#LADS mutuals come get me ))

[gnomeantics]

girl who just finished life on mars and is maybe actually irrevocably altered for ljfe forever and ever. maybe

[a-usernamelol]

YALL KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS!!!! MORE SCREENSHOTS FOR EVERYBODY!

Once again bringing up that I’m tired of seeing posts strictly for the female fans of the game. So here he is in all his glory, the absolute (bisexual??) icon of the franchise! Doesn’t matter if you’re a girl or a guy- or in my MCs case- something else, chances are he’s going to try his hand!

HAVE SOME FREE SEBASTIAN BECAUSE YOU DESERVE IT NO MATTER WHO YOU ARE❤️ PEACE AND LOVE ON PLANET EARTH

[galaxythixf]

LADS VERSES - LOVE AND DEEPSPACE VERSES (UPDATED)

( Tala takes the place of MC with a few changes. ) Tala was adopted by a scientist and his wife, an officer. Through her father's contact she's introduced to Josephine ( whom she affectionately calls Lola ) and meets Caleb and Zayne whom she grows up with. Frequently she visits and lives right next door to Caleb and Josephine in the Bloomshore District making it easy for the two of them to hang out as they please, where she quite often bugged Caleb to play basketball with her. Growing up it was no secret that Tala struggled with her Electricity Evol, accidentally shocking others by mistake and far too afraid to use it as liberally as Caleb used his own. As a result, her father developed a suit to make it easier for her and with time she got better at controlling it, eventually becoming comfortable enough to walk around without the suit at all. Unbeknownst to Tala, part of her struggles may stem from the Aether Core infused in her heart as a child.

Later in her adult life she trains and becomes a qualified Deepspace Hunter despite her concerns about her Evol. It's a rather remarkable achievement that she's especially proud of until the incident in the Bloomshore district. Tala was absolutely devastated to lose both Caleb and Josephine that day … or so she thought.

Evol: Electricity. Elemental Class. Tala's body generates incredible amounts of electricity that can become difficult to control. Her skin glows when she uses large amounts of electricity and her eyes change from brown to blue. It gives her remarkable speed, and she seemingly has an endless amount of electricity that she can put out with little issue.

Jamie was born to take the spotlight and both his mothers knew that. It comes as no surprise when he chases his dreams to be an actor at an early age, making some progress by the time he's an adult. It's just his luck when his set is attacked by a wanderer but seeing this as an opportunity, Jamie attempts to fend off the wanderer by himself until a Hunter can arrive. It's successful, but due to the nature of his Fire Evol the set is virtually unsalvageable. Acknowledging his potential, the Hunter association invites him to join and he does. Now Jamie works as a Deepspace Hunter, playing hero in real time, effectively paying off the property damages he caused and making a name for himself under a new spotlight.

Evol: Fire. Elemental Class. His Evol allows him to create and manipulate fire, like Rafayel. However, unlike Rafayel, Jamie can use his fire to heal himself, and blind others at the snap of his fingers.

Finlay is the only child to the mayor of Linkon, whose campaign was partially backed by Sylus behind the scenes in exchange for easy access to Protocores. Unfortunately, Finlay has always been a troublemaker that's left the mayor particularly exhausted cleaning up their messes ever since they were a child. Even now as an adult the mayor still finds himself scolding them for whatever trouble they've landed themselves into. To keep from tainting his otherwise pristine public image he asks Sylus to keep Finlay out of trouble by any means necessary. While not particularly unfamiliar with Sylus, Finlay had only recently started to speak with him when he began to reach out to them as a result of their father's request. Usually, Finlay is very keen on picking on Sylus for the hell of it, and making the most out of their situation with light banter and potential hijinks. However, unbeknownst to them and their family, Finlay is embedded with an Aether core. The origins of how or when are unknown to them, since they weren't aware they had one in the first place. Their Evol is otherwise normal, allowing them to manipulate smoke although this isn't particularly useful to someone that just works at the local convenience store. They're an aspiring actor, usually bouncing from gig to gig if they aren't making a mess in their apartment.

Evol: Smoke. Elemental Class. Their Evol allows them to manipulate smoke, typically a pinkish purple in color and accompanied by peculiar butterflies.

Hazal is another infamous bounty hunter that thrives in the N109 Zone. She prefers to keep a low profile, operating under the name "Fade" to distance her personal life from work. Known to be incredibly thorough it's said that she always tracks down her hit, no matter how obscure the details or hidden the tracks. Most aren't aware of her methods or don't live long enough to tell the tale, thus remaining a secret. Any potential clients must be willing to jump through a few hoops just to hope they can get in contact with her. Some have had luck traveling to the Odd Workshop or The Nest …

Evol: Dark. Psychic Class. She'll usually be armed with some sort of gun, though she'll use knives if she's in a bind. Her Evol obscures vision, playing tricks on the mind to create hallucinations of one's deepest fears. Sometimes she uses her Evol to hunt her targets, it's capable of tracking people based on enough information. Her Evol can apparently take tangible form and is very sticky, making it hard to separate from if it's touched.

Zhaoyu is another victim to the Ever experiments, living a relatively similar life to MC in that he was raised by his grandmother before he was abruptly taken from her during the catastrophe when he was essentially kidnapped. Forced to work as an assassin for an organization known as "Hourglass" in the N109 Zone, he operates as their youngest hired gun. While very talented, Zhaoyu despises his job but is too scared to disobey in fear his job may hurt him or harm his grandmother for his mistakes. The motives for Hourglass are unknown but they seem particularly focused on researchers, for some reason, but it's not as if they tell someone as low on the ladder as Zhaoyu anything useful. Locally, a rumor spread in the underworld about someone people have been calling "The Dead Lilac" because it's the last color anyone sees before they die. This is likely due to the fact Zhaoyu's eyes are a strange color of lilac and his Evol happens to mirror that color. One day he hopes to escape Hourglass, just to live a peaceful life with his grandmother again.

Evol: Barrier. Simulation Class. His Evol allows him to create lilac-colored barriers that are apparently somewhat resistant to force. He can use his barrier around himself to act as a shield, a wall, or to create a small enclosed room for a limited time.

Sunwoo was a relatively upbeat chef in Linkon to one of the most popular restaurants in the city until a sudden explosion completely destroyed the place. Several similar incidents took place all around the district, with only one thing in common, someone matching her description at every crime scene. Knowing that she was innocent didn't necessarily prove it, leading rumors to spread about her involvement like wildfire. Joining the Deepspace Aviation Administration as a pilot in Skyhaven was a step to prove herself and an opportunity to vent out her frustrations about being framed to an otherwise nameless enemy. It also made it easier to forget about when she made friends like Gideon and Caleb. Despite her awful reputation at the start, her talent as a pilot was notable when her friends began to call her "Jett" in reference to her admirable speed. It comes as a shock to her hearing about Caleb's supposed death, mourning the loss of a friend until fewer and fewer details start to add up about Caleb's whereabouts.

Evol: Wind. Elemental Class. Her Evol allows her to manipulate the wind in her favor. This usually consists of making her run at incredible speeds, flying, floating, or making other objects float. Larger winds or storms are capable but would require a lot more energy to control.

Efia was born with more power at her fingertips than she knew what to do with. Curious, she's poked her nose into every book the cosmos would offer her and spun tales about the stars as ever child had with theories only limited by their imagination. Raised by a loving family she never once imagined her origins were off until the day her powers manifested, causing her mother to tell the truth. The man she's called her father for years was not biologically related to her. Efia's mother was seduced by the God of Disaster, only for the god to disappear once Efia was born, leaving her with his child and small keepsakes to remember him by, never to be seen again. What child knew how to process their godly bloodline?

Years pass for Efia to travel to different planets with one real goal in mind: save them. Restoring everything that her father had seemingly destroyed had unintentionally become somewhat of a mission of hers that she felt personally connected to. It's no easy task, but she makes a point to see every single one of them through. Earth should be no different, or at least, she thinks. The only real connection she's ever had to her father are the keepsakes her mother gave her, adorned like jewelry for convenience. It comes as a surprise when one of her keepsakes elicits a voice she's never heard before claiming to be Lemurian. It's the first sea god of Lemuria that finally speaks ill of Rafayel, blaming him for the tragedy of their people and pleading with Efia to find him. It's these conversations that lead her to her research of Lemuria and how her family came to possess something that belonged to them, when it dawned on her: If this keepsake was special, what of the others?

Her mission to restore planets and civilizations alike hasn't changed despite her newest revelation. Still yet to meet Astra she's stubbornly made it a point to challenge him. What's more undoing than a daughter?

Evol: Cosmic Energy. Elemental Class. Efia's capable of manipulating cosmic energy. Stars could be created at her fingertips. Small, artificial, gravity wells are simple to make. Her Evol is incredibly unique in that it's unusual and versatile.

Ryo has always bounced between one orphanage to the next with very little luck of stringing the pieces of his past together. Always growing up throwing more fists than pleasantries he's grown used to speaking with them too. It's a lonely life but he's made it his own, forever wondering where he might come from with so little to connect him to a past he has yet to know. The only items he's ever had left by his parents for some reason point him to a place called Lemuria …

Evol: Dimensional Drift. Simulation Class. His Evol allows him to "disappear" and teleport. He can make clones of himself and travel in what appears to be a pocket dimension or a "rift" in time.

Sabine had always been brilliant. It's her brilliance that led her to her accomplishments, awards and position on a team brimming with potential. Initially led to believe her research was vital to saving people it became clear that Ever had different motives. Lives are lost before she can come to terms with the fact her work is to blame, exploited for a purpose she hadn't consented to. Unethical experiments she couldn't reverse and the damage had already been done when her reputation was practically destroyed by it. Her separation from the project wasn't enough for Ever, but the incident meant to kill her solidified her quest for revenge. Killing her assailant made it painfully obvious that this wouldn't be the last but this time, she would be ready.

Evol: None.

Liam's an old dog learning new tricks. Years before the catastrophe he was working as a firefighter with his best friend of 20 years, Tariq. It felt as if they had taken the world by storm going through every hurdle together it only felt natural that after years of fighting fires, they put their selfless hearts into doing service. The military wasn't exactly always the plan for Liam, but he saw value in being an excellent soldier and with Tariq he knew he would be. Things were just fine until the catastrophe. It's a miserable day for Liam to remember, unable to save Tariq from wanderers he couldn't fend off. The memory has haunted him ever since, but not once had it deterred him from what he originally set out to do: protect the community he loved.

Once the Hunter association made its place Liam sought to take part of it with his years of experience, the least he could do was train recruits. Despite his lack of Evol, experience was still useful and while he wasn't exactly in his prime anymore, he still saw value in teaching the next generation how to handle themselves on the field.

Evol: None.

Sometimes monsters are made. A very lonely and miserable childhood would make anyone desperate enough to forfeit their morals. Living day to day without knowing where the next meal was coming from tended to make people lose sight of whatever humanity they may have had before. It's what makes the day her Evol awakens so special. It's a violent process, something she looks back on fondly despite the bloody mess she left behind. That day marked the beginning of the start of her life.

Linkon City was big enough that bodies were hard to trace, but the older she grew the more she needed to sate the hunger. The catastrophe only served as a greater reward for her to feed on any stragglers unfortunate enough to survive attacks that should have been lethal. Reyna saw no shortage of food for a soul that was starving. But feeding was no longer enough. What good was it to feed off of these pitiful insects when she could exact her revenge on the people that mattered? It's this ugly society that made her this way, hellbent on conforming to the humans that still saw it fit to put Evolvers under a microscope. While they poked, prodded and isolated, fearing what they could not possibly be, Evolvers would always pay the price.

Ever's experiments are just the nail in the coffin. How many children had to suffer under the hands of these greedy, thoughtless, cowardice humans? The first truck that she hits shipping children off is just the start of her protest. The second, third, fourth, no matter how many they sent she intercepted each and everyone just to free the innocent lives affected by those insects. It takes time, but she created a safe space for children involved in the experiments to exist without fear of whether or not they may live to see tomorrow. As long as she was breathing, she would make sure they would.

The future was Evolvers.

Evol: Soul Harvest. Anhausen Class. Her Evol sucks the souls from the dead and rejuvenates her. This heals her wounds and assumedly empowers her the more she consumes. Rumors about the monster in the N109 Zone say she's been known to "disappear" in the blink of an eye. Others question whether or not she's a wanderer because of the gem, reminiscent of a protocore, glowing in her chest. Some speculate that feeding from the dead has made her appear younger than she really is, begging the question, just how old was this monster?

The Hunter Association's genius. Klara was building gadgets before she could read, gifted from a young age she was fascinated with robots and learning how they were made. By the simple age of eighteen she was already employed and a trusted member of the Hunter Association's Armament Tech Team and Data Analysis sector. Mostly building what combat equipment was asked of her or researching protocores to make it possible, there was never a dull moment. Having built most of their technology over the years she's fairly confident in her ability to make anything. If you could dream it, Klara could most likely make it.

Evol: None.

A wayward engineer with far too little caution makes a business out of her small garage in Linkon to any customer with the gall to handle her explosive creations. With an affinity for anything that went boom, she often receives attention from clients willing to take a little risk. Tayane's only judgment call was based on the person, not the purpose.

Evol: None

( Mateo takes the place of MC with a few changes. ) Mateo was raised by his mother and father who divorced when he was young. Mateo spent his childhood split between two households until one day his father offered to take him to "camp". This camp happened to be the Ever experiments, where he not only meets various other children going through experiments but also strange-looking animals. How he's freed from this disastrous camp is always blurry for him to remember, but he does remember taking those poor creatures with him. After returning home to his mother he doesn't ever remember seeing his father again. Through his father's contact he was introduced to Josephine ( whom she affectionately calls Abuelita ) and meets Caleb and Zayne whom he grows up with. Frequently he visits and lives right next door to Caleb and Josephine in the Bloomshore District making it easy for the two of them to hang out as they please, where he quite often bugged Caleb to play basketball with him and his critters. Growing up Mateo was aware that he had a rare heart condition but didn't seem too worried about it given his loving and supportive circle. He was often amazed by Caleb's use of his Evol and often expressed how it would be cool if he would have had one of his own that was a little flashier. Unbeknownst to Mateo, part of his struggles may stem from the Aether Core infused in his heart as a child.

Later in his adult life he trains and becomes a qualified Deepspace Hunter despite his concerns about his Evol. It's a rather remarkable achievement that he's especially proud of until the incident in the Bloomshore district. Mateo was absolutely devastated to lose both Caleb and Josephine that day … or so he thought.

Evol: Resonance. Anhausen Class. Mateo's Evol is Resonance, giving him the ability to resonate with anyone. Mateo has four creatures he took with him during his escape, each of which he has named: Mosh, Dizzy, Thrash and Wingman. While they each look different, they're all capable of hiding in his sash that can apparently store them all at once without issue. How it works is a little bit of a mystery to Mateo but he doesn't question it the same way he doesn't question how pokéballs hold Pokémon. So long as his little buddies are safe and sound, he's happy to carry them around. His Resonance may extend to the creatures he keeps around his person seeing as he seems to genuinely understand what they're saying whenever they speak to him in a language that sounds like gibberish to the average person. As a child, this was cute, but once Mateo began to have full conversations with his critters it leaves one to ponder whether he actually understands them.

[hyacinthsdiamonds]

Not Gaeilgeoir tiktok thirsting over my academic rival* on TG4 reporting on the election results lmfao

[sectumsempraaa]

More Than a Gut Feeling

Pairing: soulmate!Theo Nott x fem!reader

Word count: 2.5k

Based on this request! :)

TW: none, just unlawful amounts of fluff

Featuring: Theo, Draco, Mattheo, Pansy, Lorenzo, Blaise

Summary: Transferring schools in your fifth year is overwhelming enough. But when you find yourself seemingly tethered to a Slytherin boy, you start to wonder… Did you come to Hogwarts by choice? Or did someone lead you here?

“And there was fog, and dust, and all I could see was this hand reaching out for me-”

“Bloody hell Theo, please, we get it. You smoked before bed and had trippy dreams,” Pansy complains, cutting him off from his hazy explanation. She turns to you and rolls her eyes, expressing her disdain.

It’s a typical Monday breakfast in the Great Hall for the Slytherin lads, except they have you now. They’ve recently (and graciously) taken you under their wing after you transferred schools in your fifth year.

Though you’re still adjusting to your surroundings at Hogwarts, your new friends have made the transition easier.

“I didn’t smoke before bed, bastardo,” he replies, lunging slightly towards her in annoyance.

Your eyes linger on Theo for a moment, his dream piquing your interest for some reason. There’s something about it that feels… familiar.

But you shake it off as deja vu in order to move past it. The last thing you want right now is to stand out amongst your new peers.

It’s only been a week since you arrived, but the connection you have with Theodore is unlike the others, and they are starting to notice.

Like when you first met, and the both of you were each holding a hardcover copy of your mutual favorite poetry book.

And a couple days later, when you turned your head to greet him as he was several yards behind you in the hallway, before he even called your name.

And yesterday, when you watched him win the first quidditch match you’d seen because the golden snitch hovered over you the entire time.

“I wish I could remember my dreams like that,” you respond, adding a touch of understanding to the conversation.

Theo’s head turns in the direction of your soft voice, like his gaze is attached to it somehow.

Blaise looks between the two of you, eyebrows raised in suspicion.

Suddenly and smoothly, Mattheo nudges you with his elbow and leans in close to your ear.

“If you dreamt of me, you would.” He smirks, laughing to himself and earning a light smack on the chest from Lorenzo. You notice Theo’s expression turn a smidge darker, something new looming in his eyes.

Lorenzo comments. “You really do ruin everything. You’re like, the king of ruining everything.”

Draco scoffs at Mattheo’s quip and places his hands on the table to signify that it’s time to leave for class. “Come on, Mattheo. Let’s not traumatize the new girl.”

Draco throws an apologetic glance your way.

“Please don’t listen to this child.” He spits out the last few words with haste.

When you look at Theo, you find him still staring at you with a hint of wonder and confusion.

You blush, feeling the crimson warmth spreading from one cheek to another. You reach down to grab your bag and make your way to potions class with the rest of the group.

—

Today’s lesson is, surprisingly, something you’ve already learned at your previous school. And thank the gods, because something about Theo’s dream has your attention caught like a fly in a web.

You imagine his vision, the fog and the reaching. You look down to your own hand, your brows furrowing as you continue to rack your brain. The longer you look at your hand, the more convinced you are that…

No. You just met him a week ago… there’s no way.

But that’s not it. It’s the other dreams he’s mentioned in the past few days, too. One where he’s at Durmstrang looking for someone, another where he’s trying to find them on the Hogwarts Express, but he doesn’t know who he’s following.

Who he’s looking for.

You can’t help but compare them to your own dreams, strikingly, eerily similar.

You recount images of them, scouring through empty train cabins and following the sound of alluring footsteps in your former school.

A tug on your ponytail pulls you out of your distraction, the slight pain guiding your stare. A sea of giggles spreads through the class as you watch Professor Snape’s hand return to his side.

“Miss Y/L/N, I suspect you were the potions teacher at Durmstrang with the way you ignore my curriculum.” Snape retorts, his stern voice closer than you were expecting.

But one particular laugh catches your ears, the corners of your mouth turning up at the sound of it. Your eyes land on Theo, and something about his expression makes your heart skip a beat.

“Tsk tsk, bella,” He whispers, and you bite your lip in response, turning back to your textbook as that damn blush creeps back onto your face.

There’s no denying how unfathomably handsome this man is when he smiles at you, because of you.

Your desk partner, Draco, looks to Theo and then back to you in bewilderment.

“I can never get him to joke around like that,” He says to you. “I’ll be damned if he fancies you more than me already.”

You smile back to Draco, returning the playful demeanor. “Oh, I bet he just adores you.” You respond loud enough so Theo can hear behind you.

You don’t have to turn around to see the bashful smirk on Theo’s face.

—

That night, you toss and turn more than usual. A wild dream keeps you trapped in slumber, unable to relinquish you from it until your roommate, Pansy, physically shakes you awake.

“I’m right here, you oaf!” Pansy yells, her hands squeezing your shoulders as you urgently sit up in bed.

“What? What are you doing? Why are you yelling?” You ask, genuinely lost. The beads of sweat trickle down your temple.

“You don’t remember just now when you were asking ‘Where are you?’ a thousand times in your own sleep?” She responds, her eyes widening with each word.

And then it hits you, the images of your dream. That laugh, a gentle breeze, and a-

“Paper crane?” Pansy asks, looking down into your lap with eyes like headlights.

You slowly look down, afraid to reveal to yourself what lays in your grasp. In your palm is a small, crumpled paper crane. Your baffled stare freaks her out, her hands retracting from your sides.

“What the filthy fuck is that?!” Pansy yells, but her voice sounds quite distant to you as you try desperately to get a hold on reality.

But you know. You know what this is, and you know how you got it. Accepting this fact is like swallowing glass.

“I brought something out of my dream,” you whisper, your breath picking up in pace and weight. The thought is sending you reeling, your brain suddenly racing yet devoid at the same time, unwilling to connect the dots.

“How is this even possible?” You ask yourself.

Pansy continues rambling on, asking you endless questions.

But you can’t seem to shake the idea that this item didn’t exist before you fell asleep last night.

—

After long deliberation, and a real pull back to reality, you manage to get yourself dressed and out the door. But the mental picture of this thing takes up most of the space in your mind that day, haunting you each time you think of it.

It’s not until Divination class, your last period, that things somehow become even more unsettling.

Professor Trelawney begins a lesson about the influence of dreams in real life and the messages they can send to the dreamer.

“Dreams, they can be so powerful. They can point you in specific directions, impact your decisions, make you see the truth.”

Her shakey, ominous voice echoes through your head, her words bouncing off the walls of your skull as you feel around in your pocket for the mysterious object. When you feel the edges of the paper graze your skin, you gently pull it out and place it on the corner of your desk.

From the table over, Theo absentmindedly observes you, your movement guiding his trailing eyes. He sees the object in front of you, but it takes him a second to register what it is, that curious little thing.

