing his fingers with your own. Husk’s body is warm and firm and a wonderful weight over yours, his face buried in the curve of your neck as he tries to maintain this torturous, glacial pace. Each thrust of his hips stretches you further, and it aches wonderfully, each barb of his cock taking the breath from your lungs in a little ‘hahh’.

“You’re doin’ so good, baby,” Angel continues, trailing fingers of another hand along your other collarbone. “Bein’ such a good girl for daddy… makin’ him feel so good.”

Husk moans into your shoulder, teeth grazing the supple flesh. His paw spreads possessively over your waist, kneading into the flesh of your belly.

“Listen to how hot you get him,” Angel says, a third hand scratching the fur between Husk’s ears. “Look at how kitty fucks you… he’s tryin’ so hard not to hurt you, baby. But you’re so wet for him, aren’t you? You’re so wet and so ready and all you gotta do is say ‘please’… say ‘please’ pretty baby and Huskie’s gonna fuck you so deep and so good… fuck you like you deserve for bein’ such a good girl for him…”

“Fuck…” you whine, rocking your hips up to meet Husk’s. He’s almost completely inside you; the way he corkscrews his hips makes the barbs of his cock drag against the flesh of your cunt deliciously, and your eyes roll back at the feeling of it. “Fuck!”

“C’mon, baby,” Angel urges, sugar-sweet. The hand on your shoulder dips lower, teasing over the curve of your breast. He flicks his fingers over your nipple, and your breath catches in what could almost be a sob. “Beg nice and pretty for daddy and he’ll fuck you just how you need it. “

“Please,” you whine, brow furrowed in frustration as Husk pulls out completely, sliding his cock up against your clit. His breathing is heavy, torn with need of his own, and he dips his head to kiss you, hard and deep. You moan into his mouth as his barbs drag against your clit, and you wrap your arm around his neck, your other hand still locked in Angel’s. “Please, Husk… fuck me, please… Fuck… I need you to… please, Husk…”

“That’s a good girl,” Husk sighs, and the two of you moan in unison as he slides his cock back into you, his hips finally, finally flush with yours. “Holy… fuuuuck…”

“Listen to you two,” Angel says admiringly, his voice strung with his own desire. “Sound so fuckin’ pretty together…”

Husk fucks you deep; each time he pulls back he thrusts in again far enough to make your breath leave you in quick, cut moans. You raise your knees higher, trying to get him deeper, and Angel reaches down with his lower arms, hooks his hands under your knees and draws them up towards your chest. The angle makes Husk’s cock brush against something inside you with each press of his hips into yours and you keen with it, the sound tearing hoarsely from your throat, high-pitched and broken.

“That’s it, baby,” Angel tells you. “Tell daddy how good he feels; tell him how good he feels fucking you.”

“So good…” your breath catches in your throat as Husk touches a careful claw to your clit, your body shuddering with the added stimulation. “Fuck, it’s so good…”

Husk kisses the other side of your neck, tongue and teeth teasing over your pulse point before he kisses you again, sweet and deep and addictive. A purr rumbles through him as he speaks against your lips, bumping his nose against yours. “You feel so fuckin’ good, doll. Fuck, you’re like pure fuckin’ silk…”

Your voice comes out high-pitched, a whine that matches the tears burning in the corners of your eyes. “Please, Husk… I’m so close, I can’t… Husk…”

“’s okay, baby, I got you,” he kisses you again, brief but tender. “I got you, doll. Fuck, you’re so… Christ…”

You clutch at the fur at the back of his head, urging his face back down to your neck. Husk moves obediently, sinking his teeth into the side of your neck just as he thrusts deep into your quivering cunt. You moan aloud as you cum, eyes rolling back and rocking your hips up against his as soon as Angel releases your thighs. Husk groans into your throat, keeping his teeth buried in your sensitive flesh until he feels you slowly relax again. He laps gently at the mark he’s left behind, the roughness of his tongue making your body jerk with each stroke of it against your neck.

Husk’s breathing is just as laboured as yours, and he presses kisses over your cheeks, your chin as he steadies his hips. You whine as he slips his cock out of you, bucking up against him as he slides the barbs of it slowly against your clit.

“Fucking… holy shit,” you reach down to grasp at his hips, and Husk chuckles brokenly into the edge of your jaw as he stops moving. He kisses the bridge of your nose and you wrinkle it when it tickles, and you echo his laugh breathlessly as he brings his lips back to yours. Husk purrs against your lips.

“Fuck, you two are hot as shit,” Angel sighs, squeezing your hand. You hum happily, squeezing back, and Husk breaks the kiss to lean up and kiss him. It’s soft and languid and sweet, and Husk groans into it, rutting himself against your thigh. Angel coos against Husk’s lips, kissing him between words. “You still need to cum, don’t ya, kitty?”

Husk nods, groaning as you stroke your fingers through the fur of his chest. “Don’t tease me, legs.”

“Never, baby,” Angel promises with the sweetest smirk, petting the bartender’s cheek. “Now be a good boy and sit back for me.”

Husk does as he’s told, and Angel strokes your cheek with careful fingers. You lean into it contentedly, and his expression softens further with an affectionate smile. “How ya feelin’, dollface?”

“Take a guess,” you sigh happily and he snickers.

“Atta girl.”

You feel Husk smooth a paw up over your calf, and your body warms as you shift to meet his eye. He has his other paw wrapped around his cock, stroking it slowly. Each time he reaches the base he squeezes, his breathing unsteady. His pupils are still blown wide, his wings quivering and his tail switching behind him.

“Roll over for him, baby,” Angel instructs you gently. “Up on your knees.”

You groan at the soft ache between your thighs as you roll over, hear Husk’s breath catch as you bare your naked back to him. You feel his paw smooth up the back of your thigh to squeeze your ass, and you lean back against him, his fur tickling at your bare skin, his cock hard against the curve of your ass. He wraps his arm around your middle, claws digging into the soft flesh in what feels addictively possessive, his other hand catching your chin and turning your face towards him. He kisses you over your shoulder, that sweet purr vibrating into your back.

Angel leans forward, turning your face away from Husk’s so he can kiss him instead, moaning quietly into the embrace. When they part, Angel surprises you by brushing his lips over yours. “Bend over, sweet girl.”

You shudder at his tone, a moan catching in your throat as you do as he asks. Husk moves to slide his cock between your thighs, and he groans, low and rough. Angel smooths hair away from your face as he guides you down to rest your cheek against his thigh, and your excitement sparks even brighter as you notice the spider’s erection beneath the tight fabric of his skirt, only a few inches from your face.

Husk thrusts into you again, nice and slow, exhaling heavily as your warm, wet cunt squeezes around him again. A shiver rolls up your spine as he takes hold of your hips, palms pressing into the flesh of your ass, claws digging into your skin. Angel’s lower hands move to your shoulders, pinning your chest to the mattress so your back is arched almost obscenely. He moans as you nuzzle your cheek against his clothed cock, and he gathers your hair in his fist so he can watch your face as Husk rolls his hips into yours.

“Fuck, you’re an eager lil’ thing,” Angel giggles breathlessly. He pulls up his skirt, and you watch through heavy-hooded eyes as Angel strokes himself through the barely-there lace of his thong, the fabric damp with his pre-cum. “Look at how much you’re turnin’ us on, baby… fuck…”

He moans as you clutch at his thigh, nails digging into the lithe muscles hidden under downy fur. You rock your hips back to meet Husk’s every thrust, urging him deeper into you. The bartender is muttering a string of curses the closer he gets to release, the swearing broken by moans and half-there praise for the two of you. When Angel pushes his underwear to the side to wrap his delicate, talented fingers around his own cock, he and Husk moan in unison. Your eyes roll back as Husk’s hands tighten on your hips and his pace quickens desperately.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuck…” you grunt out each time his hips meet your ass, your throat raw. You reach beneath yourself to play with your clit, the sounds you’re making turning high pitched. Angel’s fingers grasp at your hair tighter, his hips rising beneath you to fuck himself into his hand. “Fuck, Husk… Angel… I… fuck…”

“Christ, baby, I can’t…” Husk moans, tail wrapping itself around your sweat-slick thigh. His feathers tickle at the soft, sensitive flesh of your inner thigh, at the back of your hand as you roll your fingers hungrily against your clit. “Fuck, I can’t—”

“Hear that, babydoll?” Angel asks you, his usually almost teasing lilt broken by his own desperation. Instead his voice is reedier, breathier, and it’s far hotter than any of the moans you’ve heard him make in any one of the pornos he’s showcased for the other residents. “Don’t ya want our sweet kitty to cum for ya?”

