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msbigredmachine · 20 days ago

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Cheat Meal (Roman Reigns)

The OTC is hungry for a whole lot more than just good food.

Pairing: Roman Reigns/Black fem OC

Warnings: Smut

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Based off Roman's TikTok where he complains about his diet😂

Enjoy!

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gif by @romanreigns

He shoves the last tiny piece of broccoli in his mouth and dumps the plate in the sink with a resigned sigh. The ‘breakfast’ will barely register inside his stomach but it’s the price he must pay to be in the shape he’s currently in, the best he’s ever been in. Even if it makes him miserable and slightly cranky until it’s time for his next bland meal in another couple of hours.

Retreating to his bed at the back of the bus, Roman checks the time as he waits patiently for his wife to return from the diner across the road so they can head on to their next destination. They’re already running behind schedule with a near two-hour drive still to go. More excruciatingly, he’ll have to deal with the smell of greasy, albeit delicious food that he can’t even look at, let alone eat.

Minutes later, the sound of her perennially cheery voice floats through the air, followed by the driver thanking her for her generosity, having bought him his own breakfast. As the bus restarts its journey, the bedroom door slides open, and Roman does a double take. The yoga pants and tank top he swore he saw her exit the bus in has been replaced with one of his old t-shirts. Nothing else. The outline of her nipples betray her lack of brassiere and that fat, juicy ass of hers jiggles with every step she takes as she places a tray full of food on the dressing table, the small bedroom instantly filling with the aroma of a hearty breakfast.

“Sorry babe, I had to wait a little bit for my milkshake,” Elise explains, piling pancakes onto a porcelain plate. “Have you eaten?”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Baby, this is not how you were dressed when you left,” he points out, soaking her in as he sits up against the headboard.

Elise giggles and settles down on the edge of the bed next to him. One glance at the contents of her plate - buttermilk pancakes smothered in butter and honey, a couple of sausage links and two thick strips of bacon - has Roman salivating. “That diet is really fucking with your head, babe,” she jokes, as he rolls his eyes. “I’ve changed into something comfier. All the better to eat my comfort food with.”

“Why you ain’t eating in the kitchen, then? You just gotta fucking tempt me, huh?” He’s not sure which one he’s talking about anymore; the food or her appearance. She looks good enough to eat every time, but she looks amazing either dressed down or in next to nothing. Like now.

Of course, nothing at all is his absolute favorite.

“Cuz I wanna share it with you. Sorry but I don’t have your discipline. Just a day on that dry ass, rabbit food ass diet of yours would fuck me up,” Elise gripes. “And don’t get me wrong. I’m so proud of you and what you’ve done with your body. You look carved from damn marble. But you’ve lost hella weight and it’s making your big ears stick out." She pouts. "I kinda miss my thick neck Daddy. There was more of him to climb.”

“You still climb me with zero problems. And I can’t eat this stuff. You know that,” he laments.

“You say that while you eye-fuck my bacon.” She picks up her fork, cuts into a pancake and daintily takes a bite before moaning in delight. The warm fluffiness of the pancake, the rich, sweet honey, the smoothness of the butter, all come together in her mouth, textures and flavors melding together as she chews and swallows. "Mmm, this is soooo good," she gushes.

Roman grits his teeth and growls sullenly, “I hate your ass right now.”

“You’re making me feel bad.” Carefully balancing the plate in her grasp, she shifts around and straddles him, and he hisses at the way her ample backside seats flush on his crotch. Sure enough, she has no underwear on. “Daddy, have breakfast with me. You need to eat more. A couple of bites won’t hurt.”

Roman sighs heavily, smoothing his hands along her thick thighs that complement the rest of her thick body. “You know damn well I can’t say no to you when you call me Daddy.” It’s not a lie either. Three kids in three years and a closet full of Birkins, Louboutins and many other luxuries are proof of this.

Elise muses over her plate and selects one of the large strawberries topping the pancakes. “Let’s start with something sweet.” She offers it to him, seeing him relax upon realizing it’s something relatively healthy. “Eat,” she instructs.

Roman opens his mouth obediently, closing his eyes as the juice bursts on his tongue, some of it dribbling down his bearded chin. Elise grins as he moans in satisfaction, and she makes him eat the rest, his full lips streaked red from the fruit. Cheekily, she places her own lips on his, tasting the flavor for herself, and smiles triumphantly as he makes a surprised sound but deepens the kiss anyway, cupping the back of her neck to hold her against him.

“Oh, it’s like that?” he asks when she pulls away, light panting punctuating the air between them. His eyes sparkle with lust. “Thought you were only feeding me.”

“I’m multitasking.” Kissing him again, she stabs the fork into another piece of pancake, dipping it in honey and feeding it to him. She loves to do this. It’s her favorite form of intimacy. Her love language, if you will. Taking care of him, pampering him. Her gestures never fail to stir his heart, as well as other parts of his anatomy. “My sweet baby. Feel better? You’re not hungry anymore?” she teases him several bites after.

“Nope. Not for pancakes anyway,” he says. The words are cryptic and shrouded in mystery, that’s until his hand slips between her thighs. At her sharp, indrawn breath, he smiles darkly, flattening his palm so that he firmly cups her sex. “There’s another…delicacy…I wanna feast on.”

Her husband is insatiable for her. Always has been, and she loves it. Feeling desired and wanted by such a beautiful, high-value man like him does wonders for her self-esteem and their marriage. But after one passionate, bed-rocking round earlier this morning and little food fueling him, she would think his energy is depleted. “Baby, you should rest,” she tries to reason, but he’s adjusting her already, forcing her to put her food away on the nightstand.

“I’ll rest after you come in my mouth,” is his curt, yet loaded answer. And just like that, her resolve is reduced to ashes.

He scoots his big self down the bed until she is seated on his face. Elise barely has time to collect herself when his calloused hands scrape her thighs and clutch her hips to hold her in place. Her body jerks as his tongue finds her folds in record time, lapping greedily. Heat instantly washes over her with a wave of nerves and lust as he works her with that unmatched skill that brings her to surrender. In mere seconds, she is lost in the pleasure, her pussy dripping from a mix of her juices and his saliva, all of it slurped up by his talented tongue.

"Fuck, Roman…” she moans, squirming on his face, her body ablaze. He’s so damn good at this shit, it’s damn near unfair. It feels like her whole pussy is in his mouth as he licks and sucks to his heart's desire. He tightens his arms around her thighs, his massive hands prying her open for further onslaught. The warmth of his breath, the prickle of his beard, his moans against her sensitive flesh has her mind spinning, prompting her to rock her hips in rhythm with his circling tongue, grabbing her breasts through her t-shirt for added stimulation. Her entire being hums with anticipation as her orgasm builds and builds. “Ro, I'm...I…oh fuck, Daddy,” she gasps, unable to string a simple sentence together in the state of bliss she’s in.

But of course, her husband knows exactly what she wants. What she needs. To give it to her, he works harder, incorporating his nose and chin, gliding them back and forth along her wetness, buoyed by the quiver of her thighs as he sends her over the edge. The explosion of her body is of seismic proportions, and Elise slaps her hand over her mouth to muffle her scream, bucking, writhing, whining as pleasure consumes her whole.

She’s still reeling as Roman carefully lifts her off his face and drags her back down. His mouth captures hers with a dizzying urgency, exchanging the sweet tanginess of her arousal. They lick and suck hungrily on each other’s tongues, his hand reaching up to curl around her throat making her pussy spasm with need, so much so that her essence begins to smear the center of his gray sweatpants. Roman looks down at her mess with a proud, arrogant smile, and he lifts his hips just enough to pull the stained pants down his legs and kick them off. He strokes his dick, long, thick and hard, for a few seconds before guiding it inside her.

“Get this dick, baby, c'mon,” he orders, his low, gruff command sending yet another tremble through Elise that he both hears and feels as her breath catches. They moan together as she sinks lower onto him, balancing herself with her hands on his bare, muscular chest. Her hips roll back and forth, grinding on him, keeping him pinned to the sheets while she chases down their collective pleasure.

He fucking loves it when she’s on top. It allows him a holistic view of the body he's been obsessed with since the day they first met. His big hands roam her front, relieving her of her t-shirt so he can properly idolize her breasts, so plump and pillow-soft as he massages them, gleeful at the way her nipples harden from his touch. He then travels south to grab her ass, enjoying the round, supple cheeks flexing against his palms as she rides him. He grips each one possessively and proceeds to lift her up and down on him, bouncing her on his throbbing erection.

“Fuuuuck...”

“Nah, you can take it. And not too loud now, we don’t need the driver hearin’ us again, hmm?” Roman taunts, squeezing her left cheek and spanking it hard, earning a yelp from her. His eyes are blown as he studies the expressions on her beautiful face. “My fine ass, sexy ass wife. Climb me like only you can, baby,” he encourages her with soft moans of his own.

Falling forwards, Elise tucks her face into her man’s neck, her breathy kisses warming his skin as she manages to maintain the pace he’s set for her. He’s so deep inside her, nearing her cervix it feels like, the sweet sensations amplified by their chests pressed together, his large hands caressing her with so much love and care and reverence while talking her through it with his deep, husky voice and dirty words. Years together and their lovemaking is still as earth-shattering as their first time, and she appreciates it more than he’ll ever know.

Roman kisses every part of her his mouth can reach, reveling in her increasing moans as he angles his hips, keeping his dick buried in the ocean of her cunt. “Leese, you feel so fuckin’ good…” he groans on her shoulder, licking the butterfly tattoo etched on her skin, “Damn, baby, I could stay inside you like this all day…”

Elise tries to agree with him, but her jaw drops when he bucks up into her without warning, his hands planted on her ass holding her down to take every inch of him. The depth, the intensity and precision of his strokes render her speechless. Her eyes roll back as his lips find her nipples, suckling the swells of her heavy breasts, the wet smacking sounds of his hungry mouth and her gushy pussy sounding around the bedroom. The shit is so good that neither wants it to end, more than content to just remain on the bus and fuck all day long.

"Daddy," she whines, her fingers sliding over the back of his hair, tangling in the long, soft locks as she locks hazy gazes with him. His brows are furrowed, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth; telltale signs that he’s close, just like she is. "Oh baby, I'm gonna come again..." she whimpers.

"Yeah? Is my girl about to nut?" Roman asks, grasping her chin and brushing their lips together. "Gimme that nut, beautiful. Soak Daddy’s dick with your wet ass pussy," he goads her with another kiss, another smack on her backside that makes her ride him harder. Her pupils are dark and dilated with desire, reflecting the passion he’s feeling. He wraps his huge arms around her middle, and pushing up on his heels, he accelerates, fucking her faster, thrusting deeper, until her moans dissolve to broken, breathless cries as she trembles on top of him. Her walls milk his dick greedily and trigger his own release. Roman’s groans and curses fill the room, his body shuddering too as he empties his load, filling her to the brim.

With a soft whine, Elise melts on her husband’s heaving body, both parties spent but immensely sated. An eternity passes before either move, Elise reaching over Roman’s prone frame to grab a piece of bacon and pop it into his mouth.

“Good? There's more if you want,” she asks, watching him chew on it.

Roman sighs contentedly and rests his head on the pillow. “Mm-hmm. That's another couple added minutes on the treadmill though.”

Elise giggles and snuggles up against her action figure of a husband. “You’ll be fine. And you’re perfect to me already, by the way,” she assures him.

THE END

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bamfaholic · 3 months ago

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From Eden to Sit at Your Door

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Kurt x Reader | 2.8k words

Summary: Kurt visits home, Munich, and decides to sit across from you. With your limited vision, it takes time for you to catch on to who this man really is. Not that you're given much time at all before your life is in danger.

Summary:

You take another sip, nearly emptying your cup. “I’m sure you’re a wildcard yourself.” You offer him your name, finishing your tea. “What brings you back to Munich?”

He begins to raise his hand, perhaps offering a handshake, before quickly pulling away. He clears his throat, “Kurt Wagner, and homesickness, really. It has been years since I’ve been home.”

You offer him a sweet smile. “Welcome home, Kurt.”

Alternate summary: Kurt is on a mission, accidentally causes hijinks, and catches feelings for the reader. Even more hijinks ensue.

A/N: this originally was going to be a bullet hc of a blind!reader x Kurt and now it's a multi-part fic lol. The reader will probably turn into an oc but the cringe cop has me in cuffs

This fic has been posted to my AO3 as well! Support me and find my other works there!

On an Autmn morning, you lounged at your local café, just mere blocks from your flat. The wind nipped at the tips of your ears, rustling stray hairs free. You remained warm, though, with your wool coat and cup of peppermint tea in your palms. The harsh difference of the chilling wind and familiar warmth was a part of this routine you cherished. Slowly raising the cup to your lips, a sip warmed you from the inside out.

The workers knew you, knew your name, your story. Practically blind from birth, you couldn’t recall a time when you didn’t have a thick dark vignette frame your vision. Your eyes were often compared to translucent glass marbles, commonly in distaste. Every now and then you were even accused of being a mutant. You always replied with a scoff, wondering if simple biology had been thrown out the window ever since the Mutant Panic in the 70’s.

Though, it piqued your interest in university. You began to dig to see if mutants were similar, or even no different, than those disabled. Unfortunately, the hoops to jump through to acquire a degree with accommodations surmounted and you had to drop out. Your classmate and friend, however, still often visited to read to you scientific papers, and assisted you in writing a thesis in their free time. For now, you resorted to being an author, as you needed to express your ideas with the world.

Which is why you people watched. Each morning you had your cup of tea and watched the quick blurs and bursts of color, sometimes squinting to really focus on a detail. You listened to their words, their stories. It was all ample ammo for your works. You had fallen so lost in concentration, you failed to notice the man sit down at your table. You took a few more sips, savoring the flavors melting over your tongue. There was a flick of a distinct blue, such an unnatural color, that caught your eye.

“Ah, excuse me.” His German was natural, native, and yet there were inklings of an American influence. “I hope you don’t mind me sitting here.”

You turned your body to face him, setting your cup down on the coaster. “No, not at all.” You softly smiled. “It’s not often I have company.”

While odd in nature to encroach a stranger’s space, it didn’t bother you. You figured all the other seats were taken; it was a busy morning after all. If he was not to disturb your peace, then you would pay it no mind.

You scanned him up and down. From what you could tell, he was wearing a coat with a hood, and something a deep rich blue beneath. Lots of blue. He must really enjoy the color. Gears began to turn in your head, perhaps he could be a fountain of inspiration.

“Your eyes,” He began softly, appearing to nibble on a pastry, “I don’t think I’ve seen a color like that before.” His voice was bursting with excitement and curiosity.

You sigh, biting the inside of your cheek. Here we go... You were prepared to recite the speech you’ve given your entire life but decide to keep it short and sweet. “It’s glaucoma, my eyes shouldn’t look like this.”

“Ah, I see.” Another bite. “I apologize, I have never heard of such a condition before.”

You glance down, tracing the lip of your teacup with your fingertip. “Are you American? I hear it in your voice, but your German is perfect.” You decide to change the subject.

He chuckles, “Have I really been gone that long?” He softly mumbles to himself. “No, no I am not. I’m native to here, Munich, but I have been living in the states for some time. New York.”

“New York?” You raise a brow. “That must be so exciting.” A smile pulls at your lips. “I’ve always wanted to see the city, is it as nice as they say?”

Another chuckle, heartier and from his chest this time. “It is far too glamorized. Very dirty, stinky.” He waves a hand. “But the people there… They are truly one of a kind.”

You take another sip, nearly emptying your cup. “I’m sure you’re a wildcard yourself.” You offer him your name, finishing your tea. “What brings you back to Munich?”

He begins to raise his hand, perhaps offering a handshake, before quickly pulling away. He clears his throat, “Kurt Wagner, and homesickness, really. It has been years since I’ve been home.”

You offer him a sweet smile. “Welcome home, Kurt.”

You hear his heart beat a little harder, faster. “Ah, thank you!” His cheeriness returns, and you surmise this is this natural state of being.

Now this man really has your attention. You curse yourself for not bringing your notebook. You just simply must engage him in more conversation. “I don’t mean to pry, but I’d love to hear about your time in America, where you plan to go and do while you’re here, back home. I hope it’s not too invasive.”

His tone tells on himself, making it clear he’s excited for someone to be interested in him. “Ah, well, in America I have found family.”

There’s a quick arch of blue that blurs behind his head. You blink. Did you just hallucinate?

“They truly are a gift from God.” He shakes his head. “You asked about my time in America, no? Not my family. Ahem.” He clears his throat and straightens himself in his seat. “I was rescued, in truth, I did not have the best life here in Munich. I used to be in the circus.” A smile slips across his lips as he reminisces. “They called me ‘The Great Nightcrawler.’” He spreads his hands out and open in front of him for added effect. “I was a trapeze artist, a great one.”

You hang onto every word, but bust out a giggle, “I assumed as much, with ‘Great’ being included in ‘The Great Nightcrawler’ and all.”

Kurt stumbles over himself, “Ah, yes- I suppose you are right.” He laughs in turn. “But I flew through the air with ease, to deafening applause.”

“Did you enjoy it? It sounds like you were beloved.” You muse.

“Aye, I did.” A beat passes, and his tone suddenly shifts somber. “Doing a performance, anyway. Any other time… It was not so great, the living conditions.”

Your lips form a tight frown. You won’t push himself to share what could be hurtful. The man links his hands together in front of him on the table. “A cage,” He begins. “I was kept in a cage, like an animal. Fed scraps, if anything. Force-fed beer after shows.” A broken, awkward laugh escapes his chest, “I would suddenly be a drunkard, not even knowing where in God’s Earth I was, then thrown into that harsh cold steel.”