He squints, then performs a stunning double take. And when he’s finally able to identify it…

Everything changes.

“Oh… my… god…” Theo whispers, his heart dropping into his stomach like an anchor. His body goes into a state of utter disbelief and stillness. His eyes piercing white and his face ghostly pale as he struggles to grasp the scene in front of him.

Mattheo notices Theo’s knuckles white against the desk and chimes in to check on his friend.

“Mate, you alright? You look like Enzo after a Friday night at the Three–”

But before Mattheo can finish asking, Theo suddenly stands up and gains the attention of everyone in class by the sound of his bench skidding backwards on the floor.

Professor Trelawney’s gaze shifts from Theo to you as she locates the focus point of his unrelenting stare. She offers to take him to the infirmary as he looks “unwell.”

But Theo shakes his head, places his hand over his heart, and silently dashes out of the classroom.

Pansy’s head slowly turns to you with a look of complete perplexity.

“Better go check on Rome, new girl,” she mutters under her breath, referencing Theo’s hometown. She gestures her head in the direction of the door.

You nod hesitantly, soon following in his footsteps and ignoring any questions from your teacher.

—

When you make it to the hallway, you find Theo pacing back and forth, his hand still placed over his heart as if to stop it from exploding. But when he sees you, it only gets more difficult.

You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off before you can even inhale.

“Where in seven hells did you get that paper crane?!” He asks, stopping in his tracks. The conversation continues in bouts of interrupting each other.

“Theodore, I-”

“Don’t call me that, that’s not what you call me in-”

“In what?”

“In my-”

Then a pause. A tense, incredible pause. A stare down.

He continues. “Nothing, it’s mind numbingly mad,”

You take a step towards him, but something in your chest suddenly becomes achingly heavy. In response, you place a hand over your heart, just like Theo is.

In your free hand, you unfold your fingers to reveal the paper crane. His eyes land on it, the shock of it still trapping every fiber of his being.

“You…” you start, the weight in your chest transforms from a brick to a block of anvil with each word.

When you’re within arms length of each other, he manages to reach out, the struggle evident on his face. He fights to finish your sentence for you.

“Made this. Gave this… to you, last night.” He explains, his voice dragging as you notice his hand now gripping his shirt in a fist from the sheer pain in his chest.

“Theo… I think we aren’t dreaming of each other,” you suggest, taking time to breathe between thoughts. The weight on your heart is now seemingly unbearable.

“We’re dreaming with each other,” you say, and just as you finish the thought, Theo’s fingers touch the paper crane in your hand, a graze that feels like lightning.

And just then, as the object fuses the touch of two destined souls, a small clad of thunder emits from between you that only you two can hear. The pains in your chests implode, a knee-dropping sensation of light and warmth replacing it.

Like dynamite in your hearts.

“Bella,” Theo’s hoarse voice is laced with a sincerity that sounds like liquid gold to your ears. There’s no way to describe the feeling inside you right now, this fantastic blend of energies and desires.

The only thing you do know is that it’s burning at both ends, like a charring rope.

“I think… I was meant to find you, cara mia. Gods I sound mental,” he shakes his head, embarrassment written all over his face. To his surprise, he finds your hand gently caressing his cheek, guiding his gaze back to yours.

“Then maybe we both need to visit the infirmary, because I’ve only just arrived here and for some reason I can’t fathom a minute away from you.”

Relief washes over him as he drinks in your words, and the stunning sight of you confessing the very same sentiment he, too, harbors.

Your heart rate quickens as you feel an arm snake around your lower back, out of your line of sight. This feels strangely comfortable, like you’ve felt it for a lifetime already.

“Y/N…” he beckons, his forehead dropping to rest on yours. “I can’t ask you to be mine, because I think someone, or something, else already decided that.” He jokes, the huff from his laugh hitting your face.

The sight of both your smiles is what shifts everything into place. Everything, all at once. And then, your fists are the ones gripping his shirt, pulling his lips onto yours.

The paper crane falls to the ground between you as your lips move against each other, his hands exploring your back like they’re hunting for treasure. The magnitude of this kiss surpasses any other you’ve shared in the past.

Chills run up and down your body, like it’s finally found its home. Its match. His fingers grasp your hair lightly, keeping you in place as he kisses you with vigor.

He pulls away, looking at you like you’re his most prized possession.

“You’re more than a gut feeling, tesoro.” He confesses, earning another kiss from you. This one feels like an aftershock, the aftermath of the impact of your newfound, yet momentous intimacy.

You nod your head in understanding, barely able to form a coherent sentence at the moment.

“Did you… feel that, Theo?” You question, sending a glimmer of hope his way.

“Yes, like… fireworks?” He asks back. He takes your hand and places it on his chest once again, and you swear you could feel the butterflies erupting from inside.

Behind you, a mess of rushed footsteps make their entrance, accompanied by a couple of stern voices.

“These two, I swear…” Blaise complains, shaking his head and catching his breath.

“What in the Merlin-loving fuck is going on here?” Lorenzo sneers, his expression a mix of urgency and frustration.

But you two never broke that stare, that ruthless, solid stare. Instead you beam at each other as you scramble to put the answer into words.

“Fireworks.”

—

That night, you wander the grounds of Hogwarts together as Mattheo, Draco, and Pansy watch you from the Astronomy Tower. The three of them convene to discuss.

“You reckon she used a love potion?” Mattheo suggests, earning another smack on the arm.

“No, you bloody fool. They’re like, tethered or something.” She attempts to convey the notion to the boys, but they just don’t get it.

“Are we tethered then, doll?” Draco jokingly asks Pansy.

“In your dreams, mate.” Mattheo responds, taking a drag from his cigarette. She responds while picturing the paper crane she found in your lap that one fated morning last week.

“You’d be surprised how accurate that is.”

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

[pastelaspirations]

YES. HOLY CRAPP, YEESSS. TWO PEAS IN A POD, WE ARE, I'M SCREAMING

Y e s. I agree so h a r d, man. Ink being socially awkward and having a hard time articulating his feelings because he lowkey views his feelings as meaningless and fake anyway = peak. IT GIVES SO MUCH ANGST POTENTIAL.

He wants to love Error so much, but he really believes he can't. He's soulless. If a soul is what creates the feeling of love, how can he truly feel it if he lacks the thing that is required to make it??

I'm also just. Holding my head. So many of my writings has Ink having difficulty saying "I love you" precisely because of this reason. I have literally had this headcanon for so long, you don't understand.

BUT ERROR, MAN. HE DON'T C A R E. TO ERROR, HE GOT PROOF. SO WHAT IF INK NEEDS HELP TO FEEL EMOTIONS? THAT DOESN'T MAKE THEM ANY LESS REAL

To Error, just because Ink needs a lil extra help to feel something that other people don't even need to think about doesn't make his emotions any less real. His smiles are just as genuine. His tears are just as heartbreakingly real... If anything, to claim his emotions are any less real because he needs vials to fully access them is a little bit ableist, no? Especially since Ink didn't c h o o s e not to have a soul really. (This even fits if you consider Ink ripped his soul out willingly. Ink did that because he didn't plan on surviving that. He thought he would die. I doubt he would have gone through with it if he knew it wouldn't have killed him)

BUT YES. It's insane how I literally agree with everything you said, you're so incredibly based, man. I am also SO HONORED, MAN, THAT MY UNHINGED RAMBLING INSPIRED ANOTHER SCRUMPTIOUS DOODLE. I shall hold it close to my chest and love it forever <3

Also, it's. Just kind of funny. Your doodle reminded me of something similar that I drew. It kind of just shows how similar/peas in a pod we are, man

Can you guys tell I have a favorite pair of sillies yet . . .

[le-monchou]

Hey, it's me. I was wondering if you do comfort requests, I had an idea (or at least half an idea lol and I also saw requests were open.)

Any of the LADS (Love & Deepspace) men coming home to see that MC hurt themselves during a wanderer mission and how they react to it or something along those lines.

Apologies as this is my first request ever and I'm more of an artist than writer lol so please change it to fit as much you need.

Hope you have a good day. (Hoping I'm doing this right)

.... help me this was sylus's text to me when i logged in today what is this 😭 are you another prophet like my mutual nettles || xavier, zayne, and rafayel's headers are from @editshan || written way before caleb's release and never posted.

"why didn't you tell me? why wouldn't you tell me?!" is xavier's first questions, and the outburst makes even you pause in the safety of your home, clutching your arm like an injured animal, and he takes several steps back to breathe before approaching you again. "i was... very worried," he starts, and you have a feeling he was severely downplaying how he felt. eyebrows furrowed, you knew you were in for the scolding and pampering of your life.

"your vitals are good. you'll recover in a few days. i strongly recommend you take time off, however." zayne's tone is clipped, and he sighs as you reach out to cup his cheek. "you scared me. i hope you don't have to go through something like that again, but i know you will." zayne sighs again as you drop your hand by your side. "would you... let me take care of you the next few days, just like you take care of me all the time?"

"why are you a hunter, again?!" rafayel all but screeches as he rushes to your side, your leg wrapped nice and tight and you wince, sweat breading your brows as you try to stand. "this one's particularly bad, huh? you're staying at my place, no arguing with me." you sigh, and try to mention how you've gotten enough time to heal, unlike the last few times, and he scowls. "my bodyguard is injured! who's going to care for her if i don't, hmm?"

"well, aren't you a nasty kitten." sylus's tone is light, perhaps far too light for the size of the injury being wrapped up by kieran. "tell me why i had to find this out from mephisto." you roll your eyes and mutter that you're fine as kieran shakes his head and leaves the room (likely to snoop). "you're staying over until it heals. i can postpone my meetings for the next week or so, they're not important." he leans down to kiss you on the cheek. "unless, and only if, you need me to get you something."

[webism]

oh my holy moly i hit ten thousand disco girls :( i might just cry. woah

ill do a celebration event thingy r an interactive porn or something i promise but just for now for today id like to say a very huge and enormous thank you to everyone who follows me for my silly an inconsistent porn and occasional hiatus of multiple weeks. i love all my anons, and all the FRIENDS that i have made holy shit ive made some friendships on this tumblr that i hold so close to my heart its insane.

i did this when i hit three thousand, and im gonna do it again. these are some of the best writers with the most beautiful souls and i love them all to bits and if i deserve your follow they deserve it ten-fold.

@lotties-ashwagandha stevie my biggest hater since day one. best writer i know, codes interactive fiction like me (read @banyangulf-if trust me)

@beanietopia the actual love of my life i cant do a day without beanie without feeling nauseous now. consistently does better than me in wordle though. beanie is so fucking talented and writes for SHIU KONG EVERYONE . i just came

@yemmuis MIMI MY BELOVED my girlfriend my will to live i will marry mimi one day i love her with the whole of my heart and her choso fics WILL leave you wet and breathless trust. me. (don't flirt with her tho i can fight)

@sqoa sequoia my darling needs to start posting again but if you aren't familiar with her works i very strongly recommend reading her drabbles. she writes gojo so well im frothing at the mouth begging for more from her daily. our discord dms are just me grovelling.

@gojoscinnamonroll yaz my darling my love the most beautful person i have seen in my whole life writes the sexiest shit ever. read her most recent professor rafayel fic trust im ROCK HARD but that might just be her presence im so in love with yaz

@indiewritesxoxo indie is probably my biggest inspo on tumblr, ive BEEN a huge fan forevers. literally just a gorgeous prose and indies general vibe to her writing makes me melt and cry and cum and die and im so obsessed its unhealthy.

@madamechrissy god the talents chrissy has is insane. wish wish wish wish wish i could write like that. i aspire to write like her actually AND SHE WRITES FOR LADS NOW trust you guys are in for the biggest treat ever good lord.

@screampied all of you know vegas already theres no one that doesnt and i am CLAIMING number one screampied fan position its mine suck on that. vegas i could never write the amount that you do and keep it so PRETTY and INTERESTING its witchcraft really.

@fushiguho every single last one of nys ideas and thoughts and feelings make me go weak in the knees i want to live in her brain and build a little house in there and lick her frontal lobe to transfer her thoughts to my head because holy moly. obsessed. number one fan again. my spot bitch!

@wainawtmai BALLS i love balls so much balls is my muse all i think about is balls and HAVE YOU SEEN THE SHIT SHE'S BEEN PUTTING OUT? im in love and kissing her as i write this god she's so talented

@madaqueue everything from quinn that comes up on my timelinei read twice. getting into genshin impact has gifted me a wider range of his library and i thank god every day for it because he is so FUCKING TALENTED and their mind speaks to me in ways no other could.

@buckiverse has a fic called lessons for zayne and i think about it daily. i read it in the car in a hospital carpark ironically and i have not been the same since. GOD the raw talent i cant i CANNOT i don't interact with you enough jupe im so toxic but please know i am so obsessed with you this is caleb level infatuation i have got going on

there are more. there are so many more and ive skipped so many beautiful writers, friends and mutuals so if ur not here i still love you and am inviting you into my bed as we speak. thank you so much for 10k i do NAWT deserve yall. please go check those writers out they're so talented

[strwbrychffoncke]

"christmas dreaming,, word count: 3.3k synopsis: you both dreamed of a christmas together, and this winter, it seems that it may just come true contains: lads caleb x f!reader (but the only indication is reader wears a nightgown lol) ,fluff -> kinda suggestive ,angst if you squint ,bickering ,use of "gege" (caleb refers to himself like this a couple times lol) ,reader is called "pipsqueak" ,cute hug moment ,mutual pining ,kind of oblivious!reader ,light jealousy ,lots of teasing (caleb likes to see u suffer lol) ,kissing -> soft makeout ,suggestive ending if you squint ,i think thats it.... note: (mostly edited! if theres any errors pls standby) i opened instagram to the official lads acc post ab an update w that fucking apple a couple days ago n suddenly this fic flew up on the prio list. this one is for the caleb girlies u mean sm to me

-

busy.

you had been busy (the exact opposite of what others this season should be) going on back-to-back missions, scouting and clearing out no-hunt zones instead of taking time off and spending it with loved ones, and spending the other half of your time writing up reports instead of window shopping and checking off gifts for everyone on your long-forgotten list.

on top of trying to get through as much work as possible, you weren't even sure if you were going to have anyone to spend christmas with this year, aside from your grandma.

caleb usually kept you updated on when he was supposed to have a break, but it seemed this time around was different as you fished your phone from your pocket, checking your messages for the upteenth time today only to see your messages still left on delivered.

you sighed.

at least there's gram you thought, putting your phone away and focusing all your attention back on the various bags that filled your arms.

after the miracle that was getting off from work early, you were out doing some last-minute christmas shopping.

not your finest moment, and most definitely not your favorite, but your second miracle of the day came in the form of snagging everything you had in mind for everyone on your list.

your mind drifted to caleb's gift and you couldn't help but second guess yourself, wondering if he would even like it.

not that it was something you had to worry too much about right now, considering you weren't even sure when he would end up opening it.

you sigh again, watching the puffed out air float through the air, courtesy of the cold.

passing by the couples on the street seemed to dampen your mood further.

how you wished caleb were here to accompany you like that.

you hurried your steps. all you wanted to do now was to get home and sleep the rest of the day away (only after setting up the rest of the decorations around the place).

your wish drifts away on the chilly evening air as you continue down the street, the ideas for decor placement and wrapping gifts filling your head.

-

when you decided to walk to do your errands today, you didn't expect to regret it when you realized just how much shopping you did, bags seeming to weigh you down with each step growing a little heavier as you approached your home.

you breathe a sigh of relief when the house comes into view, fishing out the key from your coat pocket as you finally reach the doorstep to your childhood home. you quickly insert the key and unlock the door with a click.

in your tired state, you don't fully register the pleasant smell wafting through the door as you nudge your way in, swiftly shutting it behind you with your foot and locking it out of habit before you begin the trek to your room.

you don't take notice of the humming in the kitchen floating through the living space as you push open the door to your bedroom and drop all the bags on the floor.

you don't notice the footsteps that make their way towards your bed shortly after you plop down on top of it, nuzzling into the soft blanket telling yourself just for a moment.

"no proper greeting for gege, pipsqueak? frankly, i'm hurt."

"..."

you think you must be dreaming.

you think you must miss caleb so badly without even realizing it that your thoughts are not only consumed by him, but now you're hearing his voice in the grips of your fatigue.

"are you going to keep pretending to be asleep? after gege cooked for you too...."

"..."

theres no way you're dreaming.

your eyes shoot open.

when they do, you're met with the sight of none other than caleb standing before you, arms crossed over his chest, head slightly tilted, expression somewhere between mock-pensive and teasing as he stares down at you.

"caleb?!"

his eyes glimmer with mischief.

"oh, so you are awake."

you bolt upright in bed, eyes wide.

"what ar- how- when did you get here???"

an airy chuckle leaves him at your stammering before he leans forward slightly.

"hmm.. a couple hours ago, give or take?"

you gape at him, still processing him standing right before you. he takes advantage of your shock and reaches a hand out, playfully ruffling your hair.

"but a certain hunter was too tired to notice until now..." he shakes his head in mock disdain. "how disappointing. do i mean so little to you?"

the hand that was reached out clutches over his heart when he says this, faux hurt expression taking over his features.

momentarily ignoring his jesting, you answer with another question.

"why didn't you tell me you were coming???" you mean to sound harsh, but it comes out whiny instead.

he wants to laugh at your tone, almost feeling bad for ignoring your messages to keep his arrival a secret.

"maybe," his hand moves towards his chin, a single index finger pointed up as it hovers over his lips.

"gege wanted to surprise you," he winks.

despite his teasing (that inwardly infuriates you to no end) you're so pleased to see him that, given the proximity, your arms reach forward, wrapping around his waist as your face falls into his chest before squeezing tight.

"h-hey, pipsqueak-"

caleb startles at the sudden action, peering down at you and hoping you can't hear how his heart has begun racing because of you.

but the affection is in no way unwelcome, something he makes sure to reciprocate as he slings one arm around your back, other hand reaching up to pat your head softly.

he sighs.

"did you really miss me that much?"

your voice is muffled, comfortably nuzzled into his chest.

"shut up, caleb."

he laughs again, holding you closer.

"i missed you, too."

his voice is a murmur against your hair, and you think you feel his lips graze the side of your head.

but you make no effort to move, and neither does he.

-

after your long drawn out hug is interrupted by your stomach rumbling, caleb teases you before grabbing one of your hands and leading you to the dining room to an array of prettily displayed dishes.

your mouth practically waters at the sight, taking a seat as your eyes slowly drag over everything, eager to get your hands on everything all at once.

"don't wait on my account, pipsqueak. dig in."

your gaze shifts from him, to the food, and then back, pausing for a moment.

"i'll just grab a-"

"ive got it, don't get up and eat already," he cuts you off, already next to the fridge grabbing two drinks and making his way back to the table, taking the seat in front of you.

you thank him before filling your plate with a little of everything, having missed his cooking after so long.

after spending some time catching up over the food (and your countless praises for caleb's cooking, all of which he laughed at, responding with "how do you manage without me for so long?") a certain question lingers in caleb's mind before finding the time to ask it.

"so, pipsqueak," he begins.

you grab your drink, glancing up at him to show you're listening.

"any of the hunters grab your attention?"

you tilt your head, bringing the cup closer to you.

"what do you mean?"

"i mean," a certain look takes over his eyes, but you're not sure what exactly it is.

"do you like anyone?"

you're so startled by the question that you sputter your drink before breaking into a small fit of coughs.

caleb scoots his chair back, ready to help you before you quickly calm down, gesturing that you're fine.

"woah, didn't mean for that to happen," he grins.

"why the hell would you ask me something like that???"

he shrugs.

"dunno. you're a cutie, so who knows, maybe someone took note of that and made a move?"

your heart flutters.

he thinks you're cute? or was he just teasing you again?

"so?"

you scoff.

"if you must know... the answer is no."

relief floods caleb's system, and he doesn't realize it overtakes his features as well before you add:

"why do you seem so pleased? do you want me to stay by myself forever or something?" you roll your eyes.

because i want you all to myself, he thinks.

"because id wanna make sure they're perfect for you," he lies, lazy grin spreading across his face.

you're the one who's perfect for me, you think.

but you don't say this, only playfully scoffing at his words before responding.

"yeah, right, you'd just scare them away."

damn right, he thinks, but only laughs in response.

"well, if they have a problem with me, then that's already a red flag, isn't it?"

"i guess so..."

you begin to pick at your food again when a thought crosses your mind.

if he's being nosy about my love life, does that mean i don't have a chance at all?

your heart sinks at the thought of losing him to someone else.

"well, what about you?"

"hm?"

you look up at him, gaze holding something like fiery determination- it throws him off.

"are you seeing anyone?"

he looks back at you, heart almost bursting at what seems like a jealous pout overtaking your face.

he smiles.

as if i could think of anyone but you.

"nope, nothing going on in my love life," he speaks plainly, and watches as you breathe a small sigh of relief, your eyes relaxing and lips morphing into a little grin as you look back down at your plate.

"oh," you say simply.

he thinks about teasing you, but lets you be for now as you happily continue chowing down on your homemade dinner.

a sight caleb wishes to witness every day, if given the chance.

-

after you help with washing the dishes (insistent in your begging, making caleb finally give in after countless minutes of trying to get you to rest and repeating how he could handle it), you both settle on the idea of watching a movie together in the living room.

after a quick well-needed rinse off and dressed in comfortable nightwear, you make your way to the living room.

somewhere in the midst of dinner, it had begun snowing outside, and despite being shielded from it indoors, a chill still somehow surrounded the living area, pulling a shiver from you.

"cold, pipsqueak?"

caleb is already sat on the sofa, one arm draped over the back of it grasping the remote, head propped up on his other fist as he browses through the selection of festive movies on the tv.

you nod quickly as you make your way towards him, noting the fluffy blanket draped over his lap.

you sit down, reaching for it before he stops you.

"hey, you're not the only one who's cold!"

"you're wearing sweatpants, how cold could you possibly be?"

"no one forced you to wear that cute little nightgown~"

"that's my blanket in the first place!"

"and who gifted it to you, huh?"