“Yes…” you choke out, your thighs shaking, heat pooling in the small of your back. Husk bends over you to press kisses along your spine, and you feel like you want to cry from all the warring sensations. “God, fuck yes—Husk…”

He growls in response, fangs grazing the middle of your back as he kisses the curve of your back. His paws tighten on your hips further, despite himself, and you find yourself thrilling at the idea that he might mark you.

“Gotta – shit – ask nicely, sugar,” Angel reminds you, nails scratching against the nape of your neck. “Beg for daddy.”

“Please,” you whimper immediately; you can taste iron from the way your teeth dig into your lip. You’re so fucking close, each thrust of Husk’s cock keeps you teetering on that precipice. Each graze of his rigid barbs against the inside of your cunt makes heat pulse through every inch of you and you need to feel him cum. “Please, Husk… please, I – uhnn—I want you to… fuck—cum for me…”

You reach back to grasp blindly for him, closing your fingers around his paw. You swear Husk almost whimpers at your touch.

“Cum inside me, Husk.”

The sound the bartender makes is sinful, an addictive mix of a deep, throaty moan and this cattish growl that you hope will be imprinted on your brain. He squeezes your hand back as he thrusts hard into you, his body curving over yours to press his chest against your back as he spills himself deep inside you.

A few more seconds rubbing furiously at your clit and you follow him, burying your teeth in Angel’s thigh in an attempt to muffle the way you cry out as you orgasm. Angel moans loudly, eyes rolling back, hips thrusting up, and you feel the warmth of his cum on your cheek. “Oh, fuck!”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The flush of the toilet seems a little too loud, and you stand on shaky legs in front of the bathroom mirror as you wash your hands, run damp fingers through your hair to tame it. Your eyes seem too bright, your cheeks still flushed and your bottom lip bee-stung. You touch fingers to the bruises darkening on the side of your throat, flashes of the way Husk’s mouth had felt there replaying in your mind.

Even after three orgasms strong enough to knock the breath out of you, excitement tickles between your thighs at the memory. You exhale shakily, trying to calm yourself, fill the glass on the side of the sink with cold water from the tap and swallow it down.

Holy shit.

There a few lighter bruises across your breasts; your nipple aches as you brush your fingers against the darker bruise beside it. You glance down, making a happy note of the scratch marks on your hips. They’re light, barely there, but a thrilling reminder all the same.

Holy.

Shit.

You’d just lost your virginity.

In a threesome.

With a former Overlord and Hell’s most famous porn star.

Holy.

Fucking.

Shit.

Pulling on the oversized tee-shirt you use a pyjamas and wishing you had a clean pair of underwear with you, you take another steadying breath, preparing yourself for an empty room. After all, Angel had explained at the beginning of all this that by going to your room, you’d ‘feel more comfortable telling them to fuck the hell off’ if you needed to. Now that the… experience was over, why would they stay?

So, when you open the bathroom door to find the two of them waiting for you on the edge of the bed, you almost trip over the area rug.

“We were startin’ to think you weren’t comin’ outta there,” Angel says lightly, giving you a reassuring smile. “You okay, sugar?”

You nod, tucking hair behind your ear uncertainly.

“You sure?” Husk asks. His expression is soft, and you’re surprised to see his muzzle is once again stained with a blush. “You look like you’re ready to rabbit. If we did somethin’ you ain’t—”

“What? No!” you assure him quickly, your cheeks warming to match his. “No, I just… I guess I wasn’t expecting you two to stick around.”

Husk raises an eyebrow, and something that could be hurt flashes briefly across his features. “D’you want us to go?”

“And skip the afterglow?” Angel says, like he’s playfully offended or shocked Husk would even suggest it. He stands, and you notice then that he’s changed his clothes – his everyday outfit exchanged for a pyjama set and thigh-high socks. He glances down at himself, offering by way of explanation, “Had to check on Nuggets. And ‘sides, I look cute as shit in this.”

The comment breaks some of the tension you’re feeling, and you huff a quiet laugh. Angel’s own smile widens and he closes the distance between the two of you. he turns and wraps an arm around your shoulders in the same friendly way he’s done a hundred times before, but this time he squeezes your shoulders, another hand coming up to play idly with the ends of your hair. You feel his lips brush your temple as he bends down to speak in your ear. “You want us gone, baby, all you gotta do is say so. But Huskie’s big on the aftercare and checkin’ in and all that. He waited here while I changed – don’t think he’s leavin’ ‘til he knows you’re happy.”

The sentiment warms you, and you lean into Angel’s side. You speak louder than he did, so Husk can hear you, too. You smile softly as his ears flick upward at the sound of your voice, husky and worn from overuse. “I’m happy. Still… not entirely sure if what just happened, happened, but happy.”

“If it didn’t, it might jus’ be hottest fuckin’ dream I ever had,” Angel laughs, fingers playing teasingly with the edge of your shirt. “Now go cuddle up to our boy before he combusts.”

Our boy.

Husk’s worried expression softens into a smile as you approach where he still sits on the edge of the bed, and he holds up a paw to you invitingly. His touch is warm and soft and wonderfully comforting as it wraps around your hand, and you blush when he turns your hand over to brush his lips to the inside of your wrist, a crease between his brows.

“How’re you feelin’?” he asks against your skin, his eyes opening to meet your gaze. You smile, bending down impulsively and pressing a kiss to the lines between his brows. A quiet purr sounds from him at the touch, ears folding down. The fur between his ears is dishevelled and it makes him look younger, less worn.

“I’m good.”

He smiles back up at you. “Good.”

“Fuck, you two are givin’ me a toothache over here.” Angel interjects in amusement, and you hadn’t even realised he’d made himself comfortable against the pillows and the headboard. “Now, am I gettin’ my ass cuddled good and proper here or what?”

You giggle, and he opens all four arms to you expectantly, a smirk playing over his features. Husk seems reluctant to let you go, his hand following you as you move to join his partner on the bed. Tugging your shirt down as best you can to cover yourself, you crawl onto the bed and laugh as you collapse into the spider’s waiting arms. He snickers, wrapping them around you, swatting your ass playfully with one hand. You shove him away with a laugh, breath catching in your throat as you feel Husk climb up the bed and wrap his arms around you.

You settle on your side between them, cradled against Angel’s chest and Husk pressed against your back. His wing curves around you, feathers tickling at your bare arm, his thighs pressed up against the backs of yours. He reaches over you to interlock his fingers with Angel’s, his face tucked in over your shoulder. Husk’s breath tickles at the side of your neck, and he hums contentedly as he inhales the scent of you.

“… Did you two change the sheets?”

Angel nods and grins, trailing fingers up over your thigh idly. “Ya left a hell of a wet patch, baby. Next time we should probably put down a towel.”

You swallow, tilting your head back to look at him. “… Next time?”

“Only if you want, baby,” Husk murmurs into the side of you throat. He shifts, leaning up over your shoulder. Angel hooks a couple of delicate fingers against your cheek in the same moment, turning your head so Husk can kiss you. It’s soft and sweet and wonderful, and you sigh into his kiss. Husk’s purr deepens. “No pressure.”

You turn back to the man you’re laying on, studying his expression. “Angel?”

His smile is warm and sincere, even as that teasing lilt to it remains. “Like I said, baby, I got no problem sharin’ with a friend.”

Husk rubs his forehead against your shoulder, up along the curve of your throat. His voice is soft and velvety, warm in your ear. “’s up to you, pet. We’d love to keep you.”

.

.

.

Again, happy birthday Keeks! Hope you liked this thoroughly un-proofread piece of smut. I am once again letting you know just how grateful I am to have you in my life - we've almost known each other for a year now, and I already cannot imagine life without you. You're an angel, and I love you :)

[myromanempiree]

Only you, my girl, only you, babe

Azriel x Reader

word count- 1.1k

Summary - In the books, its usually the male getting jealous after a fresh mating bond. I don't see enough of the female getting jealous.

a/n - I read a lot of Azriel angst today, @azrielbrainrot 's "I laugh like me again, and she laughs like you" hurt so good. (go read it!) But I decided to write some fluff,because its good for my heart, and I needed to get back into the swing of writing and wanted to learn how to write smut. So this is kinda messy.

c/w - p in v, tooth rotting fluff, jealousy, fem reader

Again, he was talking to Elain again.

He was helping her work in the garden of your shared home, which he had asked her to do after learning your favorite flowers. Even though you knew it was just Azriel being his usual self, unable to let someone do work by themselves even when he asked for it, you still couldn't help but want him all for yourself.

