#MC interlace

[nansmenagerie]

Hubris in the ancient city Paper clips and feeling pretty

[chuluoyi]

𝐃𝐀𝐖𝐍'𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

- zayne x reader

as dawn breaks, a new chapter begins. now husband and wife in the truest sense, both of you embark on the path of happiness together. yet, bittersweet loose ends remain still. will they eventually stay in the past for good, or cast a permanent shadow over your lives?

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, pregnancy & sex, mentions of complications related to pregnancy, brief description of childbirth (c-section), hunter!reader (not l&ds mc -> l&ds mc is zayne's late ex-girlfriend here)

note: part 2 to nocturne of twilight. my god, i honestly didn't expect it'd turn out into another 8k fic but here we go :')

Lately, Zayne has come to realize just how much joy you bring to home when you’re happy.

Your smile and giggles simply light up the place.

And moreover, you get happy at the simplest of things—head pats, his snowmen... Even when he responds with jabs just to get a rise out of you, there's always a part of his heart that softens.

Today began just like one of those joyful days. He dropped you off at the Hunter Association base before heading to the hospital, and later, he planned to pick you up and perhaps stop for macarons on the way home—

Or so he thought, until...

"Hello, Dr. Zayne! Sorry for startling you. Can you come to my office? Your wife just collapsed and she is brought here."

. . .

Zayne raced to Dr. Munson's office on the third floor, panic gradually overtook his every step. His mind whirled with all the possible reasons you might end up at—

Ob-gyn office. Wait, what?

The realization struck him just as he flung open the door to his colleague’s office.

"Ah, the man of the hour has arrived!" Dr. Munson greeted him with an ear-to-ear grin.

Zayne gave a quick nod but bypassed him to head straight to the bed where you were.

You looked pale and sluggish, your eyes squeezed shut. He immediately took your hand in his, interlacing your fingers, and you opened your eyes in surprise to see him there.

"Zayne..." you murmured, giving his hand a gentle squeeze and offering a faint smile.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice filled with concern as he gently touched your cool cheek.

"A bit dizzy..."

Seeing you so meek made something inside him lurch. Just this morning, you had been full of life, pouting and playfully teasing him, and now you looked so exhausted.

"Well, maybe you already know this, Dr. Zayne, but still, congratulations!" Dr. Munson clapped his hands merrily. "Your wife is pregnant!"

Pregnant. Zayne stood frozen for a moment. In truth, while the very thought flitted in his mind from the moment he walked in, it didn't make it less surprising all the same. "I see..."

Then he turned to look at you, and to his surprise, you looked away, a shy smile played at your lips, as if you were trying to make yourself as small as possible.

A child. You were with child. His child.

"How far along?"

"Almost ten weeks, give or take. Well, aren't you the one who knows the most?"

"Is she alright? Anything I need to watch out for?"

"Ooh! How sweet!" Dr. Munson laughed crisply. "The cool-headed Dr. Zayne is worrying about his wife! The nurses are going to have a field day when they know this~"

Zayne shot him a look, but didn’t miss a beat as he retorted, "Of course I am."

You looked up at him silently, your heart fluttering at his earnest response. Zayne had always been resilient, but now he seemed more dashing than usual as he fired questions after questions at Dr. Munson about you and the baby.

Baby... both of you were going to become parents. It still felt surreal, but with Zayne’s warm grip on your hand, it began to feel real. You were almost giddy.

But then, it struck you— the baby was around ten weeks.

Then it meant the day of the conception was that night.

. . .

“Here, hold onto me.”

Zayne opened the door to his car and supported you as you carefully stepped out. You were still unsteady on your feet, so he returned you back home to rest rather than heading back to the Hunter Association’s base.

“Have you been feeling unwell these past few days?” he wrapped an arm around your shoulder as you made your way inside. “Usually, the symptoms have been noticeable for a while.”

“Hmmm,” you pursed your lips, feigning coyness. “I... don’t think so?”

Zayne quirked an eyebrow, sending you a withering stare as he realized your ruse. “So you have.”

“Hehe...” you flashed him a sheepish grin, causing him to shake his head in exasperation and pinch your cheek. “Ow!” you squeaked, quickly bringing your hand to your face.

Zayne stifled a smile, then gently guided you to the sofa. He crouched down in front of you, meeting your gaze as he took both of your hands in his.

"You need to tell me these things from now on, alright?" he said, and his steadfast gaze made butterflies flutter in your stomach.

"We..." you started, steeling yourself, "are going to have a baby," you gulped, feeling heat spreading to your cheeks.

He was unfazed. "Mm, we are."

You shifted uneasily, avoiding his gaze. "Are you... happy?"

Your voice wavered at the end, and your hand felt clammy. Suddenly, your stomach too twisted with nausea. Who would've thought that you would conceive a baby from a night that he called a mistake?

However, Zayne tilted his head, seemingly taken aback. "I am."

"Huh?"

"I am happy," he repeated, blinking back at you. "Are you?"

You gaped, caught off guard by his candid response—but then again, when had your husband ever been anything but straightforward?

"But you don’t seem happy!" you accused, pursing your lips. "You’ve been frowning the whole way home."

He shot you a flat look, his expression unchanged. "This is just my face."

You continued to pout, and Zayne sighed. His frown softened as he gently cupped your face, making you look up at him.

"You silly girl, what husband won't be thrilled when they hear that his wife is expecting?" he caressed your face, before poking it. "I'm just worried about you, you still look pale."

"You..." your eyes found his uneasily, at a loss of words. "But this baby is…" Your gaze dropped, anxiety swelling. "From… the night of—"

Your response stunned him, and you didn't dare to look him in the eye. It was still something that gnawed at you inside, because what if—

What if he thought this baby is a mistake?

In that moment, understanding dawned on him. His ashen eyes widened in surprise. You braced yourself for his reaction, but then—

His hand rested on your head, patting you gently. "You carrying our baby..." he faltered, gazed fixed on your averted eyes and then lips. His voice came almost in a whisper:

"This... is the best thing that has happened to me."

Thump! Your heart soared, warmth flooding through you in that very instant as you met his gaze. On the contrary, Zayne felt a crushing weight seeing the tears shining in your eyes. How deeply had he hurt you before that you’d doubt his feelings?

"I promised you that I’ll treasure you better," he said, pulling strands of your hair behind your ears. "This time, let me prove it to you."

Somehow you felt like crying at the sheer sincerity in his words. "You... like the baby?"

A gentle smile touched his lips as he took your hand and pressed a kiss to it. "I do. Truly."

"I... am so happy too," you finally choked up, the first tear slipping down your cheek. You quickly brushed it away, feeling a bit silly for tearing up. "I... have always wanted us to be a family..."

Zayne pulled you into his arms, letting out an exasperated but fond sigh. "A certain someone really does like to cry... And now with a baby on the way, am I going to lose my mind worrying about both of you?"

"Hmph," you wrinkled your nose. "A certain dad-to-be better work on his skills to express himself better, then."

"I'm going to focus my energy on more important things, such as thinking of all ways I should do to keep you from getting into trouble."

"...? I don't get into trouble!"

"You stumble even on empty air, I've seen it myself."

Two years ago, you had envisioned your happily ever after with him, and then you weren't sure if you would get it at all. And now, as you walked towards a new beginning together, you were wholly certain.

At least, that was what you thought.

The days following the reveal of your pregnancy were filled with bliss.

Only that, sometimes... you ask for tall order—

"Zayne... I want that plushie..."

"We have tried it three times already. That machine is rigged."

"B-but! Look, that couple won some!"

Some weeks later, the two of you were at an arcade, and your eyes were literally shining as soon as you saw the Happy Snowman plushie in the claw machine.

And ever since, you had been tugging at his sleeve and dragging him to catch it for you... only to no avail so far.

Zayne pinched the bridge of his nose. "With the way you’re acting, no one would believe you’re about to become a mom."

"Isn't that the whole point?" you fired back, puckering your lips, before mustering your best puppy eyes and bringing your hands together. "Please? Baby wants it so much."

He knew you were using the baby card just to get your way, but you looked so adorable doing it that it often worked—evident from how he lined up once more for the long queue at the claw machine.

"This is the last time," he decided, giving you a flat stare when you two reached your turn. "If we lose, we're buying the one in the souvenir shop."

"Teehee~" you giggled in delight. You'd get your plushie either way. Zayne was always listening to you even with his grumbles, and it made you inwardly kick your feet in joy.

Despite being cross, Zayne was better at this than you. He almost snagged some plushies several times, and this time, he skillfully maneuvered the claw, pressing the button with precision—

“Oh!” Your eyes sparkled as the claw secured your prized Happy Snowman. “Zayne! Just a little more!”

"Yeah, yeah..."

Just like that, the claw released the snowman into the hole. As soon Zayne handed it to you, you practically squealed. "Ahh! Finally I got you!"

You were so full of childlike excitement, even though you were just months away from bringing a child into the world yourself. Zayne watched you silently, and despite himself, a soft smile tugged at his lips.

"Do you want more?" he asked. "We still have three chances left."

"Yes!" You beamed at him. "I want the penguin and crow!"

Apparently, he was weak to your wishes. He then took the machine again, and maybe luck blessed him this time because soon enough, he got you two of them right after the chances ran out.

“Hehe! We’re bringing them home!” You patted each plushie with delight, your giggles drawing the attention of nearby kids.

"Mom, look! That uncle gets many plushies!"

Zayne felt his eyes twitch. Uncle...?

You tried and utterly failed to hold back your laugh.

And you heard another couple bickering nearby as they threw glances at you and your husband—

"I want that crow plushie..." the woman lamented, despondently eyeing the claw machine and the three plushies Zayne had managed to win for you.

Her boyfriend, a scary-looking tall man with red eyes and rider garbs, turned to her with a snort. "Why would you even need that ugly crow for? We have crow at home."

"...Mephisto doesn't count! You're just saying that because your luck and skill are trash!"

"Tch. I can open a whole arcade just so you can tear those plushies into shreds, sweetie... just so you know, there’s a price when dealing with a devil, hmm?"

Opening an arcade only to satisfy his girlfriend's wants? You thought in a passing. Crazy.

. . .

And then your emotions are practically a whirlwind of roller coaster...

“You’re mean!” you sniffled, pointing a righteous finger at your husband and the kitty cards on the table. “You always reduce my kitties whenever you get the chance!”

Zayne exhaled, trying to explain himself. “I just make do with the cards I’m dealt with.”

“But you’re trying to take out my cats all the time!”

“That’s the gameplay. If I let you win, you’d say I’m underestimating you.”

“So, are you saying I’m bad at this?” You looked at the cards with heartbreak etched on your face, your lips quivering. “Am I?”

Uh-oh, he knew what it was. You were a stone throw away from bursting into tears and one wrong word could set you off altogether.

“No, you’re not bad...” he began, carefully choosing his words. “The kitties... they’re just not cooperating with you, that’s all.”

“So, they’re cooperating with you,” you pouted, cross. “Is that what you’re trying to say?!”

Sigh... this is going to take a while...

But ultimately... you’re also incredibly precious.

“I’m going to make an amigurumi for our baby,” you announced, smiling brightly as you settled between his legs with a crochet kit and a snowman pattern in hand. “I just know they’ll like it.”

“You know how to crochet?” Zayne asked, resting his chin on your shoulder and slipping an arm around your waist, gently touching your growing bump.

“Hmph!” You tilted your chin up with a smirk, turning to face him. “Of course, I can!”

“Oh…?”

“It’s a little side hobby,” you explained with a giggle. “I can’t resist having and making cute things~”

Zayne thought he’d laugh, but instead, it was a wave of bittersweetness that washed over him. Because apparently, even after being married to you for two years, there were some things about you he didn’t know.

He was fond of you. He knew you liked a fair amount of sweets, what your favorite food and color were, and that you couldn't sleep without turning off the lights. But then he realized...

"Does it have to be a snowman?" he asked, his eyes fixed on how skillfully you handled the hooks.

"Mm-hmm! It does."

"Why do you like it so much anyway?"

"Ah..." Your movements paused slightly, and you suddenly looked down, a hint of sheepishness in your expression. "Well..."

This way, you looked adorable somehow. Zayne squeezed you gently. "Hmm?"

"You might not remember it... but the first time we met..." you felt heat creeping up to your face but pressed on nonetheless. "I asked you to demonstrate your Evol and you showed me by creating a snowman out of thin air."

Right at that moment, Zayne could've sworn that his heart skipped a beat. That meeting... how many years ago was it? Five? Six?

He could barely remember it until you mentioned it, and yet you held that memory dear.

"Maybe it sounds stupid to you," you puffed out your cheeks. "But I think you’re similar to a snowman. You look cold on the outside, but you bring happiness to so many people. You save lives…"

The way you described him so highly made him flutter inside. Suddenly he felt soft. Soft for you. You were utterly precious, genuine and all this time, he hadn't even truly realized it.

"And to me, you..." you gulped, suddenly self-conscious. "You are... warm, just like the sun..."

The sincerity in your words touched him so deeply that it left him speechless. You had loved him and it was evident in all your actions.

Now the question is, has he done the same for you?

You brightened his life just by being yourself. Most of the time cheery, sometimes snarky, and often times decidedly spoiled... all those sides of you—

He adores them all. And he knows he'll treasure you until the end of time. And now, he's going to show you that.

Before he realized it, he had planted a kiss on the nape of your neck, and you sucked in a breath as you dropped the crochet hooks. "Zayne...?"

And then his lips pressed harder, trailing kisses along your neck, while his hands slipped inside your pajama top, caressing your skin ever so gently. The unexpected touch made you unwittingly moan.

"Can you... finish crocheting another day?" he breathed in your ear, cupping your breasts tenderly, and you almost jolted. "I'll be gentle, I promise."

It felt as if your face had caught fire, your whole body flushing with sudden excitement. Your heart raced wildly at his husky voice, and the very thought that your husband desired you was deeply thrilling.

"But you..." your voice hitched, trying not focus on his fingers. "...are never gentle."

Zayne blinked at you in surprise. "Am... I? That's not true."

"Should I jog your memory?" You pursed your lips. "One time, you threw me on the bed—"

"Well—"

"And that time you had me on all fours—"

"That's—"

"And the night we conceived this baby too—"

"Right. Alright." Zayne’s cheeks flushed with warmth as he released his grip on your mounds. "You might have a point, but this time, I assure you…"

He turned you to face him, and before you could even react, he leaned in close, his breath tickling your collarbone as he whispered:

"I will take good care of you tonight."

He made good on his promise.

This time, his hands moved with a gentleness that took your breath away. Zayne started with peppering your skin in soft, lingering kisses—starting at your jaw, then trailing down your neck, collarbone, and chest.

And when his lips finally reached the slightly visible but firm swell of your belly, he paused, pressing a kiss there that seemed to hold all the love he had for your baby.

The sight pulled at your heartstrings. The very fact that Zayne cherished this little life growing inside you filled you with a happiness so profound, it nearly overwhelmed you.

And soon...

"Ahh... aah!" you writhed, arching your back, your lower body laid bare as his tongue lapped eagerly at your folds. It was, by far, the most erotic thing your husband had done to you— he usually didn’t spend this much time for your pleasure.

But as always, he was not much of a talker during sex. Only dangerous gleam in his eyes as he glanced up from between your trembling thighs that let you know he had no plans of stopping anytime soon.

"Ngh!" You gasped when the tight ball of nerves inside you finally burst, mewling helplessly as you yanked on his hair, and he ate you out even more greedily in response. You had always known it, but moments like this made it undeniable—

Zayne turns completely into a different man while bedding you. Who would have guessed that the stoic, straight-laced head of cardiac surgery could be reduced to a man consumed by lust at the sight of his wife's body?

. . .

He had always liked having you on top. This time, Zayne made sure to prepare you exceptionally well before easing himself inside you, yet, just like every other time, you still felt impossibly tight around him.

“Ah, ah... I-I’m—!” you whimpered tearfully, your walls clenching around his girth, face overtaken by sheer pleasure. “’s full...”

It didn't take him long to bust, really. With a beautiful wife sitting on top of him, eliciting sounds like that... how could he resist?

But maybe he pushed you too hard. Lust won against all his senses as he relentlessly slammed his hips against yours, and he distinctly felt the moment you stifled a scream and came hard around him.

"Are you... alright?" Zayne asked in a groan as he reached his orgasm, his release flooding inside your womb in a rush as you clung into him tightly, shuddering and spasming.

You nodded and collapsed against him, savoring the feeling of how filled up you were. In return, he cradled you close as he slowly pulled out of you. "I-I... am..."

You curled into him, and he pressed a tender kiss on your head. In that moment, you truly felt that there were only two of you in this vast world.

Gently, he lifted you—one arm supporting your legs, the other around your back—and carried you to the bathroom to clean you up.

. . .

“Drink.” Zayne held the cool glass of water to your lips, and you obediently took a sip, your gaze lingering on the gap in his bathrobe where his chest peeked out.

He was so, so considerate. He carefully handled you as he washed your body and wrapped you in the bathrobe earlier, soothing you each time you let out a whine.

It was the most comforting aftercare you had experienced. After making sure you weren’t parched, he tucked you under the comforters, joining you soon after and pulling you close.

“Are you comfortable now?” he asked quietly, straightening your hair.

“Mm-hmm.” You snuggled closer with a smile, tracing a finger along his chest.

Somehow the way he cared for you now made you remember how your relationship was back then. He didn’t dote on you this much, he was good to you but you knew deep in your hearts that he wasn’t really there. But now…

He is yours. In every sense.

“You’re tickling me,” Zayne tutted gruffly, catching your hand and pressing it to his chest.

“So? What will you do?” you teased with a playful grin. “Will you eat me up again?”

“…” His narrowed eyes made you giggle, and you pressed yourself even closer, relishing the afterglow.

You had promised yourself not to bring it up again, but feeling vulnerable in this moment, you couldn’t help but whisper:

“You… have changed,” you muttered under your breath. “Thank you… for thinking of me.”

You couldn’t see his expression, but his arms tightened around you suddenly. Warmth spread through you, feeling as though he were shielding you from the world itself.

Weeks passed by, and soon enough, you reached the middle of your second trimester.

“We’re going to find out the gender today!” you excitedly noted in the passenger’s seat. Zayne glanced at you with a smile, silently looking forward to it too.

He was relieved that your first trimester had passed smoothly, with only a few bouts of sickness. Now, before he knew it, you were already halfway through the journey.

“If it’s a girl, I hope she won’t be a troublemaker like her mom,” he slyly retorted.

You shot him a glare. “And if it’s a boy, I’ll make sure he doesn’t spend all his time studying and turn into a robot like you.”

The journey to fatherhood still didn’t feel entirely real to him with your chirpy self, but as your belly swelled and rounded with each passing week, he began to realize that the day was quickly approaching.

It made him feel warm, and he wished he could show it to you better just how much happiness you brought to him now.

You rummaged through your bag and exclaimed, "Oh, I forgot the appointment card!"

Zayne sighed, turning the steering wheel with a small shake of his head. "See? The little mom can be so scatterbrained at times."

You slouched in your seat, crestfallen. "Sorry..."

"It’s alright," he gave your hand a gentle squeeze as he noticed your expression drop. "I’ll get it. Where did you leave it?"

"In the first drawer of my vanity desk, I think…"

After arriving back at home, Zayne headed straight to your shared bedroom and searched through your drawers. The first drawer only had your perfumes, so he moved on to the second drawer, which apparently only had more makeup supplies.

And so, he pulled the third drawer, and there were a stack of envelopes there. Curious, he pulled one out, thinking it was the card he was looking for—

—but then, suddenly, he was in a state of shock. Never would have he expected to find what he had on his hand then.

For a moment, everything around him seemed to blur, his entire world reduced to those three stark words on the page. His mind struggled to process what he was seeing, a heavy weight settling in his stomach as the realization hit him.

Petition of Divorce — and your signature... was there.

Something seemed a bit off about Zayne, you noticed later that day.