You knit your eyebrows together, chewing the inside of your cheek more. A nervous, unhealthy habit you developed when the gears began to turn in your head. “How?” You squeak out. “How is that possible? How could they do that, isn’t it illegal?”

There’s a great, long pause. The shuffle of the pedestrians that wade by fill your ears. “I am a man of God, friend. I entrust in Him my life, my future. If He wished for me to… Endure that trial, then who am I to question Him.”

His answer left a sour taste in your mouth. He was dodging the issue at hand, you both knew that. You take a sharp inhale through your teeth, fidgeting with the hem of your one sleeve. It wasn’t uncommon to find someone faithful, and you had no gripes against Kurt for being so devout, but you just couldn't accept it being used as an excuse for flat-out abuse.

You open your mouth to press him without much thought, but luckily something else ensnares your attention. About twenty feet down the sidewalk, across the street, you hear the chatter of two policemen.

“There he is.” The one on the left gruffs.

“I see ‘im.” The other spits, “Bloody mutant.”

A mutant? Your heart leaps. Despite your infatuation with them, hungry to know more, you nearly never got to interact with one. You whip your head around, hoping that maybe despite your impaired vision, you could spot them in the crowd. Alas, the only strange figure is… The very man seated across from you.

Your heart now pounds in your ears, adrenaline searing through your veins. “Kurt,” You lower your voice, reaching out to grab his hand. “Please, just, trust me.”

“What?” He laughs, “Is there a joke coming? What is with the sudden seriousness, friend?” But as he sees your expression, his body tenses.

“Just walk with me. Do not look behind us.”

You rise from your seat, pushing it in beneath the table, slinging your bag over your shoulder. Still gripping his hand firmly, you begin to drag him down the street, blending in with the foot traffic.

“He’s starting to get away!” Your ears burn, hearing the police notice your failure to slip away.

It is only now your heart drops as you realize you have no idea what you are doing. Your guess about Kurt being the mutant is confirmed by the police’s reaction, but you didn’t think this far ahead. Where were you even going? What was the end goal? Walk to the end of the earth, hoping the police never catch up?

“Friend-“ Kurt begins, “What is the matter? What is going on?” His words slam into each other a tad, his breath hitching and increasing. He whips his head around, trying to see whatever had spooked you.

“The police,” You begin in a hiss, “They seem to be after you. I heard it.”

“Heard it?” He’s stunned. “Heard it where?”

You quickly yank him into a tight alleyway, a mere inch separates your chests as you face him. “Shh, watch. Across the street, they’re coming towards us. I’m sure they saw us dip in here.” You’re out of breath as your heart pounds against your ribcage. “I heard them talk about a mutant.”

It’s only now, being so up close and personal, do you truly see Kurt. It’s not that he likes the color blue, he is blue. His eyes are a dazzling gold. Two tiny points threaten to peek out from his lips, little fangs. Your eyes drift down, seeing a tail that ends in a pointed spade. You surmise that must have been the blur of blue from before.

“Y-You’re the mutant.” Your voice trembles, the adrenaline putting strain on your body. The realization of the pleasant fellow you spent your morning with being so… Different. You kick yourself for thinking that way, but it’s only result of the propaganda lining the streets. Your eyes are burning holes into him. You hear the blood rush to his face and ears, heart pounding.

You clutch your cane tighter, leaning into it. It’s not the best for you, as not only do you have Glaucoma, you happen to be blessed with the co-morbidity of Sickle Cell Anemia. Your joints are weaker than a healthy individual, and intense exercise, like running from the cops, is ill-advised. Your head swims as the tachycardia hits you like a tidal wave.

“Ah-“ Kurt raises his hands, hoping it eases your panic. “Aye, I am, but I am a friend. I won’t hurt you-“

Something whizzes by, grazing the bridge of your nose. Screams ring out in the street, pedestrians scrambling in every which way.

“Halt!” One of the officers bark, pointing some form of gun at the two of you. “You are being detained, mutant!”

The other steadily approaches, reaching for something hooked to his belt. Kurt’s eyes glance from the officers to you, and he closes the gap, wrapping his arms around you. “Take a breath, this may be disorienting.”

“Kurt, what-!“ You don’t get to finish, gasping as you feel yourself being hurled at a racing speed. It takes you by such surprise, you lose grip of your cane.

A plume of smoke clouds your vision as the smell of brimstone burns your nostrils. You cough, wobbling on your feet. You were dizzy before, but this was tilt-a-whirl level of topsy-turvy. You try to use your cane to steady yourself, but find that your weight is being supported by nothing at all.

You begin to head face first to what’s beneath you, but you’re caught by Kurt, his arm wrapping around your torso. “Careful there, friend.” He softly says, lifting you up. He refuses to release you until he’s certain you won’t go tumbling.

You blink. You were just in the alleyway, but now you’re peering down the city of Munich. The cops are just below you, and you see one officer ready his gun, aiming right for Kurt.

“Kurt!” You lunge toward him, the shingles of the roof unkind to being stepped on. It begins to slip away, sending you back down with gravity.

Another shot rings out. Kurt snatches you again, by your scruff, but he didn’t foresee the hit landing on you.

A curdling scream is ripped from your lungs, you feel the pierce of a needle in your side. In an instant, it feels cold, like liquid nitrogen being pumped in your veins. You look down, seeing a vial attached to the needle. Without much thought, you reach to grab it. Whatever it is, you want it out.

“No, don’t do that-“ Kurt firmly grasps your wrist. “I’m sorry, friend, but not until I know what they just dosed you with.”

“Dosed?” Your body not only feels frigid, as if you were tossed into a snow storm naked, it’s quickly increasing in mass. Your legs are growing limp.

“Aye.” His jaw locks, his gaze scanning down at the chaos below the two of you. “We must go.” He tosses you over his shoulder and whispers, “I am sorry.”

Another brief burst of frightening motion, another plume of smoke. It feels like being pitched like a baseball at record speeds. Your tea threatens to come back up from your stomach. You groan, rolling your head to the side. It’s strange seeing such familiar buildings from a birds-eye view, but you recognize you’ve moved a few blocks away in an instant.

You suffer a few more rounds of the sickening movement, before it finally ends. You’re in a cold, quiet bell tower. You’ve lost all sense of direction. You could be halfway across the globe for all you knew.

Kurt rests you against the wall, watching as your body slumps. “I am sorry, friend.” You try to move your head up, to hold his gaze, but you can’t. Your arms lay solid on the harsh stone.

Kurt crouches down, moving your coat away to inspect the projectile lodged in your side. “I am so sorry if this hurts. Please let me know.” His voice is so soft, as if he was speaking to a new born. It comforts you. He gently cups the tube in his hand, reading the inscription on the side. “Tch, American.” He spits.

He sighs, forcing a little smile for you. “Good news and bad news, friend.” He gently frees the needle out from you, ripping a pained gasp out of you. “It is just a tranquilizer, you will not die. It also happened to hit your liver, so it will flush out of your system quicker than usual. Bad news, you will be… Like this, for quite some time.”

You can’t even respond. You’re putting all your willpower into focusing on him, keeping your eyes open.

“But fret not, I will keep you safe!” He grins, slipping the tranquilizer into his pocket. “They do not call me the Great Nightcrawler for nothing.” He chuckles, but the worry lines on his face are crisp, even with your vision.

He glances over his shoulder. The chilly air only burns as wind whips across your features. You begin to shiver. When he looks back to you, he scrambles to slip off his coat, draping it on top of you. Underneath, he wears a tight black, red, and white uniform.

Silly, you think, your rational slipping, his circus outfit, here?

“Ah, I am so sorry.” He gently wipes a tear that you hadn’t registered. “You are safe, shh. Rest.” He pats your head.

You gain your senses for a moment, frustration boiling in you. You don’t, can’t, let yourself go. Not here, not now. You blink, again and again, fighting those heavy eyelids.

In astonishment, you watch as Kurt opens your satchel, rummaging around. He pulls out your wallet. Is he… Robbing you? How could he? You grumble in protest, but it falls on deaf ears. He places your wallet back in your bag, laying it gently in your lap.

“Rest easy, friend. I will return, I promise you.”

Smoke swirls in front of you, that now familiar burning smell hits you. The last thing you can recall is noticing a rosary, of all things, resting in your palm. The face of The Messiah watches you as you helplessly black out.

- - - -

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Find the fic here on AO3

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#my works #⚔️#kurt wagner #nightcrawler #x men evolution #xmen #x-men #kurt wagner x reader #nightcrawler x reader #gender neutral reader #fluff #angst #x reader #xmen x #reader #x-men x reader #xmen fanfic #x-men fanfic

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zayneternal · 4 months ago

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☾ Midnight Ties ☽

summary ↠ When Deepspace Hunter, Mina Osaki, finds herself unable to sleep in the cold and quiet of the N109 Zone Safehouse, she instead runs headfirst into the one person who puts her most on edge--and this time, he's injured. [Main Story Spoilers | References to "Midnight Stealth" Memory]

genre ↠ angst (mild moments of fluff) with him↠ Sylus warnings ↠ Long Awaited Reverly Spoilers word count ↠ 13.4k

I’m unsure what jolts me from sleep. Then again, it’s far from the first time I’ve woken in the midnight hours over the last few weeks. I can’t really say I’ve ever been sure of why sleep eludes me here.

Sitting up in the too-big bed made up of too-soft sheets, I rub my knuckles against my eyes, willing them to adjust to the darkness of the cold and quiet bedroom. I’ve lost track of how many days it’s been since I arrived back to this place, but this part of the routine is one of the few reliable parts of my day, for better or worse.

I huff out a breath, debating on if I should fall backwards onto the mussed sheets of the massive mattress and try to close my eyes once again, but the idea of staring at the back of my eyelids in this deafening silence sounds like the worst form of torture. Instead, I kick my legs over the edge, flinching at the feeling of the ice cold marble floor against my bare feet.

Would it kill someone to turn the heat up in this place? Even as the thought enters my mind, I scoff to myself, knowing the head of this household probably would kill someone for even attempting it.

Hesitating by the bed for a moment, I glance down at my sparse attire of cotton shorts and a mismatched tank top, wondering if I should find an extra layer to don. Then I recall how unnervingly empty this place becomes at night and decide against it. It’s not like there’s ever anyone to pass by in the lengthy hallways this late…or is it early? I never know.

Wrapping my arms around myself, I set towards the large mahogany door of the bedroom, snapping the lock open before pulling the heavy wood backwards. I’m not sure why I bother to lock the door–it’s not as if it would truly keep him out if his mind was set on entering. Maybe it’s because some stubborn part of me doesn’t want to make it too easy on him…or maybe I’m a little too reliant on the extra measures of boundary between the two of us.

Shaking my head of the thought, I pull the door closed behind me and step into the long hallway lined with many other doors identical to my own. I’ve not been inside most of them, but I imagine they’re more spare rooms, though as to who they’re for, I don’t know. The occupants of this residence have a tendency to make themselves quite scarce. And who could blame them?

The light in the hall is dim, giving me just enough illumination to help avoid bumping into the various vases and vanities that line the corridor. I hate how quiet it gets here, especially on the nights I’m unable to fall back to sleep and end up wandering to find something to occupy my mind. It’s like I can almost hear the air whispering next to my ears. It’s drives me crazy.

Luckily, I make it to the end of the hall just before the raging silence threatens to overwhelm me, and turn right into the open floor plan of the main living space. There are windows here that line one of the walls, overlooking the vast expanse that is the N109 Zone.

My first night here, I remember the view being somewhat deterring, what with the abandoned buildings littering the skyline and the ever-present darkness shrouding the seedy city life bustling far below. But as the nights progressed and sleep came few and far between, I found myself coming to these windows more and more often, surprisingly intrigued by how the view had morphed.

I silently shuffle towards the large length of cushioned sofa that curls around the living space, it’s end jutting up to the window, and curl myself against it. Allowing my head to fall sideways against the back of the couch, knees drawn to my chest to preserve what little warmth there is in the air, I gaze across the N109 Zone, languidly taking in the sights. It’s fascinating how differently I see the world below me now.

Where I once saw what were shady business dealings in the back alleys beneath, I now see citizens of the zone coming home to family at the end of a long day. Where I once saw destitute and rundown infrastructure, I now see life budding out of something once broken–I see people. A community. If I train my ears just right, I can even hear the jubilation of music and laughter spilling out of what I assume is a local pub on the street below.

The N109 Zone is still a treacherous place for the wrong people–it certainly was for me before he offered me respite in his own twisted way–but the longer I stay, the more I see what was once black and white as more gray and muddled. There is also good to be found here.

I begin to slip into a comfortable lethargy as I continue to watch the city breathe when I suddenly hear a loud shuffling at the door behind me.

Swiftly whipping my gaze from the window to the door across the room, I hug my knees tighter as it swings open, revealing a very familiar silhouette in the darkened doorway.

“Shit–” he hisses in a way that sounds like he’s struggling to keep quiet. His towering frame falters as he steps forward, tilting to the side before he catches himself messily on the open door.

I hold my breath, squinting in the low light to see his right hand stretched against the left side of his abdomen, pressing something against it. He regains his composure once more, lifting off the door long enough to turn and slowly close it behind him.

I don’t speak as he starts to move again. I can’t tell if he knows I’m there, and for some reason, I don’t bring myself to reveal my presence just yet. Instead, I watch as he attempts to make for the kitchen that sits against the opposite wall of the open room. He manages to get to the edge of the island counter before his weight gives way again and he slumps against the smooth surface.

“Damn it,” he curses through gritted teeth, trying to keep quiet again. My eyes widen as I suddenly realize he must be injured. The hand clutching his ribs, the slight limp to his walk, the way he can’t seem to hold himself upright. What happened to him?

I’m aware that the midnight hours in the N109 Zone are when the the work day is just beginning for groups like Onychinus. Dealings within the illegal crime organizations here are much livlier at night. And that’s doubly true for the household of Onychinus’ leader. As frustrating as it’s been knowing what goes on here at night as someone sworn to protect innocents from threats just like Onychinus, the circumstances of recent months have seemed to trump that mission for now.

A low grunt of pain sweeps me back into the present as the hunched figure in the kitchen pulls himself around to a cabinet pressed against the fridge. He moves to lift his hand to open the dark wood door but winces before he’s even raised it halfway up, yanking his arm back to his side. The faint moonlight filtering in through the windows illuminates the pained look of his sharp profile.

The sound of him trying to stifle his groans of discomfort spurs me from my hidden spot in the dark.

“Sylus.”

My soft voice feels swallowed by the darkness and size of the space, but Sylus reacts to the sound instantly, his frame straightening to its full height and his gaze whipping to find me at the edge of the island. He appears confused, then annoyed, nostrils flaring slightly in the moonlight that casts soft shadows along his cheeks.

It seems like I’ve managed to catch him off guard for the first time since we’ve met. His reaction surprises me in return, and I pause a few feet away from him, my weight shifting a bit nervously. He always has a way of making me a bit nervous.

Just as quickly as the confusion and annoyance pass over his defined features, they are gone again, replaced now with that air of cool arrogance he’s managed to perfect. His arched brow twitches, the corner of his mouth twisting into the shadow of a smirk I’ve come to know so well.

“It’s a little late to be wandering the halls, don’t you think, kitten?” The sultry lilt to his deep voice rumbles across the space between us, but I can hear the slight tension lying just beneath the surface of his words, as if he’s struggling to appear put together when, really, he’s in pain.

“You’re hurt,” I state, ignoring his attempt to divert the situation. And ignoring the gooseflesh that threatens to bubble under my skin as his piercing red gaze locks me in place. I have to admit it’s still a bit of a struggle to keep my half of the control in these interactions with him, as much as I’ve tried to grow accustomed to his unique persona.

Sylus’ mouth twists again as he breathes out a huff of laughter. “You do realize who you’re talking to, don’t you, sweetie?” A flash of his perfectly lined teeth cuts across the darkness. “Or do you not recall the events of the first time we met?”

I do recall. It seems an impossible moment to forget. The sound of the trigger going off against where Sylus had held it against his chest echoes in my mind and I wince. Glancing down to where the corner of his pectoral peeks out between the opened buttons of his black top, I remind myself that there’s no injury to be seen anymore. Only perfectly smooth, pale skin that sits atop the rippling muscle.

Shaking my head of yet another attempt at distraction, I press myself forward, daring to take a few steps towards him. “I saw you come in,” I admit. “You can barely hold yourself up.”

“I can assure you, I am perfectly fine, Miss Hunter,” he says, low and slow, his eyes remaining fixed intently on my person.

“Then you won’t mind if I just confirm that for myself, will you?” I feign an innocent look, scrunching my brows in a slightly dramatic show of concern. I hope by keeping the interaction light, he won’t notice how real my concern is.

The cocked grin on his lips falters ever so slightly, but it doesn’t go without me noticing. He’s certainly confirming something, and it’s not that he’s “perfectly fine”.

I watch as his hand falls away from his side and his arms open in front of him, gesturing down his body. That infuriating smirk is firmly fixed in place. “Help yourself, sweetie.”

I chew the inside of my cheek, throwing my usual reservations about getting close to him to the wind. My worry for what has him stumbling around in the dead of night trumps my boundaries right now. Steeling my nerves, I close the remaining few feet between the two of us, bare feet padding towards his large figure.

I can feel his electric gaze burning holes into me as I approach, but I keep my eyes fixed on his torso, irises flitting from his broad shoulders, down the length of his pale forearms, over the expanse of his open palms, and across the plane of his narrow waist. At first look, nothing seems amiss, his composure remaining intact. Squinting slightly in the dark, however, I notice how the rise and fall of his breaths is uneven and labored, and he’s favoring his weight on his right leg.