"you-!"

"just sit next to me so we can share it."

you blink.

"oh-"

"or... would you rather sit on my lap?"

you feel your face erupt into flames.

"wha- whe- why would you say that?!?"

he laughs at your embarrassment.

"what? its just like when we were kids, remember?"

while the offer is tempting, you're sure he's just teasing you again.

you settle for lifting the blanket on your side and scooting closer to him before draping it over yourself.

"yeah well... ill be just fine right here."

he shrugs, still smiling at you.

"suit yourself."

he clicks on a movie, the opening beginning to play when he pipes up again.

"but if you happen to change your mind-"

"like hell!" you whisper-shout in pure embarrassment, bringing the blanket up to cover the bottom half of your face.

he laughs again when the actual movie begins, a comfortable silence enveloping the space as you both watch the starting scene.

-

about fifteen minutes into the movie, you're only acutely aware of what's taking place onscreen.

while his eyes have been glued to the screen, yours have had trouble doing the same, drifting over to seemingly study caleb's side profile before catching yourself and redirecting your attention.

over and over and over again.

he knows you think he doesn't notice, but he's fighting a smirk and teasing comment, reveling in the attention you're giving him, wanting to bask in it for a little longer while simultaneously hoping you'll make some kind of move.

. . .

thirty minutes into the movie, youre not sure you can take it anymore.

after inwardly fighting with yourself for the past ten minutes, you decide to inch closer to him, having the cold as an excuse ready to use (should he say anything) and hoping the dim lighting of the living area (courtesy of caleb, insisting that movies are always better in the dark) will hide your movement enough so he doesn't notice in the first place.

you clench the blanket closer to you as you make your move.

his eyes are still glued to the screen.

he doesn't notice.

five minutes pass.

you shuffle a little bit closer.

"..."

he still doesn't seem to notice.

with the way you're sitting, your knees will knock together if you move any closer.

so you shift your sitting position.

five more minutes pass, and you inch closer once more.

your eyes locked on the screen, you don't quite catch his side glance before he refocuses.

he holds in a laugh.

he's noticed each movement, but finds it cute that you think he hasn't, but can't tell if you want him to or not.

so he shifts his own position, now leaning a little closer your way, and waits.

five more minutes pass.

you glance to the side.

he smirks.

when you go to close the rest of the distance, he turns to you, causing you to freeze. he uses the opportunity to grab your cheeks with one hand and force your gaze to meet his.

"getting a little close there, pipsqueak."

his voice is a low murmur, a pleasant disturbance in the quiet that surrounded you both, but given your proximity you hear it that much clearer, heart rate picking up at being caught.

"i was-"

"what? you were cold?"

you jolt at his ability to see right through you.

"i told you," he leans closer to your ear before whispering.

"if you changed your mind, to let me know."

he pulls back enough to look at you again, and feels his face go warm.

here you are, so close to him, eyes open and honest as emotion swirls within them, cheeks squished cutely with his soft yet firm grip on them, lips slightly puckered because of it-

he tries to steady his breathing.

and it seems like, for once today, you could read his mind this time.

"caleb..." the way his name sounds from your lips right now- so breathy and sweet- does something to him.

he releases your cheeks, hand slipping to one side to cup one instead.

"what would happen if i just..." he trails off, his eyes trained on your lips.

his voice is just barely audible, but you hear it with the closeness.

you think you might die right here.

"try it," you urge, voice a pleading whisper.

he meets your eyes again and his look suddenly hardens.

"dodge if you don't want this."

those are the last words he utters before slowly moving in, tilting his head and shutting his eyes.

your eyes widen when his lips meet yours, eyes slowly slipping shut before you reciprocate, lips melding together perfectly, longingly, as if you'd both waited an eternity for this moment.

you slip your arms around his neck pulling him closer- and invitation to devour your lips whole.

the kiss gets more intense with each passing second, so caught in your lips moving in sync that you barely register being lightly pushed down against the soft cushions of the sofa, caleb following as he now hovers above you, chasing after your lips the entire way.

you're not sure how much time has passed before he finally pulls away from you, breaths heavy as he marvels down at you.

your gown is in slight disarray, chest rising up and down as you catch your own breath, eyes slightly glazed over and lips shiny and slightly swollen from him.

but youre staring up at him as that cute little smile curls on your lips, making him want to dive right back in.

"wow," you breathe out, no other words to describe the moment coming to your hazy mind.

"wow," caleb mimics. "you all warmed up now?" he pants.

you pout, hitting his arm lightly.

"so cruel..." he jokes, hand moving to pet your head.

he stares, admiring you for a minute before breathing out a laugh.

"man, am i glad you didn't dodge."

you look up at him, confusion swimming in your irises as a small frown makes its way to your lips.

"why would i?"

his heart stutters.

"well, even if you liked me that much, i didn't think you'd actually make a move."

your eyes widen, and despite the initial urge to bite back at his words, you decide to be honest since everything is out on the table, despite your rapidly racing heart.

"its all i've ever wanted."

god, he thinks he could die right now and be a happy man as his soul flies free.

"s' that why you were so jealous earlier at the mention of love lives?"

you huff, looking to the side.

"well, since you asked first, i figured it meant there was no hope for me."

you're just too cute, he thinks.

"in my case, i needed to check if there was anyone i needed to beat up."

your eyes fly back to him.

"caleb!"

"what? you think im joking, but i mean it."

he leans down close again, noses almost touching.

"if someone else had caught your interest, im not sure what i'd do with myself..."

a smile graces your face once more as you look up at him through your lashes.

"well," you whisper, "good thing i'm all yours."

an hour and fifteen minutes into the movie and it plays forgotten, background noise to a new love that blooms right before it. and in the midst of it all, despite the agonizing amount of time it took to get here, you both could spend christmas together in the way you'd always wanted: as devoted lovers.

-

epilogue:

"actually, i got you something!"

"oh? you didn't have to.."

"you say that every year, but you know i do anyways."

"well, what is it this time?"

"you'll just have to wait to open it~"

your expression turns worried suddenly.

"i just hope that you'll like it..."

noting this, he grips your chin, turning your head towards him before placing a chaste kiss onto your lips.

"pipsqueak, you're already the greatest christmas gift i could have gotten. whatever it is you bought for me, i'll love it for sure."

you feel relief and tingles flood your system all at once.

"okay," you breathe, giving him a kiss back.

come christmas, he's pleased at the silly 'kiss the cook' apron (that he knows will now be put to good use), a new cutlery set, and a pretty iron ring that adorns his middle finger.

you yourself are pleased with the anklet with an apple charm, as well as a cute apple phone charm that you waste no time in strapping onto your phone.

but despite the gifts, you both agree that the greatest gift was each other.

-

a/n: wanted to release this earlier but jumped between two other drafts n procrastinated on this one oops... caleb kissers this one is for you in honor of him (seemingly) being added as a LI soon :x i absolutely did not mean to make this as long as i did LOL the music i listen to while writing really gets me in the zone...... its christmas when i post this ,so merry christmas to those who celebrate <3 im going to try my absolute hardest to at least get the sylus fic out later today if nothing else ,i have sm ideas..... -

[sarawritestories]

Take A Break

High Lord Eris Vanserra X High Lady Fem Reader

Summary: Eris comes home from business at the Spring Court. Only to hear reports from the staff that his High Lady has been working herself to the ground and not taking care of herself.

Dedicated to @milswrites and @eve175 who are constantly making sure I am taking care of me and getting proper rest. I adore you both!

Content Warning: I did not proofread this. This fluff, but Reader hasn't slept and has had some disordered eating habits (she has been working so hard

Peep the Critical Role Reference for any Critters reading this 😉

ACOTAR MASTERLIST

Eris Vanserra was glad to be home. Sure, working with Tamlin to rebuild the Court was mutually beneficial. Tamlin gets his court back, and Eris rebuilds a strong alliance with the spring. It was work worth fighting for to repair what Beron destroyed. However, he was itching to get home to his mate.

You were the apple of his eye, the moment the bond snapped on Calanami, his first as High Lord. Eris held no hesitation when it came to making you his High Lady. He watched how hard you worked at your bookshop. He knew you could handle it.

Reaching the stables, The Autumn High Lord handed his esteemed steed to the young fae male working. "Take care of sweet, Vex'ahlia, will you?" Eris gave the lad a warm smile and received an eager head nod. "Thank you."

Entering the palace, he was greeted by your two ladies-in-waiting. "My lord." The older woman bowed the younger one fidgeting, Eris picked up on the nervous behavior. "How was your trip?"

Eris bowed his head in return, "Very well, Maxine, but I am ready to see my wife. Though I suspect with the look on both of your faces, something is wrong." He tugged on the bond and found a quick tug back in return, and he couldn't help the sigh of relief that slipped past his lips.

Maxine sighed, "Sir, she has been sleeping in the study."

"If she sleeps at all." The younger one, Nadine muttered.

Maxine ignored her and continued, "We have barely gotten her to eat. She has buried herself so deep into work that she simply forgets that warm food is right there. I'm not trying to speak out of turn."

Eris gripped the older woman's shoulder, "You are not. I appreciate you telling me. Is she still in the study."

"Yes, High Lord."

Eris laughed, "Maxine, you can call me Eris. After all, you did change my diapers."

Maxine smiled, "I'll you whatever you like if you go take care of that wife of yours."

Eris kissed her cheek, "Yes ma'am," With that, he went to go find his High Lady.

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

You ran your fingers through your hair as you scribbled notes on some parchment. These last few days, you buried yourself in paperwork. Just when you thought you were done. More stacks would form. Not wanting to fall behind and with Eris being gone, you had decided to dedicate the time to working. Only to find you were getting overwhelmed, feeling like you could never walk away, missing meals, not sleeping, you were burning out.

You turned to grab more blank parchment when a voice came from the doorway, "Now what do we have here." You turned to find Eris there, his red curls laying atop of his head and the russet colors of his eyes gleaming in the fae light."

You dropped the materials in your hands. "When did you get back?" You bounced off your seat and ran to him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"I just got here." He held you close, taking in your scent. "I heard something interesting, though."

You blinked, "Oh?"

He kissed your head, "My Little Dove has not been taking care of herself." You opened your mouth to protest, but he pressed his lips to yours. "There is no fighting me on this."

You sighed, "Okay."

He winnowed you to the kitchen. It being so late the kitchen staff was gone. Eris put on an Apron and you quirked a brow. "You cook?"

Eris smiled, "I do." He tossed an apron at you. "And I am going to show you how to make my favorite me." Your cheeks warmed, remembering how you gave him a small plate of cheese to accept the bond.

You walked over to him, "Ready to Learn."

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

Cooking with Eris was fun, and you learned that the high lord had a playful side. He'd sneak up behind you to try the sauce you were making. Dipping his finger to dab it on your nose, causing you to giggle. Once everything was cooking he pulled you into his arms and you began to dance.

He pulled you into a waltz with no music. And you watched as his smile grew, his freckles popping out by the fire and the fae lights. He wasn't worried about work, or his brothers, or his responsibilities. He was beautiful.His main focus was you. He pulled you closer, his hands sliding close to the curve of your ass. He kissed you.

He tried to deepen the kiss, but the kettle screamed that the water was boiling. Pulling away, you smiled and grabbed the kettle. Once the meal was prepped, Eris made your place and insisted he feed you.

"I am fully capable of feeding myself. I am High Lady." You pouted and Eris quirked a brow instantly causing you to fix your attitude.

"Yes, you are my High Lady. You're also zeroed in on your work so much this week you barely ate. So I am taking care of you." He patted his lap, "Sit, Dove." You obeyed, and the smell of the food made your mouth water. He scooped up some of the food with the utensil and leveled it to your mouth. "Open." You opened your mouth on command, and he placed the food in your mouth, and you moaned in pleasure. The flavor exploded in your mouth.

He fed you until the meal was gone. "Why haven't you been taking care of yourself?"

You met his Russet eyes and sighed, "I didn't do it on purpose. It simply felt like everyone needed me. I just lost track of time."

He sighed and kissed your bare shoulder peaking out of your sweater. "You need breaks. They are important. You'll burn yourself out or wither away into nothing if you don't." His eyes grew serious, "I don't want to see my mate suffering."

"I'm sorry." You leaned your head against his.

"Don't apologize to me. You need to apologize to yourself. You deserve to love yourself and see yourself as worthy of breaks." He held you close. "Okay."

"Okay... I may need gentle reminders." You whispered, a full belly causing the exhaustion to take hold.

"I will give you those gentle reminders." He kissed your forehead as your eyes fluttered close. Allowing the smell of autumn leaves and cinnamon from your mate to bring you comfort.

When you fell asleep, Eris carried you in his arms. Hands wrapped around your knees and shoulders and walked you to your shared bedroom. Placing you on your side of the bed, he pulled the covers over you. "Sweet Dreams, Little Dove." He kissed your head, causing you to stir and just turn over. The High Lord left your room and headed to your study where he would finish the paperwork that was stacked on your desk.

Fin

@secret-third-thing for your Eris reading pleasure

[bi--tboy]

Friendly Fraternization- 141 x FtM!Reader Part One

Reader joins the military due to lack of options elsewhere in life. Once enlisted, he surprises himself and those around him in his excellence in combat, particularly sniping. His work gets the attention of the 141; little does he know he’s gained more of their attention than he expected!

Coming out to the 141 wasn’t a high priority for you- frankly, it was none of their business, not to mention all the red tape around queer people in the military. Laswell was out, sure, but someone of her rank has way more job security than you do. Initially, you decided the only thing those men needed to know about you was your call sign. They had no reason to know about your private life, including your sexuality, and there was no reason to make them privy to your transition. But as time went on, you faced more challenges with your team, which led to more team bonding. You found you actually quite enjoyed their company. There was a mutual friendship between you and the other men, though you still comfortably did not disclose yourself to them.

That was until one late night, in a local pub after having one too many. Naturally, the topic of sex came up.

“didja see who one of the rookies was sneakin aroond wit las’ night?” Soap asked with a brow waggle. Gaz sighed. “Another bunny? Christ, those newbies.”

“You lot were the same once, gotta release stress somehow.” Price added wisely.

“Aye, but it was no lass.” Soap’s clarification met silence.

You held your breath. You never knew what to say in moments like these, where the opinions of those around you were yet clear, and the wrong move could be bad news. You took a hefty swing of your drink- they couldn’t fault you for not commenting with your mouth full.

To your relief, Ghost let out a chuckle. “You know the shit we see and do when we’re out in the field? If shaggin a lad is what helps ‘im relax- it could be worse.”

Gaz started, “Sure, but I don’t get how a guy can stick it in another guy’s ass-”

“What’s the difference between that and having anal with a girl? It’s the same hole.” You blearily interjected.

“You don’t see a difference?” Ghost inquired; interest piqued.

“Naahh, not really. If someone can get me off, I don’t really care how they do it or what they got goin’ on down there.” Had you not downed your drink moments before, maybe you wouldn’t have said something so revealing, though soap looked as if he was considering what you said.

Gaz smirked into his drink. “Good to know,” he muttered.

The night carried on and topics hopped around, until Price was checking the clock and ushering you all to pay your checks and head out. The way back to your bed was a blur, but the familiarity of your resting place brought well-earned sleep. The next day, with your slight hangover and unfortunately busy schedule, those two sentences from last night slipped your mind. The same, however, couldn’t be said about the four men who had heard it. That subtle confession found its way into the minds, and bodies, of the rest of the 141. If they seemed distracted the next day, or their stares lingered a bit longer than usual, eyes lost in some thought, you shrugged it off. You knew if they needed you, they wouldn’t beat around the bush. Little did you know just how much they each needed you, and how much bush beating they would go through.

-Stay tuned for part two-

[authorsofghosts]

Birthday Kiss | Nightcrawler x Reader | One Shot

Author's Note: I find out an hour after waking up at almost 3pm it's Kurt's birthday... had to write something for the blue lad... German translations at the bottom !!

Summery: It was known by everyone except you two that there was something... awkward between you and Kurt. The exchanges of glances when the other wasn't looking, the way your laughs trailed off... Nothing but tonight was the end of all that.

Themes: Birthday, First Kiss, Fluff OMG, so much Fluff, Mutual Crush, Open Ending, Alcohol/Drinking Mention, Awkwardness, Flirting, Guest Appearance of lots of characters, Kissing (duh), Kurt Has a Beard and Forked Tongue (because fuck you), His face is also skin (not fur), Shorter!R (<5'9), R is a mutant/x-man (No Powers Written).

Word Count: 1.4k

The X-Men knew that Kurt wasn't one to like big celebrations, but that didn't stop them from forcing him out of his comfort zone. They rented out a mutant friendly restaurant for the blue boy's birthday. He had to be quite literally dragged by the hair into Wolverine's jeep to go. It was a site to see, really.

But you were happy to see him warm up to the idea as you crawled into the backseat next to him, his tail stopping it's anxious swishing to wrap around you and bring you closer. This made the both of you blush, his cheeks a faint purple.

"So... you knew about all, uh...this?" He asks, voice barely above a whisper.

"Who do you think brought up having a party?" You laugh, smile beaming as you look up at him. His blush deepens at the thought.

"Was?? Since when?!" He laughs, shaking his head as he tried to hide behind his hands. You reach out and pull his hands away from his face, his yellow eyes widening at the sudden act.

"The first, duh. I knew your birthday was coming up, and I wanted to make sure you knew we cared for you, Blau." You say, quickly watching his reaction, which was much softer than you imagined it would me.

"Well, I should have excepted it from mein Freundchen, huh?" He laughs, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you flush against his side. If it weren't for the slight bumps of the road, your ear would be flat against his chest. He quickly puts his knuckles against your scalp and gives you a noogie.

"Keep it civil back there, kids." The gruff voice of the driver and owner of the jeep said, cigar smoke puffing out his mouth as he spoke.

"Sorry, Logan!" You respond, pushing Kurt off of you, your own cheeks hot with blush. You look over to Rogue, who sat on the other side of Kurt, watching the two of you with a small smirk on her face. "What're you looking at?"

"Oh, nothin', sugar." She says, eyes darting between you and your friend, before turning to look out the window. You weren't sure what she meant, but quickly turned your attention back to Kurt, who shrugs and laughs. You watch as he turns to his sister and gets her attention with his tail.

You watch the two siblings mingle, resulting in both of them laughing about some inside joke. It made your heart flutter to hear him laugh, a big change from the man that didn't even want to celebrate his birthday, having to be dragged out of his room by you and Rogue, forced to get dressed in something slightly fancy, and shoved into the car.

The rest of the trip into town was filled with Wolverine's radio blaring some classic rock, small talk and jokes from the back sit of probably the worst trio to get on Logan's nerves, and the wind blowing through the car from the windows. You all finally arrived at the restaurant, having to wait in the jeep for the others. You get out and stretch your legs, quickly followed by Kurt as he sits back against the jeep, arms stretched high into the air.

You can't help but watch the way his white shirt slightly raises, showing just a bit of the blue fur underneath. You blush once again, quickly looking away before he can see. He finishes stretching, holding the front closure of his leather jacket. "You alright, mein Schatz?" He asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry." You wave him off, seeing two more cars pull into the parking lot. You smile widely, grabbing his wrist, "Come on birthday boy."

Kurt's glowing yellow eyes widen as you pull him along towards the others, a humbled laugh leaving his throat as his tail swishes anxiously behind him. The two of you start a conversation with the others, Scott and Hank both giving Kurt a pat on the back as they greet him. You can't help but notice, even with all the people around, he's staring right at you majority of the time.

The party quickly moves inside, a slight rain picking up in the city. The restaurant was on the top floor of the building, high in the sky with a nice balcony. It wasn't that much a big room, the X-Men filling it up pretty well with the amounts of guests. You were quickly separated from Kurt as he was dragged to the bar by some of the guys. You watched from a distance as they all took a shot. You kind of wished you were there to see what they cheered to, but it was less important than the gossip that Warren was spilling to the small group you found yourself apart of.

The night continued on, food being brought and distributed among everyone. You heard a ring of glass being hit with something metal, getting everyone's attention as Scott stood in the middle of the room.

"Hello, everyone! Thank you all for coming out, truly. We're about to bring out the cake and play happy birthday, so if you'd all like to come over here," He gestured to the table next to him, a spot blank for the cake, "That'd be great, thanks!"

He quickly turned around and started talking with Jean and Logan. You looked around for Kurt, spotting him close to the table with a tail wrapped around his leg. You walked over to him, putting a hand around him in a side hug. "Hey, what's up?"

"Oh! Nothing, just... this is all wunderbar, liebe, I'm just a little... over stimulated?" He laughs out. You understand what he means, grabbing his wrist once more and pulling him towards the balcony.

"Then let's get some air, yeah?" You say, looking back at him and pausing before you step out the door. He nods, walking out with you into the cold air of the New York night. You both sigh, finally away from the loud party. You watch as Kurt walks to the balcony edge, leaning himself against the bars.

"Thank you," He grins, "for everything. I didn't think I'd want to be here, but it's very nice that you arranged this whole thing."

"Oh, it wasn't just me. We all pitched in. I just picked the music and decorations, really." You admit, trying to stay humble as your cheeks burned.

"Ja, but, you know," He turns back to you with a toothy grin, his fangs glinting in the moonlight, "it wouldn't have happened if you didn't ask to have a party."

You nod, understanding what he says but still not wanting to take all the credit. Before you can respond, he teleports behind you, the air around you surrounded with the familiar brimstone and ash smell. He places his hands on your shoulders, pressing a soft kiss on your cheek. The feeling of his goatee lingers on your skin as he pull back. "Danke, mein Fraund."

If your face didn't already feel hot, it now felt like it was on fire, your blush dripping to your neck and ears at the gesture. You look over at him, a genuine smile on your lips. "You're very welcome, Kurt." You say, turning around and wrapping your arms around his middle. You nuzzle against his chest.

You both stay there for a few moments, taking it in. You pull away first, heart pounding as the thought of your next action. Your hands travel up to Kurt's face, holding it in place as you stand on your tiptoes. "And... you're welcome for this." You say softly before pressing your lips flush against his own.