Perhaps it was the freshly accepted mating bond, only about a month old. Yes, thats what's it was. Just some base, lesser instincts, not at all jealousy. No, not that.

Your piercing stare seems to garner the middle Archeron's attention, who excitedly waves you over. You walk through the garden, moving like a magnet to Azriel. Arm looped in his, your face buried into his bicep.

You ignored the conversation, focusing on your mates warm body. Eyes still hostile, gazing at Elain.

Everything seemed to be generally running smoothly until she touched his arm, your mates arm. There was nothing adherently flirtatious about the movement, she was simply thanking him for hauling heavy bags soil, but it still irked you.

In fact, it irked you enough to elicit a low growl from your throat. The Archeron's eyes light with amusement, a small smile on her pink lips. Your mate looking rather taken aback.

"You two should probably go back inside, Im almost done." Elain said, clapping her hands together. "Alright, help yourself to the pastries in the kitchen when you're done.' Your mate said kindly.

Then Azriel placed a scarred, warm hand on your back, guiding you inside of your cottage

"Love? What was that?" Your mate asked, a gentle smirk on his stupidly kissable lips. When you didn't answer he gently pulled you closer to him by your hand and small of your back. "Love?" He repeats.

You flush in embarrassment, looking at his shoulder, a shadow dancing along with Azriel's amusement.

You huff, moving past him, causing a soft laugh to escape his lips, following you to your shared bedroom.

After you hear the door click, you feel strong arms wrap around your waist, a firm body against your back. Azriel's warm breath dances across your skin as he buried his face into your neck.

"Answer me." He cooed softly, nuzzling his nose against the skin, his fingers drawing uncoordinated patterns on your hips. "Love?" Azriel began, kissing your skin. "Love of my life, sweetheart, darling, lovely. What happened?"

A silence enveloped the room, only for a few seconds before you whispered. "She touched your arm..."

You regretted it as soon as the words escaped your mouth, as soon as Azriel let out a deep, rumbling laugh that sent a heat to your core. The heat intensified as he moved his hands down to your thighs, kissing your neck.

"It didn't mean anything, my love..." Azriel began, "I know...I just—" you said softly.

"Were you jealous, little love?" His devilish smirk warm against your neck. And a soft nod of your head causes it to only widen. "You have nothing to be jealous of. You're the only one for me, only you." He mumbled truthfully, "A touch on the arm won't change that."

You still seemed a little wary, a little jealous. Azriel could feel it through the glimmering bond he had absolutely cherished since the moment he felt it. He slowly turns you around, picking you up in his arms. A soft, squealed "Azriel!" leaving your lips.

"Would you like me to prove it to you?" He said, laying you onto the bed, kissing along your collarbone, a soft sigh escaped you lips. Urging him forward, "That would be nice."

He grinned again, moving his calloused fingers up your thighs, dancing across the slightly dampened cloth of your panties. He began moving it aside to slide two of his thick fingers into you, eliciting a soft gasp as he continued.

Azriel's fingers curling inside you felt beyond heavenly, you squirm under him, placing your hands on his shoulders as he moved. He slowly kissing in between your breasts, humming contently and he scissors his fingers.

His thumb pushed against your clit, a breathy moan escaping you. "There we go..." He purred, "Such a good girl." You let out a soft squeal as his warm mouth attached to a pert nipple, "Azzie! Mh—...fuck, I'm close."

His mouth curved around your nipple, giving it one last flick of his tongue before finding the spongey spot inside you that made you see stars.

Azriel groaned, his forehead digging into your cleavage as you come down from your high. He slowly removed his fingers, causing a soft moan to leave your lips.

He gently kissing your lips and moved to bring down his trousers, freeing his aching cock. You hum and move to bring your mouth down to it, before he catches you. "No can do, pretty." He mumbled, smudging the pre and your cum along his length, before slowly insisting himself.

Even after almost a year of being together, the stretch still burned. You hissed softly, moving to get your fingers in his hair. Her gently placed a hand on the inside of your thigh, massaging softly. "Breathe, pretty. Deep breaths. Follow me.' He mumbled, guiding you in breathing,

"Just like that, love." Azriel cooed rewardingly, moving to test a soft thrust. When you didn't wince, he nods to himself, clasping his hands along you hip and thigh, holding you steady while he does all of the work.

You let out a soft whine, burying your face into the crook of his neck as taking in deep breaths as you slowly make love. He pressed gentle kisses along your hairline, his thumb stroking your hip reassuringly, the murmuring praises.

The room filled with pants, the rustling of wings, skin slapping together and the slight creaking of your shared bed. And as you both approached the edge together, a loud moan escaped your lips, and a mumbled curse from Azriel.

The couple sat in a cozy silence, before Azriel gently placed his head on her chest. "Did I prove you wrong?" He asked teasingly. "Mhm..." You lazily mumble, stroking his hair, a soft chuckle escaped his lips.

He then removed himself and moved to clean you up, scooping you into his arms and walking to the bathroom, perching you onto the counter. He dampened a cloth, gently wiping away your mixed cum and kissing your thighs.

After cleaning up, you both dress on another, and you mumble a soft apology for being jealous. "You're alright, it was cute.' He teased, kissing your forehead and guiding you to the kitchen to get water.

Elain sits at the table, a crumbly pastry in hand, and a small grin on her face, before extending the pastry box to the pair, with mirth dancing in her eyes.

"Croissant?"

[akanemnon]

I was bored, so I decided to create Dark World versions of DR!Asriel and DR!Chara! (Even though they’ll never actually go to the Dark World in Twins Runes… but details).

Of course, since I love making my life more complicated, instead of just showing them to you, I’ve decided to write out my entire "creative process" as well.

Brace yourself, because this is gonna be loooong.

---

• Asriel

At first, I thought about making him look similar to Asriel from Deltarune Chapter Rewritten, adding a few details from an old Dark World design of Asriel you made a while back. It would have been simple, effective, and overall made perfect sense...

But obviously, NOPE.

Taking the easy way out? Couldn't be me.

So instead, I went for something a bit more "colorful", still taking inspiration from Asriel’s "God of Hyperdeath" version in Undertale.

For his class, I went with bard. Something like this:

[Bard for D&D]

I don’t know why, but the idea of a bard in Deltarune has always cracked me up. Plus, I think it fits his personality as a "fake tough guy with a heart of gold."

Now, onto his weapon. I took Asriel's Chaos Buster from his "God of Hyperdeath" form and turned it into… a lyre.

I know, not exactly a groundbreaking idea, but I can’t stop laughing at the thought of a lyre that, every time it hits someone, plays a dramatic music note… or maybe an electric guitar riff. I haven’t decided yet.

---

• Chara

If I had a lot of inspiration for Asriel, Chara was a whole different struggle. There aren’t many reference images (and no, UT!Chara doesn’t count, because from what you told me, they should have a completely different outfit).

The only real starting point was this drawing, which was super helpful:

[By @Unabashedconnoisseurtwitt / @UCNSFW (One of these should be fine...)]

Aside from that, I had to improvise, taking inspiration from Deltaswap Kris’ outfit:

[By @panpan]

For their class, I went with thief/assassin (kinda like UT!Chara). Something like this:

[D&D Assassin]

Now, let’s talk about their weapon.

This part was easy: a knife.

But not just any knife.

A knife shaped like the Delta Rune. (No clue why, but I thought it looked awesome.)

I picture them having a dynamic similar to Susie and Ralsei in Chapter 1: Asriel happily playing music to spare enemies, while Chara… just stabs them repeatedly.

---

And that’s it! After months of pure artistic nothingness, I finally managed to draw something Twins Runes-related!

I really hope you like the drawings and that my endless explanation didn’t bore you too much.

Now, after this sudden burst of creativity, it’s time for me to disappear for another 3-4 months, just for consistency.

BYEEEEEE!

(PS: Thank you again for creating Twins Runes! It’s been forever since I worked on something this detailed, but your art really inspired me!)

These are really nice! I like the thought process that went into these! Really like the idea of turning Asriel's blaster into a lyre!

Funnily enough, I HAVE already created Dark World designs for these two, but never showed them off. Maybe some other day and definitely not under this ask. Don't wanna take away from your lovely fanart!

[always-just-red]

Merry Christmas, guys!!! Ok, so this is a day early, but I wanted to say thanks to you all with a feel-good follow-up to my Game Night fic! So, here: a Christmas Eve sleepover with the boys, and they’re on their VERY best behaviour this time, I promise 😌

The Night Before Christmas

L&DS Boys X Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Summary: It’s time to get the gang back together!!!