I reach my hands forward. “What do you think you’re doing?” Sylus questions, his voice betraying him with a hint of worry.

“Helping myself,” I counter cooly, willing my nerves to remain strong as my fingertips find purchase on the top button of his slightly askew dress shirt. To my surprise, Sylus allows me to continue without even the slightest step backwards, his arms hanging at his sides.

I move slowly, hoping my fingers aren’t shaking as much as I feel like they are as I deftly undo button after button. I try not to stare too long at the line of muscled skin that begins to reveal itself down his torso.

Swallowing dryly, I finally push the two halves of his black button down to the sides, eyes widening with a soft gasp as I take in what I see. The shirt had been covering exactly what I’d feared.

The left side of his ribs are in a sorry state, a semi-deep gash curling around the length of his waist, mottled with a mix of dried and fresh blood, as if the pressure he’d been providing couldn’t staunch the flow. The usually perfectly pale skin surrounding the wound is blossoming with fresh bruises of deep plum. Whatever caused this injury had to have been packing quite the punch.

What worried me most, though, was the fact that these wounds didn’t seem to be healing. If Sylus could survive a gunshot to the chest by my own hand, then what was the holdup with the self-healing this time?

“Sylus!” I manage to exclaim in a strained whisper. My hands move to hover over the wound as I rack my brain for any useful piece of the medical training I received in the Hunter’s Academy. I know I at least needed to clean the gash first.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” I hear Sylus breathe from above me. I can tell he’s trying to quell my worries, but I don’t imagine a wound like this feels any better than it looks.

Slight annoyance from somewhere unknown suddenly pricks my chest. I shoot my eyes up to find his face already bent to watch me. Looking up at him from this close, I can feel each of his exhales fall against my mouth, but I push that realization aside and scrunch my brows at him.

“What happened? Where were you? Who did this?” I begin to rattle. My eyes flit back and forth between his, searching his face for any answers he might provide. At the other end of my questioning, Sylus’ expression slowly morphs into a rare sight. The usual facade of arrogance and control slips away to reveal something unusual. Sylus almost appears…sincere.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were worried about me, kitten,” he says softly, his hand raising to reach towards my face before stopping halfway and slowly dropping, as if he second-guessed whatever he was about to do.

“I am!” I assert, hands gripping the two halves of his open shirt so tightly I realize my knuckles are going white. Sylus’ expressions stutters, the seriousness in my tone giving him pause. I sigh. “Can we please cut the big bad mafia boss act for a second? You need bandaging before this gets worse.” I shake my head, staring at the injury again. “Why hasn’t it started healing on it’s own already?”

Sylus studies my face a moment longer, his usually intense gaze softening as it passes across my features.

“Would you believe me if I told you this is already better than it started?” His voice has a hint of humor to it, as if he’s still trying to ease my concern. Instead I find myself flinching against the idea that this isn’t even the worst of it. How badly had he been hurt tonight? How much effort had it taken him to get home?

I want to swat at his chest, but for fear of causing him any more pain, I restrain myself.

“Mina…” Sylus starts, and the way he utters my name instead of one of his many rotating pet names sends a shiver down my spine. But I refuse to waste anymore time.

“Lean against the counter,” I instruct, sounding more like a Hunter than the helpless girl I’ve been these past few minutes. Sylus breathes and slowly moves to the side, leaning against the marble countertop obediently. “I’m taking this off.”

I move my hands to the base of his neck, slipping my fingertips under the collar of his dress shirt and attempting to ignore the warmth of his skin in this freezing kitchen as I begin to push the fabric down his toned arms. To my surprise and great relief, Sylus remains silent for once allowing me to work without much distraction.

The pads of my fingers brush down the length of his muscled arms, following the trail of his shirt until it’s bunched at his wrists. “Your hands, please,” I request, carefully avoiding eye contact as I hold my own hands up.

As requested, Sylus gently places hands twice the size of my own in my palms, allowing me to undo the cuffs keeping his top from sliding off completely. After pulling the sleeves away from his body, I move to yank the remainder of the shirt from where it’s tucked messily into the waistline of his trousers. Without me asking this time, Sylus raises his arms to assist in the task, wincing again when his left arm agitates the injury.

Nodding in silent appreciation, I wrap my arms around the shape of his hips, giving him a wide birth, and being careful not to get as close as his cologne is causing me to want. Gripping the last of the black fabric and pulling, I’m relieved when it comes lose easily and falls away to the floor.

“Where will I find a first-aid kit?” I finally ask once his torso is bare. I realize I’m looking around the room to avoid looking at him.

“There.” His slender finger comes into my peripheral vision, poiting towards the cabinet he had originally been trying to open. I nod and turn to open it, feeling his eyes on me the entire time. As I begin to sift through the rows of various medicine bottles, syringes, and vials full of strange liquid, I’m suddenly strikingly aware that I never changed out of my sleepwear and are still donned in nothing but cotton shorts and a tank top.

I bite your lip, silently cursing to myself as my search continues through the cabinet. There’s not much I can do about it now, I suppose, but knowing I’m under the scrutinizing gaze of Sylus every second of this venture, I feel a mite over exposed.

Finally, I discover a box of antiseptic, gauze, and painkillers and pull it from the cabinet. When I turn back around, Sylus remains leant against the counter, looking sinfully good in the low light of the darkened kitchen. My breath hitches, knowing I’ve made the mistake of taking in his full figure so present before me, but it becomes harder to avert my gaze every time I see him.

It’s been one of the biggest frustrations of coming back to the N109 Zone. But once I discovered the intrigue of Sylus and my Evol linkage and the strange connection of our Aether Cores, it was an unavoidable trip. The last few weeks, Sylus and I have been seeing a lot more of each other, researching everything we can about what our linkage could be and how to control it. It seemed a little too late when I finally realized my growing nerves and the tension between us might not be from fear anymore. A realization I’ve been more than happy to continue shoving to the depths of my mind. I’ve had more important fish to fry lately.

I find it hard to swallow as Sylus and I stare at each other, time frozen for a moment. He leans his hips leisurely against the island, legs crossed at the ankles, his palms holding him upright as they rest against the counter behind him. The position he’s in presses his shoulders apart, making them appear even broader than normal, his forearms pusling with the veins that ripple under his skin.

His face is ethereal, bathed halfway in moonlight and halfway in shadow, the silver locks of his mussed hair falling in silk ribbons across his forehead. And his eyes. Oh, those eyes. Red and depthless and intense and all trained directly on me. I forget to breath as I take in his half-hooded gaze, irises looking lazy and dazed under the fan of his lashes. He looks god-like.

“Something wrong?” Sylus breaks the silence, his words rumbling across the miniscule distance between us. He tilts his head, lips parting slightly.

“No!” I answer a bit too fast. I see the ghost of a smile twitch at the corner of his mouth. “N-No. I found the kit…”

My steps stutter back towards him, nerves hitching higher the closer we become, but one glance at the wound cutting across his ribs and I’m brought back to reality. He’s hurt and I need to focus.

Gritting my teeth, I set the open first-aid kit on the counter next to him and remove the antiseptic and clean cloth, blotting the fabric with the medicinal liquid. “This might sting,” I say gently.

I carefully press the cloth against the edge of the bloody gash, beginning to clean away the majority of the clotted and fresh blood still seeping onto Sylus’ skin. Despite Sylus’ claims that there was no need to worry, he flinches away from the ensuing sting of the cloth with a stifled moan. The noise is enough to make my stomach tighten.

“Careful, kitten,” he tuts through grit teeth, hands gripping the edge of the counter.

“I told you it might sting.” I start to smile, finding it a little ironic that the big bad leader of the most well-known crime orginazation in the N109 Zone is brought low by the sting of antiseptic.

“There’s nothing funny about this situation,” he retorts, sounding almost childlike in his annoyance.

“There might be a little something funny about it.” I shrug and try to stifle the growth of my grin, but it’s harder than I thought. “It’s just medicine, you big baby.”

Sylus groans again as I make another pass, the muscles in his own stomach tensing and untensing. “Usually the use of medicine is unnecessary.” The last word comes out like a strained hiss when the cloth rubs against the edge of the gash.

My smile grows further, the corners of my mouth stretching to their limit. I cough to stop the urge to laugh at him.

“Now that’s a rare sight,” Sylus whispers, the surprised tone of his voice pulling my eyes away from where they were focused on cleaning away more blood.

“What?” I can’t help but ask, tilting my head at his entranced expression. His eyes drop to my lips and linger there a moment longer than they probably should have.

“That smile,” he admits, the hand opposite his injury lifting as if he’s unconscious of it. The back of his lithe fingers slowly brush against the length of my cheek, and my eyes widen at the feeling. He’s so warm. His own lips part and the tips of his fingers turn to glide along the underside of my mouth, his touch almost phantasmal.

In his eyes, I see realization dawn and his hand pauses, hesitantly moving back down to his side, as much as I secretly wish it wouldn’t have. He gazes at me and in his expression is a sort of emotion I can’t quite place. He quickly covers whatever it was with a resigned smile, gentler than his usual controlled smirk.

“I’d like it if you smiled like that more around me,” he confesses. My heart beat turns erratic for a moment.

“I didn’t realize I hadn’t been,” I offer back, clearing my throat and moving back to my earlier task of cleaning the wound. As the blood clears away with each stroke of the cloth, I begin to get a clearer picture of just how deep this wound must have been for this to be the semi-healed version of it. “Sylus, what happened to you tonight?”

The diversion in topic is a slightly welcome respite from the growing tension. I sneak a quick glance at his face and find his gaze trained on the floor, eyebrows knit with thought. He waits a moment as if deciding whether to stop this line of conversation with one of his carefully crafted deflections or reveal the truth. I’m not sure if its the vulnerable air about tonight or whatever trust I’ve built up with him over these past few weeks, but he eventually sighs and speaks.

“It was a new kind of protocore weapon,” Sylus admits, gesturing to his almost-clean wound.

“A new protocore weapon?” I repeat, shocked and intrugied. “What kind of weapon?”

“I’m not sure.” Sylus shakes his head. “One of the business dealings with a former partner that was planned for tonight didn’t quite meet expectations.” He huffs a laugh to himself, as if recalling the events that lead to his injury. I find them anything but humorous but decide not to press the matter.

“Before I could take control of the situation, one of his men blindsided me,” he continues. I feel anxiety well up in my chest as I listen, but I keep quiet, letting him explain as I continue to clear away the last of the dried blood splattering his ribs.

“Normally, a wound like this would be nothing but a trivial moment of pain, but once the dust settled, I realized it wasn’t healing over like usual. The blood just kept flowing. I came back here to find a way to mend it before it got much worse.”

“Sylus,” I breathe out once he finishes. I can feel his eyes return to me though I can’t bring myself to look at him again quite yet. “I know there was no way of you knowing what tonight would bring, but…” I swallow, trying to find the right words. “Please be careful.”

“You should see the other guys,” Sylus attempts to joke. “Well, there wasn’t really much of them to see in the end…”

I want to laugh, but find myself unable. The news he’s just shared worries me more than I’d like to admit to him in this moment. A new weapon that seems to temporarily halt Sylus’ self-healing abilities? That was a big, big revelation, and one that has my mind spinning.

“I know that these dealings are part of your job, and that danger comes with the territory, but I…” I trail off, not sure of what I’m wanting to tell him. Or if I’m wanting to tell him.

“You what?” Sylus presses in a voice almost inaudible. Though I still haven’t looked at his face, I can tell how close he is to me by the sound of his voice. I can feel the tickle of his breath against my ear. When I don’t immediately respond, I jolt at the feeling of Sylus’ fingers snaking their way under my chin and tenderly tugging my gaze away from his wound and back to his awaiting eyes.

The intensity of his stare almost knocks me to the floor. I might’ve fallen had it not been for the securing grip of his fingers around my chin. His thumb traces long lines against my skin, and I hope he can’t feel the timbre of my heartbeat rocketing against my chest. “You what?” he asks again.

Oh, what dangerous territory I’ve wandered into.

“I-I…” I stammer, the words incoherent in my head. “I need to finish bandaging your wound.”

I raise the ball of gauze between our too-close faces, relief exploding in my stomach at the flimsy boundary it creates. I hear Sylus sigh and chuckle on the other side as his hand slides from my face once more. He leans back a few inches, and I feel like I can breathe again.

“Very well,” he resigns, returning his arm to his side and allowing me to continue. Sighing in relief, I move to begin wrapping the gauze around his waist when his left hand suddenly moves in tandem with my right.

“Sylus, cut it out, I need to finish before it starts bleeding again!” I complain, giving him an annoyed look only to be met with his confused expression.

“I didn’t do that,” he responds, looking down to my hands. “Not voluntarily at least.”

“This isn’t the time for games, just let me–” I move to attempt the gauze wrap a second time when the same thing happens–his hand moves in tandem with mine, blocking the way. Realization dawns on me as I lift our entwined hands into the air.

“Damn it,” I curse as we both gaze upon the faint misty glow of our Evol linkage at work. Appearing almost as shrouded handcuffs, our mysterious and unexplainable resonance linkage had a nasty habit of forming at the most inopportune times, and this had to have been the worst of those times for it to happen.

“Your Evol certainly knows how to pick a moment,” Sylus drawls sarcastically, smirking at our joined wrists. I cut him an annoyed glance, groaning to myself.

“The last time we linked, it lasted. All. Day.” I recall last week when our resonance linkage decided to make an appearance over breakfast when Sylus leaned a little too close to me to grab the butter across the table. We spent the rest of that rainy day uncomfortably packed behind Sylus’ office desk researching ways to disengage the link at will. Obviously, we had no luck.

“Well we can’t blame that on the Evol, now can we?” Sylus gives me a knowing smirk, and I fight not to roll my eyes as a blush creeps over my cheeks. One thing we both learned early on is that whatever this linkage was, it grew stronger the stronger my emotional, mental…phsyical relationship with the other person grew.

Sylus has made to tease me about it on numerous occasions, and while I always tried to play it off as an annoyance, the truth was it scared me how long the links had been lasting. I knew it was only a matter of time before the truth was out in the open and he realized how deep the change in my feelings towards him went. Who knows how long this link would last? And in the middle of the night, no less.

I’d have to learn how to control this resonance business sooner rather than later. Before long, the link might form and never break, and that was a thought that made me want to crawl into a hole and never come out.

“Well…” I start, frustration and embarrassment mixing together in my throat. “You’re just going to have to work with me to get these bandages on. Then we can worry about the link.”

Sylus chuckles at the sour expression I wear but nods in agreement, holding out his hand. It takes a few attempts, but we both manage to figure out a pattern of pass and pull that works well enough at getting the gauze wrapped around his waist without too much contortion. The silence we both work in allows me to calm down and throw myself into my task. It’s all too much to think through at the moment.

A few more moments of blissful silence pass, the gauze almost completely in place, when Sylus speaks again. “Mina…”

“Yes?” I stay focused on the wrapping.

“Why were you awake at this hour?”

The sincerity in his voice almost makes my hands stutter in their rotation. It seems for the moment, whatever form of his true self that lies beneath the cocky exterior was paying a visit.

“I’ve been having trouble sleeping,” I shrug, confiding in him.

Another pause. “Is the bed not comfortable?”

“It’s perfectly comfortable,” I smile softly to myself.

“Is is it too hot? Too cold?”

“It’s freezing in this house all the time,” I laugh. “But that’s not why.”

“Are Kieran and Luke making too much noise when they come back? Is Mephisto bothering you?”

I continue laughing as the gauze goes around once more.

“Why are you laughing?” Sylus inquires. Even without looking at him, I can see the puzzled expression he wears. “I don’t see what’s funny.”

“You’re what’s funny,” I grin wider. “You’re usually not so full of questions.”

“I’m simply trying to fix whatever is keeping you awake. A Hunter needs to sleep through the night.”

My hands pause on the last rotation of the gauze, eyes zoning out on where it crosses over Sylus’ ribs. “I don’t know why I can’t sleep. I just find it hard here.”

I glance up to see Sylus gazing intently at you. He always seems to be doing that. This time there is a hint of worry laced in his scrunched features.

“I’m fine, though,” I reassure him quickly, my mouth twitching into a soft smile as I remember his earlier request. “I like coming here to watch the city. It’s relaxing.” My head tilts to gesture to the spot on the couch I’ve claimed for myself each night, the city scape stretching far beyond it.

Sylus follows my gesture and stares out the far window himself for a moment before coming back to rest on me. His face contorts as if he’s thinking hard about something before he quietly clears his throat.

“You’re not…are you…” It was so unlike Sylus to be lost for words. “Are you not used to sleeping alone?”

There’s a question within his question. One I’m caught off guard to answer.

“What? I–no,” I’m quick to respond. “I’m used to it. Very used to it.”

There’s a strange wash of relief over Sylus’ face at my response that has my insides knotting up.

“I’m not sure what it is,” I decide to continue, finally finishing the last wrap of the gauze and managing to secure it in place with my un-linked hand. With Sylus fully clean and bandaged, I drop my hands, unsure of what to do now.

After a beat of silence, Sylus glances back to the spot I gestured to on the couch and then to me. He tilts his head towards the window. “Care to show me the view of my city you’ve been enjoying?”

I look at him a little surprised by his request. My city. The more I get to know Sylus, the more I find myself forgetting how much influence and power he has here. To think that a few months ago I was hearing the name “Onychinus” for the first time, and now here I was, linked to it’s very leader, the most dangerous and powerful figure in the N109 Zone.

This man standing before me has become familiar in a way I wasn't expecting. He doesn’t scare me like he used to, and I find it hard to believe that he’s the one I spent so long hating before everything changed.

“Yes,” I finally whisper in response, smiling shyly in an almost childlike excitement to share this thing I’ve come to find comfort in.