Kurt tenses up for a moment, the glow of his eyes disappearing as he closes his eyes, leaning further into the kiss. This shocked you, making you gasp, taken aback as his forked tongue licks across your bottom lip. He pulls you closer into him, a hand combing through your hair and holding your head in place.

You open your mouth, allowing him access into it. He chuckles softly, tail snaking around your hips. The kiss feels like it lasts forever, the two of you tangling in one another. When he finally pulls away, your eyes open to the sight of his cheeks a deep violet, feeling his breath pant against your lips as he presses your foreheads together.

"Did... that really just happen?" He asks, voice hoarse.

"Yeah, it did... It very much did, Kurt." You respond, pressing your lips against his again, but only for a moment. "Think of it as... a birthday gift, yeah?"

"I think a birthday kiss is the best thing you could have given me, Liebchen." Kurt laughs, capturing your lips once again.

"Was?" = What? "Blau" = Blue. "mein Freundchen" = My friend (in a condescending/playful way). "mein Schatz" = My treasure/My darling/My sweetheart. "Wunderbar" = Wonderful. "Liebe" = Love. "Ja" = Yes. "Danke, mein Fraund" = Thank you, my friend. "Liebchen" = Darling.

[its-time-to-write]

OOOO what about reader falling asleep on jamie’s shoulder after a late away game (maybe they come along to games on the bus) and realizing how much he loves them

Thanks for requesting! This one is a lot shorter, but I hope it’s what you’re looking for <3

silent sleepers

Rebecca lets you come to games on the team bus. Well, you say she lets you, it’s really the team’s choice. She’s just the one who signs off on it. You go for Jamie, who gives you the window seat and holds your hand the whole way there and back, joking with the lads. You don’t talk a whole lot, but you don’t really mind. Sometimes Colin or Isaac will turn around from the seat in front of you and you’ll spend an hour chatting and laughing about whatever, but for the most part you just look out the window and think.

Life is busy, so you don’t often get time to sit without having to talk. It’s nice to be here on this smelly bus, holding Jamie’s hand because you’re both relaxed. 

A voice breaks through your reverie. “Good morning, Mrs. Tartt.”

You look away from the window to see a grinning Dani turned around in his seat in front of you.

You smile. “I’m not his wife, Dani.”

“Not yet anyway, eh?” Still grinning, he pokes Jamie who gives him a cut it out motion where you can’t see. 

You don’t notice and laugh, blushing a little. You’ve only kind of talked about the future with Jamie, and you don’t really think he’s the type to settle down like that. It’s ok, you’ll take him however you can get him. You settle into your seat, ready for an hour of comparing hair products with Dani.

—

The game went well, and you’re all piled into the bus. Everyone is excited, but so, so tired. The chatter has turned to a dull murmur as you hug Jamie’s arm, watching the lights go by out the window. He’s warm and you can feel him breathe, and pretty soon you’re passed out, asleep on his shoulder.

Jamie, on the other hand, is sitting very, very still. He doesn’t want to wake you, especially because you don’t usually sleep very well. He presses a light kiss on the top of your head and you twitch, so he pulls away. He looks at you, with your eyes closed and mouth parted, muscles relaxed after being constantly tensed. Hair slightly tousled. He could sit here like this forever. 

He thinks about Dani’s teasing words earlier. Mrs. Tartt. He turns the words over in his head. Mr. and Mrs. Tartt. The Tartts. He likes how that sounds. 

God, he sounds like a fucking middle school boy, writing your name over and over in the notebook in his mind, hearts in the margins.

In all honesty, you were one of the best things that happened to him. He’s not sure how he pulled you in the same way you’re not sure how you pulled him, but he supposes it’s good that you think you’re mutually out of each other’s league. It’s a little bit sweet. 

You had some initial awkwardness about him being a famous footballer, but you worked through it. Hell, you two worked through everything. You refused to back down from a disagreement, with the mantra it’s not you against me, it’s you and me against the problem. 

You were also funny. He swore you two were the funniest people on earth once you got going. He felt like you two could do everything together. He wanted to do everything together. A thought flashes through his brain. Our kids will be fuckin’ adorable. He doesn’t dwell on the fact that his brain said will instead of could.

You let out a little sigh, bringing him back to reality.

Dani peeps over and winks at Jamie. 

“Ey, muchacho, good game today, no?”

“Yeah, yeah, good, yeah,” Jamie whispers. “Hey, Dani.”

Dani cocks his head to say what?

“Mate. You gotta play it cool, man.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Dani asks innocently. “I always play my coolest. I think it was pretty evident in the goal I scored today.”

Jamie rolls his eyes. “You know that’s not what I mean. I’m talking about on way over here when you made that fucking Mrs. Tartt joke.”

Dani places a hand over his heart. “You mean to tell me you do not want her to be Mrs. Tartt and I have made things uncomfortable for you? Oh no, I feel awful.”

Jamie would sock him in the arm if you didn’t have a death grip on him in your sleep. He levels Dani with a stare. “You know exactly what I’m talking about muchacho. You know how hard she is to surprise and if you ruin it, I’m sending Isaac after your hair.”

Dani gasps. “You wouldn’t.”

“Fuckin’ try me,” Jamie grins. 

Dani grins back and turns back around in his seat. Jamie looks down at you one last time and uses his other hand to reach into his left pocket. The little black box he carries everywhere is safe inside. He breathes out a sigh and rests his head on top of yours. 

Mrs. Tartt. Yeah, it’s going to happen.

[astracora]

EVER's Tool - Chapter 2

Characters: Poly!LADs x gn!mc (MC POV/Sylus POV/Zayne POV), Caleb x gn!mc

Warnings: Hurt/No Comfort, Angst, Talk of EVER Experiments and Torture, Violence, Gore, Spoilers for multiple anecdotes and all current story.

Word Count: 11028

Written: 28th January 2025

Notes: Established-relationship with gn!MC with all LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. Unnamed MC, but using my personal MC's basic appearance and adjusted backstory. I take some liberties with what the game offers me. This took me too long, and then Caleb was released, and then I fell into the pit. Anyway, here we go. Chapters for this are gonna be way slower cause for some reason I made em... longer??? I dunno why I did this but hey. Anyway, um... enjoy?

Now Playing: As We Fall, by League of Legends

Masterlist AO3

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It is in one of the old labs, where Raincoat finds you later, as though he'd been looking for you.

He watches for a moment as you sit against a wall, hand extended out in front of you. Clenching the segmenting fingers, over and over. Trying to seek something out, you're just not sure what. Like there should be something there, grounding you.

"You good there?"

"Fine." You exhale, turning sharp eyes to him, as he raises his hands in mock defence.

"Hey, don't give me that look, I came to chat."

"I don't recall us being friends."

He bears a title like yours. You know that Raincoat is just a pseudonym, passed down. You don't know how many there have been, but he's certainly not the first. He definitely won't be the last. Until EVER no longer need killers at their beck and call, there will always be a Raincoat.

You do wonder, however, why they choose that name for his ilk. Was it a fashion favourite of the first one?

Easy to wipe blood off, you suppose.

You've never asked his name, you've never wanted to know. If anything happens, and he ends up on the list, it's easier if he's just another face. Someone whose history you don't know. Someone whose face gets lost in the static.

"Come on now, you're always such a grouch." He sits on the table in front of you, and that smug irritating smile ticks at the corner. It overlaps for a second, sharp canines, before it shatters. "I just wanted to ask if you'd dealt with the doctor yet."

"I don't fail my missions, Raincoat. Are you here just to ask stupid questions?"

"I told you, I came to chat. You're the most fun person to talk to in this place. Everyone else doesn't like bloody hands."

You snort despite yourself. You think of all the scientists with their sins on their shoulders, and the fear and dislike in their eyes when they see you or Raincoat. Like their torture is more palatable than your killing.

As though there aren't dead children in the shadows of EVER's growth.

"The feeling isn't mutual." You respond, but ease a little. Raincoat can't be trusted, he's manipulative, a trained liar, and he wants others to think him a fool. Still, if you keep an eye on his hands, you doubt you'll need to look too hard for a dagger coming.

Afterall, if you fail, someone like him will be sent for you, then after the doctor.

'Darling'

"Ouch, one day you'll want to talk to me."

"If that day comes, we have bigger problems to worry about."

He laughs but it's an empty, cool gesture. A feeling that holds no weight, that does not matter. Like so many feelings you experience in this place. Like everyone is behind a wall, and you're watching. Seeking something out. Something genuine.

"Look, I just wanted to know if you'd come across him yet-" Warm forest eyes, tears glimmering in them, wavering on the edge, "'cause I've run into him before."

"You have?"

"Yeah, they've had me keep an eye on him. Along with that scientist they keep sending to talk to him. Carl? Cartier? Whatever his name is, an old friend. I dunno why though, the guys never gonna convince Li to join."

You keep hearing it. He won't join, he won't join. Why wouldn't he join? Why would he suddenly join them now?

"What do you know about him?"

"Come on now, Unicorn, information is expensive."

You lean forwards, stretching claws out and glint sharp edges at the man, who raises his hands again. His laugh is still empty, but it verges on unsure. Like he isn't ready to test if you'll use it.

You don't want him to know you won't, not if you don't have to. Not unless the noose pulls around your throat.

"You really are their favourite hunting dog aren't you? Some people skills could go a long way."

"Like you? Smiling like a serpent in the grass? I don't need to lie to my targets. I just need to get rid of them."

"I bet holding your chain is a rough ride, do you often bite the hand that feeds you too?"

You want to cut his throat open, it is a clawing need at the bottom of your gut. Every EVER dog that pretends you're the only pet kept. Like he isn't aware that when his value runs dry, he will be put down, or left chained in a kennel in the cold until it claims him. You wonder if they're all so unaware of their lack of value. That a bottom line and a higher goal are all that matter. That whoever hands down your orders, is probably just as expendable.

You don't know what EVER want, they would never bother to tell you. You've heard stories, immortality and overwhelming power. You think it must be like every other organisation with more money and status than they know what to do with.

It is the knowledge that makes it easier. You have a job, when that job is over, you will finally be granted release from your chains. If it comes in the form of death, you think that will be more than you deserve.

"You can talk, or you can leave. You can also leave in chunks, that's your call." You snarl, pushing up from the ground, and walking past the man. Not before reaching out a claw and cutting through the end of his raincoat.

"Alright, alright." He sighs, looking down at his clothing, "Now I have to buy a new one."

"Don't you have like fifty of them? Why else would you have that stupid title?"

"I didn't pick it, did you pick Unicorn?"

No. You're waiting for the namesake to be accurate. Sword through your skull, quiet in your brain.

"And I know you didn't pick the other one-" This time you extend your dagger at him, pointed edge aiming for throat, teeth bared. Snarl burning through your throat. "Woah, I'm not gonna say it. I like my head attached."

You think of Leon as he purrs it at you, as he says it like you are his favourite doll. You think about the way you want to tear his head from his shoulders, to tear limb from limb, to watch him rot. Before you are removed from service, you will take the man with you. So that he can never turn your stomach or anyone else's again.

"Speak."

"I thought I wa- Ok, alright. Doctor Li isn't going to just roll over for EVER, whatever they're going to manipulate him with, it's big. I've seen him. He gives sweets to kids, eats most of them himself. One for you, two for me." Raincoat mimes, when he receives nothing but a raised brow, he continues, "He gets a sad look in his eyes whenever a cat runs away from him. I've seen him pull cat toys out of his pocket to try to get them to come over. Sometimes it works, sometimes… well. He gets real sad."

"So he's a soft heart, what does that matter? All hearts can break."

"He's moral. He abhors what Xander Science is doing, and he knows EVER owns them."

"I'm not hearing anything new."

You think about the man with the green eyes bending down in front of cats, extending his fingers, and frowning just slightly when the creature bolts. You think about him offering bonbons out of his pocket. You think about white lab coats and glasses pushed up as he smiles, as he tends to a jasmine.

There's something in your chest that stings and hurts in the cold. You think of frozen over petals, black ice and twisted shapes.

"He's living with three other people in a fancy house in Linkon."

That is new… Raincoat knows where he lives, but the information wasn't in the file?

"Where?"

"So I was right, they didn't tell you."

"What are you talking about?"

"No, nothing, just curious about the kind of information they give you, to let their favourite dog fulfill their hunt." You get the urge to sharpen your dagger on his bones. Chipping and carving through them.

The urge passes quickly enough, but the irritation at the smug smile does not. "They give me what I need to finish a job."

"No doubt about that, you have quite a record. I'll send you the address. You sure you want to go though? Taking someone from their home's quite a risk, maybe that's why they didn't share it. Easier to catch him coming out of work."

"I can catch him coming out of his home just as easily." It's not pride, or confidence. Not really. You fill your missions, you come home, you hand over a finished product. You are good at what you do. There is little doubt. It does not fill you with joy, to complete a job. It is simply to avoid punishment.

There are no fistbumps. No high-five. No congratulations…

No energetic voice telling you, you did good.

You aren't sure why you ever thought there would be.

"Alright." You watch Raincoat mess with his device for a moment, before he shrugs, "Don't say I didn't warn you."

"If a warning from you would save me, I hav-"

"Bigger problems to worry about, I get it. Have you ever had friends?"

You don't bother answering him, leaving the room, twirling the dagger.

How would you even know? Years all lost to static, memories scattered to the winds. You were told the only person that mattered to you was Caleb, and if that's true… you cannot even remember him.

Perhaps your affections held no weight, perhaps even you and Caleb were empty, like you and every other person in the compound. Was it so meaningless to have a picture of the two of you, that his presence means so little to the you now?

Dogs can be loving, so you don't think it's the chain around your throat that stops you…

There is little in EVER that is worth caring for… perhaps the you now, lost their only chance at feeling more than dim acceptance. Tired withdrawal.

A need to see the end, and pass over. Perhaps then you can see Caleb, and remember what it felt like to care.

If he can care back, and not look at bloodied hand and broken carapace in disgust.

Perhaps you should be relieved he's not around to see you, to see the blood splatter up the lab walls. You can't imagine anyone would look at EVER's dog and not sneer.

—-

The training room is too warm.

You've spent four hours testing the limits of the new EVOL's you've been fed. Teleporting through space, mindless music thrumming through the background. It is hard to reign them in, pain ripping through your flesh as you reach for something you can't fully control.

Resonance is a powerful tool, you've been told. It is instinctual, breathing, a part of you. Every EVOL that has been devoured by it, is like the clawed hand. Attached to you, grotesque, too distinct. Too alien to really understand.

The first time you had tried to pull lightning to your clawed fist, you had felt the ozone burn. Tearing through the carapace, pain ripping through the limb. Shattering and twisting through it, until you had lay on the ground. Shaking, vomiting and screaming from the pain of it.

Your residual limb twitching as they pulled you away from the scorched floor.

Trying to feel for the lightning through your attachment was like feeling through thick mud. It was not at the surface of your skin, like calling your resonance to your other hand was. It was weak and hard to grasp, and if you did not grasp correctly… too tightly.

To summon something that could burn through your skin, with flesh and blood, felt like a fool's task. You sacrificed three attachments to the electricity before you could hold it in palm. For a short period of time, then the pain spread out from your shoulder, down to your chest.

Your heart thudding, thumping, racing, then screaming in protest.

Breath short, broken, fleeting.

You shook it out, releasing your hold, pulling away from the EVOL that did not wish to be held. Not by you.

You weren't sure where it had once belonged, you just knew it was not yours.

Weeks had been spent trying to harness the second, dampening. A power that should have been able to weaken or suppress the EVOLs of those around you. Harder to grasp, like it was in direct conflict with your resonance. Fighting it everytime you summoned it to the forefront.

A caged beast that did not belong in your chest, nestled amongst your heart. Teeth and claws, unrestrained fury. It does not wish to be used, or called to heel. It demands more space in your heart than can be allowed.

It is an unruly and uncontrolled tool. Without great focus and peace, it is impossible to use for combat.

You had only ever used it once, successfully breaking sound amplification, bringing you to your knees. Head splitting with the pressure of it. It had felt, for a moment, like the EVOL had taken pity on you.

Alive and warm, before it faded back into the recesses. Refusing to return to your hand.

Without snapping its jaws at resonance with vicious glee.

The easiest to use was the time EVOL, a weak little thing. It's uses limited, like a child's gift. Bursts and flickers of a power that flitted like a butterfly.

You could use it to slow time around you for snapshots. Using it to move out of danger, flickering out of existence to flee. Only useable on yourself, or things you held in grasp.

It always listened, curled around your fingers like a small hand. Seeking out the heat of your flesh for comfort. Like if it did not behave, it would be left alone in the cold.

Against all, resonance continues to be the only form of power that feels like you. There are moments when you use it, that you can almost feel it respond like a vine seeking out something that is no longer there. Poking, prodding, out into space.

You think of ivy on the sides of buildings, growing eternally seeking out comfort in shade that is not there.

Unclear what it seeks, an answer you can't give, not with no memories and static in your senses…

You just know that when it meets the other EVOLs that settle in your body, it recoils as though they don't belong.

Like its instinct has been to eat, ravenous and starving, without checking its food was not toxic, and now it writhes in pain at the result.

If it is such a part of you, you're not sure what that says about who you are.

A hungry, desperate beast, perhaps. Seeking out a thing you can never find.

A poisoned dog in the woods, waiting for the pain to ebb away.

Perhaps both.

It is when you lose focus, teleporting into a wall, stumbling back with your hand against your head, that you feel the exhaustion finally catch back up with you.

Escaping sleep, running on fumes, caffeine and sugar. If EVER had wanted you to be a sufficient tool, you think they would have removed the need for sleep.

Erased illness.

Removed your capability for pain.

You hiss as you ease the ache in your forehead, leaning back against the offending wall and taking a deep inhale.

It is the struggle eternal. To sleep and regain your strength, to finish a job. To reduce the chances of failing, of finding out what is on the other end of failing a job for EVER… versus the knowledge of what awaits you in the dark of your own mind.

Broken images and pain you can't put into place. Nightmares of things you don't recognise. Feelings you can't hope to understand.

There is no escape in the land of dreams, no comforting space to find safe and happy. No place to walk to remind you of times when you might have had a hand to hold, or a smile to greet you. Your dreams do not offer you the memories of Caleb, do not recreate the smile he has in the lone photo.

Perhaps if they did, you would escape to them often.

The close call with the red eyed man played in your mind. The mist that grasped your limbs, the arms around your body. The protest in your ribs as his muscles worked. The ache. The awareness that your body was still fragile.

You think about being dragged, and caged, and taken somewhere else against your will.

Against electric shocks through your skin. Scalpels through your body.

Waking up with your chest opened up, the agony of awareness, and the horror of a body that did not feel like your own.

There is something about the devil you know, after all, and the devil you do not know, with his shining red eyes…

You would rather not find out what lies on the other end, it is hard to imagine anything worse, but the static and the fear of his growl of a voice, that tore through you like the lightning through your attachment, did not make you wish for the risk.

The knowledge and the awareness was something to shy from. It always brought the abstract reminder of pain and loss.

If it kept you off that table then you'd have to brave what your brain concocted.

Figures in the shadows, and voices on the edges of your consciousness.

—--

EVER are careful, Sylus knows this well. He's used to them hiding, he's used to hunting for each head of the hydra. Cutting it back and cauterising the wound. What he can reach. What he can grasp.

He feels, however, like he is chasing his tail. Like they can see him coming, and have begun to lead him to dead ends. To mysteries that he has no time to solve. Sanitariums, graveyards, old bases, laboratories that matter little in their grand scheme.

Laying out crumbs for him, letting him take pieces on the chess board, while keeping the win out of his hands.

He is not a stupid man, he is used to playing games that feel unwinnable. Immense power can often push down any enemy without hindrance.

This, however, is him looking for a hidden jewel, in a desert. The longer he takes, the further you get from him.

The colder his home grows.

The evening that the doctor and fish had returned, hollowed out and on the verge of cracking, he had watched them fracture in ways he wasn't sure he could fix.

The doctor had sequestered himself away, and when Sylus had investigated, he had been staring at documents on experimentations with wanderers. Xander Sciences stamped across the top. Trying to understand the lengths that had been followed to attach one of their limbs to you.

The fish had first lay in one of the larger bath tubs, head under water, embraced by the coldest he could find. Staring up at the ceiling. A heartbroken, cracked song had flowed from under the door frame. He normally loved to hear the fish and you sing… this… this felt like an elegy. Taking him back to bloodied swords and your figure chained in front of his haunted eyes.

Eventually Rafayel had pulled himself out of the water, sopping wet and trudged into the bedroom, finding his way to Sylus' side. Dripping over the covers and curling up on his chest. If his tears were muffled into his chest, he didn't mention it. Just soothed hands he hoped did not shake, down the lemurian's back. Humming under his breath.

Not an elegy, never in mourning, just one of the songs he'd heard you singing a hundred times. Just another thing that was as familiar to him as everything about you.

It should have been a relief to know you were alive, and in some ways it truly was, but he knew the fish was tired. Of being forgotten, of watching you leave. Of knowing you were not returning to his arms just yet.

An ache and pain that lit up the canvas for his art, but left him hollowed and hurting.

After the water had cooled Sylus' skin through his clothes, the hair sticking to Rafayel's face, as he looked up at the man, he retrieved a towel with his EVOL. Easing it over skin, and brushing through wet hair.

"They're coming back to us." He speaks, and it is more assured than he feels. It is as hopeful as it is a need. He cannot go another lifetime without you, neither can the Lemurian, not since having you. In every beautiful flaw. He will chase every life with you, but this one… This one is special. This one is a family and a home, he cannot give it up without being killed once and for all.

He will put this immortal body to use, the way it should be used.

Rafayel nods against him, not moving, and it is moments before he falls asleep.

Sylus wonders at the dreams of the fish, before he decides to chase his own slumber for once, unwilling to disturb the peace that is so rare.

Days later he is working through information. There is something to be said for each of his family members. Rafayel has connections that even he does not have access too, and while he is often tempted to ask, he doesn't want to pry when the fish is willingly digging into it to find any sight of your tail.