Genre: Fluff + humour

Warnings/Additional Tags: gn!reader, kinda poly? but mostly platonic, a lil bit of wholesome intimacy, one particularly suggestive joke from Sylus (he can’t help himself), also probably needs another proofread but my eyes are tired 💀

| Word count: 4.8k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Right! Let’s try this again.”

You glance around your living room with your hands on your hips, channelling your inner Captain Jenna as you fight to suppress flashbacks that verge on traumatic.

Some of this is exactly the same as last time. Sylus is sprawled in the same spot on your couch, looking inordinately pleased with himself for someone who has only just arrived. The very image of smugness; you immediately suspect that something is horribly wrong, or on track to go horribly wrong. You glance to the other couch, where Xavier and Rafayel sit, equally braced for your presentation. Neither one has been teleported to the roof of your building.

Sylus is reading your relief, and he gives you an exclusive smile, as if to say: yet.

Try not to think about it.

You stand by a large drawing pad— currently flipped closed to create a suspense that only Xavier has bought into. He gives you an eager nod, the blue of his eyes warm and encouraging.

The faces around you haven’t changed, but your little apartment has. Strings of twinkling lights run around your walls, casting faint, festive glows. There’s frost on your windows. Littered everywhere are ornaments: small, glittery birds and wintery creatures. Lots of snowman plushies, courtesy of a few, dedicated arcade expeditions with your favourite doctor.

New season, new start.

“We all remember how this went last time,” you push on finally. “Mistakes were made. Shit happened. Whatever— we’re not gonna dwell on it.”

Sylus lifts his hand. “I, for one, would enjoy a reminder of said mistakes.”

“Motion denied,” you dismiss with a grin and a customer-service enthusiasm that screams: don’t fuck with me right now. Sylus’s eyes sparkle, like embers anxious to become something brighter— more destructive. Don’t think about it. “It wasn’t my fault. You outnumbered me four-to-one that night, which is why my first order of business today is to appoint a co-host.”

Rafayel’s hand shoots into the air. You look at him incredulously. Zayne is stood beside you, his arms folded, and everyone else in the room has connected those particular dots.

“It’s Zayne, Rafayel,” you sigh. 

“What?!” He sits up straighter. “Why him?! What are his qualifications, huh? His credentials?”

“I’ve never set the kitchen on fire,” Zayne says.

The artist scoffs, adds under his breath: “Turned it into an ice rink, though.”

There’s a chuckle from Sylus, and a part of you feels bad, pitting Zayne against the others like this. But he’s not alone. He has you, just you, so you should probably do something. “That actually brings me really nicely to my next point, Raf, thank you.”

Unexpected praise. Rafayel stutters, a faint blush to his cheeks, and you take full advantage of having staggered him. “Zayne, do you wanna…?”

“Of course.” The dark-haired man adjusts his glasses, then addresses the rest of the room. “In the interest of everyone’s safety, we have devised a few rules to be adhered to for the rest of the evening. These will be enforced by a point system, which we will record… here.”

He flips the drawing pad open, and a blank table fills the top half of the page. Each quarter has been assigned a name. “Basically—” you gesture to it— “three strikes and you’re out.”

None of your guests look perturbed by this.

“The first rule is simple,” Zayne explains, pulling away a strip of paper from the bottom of the page, then reading the writing underneath: “No unauthorised use of Evols.”

Rafayel’s hand shoots up again. You tilt your head at it. “Yes, Raf?”

“Ok, so what if there’s a power-cut or something? Lights are out. Heating’s out. Big disaster, yeah? You’re saying I couldn’t—?” He clicks his fingers, spawning a small flame.

“We would use my Evol,” Xavier says with the gentle authority he uses to steer civilians away from a Wanderer incursion. “It’s safer.”

The flame is snuffed out. Rafayel huffs: “Don’t you use it to, like, kill things?”

“Yeah…” Xavier shrugs. “Bad things.”

“Second rule!” you chime.  

“Second rule,” Zayne echoes, peeling back the next strip of paper. There’s absolutely no showmanship, nor energy at all as he continues, “No unauthorised sarcasm.”

Another hand raises. “What would be authorised sarcasm?” Xavier asks, squinting as though he can’t quite figure it out on his own.

You purse your lips in thought. “If it makes me laugh?”

Rafayel is stroking his chin, his eyes narrowed, because he’s also thinking. “High risk, high reward,” he muses, and you shoot him a smile.

This is going better than you thought it would, actually. If you were to turn a few more pages of the drawing pad, you would see crude illustrations of the worst-case scenarios you’d sketched out for Zayne earlier. There’s one where Rafayel is trying to strangle Sylus with Christmas lights. There’s another where Zayne has turned you all into snowmen.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, though. The evening is young, and the snowman scenario is still very much on the table.

Culprit of about ninety percent of your nightmarish visions and drawings— Sylus has been unnervingly silent. You meet eyes with him, an inherent mistrust in your gaze. The success of this sweet, humble Christmas Eve hinges on you figuring out what he’s here for. His agenda. His ulterior motives.

What does he want from tonight? He smirks at you. You’re vaguely competent, and you can figure it out without him holding your hand, can’t you?

That reminds you of something. “Zayne.” You jostle your co-host by his arm. “Do the last rule!”

You’re excited about the last rule.

Zayne isn’t; he hesitates. “The last rule…” He rubs at the back of his neck. “It’s… it’s only applicable to you, Sylus.”

Sylus is now also excited about the last rule. You can tell from the way his lips part, for a second, like he wants to tell you just how flattered he is you spend so much of your time thinking about him.

You put Zayne out of his misery, tearing the final strip of paper away from the pad. The paper flutters to the ground like a very plain snowflake, and you wiggle your fingers, adorning the final rule with a touch of pizazz:

No smirking, sass, or general smugness.

A corner of Sylus’s mouth lifts. “Believe it or not, kitten, your little point system doesn’t scare me.”

You pick up the pen and score a mark under his name.

“Oh no,” he mutters lifelessly.

“Sarcasm!” Rafayel coughs.

You’re well ahead of him, already turning to make another mark. “Gods,” you hear Sylus grimace, not much more than a whisper, “you’re such a boy scout.”

There’s a snort from Rafayel. “Sorry, say that again? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of you totally getting kicked out of here.”

“Sarcasm,” Sylus says.

“Wait, I didn’t mean— no!”

You giggle as you issue Rafayel’s first strike, and he groans behind you, slumping down in his seat. When you turn back around, his face is buried in his hands.

Sylus is smirking again, but the expression drops the moment he senses your gaze. You both know what’s at stake here. Back in the N109 Zone, Luke and Kieran are lamenting the fact that you’ve stolen their leader— it’s not very Christmassy of you, after all. There were a lot of things they wanted to do with him. Snowball fights, presents, and a heist that required disguises: Santa and his two, hard-working elves. They already have the suit, custom-made for him.

So here is the big, bad boss of Onychinus, hiding in your apartment, and definitely not smirking.

You pop the lid back onto your pen, then post it into your pocket like you’re holstering an all-powerful weapon. That’s one point to you and Zayne, and zero points to Sylus, thank you very much.

…

“What are you doing?”

Sylus sighs, evading a furious lilac gaze while he focuses on the task at hand. Freshly escaped from you and the doctor’s terrifying lecture, he’s making the most of his liberty.

“What I am doing,” he mumbles, tying string around a sprig of mistletoe, “is between me and our charming host. Run along, little artist.” He tightens the knot. “This doesn’t concern you.”

Rafayel crosses his arms, his eyes dark. “You’re cheating.”

“Ha.” Sylus spares him a glance out of pity. “You’re jealous.”

“Am not.”

He definitely is, but Sylus doesn’t have time for this game. He can hear you in your bedroom, rooting around for the phone charger you’d vanished in search of. Your door isn’t closed, but it’s closed enough. You can’t see him. He can’t see you. What a perfect opportunity.

“Give it to me,” Rafayel says— an interruption that warrants a roll of the eyes.

“No.”

“Give it—“ the artist starts again, then makes a grab for the mistletoe. Now that’s jealousy. He could incinerate the plant with a click of his fingers, but no, he wants it. Covets it.

Sylus chuckles quietly, his arm stretching up: holding the mistletoe out of an ever-more desperate reach.

To Rafayel’s credit, he persists. He goes up on his toes, tugging at the older man’s sleeve to try and drag the mistletoe closer. The plant evaporates in a swirl of dark energy the second he succeeds. It materialises behind Sylus’s back, in his other hand, and Rafayel realises instantly. He tries to stretch his arms around him. To take it from him.