“Then shall we?” Sylus gestures for me to lead the way back to the couch, and I oblige, turning to leave behind the bloodied shirt and messy first-aid kit in the kitchen and return to the view that originally pulled me out of my room.

When I reach the sofa, however, I realize quickly that sitting sideways to face the window with our hands linked the way they are is going to be an uncomfortable task. “Maybe if we…” I try sitting in a few different ways, but every position has either me or Sylus craning our shoulder in an odd way.

Sylus watches as I try to puzzle my way into the right positioning, but it’s to no avail. “Maybe we should just stand?” I laugh to myself, trying to hide my slight embarrassment.

Sylus smirks softly at me. “Come here,” he coos in that sultry way of his, the in-control and confident leader making a reappearance as he descends sideways against the cushions of the couch and pulls me with him. I can’t do anything but fall the short distance straight into his lap, his legs parted to make the perfect place for me to land.

My heart rachets into mythroat as he presses me gently back against his broad chest, my head tucked just beneath his chin. I pray vehemently that he can’t feel my heartbeat against him and thank the powers that be that he can’t see how heated my face is in this position.

I realize quickly that his idea was a sound one, though, as he wraps his long arms around my waist, bringing his linked wrist to rest just under where mine hovers awkwardly. He leans back agains the couch, sighing contendently, and I can feel the remnants of his deep voice vibrating against my back.

“Is this okay?” he whispers against your ear. I struggle not to fling myself away from him from the sheer shock of it.

Steeling myself, I breathe to calm down. “Ye-Yes. It’s fine.”

Sylus’ responding chuckle sends shivers across my arms and legs. “You can rest your hands, sweetie. No need to keep them hovering in the air like that.”

I blush violently again, and try to find where to rest them but everywhere seems too intimate, too close.

As if sensing my hesitancy, Sylus reaches his fingers towards mine and slides each digit between my own, dragging your now-encased hands into my lap. He’s always been far too confident for his own good.

“Comfortable?” he questions once our hands are settled. I want to laugh at him because this is the most on edge I’ve felt in my whole life. My heart is hammering against my ribs, my stomach is tensed in knots and I can almost promise my hands are quickly becoming clammy against the smooth, warm skin of his own .

“Yes,” I manage to lie, but he only laughs again, deep and slow and far too close to my ear.

“Too cute,” he says so quietly, I’m not sure I was meant to hear.

“Won’t I hurt you in this position?” I concernedly ask, turing my head slightly to make sure I’m not pressed against his injury.

“I’m the farthest from in pain I could be,” Sylus responds, the tip of his nose brushing along my turned cheek. Before I can even manage a yelp of surprise, Sylus continues. “Show me this city you’ve been watching,”

Grateful for the change in focus, I turn back to the window, calming slightly as I gaze back across the city, still unchanged in the last hour. Inside, however, I’m now not alone and it doesn’t feel so eerily quiet. Instead, Sylus is pressed so close that I can feel the rise and fall of his steady breathing, each exhale cascading against my shoulder. I can feel the pulsing of his heart all the way in this fingertips as they remain wrapped around mine, his thumb brushing abscently back and forth across the back of my palm.

I begin to point out the little scenes in the city below that calm me the most–the life of the pub below, the rooftop garden a few highrises away, the flocks of birds that fly overhead. With each scene I reveal to Sylus, the more relaxed I begin to feel. He doesn’t say much in response to my narration, only offering the occasional hums of acknowledgement or squeeze of my hand.

After a few minutes of my rambling, I turn my face slightly to make sure he hasn’t drifted off to sleep, but am instead met with his face mere centimeters from mine, his eyes already locked on my face. I wonder if he’s been watching me the whole time I’ve been talking…

“Yes, I have,” Sylus responds lowly, and I jump, eyes widening as he grins at me.

“Did I say that outloud?” My free hand goes to cover my mouth in embarrassment.

There is a brand new kind of mirth in Sylus’ eyes, one I’ve not been witness too this close. It sucks the breath from my lungs.

“I’ve seen this city from every angle, at every time of day, in every circumstance,” Sylus goes on, never looking away from me. “But you, little bird…”

I struggle to keep my composure in check.

“I’ve waited a long time to discover you.”

I think I might die.

“You’ll be fine, I’ve got you.”

Damn it, am I letting every thought slip into the open tonight?

Sylus’ expression goes from bright and humored to inquisitive, as if he’s considering whether or not he should voice his thoughts. He might as well, I’ve let every damn question in my head escape already. It’s only right he joins in.

“Mina,” he starts, looking almost nervous and very un-Sylus-like.

“Sylus,” I whisper back, feeling like I’m floating outside of my body.

His chest hitches slightly, lips parting as he breathes into the silence for a beat. “Earlier…when you told me I should be careful…what were you about to say?”

He sounds breathless, his question hanging in the air between us, our mouths far too close for me to be thinking straight. In the back of my mind, I recall the moment, hesitant even now to utter what I was considering an hour ago. How much would it change things between us? Whatever is left of our boundaries, what little there might be, would surely be gone. I don’t know if that’s for better or for worse.

“Please tell me.” Sylus leans in closer, his nose brushing against mine, our breaths intermingled. “Please.”

My resolve falters. “I-I…”

“You what?” Sylus seems almost desperate, his hands tightening around my own. I’ve never seen or heard him like this. It’s a new kind of vulnerable. So I decide to repay it with my own.

“I care about you.”

And now it’s out in the open between us, hanging there like a bob in the water. The only question is will he bite or reject the offering?

“I care about you, Sylus,” I whisper again, my free hand raising of it’s own volition to brush down the skin of his face, from the edge of his eyebrow to the corner of his full lips.

Sylus’ breathing becomes heavy, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly as something shifts in the air around us. “I hate seeing you hurt, and after tonight, I’m more worried than I wanted to admit about you being out in the city.” I find myself rambling into the growing tension. Anything to ease whatever is building.

“With this new weapon, I detest the idea of you out there alone…what if you don’t make it home next time?”

“Home…” Is all that Sylus repeats, as if he isn’t fully hearing every word.

I fully cup his face in my hand. As the moments have ticked by, I realize I’ve shifted in his embrace and am somehow almost fully facing him, body halfway turned in his lap as I lean into his strong arms.

Sylus exhales and leans his face into my touch, brows scrunching up in another emotion I can’t quite read.

“Is this why…” he begins, eyes dropping to my lips and then back again, “Is this why the links have been lasting so long?”

“...Yes.” My cheeks heat up once more.

“Fuck,” Sylus hisses to mostly himself, eyes drinking in my expression.

I curve my brow. “Is that good or bad?”

Sylus manages a breathy chuckle, his arm tightening around my waist now. “Good…very good. You don’t realize how much so.”

Afraid I’ll implode if I read too far into that statement, I continue, “Can I go out into the city with you? To help keep you safe? Please?”

Sylus looks slightly tormented by the question. “I’d be far too worried for your safety to consider my own, kitten.”

“I can take care of myself,” I rebut. “I’m a specially trained Deepspace Hunter, or have you forgotten?”

“I’d never forget something that could put my life in mortal danger,” Sylus responds sarcastically, chuckling softly at my responding annoyance. He strokes my face again and I melt.

“Let me take care of you,” I try again, leaning further into him, hoping to convey the sincerity of my request. Having said these thoughts out loud after all this time, I feel like a waterfall that can’t help but spill everything I’ve kept dammed up. “I want to take care of you.”

Once again, Sylus appears internally knotted up, his face contorting in an odd mix of confusion and desire. “Do you not know how much you do for me already?” he asks. “How much you’re doing for me in this very moment?”

“It doesn’t feel like enough, whatever it is,” I admit. “I can do more for you. I can fight.”

“Mina–” he strains out, conflicted. “I know you’re capable, I do, but that’s not–you don’t–”

“I don’t what?”

“Linkon City is not the N109 Zone. You’ve barely scratched the surface of how bad this place can get.”

I know I shouldn’t let it bother me, not in this moment after everything that’s been put out in the open, but his statement pricks my pride and I pull back from him. I can see that I’ve hurt him in his confused expression as I put more distance between us. I’d get up from my spot on his lap if I knew I’d make it more than half a foot without dragging him along with me.

“So you get to go out risking life and limb for your responsibilities, and I just have to sit here on my hands waiting for you to come back every night? IF you come back?”

“No, Mina, that’s not what I’m saying…fuck, I don’t even know…how are we–do we need to talk about this right now?” Sylus runs a hand through his silver locks and I watch as they fall in a messy cascade across his forehead.

I know this is not the way he probably saw this conversation going. I’m sure he would rather have me close to him and telling him more about how much I care about his wellbeing, and if I was being totally honest with myself, that’s what I wish too, but my pride is stumped against the wall of his double standards.

Why does he get to call the shots for my well-being but I get no say in his?

He looks like he’s about to reason with me again, but I shake my head. “I want to go to bed now.”

Sylus looks at a loss for words, starting at me with his jaw half open. He lifts our still-linked hands and waves them between us, as if to remind me that exiting this conversation isn’t going to be that easy.

I curse quietly to myself, looking away from him and out the window.

“Mina, please, can we–”

“No, we can’t,” I interrupt. With each passing moment, I feel more and more tense and I don’t know how to calm down. I feel like I’m on the verge of tears, the threat of the waterworks stinging at the back of my eyes, and it’s the most frustrating feeling.

Sylus, to the credit of his good judgement, is remaining quiet. I can feel him staring at the side of my face, probably wondering where this conversation turned sideways.

“Let’s go then,” he finally speaks into the growing silence.

I whip my head in this direction. “Go where?”

“To bed. If you’re so keen to sleep right now, then I will oblige.”

I look at him, confused, gesturing to our linked hands. “And how exactly do you suggest we do that?”

Without another word, Sylus scoops his free arm beneath my legs that hang over his lap and pulls. As if I’m the weight of a plushie, I’m hoisted into the air, sitting halfway over Sylus’ bare shoulder and halfway in one arm. I’m immediately annoyed by how strong he is.

“What are you–where are–”

“To bed,” he interrupts, and I can hear the tension in his own voice. I’m caught between my own frustration and the guilt of causing it, so I keep quiet, huffing in resignation as he turns and begins to trapse easily down the length of the dark hallway.

I have no idea what his plan is as he walks, wondering if he thinks the Evol link will just dissapear when he gets to my room, but instead he passes right by it. My eyes widen as I watch my heavy mahogany door grow smaller and smaller, Sylus still charging towards the end of the hall. I turn, taking in the ornate, black, double-doors at the head of the hallway…Sylus’ room.

“Where do you think you’re taking me?” I ask, incredulous.

“To b–”

“If you say “bed” one more damn time, I’ll throttle you here and now.”

Against his stoic resolve, Sylus chuckles, and I have to admit, I struggle to remain annoyed, overjoyed that he can’t see my face hanging over his shoulder.

I’ve only been in Sylus’ room twice, both during a bet to see if I could steal a brooch he’d hidden in return for his help on a mission to find the other half of my Aether Core. That seems so long ago now, though thinking back, that second visit to Sylus’ room was where our relationship started to shift from professional to…whatever is was now.

I shudder as I think about what it felt like to have him towering over me on that bed for the first time.

And now I was going back in under very different, albeit less enticing, circumstances.

I take in the familiar surroundings as Sylus pushes through the heavy doors like they’re nothing, making straight for the bed that he deftly plops me down on top of. I look up at him as he stands before me, but I can’t read his expression if my life depended on it.

“Care to explain how you saw this working?” I try, attempting to break the silence. As the moments pass and he remains like the former version of himself, walled up and unreadable, I feel my frustration beginning to be replaced by nerves and uncertainty. Is all that progress we just made for nothing? Are we back to square one now?

“First, you’ll help me out of these.”

I choke on my breath as Sylus gestures to his belt and slacks, still hugging snuggly to his narrow hips. The moisture in my mouth dries up as my eyes follow the prominent V at the bottom of his torso, the deep rivets leading straight below the button of the very pants he’s requested I help remove.

“I’ll what?”

“If we can bandage a wound while linked like this, I’m certain a simple belt and zipper won’t put up too much of a fight.”

“Sylus, I can’t–”

“If you think I’m sleeping in these in my own bed, you’re sorely mistaken,” he states, matter-of-factly. My jaw drops open. He can’t be serious. “Don’t look too disturbed, sweetie, I’ll do all the heavy lifting.” Sylus smirks as he yanks my linked hand forward.

At this angle, I have to pull against the momentum to stop my hand from making an…unfortunate collision, and cut my look of shock and annoyance up to to see Sylus looking mighty pleased with himself.

“Just keep your hand close enough to allow me to work,” he explains. I fight to not roll my eyes. I also fight to keep my cheeks from heating up. I’m beginning to remember how I used to feel in the presence of Sylus before I got through a few more of his layers. This arrogance and smugness always did make me irate.

I look across the room, finding anything and everything to analyze while I feel my hand being jostled around. I hear the metallic sound of the belt being undone and discarded to the ground. Then the unmistakable sounds of his zipper falling loose and his slacks slipping to the floor.

“Don’t be too coy, kitten. It’s not like this is isn’t anything you haven’t seen,” Sylus purrs from next to me, and my stomach does a flip against my protestation.

“Can we just get to the sleeping part?” I try my best to sound as bored as possible. How we went from mere centimeters apart, sharing breaths and encased in each others arms to putting on our best show of “Who Can Care Less?” I'll never know.

Instead of the smug response I’m expecting back, I hear a low and resigned sigh from next to me and brave a look in Sylus’ direction. His eyes are cast away towards the floor, but mine hungrily graze up his newly bare skin. It’s true it’s nothing I haven’t seen before, but that doesn’t make it any less delicious.

His lengthy frame is cut with rippling muscles that sit prettily beneath his luminescent skin. His bandaged and broad torso swims to the narrow line of his black briefs that hug the curve of his meaty thighs like something perfectly tailored. Knowing him, the briefs probably were perfectly tailored.

I am distracted from my shameless gazing, however, as I return my eyes to his face. He’s still not looking at me…he looks almost sad? I don’t recall ever seeing Sylus downcast, but if that’s not the expression sneaking onto this perfect face, then I don’t know what is. My heart lurches at the sight.

I watch as he reaches past me to pull the pristinely made sheets away from the headboard, revealing a deepset grey silk. “After you,” he offers, his previous expression masked for the moment.

My emotions are all over the place, but I keep any thoughts I have to myself as I nod and scoot back on the bed. Sylus is pulled after me by our linked wrists, and if the circumstances were any different right now, I think I might explode from the sight of his lithe frame bending to crawl onto the bed towards me.

I have to avert my gaze and swiftly burry myself beneath the cool sheets before I heat up anymore. As I settle against the pillow, I feel the bed dip next to me as Sylus does the same. Soon, I feel the silk sheets rise to encase us both, and with a swift flick of Sylus’ fingers, the lights in room go out and we’re plunged into darkness and silence.

I blink a few times, forcing my eyes to adjust to the lighting. Soon enough, the moonlight bathes everything in the bedroom in a soft glow and I can see the faint outline of the objects around me. I turn my head to the right and gaze out of the large bay window fixed into the far wall. The view of the night sky from here is breathtaking. I can’t help but feel a sense of yearning for the scene only minutes earlier, staring out the window with Sylus so close.

He’s so close to me now, but it doesn’t feel like it anymore. How did things change so quickly? I forget why I was even frustrated with him…Well, I still remember why, but I don’t know why it was so important. The downfall of pride, I suppose. And now I’m lying in Sylus’ bed more awake than ever before, wallowing in my regret and desperate for some sort of salve to the situation.

I risk a glance to my left and can make out the sharp outline of Sylus’ profile resting on the pillow next to mine. How many times have I dreamed of this? Of lying next to him in the quiet of the evening? Only there wasn’t this glaring tension resting between us in those dreams. I mentally kick myself for letting my annoyance get the better of me. And just after I’d made so much progress with him.

I can feel the heat of his hand under the blankets so close to mine, the Evol linking our wrists making it harder to move any farther apart. As I subtly test the pull of the link, I can’t help but feel it’s even shorter than when it first connected. My fingers must be mere centemeters from Sylus’.

There’s no sound in the room aside from our breathing. If I train my ears just right, I can find the rhythm of Sylus’ inhales and exhales–the only comforting thing in the vicinity. I chew the inside of my cheek as the temptation to move closer to him grows. He’s so close, so warm. And with that warmth so nearby, it intensifies the freezing air of the bedroom, chilling me right to my bones.

My free hand grips the silk sheets, pulling them up to rest just below my chin. I curl my body beneath the covers as tightly as I can, trying to retain any heat I still have from when Sylus’ was holding me against him. It’s no use. I continue to fight against the chill of the air, wondering how Sylus exists in this kind of cold all the time.

“You’re shaking the whole bed.”

The sound of his voice in the dead silence makes me jump.

“Oh…I’m s-sorry,” I chatter, my chin stuttering from the chill. “It just got so cold…You don’t have an extra blanket in here, do you?”

Instead of responding, I hear him sigh deeply before the bed dips closer to me and I’m suddenly sliding sideways directly into the bare and blazing skin of Sylus himself. He situates our linked wrists in such a way that they are comfortably resting between our bodies. I instinctively curl myself against him, drinking in his heat like water.

“Better?’ he asks, his voice close by in the darkness.

I sigh out the last of my chill, nuzzling into the crook of his shoulder, not stopping to care that the tension between our unresolved conversation is still sitting stagnant above us.

“Yes,” I say honestly. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t say anything, so I attempt to close my eyes and find rest. If silence is all that awaits me tonight, I’d rather find solace in slumber and pray that when I wake up, the link will be dissolved.