You were really looking forward to finding out the baby's gender, and you thought he was too. He stood by your side all the while, holding your hand as the ultrasound probe pressed against your skin and you waited with bated breath for Dr. Munson to announce—

“Well, it’s a girl!” he declared with a wide grin. “Whoa, Dr. Zayne is going to be a girl dad, huh?”

“Oh my…” Your eyes sparkled with joy at the news. You were fine with either, but you knew Zayne had secretly been hoping for a girl, and you turned to him with pure elation. However...

“That’s… good.” His response was brief, and although he was smiling, something felt off. You had been observing him for too long not to notice—you knew when your husband was distracted.

What is he thinking? Despite yourself, you began to worry.

“Zayne?” you asked later, holding his arm as you both exited Dr. Munson’s office. “Are you thinking about work?”

He turned to you almost immediately. “No.”

“Then why are you frowning?” you asked innocently, trying to lighten the mood by touching his face. He swiftly caught your hand.

“This is a public place,” he said in a strained voice, causing you to stiffen at his tone. “I’ll take you home first.”

Something was not right. Now you were convinced and it started to bother you.

“Actually… I need to go to the Hunter Association's base first to finish my deskwork,” you said.

His brows furrowed even deeper. “Can’t you just submit your leave?”

“Ah... I’m on half-day leave today. I need to wrap up as much as I can before I go on maternity leave later.”

“Next time,” he snapped, his gray eyes locked on you, “Whenever you have appointments, take a full-day leave. You’re in no condition to be working, especially as you get further along.”

"Zayne, are you... upset with me?" you fired the question then, because it seemed like he really did, and suddenly you felt a bit sick at the very thought.

He was certainly not expecting you to ask that, and for a moment, Zayne froze, before he exhaled and his frown softened a bit.

“…no,” he finally said, his tone gentler. “I just don’t want you to push yourself too hard.”

But ever since that day, you knew something had happened to him that he suddenly he became a little distant towards you.

. . .

Zayne hadn’t meant to snap at you. If anything, knowing you were carrying a baby girl filled him with unbridled happiness.

But still, there was still a part of him that wanted to demand answers from you—that part of him that was deeply hurt by what he discovered.

In hindsight, maybe he shouldn’t take it too hard. No matter how much he reflected on it, he knew he hadn’t been the husband you deserved. He knew his faults and understood how much he had hurt you. From the very beginning, you deserved someone who would see only you and no one else—and he hadn't been that person before.

Even with that understanding, he was left with an unresolved hollowness. You had doubted him enough that you were ready to file for a divorce once. It didn't mean that the same thing wouldn't happen in the future.

Does he have it in him to make you happy? He had promised you he would. While he wasn't the most affectionate, he tried his best, and he intended to keep trying.

But now, after learning this, he found that not only you, but even he too was able to doubt himself.

"Zayne...?"

You peeked your head inside his study one night, several weeks later, a hand resting on your bump. You really didn't want to bother him when he just arrived, but you figured you had to tell him.

For the past week, you’d been throwing up, and it didn’t feel right. He had been at a symposium in another city since the start of the week, and you tried to wait it out. But today, you almost blacked out, and now you were genuinely afraid.

"Y/N?" he turned to you just as he laid his briefcase and the moment he saw you, he frowned at how pale you looked.

Zayne immediately stalked towards you and pulled you closer, feeling your neck to check your body temperature. His eyes widened in realization. "You have a fever."

"I-I... feel lightheaded today," you sputtered, clutching his arm. "And... I’ve been vomiting too..."

"I'll get you checked in at Akso," he decided, grabbing the car keys and led you out of the room by the shoulder. "Why didn't you tell me in your calls?"

Very lame excuse, but you tried to defend yourself nonetheless. "It wasn't this severe before—"

"You should have told me." His response was curt, but his fury was evident. You almost shrank at his tone, but Zayne didn't reprimand you further as he helped you into the passenger seat.

The drive was tense and uncomfortable, making you feel even worse. The silence only amplified your anxiety, and it didn't help that you had noticed how distant he was lately.

"I'm sorry—" you blurted but then suddenly, you sucked in a breath, wincing and fisting your dress when you felt the start of a cramp just below your ribs. "Ahh..."

Zayne’s panic surged at your pained gasp. He gripped your hand reassuringly, all trace of anger vanishing instantly. "We’ll arrive soon. I promise you’ll be alright."

At that moment, despite all fears you had—for your baby, of his sudden shift of behavior—you held back your sob and squeezed his hand in return.

. . .

You would be staying at the hospital until all the test results came in.

Zayne sat on the chair beside you, gaze fixed on you as you lay connected to an IV drip in the private room. Though he tried to mask it, he was still shaken. He knew better than anyone that fever and cramps at more than 20 weeks often signaled something was wrong with either the mother or the baby.

The thought of ailments beyond his control affecting either of you made his chest tighten. He loosened his tie and let out a sigh, trying to ease the constriction. "How do you feel now?"

You looked at him, managing a smile as you replied, "I’m fine now."

Seeing you bedridden like this was something he hadn’t realized he dreaded until that moment, and yet, there you were, smiling. You... smiled.

He couldn’t understand why the sight he usually adored suddenly stirred this swirling anger in him.

Your answer seemed to hit a nerve in him as his expression darkened, and anxiety struck you again, twisting something in your gut. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before..."

His lack of response only deepened your unease. "Before today, I didn’t feel faint at all, so I think it’s just something I ate."

He still didn't deign you with any answer. Zayne’s apparent disregard for your words frustrated you, bringing you close to tears. "Say something..." you urged, feeling the tears burn behind your eyes. "I know you're upset, but now I'm scared too."

You really wanted him to comfort you. You knew the Zayne from several weeks ago would do just that, but now you had a feeling that the man before you now wasn't that same man any longer.

"We’ll see when the results are ready," he said then, facing you with a stoic, matter-of-fact tone, as if he were delivering a diagnosis to a patient rather than speaking to his wife. "Don’t fret too much. Have some rest."

Is that... all he has to say to you? A part of your heart withered at his detached response, the tears frozen in your eyes. What happened to him?

You were about to confront him for an answer when his phone suddenly vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and answered.

"Hello? Yes, it's Zayne. Who is this?" he questioned flatly, eyes narrowed into a dissatisfied frown, before suddenly his expression lit up with understanding when the person on the other line introduced themselves.

You could hear the faint sound of a man's voice from his phone. And when Zayne addressed him, a sudden chill spread throughout your body.

"Caleb? It's... been a while."

You felt cold. Caleb. You never really knew him but you had certainly seen him. Once at a funeral, and once at your wedding. He too is Zayne's childhood friend, and more than that, he is the brother of—

Why? Why did all emotional suffering you had to go through, somehow or another, always come down to a dead woman who was once your husband's lover?

When he ended this call, you didn't even pretend to be considerate anymore. "What does he want from you?"

Zayne looked taken aback by your sudden hostility but answered calmly, "He’s in Linkon now and asked if we could meet."

"Must you really see him?"

"What are you getting at?"

"I don’t like it," you spat, venom clear in your voice, turning to him. "I don’t like it at all when you have to be involved with people related to her!"

Finally, you said it. You had never made it clear before, but this time, you felt like you were entitled enough to. You were having his daughter, and if he was still entangled in an illusion of his past girlfriend with you, then—

Zayne responded to your outburst with a suppressed sigh, visibly keeping his frustration in check. "He is an old friend, Y/N. You're too emotional right now that you jump into conclusions and stress yourself out."

He was right, your emotions were spiraling, but right now you were too heartbroken to care for it.

"Do you know what I fear the most?" you asked, tears shining in your eyes. At last, you voiced the dark, unspoken curse that had haunted you since the very beginning of it all:

"I’m afraid that one day, you’ll wake up and realize that either me or our baby is a mistake."

Zayne barely got any rest that night.

In the end, faced with your tears, he didn't respond because he didn't want to prolong the argument. More strain for you could put both you and the baby at risk.

Later, he told himself. No matter how much he berated himself for not noticing the signs of your illness sooner, or wanted show you that you and his unborn child meant everything to him now— later. He wouldn't risk you, and it would be better if you talk later with cooler heads.

Little did he know, that "later" would never come.

Numerous missed phone calls from the nurses station after he stepped out of the operating room sealed your fate. And when Greyson burst into his office, out of breath and panic-stricken, it was like being doused in scalding water.

"Dr. Zayne! Miss Y/N! Sh-she has just been rushed to ER for severe bleeding!"

Just like that, his world crashed and shattered beyond return.

. . .

"Dr. Zayne, I'm not sure how I should break this news to you... As a medical professional, you already know how serious this condition is..."

Everything was his greatest nightmare realized. Dr. Munson’s diagnosis struck him with a searing force, paralyzing him on the spot.

"Your wife has preeclampsia."

The nurses said you had been screaming and bleeding heavily. He too had seen it himself—the blood splattered across the pristine floor when he arrived, just moments after you were rushed to the emergency room—and the sight made a chill run through his spine in horror.

"She just experienced a partial placental abruption because of it. This causes bleeding in the mother, and also increases the risk of premature labor."

Dr. Munson’s explanation was crystal clear, yet it sent Zayne into a daze. It felt as if his chest had been ripped open, leaving him hollow as he stared numbly at your figure, peacefully asleep after the emergency treatment you had been put through.

Zayne clasped your hand in his, feeling the invincible knife lodged in his heart twist painfully.

You aren't supposed to be this cold. He gently griped your hand, his face contorted with agony. How terrified must you have been? How much did it hurt? Despite trying to push the memories away, seeing you like this brought back the nightmare from three years ago.

Only that this time, it was you. And not just you, but his unborn child as well. Both of you... there was a chance that both of you wouldn't survive.

The sheer thought made him stagger, because no, if it was the devil’s way to punish him, then it was beyond cruel. He had failed you once already, and he knew what happiness was by being with you, and to lose all of that in one blow—

"Zayne! Can you make me one more snowman?" you pleaded, your eyes sparkling as you pointed to the little gap between snowmen already perched on the window. "Just one more! It’ll make the line perfect!"

"I’m afraid that one day, you’ll wake up and realize that either me or our baby is a mistake."

It was so, so painful. His chest constricted at the contrasting memories and it took everything he had not to give in to his spiraling fears.

With everything I have, I love you. None of it mattered anymore. The divorce papers, whether he could make you happy— what was important was that It was unthinkable to lose you now. He would trade his life if it meant sparing you, because the pain of losing you would destroy him.

You had always loved that little thing he made on a whim. He opened your palm and shaped the ice through his manipulation, placing the palm-sized snowman in your grasp, hoping it would protect you throughout the night.

You remembered the excruciating pain, the primal dread of losing your baby, and the horrifying sight of crimson streaming endlessly between your legs, also how you screamed for anyone for help.

When you regained consciousness, the scent of fresh linen and alcohol was the first thing that greeted you. Dawn had already arrived, but the sky outside remained dark.

Your right palm felt cold, and that’s when you realized you were holding something. At the same time, you noticed the weight in your other hand—

Zayne. Your husband slept on the edge of your bed in such an uncomfortable position while holding your hand, his brows taut into a frown, only with a coat to cover himself.

He is here. You quietly watched him, and despite everything, you realized once again how much you loved him—even more that he was here for you.

Snowman… you stared at the little toy in your other hand, and overwhelming warmth washed over you at the thought of him creating it for you just before he slept.

The baby… what did you go through? Is she fine? You really couldn’t shake the feeling that something grave had happened to you.

You had to know. You pulled your left hand out of his grasp and caressed his face. He has to shave soon, you noted, feeling the stubble that had started to grow there. Still, you couldn't help but marvel at how handsome he was.

Your gentle touch soon caused his eyes to flutter open, and Zayne jerked awake, instinctively catching your hand. "You're awake..." he rasped, his voice rough with exhaustion.

He looked at you as if he was in disbelief, and immediately rose and squeezed your hand. You looked up to him, feebly asking, "What... happened to me?"

His face fell right that moment but you pressed on, "Tell me. I have to know..."

Zayne's reluctance was obvious, but the plea in your voice made him waver. Finally, he sighed and sat down on the edge of your bed.

"The test results have come back," he began, his voice adopting the clinical tone you recognized from when he spoke to his patients. "Your blood pressure is abnormally high, and there was protein found in your urine sample... These are signs of a condition called preeclampsia."

Shock marred your features in that moment, because you had heard what it was and what it meant for your baby.

"The only cure for preeclampsia is delivery. And at the same time the placenta has detached from the wall of your womb. This way, our baby—"

You had watched Zayne deliver devastating diagnoses to his patients before, and he was always steadfast. But this time, even his voice wavered.

His gray eyes seemed to glisten under the light as they held your gaze. "She's being deprived of oxygen and nutrients because the placenta can no longer supply them. You may also experience heavier bleeding, more cramps, and fetal distress. The best course of action now is to deliver the baby as soon as possible."

It felt like receiving death sentence. No matter how you looked at it, the conclusion was the same. "B-but..." you stammered, your whole body trembling, shaken by the enormity of it all. "S-she's just... barely twenty-six weeks..."

The way devastation bled in your voice pierced him. Without a word, Zayne pulled you into his arms, letting out a long, drawn-out breath as he held you close.

"I'm here," he assured, trying to console you. "You don't have to be scared. We'll monitor you closely until it's possible for you to give birth to the baby in around thirty weeks. I'll make sure of that."

The first of your sobs began. "...i-is it me?" you clutched at his coat mournfully. "Did I… p-put the baby into distress somehow— that it causes the placenta to fall away?"

"No," he firmly shushed you. "It's a condition that can flare up anytime. Don't blame yourself for it."

Still, how could you not? More than yourself, you feared for your unborn child. You sobbed harder, and Zayne held you even as his coat had started to dampen from your tears.

Your predicament broke his heart too, but at the same time, he found the perfect moment to finally show you the entirety of his heart.

"You told me you were afraid I'd come to see both of you as a mistake," he murmured, gently running his hand through your hair in an attempt to soothe you. "But how can our daughter be a mistake when—" his voice caught, choking on the words, "—when I've loved her so much already?"

The strain in his voice made you look up, and you were taken aback by the intensity of his gray eyes that bored into you.

“Both of you... are so precious to me.” Zayne locked his eyes with yours, sincerely meaning everything he said as he cradled the side of your face. “The thought that anything might happen to either of you... is unbearable.”

He pressed his forehead against yours, his voice hoarse, “What if… you continue to bleed and it leads to seizures? What if— you and the baby won’t make it? These are so unbearable for me.”

His words went straight into you, and for a moment, your tears receded as they sank in.

"I can’t give you my past." His voice tinged with melancholy, the expression on his face was torn. "But I promise you, at least in this lifetime..."

He gazed at you with the unwavering look you had fallen in love with, the same gaze you once admired from afar, long ago.

And then, his next declaration took your breath away and made your heart soar like never before. A wave of love surged within you, almost overwhelming you—

"Right this moment and my future—it's for you. For both of you, always."

From that moment on, you knew you would trust him completely. From that moment on, you finally let go of your doubts, knowing that you had nothing to fear with him by your side.

Zayne was by your side whenever he was able to.

You were on bedrest at the hospital ever since, but he always stayed the night here to accompany you, barely going back to home for a change of clothes.

"You’re really making a snowman..." he remarked, observing your fingers and the crochet hooks he’d brought from home so you could keep yourself entertained. "I think you need to add a bit more fluff there..."

Your face brightened with a grin as you cut the yarn. "Don’t worry, I’ll make it extra round."

The weeks in the hospital dragged on, but they also gave you more time to work on your amigurumi. When you finished putting the final touches on it, you proudly presented it to Zayne—the snowman with a blue shawl and black hat, two little round eyes, and a beaming line of smile. "Ta-da! Look, it’s even cuter than the ones you made!"

A happy you was always the sight he loved to see above all. "Yeah..."

"Do you think she'll love it?" you suddenly asked, poking the snowman doll you just made, feeling warm at the thought that your cherished baby will soon play with it too.

You looked so endearing that Zayne felt an overwhelming urge to pull you closer. “She will,” he chuckled, giving you a reassuring pat on the head. “Didn’t you say before she will?”

And soon, you reached the thirtieth-week mark. The time had come to finally deliver your baby.

. . .

"I can't feel anything..." Your voice came out as a soft whine while you lay on the operating table, your lower body numb and obscured by the surgical curtain shielding you from view.

Zayne, standing beside you in a mask and headcap, grasped your hand, his fingers intertwined with yours. "If you could feel it, you’d be screaming."

The C-section was the only way to ensure both you and your daughter would survive. It felt surreal to know they were basically cutting you open, yet you were unable to feel anything.

"Will... she come out healthy?" you asked your husband hesitantly, worried about your soon-to-be born baby. "I'm worried..."

Zayne glanced at you and gave your hand a light squeeze. "Don’t worry too much. You should be more concerned about yourself. Think of all the food you want to have when you get home, and I’ll get it for you."

You shot him a glare. "You make me sound like a foodie."

"You are a foodie."

Despite the ongoing surgery, Zayne’s lighthearted jabs were his way of easing your anxiety. Even though they irked you, you appreciated his attempts to lift your spirits.

And soon—

You heard a feeble cry, though quickly drowned out by the cheers of the surgical team beyond the curtain. You gasped and turned to Zayne, who was fixated on the tiny baby in Dr. Munson's hands.

He didn't even blink. It was almost as if he was spellbound by the sight. Nothing mattered because his daughter was here. Really here.

"Zayne…" your voice then broke the spell. He turned to you, who weakly smiled at him with tears in your eyes.

For the first time in your life, you saw tears of happiness glistening in his eyes as he stared at you— the woman who had just given him a daughter to love and dote on.

He immediately leaned in to press a kiss on your forehead. Your heart felt so full, even though he wasn’t able to fully express it in words. In that moment, you could feel his profound love for you and the new life you would embark on together.

"She is so small..."

You pressed yourself as close as you could to the see-through glass of the neonatal unit, straining to get a glimpse of your baby daughter. Though you weren't well enough to walk three days after the surgery, you insisted on Zayne wheeling you over in a wheelchair just so you could have a peek.

"She’ll grow big soon," Zayne said, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder when he noticed your sadness. "She’ll stay there for a few more weeks, and then we can bring her home."

However, your expression twisted into a worried frown as you watched the gentle rise and fall of your baby’s tiny chest inside the incubator. Even when he had reassured you that it was by all means just an unfortunate condition, you couldn't help feeling that it was your fault somehow that she ended up there.

She had his tufts of black hair, but you weren’t able to get close enough to remember her face clearly. The fact that you hadn’t held her in your arms yet made your heart ache.

"Mommy is sorry that she can't carry you to full-term..." you croaked out, lips wobbling, a hand tracing the glass separating you from your new baby, and Zayne inhaled sharply at the sight.

It hadn’t been easy, but you had made it through. Both of you had. And to him, that was more than enough. So, you needed to hear it too.

He crouched down in front of you, catching your attention instantly. You tilted your head as his hands rested gently on your shoulders.

“Thank you for delivering our daughter safely,” he said with the softest of smiles, ever so genuine just as you were in all times of the two of you together.

Your eyes widened a bit at his sudden gratitude, and when he took both of your hands together in his, gazed at you with such earnestness in his clear ash-grey eyes, and traced his thumbs over your knuckles, your heart skipped a beat.

“And most of all, thank you... for being safe too.”

Those words brought immense warmth to you, and the prettiest of smile lit up your face then at the way he looked at you as if you were his most prized treasure. Just like that, once again, he cast all your fears and doubts aside.