“Absolutely not!”

Sylus’s fingers are suddenly empty. Mistletoe-less. He turns reluctantly, still holding Rafayel back.

You stand at your wide-open door, one hand on your hips and the other clutching his confiscated item. You’re frowning. Tapping your foot. Your lips are pursed adorably.

“What a coincidence, kitten,” Sylus smiles, and behind him, Rafayel pokes his tongue out, overcome with nausea. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Clearly.” You jostle the mistletoe, looking… disappointed? Huh. “Never thought I’d catch you indulging an old cliche.”

Sylus shrugs charmingly, like a cat performing a leisurely stretch after toppling a vase from a very high shelf.

“Give me the rest of it,” you command.

“Hmm?”

“The back-up mistletoe, Sy. I’m not an idiot.”

Sylus scoffs, but you do have him wrapped oh so prettily around your finger. He rolls his neck, stalling. If giving up were a slope, he would already be a heap at the bottom of it, but he doesn’t really mind. Three more sprigs of mistletoe appear from thin air, dropping into your open hands.

“Honestly, Sylus,” you groan, stepping past him. Then you thrust the plants to the artist’s chest. “Burn these, Raf.” You’re dusting your hands down as you walk away.

Sylus frowns. That’s neither ideal nor part of the plan.

Rafayel is looking at him, telling him with gloating silence that there’s no playing diplomat, here— no negotiating the return of the hostages. That bridge has been— rather fittingly— burned. The mistletoe turns slowly to ash: darkened by licks of flame that curl with the eager spite of their master’s lips.

It would be beautiful if it wasn’t so damned inconvenient. When the fire’s had its fun, one sprig of mistletoe remains, rich green and ivory— wholly untouched. You’re across the room, talking to Zayne, so Rafayel smirks in triumph. Tucks his prize into his pocket.

Sylus’s heart sinks with it, but he still smiles back.

…

Rafayel isn’t looking too good.

Well, the Rafayel is looking fine, but your Rafayel? Not so much. You steal a glance at the artist across the cluttered kitchen island; he’s sat, leaning, propped up on his elbows, his eyes glazed— he’s clearly away with the fishies. He catches you staring. Gives you a wink.

You glance down at the gingerbread man you’ve been decorating: the blue-pink of his iced eyes, and the mess of purple hair, at least three shades too dark. Oh, gods— probably a million shades too dark through the gaze of a Lemurian. At least the outfit is cute? You’ve recreated Rafayel’s signature cardigan. The plaid pattern isn’t quite straight, but that was a… deliberate choice. This is your interpretation of his cardigan, and you wanted it to reflect its owner. A little all over the place, but still, you love it. Even when it’s coming undone, it keeps you warm.

“Would you like to go next?”

Zayne is talking to you, smiling at you. He was the first to reveal his gingerbread creation: a miniature Xavier that was surprisingly true to life. Your hunting partner had almost glowed with delight, while you were dark with jealousy. The biscuit sits before you all, boasting details that could only be achieved with an exceedingly steady hand.

Worse: Rafayel’s gingerbread is next to it, stupidly, predictably perfect. It’s Zayne. It’s really Zayne, from the sweep of black hair to the hazel eyes; how on earth did he manage to make that colour? The tiny doctor is dressed in his lab coat, sporting his badge and a pocketful of even tinier pens and medical instruments. There’s… shading? Ugh, you can see the creases in the fabric.

“Umm… sure, I can go next,” you mumble.

It was just your luck, pulling Rafayel’s name out of that hat. Sheepishly, you move aside the cookbook you’d stood to guard your project from any prying eyes. Your gingerbread is nudged forwards.

“That’s me!” Rafayel exclaims.

“Yeah…” you confirm half-heartedly. “Sorry, I know it’s not great, but I—”

Lack the skill of a celebrity artist, or the steady hands of a cardiac surgeon? You have no idea which exact pool of self-pity your sentence was set on drowning within, but it doesn’t matter. Rafayel has plucked your gingerbread up for a closer look, and his smile is enormous. “This is amazing!”

“You don’t have to—”

“That’s my cardigan!” He’s crashing the pity party again. “And look at my eyes— the colours! This little guy is so handsome, yeah? You really did me justice, cutie. Look at him!”

He holds the gingerbread up to his face, trying to match its two-dimensional grin. He looks around for affirmation, and it’s just his luck, because is a single man at this table ever going to insult your hard work?

“The eyes are amazing,” Xavier enthuses. “Like the sky at sunset. Who knew my partner was so talented?”

“I did,” Rafayel chirps happily.

Xavier frowns. “No, it was rhetori— never mind.” He smiles at you. Rolls with it. “I knew too, by the way.”

“As did I,” Zayne adds.

Everyone looks at Sylus, who shrugs a shoulder and says, “It was up for debate.”

“Can we please move onto the next person?” you press. This is all too much attention. “Sylus, can you… please?”

He does like it when you beg, but he likes it even more when he can play knight in shining armour. “My pleasure, sweetie.”

For a man whose creative side is mostly indulged by vintage gun restorations, he reveals his gingerbread with a staggering amount of confidence. It’s placed at the centre of the kitchen island, where you all stare down at it. Its hair is snow-white, and its eyes: blood-red.

“That’s…” Zayne begins.

“That’s you, Sylus!” you take-over, voice shrill with betrayal. “You were supposed to say something if you picked yourself! And you— wait, what are…?” There are distinct lines over the gingerbread’s midriff. It dawns on you: “Are those abs?!”

Sylus shrugs again.

“They so are!” You snatch up the biscuit, standing to wave it in Sylus’s face like a crime-scene photo. “Where’s his shirt, huh?”

“He lost it.”

“Bullshit!” you snap. This gingerbread competition had come with its own set of rules, one of which was very clearly: “Nothing obscene! I said nothing obscene, Sylus!”  

He leans away from you with a tut. “It’s tasteful, sweetie. The artist will tell you.”

“The artist is staying out of this,” Rafayel murmurs, off to your side.

Sylus crosses his arms, regardless, as though his case has been made. You cross your arms too.

“Can I show you my gingerbread now?” Xavier asks, and his tone is deceivingly soft: a hand on your shoulder, pulling you back.

You release the tension in your body with a sigh, then set the gingerbread down so you can’t throw it at Sylus’s un-smug face (which he’s been very careful about.) “Of course, Xavier,” you smile, slinking back onto your stool. You can throw something at Sylus later. “Ooh, is it me? It has to be me, right?”

Xavier chuckles awkwardly. “It’s you. I don’t think it’s very good, though.”

“Show me!” you insist.

The final cookbook is removed, and Xavier unveils his hard work. You clamp a hand to your mouth.

You don’t have a single word for what you’re looking at— only laughter, and you can’t let yourself laugh, no matter what. If that gingerbread is you? Then it’s a you who’s been torn apart by Wanderers, at least seven consecutive times. Your face is a swirl of colours and features— you think Xavier must have tried to wipe it off to start again, more than once, but it hasn’t worked.

The gingerbread has been broken, too. Three of the four limbs, to be exact, and that you could forgive, but… did he have to use dark red icing to glue them back on? It drips out of the joins messily, almost making you wince.

Everyone is silent.

“A perfect likeness,” says Sylus.

You burst out laughing, and the moment you do, Rafayel’s right there with you. Even Sylus caves— it’s one of the most sincere laughs you’ve ever heard from him. There are tears in your eyes; you can’t help it. Zayne is the strongest of you, but even the tight line of his mouth quivers. He’s biting his lip.

But it’s fine. Xavier is laughing, too. “I said it wasn’t very good!”

“Xavier!” you wheeze. You can’t even look at him. Your stomach hurts. “What… what happened to me?!”

“What do you mean?” he practically giggles.

“What do I mean?” you repeat, and it tips you into another breathless bout of laughter. You go to point at the gingerbread— all the explanation you need— but it almost kills you. You really can’t breathe. After half a minute, you try again. “I look like I’ve been in an accident!”

“Here,” Rafayel grins, and he slides the Doctor Zayne gingerbread over to poor, suffering gingerbread you.

“Aww!” you smile, having finally caught your breath.

Wordlessly, Zayne retrieves his likeness— pulling it away from yours. You frown at him, as confused and wounded as Xavier apparently imagines you. “Even I have my limits,” the doctor shrugs.

That’s it. You’re gone again, your sides aching as your whole body shakes with laughter. It’s too much. Gods, it’s too much. You’re gonna need another minute.

…

“I can’t believe you made you.”