My eyes are closed all of a minute before I realize falling back asleep won’t be as easy as I hoped. My insides are too restless, my regret and guilt too heavy. I should say something, I know I should, but I’m not sure how to broach the topic again…

“I care about you, too.”

Once again the low rumble of Sylus’ rough timbre echoes into the silence before I get my chance. I jolt at the unexpected comment and feel him shift his position beside me. In the glow of the moonlight, I lift my head to see his face turned towards me, lids hooded as he finds my eyes.

Suddenly my heart is pounding again. How does he manage to do that?

“What?” is all I can think to say.

“I care about you. I realize I never returned the sentiment…earlier.”

“Oh!” I breathe out, caught off guard. “I–That’s…thank you?”

“Thank you?”

I can hear the start of a chuckle behind his words, and I can’t help but giggle in response at the absurdity of my own.

“No, not ‘thank you’--well, I mean yes, thank you, but that’s–what I meant to say was…”

“It’s ok, Mina,” he lulls my from my spiral with his calm tone. He turns even more in the darkness until we are both lying facing each other. He looks some kind of otherworldly in this light. “I wanted to you know that I’m not hesitant to bring you with me into the city because I don’t think you’re capable or don’t want you to worry for my well-being.”

I purse my lips, studying his face. His expression is still sadder than I’d like it to be, as if he’s been mulling these words over and over, unsure of how I’d respond.

“I know,” I agree, earnestly. “But then why–”

“I care about you, too,” he repeats just as emphatically as me. Under the blankets, I feel the ghost of his fingers trail against mine, testing the waters of what’s ok. I instantly fold and move my fingers to be eagerly enveloped by his own. He inches closer to me.

“You care about me,” I echo, testing each word on my lips.

He slowly grins, that hooded gaze eating me alive. His other hand reaches towards me and tucks a stray hair behind my ear, so gentle I question if this is the same man I met all those months ago.

“Yes,” he assures in a breath of a whisper. “Very much so.”

“You care about me,” I say again, sounding like a broken record.

Sylus laughs a low rumble of a laugh that shoots right through me. “I care about you so much that I worry about your safety the same way you say you worry about mine.”

I stare up at him, melting against his palm as it traces soothing lines up and down the curve of my neck. It’s like every new place he’s allowed to touch me is a place he must explore every inch of, memorizing every fold and caressing every curve.

“I have responsibilities to attend to out in the city,” he continues on, explaining in a sort of gentle voice that has me hanging onto every syllable. “If I don’t attend to those responsibilities, all that follows is chaos, the kind that would eventually rope you up inside, and I can’t have that.” His fingers tighten on my hand, as if reassuring himself I’m really here in front of him.

“Keeping you here means that I can attend to responsibilities knowing you’re safe and unharmed,” Sylus reveals. “I’m without the distraction of worrying about someone I care for.”

“You care about me.”

Sylus laughs louder this time. “Is that all you can say, kitten?”

I feel my grin growing in response to the sound of his laughter. I wonder how many other people have had the privilege to hear his laugh, his real laugh, hearty and deep and comforting.

“I’m sorry, “ I shake my head. “I’m just processing.”

Sylus inches forward almost imperceptibly, eyebrows knit together. “Surely you knew I returned the feeling?”

I suddenly become sheepish.

Sylus’ eyebrows raise in astonishment, his grin going lopsided. “Surely, you knew!”

My cheeks heat and I retreat with a squeak beneath the barrier of silk sheets, burying my face against his shoulder. I hear another well of laughter tumble over me as Sylus moves to remove the sheets from overtop of me.

“I promise I didn’t know!” I finally admit, grinning stupidly against the warmth of his skin. As the natural cadence of my giggling dies down, I continue, slightly embarrassed, “I guessed…I hoped…but you’ve been so shamelessly flirtatious since the moment we met, I could never be sure…”

Sylus feigns shock. “Shamelessly flirtatious? Tsk, tsk, sweetie, you couldn’t be talking about me.”

I laugh again and Sylus lights up at the sound, his eyes glowing.

He stares at me for a long moment, his hands reclaiming their purchases against my skin, stroking and caressing the exposed parts with such care. “Sorry if it should’ve been more obvious,” I add after a minute, gazing lazily at his face. “Wanderers and fluctuation zones I can detect all day long, but this has never been my strong suit…” I gesture between the two of us.

Sylus huffs a gentle laugh, shaking his head. “Maybe it wasn’t obvious to you, that’s ok. We’re here now.”

I bite my lip in thought and Sylus’ eyes zero in on the action, pupils dialiting before he pulls his gaze away. My stomach twists again.

“...How long?” I eventually ask, nerves lighting up inside me. I can’t bare to keep eye contact with him as I wait for an answer.

“How long?”

“How long have you…cared for me?” I feel so silly asking it out loud. As a blush creeps up my neck, I fight the urge to dive beneath the covers again.

Sylus’ fingers still their soothing ministrations against my skin, and I suddenly worry. Did I ask something I shouldn’t have? Was it too far? Too soon?

But when I anxiously meet Sylus’ eyes once again, he’s already looking at me like something I’ve never seen. His piercing red irises have a slight glow to them, his brows knit slightly in a look of sincerity that takes my breath away. He pauses a moment longer, making sure I’m keeping my eyes on him as he speaks, low and slow.

“A long time,” he utters, breathless. “A very, very long time.”

I’m slightly confused while at the same time utterly captivated. I don’t know how long these few months could’ve felt. I suppose it has seemed like forever already, but I have a feeling that’s not what he means. Something about the moment has me reeling back my questions, however. This doesn’t seem like the right time or place to broach that topic.

“And you?” He returns my question, his face earnest as he awaits my response. “When did you start to…care?”

I find his phrasing funny and giggle before I answer. “When I was looking for that brooch, I suppose.”

He looks somewhat surprised at this. Maybe it wasn’t what he was expecting. “The one from the bet we made?”

I nod.

“What about that little hunt had you see me as something less monstrous?”

I open my mouth to protest that I ever found him monstrous, but truth be told, those first few days in the N109 Zone were not my favorite to recount with him.

Instead I answer honestly. “I tried so many times so many ways to find that stupid brooch, and you were so…patient with me. Even when I eventually had you handcuffed to this very bed and you could’ve escaped at any moment, you didn’t, and you let me think I had the upper hand for a few moments.”

Sylus listens intently, his eyes trained on my lips.

“I don’t know,” I continue. “In the end when you finally handed over the brooch, at first I was annoyed that you’d let me win without really winning, but as I kept replaying the memory of it, I thought it was so uncharacteristic of you to give in…and then I started thinking, ‘What if that isn’t uncharacteristic of him, and the demeanor he usually has is the farce?’”

I watch Sylus’ eyebrow raise in question.

“The interactions we had after that…I started looking at you through that lens to test my theory, and sure enough, you aren’t the big bad meanie everyone paints you to be. At least not all the time.” I smile to myself.

Looking back to Sylus, I see his expression has become one of subdued shock.

“What?” I ask through my smile.

“I just didn’t think you were paying that close attention to me.”

“I’m quite perceptive where it counts,” I defend myself.

He smiles slowly. “Except when it comes to matters of returned affection.”

I roll my eyes. “Okay, well I’m one for one on the perception front. I’m gonna take that as a win.”

Sylus’ grin grows and he inches forward yet again. As I notice how truly close he’s gotten, my nerves begin to edge upward. My throat dry, I avert my eyes. “So, what now?”

“You could touch me.”

“W-What?” I choke out, blindsided by his request.

“If you want to, that is,” he amends, carefully looking me over. “You seem rather…timid when it comes to physical affection, do you not?”

“I’m not timid!” I say defiantly, immediately proving myself wrong when Sylus dips his hand from my face to my shoulder then under the edge of blanket to my waist. I instantly flinch away from the sudden change in proximity. “Ok, well that was an unfair play!”

Sylus is laughing in earnest now, and it’s enough to distract me from my fumble.

“You were a little tense on the couch earlier, as well,” he notes, moving his hand back to the safe zone of my face. “Do you not enjoy physical contact?”

“I do!” I am quick to assure him. “I do enjoy it, it’s just…”

“Just…?”

“You make me nervous.”

“Nervous good or nervous bad?”

“Good! Nervous good.”

“So what does nervous good mean? Would you rather I not touch you just yet?” Sylus begins to remove his hands from me and I immediately feel their absence.

I shake my head, swiftly reaching back for his hands and pulling them back to where they were previously stationed. Sylus tries to hide his satisfaction.

“I don’t mind the physical contact, really!” I do my best to reassure that I am very much enthusiastic about the physical element going on here. “It just might take me a bit to get used to it without jumping is all. It’s something new.”

Sylus nods, his eyes darting away before returning with a question. “And me? How do you feel about touching me?”

My throat dries again. He truly is shameless.

“Have I given the impression that I don’t want to?” I ask sincerely, concerned I’ve come across averse to the idea.

“You haven’t exactly returned the physical sentiment the whole time we’ve been lying here.” He says it like it’s obvious.

“Oh, I haven’t?” I was genuinely unaware, much more focused on his hands on me than where mine were. Now that he’s mentioned it, I realize aside from the hand I’m holding beneath the sheets, my other hand remains curled against my own chest. “Do you…enjoy physical contact?”

“Yes,” he responds without a beat of pause. “Especially yours.”

My stomach is doing flips. “Where should I–?”

“Anywhere,” he whispers. “Everywhere.”

I hesitate a moment, overthinking every minute movement. I did touch him earlier when I bandaging his wounds, but I suppose that was with a different purpose in mind. And on the couch, I remember touching his face, didn’t I? Maybe it wasn’t enough for him. I know some people are more drawn to touch than others. I didn’t even really know I liked it until Sylus started doing it. If it feels as comforting to him as this does to me, then I decide to make an effort to return the gestures he’s already offered.

Slowly, I unfurl my hand from against my own chest and reach out towards the exposed planes of Sylus’. I place my palm flat against his collarbone, fingers running a line across the protruding feature and up along the curve of his own neck. His skin is soft and warm and I eat up every inch of it as I trace a path along the sharp jut of his jawline and then back down, down, down, across his collarbone once again and then onto the solid muscles of his chest.

I run my nails along his pale skin, and Sylus shudders beneath my touch, moving even closer to me.

“Is this ok?” I ask gently, keeping my eyes focused on what my hand is doing.

“Yes,” comes the heady whisper of approval above me. It sounds almost gutteral and it has my mind spinning. Did this really affect him that much? “More. Touch me more.”

My mind careens into an abyss at the sound of his voice. When I look up, he’s looking down with eyes half closed, irises glazed over and needy, and staring right at me.

I continue to run the pressure of my palm and the scratch of my nails along his chest, venturing across to his other pectoral and then down his sternum towards the chiseled field of his abdominals. I stop just above the gauze wrapping, avoiding placing any pressure on his healing wound. As I travel back up towards his face, I test a graze along his exposed nipple and melt inside as a low moan of approval erupts from his throat.

“Careful, kitten,” he admonishes in a dulcet tone. “Don’t start what you can’t finish.”

“Can’t fini–” I start to question before he captures my roaming hand in his own.

“Maybe that’s enough practice for now,” he decides, thumbing the back of my palm.

I look up at Sylus from beneath hooded lashes, breathing harder than I realized. I watch as Sylus’ adam’s apple bobs against the skin of his throat, his chest starting to heave like a bellows.

“Fuck…” he hisses, squeezing my hand as if trying to stop his own from moving any farther.

“What?” I question, searching that dazed expression for what he might be thinking about. Did I do something I shouldn’t have? “What’s wrong?”

Sylus leans closer to me, our mouths a breath apart. “I’m trying so hard to stop myself from kissing you right now.”

His brazen confession has my breath stuck in my throat. There’s a silence that seems like it stretches on forever between us. I force myself to swallow and say, “What if I don’t want you to stop yourself?”

His right eye glows an intense shade of red as he reigns in the flare of his Evol energy. Those irises lock their sights on my parted lips. He licks his own in a way that has me becoming a puddle against him. I didn’t realize I want to kiss him so badly until he spoke it outloud. Now it’s all I can think of. What his lips taste like, what noises he makes, how well he uses that vipers tongue of his…

“If you keep looking at me like that, I won’t be able to stop myself,” he whispers against the skin of cheek, so close that he almost feels like part of me.

“Don’t,” I plead breathlessly. “Don’t stop yourself.”

I let my eyes drift back to his enticing mouth, licking my own lips in response.

“I have to–” is all he gets out before his lips are on mine.

My head and my stomach implode in tandem, nerves and butterflies and explosions swimming all throughout my body at the feeling of him kissing me. I am in heaven, pure heaven.

I always knew Sylus was a sensual kind of person, but having his lips pressed against mine was almost sinful with how perfect it felt. The kiss is gentle but desperate, the pressure of his mouth on mine conveying how he can’t seem to get close enough, to feel enough of me.

His free hand moves from my face to my neck and up to my hair, his long digits fisting in my locks, tugging me futher into him. I suck against his bottom lip which draws out the most beautiful moan from his throat.

His Evol energy suddenly erupts in a swarm of red and black mist that swims around us both, carressing my arms, my legs, my waist, every part of me his hands can’t get to.

I feel his wrist tugging against the link beneath the sheets, trying without success to free itself and move elsewhere on my person.

“Fuck, I want to touch you, all of you,” he grinds out through breathless kisses, tugging again against the Evol link. If I wasn’t so far gone against his body, I’d find it in me to laugh that the very thing that brought us this close was now his hindrance. And with the link growing stronger the more our connection grows, I didn’t see it coming loose anytime soon.

“Sylus,” I moan against his mouth, his Evol energy shuddering around me in response.

“Say it again, Mina,” he pleads, pressing me to his chest. “Say my name.”

“Sylus, Sylus, Sylus,” I repeat in between each capture of my lips in his. We continue for a moment longer, his tongue beginning to tease the line of my mouth before he suddenly pulls away, leaving me breathless and blown out, hazy in the remnants of his touch.

I open my eyes to see his chest rising and falling in erratic patterns, his hand still fisted in my hair. His own eyes are closed, his Evol energy slowly dissipating around us. He’s trying to regain himself.

“Sylus?” I venture, my voice not sounding quite my own. “Are you ok?”

“Yes,” he breathes slowly, his voice like gravel. “Yes, I’m fine. I just need…a moment.”

“Ok,” I concede, lying back and watching him as he reigns in his explosion of energy. He’s so powerful, it’s a marvel to watch his Evol in action, and it makes me want to reach back for him even more. I lift my free hand to do just that before he intercepts my fingers in his own and holds it against his chest.

Sylus falls against the sheets and curls me against him, kissing the top of my head. “I’m sorry, I think we should stop for now…”

“Oh, ok,” I whisper, my cheeks heating in embarrassment. I make to turn myself over before he sees the blush covering my neck and face when he tightens his grip on me.

“Where are you going?” he sounds concerned.

“I thought…you said you wanted to stop.”

Sylus exhales a relieved breath. “No, kitten, please don’t misunderstand.” I meet his eyes and he massages my hand with his own in a comforting way. “I need to stop for my own sake…if we’d kept going…I don’t think I would’ve been able to control my Evol.”

My eyes light with realization. “Oh…”

“I’ve never…” His eyes go somewhere far away for a moment as he becomes lost in a thought. “That’s never happened before. My Evol going haywire…did I hurt you?” Suddenly all his worry is trained on me, his eyes looking me up and down to ensure no lingering injury was left behind.

“What? No, of course not,” I reassure him. “It felt…good.”

“Good?” Sylus repeats.

“Like there was more of you around me.”

He exhales again. “Good.”

“Was it…okay for you?” If I had a dollar for everytime I’ve blushed uncontrollably tonight, I’d be a damn millionare.

Sylus looks at me for a moment before leaning in and chuckling, his eyes closing in mirth. Was I that bad?

He opens his eyes and looks so deeply in mine that I balk under his gaze. “You have…no idea how long I’ve waited for that.” The tone of his voice sets my heart aflame. Sylus glances back to my now-swollen lips before he tears away. “I would do it again if I thought I could control myself.”

The way he looks at me so hungrily, like he could devour the whole of me in one bite makes me want to hide myself away. He is too much and not enough all at once.

“We’ll have to work on that,” I manage to finally say.

Sylus laughs and he runs the back of his hand down my face, coming to rest against my neck. “I look forward to it. Now, sleep, little bird. You’ve been up far past your bedtime.”

I blink at him and suddenly feel more tired than I have in weeks. As Sylus curls me against his side and readjusts the sheets overtop of us, I fight to stay awake and take one last look at his perfect face, suddenly terrified this has all been some elaborate fever dream and I’m about to wake up in my bed down the hall with nothing but the lingering memory of tonight to hold on to.

“Sleep, darling,” Sylus whispers again, his lips pressing to the crown of my head, his hand still linked to mine beneath the silk sheets massaging gentle patterns into my palm that have my drifting even farther off. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

And that was all I needed to hear before my eyes finally closed and sleep washed over me for the first time since I arrived. This time, I sleep all the way through to morning. ~ A/N: This is the first thing I've written since i went on a tumblr hiatus back in 2020. Love and Deepspace has drawn me out of the trenches and I am once again a fandom girlie. For now at least! I lowkey wanted to make this into a mini-series, which i might still do if I get enough of an idea for it, but for now, I hope you enjoy this moment with Sylus! Requests are open for drabbles and fics for LnDS <3 ~zayneternal <3

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cassieuncaged · 11 months ago

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Batstarion (Astarion x Reader)

Summary: You share some time with a certain Ascended Vampire in bat form.

TW: none :)

WC: 1 K

A/N: just a fluffy oneshot inspired by Pani-artz Batstarion series, that’s all :)

Long, leathery wings stretch across the tufted cushion, a flurry of squeaks escaping before you whisper an evocation.