Zayne has talked to anyone with connections to EVER, looking into Xander Sciences, digging through all of the correspondence he has ever had for any hint. Though he had come up empty, without accepting offers that his conscience, and his morals can never live with.

Xavier, after healing, had returned to working. Using the Associations information, talking to your captain, seeking out information from people he could trust there. A disappearance was one thing, a return with EVER's mark upon your collar, and a wanderer limb attached to you, was easier for them to mobilise for.

Though Sylus was unsure how reliable they could be, considering you disappeared on a mission for them.

Luke and Kieran have been working double time, in a way he has not seen them move in quite some time. They fulfil orders, of course, but it is never with the kind of violent desperation he sees in them now. Like they have a timeframe, and if they can't beat it, they will fade away.

He thinks about Kieran carving crystals out of his skin, of never having enough time to live.

They know better than anyone what cruelty EVER can commit for their needs. He should not be surprised when they return, disappointed and dirty.

"Nothing there boss."

"We asked around too, no one saw anything."

They're despondent, he realises. Looking at the two as they move their masks to the side. They have taken to wearing the crow hoodies you bought them, more and more. He has debated pulling them off, so that he can wash them, perhaps in the laundry detergent you prefer. Like he's trying to soothe cats whose owner has not returned.

It's not the best thing to wear for jobs, but he doesn't want to watch the twins shrink in on themselves more. There is dirt smudged over Kieran's cheek, against one of his scars, and Sylus blinks and sees you.

Scars through your skin, twisting your lips when you smile.

It blurs into the blank, cold look he received days ago.

The chill in his heart has to be chased away by the wine he drinks from his glass, as he flicks the screen on his tablet. "They're not going to make it easy for us."

Kieran snorts, sitting on the edge of his desk, to stare down at the tablet, looking for something. Anything, Sylus thinks. Like if they look at what he's found, maybe something will click.

Maybe their experiences will mean something, now. Pain justified.

As though it were ever so easy.

"Any other places we can check on the list, boss?" Luke tilts his head, the hood slips further over his eyes.

They look tired, and worn, and hungry. "No, not until I've gone through this. Go get some sleep, and get some food out of the fridge. There should be plates to reheat."

Always now. Food cooked at speed, stuffed into fridges, waiting for spare time stolen from frantic searching.

He cannot remember the last time a meal was shared around a table. Laughter in the walls of his home.

He misses it more than he would ever be able to confess to another. At least not right now, when he has to be strong. Stronger, even, for those who are fighting alongside him.

"But boss-"

"It's an order, if you fall over out of exhaustion, you won't be able to do your jobs."

The two look at each other, sharing a world he can't begin to touch, let alone understand, before they return resigned. Frustration lurking under the edges, of a loyalty he isn't sure they realise they've offered him, and a tired relief, bled into gratitude.

He can keep sending them on more chases, but every piece he claims, every facility abandoned or worthless to EVER, has made him more aware that where he is searching, is not the answer.

While it is unlikely you lie in the heart of EVER's web, they have sequestered you somewhere he cannot see.

Sylus' eyes are many things, but blind? Never. He has always seen the things others could not, even if he has not wanted to. Even if it haunted him. Why now, he cannot seek his own greatest desire, perhaps a punishment for blood or sins. The result of being a monster that lives on the sins of others.

He can only find relief that two plates are missing when he checks on them, dead to the world and curled up in one of the bedrooms set aside for them.

He still cannot remember if it was your idea or his own.

As he cleans up the mess they have left, he receives a message from the fish.

'I think I have something, come here.'

Sylus is unsure if he's ever moved as quickly, as he does, when he pushes his bike past the limits of what even the N109 Zone would comfortably allow.

—----

"Look, I can't tell you everything."

"You need to tell me something."

"I'll tell you what I can!"

When he arrives, Sylus hears before he sees. Rafayel stood, arms crossed but dagger in hand, turning it this way and that. Eyes narrowing on a man stood in a raincoat.

Tacky, with a torn edge.

"Did you ruin this man's coat, fish?"

Rafayel looks up, huffs and shrugs loosely, "He must have had a run in with someone else."

The man in question raises his hands, placating, and careful, now that someone else has arrived. A smile that looks too relaxed, makes Sylus look at his hands. Steady, fingerprints gone.

"Yeah, I had a run in with this nasty dog in my neighbourhood. It's got the worst temper, no good handlers. Likes to snarl."

"And- I don't care. Tell him."

Sylus steps up next to the fish, red glistening eye focusing on the man. Seeing… nothing. Emptiness.

He hesitates. Humans are full of greed and desires. They burn with it, as alive as souls can be, even if they're twisted, corrupt little things. This one, is either the one most closest to their mortal image of purity, or as broken as they come.

"Name's Raincoat."

"Idiotic name, tell me what you need to tell me."

The man huffs through his nose, "Do all of you have the people skills of a dead goat?"

"Is that a comparison people often make?"

His hands return to his sides, shoved into too deep pockets, but his smile remains. It does not offer an ounce of comfort. Sylus has seen smiles like his on other faces. It accompanies a spear to the abdomen more often than it doesn't.

"I heard you're looking for that hunter-" Sylus steps forwards and this time the man jumps back a half step, "Woah, no need to menace, I don't know where they are, but I do know what they're after."

"You're an EVER dog, why would you tell us anything worthwhile?" Rafayel finally speaks, and Sylus watches as Raincoat's eyes go to the dagger in the man's hand. It is a small flick of eyes, before he returns to his smile.

The shortest moment, but he can see recognition. He knows the fish does as well, because he spins the dagger right in front of him, watching as the eyes follow the movement.

"You think I like another one like me lurking around? If I get deemed useless, that hunter of yours will tear my throat out with that fucked up hand of theirs. I've seen the corpses of people they've been sent to kill. I don't need that."

"Like EVER would be any kinder without them?"

"Like minimising the risks of being mauled by a wanderer are always smart."

Sylus notes the chill in Rafayel's eyes, the way his hand tightens a little on the dagger, watching the twitch at the talk of your arm. The one EVER stole from you. Twice.

He hopes your metal one, with the beautiful fish, is still somewhere. When he claims you back, he'll find it.

"What are they after then?"

"That doctor of yours. EVER think that with the assistance of your hunter, he'll finally agree to work with them."

They look at each other, and don't see the widening grin on Raincoat's face, "I've heard he's pretty moral, but he'd do anything for them, right? EVER think so anyway, and they're willing to wave them in front of his face, to find out."

Eyes turn back to him as he shrugs, miming dangling something from his hand, "And if it doesn't work, they'll just find other ways to make him useful. Heard they have some fucked up chips they use for some of their tools. Makes 'em real compliant."

"Why would we believe you?"

He laughs, like it couldn't matter less to him, like Sylus couldn't tear him apart himself. He should, and as he steps forward, a hand tightens around his wrist. Rafayel is facing Raincoat, eyes focused. It is a subtle movement, quick. His dagger spins to keep Raincoat's eyes on it. When Sylus is released, he eases the fury bubbling in his gut.

"You've been useful before, so I'll let you go, so you can be useful in the future. Alright? If you're lying-"

"I know, I know. You'll find me and murder me, your little family are fond of death threats, huh?"

When the man is gone, leaving the two stood in an alley, with Sylus feeling as though he has gained weight strapped to his back, "So we keep an eye on the doctor."

"I guess I'll be on bodyguard duty for once." Rafayel laughs, but it's tired and it's worn. Weighted by questions left unanswered.

Of images that Sylus can't stop trying to shake out of his mind.

EVER pinned to your throat, their leash around your neck, pulling until it snaps.

If they use you, to hurt Zayne, he knows when you come back to yourself, you will never forgive yourself. He has seen you sink into despair once before, he will not witness it again.

—---

Zayne feels as though he's going mad.

"You wish to guard me?"

"You can have me, or you can have Mephisto, maybe the twins. I can reasonably behave myself."

"Sylus, you cannot follow me around the hospital. You would draw far too much attention, and if I am truly a target, it will be more clear that you have some kind of inside information."

The leader of Onychinus stares him down, unwavering jewel eyes. He's used to the man being stubborn, Sylus does not waver from a goal, he has never halted his intentions, or paused in his journey.

Even though Zayne can see fraying edges, and a strength that wavers on the cusp of cracking.

"Then Mephisto will follow you around, ready to alert me."

It's the best he thinks he's going to get for a compromise. The bird at least, can somewhat blend into the surroundings. Perching outside his office perhaps. He doubts anyone will capture him inside of Akso Hospital. Still he's not sure there are limits to EVER's pull at this point.

If they have their hand in everything, he doesn't see how they can't cover up a doctor's disappearance.

His disappearance.

He has no intention to be reckless, and he finds Sylus' concern comforting. A reminder that even though he watched you flee from a café he has frequented with you, he is not holding his grief alone for once.

"I'll accept your pets supervision, but ensure he keeps a reasonably low profile." Accompanies his sigh of weak acceptance. There's little else he can do, if something happens to him… he will not be there to help you, nor will he be able to keep feeling the warmth of his home. He does not want to be the cause for more grief.

"Whatever you say, doctor." Sylus stands, motions for the robot bird that flutters over on metal feathers and rests on Zayne's shoulder. Ready, waiting. He tightens his hand around his work bag, nodding at the thing that he's still not sure has much of a will of its own.

Then he thinks of the times he has found you curled up asleep with Mephisto, and the bird's reluctance to leave the perch of your metal shoulder.

Just as attached as his master, Zayne thinks fondly.

Fingers drift over his cheekbones, pulling Zayne from his thoughts, as he focuses on the wavering heat of Sylus' eyes, "I'll be alright." He offers, as the man hesitates.

"You will, but if you're not-" Something is attached to behind his ear, though it is small and the sensation disappears almost immediately, "I'll find you regardless."

"We need to have a discussion over requesting access to hinge upon privacy."

"I told you before doctor, we have different boundaries for acceptability." The smirk is wide and self satisfied, but it is more confident than Zayne has seen Sylus for some time.

"Now get going, you have lives to save, my good doctor." His hand is raised for a kiss to be placed upon his palm, and then he is released. Mephisto kicking up to fly out ahead of him.

He has always walked the distance to the hospital, it is an easy journey, a moment to prepare himself for a long and hard day. It is never easy facing the path he has chosen for himself, despite his passion for it. Some days are full of pain, others joy.

Zayne has worked ever harder in the pursuit of easing his aching heart. He worries that his handle over his EVOL will begin to shatter, that his lack of control outside of what he would allow himself with his family, will spread to his work.

It is with an iron grip, that grows ever tighter, and the sunken set to his stature, that has allowed him to keep moving. 

He is only ten minutes into his walk, when he feels the prickling up the back of his neck, turning to erect a wall of ice in front of him. Steady hand pushing back against the jolt of lightning that touches the ice and fractures it, scorching where it lands.

He smells burning, and steps back, Mephisto screeches, before lightning arcs for the bird. Piercing a wing and sending him hurtling to the floor.

Before him is a vision he never wants to see again. That twisted carapace arm, with the lightning crackling and burning through it, leaving deep grooves with every spark. Your scars pulling at your lips as you focus mismatched eyes on him.

Cold, empty, devoid of anything.

Sylus had warned him… he hadn't been prepared to see it. When he'd seen you at the café you had been startled, alarmed. Human. Despite the lack of recognition.

Now, before him, dagger in your other hand, he sees nothing. Like you have shut down, broken off parts of the warmth of the person he knew, and stepped out a doll.

You look at the barrier, and he recognises the look. Calculating, ready. The lightning dissipates and you look back up at him, gold filtering into your gaze.

The resonance he can feel across from him is a familiar heat, like home. You place your hand on his barrier as he watches, one lip quirks pulling on the scars, before eyes narrow. "Doctor Li, I would appreciate you coming with me willingly. I have been informed not to damage the merchandise."

"A kind consideration, but I'd rather not hand myself over to EVER." He forces out, through a throat that feels too tight. Words tinged in a humour he doesn't feel. Like you're still you, like he's still making jokes with you. Dry wit and warm heart.

He pushes the barrier out, the ice pushing you back from him. Sharpening ice blades before him, holding them ready.

He watches, as your expression falters. It is like something filters through your cold eyes, a strange flicker of discomfort, before you refocus. He knows you well, has loved you for a long time, but this is a person he does not recognise. Not truly. Whatever lurks there, he isn't sure he can puzzle it out without time.

Which, as he watches your claw glow gold, he will not be offered easily.

"Very well, they will have to tolerate limbs in place."

It is said so flatly, that he feels the chill up his back. To be looked at by you, with nothing but tired acceptance. You who eased the pain out of his skin when the ice pierced it. You who saw warmth in him. You who gave him a safe place to let his control drop.

You who pulling him forwards in time.

Your hand pulls back, and before he can wonder at it, the claw sharpens, grows, and is pierced through the wall of ice, shattering it.

He shoots the shards of ice, backing up further. He can get back home, he thinks as he sends another flurry-

You dart forwards, blinking out of existence for a moment before you are before him, claw grabbing for his throat, and deflected with an icy blade.

It catches at the wrist of your carapace, the grotesque thing pulled back as you wince at the chill. The pain makes you smirk at him, fang peeking out under lip, and you dart forwards again, grabbing it in claw and snapping it. Before trying to headbutt him.

He shields his face with his arm, and pulls another barrier to keep you from slashing with the sharpened blade of claws.

Zayne has to fight you, he realises, something he has never done in this life. You have practiced how to resonate with him, had trial matches, practiced fighting with him, never against him.

Never pushed his EVOL past what you believed was safe, worried at the edges at any pain he has felt, even as you willingly eased it with your power or your touch.

He has never known you to want to risk him like you do now, pushing and clawing at his barrier. Edging him on. As you shoot lightning, with a wince he notes, he finds the logical part of his brain wondering how. Before he runs.

Ice blades flung behind him, a flurry of snow kicking up, he races back the way he came. Before he collides with a solid form, as you stand right before him. Claw grabbing his neck and tightening your grip. He grabs the wrist, freezing where he touches, watching as you hesitate.

Flinching as the chill hardens and cracks, before you squeeze. It is not the familiar touch of resonance he is used to, as the gold seeps up your claw, and into his own skin. It pulls at the ice, hardening its grip. Strengthening it. With none of the warmth of the EVOL he is used to.

It burns back up his skin, sending the ice back the way it came, pushing through his skin. He gasps as it spreads, fights back the cry he wants to let out as the ice turns black and pierces through his arm.

He distantly hears Mephisto squawk, the flutter of feathers, before the sound quietens.

The gold glow of your eyes intensifies, sharpening to points as you squeeze around his throat, the agony of his arm spreads up to his shoulder, as you cut off his airways. "A power you can't control…" Through the haze of his eyes, as he grows dizzy and numb, he sees the spark of something. Guilt. Pain. Understanding? "Go to sleep, Doctor Li."

A flash of red, and the force of a hurricane flings you from him. Sending him to the floor, knees colliding hard with the ground, and hand not frozen barely catching him. He gasps, wheezing to pull oxygen back into his lungs, to ease the ice in his limb. Relieved when it begins to skitter back. Pulling out of his limb.

He is rounded as Sylus stands before him, "Really now doctor, seconds after my warning?" A relief, an assurance that he will not have to hurt you without someone to keep him steady.

That there is a better chance together, than alone.

Even if his lungs struggle to pull oxygen in for his brain to function again.

"Come on now Kitten, you should know better. Only scratch people who want it."

—----

You're falling.

Surrounded by nothing but pitch black.

There is no answer to how long you fall, you cannot see around you.

You're falling.

You reach out, grasping for something. Anything. To stop the hurtling. You feel sick. Agony. Like your body is covered in wounds. Barely holding itself together.

A flash of light and you see your metal hand, grasping. It catches on a ledge, and the light filters through, a lone wisp. It bobs next to your hand, tiny and gold and weak. It dances like a firefly, dancing over your fingers as you dangle.

You try to reach with your other hand but it does not move, like it is locked to your side. Too heavy to use.

As you tense the hand you can use, a little painted fish swims over it, over to your fingers. It twirls around each metal joint, seeking something.

You don't think it finds it, because it jumps as though leaving water. Swimming away. Your hand opens as though you need to grab it.

You need to grab it.

If it leaves, you'll never see it again.

You can't lose him.

The motion causes your hand to open, and as you watch the firefly of light die slowly… the metal turns to claws. Unnatural and broken. Grotesque and black. Scales replacing metal.

It is the last thing you see before the darkness greets you again, and you fall.

Slamming into a ground that knocks all the air out of your lungs.

It is cold that greets you, an icy expanse against the wounded skin of your back. Your claw twitches at your side. Pain shooting through your body that does not respond. Useless and worthless.

It cannot serve you, or anyone.

There is nothing to gain from this body.

Only your claw can move, only your claw can make you worth something.

You are a tool that will be discarded once they realise how very little you matter.

In the darkness the caw of a crow rattles your brain, the sound too loud to be flying over you. Your senses fractured and struggling to make sense of the lack of sight.

It is the first sound you have heard, other than your struggling lungs, with your claw you pull yourself over onto your stomach, and as you do. Blinding lights hit your eyes.

The flash of light lasts a moment, but it is enough to wound your eyes. Intense and harsh. As you blink, trying to force the retina burn to ease, you feel a hand reach for your cheek.

Through the blinking lights and the hazy vision, you see a light behind the back of a head. Eyes gazing into yours.

With each blink the colours flicker.

Red.

Purple.

Pink.

Green.

Blue.

Before your claw reaches out, desperate, shaking. The eyes turn, look at the twisted thing attached to you, before the hand pushes you away, pulling back. A hiss of disgust.

A violent rejection…

And you fall again.

—----

You have been pushed to complete this mission before you are ready. There is no rest, when you have a leash so tight around your neck you can feel the air leave your lungs.

You stare at the man before you, who guards his lover with the snarl of a dragon guarding a treasure. As he gasps to right himself. Trembling as your EVOL's influence stops ripping through his limbs.

At least there is something to be learned. Now if you could just deal with the red eyed man.

"Come on now Kitten, you should know better. Only scratch people who want it."

It grates at you. Kitten. Kitten. Kitten.

"Stop calling me that." You snarl at him. It is not something you are prone to feeling, a violent feeling under your skin, on a job. You have become good at locking back the feelings to complete a mission. You are good at getting through them. At not feeling.

Why do these two have any impact on you? The people they spend time with? Why does your mind fracture through the feelings you cannot name?

"You never used to complain, is sweetie better? Beloved?"

It rattles at you, fierce and violent. Your brain tumbling through the darkness, seeking out a ledge to grasp.

So you rush him, dagger aimed for his throat.

It does not land, brushed aside with a careful hand, before you stab forwards again.

Again.

Again.

Wild and furious and desperate.

Your movements are easily deflected, and when he aims a punch you dart back. Staring at him. Forcing yourself to ease. You have to control it.

You have a target.

Electric and scalpel. If you can't finish, you will feel them again. The reminder of your worthless body on the awareness of agony.

EVER can do worse to you. You cannot give them a reason to.

"You are not my target." You manage to speak, correcting your grip on your dagger, flexing the claw at your side. "Stand aside, I would rather not kill anyone I do not need to."

It's bitten off and harsh, tinged in all the fury you cannot seem to pull back to heel.

Red eyes narrow at you, as the man adjusts his cuffs, moving to stand in front of the doctor, who pulls himself up a little. Breathing easier. "I won't let anyone hurt him, not even you Kitten, and this isn't you."

"I told you-"

You barely get it out before the mist grabs your arm, tugging you forwards and down. So you snarl, and throw yourself at him like the dog you've been called too many times.

Fangs bared, dagger out, and claw extended.

You slash at his face, kick out at his leg, when his EVOL grasps at you, you force it to shatter to the gold running over your skin. Though it never dissipates for long. A hand grasps the wrist of your claw, tightening against where the ice still has you frozen. Squeezing enough to crack it, and you let out a gasp of pain.

Red eyes turn to it, the damage in front of his eyes, and you stab into his chest with the dagger when he does. He releases you for a moment but grabs the wrist holding the dagger, eyes wild and canines bared.

He pushes himself further into the blade, staring down at you.

"The hell are you doing? Do you want to die?"

He barks a laugh, advancing, hand tightening so your bones creak, "When I die, it won't be the person in front of me doing it."

You push the dagger in, growling when he winces in response, "You say that now-"

A shiver runs up your back as the red flares. As his one eye glows.

The world sinks away for a moment. Leaving that pinpoint of red.

Devour.

Only you-

Devour him.

And this flower-

Devou-

"Get out of my head." You snarl, the gold shattering him back. You reach up for your head, stumbling back, leaving the dagger in his chest. The world tilts at an angle, and you slip to the floor.

It crackles and it stings, and the world turns to static. Your surroundings are in technicolour, before dimming into grey.

There's flowers fluttering in the breeze, before they scatter and become nothing but ash.

He pulls the dagger out of his chest, looking at you as you force yourself to your knees. You watch him hold it, like it's precious. Like it matters, rather than throwing it aside.

The man handles it with care, as he places it on the ground. "I do wish Rafayel hadn't taught you to use that, sometimes. Sharp little thing."

You turn eyes to him, scrambling back like a cornered cat, daring not to blink, as you will your mind to steady, to focus. To do something other than fracture.

The devil you don't know. The failure that awaits you.

You extend your hand, the lightning arcing, but rattling through your bones. You bite off the pain, relieved when his advancements stop, moving out of the way of your uncontrolled desperation.

The doctor has recovered mostly, standing, "Sylus, we need to get them somewhere safe."

"I know, doctor."

You stare up as the red eyes approach, as they waver on the edge of softening, before gleaming once again, "Let's get you fixed, kitten."

Fixed.

Fixed.

Arm replaced, body broken, mind fractured.

EVER wanted to fix you. Make you better.

You can't be fixed.

The hand grasps at your arm, pulling you up, stumbling against his chest. You don't struggle, caught in the gleam of red, seeing the swirling colours.

Answers you can't grasp.