It’s been fifteen or so minutes, and you toy with Sylus’s gingerbread counterpart, pinching his hands between your thumbs and forefingers— making him walk (well, penguin waddle) across the kitchen island.

“Believe it, sweetie,” Sylus huffs with a smile.

“Is this really how you see yourself?”

Before you can walk the gingerbread any further, his creator plucks him up by his head, away from your reaching fingers. “It’s how I think you should see me,” he chuckles. He holds the gingerbread out to you. Wiggles it. “For your eyes only, kitten.”

“Except the other guys saw it—”

“Shhhh, shh shh!” In his haste to silence you, he almost pushes the gingerbread to your lips.

You glare at him. Complain from behind it: “Get your shirtless abs out of my face, Sylus.”

“Make me.”

You snatch the gingerbread, pinning it down on the counter. “Keep pushing your luck, Sy. Wanna see what’ll happen?”

He absolutely does, and his eyes glint with mirth as you reach for a near-empty bowl of crimson icing. You scrape some of it up with a discarded teaspoon, then let it drip generously over his gingerbread. It takes a few, long seconds to really cover him in it. To make him look as fatally tragic as gingerbread you.

“Here,” you say, dropping the spoon in a bowl with a satisfied clink. You hold out the gingerbread. “This’ll be you when I’m done with you.”

Sylus regards it for a moment, his eyebrow quirked. Then his eyes find your gingerbread likeness. “Want to see what you’ll look like when I’m done with you?”

His hand goes out for the bowl of red icing, except… it goes past the bowl of red icing, and lands on a tube of white icing instead. He holds it up with a smile.

“Inappropriate.”

The tube is swept out of his fingers, and he blinks at the empty space, legitimately surprised.

“It was snow, doctor,” he remarks bitterly, once he’s recovered from the second ambush of the evening. He glances over his shoulder. “From a snowball fight?”

“Sure it was,” Zayne mutters, already turning back to the bowl he’s washing in the sink.

Sylus is frowning, affronted, but the expression softens when you’re filling his gaze again. You: your hands on your mouth, so close to spilling laughter. “Oooooh,” you tease with a secretive sing-song voice, “you got in trouble!”

He wrinkles his nose like ‘trouble’ is an insult. It sets you off sniggering uncontrollably.

“What did I miss?”

It’s Xavier, back from the lounge.

“Nothing,” Sylus answers.

“He got in trouble!” you counteract with a not-at-all quiet whisper.  

You earn a glare from the criminal, and a little laugh from the hunter. “Third-strike trouble?” the latter enquires. He might have handcuffs on stand-by; it wouldn’t surprise you.

“Not yet,” you grin cheerfully.  

Zayne sets a plate on the drying rack. “Give it time.”

…

“I don’t think we have enough, sweetie,” Sylus quips, peeking over the stack of blankets you’ve piled high on his arms. 

What was it Rafayel said? High risk, high reward? You mercifully chuckle. Your arms are wrapped around three, plush cushions— the last of your sleepover supplies. Snacks? Are ready. Guests? Haven’t killed each-other yet. You toe open your bedroom door, shouldering the rest of the way through with your missing puzzle pieces of luxury.

“Oh, nice!” someone exclaims from the kitchen. Xavier is watching you, starry-eyed, and his cheeks are full; he’s midway through a cookie.

Sylus steps through the door behind you, issuing a faint noise of disgust. He sounds like he’s being attacked by a bug, so you turn around, ready to leap to the rescue. He’s stood within the door frame, eyes cast upwards to where a sprig of mistletoe hangs on the end of a string. It’s swaying gently; he must have caught his head on it. You frown, lips parted. He was with you the whole time you were looting your bedroom. When did he…? How did he…?

He looks down at you, the mistletoe still hovering above him. You raise an eyebrow, waiting for the inevitable joke, or the even more inevitable invitation. 

“I…’ he starts gingerly, “I didn’t…” 

Oh. He’s just as confused as you are, and it’s… really cute. He’s lost for words— the man who came here with not one, but four sprigs of mistletoe. The man who threatened your gingerbread with white icing. The man who’s spent the entire evening thinking about how he wants to be close to you.

Sylus laughs, but it’s full of nervousness. “It’s alright,” he says, “you don’t have to—”

You tilt him towards you, your hand on his shoulder and cushions around your feet. “Merry Christmas, Sy,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his cheek. It’s warm on your lips.

His eyes flutter closed. “Merry Christmas,” he breathes, barely more than a whisper. 

You hum contentedly as you pull away from him. When his eyes reopen, they’re warm with a nostalgia you cannot explain, but you can feel, too— so inexplicably. His gaze is blood-red, but it makes you think of flowers. 

What a funny feeling. It strikes you a lot, nowadays, and not just with the man in front of you. 

Speaking of the others, you glance towards your lounge. Xavier is telling Zayne a story, and Rafayel is watching you from over the back of the sofa— turning away when you spot him. That’s one mystery solved. You collect the cushions from the floor, sparing Sylus a smile before you meander back to your party. The coffee table’s a banquet of sweet, sugary snacks, so you carefully skirt past it.

Xavier’s hands grab at air. You laugh and toss him a cushion. “Thanks,” he grins. 

“Here— your favourite.” Zayne is pointing at your freshly-filled mug, and you grin your own thank you as you settle down next to him. 

Sylus soon arrives too, handing out blankets, and for all the evening’s animosity, he gets a grateful smile for each. He sits down next to Xavier, and it’s odd, you know? You’ve slain Wanderers, saved lives with every person around you. You’ve seen them bleed and kill.

They’re all wrapping themselves up, like snuggly little Christmas presents. Xavier’s managed to collect another cushion— from Zayne, maybe?— and he’s practically building a fort on his side of the couch. Some of it infringes on Sylus’s space, and you notice him notice, but he doesn’t say a word. Oblivious, tucked under two blankets, Xavier’s already looking sleepy. 

Someone’s making less of an effort to get comfortable. On the other side of you, Rafayel sits, uncharacteristically quiet. He hasn’t met your eyes since you sat down. You remember him, watching you under the mistletoe from across the room, and the thought has you leaning in closer. 

“That was sweet of you,” you whisper, even though he disobeyed you. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shrugs.

But he does, so you kiss his cheek, ever so fondly, with that funny feeling in your chest again. It’s the first time, but it doesn’t strike you as such. Uncharted waters, a foreign land— when have I been here before?

Rafayel has relaxed: sunken deep into the sofa and the security of your touch. You smile, pulling his blanket up higher around him— tighter around him— until he’s as much of a cocoon as everyone else. His lips curve with a smile of surrender, ever-willingly captured. Silly fish. 

You draw away from him, readjusting in your seat until you’re cuddled up next to Zayne. You don’t see the wink Rafayel shoots Sylus, or the look of begrudging respect in the latter’s red eyes. 

“Are you comfortable?” Zayne asks, head angling towards yours. 

Co-host to co-host. “Yeah.” You snuggle closer to him. “This is kinda perfect, isn’t it?” He feels cold, despite his Sylus-issued blanket, so you lend him part of yours.

“No,” he confers softly, distractedly. 

“No?”

“No.” He gives you a look, and you know it as intimately as the chill of his hands and the warmth of his heart. His ‘I know something that you don’t’ look. Sure enough, he says: “I think it’s missing something.” 

On the other sofa, Xavier is beaming at you, having caught onto your conversation. It’s suspicious— harmless conspiracy, surprise-party sort of suspicious, but your pulse still picks up. 

“Close your eyes,” Zayne instructs. 

And you do, without question. Darkness, yes, but you’re under his care, aren’t you? There’s no anxiousness in your excitement, just trust for the man who was looking out for you long before he was your doctor. Your hands are over your eyes and you’re younger, again, playing hide-and-seek, again.

Zayne’s is a familiarity you can place. A nostalgia built on memories, not reveries.

Something icy touches your hand, then melts without any resistance. 

“Open,” Zayne prompts, leaning against you to stir you. 

Your apartment has changed again. The lights are all out, save for the fairy lights. The spectrum of colours flicker from the walls and the tree, catching on tiny, white specs in the air. Snowflakes are drifting down, impossibly. Falling, dancing— maybe a bit of both. You look up and some land on your face, cold with their kisses. You giggle in delight. 

Everyone’s gaze is on the ceiling: sapphire, emerald, amethyst, ruby. It ought to be dark. Instead, an entire night sky fills the space above you, scattered with thousands of stars. Every pinprick is deliberate. Meticulously placed. There are constellations— infinite patterns that transcend every life you might’ve lead, and every life you’ll ever lead (if you believe in that sort of thing.)