“Amicus animalis,” your fingers trace his tiny body, getting lost in the snowy coat that covers him. “You may speak now, love.”

“Lord,” he corrects in that buttery voice you delight in so much, though it’s difficult to take anything serious when Astarion lounges about in bat form. White pinpricks appear from behind an upturned snout, his menace evaporated as beady eyes muster any intimidation. “I am your lord and you will regard me as such.”

“Oh?” You bring a finger up to one fang, releasing a droplet that’s offered to the bat. A tiny pink tongue laps at it lazily. “It’s I who sits upon your throne; shan’t I be your lord?”

“Do not mock me, pet,” he seethes, though that pink noses nuzzles against your finger before sharply latching. He sips though it feels more like a tickle when he’s in this form, “I’m ghastly.”

“You’re adorable.” You coo, scratching beneath a fuzzy chin as he likes. When you stop, you noticed his batty expression has softened, tiny features relaxed. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Immensely,” he sighs, wings twitching against either of your thighs, cartilaginous sinews loosening as his claws dig into your breeches. “Turn me."

“Isn’t my lovely face enough?” You jest though some truth is hidden in that; after all, it’s been almost a year since you’ve last seen your own reflection. Now you chat with the bat form of your lover and closest confidant. Were you finally losing what was left of your mind?

“Don’t be naïve,” he tsks, sinking into the tufted velvet. “I’d like to look upon the audience.”

“The hall is empty, my love,” your eyes fall on the empty benches as wings threaten to flap. “Patience, I’ve got you.”

One hand slid beneath his warm belly, enjoying the heat you no longer wrought. Then he was carefully scooped and turned so that beady little gaze to see the ornate room that often clamored for the attention of the lord regally displayed upon the dais. Then a content chirp echoed through the vaulted ceilings as his body spasmed.

“Imagine if all the citizens of Baldur’s Gate saw you now, my lov…, my lord.” One finger began stroking from between tiny coned ears to the root of a wiry tail. His fur was so luscious and soft, not unlike the curls so carefully manicured atop his head, “Commanding with such ferocity propped upon the lap of your consort.”

“I suppose it would be quite the sight,” he chuckled, making her shiver like it always did. “Baldur’s Mouth would have quite the story. ‘Decrees heralded by rodent’; I think it’s silly enough to make the front page.”

“Think yourself popular, do you?” you teased, enjoying the moments he was seemingly relaxed and docile; they were so far few and between these days.

“Darling, I know I am.” He wriggled playfully against the cushion before pinkish hued wings began to flap. It was always mesmerizing to watch him float, expecting him to morph back into himself with a cloud of smoke. But he remained as he was, eyeing you expectantly. “The sun has long set; let’s peruse the palace gardens.”

The velveteen cushion was tucked upon the seat of the gilded throne as he began to glide to the far end of the hall, leaving you practically sprinting to catch up. Boots clacked against the marble floor, robes swishing around sure legs as you raced down the aisle. He paused, wings flapping in place as your place was taken beside him.

“Do keep up, dear,” he chided, little teeth clicking as he gracefully dove through the opened oak doors and down the decadently decorated hallway. “We haven’t all night. Oh, wait; we do don’t we?”

Your chuckle mingled with his, allowing the flamboyant bat dart to through the ornate glass doors that servants obediently wrenched open. It was a treat to watch him dive through the hedged archways, dipping down to bury his nose in a budding rose that practically glowed beneath the full moon.

“Pick one,” he encouraged, “Put it behind your ear.”

Doing as asked, two red pinpricks watched diligently as the petals hung over the shell of your ear. Then, it finally happened, fluffy white bat dissipating into a black mist before Astarion stretched out in front you, gently tipping your chin upwards.

“Beautiful.” He cooed before pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Just beautiful.”

“Would ‘Batstarion’ agree?” you giggled, enjoying the quiet moments before the hammer inevitably dropped. He was so rarely this tender and you missed it terribly. Gently, he pulled your hand into his before drifting to the edge of the gardens.

“He loves flowers, that’s true.” He grins, wiping residual pollen from his own nose, “Though I’m unable to hold you with those bloody wings. Not to mention the language barrier.”

“I love the chirps,” you argued, enjoying the arm that instinctually wrapped around your waist, possessively. “It’s very cute.”

“I’m meant to be menacing,” he growls and you’re reminded of his other form, back elongating, jaw distending. You shivered at the thought. So you allow your fingers to dance across a strong cheekbone as his gaze fell upon the lights twinkling lights in the Lower City below. “How will I ever rule The Sword Coast if I’m not?”

“In due time, my love.” You reassured him, enjoying the caress of his cold breath against your ear. “This will all be ours. They’ll pledge fealty and you can rest upon as many velvet pillows as you please. I’ll even rub your little furry belly.”

“Will you?” then, when you expected his teeth to plunge into your neck but nuzzled against you again. A welcome change. “That’d be strangely comforting.”

#astarion x you #astarion x reader #astarion x ofc #astarion x tav #astarion #oneshot #fluff #batstarion #reader insert #female reader

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chukys-mouthguard · 5 months ago

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I’m a slut for some Matt Rempe smut

Can you please do prompt #6 with fluff as well

Prompt: “We saw each other earlier. Why didn’t you tell me then?”

Warning: sexual content

You weren’t sure how you ended up in this position, but you certainly weren’t complaining. Sitting on Matt Rempe’s kitchen island with his tongue down your throat and a hand in your pants certainly not on your bingo card for this year. But here you were.

The two of you had been out with your respective friend groups, crossing paths at a bar and sharing a drink. But nothing more than that.

It wasn’t until you’d run into him again, several bars and several drinks later, that the two of you had made it your mission to tease each other until one of you caved.

For weeks your friends had been trying to set the two of you up, and nothing had really come of it. Both of you attracted to one another for sure, but things never reaching a point of action or follow through on your thoughts. That was until now.

“God, I’ve wanted this for weeks.”

You moaned as Matt’s lips attacked your neck, his hands working on getting your jeans off as he smirked as how badly he could hear you wanted him.

“Yeah well we saw each other earlier. Why did you tell me then? I would’ve left the bar on the spot if it would’ve led to this!”

Helping him get rid of your jeans, you shivered at the feeling of the cold marble against your thighs and ass. Matt smirking down at you with lust filled eyes as he pulled his shirt from his torso.

“I needed a little liquid courage I guess.”

Watching as he ditched his pants and boxers in one motion, you’d felt yourself dripping wet on the counter. Ready to explode if he didn’t fuck you within the next twenty seconds.

Not bothering to remove your thong, he simply pulled it to the side. Teasing your slit as he groaned, loving how wet he made you.

“Fuck…why didn’t we do this sooner? We could’ve fucked on every surface in my apartment by now if we had.”

“I don’t know, but if you don’t fuck me soon I’m gonna lose it Rempe.”

Your words igniting the fuse in him, his hips thrusting forward as he’d finally given you what you wanted. What you needed.

The two of you moaning as an array of expletives poured from your lips. His hands gripping tight at your hips as your nails dug into his biceps. The two of you not bothering to keep quiet, surely Matt’s neighbors would let him know their displeasure in the morning. All he could focus on was making sure you got everything you needed from him.

“Shit, Matt, you feel so fucking good. Oh my god…”

Without wanting he pulled himself from you, earning a whine as you lost your building high. Sure to show him your disappointment as he smirked at you.

He picked you up in one swift motion and he carried you off to his bedroom.

“Relax, I’ll make up for it, we’re just getting started.”

#matt rempe fic #matt rempe blurb #matt rempe imagine #matt rempe x reader #matt rempe smut #nhl imagine #nhl fics #hockey imagine #nhl fanfiction #hockey fic #nhl blurb

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pinkelotjeart · 1 year ago

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So I’ve been on my re listen of the magnus archives

And something that I’m thinking about allot is the “I see you” line, the way it’s used as an anchor. You have the obvious and wel known season 4 lonely “I see you, Jon” but I want to talk about the one in season 3

Because I lost my absolute marbles hearing that line in the season 3 finale. It is Jon suddenly being able to anchor himself and recognising the situation around him, seeing through the stranger.

But the most import part, is how it relates to Tim. Tim has previously stated that he can only be sure Jon is real. He doesn’t trust anyone because anyone could be a stranger, but Jon, Jon is real to him, he knows Jon can’t just be magically replaced.. that’s Tim’s anchor, Jon.

This is THEIR “I see you” moment.

Jon helps Tim Anchor himself which makes him able to recognise the situation and save everyone.

The phrase “I see you” is used in every season finale now expect season 5 (I think?). I don’t know if I’ve fully figured out what that narrative through line means (especially in the case of Sasha) but god is it intresting. Especially cus it’s every member of the original crew that gets the line in some way

#tma #the magnus archives #Timothy stoker #Jonathan sims #the magnus archives season 3 #nikola orsinov #magnuspod #tma spoilers #maybe this is obvious for others #just noticed it and went WOW WHAT

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heytheredelulu · 8 months ago

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First Thor movie baby Loki and his bestie getting into a fight and finally addressing the tension between them has been sitting in my drafts for months so sure, why not?

You felt tears begin to well in your eyes as his grip tightened around your throat. “You truly believe that after all this time I would feel nothing for you?” You gasped out in frustration.

His thumb twitched against your jaw as he cocked his head inquisitively and his grip loosened slightly allowing you to draw in a deep breath. His touch sent your pulse quickening with such ferocity that you were sure he could feel it beating in his grasp. Swallowing hard against his palm in anticipation of his answer to your next question, you speak in a low whisper. “And after all this time do you truly feel nothing for me?”

His mouth parted slightly and you almost think you hear a shudder escape his taut lips. Slowly, his hand snakes upward to tilt your chin down to meet his gaze. You carefully study his emerald eyes and the small flecks of gold that litter his irises.

“Feel nothing for you?” He questions, his voice almost hoarse. You felt the grip of his hand on your jaw tighten and your body tense in response, suddenly aware of how large his hands were and how small and vulnerable you felt in their grasp. His eyes flashed with recognition as if he felt the fear rising within you and with a hard swallow, his grip slackened.

He drew in a deep breath and held it for several heartbeats before letting it go in a long, trembling exhale as he gently ran his thumb across your bottom lip. “Feel nothing for you?” He repeats in a pained tone, almost as if he cannot believe you’ve asked such a thing. “For as long as I can remember I have yearned for you.” He whispers harshly. “Everyday that I am in your presence my very soul aches with a desire that I had never known before I met you.”

He stepped forward to close the small gap between you, outstretching his left hand to find yours and bring it to rest against his chest. You can feel his heart thundering in his chest under your fingertips while his right hand continues to cup your cheek in a soft caress and as his eyes pin you under their intense gaze, he opens his mouth to speak again.

“Do you have any idea how many nights I’ve lay awake plagued with thoughts of you?” Hesitation momentarily flashes across those emerald eyes as he searches your face for an answer. He lets his lids flutter closed and swallows hard and when eyes open again they’re ablaze with pure unbridled lust.

He towers over you, his height easily a foot taller than your own and he’s leaned down so close now that his nose nearly touches yours. His sudden nearness causes your breath to catch and take a small step backwards, feeling your back collide with the marble wall. Your lips part slightly with intention to speak but his scent overwhelms you and the words are lost in your throat.

“Yes. Those thoughts.” He continues, positioning his large hands on each side of your head, palms flat against the stone. His words rose from his throat in a growl, “The things I wonder.” He mewls, his soft lips grazing your skin as they glide up the expanse of your jaw line. His breath is warm against your ear and he whispers, “How your skin would feel against my own.”

The words spark a flame low in your abdomen and a small whimper escapes you as his forehead dips enough to nuzzle against your temple.

“How you would sound as you come undone for me in the throes of your ecstacy.” Your cheeks flush hot in response to his brazen confession and you look up at him through your lashes, your eyes half-lidded.

#loki #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki x you #loki odinson #marvel loki #baby loki #young loki

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nymphbnny · 1 year ago

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LOST KITTY

────── o.miguel

psa: i’ve been wanting to write filth about that man ever since i saw him so this is gonna be a one shot about him outside the spiderman universe ; no claws and fangs lol

tw: miguel o’hara x fem reader, unedited, teasing, fingering, oral sex (female), spanking, miguel hinting he wants to feel your second hole (lmao i know), doggy sex, unprotected, slight hair pulling, use of the word daddy (once). MDNI

⤷ after losing your kitty and having put notice everywhere, a man finally comes at your door to give you what you’ve been looking for.

“oh my god!” you exclaimed as soon as you opened your front door, greeted with the mewls of your lost kitty. you nearly teared up as you take him from the stranger’s arms, pulling him close to your chest. “i thought i’d never see you again,” you whispered to your fluffy boy, as it licked your face. it took you a few minutes to finally acknowledge the man standing in front of you.

“i’m so sorry,” you sniffed, extending your hand to present yourself. “where did you find him?” you held your puppy even closer, at last taking in the handsome buff man. he was gorgeous.

“i saw the notice a few days ago and stumbled across him by mistake really, i’m glad i could help. you’re lucky he wasn’t very far from your location.” he explained, his hand gripping your door frame. “miguel o’hara, nice to meet you.” he reached to shake your hand, your puppy licking his fingers. you both chuckled and stood silence for a while until you finally spoke up.

“oh right the reward, i’m so sorry for keeping you here, i’m just still taken back.” you smiled, miguel’s lips mirroring yours as he anticipated your moves and grabbed your arm gently, stopping you. “i didn’t do it for the money, i know what it feels like to lose a pet. i’m really glad i could help.” he stated, his beautiful spanish accent rolling out the words. deep down, you felt a weird attraction towards him. tall, beautifully tan, buff, cheekbones sitting up high his face. he was so perfect. you wouldn’t mind inviting him to get to know him better.

“at least let me invite you for a cup of coffee? lemonade?” you began guessing with a sweet smile, miguel chuckled before rubbing his hand across his face. “sure why not.” god he was hot.

as soon as he stepped in, his tall figure fully towered over you, giving you an entire view of how tall he was. he fixed his hair and waited for you to invite him further in to follow you. you stepped to the side, reaching behind him to close the door then mentioned him to follow you to the kitchen. “lemonade is fine thanks.” he politely said, watching as you gently put down your cat and bent over to reach for the lemonade that was sitting at the lower shelf of your fridge. he gulped, restraining himself from looking at your perfectly shaped ass, reminding himself that he wasn’t a pervert freak. he wanted to dip his finger in your jeans to pull you back against him and roam his hands on your ass. it was killing him.

you turned around, your cleavage showing as your tank top was pulled down by your hand movements to open the bottle and serve him some.

“there you go,” you drank, miguel following your lead. “i’m really glad i had the address in the papers. i’m even more thankful that no creeps showed up to my place instead.” you chuckled, the tension building up as you caught him gazing at you, his elbow resting on your marble counter. there was something electrifying about this man to say the least.

he smiled at you, gulping the last drops remaining then said: “i had a cat, but it died a few years back.” he frowned. “i’m so sorry.” you put your hand on his forearm, his muscles tensing under your touch. miguel looked at your concerned face and smiled gently, putting his hand over yours and leaned in. he wasn’t sure what he was going to do next.

“you smell good.” you muttered out, earning a small hum in return. you felt pulled in by his demeanor and you wanted more. “miguel…”

“¿si bonita?” he spoke up, his finger lifting your chin up. your thighs rubbed together, the friction of the jeans leaving a low sound that he heard. “tell me what’s wrong,” his hand moved up to rub your arm.

“i’m sorry i didn’t mean to,” you pulled back, afraid he’d think that you were just a thirsty woman who’d fuck anyone you just stepped into her house. but he was way ahead of your thoughts. “you’re not doing anything wrong. if you want me to leave just say so, i can l-“ you interrupted him, your body beating your brain as you got on your tip toes and kissed him. it didn’t take him long to smirk and kiss you back, his palm bringing your head closer. his other arm wrapped around your waist, slightly pulling you up.

you tilted your head, his tongue parting your lips. you gently sucked on it, making him squeeze your waist. “miguel,” you whispered between kisses. your hands grabbed his shoulders. “qué?” you bit your lip, guiding his hand down your thigh, watching how his eyes lit up when he felt your throbbing core. “want me to help you out?” he chuckled once you began riding his hand. he gripped your covered cunt, feeling its pulse before smacking your plump ass. “such a nice body, such a pretty face,” he muttered, sliding down your jeans along with your white panties.

“wait- i didn’t shave,” you remembered, your face red in embarrassment. he swat your hand away, grabbing your hips as he pulled you up easily and sat you on the counter. “i’m not a boy bebe, spread open let me see,” his words made the tips of your ears grow redder, intimidated by him as you slowly opened your legs for him, his finger going around your exposed sex, teasing you. you squirmed, watching miguel eye your pussy. “so beautiful, can’t wait to have a taste,” he deadpanned, pushing his index finger in your entrance.

“mig, shit,” you moaned as he curled his finger, enjoying how you squirmed before removing his finger and inserting it again. he loved the way your pussy was clenching over nothing. “please,” you begged him pushing your hips closer to him. he didn’t think you’d be so needy, but he wasn’t cruel. he couldn’t say no to such a sweet creature. he pushed his finger in again, kneeling so he could take a better look at your pussy. your fingers tangled up in his hair as he began kissing your thighs, then trailed towards the inner flesh. he added another finger, feeling the stretch caused by his big fingers, a yelp followed by a hum of pleasure leaving your lips. his kisses and bites reached your clit, slowly kissing your bud before sucking it, his fingers still working against your soft insides.