The red is all you can see, the static bleeding into an abyss.

There is a whisper on the edges of your mind, husky and deep, warm and ready.

'Tell me you want me.'

Heat against your neck, teeth and tongue. A shiver down your spine, warmth against limbs. Thighs grasped in a tight hold as a growl warms the edges of your soul.

'Tell me you feel good.'

A gasp, a moan of satisfaction. The feeling of tumbling over the edge, but being caught. The answer on the tip of your tongue.

'Say my name, kitten.'

A mantra that resounds around you. A song sung through the fog. Music that lights the sky.

'Do you love me?'

Warmth in chest, a small flutter of life. An affirmation of everything that matters.

The scalpel in hand. The claw at your hand. The questions that have no answers.

The static.

"Get-" The beast roars to life, its jaws snapping as you reach for it, desperate.

"Out-" Tears on your cheeks, it curls around your broken heart.

"Of-" It's head rears, guarding you from the agony of the abyss.

"My-" The silver filtering over your skin, the creature serving you willingly.

"Head!"

You snarl with it, pushing him back. Watching the pain in his face, the silver skittering through his skin, like poison in veins. He falls, and he slumps. You hear the gnash of teeth, the growl.

You push further.

Forcing him down, hand on shoulder now as he is pushed to his knees.

Your heart twitches, and hurts, and aches. Resonance fleeing from you as the beast hungers and snaps and bites at the bit to pull the mist into its maw.

"Sylus!"

The ice that is flung at you, melts before touching you, as the beast whose leash you do not hold turns its attention to the doctor.

You can feel the shaking, through your legs, into your arm. It is only the claw that does not tremble, that does not feel like it will shatter at a touch.

Releasing the man, you turn to the doctor. Catching for a moment, the agony in red eyes as hands reach out, seeking you, but weakly grasping at air as you force agonised limbs to respond.

Your claw grabbing the doctor's hand as he winces. As the dampener rips part of him out of his reach.

You know your resonance is part of you, instinctual and like the blood in your veins. To have it torn out even for a moment… would be agony.

It is the weak guilt, of a heart that trembles against the beast squeezing it, that eases the grip so you do not bruise the doctor's skin this time.

As you fight nausea.

As you command your body to be the tool it was made to be.

As you pull the doctor with you into the jump, leaving the heartbroken cry of a name you don't recognise behind as red eyes shut.

When you finally skid to a stop, the pain too much to fight through, the new scarring up your arm from where lightning damaging blood vessels, and the beast finally releasing its grasp. You stumble into open space. Releasing the doctor for a moment.

It is too much, too many things that you cannot fully control, too many sensations in your head that hurt.

Too many thoughts and too many feelings.

Agony, and loss. Loss that tears into your stomach and tears out your innards. The guilt grows and weighs down your shoulders, reminding you of the pain in red, and the shivering under hand when you had placed it on shoulder.

A job was a job, you tried to remind yourself. It was a move to be made. If you did not, worse awaited you than the hurt you could inflict on others.

You think.

It does not feel as sure as it once did, as you force your body to behave. To listen, to pay attention to you. You have to keep moving.

The doctor recovers from the dampening slowly, "What was that?" He forces, "Sylus-"

"He'll live." You snap, reaching over to pull the man closer by the wrist, "Phone." Your hand extends, and it is at that moment you remember your dagger. Discarded on the ground, in the hands of a man you do not know.

It is shock that recognises the feeling you have, like a lump is in your throat. Grief. You have lost something precious, and you will never get it back. The only thing you owned and cared about, with its familiar carved symbols and the weight in your hand like something you could trust. A tether to something that reminded you, you had something to value.

Gone.

A piece of you is gone.

Hurt is what makes you tug the doctor closer, a raw wound you cannot salve, "Phone, now."

He hands it over, and you would give him credit for his steady expression, the look on his face that does not feed into fear.

So he is not a pathetic scientist like the others, then? Able to hold your gaze for as long as you can bear to hold anyone's. Not flinching at you, not trembling.

If he were not on the list, perhaps he would be one of the more pleasant scientists to get prodded by.

You crush the thing in your hand, throwing it away, before tugging him forward.

He sets his feet, making you feel as though you are pulling against a wall.

"Doctor Li," You hiss through teeth, desperate to get back, to find a dark room and hide in it. To not have to think for a moment, about hazy red and angry sensations of agony, "I will knock you out and drag you, if I have to."

The Doctor watches you, calculating for a moment. You can almost guess the process. Is it worth it to run? Can he fight? You hope the show of strength with dampening his EVOL will convince him otherwise.

He does not have to know you don't think you can do that again. Not for a very long time.

Maybe not ever.

You hope never again.

Pained red, and shivering skin.

"Alright." He exhales, allowing it as you pull him towards you this time. You jump, several more times, before the both of you stumble into the white halls of the EVER compound.

The familiar smell of, what you hope is, antiseptic and disinfectant doing nothing to calm the raging vortex inside of you.

"Follow me, if you run, I'll break a leg." You snap, releasing his arm like it burns you. Truthfully the sensation of touching anyone is at odds with the way you have lived these few months.

You don't want to think about the feeling of his neck under your hand for a very long time. Even if you can already see the bruise forming under his skin.

"Do you often threaten your prisoners?"

"You're the first one. I normally just kill my targets."

He scoffs, it would almost sound like a laugh, if he didn't sound so disgusted. You shouldn't be surprised that he is horrified by what you've said. A normal person should be. Let alone the so-called doctor with the heart of gold.

You lead him to Leon's lab, relieved to see the man is there for the first time in your memory. If only to be done, to wash your hands, to curl up and burn the memories off your skin. You can see the static on the corners of your vision. Flickering like a ghost you can't quite get into your line of sight.

Haunted.

You're just not sure which unknown grief is causing it.

"Little bomb-"

There's a noise of disgust behind you, as the doctor walks in front of you. Like he is half shielding you. It's a strange thing, to be looking up at the back of the head of a man who you have strangled. Tried to freeze. Whose lover you just brought to knees and made hurt.

"Doctor Li?"

The familiarity of Leon is a relief. He is easy to handle, he is a man who your emotional capacity can recognise. Disgust, hatred, violence need to tear, all very familiar. He is almost safe, in the kind of way the knowledge of a snake's venom is safe.

"Mission completed, can I go?" You snap, pulling away from the two. Itching to throw the claw away from you.

"You need to see medical." Leon notes, looking down at the new scarring up your arm, the blood on your hand, "You're not normally this sloppy, little bomb. Issues?"

"I did my job, didn't I?"

"If a tool breaks-"

"It'll be replaced." You snap back, then look at the doctor, "Have fun committing crimes against nature, Doctor Li.."

The Doctor's eyes narrow, cold, but he's looking past you, not at you. "I assure you, I will not be assisting EVER."

You want to laugh at him, the idea is laudable. Truly. Experience has taught you, however, that if EVER cannot use someone, they will break them. The fear of the punishment can often keep at bay.

What they cannot instil with fear… well you've heard the stories of mind control. You're not yet sure what is worse. To serve them willingly, or to lose your mind to become a true mindless tool.

One gives the weak hope of escape, you suppose.

"Can you go get the cot before you leave? We don't have any spare rooms for you yet, Doctor, so I'm sure you'll be fine staying in the lab for now."

"I've slept in worse places." He bites off, though there is little change to his expression. The term ice queen suits him, you think. He must be furious, you're sure he is, or at least thinking of ways he can escape. Instead he simply is observing.

You turn your attention back to Leon, raising a brow at his command, but not moving.

His sigh is long suffering, like he should never have expected anything else when you do not respond to him, and he walks off, "I'll get it then shall I?"

"Probably." You spit back, glaring at his back.

"You've been summoned to meeting room four, when you're done here, little bomb."

The exhaustion sinks deeper into your bones. If whoever gives Leon orders has summoned you, it means the chance to run is further out of grasp. The need to lick your wounds, and try to fix the weight on your back will not come soon.

You feel the burning in your eyes for a moment, before you remember there is someone else looking at you. You narrow eyes at Doctor Li, expecting him to look away, instead his warm green eyes soften. In a way that disturbs something in your chest.

"What?"

"Zayne."

"Excuse me?"

"My name is Zayne." You know that. You want to say. It was in his file. You're familiar with the basic details of his profile.

'To you, I'm just Zayne.'

Your vision crackles, glitching, before you shake your head violently. "Yeah, sure. Whatever." You bite off, stepping back and away, before he can speak to you more. You watch his hand extend, worry in his gaze, that you can't meet because the green makes the static worse.

You manage little else, before you flee. A scared creature, startled by a loud noise. You care little about the scientists who watch you race past them, before you slow and you stumble, and you step through hallways that feel like they stretch forever.

As you try to swallow back bile, and think of anything but agonised red and soft green.

You're done, you're done and you never have to see either man again.

You cannot be found here, and you can just let the feelings lie forgotten.

You can forget the voices and the eyes, you can leave them behind.

You can be the familiar you. Even if there is blood on your hands.

—---

The meeting room is cold. Like most of the compound. When you enter, an older man smiles at you.

You are not well versed in other's expressions, but you feel a chill at his. Like there is something sharp about it. You have not talked to Professor Lucius before, he is a man that commands deep respect, or fear, from those around him however.

You have seen him occasionally, though he is akin to a ghost. Drifting through halls when he has something to do, but otherwise unconcerned with those around him.

Today he stares at you with cool, unwavering eyes. It is not the kind of cool that the Doctor- Zayne has, you note. Calm and steady. It is the kind of cool that reminds you of a snake.

Watchful and venomous.

You do not want to be in this room.

"Ah, Unicorn." It bites at you, reminds you that you are here in a capacity of no control. "I've heard you have achieved a great many tasks for EVER, in your time here."

Unsure how to respond, you offer a nod. It is the first time anyone has acknowledged you, the time you have spent, the work you have done.

Should you feel proud? The feeling is closer to shame, you think.

Seen in a way you do not wish to be.

"Thanks to all of your efforts, we have seen fit to reward you."

"A reward?" Shock moves your mouth before your brain and rationale can remind you that he holds power over your position.

Relief keeps you steady when he does not immediately demand your silence, "Come in."

The door opens, and you first feel fear. The unknown of his words and his actions, make you wonder if this is a cruel trick.

That your reward will be a shot to the head, but maybe that would be a relief.

That your reward will be another limb replaced, to make you a better weapon.

That your reward will be the solitary or the torture or the heart held while still in your chest.

It is a man who enters, sharp black uniform and a hat tilted low over his eyes, before he pushes it back. So you can see pink and purple.

You have seen his face countlessly. Smiling back at you from a silent frame. Warm eyes, and what you think might be love, if you could ever remember. He is familiar to you in a way that only a picture can be.

If asked what he sounded like, you could never answer, but you think you could describe him to anyone, perfectly, down to the very last detail.

Your heart squeezes, like one of the scientists has it in their grip. You fear if you move it will crush under the weight.

There is noise in your ears, the crackling that is becoming too familiar. Your throat is tight and sore, and your lungs will not offer you air as they should. You waver on the edge of unconsciousness. Brain weak and starved.

He steps up before you and smiles as he steadies you with his left hand, "Hey Pipsqueak. I'm home."

[foreverisntenough]

‘Movie Night’

Summary: If only life was like the movies. For years, you’d flirted with the idea of something more with Trent, your brother’s best friend.  You'd always danced around the edges of something more with him, sharing flirty moments that felt like scenes straight from the cinema. You had been silently desperate for the main character of your life’s film to finally get the boy but you knew moments like that were saved for Hollywood. The lines were clear; you were always going to be his mate’s little sister. So what happens when you go off script? In a whirlwind of passion, secrets, and stolen moments, you're left wondering: will you and your brother's best friend get the happy ending you've been waiting for, or was it never meant to be more than a fantasy? 

Index:

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, dv, loss of a parent, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Disclaimer: Still the same.

Chapter 23 - 'Flowers and Fixing' | ‘Movie Night'

word count - 10.3 k

You sat cross-legged on Trent’s bed, your phone resting limply in your hand as you watched your screen light up. Your phone rang with a call from Layla.  Your thumb hovered over her name, hesitant to answer. It continued to vibrate as you built up your courage.  You answered slowly, exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster you’d been on for days before her voice came through, soft and careful.

“Alright, babe?” she asked. Her tone alone made your chest tighten. You hesitated for a second, swallowing the lump in your throat before replying. 

“Yeah… uh, actually a little better. I need to see you to explain.” Your voice was small, weak even, but there was a flicker of resolve in it.

“Okay. Better is good,” Layla said gently, but her concern was palpable. There was a brief pause before she continued, almost sheepishly. “Just wanted to see if you saw that invite come through.” You frowned, confused for a moment before remembering the notification you’d ignored earlier. The invite from Shelby—one of your mutual friends—to a Manchester United end-of-season party. You’d skimmed it, immediately feeling your stomach drop at the thought of Josh possibly being there. “I’ll do what you want,” Layla continued, sensing your hesitation. “I imagine all those lads are going. I don’t want you going, obviously…” She expressed but you cut her off, your voice sharper than intended, you didn’t want to ruin the beginning of her summer.  

“Lay, you go. You and Shelbs will have fun. It’s just a big party. I just… I can’t be near—” You paused, your throat tightening at the thought of him. “Josh,” you finally said, his name burning your tongue. “I don’t know… I’m so scared of him, so please just be careful.” You cautioned her. Layla’s inhale was sharp. You could feel her anger brewing through the phone. 

“God, I’m so sorry, babe. I fucking hate him. But seriously, do you want me to come be with you tonight? I’m worried. I’m here for you.” She offered sincerely. You closed your eyes, her offer tempting, but you knew what you needed. You needed to stay put.  

“No, have fun. I… I…” You stuttered, trying to work up the courage to tell her your plans for the night. “I’m with T. I just need to be with him,” you admitted, your voice cracking as emotions began to resurface.

“Oh…” Layla paused, the shock evident in her tone. “So… you’re with him?” She asked curiously but not judgmentally. 

“Yeah.” You sighed, tears stinging your eyes again. “We’re… Or I… I just need to talk to him. Lay, Josh threatened him with a video of us. Somehow he got a video of me and him. It’s a total fucking mess. He said he didn’t hook up with Jess. And I’m terrified, but I just feel safer with him. I can’t go anywhere. I wa- I need to be with him.” You whimpered embarrassed by your dependency on Trent. The ebb and flow of your trust in him was expectedly concerning to your best friend. Layla’s response was immediate, her voice laced with fury. 

“Fucking hell. I’ll kill him.” She snapped imaging Josh’s smug look having a video like that in his possession. She paused when she heard your sharp inhale, realizing she needed to rein it in. “I’m sorry. I know. You are safe with Trent, Y/N. Be with him. He loves you.” She cooed. Her words offered some comfort, but you still felt unsteady and she could sense it. “Should I not…” she started, trailing off, you knew she’d not go tonight if you’d prefer that but it wasn’t what you wanted. 

“No, no, no,” you interjected quickly. “Please, go. It’s not like it’s his party or something. He can’t control everyone.” Layla nodded even though you couldn’t see her, your words sinking in. 

“Okay, but Josh can’t control you either, babe. We’ll handle this. Just be with Trent tonight. Someone who just wants to protect you.” Her voice softened as she reassured you.

“I love you,” you whispered, barely audible.

“Love you. You’re safe, babe. Call me anytime,” Layla said firmly, her support unwavering. When the call ended, the silence in Trent’s room felt deafening, but for the first time in a while, you didn’t feel entirely alone. Layla believed in you. Trent wanted to protect you. Maybe you could start believing in yourself again, too. The call ended, and you stared blankly at your phone, Layla’s words echoing in your mind: ‘You’re safe, babe. Call me anytime.’ The reassurance was meant to soothe you, but it only amplified the whirlwind of emotions swirling in your chest. You set the phone down on the edge of your bed, your fingers trembling slightly. You could feel the familiar sting of tears creeping back into your eyes, but you closed them tightly, willing yourself to stay composed. It wasn’t working. You leaned forward, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes to stop the flood, but the effort only made the sob that escaped your throat sharper. Everything felt like too much—Josh’s threats, the fear that he still had control, the relief and heartbreak of being with Trent again. It was all tangling inside of you like a knot you couldn’t undo. You got up and made your way to the en-suite of his room in an effort to try to compose yourself before Trent came up for bed. 

The room felt heavy and silent, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning. It made the en-suite feel cold, sterile, like it was closing in around you. You sat on the edge of the sink, gripping the porcelain until your knuckles turned white. Your reflection stared back at you, pale and tear-streaked, eyes rimmed red. You barely recognized yourself. But then you noticed the earrings. The tiny gold butterfly pinned on your left ear, and the delicate blue one in your right. They shimmered faintly under the bathroom’s light, and your chest tightened. The earrings had been a gift from Trent, a token of the promise you’d made to each other when your relationship had finally begun. He had chosen them because they reminded him of you—fragile yet strong, beautiful, unique. But also your relationship; this evolving thing. Now, though, they felt like a cruel reminder of what you might lose. Your trembling fingers brushed over the butterflies, your heart aching as memories of that morning came flooding back. The way Trent had looked at you when he gave them to you, his voice soft as he told you how much you meant to him. How special you were. You’d been so happy, so sure that he was your safe place in a world that had hurt you too many times. Now, you didn’t know what to believe. You gripped the butterflies tighter, as if they could ground you. For a moment, you thought about taking them out—ripping away the reminder of everything that had fallen apart. But you couldn’t. Something in you refused to let them go. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was the way Trent had looked at you earlier in the greenhouse, his eyes full of love and regret, like he’d carry the weight of your pain if he could. Or maybe it was the act that you felt like you got a momentary reminder from your mum there that he was good. You let out a shaky breath and placed your hands on the counter, trying to steady yourself. Slowly, you reached for the tap, splashing cold water on your face. The coolness jolted you back to the present, and you let out a deep exhale, watching the water drip down your reflection. The earrings still caught the light. A tiny flicker of beauty in the midst of your heartbreak. You couldn’t let Josh take this from you. You couldn’t let him win. You grabbed a towel and patted your face dry before turning toward the door. Trent would be waiting for you. For the first time in days, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, you could find your way through this. One fragile step at a time.

That night, as you curled into Trent’s chest, his familiar warmth began to ease the chill that had settled into your bones. His arm was draped securely around you, his fingers tracing idle patterns against your shoulder. The comfort of his touch usually calmed you, but tonight it wasn’t enough. Fear and worry churned in your chest, refusing to let you rest.

“Baby, I’m scared,” you finally whispered, your voice small and trembling. The admission felt heavy, like you were unburdening yourself but also laying bare your vulnerability. Trent’s hand stilled, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. 

“I know, pretty girl,” he murmured, his voice soft and soothing. “But I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m so sorry I hurt you the other night. I never wanted to.” His apology tugged at your heart, but the knot of fear inside you refused to unravel. 

“He’s going to release it, T,” you said, your words barely audible as you tried to steady your breath. “If he finds out about us, he’ll release it.” Trent’s entire body tensed beneath you. His arm around you tightened, his jaw clenched, and you could feel the storm brewing within him. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and brimming with anger.

“I’m gonna fucking kill that lad,” he growled, the words cutting through the quiet room like a blade. “I am fucking fuming. I will fucking kill him. He can’t hurt you. He can’t fucking touch you.” His grip on you grew firmer, not out of aggression but out of his overwhelming need to protect you. Yet, in that moment, the intensity of his voice and the pressure of his hold sent you spiraling. Memories of Josh resurfaced like an unrelenting tide—his hands gripping you too tightly, his voice sharp and cruel, his presence suffocating and inescapable. Your breath hitched, and tears began to spill down your cheeks, hot and relentless. Your chest heaved with silent sobs as your body trembled against Trent’s. “Ah, fuck,” Trent muttered, his voice breaking as he realized what was happening. He immediately loosened his hold, his hands moving to cup your face and pull you back slightly so he could see you. “Fuck, pretty girl. Baby, baby, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with guilt. “I’m sorry for raising my voice. I didn’t mean to scare you. C’mere. I got you. I got you.” He wrapped you back into his arms, but this time his touch was featherlight, as if he were afraid of breaking you further. He pressed kiss after kiss into your hair, murmuring apologies and reassurances as you sobbed against his chest. “It’s okay,” he cooed, his lips brushing against your temple. “You’re safe with me, yeah? I’m here. I’ll always be here.” His words started to sink in, soothing the jagged edges of your fear. The rhythm of his heartbeat under your ear grounded you, steadying your breathing and slowing your tears. “What he’s doing is fucking extortion,” Trent muttered after a moment, his tone calmer but still resolute. “He can’t blackmail us. I’m speaking with Ty first thing. We’ll handle it legally. No one is taking my baby away from me. No one. Not now. Promise.” His words carried a sincerity—a vow that he would protect you at all costs. You sniffled, your face still buried in his chest, and nodded weakly.

“I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” you whispered, your voice hoarse from crying.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Trent said, pulling back just enough to cup your face. His thumbs brushed away the tear tracks on your cheeks as he looked at you with an intensity that made your heart ache. “You’re my whole world, Y/N. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. I swear it.” You blinked up at him, the sincerity in his eyes anchoring you. His touch, so gentle and steady, reminded you that despite everything, this was the man who loved you unconditionally.

“You promise?” you asked softly, your voice cracking.

“I promise,” Trent said firmly, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’ve got you, pretty girl. Always.” You exhaled shakily and let yourself melt into his arms again, his embrace wrapping you in a sense of safety you hadn’t felt in days. Despite the chaos that awaited, in this moment, you knew you weren’t alone but you couldn’t fight back the tears. Josh had hurt you too deeply. You were battered and cruises and the cracks in your resilience were starting to show. You were breaking down.

You buried your face deeper into Trent’s chest, your tears soaking through his shirt as you clung to him like he was the only thing tethering you to the earth. His arms wrapped around you firmly, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other traced gentle circles on your back. He didn’t speak much more at first, letting you cry. The weight of everything—Josh, the video, the fear, the shame, and even your own complicated feelings about Trent—poured out of you in waves. Each sob tore at his heart. Trent had never felt so helpless. He wanted to take all of it away: the pain, the fear, the scars left by people who should never have been close to you. But he knew he couldn’t. All he could do was hold you through it.