And deep down, you knew that with him by your side, everything was going to be alright.

taglist

@sillyfreakfanparty @rjreins @enterrandomusername @castellandiangelo @admirablefangirl @luna4mnoon @prettytemis @onliafaze @aviesnapkindoodles @jinniebby2 @mnemeosyne @elliesndg @haichii @pearlymel @kissingtruth @mccutelittlesheep @certainduckanchor @itsbabyabby @thdcre @aerithsthingss

[wearysparrows]

Chariot

ao3/masterlist

Summary: Caleb fingers you in his car, but you’re interrupted by a phone call. It doesn’t seem to deter him much, though.

cw: female reader, reader is mc, vaginal fingering, grinding, pseudo-incest, caleb referring to himself as your brother, porn with feelings, light spanking, caleb being talkative because he's caleb, sex while on the phone, Zayne gets caught in the crossfire, not beta read, 5K

“You still act frugal, but your Colonel’s salary must be pretty cushy if this is what you drive.”

You sat, arms crossed, in the passenger’s seat of Caleb’s car. It didn’t fit your childhood image of him at all – freckled skin and a bright smile, hands that were tanned and deft at breathing life back into long dead machinery. Caleb had turned more than one beater into something functional enough to drive you around in. He did it for fun. A friend's car that needed work was somehow always in the lot, or something Caleb had miraculously turned drivable in his precious free time. The black interior of the Lamborghini, with its blue backlighting, felt cold, sterile. This was Colonel Xia’s vehicle, not Caleb’s car. Caleb wouldn’t drive something like this. Not your Caleb. Together, you sat parked in an empty lot, one that overlooked the bustling nighttime lights of Skyhaven below. A dry summer wind buffeted the outside of the car, unable to touch you. Caleb turned his face toward you in the dark, eyes illuminated by the cool lights on the dash. It gave you the impression of light bouncing off the dark, untouched gems of a cave. Far away. A vein that couldn’t be mined.

“It’s not an act, baby. I still am frugal. Besides, my Colonel’s salary lets me spoil you –  just like I always wanted to. And the car lets me take you places. You hate it that much?”

His elbow was resting on the console, supporting his weight. His desire to hear the truth of your opinion was evident in his tone. Caleb never wanted you to lie to him, even if it hurt. You dragged the pad of your index finger over his knuckle bones – or rather, the plating that had replaced his knuckle bones – watching as it rose and fell over them. The paneling was scratched here and there, as if it had taken numerous beatings. Things we wouldn’t tell you of. His fingers twitched under your touch. You wondered if it was a reflex, a remnant of when the arm still boasted flesh on its outside. You knew he couldn’t feel the contact. Your heart ached dully for him, filling up the space between your diaphragm and lungs. You would have shared his pain, if you could. You wanted the same pain. The same everything. Two of everything. Always.

“You make it sound like everything you do is for me. It’s not that I hate it. It’s just not you. And there’s this huge divider between us,” you gestured to the console, which was stupidly large, and felt like a wall to keep Caleb out. Or maybe one to keep you in.

 “Besides, if I said I hated it, would you really get rid of it?”

Caleb reached for your hand that was playing with his fingers, and interlaced yours with his own. The metallic chill of his touch made gooseflesh rise along the skin of your forearm. The certainty of its steel had become something that grounded you.

“It doesn’t just sound that way. It is that way.”

Caleb was quiet for a moment before continuing, holding your hand, a peculiar stillness over him, as if considering the latter half of your statement. 

“If it’s the distance that bothers you,” his thumb stroked the top of your hand, tracing the valleys between your metacarpals.

“We can close it. You just have to give me the OK.”

With how Caleb had been acting after his return, you didn’t doubt the seriousness of his statement. When you came too close, he embraced you, but warned you he wouldn’t let you off the hook if you kept going – even if you claimed it was only on a whim. Your hands could only roam so far.

I can’t promise I’ll keep my cool whenever you do that. So don’t go any further.

You wanted to see Caleb lose his cool. You wanted to see it again. 

“OK, Colonel. Enlighten me. How will you close this big distance between us in your fancy car?”

You only had a moment to catch the wry smile that crossed over Caleb’s face before you were suddenly being lifted from your seat, weightless, the blue fractals of his evol reflecting in the lights from the dash. Its sound was all too familiar, a low hum, like the air was alive with its energy. An involuntary sound of surprise escaped you, and you were deposited neatly astride Caleb’s lap. While he had been commandeering the very gravity around your body, defying laws that everyone else had to adhere to, he had adjusted the back of his seat so he was leaning back, giving you more clearance to sit on top of him. Your skirt had hiked up around your thighs, and Caleb adjusted it back down your legs, eyes still on your face. His fingers against your skin sent hot energy skittering down your spine. You wanted them inside you, all over you.

“We’ve closed the distance. Physically speaking, anyway.” 

His tone was lighthearted, but laced with something else you couldn’t quite place. Not quite hope. Closer to resignation. His hands hovered around your calves, like he couldn’t decide on where to put them, before landing on the lower half of your thighs. Both big. One warm, one cold.

“I like the car a bit better from this angle. Though I’m still not wholly convinced.”

You looked into his face as you spoke, ignoring the interior of the car. He did look good from this angle, underneath you. He looked good from any angle. There was a reason he was unfathomably popular growing up. He seemed to have shed all of it, caging himself in his singular need for your affection. You reached out to his face, and pinched his nose between your index finger and thumb. He scrunched his face up in response, wiggling his nose, before you let him go. 

“What, you’re not satisfied with my nose, either? I’m not sure I can replace it as easily as the car, pipsqueak.”

His fingers played with the hem of your skirt, slipping underneath it. His thumbs stroked your bare skin. Forbidden heat clawed its way into your stomach. You gave him an excuse for wanting to touch his face, to make it yours.

“I’m not dissatisfied with it. I just own the air.”

Caleb paused, and a little smile replaced his curious look. His eyes crinkled up at the corners. His gaze on yours was full of a barely restrained burning intensity. 

“You own me, too.”

His casual admission of ownership left you unable to find words. Your skin prickled where the calloused pads of his fingers touched your bare skin. It was too much, not enough. He was always toeing the line, testing the waters, pulling away when he saw any hint of indecision on your face. You passed your hand over the dog tags that sat against his chest, and they clinked softly under your touch. Cold, like his right hand on your leg. You had insisted he wear it in its true form, without the false skin, and he had readily complied, despite his discomfort. You preferred his true self, even if he didn’t. Your Caleb was perfectly flawed. His eyes followed the movement of your fingers as you tangled them in his necklace. He spoke gently, in that tone colored with nostalgia he often used when he recalled memories of your shared childhood – both the good and the bad. 

“You know, when you were really little, you saw a drawing of Apollo driving his chariot of the sun across the sky in a picture book I was reading to you. You asked me if I’d be able to do the same one day, when I could fly. If I could pull the sun across the sky, led by white horses. I told you I’d do my best to live up to your image of me. So I’ve got all kinds of chariots for you. This is just one. If you don’t like it, I’ll get you another. Just tell me what kind you want.”

You heard the ring of your brother’s voice, the boy you had grown up with. The one who had taken you to the arcade, paid with his allowance. He cheated with his evol to win you toys when he couldn’t win by honest means.

Just tell me which one you want, and I’ll get it for you. I’ll get them all.

You studied Caleb’s earnest face in the dim light. The soft swoop of his hair over his brow, which cast dark shadows on his eyes that betrayed his depth of feeling, and kept it locked tight, all at once. The perfect slope of his nose, freckles given by the kiss of the sun. His full lips, chapped and bitten. Even in the heaviness of the night, he was still somehow radiant. The dark space of the car couldn’t contain him. You felt yourself soften towards him, your earlier irritation at his show of being the Colonel melting under his true light. 

“I guess being the Colonel of the Far Space Fleet is about as close as you can get to driving the sun across the sky. In the modern day, anyway.” 

Caleb chuckled, a soft, boyish exhale of air. He looked up at you with adoration so clear that it made something twist hotly in your chest. It was so different from the face he had worn the first time you had seen him again. That horrible mask of indifference. That damned uniform. So divorced from the image of your Caleb that you had doubted it was really him. But it was him. A side he had never shown to you. The two Calebs spread each other's gore across the sky, curling and reaching as blood did in water.

“That almost sounded like a compliment, pretty girl. Is the sun going to rise in the west tomorrow?”

Your mind conjured the image of Caleb lashing the sun across the sky in the west, forcing it to act the opposite of its nature. If anyone could do it – it was Caleb. Nothing seemed beyond him, even now. He had come back from the dead, after all. The cosmos no longer seemed such a tall order. Not even stars could return from the land of the departed. They only left black holes behind in their wake. You fanned one hand thoughtfully across his chest, feeling his heartbeat. It quickened, then stilled, then quickened again.

“I guess that’s up to you, isn’t it?”

Caleb grinned in response to your question, a real smile, showing you his rows of white teeth. He had canines that were just slightly longer than usual, one of which was just a little crooked. You had poked at them with your fingertips as a child, pressing them deeply into your skin, and watched the marks they left with unbridled curiosity. The pain was a kind you liked, because it had come from him. He had let you explore his mouth with your fingers, his tongue chasing behind them. He had done the same to you. Once, he had stroked the back of your tongue a little too hard, and you gagged on his fingers. His eyes had gone wide, and the game had ended when Caleb disappeared in his room for the rest of the day, leaving you wondering what you had done wrong.

You wanted to lick the inside of his mouth, to press your tongue against his. The direction of your gaze didn’t go unnoticed.

“Interested in my mouth?”

His hand rose to your face, thumb parting your lips, just like he used to. You licked at it with the flat of your tongue, and heard him inhale sharply through his nose in response.

“Yeah. It looks much better when you’re not talking so much, though.”

Caleb pulled you down to him, so that you were chest to chest. His voice was soft and sweet in your ear. He was hard underneath you. He had been for some time. You had both been ignoring it. It was the standard between you, something that was never discussed. It just was.

“Really? But I was gettin’ the impression you liked talking to me. You started calling me every day, again. You text me all the time, too. You even send me cute pictures of yourself. I especially liked the one where–”

You put a hand over his mouth, not wanting to hear him tell the truth of how you had teased him over text. Your elbow was resting on his chest in order to do so, and his dog tags dug painfully into the bones of your arm.

“Shut up, Caleb.”

His voice was muffled from behind your hand. You could feel the natural wetness of his breath against the skin of your palm as he spoke.

“Do you really want me to? Or are you just sayin’ that because you’re embarrassed? It’s just me. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

You heard the unspoken words behind his statement. Caleb had already seen every part of you. He had seen more of you than people who had been inside of you. He had wiped your tears, your snot, your vomit. Your blood. None of it fazed him. He wanted it. You sat back so that you were sitting on his thighs. Your hands hovered over his belt, tugging on it, but not undoing it. Caleb watched, gaze snapping between your hands and your face. Even in the low light, you could see the new flush that colored his ears and cheeks.

“You’re making me want to push my luck, baby. Is this a test of my self control?”

You stuck your thumb underneath the portion of his belt that was held down by the buckle.

“And if it is?”

Caleb took a breath through his mouth, and his words came out a strained rasp.

“Then I’d ask if you want me to pass with flying colors,”

His hand wrapped a firm grip around your wrist, one you couldn’t deny, and guided it to press against his cock through his cargos. Even through the layers of fabric, he felt so impossibly warm.

“Or fail miserably. ” 

You felt yourself warm from your chest, head becoming so hot so quickly that you felt a wave of lightheadedness. You had seen and felt Caleb hard under your eyes and ass many times – but he had never once made a move to acknowledge it. Seeing your hand against the outline of him sent a new kind thrill racing through you. You had imagined touching him like this more times than you could count. Putting him in your mouth. Responding to his interest. But you couldn’t, then. Not if he didn’t acknowledge his want. Now, things were different. Caleb wasn’t just a boy anymore. He wasn’t the king of the playground, the star of his highschool basketball team, nor the Valedictorian of his DAA class. He was a man. A man who wanted you. Openly.

“I’d like to see you fail at something, for once.” 

You removed your hand from his grip, prying his fingers from your wrist, and worked his belt buckle open. The jingle of the metal suddenly seemed ridiculously loud in the small space of the car’s interior to your ears. When it was free, you pulled his zipper down, down. Your fingers felt strange, weak. Like you couldn’t quite get enough power in them to do what you wanted to do. The zipper caught, more than once. You heard Caleb’s breaths coming quickly through his nose, and felt more than saw the heat of his gaze on you as you worked. He made no motion to assist you – either enjoying your struggle or holding himself back – you couldn’t be sure. Maybe it was both. 

Caleb’s hands were around your waist, then, and he lifted you back into his lap, setting you squarely over his cock. The only barrier between you was that of your underwear and his boxers. He had shucked his jeans further down his legs with his evol. His grip on your waist was so tight that it was nearly painful, pressing into your bones, and he used it as leverage to roll his hips up into yours. Being with him like this – it was surreal. So much familiar, and so much was so strange. Like a shared dream. There was no hiding how wet you were when you pressed up against him like this. His eyes looked so dark that they were nearly black, the deep lilac of them nearly erased by his pupils. His thumbs lifted the hem of your skirt, hiking it up over your hips, and he looked down between your legs for the first time, as if he was finally given permission.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

You felt him twitch underneath you. Once, twice.

“Are these the ones I bought for you?” 

Your mind, having been emptied of everything except for the feeling of his newfound closeness, took a moment to recall what he was talking about. You looked down at the place where he was touching you, thumbs digging pleasantly into the muscles of your hips. It was, in fact, not the usual article. Being a hunter, it wasn’t exactly comfortable to wear anything that was less than practical most of the time. But today was your day off – and you had opted to change into a pair that Caleb had supplied in the room he had given you at his house. (At the time, you had tried not to let your mind wander as to why he had supplied so many pairs in both your size and the brands you liked. But you knew Caleb. You had your suspicions – just more things you didn’t acknowledge.) You managed a nod. You hardly managed to feel embarrassed about it, though. He made it so easy to do as he wanted, so comfortable.  Even when you were still so angry with him – because everything he did benefitted you.

Caleb keened in response, a low whine in his throat, and the flat of his palm suddenly met your ass with a soft smack. The feeling went straight between your legs. It was something you hadn’t even known you wanted from him. Now, you suddenly wanted more.

“You’re so cute. Lift up. Hold yourself over me.”

You did as he asked, too caught in the heat of the moment to argue, bracing yourself by gripping the sides of the driver's seat, hovering over him with your knees on either side of his lap. You were dimly aware that he could have lifted you with his evol, but he was making you work for it, instead. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but any reservations you had were quickly forgotten when you felt Caleb’s hands drift up the back of your thighs. He squeezed your ass, and smacked it again, like he just couldn’t help himself. It was harder than the first time, and stung more with the impression from the first still smarting. Your body tensed up all over in reaction to the impact, your breath leaving you through slightly parted lips.

“That’s my good girl.”

Before you could voice any kind of response to his praise, he was pulling your underwear to the side, his fingers finding you slick and ready for him. One and then two were inside you, giving you hardly any time to prepare or adjust. He was so eager. It was hard to believe the wet sounds were coming from his fingers inside of you. You shifted your hips back against his hand. Caleb was breathing open-mouthed underneath you, eyes laser focused on your face, watching your responses, drinking them in. His fingers were so much longer than your own, and touched you in places you couldn’t feel without him. 

“I’m inside of you, baby. Holy shit. You’re so wet. I’m the only one you get like this for, right? No one else but me. C’mon, tell me.”

It was hard to formulate a coherent thought when he was giving his all to thoroughly fucking you open with his fingers. You opened your mouth, willing at least the admittance of the truth to come out. Yes, he was the only one. Even when you had been with other men, you had searched for Caleb in the downturn of their eyes, in the largeness in their build, in the freckles on their faces, in the softness of their hair. You had never wanted anyone else. No one else could get you this worked up with just a few words and a simple touch. Caleb was the only one who aroused such strong emotion in you – anger, hatred, arousal. Love.

Just as you found your voice in the depths of your throat, the sound of your phone ringing from the console where you had placed it rudely interrupted. It was the same ringtone Caleb had chosen for you years ago, when he had been fiddling with your phone without permission, messing with your settings. After he had died, you hadn’t the heart to change it. It would have been like erasing one of his last impacts on your life. Caleb’s fingers inside you hardly paused, and you watched, stupefied, as his evol brought your phone towards you. You both looked at the caller ID at the same time. 

Zayne’s name illuminated the screen.

You saw a strange expression flicker over Caleb’s face as you turned back to him, before he schooled it into an easy smile. He pressed his fingers inside of you, as deep as they would go.

“Answer it.”

You gawked at him. His fingers curled inside of you. There was no way you could answer the phone right now. Let alone to talk to your doctor, your childhood friend. Why did he have to choose now, of all times, to call? Zayne never called. Why now?

“Caleb–”

He shook his head, eyes firm.

“If you won’t, I will. Put it on speaker.”

His voice was hard. It was the same one he used on you when you were kids, when you knew you had no other choice but to obey him. Usually for your own good. You were still hovering over Caleb’s body, and your arms were beginning to ache with the effort of holding yourself up. You pressed answer, and Caleb’s evol oh-so-kindly held the phone up to your face. Zayne’s voice came from the other end of the line, distant but palpable with underlying concern, even in his singular word.

“Hello?”

You did your best to collect yourself, while Caleb seemed to pay your struggle no mind. He only worked to bring you closer to the edge. Your thighs began to shake, your muscles protesting the position. 

“Zayne? Is everything okay?”

Your voice wavered, but you managed. Caleb palmed himself with his right hand as you spoke, a loud shuffling of fabric.

“Everything’s alright. I saw you were in Skyhaven – and in a fairly isolated area. I…was concerned.”

He sounded like he was choosing his words carefully, not asking you to reveal too much, nor revealing much about his own intentions. You were mid-wondering how the fuck Zanye knew where you were and why he had to call now, of all times, when you were at your worst, when it came back to you. You had shared your location with him when you had commandeered his unique skill set for an investigation just some weeks prior, deep into the mountains. You must have forgotten to turn it off. You didn’t have time to wonder why he was checking it after the fact. Guilt threatened to creep behind your eyes. You swallowed it away before answering.

“I’m…okay. I’m with a friend.”

Caleb’s movements inside of you became punishing in response to your words, pushing in and out, his thumb working your sensitive nerves. He smacked your ass again, and it was loud. You knew by the way he was acting that he wanted Zayne to hear what was happening. They weren’t exactly rivals during childhood – but Caleb had certainly seemed to see it that way. He made no effort to dampen the sounds he was eliciting from your body, not the slap of your skin, nor the wetness between your legs. You corrected yourself, hoping to soothe his anxieties, and implore him to give your body reprieve while you were on the damn phone.  

“I mean – I’m with Caleb.”

He was smiling underneath you, looking all too pleased with himself at your amendment. He cupped your breast through your shirt, squeezing it, rolling his fingers over the soft flesh there. His scent was everywhere around you. Clean laundry. A new day. Summer sun on skin. Freshly trimmed wheatgrass. It stuck in your throat pleasantly.

Zayne was quiet for a long moment. 

“Caleb? Your brother, Caleb?”

The reminder of just whose fingers were inside you caused you to clench around Caleb’s fingers in response. There was a flurry of movement, and Caleb shoved his boxers down without warning. You heard his cock slap heavily against his stomach as it sprang free. His fingers came out from inside of you, and one hand forced your hips down so that you were sitting directly on his cock, your underwear still pushed to the side. He wasn’t inside of you – just slipping wetly in between your legs. The other hand forced your head close to his mouth, fisting in the back of your hair, tugging. Your scalp prickled with pinpoints of lovely pain. His voice just above a harsh whisper in your ear. 

“That’s right. I’m your fucking brother. Are you going to tell him what you’re doing with your brother right now?”

Caleb repeated the word 'brother' with such vitriol that it was practically a snarl, rather than a word. The phone was still held aloft next to your face. 

“Y-yeah. My brother, Caleb. I’ll explain later, Zayne. I gotta…gotta go.”

There was another excruciatingly long silence. You would apologize later. Profusely. With excuses.

“Alright. As long as you’re safe.”

Zayne sounded wholly unconvinced, and like he wanted to say something more, but stopped himself short.

“Yeah.”