“fuck, so good, ahh,” there was something so exciting about having a stranger eating you out in your kitchen. a hot stranger. he was eating your pussy better than anyone has ever done before. slurping and sucking on your pretty cunt like a hungry man. he spread your legs further open with his hands, his face fully buried against your sex, enjoying the slick and wetness leaking out of your tiny hole. you bucked your hips, his fingers teasing that special spot. “dios, you taste so good, so sweet,” he murmured as his tongue kept lapping your spasming cunt. “miguel, mig,” you whimpered, your orgasm washing all over your body, your upper half thrown back as your elbows were your only support to hold yourself from falling. “cum undone baby, c’mon”

and you did. miguel was more than happy to lick you clean, his hands grabbing your thighs to pull you up and kiss you, lifting you up to put you back on your feet. however you weren’t just needy, you were also greedy. now that you had a taste of what sex might be with him, you wanted more.

“are you okay princesa?” he asked grabbing your face. you nodded, your hand instantly pressing the growing bulge in his pants. “i want it,” you pout, rubbing your hand over his clothed dick, a wince leaving his lips.

“you’re killing me,” he looked down softly at you before his animalistic instinct came forth and turned you around pulling your ass against him, your hips rotating to grind up on him. “tan hermosa,” miguel groaned before slapping your flesh, making it giggle and he could’ve sworn he just died at the sight. he unbuckled his belt and pulled down his pants, his hard member slapping against your round shape. you giggled, moving your hips as if you were toying with him, his dick softly rubbing on your flesh. he spanked you again, and again, the sound of your yelps and the way your ass jiggled making him go crazy.

“i want to feel this ass,” he whispered, his hand carefully going from your second hole to your lower back. “maybe another time, though,” his words made you shiver, excited even. miguel stroked his dick for a few seconds before running it up and down your slit, gathering your slick then slowly pushing his pretty tip in. “mierda,” he exhaled, your walls squeezing him as he pushed himself in, helping you accommodate to his size inch by inch. “gonna make you remember each vein bebe,”

you mewled, your face pressed on the cold marble. miguel’s hand went to grab your hip as the other wrapped around your hair to adjust your angle, his hips thrusting slowly and deeply. “miguel, so big, ngh, so good,” you whimpered, your eyes rolling back as he began picking up his pace, his hand going from grabbing your hip to spanking you then going back to its original place. he pulled at your hair, making your body jolt up.

he kissed your head, his hips hitting yours, making the sounds of your skins clapping together louder. although your ass was taking all of his attention, he couldn’t help but slide his hand in your tanktop to pinch and fold your breasts. “so perfect, head to toe perfect,” he whispered in your ear, biting on your lobe. you went limb in his arms, unable to do anything but take his dick. “faster, please, faster,” you begged him, your arms wrapping around his neck, his face close to your face. miguel picked up his pace, his grunts audible in your ear.

“gimme your hand,” he deadpanned, taking your free hand and placing it on your lower stomach. “feel me? daddy’s here,” your body was on fire and the nickname he had just given himself was enough to send you over the edge. your legs shook as you came, your grip around him tightening as you held onto him. “good girl, cum on my cock,” he kissed your shoulder, his orgasm shortly following yours.

miguel pulled out, giving himself a few strokes before coming, the hot ropes of cum landing on your ass.

you both panted, regaining your breaths before you jokingly asked: “lemonade?”, making him burst out in laughter.

#miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #em .*･｡ﾟdeclares #miguel o’hara x y/n

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maidflowery · 26 days ago

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GUYS!!1 STOP LIKING THIS POST!!!!

POV: Aventurine Can't Take it Anymore :(

Aventurine X Reader

Aventurine wasn’t one to beg.

So when you proposed a bet that night, where his loss would be sealed if he begged, he agreed without hesitation. He won if he behaved the whole time. The winner would get to do whatever they wanted to the loser.

Besides, you were usually the one who ended up begging anyway. So how far could you really take it?

✦✦⟡✦✦

Soon, Aventurine found the answer.

Instead of coercing a plea from his lips by using aggressive maneuvers, you opted for the silent but deadly approach.

“...Hey—”

A husky, needy voice spilled from his own lips, surprising himself. But this wasn’t begging, so he hadn’t lost.

“Until when... are you going to keep this up? Ah...”

You pressed your lips right above his navel, sending small, aching tingles throughout his body. Yet, it wasn’t enough—far from it. Before he could even relish the sensation, your lips had already left him.

That was the 20th kiss you had planted on his body. A simple, brief kiss. It had been cute the first couple of times, but by the time it reached dozens, it had become pure torture.

His skin had become sensitive from all the lavish attention. He craved more, yet each time you touched him, you only left him hungrier. It was threatening to drive him crazy.

Still, as a gambler, he had his pride to maintain. Moreover, he refused to be defeated by such a cheap trick! So, he sat up slightly, giving you a taunting grin.

“Surely, you want to do more than just kiss me...?”

This wasn’t begging, either. He was still safe.

You smiled in return, saying, “You’re right.”

At that moment, he thought he’d won.

✦✦⟡✦✦

You returned with a jewelry box in hand.

The blond gambler lay breathlessly and helplessly on the bed, dyed in your colors. There wasn’t a spot on his exposed skin that wasn’t marked with the reddish-pink hue of your lipstick. Somehow, your series of soft kisses had reduced him to a state of powerlessness.

He still hadn’t admitted defeat, by the way.

Hearing the sound of you approaching, Aventurine turned to look at you with misty, multicolored eyes. His gaze seemed to be asking, ‘What’s that?’

You sat on top of the bed, right beside him. “I’ve finally found a good use for all of this.”

Saying that, you scooped out a few items from the jewelry box. They were dazzling, colorful, cut gemstones. Aventurine gave them to you along with normal jewelries. For what purpose? No idea.

Then, you let them fall on top of his body.

The dainty, cold stones scattered across his skin, robbing it of some warmth, and you saw Aventurine shiver in surprise.

As violet-cyan eyes stared at you questioningly, you admired the ravishing beauty before you.

Sculpted facial features. Lustrous blond hair, as if spun by sunlight. Mesmerizing, multicolored eyes. Chiseled physique, like a marble statue. Added with the sparkling gems, he looked like a work of art.

“...Aventurine, you’re so beautiful.”

You couldn’t help but reach out to scoop up his blond locks, twirling them around your finger.

Briefly, you saw intense heat pool within his eyes, coming to a boil. In the next second, the owner averted his gaze, with a splash of crimson hue on his cheeks.

Aventurine wasn’t one to beg.

So instead, he admitted defeat.

“It’s my loss. So do whatever you want with me already!”

Thank you for the enthusiasm you showed in "POV: Let's Kiss Aventurine" ;)

#aventurine fanart #honkai star rail #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine #aventurine #aventurine x you #aventurine x y/n #aventurine honkai star rail #fanfic #fanart #hsr fanart #hsr x reader #star rail aventurine #aventurine hsr #hsr x you #hsr art #hsr fanfic #honkai star rail fanart

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novaursa · 1 month ago

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Can you write about Ser Duncan meeting Targaryen!reader (the older sister of Aegon) and they fall in love but they have to keep it hidden since he's a knight and she's a princess?

The Princess's Knight

Requests are closed!

- Summary: You and Duncan are smitten with each other, and Egg is too smart for his own good.

- Paring: targ!reader/Ser Duncan the Tall

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The air in Summerhall is warm, filled with the soft hum of life all around. The sun filters in through the wide windows, casting golden light on the marble floors, making it feel as though the world itself is holding its breath, keeping your secret. It has to, after all. No one can know.

You stand at the far edge of the gardens, the scent of blooming flowers filling the air as you watch Duncan from a distance. He’s standing with your brother, Aegon—Egg, as you so often call him. Duncan's towering figure beside Aegon’s smaller, wiry frame is an amusing sight. A knight of his stature, a princess like you. The absurdity is not lost on you, yet your heart races every time his eyes meet yours, even if only for the briefest of moments.

You look away, feigning interest in the roses, though your thoughts are all on Duncan. You’ve learned to be discreet, but it's difficult when every glance, every stolen touch feels like a secret promise between you both.

From where you stand, you can hear the faint murmur of conversation between your brother and Duncan.

"So, Duncan," Aegon says, mischief lacing his voice, "how is my dear sister?"

You can practically hear Duncan’s heart skip a beat, even from this distance. He clears his throat awkwardly, and you don’t need to look at him to know he's glancing your way, trying not to be obvious.

"She’s well, Your Grace," Duncan replies, voice gruff and steady, though you catch the slight hesitation in his tone.

Aegon snickers, elbowing the knight in the ribs. "Well? That’s all? You’re always watching her like she’s the only person in the entire realm, Duncan. Come on, admit it, you’re utterly smitten."

You bite your lip to stifle a laugh. Egg always did have a sharp tongue, and though you appreciate his wit, it’s dangerous territory.

"Your Grace—" Duncan begins, but Aegon cuts him off.

"Don't deny it. I’ve seen the way you look at her. You can’t fool me, Duncan. Just don't get caught staring too much, or Father will have your head—and that would be a shame. You’re too useful as a knight," Aegon adds with a wicked grin.

You feel your face heat up at Aegon’s teasing, though you know Duncan is probably redder than you. You risk a glance at them, and sure enough, Duncan’s expression is somewhere between flustered and exasperated. For a knight of his stature, he’s remarkably bad at hiding his feelings. It’s part of why you love him.

Love. The word dances in your mind, dangerous yet thrilling. Love is a powerful thing for a princess like you—a daughter of King Maekar, bound by duty and honor. Yet, with Duncan, it feels as though the weight of the crown and all the expectations that come with it slip away, if only for a little while.

"Egg," you call, striding toward them, trying to act as though you hadn’t heard the entire conversation.

Aegon spins around, a smirk on his face as he eyes you. "Sister! I was just telling Duncan here how he should be careful. After all, a knight shouldn’t lose his head, should he?"

You arch an eyebrow, meeting Duncan’s gaze for a heartbeat before turning to your brother. "Is that so? And what do you mean by that, Egg?"

Aegon chuckles, stepping back. "Oh, nothing. Nothing at all." He looks at Duncan, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Isn’t that right, Ser Duncan?"

Duncan stands stiff, clearly uncomfortable under Aegon’s scrutiny. "Y-yes, Your Grace," he stammers.

Aegon grins like the cat that caught the canary, obviously enjoying himself far too much. "Well, I should leave you two alone. I’m sure Duncan has much more important things to tend to." He winks at you before walking off, his laughter trailing behind him.

Once Aegon is out of earshot, you turn to Duncan, crossing your arms over your chest. "Well?" you ask, unable to hide the teasing note in your voice.

Duncan rubs the back of his neck, towering over you but somehow looking like a boy caught doing something he shouldn’t. "I... didn’t mean for him to... I wasn’t staring," he mutters, though the flush in his cheeks tells you otherwise.

You laugh softly, stepping closer. "You’re a terrible liar, Duncan."

He looks down at you, and there it is again—that quiet, unspoken affection in his eyes that makes your heart flutter. "I try to be careful," he says softly. "But it’s hard. Every time I see you…"

Your heart skips a beat, and for a moment, the rest of the world seems to vanish. There’s no king, no court, no duties. Just the two of you, standing together in the sunlight, sharing a secret the world can’t know.

"You don’t have to be careful with me," you whisper, glancing around quickly to make sure no one is watching before you place your hand lightly on his arm. The contact is brief, but it sends a shiver through you.

Duncan looks down at where your hand had been, and when he meets your eyes again, there’s a tenderness there that makes you feel as though you’re the only person in his world.

"I know," he murmurs, his voice low. "But I can’t help it. You’re a princess, and I’m… just a knight."

You shake your head. "You’re not *just anything, Duncan. Not to me."

The words hang between you, heavy with meaning, and for a moment, it feels as though you might be able to forget the rules, the restrictions, and the expectations. But then you hear footsteps approaching, and the spell is broken.

Duncan steps back, his expression guarded once more, though there’s a flicker of regret in his eyes.

"Until next time, my lady," he says, bowing his head.

You watch him go, your heart aching with the weight of all the things you can’t say, and yet, there’s a smile on your lips. Because despite everything, you know that next time will come.

And when it does, you’ll be ready.

#the knight of the seven kingdoms #asoiaf #asoiaf x reader #asoif/got #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #house of the dragon #fire and blood #ser duncan the tall #duncan the tall x reader #duncan the tall #duncan x reader #duncan x you #duncan x y/n #house targaryen

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kiradrabbles · 7 months ago

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Ouuggh uuu if you want maybe headcanons (if you do them ofc) w the Marble Hornets fellas (oh just Tim if I want :3) w a afab s/o who's a volleyball player?

Have u seen their uniforms???

Ouugh sorry this took a while....... i got halfway through and my phone crashed and i lost some motivation q-q

In any case, why yes nonny i have seen the uniforms, and i do take headcanon requests!

Without further adieu...

Tim, Brian and Alex with an AFAB S/O who plays volleyball!

Mild NSFW warning!! No graphic sex but a few suggestive things said (and the worlds shittiest pickup line)

Tim:

His awkward ass!!! I see a lot of people portray Tim as this cool confidant man, but especially pre-MH I think he was a little awkward. Not quite shy, just.. awkward, as he spent a lot of his childhood in the psych ward. So that would carry over to this.

He wouldn’t stare so visibly, but he’d make it obvious he had to try not to, averting his eyes and shuffling on his feet.

I think sometimes he’d steal looks when he thinks you aren’t looking. He’d glance over, and let out a little sigh and lean back in his chair just a little bit, and you know he’s just admiring you.

how did he get so lucky?

he isn’t a huge fan of sports himself, but he’ll try his best to support you!! He’ll turn up to every game he can, make sure to sit or stand in the front row, and cheer so loud everyone looks at him and he’ll sit back down in embarrassment.

Tim is a physical touch fiend, considering he didn’t get it a lot as a child, so he loves hugs, and will probably be touching you somehow often.

the problem is, when he hugs you in uniform, he is suddenly very acutely aware of how.. much he can see of you right now, and gets all red, and won’t tell you why.

you could probably force it out of him though :3

Brian:

This mf is into it and does not hide it!!

Brians pretty much a smug asshole in canon (lovingly) so he’ll be all smug and show you off to pretty much everyone. Will not hold back on the PDA either. Will probably slap your ass in public and act confused why you’re mad at him. (Only if he knows you don’t mind ofc).

i wouldn’t put it past him to run up to you as soon as you get in the game and quite literally pick you up and kiss you and spin you around, like some scene in a shitty movie.

most ATROCIOUS pickup lines ‼️

“Hey girl, are you an overpass? Because I’d hit that” “BRIAN I JUST SAT DOWN-“

He’s canonically a nursing student, so I’ve always imagined he takes pretty good care of himself, eat well, stay fit, workout often. So you two would match!

he’d be happy to train with you, one of his love languages is quality time, and he’d get to stare at his girl in short shorts and a top anyway, so who is he to complain?

plus, you’d both be all sweaty after, and he could invite you into the shower with him.

I’m sure you can imagine what ensues.

Alex:

He was intimidated at first. I mean, look at him, he’s a twinky theatre kid, and you’re.. muscular and not afraid to show it off, clearly. I mean you could probably pick him up and throw him around, or wrap your legs around his head, or- Not that he’s thinking about that (that he would admit).

he’d stare, but unlike Bri he does NOT own it.

he won’t admit it, but he will stare at you so much. sometimes unintentionally. He thinks he’s being subtle (he is not). I mean, how is it his fault that you’re really pretty and the shorts are so short.

it’s so easy to fluster him, even if he would rather die than admit it.

tsundere ass!!! /silly

Sit on his lap all sweaty after a game and he will turn the most red you've ever seen him and stutter like all hell. he isn't blushing red though, he doesn't know what you're talking about, he just forgot the sunscreen.

Your biggest fan!!!

He'll film your games (and you KNOW mf would get the best angles even if it meant pushing other onlookers out the way). Perks of a film maker bf...

He does want you to crush his head between your thighs i'm so sorry....

#Marble hornets #marble hornets x reader #alex Kralie x reader #Brian Thomas x reader #tim wright x reader #Headcanons #requests

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twentyfourducks · 5 months ago

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Con alcuna licenza: Sunday x Reader

Robin invites you to look through some old photo albums, and Sunday decides to revisit an old hobby.

(intended as somewhat of a character study with some fluff)

check it out on ao3?

4213 words

You open your eyes to dappled sunlight illuminating the foot of the bed. There’s no presence to your side to keep you company as you wake up fully, only the fading scent of familiarity. In your half-asleep state, you can’t help but feel a bit of sadness; couldn’t he have stayed a bit longer?

Once you decide you’re ready to get up, you rise and shuffle to the kitchenette in this wing of the house. The journey from the bedrooms to the main area is a short trip, but you always take your time in the mornings to absorb the beauty of the mansion’s main hall. Light filters in through stained glass windows, projecting vivid images onto the marble flooring. As you proceed, your shadow is the lone subject in the colors painting the tiles in myriad hues.

From staying here many a night, you know that it’s not often that either sibling has the time to cook their own food. However, you still look through the cabinets in hope that there’s something that could be eaten…plus, you don’t really want to bother the main kitchen staff if you’re the only one being served.

After rummaging through everything available, the only thing that looks somewhat appealing to you is the untouched oak cake in the fridge. You try to slice through it with a knife, but it fights against you; the tough consistency makes you wonder if it’s stale or just meant to be like that…

Once you’ve wrestled a piece off, you take a bite. How does Sunday manage to eat this? You think to yourself between chews. This tastes…like tree bark.

You’re looking for a trash can to inconspicuously spit the earthy mouthful into when you hear someone approaching.

“I thought I heard someone in here!” chimes a pleasant voice. “And, well, I figured it couldn’t be my brother…”

With your back to Robin, you force yourself to swallow the awfulness. “Good morning,” you say as you fill up a glass of water.