Xavier glances at you, and you forgo the spell of his masterpiece so that you can glance back. Snowflakes are in his hair, dusting him with sparkles. He smiles in a way you think could defy lifetimes, too. 

“This is… really something,” Sylus says, and there’s not a hint of sarcasm. 

It’s everything. The stars, brighter for darkness. The snow, only novel in warmth. These things don’t always work— they’ll undo each-other, overpower each-other, but there’s an ultimate balance, in-between every conflict. An occasional harmony, and it’s… 

Perfect. 

Rafayel scoots close to you. “Was this authorised?” he whispers. 

You look over to the point board, where there are first strikes beneath Zayne and Xavier’s names, and you don’t know how long they’ve been there. 

“No,” you laugh tenderly. “No, it wasn’t.”

[hello-gloomy]

Heya! I love your Dr Stone fanfics so much, it’s kinda hard to find people who write for it. I was wondering if I could request a Senku x female reader oneshot?

Reader is one of senku’s childhood friend (part of his group with Taiju) and did gymnastics and various martial arts so she’s good fighter. She used to protect him and taiju from bullies and people who were rude and judgemental. In the stone world she acts as Senku’s unofficial bodyguard. Reader and senku both had feelings for each other since childhood but neither of them ever said anything out of fear of ruining their friendship and fears that their feelings were unrequited. During the North American arc when Stanley shoots senku, reader takes the bullet for him instead and gets injured badly. Senku is able to save her but she’s still unconscious so he’s really antsy and anxious waiting by her side. When she wakes up they confess both confess. Or something along those lines.

Thank you!!!

Fusing these Two requests. I hope u don't mind.

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

Army Dreamers

Senkuu Ishigami x Fem!reader

Description: You've been with him since the beginning, every close call and false death. When he almost meets death again this time, you take his place.

Warnings: Angst, blood loss, anxiety, panic, mildly implied PTSD for Senku. Happy ending I promise.

A/N: I'm so close to having all my old asks cleared out istg.

Words: 717

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

Maybe you should have let him take the bullet; he probably had a plan. But your heart couldn't take the thought of losing him. The shards of the bullet in your back felt like nothing compared to the idea of losing Senku. That ringing in your ears was getting loud, though your vision kept going in and out. You could make out Senku trying to stop the blood and handle your wounds; Francios was beside him, helping the best that they could. It hurt to breathe; you could see his lips moving, but you still couldn't hear him. You feel cold, and that wet feeling on your chest feels uncomfortable to sit in. You move to try and sit up to get off the wetness but feel some pressure on your front. It's Senku, his hands red. Why was it red again?

He felt like throwing up; the blood could seep through the deck with how much you were losing; he couldn't even move yet because he didn't even know if the sniper left. You stopped struggling against him, finally. A few more braver crew members moved to where he was and helped him with you. They had to move you quickly without drawing another round of fire from the enemy. This was a horrible set of circumstances to be in right now; your blood was leaving a trail on the deck. When they had arrived below deck, you looked pale as hell; you barely looked alive. He had to get the bullet shards out of your back.

"I can help." It was Luna, and she looked determined; he was about to brush her off, but she was able to prepare the medical supplies adequately enough that he let her stay in the room to assist him and Kaseki. The surgery was a lengthy task, but they were able to get everything out and keep you alive. The others lingered, trying to comfort him, but he coldly told them he was fine and wanted to be alone with you for a while. They hesitantly left him alone in the room with you. You were slowly gaining color back again. He does the mental math of how long it should take you to wake up; the thought of you not waking up makes his hands tremble. He holds his head in his hands while he thinks about your situation logically; you weren't weak; he's known that since you were kids, hell, you were stronger than Taju in many ways and could be more potent than Tsukasa. Those thoughts don't make his hands stop shaking, though. He returns to what he's good at; he grabs your hand, finds your weak but steady pulse, and counts.

1

2

3

4

5

It was steady and comforting, grounding and reminding him that you were still fighting. He counted for a while, shutting everything out until he felt your wrist twitch in his hands. Senku's head snapped up at your slight motion and found you looking straight back at him. You gave him that same stupid smile from when you were kids; he couldn't help but crack his grin. His eyes felt misty with emotions he thought were illogical.

"You idiot. I had a plan, you know." He scolds you as he rubs your hand without thinking too much about it.

"Senku..?" He gave you a hum, letting you know to continue,

"I love you; I've loved you since you showed me how to build a rocket. Since we were children, I loved you with my entire being, and I couldn't stand the image of you dying in front of my eyes again." Tears spilled from your eyes as you watched his face; he took in your words and stayed quiet for a while before responding.

"Yeah, me too…" he told you with a little huff through his nose. He tried to play it off, but his hands were shaking again. You grabbed his hands and brought them to your mouth, pressing kisses to his palms. He let you continue for a while before abruptly grabbing your face and kissing you; the angle is awkward, and he's sloppy, but you wouldn't trade this for anything in the world right now.

"I'll always protect you, Senkuu, I swear."

"I'll keep you to that."

[yesimwriting]

I need to see some one on one bestie and Armand interactions! I bet he finds her humanity endearing even if he acts like a dick about it !! We need them bonding over art

a/n love this sm, he's so secretly invested but also so deeply unchill <3

this is the painting i reference in this fic by name, seeing it isn't necessary for you to get the fic but it's one of my favorite paintings so i thought it'd be fun to add it here :)

also i'm not saying reader has perfectly recreated a famous painting lol, it's more about the vibes/aesthetic of the painting

----

Everything passes in threes. The careful tapping of your thumb's nail against the pointer finger of your opposite hand; the way that your eyes shift between the ground, the wall, and him; even the rhythm of your heart feels like a trinity.

You're not exactly nervous, but you are tense, rigid in a way that you never are in Louis's presence.

There's something about being the source of your uneasiness, of being able to witness his presence embedding itself into your mind that's almost grounding. It's as consuming as the sense of rejection your silence is forcing onto him.

Armand shifts slightly, his hand moving away from his lap and onto the couch's cushioning. The gesture is meant to remind you of your similarities. Mortals are more eased by the small, insignificant movements than they realize. They perceive the pointless shifting of others as evidence of life, as proof of an intrinsic likeness.

The movement seems to serve its purpose, because you relax your hands, ending your three-tap pattern before allowing your arms to fall to your side. "Not being able to offer you anything to drink really has me at a loss."

The response, though cloaked in your usual humor, feels much smaller than the way you usually are. He supposes you're not the only one to blame for your uncertainty. Louis suggested that you spend an evening alone with Armand to help the two of you argue less...and apparently, Louis had warned you to be on your best behavior just as much as he had warned Armand.

Instead of pointing out the fact that you've never struggled to socialize with Louis despite being limited in the same way, he decides to reciprocate what you're giving him. "You could offer me an alternative."

Your eyebrows begin to draw together, but something about the barely there parting of your lips implies something other than surprise. If you were someone else, Armand might consider your expression a byproduct of morbid curiosity.

Your gaze flits away from him and towards the hands innocently resting on your lap. You're quick to dismiss your line of thinking, your body straightening slightly as you look at him again. "I think blood donating's more a third date kinda thing."

The framing of the sentiment, though clearly an attempt at humor, digs at him more than it should. He pushes against his instincts before responding. "Third? I didn't realize you were so easy."

You press your lips together to keep from laughing. It's an expression he's seen directed at Louis several times before. "There's a reputation." You relax slightly, your shoulders easing as you exhale. "So, what do you want to do?"

The question is a careful thing, as if you're doing all you can to make sure that what you're asking doesn't remind him of how little alone time you've spent together. He's never seen you have to think about how to connect with Louis.

When he doesn't respond, you continue, "We could go out and get some air, or we could stay here and watch something..."

You lift your hand just enough to tap your fingertips against your knee. Armand's focus moves away from you and onto the rest of your apartment. He's been here before in a variety of contexts, and he can't remember it ever seeming this organized. There are no work-in-progress pieces taking up your dining room table or paint swatches and sketches covering the coffee table in front of the couch.

"Or uh--anything you want to--"

"You've mentioned having a studio space before."

The interruption surprises you, but you're quicker to recover your expressions than you used to be. Perhaps it's the constant awareness of the fact that you're thoughts are nowhere near as private as you once believed. You nod once. "Yeah, it's the room just past the kitchen."

He turns his head enough to look at you again. "Can I see it?"

Your breathing falters, the air in your lungs stalling so briefly it would have likely gone unnoticed if Armand had been any less determined to take in your reaction. You've mentioned your studio space without being prompted before, but always with a certain level of guardedness.