“I’m so sorry,” you whimpered after a long stretch of silence. Your voice was weak and strained, like the words were dragging out pieces of you as they left your mouth.

“Sorry? For what, baby?” Trent asked softly, his voice thick with emotion. He pulled back just enough to look at your tear-streaked face, his hands cupping your cheeks. His thumbs wiped away the tears as they fell, his eyes searching yours with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

“For… for being like this,” you whispered, ashamed. You couldn’t meet his eyes, staring instead at the fabric of his shirt where your tears had left dark stains. “For being such a mess. For making things so hard.” You kept on trying to rationalize your apology, hoping maybe he'd understand.

“Y/N, stop, serious,” he said gently but firmly, tilting your chin up so you couldn’t avoid his gaze. His eyes were glassy, the tears he’d been holding back threatening to spill. “Don’t you ever apologize for feeling. For hurting. For being human. You’re not a mess, pretty girl. You’re my girl. And I love you, okay? All of you. Every single bit.” The sincerity in his voice broke you all over again, and the tears started fresh. Trent pulled you back into his arms, rocking you slightly as he whispered reassurances. “You’re okay, baby. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere. Ever.” For a moment, you let yourself believe him. You let yourself trust that someone could hold you through your brokenness, that you didn’t have to hide or pretend. But as the minutes stretched on, the weight of Josh’s threats crept back in, darkening the tiny flicker of hope Trent had sparked in you.

“Baby, no, I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice muffled against his chest. “What if Josh does something? I’m serious, what if he releases the video? It would ruin you, T. Your career, your reputation… everything. I don’t know if I could handle that. I don’t want you to lose everything because of me.” Trent’s body tensed beneath you again, and for a moment, you felt the anger radiating off him. But when he spoke, his voice was steady, deliberate.

“Listen to me,” he said, pulling back just enough to look you in the eye again. “I told you. I’m gonna speak with Ty, but besides that… I don’t care about a video. I don’t care about my career, or what people think, or any of that. None of it matters if it means losing you. You hear me? You’re all that matters, Y/N. And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.” His words were like a lifeline, but they also scared you. The intensity of his love felt like a double-edged sword—comforting and terrifying all at once. You continued to cry into Trent’s chest. It felt like the fear of Josh ran deeper than his comforting embrace. But then you kissed his neck out of instinct. It was impulse. It was something you’d almost trained yourself to do. So many times you’d been upset in tear and had to put them aside for sex. You began kissing his neck. Trent’s body betrayed him. He felt all the blood rush down to his cock. You were turning him on but he didn’t want you to. He didn’t want you like this. Trent putting his hands on you felt terrifying. He felt like you were glass. He pulled away from you and your heart broke. It was like rejection all over again. Trent studied your face, his heart breaking as he saw the pain written in every inch of you. 

“Baby,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I don’t want to hurt you. I need you to understand that.” His words made you freeze. His gaze wasn’t one of anger or frustration—it was pleading, desperate. He wasn’t trying to take anything from you; he was trying to stop you from giving away something you didn’t truly want to share in this moment. Your throat tightened, and a lump of shame built in your chest as the realization hit you. What you were doing wasn’t about love or desire—it was about survival, about falling back into a pattern Josh had ingrained in you. Sex had always been a way to pacify, to distract, to feel needed. Your hands had moved on instinct, exploring Trent as if you could erase the fear in your chest by drawing him closer. “I can’t believe what you’ve been through, baby,” Trent said softly, his voice pulling you out of your spiral. His hands gently caught yours, stopping them in their tracks as he looked into your eyes. “Please. Don’t do this because you think you have to. Not with me.” Trent pleaded, begging you to follow your heart and not your hands exploring him. Your heart shattered. You wanted so badly to bridge the gap between you and him, to feel close to him again. But your mind and your body felt like they were living in two entirely different worlds.

“Please want me,” you whispered, tears brimming in your eyes. Your voice cracked, the vulnerability in those three words raw and exposed. You hated how needy you sounded, but it was the truth. You wanted him to want you, to make you feel something other than the numbness that had taken hold of you. Trent’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he hesitated. His love for you was at war with his fear of hurting you, but when he saw the tears rolling down your cheeks, he gave in. His lips found yours in a tender kiss, and for a moment, you let yourself believe it was what you needed. But as his hands brushed over your skin, the dense thud in your chest grew heavier. It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like him. The love and warmth you always felt when you were with Trent were nowhere to be found. This wasn’t passion; it was a mechanical act, an autopilot response. You were setting him up to take the bait, and he was taking it because he thought it would make you feel better but it felt like he’d lost a game you didn’t want him to even play. Deep down, you both knew this wasn’t what either of you truly wanted. It hurt in a way you couldn’t explain. Trent was nothing like Josh but right now you were acting like he was. 

Without another word, Trent had leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a slow, deliberate kiss. It was gentle at first, like he was testing the waters, but as soon as you responded, something shifted. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer, like he couldn't bear the space between you. Your fingers tangled in his curls, gripping them as your body arched into his. The kiss deepened, no longer hesitant but filled with an urgency that neither of you could contain. It wasn't just desire-it was need. A desperate, unspoken plea to feel something other than the ache that had settled between you. His hands moved with purpose, slipping under your shirt, the warmth of his touch sending shivers down your spine. His fingers traced your skin like he was memorizing every inch, every curve. You gasped softly against his lips, and he took the sound as encouragement, his touch growing firmer, more confident. The tension in the room didn't dissipate-it lingered, heavy and unresolved-but it was joined by a different kind of intensity. The sadness and fear were still there, woven into the fabric of your movements, but they were eclipsed by the desperate need to be closer. To lose yourselves in each other, even if just for a moment. The air grew thick, filled with the sound of your breathing, the rustle of sheets as Trent shifted to press you further into the mattress. His lips left yours, trailing down your jawline, across your neck, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. You tilted your head back, giving him more access, a soft moan escaping your lips as his hands explored your body with reverence.

"Tell me you want this," he murmured against your skin, his voice husky and strained. "Tell me it's okay."

"I want this," you whispered, your voice shaky but certain. It was all he needed to hear. His lips were back on yours, hungrier this time, his body pressing into yours as if trying to merge you into one. Your hands roamed over his back, his shoulders, pulling him closer, deeper. The friction between you sent sparks through your veins, igniting something that had been smoldering for far too long. But even as things grew more heated, there was an undercurrent of something else. A sadness that neither of you could escape. This wasn't just about passion-it was about holding on. About finding some semblance of connection in the middle of the chaos. Trent continued kissing you, his lips moving with deliberate care as he shifted to hover over you, his large frame blanketing yours. His eyes searched yours, silently asking for reassurance even as his hand gently cupped your cheek. His touch was tender, as though you might bruise beneath the weight of his hands, and yet his need to be close to you was palpable. You didn't trust your voice, so you let your actions speak. Moving on instinct, you reached for the hem of your top, pulling it over your head in one swift motion. Left bare save for the soft fabric of your panties.  "Please." You whispered. Your voice was shaky but filled with yearning. Leaning up, you kissed along his jawline, your lips traveling to the warm column of his neck, nuzzling into his skin before you began to suck gently. Trent froze for a moment, his chest rising and falling unevenly. He took a deep breath, conflicted. He wanted to give you everything, but he also didn't want to push you or himself into something too fragile. Yet the way you clung to him, the way you pleaded, left him wondering if maybe this was how you both could heal. Slowly, tentatively, Trent removed his own clothes. His shirt came off, revealing the toned expanse of his chest, and soon the rest of your garments joined the pile on the floor. The cool air kissed your skin, but it was his hands, his lips, his touch that truly burned. Your hands roamed his chest, feeling the firm muscles under your fingertips, the rapid thrum of his heart. Reaching up, you wrapped your arms around his neck, tugging gently on the soft curls of his hair. He groaned softly at the sensation, his lips beginning their journey down your neck. He kissed your collarbone, leaving open-mouthed kisses in his wake, before traveling lower. When his lips finally closed around your nipple, you let out a desperate moan, arching your back to meet him. The warmth of his mouth, the gentle scrape of his teeth, sent shivers down your spine. His hand cupped your other boob, his fingers playing, pulling, and pinching with just the right amount of pressure. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark and filled with emotion, but he didn't stop. He lavished attention on your sensitive skin, his kisses, touches, and the slight rasp of his stubble making you feel electric. You buried your hands in his hair, holding him to you, desperate to keep the connection alive. His hands slid down your sides, rough yet gentle as they traced every curve, as though memorizing every inch of you. When his lips left your chest to continue their descent, you shivered, overwhelmed by the intensity of his attention, the way he worshipped you.

"You okay?" he murmured softly against your skin, his breath warm and ragged. You nodded, biting your lip as tears pricked the corners of your eyes-not from pain but from the sheer vulnerability of it all. 

"Just... don't stop," you whispered, your voice trembling.

"I've got you," Trent promised, his voice husky, filled with an emotion that made your heart clench. "I've got you, baby. Tell me you want this.” Trent mumbled against your skin. You nodded with a whine as he lined his cock up with your entrance. Your arms wrapped around his neck tightly begging for him to come inside. He rubbed the tip of his hard cock leaking precum against your sopping wet folds. You shouldn’t have been turned on. In a way this was exactly the way Josh had trained you. Your heart aching, sadness engulfing you, and yet your body acting completely normal, inviting him in with vigor. You shifted beneath him to pick your hips up allowing him to guide himself inside with more ease. He moved slowly inch by inch letting you adjust to his size but he just wanted to get as deep as possible until he bottomed out. You gripped the sheets in an attempt to ground yourself at the stretch. The feeling was enough to wipe your mind clear of anything other than how he was making you feel.  As wrong as it was, you both craved this. He kissed down your neck as he pulled out slightly before easing back in slower, fully burying himself one more.  “I love you so much.” He whispered. Trent rested his forehead against yours but you couldn’t look at him. You felt like you were going to cry so you kept your eyes shut. Your head tipped back onto the pillow with one hand squeezing your own nipple as Trent kept his strokes steady. You tipped your head back further as his pace became more relentless. Your jaw slack, eyes closed tight. 

“I love you.” You whimpered with a sniffle as a tear rolled down your cheek. Trent swallowed, feeling a lump form in his throat. He cupped your cheek wiping away the tear. 

“I’m here. Right here.” He murmured. He knew you didn't want to stop. You would’ve been more upset if he did. So you continued on. There was no other noise in the room but the sound of heartbreak and your slickness as he fucked his cock slowly and gently into you. Your legs stayed wrapped around him tightly as you let one of your heels drag down his muscular back, making sure he didn’t pull out but your tears continued falling, your body shaking a little. If anyone else did this he would be confused and probably turned off but he understood you, he understood the lustful desire and unfortunately the aching pain in your chest that he was feeling too. He leaned over you, your tear stained cheeks and heaving chest pressed against him as he continued to fucked you gently. Your pussy dripped around him. Trent could feel the veins running along his cock throbbing. He worked his hips faster, harsher. Both of your pleasure building higher and higher. 

“T... I’m… I’m going to cum” You mewled and he felt dizzy from the sound of his name sounding so weak from your softly parted lips. He groaned, feeling himself barreling close to his own release though from the way you were squeezing his cock now. Your body succumbing to pure euphoria and seeing white. He bit down onto your shoulder, his pace growing sloppy. 

“Cum for me baby. Doing so good for me.” he cooed, nipping at your collarbone. You whined and felt your eyes roll back as you reached your high. Your pussy quivered around him.  Every little shift was orgasmic. You couldn’t hold in the soft whiny cry you let out. Your lips parted, biting the skin of his neck. Your pussy was sopping wet now, the slow and intense movements had you gushing all over him. The sex was so tender and sweet yet equally sad. “Gonna cum, yeah? That okay?” He asked you through a strained voice as you held onto him. You could only nod again, tears reappearing, toes curled before everything went white, falling apart. Despite the emotional turmoil, he felt so good and you didn’t want him to pull out. This felt too good. His thrusts began to slow as he buried himself deeper inside you. He gripped you so tightly, holding you completely flush against him. Stilling as his warm cum pumped deep inside of you. His hands rubbed your trembling slightly sweaty body in the softest way. He kissed you everywhere he could. You just stayed tight to him refusing to break away.  “You alright, baby?” Trent whispered, his voice soft and full of concern as he hovered over you. His fingers brushed your cheek gently, his thumb catching a stray tear. His dark eyes searched your face, taking in every detail—the way your cheeks were flushed, your lips trembling, and your eyes squeezed tightly shut, as if holding back a flood. You nodded quickly, unable to trust yourself to speak. Your throat felt tight, and you knew that if you tried to answer him, your voice would crack, betraying just how fragile you felt in this moment. The weight of everything—of your past, your pain, and the overwhelming tenderness of the man above you—pressed against your chest. Trent’s brow furrowed, his concern deepening as he leaned closer. “Baby,” he urged gently, his warm breath fanning over your face. Your lips parted slightly, as if you wanted to say something, but no words came out. Instead, you reached up, your fingers curling around his wrist as his hand remained on your cheek. It was your silent plea to stay close, to not pull away. “I’m right here,” he reassured you, his voice cracking slightly with the weight of his own emotions. His thumb continued to stroke your cheek, grounding you. “I’ve got you, yeah? Always.” Your breath hitched, a fresh wave of tears slipping from your closed eyes. You hated feeling this vulnerable, hated that you couldn’t hide the rawness inside you, but Trent’s presence made it bearable. His love wrapped around you like a shield, softening the sharp edges of your fear and sadness. Finally, you opened your eyes, meeting his gaze. His expression was so full of love and patience that it broke something inside you. 

“I’m so sorry,” you cried, your voice barely audible but nonetheless broken. Trent stayed on top of you, his weight grounding you even as the guilt began to creep in. His breathing was still heavy, matching yours, and his curls tickled your skin as he rested his face between your boobs, his warm breath fanning over your damp skin. The room was quiet save for the sound of your heartbeats slowing, the intensity of the moment dissipating into an uncomfortable stillness. Neither of you spoke any more after your vacant apology. There were no words for the complicated knot of emotions tightening in your chest. For a while, you simply lay there, your fingers brushing lightly through his hair, but even that small gesture felt hollow. It wasn't comfort. It wasn't resolution. Eventually, Trent stirred, his lips brushing against your collarbone in a fleeting touch. He lifted his head slowly, his eyes dark with something you couldn't quite name-sadness, maybe, or regret. Without a word, he shifted, carefully pulling out of you, his body leaving yours cold in the absence of his warmth. The air completely sucked out of the room. He rolled off of you and onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. The weight of everything hung heavy in the room, pressing down on both of you, suffocating in its intensity. The physical high you'd just shared only amplified the emotional low settling between you. You turned your head to look at him, your eyes scanning his profile-the way his jaw clenched, the way his chest rose and fell in uneven breaths. He looked as though he wanted to say something but couldn't bring himself to.

"T," you whispered, your voice soft but strained. He didn't respond right away. His hand came up to rub over his face, and when he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse. 

"I'm so sorry." He murmured into the empty silence of the dark room.

"For what?" you asked, your own guilt weighing heavily on you.

"For... this," he said, gesturing vaguely between you but he didn’t turn his head towards you, his gaze stayed fixated on the ceiling. "For not stopping. For letting it happen when I knew... when I knew it wasn't what you needed right now." He sheepishly told you. Your heart ached at his words because they felt true, and yet you couldn't bring yourself to regret it fully. He was not Josh, he didn’t want what just happened. Not like that. It felt wrong. Josh relished in using you for sex to rectify problems, to act like he cared, but all you did was just create a new one with Trent. He was hurting.

"I asked for it, T. I wanted it." You earnestly told him. That was true. You did want it, but why and what for, was a glaringly obvious reg flag. A remnant of Josh’s disgusting conditioning. The only way he could possibly love you was if you fucked hin, and so you did the same with Trent. It was fucked up. You watched him blink a few times, his perfectly curled dark eyelashes batting away what you prayed wasn’t the build up of tears. Even though he wouldn’t turn to look at you, you could still perfectly make out that his eyes were filled with turmoil. 

"But did you need it? Did it help, or did it just... make things worse?" He asked you pleadingly. He knew you wanted to have sex with him. It wasn’t about the consent of the act but rather the consciousness of it. The question hung in the air, and you didn't have an answer. You both laid there with the other, the silence between you louder than any words could be. Neither of you could shake the feeling that you'd both taken a step further away from the connection you were trying so hard to hold onto. The room fell silent for a long while after that. Trent lay motionless, his chest rising and falling unevenly as his mind raced. The dim light cast shadows on the ceiling, but his eyes were unable to focus. He couldn’t wrap his head around the blur between the physical sensations still humming through his body and the weight of the emotional aftermath sinking into his heart. He couldn't reconcile it-how his body could feel one thing, while his heart ached with the opposite. His arms rested limply at his sides, too heavy to move. The thin sheen of sweat cooling on his skin only made him feel exposed, raw. Tears welled in your eyes, and you turned your head away momentarily, unable to look at him anymore. You felt defeated, ashamed, and more alone than ever-even with him right next to you.

"T.." Your voice broke through the thick silence once over, soft but trembling. He hummed in response, his throat dry. But he didn't turn his head to look at you still. He couldn't not yet. Guilt clawed at his chest, despite everything. You asked for this yet it felt cold. You wanted it. He hadn't forced you-but why did it feel like he'd done something wrong? "Did you love her?" you whispered, your voice so small it almost disappeared into the air between you. The question hit him like a blow. He blinked, the ceiling above him suddenly too sharp, too vivid. He exhaled sharply but still didn't meet your gaze. His lips parted, but no words came out at first. Not because he didn't have an answer, but because he was overwhelmed-confused, emotional, and drowning in a wave of guilt and frustration. You couldn't stop yourself. You stared at him, inspecting every detail of his face. The way his bottom lip hung slightly gaped from the top, the tense line of his jaw, the crease in his brow. He laid there feeling hollow despite his best efforts to help. You needed to understand him, to break past the wall he seemed to be building in this silence. The insecurity was clawing at your insides, threatening to consume you. Your past haunted you and right now it was seeping into your present. The way Josh had rewired you to think all men were, had you fearing Jess. She was the ghost in the room you couldn't escape. All you could think about was her-her presence in Trent's life before you, the ways she might have had touched him, been with him, loved him. You hated it. Your thoughts spiraled into a desperate need to prove yourself to him, to make him see why you were different. Why you were better. You'd done everything-fought for him, forgiven him, fucked him, even begged him. You wanted to show him that you would do anything for him. But now, as you lay beside him, all you felt was a hollow emptiness. The act that was supposed to bring you closer had only widened the gap, leaving both of you in the cold. This was new to you because this time, the man next to you in bed truly cared.  Finally, Trent turned his head to look at you. His eyes were red-rimmed, a storm of emotions swirling in them-confusion, sorrow, regret.

“Never.” Trent finally muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, the only other sound were the sheets shifting beneath you pillowing his words. He cupped your cheek and made you look at him, really look at him. Trent’s hand stilled on your cheek as your words lingered in the air, cutting through the fragile peace between you. His chest rose sharply with a deep, steadying breath, but the storm brewing behind his soft brown eyes betrayed him. “Not even close,” he repeated, his voice firm but strained, as if clinging desperately to the truth of his feelings. His thumb brushed against your skin, grounding himself in the contact, but you could feel the tension in his hold—the way he was barely keeping it together. “Look at me,” he whispered, tilting your face gently so your eyes met his. The weight of his gaze made it impossible to retreat further, even though every instinct told you to. You wanted to hide, to shield yourself from how raw, how real this moment was becoming. But in a moment of vulnerability… you felt yourself pull away from him. You knew Trent was different. This was different. You couldn’t fix things or gain anything by using sex as a bandaid like you did with Josh, not when real feelings were at play and so the only thing you could do was set it on fire in an effort to protect yourself. 

“Did you ever think that maybe… maybe we shouldn’t be together?” you asked, the words falling from your lips without forethought, sayinging something you didn’t even think about. It wasn’t what you wanted to say. It wasn’t what you felt deep down. But it was easier to let those words fill the space than to confront the fear twisting inside you. Trent flinched as if you’d struck him. His blood going ice cold. He didn’t know how to convince you this was right when in the moment you were making it feel so very wrong. You were hurting but now so was he. Trent really thought when he just turned to look at you things would be better, not worse. It was quiet. The silence of the room was deafening. His hand faltered for a moment before settling back on your cheek, his touch softer now, almost hesitant. 

“Why would you say that?” he asked quietly, his voice barely audible over the heavy stillness in the room. You swallowed hard, your throat burning with unshed tears. His jaw tightened and he shut his eyes and you watched his eyelashes lay on his cheek for a moment longer than comfortable, shielding himself from the hurt; as if he was bracing for impact and so you took the final blow. 

“You said you didn’t want to take advantage…” you whispered, your voice cracking. It wasn’t what you meant, not really, but you knew the weight of those words would land, and you hated yourself for using them. You didn’t mean it but you knew what you were doing. You didn’t know why you were doing it but it was happening nevertheless. You were letting this relationship go up in flames with an ease you loathed. An ease Josh made you have and now you were letting the flames engulf Trent with you. Trent’s eyes snapped open, wide and glassy with disbelief. He searched your face as if trying to find some hint that you didn’t mean it, that this was all a misunderstanding. The weight of the night settled heavily between you. It was unbearable, suffocating, like the air had been vacuumed out of the room. You both laid completely still. You felt like you were tearing down the house you’d built together—stripping it bare, brick by brick, without even meaning to. Ripping the walls out, slashing the pipes and yet only his silence and heartbeat made a sound. There was no shouting, no anger, no big crash. Just the quiet dismantling of something fragile, something that felt too precious to lose but too painful to hold onto in the moment. His silence pierced through you, and yet, it wasn’t cold—it was sorrowful, the kind of quiet that spoke volumes about his own inner turmoil. Trent's hand, which had dropped to rest on your arm, tightened slightly on your arm, his heart aching at the sound of your pain. 