Robin clasps her hands together. “What’s that you have there?” she asks, but then falters as her eyes see what’s on the counter. “Oh no,” she hurries over to snatch the plate away. “Don’t—I wouldn’t recommend eating that. It’s a very…acquired…taste.”

“It may be a bit too late for that,” you say, grimacing as you try to drown the remaining taste in your mouth.

“I’m sorry you had to taste that…” She places the oak cake back in the fridge, and slightly obscures it behind a bottle of SoulGlad. “I’ll phone the chef so they can send something better up. Is there anything in particular you want?”

“It’s okay. I think I’ve lost my appetite anyway.”

“Are you sure?...I’ll ask them to bring something anyway.” She pulls out her phone and walks away. A moment later you hear her speaking indistinctly around the corner.

In a matter of minutes, a platter of tantalizing breakfast food is set in front of you, and you’re thankful for Robin’s hospitality (and thankful for not having to force yourself to consume any more of the oak cake roll.)

You eat and then go into the parlor to relax. When you enter, Robin is there flipping through pages of a book. A bag of sunflower seeds and a pile of books rest near her on the coffee table.

“What are you doing?” you ask, and she perks up at the sound of your voice.

“I was just looking through some old photos.” She pats the open cushion next to her. “Care to join me? There’s photos of my brother when he’s young,” she says, adding the last part in a singsong voice.

Not wanting to turn down the prospect of seeing an adorable Sunday in his youth, you take her offer up, sinking into the plush cushion as you sit down.

“We used to scrapbook together in our youth,” Robin sighs as she lays out the pile of books. You notice that in the crevices and along the spines, there’s an accumulation of dust. “At some point, when our careers began to develop, we slowly moved away from it…but there’s a part of me that wishes that it was a hobby we still continued. Maybe…maybe I’m just too nostalgic.” She shrugs before leaning back against the couch and returning to the book she was looking at. “Feel free to choose any one you want.”

You choose one bound in dark red leather with a pattern of music notes painted on the front, and open it to a page with a light blue ribbon sticking out. The ribbon unfurls to reveal “First Place” in a gold-lettered cursive font. Affixed to the page with musical stickers are photos of a young, well-dressed Robin who couldn’t be any older than ten. In the background are the tall red curtains of the Penacony Grand Theater.

Turning the page, the center photo has teenage Robin and Sunday standing in the Theater’s grand hall.. You can’t help but giggle at Sunday’s outfit: a white dress shirt with a red bow tie and suspenders attached to his pants. His silver hair just barely reaches his shoulders, and a glowing smile is on his face. The rest of the photos on the page are Robin standing with various other performers.

The next page is populated only with Sunday, who looks to be the same age as in the previous photo. He’s dressed in formal concert attire, and the largest photo on the page is him in an auditorium playing the violin.

You turn to Robin. “Sunday used to play the violin?” you ask.

“Hmm?” She looks up, and eyes what page you’re on. “Yes, he was great at it. As we grew up, we were encouraged into music. The violin was his favorite instrument.” She wistfully sighs as she studies the photos. “I wish he still played.”

“When did he stop?”

Robin pauses and does a quick count on her fingers. “It has to be..maybe three or four years ago? He kind of…tapered off as he began to take over Oak Family duties. I wish I remembered more clearly, because that was also around the time I began to take my career seriously…”

There’s a silence as she stares off into the distance. Then, she turns to you and asks, “Do you mind if I look at that album after you?”

You nod, and she returns her attention to the photos she was looking at.

Turning the page again, there’s a certificate that takes up the bulk of the area. “Best Performer Award,” it says in print. In these photos, Sunday beams as he holds the certificate and a trophy, a proud warmth in his eyes.

Mixed into the following pages are the siblings playing a variety of instruments; you see images of Sunday on the piano, tuning a cello, playing the flute. He gets taller, and his hair grows longer. Some of the photos are taken in what looks to be a music room with instruments in the background, others are in performance halls. One of the photos has Robin and Sunday singing in a choir in what looks to be a grand tribute to Xipe; the entire ensemble dons long robes in a deep purple hue.

As you leaf through, you note that Sunday shows up less and less in the photos. The last page is a group photo of smiling people, with Robin front and center in a beautiful dress, an updo, and a trophy in her hands; you recognize a logo in the background to be one of a famous award show hosted by the IPC every few Amber Eras. Within the group is Sunday as you know him to look today.

When you close the book and set it between you and Robin, she looks up. “If you liked looking at those photos, you might like the ones in this book.” She picks an album up from the table and hands it to you. “Careful, this one hasn’t been organized yet.”

You can tell from the unworn leather and the crisp pages that this book is the newest out of all the others. Still, it has a faint layer of dust that looks to be recently brushed off. When you open it, inside are newspaper clippings and concert programs disorderly strewn throughout the pages in no particular order. Everything in it has one thing in common: it’s all related to Sunday.

Robin’s eyes linger on the pages of the book. “When we each began to take our own path, and we began to spend less time together, I still longed for the carefree days of our youth when we could indulge in being creative…The thought of scrapbooking probably hasn’t crossed my brother’s mind in ages…but that won’t stop me from collecting thing for the next time we get a good opportunity.”

The first item you pick up is the booklet for an orchestra performance that, according to the date on the front, took place five system years ago. Penacony Symphonic Orchestra, reads the flourishing text at the top, followed by the subtext Spring Concert. You turn the page to the list of performing members, and recognize one of the names at the top credited as the orchestra’s concertmaster.

Indeed, in a photo of the orchestra on the next page, you see Sunday sitting closest to the conductor along the stage’s edge.

A page of newspaper from four years ago is under the previous page, with the headline stating in bold that the conductor of the Penacony Philharmonic Orchestra had to take a leave of absence due to health issues, and that concertmaster Sunday will be replacing him for the time being.

The corner of a photo peeks out from the middle of the papers, and you pull it out. It’s a picture of Sunday taken from the audience as he conducts the orchestra, arms outstretched in a gesture for what must be a grand part of the song. You can’t see Sunday’s face, but from his posture, it looks like he was made for the role.

Another photo is stuck behind that one, and so you peel the two apart. This one seems to be from a different concert. It shows Sunday from the side with a focused expression. His left hand is behind his back, and his right hand seems to be in the downbeat of the meter, judging by the position of the baton.

You didn’t notice Robin leaning over to view the pictures as well until she speaks. “I wish I had been able to go to more of his concerts,” she says. “During this time, I was touring, and to go to those two concerts I had to take a rushed trip here and then rush right back to the star system I was performing in.”

“Why did he quit?” you ask.

“He was trying to balance his orchestral role with his role in the Family.” She rests a hand on her necklace with furrowed eyebrows. “Shortly before he was made Oak Family Head, he…decided to focus solely on that role.”

Judging from the pensive look on Robin’s face, you decide to lay off of the topic of Sunday not being in the orchestra anymore. “And he doesn’t play as a hobby anymore, either?”

“Not that I know of. But also…I’m not home as often anymore, so it’s possible he could pick up the occasional instrument.” She shakes her head. “Every time I’ve asked why he stopped, he emphasizes the importance of his role in the Oak Family. I personally doubt that's the entire reason, however…maybe if you asked, he’d be willing to open up more to you?”

___

Time goes by faster than you expect it to while you’re looking through the photo books. At some point, Robin left for singing practice, and your eyelids began to get heavier and heavier…

Sunday returns to you asleep on the couch with an open book on your lap and other books splayed out around you. Curiosity piqued, he quietly inches closer to eye what it is that you’re reading. The ghost of a smile plays at the corner of his mouth when he sees the photos on the page. Robin must have been saving these throughout the years.

A pang of nostalgia hits him as memories return to him. There's no other responsibilities pressing at the moment, so it wouldn’t hurt to bring his violin out briefly…plus, he knows you’ll be interested in hearing him play after seeing the photos.

He makes his way to his bedroom and eases the door shut in hopes no sound would leak out to disturb you. He goes for his closet, and searches the back shelf for his violin case…when his fingers find the handle, he frees it from the darkness.

The first thing Sunday does is clean the dust off of the dark case. Then he sets it on his desk and undoes the silvery latches; the lid releases, and he opens it.

Inside the case, resting in a bed of velvet, lies a remarkable piece of work: a hand-carved, beautifully varnished, multiple amber eras old violin that was gifted to Sunday in his youth. His eyes linger on the details, as he’s always been enamored with its beauty.

He strips his gloves from his hands and plucks at the taut strings in sequence. A discordant chain of notes play; the violin is evidently out of tune from disuse. The corner of his mouth twitches downward. Old habits arise as he seeks to correct this injustice.

As he tunes, he hums the specific frequency he wants the string to sound like. The pitches have been etched into his mind from a young age when he was taught by his instructor to use oneself as the reference. Each tone is separated by a fifth; he’s able to capture them perfectly as he turns the fine tuning pegs.

When he’s done, the pizzicato notes are satisfying to the ear.

Sunday takes the bow from the case and tightens the tension of the bow hair. He recalls the last time he played, and he remembers how meticulously he cleaned and polished it before leaving it on the shelf to wait for him to take it up again. The body of the instrument still retains its shine.

He checks his container of rosin: lucky for him, it’s not dried out. In long, slow strokes, he runs it across the bow hair with a firm but gentle touch. He’s thorough when he cleans off the excess with a piece of cloth.

After the violin has been restored to its former glory, he brings the violin to his neck in a playing position, touches the bow to the string, and plays a slow, drawn out note as the bow runs along the string. A shiver runs up his spine as he absorbs the sonorous timbre, and he eases into a melodic sequence of notes.

You’re witness to most of this; at some point, you were awoken by the faint sounds coming from Sunday’s room and crept down the hall only to be hindered by a closed door. In a painstakingly slow manner so as not to get his attention, you opened the door only a sliver, enough for you to peer into the room.

You watch as he sways with the rhythm he plays. The tune itself is simple and gentle in nature, one you’ve never heard before. His movements are entrancing, and you’re enamored, so much to the point that you forget to make yourself scarce when he’s finished…

When he plays the ending note, his eyes catch yours through the ajar door.

“Like what you see?” he asks with a smug smile. “You can come in now. Or would you prefer to continue watching from a distance?”

There’s a coy guilt all over your face as you push the door open fully and walk in. “How long did you know I was there?”

“Only the whole time.” He lowers his violin and sets it down on his desk before pressing you a chaste kiss. “Did you have a nice rest?”

“I did. I…” You laugh nervously, bashful at the fact that he definitely saw you looking at his old photos. “I didn’t hear you come back. How was your day?”

“Rather tedious. The bulk of it was overseeing the creation of The Reverie’s budget for the next fiscal year. But…I’m here now. I noticed you were looking at old albums; shall I assume Robin was the one who brought those out?”

“Yes,” you nod. “You were cute as a kid.”

“Ah…really? You think so?” He angles his face away from you to hide the blush forming from your compliment.

“Very photogenic.” You rest a hand on his jawline and guide his face back towards you. His wings flutter in response, but he doesn’t shy away from your touch. “I’m jealous, actually.”

“You know as well as I that there’s no need for you to be jealous.”

You brush your hand against his neck before you pull back, lest you get carried away. “I was hoping you would play me a song.”

“What is it you would like to hear?”

“Anything you play would be lovely.”

You sit down on his bed and wait in hushed anticipation as Sunday readies his violin once more. He closes his eyes, and you wonder what he’s thinking. Is he visualizing the music? Is there an internalized metronome he’s counting along to? Maybe he’s—

Interrupting your thoughts, and with his eyes still shut, he starts into a slow melody. His fingers glide across the strings while his other hand draws the bow to weave the notes of a flowing song. Your mind wanders to how mesmerizing he must have looked under stage lights.

The music swells like the crest of a wave, and it sounds like his tempo has quickened to be more spirited. Already, you’re impressed by how he hasn’t faltered at all while playing. How many more songs must he have memorized? He continues to evoke a sort of vividness through his motions and navigates complex sequences with fluidity.

His song tapers down, creating a sense of finality that mirrors the beginning of the piece. In the last cadence, he opens his eyes to witness the last prolonged note softly washing over you. He savors the sound before letting it fall into silence.

Sunday looks to you in anticipation, and to his surprise, whispers of doubt swirl in his mind: Did he make a mistake he wasn’t aware of? Was he in dire need of practice? Or maybe…you didn’t like it. It’s been ages since he’s played for an audience; maybe his skills have deteriorated since then.

It’s a bit funny, he thinks wryly. I doubt I've been this nervous to know how I did since my first ever playing test.

The tension leaves his body in reaction to your rapid applause and bright smile. “Sunday! That was amazing!”

He’s awash with relief that you seemed to be satisfied with the song he played. He turns away to set his violin down, but can’t help the feeling of pride blooming inside him as he puts his gloves back on and joins you on the bed.

You grin at him. “I expected you to be pretty good, but you love exceeding expectations, don’t you?”

“I admit it’s not…that bad for a long time without practice,” Sunday says, taking your hand in his. “Definitely not my best.”

“If that’s not your best, I wish I could have seen you at your peak.” You lean back onto the bed, and he follows, the mattress shifting with the change in weight distribution. Studying the ceiling, you voice your thoughts by asking “Why did you stop playing?”

“I had to devote myself wholly to my role in The Family,” is the answer he responds with.

Your eyes drift over to glance at him. “You couldn’t find a way to balance both?”

He sighs. “When I was given my role as the Bronze Melodia, it…was tiring, to say the least. Listening to the confessions of people is more draining than it sounds, especially when…”

Sunday trails off, lost in thought. You squeeze his hand to bring him back, and he exhales a shaky breath.

“...Right. I…would be completely drained upon returning home from Dewlight Pavillion, and it was difficult to even muster the strength to practice. And then…I became the head of the Oak Family. I had to relinquish my roles in the orchestra, both as a player and conductor. I can’t say I don’t miss it,” he says, longing in the undertones of his voice. “But those roles have since been filled with deserving people.”

There’s a moment of introspective quiet before Sunday looks to you. “Have you had dinner yet?”

You shake your head no.

He rises from the bed and towards the door. “Then I shall inform the kitchen to prepare a meal for us. I don’t think Robin will be joining us tonight…”

As he retreats down the hall, you remain on the bed, pondering his words. Knowing Sunday and his relationship with the Oak Family, you can’t help thinking about the possibility that there may have been a more persuasive force behind his departure from the musical scene…

You stand up and neaten his bed to the way it was, your mind stuck on the things left unsaid.

___

You open your eyes to a dark room. The bad dream you were just having vanishes before you could even recall it, leaving only a pounding heart in its wake. Your eyes flit around the room as you remember where you are. The pale luminosity of the night streams in through sheer curtains onto the foot of the bed. There’s a warm presence to your side — your lover — who is fast asleep, unaware of your racing mind.

Exhaling, you blindly reach for your phone on the nightstand and squint at the bright screen. System time is three something in the morning. You set it down and roll over, trying desperately to return to your slumber, but to no avail; all of your tiredness has quickly dissipated.

In the dimness of the room, you gaze at Sunday in his tranquil beauty, and watch his chest gently rise and fall. His silver hair captures the moonlight in the way it shines and disperses it into locks strewn about his pillow. Slightly parted lips give way to faint somniloquies that you wish you could understand.

You’re lost in how idyllic he looks…until long eyelashes flutter and reveal golden eyes under drowsy hoods. Your body quickly stiffens with the hope you haven’t accidentally woken him up. He stirs beneath the sheets, and looks at you with tired eyes.

Softly, he asks “Dear, why are you up?”

“I…had a dream that woke me up,” you whisper in reply. “Go back to sleep.”

Without saying anything else, he reaches out and pulls you into an embrace. You melt into his chest, warmed by the comfortable heat he radiates.

“Was it a bad dream?” he softly inquires.

You nuzzle closer to him. “It was gone as soon as it came.”

Sunday holds you tighter under the blanket.

After what could have been moments or minutes elapse, you look up to him. He’s still awake.

“...I’ll miss you tomorrow morning,” you say. “What time do you have to be up?”

“That doesn’t matter,” he murmurs.

“What time?”

“...Five.”

You wearily groan into his chest. “Oh, Sunday…you work too hard.”

His hand traces languid shapes into your back. “That’s why I have to savor as much time as I can with you.”

In his arms, you reflect on the day, fatigue slowly beginning to weigh down your thoughts. You recall glimpses of Sunday playing his violin, and his effortless grace. The first melody you watched him play, the one you watched through the door, swims through your head.

A question pulls at your mind, and you choose to ask before you forget. “Hmm…Sunday?”

“Yes?”

“What was the first song you played earlier?”

He takes a breath. “It…was a song I remember from my youth. When I first started playing music, it was one of the first things I transcribed…from memory. Because I never wanted to forget.”

“It’s a beautiful song.”

You can’t see, but a smile forms on Sunday’s face. “It…was a song our mother would sing to me and Robin.”

“Could I hear you hum it to me?”

He begins to hum the melody, and the dulcet tune coupled with the faint vibrations of his chest begin to lull you into a peaceful sleep. You try fighting it off, just to hear his voice a little longer…only to end up closing your eyes in the end.

Once your breathing is even, Sunday admires your sleeping form. Before he closes his eyes to return to sleep himself, Sunday whispers three words into your ear that evanesce into the air; three words he’ll be sure to repeat to you again once you’re awake.

___

"Con alcuna licenza" is a musical direction that refers to expressive and rhythmic freedom, allowing the conductor to speed up or slow down the tempo of a piece at their discretion.

#sunday honkai star rail #sunday hsr #honkai star rail #reader insert #sunday x reader #if you're an actual violinist and i got something wrong i'm sorry

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