"Okay," and then, as if realizing the smallness of your response, you tack on a much more definitive, "Yeah, sure."

You're quick to commit to your promise, looking away from him before moving to stand. Armand follows, making a point to remain a full pace behind you as you move through your living room and past your kitchen. You lead him down a short hallway.

You don't stall until you're in front of a door. "I uh--" Your mind is wracked with a flighty nervousness. "Just keep in mind, everything in here's a work in progress."

There's a vulnerability pressed into the syllables that's nearly enough to soften you. So often, your existence feels like a force capable of rivaling the sun. Now, though, thinking about what you've created and how he might perceive these extensions of your being, you seem...reachable. Much less like the first few rays of sunlight bleeding over the horizon at daybreak, and more like a girl of your age.

This version of you must be closer to what Louis sees when he looks at you. Perhaps the instinct that encourages his companion to keep him away from you isn't entirely wrong.

"I understand." His voice is devoid of sentimentality.

You don't seem put off by his blankness. If anything, his limited interest makes it a little easier for you to reach for the door's brass handle. You push open the door. Armand enters the space first.

The room is what's expected--a space absolutely brimming with life. A large worktable covered in sketches and small canvases takes up most of the room's center. Shelves and cabinets line the room's back wall. There are several incomplete works throughout the space, a few paintings propped up against walls and more textured pieces resting against any available flat surfaces, but none draw his focus like what's sitting on your easel.

The painting is familiar in a way that practically makes something inside of him ache.

"It's oil instead of acrylic," your explanation is careful, almost shy. "I'm trying something. The drying between layers is almost impossible, but I like the blending."

Trying something. This isn't even your perferred medium and you've stumbled onto something sharp and moving. It's still unfinished, and he can already tell that the woman you've depicted reading by candlelight is reminiscent of a time outside of your own.

"It's familiar," the reaction feels like a confession. He presses his lips together, a part of him relieved by the fact that you're a few paces behind him. "The lighting--it's similar to Georges de La Tour."

"Really?" You're more enthusiastic than you want to be. "Magdalene with Two Flames was one of my reference photos."

Of course it was. Leave it to you to be capable of accurately mimicking your influences.

You walk forward, stopping once you've reached his side. "This is the first time that someone that doesn't particularly care about my feelings is seeing it, so you can be as honest as you want."

Armand has to work at keeping his expression neutral. It's not enough to be the gifted artist that's sensitive about their work, you also have to be gratingly humble.

He keeps his gaze focused on the painting as he speaks, "You'd be more tolerable if you were less talented." Your skin flushes, blood pulling itself up your neck. "I don't mean it as a compliment."

"I know." Armand can feel how much you mean the response. "I think that's why I liked hearing it."

Something uneasy settles in his chest. You smile at him, your eyes bright and teasing like the both of you are now in on some joke together. "Searching for punishment?"

You straighten slightly, head turning away from him and towards your painting. "Searching for honesty." You're focusing on your work, on separating yourself from personal sentiment. "Though, I guess, sometimes that's the same thing."

There's nothing shocking about your prioritization of honesty. Mortals like to think that candor means something to them, that having the reality of a situation presented to them openly makes things easier. Your kind is much more protected by their obliviousness than they realize, but he's willing to humor you. "It's familiar in other ways, as well."

You're slower to understand his implication than you usually are. Armand can't quite bring himself to fault you for it. You're detached from what he and Louis are.

He turns his head slightly, allowing himself to watch you from his peripheral vision. Louis is committed to shielding you, to masking their differences from you as best as he can. You're not used to being reminded of the eternity they're meant to have.

You blink, your eyebrows briefly pinching together. "Right," this is mumbled more to yourself than to him, "...Because you would have been around when things were like this." You sit with the reminder for another moment before finally turning towards him, "Would it be really lame if I asked what it was like?"

There's a carefulness to your curiosity, a hesitation behind your interest. Your restraint is primarily rooted in how little time the two of you have spent like this, but there's something else behind your uncertainty. Louis loves you the way one loves a childhood blanket that's at risk of becoming threadbare. He doesn't want to lose you to his nature, so he does what he can to pretend it doesn't exist. But you're nowhere near as uninterested in vampirism as Louis would like you to be.

Perhaps this is the only thing that Louis isn't willing to give you himself. "Not really lame." The corner of your mouth tugs itself upwards at the opening. "As I'm sure you know, it was a time of great, artistic flourishing..."

He stops, his mind latching onto aspects of his reminiscence with a vengeful sharpness. A gifted young artist desired by vampires for their beauty and talent.

His unexpected silence forces your thoughts away from curiosity and towards something much more akin to worry. "It was also a time of great brutality."

You're quiet for a stretch of time that feels much more significant than it is. "I'm sorry."

He isn't sure if the apology is an attempt at expressing generalized sympathy or if you're feeling guilty for asking the question in the first place, and he can't bring himself to examine your thoughts for clarity. It should bother him either way. Your presence is enough to agitate the part of himself still susceptible to this kind of vulnerability, he doesn't need to add to that--not so openly, not with you right next to him.

Your proximity is a source of discomfort that's much easier to focus on. You are, by far, the gentlest of his afflictions. For once, he permits himself to lean into the warmth of this uneasiness, his hand extending towards you. He keeps his attention focused on the painting as he takes your hand.

Your shock is enough to briefly amplify your thoughts as an anxious warmth begins to crawl up your neck. The initial surprise quickly fades into a dismissible mental static, leaving a marginal concern in its wake. He presses into your thoughts. You're slightly worried over his shift in demeanor, and you feel a little out of your element, but you're not uncomfortable.

When no other sudden movements pass, you drag your thumb along his knuckles. The heat of your skin amplifies the gesture's soothingness.

He allows the silence to linger for another minute before breaking it, "What are you going to do with the painting once it's finished?"

The question seems to throw you more than the position that you're in. "I don't know, it doesn't really fit into the collection I'm working on." You pause, thinking through your answer. "Maybe I'll hold onto it...or send it to my mom. It seems like something she'd like."

Armand nods once. "Would you consider selling it to me?"

Your nervous warmth returns, blood shifting beneath your skin. "If you want it, you can just have it."

This is an argument that he knows you're familiar with. You're always resisting Louis's attempts at offering you anything you deem expensive, even if it's a payment for something you've made.

"You're an artist," he begins slowly, "You should be paid for your work."

You're not impressed by his logic. "Yeah, but we're friends."

"Are we?"

You weren't expecting an argument. "I think so."

There's a genuineness to your response that's almost hard to bare. Perhaps the financial argument could be reserved for another time, or maybe it'd be easier to gift you something instead. It's a strategy that Louis's used before. "Do you want to watch one of those shows you and Louis are always talking about?"

The question makes you grin. "Yeah." You turn away from the painting without letting go of his hand, pulling him towards the door. "I'm ruling out reality TV, because I don't want to lower your opinion on humanity any further."

"How kind."

You look back at him, smiling, "I'm very altruistic."

----

The television provides a comfortable background, the TV show you put on serving as both a source of sound and light. It also helps that this is a method of bonding you're familiar with.

As far as artistic merit, the show you were so excited to show him isn't exactly life changing, but he's experienced worse evenings than this one.

One of the main characters on the screen accidentally comes across an incriminating note that the audience learned about in the first episode. It's an incredibly predictable twist, but you're studying his reaction like there's something life changing about this revelation.

"This isn't realistic."

The comment makes you sigh. "It's not meant to be realistic, it's meant to be entertaining."

Armand instinctually turns his head towards you. The passive aggressive response he was ready to offer you feels a lot less significant now. You're close, closer than he's used to you being. Maybe there is something entertaining about this.

"It's inconceivable for this many things to be happening on the same street." The words leave him much slower than he meant for them to.

You don't notice his lapse, your gaze briefly shifting away from him and onto the screen. "I'm sorry, supernatural being, are the events taking place on Wisteria Lane inconceivable to you?"

It's a relatively fair point, but he has no interest in letting you know that. "But it's not about the supernatural, it's about reality."

His phrasing seems to stand out to you. Instead of attempting to counter his response, you tilt your head slightly before relaxing against the couch's cushioning.

"I don't know," you whisper, the words soft in their distance. You ease further, your head shifting towards him until your temple is resting against his shoulder. The warmth of your skin burns through the thin layer of fabric dividing the two of you. He cannot bring himself to move. "You seem real to me."

He wouldn't put it past you to be able to speak him into existence. Armand turns his hand over carefully, his fingers intertwining themselves with yours.

----

chat does hand holding warrant a content warning