“If you feel like I’m taking advantage of you,” Trent finally whispered, his voice raw and achingly soft, “if you feel like I’m in control of this in a way that you’re not… we can’t do this. I won’t.” His hand on you withdrew slowly. It wasn’t harsh, but it left a hollow ache in its absence, as though he were pulling back to keep from causing more damage. There it was. The white flag you indirectly and subconsciously pushed him to raise. He was defeated. He couldn’t win. He felt powerless. He felt so awkward. Like if he touched you again it would change your perspective but if he didn’t it would do just the same. You had dismantled something so quietly, so swiftly. He exhaled deeply, his breath shaky, like he was trying to keep himself from crumbling entirely. It felt like there were worlds between you to now, when in reality it was mere inches but as the night engulfed the room, Trent moved from facing you onto his back creating a distance that felt like something you may never be able to close. Trent’s words hung in the air like the faint echo of a storm, their quiet weight pressing down on you as he pulled away. The warmth of his hand left your skin, replaced by an emptiness that seemed to seep into the space between you. His quiet resolve settled over the room like a suffocating blanket. You had spent so long trying to survive, to appease, to navigate a world where love meant control and touch often felt like an obligation. And yet, here he was—letting you go, even if it broke him. Trent’s restraint wasn’t rejection; it was love. It was understanding. But it hurt all the same. 

“I’ve only ever been in love once… I’ll only ever be in love once. And that’s with you.” he murmured, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. His voice cracked slightly, and the sound shattered you. Your heart clenched painfully at his confession. The vulnerability in his words was unbearable, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes. You stared at his profile, the way his lashes rested against his cheek when he blinked, the tension in his jaw as he tried to steady himself. “Just… take your time,” he added, his voice quieter now, almost inaudible. And then, with the finality of someone who had resigned themselves to the pain, he rolled over, his head resting on his pillow. You watched him, the way he clutched the pillow beneath his head as though it was the only thing keeping him grounded. His back was to you now, and it felt like a wall you couldn’t scale, no matter how much you wanted to reach for him. “I just don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered again, so softly you weren’t sure if it was meant for you or for himself. His words hung in the air, heavy and unresolved, as the night overtook the room. Trent wasn’t like Josh. He wasn’t trying to control you or force you into anything. But in that moment, the weight of your past, the weight of your fears, was too much for either of you to carry alone. And as he lay there, quiet and still, you realized just how much you had both been hurt in ways neither of you fully knew how to heal. You watched the way his shoulders rose and fell with each deep breath, steady but strained. It wasn’t just awkwardness you felt—it was guilt, raw and biting, clawing at your chest. You wanted to speak, to reassure him, to take back the words you didn’t even mean, but your throat felt like it had closed up.in an effort to save yourself you had somehow managed to cut off the only thing that was keeping you alive. Trent had let you go, the chasm in the bed now was too much to breach. The silence between you was deafening, punctuated only by the faint sounds of the night filtering in through the window. It was strange how a room could feel so full of unspoken emotions yet so achingly empty at the same time.

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room that felt at odds with the tension between you. The quiet was almost suffocating, the kind of silence that held so much unsaid. Despite the turmoil of the night before, your bodies had instinctively found each other, seeking comfort in a way words couldn’t offer. You’d spent hours wrapped around one another, as if letting go would mean accepting what neither of you wanted to face. Trent’s arms had stayed around you, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear, grounding you even as your mind raced. The morning finally had arrived, it felt like an unspoken truce, a shared understanding that this moment, however fleeting, couldn’t last. You stayed in bed longer than usual, the weight of reality pressing down on both of you. Trent’s fingers traced absent patterns on your arm, and neither of you spoke, afraid to shatter the fragile peace. When you finally sat up, the loss of his touch was immediate and jarring.

Getting dressed felt mechanical. Each movement slow and deliberate, as if prolonging the inevitable goodbye. By the time you made your way downstairs, the air between you had shifted. You could feel his eyes on you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet them. At the door, you hesitated, your hand resting on the handle. Your throat was tight, the words you wanted to say lodged somewhere deep inside. 

“T…” you whispered, your voice trembling. He was leaning against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest, his jaw tight. He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on a spot just beyond you. It wasn’t that he didn’t hear you—he was trying to hold himself together, to keep from begging you to stay, from saying something that might push you further away. When he finally looked at you, his eyes were heavy with emotion. 

“Yeah?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. 

“I… I just want to say thank you. For… for last night.” Your voice cracked, and you looked away, your own emotions threatening to overwhelm you. It was all you could say. What had transpired last night couldn’t be encapsulated in a sentence or two. Your feelings for him, the hurt you felt would fill volumes and so you settled for a thank you. Trent shifted, his body tensing as if he was fighting every instinct to close the space between you. 

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said softly, his voice tinged with sadness. “I just… I just want you to be okay.” You nodded, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. 

“I don’t know what okay looks like right now,” you admitted, your voice breaking. He took a cautious step towards you. 

“I know, pretty girl,” he replied, his words careful, measured. The pet name hurt. He sympathetically smiled at you but it was insincere. His heart was in pieces, shattered on the floor right next to yours. “But you know I’m here, right? No matter what… I’m here.” His words broke something in you, and you glanced back at him, finally meeting his eyes. He was being mature and understanding and it hurt. The depth of his care, his pain, and his love was laid bare, and it was almost too much to bear.

“I know,” you whispered, tears welled up in your eyes, ready to spill over. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to be loved like this. I’m just so sorry I’m hard to love,” you confessed, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions.  “I don’t know how to feel safe and not push you away when I do.” You whimpered as the tears slipped down your cheeks. Trent’s jaw tightened, his heart breaking as he watched you crumble in front of him. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, before pulling you into him. His arms enveloped you, one circling your waist while the other cradled the back of your head. You pressed your face into his chest, your tears dampening his shirt but he didn’t care, not one bit. He kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering there as if trying to transfer every ounce of his love and reassurance. 

“You are the easiest girl to love, pretty girl. And I will love you in whatever way and any way you need me to love you,” he whispered into your hair, his voice steady despite the ache in his chest. His grip tightened slightly, as though he was memorizing the feel of you in his arms, just in case it would be the last time. “Forever, it’s you,” he murmured, his words so soft they were almost lost in the quiet of the room. “Just please know that will never change, no matter what you decide you want.” Your breath hitched and you sobbed into his chest, overwhelmed by his words, by the way he loved you so unconditionally. 

“I love you,” you whimpered, the words breaking as they left your lips. He closed his eyes, his own tears threatening to fall as he held you. 

“I know, baby. I know,” he whispered back, rocking you gently as you cried. “And that’s enough for me.”

The house was alive with chaos—a sea of bodies swaying to deafening music, flashing lights bouncing off the walls in a kaleidoscope of color. Conversations were drowned out by the thrum of bass, laughter spilling over in waves as the party hit its peak. Layla stood in the center of it all, a drink in hand, but her focus was fractured. Her chest felt tight, as if a weight pressed against it, the absence of you palpable. You weren’t here, and while you’d told her to have fun, it didn’t feel right. Still, she pushed through. You needed her to, even if she didn’t fully understand why. Fifteen songs later and five drinks deeper, Layla felt the alcohol warm her insides, dulling some of her guilt but sharpening her resolve. She scanned the room, her sharp eyes skipping over familiar faces until they landed on Devon, standing by the edge of the kitchen, drink in hand, smirking as he caught her gaze. Josh wasn’t here yet—or at least, she hadn’t spotted him—but Devon would have to do. He was Josh’s friend, and as much as Layla disliked him by association, he was her best shot at getting answers. He was handsome, she was hot, they’d met a few times before and maybe there might’ve been some chemistry there but really there was only one reason driving Layla that night. She didn’t trust him, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t use him.

Their banter had started easily enough, a few playful comments traded back and forth. Devon leaned in close, his lips hovering near her ear as if he had to compete with the music, but Layla knew it was more than that. He was testing the waters, his hand brushing hers just lightly enough to be suggestive.

“I think we’re crossing enemy lines here,” he teased, his voice low and full of charm. Layla smirked, meeting his gaze with a confidence she didn’t entirely feel. 

“I’ll cross any line you want,” she whispered, leaning in close, her breath warm against his cheek. “But let me borrow your phone first. I just need to text my friend before we leave.” Devon blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift, but the bait was too tempting to resist. He handed over his phone without hesitation, his smirk deepening. 

“Make it quick, yeah?” he said, his tone dripping with suggestion. Layla turned on her heel, spinning away with a flirtatious glance over her shoulder. Devon’s gaze stayed glued to her as she made her way toward the hallway, phone in hand, pretending to type. She could feel the heat of his eyes on her, but as soon as she rounded the corner, her facade dropped. Her fingers moved swiftly, navigating his phone with practiced ease. She scrolled through messages, DMs, and photos, her heart pounding in her chest as she searched for anything—any hint, any clue that could tie Devon or Josh to what had happened to you. She dug deeper and deeper, her frustration mounting as nothing turned up. She huffed, leaning against the wall. The blue light of the phone screen illuminated her features in the dark hallway, casting shadows under her eyes that betrayed her exhaustion. Layla was starting to second-guess her plan as the party raged around her. The house felt suffocating, the music thundering through her chest as if it was synced to her racing heartbeat. Layla was so invested in her hunt she barely noticed Devon coming to lean lazily against the wall beside her, a smirk tugging at his lips as he watched her hold his phone.

“You find what you’re looking for, or are you just trying to steal my playlist?” he teased, his voice low and laced with amusement. Layla forced a playful laugh, flipping her hair over her shoulder to buy herself a moment. Her fingers worked quickly, scrolling out of his apps and messages, trying to stay one step ahead of Devon’s curiosity.

“I’m just making sure you’re not boring,” she shot back, her tone teasing but with a slight edge of distraction. Devon raised an eyebrow, intrigued. 

“Trust me, babe, I’m anything but boring.” He cooed. Layla ignored his cocky response. Devon noticed her change in demeanor, his smirk fading as he pushed off the wall and stepped closer. “You alright?” he asked, his tone shifting slightly to one of genuine concern. Layla forced a smile again and handed his back to him as casually as she could. 

“Just had to make sure my girls know I’m with you. Don’t want them thinking I’ve disappeared.” She cooed, turning into him. Devon grinned, clearly pleased with her response. 

“Disappeared, huh? I’ll make sure you stay right where I can see you.” He leaned into her pinching at her waist. She giggled swatting at his hand with a sloppy smile. Maybe it was the alcohol, but a part of her kind of wanted to actually go home with Devon. She didn’t find anything incriminating, he was sort of sweet and definitely handsome. Her mind was racing though, the threads were unraveling, but the knot at the center was still tied too tightly. She needed to find out more. She was committed for you… and maybe there was a little bit in it for her now. So she played along, laughing at Devon’s jokes and letting him guide her through the crowded house. Her focus drifting from being laser-sharp, every glance, every word a calculated move with intent to something a bit looser.  She’d come here for answers, and she knew Devon had to know something so maybe spending a little more time with him wouldn’t hurt. 

The soft hum of Devon’s snores filled the dimly lit bedroom. Layla sat up slowly, careful not to disturb him, and slipped his phone from the bedside table. Her pulse quickened as she padded to the en-suite bathroom, the door creaking slightly as she shut it behind her. She pressed her back to the wall and sank to the floor with a deep breath. Her fingers trembled as she unlocked the phone. Devon had been easy to charm, he actually wasn’t so bad, nice in fact, but what she held in her hand right now would tell her the harsh reality, what he really knew. 

The room was dark, the blue light burning her eyes as she scrolled in Devon’s phone, sat on the floor. Scrolling through his messages again Layla’s breath became unsteady, uneven. Her pulse quickened as she skimmed through group chats and threads. Still, there was nothing that immediately jumped out as damning. She finally decided to go back to Devon’s messages with Josh, her hands trembling slightly. The messages were cryptic as she delved deeper. It felt like she was missing something, a part of their puzzle, so she continued to scroll. She almost didn’t want to find more context, even the thought made her stomach churn but she had to do this. Her grip tightened on the phone as she scrolled faster, reading more and more messages. Her eyes darted over the screen, piecing together fragments of a conversation. 

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head. But just as she was about to give up, something caught her eye—an attachment buried deep in their thread of texts. Layla’s vision blurred with anger and panic. She shut her eyes tight. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest. There it was: a screenshot of an Instagram DM from Jess to Josh, and then, her stomach dropped—the video attached. The video of you. You, on your knees for Trent, vulnerable in a way that made Layla’s blood run cold. She felt sick.  Her hand flew to her mouth, stifling the gasp that escaped her lips as tears stung her eyes. The room felt heavier than the silence that followed. Layla sat with her knees pulled to her chest, the dim blue light of the phone casting ghostly shadows on her face. She couldn’t stop trembling. The weight of what she’d seen, and what it meant, pressed down on her like a tidal wave.

“You really are interested in my phone, huh? Find anything good?” Devon’s tired voice shattered the silence, making her jump. Layla turned, looking up at him, fumbling the phone as she tried to recover. 

“Fuck… I was just—” She stumbled out words.  Devon leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed, watching her with an expression that was far too calm for her liking. He had a sleepy smile that was handsome but it couldn’t mask what was on his phone. 

“You find that screenshot of the video Jess sent?” he asked, his tone softer than she expected. He smirked but not smugly. He smirked in a way that was sympathetic. His eyebrows raised as if he himself couldn’t even believe he had seen what she sent. He assumed that's what she was looking for. It was really the only thing that tied him and Layla together. The only reason they knew one another. Layla’s jaw dropped in surprise though that he knew it existed at all and still had the audacity to try to be with her.

“So Jess actually sent that... and you've seen it?” Layla asked again, her voice cracking. She needed him to confirm it—needed him to say it out loud so it felt real. Devon sighed, running a hand over his hair, his expression torn between guilt and discomfort. He shrugged, sliding down the wall to sit beside her. 

“I haven't seen it, no. But. yeah… she sent it to Josh. I don’t know why. Guess she wanted to stir shit up.” He cooed gently looking only at Layla, not his phone that she currently was planning on holding ransom until she got answers. Layla glared at him, her chest heaving with frustration. 

“You’re lying.” Her voice wavered, sharp and accusing. 

“Look, baby, I don’t know what’s going on there, but I’m keeping my hands clean. I don’t want any part of it.” Devon tried to explain his arm reaching out towards her knee but Layla winced at the pet name. Her eyes narrowed, her anger bubbling over. 

“Well, you are playing a part, Devon. You know Josh has that video—of Y/N and Trent, two people in a relationship, in love—and he’s using it to blackmail them. That makes you complicit.” She harshly bit back. He paused for a moment. He didn’t know you and Trent were a couple, let alone in love. He saw you at dinner once, but people go on dates all the time. The only things he heard were from Josh’s perspective. And in his opinion you weren’t allowed to be with Trent. In fact, you wanted Josh instead.

“I didn’t know they were properly together,” Devon muttered, his voice quieter now, guilt flashing across his face. 

“They shouldn’t have to be,” Layla snapped, shoving the phone back into his hands. Her tears were threatening to spill over now, her emotions a tangled mess of fury and heartbreak. “And they fucking can’t be if he has this. This is fucked up, Devon. You’re letting him ruin someone’s life, and you just sit back like it’s nothing? I don’t understand how you can be okay with that.” She whimpered.  Devon winced, the weight of her words visibly sinking in. He leaned back against the cold wall, his hands rubbing his face. 

“Fuck… I’m sorry. You’re right,” he whispered finally. Layla sniffled trying to keep herself together. She was aching for you. “I should’ve done something, stopped it. I just… I didn’t want to get involved. It’s Josh, you know? I mean yeah, I see him a lot, were on the same squad but I try not to fuck with him too much.” Devon weakly tried to explain. Layla’s tears started to spill, her voice growing more impassioned. 

“She’s my best friend, Devon! Do you even understand what this is doing to her? He’s blackmailing her. That video—it’s not just some stupid gossip. It could ruin everything for them… For Trent. And you’re just sitting here pretending like you’re not part of it? Like imagine if someone had a video of you and sent it to the fucking media… Because that's what he's doing. People's private relationship being broadcasted publicly and used to hurt them. Imagine what they feel right now that people like you even have fucking screenshots of this.” Layla yelped with a little more force. Devon sat still, the seriousness of her words bearing down on him. 

“I… I didn’t know it was like that. I didn’t think about it that way,” he said softly. Layla’s comment had landed. Devon felt stupid. He didn’t really know nor care for Trent, they played for rival clubs too after all, but the sentiment still stood. He understood this wasn't the little tiff he dubbed it to be before. He realized what Josh was threatening Trent with. “I thought it was just… I don’t know, some drama between exes that didn’t involve me. I didn’t… I didn’t think of how damaging it could be.” Devon spoke earnestly.

“It is,” Layla shot back, wiping her tears angrily. “And if you care at all…” She shook her head and took a deep breath attempting to compose herself. “You know, maybe about me.” She said unexpectedly to even herself. Maybe she had developed more feelings for Devon then she realized or maybe she was using it as leverage- she couldn't decide but she didn’t care, that wasn't the focus right now. You were. “Or just being a fucking good person and do the right thing, you need to help me fix this.” She pleaded. Devon looked at her, his liable gaze meeting her hurt one. For a moment, it was just the two of them illuminated only by the dim phone screen, the air between them thick with tension. “Devon, you know he hurt her right?” she looked at him curiously. Devon’s eyes narrowed. He looked confused and a part of Layla prayed it was honest innocence. She hoped maybe Devon wasn’t bad. That this was an indiscretion and he was nothing like Josh. If he knew, she could never forgive him. In fact, she’d kill him. “He abused her. The way he spoke to her… Fuck! The texts I’d see that he’d send her. She’d have cuts and bruises all the time… Did you know that?” Layla weakly asked him as tears coursed down her cheeks. 

“No.” Devon responded flatly. He swallowed feeling sick. He didn’t know any of that. He shut his eyes for a moment and then cleared his throat. “He can’t do that. I’m so sorry. What do you want me to do? What can I do, Layla?” He asked finally, his voice resigned but sincere. Layla straightened, her jaw tight as she wiped the last of her tears. 

•

Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter or of what's to come!

Next part - Chapter 23 - Flowers and Fixing xx

[always-just-red]

hello hi! ik the fandom mostly favors interactions between LIs & MCs/Readers but i was wondering if you have your own ideas between the LADS boys like friendship headcanons between them? how their dynamic works and which would be the best bros with each other or strongest siblings rivalry vibes between them (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠)

hopefully this is alright to request! 🙏🏻

Hi!! That's totally alright, I've seen so many good takes on this already and I love a good character analysis, so would love to weigh in! I waited to answer this since I was actually working on this fic when you sent it, and that's got all the guys interacting, so check it out if you're interested! 🥰

Disclaimer: These are all my personal headcanons! I'm not the authority on the boys and their characterisations, nor do I claim to be, so pls be respectful if you disagree with anything!

Ok so!

I can see Rafayel and Sylus getting on well once they're more familiar with each-other (though maybe that's just wishful thinking on my part).

I think Sy would honestly force Raf to confront a lot of his own insecurities? After all, Sy seems a lot more comfortable in who he is-- he's got that self-assuredness and charm that we all know Raf has to put more conscious effort into portraying. Whilst we don't know the extent of his past, Sylus has clearly made peace with the fact that he has to do bad things sometimes, whereas Rafayel still seems to have a lot of inner conflict around his actions, morality and identity.

I imagine Raf resenting Sy a little at first and so acting out a bit, trying to one-up him etc, and Sy being Sy, I think he'd probably rise to the challenge (he could be the bigger man, but like, where's the fun in that??)

Sylus is smart, so I think he'd probably realise pretty quickly that Rafayel is masking. They've both been through a lot, and once they see that in each-other there'd be a mutual respect I hope. Plus they probably have common enemies?? So if they can both get over the instinct to lone-wolf it, that's one kick-ass team ready to go (and I will be SEATED, ready to enjoy the view!!!)

If the guys are all out together, Zayne's probably gonna take it upon himself to be mediator, care-taker etc, especially as I think he'd be the one to read between the lines and notice if any of the others are struggling (e.g. if Rafayel's getting worn out in a social setting).

At first, it would be because they're MCs friends! He knows she cares about them, so he's gonna be looking out for them all. But he needs a break! So once they're all more familiar, I can see the others trying to coax him into relaxing and letting his guard down a bit, and he'll appreciate that! (But he will keep one eye on the ball because, like, imagine Raf coming up to you and saying 'I've got this, you can totally trust me' like you would have a med-team on standby, y'know?)

I think Sylus and Zayne would naturally have a bit of rivalry in terms of authority, but it would be light-hearted. There's an ongoing debate around who MC left in charge (Zayne) but there's only one person who's actually convinced by that debate (Sylus). He's gonna assume leadership position anyway, and Zayne lets him get away with it to a specific extent, unless it crosses a line, and then it quickly becomes clear who the real leader is.

Xavier!! I can see Xavier being the 'quiet one' of the group who secretly has a lot more sway than any of them realise. The others are super comfortable around him, especially Zayne when he actually wants to relax, or Rafayel when his social battery is dead. But! Xavier's no push-over, and that quickly becomes apparent in any conflict.

I actually think Sylus would enjoy stoking Xavier's darker side (if Xavier gets involved in an argument you best believe Sylus has the popcorn ready) and that the two would make pretty good sparring partners. They'd have fun with the whole Hunter's Association vs Onychinus thing, similar to the MC/Sylus dynamic.

But at the end of the day?

There's a reason we love the boys-- they're all good guys, and whatever conflicts there are, they're gonna figure it out for MC's sake. They've all been through so much, and they're all selfless in their love for MC, so that's always gonna be something they can relate to and appreciate in each-other.

And I think they could all benefit from more genuine friends?

So yeah! That's my take! I know I love angst but I'm choosing to be an optimist, mostly because I love the found-family trope and I wanna see the boys getting up to sitcom-type shenanigans! 😭😭😭