The phone dropped back onto the console with a dull thud, and you prayed upon every star that would listen Zayne had hung up of his own accord. Caleb dragged your face to his by your hair, his lips and teeth clacking into yours. He licked at the roof of your mouth, sucked your tongue, bit at your lips. Zayne’s words had set Caleb off, and his unresolved energy was practically radiating off of him in droves. His hand was on you again, pleasuring you, while bracing you by the hips with his other, sliding you up and down the length of his cock with barely controlled ardor. Your orgasm was upon you only seconds later, the anxiety of the phone call, the intensity of the situation, and the stimulation from both his cock and fingers were enough to crest you over the edge with a shuddering breath, inhaling the air from Caleb’s mouth into yours, the sweet taste of his breath your new reality.

Your arms finally gave up their valiant effort of holding you above Caleb, and you collapsed on top of him. His arms were instantly around you, his face pressed into the crook of your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin there. He came from rutting against you with a catch of his breath in his throat and a stuttering groan, and you felt the pulses of his orgasm between you, his spill hot against your skin. The heave of his chest lifted you up and down, up and down, in time with his breath. You braced yourself against his chest with the flat of your palm, lifting yourself to look him in the face. He was still just as hard underneath you, despite having just finished. Caleb’s head followed your upward movements, and he licked a stray bead of sweat from your cheek, up the side of your face like a dog. The wetness left behind from his tongue felt cool in its absence. You smacked a fist against his chest as he lay back.

“You are the worst. Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?”

You couldn’t muster any real malice to bolster your words. Being with Caleb set your heart on edge and at ease, and he was the only one who could make your body feel as it just had. Caleb put the fingers that had just been inside of you in his mouth before answering your question, licking them clean of you. His free hand – the mechanical one – carded through your hair, brushing sweaty strands from your forehead. His expression was back into one of sweetness.

“Yeah, angel. I told you I’m the worst version of Caleb, didn’t I? I want to do all kinds of terrible things to you. Make sure you have everything you need. Everything you want. Be by your side. Wake up to you in the morning. Be inside of you. Keep you where no one else can find you. A world that’s just you and me.”

Caleb’s soft emphasis on the word terrible made it sound like he meant something else entirely. Like he was telling you his innermost, fervent dream. One that he had tried so hard for so long to make a reality. His hand cupped your face now, and you placed your own over it, nuzzling into the cool assuredness of the metal. Your voice came out barely a whisper.

“I must be the worst version of me, too. Maybe I want to hurt you more than you realize. Maybe I want you to suffer before you can have those things. Before you can give them to me.”

Caleb blinked up at you, and warmth spilled onto his face, into the ripening plums of his irises. Everything was reduced to him in that moment, and he was the pinpoint of the cosmos center as he spoke.

“Sufferin’ and pleasure – if they’re from you, they’re the same to me. Anything you give me, I’ll take it. I want it. If it’s from you, it can only be good.”

[peanutpinet]

You Are Loved - Sylus x Insecure Fem Reader

Prompt: “I’m going to prove everyone who made you feel like you don’t deserve love that they’ve been so, so fucking wrong. And I’m going to make you understand that you deserve so much more than you realise.”

Prompt is from: @dumplingsjinson

Blurb: When you thought that you were not worthy of love and are always worried that you would get hurt in the process, Sylus proves you wrong

Trope: I don't really believe in love girl x let me show you what love is guy

Warnings: Light angst, insecurity, soft and loving Sylus, reassurance

Disclaimer: I do not own the images nor the characters or you (the MC). All images were taken from Pinterest and credits go to the images' respective owners.

“You’re dozing off again, is something wrong, sweetie?” Sylus pointed out as the two of you had dinner together

You immediately snapped out and looked at Sylus, reassuring him. “No, no. Just work…yeah” you went back to look at your food and started to pick at it which didn’t go unnoticed by Sylus

Sylus let out a sigh and used his hands to stop you from picking at your food. Instead, he interlaced his fingers with you, rubbing your knuckles. “Hey, tell me. What’s wrong? What’s in that pretty head of yours, hmm?”

You honestly didn’t want to admit what you were thinking. It was silly and you were being insecure because Sylus was your first-ever boyfriend. Sure, you were aware with love, the idea of dating from the books you read, movies you watched but when you’re the one who’s actually going on a date with your boyfriend, it just feels off.

“Hey…” Sylus called out to you again, rubbing your knuckles and getting your attention

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to doze off again. Umm, what were you saying?” I asked, trying to get into the conversation

“Something is on your mind. What’s wrong, sweetie?” Sylus asked, gripping my smaller hand tenderly but firmly at the same time while you tried to avoid his gaze because you knew that if you did, you would actually give in and admit what was wrong

“Sweetie?” Sylus called you again, his grip a bit tighter but not too much that it would hurt you. “Tell me, why are you picking on your food, avoiding eye contact with me? Did I do something wrong?” Sylus asked as you immediately shook your head

“Then? What is it, sweetie? Do I really need to use my aether core and look into your mind? You know that I can do it but I’m not out of respect for your boundaries” Sylus added on, getting a little frustrated on why you wouldn’t tell him what was going on

“Sometimes I just wonder…” you started, trying to unscramble the words to create a concrete sentence while Sylus rubbed your knuckles with his thumb, reassuring you that he’s not going to judge you. “Go on, sweetie. What do you often wonder, hmm?”

You took another deep breath, not wanting to meet Sylus’ eyes as you spoke. “I just wonder…what made you pursue me and to keep going until now? You know I’ve never been in a relationship and I’m not someone who seems to be capable for long-term because of trust issues and all”

Hearing your reply, Sylus gripped your hand a bit more comforting instead of tight and rough. “Sweetie, look at me”

You still tried to avoid Sylus’ gaze until you felt his large hands creep under your chin and gently turn your head so that you were facing him. Instead of looking annoyed or angry like he normally does when he’s out, his eyes showed a softer, more vulnerable side of him. One that you almost never saw.

“Is there truly a need for a reason to pursue you other than the fact that I adore you?” Sylus asked, his hand on your chin rubbing your face gently and lovingly to the point you almost leaned into his touch but held back and shook your head. “It’s just weird. You’re practically the most powerful man in the N109 zone, you’re wealthy, and handsome might I add. Why pursue me when you can have many other gorgeous and much more successful girls?”

Sylus felt his heart swell when he heard you put out all the compliments to him. “You really think I’m that handsome?” Sylus smirked as you scoffed, trying to pull your hand but Sylus being Sylus, he wasn’t going to let you go that easily

“Seriously? That’s the only thing you caught when I talk?” Sylus chuckled at your sudden outburst, finding it cute. “I assure you, sweetie, it’s not. But it’s not everyday you call me handsome though I know you thought about it. But for real sweetie, what does all my trait have to do with wanting to pursue you? Why should I pursue other girls when there’s you”

“That’s the thing, Sy. I’m just me. I’m no one special. I’m not even that pretty, not that smart, not a business owner or anything outstanding” you argued back

“But you see, I don’t care about you being someone famous, special, or outstanding. I adore you because you’re you. You’re special to me whether you see yourself as special or not. I adore the way you ramble on about the little things of life. I adore how kind, gentle, and caring you are. I adore how raw and real you are with me. You don’t try to hide your bad side or be fake. You’re always yourself with me and that’s what I adore. You” Sylus reassured you, bringing your hand closer to his face as he kissed each of your knuckles before rubbing them again.

“Sylus…people will talk. Well, people already talk…” you mentioned but didn’t get to continue as Sylus immediately cuts you off

“Let them talk. I don’t give a damn what they say. They can think, assume, or judge the hell they want. But I’m going to prove to everyone who made you feel like you don’t deserve love that they’ve been so, so fucking wrong. And I’m going to make you understand that you deserve so much more than you realise”

“You should know very well that I adore you. There is no love purer than mine” Sylus kissed your knuckles, making sure his lips linger on your skin a bit longer

And somehow, the gentleness of Sylus’ touch and the raw feelings he poured out today brought a sense of relief and reassurance. Bringing a new feeling for you that maybe, for once in your life, it’s okay to be selfish and allow yourself to be loved.

A/N: I hope that you all are well, here is the fic I promised where you, the girl, doesn't really believe in love and Sylus reassures you by asking you to trust him and show you what love truly is :3 xoxo, peanutpinet

[salemrph]

"A Hunter's Christmas Hustle: X-Mas Morning" Sylus x MC

Summary: On Christmas morning, you wake up flustered from the previous night’s events. Sylus teases you about the kiss, pushing your buttons. As the tension rises, you can’t deny the growing feelings. Maybe the Christmas magic help you to make up your mind.

Read before: A Hunter's Christmas Hustle" Sylus x MC

Character: MC x Sylus

Genre: holiday, fluff, romantic | Pet names : Kitten, Sweetie

| Word count: 4,339 | Reading Time: 17 min | AO3

The next morning, you wake up in Sylus’s large bed. The soft amber glow from the simulated sunlight on the nightstand bathes the room in a calming hue, reminding you that here in N109 Zone, natural light is an impossible luxury. You stir awake slowly, the events of last night replaying in your mind. The adrenaline rush from the Wanderer fight, the shattered whiskey bottle, Sylus’ unexpected Christmas gift, and your lips on his cheek.

A soft warmth rises in your chest as you recall the sensation, equal parts thrilling and terrifying. You lift a hand to your lips, running your index finger over them lightly, as if testing the memory’s reality. His skin had been warm, softer than you expected, a fleeting connection that left an impression deeper than you’re willing to admit.

Your sigh fills the quiet room before you even realize it. God… Your fingers curl against your mouth as your thoughts spiral.

“Morning, kitten,” he greets, his tone as smooth as ever, pulling you from your spiraling thoughts.

Sylus is lounging next to you, propped up on one elbow, his head resting lightly on his hand. His white hair is slightly mussed from sleep, but his crimson eyes glimmer with sharp amusement. The sheets pool low on his hips, exposing the lean, muscular lines of his torso. His signature smug smile graces his lips, as if he’s entirely in control of the moment.

“Did you sleep well,” he continues, his voice laced with teasing, “or were you too busy replaying last night’s kiss in your head?”

Your heart leaps, and you sit up too quickly, the motion sharp and awkward. You blink at him, caught completely off guard. “Excuse me?”

Your face betrays you instantly, a wave of heat rushing to your cheeks. His smirk deepens as he taps his cheek, the very spot you’d kissed.

“You know, the one right here. I can’t stop thinking about it. It was nice… but now I’m thinking you owe me another.”

You narrow your eyes, crossing your arms. “Sylus, I kissed you on the cheek because I felt bad about the whiskey. Don’t push it.”

He slides closer to you, tilting his head with an exaggerated look of disappointment. “And here I thought it was a token of your affection.”

“It was an apology!” you snap, your embarrassment only fueling his delight.

“Well then,” he says, leaning in slightly, his crimson gaze locking with yours, “how about an other kiss as part two. Making up for really letting me down. First, the whiskey. Now, no heartfelt holiday gesture to start the day? I’m beginning to think you’re bad at this, kitten.”

“You’re unbelievable.” You groan.

He chuckles, the sound low and warm. “I’m taking that as a yes.”

Before you can protest, he moves closer to you, wrapping an arm around you so that you lay down again, his closeness throwing you off. “Go on,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, teasing yet sincere. “Or are you too scared to follow through?”

Your stomach twists, every nerve in your body alight as the challenge in his gaze holds you captive. You hesitate, heart pounding as you lean forward. “Fine” you mutter. Maybe as apology for resonate with him unconsciously after that sweet moment between you.

When you were ready to go home last night, you had again the evol linkaged on your wrist.

"Seems like someone doesn't want to let go" he said soft. Interlacing your fingers he guided you back to his car. "Next time, just say what you want, sweetie."

But instead of his cheek, Sylus tilts his head slightly, just enough that your lips brush the corner of his mouth.

You jerk back, your face flaming. “That wasn’t what we agreed on!”

His laugh is full and genuine, a sound that wraps around you and settles in your chest. “Consider it my Christmas bonus” he says, standing up with a smug grin.

“You—” you huff, grabbing a pillow and chucking it at him.

Sylus catches it effortlessly, setting it back on the bed with a wink. “And yet, you keep playing along. I leave you so you can change, you will catch a cold if you keep sleeping like that.”

He move out of the bed and grab a T-shirt, pulling it over. The grey sweatpants he's wearing sit dangerously low on his hips, so you can't help but follow the line from this lower back to his ass. You bite you lip. A moment later he leaves the room, you find yourself smiling despite your flustered state. Damn him.

Wait? What did he said? You freeze, eyes wide as you glance down at yourself. The oversized shirt, which had fallen carelessly off your shoulder, now leaves far too much exposed. Your heart skips a beat as you tug it back up quickly, but the damage is done.

“Ugh, this is ridiculous,” you mutter to yourself, trying to steady your breath and regain some sense of control. You walk over to the mirror, glancing at your reflection. Yeah, that the face of someone who is dying to get closer to him.

With a sigh, you quickly take a shower, letting the warmth of the water wash away your lingering embarrassment from earlier. Once dried off and dressed in your robe, you step back into the bedroom—only to freeze in place at the sight of something unexpected.

Laid neatly on the bed is a dress, a pear of long black socks and black polished low heels.

You blink, your brain catching up to the image in front of you. It’s not just any dress—it’s... festive. The top is a sleek black, simple and elegant, but the skirt is where things take a turn. A cheerful Christmas pattern sprawls across the fabric, complete with mistletoe, Santa Claus, reindeer, and snowflakes. For a moment, you just stare at it, unsure how to react.

He can’t be serious, you think, but then again... Sylus is full of surprises. You can’t imagine him picking something like this out, let alone having it delivered and laid out for you. Yet here it is.

You step closer to the bed, your fingers brushing the fabric. It’s softer than you expected, high-quality despite the kitschy design. Somehow, it’s... cute. You huff out a laugh, shaking your head.

Why not humor him? you think, picking up the dress. Maybe, just for today, you can be kind to him.

Slipping into the dress, you’re not surprised by how well it fits. The vintage cut flatters your shape, and the playful pattern on the skirt gives it a lighthearted charm that you hadn’t expected to like as much as you do. You adjust the fabric, smoothing it down with your hands, and catch your reflection in the mirror.

You look... festive. Cheerful, even.

“Alright, Sylus,” you mutter to yourself, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Let’s see what you’ve got planned next.”

...

The living room looks completely different. Garland and twinkling lights are strung along the walls, framing the windows with a soft golden glow. A small, elegant Christmas tree stands proudly in the corner, adorned with delicate ornaments and a shimmering star on top. A pile of wrapped presents sits beneath it, their glossy paper reflecting the light.

You blink, trying to process the scene. How did I not notice this last night? Then again, you’d been half-asleep in the car and barely conscious by the time Sylus had guided you inside.

Your gaze shifts toward the kitchen. Sylus is standing at the stove, humming softly—an actual melody—while flipping something in a skillet.

At the sound of your footsteps, he glances up, and for a split second, his crimson eyes widen ever so slightly. His usual smug grin quickly returns, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his gaze as he takes you in.

“Well, well,” he drawls, leaning casually against the counter. “Looks like someone decided to embrace the holiday spirit.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you reply, rolling your eyes, but the smile on your face gives you away.

“Ridiculously charming, you mean.” He gestures to the table. “Now sit down, kitten. Breakfast is getting cold.”

You raise an eyebrow as you take your seat, gesturing at Sylus with a fork. “And you? Are you not changing into something festive too? If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”

Sylus smirks, crossing his arms as he leans against the counter. His current ensemble—a simple T-shirt and sweatpants—looks far too relaxed for the holiday vibe he’s apparently trying to create.

“Patience, kitten,” he says, his tone dripping with amusement. “I plan to change, but I wanted to make sure you had breakfast first. Can’t have you fainting from hunger before you get to see me looking exceptional.”

You roll your eyes, biting into a piece of pancake. “Exceptional, huh? You better not disappoint. I’m picturing something with reindeer antlers or a Santa hat.”

He chuckles, his crimson eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, you’ll see. But I promise, I’ll leave the Christmas patterns to you. You wear them better.”

“Wow, a compliment,” you tease, trying to suppress a grin. “Should I be worried?”

He winks. “Always.”

With that, Sylus pushes off the counter and heads toward the bedroom. “Finish your pancakes, kitten. I’ll be back before you know it.”

If Sylus is putting this much effort into Christmas, there’s no way he’s going to stop at just decorating the living room and making breakfast.

As you finish the last bite of your pancake, Sylus returns to the room—and it takes you a moment to register the sight of him.

He’s changed into an outfit that perfectly complements your vintage dress. A crisp white button-up shirt, neatly tucked into tailored black trousers, is accented with a dark green vest that brings out the faintest flecks of warmth in his crimson eyes. Over the ensemble, he’s draped a charcoal-gray blazer, its cut sharp and classic, fitting him like it was made for him.

But it’s the details that catch your attention: the faint shimmer of a gold pocket watch chain glinting from the vest, the perfectly knotted burgundy tie, and the polished black shoes that complete the look.

You can’t help it—you stare.

How is he so handsome?

He’s already striking in his usual attire, but this? This feels like he’s stepped out of another era, exuding a timeless charm that leaves you momentarily speechless.

Sylus notices, of course. He always notices. But he doesn’t acknowledge the way your gaze lingers on him, nor the faint flush that creeps up your cheeks. Instead, he walks over to the corner of the room, where a sleek sound system rests.

Without a word, he turns it on, and the soft crackle of vintage Christmas songs fills the air. The rich, velvety tones of Bing Crosby singing “White Christmas” envelop the space, adding an undeniable warmth to the festive atmosphere.

“What do you think? Do I pass the test?”

You clear your throat, forcing yourself to look away before your flustered state gives you away entirely. “I guess it’ll do,” you mumble, your tone deliberately nonchalant.

His lips quirk into that signature smug smile, but he doesn’t press you further. “Good. Wouldn’t want to outshine you, kitten.”

You snort, trying to regain some composure. “Please, as if you could.”

Sylus chuckles, walking over to the table. He pours you another cup of coffee, the rich aroma mingling with the sounds of the music. “Drink up. We’ve got a long day ahead, and you’ll need your energy.”

“For what?” you ask, narrowing your eyes suspiciously.

He tilts his head, that maddeningly enigmatic smile still in place. “You’ll see.”

You sip your coffee, trying to focus on anything other than how good Sylus looks in that outfit. The music plays softly in the background, adding a cozy charm to the room that feels almost surreal considering who you’re sharing it with.

Sylus, of course, is completely in his element. He moves with his usual ease, clearing the table and making sure everything is in order, as if he’s done this a thousand times before. It’s infuriating, really, how he can be so composed while you’re fighting to keep your thoughts in check.

“Still staring, kitten?” he teases without even looking up.

You nearly choke on your coffee, quickly setting the mug down. “I am not staring,” you snap, your tone defensive.

He glances over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised in amusement. “If you say so.”

You groan, leaning back in your chair. “Are you always like this?”

“Only when it’s fun,” he replies smoothly, returning to the table to gather the last of the dishes.

As he steps past you, the scent of his cologne—subtle and woodsy, with a hint of spice—lingers in the air. You stiffen, heat rising to your cheeks again.

“I’ll take these to the kitchen,” he says, giving you a fleeting smile that’s almost... soft. You watch him go, feeling a little unsteady. This is... Get a grip.

When Sylus returns, he surprises you by holding out a hand.

“Come on,” he says, his voice lower now, almost inviting.

You blink at him, confused. “What?”

“Dance with me,” he says simply, nodding toward the space he’s cleared near the Christmas tree.

Your heart skips a beat. “Really? Now?”

“Why not?” He smirks, his head tilting slightly. “It’s Christmas. Isn’t this the kind of thing people do? Dance to sappy music by the tree?”

You glance at his outstretched hand, then back at his face. His expression is unreadable, a mix of amusement and something softer, something you can’t quite place.

“I don’t...” You hesitate, but the look in his eyes pulls at you.

“Sweetie,” he says, leaning down slightly so his face is level with yours, his tone teasing yet gentle, “if you’re scared, just say so.”

Your pride flares, and before you can stop yourself, you place your hand in his. “Fine. One dance.”

His fingers curl around yours, warm and steady, as he guides you to the open space. The music shifts to “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” the soft melody wrapping around you both like a blanket.

Sylus places a hand lightly on your waist, his touch firm but not overbearing, and you rest your free hand on his shoulder. He moves effortlessly, leading you in a slow, easy rhythm that surprises you.

“You’re... good at this,” you admit grudgingly, avoiding his gaze.

He laughed, his voice low and smooth. “I told you. I don’t half-ass anything.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. The moment feels strangely intimate, the two of you moving together in perfect sync. For once, Sylus doesn’t say anything cocky or teasing. He just holds you, his expression unreadable as his crimson eyes meet yours.

And for a fleeting moment, you forget about the chaos, the danger, the complicated dynamic between you. All that matters is the warmth of his hand on your waist, the soft strains of the music, and the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the only thing in the world worth focusing on.

The dance had been smooth up until the very end. You’re so flustered and distracted by the proximity, the warmth of his hand on your waist, and the way his crimson eyes never leave yours, that as the final notes of the song play, you trip over your own feet.

A sharp gasp escapes your lips as you lose your balance, but before you can even process the fall, Sylus reacts instantly. His arms wrap around you with a swiftness that takes your breath away, pulling you tightly against him.

You freeze, eyes wide, as Sylus pulls you closer, your breath hitching. His chest is warm against yours, his strong arms wrapped firmly around your waist. The playful glint in his eyes hasn’t faded, only deepened.

“Careful” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “Falling for me already?”

Your face burns, and you push against him weakly, but his grip tightens, unyielding. Before you can protest, he shifts smoothly, guiding you both toward the couch. In one fluid motion, you find yourself perched on his lap, with no space left to escape.

Your Christmas dress rides up slightly, revealing more of your black socks and upper thighs—a detail Sylus doesn’t miss. His gaze lingers, appreciative and unashamed, the intensity in his eyes adding an almost tangible heat to the air between you.

“Really,” you sputter, your voice shaky as you try to tug your dress back down. “Was this necessary?”

Sylus leans back slightly, one arm draped casually over the couch, the other resting firmly on your hip. “Absolutely,” he says, his smirk widening. “It’s my duty to make sure you don’t hurt yourself. Consider this... preventative care.”

“Preventative care?” you echo, glaring at him.

He tilts his head, his expression equal parts amused and smug. “Of course. Can’t have you twisting an ankle or worse, sweetie. Especially not when you look so adorable in that dress.”

Your heart skips at his words, and you curse yourself for the way your pulse quickens under his gaze. The Christmas music plays on in the background, the soft crackle of an old record filling the silence between you.

"Stop looking at me like that," you protest, though your voice is shaky. His presence has always had a way of disarming you, but this—this is different.

His gaze locks onto yours, unflinching. "Or what?" he asks, his voice a low, smooth drawl. His words send a shiver through you, despite the annoyance you're trying to hold onto.

Your stomach twists in a mix of frustration and something else—something you don't want to name. "Let go of me," you demand, though it's weaker now, more uncertain.

Sylus doesn’t move, his smirk deepening as his fingers brush lightly along your arm, sending an electric pulse through your skin. “You keep saying that,” he murmurs, his voice teasing, “but you haven’t exactly tried to get away.”

Your breath quickens as you look for an escape—your mind racing. He's so close, too close, but you know he’s teasing, pushing buttons just to get under your skin. And yet, there's a part of you that... likes it. Desire it.

Touch me.

"Let me go, Sylus," you say again, this time firmer, your voice not quite matching the heat flooding your cheeks.

"Not yet," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Not until you stop pretending you don’t want this."

Your heart stutters. "What are you talking about?"

Hug me.

He chuckles, the sound vibrating against your chest. "You know exactly what I mean, kitten."

Both of you stay frozen in place, staring at each other. His eyes hold a challenge, daring you to break the silence, to acknowledge the unspoken tension crackling in the air. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you’re sure he can feel it where his hands rest on your waist.

You clench your jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction. Admitting your feelings—whatever this is—feels like surrendering, and you’ve never been the type to back down. Not to him. Not to anyone.

But the intensity of his gaze is unravelling your resolve, bit by bit. His expression isn’t mocking anymore; it’s softer, searching, like he’s looking for something in you, waiting for you to say what you both know.

You press your palms against his chest, more to steady yourself than to push him away. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, Sylus,” you manage, your voice low and tight.

His lips twitch into a smirk, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You really don’t?” His thumb brushes against your side, the contact sending shivers up your spine. “You’re not as good at hiding as you think, kitten.”

Hold me closer.

You scowl, a flush creeping up your neck. “Stop calling me that.”

“No.” The word is quiet but firm. His forehead drops against yours, and his voice softens. “Not until you tell me why it bothers you so much.”

Your chest tightens, a rush of emotions threatening to spill over. You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to stay composed. You want to say something cutting, something that will wipe that smug look off his face. But the words won’t come.

Because he’s right. And you hate him for it.

Finally, you tear your gaze away, staring somewhere—anywhere—that isn’t his face. “I’m not... ready for this,” you mutter, barely audible.

Sylus tilts his head slightly, his voice patient but persistent. “For what?”

“For you,” you snap, before you can stop yourself.

His grip on your waist doesn’t falter, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—surprise? Amusement? Relief? You can’t tell, and it’s infuriating.

“Funny,” he murmurs, leaning closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “Because I think you’ve been ready for a while. You just don’t want me to win.”

Please...

You glare at him, ignoring everything was your body is screaming. “Win what?”

“Whatever it is we’re fighting over,” he says “But you’re the one who made it a game, kitten. I’m just playing along.”

His words strike a nerve, and you shove at his chest, though he barely moves. “This isn’t a game.”

“Then why are you so scared to admit how you feel?” His tone is calm, his gaze unwavering, and it makes you want to scream. Or cry. Or maybe...

Kiss me.

Anything to get that maddening look off his face. But you don’t. Because even if you want to, you can’t let him win. Whatever that’s supposed to mean.

The silence between you stretches, the tension coiling tighter with every second. His hands stay on your waist, steady, as if he’s daring you to move first. You know he won’t back down—he never does. But neither will you.

Your breathing is shallow, your pulse hammering in your ears as you force yourself to meet his gaze again. His eyes are dark, searching yours, like he’s waiting for you to break. For you to choose.

“I’m not scared,” you finally whisper, your voice shaky but defiant.

He raises an eyebrow, his lips curving into a slow, knowing smile. “No?”

You swallow hard, every nerve in your body screaming at you to retreat, to put space between you before this... whatever this is, spirals out of control. But you stay.

“You’re the one who’s scared,” you counter. It’s a weak jab, but it’s all you have left. “You’re just hiding it behind that smug face of yours.”

His smile falters, just for a fraction of a second, but it’s enough. A flicker of vulnerability, there and gone.

“You think this is easy for me?” His voice is low, rough, and it sends a shiver down your spine. “You think I don’t—” He cuts himself off, his jaw clenching as he exhales sharply. His grip on your hips tightens, and for a moment, you think he’s going to let go.

But then, he moves one hand to your lower back and gently goes up to the middle of the back. Staying there, slightly pushing you against him.

"I'm pretty sure I have made myself clear multiple times. Or have you forget it, my beloved?

As the tension thickens between you and Sylus, the soft crackle of the vintage record continues to fill the room. A romantic melody begins to play, its soothing yet melancholic notes mingling with the charged atmosphere around you. It’s a classic, tender tune, slow and intimate—something like "I'll Be Home for Christmas"—a song that tugs at the heart, its nostalgic lyrics almost as if they were written for this very moment. The melody wraps around you both, amplifying the quiet storm swirling between you, adding weight to the unspoken emotions flickering in his eyes.

Sylus's gaze softens just slightly, his thumb brushing your cheek, as if the song has pulled something out of him too, some piece of vulnerability, a part of him he’s never shown before. His breath mingles with yours, warm and slow, and for a moment you let go.

“Sylus...” you breathe his name softly, barely audible, but it feels like everything you’ve been holding back, everything you’ve been too afraid to say.

“I can wait...” the words are coated with both restraint and something else, something deeper. His lips hover so close to yours that you can feel the heat radiating off him, just as the final notes of the song drift into silence.

How long have I hold back?

And that’s all it takes. Without a single thought, without hesitation, you close the gap between you. You hear Sylus gasp, his body tensing for a moment while he grabs you harder. The kiss is sudden and fierce, messy with desire and need, but it’s everything—real, raw, and irrevocable. And in that moment, everything else—the tension, the game, the resistance—disappears.

When you finally pull back, breathless and wide-eyed, he’s staring at you like you’re the only thing that exists. His smirk is gone, replaced by the most beautiful smile you've ever seen. You relax in his grip. He looks much younger with those eyes.

“Guess I won” he whispers, his forehead resting again against yours.

You manage a shaky laugh, your chest still heaving. “Maybe we both did.”

Sylus brushes a strand of hair from your face. You both sit in the quiet, the world outside forgotten, as the faint sound of the songs fades into the background. For the first time, there’s no tension, no game—just the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of the moment.

Certainly, a way to start the Christmas morning.

It took me a while to write this down. But yeah, I hope you have a beautiful time with family and friends.

[5sospenguinqueen]

Sebastian: Quick, take my hand.

MC: (grabs his hand) Okay, now what?

Sebastian: Nothing. (Interlaces fingers) I just wanted to hold your hand.

[cherryrikis]

ONE LESS LONELY GIRL - 013 ! the bigger talk

PAIRING idols riki x fem reader

SYNOPSIS fans always point out the chemistry between you and riki, and it only continues to grow after you become mc’s together on music bank. but as your feelings rise, so does the tension. and people begin to notice, so you try not to let riki know how you feel. but unbeknownst to you, he feels entirely the same way.

authors note i took a short mental break before updating but im pretty proud of this part, especially since its the second to last one

previous <> masterlist <> next

“so we’re gonna tell them for sure? no backing out?” riki asked as he looked deeply into your eyes.

“i mean, we’re already here..” you stared blankly at him. you gestured to the large double doors — which behind, held bang sihyuk’s office.

“yeah, yeah.” he scoffed, playing it off. “sunghoon was totally wrong anyway. don’t know why he wants us to wait until we get in trouble again.” riki scratched the back of his neck.

“you don’t have to be nervous. there’s nothing to worry about” you chuckled at his expression, before interlacing your hand into his.

riki cleared his throat before going to open the office door. “sir, do you have a moment?” he asked.

bang pd looked up from his computer, gesturing for you two to sit without a spoken word. “something on your mind?” he muttered, going back to typing on his keyboard.

“we just wanted to say,” you spoke up, taking a deep breath. “that we’re dating. and we wanted to let the company know. we think its best that the public knows about this.”

“ah.” bang pd hummed.

you and riki turned to face each other, confused. “uh, sir? we said, that we’re dating.”

“i know. i heard you the first time.” he chuckled, before signing out from his computer to give you his undivided attention. “and, i’m very happy for you both. i think it’s great you made the decision to come forward to us. the company will release a statement within the next few hours. you two have not a thing to worry about.” bang pd smiled.

“what? s-so, that’s it? that’s all you have to say?” riki asked lowly, still stunned.

“did you expect something more? fans loved you two as a duo from the start. we’ve always taken this into account. if they loved these interactions and have supported you up til now, there should be no problem if we announced that you were dating.”

“no repercussions from the company, whatsoever?” you stepped in riki’s place, gently rubbing circles into his palm in a comforting manner.

“no repercussions. now, assuming that is all, you are released. if you may, could you close the door on the way out? i have an online meeting in few minutes.”

the two of you stood up from your seats, thanking bang pd before leaving as he asked.

“see? i told you there was nothing to worry about.” you smiled, wrapping your arms around riki’s bicep as you walked through the hallway.

TAGLIST (italics = couldnt be tagged) @hannicorpse @luvvhaerin @chaevibes @en-verse @ren2jay @choppedballoondetective @heartheejake @imanalien143 @istglevi-gotmesimping @yndairy @eleanorheartschishiya @lonelylandofan @gweoriz @jaemified @onlyhyunjin @softpia @frecklesbrownies @riksaes @wensurr @rikifordmiami @brideslit @ant-onie @yumilovesloona @aeminju @hoonics @catecita @clampclover @rei4sunoo @addictedtohobi @rikidaze @baekxo07 @xotyla @melancholy-z @rikisgeef @jung1w0n @tocupid @onlyseung @i03jae @iheartshopping @istphanie @queenriki7 @academiq @1117promises @nctislifue @haechansbbg @rairaiblog @nabia-bia @pkjay @lixiebokie @hiekoo @r1kizerr @d-dilemma @kingofthekards @iilwji @hoonatic @woorcve @enhaz1

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Vesuvia Weekly: MC is M6's embodied impulse control

Hear me out, Julian mutters, elbow deep in ink stained parchment sheets with eyebags for days. It's moments like these that you can really understand where the "mad scientist" rumors of him started. He's been obsessing over this new article published in a Prakran journal ever since it arrived at the clinic - three days ago. You can't even tell which eye is plagued and which is just bloodshot.

"Julian, you need to sleep."

"Hear me out, my dear -"

"No."

~

Hear me out, Asra chuckles, that impish smirk dancing around their face while they hold their latest creation out of your reach. Should you have known better than to leave him unsupervised with the shipment of new sample items to add to your shop? Yes. Did it happen anyways? Also yes. Does the mystery glob in their hand appear to be gaining sentience? You don't want to know.

"Either let me see it or take it outside, Asra."

"Hear me out, my love -"

"No."

~

Hear me out, Nadia croons, two slender, gauze covered arms circling your waist. You know better than to fall for her suggestions as easily as you normally might. Tonight is a meeting of all kinds of important guests, crucial to Vesuvia's progress on the international political and economic stage, and about to be very boring. You'd like to give in and discover what her sultry tone is offering, but you know better.

"Nadia, you know how important this event is."

"Hear me out, my darling -"

You groan. "No."

~

Hear me out, Muriel grumbles, burly arms protectively folded around the bundle of muddy fur and a furious blush creeping its way up his face. You love his heart for nature, you really do. You also love your indoor living space to feel like an indoor living space. Having what appears to be a muddy, hyperactive, flea-ridden skunk with a nervous tick as your new bed mate doesn't feel very "indoors."

"Muriel, I just cleaned the hut."

"... hear me out."

*SKREEEEEE*

"No."

~

Hear me out, Portia slurs, loose curls all spilling to one side as her eyelids droop and her lips stretch in a relaxed grin. You love it when she tells Barth to "surprise her" with her drinks on date night. You love it, but you don't necessarily support it when she suggests setting fire to the ship of that one sailor who looked at you wrong several hours ago and making off with all the gold in the hold.

"Portia, that's arson."

"Exactly. So hear me out, cutie -"

"No."

~

Hear me out, Lucio whines, bottom lip jutting out and hands folded in his attempt to plead with you. It's not easy to interlace your fingers when one set of them is made of spiky gold but he does it somehow. You glance from his silver puppy eyes, to the traveling fair of curious wonders, to the absolutely ludicrous prices posted at every booth, to the half-empty coin purse hanging limply at your hip.

"We can have fun there, or we can eat for the rest of the week, Lucio."

"I have an idea, hear me out -"

"No."

[cegiel-athelia]

In This Lifetime

(a Love and Deepspace fanfic featuring Zayne)

Genre: Fluff mostly. Hints of intimacy.

I reckon that based on his head cannon, Zayne would be hesitant to get MC pregnant in light of her heart condition, especially since he is her doctor. So I wanted to write about it — about the conversation that they would have had.

I haven’t written a fanfic in years. Who knows whether I may start again. But this is all I have, for now.

I did my best to stay true to the storyline and memories.

I hope that this will be a pleasant read.

====================================

Lying in bed, you gazed at the man peacefully sleeping next to you on the right side of the bed — his preferred side, the glow of the moonlight that seeped through the curtains gently bounced off his dark hair. Zayne’s fingers were interlaced with yours and he held it close to him as he slept, his frame rising and falling quietly as he breathed. His eyelashes cast long shadows on his face. He was beautiful in both body and soul.

Tonight was one of the few nights you both were able to spend a full night together. Such were the demands of his job. You did not want to so much as move lest you wake him. His sleep was mostly deep in short stints, yet light since his body was attuned to be ready on call at any given moment.

You reminisced about the time when you first met him — he was so little then, as you were too — and how he ‘fixed’ your melting popsicle with his evol so that you could be happy again, and you were. You recalled him speaking of this once when you were dating, although you acted as if you could not remember the event only so that you could hear it from his point of view. The manner in which he spoke of it made your heart blossom with love for him. You wanted so much to return the love he gave, which has been consistently genuine and magnanimous. It was only natural that you would fall so deeply in love with him.

It has been three years since you married him and everyday with him was a blessing. Earlier during this night, he was passionate — he usually was, but more so tonight and it was probably because you.

See, Zayne was innately caring as a person, but it was also an occupational hazard. You knew he wanted to live a full life with you as you too wanted it with him. Before tonight, he was always cautious to protect you during intimacy. His concern stemmed mostly from your heart condition, and the rest of it was because you had not yet expressed that you were prepared to be with child — until tonight.

Your mind wandered back to the conversation you had and you remembered feeling bashful as you called out his name between his heated kisses to draw his attention. When his eyes, glazed with desire met yours, your cheeks flared causing you to involuntarily look away. You were secretly glad that the darkness of the bedroom hid your reddening cheeks from his view. Still, he was not impatient with you and waited for you to continue.

You steeled your nerves as you uttered, “Zayne.. I..” You paused to glance at him, but his gaze was too intense for you to maintain eye contact. Looking downwards, your fingers gently gripped his shoulder for support as you continued between pauses, “I.. wanna start a family with you.”

His silence unnerved you and you looked to him again, searching for an indication in his expression, but he was hard to read.

Uncertainty and doubt started to cloud your mind. Maybe you had been wrong about him wanting a family seeing as he was lonely in his childhood.

Almost failing to mask the disappointment in your voice, you murmured, “Only if you want—“

“I want it.” He said before you could finish your sentence. Taking your hand in his, he pressed it to his heart, and your evol autonomously resonated with it, revealing his quickening heartbeat. “All I have ever wanted was to share a life with you and you have made that wish finally come true. For that, I am eternally grateful.” He pressed his lips onto your forehead in a long gentle kiss before meeting your eyes again.

“I researched.” This time it was him who looked away, voice trailing off. He had effectively confessed that he was of the same mind — that he wanted you to bear his child.

You smiled as you concocted several lines that would possibly tease him, but you said nothing so that he could continue.

“Whilst yours is a unique condition, there is no known study to evidence that pregnancy would adversely affect a heart condition as long as you remain disciplined in taking your medication in consultation with both the obstetrician and your primary care physician.” It was dark but you could tell he was smirking when he referred to himself.

“Yes, Dr. Zayne. I trust that you would’ve conducted research on how best to impregnate your wife.” You smirked while drawing your lips closer to his, ensuring that he felt the heat of your exhalation on his skin. With a lilt, you breathed, “I leave myself, and my body, in your good and incredibly strong hands.”

The conversation ended and a sensual dance of bodies took center stage. It was a night you would remember.

A smile found its way onto your lips as you lovingly gazed at your husband in recollection of the night’s events. You unconsciously stroke his hand that was holding yours with your thumb, which caused the man to stir and sleepy eyes met yours.

Leaning over to brush his fringe from his forehead, you whispered, “I’ll love you in every lifetime.”

[sylusonychinus]

💖 Day 2 - I Wanna Show You Off 💖

📌 Pairing: Caleb x F! Reader 📌 Requested by: @drake-bois "Can I request some soft smut with Caleb? I was thinking maybe MC is feeling a bit insecure about herself, and Caleb notices that she’s down—so he shows her just how wrong she is." 😭💖

Summary: For this piece, MC is struggling with insecurities, feeling like she’s not enough. Caleb, ever the attentive lover, immediately notices something is off. Instead of letting her sit in doubt, he takes it upon himself to remind her just how beautiful, cherished, and loved she truly is—in the softest, most intimate way possible. 💫🥺🔥

✍️ A/N: Hewwo! 🐾 Thank you for this sweet request! Welcome to Day 2, where we bring love, reassurance, and some soft, tender smut—WE LOVE A MAN WHO WORSHIPS HIS MC!!! 😤💖🔥

The flickering candlelight cast long, dancing shadows across the room, illuminating the quiet tension humming between you and Caleb. You sat curled on the plush velvet chaise lounge, a book lying open in your lap, but your eyes weren't focused on the words. Instead, they drifted towards the intricate patterns of the Persian rug, a swirling kaleidoscope of colors that mirrored the turmoil inside you. You’d been quieter than usual, a shadow of the vibrant woman he knew, and it worried him.

Caleb, sprawled on the floor, leaned against the chaise, his gaze fixed on you. He’d been watching you in silence for the past hour, a frown creasing his brow. He’d noticed the subtle shift in your demeanor over the past few days – the way your smiles didn’t quite reach your eyes, the way you’d been picking at your food, the way you’d avoided his touch. He knew something was wrong, and this time, he wasn’t going to let you push him away. He’d seen that vulnerable flicker in your eyes before, the hint of insecurity you tried so hard to hide.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” he finally said, his voice a low rumble that broke through the stillness. It was the same voice that could soothe a frightened child or command a boardroom, now laced with concern.

You flinched slightly, startled out of your reverie. “Just thinking,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze. You knew he could see through you, and that’s what scared you most. He saw you, the real you, the one you weren’t always sure was good enough.

He reached out, his hand gently covering yours on the book. His touch, warm and comforting, sent a shiver down your spine. It was a familiar touch, one that always made you feel safe, even when you felt anything but. “Thinking about what?” he asked, his voice soft, coaxing, like he was trying to gently unravel a tightly wound knot.

You hesitated, your insecurities swirling within you like a storm. He’s so handsome, so confident, so…everything. And I’m just…me. The thought echoed in your mind, a familiar, unwelcome guest. The whispers of doubt crept in, reminding you of all the ways you felt inadequate.

“Nothing important,” you whispered, trying to pull your hand away.

But Caleb’s grip tightened, his fingers interlacing with yours. He tugged gently, pulling you closer until you were sitting on the edge of the chaise, facing him. He knelt before you, his eyes, dark and intense, searching yours. They held that familiar mix of tenderness and something more… something that made your heart race.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “Don’t shut me out. Tell me what’s going on.” He knew your walls were up, and he was determined to dismantle them, brick by brick.

The dam of your composure finally broke. “I just…I feel like I’m not good enough,” you confessed, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Like I’m not…worthy of you.” The confession felt like a weight lifted, but also a terrifying vulnerability.

Caleb’s expression softened, a look of tender understanding replacing the concern. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. “Where does this come from?” he murmured, his voice laced with disbelief.

“I see how people look at you,” you said, your voice trembling. “They admire you, they respect you…and then there’s me. Just…ordinary.”

He chuckled softly, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through you. “Ordinary?” he repeated, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “You think you’re ordinary?”

He leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin. “You are the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever met,” he whispered, his voice husky. “You’re kind, you’re intelligent, you’re funny…and you’re beautiful.” He paused, his gaze dropping to your lips, a flicker of something intense in his eyes. “So incredibly beautiful,” he breathed. He traced the curve of your mouth with his thumb, sending a shiver of anticipation through you. His thumb then drifted lower, tracing the line of your jaw, then down your neck, lingering for a moment at the hollow of your throat, where your pulse fluttered nervously.

“And if I may be so bold,” he continued, his voice now a low growl, “you’re also incredibly desirable.” He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a feather-light kiss. “Don’t ever doubt your worth,” he murmured against your mouth. “You are everything to me.”

His words, spoken with such sincerity and passion, washed over you, soothing the ache of insecurity. He kissed you again, this time with more force, more urgency. His hands moved to your shoulders, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed together. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the hard muscles of his chest against your breasts.

He broke the kiss, his eyes searching yours. “Can I show you something?” he asked, his voice thick with desire.

You nodded, your own desire mirroring his. Your breath hitched as his hand moved lower, slipping beneath the hem of your sweater, his fingers tracing the curve of your stomach, sending shivers down your spine.

He stood, pulling you up with him. He led you to the bedroom, the candlelight casting long, dramatic shadows that danced across the walls. He closed the door softly behind him, the sound echoing in the sudden silence.

He turned to you, his eyes filled with a burning intensity. He reached out, his fingers tracing the delicate line of your collarbone. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice husky. He gently unbuttoned the top button of your sweater, his gaze never leaving yours. “And tonight,” he continued, his voice now a low murmur, “I’m going to show you just how beautiful you are.”

His words sent a thrill of anticipation through you. You knew what was coming, and you were ready. Ready to let go of your insecurities, ready to embrace the passion that flickered between you and Caleb, ready to believe, just for tonight, that you were everything he said you were. He reached behind you, his fingers fumbling with the clasp of your bra. “Let me,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. The click of the clasp echoed in the quiet room, and your sweater fell open, revealing your bare chest. His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you, his gaze lingering on your breasts. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your nipples, sending a jolt of electricity through you. “You’re perfect,” he breathed, his voice thick with lust. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his hand moving to unfasten your pants.

His kiss deepened, a consuming fire that chased away the last vestiges of your self-doubt. His tongue danced with yours, exploring every corner of your mouth, igniting a heat that spread through your veins. His hands, now free from your sweater, roamed your body, tracing the curves of your waist, the swell of your hips, pulling you closer until there was no space between you. You moaned softly against his lips, lost in the intoxicating feel of his touch, the raw desire that radiated from him.

He broke the kiss, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His eyes, dark and smoldering, held you captive. "You're driving me wild," he whispered, his voice thick with lust. He nuzzled his face against your neck, his lips tracing a path down your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You arched your back, offering him more access, your fingers tangling in his hair, holding him close.

His hand found the button of your pants, and with a slow, deliberate movement, he undid it. He slid the zipper down, his fingers brushing against your skin, sending shivers of pleasure through you. He pulled your pants down, revealing your bare legs. His gaze traveled over your body, taking in every inch of you, and a low growl rumbled in his chest.

He lifted you slightly, his strong arms supporting you, and pulled your pants the rest of the way off. You stood before him, clad only in your underwear, feeling both vulnerable and incredibly exposed. But his gaze, filled with admiration and desire, made you feel anything but ashamed. He saw you, the real you, and he desired you.

He reached out, his fingers tracing the delicate lace of your underwear. "Beautiful," he murmured, his voice husky. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your skin just above the lace, sending a jolt of electricity through you. He nipped gently at your skin, and you gasped, your hands tightening in his hair.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice low and serious.

You didn't hesitate. You knew what you wanted. You wanted him, all of him. You wanted to lose yourself in his touch, to forget about your insecurities, to feel the heat of his desire. You nodded, your eyes meeting his, conveying all the passion and longing that words couldn't express.

He smiled, a slow, predatory smile that made your heart pound in your chest. He reached behind you again, his fingers finding the clasp of your bra. With a gentle tug, he released it, and it fell to the floor. You stood before him, completely naked, feeling more vulnerable and more powerful than you ever had before.

His gaze swept over your body, lingering on your breasts, your stomach, your thighs. He stepped closer, his body brushing against yours, and you could feel the heat radiating from him. He reached out, his hand cupping your breast, his thumb gently stroking your nipple. You gasped, your breath catching in your throat.

He leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a passionate kiss. His hands roamed your body, exploring every curve, every inch of your skin. You moaned softly against his lips, lost in the intoxicating feel of his touch. He lifted you into his arms, carrying you to the bed. He laid you down gently, his eyes never leaving yours.

He undressed quickly, his gaze still fixed on you. He knelt beside the bed, his hand reaching out to caress your cheek. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice filled with awe. He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss. "I'm going to make you feel so good pipsqueak," he murmured against your mouth.

He showed you with a tenderness that belied his earlier intensity, each touch, each kiss, a whispered promise of pleasure. His hands explored your body, learning every curve, every secret place, igniting a fire that burned brighter with every passing moment. He whispered words of adoration, his voice a low, husky murmur that sent shivers down your spine. He praised your beauty, your strength, your spirit, each word a balm to the insecurities that had plagued you.

He moved above you, his weight a comforting pressure, his eyes locked with yours. He paused, giving you a chance to pull away, to say no. But you didn't. You met his gaze, your own eyes reflecting the desire that burned within you. You reached up, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

He kissed you deeply, a kiss that spoke of passion, of longing, of a connection that transcended the physical. And then, he began.

He moved slowly at first, teasing you, building the anticipation until you were breathless with longing. His touch was exquisite, his rhythm perfect, each movement sending waves of pleasure through you. You moaned softly, your hands clutching his shoulders, your body arching to meet his.

As the intensity built, his movements became more urgent, more demanding. You met his passion with your own, your bodies moving together in a dance as old as time. The world narrowed to the feel of his skin against yours, the sound of your breathing, the beat of your hearts.

And then, you reached the precipice. A wave of pure sensation washed over you, a feeling so intense, so overwhelming, that you cried out his name. He followed close behind, his own release a powerful echo of your own.

The world stilled. You lay entwined, your bodies still warm, your breathing slowly returning to normal. He held you close, his arms wrapped tightly around you, his chin resting on your head. He kissed your hair softly, his touch gentle and reassuring.

He lifted his head, his eyes searching yours. "You were amazing," he whispered, his voice filled with admiration.

You smiled, a genuine smile that reached your eyes. "So were you," you murmured, your voice still slightly breathless.

He kissed you again, a soft, tender kiss that spoke of love and devotion. He pulled you closer, his body molding against yours. You snuggled into his arms, feeling the warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart.

As you drifted off to sleep, you knew that this was more than just a night of passion. It was a connection, a bond that had been strengthened by vulnerability and trust. You knew that Caleb saw you, the real you, and he loved you for it. And that was all that mattered. You were his, and he was yours, and in that moment, in the quiet darkness of the night, you knew that everything was going to be alright. You had found your safe harbor in his arms, and you knew that you would never be alone again. You had found your happy ending, not in some fairy tale, but in the real, messy, beautiful world, with the man you loved.

He stirred slightly, his hand gently stroking your hair. "Pipsqueak," he murmured, his voice soft with affection, the nickname a familiar endearment that always made your heart flutter. "You're safe now," he whispered, his lips brushing against your forehead. And in that moment, nestled in his arms, you knew he was right. You were safe, loved, and finally, completely at peace.

[lightweaver-chosen-if]

If it's not spoilery, can you please do the ROs reaction to mc telling them "there are many things I'd die for, but you, you're the only one that makes me want to live"

Thank you!

"There are many things I'd die for, but you..." you whisper softly, voice trailing into silence as your words linger, heavy upon your lips. "...you, I'd live for."

L

L's eyes shine bright under the dim moonlight, pupils widening slightly—perhaps taken aback or surprised. You can't tell, not in the dead of the night, not beneath the blanketed darkness. Instead, you simply wait, watching the emotions stir behind their hazel gaze, the corners of L's mouth upturning as warmth returns to their cheeks.

Their fingers curl lightly around your sleeve, and L's lips part, the barest hints of a reply hanging upon the edge of their tongue, poised to spill free, only to falter. A slight, amused chuckle leaves them instead, tilting their head as a soft grin plays across their features.

"You sap," they tease, the gentlest edges of their voice colored fondly.

A

A's eyebrows rise, the barest traces of surprise reflected amidst their sky-blue irises. Their gaze flickers across yours, their lips pursing shut. A holds your words at length; studying them, analyzing them, carefully picking apart each syllable, each inflection. And then, the faintest hue of pink colors the tips of their ears, and A averts their eyes, their grip on your sleeve tightening, almost possessive.

"...Live for yourself too."

Your breath stills, A's reply carving deep, embedding itself upon the confines of your chest—heavy, weighted, but not stifling, not burdensome.

Instead, A's words settle; a realization, a reassurance, a grounding comfort that fills you with a sense of warmth.

J

J blinks, before glancing away sharply, the tips of their ears coloring red. They shift their weight, shoulders grazing against yours ever so slightly—comforting, reassuring, the barest hints of a returned embrace.

Their fingers trace against the back of your hand, featherlight touches tracing against the scars that mar your knuckles. J's touch settles, their palm resting upon the pulse of your wrist, feeling the rhythmic thrum of your rapid heartbeat.

They refuse to look up, choosing instead to keep their gaze trained forward; but their presence remains, and their hand lingers, interlaced snugly between yours, firm, unwavering.

[nansmenagerie]

Mutual Understanding

[ally1uvsu]

The Last Train to Survival. | Squid game x Dystopian au

Summary; The world fell apart in the most unexpected way, nothing mattered anymore. Debts didn’t matter, getting high or worrying who’ll you sleep with in the next party. All you have to worry about is survival, if the dead won’t creep up to you at night and kill you, in a world such as this, only the fittest and the smartest survive. Giving the ones in debt a sick irony of a second chance.

Info; Okay gang, since this ain’t ao3 and I don’t have an acc, I’ll try to tag properly here; Ships so far - Choi su-bong (Thanos) x Nam-gyu, Cho hyun-ju x Gyeong Seok, Hwang In-ho x Seong Gi-hun, Kim Jun-hee x Se-mi, Park Min-su x Kang Dae-ho Tags (for the whole fanfic); angst, fluff, character death, dead dove, smoking, use of drugs, killing, blood, sexual content, sexual tension, threatening, stealing, suicide, self-harming, mutual pinning, slow burn, violence, abuse, self-harm, internalized homophobia, transphobia, trans!nam-gyu, Jun hee is still pregnant in this, autistic characters (hcs), SA, mentions and inferences to r4p3 (even scenes with it, the chapter in itself will have a TW), Implied autistic characters, organ harvesting mentions, transgender (hc and og) characters, EDs, Thanos is a little shit in the beginning, depression, EXPLICIT mentions of harmful substances, behaviors, fighting, spanking (sexual and nonsexual), overall NSFW stuff, near death experiences, stalking, kidnapping, just normal zombie apocalypse shit, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Notes; I DONT HAVE AO3 💔💔💔 I LOST MY ACC BRO but the second I get my hands on that invite I’ll update this there. I’VE BEEN W THIS IDEA IN MY HEAD FOR SOOOOO LONG LIKE!?!?! So I hope y’all enjoy it<3 (also, should I mayhaps drop this on other sites like wattpad, and etc?) Also, the main focus here is Thagyu!! We have other ships but they’re the actual mcs here. So hence why that heading, this will be Nam-gyu’s POV.

Dead for a little while. | Pt.1

Nam-gyu had a huge fucking headache that no drugs or smoking could cease.

The bar he was working out was loud enough to burst his eardrums, he groaned as he cleaned some countertop, now, normally Nam-gyu would be fine, it's just that today in particular he hadn't gotten enough sleep, so he was grumpy the whole time.

Checking his phone, he had twenty minutes left on his shift, the clock marked nearly midnight; the weather was clear but cloudy, expecting rain. Nam-gyu sighed as he shoved his phone inside his pocket, this place would get fairly more humid and disgusting with the hot rain.

He tucked his hair behind his ears, not really paying mind to anyone or anything until some guy with two girls clinging to his arms came to the counter, "Hey, man. Can you pour us a few shots of whiskey? Like, three?" 

For fuck's sake, what a dumb question. Of fucking course he could. Nam-gyu lifted his head up, controlling his temper. He wasn't normally the best one to deal with migraines, and plus, judging by the look on this guy's face that had a cheeky grin as he talked to the two girls with his arms interlaced with them, he was some sort of rich guy who certainly knew how to fight.

Don't get Nam-gyu wrong, he could fight. But today he wasn't in the mood and this guy was definitely stronger than him. So against his normal behavior, Nam-gyu just nodded and dropped the cloth he was using to clean the countertops. He walked back behind the counters, grabbing a bottle of whiskey and three cups used for shots, pouring three of them and sliding them to the trio in the opposite side. 

Stating the given price, Nam-gyu took the money and watched the guy and the two girls turn around on their heels and leave off, disgusting. Not that Nam-gyu thought hooking up was bed it was just.. two girls at once seemed a bit too much.

The pounding in his head was insistent, Nam-gyu swore his head would fucking blow up if he stayed in here any longer. "So-ri, can you cover for me? My shift ends soon anyways." Said the raven haired as he called out to one of the many bartenders the club had, whose shift would be right after his.

So-ri would normally arrive twenty minutes earlier to take some time to secretly get high, and she was still good at her job even while doing so. It was admirable, really. Nam-gyu never snitched on her, ever. One because it was none of his business, two, he'd do the same. And lastly.. it just made her owe him something.

"Go ahead, dude. I'll take over. Boss' ain't even gon' care anyways." And Nam-gyu didn't have to think twice before going to the bathroom where they normally had lockers to keep their shit in. Getting in and out was fairly easy, Nam-gyu was so used to that damn combination that he could do it far more quickly than he used to.

Soon enough, he fell into step on the streets. Jacket tied around his waist and bag slung over his shoulder, again, he wasn't quite sure why he brought a jacket along with him, the weather was disgustingly humid, after all. But maybe it was just a force of habit, considering he was someone with a cold body and was cold constantly. Today was just one of the rare times where he didn't need his jacket to fell warm.

He grabbed a cigarette from his bag, lighting it up with a lighter he also kept in the back pocket of his jeans. Closing his eyes as he took a long drag and let the smoke mix into the air and become nothing, just another part of it.

His ears weren't difficult to pick up sounds of footsteps, he ignored it for the first couple of minutes, but then he figured something was wrong. And Nam-gyu knew exactly who was following him, fucking shark loans. 

He turned just around the street, and to his surprise (or maybe not), more of them were already waiting for him. Nam-gyu took the cigarette away from his lips and let his hand that was in charge of holding it fall limply to his side as his face became a grimace for a split second.

"Nam, fancy meeting you here." The guy said cheerfully, but Nam-gyu wasn't dumb. He could see the pure disdain in his eyes deep down. "Don't call me that, fuck do you want?" Nam-gyu gritted out, hell, he knew exactly what they wanted.

"You know what we want," Well, fuck him sideways, it was like they read his mind, fan-fucking-tastic. "I don't have the money right now and you know damn well our agreement isn't until next month." Nam-gyu said rather annoyedly.

"That's the same thing you said last month, wasn't it? We keep postponing the date because you can't be responsible enough to save up and pay for it." A vein popped on Nam-gyu's temple, they weren't necessarily wrong, but it still stung. Before he could even speak up again, he was cut off by that guy, Nam-gyu hated being cut off.

"And we thought we should teach you a lesson to put you straight in line." Fucking great, Nam-gyu was exhausted and outnumbered, but hey, it is what it is. He dropped his bag to the ground, tucking his hair behind his ears.

A loud sound of knuckles cracking and meeting a bone was heard, maybe someone's jaw. And then he realized, it was his jaw. Blood inevitably splattered out of his mouth and he stumbled back, he threw a punch that hit the guy in the nose and because they were all fucking pussies, like Nam-gyu thought, everyone ganged up on him.

He felt a punch on his nose, warm blood trickling down it and a bit pushing past the gap of his slightly parted lips, his tastebuds immediately catching on the sick and metallic taste of blood, he cringed. Another punch to his stomach, his head meeting the ground, his knuckles split on the second attempted impact at someone's face, he couldn't even tell who at this point. And then his wrists were pinned down, and he had to fight the stinging pain.

Eventually, it stopped. And someone's hand was on his chin. Nam-gyu's vision was turve, blurry. He couldn't exactly make out who was in front of him, just a big blur of colors before his vision somewhat focused, but never fully- maybe because Nam-gyu knew he needed stupid vision glasses.

"Now, don't be mad. This is only a lecture, nothing personal. You have until next month, Nam." The guy said as his fingers trailed down with a voice falsely dripping with gentleness, Nam-gyu would have scrunched his nose if it wasn't hurting so bad. 

The feeling of that finger, moving like a feather down his jaw, neck, trailing his collarbones so gently made Nam-gyu seriously want to puke. And then, it stopped right where his heart should be. "Otherwise we won't have a choice but to sell your organs, especially heart, to the black market. You're a shitty person, with an even shittier heart. You won't need it as much as someone else will."

Nam-gyu let the words sink in, panting and slightly wheezing for breath once the man stood up straight. "Alright, boys. Let's pack up and go, business is done around here." And then the sounds of footsteps, first loud and then slowly vanishing into the corner were picked up by his ears.

Nam-gyu slumped against the wall, the back of his hand wiping his bloody nose and his tongue licked his cracked lips, now split open at the bottom. He looked up at the sky, staying there in silence and unmoving for around five minutes, if he had to guess. 

"Fucking pussy, can't even come fight me alone." Nam-gyu finally uttered out to himself as he stood up with  the a grunt of effort, ignoring how sore and painful his muscles felt, this was nothing new. Nam-gyu deep down knew he deserved it, he was indebted and owed these guys.

He quietly walked back home, not bothering to light up another cigarette. He stared at the air with an emptied stare, this was and has been his life. Maybe that's where he realizes something inside of him is broken, maybe not. But life sucked, really fucking sucked. His job did, the people did, but it wasn't like he had a escape, hell, his money from work mostly went to drugs and sometimes he got so low he would barely have money to buy groceries, often opting for convenience stores because they were so cheap.

It took him a while, normally a walk from the club to his house was fifteen minutes. It was painful but Nam-gyu really didn't feel like sleeping in the middle of the street. The second he got home, his shoes were nowhere to be seen, maybe mingled in the mess of his other cheap ones. And his bag was thrown on the couch carelessly as he dragged himself to bed.

He didn't bother unbinding even if his ribs hurt like a fucking bitch. A groan left his lips, mixed with a sigh of relief as his eyes fluttered shut. Nam-gyu never had went to bed so.. 'dirty' but he couldn't help it when his eyes fluttered shut and he fell asleep almost instantly.

. . .

Sleep wasn't easy on him, like always. But tonight, due to the exhaustion, he might have slept a bit better. Like everyday, he was up at exactly six in the morning, taking a while to properly get up and go to the bathroom to do a proper hygiene.

Once he created enough motivation, he was back up on his feet, rubbing one of his eyes as he reached the bathroom. He turned on the tap and stared at himself in the mirror, split lip, a hint of a black eye, and dry blood around and in his nose. They really didn't go easy on him this time.

His hands moved to make a cup form to catch water, splashing it onto his face. The pointy feeling of the water waking him up somewhat, then he did it again just to make sure he was fully awake.

Opening the cabinet, he reached out for some already nearly ending bandages, three cotton pads and rubbing alcohol. He wetted one of the pads, sighing as it hovered close to his nose. He cleaned up the blood around it gently, the material gliding against his skin to clean the blood that once dirtied his face.

Other than that, he didn't bother with his other injuries, figuring he'd save the bandages and rubbing alcohol as he put them back in their designed places. Instead, he focused on brushing his teeth and brushing his hair, bothering to style it was dumb, so he never truly did.

As he moved back inside his bedroom, his mind was already thinking what to do for the day. He needed to go eat something, probably buy a few things. He didn't really pay attention to his outfit this time, nobody really would pay attention to him, or at least he hoped so.

Even then, he still reached for that face mask, he didn't feel like getting eyed for having a split lip despite having a whole ass black eye. Thankfully, his muscles were in agreement with him and weren't as sore as yesterday.

He didn't have much money, but he didn't mind it, he often got more high than bothered eating, maybe that's why he didn't gain much weight. But that was another topic, slipping the house keys inside his pocket, leaving.

He was greeted by a bit more chillier wind, good. He seriously couldn't handle horrendously humid weathers and far too hot ones that made you sweat in big amounts. But couldn’t handle too cold, too. So he had a jacket on anyways.

The breeze kissed his face as he moved, he liked weathers like this, something about it just made it comfortable.

The convenience store was around a five minute walk, good thing for him it wasn't that expensive either. He wasn't that hungry, sometimes he didn't even have an appetite and yet would still eat because if he were to wait, he would go quite a few times without eating.

Today, he opted for something lighter. A cup of microwaved tteok-bokki, and a roll of gimbap. Grabbing some water to drink with it along the way. He assumed he only grabbed enough money for breakfast, so groceries would sadly have to stay for another time.

He paid for it, sitting down by the table they left against the windowsill. Already opening his gimbap and taking one of the rolls inside his mouth while his fingers worked to open the tteok-bokki.

He added whatever was there to add, microwaved it, grabbed his chopsticks and began eating. His eyes focused on the view outside as he chewed, so many people and yet all of them had different lives.

Some of them were on shit like him, some were rich bastards, some were making enough to have a good life. All of these people looked happy, he wondered how come he couldn't be like them? Not that he envied them, it'd be wrong. He was in debt because of his own reasons, envying them would be stupid. But he meant it in a sense of being happy, enjoying the fleeting joys. Having someone, hanging out with friends on some cheap place, but then like that guy said yesterday, maybe someone else would enjoy having his organs better than he did.

As good as it was, he only finished his tteok-bokki halfway, and three rolls of gimbap were left. He neatly closed the gimbap with the plastic he hadn't yet discarded, trying to somewhat seal the container the tteok-bokki was in. 

He'd probably stay home for the rest of the day, lay down, sleep, contemplate his life. Well, at least that was his original plan. The universe however seemed to have another one. 

He was greeted by that same breeze when he stepped out, but this time, the scenario was far from pleasing. His head snapped as a blood curling scream came from somewhere in front of him, to the left. Followed by gurgling and squelching sounds. Everything around became chaos in question of seconds, people ran and screamed, and soon enough, he got a view of whatever the fuck was happening.

His eyes locked with a figure on the ground, bleeding in excess. The skin on their neck was broken, maybe bitten off. His eyes widened, the person was dead on spot.

But maybe just for a little while.

Nam-gyu didn't keep track of how long he spent standing there, maybe minutes. Chaos erupted around him, and yet he wasn't quite sure how he wasn't caught up in it. His ears tuned out the screams and cries, his vision blocked everything. He was solely focused on that person, dead on the ground.

And then they began standing up, movements all jerky, eyes white and lifeless. Making groaning sounds, shit, Nam-gyu wasn't even sure if that thing could be called human anymore.

By the time he snapped out of it, someone was already rushing into him, sending him tumbling down on his butt. He woke up to reality, shit, what the fuck was going on? 

Nam-gyu normally would think this was one of his all to real nightmares, just another one to the collection. But then, the sirens used to alarm the city began ringing, telling everyone to hide. 

His legs had never worked quickly despite the shock, maybe it was the adrenaline pumping in his veins that kept spreading when he saw people killing off each other, he stood up in a flash and was back inside the convenience store. 

He looked around frantically, someone could get in. He reached for one of the shelves, ignoring how he was knocking some food out. Pushing it until it was sturdy and firm against the door, hell, he even unplugged the refrigerator where the cold drinks were normally kept and to secure a second layer, pushed it against the shelf.

Now that was done. Nam-gyu finally let whatever the fuck happened sink in, "What the actual fuck." He mumbled to himself, breath shaky. He moved away from the door, checking for any other ways of getting inside, he only found a back door nearby the bathrooms. He covered it with some furniture, never having been so thankful that these doors opened from the inside.

He pulled his phone out, since it was buzzing in his pocket as notifications of alerts rang through it. Some saying stay at home, others saying evacuate. No way in fucking hell Nam-gyu would go anywhere out of that door.

Instead, he grabbed the fire extinguisher to use as some sort of weapon and sat in the middle of the store, trying to tune out the screams and sometimes the banging in the windows. He didn't look outside, nor at the glass doors, not at the windows. Knowing they'd likely be drenched in blood.

He turned the TV on, the channel was flicked to the news. Some woman was talking about a virus, fucking great. Viruses were bad, some weren't. But what kind of fucking virus made people die and come back from the fucking dead to eat others alive?

"Stay calm, and stay safe for now." The woman said, hell, as if Nam-gyu could be any calm.

He didn't leave the place even when he heard gunshots and sounds of cop car sirens blaring, eventually they were all replaced by screams and more sounds of gurgling and squelching as blood seeped out of their bitten skins. It was the most sane choice, he wouldn't trust some cops or even a journalist that was just reading a fucking script.

How many hours had he stayed in there? Nam-gyu wasn't totally sure. He fell asleep after hour one, not sure how he did it. Maybe it was because his brain had the urge to shut down, to do anything but hear the pleading and screams outside.

Three hours after that, he woke up. He was lying under  counter where the cashier was. The air was dead silent. Normally, Nam-gyu would think that it was all a  dream, just his mind playing tricks on him after getting that beating. 

But he woke up sleeping under the damn cashier, and reality seeped back in. It wasn't just a dream, no. It wasn't his mind playing cruel jokes on him. It was real.

He was careful to even stand up, steps slow and measured as he hunched over to get a glimpse outside from the window. He nearly couldn't stomach the sight, his lips parted open and eyes wide in shock. There was blood everywhere, people.. things, actually. Were limping, crawling, or just dragging themselves around the streets. Some people were gutted out, dead on the floor. The sight was fucking horrifying, even for someone like Nam-gyu.

"I'm so fucked." Nam-gyu muttered, maybe he was. He got lucky to be inside a convenience store, getting in here as a safe okace without even thinking. He had water, food, bathrooms, everything necessary. But he knew it wouldn't really last forever, he just created that illusion to feel at ease on day one.

The people he thought that were dead just.. came back. What a sick irony, death didn't fully claim them. Maybe the heavens listened to the pleading of the living when they wanted their loved ones to be back from the dead in flesh.

All these people who died.. they were dead, but their bodies wandered alive. And the things that came back weren't people, Nam-gyu guessed it was safe to assume they weren't people. Their conscience and form were just gone for a little while.

[matchavellichor]

Can I request a Seb x f!Reader where either MC is super tired or Seb is super tired and the other helps them relax. Like by running a hot bath, then giving a really sensual massage? It doesn’t have to become NSFW or it can. Completely up to you! But I just cannot get the idea out of my head!

You’re writing is to die for btw!

A/N: I loved this idea sm!! I hope I did it justice and that you enjoy!

Long Night

Sebastian x f!MC - NSFW/Fluff - 3.6k words - ao3

Tags: Pre-Established Relationship, Protective Seb, Cunnilingus, Body Worship, Care/Comfort

Summary: Sebastian helps you wind down after a long night.

It was half past two in the morning when you finally staggered your way back to Hogwarts, having spent the better part of your evening decimating Ashwinder camps around the outskirts of Hogsmeade. As you slip through the common room door, Sebastian rouses from the wingback chair he had fallen asleep on while waiting up for you.

“Please, no lecture tonight,” You intercept as soon as you spot him, raising a hand to your mouth to stifle a yawn. “I’m far too exhausted for this.” 

He opens his mouth to protest, but disgruntledly closes it at the sight of your half-lidded eyes, the weary slouch of your shoulders. 

He brings a hand up to thumb at the smear of ash on your chin, a faint look of understanding. “I’ll save the scolding for tomorrow. You look like you’ve been roughed up enough for one night.” 

You give him a satisfied smile as you sink back against one of the plush couches. “You think I’m roughed up? Should’ve—” You wince at the contact of the cushions with the abrasions and cuts under your clothes. “Seen the other guy.” 

He looks unconvinced. “Yeah, yeah,” He outstretches a hand in front of you, rubbing the sleep from his own eyes with the back of his knuckles. “Come on, up.” 

“Do I have to?” You close your eyes, tilting your head back onto the backrest of the couch.

“Yes . You’re a mess,” He tugs you to your feet despite your groans, interlacing his fingers with yours. “You’re taking a bath then I’m putting you in a bed. No more passing out on the common room couch.” 

“Yes, mum.” You quip, your muscles too sore to physically protest, but not compliant enough to go without a fair amount of whinging.

He locks the door behind him as soon as he gets you inside the Prefect’s Lavatory, flicking the lights on with a swish of a wand. A set of firm hands on your waist lifts you up on the counter so he can better tend to you. You grimace from the press of his fingers against your injuries and concern washes over his expression.

“May I see?” He asks, fingers paused on the laces of your bodice. You nod. 

He unties the latticework of laces with a deftness that only comes from practice, beginning on the buttons of your blouse next. He slips the garment  off your shoulders with a tenderness that contrasts so starkly to the usual hasty manner he tears it off you in isolated alcoves in the Restricted Section, or under the drawn curtains of four-poster beds.

“Lift your arms, love.” 

He pulls the chemise over your head, yet doesn’t linger too long on the sight of your bare chest when he notices the purple contuses scattered over your ribs. He frowns in disapproval, tsks as his fingers trace the bruises with feather-light touches. His gaze snaps back up to meet yours. 

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

You give him a sheepish smile. “Would you believe me if I told you I tripped on my way to Charms?” 

He looks entirely unamused.

“Worth a shot.” 

“Merlin’s sake, the things you get up to...” He parts to rummage through a first-aid kit that he pulled from one of the cabinets, a frustration in his movements. He’s upset, but not at you. “It’s a miracle you’ve never gotten detention. Or honestly right out expelled. You’ve broken so many Hogwarts ordinances I’m surprised you’re still—”

“Since when did you start caring about the rules?”

He sighs as he pauses in front of you with a tin of dittany salve in hand. “Since I started caring about you.”

You roll your eyes, even though his words make you feel warm and you have to bite back a smile at the preposterous idea of Sebastian Sallow caring about someone other than himself. If someone had told you this a few months ago you would’ve fell into laughing hysterics.

“What was it this time?” He pops open the lid of the balm and begins to rub a generous amount on your bruises, careful not to apply too much pressure.

“A pack of angry Mooncalves. Vicious beasts, really.”

He scoffs. “Oh, terrifying.”

You nod solemnly. “My life flashed before my eyes.”

He rolls his eyes, once again intensely unamused. He finishes smearing the last of the paste over your sores, tucking the salve away in its kit. 

“So do I get to know what creature has actually battered up my girlfriend?” 

“I am not battered.” You protest. “It was just a few Ashwinder camps. No big deal. I handled it.”

“A few,” He mutters to himself in disbelief, shaking his head as he closes up the healing kit and slides it back into the cabinet. He turns back to you and you can’t help but find his face of disapproval devastatingly adorable, feeling a bit inclined to defy him more often.

He takes your jaw in his hand, tilting your head for him to study. His eyebrows knit together as he eyes the cut just under your cheekbone, concern etched into his expression. “Yeah, I can see how well you handled it.”

“Stop worrying.”

“I’m not worrying.”

“Yes, you are, I can see it on your face.” You tilt your head, amused. “You kind of look like Ominis.”

“You wound me.” He drops your chin. 

He turns to open the faucets in the bathtub and you watch as he holds a hand under the water to make sure the temperature is just right, runs his fingers through the lavender-scented suds beginning to form on the surface.

You hook your fingers into the belt loops of his trousers to pull him closer when he finally makes his way back over to you, spreading your legs to situate him in the space just between your thighs. 

“I’m fine, alright?” You trail your hands over his chest demonstratively. “Got all four limbs. I’d call that a major success in my books.”

“Your definition of success genuinely perturbs me.” 

He braces himself against the ledge of the counter when you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down to kiss him lazily. 

His mouth is warm and sweet, the taste of mint on his tongue where it meets yours.

He indulges you for a moment, a hand coming up to hold your jaw. A thumb brushing against your cheek, lips moving against yours with a syrupy kind of softness that makes your toes curl. He holds his other hand to the small of your back, fingers spreading warm and broad over your bare skin. Tender. Careful. 

You want to just melt into him, your muscles loose and jelly-like from exhaustion. You groan, pettish and frustrated, when he finally pulls away. He smiles.

“Stop trying to seduce me and get in the bathtub.”

“I’m not trying to seduce you,” You scoff, your legs wrapping around the backs of his calves to keep him close to you, feeling the stiffness pressed hot against your stomach. You smile

back. “I’ve clearly already done so.” 

“I have a gorgeous, half-naked witch kissing me, you can’t expect me to maintain total composure.” He steps away from you and holds out a hand for you to take. “Now get in the tub before you whittle away the little moral principle I still do possess.” 

“Oh, stop it,” You jeer as you let him help you down from the counter. “Corroding each other’s moral compasses is our favorite pastime and you know it.”

“The only pastime I’m interested in right now is getting you clean and in bed.” 

“Such a bore.”

“You are such a brat.”

“You like it.”

“I do.”

He slips off the rest of your clothes with gentle fingers, mindful of every bruise and abrasion as if he’s already memorized their locations. You sigh contentedly when you finally sink into the warm water, your head falling back against the porcelain. He kneels down beside you, brushing back the hair from your cheeks and forehead.

“Feel nice?

Your answer is a murmured mnhgmm. He chuckles and casts a stasis charm to keep the water at that temperature. He watches you for a moment, fingers dipping under the water to rub soft little circles over your arm. 

He slips a hand under the nape of your neck. “Tilt your head back, darling.” 

You oblige even though your muscles feel too limp to move, letting him run his fingers through your hair and dampen it in the water.

He works in some sickly floral-scented shampoo, the kind that you find far too sweet for your own preferences but that you know he absolutely adores smelling on you. You can’t find it in you to protest because the feeling of his firm hands massaging your scalp makes you too lax to form any coherent thoughts.

“Fuck.” You mutter when he kneads at a particularly sensitive spot at the nape of your neck. “I’m going to marry you.”

He breathes out a laugh, focusing on that spot until you’re practically melting into his palm, shoulders sinking further into the water. “That easy?”

“I’m a simple woman.”

“You’re very much not.”

“You like it.”

He smiles fondly. “I do.”

He takes advantage of your drowsy state to lean over the rim of the tub and steal as many kisses as he wants, tilts your chin up with a wet hand to give himself better access to your lips. He moves you around like a ragdoll, placing kisses down your wrists, on your knuckles, while he runs a loofah up and down your arms.

“You look pretty like this.”

“What? Covered in the blood of half a dozen different poachers? You’re sounding like Poppy.” 

You chance a look at him through one half-opened eye. He’s watching you intently, arms crossed over the side of the porcelain basin, sleeves rolled to his elbows.

“While admittedly strangely erotic ,” He confesses,  rubs at a lingering speck of scarlet on your neck. “I meant...all sapless and drowsy. It’s cute.”

“Shut up.”

When he’s finally content that he’s gotten every ounce of blood and soot from your body, he helps you out of the water with one of your arms slung around his shoulder, wrapping you in a towel that’s big enough for you to drown in.

Sufficiently dried and smelling like a floral abomination, he takes you back to your room and lets you sink back against the pillows while he rummages through your chest for pajamas. 

He manages to procure the tiniest set you owned, a sleek negligée with a babydoll neckline and a ditsy floral pattern all over, little pink roses with green stems adorning the fabric. It’s ridiculously short and leaves absurdly little to the imagination.

He holds it out to you curiously, dangled precariously over his finger by one of the thin straps. “How come I’ve never seen you in this?”

“Because that thing can barely be considered clothing.”

He helps you sit up on the edge of the bed. “You’re not doing a very good job of selling me off it.”

“I’ll indulge you in your utterly impractical sleepwear choices just this once.”

He slips the gown over your head, smoothing down the fabric at your waist. His hand stretches broad and warm where he’s settled it over your hip. When he pulls away to tuck the matching frilly floral undergarments back into your chest, you raise an eyebrow.

“Am I not allowed any knickers?”

“Nope,” He pushes you back against the bed and you sink into the covers. “Doctor’s orders.”

You shift onto your stomach, hitching a leg over one of your pillows tucked between your thighs as you get comfortable. You murmur through a yawn, “I’d like to see this guy’s medical license.”

Sebastian eyes the way your dress rides up over your bottom, the silk bunching up at your cinched waist. If he were a weaker man, he’d be tugging the flimsy fabric the rest of the way up over your hips and fucking you into the mattress until you were truly sore and exhausted. 

However, he has principles. Sort of.

He kneels beside you at the edge of your bed and tugs the hem down before you can properly give him a heart attack. You’re blissfully unaware of any unintentional indecencies.

He lets his hand linger a little too long, running down your sides and reveling in how warm and pliable you feel under his touch.

“You’re a little tense,” He remarks, even though you’re certainly anything but tense. You currently feel like you’ve dissolved into a puddle of warm sensations and you’re surprised you haven’t seeped into the mattress by now. 

His hands are kneading at your back before you can form even a semblance of a protest though, and you soon forget why you would ever want to. 

He smooths his fingers over the silk, feels your warmth seeping through the fabric and it’s enough to make him lose his mind. Before long he’s slipping his hands under the hem of your dress, chasing the feeling of skin-on-skin. 

He massages the space between your shoulder blades, down your spine, over your sides, smiling to himself at the little satisfied sighs you let out from the sensation. 

“Fucking hell,” You moan when he presses his knuckles into a particularly knotted spot at the small of your back. “I think I’m in love with you.”

He spews out a laugh, sounding utterly delighted with this information. “And all it took was a measly little massage for you to come to this realization?”

“Among other things...” You murmur contentedly into the pillow.

“Give me a comprehensive list when you get a chance,” He leans over you to place a kiss to your shoulder, runs his hands south to knead at the soft flesh at your hips. “I need to know what I’ve been doing right.”

“Well, first on the list, —whatever magic you’re doing with your hands right now.”

“Yeah?”

“Next up…mmhm, that one thing you do with your tongue.”

You pause, thighs squeezing together at the memory of the many times his head has been between your thighs. “Actually, that might be number one.”

“Might be?” He scoffs. “Well clearly I haven’t been doing it nearly as good as I should have. Simply unacceptable.” He enunciates his indignation by flipping you onto your back, amusing himself with the drowsy giggle you let out.

He kisses you slow and languid, cupping your jaw in his hand and rubbing your cheek with his thumb as if in appreciation for getting to touch something so precious. He peppers kisses down your neck, inhaling deeply, “Gods, you smell amazing.”

“I smell ridiculous.”

He licks a stripe down your throat in exemplary approval. “Ridiculously delicious. It's absurd, really.”

He dips his head to trail kisses over your collarbone, down your sternum, around your navel, over your hip bones. His hands bunch up the fabric of your dress, tugs it over your waist and gropes tenderly at the expanse of exposed skin.

He takes his time, as if he’s at an altar in solemn devotion. You let out soft, drowsy sighs as he drags his tongue down your midriff, across your hip, as if he needs to taste every part of you.

He looks up at you when he finally dips his head between your thighs, clearly satisfied with the way your head is sunken back against the pillow and your hands have balled up the comforter in little fists, consumed by anticipation.

He hooks an arm under one of your thighs and pulls it over his shoulder, keeping the other pinned to the mattress. He revels in how pliable you are, a weak, loose-limbed little mess spread out before him, barely even able to keep your own eyes open. He can’t help but watch you, truly study you in the state you’re in.

You huff after a full minute of him hovering over your center, his warm breath lighting your nerves on fire. “I thought I was supposed to be going to bed?” 

“I’m just helping you wind down,” He murmurs and places a kiss to your mound just to appease your impatient whines. Your stomach swirls at the long-awaited contact and the mewl you let out would’ve been mortifying if Sebastian’s returning groan wasn’t just as needy . 

He licks a single broad stroke through your folds with the flat of his tongue and you can feel his smirk against your skin when your hips squirm from the contact.

“Look at you,” He coos, taunting, rubbing your slickness in with the pad of a finger. “You’re clearly too worked up to sleep at the moment.” 

You’re too drained to argue for your obvious lack of energy and Sebastian’s ministrations certainly aren’t helping.

You’re half-asleep, half-kept-awake by the soft kitten licks he devotes to your cunt, slow and measured, the same way one would lap at an ice-cream cone they really, really wanted to savor. Patience was never a virtue Sebastian possessed,  yet he was managing to exude it with every brush of his tongue, infuriatingly calm and stoical.

“Oh, god—” Your gasp is strangled when he finally wraps his lips around your clit and sucks. He does it knowing full well it’d make your hips jerk, make you push futilely at his head with weak hands and tired muscles.

“I know, angel,” He pushes you back down against the mattress, folds his forearm over your stomach to keep your hips pinned down. “Relax, it’s alright. Let me make you feel good.”

He tongues at you, slow and deliberate, for what feels like hours, until there’s a wet spot in the linen sheets underneath you and you’re whining his name through breathless pants. He seems content with spending eternity with his head between your legs and dangling you on the precipice of your orgasm with soft, feather-light kisses.

“Please, please...” 

Your hands have long fallen limp over your stomach, too listless to thread your fingers through his hair. You’re a languid mess and he seems to like you like this, dwindling between the lines of consciousness and only kept awake by your desperate desire to come. 

“My pretty baby. So sleepy, hm? Poor thing.” He hums against your skin, and you’re so close it hurts. You’re too limp to press his lips to your cunt with your hands, to rock your hips and chase your orgasm the way you normally would. You just let your head loll back against the pillow and whimper his name like it’s a prayer. 

“You’re so beautiful like this. Just a little longer.”

Only when there’s tired tears pricking at your eyes and the knot below your navel is wound so tight that you feel like your entire body might snap, does he finally push you over the edge.

It’s not the violent, body-wrecking kind of climax he’s pulled from you so many times, not the freefall from the height of a staggering cliff. It’s more of a smooth descent, the drop-off on a rollercoaster that makes your stomach swoop. The kind that starts high and ends low, seeps through your entire body like sticky-hot molasses.

He manages to make it just as slow and drawn-out as the process it took to get you there. He keeps your legs open with his palm spread over your thigh, even as you try to fold into yourself. He groans at the sensation of you cumming against his mouth, his hips rutting mindlessly against the mattress. He blissfully laps at you and rides you through it until you dissolve into a puddle of shallow, shuddering pants.

He places kisses to the inside of your thighs while you tremble, murmurs praises against your skin, “Beautiful. Love watching you come apart for me.”

When he crawls up your body and finally presses his mouth to yours, you can taste yourself on his tongue. 

It’s soft and tender, and his chin is sticky, and it’s all just so good that you feel as if you’ve died and gone to heaven. He smiles against your lips when he realizes you’re too drowsy to even kiss him back properly, beyond pleased with your lethargy.

“Good?”

You’re too incoherent for words, but the lazy little hum of agreement you let out is just as satisfactory. 

He breathes out a laugh. “You’re the most precious thing in the world to me, do you realize that?” 

He kisses you once more before he pulls back to take in the state of your flushed cheeks and tear-damp lashes, still fluttering in their weak attempts to stay open. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen a prettier sight.

“It’s alright,” He murmurs through a kiss pressed to your forehead. “Sleep.”

He rights your rumpled camisole that’s been bunched up at your waist and smooths back the stray hairs sticking to your cheeks. You let him adjust you how he sees fit and fluff up the pillows around you until you’re properly swaddled to his liking.

He leans in to nose at your jaw, reveling in how warm you are and stealing as many kisses as he pleases. He leaves whispered promises that he knows you won’t hear, traces vows with his fingertips over the soft expanse of your skin. 

Only after your breathing’s finally steadied out and you’re curled into yourself does he pick himself up from his spot on the edge of your bed. He allows himself a final chaste kiss to the soft patch of skin on your shoulder that’s peeking out from under the covers, before he slips out the door silently. 

In the quiet of the empty hallway, his skin still buzzing from your touch, he makes his way back to his room with a soft, pleasure-drunk smile tugging at his lips.

[seoafin]

I need your thots on house husband geto,,how he cooks and cleans and all he asks from you is a kiss every now and then [ever since i read nitc all i've been thinking about is how he asks rip!mc for a kiss in exchange for anything]

ohhhhhhhhhhhh

-

"You don't cook at home?"

When Shoko had dragged you out to a girl's night with some of her old friends from medical school, citing that Satoru and Suguru had kept you cooped up in the apartment for themselves for too long, this was not a question you anticipated to be answering. At first you were overwhelmed. It was a large gathering. Ten became eight, and eight had dwindled to six and then four. Right on the verge of retiring for the night, conversation had shifted to the topic of boyfriends and relationship woes.

And now three pairs of eyes look to you. An amused chuckle escapes Shoko's lips, a lit cigarette neatly slotted between her lips.

You blink, embarrassment washing over you. "I—well." You stare down at your lap. "I'm not really that good at cooking...so my boyfriend...does all the cooking."

Suguru does the cooking. And the laundry. When Suguru's away, Satoru takes care of it. Satoru washes the dishes. Cleans. He sweeps and vacuums and tidies after the kids. You had tried to help, once, but Suguru had directed you away, and now the realization is quickly dawning on you that it may have been because you are simply incompetent at housework.

You may not be able to cook, but nobody is incompetent at cleaning!

Except…maybe you. You don’t know. You’ve never needed to clean. Nothing more than a perfunctory clean every once in a while when you lived alone. You weren’t a messy person. Shoko remarked often that your first apartment was cleaner than it had been when you had originally moved in.

"How sweet," Kuriyama sighs out. "My boyfriend can't even cut a vegetable! He cooks for you? Everyday?"

"U-usually," is your response while your mind races, trying to think back to the last time you had helped with anything around the house. Anything.

"The only thing my boyfriend can make is ramen. Not to mention he's super picky about his food!" Mori shakes her head. "He's so difficult! Honestly I think of dumping him everyday for being so incompetent!"

You stare at her.

Shoko clears her throat. "I'm sure it’s not only that—”

“I agree,” Kuriyama says, nodding, face fiercely determined. “It gets so tiring sometimes taking care of everything. Maybe it’s time to move on!” She leans in. “Your boyfriend wouldn’t happen to have any good looking friends?”

Out of all the reasons that constantly filled your head with why Satoru and Suguru would break up with you, you hadn’t expected your inability to do household chores to be one of them.

Incompetent.

Well, it would certainly be understandable. If anything, you think you would prefer them breaking up with you over something as mundane as not being able to do housework, instead of the many flaws to your character. It would settle easier. It would hurt less. Now you just had to prepare yours—

“Let’s call it a night!” Shoko interrupts, cigarette disposed, taking you to stand up by the arm. “I have to get her back before people start calling,” she says, interlacing your fingers.

Kuriyama sighs. “Just when we were getting to the best part, Shoko!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mori grins. “You should come to our next night out. You can invite your boyfriend too! We’ll make an exception!”

Shoko waves them off, pulling you outside the izakaya. 

“I can’t cook either,” she says as the two of you wait for a taxi. You know that. But Shoko bakes. Cookies and cakes and occasionally other baked goods. You spent nights over at her apartment eating cupcakes until late in the morning, watching American dramas and horror movies. Delicious, mouth watering desserts.

“Who expects women to cook nowadays anyway?”

—

When the elevator parts to your apartment, you immediately go to Mimiko and Nanako’s room and check their pink laundry hamper. Empty. Then to Tsumiki’s room. Empty. Megumi’s room. Empty.

You’re seated on the floor of Megumi’s room when the door opens again.

“How was the—”

You push past Satoru to go into your shared room at the end of the hall to check your laundry hamper. Suguru is reading on the bed when you open the closet. Empty. You sit down, knees flush to your chest, dejected.

You don’t need to look behind you to know Satoru and Suguru are exchanging glances.

From your knees, you mumble. “Did you do the laundry?”

It’s Suguru that answers you. “We just finished a load.”

“Oh.”

You sit in silence.

At least, until Satoru gently yanks you up into his arms, and carries you to the bed. You immediately turn face down on your comforter, covering your face. 

You think they must be having another one of their silent conversations. You squeeze your eyes shut. Tomorrow, you resolve, you’d wash the dishes after dinner.

You hear the door open yet again with Satoru’s departure, and Suguru softly says your name. You sigh, picking yourself up. You really can’t refuse Suguru when he says your name like that.

“Where are the kids?” You ask, even though you already know where they are. They’d be back early tomorrow morning, before school.

“Educational overnight field trip with Yaga,” Suguru replies, amused as your attempt to delay the inevitable. He plays along, lightly teasing. “It’s not like you to forget these things.”

You don’t meet his eyes. Suguru calmly waits you out until you lamely say: “I don’t help around the house.”

You can tell he’s taken aback. “Is that why you were looking for…dirty clothes?”

You’re embarrassed just thinking about it. “...”

“I like cooking,” he says. “I like cooking and watching you, Satoru, Megumi, and the girls enjoy what I make. And I definitely, don’t think it’s a burden. We order out a lot too, don’t we?” He continues. “As for the laundry, I grew up doing it with my mother. It reminds me of home.”

You reluctantly look up. There’s a soft smile on his lips. “I can wash the dishes.”

He chuckles, hand caressing your face. You nearly close your eyes and lean into it. “You don’t need to. You don’t need to do anything.”

You still want to. Try. It makes you feel better. Slightly. The knots in the pit of your stomach loosen. “Can I help you with lunch for the kids tomorrow…?”

He pretends to think about it. The fondness in his barely suppressed expression gives him away. "Maybe if you give me a kiss first."

"Suguru," you grumble.

He only replies with your name, face erupting into a full blown grin.

Your face warms as you lean close and cup his face with your hands, bringing your lips to his. He pulls you on to straddle his lap, wrapping an arm around your waist and breathes you in. His lips briefly part, and you feel his tongue run over your bottom lip.

You pull away, about to rest your face onto his shoulder, into his neck. His dark purple gaze draws you in. “We can take care of you,” he says, softly. Then he kisses you again, and this time you let him take you apart with his tongue. Against your lips: “We can take care of you.” 

You draw apart, breathless. You pointedly stare at the wall behind him while you attempt to regain what’s left of your composure. Suguru laughs and presses a kiss to your collarbone, one hand sliding underneath your shirt onto bare skin, thumb lightly dragging over the scar of raised flesh on your side.

“Besides,” he murmurs, lips still attached to your neck. You can feel the slightest kiss of teeth. “Satoru makes more of a mess than the kids. It’s only right that he cleans up after himself.”

“Hey!” The sound erupts from behind the door. 

You should’ve known. 

—

[extra]

“I’m so sorry,” you bemoan.

Ten minutes prior, Nanako had run into the kitchen, brush in hand and horrified, ("Papa, something's burning!"), then she had looked at you, brightened in understanding, and called back into the hall: “Everything’s alright guys!”

Satoru looks over at the unrecognizable charred pieces of salmon on the stove top, face unreadable. Then he shrugs and drops a light kiss on your nose. “You tried.”

You hide your face in your hands.

You also pretend not to see Satoru discreetly handing Megumi a pack of bills as the kids shuffle out the door for school.

[peppymintdreams]

Lessons in the Sky

Simeon x Mc

The warmth of celestial light bathed the heavenly gardens in a soft, golden glow. Everything felt surreal, like you had stepped into a dream—one where the sky stretched infinitely, inviting you to become a part of it. Your heart raced, not from fear but from anticipation. Today was the day Simeon, the angel who had stolen your heart with his gentle kindness and radiant smile, would teach you how to fly.

"Are you ready?" Simeon’s voice floated toward you, as soothing as the breeze that rustled the flowers around you. You turned to face him, and your breath caught in your throat.

He stood before you, a vision of serenity and grace, his white and gold robes flowing like liquid light. His wings, vast and majestic, glowed softly in the sunlight. But it wasn’t just his celestial beauty that made your heart flutter—it was the warmth in his sapphire eyes, the way he looked at you like you were the most precious thing in all realms.

"As ready as I’ll ever be," you replied, your voice trembling slightly. Simeon stepped closer, his presence grounding you, his every movement exuding calm and reassurance.

Gently, he took your hands in his. His touch was warm, tender, and it sent a shiver down your spine. "You have nothing to fear," he said softly, his thumbs brushing soothing circles over your skin. "I’m here with you, every step of the way."

You met his gaze, finding comfort in the quiet confidence that radiated from him. "I trust you," you whispered, and you meant it with every fiber of your being.

A soft smile curved his lips, one that made your heart swell. "Good," he murmured, his voice like a gentle caress. "Come with me."

He led you to the edge of a cliff overlooking a sea of clouds. The view was breathtaking, but your focus remained on him—on the graceful way he moved, on the soft glow of his wings. He paused, turning to face you, and cupped your cheek in his hand, his touch feather-light.

"Flying isn’t just about spreading your wings," he said, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek. "It’s about trusting yourself and the sky. And if you ever feel uncertain, remember… I will always be here to catch you."

Your heart melted at his words, the sincerity in his voice wrapping around you like a warm embrace. "I believe you," you said, leaning into his touch.

His eyes softened, filled with something deeper, something that made your chest ache with affection. "Let’s take this leap together," he whispered, his forehead gently resting against yours for a brief, tender moment. The world seemed to still, and all that mattered was him—the warmth of his touch, the steady beat of his heart so close to yours.

"On the count of three," he said, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. "Are you ready?"

You nodded, your confidence growing in the light of his unwavering support. "Ready."

"One…" His hand slid from your cheek, but he kept one of your hands in his, fingers interlaced. The contact was a lifeline, grounding you in his presence.

"Two…" His wings unfurled, a magnificent display of grace and power.

"Three!"

Together, you leapt. For a moment, there was nothing but the exhilarating sensation of freefall, the wind rushing past, the ground far below. But then, the sky embraced you, lifting you, holding you aloft.

"Spread your arms," Simeon called, his voice warm and steady beside you. "Feel the air around you."

You stretched your arms out, mimicking the graceful arc of his wings, and to your amazement, you began to glide. The wind carried you, cool and exhilarating, and laughter bubbled from your chest.

"I’m flying!" you exclaimed, your eyes wide with wonder.

Simeon’s laughter, soft and melodious, joined yours. "Yes, you are," he said, his eyes shining with pride. He flew beside you, his movements as fluid as a dance. "You’re doing beautifully."

His praise made your heart soar higher than the sky itself. He reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers once more as you glided side by side. His touch was steady, reassuring, and filled with a quiet affection that made you feel like you belonged here, in the sky, with him.

"Try angling your body to the left," he instructed, his voice gentle but confident. You followed his guidance, and together, you weaved through the clouds, the world below a distant memory.

Time seemed to blur as you flew with him, your hearts beating in rhythm, the sky your shared sanctuary. Every glance he cast your way, every brush of his hand, was filled with a tenderness that made you feel cherished, safe, and free.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, Simeon guided you back to the ledge where you had started. You landed softly, your heart still racing from the exhilaration of flight—and from the lingering warmth of his touch.

"You did it," he said, his wings folding gracefully behind him. His eyes were filled with pride and something deeper, something that made your breath catch.

"Only because you were with me," you replied, your voice soft with gratitude and affection. "Thank you, Simeon."

He stepped closer, his hand once again finding your cheek. "You had the strength within you all along," he said, his voice a gentle murmur. "I simply helped you see it."

His thumb brushed over your skin, and for a moment, you were lost in the warmth of his gaze, in the quiet affection that radiated from him. "I’m proud of you," he whispered, and then, as if drawn by an invisible force, he leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.

The world seemed to hold its breath, and all you could feel was him—his warmth, his kindness, his love.

the stars began to twinkle in the sky, you stood together, your hearts intertwined. And in that moment, you knew that as long as Simeon was by your side, you could soar anywhere.